Mark of the Beast
Part 2

Simon Banks pulled his sedan to the curb with a confused frown. He glanced again at the slip of paper in his hand, double checking the address scrawled there. Yeah, this was it.

Damn. Jim was right. The place is a dump.

The Cascade police captain stepped out of the car, locked it and headed into the building. He took the stairs to the fourth floor and quickly found the door he was looking for. With more than a little apprehension, Simon knocked. Several long minutes of silence followed, before he knocked again.

Please, God, let the kid be here.

Simon had tried to call, only to be informed by a recording that the number was no longer in service. It was possible the kid had moved, but Simon had a hard time believing that. Sandburg had been so hard up for cash, he'd resorted to working nights while he was in Cascade. Where would he have found the money to move this quickly? It had only been a few days since he'd come back to Seattle.

Desperation had forced Simon here, seeking the kid's help, and desperation forced him to make one last try. He knocked again. Discouraged when there was still no answer, Simon turned away, trying to figure his next move. A soft noise from within the apartment drew Simon back. He leaned in toward the door and listened for a moment. There was only silence within.

"Sandburg? Are you in there? It's Simon Banks."

The silence stretched on for so long Simon decided he must have imagined the sound. He was about to give up when the door opened the slightest crack.

"Captain Banks?"

"Yeah." Simon frowned at the reception he was receiving. He knew Sandburg had asked Jim not to come down here, but Simon honestly hadn't expected to be made to feel quite so unwelcome. "I need to talk to you, Sandburg. Can I come in?"

The door opened another inch. "That's not a good idea, Captain. You really should just go."

"I can't do that." Banks let his irritation through. He didn't have time for these juvenile games. "This is important, and I'm not leaving here until you at least talk to me."

Blair's hesitation lasted much too long. Simon decided to lay his cards on the table, hoping it would make the difference. "Sandburg...Blair, it's Jim. He's been shot, and I think he needs you."

The one eye showing through the crack widened just before the door was yanked fully open. The swift move surprised Simon, but not nearly as much as the sight that greeted him. Blair stood anxiously before him. A mottling of purple and red ran across his left jaw, fading as it neared his ear. A deep red gash, held together by butterfly bandages, marred the right cheek. His right arm, held tight against his side in a way that spoke of bruised or maybe cracked ribs, was encased in plaster from his elbow to his palm.

"Good Lord, Sandburg!" Simon exclaimed. "What happened to you?"

"Accident," Blair evaded. "What about Jim? How bad is he hurt?"

Simon frowned at the non-answer, but realized he didn't have time to push it right now. There would be time later. "It was a bad bust...two days ago. Jim was shot in the shoulder. He lost a lot of blood before we got to him, but the wound itself isn't that dangerous. He's been unconscious since it happened. The doctors are at a loss to explain it and frankly, I don't think they know what to do about it. Medically, they say there's no reason for him to still be out. I was thinking that maybe...Hell, I've never claimed to understand this Sentinel business, but I wondered if it might be related to his senses in some way."

Sandburg didn't hesitate. He grabbed his jacket from a chair by the door. "Let's go," he said, pulling the door shut and locking it.

Simon stared, his mouth hanging open in surprise. He hadn't expected it to be this easy.

"Come on, Captain," Blair urged, already heading for the stairs. "We don't have time to waste."

Simon shook himself free of the temporary paralysis and, with a quick prayer of thanks, hurried to follow the young man down the stairs.

~~~

"He's zoned," Blair said into the up-to-now silent car. "It's the only thing that makes sense. Nathan has trouble with anesthesia and some medications, because of his senses. But it has the opposite affect on him. He doesn't want to stay under, or his senses spike." Blair realized he was thinking aloud, but Simon didn't seem to mind, so he continued. "What you described in Jim sounds more like a senses thing than a medication thing. He could be zoned on the pain..." That made sense. Blair stopped talking and chewed his lip as he thought. That hadn't ever happened with Nathan, but that didn't mean it couldn't happen. "Was Jim conscious at all after he was shot?"

Simon shook his head, his eyes still on the road ahead. "He was unconscious when we got there, but there was a window of about twenty minutes before we could get to him. He could have been conscious then."

Blair nodded. If his theory was correct, Jim probably was conscious then. And if he'd had a Guide there with him, he could have been talked through it. Jim could have found the dial, controlled the pain and this wouldn't have happened. Blair's guilt swelled within him to the point where he found breathing difficult. He should have called Doctor Grier by now. He should have found Jim a Guide. This shouldn't have happened.

They arrived at the hospital, and Simon led the way to the ICU. Blair waited somewhat impatiently while the captain argued with the nurses at the desk for permission to take Blair in to see Jim. In the end, Simon pulled out a story about Blair being Jim's cousin and the only family in the area. A skeptical look met the lie, but it served its purpose and within minutes Blair was approaching Jim's bed.

The Sentinel was as pale as the sheet that covered him, but other than that, the thick white bandage swathing his left shoulder, the IV line, and the heart monitor beeping persistently in the background, Jim could have been merely sleeping.

Blair took a deep breath, wincing a bit as it pulled on his sore ribs, and moved closer to the bed. Simon waited at the door, a silent guard to assure Blair the time and privacy he needed to reach the Sentinel.

Lowering the railing, Blair sat gently on the edge of the bed and took Jim's hand. He started rubbing small circles on the back of the hand with his thumb. At the same time, he began to speak, his voice soft, but firm.

"Jim, I know you're in there, and I'm pretty sure you can hear me. I want you to listen very carefully and follow my instructions. Okay? Now, I know you're in a lot of pain, but I can help you with that. Listen to me carefully. Remember the dials? You have to find the dial for touch and lower it, okay? Right now, it's all the way up. You have to bring it down. Picture the dial and slowly begin to lower it. One notch at a time, okay? Not too fast, or you'll lose it. Let's just bring it down one notch at a time. Find the dial, Jim, and slowly turn it down."

Blair continued the litany of instructions for almost half an hour. Once, he was vaguely aware of Simon speaking with someone at the door, but he couldn't spare his concentration to follow the conversation. He only hoped the captain could discourage anyone wanting to disturb them. He was getting through to Jim, he knew it. He could feel it. Jim was coming back.

After another five minutes, the heart monitor confirmed it. As it began to beep faster, Simon moved up beside the bed. Blair spared enough of his attention to throw the man a small smile of victory before turning back to Jim. The smile grew when he saw a pair of dazed blue eyes trying to focus on him.

"Chief?" The voice was quiet, weak, but lit a warmth in Blair's heart.

"Yeah, Jim, it's me." Blair had a hard time talking around his face-splitting grin.

Jim smiled tiredly, fighting to keep his eyes open.

"Everything's okay now, Jim," Blair assured the Sentinel. "Go ahead and rest."

"I'll go find his doctor," Simon said. "I imagine he'll want to know Jim's awake."

Blair watched as Jim gave up the fight and let his eyes close. He looked down and saw he still held the man's hand. Setting it gently down on the bed, he stood. The loss of the connection was like a physical blow to the Guide. He sucked in a breath and reached again for Jim's hand, desperate to feel that security, that serenity again. Before he could make contact, there was movement at the door and a wiry little man in a lab coat entered in a flurry, followed by a nurse and Simon.

Blair was ushered unceremoniously out of the way. Simon laid a hand on the young man's shoulder, gently steering him out the door. "Let's go find some coffee while they examine Jim." Seeing Blair's reluctance to leave, he added, "We can come back later, when they're finished."

Blair nodded and followed Simon to a nearby waiting room. The captain pushed Blair down onto the green vinyl couch there, then disappeared momentarily. When he returned, he was carrying two large Styrofoam cups of coffee. Blair gratefully accepted the one Simon held out to him.

For several minutes, they sat quietly, sipping the steaming liquid. Then Simon said, "Thank you."

Blair looked up, meeting the dark eyes of the captain. He couldn't hold the gaze and quickly turned away again. "Don't thank me, Captain. It was my fault this happened in the first place. I promised Jim I would find him a Guide, but I haven't yet. I let him down."

"A Guide could have prevented this?"

"Yes...maybe..." Blair sighed. "I don't know. He must have had his senses wide open when he was shot. The shock was more than he could handle in that state. If I'd been--If he'd had a Guide there to help him, he could have dialed it down before it got out of control. The zone was his body's way of protecting him from the intensity of the pain until..."

"Until his Guide could help him deal with it," Simon finished.

Blair nodded, still staring into this coffee cup. "I should have called Doctor Grier. I promised him I would. I let him down."

"Kid, it looks to me like you have plenty on your plate as it is."

Blair resisted the urge to look up again.

"Sandburg...did Wester do that?"

Blair gently swirled the liquid in the cup, watching as the ripples in the surface collided with the sides of the Styrofoam only to bounce back in toward the center. Sort of like his life. No matter what he did, where he headed, he always ended up back in the same place. He'd seen a dog tethered to a clothesline once. The animal could run freely up and down the length of the line, but no further. Some days, that was how he felt. Today was one of those days.

"Sandburg?"

Blair set the coffee down on a table at the end of the couch and stood. He walked over to the doorway and peered down the hall toward the double doors leading to the ICU. "What do you think's taking them so long? Shouldn't they be finished by now?"

Behind him, he heard Simon sigh deeply, then the squeak of vinyl as the man stood. "Sandburg--" Simon began again.

Blair turned finally to face the man. "Look, Captain Banks, I appreciate your concern, but it's misplaced, believe me."

"I don't think so," Simon stated simply. His eyes said much more -- more than Blair was willing to hear. It was nothing he hadn't already told himself. "With all due respect, sir, you really don't know what you're talking about. Nathan didn't do this. I had an accident." The lies fell easily from his lips. "I'm clumsy. Ask anyone that knows me. My brain and body don't always work in tandem. And you've seen the stairway in my building. It's dark and narrow. A hazard. Easy to trip on."

"So, you're saying you fell on the stairs?" The captain's expression clearly stated what he thought of that excuse.

Blair turned back to look down the hallway again. "Yeah, that's what I'm saying." Where was that doctor? How long did it take to examine someone anyhow? Blair really needed to get back to Seattle soon.

"Sandburg--"

Blair took a deep breath and turned back to face the captain. He could see the determination in the man's expression, but he wasn't about to give him what he wanted. He couldn't. Instead, he settled for a half-truth. "Nathan is a good cop, Captain Banks. One of the best in the department, as I'm sure you know. Only part of that is due to the senses. He was a good cop before they came online. But he is a Sentinel. And there are a lot of instinctual things that play into that that I'm only just becoming aware of.

"Tell me something, Captain, did you notice a change in Jim when Nathan and I came to Cascade the first time? Did his behavior alter in any way?"

He could see the captain consider the question.

After a minute, Blair answered his own question. "Jim was irritable and apprehensive, wasn't he? He was on edge...kinda nervous."

Simon looked up, nodded. "I guess he was. I put it down to stress over the case."

"I noticed the same behavior in Nathan. I have a theory. I think that Sentinels are territorial by nature, that they feel an instinctual imperative to protect what's theirs. Nathan, as another Sentinel, was viewed by Jim as a threat to his territory, and Nathan viewed Jim as a threat to his Guide. He was simply trying to protect what's his."

"You talk like the man owns you, Sandburg."

"In a way, he does." Concerned by the expression that statement elicited, Blair hurried to add, "At least in his eyes."

"And you don't mind being thought of as a possession?"

Blair frowned. "Hell, yes, I mind! But I also understand the motivation behind that mindset. It's an imperative that I can see as having been important to primitive Sentinels. A Guide would have meant the difference between survival and death, not just for the Sentinel, but for the whole tribe."

"So, you're saying Wester is genetically predisposed to beating the shit out of you in order to protect his claim?"

"I told you, Wester didn't do this. I--"

"--fell, yeah, I heard you. Let me ask you something, son. Do you intend to live like this for the rest of your life?"

Blair walked back across the room and sat down on the couch, retrieving his coffee as he did. Let the man think what he would. Blair had no answer to that question...not even for himself.

