If the truth be told, the whole ugly incident was strictly my fault. I should never have been listening in on a conversation not meant for my ears. It wasn't like I was actively trying to eavesdrop, but circumstances led to my being there at that moment, hearing those words I would never forget. I decided later that it must have been preordained. For some reason fate, destiny, God, the universe, whatever watches over wayward anthropologists, had decided that I needed to open my eyes to a few truths.

I wasn't supposed to be home yet; in fact, I'd told Jim that I would be tied up at my office for most, if not all, of the night. I was running behind on some class work that absolutely had to be finished by the first of next week if I wanted to keep my teaching job, and as much as I loved helping Jim at the station, it was the teaching that paid my bills. So, when Jim announced that some of the guys were coming over to the loft to catch the big game, I had to opt out, cursing my schedule even as I did so. I loved the get-togethers with the guys. Too much beer, too much junk food, and too much fun. It was what I had always imagined life would be like with a stable group of friends.

Stable. Now there was a word I'd had little experience with -- pre-Jim. Stability to the ever mobile Sandburgs was nonexistent. Growing up, I quit trying to figure out where I was when I woke up each morning. Instead, I tried to figure out if I was alone, or if Naomi -- Mom -- was around. Most times she was. Occasionally, she wasn't. I learned to deal with it. It taught me independence and self-reliance, and I've never regretted that. Besides, I knew what a free-spirit Naomi was. It couldn't have been easy for her to have found herself saddled with an unasked for kid, especially one as high-strung and overly curious as myself. How could I fault her for having a bit of difficulty adjusting to the strain I must have put on her lifestyle? She did the best she could, the best she was equipped to do.

But I did enjoy the get-togethers with the guys. They made me feel as though I was one of them, a part of their world. So when Jim reminded me that morning about the game, I griped and complained about responsibility and commitment but, in the end, bowed out.

Only, around nine o'clock, I began to have second thoughts. I knew it was half-time in the game, because I was listening to it on the radio in my office while I worked. Suddenly, I was sitting there making all kinds of excuses for ditching the work and heading back to the loft to catch the end of the game with the guys. I had four more days until the work had to be turned in. If I really buckled down -- and maybe gave up eating and sleeping for the next few days -- I could make the deadline. Yeah, I could do it, I decided. It was simply a matter of focusing...and staying away from the station until it was finished.

So, with that resolution firmly in mind, I shut down my computer, put away my notebooks, and grabbed my backpack on the way out the door.

It took me only twenty minutes to get home. Traffic was light; I figured everyone was either at the game or home watching it. The loft parking lot was full, though I knew there was only one car for the guys upstairs. They would have arrived together so that only one person would have to remain entirely sober in order to get them all home safely. I wondered who had drawn the short straw tonight.

I parked in the back of the lot and made my way into the building and up the stairs, skipping the rachitic elevator. I was doing that a lot now, well, ever since the thing at the Wilkenson Building. It wasn't so bad when Jim was with me, but sometimes, especially late at night for some reason, a twinge of something embarrassingly like fear drove me to the stairs.

As I exited the stairwell on our floor, I could hear a loud cheer coming from the loft. Sounded like the Jags were doing pretty good. Maybe I hadn't missed all of the fun. I quickened my step and approached the door with the intention of joining the party, but stopped at the sound of Simon Banks' deep voice drifting through the closed door.

"You know, Jim, it's kind of nice to imbibe freely, without Mother Sandburg hanging over me, nagging about how unhealthy it is."

I smiled to myself at the captain's observation. Even I could admit I tend to nag when the guys get to drinking heavily. I just didn't understand why anyone would want to be so out of control. The idea scared me a little. I have been drunk a few times myself, but on the whole, I avoided it. A beer or two, or even three, I can understand, but to drink to the point of saying or doing things you'll regret later, if you even remember...well, I just don't get it. And from the sound of Simon's voice, Jim's boss, therefore, by default, my boss, was well on his way to that point.

Seconds later, my amused smile faded when I heard Jim's distinctive, but slightly slurred voice reply, "Try living with the guy. He has a comment, no, make that a speech about every bite of food I put into my mouth. I honestly think the kid loses sleep over my eating habits."

"You know what the problem is, Jim?" That was Joel's voice, and from the distinction of his words, I gathered he was the unlucky designated driver. "You two are together too much. I mean, the kid lives with you and then follows you around on the job all day. You're just seeing way too much of one another."

"It's Sandburg overdose." It took me a minute to place the very slurred voice as Rafe's.

The comment was followed by the sound of raucous laughter from within the room. I was slightly hurt at being the butt of the joke, but I figured that's what I deserved for standing in the hallway, eavesdropping on the men. I lifted my hand toward the doorknob, but froze in place as the conversation continued loudly.

"Yeah, a little Sandburg goes a long way," Simon laughed.

"Oh, come on, Simon," Jim protested lightly. "Blair's not so bad...once you get used to him."

Gee, thanks, Jim. So grateful you would jump to my defense like that.

"Then why do you spend so much time in my office complaining? I'm thinking of changing the name on the door to 'Ann Landers'."

I was stunned by Simon's words. I had no idea that Jim had been complaining to the captain about living with me. The thought was humiliating and more than a little hurtful. I was determined now to stay and listen. What else had Jim been saying behind my back?

Joel was making a comment that I couldn't quite catch, but I had no trouble hearing Jim's reply.

"It will be, once I get him completely housebroken."

There was another hearty round of laughter from within as my heart fell from my chest to my stomach with a painful thud.

"It sounds like you're talking about a pet." I identified the voice as Henri Brown. "Is that why you call him 'Chief'?"

"Well, that would explain the shedding problem," Jim commented wryly.

"I have a Retriever that does the same thing," Rafe announced loudly. "And I'm still working on housebreaking him, too."

