Notes, Timeline: Directly following my story "The Right Thing To Do", after TSbBS, before Blair goes to the academy.

Series: New Beginnings

Warnings, Rating: PG-R for language, reference to attempted sexual assault.

How many times over the past three plus years had Jim Ellison's sleep been interrupted by bad dreams? A hundred? Three hundred? Far too many times, that was certain. If it wasn't his own nightmares, then it was the ones his work visited on the young man who had jumped so whole heartedly into his life and turned it completely around. From the panic stricken nightmares provided by a psycho named David Lash, to the tear and regret filled dreams of the ill-fated Janet, Blair had proven to have a sleeping life as vivid and active as his waking one.

So it was a familiar enough feeling for the Sentinel to make his cautious, and oddly guilt-filled, way down the stairs to the small room his guide called home. The compact figure of his friend was shifting restlessly on the futon; sweat glistening oddly on the high forehead in the diffuse light coming from the city lights via the living room windows. A frown of pain crinkled the skin between dark brows, and a soft moan of fear or pain made the watching man flinch. Jim reached out a gentle hand toward the nearest shoulder of the sleeper, gently rubbing before adding a slight shaking motion, mindful of the sleeper's injuries but hoping to ease Blair out of whatever hell his dream had landed him in.

"Come on, Chief, time to wake up," he said in a fairly loud but calm voice.

The younger man gasped as his deep blue eyes flew open, clearly startled and still partially in the grip of the nightmare. "Wha? Who? Oh, man..." he had bolted upright with the first words, then slowly sank back down as reality finally filtered through. "Argh, that was not a good idea," he moaned, his hand over the worst of his damaged ribs.

"What was it this time, Blair?" Jim asked quietly, seating himself on the edge of the bed, close enough to offer support to his partner, but far enough to avoid intimidating him any. In the imperfect light the bruises marring Blair's features rendered the normally handsome man almost ghoulish.

"Nothing, Jim. Just a generic bad dream," the anthropologist muttered, despite the fact he knew the Sentinel would be able to detect the obfuscation.

"Right," the big man sighed disbelievingly. "There was a time, Chief, when you might have actually been able to make me believe that. But not this time, Junior."

"Let it be, Jim, please? It was just a bad dream, nothing new there," Sandburg insisted, his voice approaching the strident whine heard most often in a sickroom.

The detective silently considered his younger friend before reluctantly standing up. "You change your mind, Chief, you know where to find me," he said finally, letting himself out of the small room as silently as he had arrived.

Blair draped his right arm across his eyes wearily, remembering the last time he'd heard those words. The situation was different then, and he'd been the one to say them to his rather thoroughly ticked off partner, but the feeling that the world was somehow badly off kilter was exactly the same. Bad vibes...bad karma...whatever label you gave it didn't matter; it still boiled down to the same problem. Something was wrong between them, and until they could figure it out and set it right, the easy camaraderie they usually enjoyed would be absent. He shivered as he recalled that the last two time's he'd felt this way, the price had ended up being his life: once figuratively, the other time literally.

"What do I have left to pay with?" he wondered silently.

In the dark stillness of early morning, no answer was readily available.

"Hey, Chief, I was beginning to worry," Jim commented, handing his still semi asleep roommate a mug of coffee.

"Man, it felt so good to be in my own bed I didn't want to even get up this morning," Blair replied, taking a cautious sip of the steaming brew. "Oh, man, this hits the spot!"

"You want some breakfast? I was going to scramble some eggs, I'm defrosting bacon, I got some fresh bagels from the bakery down the way. There's even orange juice in the fridge," Jim offered.

"No thanks. Well, actually, yes please to the bagels and juice, and no thanks to the eggs and bacon. I've had enough high fat, high cholesterol food for a while. Mind if I hit the shower?"

"Go ahead, should be enough hot water."

Smiling at the sight of his morning clumsy guide carrying a bundle of clothes toward the bathroom, his coffee cup still clutched in one hand, Jim listened to Blair's movements, timing breakfast to coincide with the end of his shower. In some respects it felt like a normal non-work morning; the leisurely pace, big breakfast, long showers.

But it wasn't a typical morning, and later they wouldn't go fishing or catch a Jags game; instead Jim would go to the precinct to prepare his report on what happened during the last four weeks. He had no illusions about the kind of reception he was likely to get from the other divisions, and wasn't feeling too optimistic about the way his friends in Major Crime would feel either.

If Joel Taggart hadn't been one of the officers arrested in the sting, Ellison would most likely have had a sanctuary within that department, since he was generally fairly well liked. Or at least respected. But with Joel's arrest, Jim wasn't expecting to get a break from that division either. Jim Ellison might be liked and respected, but Joel Taggart was one of the most popular men on the force, and bringing him down was like shooting Bambi. Jim was going to be the bad guy in a lot of peoples' eyes.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the arrival of his still slightly soggy guide at the counter, reaching for a refill on his coffee. "Smells good, Jim. Almost enough to convince me to try some," he grinned at the taller man.

"There's plenty, help yourself," Jim said expansively as he took his own heavily laden plate to the table and settled in with a small sigh of satisfaction. He was over half finished when Blair joined him with his toasted bagel with cream cheese and glass of orange juice.

"Geez, Jim, didn't they feed you at all?" he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah, but it wasn't very good, and I wasn't very hungry," the Sentinel muttered, suddenly reluctant to meet his guide's gaze.

"Oh," the younger man muttered noncommittally.

The uncomfortable tension between the two men was a nearly physical presence that they both worked hard to ignore. Their attention firmly on the meal, they ate in silence until Jim went into the kitchen and started the water to wash the dishes.

"Chief, I have to go in for a while at least today. What were you planning to do?"

"Do you need me to come in with you?"

"Not unless you really want to," Jim answered quietly, knowing the younger man wouldn't be anxious to return to the precinct any time soon.

"In that case I think I'll stay here and maybe finish cleaning the place up. Do some more shopping, that sort of stuff. If you don't mind, that is." There was that awkwardness again.

"Sounds fine to me. Let me help you wrap those ribs again before I go," he offered, taking Blair's now empty plate and cup from the table.

"Okay. Thanks," the anthropologist sighed as he went to get the bandages. For at least the thousandth time since they first spotted that supposedly abandoned house, Blair wished they had just blown off Sneaks' tip and had gone to the Jags game instead.

And that none of this had ever happened.

When he stepped from his truck in the underground parking lot of the Cascade PD, Jim Ellison suddenly understood how gladiators in ancient Rome must have felt entering an arena full of hungry tigers. As he made his way through the busy precinct, up to Major Crime, he felt every venom filled glance, heard every angry mutter, saw every ice cold glance. His only relief came from knowing his sensitive guide was not here to experience this with him; he doubted the younger man was up to withstanding this sort of emotional onslaught.

He slid into the chair at his desk and sorted through the stack of messages blanketing his keyboard, most of then written in Rhonda's neat script. As he and Blair had done the night before with the numerous phone messages, he sorted through first, tossing the ones that were now outdated. Of the remainder, at least half were angry messages left the day before from various officers who were less than thrilled by his participation in the bust, or from media types looking for an interview. Those he also trashed, leaving him with a dozen or so messages he would actually respond to. He was preparing to get started on the calls when Simon's angry voice cut across the bullpen.

"Ellison! My office, now!"

Schooling his features in to an impassive mask Jim walked into his captain's office, standing at attention in front of Simon's desk with military rigidity.

For Banks it was a flashback to a time he'd not wanted to visit again, when a badass transfer from Vice, who resisted authority as a matter of course, made Simon's life miserable. Until Jack Pendergrast helped turn the former Ranger semi-human, laying the groundwork for Sandburg to finish the transformation of James Ellison from stone to flesh and blood. A man Simon had been proud and pleased to call a friend. The reappearance of the granite façade was not a welcome occurrence, and for a moment Simon wished he could turn back time and undo all that had happened in the last few weeks.

Hell, the last few months.

But, lacking a magic orb to manipulate time, he had to deal with the present reality, regardless of how much he may dislike it, so he impatiently indicated his detective should be seated.

"You wanted to see me, Sir?" Ellison queried, his eyes as cold as two chips of ice.

"Yeah, Jim, I wanted to see you. Is the kid okay?" he asked, hoping to break through to his friend.

"Sandburg's fine. What did you need from me, Sir?" There was no change in the stern expression.

**An explanation that will allow for us to still remain friends. Your plan as to how you're going to make this all up to your young partner. For you to unbend enough to work with me to get through this.** The thoughts flashed through Simon's mind in an instant, before he spoke in a carefully controlled voice.

"I got a call from IA earlier today, requesting your presence there as soon as you arrived. Get on down there and take care of that first, then clear up the backlogged messages you have. Once I have the report from IA I'll see about your next assignments. That's all, Detective."

With a curt nod Jim stood and left the captain's office, heading toward the elevators without pausing, his expression discouraging anyone from approaching to offer either support or abuse. He would deal with this himself; he didn't need anyone.

Or so he told himself.

The knock at the door startled Blair badly since he was carefully dusting the small table just inside at the time. Surprised from his thoughts by the loud rapping just inches from his ear, he dropped the key basket on the floor as he straightened abruptly.

Leaving the security chain in place, he carefully opened the door a crack, feeling absurdly like a little old lady living in a ghetto neighborhood. A uniformed police officer stood in the hallway, looking at Blair with much the same interest he'd show for a cockroach crawling along the floor.

"Mr. Sandburg?"

"Yeah. What can I do for you Officer...Carlson?" he asked, reading the name badge the young man wore.

"I was told to drop off the evidence Vice had collected from here. It's downstairs," he announced, turning and heading toward the stairwell, his duty done.
 

"Hey, wait! Would you mind bringing it upstairs, please?" Blair asked, grabbing his keys and hurrying out after the retreating figure. He and Jim had noticed things missing from the loft, and, considering what the items were, had assumed they were taken for evidence after Blair was arrested. He reached the street just as Carlson was preparing to get in his car, leaving four large cardboard cartons on the sidewalk.

"Hey, man, you can't just leave this sitting out here," Sandburg complained, fixing the officer with a pleading look.

"I was told to deliver it to 852 Prospect. I've done so. It's not my problem any longer, Sir." With that the cold-eyed officer settled in behind the wheel and pulled out into traffic, leaving the former grad student looking at the large cartons.

"Oh, man, this just sucks," Blair moaned, lifting the top off the first box to find his various notebooks and texts inside. "Like I can lift these with just one hand. Dammit. Guess I better call Jim," he sighed to himself, realizing that under the circumstances he really had no one else he could depend on to come to his aid.

"Hey, Blair, you coming or going?" a cheerful voice queried from behind him. "Souvenirs from wherever you've been the last few weeks?"

The police observer turned to find his downstairs neighbor standing behind him, peering at the cartons with undisguised curiosity.

"Hey, Katie, how've you been?" he replied, a genuine smile lighting up his face. Katie was a middle aged single lady, who bustled about with the energy of a woman half her age and the attitude of a child a quarter her years. Blair enjoyed her cheerful attitude and quick, quirky sense of humor.

"Just ducky, kiddo. But what the heck happened to you?" Concerned blue eyes fixed on the bulky cast covering the young man's left hand, and the still vivid bruises.

"Ah, stupid accident. I'm embarrassed to admit how it happened," he grinned disarmingly.

"Hmph. Sounds like one of your patented 'obfuscations' to me," she grumbled good naturedly, then turned to the stacked boxes. "Looks like you could use a hand, or two. Why don't you prop open the door and snag the elevator, and I'll lug these in," she offered.

"Oh, hey, I can't ask a lady to do that," Blair protested, looking askance at the solidly built woman.

Katie laughed with delight at his expression. "Fine. If a lady happens by, we won't ask her to help. Now get the door, kiddo, before I change what passes for my mind."

Giving in was easy, especially since he honestly couldn't see another option, so he propped open the door with a handy wastebasket and held the doors open for the elevator. Katie made quick work of lugging the boxes into the elevator, then with equal good cheer moved them to a spot just inside the front door of the loft.

"Katie, you're a life saver. I owe you one, man. Ma'am," he corrected hastily.

