Conclusion...

"Tell me you're just as shocked as I am, Jim," Blair requested, his eyes still on the report in his hands. "Please tell me this isn't just another day to you."

He heard Jim's sigh and knew he wasn't going to like the coming answer. "I wish I could, but just because I'm not shocked, doesn't mean I'm not sickened."

Blair was quiet for a minute, considering what he had just read. "It was just a game to him, wasn't it?"

"I'm afraid so. He just wanted to prove he was better, smarter...that he wouldn't make the same mistakes as his television counterparts."

Finally looking up, Blair locked eyes with the detective. "So, just because this sicko wanted to prove he was smarter than fictional murderers on a fictional show, four real people are dead."

Jim's expression remained impassive, but the sadness rolling off of him told another story. "You can't let yourself dwell on the failures, Sandburg. You have to focus on your successes. The victory here is that there won't be a fifth victim. Seth Eldridge won't kill again. Ultimately, that's what counts."

"I know you're right, Jim...I just...I can't stop thinking that four people who should be alive are dead because of this guy's need to prove himself. I just don't understand it."

Jim smiled thinly, the expression this time revealing a bit of his inner sorrow. "I hope you never do, Chief." He pulled the report out of Blair's hands and closed it firmly. "It's over now. Let's leave it to the DA and the shrinks to sort out." He put the folder at the bottom of a stack of similar folders on the corner of his desk. "We've got another hour before quitting time, so let's try get some of this paperwork knocked out."

For the next sixty minutes, Blair concentrated on clearing Jim's desk of the backlog of reports, trying to keep his mind from the depressing thoughts of Seth Eldridge. Jim was right, it couldn't be healthy to concentrate on the four lives they had failed to protect. It was much more productive to think of the countless lives that had been preserved by getting Eldridge off the streets. Easier said than done, Blair realized. He supposed it was a good thing he wouldn't be around much longer. He would never be able to check his emotions at the door.

"That's it, Chief," Jim said, stretching the kinks out of his back. "Let's call it a day."

Blair threw him a grateful grin and tossed his pen onto the desk. "Tell me again, Jim, how did I end up in charge of your paperwork?"

Jim returned the grin. "Because you do it so well. Must be your academic background."

"Or maybe I just have sucker written all over my face." Blair enjoyed the moment of teasing camaraderie. Times like this, he could almost forget who and what he was. Times like these, he was just Blair Sandburg, guide, teacher and almost friend.

"Hey, Ellison!" Brown called loudly as he approached Jim's desk. "Whose turn is it to bring the beer?"

"NOT yours," the black detective's partner replied, right on his heels.

"You wound me, Rafe," Henri said, slapping a hand over his chest in mock pain.

"H, you drink sludge. My dog wouldn't touch that stuff."

"You don't have a dog."

"I did until you fed him that generic crap you call beer." Rafe turned to Jim. "I'll bring the beer. Tell him to bring something else."

"You heard the man, H," Jim chuckled. "Bring something else."

"Just don't blame me if we end up with pork rinds and cheese puffs," Brown grumbled under his breath.

Blair listened to the easy banter between the men with more than a little envy. What he'd give to be "one of the guys." He stood, unobtrusively reached for his coat and edged for the door, embarrassed and a little hurt at being so obviously un-included. He breathed a sigh of relief as he made the elevator without drawing attention.

It would have been nice to be invited, but he couldn't really expect it. Instead, he'd spend his night off alone. Waving to the desk sergeant on duty, he exited the building, and was dismayed to find a misty drizzle had started sometime in the afternoon. He pulled his jacket collar higher, ducked his head, and stepped into the cold December rain.

"Just perfect," he muttered under his breath, as he stepped in yet another puddle of icy water. "Why does it always rain when I'm feeling sorry for myself?"

He managed two blocks before the drizzle became a steady downpour. Shooting a pathetic look heavenward in hopes God might take pity on him, he quickened his step. At least now he knew how he would spend his evening -- a hot shower, followed by Mrs. Hostettler's hot cocoa, a warm blanket and a good book. His landlady had the most amazing collection of historical fiction, and to Blair's delight, she actually insisted he indulge himself. Yeah, sounded like a good plan. Then he could catch up on his sleep. Maybe he'd sleep in tomorrow, go in to the station late. Who would miss him?

A car horn blew, startling him from his thoughts. He looked up and was surprised to see Jim's truck pull along side him.

The detective leaned over and pushed open the passenger door. Blair hesitated only a second before climbing gratefully into the warm truck cab.

"Why'd you leave like that?" Jim asked, turning up the heater and angling the vents toward Blair.

Blair reached his cold fingers toward the nearest heat outlet. "You said we were through for the day."

Jim frowned. "We were, but I had intended to invite you to my place tonight, to join the game."

Blair blinked at Jim. Was he telling the truth? Had he really intended to invite him, or was he just trying to save face? "I thought I'd just make an early night of it."

"Blair, I really was going to invite you."

God, am I that transparent?

"The reason I didn't earlier, is because..." Jim looked away, still frowning. "I didn't want to put you on the spot. I wasn't sure if you could...if you wanted..."

"You weren't sure I couldn't afford to participate," Blair finished with sudden insight.

"You work hard for your pay, and I know you don't spend it frivolously," Jim said, throwing him an awkward half-smile. "I do want you to come. If you want to. It'll be just Rafe, Henri, Simon, and maybe Hank."

Blair thought about it for a minute. He really did want to go, be one of the guys, just for the night. "Okay."

Jim's face lit up in a brilliant smile, and if Blair had questioned his sincerity before, there was no doubt now.

"What can I do?"

"Finish drying off," Jim instructed, "then you can help me set out the snacks."

"Sure." Blair continued to rub at his damp hair with the towel. "You know, Jim, I was thinking..."

"Thanks for the warning."

"Funny." Blair decided his hair was as dry as it was going to get and ducked back into the bathroom to toss the towel at the hamper. He went back into the kitchen, reached past Jim to grab a bag of chips and opened them while he finished his thought. "This is a perfect opportunity to see what you can do. Think about it, man, if you can detect a lie, why can't you use the same process to tell when someone is bluffing?"

Jim groaned. "No way, Chief. We're here to have fun tonight. F-U-N. Fun. If you don't understand the concept, I can explain it to you. No tests."

A knock at the door interrupted Blair's planned reply. "You know, if you had let me run that test yesterday--"

Jim held up his index finger. "Ahnt! Don't start!" The grin he struggled to contain spoiled the effect.

Determined to get the last word, Blair continued under his breath, knowing Jim would hear. "Well, if we had you'd have known someone was approaching, AND..." he raised his voice, "...you'd probably know who it is."

Jim rolled his eyes and headed for the door as a second knock sounded.

Blair continued setting out the snacks as Jim opened the door. Before the detective spoke a word, Blair knew something was wrong. The air in the loft intensified, thickening with a conspicuous tension. Blair moved closer to the door, trying to see who had caused the change of atmosphere. It was an older man, distinguished, well dressed, with an air of authority. He was a stranger to Blair.

"Dad," Jim greeted with a decided lack of enthusiasm as he stepped back to allow the man entrance.

Dad? This man was Jim's father?

"Jimmy," the man returned. He threw a fleeting glance in Blair's direction, appraising him with a disinterested eye, and dismissing him just as quick. Glancing at the snack bowls sitting on the kitchen island, he asked, "Are you expecting company?"

Jim closed the door slowly, taking a few seconds before turning to face the man. "Yes." He didn't elaborate.

This is not a happy relationship, Blair decided. There was definitely a history here, and Blair was curious.

If Mr. Ellison noticed Jim's reticence he kept it to himself. "I'll get to the point then. I want you to reconsider my offer."

Blair didn't miss the nervous glance Jim threw his way.

"My mind is made up, Dad. I don't want to discuss it."

"Jimmy, be reasonable. Just hear me out, son. I've talked to some friends I have at the institute."

The reference grabbed Blair's attention.

"They tell me you're flirting with danger by denying your senses."

Jim entwined his arms over his chest and set his stance. "I'm not denying my senses, I'm denying a need for a guide. I've learned to control them and even use them."

The older man looked surprised. "Use them? That's not possible without a guide."

"I have help." He gestured toward Blair. "This is Blair Sandburg. He's been helping me with my senses. Blair, this is William Ellison. My dad." The last was added with an obvious hesitation.

Blair stepped forward, offering his hand. "It's very nice to meet you, sir."

The older Ellison ignored the greeting and the hand. "Are you a guide, Mr. Sandburg?"

Blair hesitated, not sure how Jim wanted to play this, but the detective's expression gave him no clue. "I used to be."

"Used to be?" William's eyes dropped to Blair's hand, which was still extended, the tattoo clearly visible. "Son of a bitch! He's a W.O.L.F.!"

Blair took a step back from the vehemence and disgust assailing him.

"Damn it, Jimmy, you need a REAL guide, someone who can really help you, not a defective reject like this!"

Jim stepped between Blair and his dad, his fists clenching at his side. "I'm more than content with the arrangement I have with Blair and with what we've accomplished so far. Frankly, Dad, this is none of your business, and I don't see a need to discuss it with you any further."

"Like hell! I'm still your father, which makes your welfare my business."

"Excuse me," Blair interrupted weakly. "I'm, um," he pointed over his shoulder at the bathroom. "I'll be..."

Jim nodded, not taking his eyes from his dad's face.

Blair made a hasty escape into the bathroom and shut the door. For several long minutes, he leaned against the cold wood, working to control his breathing. Between the harsh words from Jim's father and the heavy, dark atmosphere bombarding him, he felt like he was suffocating.

As his breathing slowed, he realized he could still hear the loud voices coming from the other room. He moved away from the door and turned on the water in the sink to drown out the words. If only he could hide from the emotions as easily.