"Maybe you can recommend a good obedience school," Simon suggested. "Maybe they can teach the kid to follow a few basic commands."

"You mean like, 'Stay in the truck, Sandburg!'?" Jim asked.

"Well, it looks like you have the heeling part down pat already," Henri commented.

"No, what I really need to figure out, is how to impart the fine art of silence," Jim said. "Sandburg can expound for hours on the most inconsequential--"

I backed away from the door, unwilling to hear anymore. Stunned, I hurried back down the stairs, not stopping until I reached my car. I climbed in and leaned my head against the steering wheel, panting for breath, though I wasn't winded.

It was a long time before I could draw in a breath without it catching painfully in my chest. I was horrified by what I had overheard, though I don't know why I should have been. It was nothing I hadn't heard before at different points in my life, with the possible exception of the comparison to a dog. I couldn't remember ever hearing that one before, but I had been told a few times in my life that I was annoying, in the way, and generally a waste of time. It was nothing new.

But I had never heard it from Jim, and that's what hurt.

Okay, if I was totally honest, it really wasn't that much of a surprise that the guys from the station felt that way, though I'd thought I'd earned at least their tolerance. I knew respect was too much to ask from the tough, macho cops, but I'd hoped for a small measure of lenity for Jim's sake.

I leaned back in the car seat and took a shaky breath. But Jim...I was surprised and deeply hurt at my roommate's comments. Had Jim been merely tolerating me all this time? I'd let myself be fooled into thinking that Jim had grown to actually like me. God, it hurt to think of what a moron that made me. I'd just been another annoyance in his life all this time, an annoyance that Jim had been forced to put up with for the sake of his senses.

His senses...

God! Oh, God, no. Jim's senses...He had to have known I was standing at the door. He'd have heard me, smelled me. Oh, God! I heard myself hyperventilating and forced myself to breathe slowly though my nose. Jim knew I was listening at the door, which meant...he wanted me to hear his comments.

I buried my face in my hands, humiliation burning deep. Exhaling shakily, I fought back the sting of tears. I couldn't do this. I could not cry. That would be the ultimate humiliation. I concentrated on my breathing until the threat of tears passed.

Staying somewhere I wasn't wanted wasn't an option. I never had before. This was definitely a signal that it was time to move on. I'd been to this point often enough to recognize it for what it was. But I didn't want to go. The thought of leaving left me with an empty feeling that I didn't care for at all. Alone. That's how it made me feel. Alone and empty. I liked it here. I liked working with Jim and living with him. I wasn't ready to give that up. I couldn't voluntarily leave the only real home I'd ever known. How could I make myself do that?

I must've dozed off, because the ringing of my cell phone jarred me awake. I was leaning against the window of my car. The left side of my face was numb where it rested on the cold glass. Shifting stiffly in the seat, I glanced at my watch in the glow of the street light. It was after midnight, which meant the guys were gone and it was probably Jim on the phone, wondering what was keeping me. I debated ignoring it. I wasn't sure I could talk to him right now. But I knew he would just keep trying until I answered, or worse, he would come looking for me when I didn't. I bit back a sigh as I grabbed the phone from my backpack.

"Hello?" I hoped I didn't sound as despondent as I felt.

"You planning on working all night, Chief?"

I winced at the nickname, the vision of an well-trained dog flashing through my mind. "Actually, I probably am," I lied. "I'm really running behind here. I should have called. Sorry."

"Come on, Sandburg, you've gotta sleep sometime. Can't that stuff wait?"

"No, Jim, it can't!" I snapped before I could stop myself. "This is my job, man. I have a responsibility to my students. I have commitments. I'll grab a few hours here." I switched off the phone before Jim could say anything else.

I glanced up at the balcony doors to the loft, barely visible from where I sat. After a few minutes, the lights went off. I cranked my car and pulled away.

I spent the rest of the night in my office, but I didn't sleep. Anger and humiliation saw to that. The humiliation was pretty much self-explanatory, but I wasn't sure who I was angry at. There was no point, really, in being angry at Jim. He couldn't help the way he felt, though I was kind of ticked off that he had led me to believe--

No, that's not right. Jim never said anything that should have made me jump to erroneous conclusions. It was my own stupidity that had set me up for this fall. At that moment, I was hating myself for forgetting every lesson I had learned growing up. If I had followed the rules, this never could have happened. I wasn't supposed to form attachments. I wasn't supposed to care.

But I did. And I guess that's why I was angry.

Sometime around daybreak, I fell asleep, my head pillowed by folded arms on my desk. I managed to grab a couple of hours sleep this way, but I woke with a nasty headache and an incredibly stiff neck that didn't do a lot for my temper.

Humiliation still burned in my chest, but I didn't have time to address it. I had a full day ahead of me, starting with a class in...I glanced at my watch. Damn! I had exactly ten minutes to get to the lecture hall. I combed my fingers through my hair, trying for some semblance of order, and began shoving notebooks and papers into my backpack. I made it to class with two minutes to spare.

It was a killer day. My two classes were near disasters because I couldn't keep my mind on what I was doing, losing my train of thought mid-sentence several times. I know the students thought I was losing it, and they weren't far off base. I went back to my office around the middle of the afternoon, fully intending to get some serious work done, but I couldn't concentrate any better there than in the classroom. My mind kept drifting back to what I had overheard the night before.

Though the words themselves had been painful, the worst part of it was knowing that Jim had to have known I was listening. There's no way the Sentinel could have missed me. Why would Jim have said those things if he knew I was listening? Why would he have been so deliberately cruel?

I closed my eyes against the renewed pain. Jim had wanted me to hear him. He had probably wanted to say those things to me for a long time, but couldn't quite bring himself to do it. Hearing me at the door, he was suddenly presented with an easy way out. Maybe he thought I would take the hint and move out. Maybe that's what he had been aiming for. If he couldn't bring himself to throw me out, he would just have to give me reason to leave on my own.