"Oh, just being neighborly. However, if next time you're making that ostrich chili, if you just happen to have a bit extra, well, I won't complain any," she grinned, letting herself out with a small wave. "Say 'hi' to Jim for me."

"Will do," he agreed, shutting the door behind her with a chuckle. It didn't take Sentinel vision to see that she was quite taken with Jim Ellison's various charms, though Blair couldn't quite imagine his oh-so-serious roommate with their exuberant neighbor.

By the time said roommate returned from the station, Blair had emptied all but the last box, carefully stacking the empty ones outside the door to be taken to the basement. Ellison gave them a wondering glance before opening the door to find his obviously exhausted and hurting friend struggling to put some hefty tomes back on a high shelf in his bedroom.

"Whoa, Chief, why didn't you wait and let me help you with those," he said, reaching up to grasp a thick volume before it could tumble down on the curly head.

"Thanks, man. For a moment there I thought I was going to be Cascade's first 'death by anthropology textbook'. And, I wanted to have this all done before you got home, so you could relax, but you crossed me up by coming home early," he explained, handing Jim more books as he spoke. "How'd it go?"

"Spent the day being grilled by Internal Affairs. When they finally finished with me, Simon sent me home pending their decision. And, they are requesting your presence tomorrow, health permitting, of course." Jim's mouth twisted up in an expression of distaste as he delivered the invitation.

"Oh, joy," Blair muttered, a stab of apprehension knifing through his gut; he hated dealing with IA under any circumstances.

"If you aren't feeling up to it just say so. They aren't in any position to be pushing you," the detective pointed out, settling the last book on the shelf and backing up to survey his work critically.

"May as well get it over with," the former grad student decided at last. "Looks great, thanks. If you don't mind, I'll grab a shower then put together some dinner, if you want to relax for a while," he offered.

"Go ahead, Chief. I'll finish emptying this box, then find a game or something on the tube. And how about we order out for Chinese? You look like you could use a break," Jim suggested.

"Oh, hey, you twisted my arm," Blair grinned, gathering together an armful of clean clothes. "Just nothing too spicy, okay?"

"Sure thing. Oh, while I'm thinking of it, I ran into Dan at the station, seems he'll be here in Cascade another day before heading back to California. I invited him over for dinner tomorrow, unless that's a problem for you?" Jim was pretty certain his friend would agree, as they had both grown to like Agent Brooks during the weeks they worked together, but his guide was looking a little worse for wear.

"That's fine, man. I'll make my special recipe lasagna, a wilted greens salad, and that sinful garlic bread you like so well. I can get the ingredients and put it together tonight," the younger man decided, looking distracted as he planned the meal.

"First things first, Junior. Get your shower, and I'll order tonight's dinner. According to the listing here in the paper the Jags should be on in a half hour, so get moving. We'll do the store run later," Jim ordered, shooing his roommate toward the bathroom as he hunted around for the menu for their favorite Chinese restaurant.

"And remember to hang up your towels this time!"

If Jim had found it hard to face his coworkers alone the day before, it was infinitely worse with Blair at his side. The Sentinel could, and did, handle threats to himself with equanimity, but threats to his guide were another matter altogether. The muttered comments, the dirty looks, the barely veiled hostility directed at a young man who had actually harmed no one was a singular torture for his older companion.

Reaching the comparative refuge of Major Crime, Jim ushered his guide immediately into Simon's office, wanting the day's ordeal over as quickly as possible. Though Blair had not complained, Jim could see the fine lines of tension on the young face, and the well-known heartbeat was faster than normal. But, at least it had calmed down a bit from the frantic tattoo it had reached when they first arrived at the precinct.

"You said you wanted to see us before Blair met with IA?" Jim asked Simon, his expression once again stone cold in the presence of his captain.

"Blair, how are you doing?" Simon queried, ignoring the angry older man for the time being and concentrating instead on his erstwhile observer.

"I'm okay, Simon," he murmured quietly with no sign of his former energy and enthusiasm.

"I just wanted to say...I'm sorry, Blair. Sorry I didn't protect you better. If I'd known what might have happened, I would have found a way to get you out of there. But I'll admit, I was angry, frustrated. It clouded my judgment, and you ended up paying for that. Far steeper a price than you deserved. So, I apologize for my part in that," the big captain said with dignity.

Blair silently contemplated the man he'd grown to like and respect over the last three years and considered the situation. He knew Simon was sincere. The man didn't just apologize at the drop of a hat, those words had come from the heart; Blair understood this. But, they in no way undid the damage that had been done during his week of incarceration; he couldn't even say he forgave the captain yet. But he could do one thing; honestly and without reservation.

"I accept your apology, Simon," he stated simply.

Banks solemnly considered the younger man, understanding what had been said, and more importantly, what had not been said. "Thank you, Blair," he replied, holding out one large hand to shake. After a moment's hesitation Sandburg shook it, his expression still serious but not grim. It wasn't resolution, but it was a step in the right direction, and for that both men were grateful.

Captain Banks took a deep breath, relieved to have made his apology and that the younger man showed signs of being willing to work toward mending things between them eventually. Now, if he could just get past Jim's defenses to the friend who'd enriched his life the last few years he would be the happiest man in Cascade. Or at least the happiest man in the Cascade Police Department. But for the being he would have to be content with the beginnings of reconciliation with Sandburg; it was all he could realistically hope for this soon.

"IA is looking for both of you this morning, I have instructions to send you up to them immediately," the older man said at last. "So why don't you two do that first, then we can figure out where we go from here."

"Very well, Sir," Jim replied icily, earning a surprised glance from his guide. But Blair held his tongue as Jim placed a large hand at his back, ushering his out of Simon's office and the Major Crime bullpen and back to the elevator.

Once in the realm of Internal Affairs, they were promptly separated; Jim meeting again with officer Bud Michaelson, a man who rivaled Jim or Simon in physical presence, while Blair was sent to be interviewed by Dana Melrose, a woman in her mid 40's who had been in IA for most of her career.

"Mr. Sandburg, starting at the beginning, tell me how you and Detective Ellison came to be involved in an FBI operation," she demanded, turning on a small tape recorder.

"We were told by Sneaks that a man we suspected of engaging in illegal securities deals was supposed to meet an associate on..."

"And just who is this 'Sneaks'? And how would he come by such information?" she interrupted him, pinning him to his chair with her gaze.

Blair had never seen brown eyes capable of such a cold look before in his life, and, stumbling a little over the words, began to clarify his report, wondering how he'd ever get through this strangely humiliating ordeal.

It was over five hours after they first arrived at the PD before Sandburg made his shaky way out of the innocently named 'Interview Room,' to find his Sentinel sitting patiently in one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting area.

The former grad student felt as if he'd been assaulted again, this time with words and attitude instead of fists and feet, but with his psyche as battered and bruised as his body had been. Melrose had not said one single abusive thing, not made one move to physically threaten the young man, but she had managed to intimidate him quite thoroughly, helped, no doubt, by his still fragile emotional state after the events of the last few days. Sandburg's mental and physical exhaustion showed plainly on his wan face, and Jim wasted no time in rising to meet him, gently urging the smaller man toward the elevators with a comforting hand on one shoulder.

Blair looked up in surprise when Jim punched the button for the garage level, even as he pulled the anthropologist in for a comforting half-hug.

"Uh, Jim, Simon wanted to see us after..." he stopped at the Sentinel's glare.

"I don't give a damn what Simon wants," he snapped angrily, then softened his expression at Blair's anxious look. The younger man still spooked way too easily, and the detective felt a sinking despair wondering how long it would take his friend to recover his former confidence. "Look, Blair, you're tired, you're hurting. Staying here will do nothing to make that any better. Simon can't really make any decisions until IA passes down their verdict, so going back up there is totally unnecessary right now. Trust your Sentinel on this one, Junior."

Blair couldn't help but smile at that comment as they climbed into the truck and Ellison navigated the way out to the street and toward the loft.

"Hey, would you mind stopping by the store? I still need some stuff for dinner tonight, for the salad and the bread. I used all the parmesan cheese, and no way can I serve lasagna without that," Blair rambled on, sounding much more like his usual self. But his best friend wasn't fooled, Sentinel senses detected the subtle signs of the effort the young man was making to sound fine, and though Jim appreciated the thought, it did nothing to reassure him.

The knock on the loft door came promptly at six o'clock; three sharp raps made with almost military precision brought Jim to the door to admit their guest. It was a far more relaxed Dan Brooks who stood in the corridor outside number 307, a bottle of good wine in one hand. Though he still stood with his customary erect bearing, he was wearing casual clothes, soft moccasins on his feet, a warm smile gracing his face.

"Jim, thanks again for the invitation," he said, handing over the wine and stepping into the loft while looking around curiously. "Great place you have here."

"Thanks, come on in and make yourself at home," the Sentinel invited, closing the door behind Brooks and taking the wine into the kitchen where Blair bustled about fussing over dinner.

"Hey, hey, Dan, good to see you," Blair grinned, reaching over the counter to shake the other man's hand.

Brooks held on to Blair's hand an extra moment, taking the chance to study the younger man's face. "You too, Blair. Damn, they really did a number on you," he murmured with sincere regret.

"It's healing, man. What can I get you to drink?"

"A beer if you have it. The wine would be good with dinner, I hope. At least my ex-wife insisted that kind went well with Italian," Dan explained a trifle sheepishly.

"Well, wouldn't want to argue with the ex-wife. I know how hazardous that can be," Jim cut in smoothly, sipping his own beer. "How're things going for you?"

"Couldn't be better. As soon as I get back to California and sign the paperwork you are looking at a newly retired man. Life of leisure, here I come!"

"Hey, congratulations!" Jim grinned, slapping the older man on the back.

"Retired, huh?" Blair spoke up from the kitchen with a smirk. "You ever consider what a weird word 'retired' is? I mean, if I take my car to the shop and replace all four tires, you could say I 'retired' it, right? Technically, that's what I did. But in that case 'retiring' it made it so it could be used longer, more; not taken out of service-so the meaning is an exact opposite."

The two older men exchanged amused glances as Blair continued his distracted dinner preparations, his work punctuated by his waving whatever he happened to have in hand while he made his points.

"Uh, Blair..."

"Or, you could define 'retired' as being tired again. And that makes no sense at all, man. I mean, you retire so you can relax, right? Not get tired. Well, unless you find relaxing tiring, in which case I don't think you're doing it right, you know?" A lettuce leaf flew in graceful arc from the fork the anthropologist was gesticulating with to stick to the door of the refrigerator, unnoticed by the lecturer.

"Blair..."

"It's just such a strange word to use to mean the end of your working life. And isn't that an unpleasant way to phrase it? Maybe that's why they came up with 'retired'; it's not as final sounding..."

"Chief!"

Blair stopped mid sentence and looked curiously at his roommate.

"Huh?"

"Is there a reason for this rambling? A point we're going to get to at some time?" the Sentinel queried, the grin he was suppressing still showed in his eyes as he looked at his puzzled friend.

"Uh," Blair seemed to consider the question seriously. "You know, I don't think so. Sorry, just struck me, you know? Things like that, words you've used a million times, suddenly make no sense at all, makes you wonder how much you miss all the time just because you're used to hearing it, like Conway Twitty's last name, I mean, that's a pretty strange name..." he looked up sheepishly. "Sorry, doing it again. I'll just finish the dinner here, now, okay?"

The laughter couldn't be contained any longer when Daniel and Jim looked at each other, and Blair with typical good humor joined in.

"Fine, fine, make fun of the little guy. Why don't you two go take your beers on the balcony and visit for a bit while I finish in here? Shouldn't be more than fifteen minutes or so."

"You sure there's nothing I can do to help?" Brooks offered.

"Yeah, man. Anyone else in here would just get in my way. Go keep Jim out of trouble for a while, I'll let you know if I need anything."

"Well, you twisted my arm, here. And since whatever it is you're cooking in there smells good, I don't think I'm going to argue with you. But I insist on helping with the cleanup," the former FBI agent smiled at the younger man's immediately bright grin.

"Oh, hey, man, I'm so down with that! Won't complain and won't argue!"

