Samaritan
by ysone

I surveyed my choices with rapidly waning enthusiasm. A light breakfast, skipped lunch, and a frustrating case had made for a detective-size case of the munchies; but, being Wednesday, the pickings in the break room's vending machine were slim. Tomorrow morning would see it totally restocked, including the much-craved-at-this-particular-moment Butterfinger BB's; but, until then the choices were limited to corn chips, Zero bars, and Skittles.

"Pathetic, isn't it? But I hear the machine down in Records still has a couple of Kit Kats."

I glanced over my shoulder to see Henri Brown heading for the coffee maker in the corner. "Careful H, that stuff has been declared lethal by the Health Department."

The dark detective filled a Styrofoam cup before answering. "Yeah, but the sugar builds a barrier around the stomach lining, protecting it from the effects. Didn't you know that? The trick is to add enough sugar to compensate for the level of toxins present."

I snorted in amusement as I dropped a few coins into the machine and stabbed the button for a Zero bar. I'm not a big fan of white chocolate, but anything was better then Skittles. My prize procured, I turned to face Henri, grinning broadly as I saw the number of empty sugar packets on the table. "Well, if that's true, looks like your stomach will be protected well into the next millennium."

Henri grinned back, lifting his cup. "Just taking care of myself, man."

I chuckled, tearing into my candy bar and devouring almost half of it with the first bite.

"Hungry, Jim?" Henri laughed.

"Starving," I answered around the mouthful of white chocolate and nougat. "No lunch."

Henri sighed, "Know the feeling." He took a sip of the coffee and promptly screwed up his face at the taste. "More sugar," he declared, snagging a couple more packets. "What happened to the new kid, Jim? Haven't seen him in a few days. Don't tell me you scared him off already?"

Third time this morning I had been asked that question. What is it with these guys and Sandburg? "I haven't heard from him. Probably busy at the university or something."

"So that's why it's been so quiet around here." Simon Banks strode into the room, heading for the table that held the coffee maker. "Wondered what was missing."

"You're taking your life into your hands, Captain," Brown warned as Simon approached the coffee maker.

Simon spared a two-second 'what-are-you-thinking' glare in H's direction. He pointedly grabbed the box of filters sitting next to the machine and pulled out a few, letting both Henri and me know they were the only reason he was here. Like there was really any question. Simon would probably just as soon drink ditch water as the stuff us lowly detectives jokingly call coffee, and he has his own stash of junk food in his desk drawer, though he doesn't know I'm aware of it. So why else would he grace the break room with his presence?

Henri scooped up the empty sugar packets and tossed them toward the trash can. "Sorry, Captain. It's this coffee," he explained, heading for the door. "Destroys brain cells." Once Henri was gone, Simon turned to me. "So the kid's just hung up at school?"

I bit back my smile. If I didn't know better, I would say the man missed my new partner, and I almost said as much aloud. Good thing I did know better. Simon probably would have busted my butt to meter maid for that particular suggestion. Most days, Simon did good to tolerate the overly-exuberant young man. Occasionally -- very occasionally -- the two found some common ground, and for a short span of time, usually mere minutes, they forgot their differences and almost got along. Almost. "To tell you the truth, Simon, I haven't heard from him since Sunday."

Simon leaned against the table, leveling me with a look that made me wonder just what was going through his mind. "And here I thought the two of you were joined at the hip."

I grimaced at that. It's true that in the last few weeks the kid had become sort of like a second skin. Some days I couldn't turn around without bumping into him. For someone who was used to working alone, living alone, and being alone, it was a big adjustment. "Which is why I'm not complaining," I admitted aloud, in answer to Simon's comment. "I understand it's necessary, but I've gotta admit, the breathing room is welcome."

"How's it coming, Jim?" Simon said, suddenly turning serious. "The senses work, I mean."

I sighed heavily, wishing I had a direct answer to that question. "The kid knows what he's doing," I hedged.

Simon snorted loudly. "That's not what I asked you, Jim. What I want to know is how long before you can cut the kid loose? Surely he's given you some kind of idea how much longer this is going to take."

I rubbed the back of my neck while I considered how best to break this to Simon. I knew he wasn't especially enthusiastic about having a civilian in his department. Hell, I wasn't exactly crazy about the idea myself. My work was too damned dangerous. I could just imagine the commissioner's reaction if something were to happen to Sandburg while he was riding with me -- not to mention the field day the media would have! There would be a lot of uncomfortable questions, not the least of which would be why in the hell was a civilian attached to a detective in Major Crime in the first place. And it would be Simon's butt in the sling, because he was the one who signed off on it. So I guess I owed Simon an honest answer.

"The kid does know what he's doing, Simon. Yeah, his tests are a pain in the neck, and yeah, he can be a bit much to take in large doses, but we're making good progress."

"I hear a 'but' coming," Simon said when I hesitated a bit too long.

Sighing loudly, I spit it out. "According to Sandburg, we've barely scratched the surface. I'm learning how to control the input so that it doesn't overwhelm me, but we still have a lot to learn about my limits and the extent of my abilities, how to utilize these senses on the job, and how I can get the most out of them. Damn, Simon..." I paused, rubbing a hand across my face in frustration. "Most days I want nothing more then to be rid of these senses. I just want things to go back to normal, you know? Right now it's a constant battle to keep everything tolerable, though Sandburg says that will become second nature eventually. Plus there's the added concern of having to keep everyone else from noticing that something's up. But I'm beginning to realize that they are here to stay, and that means I have no choice but to learn as much as I can about them so that I can control them. I can't do that without Sandburg, much as it pains me to admit it." Damn...I'd sooner take a bullet than say this, but I needed that hyperactive ball of barely repressed energy. And I was afraid to tell Simon, but I had a feeling I was going to need him a whole lot longer than that ninety day ride-a-long pass was going to cover.