~~~

Simon saw Brown and Rafe approaching and met them at the door.

"Hey, Captain, how's Jim?" Brown asked.

"He's doing great," Simon answered, pleased to finally have a good report to give. "Now that he's awake, they've upgraded his condition. He's resting right now, but they'll be moving him into a regular room in the morning. If he continues to improve, they're talking about letting him go home the day after."

"That's great, sir," Rafe said, a huge smile splitting his face. "They still don't know what caused the coma?"

Simon shook his head. "Or what brought him out of it." Simon knew the answer to that one but kept it to himself. He was still amazed at what he had witnessed between the two men just a couple of hours ago. With the benefit of nothing more than his voice and his touch, Sandburg had managed to do what a whole hospital full of trained doctors could not. There was certainly more to the kid than met the eye. Though Simon had suspected that before, he now knew it for certain.

"Is that Sandburg?" Brown asked.

Simon turned to glance at the figure sleeping on the hard vinyl couch of the waiting room. He had offered to take the kid home earlier, right after they had talked to the doctor, but Sandburg had wanted to wait a bit longer on the chance he could see Jim again. He'd fallen asleep about an hour ago, his head pillowed on his bunched up jacket. Simon had given in to his paternal instincts when he'd noticed the young man shivering in his sleep and draped his own coat over him.

"What happened to him? He looks like he went a few rounds with Tyson."

Simon felt his jaw clench in frustration at the question. He forced it loose and said, "Fell. Down the stairs." His tone conveyed more than his words.

The two detectives exchanged a knowing look.

"Wester?" Rafe asked.

"He denies it."

"But you don't buy it," Brown hazarded.

Simon shrugged, not bothering to answer.

"I don't get it," Rafe commented. "What's that man's hold on Sandburg? I know his dissertation is tied to him somehow, but Blair just doesn't strike me as the kind that would take that kind of abuse from anyone."

"There has to be more to it than the diss," Brown ventured. "They're not involved in a relationship, I'm sure of it. But there's something there, some kind of connection that's holding the kid there. I just can't figure it out."

Simon studied the young man as he slept. The dark bruise on his jaw stood in sharp contrast to the paleness of his face. Sleep softened the lines of tension around his eyes and mouth, making him look scarcely older than Simon's own teenaged son. He knew the hold Wester had over Sandburg, though it obviously was much stronger than Simon understood if Sandburg was willing to endure the abuse rather than break it. Still, it was hard to dismiss the very real danger the boy had placed himself in.

"Doesn't matter," he said, as much to himself as to his men. "You can't help someone that doesn't want to be helped." Without Sandburg's cooperation, there was nothing Simon could do.

~~~

Something soft was under his face, and something warm and heavy was draped over the upper part of his body. Other than that, Blair was distinctly uncomfortable. The cold of the vinyl beneath him was leaching his body heat, slowly but surely, and that only served to emphasis the soreness in his ribs and arm.

Cracking an eye, Blair took in his surroundings. Through sleep fuzzed vision, he made out the dark shape of several figures a few feet away. He blinked a few times and the shapes became recognizable. Captain Banks and two of the detectives Jim worked with -- Rafe and Henri. Blair smiled tiredly. Jim had some good friends. He liked the two detectives. They had treated Blair decently, made him feel welcome at the station.

It was a different story in Seattle. He'd worked with Nathan for close to two years, and many of the detectives there still couldn't accept his presence. Of course, a lot of that was Nathan's fault. The Sentinel never missed a chance to point out Blair's mistakes. Made it kind of hard to earn anyone's respect.

Blair suppressed a groan as he rolled to his back. It was then he noticed that what was draped across him was Captain Banks' coat. Blair glanced over to the small group of detectives in embarrassment. Seeing all three men looking at him, the embarrassment grew. He averted his eyes and pushed himself awkwardly into a sitting position, ignoring the way the movement pulled at his sore ribs.

He didn't like the way the men were looking at him. Too...knowing. He cleared his throat and greeted them. "Hey, guys."

"Hey, yourself, Hairboy," Brown replied. "How you doing?"

"Good," Blair lied. "How's Jim?"

"I haven't heard anything new," Simon informed him. "Last I checked, he was still sleeping."

Blair used his good hand to push his hair from his face. It had worked its way loose from the elastic band that he had wrapped around it earlier. He really needed to do something about it. It probably looked pretty bad. But he just couldn't muster the energy. Maybe coffee would help drive the fog from his brain.

Simon sat down on the couch beside him. Blair risked a look up, trying to blink the blur of sleep from his vision.

"Visiting hours will be over in a few more minutes," Simon said. "I don't think they're going to let us in to see Jim again tonight. Why don't you let me run you over to Jim's place? I know he'd want you to stay there. We can be here when visiting hours start in the morning."

Blair was shaking his head before Simon had even finished. "I can't. I've got to be back in Seattle before morning." He stole a quick glance at his watch. "I've already stayed too long." He really wanted to see Jim again before he left. They needed to talk. Assuming Jim would even listen to him after the way he'd run off like he had. But he had to get back to Seattle before Nathan came looking for him.

He pushed himself to his feet, swaying as the room spun around him. Strong hands gripped his arms, pushing him back down on the couch.

"Are you all right?"

Blair looked up into the face of the big captain. "Just stood up too fast. I'm fine." To prove it, he stood again, slower this time, and was pleased when the room stayed in place. "I really do have to get back to Seattle." He hesitated, embarrassed to ask Simon for a ride, but he didn't have the money on him for a bus, and he definitely didn't feel like hitching tonight.

Luckily, Simon seemed to understand. "Sure. Come on, kid. I'll take you back."

Blair smiled his thanks and reached for his jacket.

"Hairboy..." Brown started.

Blair looked up, then away when he saw the expression on the dark man's face. He knew where this was heading, but he wasn't going to go there. "It was good to see you guys again. Sorry it had to be under these circumstances." He attempted to push past the detectives, but Rafe caught his arm.

"Sandburg, wait," the young detective said. "If things are...uncomfortable for you in Seattle...you don't have to go back there, you know?"

Blair pulled his arm away, working to control a sudden rush of anger. He was tired of everyone trying to tell him what he did and didn't have to do. "Yeah, I know. I don't have to go back; I choose to go back. Thanks for the concern, guys, but save it for someone who needs it."

He turned and stalked out the door before they could say anything more.

~~~

They were halfway back to Seattle when Blair made his decision. By the time Simon dropped him off at his apartment building, Blair knew that something had to change. He'd been content to study Nathan, work with him on the job and with his senses...until he had met Jim Ellison. It was then he had learned what a Sentinel really could be. Nathan's crass and condescending behavior wasn't the norm for Sentinels as Blair had originally suspected. Jim had shown Blair that Sentinels could be decent, compassionate human beings and still be protectors of the tribe. Blair had been forced to totally revise his earlier assumptions of the guardians. It was knowing this, knowing how it could have been, that convinced Blair he couldn't stay in Seattle. He could no longer justify Nathan's abusive behavior, bonds and responsibilities be damned. He'd be no man's personal punching bag, regardless of the eventual payoff. He wanted his doctorate, sure, but he wanted his life more, and he could no longer convince himself that Nathan wouldn't kill him.

When Nathan had dragged him back from Cascade, Blair had been certain he was going to die at the man's hands. He felt lucky to have gotten off with a few bruises, a cracked rib or two and a broken arm. He'd tried to view the incident scientifically, telling himself that it was instinct, that Nathan would calm down in a few days when he realized Blair was going to stay and that Jim was out of the picture. But he'd come to realize in the past couple of days that it didn't matter. He'd always been just a little bit afraid of the Sentinel. Nathan had never treated him with any respect. If he stayed, he'd always be afraid, and he was not going to live like that. There were other ways, less dangerous ways, to get his degree. He'd go somewhere else, hide out for a while, then enroll in another university. Maybe he could figure a way to write his diss using the information he'd already gathered over the last couple of years. There was probably a way to work it. If not, he could pursue his degree in another area.

He briefly thought of going to Cascade, enrolling at Rainier to finish his degree, but he quickly dismissed the idea. That's the first place Nathan would look for him. And he had no doubt the man would kill him if he found him there again. Or worse, by going to Cascade Blair could be endangering Jim, and there was no way Blair would do that. He'd keep his promise to Jim. He'd find someone to help him with his senses. Then he would disappear.

His decision made, Blair quickened his pace up the stairs to his apartment. Unlocking the door, he stepped into the darkness. He never saw the figure that detached itself from the shadows or felt the blow that felled him.

~~~

Long abandoned warehouses, falling down from neglect, lined the canal on both sides. It was an area that was pretty much deserted even in the daylight hours, and now, in the darkness of the early morning, there was no sign of life. Nathan Wester stood in the doorway of one of these warehouses and gazed with Sentinel enhanced vision across the water, his thoughts on the building behind him, or rather what was in it.

A tremor of pure rage worked its way through him as he recalled the stench that had met his senses when his Guide had walked into his apartment a few hours earlier. The stench was that of the Cascade detective, the Sentinel who was trying to steal away his Guide...his Guide. Well, that was not going to happen, Nathan determined. Ellison would be rotting in hell long before Nathan allowed him near his Guide again.

Whatever it took. That's what Nathan had decided. He would do whatever it took to protect his Guide from Ellison's evil influence. Even if that meant he had to keep the boy hidden away until Ellison gave up and moved on. And Ellison would move on. He had proven himself stubborn to this point, even managing to spirit Blair away to Cascade for a few weeks. Let him try to find Blair. He'd soon tire of the search and move on.

Nathan had known where his Guide had disappeared to those weeks ago. He'd even contemplated retrieving him, but had, in the end, opted to let Blair have his few precious weeks of freedom. He figured the boy would get this new Sentinel out of his system and return to his rightful place at Nathan's side. Nathan had even enjoyed his own freedom for a time. At first, it was nice not to have the obnoxious anthropologist underfoot, spouting his endless dribble of nonsense and stupidity. But as the days dragged into weeks, Nathan had decided that enough was enough and had gone to Cascade to remind the wayward Guide where he belonged.

And he had thought the lesson learned. Until the imbecile had come home last night reeking of the evil that was Ellison. This called for more drastic measures.

Nathan glanced over his shoulder into the darkened warehouse. He couldn't see the room where his Guide was hidden, but a quick extension of his senses told him that Blair was not yet awake. This place was perfect. Deserted enough to assure privacy and secure enough that Nathan could defend it against Ellison, should the need arise.

With a satisfied smirk, Nathan turned back into the warehouse and made his way effortlessly through the darkness to the tiny room in the back. He pushed aside a door that barely clung to rusted hinges and adjusted his vision to accommodate the deeper shadows. Blair still lay exactly as Nathan had left him a couple of hours earlier, face down on a moldy mattress in the corner. Dried blood marred the side of the young man's head, causing Nathan to frown in disapproval. He regretted that injury, but it had been unintentional. He'd reacted out of anger, hitting his Guide and knocking him into the corner of the door frame. Didn't matter. His senses told him that Blair wasn't badly hurt, just unconscious. His heart rate and respiration were close to normal. And the line of connection between them was still there, though weak.

"Ellison's influence," Nathan muttered angrily. The connection had been strong, untouchable until that day in Cascade. Since that moment, when Nathan had first laid eyes on the Cascade detective and felt the stirrings only another Sentinel could invoke, that line of connection had gradually weakened, leaving Nathan feeling strangely adrift and out of control. It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed. But it wasn't beyond repair. He just needed some time alone with his Guide to reestablish the connection, let it strengthen again. And he had to keep Ellison away long enough for that to happen.

Once more, he ran his senses over the Guide. Satisfied that he would awaken soon, Nathan turned away. Later, he would bring some food and water for Blair, maybe a few other things to make him a little more comfortable during his stay. He was due at the station in less than an hour. That was his first priority.

A soft noise stopped Nathan just feet from the main door. He turned and carefully scanned the cavernous room for the source of the sound. Rats scurried in the corners; spiders and roaches crawled noisily through the trash on the floor. But these weren't what he had stopped him. It was more of a...growl. A dog, maybe. If there was an animal of some sort in here, he had to find it and get rid of it. He didn't want his Guide endangered in his absence.

A flash of movement caught his eye. Nathan jerked his head around and again scanned the area. Nothing. The growl repeated and with a curse, Nathan took a step toward the source. His hand automatically came to rest on his gun. Simultaneously, he focused his hearing and vision in an effort to locate the mysterious creature, but the darkness around him only intensified, drawing tighter against him...pressing, pushing at him with an almost physical force. With a rush of panic, Nathan recognized the warnings of an impending zone and mentally flailed against the encroaching blackness. His last awareness was of the deep throated growl of the black cat emerging from the shadows.