It would have been perfect, except for one minor detail. My desire to stay in the loft was greater than my flight instincts. I didn't want to leave. But did I have a choice? How could I stay, knowing Jim wanted me out? I couldn't, I realized painfully. If Jim wanted me to leave, I would leave. Maybe something could be salvaged from the friendship. It wouldn't be my pride, that was for sure.

Still no closer to a solution than when I started, I turned my mind to my work, determined to get something done. Several hours passed, and I was finally starting to make a little headway, when there was a soft knock on the door.

I don't know how, but I knew it was Jim. Late afternoon -- logic said he should have been at the station, but I knew it was him. I took a gulp of air and let it out slowly, calming my racing heart a bit in the process, then called out, "It's open."

I didn't have to look up to know I had been right about it being Jim. I felt the hair rising on the back of my neck as soon as the door clicked open, but I kept my head bent over the papers on my desk, while I concentrated on appearing normal to the sentinel.

"Chief?"

There was a mental wince at the name, but I think I kept it from my face. I continued to pretend to scrutinize the paper under my pen, but I did manage a distracted sounding, "Hmm?"

Jim pulled a chair closer to my desk and, after removing the stack of textbooks, sat down. I resisted the urge to look up.

"Almost through?"

At that, I did look at him. "Huh?"

"Are you making headway on that stuff?" Jim replied, gesturing at the papers littered across the desk. "I gather from what you said last night, this is important. Deadline?"

Surprised at Jim's words, I merely nodded.

"Anything I can help with?"

Okay, now I was flabbergasted. Hadn't Jim, just last night, given me the impression he wanted me out of the loft, if not his life? And here he was sounding almost...concerned. I didn't get it. Was I missing something?

"No, thanks. I'll get it."

Jim nodded absently. There was something else on his mind, I could tell. Something he was reluctant to bring up. Ordinarily, I would have pried until I got to the bottom of it. It's in my nature to dig until I find answers, leaving no question unasked. That's what made me good at my chosen occupation. But I was still pissed at Jim. I figured I could wait him out.

Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke. "Chief..."

I set my pen down. Here it comes, I thought, this is where I get the boot. I knew my heart was racing, and I was sure Jim could hear it, but if he did, he didn't mention it. He was distracted by what he was about to spring on me, no doubt.

"Chief," he began again, "about last night..."

I felt the color drain from my face, and I dropped my eyes to the desktop. I might have no choice but to hear this, but be damned if I was going to look him in the eye while he did it. I couldn't bear to see the contempt I was sure would be there.

"I'm sorry, Sandburg," Jim continued. "I didn't mean to sound like I take your job for granted. I know I come across that way sometimes, but that's never my intent. It's just that...well, you've become so good at helping me at my job, that I sometimes forget it's not your primary occupation. I...I forget you're not a cop, sometimes."

My mouth dropped open, I'm sure. My mind was suddenly refusing to work. That definitely wasn't what I had expected to hear. That had sounded almost...almost like a...a compliment. I was expecting the it-was-fun-while-it-lasted speech, and I got a compliment? I was thinking about the overheard conversation in the loft, and Jim was talking about the phone conversation we had much later. Man, were we ever on different pages.

"I know you're only behind around here," Jim went on, "because you were helping me out with that case last week. I guess I've kind of monopolized your time lately, Chief. I'm sorry for taking you for granted."

My mind was racing, trying to figure out just what was going on here. Jim was acting like the conversation in the loft, the one I had overheard, the one he knew I had overheard, had never happened. He was acting like my feelings shouldn't be hurt over what had been said. Okay, so Jim and the guys had been drinking, and people tend to say pretty stupid things when they've had too much to drink, but--

And then it hit me.

"Jim, you'd been drinking last night, right?" I needed to be sure of my theory.

"Yeah, I had a few more beers than I should've, but that's no excuse for--"

"No, it's all right," I said, and for a minute, a brief minute, it was. Jim had been drinking. I was so happy at the thought, I almost laughed out loud. I did smile. When Jim drinks, which isn't often since his senses kicked in, he dials his senses down to avoid losing control of them. So Jim didn't know I was listening at the door. He wouldn't have heard me with his hearing dialed down to bare minimum.

My smile was short-lived. Jim may not have know I was listening, but he had said the words, nonetheless.

Jim must have seen the play of emotions on my face. He sounded contrite as he said, "Are you going to make your deadline?"

I raised my eyes then to meet his. How could he have said those things, and yet still give the impression that he was so concerned? I was confused by his mixed signals. Was he sick of me, as he had implied last night to the guys, or was had he merely been blowing off a little steam as a result of too many beers? Maybe I was overreacting, but, dammit, his words had hurt. How could I just forget them?

Jim was still waiting for an answer. It took me a minute to remember the question, then I nodded. "Yeah, I'll make it. I'll just have to buckle down and stick to it."

"Are you sure there's nothing I can do to help?"

"No, I can handle it. Thanks."

"Are you going to be here all night?"

I nodded again. "Probably."

"How about if I go pick up something for you to eat?"

His suggestion set off a grumble in my stomach that I'm sure he heard. I had been too rushed for breakfast and too upset for lunch. Supper would be nice. "Yeah, okay, that would be good." I reached for my wallet, but Jim stopped me.

"My treat," he said on the way out the door.

I stared after him in utter confusion. Where did I stand now? Did Jim want me out or not? He was acting like nothing had happened, which to him, I guess, was the truth. He obviously had no idea that I'd listened in on the drunken conversation, but he'd still spoken the words. Maybe I really was overreacting.