It was Simon's turn to sigh now, and his made my earlier effort pale in comparison. "Jim, when you first brought that kid into my office with that wild story about your mother's cousin or whatever the hell kind of lie it was, I thought you were crazy; but, I was willing to cut you some slack because you're my best detective and because you're my friend. Then you dropped this whole Sentinel business on me, and I was certain you were crazy; but, again, I was willing to cut you some slack -- mostly because I couldn't come up with a more viable explanation for what I'd seen with my own eyes. But you have to admit, this whole thing is like something out of the Twilight Zone. And now you're not so subtly trying to tell me the kid is an essential part of whatever you're going through. I don't mind telling you that doesn't exactly set my mind at ease, Jim. I was under the assumption that Sandburg was just going to teach you a few tricks and that would be that. I figured a few weeks, tops. But it's not going to be that easy, is it?"

"I don't think so," I answered honestly. I know it's not what he wanted to hear, and his expression proved me right. Feeling the need to both lighten the mood and change the subject, I said, "Come on, Simon, Sandburg's not that bad once you get to know him. You have to admit, he's entertaining if nothing else."

Simon's scowl deepened. "Jim, if I have to get to know that kid that well, I intend to hold you personally responsible." With that he took his pilfered coffee filters and left the room.

Another day came and went, and still no word from Sandburg. Though I was enjoying this unexpected break and temporary return to normalcy, I was beginning to worry. Granted, I hadn't known the kid long, but it just didn't seem right that he would disappear like this without letting me know something. We didn't have concrete plans for this week, but the kid had practically been dogging my every step since our first...well, second meeting. His presence had become an everyday thing. It was odd that he suddenly was a no-show. And it just wasn't sitting right with me.

My spider-senses suddenly tingling, I grabbed the phone and punched in the number for Sandburg's office. No answer there, but a couple of more calls netted me the information I was seeking. Sandburg was out sick. He had called in at the beginning of the week. Today was Thursday. Four days -- must be some bug. I couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't let me know.

I pulled Sandburg's records, intending to call and check on him. There was an address, but no phone number other than his office number. I jotted down the address. Maybe I'd just run by after work and see if he was okay. I didn't know if he had any family in the area; I hadn't heard him mention anyone, but we hadn't really talked about anything personal one way or the other. Though I'm sure he had a multitude of friends from school, I figured it wouldn't take more than a minute to run by and see about him. It never crossed my mind to wonder why I even cared when I wouldn't have given most of the friends I've known for years more than a second thought under the circumstances. Like I told Simon, the kid grows on you after a while.

The rest of the day passed in blessed routine. No sensory spikes. I should have been grateful. Proved I was beginning to get the hang of this thing. Proved the kid's lessons were sinking in. Hopefully, it proved I would be able to eventually get enough control to function without Sandburg's direct presence on the job. And I was grateful. Really. But I was also on edge, and I couldn't pin down why. There was something indefinable niggling at the back of my mind, and I was going crazy trying to pin it down. Though I kept busy, my thoughts kept drifting back to Sandburg. By mid afternoon, I quit fighting it and informed Simon I was cutting out early.

A warehouse. A warehouse! I'm not talking about one of those renovated yuppy places that cost a mint. No, this was a warehouse right out of an old Jimmy Cagney movie, complete with loading docks, packing crates and forklifts. I didn't know whether to be amused or concerned.

I double-checked the number I had jotted down. Maybe I had gotten it wrong, or maybe there was a typo on the kid's records. Or maybe it was right and the kid had just lost his mind. Then I spotted his car parked against the front wall of the place. Crazy it was, then.

I approached the main door, not at all reassured by the evidence of multiple locks and an intercom system. In a better neighborhood, that might suffice as a security system. Around here... Jesus, even I wouldn't want to be around here at night! I punched the button on the intercom to announce my presence and waited. And waited. There was no answer. I knew Sandburg was here because his car was here.

I punched the button one more time. As I waited, I carefully extended my hearing, trying to remember everything Sandburg had taught me. It took a moment, but I finally narrowed the input to the inside of the building. At first, I heard nothing but the hum of a few electronics. Then, reaching further, I found a multitude of heartbeats. Sounded like a damn party in there. But there were no other cars that I could see...so who were the guests?

It took only a moment of concentration to detect the difference in the heartbeats that I was picking up on. All but one were rapid, way too fast for human beings -- unless maybe they were running a marathon. And they were accompanied by scratching noises. With a frown of disgust, I made the connection. Rodents. Jeez, what kind of place was this to live?

Using a technique the kid had taught me, I tuned out those noises, leaving me with only the slow, steady rhythm of a heart that had only recently become familiar. Figuring Sandburg must be asleep, I hesitated, then reached for the intercom again. This time, after a long moment, there was an answer.

"Yeah?"

"It's Ellison."

There was a long pause on the other end. Then, "Jim?" I could hear the surprise in this sleep-fuzzed voice. "Um...hang on a sec, man. I'll let you in."

I waited for the click of the lock falling away, then pushed the door open. A heavy musty odor met me as I stepped into the huge, gloomy building. Dim light beckoned from behind a row of stacked shipping pallets by the far wall. My footsteps echoing eerily in the nearly empty space, I headed in that direction.

As I drew closer, I saw that the pallets made up one wall of what the kid was using for living space. Worn furniture and stark metal shelving defined the area. I stopped, taking in the scene. Somehow, I wasn't surprised to see that Sandburg lived in chaos. Judging by what I had seen of his office, it was par for the course. Piles of clothes littered the floor and were thrown across the tattered red couch and chair. In the kitchen area, empty juice containers and soup cans were mixed amongst dirty dishes on the counter top.

Movement to my right drew my attention just as Sandburg stepped into the room from what I assumed was the bathroom. The kid looked rough. Even though wrapped in a heavy quilt, I could see he was shivering violently. Probably the fever I could feel even from across the room. I could smell the sickness roiling off of him.

"Hey, man," he said, his voice low and raw. "What are you doing here?" He continued forward as he spoke, shuffling to the couch and plopping onto it with a small groan. When he looked up at me from red-rimmed eyes, I noticed the fine sheen of sweat covering his face and dampening his curls.

I hesitated a few seconds, then moved to the chair, pushing aside a stack of books to make room to sit. "You okay, Sandburg?"

"Yeah, man, I'm good," he answered. I didn't need my senses to see through that lie. I could tell he felt like crap.