~~~

Jim shifted in the bed, wincing as the movement pulled on the stitches in his shoulder. He closed his eyes and searched for the mental dial that controlled the pain. After a few minutes, he gave up. It was so much easier when Blair was talking him through the exercise. Effortless, really. But alone...

Jim sank into the pillows behind him with a sigh. He needed Blair. Why was it so hard for him to admit that? He couldn't control this senses stuff without the Guide. But Blair had made it clear he wasn't available. He'd made his preference plain. Jim didn't know how, or even if, he could change the kid's mind. Maybe he didn't even have a right to try.

The door opened, chasing away the less than comforting thoughts, and Simon entered. Jim forced a smile for his captain and friend. "Hey, Simon."

"Hey, yourself," the man replied moving to the bedside. "I see they found you a real room. How're you feeling?"

"Probably better than I look. Simon..." Jim hesitated, almost afraid to ask the question he needed answered. What if he was mistaken? "Last night..."

Simon picked up when Jim broke off again. "Yes, Jim, Sandburg was here."

"I wasn't sure if I had dreamed it." He tracked Simon with his eyes as the captain pulled a chair close to the bed and sat. "How did he know? Did he call?"

"I went to Seattle and got him."

Jim pulled himself up straighter in the bed, ignoring the way his shoulder clenched in response to the action. "You what?"

"Jim, you were unconscious. The doctors had no idea why and not the first clue what to do about it. I played a hunch that it was a Sentinel thing and did the only thing I could think of. In light of how it turned out, you should be thanking me."

"Thanks, Simon. Where is he? Is he coming back?" Jim tried not to sound too hopeful.

Simon shook his head. "He went back to Seattle last night. He said he'd call you. He has a theory about you zoning on the pain or something like that. I'm sure he can explain it to you better, but he's carrying a load of guilt over the whole thing. Says a Guide could have prevented it. He promised he would make finding you one a top priority."

"It's not his fault, Simon," Jim said.

"I know that, Jim, but he sounded awfully sure of himself when he said it. Said that's why Sentinels need someone with them and that he should have found you a Guide before this could happen." There was a brief pause. "Could he have prevented this?"

"I'm not his responsibility." Jim closed his eyes as Blair's voice washed over him. I have a responsibility to Nathan...He's a Sentinel, and I'm his Guide...I met Nathan first. I wish I hadn't, but I did...I met Nathan first...I have a responsibility to Nathan...I wish I had met you first... "He doesn't owe me a damn thing."

~~~

Something was crawling across his face. Something with way too many legs for his comfort. He was really going to have to do something about the roaches in this place. Blair attempted to reach up and knock the offensive creature away, only to have his hand brought up short, held in place by something cold that pulled painfully against his efforts. He used his other hand, the broken one, to swipe the pest away and opened his eyes. Several hard blinks later, he realized he wasn't in his apartment. Confusion creased his brow, bringing with it a sudden awareness of an intense headache.

Where the hell was he? How did he get here? And why did his head hurt so badly?

He tried to bring his hands up to his throbbing head and was reminded of the restraint on his left hand. He lifted his head, wincing through the pain and dizziness of the movement. When his vision cleared, he glanced down to his hand. A handcuff was wrapped tightly around his wrist, the other end firmly anchored to a pipe that ran along the bottom of the wall.

Blair sat up with a start, which was a big mistake. Vertigo assaulted him, knotting his stomach painfully. He doubled over, breathing deeply through his nose in an effort to fight down the nausea. After several minutes, he felt brave enough to try again -- slowly this time.

He glanced fearfully at his hand once more. No mistake. It was a handcuff, and it was around his wrist. What the hell...? He blinked back the fog at the edges of his vision and looked around. He didn't recognize the room he was in. It was small, scarcely bigger than a closet, with a single dingy window on the wall above his head but beyond his reach, and a door on the opposite wall. Sunlight filtered in through the broken panes of the window, casting dappled shadows across the ratty mattress on which Blair sat. There was nothing else in the room, unless you counted the vermin.

And it was cold.

Blair pulled his knees up to his chest and let his head rest on them. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten here. The last thing he remembered was...was...

Oh, God! Nathan!

Someone had been waiting for him in his apartment. It had to have been Nathan. Fear washed over Blair and quickly grew into panic. The Sentinel had already beaten the shit out of Blair twice for daring to associate with Jim. The last time, Blair had thought the man was going to kill him with his bare hands.

Blair brought his head up slowly, still breathing deeply against the dizziness. Where was Nathan? He listened carefully but could hear nothing beyond his own ragged breaths. It had been late night when he had entered his apartment. He glanced up at the window. Judging from the angle of the sun, it was early afternoon. Nathan should be at the station now. And the man was just cold enough to be there, pretending everything was normal. But why had he brought Blair here and left him like this? Why not simply knock him around at bit like the other times? What did the Sentinel have in mind this time?

Blair did a quick inventory and found that aside from a killer headache, he seemed to be relatively whole. He gingerly probed his forehead, finding the gash responsible for the pain. There was an egg sized lump beneath it, and it was sticky with drying blood. Probably a concussion, Blair decided, judging from the blurred vision and dizziness.

Great. Just freaking great!

Exhaustion swept over him, but he forced it away. If it was a concussion, sleeping wasn't a good idea. Besides, Nathan would probably be returning before long and there was no telling what the man had in mind. Blair had to find a way out of here before he got the chance to find out.

He turned his attention to the handcuff. The pipe it was attached to was solid, with no give and no nearby joints that could be worked loose. Ten minutes of trying to slide his hand out got him a raw wrist but no closer to freedom. He searched his pockets awkwardly, his only free hand being in a cast, for something he could use to pick the lock with. Nathan had been thorough. Not so much as a coin remained.

Frustrated, Blair leaned his head back against the wall. The pounding in his head made it difficult to think, but he had to. Time was definitely not on his side. Nathan could be returning any moment, and Blair didn't even want to speculate what would happen then. This...this was way beyond anything Blair had thought the man capable of. What did Nathan hope to accomplish? Another lesson? That didn't make sense. Why would he bring Blair here and lock him up like this if that was his only intention?

Blair's head began to spin. He was getting nowhere. There was no way to get inside of Nathan's head. No point trying. Besides, Blair was sure he would find out soon enough...when Nathan returned...God help him...

~~~

It's funny how drastically your perspective can change given the right provocation, Blair reasoned. Just a few hours earlier he had been terrified at the thought of Nathan returning. Now, as darkness filled the tiny room that was his prison, it was the realization that Nathan hadn't returned that had Blair on the edge of panic.

Temperatures were dropping. Blair pulled himself into a tighter ball in an attempt to conserve as much body heat as possible. Where the hell was Nathan? He obviously had something in mind when he locked Blair up here like this. Why hadn't he returned? Unless this was his plan. Maybe he intended to leave Blair here alone for a day or so. But why? Where was the lesson in that? Or maybe the point was more punishment than lesson.

Whatever Nathan's intent, Blair was ready for the man to show up. He didn't even care at this point if Nathan beat the hell out of him again. It would be almost worth it to get out of this place.

A fat, gray rat scurried in through the open doorway, disappearing into the shadows of the far corner. Blair pulled his feet closer, a shudder running through him. He hated rats almost as bad as he hated spiders, which seemed to be in abundant supply as well.

Minutes turned into hours, as Blair huddled on the smelly mattress, and still there was no sign of the Sentinel. Above him, through the grimy window with the broken panes, clouds moved in, soon obscuring the few pinpoints of stars that had been Blair's only light. He was desperately tired but was afraid to sleep. There were countless noises all around him. An occasional spoken word seemed to be enough for now to hold the shapeless inhabitants of the dark at bay. He didn't want to think about what interest they might take in him in the defenselessness of sleep.

~~~

It wasn't until he actually opened his eyes that he realized that something was drastically wrong. Gone were the stark white walls, the overpowering stench of antiseptic and sickness and the constant hum of voices from beyond the door. In their place was a scene that Jim instantly recognized, though it had been years since he had last been here. Jungle...without a doubt...Peru? Maybe, though it was hard to tell.

I'm dreaming.

Jim sat up, immediately aware that his shoulder was no longer thrumming with the steady pain that had he had been unable to dial down on his own. He glanced down and was surprised to see he was dressed in camouflage.

A movement at the edge of his vision drew Jim's attention. He jerked his head up and around to find a large black panther standing a few feet away. The panther growled softly and stepped into the brush behind him. Jim watched, fascinated despite his surprise. It was a dream, he reminded himself. Why else would he not be afraid of such an animal? The panther stopped and looked back over its shoulder at Jim. Jim met its gaze, surprised by the plea in the yellow eyes. This creature wanted something from him.

Jim pushed himself to his feet and took a step forward. The panther let out another low growl before turning to take off through the undergrowth. Jim hesitated only a moment before following. At his fastest pace, he could scarcely keep the animal in view.

As he moved, a low sound became audible to Jim's sensitive hearing; the soft whimper of an animal in pain. The whimpering grew louder as they went...a sorrowful sound, filled with such terrible pain and loneliness that Jim could almost physically feel the creature's distress. It tore at Jim's soul in a way that both surprised and frightened him.

The panther disappeared from sight, but Jim continued on toward the sound, knowing that was his destination. When he broke through into a clearing, he saw the panther again. It was crouching beside a wolf, laying still on the ground. The panther nuzzled the creature, a soft whimper of distress in its throat. Jim took a step toward the pair. It was then he caught sight of a third animal in the clearing. Not far from where the wolf and panther lay, stood a bear, reared up on its hind legs. The animal's teeth were bared in an angry snarl, but no sound issued from it's mouth. Jim narrowed his eyes, studying the bear. The dark eyes held no awareness; its chest was unmoving. It seemed frozen in place, not much more than a lifeless hunting trophy.

The panther lifted its head and let out a heart-wrenching sound. Jim took a tentative step in its direction, his gaze never leaving the bear. When the immobilized animal continued to show no sign of life, Jim turned his attention to the panther and wolf. As he approached, he could see the wolf's dilemma. One of its front feet was caught in a hunter's trap, the metal teeth digging deeply into its flesh. Bright red blood covered the injured animal, and on closer examination, Jim could see that not all of it came from the wounded foot. The animal was ragged, its fur matted and torn. Bones jutted out at sharp angles, as though the poor thing had been starved. As Jim watched, the panther eased down, curling itself close around the violently shivering creature.

Jim knelt beside the pair and exchanged an uneasy glance with the panther. The golden eyes shined up at him, asking for something, some form of help for its companion. Jim reached for the trap, then hesitated, unsure of the wolf's reaction. One look into the pitiful creature's pain-glazed blue eyes was all it took. He grabbed the cold metal trap in both hands and, with strength he knew he didn't possess in the waking world, he forced the jaws apart, freeing the animal.

The panther looked up at him, gratitude shining bright from its golden eyes. Jim found himself grinning back, but the expression froze as he dropped his eyes again to the wolf. The air around the injured animal shimmered briefly, and the wolf began to elongate, stretching and...changing. Jim stood, stepping back in confusion. As he watched, the animal transformed...morphed...and took on the shape of a man. The features solidified, striking a familiar chord in Jim. It was Blair...bruised, bloody...

Jim let out a cry of fury-born fear, stepping toward the battered man...

...and sat up in bed.

His heart was racing, his breath ragged. Fear laced adrenaline ran through him and he fought to remind himself it was only a dream.

But it wasn't a dream.

Jim knew that as surely as he knew that Blair was in trouble. Somewhere, somehow the young Guide was hurt. And he needed Jim. And Jim had to help him.

Jim glanced at the clock on the table beside the hospital bed...6:20 a.m...Simon was probably still in bed.

He undoubtedly wouldn't be pleased to be awakened.

Not for a dream.

Oh, well...

Jim reached for the phone.