"That'd be a first, Chief," Jim quipped, even as he gave an affectionate thump to the back of Blair's head.

"Get out of the kitchen, you're distracting me," Blair complained as he shooed the other two men toward the living room. "Geez, worse than children," he grumbled.

"Look who's talking, Junior," Jim retorted as he herded Dan out to the balcony, ignoring the outraged glare his roommate sent his way.

When Blair called the two of them in to eat, they found themselves presented with a veritable feast, and conversation was kept to a minimum as they paid full attention to the delicious meal. It wasn't until they were enjoying the last of the wine along with generous slices of homemade cheesecake that Dan Brooks looked up with a suddenly serious expression.

"Look, guys, I can't even begin to thank you enough for your help. And, Blair, what you did...well, not a lot of guys could have stuck that out under those circumstances. And I know it's not going to be easy for you in the future here. I've heard some of the talk already," he paused, seeing their uncomfortable expressions. "Anyway, before I take off into that wonderful world of the unemployed, I do have an offer to extend to you both. If you're interested in joining the FBI, you'd be welcome. The brass was impressed with both of you," he explained as his two companions exchanged surprised glances.

"Ah, thanks. I think," Blair murmured.

"I want to see how it goes at the precinct for now," Jim elaborated. "But I'll keep it in mind. Thanks."

"Like I said, it's me who owes the thanks. You two are good, damned good, and if Cascade doesn't want you, the Federal Government does."

All conversation ceased as Detective James Ellison stepped into the break room, intent on a cup of coffee and something to satisfy his chocolate craving. He made no comment about the sudden silence and ignored the anger in the expressions of his fellow officers. He simply got his drink and a chocolate bar, and departed as silently as he'd arrived, leaving seven mildly amazed officers in his wake.

"Can you believe that asshole's arrogance?" Horning muttered, staring at the closed door with a venomous look. "My partner was one of the ones he and that hippie freak helped bust. Now his wife and kid are facing eviction, will probably have to move in with her folks. Damned interfering bastards."

"No kidding. And now we have to work extra shifts until they can get more detectives hired, which they can't do until the charges are settled, and in the meantime no vacations or long weekends, and that sucks. We had plans to go to Germany next week, and it got scrapped thanks to Ellison," Chavez added bitterly.

More voices chimed in, more unfortunate events that could be traced to the bust now a week past. Internal Affairs had concluded their investigation into Ellison and Sandburg's participation in the situation, and in the end cleared both of any wrongdoing. A verdict some felt was inspired by outside influences and the need of the Cascade Police Department to initiate some damage control on their image. And firing or otherwise disciplining a recent "Officer of the Year" would not help any in that department. So Jim came back to work, though his unofficial partner stayed away for the time being, supported in that decision by his ever-protective Sentinel.

Jim's fellow officers in Major Crime were not unpleasant, but neither were they overly friendly, and the casual invitations to social events ceased completely. Rafe and Brown worked congenially enough with him, but that was as far as it went. Connor was warmer, if only because of her knowledge of the special relationship between Ellison and his young partner, and the fact that she understood, or at least thought she understood, a little more of the circumstances that led to their decision to join the FBI operation. To her way of thinking, and based on her admittedly limited knowledge, the Sentinel of the Great City could make no other choice.

Simon had adopted a wait and see attitude after the first day Jim returned to duty, when the captain offered his apology only to be met with the now familiar silent treatment from his best detective. Ellison reported to him promptly, succinctly, and emotionlessly all information he was required to report; nothing more, nothing less. All vestiges of their former friendship were gone, buried under the rubble of a relationship destroyed by Jim's anger and Simon's guilt. Nevertheless, the veteran captain tried his best to ensure the younger man's safety, assigning him cases that minimized his need to interact with other officers, knowing that there was a chance that the Sentinel would not receive needed backup as retribution for his betrayal of fellow officers.

However, with all departments short staffed, Simon found there were times Jim could not be sequestered, such as this day, when Rafe needed to question an alleged witness to a murder they were investigating. After much negotiation the young detective had arranged a meeting between himself and Rafael Sanchez near an abandoned warehouse in the old industrial district. It was far from a perfect setup, but Rafe and Brown were getting desperate for any sort of lead, and Sanchez was apparently terrified. With Brown testifying all day, Simon sent Ellison along as backup, knowing Rafe would not get mouthy with the older detective and that Jim was the best possible backup for such a meeting.

They took Rafe's car, since he was technically the detective in charge, and he filled Jim in on the details along the way. One of Henri's snitches had told the two younger detectives that there had been a witness to the killing, but that this witness, Rafael Sanchez, was reluctant to come forward because of the very real threat of retribution. If Rafe could determine how reliable a witness this guy really was, then the department could outline the steps they would take to ensure his safety. It all hinged on this preliminary interview.

"You're meeting him outside, right?" Jim asked, scanning the rundown area with a critical eye, noting all the potential places for an ambush.

"Yeah, north side of the old foundry," Rafe replied, his own perusal of the area nearly as intent as the Sentinel's.

"Keep clear of doorways and windows, don't let Sanchez maneuver you into a situation where you can't easily get away from him," the older detective cautioned his temporary partner.

"I know," Rafe responded neutrally. "And you keep far enough back to not intimidate him, okay?"

"As long as he behaves himself I'll be invisible."

"Okay, let's get this over with." Rafe was grateful to get out of the car, having found it uncomfortable at best to be in such close quarters with Ellison. The younger man was still upset about Captain Jensen's murder, and though he knew intellectually Ellison and Sandburg couldn't have prevented it, he still felt an unreasonable anger around them, especially Jim. And feeling that much ire for a man who had been a friend was not something Rafe was familiar, or at all comfortable, with.

His problem was not unique among that small group who could call James Ellison a friend. Rafe, Brown, Connor, a few others...they were all torn between understanding the desire of the two men to help put a stop to the odious crimes of their fellow officers and despising them for breaking the unwritten code that police officers look after their own, no matter what. Basic honesty and respect for the law warred with a sense of camaraderie and duty to those who might one day stand between them and death.

And, frankly, the jury was still out as to which way the final opinion could fall.

Even though Sandburg was not a police officer in any official capacity, the feelings against him were nearly as potent as against the veteran officer he 'partnered', though that was coupled with a grudging respect for his determination to protect his partner despite the police officers' best efforts to obtain the information.

Noticing Rafe's apparent relief at getting away from him, Jim sighed and faded into the shadows as much as possible as he watched the well-dressed detective approach the proposed meeting place. The dark haired young man stood restively for a few moments before a shabbily dressed figure approached hesitantly.

Turning the dial on his hearing up, Jim carefully scanned the area, cursing himself for not doing so earlier. There were several more heartbeats nearby, most slightly elevated as if with apprehension or excitement, and the soft click of safeties being released and guns being cocked reached him. Almost too late, Ellison realized that he and Rafe had been suckered into a trap.

"Shit!" he hissed out in anger, dashing forward to a better defensive position even as he shouted at his acting partner. "Rafe! Get out of there, it's a trap!"

Jim caught a quick glance of the younger man diving for cover in behind a pile of pallets as all hell broke loose and a hail of bullets descended on the detectives. Ellison pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial to call for backup.

He quickly gave his identification then requested backup. "We need backup at the old foundry at 793 Reuben, shots fired," he reported, even as he got off a quick round in the general direction of one of the shooters.

"Call logged, backup being dispatched," the bored sounding voice replied as Jim shut off the phone to concentrate on his shooting.

Free now to focus on defending himself and Rafe, Jim cautiously opened his senses, locating six antagonists; three near the back of the abandoned building, one behind an old car, one of the roof, and the last one circling around behind Rafe's position. Brian was trading fire with the four in front of him, while Jim was fairly well pinned by the shooter on the roof. Knowing he had to act fast if he was to be able to protect the other detective, Ellison moved slightly in the open to draw the rooftop sniper out. It worked, giving the former Ranger a brief clear shot, which he took full advantage of, hitting his target dead center, just as the last man rounded the corner and drew a bead on the unsuspecting Rafe.

"Rafe! Behind you!" Jim's shout caused the younger man to turn around, so the assassin's shot didn't hit quite as cleanly as he had planned. Still, Rafe took a shot low in the shoulder, throwing him viciously against the pallets even as Ellison's bullet ended the shooter's life.

The other four took advantage of the distraction to try to move to better strategic locations, giving Jim the chance to take out another as he dashed across to Rafe's side. Targeting their attackers through gaps in the stacks, the veteran detective worked to keep them at bay as he cursed the slow response by their backup.

"Hang in there, Buddy," he encouraged his injured companion, wishing he could take the time to at least help stem the flow of blood from the wound. "Backup should be here any time, just keep breathing for me." A few minutes later a quick shot dropped yet another of the attackers, and apparently was the final straw for the remaining two. Jim could hear them beat a rapid retreat, followed by the sounds of an engine starting, and the squeal of tires as the vehicle apparently pulled a frantic U-turn.

But still there was no sound of approaching backup.

Concentrating his hearing, he found the rear shooter and the one who had been behind the car were both dead, while the one on the roof was most likely dying. Only one heartbeat was fairly strong and steady, though Jim suspected the man was unconscious given the lack of any other sound or movement. He turned his attention to Rafe, certain they faced no further threat from their attackers.

"Hang in there, Buddy. I'm just going to take a look, see how bad it is," the larger man soothed his companion, carefully maneuvering the injured detective into a slightly upright position and checking for an exit wound.

"Are they all down?" Rafe asked in a breathy voice.

"Four down. The last two ran," Jim reported while easing Rafe back to a reclining position.

"You should go check them. I'm fine here."

"I'm not worried about them going anywhere," the Sentinel said dismissively, pulling off his light jacket and making a pillow for Brian.

"Did you call for backup?" The breathless quality of Rafe's voice, along with the pale, sweaty look on his face, alerted Ellison that the younger man was going into shock.

"Yep. They should be here in a matter of minutes, I'll see if I can hurry them along," Jim replied, pulling out his cell phone again and hitting the speed dial. "This is Ellison. Where is our backup? I have an officer down, as well as four suspects. We need an ambulance dispatched immediately!" He didn't bother to disguise the anger in his voice.

"Ambulance is being dispatched to your location," the disembodied voice replied, sounding more interested than it had earlier. "Backup is enroute."

"From where? California?"

"They will be there shortly, Detective." The voice was definitely nervous sounding now.

Ellison snapped the phone shut without replying, finally hearing the welcome sound of approaching sirens. He maintained a steady, firm pressure on his acting partner's wound, speaking softly to encourage the young man now shivering with the onset of shock. He barely glanced up at the arriving officers, just angrily ground out instructions to check on their attackers and a request for a blanket. Ellison kept his focus on Rafe until the ambulance arrived and two paramedics rushed up to begin preparing him for transport. Only when he was sure Brian was in good hands did Jim turn to the recently arrived officers, his anger barely held in check.

"What the hell took you so long?" he growled, fisting his hands to keep from grabbing the other officer.

"We got here as soon as we could, sorry if it's not as fast as the FBI would," Officer Anderson replied in a coldly impersonal tone.

Ellison's temper crept closer to the snapping point. "You bastards. If you're mad at me, take it out on me. Rafe had nothing to do with what went down with the FBI, he could have been killed here. You call yourself a police officer?" The Sentinel's voice had gotten louder as he leaned in closer to his antagonist, then a dark hand grabbed his upper arm firmly.

"Back off Ellison. That's an order!" Simon Banks barked out, bringing his best detective's attention to himself.

An icy stare bored into the captain's eyes, but he didn't back down, confident that no matter how angry he got, Ellison would never strike out at him. The stalemate was broken when another officer hurried up with his report, effectively getting the attention of the two large men.

"Two suspects are dead, and the guy on the roof looks pretty bad. The other one took a glancing hit to the head, he's out cold, but the paramedics say his vitals are good. Hopefully when he comes to he can give us some information, they're transporting him with Detective Rafe now. Forensics will be here in five, the coroner's wagon in fifteen, we've cordoned off the whole area."

"Thank you, Jackson. I want a complete report on my desk no later than first thing in the morning."