"Guess I finally caught that flu that's going around," he continued. "Inevitable, I guess, with as many people as I run across in a day's time. Hey, man, you shouldn't be here. I'm probably contagious." With that he scooted as far away from me as the couch would allow, as though that extra three inches of space could prevent me from catching whatever germs he was spreading.

"It's okay, I've had my flu shot," I reassured the kid. "You didn't have one?"

He flashed a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Yeah, well, it was on my "To Do" list." He turned a bit where he sat so that he was almost facing me and leaned his head sideways against the back of the couch. "What's up, Jim? Is there a problem? Is it your senses? Oh, man, I'm so sorry for leaving you in the lurch like that. I intended to call you, but I thought I could lick this in a day or two, and by the time I realized it was settled in for the duration, I just didn't feel like getting out to use the phone."

I had to smile. This is what I had missed the past few days without even realizing it. It was like the kid didn't even need to breathe. Or so I thought until he stopped. That little spiel had left him slightly gasping. Concerned, I focused in on his lungs, but didn't hear any congestion.

I suddenly realized what he had said, and I looked around to confirm it. I couldn't believe he didn't have a phone here. I would have thought it to be a necessity of life for someone who loved to talk as much as he did.

The kid was taken with a sudden coughing fit that seemed to come from the soles of his feet. I winced in sympathy and waited until he finished before speaking. "Relax, I've had a few minor problems keeping the levels tolerable, but nothing I can't handle thanks to your lessons, Professor." I couldn't help but notice the way he lit up at that small bit of praise. Jeez, Sandburg was like a small puppy, starved for any little bit of approval. I hope he wasn't expecting a hard ass like me to provide that on a regular basis. That was a pressure I didn't need.

"If it's not your senses, then what are you doing here, Jim?"

Sandburg seemed genuinely puzzled, and that made me frown. I was struck that he didn't think I would be concerned about him beyond the Sentinel business. And a little hurt. But I guess I hadn't really given him reason to expect otherwise. "I heard you were sick. I thought I would stop by on my way home and check on you."

"You heard?"

Caught. "Yeah, um, well, I called the university. They said you called in at the beginning of the week."

"You called the university? Why?" He looked genuinely confused. Why did he have such a hard time accepting that I was simply concerned? Had I been that much of a hard ass? Or was he just that unused to having someone care? I wondered again if he had any family around.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay, see if you needed anything."

Another smile lit the pale features. You'd have thought I just handed the kid a lottery check. "You came all the way out here to check up on me? That's so cool, man. Thanks, Jim."

"So...?"

"What?"

"Are you going to be okay? Do you need anything?"

"Oh. Yeah, I'll be fine. I just need another day or two to get back on my feet."

Another day or two, yeah right. What Sandburg needed was a doctor, at least in my opinion, but it really was none of my business. Despite my tendency to keep calling him "kid", he was grown and quite capable of taking care of himself. It was just the flu, after all. A little cold medicine and lots of sleep and he'd be fine.

So I simply agreed with him. "Things are slow at the station. I'm not really having to use my senses much, and when I do, everything is working all right. Take your time...don't push yourself to get back into things too soon."

Sandburg shook his head. "No, really, I'll be fine in a couple of days, I'm sure. I don't get sick much, and when I do, it never lasts long. I'll give you a call in a day or so, and we can get back to work."

It sounded like a dismissal to me, so I stood, but I was inexplicably hesitant to leave. The kid really did look bad. I could see it was nothing short of sheer willpower keeping him upright, and his face had washed even paler just in the short time I'd been there. Jeez, what if he was really sick? Should he be here alone, with no way to call out?

"You going to be okay, Chief?" I couldn't help but ask.

He managed a weary smile and pushed himself to his feet. He wobbled for a moment, and I instinctively stepped closer, ready to catch him if he fell. He quickly regained his balance, with a chuckle.

"Whoa, head rush." After a moment, his focus seemed to clear. "I'm okay, Jim." At my skeptical glare, he added, "Really. I'll get some more rest, and I'll be back on my feet in no time. I'll call you. And in the meantime, be careful about focusing too much on any one sense. You can't take a chance on zoning, man, with no one there to pull you out of it."

I wasn't convinced anymore than he was by the assurances, but I let it go. Sandburg obviously was trying to get me out the door, and I thought I could understand why. I hated, absolutely *hated* for anyone to see me sick. I tended to lock myself in the loft and pretend the rest of the world didn't exist until it passed. So I could respect Sandburg's need to get me out of here. He probably wanted to get back to bed and sleep this stuff off. The least I could do was give him his privacy.

I didn't think Jim would ever leave. I was terrified I was gonna lose it in front of him. I scarcely made it to the bathroom before I was sick again. God, I hated dry heaves, but my poor stomach hadn't seen solid food in days. Not only didn't I think I could keep anything down, but I wasn't even sure at this point there was any food left in the warehouse.

An eternity later, I rinsed my mouth, splashed cold water on my face and wrapped the blanket back around me. I couldn't seem to get rid of this chill. Thoughts of my warm bed beckoned me, but I detoured through the kitchen. I was worried about dehydration, considering how long I'd been upchucking now, so I put a kettle on the burner for some tea. I'd've rather had juice, but I was sure that was long gone. While the water heated, I searched through my tins of herbs, looking for something that would make me feel human again, even if just for a little while. No such luck. Man, I really needed to hit a store. Some soup, some juice, some yarrow root, some slippery elm...hell, I'd even settle for some of that awful pink stuff to calm these stomach cramps.

The water reached a boil, and I quickly made a mug of tea, noting that there were only a few bags remaining. I'd have to ration what was left if I didn't want to run out before I could get to the store.

I carried the tea back over to the bed and lowered myself gingerly to sit against the headboard, pulling my knees up to ease the strain on my sore stomach muscles. I sipped tentatively at the hot tea, breathing a sigh of relief when it seemed like it would stay down.

I felt bad about not calling Jim at the first of the week. Honest I did. But I kept thinking I would feel better in a day or two. I couldn't believe the man had come by to check on me. I mean, okay, he had shown signs of getting used to me. His tolerance levels for loud, obnoxious grad students seemed to be rising. I just never expected him to...well, to care. That was weird, but in a good way. I liked the idea that someone had noticed I'd been missing. To tell you the truth, I'd've thought he'd have been happy to catch a breather from me and my "endless" tests. It was no secret Jim would rather face a mountain of paperwork at the station than one of my sensory tests. I knew he didn't like them, but how the heck does he expect me to help him if I don't at least get an idea of what we've got to work with?