If Jim didn't want me to leave, and I didn't want to leave...why was I thinking about leaving? Jim seemed okay with things today. He talked like he needed me, and I knew deep down that was the truth. A sentinel couldn't function to his full capacity without his guide. That was the gospel that had brought me to live and work with Jim in the first place. Jim had obviously taken my spiel to heart if he had been able all this time to put aside his personal feelings about me. Didn't I owe it to him to do the same? I knew Jim needed me, what did my hurt feelings matter? If I left, and somehow, as a result of that, Jim got hurt -- which I knew was a very real possibility -- how would I be able to live with myself?

I couldn't leave. I knew that for a certainty. Even if Jim had wanted to throw me out, I would've been obligated by my role his guide to find a way around it. It would be pretty selfish of me to let a little thing like hurt feelings get in the way of Jim's safety and welfare. Somehow, I'd have to get past my feelings.

And I'd have to make some changes.

Jim surprised me by sitting with me most of the night, keeping me company. It was strange how he could be so considerate at times. I managed to get a good bit of work done. Once I had my mind made up on a course of action, I was able to concentrate fully, well, almost fully, on the work and accomplish something.

By Monday morning, I had the work finished, handed in, and was on my way to the station. The thought of facing the guys for the first time since I'd found out what they though of me was more than a little daunting, but I was determined to do it. For Jim's sake. I kept reminding myself that he needed me. Besides, this was the new, improved me. I fully intended to become everyone's favorite conformist, at least to all outward appearances.

Stepping off of the elevator and into the bullpen was a lot harder than I thought it would be. Several of the guys greeted me as I walked by. I nodded back in return, careful not to meet anyone's eyes. With each face that I passed, the words I'd overheard flashed through my mind. I tried telling myself that it didn't matter what they thought of me as long as I served my purpose around here. It didn't help.

I noticed that Jim wasn't at his desk. A quick glance told me he was in Simon's -- no, the captain's -- office. I suspected that the captain didn't like me calling him by his first name, so I was determined to avoid it. The New and Improved Sandburg.

I actually took two steps toward the office before I caught myself. That's what the old Sandburg would've done, the obnoxious, annoying, pesky Sandburg. Last week, I would have barged into the office, hell-bent on finding out what was going on, even if it didn't concern me. But that was before I realized how unwelcome I was there. The New and Improved Sandburg headed for Jim's desk to wait.

Brown came over after awhile and tried to initiate a conversation. He seemed genuinely interested in why I'd been away from the station for the past few days, but I knew better. I kept hearing his voice, talking about how well I heel, and it was all I could do to be civil. It didn't take him long to give up and move away.

Later, Rafe came by and tried the same thing with the same results. I saw him exchange a questioning glance with Brown before he turned away. I didn't really care anymore what they thought. Or so I was telling myself.

When Jim finally exited the captain's office, he seemed surprised to see me sitting quietly at his desk. I can be unobtrusive, Jim, I wanted to say, it just takes a lot of effort. Instead, I remained silent.

"Hey, Chief," he greeted, moving around his desk to sit down. "How long have you been here?"

"Not long," I said succinctly.

Jim frowned at me for a minute, then shook his head slightly. I knew he was wondering if I was pissed about something. It was that rare for me to keep my mouth shut. But he let it drop, probably figuring I was just tired from the long working-weekend. He was half right anyhow.

"Get your papers turned in?" Jim asked, picking up a large stack of files.

"Yeah."

Jim glanced up at me again, but didn't comment. He handed me the stack of files.

"I need you to go through these, Chief. I need a current home and work address on each one of them. You can use the computer to help track them down, but there may be a few that you can't find. Just set them aside for now." He stood up and gestured for me to take his chair in front of the computer.

I wanted to ask him what he would be doing while I did his dirty work, but I managed to bite my tongue before it slipped out. None of my business, I'm sure. I opened the top file and began. Jim disappeared for awhile, but when he returned, he was bearing coffee. I accepted the cup he handed me with a mumbled thanks and turned back to the work.

Jim took up residency in the chair on the other side of the desk and began going through the list of addresses I had already compiled. We worked together like that in silence for a couple of hours. Then the captain came out of his office, tugging on his jacket.

"Hey, Sandburg," he said, by way of greeting. "When did you get here?"

I looked up, careful the keep my face free of expression. "A few hours ago." The question satisfied, I turned back to the files.

There was a short moment of silence that I ignored. Then the captain said, "I'm heading out for some lunch. You two want to keep me company?"

I deliberately didn't look up. The invitation was meant for Jim. He was just being polite by including me.

"Sounds good to me," Jim said standing. "How 'bout it, Sandburg?"

I shook my head, not looking up. "You two go ahead. I'm meeting someone later." The lie came out of left field, but I had to offer some kind of excuse they would buy. It must have sounded reasonable, because they didn't question it. Or maybe they were just relieved I opted out. Either way, they left.

I worked for another half-hour, then decided I was hungry, too. I shut down the computer, scribbled a short note promising Jim I would return to finish in an hour or so, then headed for the deli on the corner for a solitary lunch.

"Sandburg!"

I heard the yell even before my mind registered that Jim was home. It was day five of the New and Improved Sandburg, and I was beginning to feel like I had perfected the system. At least, around the loft; it was a lot harder at the station, but I think that was because there were so many people there that I had to fool. Around here, the only one I had to deceive was the human lie detector -- the see-all, hear-all, know-all detective and sentinel. Piece of cake.

Stepping from my bedroom and into the living room, I glanced around nervously. I didn't see anything that belonged to me, and the room looked remarkably clean, especially considering I was the one who had cleaned it. I'd decided, along with the personality change, to become more organized and domestic. My things stayed in my room, out of Jim's way. And a cleaner house was bound to go a long way with Mr. Fastidious, I figured. So, I was perfecting domestic skills I didn't even know I had.

I gave the loft one more glance. What was the problem? Everything looked fine. I looked back at Jim, who was still standing in the doorway.

"Yeah?" I asked.