Jim closed the door behind his father with a little more force than was necessary. He quickly turned his attention to the bathroom, extending his hearing as he approached and softly knocked. "Blair?"

The tap in the sink turned off abruptly.

"He's gone," Jim informed the young man.

The door opened after only a slight hesitation, and Jim quickly scanned Blair, taking note of the flushed face, too quick pulse and lowered gaze. "You okay?"

"Sure." Unfortunately the tone didn't back up the assurance.

"I'm sorry about my father. He's--"

"No, hey, man, you don't owe me an apology. It's cool." Blair pushed past Jim into the living room.

"Yes, I do." Jim followed. "There's no excuse for what he said. He just doesn't understand."

"Jim, he's your dad. He's concerned about you, and rightfully so. You're a sentinel with no guide, and he's been led to believe that's a dangerous combination. He just wants what he believes is best for you."

Jim shook his head. "That doesn't excuse what he said, or how he treated you."

Blair shrugged. "I'm a W.O.L.F., Jim. It's a fact I can't change. That's just the way it is. The way it's always going to be."

"That doesn't make it right." Jim found himself strangely angered by the young man's calm acceptance of such offensive behavior.

"Doesn't make it wrong, either. He had a valid point, Jim. I'm not going to be around to help you much longer. You need a guide. A real guide.."

Stung by the words, Jim snapped, "Damn it, Sandburg! You don't know what the hell you're talking about. Stay out of it!" He immediately regretted the outburst as he felt, more than saw, a wall fall into place behind the young man's eyes.

"Sandburg--"

A knock at the door interrupted Jim. He tried to catch Blair's gaze, but the young man turned away. With a frustrated sigh, Jim let his fellow detectives into the room.

The men around the table groaned in sympathy. Hank nearly choked on his beer trying not to laugh.

"Well, hey, man," Henri added, "he took his life in his hands when he ruined that damn pink coat. The poor fool had no idea what he was starting."

Jim shook his head and tossed his pathetic cards down. "I'm out."

"Call," Rafe said, tossing a few more chips into the pot.

Simon followed suit, and then Blair.

Jim studied the young man as the play progressed around the table. Blair seemed to have put the unfortunate incident with Jim's father behind him. He appeared to be relaxed and having a good time. It had been a bit awkward at first, but he'd loosened up as soon as it became apparent no one had a problem with his presence. Jim was pleased to hear much of the easy banter included the youngest member of the group. He was more pleased, though not at all surprised, to see Blair give as good as he got. The young man had a sharp wit and an extraordinary vocabulary.

"Damn it, Sandburg!" Simon growled tossing down his cards as the play ended. "You could let someone else win at least one hand."

Jim watched as Blair pulled the pot to him and began separating the chips into neat stacks.

Hank gathered the cards and began shuffling for another round. "What's your secret, kid?"

Blair looked up, grinning smugly. "I can't tell you, or you wouldn't let me play."

Jim's smile faltered a bit. Blair hadn't sounded entirely like he was joking.

"Well, whatever it is, quit!" Simon snapped with a mock scowl. "You're taking all the fun out of the game."

"Why do you do that, Hairboy?" Henri asked, pointing to the six uneven stacks of chips in front of Blair.

Jim laughed at the new nickname as he studied his cards. Had Hank actually shuffled? This hand looked just like the one he'd had last round. "Yeah, kid, what's up with that?" Hank questioned, throwing a chip into the center of the table.

"I'm keeping everyone's chips separate."

"Why the hell would you do that?" Simon asked, meeting the bet.

Blair waited until the play passed him before responding. "So I can give them back when we're through."

"Give them back?" Jim looked up, sure he'd misunderstood. "Why would you give them back? You won, fair and square."

Blair sucked in his bottom lip as he raised his eyes to meet Jim's. "Um, no, I didn't. Not really."

Play stopped.

"You're cheating?" Henri asked for them all.

"Not really cheating. More like...taking advantage...of a...um, of a..." He looked to Jim for help.

Sudden realization widened Jim's eyes. "Blair's a sensitive." Why hadn't he considered that before?

Five sets of eyes pinned the young man to his chair. He visibly shrank in on himself.

"No shit?" Hank was the first to break the silence. "You can tell what we've got?" He sounded more curious than angry.

"Not really," Blair answered, his tone decidedly nervous. "I don't read minds."

"Then how...?" Rafe wanted to know.

Seeing, or maybe sensing, that no one wanted to string him up, Blair sat up a little straighter and risked meeting the gazes still directed at him. "I, um, can tell when you're really excited about your cards, and when you're not."

Simon slapped his cards on the table. "Well, hell! Why didn't you tell us this before?"

Shrinking again, Blair offered, "I was going to give it all back, honest. I just...I wanted to join the game, and I didn't think you'd let me play if you knew."

"I don't mean the game," Simon clarified. "That's no different than Jim's senses as far as the game is concerned. I mean, why didn't you tell us this?"

Somewhat relieved, Blair almost smiled. "It's not something useful, like what Jim can do. I can't control it."

"Judging by the chips in front of you, I don't know if I believe that."

Blair's eyes dropped to the piles of chips on the table in front of him. "It's different with you guys. I know you, I'm comfortable around you. And your emotions are, well...intense. Probably because of the alcohol."

"Well, hell," Simon repeated, but there was no animosity in the words.

Blair set his cards down carefully. "Is it okay if I still watch?"

The men exchanged looks. Jim, feeling he had correctly read their expressions, answered for them all. "We don't care if you play, Chief."

"Now that we know, we can...I don't know, maybe be more careful," Rafe added.

Henri and Hank nodded agreement.

Blair shook his head. "No, I'll just watch, if it's okay. Honest, I'm fine with it."

Jim studied Blair carefully and, convinced he was telling the truth, smiled. "No problem, Sandburg, but if you're not playing, you've got beer duty."

There was laughing agreement from the other players, and Blair groaned exaggeratedly and headed for the refrigerator, but he couldn't hide his grin of relief.

The streets were nearly deserted, but Jim drove deliberately slow. The night had gone well. Blair seemed to have a good time, and Jim knew he, himself, had. The good feeling he was left with gave him the courage to approach the subject foremost in his mind. He chose his words carefully, knowing he couldn't afford to screw things up.

"Blair," Jim began, casting a sideways glance at his silent passenger. "Things have been going well, don't you think? With my senses, I mean. We've made a lot of progress. A month ago, I had no clue what I was capable of; now look how far I've come."

Jim turned a corner, then risked another glance to his right, looking for something in the young man's face to tell him what was going on in that brilliant, but convoluted mind. There was nothing, and Jim was certain that was deliberate. "All I was after was control," Jim continued, looking for words to fill the uneasy silence, "but you showed me how useful my senses can be. I've opened the box, thanks to you, and I've discovered I don't want to close it again."

There, I've said it! Jim was absurdly pleased with himself for finally admitting, at least to his way of thinking, that he needed the kid. He waited for Blair to respond.

This is it --'Thank you very much, and goodbye.'

Blair turned his head to hide his face, closing his eyes as he felt the life drain out of him. Damn it! It was only a few days until Christmas. Couldn't Jim have waited until after the holiday to kick him out? Couldn't he have found just a little of the spirit of the season?

The night had been so perfect, so nice, and now...adios amigo, and don't let the door knock you in the ass on the way out. Shit! Blair clenched his eyes tight against the burning that filled them. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Well, never let it be said Blair Sandburg doesn't know when to quit.

"I've been thinking of leaving town," Blair said suddenly. He kept his eyes averted, not wanting to see the relief on Jim's face as he let the sentinel off the hook. "Now that you have a handle on your senses, you don't really need me anymore. It's going to be a rough winter, so I was thinking it's a good time to head south, before the cold sets in."

A unexpected tenseness filled the atmosphere, surprising Blair, but he consciously blocked the feeling and continued. All that was important now was retaining as much dignity as he could. "I've been saving my money. I've got enough to get me to Mexico," he lied, "or maybe even Central America. Somewhere warm and sunny."

The truck took the next turn a little too fast, slamming Blair sideways toward the window. He braced himself and cast a quick glance at Jim. The man's jaw was clenched tight and the muscles in his temple were throbbing. He didn't look as pleased as Blair had expected, but that was probably because Blair had beat him to the punch, quit before he could be fired. Maybe Jim had wanted that satisfaction for himself. That little bit of vengeance should have made him feel better, but it didn't.

"I'll, um, need to let Mr. Loomis know, so would it be all right if I hung around until after Christmas? It would give us time to go over a few more things...just to be sure you'll be able to cope."

"I can cope just fine, Sandburg," Jim ground out from between still clenched jaws.

Blair flinched at the tone of the words.

"After Christmas is fine," Jim added after a minute of tense silence.

Blair nodded, biting his lip to stop himself from begging Jim for another chance. He'd had almost two months already, far more than he'd expected at the start. How could he complain?

Jim pulled the truck to the curb in front of Mrs. Hostettler's. Blair climbed out quickly, wanting to get away before his emotions made an ass out of him, further angering Jim. Just as he was about to shut the truck door, Jim called after him.

"Chief..."

Blair stopped. "Yeah?"

Jim looked like he wanted to say something. Blair waited expectantly, but Jim just shook his head, turning his eyes away. "See you tomorrow," he settled for before he put the truck in gear and pulled away with a squeal of tires.

Blair frowned. Why was Jim so angry? He'd gotten what he wanted, hadn't he? Or maybe not... Maybe Blair had misunderstood, jumped the gun. He thought back over the conversation trying to remember Jim's exact words. It had sounded like Jim was about to give him the boot, but what if he was wrong?