I took another sip of the tea, frowning as another thought crossed my mind. Maybe concern wasn't why Jim really came by. Maybe he really was having problems with his senses and needed my help. Damn. That certainly made more sense. I should have known. He was having trouble with his senses. Why didn't he tell me? Why did he cover by saying he'd just been checking on me? Probably took one look at me and changed his mind out of pity. I knew I looked like I had one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel.

The more I thought about it, the more sense that made. Jeez, I'd only known the man for a few weeks. It's not like we were friends or anything. Yeah, I liked Jim. A lot. The guy was as rigid as they come, and God knows he could be as intimidating as hell when he wanted to be. That ice glare -- the one that would have had Al Capone singing like Mariah Carey --sometimes turns in my direction and has me literally shaking in my Nikes. But there was a lot more to the man than that. I had a feeling that not many people took the time to try to see beyond that macho front he wore like a shield. I noticed that a lot of the people at the station gave him a wide berth just on general principle. Shame, because I had a feeling Jim Ellison would make a hell of a friend if anyone managed to get behind that stoic bullshit he radiated. I also had a feeling that I wasn't going to be one of those select few who would. Simon...yeah, he'd made it. And maybe one or two of the other detectives. But me? Not on your life. I think most days, Jim would just as soon drop kick me as look at me. I was a means to an end. I represented his only hope for regaining control, and I had long since learned that control meant everything to Jim. So, for that purpose and that purpose alone, Jim Ellison was willing to tolerate even me.

Okay. Problem solved. Jim was having trouble with his senses and after getting here to ask for help, pity had kept him from mentioning it. So what was I going to do about it? I set the tea mug down on the box beside my bed that served as a night stand. I had to get up and go find him. I'd signed on for this, after all. I'd made promises that I was determined to keep.

I pushed myself to a sitting position on the edge of the bed, swaying for a few seconds while I waited for my head catch up with my body's intentions. By the time it did, I was practically gasping for air. Jeez, I had to get a hold of myself, here. I could do this. First a quick shower. That would probably do wonders for me right there. At least wash the sweat off. I glanced down with a grimace. God, I'd been wearing these sweats for three days now. I felt a sudden rush of pity for Jim. I hoped whatever was going on with his senses included his sense of smell. I was sure I was beyond ripe. A rat trap snapped suddenly, echoing eerily through the mostly empty warehouse. Another one bites the dust....It was several minutes before I heard a soft squealing that signified the rodent hadn't gone quickly. Damn. I hated when that happened. Means I had to get up and do something about it. Couldn't let the critter suffer needlessly. Wasn't his fault I wasn't willing to share my living space. I tried explaining that to my body, but it made no effort to listen. I continued to sit there, trying to ignore the poor creature's death throes. By the time I had worked up the energy to rise, the noises had stopped. Thank God. I wasn't sure my stomach could have dealt with that at the moment.

As if on cue, my insides started their, by now, familiar roller coaster ride. I made the bathroom just as my guts hit the bottom of the first hill.

I felt bad leaving Sandburg when he was obviously so sick -- I'd heard him retching when I left and had almost gone back -- but what could I do? Stay and hold his hand? Not bloody likely, no matter how much he was beginning to grow on me. I'm just not the Florence Nightingale type. Maybe I should have suggested he see a doctor, though. His fever had to have been at least 101, and it was obvious he'd been spending a lot of time bowing before the porcelain god. Wouldn't have hurt to have at least mentioned going to the doctor.

But it was none of my business. Sandburg might be a bit flaky by my standards, but there was certainly nothing wrong with his intellect . I'm sure he could determine on his own when it was time to see a doctor.

I had just about convinced myself of that by the time I entered the bullpen the next morning. It wasn't until I was called into Simon's office to go over forensics' findings on one of my current cases that I begin to question it.

Once talk of the case wrapped up, Carolyn turned to me and said the most surprising thing. "Where's your sidekick, Jim?"

Go figure. Carolyn, the Queen of Cool, asking about the hippie boy. I guess I looked as surprised as I felt, because she quickly added, "I've just noticed he hasn't been around this week. I wondered if he had finished up the paper he was working on."

Carolyn noticed Sandburg hadn't been around this week? Carolyn? My ex-wife? Again, go figure.

"He's got the flu."

"I thought you said he was busy at school," Simon commented.

"I called the university. They said he'd called in sick, so I dropped by to see about him on the way home last night."

"You sure it's the flu, Jim?" Carolyn asked. "There's a nasty stomach virus going around. I hear it's pretty bad."

I felt a frown growing and had to force myself to relax. Sandburg had seemed pretty sick for someone with just the flu.

"I heard on the news that it's put quite a few people in the hospital with dehydration."

"It hasn't hit the station yet," Simon said, "thank God. But the university is probably a breeding ground for these things."

"Yeah, probably," I agreed absently. My mind was elsewhere. Like a musty, drafty warehouse on the other side of town -- or rather, the odd little anthropologist that inhabited it...the one I was beginning to think of as a friend.

"Jim!"

Simon's voice drew me away from my thoughts. I looked up to see that Carolyn had already left the office and Simon was looking at me with his eyebrows practically in his hairline.

"What planet were you on?" the captain asked, then raised his hand to forestall my answer. "Never mind, I think I know. Planet Sandburg."

"Yeah, sorry. He was pretty sick when I stopped by there last night. If he does have this virus Carolyn was talking about...maybe I shouldn't have left him alone. He doesn't have a phone, and you should see what he's calling home, Simon. It's a warehouse over in the Freemont area."

Simon grimaced. "Not the best of neighborhoods. How'd Sandburg end up in a place like that?"

I almost smiled. "It's Sandburg, sir. Who knows why he does anything he does?"

Simon chuckled, then grew serious again. "Go check on the kid, Jim."

"Sir?"