"I thought maybe we could catch supper at Gondola's. I'm in the mood for Italian. How does that sound, Chief?"

I bit back a frown. There was that damned nickname again. How could he not see the way I reacted every time he said it? Where were those famous observational skills of his? I didn't know whether to be relieved or pissed that Jim seemed so oblivious. On the one hand, I was glad that he hadn't called me on it. How could I explain? But conversely, it hurt me even more that Jim wasn't paying enough attention to me to notice that something was wrong. God, I was hopeless. I didn't know what I wanted. Except that I didn't want to go out.

"Sorry, can't. I've got tons of homework."

"Come on, Sandburg. Even you have to eat sometime."

"I've got a casserole in the oven."

"You would choose a casserole over Gondola's linguini with clam sauce? I thought you loved their linguini."

I tried to hold back a sigh. "I do, Jim, but I've already cooked the casserole, and I really do have to get this work done. You go ahead."

Jim pulled off his jacket. "No, we can hit Gondola's another time. Casserole sounds good. In fact," he stopped and took a tentative sniff of the air, "is that Shaker Fish Pie?"

"Yeah."

Jim's face lit up in a bright smile. "My favorite. Why didn't you say so, Chief? You know I'd pick your Shaker Fish Pie over Gondola's any day."

I shrugged.

Jim's eyes narrowed. "We've been having my favorites an awful lot lately. Something I should know, Chief?"

"Just doing my job," I said absently, heading for the kitchen to finish up the meal. "It'll be ready in ten."

"Sandburg, you've cooked every night this week. Plus, you're doing all the cleaning, the laundry, the shopping...you sure there's not something you want to tell me?"

"Like what, Jim?" I kept my back to him, afraid he would see something in my eyes or expression.

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

I laughed, hoping it sounded convincing. "No, Jim, not this time." I glanced back over my shoulder in time to see Jim toss his hands in the air.

"I give up. Far be it from me to look a gift horse in the mouth." He turned and headed for the bathroom, unaware of the punch in the gut those words were to me.

I wasn't cutting my hair. That's where I was going to draw the line, though I'll admit, I considered it briefly -- very briefly -- but I just couldn't follow through with the thought. My hair defined me. I just wasn't ready to give it up, not even to satisfy Jim. So, here I was on my hands and knees on the bathroom floor, cleaning up loose hair. God, was this insane or what? I suddenly had the most insane urge to bark. The idea set off a bout of giggles that I had a hard time suppressing. Then, suddenly I sobered. When had this become a joke? A week ago, I had been ready to cry over this, and now I was laughing? When had that happened?

Shaken by the disturbing thought, I hurriedly finished and set about making breakfast. I could hear Jim beginning to stir up in his room. I didn't have any classes or pressing work at the university today, so I'd volunteered to accompany Jim back to the site of a murder case he was helping Homicide with. He had the feeling he was missing something, and basically, I didn't want him trying to pick up something with his senses unless I was there to talk him through it.

But first, we had to go by the station for Jim to pick up some information that the FBI was supposed to have faxed over this morning. I followed Jim into the bullpen, just as I had countless times over the past couple of years. Only now, I followed with my mouth shut. After a week of consciously working to curb my tendency to run off at the mouth, I was beginning to get strange looks from some of the guys. I'm sure that my silence was disconcerting to them, but they would get used to it. After all, that's what they wanted, right? A quiet, subdued Sandburg? The brain without the hyperactivity? I could do that.

The captain saw us crossing the room and called us into his office. I would have preferred to wait at Jim's desk, not really convinced that I belonged in his office anymore -- had I ever? -- but Jim grabbed my arm and propelled me ahead of him. I took a seat at the table in the back of the room, nodding and mumbling something incoherent in response to the captain's greeting.

Jim and Simon both gave me a sharp look that I ignored, before turning to a discussion of the current murder case. I listened without comment, probably a first for me, and filed away information that I thought might be pertinent. A couple of times, I opened my mouth, on the verge of blurting out an idea that came to mind, but managed to catch myself in time, narrowly avoiding further humiliation. I wasn't here to work on the case, I reminded myself, or to even offer suggestions. I was here as Jim's guide. That was my one and only function. My sole duty was to offer Jim advice and guidance in the use of his sentinel abilities. I couldn't lose sight of that. How many problems could've been avoided if I had realized that sooner?

I didn't notice Jim and Simon staring at me until it registered in my mind that the conversation had stopped. I looked up, my eyebrows asking, "What's up?"

"Sandburg, is there something going on that we should be aware of?" the captain asked.

Well, they were bound to notice my improved behavior eventually, so the question didn't really surprise me. "I don't think so," I said slowly, not wanting to commit to a direct answer.

He narrowed his eyes at me, and looked like he wanted to say something else, but Rhonda interrupted with the news that the fax Jim was waiting for had just arrived. I stood to follow Jim from the office, grateful for the reprieve. I should have saved my thanks.

"Sandburg," the captain called after me, "hold on for just a minute."

I reluctantly turned and stepped back into his domain, taking the seat that he indicated directly in front of his desk. And waited for the shoe to drop.

"It's obvious to everyone that something is bothering you, son," he said.

Son? Since when has the captain ever called me anything but Sandburg? Since never. I doubt if he even knew I had a first name. I was still trying to reconcile this latest development, when he continued.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Twice shocked in the space of thirty seconds. Could be a new record. Unwilling to explain the New and Improved Sandburg to the man, I decided to play dumb. "There's nothing to talk about. Everything's fine."

I could tell by his expression that he wasn't buying it, but then, I hadn't really expected him to. I didn't care if he believed me or not. I wasn't here to satisfy him or his curiosity. I was here to help Jim. Looking into the deceptively concerned eyes of the captain, though, I had to keep reminding myself of that fact.

"Sandburg, is something going on between you and Jim?"