Blair sighed, still staring after the truck, though it had long since disappeared. He couldn't start questioning his actions now. It was a done deal, his bridges were burned, and he knew it was for the best. The sentinel needed something more than Blair could give. Jim deserved a real guide, one who could give him a solid foundation, a bond. With Blair out of the picture, it wouldn't take long for him to realize that, then he'd have no choice but to consider a more permanent arrangement.

It would work out, Blair consoled himself as he turned toward the door. He'd get to Mexico...eventually...and Jim would get a real guide. It would work out for everyone.

William waited until the W.O.L.F. was almost to the door before stepping from his car and calling to him. Sandburg turned at the sound of his name, and William was startled to see a soul deep sadness in the blue eyes before it was replaced by surprise.

"Mr. Ellison?"

"We need to talk."

"How...how did you..."

"Find you?" William snorted. Surely this boy wasn't that naïve. "What difference does it matter now?" He moved a few steps closer, until he was only a few feet away. "I have a proposition for you."

To William's surprise, the boy snorted. "That's the line that got me where I am now. You might want to try something more original."

William let the smart remark pass without comment. "This is about Jim." He could tell he had the young man's attention now. "I've been to the institute."

"So you said earlier."

"What I didn't say then was that I've already made arrangements to secure the services of a guide, the best of this year's class." He didn't miss the pained expression that passed quickly over the boy's face.

"Jim isn't interested in bonding."

"Jim doesn't know what's best for him," William responded impatiently. "But he'll come around now that it's a done deal. My problem is you, Mr. Sandburg."

"Me?"

"As long as you're around, Jim is going to use you as a crutch, an excuse to resist my offer. What I need is for you to disappear."

Fear danced briefly across the young face, and William almost felt ashamed of himself. He should have chosen his words more carefully. "Don't misunderstand me, Mr. Sandburg. All I want is for you to leave town, and I'm willing to help you out. Twenty thousand dollars. Right here, right now, if you're gone by tomorrow night."

"W-what? Twenty..."

"Twenty thousand dollars. Enough for you to set yourself up somewhere more...agreeable. All you have to do to get it is disappear."

"You're wasting your money, Mr. Ellison. If you had just waited a few more days, you could have saved yourself the time and trouble."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm leaving anyhow. Jim and I...our deal was never permanent. I was only supposed to hang around long enough to teach him a few things, help him gain a little control. I've already told him I'm leaving right after Christmas."

"After Christmas?" That wouldn't do, William decided. "I want to introduce Jim to his new guide as a Christmas present."

Sandburg shook his head sadly. "I don't think Jim is going to be exactly thrilled, Mr. Ellison, but you know your son better than I do, I'm sure."

"I'm sure. Look, Mr. Sandburg, the deal still stands. I want to give Jim his 'present' tomorrow night. I need for you to gone by then. You leave, the money's yours."

"I don't want your money, sir. I told you, I'm already planning to leave."

"Accelerate your plans, and take the money. Just be gone by tomorrow night."

Silence stretched between them. William prided himself on his ability to read people, and his instincts were telling him to let Mr. Sandburg have a moment. He would accept the deal. How could he refuse?

"All right."

"Good," William nodded smugly. "I'll get you a check--"

"No," Sandburg stopped him, a cold expression on his face. "I want cash. The banks open at nine, bring the money here at nine-thirty."

William nodded, accepting the stipulation. "Done." He started to leave, his mission accomplished, but something in the young man's bearing stopped him.

Sandburg stared at him, the sharp blue eyes seeming to look into his soul. "Jim isn't going to be so easy to convince, you know."

"That's not your problem."

With a nod, Sandburg agreed. "I have a feeling there's a reason he's so adamant about not bonding. Maybe you should try asking him about it, as a father to a son."

Who the hell did this W.O.L.F. think he was, telling him how to manage his own son? "The money will be here tomorrow morning. See to it you keep your end of the bargain." With that William turned on his heel and left. He drove away, leaving the young man standing in the shadows cast by the street lamp.

It had gone bad from word one, Jim decided. Jim's only intention had been to make a permanent offer, and now he had nothing. No, not nothing, he had as much as he had before. More actually. He had all he'd set out to gain. Sandburg had made good on his promise. Jim had control, he had use of his senses, and that was all the kid was obligated to deliver.

Blair had never given Jim any indication whatsoever that he'd be willing to make the deal a permanent one. And yet, Jim had been so certain, so very sure that it would work out. How could he have miscalculated so badly? Had Blair planned to leave town from the start? Had that been his objective from the very beginning? How could Jim have missed it?

What was he going to do now?

He parked his truck in its usual place and dragged himself up to the loft. The evidence of the night was still strewn across the room. He pointedly ignored it, mounting the stairs to his room to undress.

Why did he feel so...so...lost? He'd known Blair Sandburg for less than two months, so why did hearing that the guide was leaving town make him feel as though his heart had been ripped out? Jim couldn't understand his feelings.

He stretched across the bed, not bothering to turn down the covers. Maybe it had been a misunderstanding. Was that wishful thinking? Or had something happened, something to make Blair feel he had to leave? The fight Jim had had with his father? His dad had been incredibly rude, but somehow Jim didn't think that was enough to make Blair feel he had to leave. What else?

The night had seemed smooth enough. Blair had gotten along with the guys, had a good time...or so Jim had thought. Maybe someone had said something to him. He tried to think back over the night, but couldn't remember a time when Blair had been alone with anyone. Besides, the guys all liked Blair. None of them would have said anything.

Jim turned over and punched his pillow into submission. Ultimately, it didn't matter. The choice was Blair's. Jim couldn't make him stay if he was intent on leaving. He didn't have the right to even try.

Did he?

Blair made it through the day with his heart in his throat, certain anyone who looked his way could plainly see his distress. How could they not? But when even Jim seemed not to notice, he concluded his soul was not as visibly mutilated as it felt.

William Ellison was true to his word. The man arrived at precisely nine-thirty to deliver the money. Blair almost reneged on the deal on the spot. Instead, he'd accepted the payoff wordlessly, feeling like the traitor he was. With it, he could finally make his trip south, as far as Chili, or maybe Peru, wherever he could find the anonymity he craved. With it, he would begin a new life, one which did not include sentinels.

Jim would hate him when he discovered the betrayal, and Blair had no doubt he would discover it. The sentinel would never believe Blair had accepted the payoff for any reason other than greed. He would never understand Blair's anguish.

Determined to make the most of his last day with Jim, Blair kept a smile on his face throughout the day. Jim seemed tense, edgy, but Blair blamed it on the late night and the stress of the holiday chaos. The station was incredibly busy, for which Blair was thankful. Though it made the time pass much too quickly, it kept his mind off of the fact that this was the last time he would ever be here -- the last time he would ever see these people.

"Is something wrong, Sandy?"

Blair turned from the coffee machine he'd been contemplating to find Megan watching him, concern in her dark eyes. He forced a smile, hoping it didn't look as pathetic as it felt. "No, of course not. I'm just trying to decide if I want coffee or tea." To prove his point, he lifted the carafe and poured himself a steaming cup of coffee.

Megan seemed to accept the answer. She continued on to the vending machine and procured a chocolate bar. "Afternoon energy break," she explained with a grin.

"Megan..." Blair began. He wanted to tell her goodbye. She was the first person at the station who had been kind to him, and he would never forget her for that act of friendship. But how could he say thank you and good bye in a way that wouldn't give away his plans?

"Blair?"

"I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you for a friend."

She seemed surprised by his candor. He smiled self-consciously.

"It's mutual, Sandy, believe me," she assured him, returning his smile. "Oh, hey, how much money did you get last night?"

Blair's heart dropped into his shoes. How could she know?

"I heard you wiped the floor with the boys. Good for you."

The poker game. Blair laughed in relief. "I should have told them I was a sensitive."

"Why? Serves them right, if you ask me. So, how much did you make?"

"Nothing. I gave it all back."

She pursed her lips and shook her head. "Sandy! Why?"

"I had an unfair advantage. It wasn't fair."

"So did Jim."

"That's what they said. I just didn't feel right about it." And yet you took Mr. Ellison's money. Which is worse?

"Would have been fair if you asked me, but you didn't." She headed for the door, then stopped and turned back. "Oh, I almost forgot. I'm in charge of the refreshments for the Major Crimes Christmas party on Christmas Eve. I wanted to be sure you knew you're expected to be there. It's at five o'clock. Mr. Loomis will let you off for a couple of hours, won't he?"

I'll be long gone. The painful reminder remained unspoken, however. He settled for a lie. "I don't think it will be a problem."

"Great! Well, duty calls."

When she was gone, Blair sank into the closest chair and dropped his head into his hands.

He dried his face on a handful of paper towels, and gave his reflection a cursory glance, not willing to look too deeply into the haunted blue eyes staring back at him. Too many dark secrets exposed. He only hoped no one else knew how to read them. Shedding the dismal thoughts, he stepped out and headed for the bullpen. He wanted to absorb as much of this life as he could in his final sixty minutes.

Jim stood as Blair approached his desk and reached for his jacket. "I'm going to cut out a little early, Chief."

Blair's heart fell into his stomach. He was going to lose his last hour with Jim. He struggled to keep his panic from exposure. "Something up?" He sounded normal enough, didn't he? He must have. Jim wasn't checking him for a fever, but then, Jim seemed preoccupied. Maybe something was wrong. Maybe it was his senses. Maybe he should hang around a little longer...just to make sure Jim was okay.

"I've got to run by my dad's. Something urgent, he said, but then, everything with my dad is urgent."

Blair's heart was no longer in his stomach. It was gone. Destroyed by a few simple words. Shattered into a million tiny shards, and he knew in that moment it could never be reassembled in this lifetime.

Jim was looking at him, saying something, but the words were drowned out by the roaring in his ears. He concentrated on the movement of Jim's lips, forcing himself to clear his mind of all other thought, and the words slowly came into focus.