"Go check on him, put your mind at ease, and then get your butt back here and let's put some criminals away." Without waiting for my reply, he grabbed a file from the large stack in his in box and began reading.

I headed for my desk and sat down, despite Simon's suggestion. I had too much to do to go running off. Sandburg was a big boy. He didn't need a mother, and I definitely didn't want the job. I'm sure he got along just fine for the twenty-something years of his life before I met him. He'd manage. He'd be fine.

It only took ten minutes for my arguments to run dry. I grabbed my jacket and headed out the door, catching Simon's grin out of the corner of my eye as I left.

The kid wasn't answering again. I had already determined he was home, and judging by the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat, he was sleeping. Persistent buzzing of the intercom garnered no results, so I did what any good cop would do. I jimmied the lock. Damn thing was entirely too easy to pick. I was going to have to have a talk with Sandburg about security.

I hurriedly crossed the expanse of empty warehouse to the small area Sandburg was calling home. The kid wasn't in his bed and the couch was empty. It wasn't until I stepped closer to the open bathroom door that I spotted him. He was laying on his side on the floor, curled up in a ball. Though wrapped tightly in a heavy blanket, he was shivering so hard I could hear his teeth rattling together from here.

Concerned, I crossed the short distance and kneeled beside him. A quick scan with my senses told me he was only sleeping, and I felt a wave of relief wash through me. But what in the hell was the kid doing sleeping on the bathroom floor?

I gently shook one thin shoulder. "Sandburg...wake up, kid."

It took a minute, but confused blue eyes eventually opened and found their way to my face. "Jim?"

I tried on a smile. "Yeah, it's me. Come on, let's get you back to bed."

"Huh?"

The confusion in his expression deepened. On impulse, I reached down and laid my hand on his forehead, verifying what my senses had already told me. The kid was burning up. His fever had climbed just since last night. My concern grew.

"You need to get up off this cold floor, Chief. Think you can stand?" There was no reply, so I hooked my hands under the kid's arms and gently hauled him to his feet. He swayed for a minute with his eyes closed. His face paled considerably, and I could hear convulsive swallowing. And it finally dawned on me why he was camped out on the bathroom floor. I just barely got him turned around to face the toilet before he began retching -- dry heaves that sounded like they were tearing his throat on the way up. Poor kid.

I held his wild hair back out of his face and rubbed his back, never once questioning what I was doing. It just seemed natural. After a few minutes, the heaves abated, and the kid sat back on his heels.

"Sorry...sorry." The words were whispered, his eyes closed. I had no idea what he was apologizing for.

"Through?"

He nodded, not opening his eyes. I helped him stand again and move over to the sink, where he rinsed his mouth. He straightened and turned toward me, his eyes, though still pain-glazed, finally showing some awareness.

"Sorry, man," he whispered again, pulling the blanket back around his shoulders.

Again with the apology! I just didn't understand this kid at all. I shook my head and reached for his arm, intending to help him back to bed, but he pulled away.

"It's okay, man. I can make it all right." Trying to lend credence to his words, he pushed past me and took a couple of steps toward the bed. Good thing I hadn't believed him for a second, because a second was all it took for his legs to buckle.

"Sure you can, Chief," I mumbled under my breath. Supporting his weight almost entirely, I got him to his bed and was just about to settle him into it, when I noticed the sheets were damp...sweat soaked. Jeez, just how high had his fever gotten in the night?

I detoured him toward the couch and sat him down. He immediately slumped over to his side and pulled his feet up to curl into a ball. I grabbed a couple of blankets from the top of the mile-high pile on his bed and covered him. He didn't even stir, just let out a somewhat contented sigh.

I stood there for a minute, debating what to do. I couldn't leave him here alone and him this sick. I'm not even sure he was aware enough to know I was here. God, what if something happened to him here alone, with no way to call anyone for help? I rolled my eyes heavenward...just who elected me Mother Teresa? Nursemaid was not my calling in life. I wasn't even sure I knew how to take care of someone sick. It wasn't like I'd had a lot of practice. Carolyn had been really sick only once while we were together, and her mother had come to take care of her then.

There didn't seem to be much choice. I couldn't leave Sandburg here by himself, and I hadn't a clue who to call to come take care of him. I imagine he had family somewhere, but I had no idea where to even start looking.

I took one more look at the kid -- he really did look like a kid curled up on the couch like that, his face relaxed in sleep -- and made up my mind. With a sigh, I pulled out my cell phone and made a quick call to let Simon know I wouldn't be coming back in today. He was understandably ticked; I was on the payroll, after all. But he was also, not so understandably, concerned when I told him how sick Sandburg was. Every time I think I have people figured out, they go and throw me a curve ball like that. Simon concerned about Sandburg. Who knew?

That taken care of, I turned my attention to the bed. I stripped off the damp sheets and pillowcases. I didn't see a laundry hamper, so I settled for rolling them up and shoving them in a laundry basket I found. It had been full of clean clothes -- at least I assumed they were clean, they were still folded neatly. I set the stack of jeans and tee shirts on the dresser and shoved the sheets in the basket. Then I set about hunting clean bed linens. I finally located some mismatched ones in a box in a corner.

The bed taken care of, I returned to the couch. Sandburg hadn't moved. I hated to disturb him, but he was bound to be more comfortable in his bed, so I gently shook one shoulder, bringing him slowly awake.

"Hey," he said, turning those fever glazed blue eyes in my direction. "Time for me to go home?"

I frowned at his words. I guess he thought he was at my place. He'd fallen asleep on my couch a couple of times when we were working late on the senses or watching a late game on the tube. "You are home, kid," I informed him. "We need to get you to bed. Come on."

Sandburg was boneless. His eyes were open, but nobody was home. He made no effort to help me, so getting him across the room and into the bed wasn't the easiest task I'd ever undertaken. I sat him on the edge of the bed. He swayed, but stayed in place. I worked the blanket he was using for a cloak loose and dropped it on the floor. His shivering grew more pronounced without the warmth that had built up under the thick wool. I debated pulling off the damp sweats he was wearing and finding him something dry and warm, but decided there was no point getting him that chilled right now. Maybe he would feel like a shower later.