The younger officer hurried off to coordinate the investigation as Simon none too gently herded Jim toward where Rafe's car sat, the keys still dangling from the ignition. "Go check on Rafe," the dark captain ordered mildly. "Then get the report done, I want it as soon as you can type it up. That's an order, Jim."

Nodding without looking at his superior, Ellison folded himself behind the wheel of the nondescript car and headed toward Cascade General.

The bruises had finally faded enough to allow Blair to feel comfortable in a public setting, so he decided a quick trip to the public library was in order. He wanted to do a little research into ancient tribal rituals for purging unwanted memories, plus he needed a recipe for blueberry/eggplant muffins. With this goal in mind, he headed toward the large library located near the Rainer campus; a familiar haven where he'd spent many pleasant hours over the last few years.

Unconsciously choosing a route that kept him away from the university campus, the young man rolled down the window to let the mellow afternoon air freshen the musty interior of his Volvo. Singing along with the radio, he managed to keep his mind from straying to thoughts that would unsettle him, but instead focused on enjoying his first solo excursion since the whole mess with the FBI started.

Parking near the huge stone building, the former grad student fairly bounced up the wide front steps, the events of the last few weeks forgotten for the first time in days. Going to the cookbook section first, he found the recipe he wanted and cheerfully spent his fifty cents copying it. The menial task done, he could now concentrate on his research project, the sheer familiarity of the activity comforting him like nothing else could.

Running a reverent hand over the well-known and well-loved titles in the Anthropology section, he took a moment to simply revel in the memories of endless hours spent in joyful discovery of the secrets contained in these time worn volumes. He'd never really stopped to analyze it, but his favorite part of his academic life was the research, the quest for answers. He treasured those moments when the mystery was suddenly solved, when he could cry 'voila!' and all the pieces fell into place. Whether it was a question about the origin of a specific tribal custom, or who stood to gain from the discrediting of a prominent local citizen, Blair lived for those instances when he finally found the answer.

Longing for a taste of that sweet success again, he scanned the volumes, pulling some to take to a table to peruse more in depth before he would choose the ones to check out. Engrossed in his work, time sped by until the rumbling of his stomach reminded him that he'd skipped lunch and it was his turn to cook dinner. Replacing all but three of the books, he grabbed his selections and headed toward the check out desk, his mind already on what he planned for dinner that night.

Distracted, he nearly walked directly into a large older man, who glared at Blair as he made a quick sidestep to avoid a collision. Turning to look at the rapidly retreating back of the behemoth, Blair turned face forward again to find himself nearly colliding with a lovely young African-American woman.

"Tanisha?" he asked with a rapidly widening grin, recognizing her as a pupil he'd had in class two years before. He remembered her as a good student who struggled a bit with the subject, but kept on doggedly; he'd had a couple of special meetings with her to help her over some of the rougher spots in the course.

"Mr. Sandburg," she replied tonelessly, averting her gaze.

"Tanisha, is something wrong?" he asked, genuine concern in his dark blue eyes.

"You could say so, but you're hardly the person I would discuss it with." Her fine-boned face was set in an expression of cold distaste as she considered her former professor.

"What...what are you talking about?" Blair's expression was honestly confused as he studied her; they'd developed a good rapport during that semester, their discussions had ranged well beyond anthropology.

The young woman sighed then turned hurt, angry eyes toward her former instructor. "I believed you," she said with sad resignation.

"You..."

"I believed you!" Now the anger was front and center in her voice. "All the crap you said about research being about finding the truth, about how even truth about the ancient past could help shape the future. I bought into it. I'd do a term paper, then ask myself if it was the best I could honestly do, if I'd cut any corners or colored the results in any way to support my position, because I wanted to live up to YOUR example. And what do I find out? You're a liar. A fraud. Your thesis for God's sake was a fake! I feel like a total idiot."

"Tanisha...no. It...it wasn't like that..." he trailed off, unsure how to respond.

"Oh? So you lied about lying? Is that it? What's the truth Mr. Sandburg? The first lie or the second one? You admitted to the fraud. God, what a great example you turned out to be," she ground out, turning away and stalking toward the back of the library.

Blair stood watching her, his heart beating painfully in his chest, a pain far beyond the physical clenching in his gut. At last he turned again toward the checkout desk, all joy in the day destroyed, and an aching despair growing around his heart.

Jim glanced at the two items in his hand, took a steadying breath and headed toward Simon's office, knocking before sticking his head in.

"Ah, Jim, good. You have that report done?" the captain asked, reaching out for it as he spoke.

"Right here, Sir," the Sentinel replied, placing the requested documents in the outstretched hand.

"Good, good," Simon muttered, glancing over the report quickly. "Well, I just got word that two patrolmen picked up the last two shooters based on what the survivor told us. So, at least that part of this case is closed. Any change in Rafe's condition?"

"According to the doctors he'll be okay," Jim's voice was oddly subdued. "He...we...got lucky." His gaze fell to the envelope he still held clenched in his hand, and with a silent sigh he handed it over to his captain.

"What's this?" The question was automatic even as Simon opened the envelope and quickly read the one page that was inside. "Jim? Are you sure about this? Have you even taken the time to think this through?" he asked waving the detective's resignation before him.

"I'm certain, Sir," the Sentinel replied stolidly, the clenched muscle in his jaw the only outward sign of his feelings.

"Why don't I give you a week to reconsider? Take the next seven days off, think it through, discuss it with Sandburg. Let me know then," the big captain offered.

"Nothing to consider, Sir. Rafe was hurt because backup was slow to respond, because of me. That is not something I'm willing to be a part of. Risk to me is acceptable. Risk to someone else is not."

Watching the younger man turn away to leave, Simon Banks suddenly decided he had nothing left to lose in his relationship with Ellison; he took an almost guilty satisfaction in seeing how his next words stopped the angry ex-Ranger in his tracks.

"Does that noble attitude extend to include Sandburg?"

"What? What did you just ask me?" Jim Ellison's voice was cold, precise and dangerous as he turned to his former boss.

"I was just wondering where this holier-than-thou, self-sacrificing mentality was when your young, untrained, civilian, partner was in danger because of his association with you. For three years Sandburg was routinely put in danger because of hanging out with Jim Ellison. How many times was he kidnapped? Had a gun waved in his face? Christ, the kid has a bigger file at the hospital than I do, and I've been on the force five times as long. "

Ellison started to speak but stopped when Simon held up a hand. "It's my turn now. You were pissed at me because I didn't protect him when he was in custody. Well, I'm pissed because you can't seem to see the one person who has treated him worse than any other is you. You are the one who kicked him out of the loft and into Alex's clutches. You are the one who accused him of betraying you. The kid worked himself nearly to the point of collapse, trying to juggle his studies, his teaching, and helping you. And when push came to shove, when there was a conflict between what you needed and what the University needed, you were the one who took precedence. Without fail. He nearly lost his job during the mess with Ventriss, and I know he was even more under the gun there after it was brought to the Chancellor's attention how much time he'd missed. They were ripe and ready to fire him when he declared his dissertation a fraud. And what of that, huh? I still cannot believe you actually let him do that. You accepted the fact he gave up his academic career...his dream...as if it was of no consequence. He gave it up to protect you. To give you back what the press and the publicity was taking from you."

The big captain took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. "So, basically, since he began associating with you, Blair Sandburg has faced bullets, killers, assassins, bombs, spiders, and drugs, while giving up his academic career, his dreams, his future, his reputation, and very damn nearly his life. And NOW you decide risk to someone else is unacceptable. Well, dammit all to hell, Ellison, it's about three damn years too late!" He stopped, realizing he had way overstepped his bounds, as Jim Ellison stood stiff and still as a statue, the fury in his pale eyes the only sign of animation.

"Are you finished, Sir?" he ground out between tightly clenched teeth.

"Yes..." Further words were cut off as the former Major Crime Detective stalked from the office, closing the door firmly behind him. "Shit," Simon sighed, sinking into his chair and scrubbing his hands over his face, but unable to block out the expression he had seen in his friend's...former friend's...eyes.

Jim made a quick stop by his desk, grabbing the few personal items he had in his desk and shoving them into an empty file. He shut down the computer, took a last look around for anything he may have missed, then walked without hesitation out of the Major Crime bullpen and toward the elevator, not sparing a single backward glance at the surprised expressions he left in his wake.

The beer hadn't helped.

After leaving the Cascade PD Jim Ellison had found himself oddly without purpose; he wasn't ready to return to the loft and face his guide, nor was there anywhere else he could think of to go that wasn't at least peripherally associated with the police force. It was only early afternoon, but he found himself entering a dimly lit bar in a nearly forgotten corner of the city, a raucous wedge of late-70's country music hitting him full force as soon as he opened the door.

The gloomy air of hopelessness that permeated the place was oddly appealing to the Sentinel, and he slowly nursed his single drink while soaking in the boozy, brainless cheer of Moe Bandy and Joe Stampley. But even the ear splitting volume of the music couldn't mute Simon's damning words, nor could a second beer drown out the hateful fear that his former boss spoke only the truth in that moment of anger.

"You were the one who kicked him out of the loft and into Alex's clutches." Simon's voice echoed in his mind.

But hadn't he done that to protect his young guide? He sensed the danger, even if he couldn't identify it. He tried to get Sandburg out of the line of fire, knowing in some instinctual level that he wasn't safe with Ellison. He hadn't intended to leave him vulnerable to Alex Barnes.

"You were the one who accused him of betraying you."

Dammit, Sandburg had promised Jim that his name would be kept confidential, that he wouldn't be turned into some sort of sideshow freak. Then he found out his name, his friends' and family's names, are plastered throughout the whole document. Was he so wrong to be hurt, angered by that? He had entrusted the anthropologist with his life, his history, his very soul; and Sandburg had ended up making that public knowledge, however unintentionally. By every dictionary Ellison had ever encountered, that was a definition of betrayal.

"You were the one who took precedence."

He hadn't asked Sandburg to give up his career; in fact he counseled the student to go for the brass ring. It wasn't his fault the younger man overreacted and trashed his life, wasn't it? It was the kid's...no...the MAN'S decision. Jim had been granted no say in the matter at all.

Gradually his guilt was transmuting into anger at the overzealous young man who had forced himself into the detective's life and settled in there as if he belonged. Jim had not asked for any of this, and being slammed with blame was more than he was willing to stomach. Determined to have it out with Sandburg once and for all, he left the bar, faintly surprised to find it was nearly dark outside.

Climbing into the cab of the truck, he noticed the folder he'd taken from his desk still lying on where his partner usually sat. Irritated by the reminder of his rash decision, he picked it up angrily and dropped it behind the back of the seat. A single rectangular piece of paper fell out, and the former cop picked it up, intending to toss it back with the folder when a flash of color caught his eye. The errant item was a photograph taken at the precinct shortly after Blair had started working with Jim, not long after the mess with Kincaid and his followers. It showed Blair sitting on the corner of Jim's desk, hands caught in mid-gesture, the expressive blue eyes wide and full of life and light. He was wearing one of the more colorful outfits he favored in those early days, and his chestnut curls were loose over his shoulders. Even in the one dimensional photo Blair Sandburg's exuberance and kinetic energy were in evidence, and the older man felt something inside him, near the vicinity of his heart, twist painfully as he looked at the picture.

It was the face of a stranger now.

Jim Ellison had not seen the person in this photo in months. In his place was a much more subdued man, who lacked the 'damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead' gusto he'd shown before. The Blair Sandburg who had emerged reborn from the waters of the fountain outside Hargrove Hall had a tentativeness about him, combined with a uncomfortable hardness, that overwhelmed the curious, strangely naïve grad student who had found his 'Crime Grail' over three years before. And in a horrifying epiphany Jim Ellison understood that he was the one who had wrought those changes.

It was a realization that made him sick.

Caught up in his own problems since the female Sentinel had wreaked havoc in their world, Jim had not allowed himself to examine his feelings about the events that had transpired. Nor had he truly paid any attention to Sandburg's recovery, or lack thereof. In fact, they had not mentioned Alex Barnes since that day she was taken, catatonic, from the Peruvian jungle. Now, in retrospect, the Sentinel realized that had been a mistake, though he still mentally shied away from the memories of how he went after his female counterpart with no more restraint than a fifteen year old under the influence of his first hormone rush. He recognized now the all too obvious message he had unthinkingly sent the person he depended on more than any other in his life: 'You are not important to me.' Then to make matters worse, he turned around and continued to devalue those things that mattered most to the younger man: his career in the academic world and his duty as guide and shaman.