"...until tomorrow. I'll see you then."

He's leaving now! This is it! It was his last chance to say goodbye. He wasn't ready. He thought he was going to have another hour to figure out how to say it...without saying it. Jim was turning now, leaving. Blair wanted to call after him, stop him, beg him not to go to his father's, but he knew he couldn't. At the very least, he wanted to say goodbye in a way that the sentinel deserved. Before he could find the words, Jim was gone. Blair stood. He resisted the urge to run after Jim, ride the elevator down with him and seize a few more minutes, but he knew that would be a bad idea. Better to make a clean break. Less painful that way.

A nearly silent bark of laughter escaped. Less painful...yeah, right. Nothing was more painful than that moment, knowing Jim was on his way to meet his new guide, and he...he was on his way back to the streets. He had been right all those weeks ago, when he told himself that it would be harder now, having been reminded how life could have gone, but even knowing how painful the ending would be, he wouldn't have passed up the last two months.

It was time to go. He stood and picked up his jacket, giving the room one last look. Two days before Christmas, the bullpen was busy. Shifts would be changing in an hour. Blair let his eyes linger on each new friend, saying a silent goodbye, wishing them well, wishing...

Henri and Rafe, partners, inseparable. You thought of one, you thought of the other, but that's the way it is with partners, Blair had learned. They had accepted Blair, and had had a hand in his overall approval in the department. He owed them for that, and he only wished he could tell them so. He should have taken the time before now. Wasn't that the way it always was? You seldom said what you needed to say to people until it was too late.

Joel Taggart. A big bear of a man with an even bigger heart. He'd been the second to see Blair as more than a W.O.L.F. Joel had seen him as a real person and treated him accordingly. He'd taught Blair that not everyone would judge him by his status. And he'd been responsible for at least ten of the additional pounds Blair was carrying.

He said a silent farewell to Joel and let his eyes move on, saying goodbye to each of the men and women in the room. Megan wasn't here, he realized as he reached the end, but that was okay. He'd had his moment with her earlier.

Last of all, he let his gaze slide to Simon Banks' door. Blair felt bold enough in that instant to finally label this man as a friend. Simon's had been the hardest won acceptance. He'd held his prejudices and preconceptions like a shield, hard pressed to let them go. Blair felt most proud of this friendship, because he'd had to fight the hardest for it. He wished he could thank the man to his face, tell him how much he respected and admired him. He hoped the man would grant him one last favor. Watch out for Jim, Simon.

Before he could change his mind, Blair turned his back on the room. First stop, his locker to claim his meager belongings, then to Mr. Loomis to make his break there. Then...then back to his real home, his warehouse. He'd regroup, make his plans, and by this time next week, if all went well, he'd be somewhere a hell of a lot warmer.

Jim stood at his father's door, reminding himself of all the reasons he hated this house and the memories it held. It always took him a moment to gather his courage when he arrived, to put away his dread. Had his father not sounded so urgent on the phone, he wouldn't be here.

At last, Jim punched the bell, wanting nothing more than to get this over with and go find Blair, and hopefully straighten out whatever had gone wrong between them. The door opened, and a smile of genuine pleasure crossed Jim's face. "Sally! It's good to see you again." The Asian housekeeper who had all but raised Jim was the only bright spot in his infrequent visits to his father's house.

"Jimmy, how are you?" She pulled him into the house and into a hug. Breaking away, she added, "Your father is expecting you. He's in the study."

Jim planted a kiss on the woman's forehead and headed down the hall to his father's study. A quick knock brought an invitation to enter, and he pushed the door open. His father looked up from his seat behind the massive desk, a smile crossing his face to welcome his son, but Jim's attention was drawn to the other occupant in the room.

The stranger stood, and Jim quickly appraised him. Average height and nondescript features were an adequate description of the man, but Jim had a feeling it did not do him justice. Sharp, intelligent brown eyes surveyed Jim calmly. Something in this man's bearing, his expression sent an uneasy chill through the sentinel.

"Jimmy," his dad said, coming around the desk to greet his son, "I want you to meet Darren Scott."

Scott stepped forward with a smile, extending his hand. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Jim. Your father's told me a lot about you, and I must say, I'm impressed."

Jim stared at the man's hand for a brief second, oddly reluctant to take it, but he did. The instant his hand touched Scott's, a strange feeling washed over him. He looked up, surprised to see confusion in the brown eyes. Scott pulled his hand away sharply, breaking the contact, and took a step back, his eyes wide.

Jim rounded on his father. "What in the hell's going on?"

"Scott is a guide, Jim. I've brought the two of you together to see how'd you get along."

Thunderstruck, Jim simply stared at his father. There were no words for the swirl of emotions which flashed through him in that moment.

"Jimmy?"

"How...how could you...?" Jim closed his eyes, trying to calm his fury enough to make a coherent sentence. "You never listen, do you, Dad? Why can't you ever listen?"

William spoke to the guide, his eyes still locked with Jim's. "Darren, would you wait outside for a minute? I need to speak to my son."

Without a word, the guide left the two men, closing the door softly behind him.

"I told you I don't want a guide," Jim hissed furiously, "but you never listen. You do whatever the hell you want, regardless of anyone else's wishes. You always have, and you'll never change."

"Yes, I listened to you, Jimmy," William replied, his voice low and calm. "What I heard was a man who is confused about what is best for him. You obviously know you need help, or you wouldn't have sought out that...that W.O.L.F. Deep down, somewhere inside of you, you know you need a guide."

"I have a guide!" Jim yelled.

"That W.O.L.F. is not a guide!" William shot back. "He will never be a guide. He will never be able to bond--"

"Which is why he's perfect!" Jim stopped, took a calming breath, and lowered his tone. "If you had ever listened to me, Dad, you would know I have no interest in bonding. I - don't - want - to - bond! Not now, not ever. Whatever I have with Blair, it's enough. I've learned more about my senses and my capabilities in the past two months with Blair than I ever did when I was bonded." Horrified by his slip, Jim stopped.

"You...you were bonded? When?"

Jim sighed. It was out now, there was no way to take it back. "When I was in Peru, right after my senses first came online."

"What happened?"

"It..." Jim swallowed hard. "It didn't work out."

"A bond can't be broken," his father pointed out needlessly.

"He died." Jim's tone was resolute. He wasn't going to discuss it further.

"I didn't know, Jimmy. I'm so sorry. I know...I've heard what that does to a sentinel." He shook his head and lifted his eyes. "But you can't let that keep you from another bond, son. You have to see the necessity--"

More tired now than angry, Jim sighed. "Let it go. I'm not going to change my mind."

"Jimmy--"

"Let it go, Dad! What I have with Blair is enough. We'll make it work without a bond."

William was silent for a full minute. "No, you won't. Sandburg is gone."

Jim's head snapped up. "What? Gone...what are you talking about?"

"I paid him to leave town." William straightened, taking a step toward Jim. "Just this morning, I gave him the money to leave town. You want to know what your friendship was worth to him? Twenty thousand dollars. I'd have gladly paid twice, three times that, but it wasn't necessary. He jumped at the chance. He didn't even hesitate to betray your trust in him. Just grabbed the money and never looked back."

"You're lying," Jim accused, but even as he made the accusation, he knew different, and in that moment, he cursed Blair Sandburg for teaching him to detect a lie, and he cursed himself for being more willing to believe his father a liar than to admit Blair could betray him.

"I'm not lying, Jimmy. If you don't believe me, go look. Go see for yourself. He's probably halfway to Canada by now. And after you see, after you find out I'm telling you the truth, you come back and get to know Scott. I think the two of you are perfectly matched. You'll make a great team."

"Go to hell!" Jim spit out heatedly. "Nothing's changed. I don't want a guide." He turned for the door, but was stopped by his father's angry voice.

"I've gone to a lot of trouble and expense to arrange this, Jim. You walk out that door, you refuse this guide, and it's over. Don't bother coming back, ever! I will cut you off! Disown you! You hear me? You'll get nothing! Not one nickel!"

Jim's back stiffened, his shoulder's straightened, but he didn't turn. His voice low, he said, "So be it," and left the room.

Scott was waiting for him in the hallway. Anger washed over Jim, but he forced it down, knowing it wasn't this kid's fault. He was another innocent victim of William Ellison's manipulation. Jim approached the man slowly. "It's nothing personal, Mr. Scott."

"I know. I understand." He looked up, bravely meeting Jim's still simmering gaze. "Look, Detective Ellison, I owe you an apology. I knew the moment we shook hands that a bond between us would be impossible."

"You're a sensitive."

Scott nodded. "I never would have agreed to meet you if I'd known you already had a bond. I'm sorry. No hard feelings?" He extended his hand.

Jim hesitated only briefly, then took the hand.

"Go," Scott said. "Find him. Two bonds in one lifetime are too many for any man to lose."

It wasn't until Jim was in his truck, pulling away from the house that the guide's last statement registered. Two bonds?

The loft was silent and dark when Jim arrived. He didn't bother with the lights; thanks to Blair's teachings, he didn't need them. He headed straight to the refrigerator and got himself a beer, then went to the balcony doors. As he opened the bottle, he let his gaze sweep the scenery. Brightly colored Christmas lights twinkled from a few nearby windows, cars hurried by on the street below, and out on the water, an occasional boat swept by in the darkness. Jim tried to concentrate on these sights, tried to keep his mind from finding the raw memories and nudging them back to life.

It was a hopeless battle.

Blair was gone. No note, no messages, no goodbyes. Just gone.

Jim turned the bottle up and drained it in one long swig, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He thought about another beer, but decided against it. He'd love nothing better than to get rip-roaring drunk, but he had to work tomorrow, and it was already late. He climbed the stairs to his bedroom, undressed in the dark and got into bed.