Once I had him safely ensconced under the blankets, I gathered the space heaters that were scattered about the living space and focused their heat toward the bed. The warehouse was drafty, but the heaters were doing an admirable job warming the air they could reach.

Damn. How could anyone live like this? I just didn't understand it. Bad neighborhood, drafty living space, rats, probably roaches. Sandburg *chose* to live here? Or was it a choice? This might be the best he could afford. I shook my head in amazement. I understood now why he spent so much time at my place. Some nights I had to practically throw him out. It made sense now. Also made me feel like a jerk for resenting his presence there sometimes.

I moved into the kitchen area, figuring to take stock of where exactly I stood. Sandburg needed to eat something -- some soup, maybe -- and take some medicine. I wondered what he had....

Five minutes later, thoroughly disgusted, I gave up. Not only did the kid have no medicine that I could find, not even an aspirin, but there was no food in the place. Nothing! No soup, no crackers, no bread...nothing! I couldn't believe this! Not even any juice!

I debated my options. A quick sensory check assured me Sandburg was down for the count. I hated to leave him alone, but didn't see any other choice. I quickly located the kid's keys and pocketed them, checked the kid again and headed for the closest store.

"Sandburg...hey, wake up."

A soft moan met my efforts to rouse the kid. One more try and the eyelids split ever so slightly.

"Jim?" The eyes opened all the way, widening in surprise. "Jim? What...how...?" He raised his head and glanced around. I waited patiently while he confirmed his location. "My place?" His voice was weak, scarcely more than a whisper.

I nodded, feeling a frown settle between my eyebrows as I registered his condition. "Yeah, Chief. Your place. I've got you some soup here, so I need you to sit up, okay?"

A grimace passed quickly over his drawn features, and he turned his head away.

I could sympathize, but he needed something nutritious in his system. Who knew how long his cupboards had been bare? "Uh uh, buddy. I'm not asking, I'm telling. Now come on. You'll feel better once you get some food in you."

He turned his gaze back to me. I could see he wasn't thrilled by the prospect, but he gamely pushed himself into a sitting position and reached for the bowl of soup with shaky hands. I waited until I was sure he had a steady grip, then moved back into the now clean kitchen -- I had to do something while the soup was heating -- and poured a glass of juice. Grabbing a box of over-the-counter medicine the pharmacist had recommended, I moved back to the bed. The kid hadn't even lifted the spoon yet.

"It's not going to jump up there to your mouth, Chief. You have to actually move the spoon. Here, take these first." I took the soup and set it on the box next to the bed that he was using for a night stand. Pushing a couple of the pills out of the blister pack, I handed them over, then gave him the juice.

Sandburg eyed the pills in his hand for a second, then without voicing whatever doubts he might have had, he popped them in his mouth and took a small sip of the juice to wash them down.

"All of it, Chief. You don't want to get dehydrated."

He obediently turned the glass up and drank about half of it. The grimace that passed over his face warned me. I hurriedly grabbed the waste basket I'd had the forethought to prepare earlier. Just in time, too, as the juice made a hasty return visit. The vomiting gave way to dry heaves after a moment, and finally, exhausted, Sandburg fell back against the headboard.

Concerned, I tuned in to his vital signs. Pulse was much too rapid, breathing was strained, and his fever was at least 102. And he hadn't kept the pills down long enough to do any good at all.

"Sorry, Jim," he managed after a minute, his eyes still closed.

"Unless you did that on purpose, the apology is unnecessary." I grabbed the trash can and went to dispose of the mess. When I returned, Sandburg's eyes were open and he was studying me as though just seeing me.

"What are you doing here, Jim?"

"Boosting my chances for Humanitarian of the Year." I picked up the bowl of soup and the juice glass and headed back to the kitchen. It was obvious he wasn't going to be able to keep them down right now. Maybe in a little while.

"How did you get in?"

"I'm a cop, Sandburg. Remember? And we need to have a talk about your security around here." I moved back to the side of the bed. Sandburg pulled his legs up, making room for me to sit at the foot.

"Oh. Okay." His frown increased, and I knew there were more questions coming. It didn't take long. "Where did the...where did you find...I mean, I thought I was out of soup and juice."

"You were. I went and picked some up."

Now he was looking at me like I had grown a third eye or something.

"I don't understand."

"What's to understand, Darwin? You were out, I got some. No big deal."

"Why are you here, Jim?"

"I thought we covered this already."

"But...I don't understand," he repeated.

Damn. How did he get all those degrees if he couldn't follow logic any better than that? "Look, Chief. You didn't look so good last night, so I came by this morning to check on you. You seemed pretty sick, so I decided to hang around for a bit. Case closed."

"Oh."

That little bit of conversation seemed to have exhausted him. I stood. "I'll stick around a while. Try to get some sleep, and we'll try the juice and pills again later."

"You don't have to stay, Jim. I'll be--"

"--fine," I finished for him. "Yeah, I know. Go to sleep, Chief."

He scooted down in the bed and pulled the blankets up tight under his chin. I was just turning away when I heard his whisper.

"Thanks, Jim."

A smile lifted the corners of my mouth. I kind of liked that alien warmth in the vicinity of my heart at the words. I hadn't been "needed" much in my life, and I think I liked the way it felt.

I finished cleaning the kid's kitchen while he slept; then, not quite brave enough or bored enough to tackle the rest of his clutter, I searched for the remote to his TV. I couldn't find it, so I switched it on manually. Damn. No cable. There was fuzzy reception on a couple of the local stations, but nothing but soap operas on. I perused the small stack of videos on top of the TV and found something I thought I could sit through -- an old gangster flick with Humphrey Bogart. Popping it into the VCR, I noted a sticker on top of the machine that read "Property of Rainier University, Anthropology Department".

Twice during the course of the two-hour movie, I tried to get Sandburg to take a little juice and soup. Both times he valiantly tried, only to have it come right back up. After the second episode, I suggested a trip to the doctor, only to have the kid adamantly insist he would be fine with a little more rest. Yeah. Right.

The third time, as he vomited violently, tears of misery streaming down his face, I decided it was time to quit playing around with this.

"Chief..." I waited until he opened his eyes. The suffering I saw there made me wish I had reached this decision sooner. The kid was in some serious pain. "What's your doctor's name?"