"Jim and I are fine." That came out just a little sharper than I had intended, and he narrowed his eyes at me. I dropped my gaze. "I'm sorry, S--captain. I..." I searched for a plausible lie. "I just have a few things on my mind right now. There's no problem, really."

"Problems at the university?"

I couldn't conceal a frown at the question. I knew he hadn't meant that the way I took it. I knew it wasn't a dig about me not being able to handle my 'real' job. I guess I was just feeling a tad insecure already, because that comment really made me angry for a minute. "No, sir." I managed to keep the irritation from my voice. "Everything's fine." I left it at that and hoped that he would, too.

"You just haven't been yourself the past couple of days."

The past couple of days? Try the past week, I wanted to shout. For detectives, these guys sure weren't very observant.

"Don't think I'm complaining or anything," he went on with a smile in his voice, "but you've been uncharacteristically quiet."

That comment, or rather the way he chose to phrase it, did it. He had looked and sounded so concerned up to this point. He'd almost fooled me...again. But that comment was like a bucket of cold water in my face. My eyes were wide open once more. I wouldn't be fooled twice.

Letting my anger at myself for almost falling for his deception get the best of me, I jumped to my feet. "I wish you people would make up your minds. I talk too much, you complain. I get it through my head and shut up, you still complain. What do you want? I'm confused here, Captain Banks, you're going to have to enlighten me. I thought an obedient little observer was what you wanted. Am I still not getting it right?"

He stared at me, and I swear I could see steam coming from his ears., and I knew that I had gone too far. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to run for cover.

When Banks spoke, his voice was deep and low, a testament to his efforts to control his temper. "Sandburg, I don't know what bug you have up your ass, but let me suggest that you find a way to take care of it. God only knows why, but for some reason Jim is worrying himself sick over this funk you've got yourself in. Now, I don't care if you tune out everything else I've said, you get this part straight. Jim doesn't need this right now. He's got problems enough on his mind without having to coddle a smart-ass kid that thinks he's grown. Do you understand me, Sandburg? You get your act together, and you give Jim the support he needs, or you get the hell out of my department. Do I make myself clear?"

His words hit me like a punch in the stomach. Clear? Oh, yeah, he'd made himself crystal clear. My only reason for being here was to support Jim, and obviously, he felt I was failing that. Yeah, I got that loud and clear.

I guess I must have looked as stricken as I felt, because when I looked back up at Simon, I could see his anger visibly dissolving. He opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to apologize or something, but I beat him to it.

"I'm sorry, sir. I thought I was giving Jim the support his needs. I guess I was mistaken--"

"Sandburg, that's not what I--"

I continued over his protest, keeping my tone deliberately low and calm. "I'll 'get my act together', sir, just as soon as I figure out what the hell that act is supposed to be. Do you want me quiet, or do you want me to talk? Do you want me out of the way, or do you want me working with Jim?" Do you want me dead, or do you want me on the other side of the country? "I don't know what you want. Do you?"

He just stared at me in stunned silence. I think he was trying to figure out how he had lost control of the conversation. It didn't matter. Without waiting for an answer, I turned and quietly left the office. He didn't try to stop me.

Jim was standing next to the elevator, waiting for me while he studied a sheaf of papers -- the fax, I figured. Judging by the distracted glance he gave me as we entered the elevator, he evidently hadn't been listening in on the conversation in the captain's office. Just as well, I sighed.

It wasn't until Jim and I arrived at the empty lot where the murder victim had been discovered that Banks' comments finally soaked into my dense brain. I waited until Jim had pulled the truck over to the curb and cut the engine, then said, "The captain said you've got some things on your mind, Jim."

I couldn't miss the sarcasm in the look he shot me. "You mean besides you?"

A flash of guilt shot through me. I guess Jim wasn't the only one that had missed a few clues lately. I'd been so caught up in my own self-pity the past week that I'd failed to notice that Jim had been distracted. Now that I thought about it, Jim had been more than merely distracted, he'd seemed...worried about something. I knew this case was giving him some grief, but had I missed something important?

"Look, Chief..."

I barely even noticed that I didn't mentally wince at the nickname this time.

"This case has been one headache after another. It's nothing, really. Simon shouldn't have said anything."

He was lying. I didn't have to be a sentinel to see that. There was something he didn't want me to know, and, of course, that meant I had to know.

"Jim, if something is bothering you, maybe we should discuss it." I effortlessly dropped my voice to the soft tone that I used when I wanted him to really listen to me, like when we were working with one of his senses. He had never failed to respond to it before, but I guess there's a first time for everything.

"I agree. Let's discuss my problems, shall we? Right after we discuss whatever the hell is bothering you!"

Touché. What could I say? I turned to look out the side window, not wanting him to read my expression. This was different, wasn't it? Jim couldn't equate my personal problems with a problem he was having with a case. Could he? Maybe my personal problems weren't just mine. I thought I had been dealing with them on my own, but had I?

I glanced over at Jim. He was watching me expectantly. All this time, I thought he hadn't even noticed what's been going on with me. Or maybe I thought he just didn't care. I should've known better. This was Jim I was talking about here. Regardless of anything I might have overheard that night outside the loft door, I knew at that moment, looking into his irritated, but sincerely concerned blue eyes, that Jim was my friend.

I opened my mouth, determined to find words to make up for what a jackass I'd been lately, but I never got the chance. My mind vaguely registered the sound of exploding glass before I was hit by a blinding pain that wiped out all sane thought. My eyes suddenly stopped working, though I was sure they were still open. Something wet was running down my face. I tried to lift my hands to wipe it away, but someone grabbed them and pulled me down, across the seat of the truck. I felt the crunch of glass under me. A voice was speaking softly in my ear, but I couldn't concentrate on the words. All I could think about was the pain, the unbelievable agony that was everywhere -- my arms, my chest, my neck, my face.