But he didn't fall asleep. An hour later, his mind was still refusing the give up the fight. Relentlessly, he relived the horror at his dad's, at the station, and then at the rooming house when he realized Blair really was gone. His emotions confused him. He was angry and hurt. Betrayed. Yet, at the same time, he was worried. The anger was understandable, but the concern...Why? Why did he care?

He tried to tell himself that he was glad Blair was gone. God knew he was better off without the added stress of having to deal with the young man. He told himself he could function perfectly well without a guide, bonded or not. It had been his original plan, after all. He would manage. That's what he told himself.

He was still working on believing it.

And then there were the cryptic words Darren Scott had left him with. Two bonds? That couldn't be. The guide was confused. Somehow, he had sensed Jim's previous bond, though it was long dead and gone, and mistaken it for something more. Or maybe he sensed the bond that had tried in vain to manifest between Jim and Blair. That was probably it, Jim decided. Blair had said that the talents of a sensitive were unpredictable, impracticable. Scott had just gotten confused.

The years Jim had spent avoiding guides, avoiding even the mention of a bond, actively fighting to see that it could never again happen, it all came back to haunt him now. It hadn't been the bond which had caused the pain after all, he realized, noting the irony, because the pain now was every bit as deep as it had been all those years ago in Peru.

Christmas Eve. A holiday marked by good cheer, happiness, festivities and rejoicing. Simon shook his head, bemused, as he looked across the bullpen. You'd never know it looking at the gloomy faces out there. You'd think the kid died, rather than left. And he'd only been gone less than twenty-four hours.

Simon let his eyes drift to the gloomiest face in the room, Ellison's. He'd started the day snapping at anyone who made the mistake of getting within ten feet of his desk, but now...now he'd reached the opposite end of the scale. He'd become morose, glum. He'd been staring at the same computer screen for twenty minutes, acknowledging no one. If Simon hadn't seen him move occasionally, he'd have thought him zoned.

So, what was Simon going to do about it? His instincts were to let it ride, hope that time would even things out once more, but Jim was his friend, and he knew his friend was hurting. The man had described the scene at his father's, and Simon had no trouble reading the betrayal in his every move. Yet, he'd also seen something else, something he wasn't sure even Jim himself was aware of. He'd seen a deeper pain, something that went way, way beyond hurt feelings, or even betrayal. This was a pain of loss. A loss so great you couldn't even put a name to it.

All because of a W.O.L.F. A marked guide found living on the streets. He'd come into the department wrecking havoc on them all, yet burrowing under their skin with a tenacity Simon had to admire. Sandburg had made them like him, and he'd done something even worse to Jim Ellison. He'd made the man depend on him. For that, Simon cursed him.

"Simon?"

Snapped from his thoughts, Simon looked up to see Jim at his door. "Jim, come on in."

The detective entered slowly, almost reluctantly, and took a seat.

He looks lost, Simon realized with a start, and he wondered again what there was about Blair Sandburg that could have done damage like this to a man like Jim Ellison.

"Go find him, Jim," Simon said, before Jim could speak whatever was on his mind.

"Excuse me?"

"Sandburg. Go find him."

Jim looked away. "I wish it was that simple, Simon."

"Why isn't it? You miss him, that would be obvious to a blind man. Why don't you simply go find him?"

Jim's expression tightened, the muscles rippling as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. "You know why. I can't...I can't get past the fact he betrayed me. I don't know that I could ever trust him again."

"Jim," Simon sat up and leaned forward, "why is his taking your father's money any more a betrayal than what you were going to do?"

Jim blinked at Simon. "What? How did I betray him?"

"I didn't say you did, but he might have felt that way. Look, Jim, we both made it abundantly clear to the kid from the start that this deal was temporary, that we intended to use him until he'd served his purpose, then throw him back to the streets. Sandburg had no reason to believe anything different, so why shouldn't he have taken the money? Ultimately, he had to look out for himself."

"I did want the deal to change," Jim admitted softly.

"What?"

"I wanted it to change. I planned to ask him to stay, make it permanent. I know we couldn't have a bond, but I didn't see any reason why we couldn't continue on as we were. I didn't..." He stopped, closed his eyes, and Simon could feel the emotion in his next words. "I didn't want him back on the streets."

"But you didn't tell him that?"

Jim shook his head. "I didn't get the chance."

"Ah, damn, Ellison. You certainly make things hard on me, you know it?" Simon stood, moved to the door and stuck his head out into the bullpen. "Connor, Brown, Rafe...my office, now!"

Turning back to Jim, he smiled. "Nice to have friends with investigative skills, isn't it?"

Blair pulled the blankets tighter, fighting a useless battle against the chill. The candle had burned out hours ago -- yesterday maybe? -- but he didn't have the energy to dig out another one. Dark or light, what difference did it make? Actually, the darkness fit his mood better. He could pretend in the darkness. Pretend he was somewhere else, anywhere else. Not Mrs. Hostettler's, though, that was too dangerous. He couldn't let his thoughts return there. Maybe...maybe Mexico...nah, it was too cold. He couldn't pretend that well.

Maybe Paris. He'd been there once, in the winter, so it wasn't that hard to pretend. He closed his eyes, laughing at himself as he did. It was pitch dark, what did it matter? He closed them anyway and tried to conjure up the feelings, sights and sounds of Paris in winter.

What he saw was not Paris though, but rather a crowded, busy room, one well remembered. He tried to chase away the unwanted images, but they remained, determined to torture him with their memories.

Why? Blair cried out, cursing a talent which would torment his soul with such an unwelcome vision. Why this, why now?

Distraught, Blair scanned the image, his eyes going to a familiar and memorable desk, distressed to find it empty. He searched the rest of the room, looking for the one face he most wanted and most dreaded to see. He finally found it, behind the closed blinds of the inner office. He wasn't alone, but Blair ignored the others, his once-but-no-more friends, concentrating on the one he missed most.

The face looked haggard, fatigued, but as Blair watched, it became animated with an anger so strong, it drove Blair back through the link. He snapped his eyes open and sat up with a cry of pure desolation.

No longer comforted by the darkness, his shaking hands dug out a candle and fumbled for a match, striking a light to the waxy stub. For long moments, he sat still in the flickering light, trying to regulate his breathing.

Jim was angry...with him. Blair closed his eyes, fighting tears of anguish. He must know about the money. Somehow Jim knew. The idea devastated Blair. He was disgusted with himself, sickened to know how effortlessly he had betrayed the sentinel.

Twenty thousand dollars. The going price for a soul.

Blair scrambled to his knees, and began digging frantically in his backpack to find the tainted money. He found the envelope and pulled it out -- the evidence of his betrayal, the source of his pain -- and he knew what he had do.

What time was it? He wasn't even sure what day it was. Christmas eve, he thought, but morning or night? He had no idea how long he had laid in the darkness, letting the outside world slide by unnoticed, uncaring.

Blair stuffed the envelop into his jacket pocket, blew out the candle, and left his hideaway.

"That's all I've got, Jim, sorry." Megan Connor sounded as disappointed as Jim felt.

Blair Sandburg had simply disappeared from the face of the planet. The detectives had split into teams and canvassed the area where Blair had originally been picked up. Every resident, every business owner had been interview, interrogated, and they'd turned up nothing. Rafe and Brown were the only team still out, Jim's last hope.

What if they were too late? Blair certainly had the money to leave town, if that was his intention, and Jim had no reason to believe otherwise. But something, some inexplicable sense, told Jim he hadn't. Not yet. There was still time to find him, but Jim knew, by that same enigmatic sense, that it was fast running out.

"Here come Rafe and Brown," Simon said. "Maybe they have good news."

Jim was on his feet in an instant, meeting the two detectives at the door.

"We may have something, but it's not much," Henri said apologetically, as he pull his notebook from his pocket. "We talked to several people who saw him a couple of weeks ago, but nothing recent. Except..." He paused, glancing up from his notes.

"Except what?" Jim demanded.

"A couple of the people we talked to directed us to a blind deli owner on Hamilton Avenue. They said Blair used to do odd jobs for him on occasion. Mr. Coleman, the owner, admitted to knowing Blair and had some really nice things to say about him. Said Blair was around a week or so ago, but that he hasn't seen him since."

"But...?" Simon prodded.

"It was more his attitude than his words," Henri answered. "Once he found out we were cops, he started acting sort of..." He shrugged in his partner's direction.

"Peculiar," Rafe picked up the story. "Like he had a secret he was dying to tell. I don't know, Captain, it's just a sense, but I think he knows more than he's letting on."

"Name?" Jim asked already headed for the door.

"Coleman's Deli, Ron Coleman, 215 Hamilton Avenue," Henri called after him.

William heard the doorbell, but ignored it, knowing Sally would take care of it. A few minutes later, there was a soft knock on his study door. "Come," he called, looking up. To his surprise, the door opened to reveal Blair Sandburg. "You're supposed to be long gone," he accused, standing.

"I'm leaving, but there's something I had to do first." The young man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick envelope. "I've changed my mind about the money."

"You can't back out of the deal now," William began.

"No." Sandburg closed his eyes for a few seconds and drew in an audible breath. "No, I'm not backing out. I'm still leaving. I just...I don't want your money." He held out the envelope.

William looked at it, but made no move to take it. "What's your game, Mr. Sandburg? It's obvious you need it, and you say you're going to keep your end of the bargain, so why not take it?"

Blair lifted his eyes to meet William's, and the older man was stunned by the intensity of emotion he saw there. "I don't think you would understand, Mr. Ellison. Let's just say, I've found that I do have some principles, after all." With that, he dropped the envelope on the desk and left.

William stood staring after the young man. He'd obviously misjudged the W.O.L.F., but he was at a loss to understand how.