Suddenly seeming monstrous in his own mind's eye, Jim started toward home, anxious to put right the things he'd allowed to go so very wrong.

The loft was dark and still when Jim arrived, and if it hadn't been for the sight of the green Volvo parked in its usual spot downstairs he would have surmised his roommate was still out. The Sentinel opened up his senses a little and quickly located the familiar heartbeat-strong and steady-out on the darkened balcony. Without turning on any lights he made his way to the refrigerator and extracted a bottle of water before heading out to join Blair in the cool evening air.

The younger man had apparently not heard Jim's arrival, so when Ellison glanced out the glass doors before opening them he had a candid view of his best friend. The darkness was no challenge to Sentinel vision, and the older man was shocked by Sandburg's appearance. He and Simon often referred to Blair as 'the kid' casually, since not only was he younger by a few years, he seemed even more so given his enthusiasm and spirit. But the man who sat in a semi-lotus on the cold surface of the balcony was most definitely not a 'kid'. In that unguarded moment the barely thirty-year-old looked old, tired, and ill-used; with a slump in his posture that curled him so much he looked like one of those 'pill bugs' Jim and Steven used to collect when they were kids. The normally lively blue eyes were dim and dark, like the windows of an abandoned house; even the riotous curls seemed subdued, weighted down by the seemingly ever-present moisture in the air. Lines and shadows warped the young features of the guide's mobile face, adding to the impression of age, the decay of youth.

**Oh, my God, what have I done?** Jim moaned mentally, his heart little more than an icy clump in his tight chest. Screwing up his courage, he opened the door and spoke quietly.

"Chief?"

"Hey, Jim," Blair responded not even glancing up. The lifeless tone of voice should not have startled Ellison so badly, given how Blair looked.

"Chief, can I get you something?" It was an inane question, he knew it as soon as the words left his mouth, but it was the only thought that made it through the maelstrom of his emotions.

"I'm fine, Jim."

"Right," the former detective sighed, lowering himself to sit beside his friend before turning his gaze out over the lights of the city spread out below them. The silence stretched between them, binding them together in an invisible cocoon of mild discomfort and unease. Then, when Jim felt he couldn't stand it another second, Blair broke the silence with his own standard question.

"How was work?"

It was, the older man realized, the perfect opening. One thing he could count on was Sandburg's response to one of his friends being hurt; didn't matter how upset Blair was, he'd want to know what had happened. And if Ellison could get his friend talking, then he could steer the conversation around to where he wanted it to go and maybe they could begin to put right what had gone wrong between them.

"Rafe and I went to meet a possible witness to a murder, and it turned out to be a trap. Rafe was shot," Jim said calmly, watching Blair for his reaction.

"Is he okay?" As Ellison had hoped, a spark of interest colored his guide's voice.

"He will be. Nasty, and he lost a lot of blood, but no vital organs were hit. Backup was slow responding, it shouldn't have happened," the older man noted, a touch of anger still evident in his voice.

"Because of what we did?" Blair wondered, his voice listless once again.

"So it would seem." Jim sighed deeply, leaning his head back against the wall behind him, his gaze on the clear night sky as he allowed the emotions he habitually kept at bay to roll through him. Blair remained silent, definitely more 'there' than he'd been before Jim sat down, but not volunteering any communication.

"When did it happen, Chief? When did it all go to hell for us?" The softly spoken words caught Sandburg's attention more than a shout would have.

"What are you talking about, Jim?" he asked cautiously.

"Was it when Alex came into our lives? Was that when it all started going bad?" Jim continued as if Blair hadn't spoken. "When I kicked you out, accused you of betraying me? Was it when I read the first chapter? That could have been it, when I realized you really were going to write your dissertation, when I started feeling threatened," the Sentinel's voice trailed off a bit, his brow unconsciously knitted in concentration. "When I pushed you away, and you let me."

"Where are you going with this, man?" Blair queried, his own forehead furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Things are wrong between us, Blair. They have been for a long time I think, but I didn't want to see it. You know...'fear based responses,' that's what you called it. Guess you may have been right after all, but I didn't see it, I honestly didn't..." the words tumbled out with uncharacteristic haste, worrying the guide immediately.

"Hey, man, slow down, take a deep breath. Come on, you know the drill by now," the soothing tones could not be ignored.

Jim obeyed without even thinking about it, drawing in a deep lungful of air, then whooshing it out noisily, repeating the process without prompting. "Saying 'I'm sorry' just doesn't begin to cover it," Ellison sighed. "I guess I should have made that trip with you after all."

Sandburg shot an incredulous look at his roommate and Sentinel. "Now you want to talk about it? Now?" He wearily rubbed is good hand over his face, an odd little sob/chuckle escaping. "Your timing sucks, Ellison."

"Haven't you ever heard that old saw, 'better late than never' Chief?" Jim asked, trying to lighten the mood just a bit.

"Haven't you ever heard of 'a day late and a dollar short'?" the younger man shot back.

"Is it, Blair? Is it too late?"

The compact figure seemed to collapse in on itself a little more. "I don't know, man. I guess we can try. But first, you have to give me your word. If we start this, you have to stick it out; none of that famous 'Ellison Two Step'. We talk until we've worked it out, one way or another. You cut me off...cut me out...I'll walk out that door and you won't see me again. I've spent the last few months beating my head against your stubborn denial; I'm not doing it any more. Since you seem to like clichés tonight, how about this one: in for a penny, in for a pound." Anger had energized Blair a bit, his gaze was intense and direct as he locked eyes with his friend.

"Then I'm in."

Dark blue eyes studied the Sentinel's face, faintly illuminated by the ambiguous lights of the Cascade night. The young shaman was seeking, and apparently finding, assurance that this time his words would not be blocked out by a disbelieving police detective.

"What did you mean when you said 'things were wrong between us?'" Blair asked at length, willing to let Jim take the lead for the moment, unsure just how much the older man could deal with, reluctant to get his hopes up.

"I mean it's not the way it was...before. You're my best friend, perhaps the best friend I've ever had, but recently...it seems like I barely know you anymore. I mean...we talk but we don't....we don't..."

"We don't connect," Blair finished for him, surprised that Jim had even noticed.

"Right. And I know it's mostly my fault, I stopped listening, then you stopped talking, and it was easy to just let things be, you know? Some days...hell...most days, I was convinced nothing was wrong. And if things didn't feel quite the same, it didn't matter, because nothing was really wrong. Except it was. It's just...I was taught to be...to believe in...to not believe in all that mystical stuff. Then this Sentinel stuff...it just got weirder and weirder. Portents. Omens. Spirit Guides. Visions. All things that went right against everything I've ever believed in." Unable to sit still, Jim rose to his feet and began pacing the small balcony restlessly, his sinuous grace reminding Blair of the Sentinel's spirit animal.

"And you...you just seemed to accept it without a problem. Revel in it, even. And I just didn't want to hear about it anymore. Then, when I read that opening chapter...that just...just hurt. It was like you were seeing only the bad things in me...the flaws. It was almost like when Carolyn and I separated. All the things she had claimed to love about me when we were dating were suddenly my biggest faults...I was too protective. Too commanding. She only saw the bad. Then I realized that you weren't being hurtful, not on purpose, but were really...truly...studying me. And somehow that was worse," he held up a hand, seeing Sandburg was about to speak.

"I know. I know. That was the basis for our whole association. And I thought I'd dealt with it. But maybe not. Anyway, then when you hid your finding Alex from me...I know that was what you had to do, if you wanted to use her as part of your study. I do understand that. But...you were acting as her guide. And part of me was furious, as if you were somehow cheating on me. And the vision, that was just more than I was ready to deal with. It was like the whole 'Sentinel' thing was in overdrive again, and I hated it, hated not feeling like I could control it. So when you told me to 'come on in'...no way I could, Chief. But the thing is, I was so caught up in my feelings...my misery...I ignored you, what you went through. And for months afterward I'd literally get a physical chill when I realized you'd died. Not almost died. You were dead." The large, capable hands rubbed over his weary face as he took another fortifying breath.

"Then the dissertation fiasco. God, Blair. There is no excuse, no justification, for the way I treated you. The things I said. The relief I felt when you gave it all up. And I was enough of an idiot to think we could just move past that. Just toss you a badge and all the sacrifices would be justified. Tell me something, Blair. Honestly. Would you have gone to the Academy?"

"Maybe." Blair shrugged dismissively. "I wasn't that hot to become a cop, but I didn't feel like I had a lot of options. I just couldn't figure out how I could effectively be a cop if I was a fraud, you know?"

"Yeah. Simon had his doubts too. Oh, not about your abilities. About whether it was something you really wanted to do at all. But I bullied him into it, when he was still recovering and not up to a real battle. I wanted desperately to 'fix' things again. Get life back to the way it had been. But I think even I knew deep down it wouldn't work."

"Could you see me going up before a judge to testify? The first words out of the defense attorney's mouth would be 'admitted fraud.' I'd spend so much time with IA people would think I worked for that division. Yeah, I might have tried, but I can't believe it would have worked. Besides, man, I know I can contribute to an investigation, but I just don't see me as a cop." A very small, rueful grin made it way to Blair's face, heartening Jim.

Acting on a sudden instinct that for once he didn't question, the big man stopped and hunkered down in front of his friend, pale blue eyes meeting their darker counterparts in an uncompromising stare. "What do you want?" he asked in a firm, calm voice. The same voice that asked 'what do you fear' in a jungle that seemed a lifetime removed.

"What do I want? I dunno, man," Blair hedged, looking down at his injured hand.

"What do you want?" Relentless.

"I want it back," the guide whispered, Sentinel soft. "I want it back."

"What do you want back, Blair?" There was no sense of judgment in that quiet voice, only gentle encouragement.

"My life. My dream. The one that sustained me during all the turmoil of my growing up years. My one constant in a world of change. Men came and went, families came and went, friends came and went. But always I had my dream. My fantasy. I was going to be the next Richard Burton," he sighed, pausing for a deep breath.

"The explorer, not the actor," Jim quoted softly in the pause, remembering with sudden clarity the vibrant young man who had said that to him in a small, cluttered office at Rainer University.

"Yeah, the explorer, not the actor. Told you I was a science geek. I was at the library today, went into the anthropology section. It was like coming home. All that knowledge, all those wonders. Just waiting between the dusty covers of those books. Waiting to be discovered, to be released again. You're going to think I'm nuts, but I used to love getting a new anthropology text, it was like standing on the edge of a new country, just waiting to be explored," Blair sighed, his expression distant and a bit dreamy. "Anthropology is just so cool, you can study all these seemingly different cultures, but when you strip them down to the basics, you can see that mankind is basically so much the same. And it makes me feel like I'm a part of this giant...whole. Connected somehow, in some small way, to everyone and everywhere..." he trailed off, flushing slightly. "I must sound like an idiot, sorry," he muttered.

"No, Blair, you never sound like an idiot. But I don't understand. Why did you do it, Chief? Why'd you throw it all away?"

"Because I had to set it right. It was my fault Simon and Megan were shot. If the press hadn't interfered, you would have caught Zeller before the shooting. It was my fault the media was all over you, my fault Zeller got away. I had to set that right, and I had to give you back your life. Had to make it up to you somehow. No dream, no matter how grand, was worth the price that one cost."

Jim studied the distraught younger man carefully, then spoke in a near whisper. "That's not all, is it? There's something else."

Blair took a shuddering breath, then breathed out his answer. "I didn't think you'd really let me do it."

Oh, God.

The younger man had believed his friend would not allow him to commit career suicide; that his blessed protector would save him even from himself. Jim felt sick at the hurt it must have caused when he'd just thrown some meager praise over Blair's sacrifice and offered a gold shield as a reward. The student had given up his dream in the name of friendship, and Ellison was fully aware he'd undervalued that sacrifice completely.