"No doctor," he rasped, his throat raw from the abuse.

"Uh uh, kid," I was prepared to argue this time...and win. He was going to see a doctor if I had to drag him there kicking and screaming. "I'm serious. You're dehydrating here and it could get serious."

"No...I know....I mean, I don't have a doctor. I'll go to the clinic at the university."

Clinic, huh? I don't think so. I pulled out my cell phone and made a quick call to my own doctor. A couple of minutes later, with a little sweet talking to the receptionist, I had an appointment for the kid that gave us just enough time to get there...if we hurried.

I was slumped against the window of Jim's truck with my eyes closed, but I wasn't asleep. Not really. Dozing lightly, but definitely not asleep. I was mentally reviewing the day. What I could remember of it, anyway. I couldn't believe Jim had taken me to his own doctor. Hell, I couldn't believe Jim at all. When I'd woken up and found him leaning over me, a bowl of warm soup in his hands, I had just assumed I was still dreaming. But I wasn't. Jim really was there. And he had stayed there, cooking and cleaning -- cleaning, for God's sake! -- and generally taking care of me for most of the day. I was still trying to reconcile that man with the hard-ass detective I'd been working with for the past few weeks. I might have to revise a few of my preconceptions.

I became vaguely aware of Jim's voice beside me in the truck. I thought about opening my eyes, but the effort seemed too monumental. I think there must have been something in that shot the doctor gave me. After a second, I figured out he wasn't speaking to me after all. He was on his cell phone.

"He's better, I hope, Simon."

Solved that minor mystery. Satisfied that Jim didn't need my attention for this conversation, I let myself drift again. Suddenly, my thoughts latched onto something I should have realized before. Simon! Jim's boss! Jim was supposed to be at work. Oh, man...He must have taken the day off just so he could watch me puke my guts up.

I was completely embarrassed, but at the same time, I was oddly warmed that he would do that. I mean, he barely knew me, and yet he'd taken the day off to hold my hand while I barfed. No one else I knew would have done that, and I wouldn't have expected them to. But it was a good feeling to think that someone cared.

"He's out of it for the most part," Jim's voice continued.

I guess they were discussing me. Don't know why Simon would be interested.

"Doctor Marshall gave him a shot for the nausea. I think that's what knocked him out."

I'm not out, just resting, I argued mentally. It would have taken way too much effort to have spoken the words aloud. Hell, maybe I was out of it and was only dreaming I heard Jim on the phone. That would explain why it sounded like Simon Banks was asking about me. He must have, because Jim was telling him what the doctor had said.

"He's dehydrated and run down. I'm not surprised. The kid didn't have anything in his place to eat. I'm talking bare cabinets, Simon. I hate to think what would have happened to him if I hadn't stopped by to check on him." There was a long pause. "No, I'm sure. The doctor said it's a viral infection. He should be okay in a few days now that they're treating it. Probably be off his feet for another week or so while he gets his strength back. The doc gave him a couple of prescriptions and made him promise to get plenty of fluids and rest."

I remember that, so I guess I wasn't as out of it as Jim thought I was.

"Listen, Simon, I need you to do me a favor. Could you check Sandburg's records and see who he has down for an emergency contact?"

There went that warm feeling, right out the window. It was nice while it lasted. I knew what they'd find. Nothing. No sense putting my mom down; she was seldom available. And there wasn't anyone else. Guess I should open my eyes now and let Jim off the hook. He didn't have to stay with me anymore. The medicine his doctor gave me would help, and I could rest on my own.

I was trying to gather the energy to sit up and tell him that, but it was a losing battle. I could still hear his voice beside me, but it was getting farther and farther away. I guess I really was out of it, after all.

"Sandburg?" A hand was gently shaking my shoulder. "Come on, Chief. I need you to wake up. There's no way I can carry you upstairs, even with the weight you've lost this week."

Upstairs? I slowly opened my eyes and looked around. This wasn't my warehouse. It took a minute, but I eventually made the connection between what my eyes were seeing and my somewhat leaky memory. We were at Jim's place, the loft.

"You awake?"

I let my gaze find Jim. He had the passenger side door open and was waiting for me to show some kind of sign of intelligent life, so he could help me out. "Nhuh?" Okay, not exactly intelligent, but I was trying. My mouth just wasn't cooperating with my brain.

Jim reached across me and unhooked the seat belt. Big mistake. I think that must have been all that was holding me erect. I immediately slid sideways toward the door. Luckily Jim seemed to be expecting it and had me propped back up before I really embarrassed myself.

"Come on, Chief, help me out here." Jim pulled on my arms, and I obediently followed, getting my feet under me. It wasn't as easy as it should have been. What in the hell had that doctor given me, anyway?

It wasn't until Jim had maneuvered me up the elevator, down the hall and to the door to his loft that I managed to get my mouth on the same page as my brain. "Jim...wait...why are we here, man?"

Jim propped me against the wall beside the door and, with one hand against my chest to keep me upright, unlocked the door with the other. He steered me into the loft and toward the couch. Once he had me seated, he answered my question.

"I didn't think you should be alone, and no offense, but I thought you would be more comfortable here."

I couldn't argue with that. I wasn't breathing smoke here, for one thing. But comfort wasn't really the point I was trying to get at. "I'm fine, Jim. The doctor said I just needed to rest."

The look he gave me told me he wasn't buying it. "That's not what I heard, and I have pretty good ears, wouldn't you say, Chief?"

Quite the comedian. Remind me to laugh later when I feel better. Maybe it'll be funnier then.

"We've got to get some fluids in you, or you're going to end up in the hospital, hooked up to a water hose to replace what you've been losing."

I started this conversation off with a somewhat firm grasp of the English language, but I was fast losing it. Jim's words were becoming less coherent by the minute, even as I felt myself listing to the side. As the couch tilted up to meet me, Jim grabbed my shoulders and propped me upright again.

"Whoa, there, buddy. Not yet. We need to keep you awake long enough to get some liquid in you. Think you can stay with me for a few more minutes?"

Sure I can, Jim.