A bell chimed softly over the door as Jim stepped into the deli. A warm waft of scent-laden air welcomed him, reminding him how long it had been since he'd eaten. He ignored his unhappy stomach; that wasn't why he was here. An elderly man behind the counter turned vacant eyes in Jim's direction, a broad smile lighting the deeply lined face.

"Good afternoon. Can I help you?"

Jim moved forward. "Mr. Coleman?"

The man's smile faltered a bit. "You're a cop."

Jim was momentarily taken aback. "Detective Jim Ellison. How did you know?"

"Your voice, Detective. There's something very authoritative about it. I took a guess. How can I help you, Detective Ellison? The vegetable soup is outstanding today, if I do say so myself." He let his hand drop to the counter before him, sliding it down until it rested beside the crock of vegetable soup.

"No...thank you. I'm here for information."

This time the smile faded completely. "If this is about Blair Sandburg, I've already told your colleagues I don't know where he is. I haven't seen him in at least two weeks."

"I know, I just thought..." Jim hesitated.

"You thought what, Detective?"

"I thought maybe you had remembered something else. Something you didn't tell the other detectives. I really need to find him, Mr. Coleman."

The blind man blinked his sightless eyes. "You're him, aren't you? The sentinel. Blair's new sentinel."

"You hear that in my voice, too?" Jim asked only half sarcastically.

"No, but you're telling me just the same," the man replied cryptically.

"I have reason to believe Blair is going to leave town." Jim hesitated, afraid to speak the truth, but more afraid to deny it. "I want him to stay."

"Why would a guide leave his sentinel, especially when he was so happy to have found him?"

"There was a...misunderstanding. I want to fix it, but I can't unless I can find him."

Mr. Coleman moved around the counter to stand before Jim. For several long minutes, the unseeing eyes stared through Jim, seeming to weigh his very soul. "Blair may already be gone," he said finally.

"He's not. I don't know how I know it, but I do."

The old man nodded sagely, as though it was the answer he'd wanted. "I don't know where he lives, I don't think anyone does, but I would imagine that's where you will find him."

Despair filled Jim. "I don't know where to look."

"If you want to find him," Mr. Coleman's voice took on a new tone, sounding both very young and infinitely old at the same time, "all you have to do is follow the bond."

"What?" Jim shook his head, then remembered the old man couldn't see it. "No, you don't understand. We're not bonded. Blair can't...surely you know...he's..."

"Marked? Yes, of course I know."

"Then you know there's no bond."

Coleman smiled the smile of a man who had a secret no one else was privy to. "Follow it, Detective Ellison. You'll see." He turned away, slowly making his way behind the counter again.

Jim stared after him, stunned by the words. Bonded? To Blair? How could that be? And then, all of a sudden, Jim understood! "Son of a..." All this time he had been worried about not bonding with Blair, not being able to bond with Blair, and it was already there! Son of a bitch! It was true! There was a bond! A strong, solid, concrete, forever kind of bond! It explained so much!

"You going to stand there grinning like a fool all day," the old man said, "or are you going to go find your guide?"

Jim looked up, still grinning. "Mr. Coleman, I think maybe you see better than I do."

"Coming from a sentinel, I'll take that as a compliment. Now, go, find your guide, and when you do, you tell him not to forget who makes the best darn tomato soup on the waterfront!"

Jim stood on the sidewalk before Coleman's Deli, trying to figure out his next step. According to Mr. Coleman, all he had to do was follow the bond. If only it were that easy! Jim hadn't even acknowledged the bond until the old man had all but shoved his face in it. How was he supposed to suddenly know how to use it?

Closing his eyes, Jim spent a minute forcibly silencing the voice in his head which called him a fool for finally buying into the mumbo jumbo crap. Once it was quieted, he easily found the still, small voice that had convinced him Blair had not yet left town. He concentrated on that voice, letting it fill his senses. Blair would be proud of his self-discipline, he thought with a small smile.

Satisfied that he was as receptive as he could be, Jim opened his eyes, and turned to his right, knowing without a doubt it was the way to Blair.

Blair leaned his head back against the cold vinyl bus seat and closed his eyes. He felt completely drained. He'd thought now that his decisions were made, he'd be energized, ready to act, but all he wanted was to go home, sleep for a week and wake up to find the past few years had been a nightmare.

Ain't gonna happen.

Releasing a noisy breath that contained all the sadness and misery he felt, Blair turned his head to look out the window. It would be dark soon. Christmas Eve. The streets were packed with last minute shoppers, but soon the crowds would begin to dwindle as the shops closed. The people would soon be hurrying home to be with family, share a hot meal, maybe go to a church service. It was a holy night. A night of peace and meditation, celebration and solemnity. A time for family and friends.

For everyone else.

The holiday and its trappings, its festivities, did not include one Blair Sandburg. He'd given up his right to family and friends.

Tomorrow, he decided. Tomorrow he would leave Cascade. Tonight, he was tired, and it was Christmas Eve. Tonight he would sleep. Tomorrow was soon enough.

What Jim found sent an almost crippling surge of terror through him. My God! Blair had been living here for...how long? A year? Longer? One day was twenty-four hours too long!

With clenched jaw and fists, Jim surveyed the makeshift home his guide had constructed for himself. Cardboard, Styrofoam and old newspapers lined the walls and floors. A couple of old, threadbare blankets, a box of books, the clothes Jim had bought him not so very long ago... Jim dialed down his hearing, trying to ignore the skittering of bugs, rodents, God knows what else from all around him. The room was not fit for a human to live in, and yet Blair had been living here.

But the one thing Jim had expected, hoped to find, was missing. His guide. Sandburg's things were here, and Jim was confident he had not left town yet, so where was he? Jim was certain Blair would return, eventually. All he could do was wait, so wait he would.

An overwhelming weariness beset Blair's spirit and slowed his steps as he approached the warehouse's hidden entrance. He was beginning to realize the consequences of his actions. His pride had demanded it be done, and for that, he had no regrets, but now...what was he going to do? He had nothing. Or close to it. He had the money he'd been saving from his job, but it didn't amount to much. Certainly not enough get him to Mexico.

Blair moved aside the loose panel, squeezed his way into the darkness of his home, and stopped to think. He knew what he had to do. He'd never make Mexico with the money he had, but he could make it south...maybe to Dallas. He used to have family there -- maybe still did -- but he knew he couldn't approach them so long as he was marked. Oh, they'd probably help him, but it wouldn't be fair to ask. There would be too many repercussions if the word got out. He couldn't do that to family. That left one option. He had to get rid of the mark.

Once the mark was removed, he'd have to leave quickly, before someone found out and reported him. Too many people here knew his status. He ruled out finding someone to remove it, not likely with what little he could pay. Besides, he needed his money to get to Texas.

There was another option, one he'd considered and rejected before. He could burn it off. The idea sickened Blair, but he knew it was the only viable alternative. It was something he could do himself, then lay up here in the warehouse until it healed. He'd have to hide the scar it would surely leave until he was safely away, but once in Texas, he could fabricate a believable story to explain it.

The more he thought about it, the better the plan sounded. He could make it work, he was sure of it. Besides, what choice did he have?

With a definite plan in mind, Blair felt more energized than he had in days. Finally, he was taking charge of his life, acting instead of reacting. He'd do it now, while the adrenaline was running high, before he could change his mind.

Blair made it as far as the door to his storage-room-turned-home before he realized someone was there. He cursed himself for his lapse of caution. How could he be so stupid? He stopped and closed his eyes briefly, searching for the source of the emotions he felt. His room...Shit! My money! Everything he owned in the world was in that room!

Panicked and afraid, but too desperate to give up his only chance at a new life, he approached the door. To his surprise, he felt no danger, no threat emanating from the room. What he did feel surprised him. A deep, almost unbearable sadness, tempered by a growing anticipation... and...fear?

Curious, and not willing to abandon all of his worldly goods to this interloper, he opened the door, cursing himself for his stupidity even as he did.

There, sitting against the back wall with his arms casually draped over his raised knees, looking for all the world like the cat that ate the proverbial canary, was one Detective James Ellison!

Jim forced himself not to move, though it was evident Blair was seriously contemplating turning tail and running. Jim knew that if he moved so much as one muscle, he stood a good chance of spooking him into it. Had the situation not been so desperate, he might have found the young man's dilemma amusing.

Knowing he had one chance, and he had to make it count, Jim began to talk, pitching his voice low in an attempt to calm the frantic creature before him. "You're not an easy person to find."

Blair started at the sound of Jim's voice. "Wh-why would you want to?"

"I've done some thinking, Chief, and I've made some decisions." He waited until Blair looked at him, his eyes locking with Jim's, before continuing. "How would you feel about a permanent job?"

To his surprise a look of panic crossed the troubled face. "I can't...I can't go back to the station, Jim. I'm...leaving...right away, tomorrow. I'm going to Mexico."

"You taught me well, Blair. Did you think it wouldn't work with you?"

"What?"

"Detecting a lie."

"I'm not...I'm not lying," he insisted, not quite meeting Jim's gaze as he said it. "I am going to Mexico...eventually...and then hopefully, on to South America. I'm just not...I can't go right now."

"Why not?" Jim pushed. "If that's what you want, why not go now?"

Blair looked away. "I can't...afford it."

"What about the money my father gave you?"

Blair's head jerked up, his face paling. "How did you find out?" His voice trembled slightly with the question.

"He told me." Jim struggled to keep his tone even, give no hint as to his feelings. He needed to know, from Blair's own mouth, why he took the money.

"So what?" Blair's head lifted, his eyes flashed a challenge. "Why shouldn't I have taken the money? I needed it, and I was leaving anyhow, so I figured I might as well get paid for it."

Jim let his head rest against the wall behind him and chewed his lip for a minute. "You didn't answer my question. Why not use the money to leave, if that's what you want to do."