~~~

During the long night, as he struggled desperately to remain awake, the two things that remained constant were the fear and the cold. Sometime close to morning, despite his efforts, he had fallen asleep, and now, as he swam toward consciousness, he was aware of something else. It had begun to rain. Cold water found a multitude of entryways into the old building and ran in rivers down the walls. The mattress beneath him was fast becoming damp.

Blair forced his eyes open. Dim light from the cloud-obscured sun dispelled the worst of the shadows, but did nothing to chase away the chill that had worked its way deep into his bones. He rolled to his back, wincing as the movement awakened stiffened joints. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. It had been...how long now since he had eaten? At least a day and a half. Worse even than the hunger or the cold was the thirst. Blair eyed the running rivulets of dirty rainwater, but shook away the idea. He wasn't quite that desperate yet. Surely Nathan would come soon, wouldn't he?

Trying to ignore the hollow rumbling of his stomach, he turned his attention once more to the handcuff. If Nathan wasn't going to come and let him go, he would just have to find a way out himself.

~~~

Five minutes. That's it. Five minutes, and then I'm out of here.

Jim swung his legs over the edge of the bed in preparation for his escape. He was giving Simon five -- four, now -- minutes to come through that door with some kind of news or he was honest-to-God going to leave this place, clothes or no clothes.

With two minutes to spare, Simon pushed open the door to Jim's hospital room and entered. "What do you think you're doing, Detective?!"

Jim ignored the question, but did sit back down on the edge of the bed he was supposed to be resting in. "What did you find?"

"Jim, you not supposed to be--"

"Damn it, Simon! We don't have time for this!" Jim stopped, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, there was an apology in them. "I'm sorry, Simon."

Simon pulled a chair closer and dropped tiredly into it. "It's all right, Jim. I understand. I think."

"So, what did you find?"

The sigh Simon heaved spoke volumes.

"Simon, tell me you talked to Sandburg. Tell me I'm overreacting, and he's fine. "

"Jim..." Simon rubbed the back of his neck, and Jim could almost see him searching for words. "Jim, I couldn't find him."

This was not what Jim wanted to hear. "You tried the university? He teaches there--"

Simon held up a hand to forestall Jim's comment. "I know. You told me. Several times. He's taken an official leave of absence. He applied for it on the twenty-fourth--"

"--the day after he went back to Seattle," Jim finished. "Damn it, Simon, something's going on. You said it yourself, that son of a bitch has been using him as a punching bag."

"Jim, we don't know that for sure. Sandburg said he fell down the stairs."

"That's a load of crap, and you know it!"

"Doesn't matter what I know. Without Sandburg's cooperation, there's nothing we can do about it."

Jim stared at Simon for several moments, then reached behind him and pushed the nurses' call button.

"What are you doing, Jim?" Simon asked warily.

"I'm getting the hell out of here! I'm going to Seattle and confront that son of a bitch Wester!"

"Can I help you?"

"You can start getting together my discharge papers," Jim informed the nurse over the intercom. "I'm leaving."

~~~

Blood slickened the cuffs. Blair bit his lip against the pain and once more tried to force his hand through the unyielding circle of metal. He had hoped the added lubrication would make this easier, but it wasn't proving to be the case. All he was doing was pushing the metal deeper into his flesh. Exasperated and exhausted, he gave the handcuff once last weak jerk before giving up.

He squinted up at the overhead window. He thought it was late afternoon, but the overcast sky made it difficult to tell for sure, and he'd lost all sense of time. Rain still fell both outside and in. Several hours earlier, Blair had finally resorted to drinking the pooling rainwater from the floor. He might starve to death before Nathan deemed it necessary to check on him, but at least he wouldn't dehydrate. He had plenty of water, such as is was.

"Damn it, Nathan!" he suddenly yelled into the room. "Where in the hell are you?!"

His wrist was beginning to really throb. He wished now he hadn't tried quite so vigorously to pull his hand free. He tuned out the pain. There was plenty else to keep his mind occupied.

This didn't make sense. He thought he knew Nathan. Not completely, he would be the first to admit, but this...this was way beyond anything Blair had thought the man capable of.

"Okay..." He spoke aloud, drawing a small measure of comfort from the sound of his voice. "Think...it's what you do best. What would have been Nathan's motivation in bringing me here like this? I came home literally reeking of another Sentinel, one that Nathan had already shown hostility toward." Now there was an understatement! Nathan had nearly beat Blair to death on two previous occasions for daring to go near the other Sentinel. "Nathan was evidently waiting for me in my apartment. He caught scent of the other Sentinel and...well, went primal or something."

Blair stretched out on his side on the damp, smelly mattress, careful not to pull his cuffed wrist any more then he had to. It was throbbing pretty bad now. In fact, his whole body was. His muscles were sore from the constant shivering, and his earlier injuries were making themselves loudly known. His head hurt so bad he was having trouble holding a thought. And he didn't even want to think about how hungry he was.

Pushing his physical problems to the back of his mind, he tried to concentrate on Nathan. It wasn't easy; his thoughts just didn't want to focus.

A movement in the doorway drew his attention. He lifted his head from the mattress and blinked a few times to clear his vision. A large rat sat on its haunches in the opening watching Blair through alert, black eyes.

Blair let his head fall back to the mattress, but kept his gaze on the creature. "What're you looking at?"

The rat twitched its nose a couple of times, as though testing the air.

"If you're looking for the lunch buffet, you're a couple of days early." Blair chuckled weakly at the black humor. "Just leave your name at the door, and someone will notify you when the time comes." The rat dropped down to all fours and ran off.

Blair let his eyes drift closed. "Where was I?" There was a long pause. "Oh, yeah..." he said, finally, "Nathan went primal. I guess he hit me, knocked me out, and brought me here. But why? Punishment? No, that doesn't make sense. He could have just beat me up again and been done with it. It's more like...like he wanted to keep me...contained...controlled. And away from Jim." Blair's voice hitched a bit on the name. Warm memories threatened with the mental picture of the Cascade Sentinel, but he forced them away. He had to make himself concentrate on the problem at hand. He had to figure out what Nathan had planned so he could form some kind of plan of his own.

"Nathan thinks of me as a possession, something he has to guard. If he was operating strictly on rage, he would have just killed me outright. So he had to have brought me here to keep me away from Jim. But to what end?" Was he planning on leaving Blair here forever? Or maybe it wasn't so much to keep Blair away from Jim as it was to keep Jim away from Blair. His eyes opened at the thought. It made more sense that way. Nathan would see Jim as the interloper, the challenge to his territory, his possessions. It made sense that he would take steps to keep Jim from finding Blair.

Not that Jim would try.

Sadness filled Blair at the thought, but he had made it plain to Jim that he was tied to Nathan and would be staying with him. Jim had no reason to come looking for Blair. Not unless he had some serious senses problem. Oh, man, what happened if Jim zoned again? What if something happened to Jim, and he had no one to help him? Blair had theories about long term zone outs. But they were only theories. He'd had no way to test them without deliberately throwing his Sentinel into a zone, something he had never even considered. Based on what he had observed in Nathan during short term zones, it was reasonable to assume that in a prolonged zone the heart would be adversely affected.

Panic tightened Blair's chest. Would that happen to Jim? Or would he take it into his own hands to find a Guide? Please, God, let Jim find a Guide.

Blair groaned in frustration, rolling onto his back. Damn you, Nathan! Just one more day, that's all I needed! He would have made those phone calls he'd promised and found someone to help Jim, then he would have been so out of there! Nathan would have never found him, and he could have gradually gotten his life back. Damn it! It was so unfair. He must have really pissed God off to have ended up like this. Tears of frustration worked their way down the sides of his face to disappear into his hair.

He was going to die here. He knew that now. Whatever Nathan's original intention had been, the fact was, he hadn't returned, and Blair was left here to rot. How long did it take to starve to death? He knew you could only survive three days without water, but he had water, at least for now, and knowing Seattle weather this time of year, he wasn't really worried about running out any time soon. No, he would starve to death long before then.

~~~

"Can I help you?" A short, square-built man with an armload of files stopped long enough to ask the question.

Jim started to speak, but was cut off by a quick look from Banks. The Cascade captain said, "We're looking for Detective Wester."

"Yeah? What a coincidence." Sarcasm colored the words.

"Excuse me?"

The man set the files down on the closest desk. "I'm Detective Michael Morrison. You are?"

"Captain Simon Banks, of the Cascade P. D." Simon offered his hand. "This is Detective Jim Ellison."

Morrison took the hand, shook it, but the wariness didn't leave his expression. "Mind if I ask what your business is with Detective Wester?"

"Actually, we're trying to track down Blair Sandburg. We thought Wester might be able to help us out."

"Sandburg?" The Seattle detective leaned his hip against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "Wester's ride-along? He in trouble with you guys? Doesn't surprise me. I always had him figured for a druggie myself."

Jim's temper flared, and he had to consciously hold it in check as he answered. "No, he's not in trouble. He's a friend. We haven't been able to track him down in a couple of days, and we were becoming concerned."

"Yeah?" Morrison's expression clearly said he wasn't buying one word of it. "Well, if you find the little hippie, you might wanna let us know. He's wanted for questioning in the disappearance of Detective Wester."

"What?!"

"Wester's missing?" Jim's voice overrode Simon's exclamation.

"That's what I said. Going on two days now. He didn't show up for his shift yesterday or today, and we've been unable to locate him. He left here with Sandburg day before yesterday and hasn't been seen since." Morrison's eyes narrowed. "I think maybe the captain might be interested in talking to you two."

"I think that's the most sensible thing you've said yet, Detective," Simon said.