"I didn't understand just what it meant to you then, Blair. I swear, if I'd understood..." he trailed off, running a hand through is short hair and settling back down so he was seated in front of Blair. "See, I...I never had that kind of dream. I joined the military because I felt I had to. Became a cop because it seemed the most logical choice at the time. I just took what life sent my way and made the most of it, I guess. Oh, sure, when I was a kid I dreamed of being a pro football player. Stuff like that. But not the sort of dream that you can make come true, not like you apparently had. I just thought you did the teaching, wanted your degree, because it was...I dunno...what you ended up doing. Even when you said I was your 'Holy Grail' I didn't really understand that you actually meant it."

"You were it, man. The culmination of years of searching, of dreaming. And you were so much more than I expected, so much more than I'd ever dared dream. On a purely academic level, you were the ultimate discovery. But then...then we became friends...and I found a part of my life I hadn't even known was missing. I'd never had a BEST friend before, you know? I had friends, sure. LOTS of friends. But with you...it went beyond that somehow. And I wanted to be as important to you as you were to me, but it never happened..." the soft voice trailed off as Blair blushed faintly in embarrassment.

"Blair, no matter what else, please...you have to believe you are important to me," Jim asserted, more upset by that thought than he would have expected.

The former student seemed to ignore Jim's comment, his rapt gaze captured by his good hand's restless twisting of his shirt hem. "I pretty much figured out quickly that you were kind of touchy about this whole Sentinel thing, but I had no idea just how touchy. I guess it's a Sentinel thing, this being so obsessed about control, but I didn't mind giving you control. I mean, I was WAY out of my depth sometimes. But as long as you listened to me about the senses things I could live with the rest. Then you shut me out, man, right when I needed you the most. That whole Alex thing...it opened up a whole new set of variables, showed me things I'd never even suspected. And I needed you, but you kept pushing me away..."

"You needed me? I don't understand, Chief. What happened then, that you needed me for?" Jim looked so honestly perplexed Blair couldn't rip into him as viciously as he wanted to as his emotions rose.

"God, Jim, if you'd listened to me then you wouldn't be having to ask these questions. I tried to tell you later, after I'd done some exploring there, that the pictures I took of the walls, they were covered with writing. It explained a lot I hadn't understood before. Like why you reacted to Alex the way you did. It WAS a primal imperative, just as for her. But it was made worse by the fact you were sharing a guide. See, Jim, Sentinels are not the only ones who are genetically predisposed. Guides are too."

"What? You mean you were born to act as a guide?" the Sentinel asked.

"Basically, yeah. Think about it man! Am I the sort of person you would likely be friends with? What do we share in common? Huh? Not enough to make as good of friends as we were, I can guarantee that. We were MEANT to be together!"

The younger man paused, realizing what he had just said as a look of comically shocked dismay spread across his expressive features. "I can NOT believe I just said that! I'm sorry, man, I didn't mean to go all 'Hallmark Card' on you. But it IS the truth, no matter how weird it sounds." Now it was Blair's turn to leap to his feet and begin pacing restlessly. "Sentinels need a guide, I knew that from the beginning. But now I know Guides need a Sentinel. It's a trade off, you see? Mutual need. Mutual help. But by the time I finally figured that out, you no longer needed me, and I couldn't bring myself to admit I needed you, not when you were pushing me away at every turn."

Jim's eyes dimmed as he realized he'd left his friend and partner alone at a time he was most vulnerable. How could they have been living together, working together, and have so little realization of what the other was feeling? What the other needed?

"And it wasn't just that you were cutting me out. You were cutting me down. Remember Brad Ventriss? You completely ignored my feelings on that, just went all 'cop' on me, quoting rules and regulations like you'd never dream of stepping over that line when need be. But I'd seen you ignore the rules before, like when Incacha needed your help. You didn't think twice about bending all the regulations for him. That's when I knew. When I knew you had absolutely zero respect for what I did in my life outside what directly impacted you." Since Jim was no longer directly in his sight, the big man's sorrowful expression hidden for the moment, Blair's anger was gaining strength again.

"Think about it Jim. When you thanked me in the hospital, after the press conference, you said I was the best cop you'd ever worked with. I. Am. Not. A. Cop." Jim flinched back from the words as if from a physical blow, but too basically honest to deny their truth, even to himself. "You and Simon reminding me of that aside, I am not a cop. I don't want to be a cop. I would make a lousy cop! I'm an anthropologist! An observer, a scholar, a student. But I am NOT a cop. Your career may not have defined you, but mine did. Being an anthropologist wasn't just what I did, it was what I WAS!" Blair stopped suddenly, realizing he'd been shouting at Jim, probably giving the neighbors something new to gossip about. He took a deep breath, reaching for a calm voice.

"I appreciated the gesture you and the guys made. I really did. But if I'm totally honest, I have to admit I would never have made it through the Academy. And now, adding in the whole mess with the FBI...well, just forget it. I'm not a masochist. So I hope you can see fit to support me for a while, 'cause I'm jobless, and prospectless, but would prefer to not be homeless." His anger spent, he slumped down across from Jim again, weariness rendering him graceless.

"I'll do what I can Chief, but...well...I'm jobless myself," Jim admitted quietly, quirking a rueful little grin.

"What? They fired you?"

"I resigned. After I got back from the hospital. What happened to Rafe was due to the other cops being pissed off at me. He was an innocent bystander and I can't risk it happening again. But not to worry, I have a substantial amount in savings," he concluded with a rueful little twist of his lips.

Blair barked out a rough, semi hysterical laugh, leaning back against the wall behind him and gazing at the indifferent sky. "You quit? I gave up my career and reputation to preserve yours, and in return you give up that job to save your fellow officers? Why do I feel like I'm living some sort of twisted O'Henry story? The fucking 'Gift of the Magi' gone somehow off course? This is great, Jim. Now what?"

"Well, dinner might be a good idea," Ellison ventured, finally, giving his roommate a hopeful look. "Fuel the bodies so we can talk some more? Pizza okay?"

"Pizza and catharsis, sounds like a fun evening, Jim," Blair quipped with a weary smile.

"I'll call in the order, why don't you go get cleaned up?" the big man said as he heaved himself to his feet.

"Okay, man, but do NOT order a 'Meat Eater's Special'," he requested, standing himself.

"Half 'Meat Eater's', half 'Veggie Lovers', okay?"

"Sounds good."

Routine can be a wonderful thing.

The sheer normalcy of Jim setting the table while Blair cobbled together a salad reminded both men of the once easy camaraderie they shared. Just as Blair was putting away the salad ingredients a knock on the door signaled the arrival of the pizza, the elderly delivery driver cheerfully chattering away while Jim paid him.

The old fellow probably hadn't even reached the ground floor before Jim and Blair had the box open and thick slabs of pizza on their plates. For a time conversation was reduced to the basics starting with phrases such as 'would you please pass the...', and 'do you want another...' The quiet gave both men a chance to ponder their earlier discussion, and, especially in Jim's case, process the new perspective on his friend.

With typical Ellison zeal he analyzed his shortcomings in regards to his guide and started considering ways he could undo the worst of the damage. The last few hours had brought home...brutally...just how much he had failed to appreciate the younger man, how much he had taken for granted. Ashamed of his past behavior, the former police officer was determined to make amends as best he could, regardless of any cost to himself, whether monetary or emotional.

"You're right, Chief," Jim said into the silence as the two of them cleared the table and put away the leftovers.

"About what?" his companion wondered as he ran the water for the few dishes.

"About my attitude. About me not respecting your academic career as much as I should have. About taking you for granted. About everything, really. And, pathetic as it sounds, I'm sorry. It's not much, I know, but I regret the way I've treated you. And I'd like to try to set things right, if I can. Are you willing to try?" he asked, anxiety eating at him. He knew Blair was extremely hurt by his attitude, he just hoped he still could forgive him enough to try to save their friendship.

Blair turned to Jim with a closed expression, but deep in the dark blue eyes the Sentinel saw just a glimmer of hope. Still, the younger man's voice was strangely dispassionate as he spoke. "What did you have in mind?"

"I've been thinking about that, and what I came up with is that our first step should be to see a lawyer. You didn't give Sid permission to publish your work, right? You didn't actually submit it as your thesis to the University. Your rights were violated, Chief, by both the publisher and the University, and as a consequence you had to take drastic action to protect innocent lives. Something tells me a competent lawyer could make one hell of a case out of that, maybe get things set up so you can be given back what you gave up." The big man paused, his expression thoughtful.

"I don't want to negate what you did, Blair. No one has ever given me a gift of greater value, no one has ever offered up so much on my behalf. I realize now what it cost you, and I'm only sorry you felt it was necessary," he said gently, his feelings an uneasy combination of gratitude for what his friend had done for him, awe for the younger man's courage, and humility that Blair had placed so high a worth on Jim's desires.

"You were also right about me not understanding how much you treasured your academic career," Ellison continued. "My dad, he raised us to believe education was only of importance as a tool to get ahead in life; a means, not an end. A degree in anything except business, law or medicine was a waste of time and money in his opinion. He tended to refer to those who had doctorates as 'over educated idiots' when he dealt with them in the course of business. I guess I picked up more of his attitude than I realized, and it colored my view of your work."

"I don't get it, Jim. What exactly brought about this amazing turnaround?" Blair's expression was skeptical as he considered his friend.

"You did. Have you looked in a mirror recently, Darwin? It gave me a real shock to really look at you, see how unhappy you look these days. It happened so gradually, I guess I didn't notice, but your...I guess your spark...is missing. It's like you're going half speed or something. If I really stop to think about it, I think it started about the time Alex came to Cascade, and I was such a bastard to you."

Blair looked at his friend in shocked disbelief that the man had actually noticed something was amiss with him. He'd spent the last few months gradually trying to 'detach with love' as his mother had always done, finally understanding what had motivated Naomi to do that. He hadn't wanted to hurt Jim, and frankly wasn't really sure they COULD separate, at least not as Sentinel and Guide, but for his own survival he had to back off from a partnership that had become oddly one sided.

"When I saw you two on the beach...when she pointed the gun at me...and you let her get away...oh, man, that hurt so bad. Even when we had our arguments before, our differences, I felt you at least cared about me, my safety. You'd be there for me. And it was such a unique feeling for me, to know I had someone I could depend on. Something I didn't have as a kid, you know? I mean, sure, Naomi loved me, loves me, but she's not exactly dependable, you know. She'd take off sometimes for weeks at a time, leaving me with friends to do 'my own thing' while she did hers. And I couldn't ever tell her I'd rather be with her than not, she wouldn't have understood, and I didn't have any real frame of reference to use to explain it. Then I moved in with you, and once I got past expecting you to kick me out, after we got used to each other, I finally knew what it was like to have a real home. And on that beach, I found out what it felt like to lose it." Blair glanced up at Jim, his expressive eyes filled with the anguish he'd experienced that day, and the older man felt a physical stab of pain in his chest at the intensity of that emotion.

"God, Blair...I'm sorry. I...I don't know why I reacted to Alex that way, why I couldn't shoot her, even knowing what she had done. I hated her for what she did to you, what she did to me, what she was. But I also wanted her, so badly it almost hurt. It was like an obsession, I guess, something beyond my control..." he stopped as Blair held up a hand.

"I know that Jim. That's the only thing that kept me sane, was knowing you really weren't in control. But between that, and your distance after you brought me back at the fountain...I wanted so much to understand that. But you cut me off, shut me out. Damn, I still don't understand how you could have enough belief to bring me back and still not want to explore what you did."

"Chief, when I saw you in the fountain, when we pulled you out and I realized your heartbeat was gone...it was as if part of me died with you. I was half out of my mind with guilt and grief, desperate for anything that might work. I wasn't really thinking rationally, which is probably why Incacha could communicate with me. Then, when we got you back, it all hit me; how much you mean to me, how lost I would be without you. And it made me...I'd never depended on anyone the way I depend on you, and I hated that loss of control in my life. So I pushed you away, because I couldn't face the depth of my dependence and...dammit...love for you. You're more a brother to me than Steven has been, and it scared the shit out of me to realize that." Jim had begun to pace restlessly again, his agitation clear.