Blair dropped his eyes, his spirit suddenly seeming to flag. "I gave it back."

Jim had to lean forward to hear the softly spoken admission. He hoped to God he knew the answer to his next question, but he had to ask it anyway. "Why?"

Releasing a weary sigh, Blair slumped to the floor across from Jim. He pulled his knees up, crossed his arms on them and dropped his head down. Jim waited a moment, then moved to sit beside him.

"Why, Blair?" he repeated the question. "Why did you give the money back?'

Without lifting his head, he said, "I couldn't take it. It wasn't right."

"You earned it. You did what my dad wanted." There was no accusation in the words, no anger, only a simple need to understand.

"I didn't do anything I wasn't going to do anyhow. I didn't want his thirty pieces of silver. I couldn't live with myself if I took it."

"You're no Judas, Blair," Jim said, recognizing the biblical reference.

"Aren't I?" Blair lifted his head, looking Jim in the eye. "Why are you here, Jim? You know what I did, but you don't sound angry. So why are you here? Why did you track me down?"

"I told you, I wanted to offer you a permanent job." Careful, Jim warned himself. This was it, his one chance, do or die. There was no room for mistakes or misunderstandings. "As my guide."

"Wh-what...what about the other..." Blair stuttered.

"The other guide?"

Blair nodded. "The real one." Was that bitterness in his voice? Remorse? Or something entirely different?

"He wasn't what I was looking for."

Blair's gaze grew concerned. "Jim, you need a guide. I know you don't see it, but you need a bond. You deserve a real guide who can bond, who can help you use your senses as they were meant to be used."

Jim waited until he was finished, then shook his head gently. "No, Blair, that's not possible. You see, I can't bond with a so-called real guide...because there's already a bond, and I have no desire to break it."

For long minutes, Blair stared at him in confusion. Jim saw the exact moment that the truth sank in.

"No," Blair began shaking his head vehemently. "No, no, Jim, that's not...that can't be...no..."

"Look inside, Blair. Search yourself."

He did, and understanding filled the anxious eyes. "Oh, my God! It's true..." Blair continued shaking his head. "I don't understand. I have an implant...it's not supposed to happen. It can't happen!"

"Obviously, it can, because it has," Jim pointed out.

"But...how?"

"What difference does it make how, so long as it is?" Jim caught the troubled expression and felt his heart skip a beat. "Are you angry about it?"

Blair raised his eyes. For long seconds, he simply stared into Jim's. Jim remained still, waiting for the guide to find what he was looking for. Finally, Blair said, "It's not important how I feel, Jim. You were straight with me from the beginning about how you felt about bonding. You've been so adamant..." A look of horror filled the blue eyes. "I didn't...God, Jim, believe me, I didn't do it on purpose. I had no idea! If I had known it was possible, I would have left a long time ago to keep you from getting stuck with me."

Jim couldn't stand the fear and self-loathing he felt rolling off of his guide. He moved his leg, resting his knee against Blair's, drawing comfort and hoping the connection would relay it in return. It was time to set the record straight. With no qualms or misgivings, Jim began his story.

"I was bonded once. A long time ago. When I was in the military, my unit crashed in Peru. I was the only survivor. To make a long story short, I was taken in by one of the local tribes. My senses began to come online. I was in deep shit. I had absolutely no control at all. I felt like I was losing my mind. If it hadn't been for Incacha, I don't think I would have survived."

"He was your guide?"

Jim nodded. "We bonded immediately. There was no choice. He helped me, taught me, saved my life and my sanity."

"What happened?"

Jim was silent for a long time, remembering more than he wanted to. "He died."

"Oh, God, Jim! I'm so sorry." Blair laid his hand on Jim's arm, and the sentinel felt a surge of comfort run through him.

"When he died, I almost died with him. Losing the bond was the worst pain I've ever known..." He turned to look directly at Blair, wanting him to understand his next words. "...until I thought you'd gone."

Jim paused and took a breath before continuing. "I swore to myself that I'd never bond again, that I'd never give anyone that much power over me. After I was rescued and came back to the States, my senses just...went away. I was ecstatic."

"But they came back."

"Yeah, a few months before I met you. I thought I could suppress them again, but it wasn't working. My father insisted he was going to 'get me a guide.' I was just as insistent that I could manage without one. I thought I could remember enough of what Incacha had taught me to get by, but my control got worse and worse. That's when Simon found you. I decided I could get what I needed from you and be done with it."

Blair snorted derisively, but didn't reply.

"I just want you to understand why I fought the bond so hard, Blair. I want you to know it was nothing personal. I didn't want any guide."

"But now you have one."

"I'm not sorry," Jim assured him. "I wouldn't change it even if I could."

Blair was silent for a minute. "I want the long story one day. I want to know all about Incacha and your time with him."

"I don't remember it all," Jim admitted. "Large parts of that time are still missing."

"You've repressed it because the memory's too painful." He dropped his head, shielding his face with his hair. When he spoke again, his voice was a whisper. "Lucky you."

"Blair?"

"You trusted me with your story."

"Because you have a right to know what you've gotten into," Jim explained.

Blair looked up. "Just as you have a right to know mine."

"No, Blair," Jim said, easily reading the reluctance in his guide. "Not until you're ready. It won't make a difference."

"I'm not ready," Blair said, misery coloring his expression. "I don't think I ever will be, but you have a right to know...because..." He stopped and swallowed hard, his eyes dropping momentarily before he forced them back up to meet Jim's. "Because it's going to change everything. When you hear my story, when you find out who, what I am, you're not going to want me." This time, when his gaze broke away, it didn't return.

"It won't make a difference," Jim repeated adamantly.

Blair stood, pacing as far away as the confined space allowed. "Trust me, Jim, when I say it will."

Jim held his tongue. They could argue all day over whether Blair's secrets would change anything or not, but Jim knew that ultimately the stubborn young man had to make his own decisions.

When Blair finally turned back to face Jim, he could see the guide had made a decision.

"I...I can't, Jim."

Jim stood, but was careful not to move too close. He didn't want Blair to feel trapped in the small room. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything until you're ready."

"I may never be ready," Blair warned.

"That's all right, too."

Confusion narrowed the young man's eyes. "You don't care that I have this...this dark, evil secret, and I'm not going to tell you?"

"Is this a test?" Jim asked. "Do you want me to push you for the story?"

Blair didn't answer, but he held Jim's gaze.

"I'm not going to, Chief. I meant it when I said it doesn't matter."

"And it's perfectly all right with you to know that I can't trust you with my secrets?"

Jim wasn't sure what Blair wanted him to say, but he knew his answer was critical. He hesitated only a moment, before deciding to simply tell the truth. "No, Blair. No, it's not all right with me at all. I wish you felt comfortable enough to tell me. I wish you could trust me. I wish you knew me well enough to know how much I mean it when I say there's nothing, nothing you could say right now that would make a difference. But I can't expect you to give me that much trust. Yet. Be warned, though, Blair, I fully intend to earn your trust, and when I do, I hope you'll reconsider and share your story with me."

Blair stared at him for a full minute before responding. "It doesn't really matter, though, does it? I mean... short of breaking the bond, you're stuck with me."

"Lucky me," Jim smiled, putting as much sincerity into the two words as he could manage.

A short, humorless bark of laughter exploded into the small room. "You might want to reserve judgment on that."

Jim ignored the comment, but held his smile. "You ready to get outta here, Chief?"

Instead of answering, Blair said, "I quit my job at the station."

"Good. No guide of mine is going to scrub toilets."

"I can't afford my room without the job," Blair protested.

"We'll work something else out," Jim promised.

Blair shook his head. "No, you don't understand. I don't have anywhere else to go. I gave up my job and the room. I'll stay here until--"

"Over my dead body!" Jim thundered.

Blair's eyes widened almost comically. "Jim, I've been living here for almost a year."

"It's a rat hole."

"It's my home," Blair said, his tone almost indignant.

"Was," Jim corrected. "It was your home. If there's anything here you can't live without, I suggest you get it now."

Blair stared at him as though he didn't understand the statement.

"Pack," Jim simplified.

"Where am I going?"

"Tonight, my place. After that," Jim shrugged, "we'll figure something out."

"Are you sure you know what you're getting into, Jim?"

"Probably not, although I'm quite sure I've bitten off way more than I can chew. But you know what?" Jim smiled. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Darkness hung over the loft like a shroud, soft and gentle in its dark intensity, but the inky blackness of the night was no obstacle to the sentinel. He relaxed into the cushions of the couch and let his senses sweep first over his territory, and then out the balcony windows to the stillness of the night beyond. Satisfied that all was as it should be, Jim centered his focus on the small room under the stairs where his guide lay, not yet asleep.

Despite the peculiarity of it, it felt right, having Blair in his territory, knowing he was safe and protected. Jim refused to dwell too deeply on the feeling, content simply to acknowledge it.

Judging by the restless tossing coming from the room, sleep was not coming easily to the guide, so it was no surprise to the sentinel when the young man stumbled from the room out into the darkness of the loft.

"Jim?"

"Over here," Jim called.

Blair made his way hesitantly through the unfamiliar maze of furnishings, using his hands to guide himself through the darkness. Jim waited until he found the chair and slid into it before speaking. "Trouble sleeping?"

"I have a lot on my mind."

"It's been an eventful day."

"Yeah. Can't seem to slow my thoughts down. You, too?"

Jim shook his head, knowing as he did that Blair couldn't see it. "No, not really. Just enjoying the moment."

"The moment?" Blair pulled his bare legs into the chair and wrapped his arms around them. Clad only in boxers and a tee-shirt, he shivered slightly in the coolness of the night air.

"The quiet. The comfort. Head's up," he warned, tossing the afghan from the back of the couch to his guide. It landed neatly in his lap.