~~~

A deep feeling of foreboding settled over Jim as he and Simon left the police station. The Seattle captain hadn't been much help. Hell, he hadn't been any help. The man was convinced that Sandburg had something to do with Wester's disappearance, as ludicrous as the idea was. These people knew Sandburg; they had worked with him for almost two years. But, Jim reminded himself, they had been influenced by Wester's opinions and actions, and Jim had seen for himself how the man had treated Blair. Still, Blair had managed to charm his way into acceptance at Major Crime in Cascade -- no small feat. The detectives Jim worked with had, in just a few weeks, taken the young man completely into their ranks. Just showed what Blair could do away from Wester's influence.

The two Cascade policemen climbed into Simon's car. "Okay, what do we have?" Simon turned in the driver's seat to face Jim. "Wester has been missing for two days."

"Same as Blair," Jim pointed out. "Something's going on, Simon. I have a bad feeling about this."

Simon sat quietly for a minute. Something was obviously on his mind, and Jim wasn't so sure he wanted to hear it, judging by the captain's reluctance to bring it up.

"Jim...Have you considered the possibility that Sandburg could have had something to do with Wester's disappearance? You and I both know the kid would never deliberately, cold-bloodedly hurt anyone. But what about in self-defense?"

The protest on Jim's lips died at the last question. It was something he hadn't considered until Simon mentioned it.

"Maybe Wester found out Sandburg came to Cascade to help you the other night," Simon continued, seeing that Jim was at least listening. "We both know what the bastard is capable of."

Jim turned the idea over in his head a few times. It made a certain amount of sense. There was just one problem with the logic, not that he expected Simon to understand. "No. Wester's got him somewhere."

"Jim, just consider it for a moment. Maybe he was protecting himself from Wester, and then he got scared and ran. He's a smart kid. It's obvious that there isn't a lot of love for the kid in the Seattle P.D. He would have to know how they would see it. Wester is one of their own, after all."

"No." Jim was adamant. "He would have contacted me if he was in trouble." Jim ran a hand over his face with a sigh. "Look, Simon, I'll grant you that Wester probably found out Sandburg was in Cascade. And, judging by his track record, he probably planned to beat the shit out of the kid for it. Blair might even have tried to act in self-defense. But if he was able, he would have contacted me. If he was scared, he could have come to me, and he knows it. But he couldn't, because Wester has him somewhere. He's hurt, and he needs help." Jim turned to look out the side window. "He's waiting for me. He knows I'm coming."

"Jim, you don't know that-"

"I do know it, Simon!" Jim snapped back around to pin Simon with an angry glare. "I saw him. He was trapped, hurt!"

The captain released a sigh of his own. "I don't want to know this, do I?"

Jim almost smiled at the resignation in the man's voice. "Probably not. Trust me on this, Simon. Please."

Simon looked at Jim for a long, silent moment. "You know I do, Jim," he finally said. "It's this Sentinel thing I'm not so sure of." He cranked the car and put it into gear before looking back at his detective. "Where to?"

"Sandburg's apartment."

~~~

"You know, the Seattle police are bound to have searched here already," Simon pointed out. They were standing outside of Sandburg's locked apartment. "He is a suspect, you know."

"They aren't Sentinels." Jim turned his attention to the lock on the door.

Simon glanced down the hall, pretending not to notice what Jim was doing. He didn't even want to think about the implications of two police officers caught breaking and entering. Of course, they would have to prove Sandburg hadn't given them permission to enter his apartment. And to do that, they would have to find Sandburg.

"Got it," Jim announced, swinging the door open.

The two men entered to darkness. Simon reached for the light switch just inside the door, flipping it on and illuminating the room. A dark, red smudge on the door jamb immediately caught his attention. "Jim!"

The Sentinel turned, instantly spotting the mark. He reached out and let his fingers brush lightly over the spot. He brought his fingers up to his nose, breathing in the scent. "Blood...Blair's."

"You can tell that?" Simon was amazed.

Jim nodded solemnly. His touched the stain again. "There's a residual moisture...faint...it's a day or two old. I can't be more precise than that. Damn it!"

"What else, Jim?" Simon asked, trying to keep Jim focused on the problem at hand. "What else can you find in here?"

Simon watched as Jim did a sensory sweep of the room. He stood ready, not really sure what he was supposed to do, if anything, to help. He wished he had paid closer attention to the things Sandburg had said and done as he helped Jim. The detective suddenly froze, his gaze locked on a dark stain on the far wall.

"What? Did you find something?"

Jim crossed the room, stopping before the stain. Simon followed. The mark was faint to Simon's eye, just about shoulder level. Jim lightly ran his fingers across the stain. Simon waited for a verdict, though he suspected he already knew. He'd seen similar sights too many times at too many crime scenes. Simon suddenly became aware that Jim wasn't moving. He narrowed his eyes, taking in the man's appearance. The Sentinel stared at the wall, unblinking, and he scarcely seemed to be breathing.

Simon laid a tentative hand on the detective's shoulder. "Jim?" Damn it! Sandburg had explained this to Simon. What was it he had called it? A zone out? What the hell was he supposed to do? How did the kid bring Jim out of it? Heaven help us all! Simon was in way over his head here, and he didn't have the slightest idea what to do about it.

~~~

It was dark, wasn't it? Blair couldn't remember, but he thought it was, and he couldn't convince himself to make the effort to open his eyes and find out. Didn't really matter anyhow. It had been...how long now? Two, three days? He'd lost track of time. But one thing was blatantly apparent: Nathan wasn't coming back. Blair was going to die here.

There was no way out of the handcuff. His wrist and hand were a bloody mess from his long hours of attempts, and he'd accomplished nothing more than keeping his mind distracted from his probable fate. But he'd given up even trying anymore. There was nothing left to do but lay here and wait.

Not for Nathan. He wasn't coming back. Blair knew that with certainty now.

Not for Jim. As much as he wanted to believe the Cascade Sentinel would come to his aid, Blair knew it was only wishful thinking.

Not even for rescue. Who knew he was here? Nathan certainly wouldn't have told anyone.

No. He waited for it to end as he knew it would. He was going to die. He'd accepted that fact, along with the others. With that thought in mind, Blair slipped into an uneasy slumber.

And dreamed.

~~~

Simon jumped back in surprise as Jim suddenly jerked to life under his hand. He'd been talking -- pleading, actually -- to the detective for almost ten minutes now and was beginning to give in to the panic nudging at his thoughts. Jim's sudden animation caught the captain off guard, sending him back a step.

"Jim?"

The Sentinel turned his gaze on him, but there was no spark of recognition in the ice blue eyes. Something ancient -- for lack of a better word -- pinned Simon silently in place. This was not the Jim Ellison Simon called friend. This was Jim Ellison, Sentinel and Guardian. Something far more complex than Simon understood had taken the driver's seat.

The icy gaze skimmed over Simon and quickly dismissed him, moving on to take in the remainder of the room. The man's nostrils flared, his eyes dilated, and his head tilted to the side ever so slightly. The Sentinel was now fully functional, and Simon could only watch in silent amazement.

The Sentinel's head snapped around suddenly, and Simon had only the briefest of warnings before Jim made an abrupt movement toward the door. Simon shook off the temporary paralysis and hurried after the man rapidly disappearing down the hall. He spared a brief thought for the unlocked door he was forced to leave behind him, hoping that Sandburg didn't have anything worth stealing.

By the time Simon made it down the stairs and out to the street, Jim was half way down the block and rapidly gaining distance. Simon took off after him, loudly and violently cursing whatever force was in charge of this disintegrating situation. Give him a bank robber, a kidnapper, or drug dealer any day, but God save him from the mysteries and enigmas of Sentinels and Guides.

~~~

Caught in the aftermath of his dream, silent tears tracked down Blair's face. Slowly, with a monumental effort, he came awake, opening his eyes to the vague light of early morning. The tears continued to flow, tears of relief, of elation. The substance of the dream was quickly fading, but the message was as clear now as it had been in sleep. Jim was coming. The Sentinel hadn't forgotten him, or written him off. He knew something was wrong, and he was coming. Blair was almost giddy with relief.

Blair forced himself to a seated position. Long moments passed before the room righted itself again. Blair closed his eyes and waited it out. Just hours ago, he'd been resigned to the fact he was going to die here, chained to the wall like an animal and left to starve. But the dream had left him with renewed hope. Jim was searching for him. Jim would find him. His job was to hold on until then. And, he thought, eyeing the blood crusted handcuff once more, it was up to him to do everything possible to help Jim find him.

~~~

Jim came to a sudden stop, his head lifting as he tested the air. A part of him was shocked and amazed at his behavior. Another, larger part, the part that was currently in control of his actions, was more comfortable now than it had ever been. He was working on pure, raw instinct, nothing more. He had no clues, no evidence, not even the slightest inkling of an idea where to search. There was the dream -- vision -- that he'd had in the hospital, and the more recent...flash...of something undefined he'd had while zoned in Blair's apartment. But it was really little more than a feeling driving him now, nothing concrete. He simply knew what he had to do, and he was doing it. This wasn't the time to stop and analyze his actions. There would be time for that later. Blair would know what was happening to him. Blair would help him understand it. But first...

Jim was acutely aware of Simon Banks coming to a stop a few steps behind him. The man remained silent, as though he knew on some level that this was not the time for questions. Or maybe he just didn't want to question something so obviously foreign to his ordered, normal world. Jim heard the slight wheezing as the captain struggled to catch his breath. With a silent apology to the man, Jim took off again, no destination in mind, but knowing he was headed in the right direction.

~~~

Blair sobbed aloud with relief as the handcuff at last slid free and his hand fell limply the few inches to the floor. For an eternity, he lay there, trembling with both fatigue and pain. Finally, he pushed himself into a seated position against the wall cradling his damaged hand to his chest.

An intense throbbing radiated from his shattered thumb to his shoulder. It had been the act of a desperate man. A do or die situation, literally. Blair had used his casted right arm to shatter his left thumb, a last resort solution.

And it had worked. Now, all he had to do was get up. Somehow. The effort seemed beyond him at the moment. All he wanted to do was curl up and sleep, forget the pain shouting at him from every part of his body. Just forget for a few moments. His eyes drifted closed of their own volition.

No! Blair jerked open his eyes, struggling to focus on his surroundings. He couldn't sleep yet. He had to get out of here, find a way to contact Jim. Then he could sleep. He would be safe then.

Limited in the use of both hands now, getting to his feet was a real struggle, and once accomplished, was difficult to maintain. The room spun sickeningly, and Blair was forced to lean heavily against the wall as he began making his way at a snail's pace toward the door. Each step sent bolts of agony through him, punctuated by soft sounds of pain that he couldn't hold back. Only the promise of freedom so close kept him from collapsing into a sobbing, pathetic heap on the floor.

An eternity later, he was there, nothing but sheer willpower, and the door frame, holding him up. He blinked hard, forcing the view into focus. It was dark -- he wasn't sure if that was the lack of light or his vision -- but he could make out enough to tell he was in an abandoned warehouse. Across from where he stood, so close and yet still impossibly far away, was a fuzzy, lighter square that he hoped was a door to the outside.