I didn't know what had happened, and at that moment, I didn't really care. All I knew was that it hurt like hell. The voice in my ear continued to speak. Desperate to find some small oasis of sanity in the madness of my pain, I clung to the sound. Someone kept pulling at my hands, and eventually I understood I was still trying to raise them to my face.

The voice finally penetrated, and I realized it was Jim and he was begging me to lay still, and to relax and keep breathing. I was breathing, wasn't I? I stopped struggling long enough to check. That was a mistake. The wet, gurgling noise I heard as I sucked at the air sounded nothing like breathing, and I panicked. My struggles increased, and though I dimly realized it was Jim I was fighting, I was spurred on by my fear.

Hands were suddenly all over me, pulling me out of Jim's hold -- when had he picked me up? -- and out of the truck. There were sounds all around me now, voices, sirens, but I clung only to Jim's soft tones as he continued to speak in my ear. Exhausted now, and strangely weak, I gave up the struggle against the hands, sinking down into something soft. The sounds began to fade until the only thing that registered in my brain was the soothing sound of my sentinel's voice. And then at last, that, too, faded, and I gave in to the lure of the darkness.

Darkness was the only constant. I could tell when I was conscious by the increase in the pain, but the darkness remained. I fought against it when I could, but lost the battle each time. Occasionally, I found Jim's voice in the darkness, but I could never manage to hold on to it. Each time I faded out I felt as though I had failed him.

When once more, Jim's voice pulled at me, I determined to use it as an anchor to hold me to consciousness. I focused on the soothing tones, drawing closer to full awareness with each syllable. When I finally crossed over that invisible line separating this world from the one I'd inhabited for so long, I made two discoveries. The first, and I was sure the most important, was the pain. It struck so severe and so intense that I almost let myself spiral back into the void. It was only Jim's voice that gave me incentive to continue the journey. That led to the second discovery. Jim wasn't talking to me. There was someone else in the room.

Afraid to move and still not certain I was entirely conscious, I focused on the voices, trying to make out words. Finally, they began to make sense to my scrambled brain.

"It's not your fault, Jim." I knew that voice, but was too tired to try to name it.

"Damn it, Simon!" Well, that solved that mystery. "This wouldn't have happened if I had taken McGuire's threats seriously. I should've at least discussed them with Blair. He had a right to know what was going on."

McGuire? The name meant nothing to me, but I wasn't sure how much faith could be placed in my memory at the moment.

"You thought you were protecting the kid, Jim. You can't be faulted for that. Come on, everyone's noticed the strain Sandburg's been under lately. The last thing he probably needed was something else to worry about."

"I never stopped to consider that Blair might be in danger from McGuire's threats. I never thought..."

I heard the despair in Jim's voice, and I wanted to say something to comfort him, to let him know I was okay, but I when I swallowed as a prelude to speaking, an unbearable pain washed over me, almost driving me back into oblivion. It was a long time before I was able to push the pain back enough to find the voices again.

"I feel really bad for coming down on the kid so hard," Simon was saying. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like I did." There was a moment of silence, then the captain said, "I thought if he couldn't talk to you, maybe he would talk to me. I was just trying to help. "

"I'm sure he knows that, Simon."

"No, Jim, I don't think he does. But I'm going to make damn sure to tell him."

I did know. I knew it even as I was yelling at the captain, but my anger and pride kept me from admitting it. I wanted to tell Simon that, but I couldn't bring myself to make another attempt at talking just yet.

"Blair's been under so much stress lately," Jim said. "He's holding down two full-time jobs between his work with me and his teaching at the university, plus his own studies and the sentinel work. He's stretched too thin. That's too much for anyone to handle."

"I think we've all been expecting too much from the kid, Jim. We know he's not a cop, yet we all forget that sometimes and expect him to think and act like we do. It's not going to happen. He's not like we are, and he's never going to be, but you know what? I wouldn't change that."

"Yeah," sighed Jim, "Sandburg has a style all his own."

"That Sandburg style has been good for you, Jim. A lot of the kid has rubbed off on you, and you're a better cop because of it, not to mention a better human being."

"He's been good for us all."

There was a moment of silence, and I think I was holding my breath.

Then Simon said softly, "I know." Then louder, "But if you tell him I said that, you'll find your ass on school patrol so fast you won't know what hit you. Do you understand me, mister?"

Don't worry, Simon, it'll be our secret.

The two men continued to talk, but I was no longer listening. I'd heard all I needed to hear. I let the sound of their voices lull me to sleep.

When I awoke again, there was only one voice, my sentinel's. He spoke from somewhere close by, and he was speaking directly to me. He was telling me that some of the guys from the station had been by to see me, but the doctor wouldn't let them in until I woke up. I figured that was my cue, so I made a massive effort to open my eyes. I panicked when they refused to obey, and I guess it was that panic that increased my heart rate enough for Jim to determine that I'd rejoined the land of the living.

"Chief?"

I wanted to answer him, but speech, too, proved impossible. My panic, and therefore, my heart rate, increased further.

"Shh...it's okay," Jim's voice soothed. I felt his warm hand on my forehead, pressing gently, but firmly, as I struggled weakly in alarm. "Don't try to move, Chief. Just lay still, breathe deep. Come on, you know the drill. Slow and easy."

The calming tones of his voice finally penetrated my mounting hysteria, and I began to slow my breathing. At last, I relaxed back into the pillows that propped me up.

Jim eased the pressure on my forehead, but let his hand remain. "It's okay, Chief. Just relax," he continued to soothe. "I know that had to be scary, but it's not as bad as you think."

Not as bad as I thought? I couldn't open my eyes, couldn't talk, and I couldn't move my arms. It was safe to say, I thought it was pretty bad.

"You have bandages on your eyes, but the doctor says there's no permanent damage. It'll just take a little while to heal."