"Thanks." Blair spread the coverlet over his legs. "Am I disturbing you?"

"No, there's plenty of peace and quiet to go around." He caught a slight twitching of the younger man's lips and smiled in return, though he knew Blair couldn't see the gesture.

"What time is it?" Blair inquired after a few moments.

"Close to midnight."

"Almost Christmas."

"Yeah."

"Jim..."

Jim waited a few moments, but when Blair didn't continue, he prodded, "Something on your mind, Chief?"

"Yeah." Blair unwound one hand from the afghan to push his hair from his face. "I...um..." He looked up, in the general direction of Jim's face. "I am comfortable with you, Jim."

Jim's eyebrows rose slightly as he tried to decipher the meaning of the incongruent statement.

"What I mean is, I do trust you."

Another smile. "I'm glad to hear that."

Blair closed his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them again, a bright determination lit them. "Jim, I'm going to tell you what happened...w-with my first sentinel."

"Blair, you don't have to--"

"No, Jim, I think I do. I can't say I want to, but I think I need to. I feel I owe you that much."

He stopped again, and this time, Jim let the silence stretch on until Blair was ready to break it.

"I...I don't know where to begin," the young man finally said.

"Simon tried to find out," Jim informed him, hoping to help Blair get started, "but he kept running into brick walls."

Blair nodded knowingly. "They didn't want it known that a guide could break the bond and survive. Can you imagine if that kind of knowledge got out?" Blair stopped, dropping his head to his chest. He didn't speak again for a long time. "I'm sorry. I don't know why this is so hard."

"I know your sentinel died." The pain that crossed his guide's face made Jim regret the words.

"Paul," Blair said. "His name was Paul Dornan. He was my second sentinel, actually. The first...the first one didn't work out. The bonding, I mean. I...refused the bond. There was something about her, something...broken, I think. I knew I couldn't help her. I wasn't her destiny...she wasn't mine. Then came Paul. My Holy Grail...or so I thought." He closed his eyes, his voice dropping to a whisper. "God, how wrong can a man be? How stupid..."

Jim remained silent, allowing Blair to set his own pace.

Finally, the young man opened his eyes and lifted his head. "Paul was a stockbroker. I was disappointed at first. I mean, I'd always thought of sentinels as heroes, larger than life." He grinned shyly in the darkness. "You know, cops, firemen, soldiers -- the warriors of today's society. But a stockbroker?" He laughed. "But I liked Paul, and I figured there was a lot to be said for safety and security, so I allowed the bond. It went well for about three months, and then..."

He dropped his head. "Paul wasn't what he seemed. He wasn't what a sentinel is supposed to be. He wasn't good or honorable or any of the things the sentinels in my dreams had been. He was corrupt. I didn't know at first, and when I found out, I denied it for a long time. By the time I finally had the guts to admit it, it was too late. The bond had already solidified. I resigned myself to the life, trying to stay as ignorant as I could, but the damage was done. There was no trust, no respect between us, and it affected the bond. Over time, Paul became more and more hostile. I think it was the breaking down of the bond that pushed him over the edge."

Jim ground his teeth, his jaw clenching painfully. "He turned that anger on you."

Blair shook his head. "God, how I wish he had!" He stopped, taking several deep breaths, visibly calming, before continuing in a detached monotone. "My mom came for a visit. Paul wanted to meet her, so he invited us to his place for dinner. I had a bad feeling about it, but I told myself that I was overreacting. Paul was crooked, but he was harmless. Besides, I didn't want to have to explain to my mom why I didn't want her to meet my sentinel. I should have listened to my instincts."

With a hard swallow, he went on. "Paul was so amiable at first. My mom liked him. She told me he was a good man." His voice finally broke. "God, Jim! I don't know what happened, but Paul...snapped, he got increasingly antagonistic and argumentative as the night went on. I just wanted to get her away from him, try to salvage something of the night. We were out the door, leaving, but Paul just couldn't let it alone, he had it in his head that I wasn't coming back, that I was walking away from him for good. I wasn't, Jim, I swear I wasn't. I wasn't happy, but I'd made my choice, and I was bound to it. Paul wouldn't listen to reason. He got angry, and he started to push me, nothing overtly abusive, just a, a shove, but...but it wasn't me; somehow it was my mom. I don't know if she got in the way or tried to stop him or what, but the next thing I knew, she was laying at the bottom of the steps and she...there was blood on her head and she wasn't moving..."

"Ah, damn...Blair..." Jim's heart ached for the anguish radiating from his guide. He started to stand, his intention to go to Blair, but the young man pulled back, pushing himself into the chair cushions.

"No, Jim, you don't know...you..." He sucked in a shuddering breath. "There's more. Please, hear me out. I don't remember a lot from the rest of that night. I remember being at the hospital, and being told Naomi was dead. She had died instantly, broken neck, no suffering. That was supposed to make me feel better? I was supposed to find comfort in that?" He sighed. "The cops were there at some point, asking how it happened. Paul told them it was an accident, that she stepped back and fell. They asked me if that was true, and I must have given them some reason to believe it was, because they left.

"It wasn't until the next morning, that I...came back to myself...I guess...I was at Paul's. I don't know how I got there, but the idea made me sick. I knew then that it was over. I couldn't be bonded to Paul anymore. I couldn't, Jim. I'd tried, honest to God I had, but I couldn't do it anymore. I knew the consequences of breaking the bond. At least, I thought I did. I thought...I thought I wouldn't survive it. That's what we'd been told at the institute. That's what I believed, and that was okay. I was okay with it. I wanted it." He closed his eyes, his lashes pushing the brimming tears over the edge. "I had no idea...I didn't know. I didn't..."

"Paul killed himself, didn't he?" Jim knew the answer. He knew what it had felt like when his own bond had been broken, how badly he'd wanted it all to stop. He knew what it would do to him to lose his new bond, his new-found connection with Blair. He had no trouble understanding how Paul Dornan had died.

Blair nodded, not opening his eyes. "It was my fault. I didn't know, but it was still my fault." He took a deep breath and opened his eyes. "I killed my sentinel, and they marked me because of it. Still, I can't find it in me to regret what I did."

"There's no reason why you should," Jim absolved him. "No one is responsible for the choices another makes. Dornan made his choices; he was more to blame than anyone."

"No, Jim, you don't understand. That's not why I told you this. I don't need you to tell me who to blame or not to blame. I have to make you see what kind of person I am, what I'm capable of. You can't be bonded with me. Oh, God, but you don't have a choice anymore, do you? God, Jim, you can't be stuck with me. We have to find a way to fix it--"

Jim did move then. He crossed the short distance, knelt before his guide and grabbed him by his shoulders, forcefully stopping the self-damning words and the impending panic attack. "No, Blair, listen to me! We don't have to fix it, because there's nothing to fix! Nothing's broken, and nothing's going to get broken. Blair, look at me." The young man slowly lifted his eyes to meet Jim's. "We will NOT break this bond, do you understand me?"

Slowly, he nodded, but Jim was not convinced. "Listen to me, Blair. Listen!" When he was sure Blair was complying, he said, "I had already decided I wanted you to stay before I found out about the bond. I had already decided I wanted to make our deal permanent. I had planned to ask you the night of the poker game, when I was taking you home. That's what I was working up to, but I think you misunderstood, didn't you? You thought I was going to ask you to leave, so you beat me to the punch." He saw understanding dawn in his guide's blue eyes. "That's what happened, wasn't it? Jesus, Blair! How could you think that? Don't you know me better than that by now?"

A slow smile taunted the corners of Blair's mouth. "You're not lying to me, Jim? You really did want me to stay? Before the bond?"

Jim smiled back and let go of Blair, sitting back on his heels. "No, not before the bond, because I think it's been there for a long, long time. Hell, maybe almost from the beginning, I don't know. But before I knew about the bond, yes, I really did plan to ask you to stay."

Blair's smile faltered. "It won't be easy, Jim. No one will believe we have a bond...because of the implant. They won't understand."

"Screw 'em! Look, Blair, I'd take that damned mark off in a heartbeat if I could find a way." He raised a hand when Blair opened his mouth, knowing what was coming, "Legally, Chief, so you won't have to live in fear. God knows, I'm not going to give up. If it can be done, we'll find a way."

Blair smiled again, and this time it reached his eyes, lighting up the dark, wet blue, making them seem to almost glow. "I believe you, Jim."

"Good," Jim grinned. "Because I damn well mean it." A soft, distant sound caught Jim's attention, and he cocked his head to listen for a moment.

"What is it?" Blair asked.

"Church bells. It's Christmas, Chief."

"Merry Christmas, Jim."

"Merry Christmas, Blair." Jim stood, brushing off the seat of his pants, then reached a hand down to his guide. Blair hesitated, then took it, letting Jim pull him to his feet. Jim didn't let go of the hand for a long few moments. They stood like that, sentinel and guide, connected in every way that mattered. Finally, Jim said, "Think you can sleep now?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good." Jim broke the contact and stepped back to allow Blair room to pass. "Tomorrow's going to be a big day."

"Yeah," Blair agreed. "Lots of decisions to make."

"Well, yeah, but that's not what I meant."

Blair looked up, meeting Jim's gaze curiously.

"I was thinking of inviting a few of friends over tomorrow night."

"For a holiday celebration?"

"To introduce them to my new guide."

Blair took a step toward Jim. Slowly, tentatively he lifted his hand and laid it over Jim's heart. "If I'd dared to dream, Jim, if I'd believed even for one minute a bond was possible…" He held Jim's gaze for a moment before finishing. "…you would have been my choice."

Smiling at the soft-spoken confession, the sentinel gave in to his instincts and wrapped his arms around his guide's shoulders, drawing him close. Jim was practical enough to acknowledge that the way wasn't going to be smooth, but together he knew they could accomplish anything.

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