Freedom. Safety. Rest.

He gathered his rapidly waning strength and took a tentative step away from the supporting wall. His legs cooperated somewhat, so he tried another, and another. A sudden irrational fear flashed though him, freezing his feet in place. What if Nathan hadn't abandoned him here? What if the Sentinel was somewhere close by, watching, waiting for Blair to try to make his escape? What if the man's only intention from the beginning had been to slowly starve Blair to death in this prison?

Blair glanced around nervously, but still could make out little of his surroundings. There was no choice. He had to do something. If he stayed here, he would die. The door to freedom was right there ahead of him, almost within reach. All he had to do was convince his feet to carry him a little further. Once out of here, he would find a way to contact Jim, or failing that, a place to hide until Jim came for him.

Jim would come. He would. Blair was sure of that. Jim was searching for him. He hadn't been forgotten. Jim was looking for him, and Jim was a Sentinel. He would find him.

That conviction gave strength to Blair's feet, and he began slowly working his way across the room. Without the wall to lean on, the going was much slower. Twice he fell, the second time almost not finding the will to regain his feet. Had his hands been in any better shape, he would have stayed down and crawled his way out.

The third time he fell, Blair hit his knees hard before toppling forward. Instinctively, he threw his hands under him to brace himself. He was unable to stifle the cry of pain that broke free as his weight was momentarily thrown onto his damaged hands. He collapsed, sobbing through the pain. He pulled his hands in, rolling onto his side as he clutched them to his chest in agony.

It was then he saw what had tripped him. His throat seized, choking off all sound. Anguish was replaced by shock, which quickly gave way to revulsion. A wave of sickness washed over him. Forgetting his injuries, Blair rolled away from the sight and gave into the nausea. Dry heaves tore at his stomach and throat.

God...oh, God...This isn't real...please...this can't be real.

~~~

"Wester's."

That pronouncement was Jim's first utterance in over an hour. The desperate race through the damp and darkened streets of Seattle's night had ended here, in the harbor district, just as the eastern sky began to announce the impending arrival of day. Surrounded by a dark and fetid canal on one side and by equally dismal buildings on the other three, Jim allowed his senses to sweep over the dark sedan parked before him. He didn't have to open the doors, search the vehicle to know it's origin. It was Wester's. And that meant that both the Seattle Sentinel and Blair were nearby.

Jim turned away from the automobile, widening his sensory sweep to include the immediate area. The first scan turned up nothing. He felt the warmth of Simon's hand as it came to rest on his shoulder and was absurdly irritated with the man for the action. It was Blair's hand that should be there, anchoring him in his search. Blair belonged beside him, and he was irrationally angry at Simon for daring to step into his rightful Guide's role.

He quickly quelled the flare of anger. Simon was trying, in his limited way, to help. The captain had obviously seen Blair take similar action in the past and hoped that he could fulfill that same purpose now, in the young man's absence. Simon had no way of knowing his touch didn't affect Jim's senses, one way or the other. It was an empty gesture, but still one Jim was grateful to the man for making.

Frustrated, Jim threw his senses out further, knowing he was risking a zone out that he could ill afford right now, and was finally rewarded with a slight murmuring of sound. Jim zeroed in on it, immensely pleased that now, when he needed them most, his senses were unbelievably sharp and focused. The sounds amplified with his efforts, and after mere seconds, Jim was able to identify them as retching. A split second later, he had pinned down the source of the sounds and was moving toward it.

Stepping into almost complete darkness, Jim searched for and found a mental dial to compensate for the lack of light and adjusted his vision accordingly. What he saw brought his heart to a stop.

A dozen yards or so into the darkened warehouse lay Nathan Wester. Or what was left of him. The man was obviously dead, and from the looks of him, had been for several days. Something...rats or some other small animals...had...had...

Jim swallowed hard against rising bile and tore his gaze away from the gruesome sight. His heart froze once more as his eyes came to rest on a huddled figure just beyond Wester's prone form.

"Blair..." The whispered name tumbled roughly over his lips.

"Where?"

Jim had forgotten Simon Bank's presence until he spoke. Of course, the man wouldn't be able to see through the thick shadows.

"Jim, what is it? What do you see?"

Jim swallowed hard again, already moving toward Blair. "We need an ambulance, Simon. There should be a radio in Wester's car..." He broke off as he dropped to his knees between Blair and Wester, using his body to block Blair's view of the dead man.

Blair was on his knees, doubled over with his arms wrapped tightly around his middle as he rocked slightly from side to side. His face was shielded from view by his hair, and his breaths were coming in harsh gasps. Tentatively Jim reached out, grasping the thin shoulders. There was no response beyond the stilling of the motion.

"Blair?" Still no response. "Blair, look at me!" Jim shook the slight frame, punctuating his words.

"Jim!" Simon's voice drifted to him from the open doorway. He turned to see the captain slowly making his way toward him, a bobbing light directed to the debris littered floor. Jim immediately adjusted the dial to compensate for the additional illumination. "Ambulance and backup are on the way. There was a flashlight in the glove--" The words broke off abruptly as the light played across what was left of Wester's face. "Jesus Christ!"

Jim heard Simon's stomach react to the gruesome sight. He hoped the captain managed to get it under control, because right now, he needed the man's help with Blair.

"Simon, help me here."

Without hesitation, Simon moved the beam of light to shine on Blair. "What's wrong with him?" Simon dropped to his knees beside Jim.

"Shock, I think." Jim gently grasped the young man's chin and raised his head. Blair offered no resistance. Glassy blue eyes gazed unseeingly at Jim. The unnaturally pale face was darkened with smears of dirt, blended with dried blood. Jim's eyes tracked up to a blood-encrusted gash high on the forehead. Concussion? That would explain the unfocused gaze, the lack of recognition. "Blair? It's me, buddy, it's Jim. Can you hear me?"

Something flickered across the too-thin face. The eyes shifted and contracted, focusing briefly on Jim's face. "Jim?"

Relief flooded through Jim at the whisper. Blair was still in there somewhere. "Yeah, Chief. It's me." He resisted the urge to pull the young man into an comforting embrace, afraid of aggravating injuries he couldn't see. He settled instead on vocal assurances. "It's over, Blair. Help is on the way. Okay? Can you understand me? An ambulance is on the way. It's going to be all right now. It's over."

Blair's eyes darted away from Jim, looking over the detective's shoulder. "Nathan..."

Jim shifted, making sure he blocked the view of the dead man and drawing Blair's attention back to himself. "It's okay, Blair," he said, knowing it wasn't. Jim had no idea what had happened here, but it had ended with one man dead and another injured and obviously traumatized. And he had a feeling this wasn't the end of it.

~~~

It took a great deal of self control for Simon Banks to remain on the sidelines. Years of instinct and experience demanded he take action. But this wasn't his city. He was out of his jurisdiction, as Captain Pritchard, the cop in charge, had so forcefully reminded him. Considering the man's condescending attitude, Simon counted himself lucky to be allowed to remain on the scene, privy to the evidence and information being collected.

On one level, Simon understood. This was a dead cop, after all. One of their own. Having been in similar situations more times than he cared to think about, Simon knew how these men were bound to be feeling. Besides, it was doubtful they knew just what a son of a bitch their colleague was.

Bright lights illuminated the shadowed interior of the warehouse as forensic personnel combed the building. Wester's body still lay were it had been discovered but, thankfully, had been covered by a thin white sheet. Sandburg had been whisked away only moments ago to the hospital, Jim in close attendance.

Simon closed his eyes briefly, remembering in horror the shape the young man had been in. Once they had finally been able to pry the young man out of his defensive huddle, they had been appalled at his condition. Wet, cold, dirty, new injuries added to old...and that was just the physical wounds. God knew what psychological traumas the kid had endured.

Opening his eyes, Simon's attention was drawn to the back of the building, where a small group of the Seattle detectives were gathered by an open doorway. Simon quickly crossed the area, stepping around the cops to gaze through the doorway into a small room beyond. Acid churned painfully in his stomach at the sight that met him.

The room wasn't much larger than a good sized closet. Trash and debris littered the floor, just as it did the rest of the warehouse. Likewise, grime coated every surface, including the few remaining panes of the one small window, obscuring most of the light from the dawning sun. There was a mattress on the floor beneath that window. Damp, torn and moldy. As Simon's eyes raked over the area, he saw that a pair of handcuffs dangled from a pipe that ran the length of the room, about a foot above the floor. Blood, old and new, coated the loose end of the cuff.

"This is where Sandburg was held."

"Well, we don't know that now, do we?"

Simon glanced up in surprise. He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until Captain Pritchard responded. The man's words rattled Simon.

"You saw Sandburg's arm," Simon reminded the man, glancing pointedly toward the bloody cuffs. "It doesn't take a rocket scientist to connect the dots here."

"Who's to say that's Sandburg's blood? Until we get the lab reports back, I won't be jumping to any conclusions. I don't know exactly how you do things in Cascade, Banks, but around here, we prefer to do things by the book."

Simon clamped down on his anger at the words, but couldn't resist a small retort. "Then I suggest you examine the evidence in front of you."

"Look," Pritchard continued, "I don't know what your connection to that little bastard is, and frankly, Captain Banks, I don't give a damn. The fact is, one of my men is dead, quite possibly at this kid's hands. Until I have reason to believe otherwise, I'll be treating this as a homicide. And that means that hippie bastard is number one on my shit list. I don't know what the hell went on here, but you can be damned sure I'll find out. And if that freak had anything to do with my man's death, you can rest assured, he'll go down for it. I'm cutting you a little slack here out of professional courtesy, but I would suggest you and your man stay out of our way on this."

This was ludicrous! They actually intended to try to pin a murder charge on Sandburg. Hell, how blind did this man have to be not to see what was right before his eyes? He had seen Sandburg's injuries. How could he deny that?

In the interest of maintaining even the slightest semblance of civility, Simon bit his tongue, turned on his heel and walked away.

~~~

"Any word yet?"

Jim looked up from his contemplation of the floor, surprised to see Simon. He shook his head. "Not yet. I thought you were going to stay and see what they turned up at the scene."

Simon's sigh spoke volumes as he lowered himself wearily into the seat next to Jim. "That was the plan. Unfortunately, my temper had other ideas. I had to leave before I said something that could potentially destroy any chance of working with these people ever again."

Jim sat up straighter in the hard plastic chair. "What happened?"

"Nothing happened. I just didn't care for their attitude, that's all."

Jim studied the captain for a long moment. He had a feeling there was a lot more to it than Simon was saying, but he decided not to push it. If it mattered, Simon would tell him eventually. "So, what did they find?"

"No obvious cause of death, but considering the condition of the body, that's not surprising. We'll have to wait for the autopsy report. Unless Sandburg can tell us what happened."

Simon paused, a slight shiver running through his large frame. Jim knew he was remembering the sight of Wester's body. A sight none of them would be forgetting anytime soon.

"They found a room in the back where the kid was held," Simon continued after a moment. "Nothing inside but a smelly mattress and a bloody handcuff."

Jim closed his eyes. The image of Blair's ruined left hand filled his mind. "So Wester chained him up there and went into the other room where someone, or something, killed him." He opened his eyes. "Leaving Blair the choice of starving to death or practically ripping his hand off to get loose. Why, Simon? What was the point?"

"I can't answer that," Simon admitted. "Sandburg may be the only one that can. We'll just have to wait and see what he can tell us."