I turned my face toward the sound of his voice, opening my mouth, though no sound came out. He must have understood.

"There was some damage to your throat, Blair, but they did some fancy surgery that fixed it right up. There's still some swelling that's making it difficult to talk. The doc says it should go down in another couple of days."

Jim's hand grasped mine and squeezed briefly. "For now, we'll just have to communicate in a round about way."

I weakly squeezed his hand in understanding.

"I'm going to go get the doctor, okay? I'm sure he's going to want to know you're back with us. I'll be right back. Are you going to be all right?"

I nodded weakly, and he moved away. A few minutes later, the room filled with people, or at least that's what it sounded like. Hands poked and prodded me, while a man, the doctor, I presume, filled me in on my condition. I tried to listen, to focus on his words, but I was searching for Jim's voice in the confusion. I needed to know he was still there, but I couldn't find him.

Suddenly, he was beside me again, his hand on my arm. "It's okay, Chief. I'm right here. Just relax and listen to the doctor."

I tried to do what he said. I turned my head toward where I thought the doctor was, though God knows why, and tried to listen to him. Jim's hand on my arm did more to calm me than all the doctor's assurances that I'd suffered no permanent damage despite the seriousness of the injuries. I had a thousand questions, but no way to ask them. I'm not sure I could've found the energy even if I'd had a voice. The warmth of Jim's hand and the lull of the doctor's voice worked magic on my fear and soon I found myself drifting off to sleep again.

I don't know how long I slept, but when I awoke again, Jim was there. His hand still rested heavily on my arm. I turned my head gingerly in his direction, wondering if he was asleep. I didn't have to wonder long.

"Hey, buddy."

I tried a smile, not sure how successful I was, but I think he got the idea.

His hand withdrew, and I guess I must have panicked, because he quickly said, "It's okay, Chief. I'm still here. I'm just going to get you some water. I'm sure your mouth is dry."

After a minute, I felt a straw on my lips.

"Tiny sips, okay? Your throat is still swollen, so swallowing might be difficult. Just take it slow."

I did as he suggested, but even that was too much. If I'd had a voice, I would have used it to curse just then. Agony shot through my neck and chest at the effort. I turned my head away. I preferred cotton mouth to trying that again.

"It's okay," Jim assured me, though I could have argued otherwise. "We can try again later."

I heard the chair legs scrape on the floor, and then his hand returned to my arm.

"Do you need anything?"

I slowly shook my head. I needed information more than anything, but I didn't know how to convey that.

"Do you remember talking to the doctor earlier?"

I did, vaguely, but could recall very little of what the man had said, so I shook my head, hoping Jim would fill in the details.

"I guess I should start at the beginning, though I'm not sure just where that is." Jim paused for a minute, and I could hear him take a deep breath. "Your injuries were caused by flying glass, Chief. The passenger side window was hit by a bullet, causing it to explode inward. There was embedded glass and lacerations on your arms, face, neck, and chest."

As Jim talked, I managed to coax my right arm into moving -- Jim was still holding my left one -- and cautiously began exploring the damage. A slight tug on the back of my wrist told me there was an IV attached. I found bandages across my chest and arms. My hand moved up and gingerly touched the gauze that covered my neck.

"There was some damage to your throat. They operated right after you were brought in, removed some glass and repaired the damage. The doctor assured me there will be no permanent damage. Once the swelling goes down, you'll be able to talk just fine, though you'll probably have to take it easy for a week or two -- no classes or lectures for awhile, I'm afraid."

I dropped my hand back to my side, afraid to explore any further. What I had already found was bad enough.

As though reading my mind, Jim continued. "Your face probably feels worse than it actually is. You took a good many stitches, but most of the cuts weren't very deep. You do kind of look like Frankenstein's monster, though."

I had to smile at the visual image that evoked.

"Yeah, kind of messed up that handsome face the women all drool over. But the doc says they'll be able to fix up the worst of the scars later on down the road. Don't worry about it. You'll be a lady killer again before you know it."

I lifted my hand to the bandages on my eyes in silent question.

"You're eyes are going to be fine," Jim assured me. "Just a few cuts, nothing very serious. The doc just wanted to give them a chance to heal before you tried to use them. In fact, I think he said something about removing the bandages tomorrow. How's that sound?"

I smiled, and this time, I was pretty sure it actually reached my mouth.

"You're going to be fine, Blair."

Though the words were directed at me, I had the feeling they were just as much for Jim's benefit. That's when I realized how hard this must have been for him. If I had doubted his feelings of friendship before, I no longer did.

"I'm sorry, Blair."

I could hear the guilt in his voice, and I knew where this was going, but I could say nothing to stop him.

"I should have talked to you about this before it got so out of hand. We...well, that is, everyone working on this murder case, has received threats from McGuire. Of course, we didn't know who he was until they caught him after he took that shot at the truck. Sammy McGuire, small time hood, with delusions of grandeur. Tried to move up to the time honored profession of assassin, but he didn't have the brains to carry it off. We were getting close, and he knew it. That's where the threats came in. I should have discussed it with you, Chief. I had no right to exclude you from something that so obviously involved you. Maybe if I'd told you about them, maybe..."

With my right hand, I reached across to my left arm and took Jim's hand. I gave it a weak squeeze to be sure I had his attention, then slowly shook my head, hoping he would get the message. There was nothing to blame himself for. It was no one's but McGuire's fault that I was laid up in a hospital room feeling like I had gone ten rounds with a cheese shredder. The communications problems we had been having lately...well, that we could both take the blame for. We had both made some mistakes, but they weren't insurmountable. It was simply a matter of opening back up the lines of communication. We would have a lot of talking to do...when I got my voice back. That was all right. We had plenty of time. I wasn't going anywhere.

The End? Not really. Remember, there are two sides to every story.
Jim's side of the story -- Soulspeak

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