Blair chuckled a little self-consciously. "Man, that is so cool, because I had started to think of you like a brother, too. And just how much have you had to drink to loosen you enough to admit that?" he queried, unable to resist a mild bit of teasing.

"Not enough," Jim growled, his fierce expression completely wasted on his companion.

"Riight..." the younger man grinned, then sobered again. "See, I felt...feel...the same way. That's why it hurt so damned bad when you treated me like...like...like the hired help or something. I missed my friend, moody though he is."

"I missed you, too, Chief," Jim smiled at his friend as they finished their kitchen chores and headed toward the living room. The look that passed between them said more than any words could, and both men felt the rift that had separated them start to mend. It wasn't fixed, but the groundwork was laid to rebuild the trust that had died between them. "Now, to get back to the subject at hand, you want to talk to a lawyer? At least see what can be done?"

"I think it's a good idea, man. For several reasons. Not only the ones you mentioned, but because I had all those grants, and if they choose to, they could try to nail me with charges stemming from misuse of funds, and probably a few other unpleasant things. Best I cover my bases. And I have some ideas as to how we could work this out without bringing you back into the spotlight. So, yeah, if you can loan me enough for a few hours of a cheap lawyer's time, I think I'd better do that." Jim could tell from Blair's expression that his guide was already starting to make a strategy to get his foot back in the academic door, and a slight smile crossed the older man's face.

"That's great, Darwin, but you're not going to hire a cheap lawyer. I'll call Steven in the morning and get his recommendation; he's bound to know who's the best. Can probably even get us a family discount or something, knowing how he is. And while you're at it, you could also discuss if you want to press any sort of charges against the Cascade PD. They were the very least negligent, if not criminally so," he added, looking at the cast that still adorned his roommate's damaged left hand. "Chief...that's another thing I've been ignoring, like I expect it will just go away. But...well...if you need to see someone about what happened...I know it was bad, and you won't talk about it to me..." Jim was fumbling more for words, not sure how to say what he wanted without sounding condescending or stirring up bad memories more than necessary.

"I'm doing okay, man," Blair demurred, refusing to meet Jim's eyes. "I don't need to see anyone, and I don't want to sue the PD. I just want to forget about the whole episode, you know?"

"I know, I'd feel the same way. And you'd be telling me I should see someone to help me process the experience," the Sentinel replied with quiet conviction.

"That was so not fair, man," the younger man groaned, leaning back in his chair and glaring at his friend.

"When it comes to the fine art of gentle...or not too gentle...persuasion, I've been studying with the master," the older man replied, tipping a jaunty mock salute at Blair.

"Okay, so I'll see an attorney, and THINK about seeing a therapist. What about you, Oh Sentinel of the Great City? Got a master plan for yourself?" Blair was glad to turn the conversation back toward his friend.

"Maybe. When I was partnered with Jack, he talked a lot about leaving the force and going private. Getting away from all the internal politics, the endless rules and regulations, and having a boss breathing down his neck. He told me when he did, he'd take me on as his business partner, but I didn't give it a whole lot of thought, since I thought he was unlikely to ever do it. Then, of course, he died, and that was that. But, since this whole FBI thing, I have to admit, I've been thinking about it. I'm experienced enough that getting licensed should be a snap, and Steven can help me figure out how to run a business. And maybe I could hire some poor, unemployed grad student to assist me in the investigating, you know, research stuff."

"'Poor, unemployed grad student?' Nice description there buddy," Blair groused, an attitude belied by the sudden twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah. And I'm thinking he could be 'Archie' to my 'Nero Wolfe', you know? Sounds like a good deal," Jim continued, ignoring his partner's comments. He instinctively realized they had had about all the emotional conversation either could handle for now; details could wait until later.

"Excuse me? As I recall, Archie did all the work, and Nero got all the glory. I am not going to be your 'Archie'," the younger man declared adamantly.

"Dr. Watson to my Sherlock Holmes?" the grinning Sentinel suggested with a smirk.

"I suppose I can live with that. Beats the hell out of being Higgins to your Thomas Magnum," Blair agreed.

"No, wait, I like that. At least he had a great car," Jim mused.

"No way, man. Sherlock and Watson it is, old chap."

"Watch who you're calling old, Junior."

"When's the press conference again, Chief?" Jim asked as he picked up the phone and consulted the business card in his hand.

"Two tomorrow. Shouldn't take more than a half hour, hour tops," Blair replied, looking up from his laptop. "You don't have to be there, you know."

"Yeah, I do. I let you face the press alone the first time, the very least I can do is offer my support now. I'll see if George will agree to a 3:30 meeting, that should give us plenty of time to get there, and him plenty of time to consider my offer," the Sentinel decided, dialing the phone as he spoke. A few minutes later he hung up with a satisfied smile.

"We're on for 4:00," he announced, wandering into the kitchen to grab a couple of beers. "Just think, Chief, by this time tomorrow, we may have our new careers underway. Now that's something I can drink to."

Blair accepted the beer and clinked his bottle against Jim's with a wide smile of his own. "Here, here!" he chuckled, taking a healthy swig.

It had been just over three weeks since Jim resigned from the police force; three weeks of meetings with attorneys, endless paperwork, and the stress of uncertain futures. But after numerous consultations with Dean Tracy, the attorney Steven Ellison recommended, they had both settled on their plans of action to give themselves back a semblance of the futures they had sacrificed.

From the first meeting with his new clients, Dean had thrown himself into the task of finding a form of justice for the pair. He went after Sid Graham and Rainer University with a variety of potential charges that would do far more harm to their reputations than admitting their mistakes could. At Blair's request, he reached a compromise with all parties, which would culminate with another press conference, this one publicly clearing Blair Sandburg of his self admitted fraud. The public would be told an abridged version of the truth; a truth that caused Jim Ellison to cringe with shame when he was apprised of it. The end result was expected to be that Blair would be allowed back in Rainer, and could again try for his doctorate in Anthropology, or any other major of his choice. He would be eligible to apply for a TF position one year after re-enrolling; the delay was more to allow the 'dust to settle' rather than a punitive measure.

As for the Sentinel, he had, with the able assistance of Dean Tracy and William Ellison, gotten his police and military retirement funds settled in secure investments, and had located a mid-sized detective practice that was for sale. The elderly private detective, George Ramsey, took an immediate liking to Jim, and while Ellison rushed through the licensing process he worked part time with the older man, learning the ins and outs of being in business for himself. The former military man found he liked the idea of being his own boss, and just the day before had made a very firm offer for the business, one that George wanted to have a day or two to consider.

"Nervous about tomorrow?" Jim asked in the quiet as they both sipped their drinks.

"A little, yeah. Mostly wondering if it will really work, you know? I mean, I realize some people will never believe I'm not a fraud, but I'm hoping most will be willing to accept the reasons given and at least give me a chance to redeem myself," the younger man replied, staring at the top of his beer bottle as if it contained the secrets of the world.

"Damn it Chief, you have nothing to redeem yourself for!" the older man ground out, glaring at nothing in particular. One of the most unsettling revelations the former detective had been hit with was that Blair had never planned to release his Sentinel thesis.

"Yeah, Jim, but that is hardly common knowledge," he sighed. "And it would help if I could still believe that I'm the only one I hurt by that."

"What're you talking about? Who else was hurt? I hope you don't think it hurt me or the other guys somehow," Jim wondered, giving his friend a searching look.

"No, I figured you'd all be okay with it," the younger man hedged, suddenly finding his beer bottle fascinating.

"Then what?" the Sentinel insisted.

"You remember the day you resigned? And I was on the balcony?" At Jim's nod he continued. "That day at the library, I ran into one of my former students, and, man, she let me have it with both barrels. Seems she'd believed my talk of scholastic honor, and took it as a personal insult that I'd submitted a fraudulent thesis. Of course she had no way of knowing I never actually submitted it, but still. Man, I didn't even consider what my students would think, and I should have. As a teacher I had a responsibility, and in the heat of the moment I lost sight of that," Blair's expression was one of self-recrimination.

"Hey, Chief, under the circumstances, no one can hold you at fault for not considering every conceivable variable. And the bottom line is, you did absolutely nothing wrong. Period. And don't you forget that." Jim's tone of voice left no room for argument.

"I know that, but the question is: will anyone believe it after this much time? Or will they even care?" He didn't mention the other thought troubling him; that he'd still be lying about Jim's senses. He wondered vaguely what Naomi would say about that little fact's impact on his karma.

"The press conference should clear the questions up for good. Just have a little faith in the people who know you; they will believe. The rest? Well, they don't really matter, and probably don't care," the older man reassured him, praying that his words would be proven true.

Blair sighed in frustration, knowing Jim was right, but also aware there was nothing to be done about what the public thought it knew. All they could do was hopefully explain the situation well enough that he could at least lighten the burden of his ruined reputation and allow him entry back into the world of academia he loved so well. He knew full well some people would never believe in him again, just as he knew some people never quit believing in him in the first place.

But before he could formulate an appropriate response to Jim's assertions, they were interrupted by a knock at the front door, and with a soft groan of protest Jim rose to answer it.

"Expecting company, Sandburg?" he asked as he set his beer down on the counter.

"Nope, maybe it's Avon calling," Blair quipped, frankly relieved at the interruption and twisting in his seat on the couch so he could see the front door.

"You run out of lipstick again, Chief?" the big man shot back as he opened the door. All further joking died immediately when the two men saw who their unexpected guest was.

Joel Taggart.

"Hey, Joel...hi," Jim stumbled a bit over his greeting, but a smile split his face when he saw that the former Bomb Squad Captain did not appear angry or confrontational. In fact the genial man smiled same as always, nodding a greeting to the still seated Sandburg before stepping into the loft.

"I wanted to come by and talk to you two, if you don't mind," he said diffidently, just barely inside the door.

"Come on in, man, we're glad you came by," Blair greeted him, gesturing the older man into the loft and toward the comfortable couches. He had tried several times in the last few weeks to reach Joel without success, and the phone messages he'd left at the former Captain's number had not been returned.

"Want a beer, Joel?" Jim asked as he reached for his own brew.

"Sure, that'd be great," Taggart said, taking a seat in one of the big chairs facing toward Blair.

Drinks in hand, the three men sat in an awkward silence for a few moments before Blair spoke up hesitantly.

"Joel...I'm sorry, man...we didn't have any idea, when we agreed to work with them...we never wanted to hurt you..." For once his normally agile mind and tongue were unable to work in tandem.

The big man held up his hands in a gesture meant to halt the stumbling words. "No, guys, this was NOT your fault. You weren't the ones to do something wrong, I was. In a weird sort of way, it's actually kind of a relief," he admitted slowly.

"What happened, man? Never in a million years would I have expected that you'd be one of the ones to get caught in their operation. Is there something we can do to help somehow? Just name it and we'll be there," Blair offered sincerely, certain Jim felt the same way. A quick glance at his roommate showed that the shaman's instinct was on target, it was obvious from his expression that the Sentinel wanted to help if he could.

"Nothing that can be done, guys. But thanks. I already had my meeting with the feds and the brass, reached a compromise, I guess you'd say. Forced early retirement, which reduces my pension some, but it could have been a lot worse. At least I'm not being charged, like a lot of the people are. My God, you should see the stack of files in the FBI office, it's incredible," Taggart said with a shake of his head. "They did a good thing, you know. And you helped, I can't find it in my heart to be angry when so much good should come from this. I was informed of how many millions of dollars worth of drugs were being funneled into this country by this operation, and it made me sick. I glad they've been stopped." The former captain's sincerity shown through, despite the fact he looked more gaunt and worn than either man had seen before.

"But it was a high price for you," Jim commented quietly, turning his intense gaze on the older man. "What happened? I worked with you a long time, I wouldn't have suspected you of being even remotely involved in such a situation. Why?" There was an oddly plaintive sound to the Sentinel's voice, betraying his feelings of sorrow that a man he'd always liked and respected had somehow done wrong.

"It's a common enough tale, Jim. Nothing new, I'm afraid," Joel said sadly, rolling his beer bottle between his hands. "The kind of story no cop more than a week out of the Academy would buy."