~~~

Jim paced restlessly around the ER waiting room. Another half hour had elapsed and he was fast running out of patience. Simon had stepped outside under the guise of calling Joel on his cell phone to let him know where they were and what was happening. Jim knew the truth, however. Simon's desperate need for a cigar fix was all but palpable.

Pacing up to the same wall he'd faced a hundred times in the last hour, Jim ran out of patience. He spun on his heels and went in search of answers. Two nurses, an orderly and one doctor later, he finally found someone that could supply the information he sought.

"I'm sorry, Detective Ellison," the rotund intern apologized. "It's been a hectic morning around here, but someone really should have talked to you by now." The man glanced down at the chart he held in one hand, adjusting his thick-lensed glasses with the other. "Mr. Sandburg is being prepared for transfer to a room. We'll be keeping him for few days to get his fluid and glucose levels up to where they should be. He did suffer a concussion, but there seems to be no lasting consequences from that.

"His left hand was a mess. There were significant abrasions to the wrist and hand, but luckily the primary veins weren't affected. There were a number of fractures and displacements. Once the fractures heal, he will require extensive physical therapy, but the functional result should be excellent. The older injuries have certainly been aggravated, but I don't foresee any lasting damage." He glanced up. "All things considered, I would say he's doing quite well."

"Can I see him?"

"Give them another fifteen minutes or so to get him settled into a room first. I would suggest keeping your visit short; he's on some pretty heavy pain relievers, and will probably sleep through the most of the day. You can check with the nurse at the desk to get the room number." The doctor gave Jim a tired smile before tucking the chart under his arm and turning away.

Fifteen minutes. That gave Jim just about enough time to track Simon down and fill him in.

~~~ "Sandburg! It's time to wake up."

Whoever that was, was damned persistent, Blair decided. Too persistent to hope they would give up and go away. As much as he didn't want to, he gave in and let himself come completely awake. He swallowed back a groan as fresh pain greeted him.

"Sandburg?"

Blair forced his eyes open, wincing at the too bright light from the overhead fluorescent bulbs. He blinked a few times and the room begin to come into focus.

"It's about time."

Blair decided he hated whoever that grating voice belonged to. He turned his head slowly until he found its owner. Damn. Paul NeSmith. One of the guys from the station. One of Nathan's friends. Definitely not one of Blair's.

"We've got some questions for you."

We? Blair lifted his eyes further, dismayed to see Neill Luther. This was not good.

"Wha--" Blair stopped and swallowed, trying to summon enough spit to moisten his throat. He eyed the water pitcher on the bedside table, just beyond his reach. Momentarily forgetting his injuries, he lifted his left hand toward it. He was surprised to see it had been immobilized on a thickly padded board that ran from his fingertips to his elbow. The movement sparked embers of fire through his wrist and fingers. With an almost silent whimper, he let it drop back to the pillow it had been resting on.

Neither of the two detectives seemed inclined to offer assistance. Both were watching him, apparently amused by his efforts. Blair wasn't surprised. They had never made a secret of their dislike for Wester's long-haired ride-a-long. And now, with Wester...

Oh, man, this was definitely not going to be pleasant.

Blair swallowed once more and blinked heavily against the pull of sleep. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything." NeSmith pulled a chair closer to the bed and made himself comfortable. He reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved a notepad and pen. "Starting with what, exactly, were you doing at that warehouse."

"I don't know...I don't remember how I got there."

NeSmith raised an eyebrow, doubt plainly written in his expression.

"Why don't you start with what you do remember," Luther suggested. The man was leaning casually against the foot of the bed, his face the picture of self-important arrogance.

Blair closed his eyes. As much to block out the man's smug face as to decrease the glare from the overhead lights. "I came home late, about one or so, on..." When was it? His mind was fuzzy, and it took him a moment to remember. "...on Sunday..."

"You don't sound too sure about that," NeSmith commented.

"I kind of lost track of time for a while."

"Really? Hmm...Why were you coming in at that hour on a Sunday night, Sandburg?"

Blair hesitated. He had to be careful with his words, tell the truth without telling too much. Not that he felt the need to protect Nathan's secret anymore, but there was still Jim to think about. "I'd been to Cascade. My friend, Detective Jim Ellison, had been shot. I went to see him." He could hear the scratch of pen on paper as NeSmith made notes.

"Okay, so you came into your apartment late. Then what happened?"

"Someone was waiting for me. I don't remember getting hit, but the next thing I knew I was waking up in the warehouse."

"Waiting inside the apartment?"

"Yes."

"Was the door open when you got there?"

Had it been locked? Blair thought about it. He wasn't sure. "I don't know."

"You can't remember if your door was unlocked?" That was Luther. "Don't you think that's a bit strange? Seems like you'd notice something like that."

Blair resisted the urge to open his eyes and glare at the man. Wouldn't accomplish anything, and he was certain it would increase his headache. "I told you, most of that night is fuzzy. I just don't remember."

"So you said," Luther commented. His tone said exactly what he thought of that claim.

Blair did open his eyes this time. He was right; his headache increased.

"So you woke up in the warehouse," NeSmith continued. "Describe what happened next."

"Nothing happened." Blair swallowed dryly. He really needed a sip or two of water. "I was cuffed to a pipe on the wall. And I was alone."

"For how long?"

"However long I was there." Or so I thought. But Nathan was just in the next room. Was he still alive at that point?

"You didn't see or hear anyone in all that time?"

"No."

"Yet someone managed to kill Nathan Wester, not fifty feet from where you were supposedly incarcerated."

"Apparently." Blair blinked owlishly at NeSmith as his vision fuzzed out on him. Did the doctor give me something to make me this sleepy? Maybe he was just tired.

"How could you not hear anything from that distance?" Luther asked.

Blair forced his gaze around to the man. Had they deliberately done this, moved to opposite sides of the bed knowing he would have trouble focusing on them? "There was nothing...except..."

"Except?" Luther prodded.

Blair closed his eyes against the horror of the memory, realizing only now what it must have been.

"What did you hear, Sandburg?"

Blair swallowed convulsively, trying to keep the bile from his throat. "I heard...what I thought was...There were rats, and I thought it was just..." He squeezed his eyes tight as the vision of what he'd found in the outer room returned. "God...they must have been...they were...oh, God..."

"That's all? You never heard voices or saw a face?"

Blair opened his eyes. Luther was gazing at him with that same calm demeanor. How could the man not be affected by this? Didn't he know what Blair must have heard? Hadn't he seen the body? The man was supposed to be Nathan's friend, certainly a colleague. A quick glance at NeSmith showed that the older detective had gone a distinct shade of green. At least someone was getting this.

"No," Blair stated simply.

NeSmith coughed loudly, visibly regaining his composure. "When your two friends from Cascade found you, you were in the outer room with..." he stopped and cleared his throat, "...with the body. How did you get loose from the restraints?"

"I was persistent." And desperate.

"Could you be more specific?"

"I...smashed my hand...so it would slide out of the cuff." And it hurt so bad I wanted to curl up and die.

NeSmith eyed the bandaged left arm resting on the pillow. Obviously no one had filled him in on the nature of Blair's injuries.

Luther cut in impatiently. "What happened next?"

With an effort Blair refocused on the man. "I was trying to get out of there, when I found...Nathan." Tripped over him. Fell right on top of him. Oh, God... "I'm not sure exactly what happened next. All I remember is, Jim was suddenly there, and then I was at the hospital..."

"Interesting, don't you think," Luther noted, "that Detective Ellison was able to find you and Wester when no one else could? How do you think that he managed that feat?"

"I don't know," Blair admitted. And frankly, I don't care. Jim found me, and it's over. And I really want to go to sleep now. He let his eyes drift closed on the thought.

"Sandburg!"

Damn it, Luther! Go away!

"You little bastard! Wake up! We're not finished here yet!"

"I beg to differ; you are most definitely finished here!"

Jim!

A smile curled the corner of Blair's lips as he allowed himself to finally relax.

~~~

"What the hell is going on here?!" Banks bellowed. "This man has been sedated, and is in no condition for questioning. Does his doctor know you're in here harassing him?"

Jim bit back a smile at Simon's outburst. Having been on the receiving end of the man's temper on more than one occasion, Jim could almost sympathize with the two Seattle detectives. Until he remembered the words he'd heard coming into the room. He let the full force of his glare fall on the arrogant bastard standing at the foot of the bed, and felt some satisfaction when the smug expression faltered.

"Who the hell are you?" The older detective said, rising to face Simon.

"Captain Simon Banks, Cascade PD."

"This would be Detective Ellison, then," the man said, facing Jim. "Detective NeSmith. This is my partner, Detective Luther. You gentlemen saved us the trouble of looking you up. We have some questions--"

"We gave a statement to the officers at the scene," Jim interrupted. He had no patience for these buffoons at the moment. He was more concerned with getting them out of here so he could check on Blair. "If you have further questions, we would be willing to come by the station later. Right now, I think it would be in your best interest to leave."

"You have no right--" Luther began, only to be interrupted by his partner.

"It's all right, Neill. I think we've got enough for now. I would appreciate it if you would stop by the station sometime today to give a formal statement. I'm sure you're familiar with the procedure." Turning to his partner, he said, "Come on, Neill, we can finish here later."

"Is it me, Simon," Jim said when the two men were out the door, "or is every cop in this town a son of a bitch?" Without waiting for an answer, Jim turned to the bed.

Blair's eyes were dark shadows against a gaunt, too-pale face as he struggled to hold them open.

"Hey," Jim said taking the chair NeSmith had vacated. "How you doing there, Chief?"

Blair managed a half smile, "Tired."

"That's because they gave you something to help you rest. Go on to sleep. I'll be here when you wake."

Despite the words, Blair's eyes remained stubbornly open and trained on Jim. "It's over, isn't it? Nathan really is dead?"

"Yeah, kid, he is."

There was a moment of silence as Blair continued to study Jim, though the blue eyes seemed to be having trouble focusing. "I didn't hear him." He blinked slowly. "I didn't know he was there. Why didn't I hear him?"

"I don't know," Jim replied.

Blair's eyes finally closed and stayed that way. Jim reached out and brushed back a stray curl from his forehead. "Go to sleep, Chief. I'll be here when you wake."

"Jim...?"

"Yeah?"

There was a long silence. Jim thought Blair had fallen asleep on the question. Then, "Thanks, man...for looking for me...for finding me."

~~~

Simon watched the scene, surprised by the uncharacteristic gentleness of Jim's touch as the detective soothed back the hair from the kid's face. A much too gaunt and pale face, Simon noted. Sandburg had been through it all, and it showed. He hadn't even had time to recover from the beating at Wester's hand before this -- whatever 'this' turned out to be -- had happened.

Once it was apparent that Sandburg was asleep, Simon softly cleared his throat, drawing a glance from his detective. "Jim, you need to get some rest yourself. You're only a few days out of the hospital, and don't think I haven't noticed the way you're favoring that shoulder."

"I'm fine, Simon."

"Sure you are. Look, Sandburg should sleep for awhile, maybe straight through till morning. We can find a hotel close by and you can--"

"I'm not leaving, Simon. I promised him I would be here when he woke."

Simon sighed, knowing it was a losing battle and not worth fighting. "I don't suppose you're interested in going to get something to eat, either. Look, I'll go down to the cafeteria and pick up something. No arguments! Then, I'm going down to the station and see if I can find a friendly face. Maybe the forensics reports or the autopsy will shed some light on this mess."

Jim nodded. "Thanks, Simon. I would appreciate that."

Simon glanced back at the kid's still form. Truth be told, he was carrying a bit of guilt himself over this mess. If he hadn't taken the kid to Cascade...or maybe if he'd gotten him back sooner... He ran a hand over his face, pushing away those emotions. "Yeah, well, the quicker this is behind us, the better off we'll all be."