I really thought I had said that out loud, but I must not have, because Jim bent down to look me in the eye and prompted me again.

"Sandburg? You in there? Come on, stay awake for a few more minutes, okay?"

Since my mouth had suddenly decided to quit receiving signals from my brain, I settled for nodding. I must have succeeded with that, because Jim let go of my shoulders and moved out of my line of sight.

I settled back against the cushions of the couch and waited for him to return, letting my eyes roam around the room. Jim has a very comfortable home. A bit Spartan, but comfortable. The walls could have used a bit of color. There was a spot close to the TV where my Nafana Bedu mask would look great. I briefly considered asking Jim if he wanted it to hang there. I mean, it's not like I had any place at the warehouse to hang it, and I hated that it was just packed away in a box where no one could enjoy it. But reason prevailed. What would Jim want with an anthropological treasure? Definitely not his style.

I leaned my head back and let my eyes drift closed. I'm still awake, Jim. Just resting my eyes.

By the time I returned with Sandburg's juice and pills, the kid was gone again. I don't know what was in that shot Doctor Marshall gave him, but it was a sure way to guarantee that Sandburg got his rest. It wasn't easy, but I managed to rouse him enough to get the pills and half the juice down him. It seemed they wanted to stay down, too, thank God. I wasn't sure the kid's system could handle too much more of that abuse.

I retrieved a pillow and a couple of blankets from the hall closet and got Sandburg settled in on the couch. The phone rang just as I finished.

"Ellison."

"Hey, Jim. It's Simon. Everything okay?"

"Yeah. Sandburg's down for the count, but I got some liquid down him before he went. I think it's going to stay down this time."

"Good, good. Listen, Jim, I checked the kid's records like you asked, but there's no one down for an emergency contact."

I frowned at the news. Guess Sandburg didn't have family in town, after all.

"Jim? You still there?"

"Yeah, Simon. Just thinking. Thanks for checking on it for me."

"So what are you going to do with him now?"

My frown deepened. "I didn't want the information so I could pawn him off, Simon. I just thought someone might need to know where he is."

"You mean you're planning to keep the kid there and take care of him yourself?"

The surprise in Simon's voice stunned me. "You don't think I'd just drop him off at that rat hole he calls home and leave him to fend for himself, do you?"

"The Jim Ellison I knew last month would have probably done exactly that. You've got to admit, Jim, this kid isn't exactly the kind of person you would normally give the time of day to. To be honest, I'm beginning to realize there's a lot more to Sandburg than meets the eye, but...come on, Jim, Florence Nightingale you're not."

Simon's words caught me off guard. Is that how people saw me? Is that the image I conveyed? He honestly thought I could just abandon Sandburg like that? I didn't like hearing it from Simon, but he was my friend. He wouldn't lie to me. Damn. I was a loner, I'll admit that. But I didn't think I was a cold-hearted bastard, and if that's what people thought about me then maybe it was time to work on that image.

"Jim?"

"Yeah, I'm still here. You may be right, Simon. All I know right now is that the kid needs someone to watch out for him until he's back on his feet."

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. I wasn't sure if it was frustration or sympathy. "Things are slow around here right now. Go ahead and take another personal day tomorrow. If you need more time than that, just let me know. Wait'll I tell the guys you're playing nursemaid for your new hippie tag-a-long. On second thought, they'd never believe me, so why bother?"

I couldn't help a chuckle. "Thanks, Simon."

"Forget it. Just tell the kid I asked about him."

I hung up the phone and made another quick check of Sandburg. He was sleeping deeply, which was probably the best thing for him.

Suddenly left with an afternoon off and nothing better to do, I decided to clean out and organize the hall closet.

Jim had been gone for almost an hour now, and I had yet to move. I'd been just sitting here, processing for all that time. I had a lot of processing to do. I still couldn't believe the whole last week. What I could remember of it, anyhow. I had to completely reevaluate my whole perception of the man I thought I was getting to know. The Jim Ellison I had sought out to determine if indeed he was a Sentinel was not the same Jim Ellison that had shown up at my bedside, taken me to his own doctor, and then proceeded to wait on me hand and foot until I was back on my feet. I was having trouble reconciling the two.

I looked around my place. I had never quite been able to refer to it as "home". It was just the place I lived as far as I was concerned. Come to think of it, there weren't really that many places I ever did call home. They were all just stopping off places. Somewhere to live until it was time to move on. Wonder what that said about me?

But Jim's place...man, now there was a home. Or at least, it could be. It was comfortable, warm, inviting...but there was something else. I mean, I had lived in some nice places before, and none of them had felt like that. What was different about Jim's place? I couldn't figure it out.

But now wasn't really a good time to be thinking about it. I'd just end up depressed, and I was way too tired to deal with depression right now.

I glanced at the clock on the VCR. It took less effort than turning my wrist over to see my watch. It was almost lunch time. I had promised Jim I would eat something, and I had no excuse now not to. My cupboard was full, thanks to Jim, and I was keeping everything down, thanks to Doctor Marshall. All I needed now was the energy to get up and fix something.

I couldn't believe how tired I still was. I'd practically done nothing but sleep for almost a week now. I should be more rested than this. But I'd convinced Jim that I was okay, and I must have done a pretty good job of it, or he wouldn't have brought me back here this morning. Not that I was in a hurry to leave the loft, but damn, I couldn't just move in, no matter how appealing the idea was. Jim was a private person, and I knew I was invading that privacy. He'd gone above and beyond the call letting me stay there this past week, but it was time to thank him by leaving.

But, man, it'd been hard.

How's that old saying go? "You can't miss what you don't know you don't have." Or something like that. I guess I finally understood what it meant.

I don't know why, but driving away from Sandburg's place was harder than it should have been. I hadn't been entirely convinced that he was ready to go home, but he'd been pretty insistent about it, and I could understand where he was coming from. There's no place like home. Or so they say. How he could think of that drafty, rat-infested hole as "home" was beyond me. Guess it's a matter of what you're used to.

And I'd gotten kind of used to waking up to hear his heartbeat coming from the couch below my room. The loft was going to seem sort of empty without it.

At least he had plenty to eat, and I could come by and check up on him. That should have made me feel better.

It didn't.

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