~~~

Blair listened to the news report in silence. He couldn't have found his voice if he'd wanted to. But it didn't matter. The conclusions had been drawn. Ludicrous, yeah, and very imaginative, but definitely final. He should be relieved. He'd been cleared completely in Nathan's death. For a while there, it hadn't looked so good for him. The local cops had seemed determined to find a way to pin it on him. Fortunately, the evidence hadn't cooperated with that theory. Barring that, though, they had managed to all but canonize Nathan Wester. The man had come out of this a hero. A brave policeman, risking, and ultimately giving, his life in pursuit of his duty.

It sounded like the plot of a made-for-TV movie, Blair mused, closing his eyes and tuning out the rest of the report. Totally fictional...and completely illogical. According to the reporter, an unnamed civilian had been kidnapped from his apartment by an unknown assailant, who had taken him to an undisclosed location, purpose unknown. Detective Wester had somehow stumbled onto the crime scene and given his life in an attempt to free the civilian.

A lot of "unknowns" in the report, Blair noted. And he had a few more he'd like to add. Like, for some "unknown" reason Wester's police issue handcuffs had ended up on the "kidnapper's" victim. For some "unknown" reason said kidnapper had disappeared without fulfilling his intentions or leaving behind any evidence of his existence.

Blair shook his head. The story had more holes than a sieve, but no one seemed to care. Nathan was a hero, giving his life in the line of duty; Blair was out of the picture; and the police report had an ending, more or less. He wished them luck finding their "unknown assailant". They were going to need it.

~~~ Epilogue

Blair shifted on the edge of the bed, trying to ease the strain on his still sore ribs. Getting dressed had been a chore and had left him more than a little exhausted. The nurse that had helped him on with his clothing had gone to see if his discharge papers were ready. Hopefully she would be back soon, and he could get out of here. Home, to a cold, empty apartment with far too many memories.

He shifted again, still not able to find a position that didn't aggravate one or another of his many injuries. Damn, he thought, frowning down at his two incapacitated arms, how was he going to manage like this? He couldn't even dress himself. Which reminded him, he needed to thank Jim for dropping by some clothes for him to wear home. If he saw the man again.

Jim had been great the first few days Blair had been in here, staying by his bedside almost exclusively. At least until Blair and Simon had teamed up against him and forced him to go get some rest. But Blair had known from the start it wouldn't last. Jim had a life in Cascade that he had to return to. A life that didn't, and couldn't, include Blair.

He'd considered it...briefly. There was nothing for him in Seattle now. Nathan was gone, and his Sentinel research was as good as over. He definitely couldn't publish with the limited information he had on Nathan. Once he'd met and gotten to know Jim, Blair had been forced to admit his research to date was practically worthless. Conclusions he'd drawn based on his observations of Nathan had proven severely erroneous. He'd have to throw out most of what he'd learned and start over again. If he could work with Jim.

But he couldn't, he reminded himself. Not now, knowing what he knew. Jim deserved better. He deserved someone he could trust, and he'd never be able to trust a Guide that had killed his Sentinel.

Blair sighed, dropping his chin to his chest and closing his eyes. Killed Nathan. That's what he'd done. He knew that in his heart.

Natural causes.

That was the final conclusion of the autopsy on the dead Sentinel. His heart had stopped. No matter that the man had never shown signs of heart problems before. No matter that there seemed to be no reason for it to suddenly quit working. Natural causes had been the ruling and that's what would go on the record.

Blair knew better.

Nathan had zoned. It was the only explanation. Blair had theorized that a prolonged zone could adversely affect the heart. He'd spent many sleepless nights worrying over the implications of that theory. Now, it seemed, he had proof. Which left Jim in desperate need of a Guide.

But not Blair.

Blair's Sentinel had zoned and died not fifty feet from him. Fifty feet! And he'd done nothing. He'd been so wrapped up in his own problems, his own fear, that he hadn't even noticed. He should have known. It was his job as Guide to know when his Sentinel needed him. And he hadn't.

He didn't deserve another Sentinel. Certainly not someone like Jim. Jim was everything Blair had suspected a Sentinel could, and should, be. Decent, brave, intelligent, compassionate...everything Nathan had not been. Jim needed a Guide that he could trust with his life, because he would have to. Especially now that they knew the outcome of a prolonged zone. Blair would find Jim a Guide. He'd made that promise before, but this time he would keep it. No more stalling, hoping he would be able to fill that role himself.

The door opened, and Blair glanced up, expecting the nurse with his discharge papers. He was surprised, and absurdly pleased, to see Jim.

"Hey, Chief," the Cascade detective greeted. "I hear you're about ready to get out of here. Not enough pretty nurses to keep you busy?"

"Jim!" Blair was aware of the face-splitting grin on his face and was a little embarrassed, but he couldn't seem to erase it. "I thought you'd gone back to Cascade."

Jim crossed to the bed and sat beside Blair, careful not to jostle him. "I did. Simon had some pressing business, so I rode back with him to get my truck."

"Should you be driving, Jim?" Blair couldn't help but ask. "It's only been a little more than a week since you were shot, you know. How are doing with the pain? Any trouble finding the dial?"

"Whoa, Chief," Jim laughed. "One question at a time. My shoulder is fine, and driving isn't a problem. My truck is an automatic, remember? And I'm not having any trouble with the dial, thanks to you."

Blair smiled, pleased at the compliment. "I just reminded you what you already knew."

"Well, then, thanks for reminding me." Jim reached over and gently ruffled Blair's hair. "How are you feeling, Chief?"

"Like a dance floor." The men shared a quiet laugh. "Better, though. I'm getting there. Doc says I'll be fine."

Jim nodded. Blair suspected the man knew more about what the doctors had to say than he did. He liked the way that thought made him feel.

Beside him, Jim drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Blair could see the man had something on his mind. He waited patiently for Jim to bring it up. Finally, the Sentinel spoke again.

"Chief...the reason I had to go back to Cascade..." He hesitated.

Surprised, Blair realized that Jim was unsure of himself...or maybe he was dreading what he was trying to say. It must be something bad. Something he didn't want to say. Blair had a feeling he knew what it was, and he thought he could make it a little easier.

"You've been great, Jim, through this whole thing. I don't think I could have made it through all those hours in the warehouse if it hadn't been for you...I knew you were coming. I knew you wouldn't give up looking for me, and that gave me a reason to hang on." Blair paused, but couldn't bring himself to look up at Jim. With his head lowered, he continued quickly, before he lost his nerve. "But I know what you're trying to tell me here, and you don't have to. I understand. I promised to find you a Guide, and I'm gonna. I know I've said this before, but that's going to be my top priority. I'll talk to Doctor Grier--"

"Wait a minute." Jim stopped the flow of words with a hand on Blair's arm. "You're jumping the gun a bit here. I don't need you to find me a Guide."

Blair's brow creased in confusion. "You don't?"

Jim shook his head. "I found one on my own."

Blair felt his face pale and hoped Jim didn't notice.

"He seems to know this Sentinel stuff pretty good. He's given me some good advice already. He has a thing or two to learn about where to draw the line on responsibility, but I think he has potential. I'm willing to work through a few minor glitches."

"Oh." Blair felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. But he'd get over it. This was a good thing. Jim needed a Guide, and now he had one. "That's good, Jim. I'm relieved to know you'll have someone to watch out for you."

"Not half as relieved as I am, Chief," Jim replied. "That's why I had to go back with Simon to get my truck. I'm going to need it to help my new Guide move his things back to Cascade."

Blair looked up at that, his mind finally beginning to put the pieces together.

"I have one problem, though," Jim admitted, holding Blair's gaze.

Blair swallowed, searching for his voice. "You do?"

"Yeah." The corner of Jim's mouth turned up in a tentative smile. "I haven't asked him yet if he wants the job." Jim paused, suddenly seeming uncharacteristically timid. "So, how 'bout it, Chief? Want the job?"

Blair stared, unable to find his voice.

This time it was Jim who looked away. "I can understand if you can't face the idea of another Sentinel, Blair. I couldn't blame you. Wester--"

"--was nothing like you," Blair finished for him. "Nothing about you makes me think of him."

Jim turned back to face him. "Then what's the problem? Am I overstepping my bounds here, Chief? I thought...well, you don't have anything to keep you in Seattle anymore, and I thought maybe you could transfer to Rainier to finish up your degree. It would be mutually beneficial. I'm not being totally selfish here. I would get your help, you would get another research subject. You still need one, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I do, Jim, but..."

"I don't see the problem."

He doesn't, Blair realized with some surprise, he honestly doesn't.

"Chief?"

"I killed my Sentinel, Jim." There. He'd said it. Now maybe he could make Jim understand.

"What? The autopsy showed--"

"--that Nathan died of natural causes. I know, Jim. His heart stopped. He..." Blair sucked in a quick breath and said it, "He zoned. My Sentinel zoned, less than fifty feet from his Guide. A Guide who did nothing, and as a result, he died."

"Blair, you don't know he zoned."

"No, Jim, I do. Because he did. See, I had this theory that a prolonged zone could be potentially fatal. I suspected that it could cause the heart to, well, to stop. And it did."

There was a moment of silence. Blair resisted the urge to look up. He didn't want to see Jim's face, know what he was thinking. Surely his imagination was better than the truth.

"Even if that's true, Blair, you couldn't have known. You had no way of knowing Wester was out there. Hell, he could have been dead before you even awoke. There was nothing you could have done."

Blair shook his head. "No, Jim, you don't understand. I should have known. I was his Guide. It was my place to know, to protect him. I was less than fifty feet from him. I could have--"

"--done nothing." It was Jim's turn to finish Blair's sentence. "You couldn't have done a thing. Personally, I think he got what he deserved. He interfered with the Sentinel/Guide balance when he abducted you, hell, before that even, when he first raised a hand to you. He threw that balance out of whack. Maybe this is just Destiny's way of setting things right again. Maybe it had nothing to do with you at all, Chief. Maybe it was strictly about Wester. It was out of your hands right from the start."

Blair finally looked up, meeting Jim's strong blue gaze. It sounded good. He wanted to believe it. But in his heart, he knew better. He was responsible for Nathan's death. He'd have to live with that for the rest of his life.

"You aren't convinced, are you, Blair?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"Answer me one question then. Do you want to come to Cascade?"

"Yes!" There it was. No hesitation, no second thoughts.

Jim's face lit up in a brilliant smile. "That's settled then. We'll work on the rest of it. For now, all you need to know is that I trust you."

Blair finally allowed himself a tentative smile. "Yeah, I guess we can work on it, Jim." Maybe Jim could even convince him he was wrong...someday...maybe. If not, maybe he could learn to live with it.

"Now," Jim said, rising, "let me see about getting you out of here. Cascade is waiting for us, partner."

~~~

The End

I know I wasn't exactly nice to the Seattle police department in this one. No offense is intended. I'm sure they are a wonderful bunch of men and women in real life. Think of it as a Southerner's retaliation for all the redneck, Southern cop stereotypes out there.

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