"What happened?" Blair asked gently, fixing Joel with his sympathetic gaze that no one could withstand for long.

Taggart ran one big hand over his face, dropping his gaze to his lap. "My son got sick. Jake was doing so well at work, just promoted to a junior manager's position in the firm, and with their first baby on the way, things were looking up for him and Clarice. Then he fell ill, just out of the blue. The doctors spent weeks trying to figure it out, finally narrowed it down to a blood disease with a name that gave me a sore throat the only time I tried to pronounce it. Conventional treatments weren't working, and even with insurance they were nearly broke and still Jake was getting worse." Even now the former Bomb Squad Captain's expression was haunted by the memory of how ill his son had been, and he continued his story with his voice rough with emotion.

"Then we heard of an experimental treatment in Germany, had good results with this disease, but Jake's insurance wouldn't cover it. We'd been helping them out financially, and were pretty tapped out ourselves, so I went to the accounting department, was going to try to get a loan on my retirement plan, you know? Just enough to cover his treatment. I had to try, he's our only child, no way was I going to just let him flounder with ineffective treatments. No way!" The big man's voice got louder, firmer, and his grim expression conveying more powerfully than his words his desperation at that time.

The two younger men couldn't help but feel their friend's pain, and their guilt over having been a part of Joel's downfall intensified.

Joel seemed to shake off the mood and continued his story. "Barb was telling me all the ins and outs of getting a loan, quoting tax laws, percentages, penalties, and who knows what all else. My mind was spinning, I just can't do that math work. I'd rather diffuse a bomb any day rather than try to figure my income taxes. She told me to think it over, and come back in a day or so, and if I still wanted to do it, she'd set it up. Well, that evening, when I was leaving, there was a note on my steering wheel saying to meet the person at Sylvester's Grill if I was interested in making some extra money. I had nothing to lose, so I went there, and met Captain Jensen. I have to admit, I was shocked to see him there," the big man admitted, shaking his head in puzzlement.

"He told me I could make an easy $15,000 every six months by doing nothing more than ignoring packages left in my locker. No questions asked, no interference, and if I tried to turn them in, he'd deny everything and do his best to frame me. He gave me the option of not accepting, of course, but...my son was out of time. I accepted. For the last two years packages have appeared in my locker from time to time, and disappeared. I never saw who put them there or picked them up. Every six months an envelope of cash would be left for me. And my son was successfully treated, their daughter is two now, with a new brother or sister on the way. So, I don't regret it...I can't regret it. Period."

"And you never knew what was in the packages?"

"I never asked, never tried to figure it out. Oh, I'm not stupid, Jim. I figured drugs was the most likely, given the size of the packages. But...no. I never tried to find out what was really going on. And the stress ate away at me. Every day I wondered if that would be the day IA would be waiting by my locker, wondering what kind of shit I was into. I kept waiting for the other shoe to fall...and finally it did. And I mean it when I say it was a relief. I didn't diet when I lost all that weight, it just melted off me. The Amazing Stress Diet...you live on nerves and caffeine." Joel chuckled a little, the sound bitter and fragile in the warm room.

"Joel," Jim started awkwardly, only to be stopped when the older man held up a hand to halt his words.

"No, Jim. I wouldn't have accepted help. I was a proud idiot, and frankly not thinking straight at the time. I have no one to blame but myself, and I just wanted to make sure you understood that," he concluded.

"Thanks, man. That means a lot to us both. I was worried when you wouldn't return my messages. I had also wanted to thank you for what you did, the last time I saw you in the PD. You don't know how much that meant to me; I was close to giving up. You saved my sanity, if not my life, Joel. I'm just sorry we couldn't return the favor," Blair said softly, his eyes filled with sorrow.

"But, that's what I mean, Blair. In a way you did. It's over now. I'm not getting up every morning with this fear hanging over my head, dreading the day I get caught. It's happened, and I survived, and I'll be okay. You have no idea how relieved I am." Joel smiled at the young man, who wondered if he could have such grace under the same circumstances.

"Thanks, Joel," he whispered, his voice choked with suppressed emotions. "When I didn't hear back from you, I was afraid..." his voice trailed off, but Joel knew what the younger man had feared.

"I won't lie to you, Blair. At first, I was upset. I needed to get my head straight, I wasn't going to talk to you until I had figured it out for myself, you understand?" The dark brown eyes of the former captain were fixing the anthropologist with a pleading look.

"Yeah, Joel. I understand," Blair smiled back a bit sadly.

Wanting to shift the subject, Jim spoke up in the pause. "So, you're going to just enjoy retirement?" Jim asked, honestly wondering how Joel would handle retirement; in his own quiet way the man was a workaholic, usually coming in early and staying late.

"Jeanie said she'd hire me as a delivery boy," the big man laughed, referring to his wife's small florist shop. "From defusing bombs to delivering daisies. Quite a career change."

"Think you can handle the danger?" Blair asked with a gleam in his eyes.

"Jeanie promised me they'd train me to handle all situations," Taggart replied with mock seriousness.

"Is this strictly ethical, Joel? I mean, you're gonna be sleeping with your boss," Ellison teased, as relieved as Blair was at Joel's situation.

"I just consider that a most attractive fringe benefit," Joel laughed outright, enjoying the look on his friend's faces.

"Man, I want a job like that!" Sandburg enthused, bouncing a bit in his seat.

"Well, that guarantees we won't be hiring you," was the mock growling reply, generating an embarrassed flush on the younger man's face. Deciding to take pity on the discomfited anthropologist, Joel changed the subject. "So, what about you two? Got big plans for the near future?"

Speaking in turn, Jim and Blair filled their friend in on their plans, reveling in the encouragement the former captain gave them, and gratefully accepting some practical advice the older man offered.

"You know, Jim, you get the practice going, and you need a special consultant or something, just let me know. It sounds intriguing, and I'd like to keep my hand in the business, you know. Just something to consider, at least," he offered.

"I'll do that, Joel. And if the detective business doesn't pan out, maybe Jeanie will hire me for deliveries too."

"The way you drive? No way, man. Our insurance couldn't take it!" Joel held up his hands in supplication as Blair chuckled at Jim's expression.

"He's got you there, Jim," the young man agreed with a wide grin.

Giving up with good grace, Ellison joined the laughter, as the conversation drifted to other topics before Joel stood and prepared to leave.

"Jim, just one other thing," he said diffidently as he opened the front door and gestured the Sentinel out into the hall, closing the door behind them. "I know you and Simon have had words...but, you know, he really stuck his neck out for you more than a few times, including when he offered Blair a chance to go to the Academy," he spoke softly, not wanting the younger man inside to overhear. "I know you were upset that Blair got hurt, but Simon did do what he could, and you two were too good of friends to let it end like this." He saw the infamous Ellison tooth-clench begin, so he held up a placating hand. "Just think about it, okay? Thanks for the beer, let me know how things turn out, okay?"

"Okay, Joel. And I'll think about it," Jim replied, watching the big man move with his offhand grace to the elevator. "Give my best to Jeanie."

Joel turned back to Jim just as the elevator doors opened. "Will do, man. See you around."

The familiarity of the scene gave Blair Sandburg a chill as he looked around the Rainer conference room at the gathered press, University representatives, and assorted others, including his Sentinel. Most of the faces he recognized from his first press conference, with only a few missing. For instance, his mother.

And Chancellor Edwards.

Blair felt no guilt or sorrow at the knowledge that, as a consequence of her handling of his situation when the dissertation was released to the public, her contract was not renewed. She had allowed herself, as a representative of the University, to get caught up in the hype and media frenzy, not giving Sandburg a chance to explain, either before or after the infamous press conference. A review of her actions had left Rainer University little choice in the matter, and releasing her was only the first step required by Attorney Dean Tracy to atone for their mistreatment of a long-time student and teaching fellow.

The new Chancellor, Grant Richards, was the first to approach the podium, looking a little ill at ease in front of the cameras. A smallish man in his early fifties, he looked like a well-matured Johnny Depp; his straight, dark hair liberally laced with gray.

"Thank you all for coming today," he began, pulling self-consciously at his tie. "A few weeks ago in this very room a selfless act of courage was committed, an act necessitated by the thoughtless deeds of others, who should have stopped to consider the consequences before acting. Because they did not, one man gave up his career, his dream, in order to set right a situation that had gone so very wrong. We are not here to flagellate those who set events into motion, but to set the record straight concerning Blair Sandburg as his thesis on 'Sentinels.'"

Richards continued, giving a brief synopsis of the events that had transpired during those hectic couple of days, verbally maneuvering a tense tightrope between passing the blame on someone else and assuming all guilt upon the University's behalf. The man's minor in speech was coming in very handy, to say the least.

"Now I'll turn the mike over to Blair Sandburg, who will explain the history of the alleged fraudulent thesis."

"Thank you ladies and gentlemen, I'll try to keep this brief. From the time I first discovered the world of Anthropology I was captivated by Richard Burton - the explorer, not the actor - and his research into ancient tribal watchmen, called 'Sentinels.' My dream was to find a modern Sentinel and study him or her. Document their use of their enhanced senses in the contemporary world, methods for controlling them, reactions to modern chemicals, how they would adjust their protective instincts toward their 'tribe' to the city environment. But, I couldn't find a true Sentinel. Oh, sure, I found examples of one, even two, enhanced senses, but that was all. Then I met James Ellison, a detective with the Major Crime division of the Cascade PD. I honestly thought...hoped...he was the real thing. After meeting with him, he agreed to let me ride with him as an observer for a few days, just to be sure. And, while he does have rather extraordinary hearing and sight, he isn't a Sentinel. He does, however, share one other characteristic with those ancient tribal watchmen: he's very protective of his 'tribe;' in this case the city of Cascade. Spending time with the men and women of Major Crime gave me the inspiration for an alternate thesis subject: an in-depth study of a closed society."

Jim shifted a little uncomfortably in his seat, even as he listened to the audience, attempting to determine if they were buying what Blair was selling. So far it seemed they were.

"As I rode more with Detective Ellison, I couldn't help but fantasize how things would go down if he did, in fact, have five enhanced senses. Then I was kidnapped by a psycho, David Lash, who came within minutes of killing me before Detective Ellison came to the rescue. As a way to deal with how freaked the whole incident made me, I wrote it out in my journal. And, I honestly don't know when or how...but I started writing out my fantasies what a Sentinel is like, and putting that image onto Detective Ellison, weaving daily occurrences and situations into it. Some...many...of the events in the document are based on reality, and it does include a large helping of factual data, about police procedure and Sentinels. But it is still fiction, and was never intended to be my thesis. As I wrote it I used real people's names, in order to better allow me to recapture emotions and the 'flavor' of events. I planned to change ALL the names before submitting it for possible publication as a novel, but thanks to my mother's benignly intended interference, I didn't have that chance."

Sid Graham, who was scheduled to speak after Blair, was concentrating on maintaining a façade of polite interest and nothing more. He had just weathered a miserable few weeks, first barely keeping his job after Blair denounced his book, then as Dean Tracy negotiated with the publisher to ensure their cooperation in undoing the harm that had been done due to Sid's less than ethical handling of the entire Sandburg situation.

"As it turned out, the timing couldn't have been worse, all the media focus on Detective Ellison, on me, on the Sentinel rumors, contributed to an assassin evading capture and ultimately shooting two members of Major Crime. I had to do something...something immediate and unarguable...to get him out of the spotlight and allow him to do his job. The most effective plan I came up with was to discredit myself and my 'thesis' publicly, so the heat would be on me, not on anyone else. And it worked admirably well. Now the crisis has passed, the danger has been neutralized. The truth can be told, and it is my sincere wish that those who were hurt by my actions can understand why I made the choice I did, and, perhaps, can even find it in their hearts to forgive me. I thank you all for your time and attention, and turn it over to Sid Graham."

Blair stepped away from the podium, his gaze searching for Jim even as he shook Grant Richards' hand. He was almost visibly shaking, the sudden relief from the stress of having to do this press conference nearly intoxicating. A couple of others whispered words of encouragement to Blair as Sid droned on in the background, reading a professionally prepared speech that sounded like an apology while not admitting a thing. Finally Blair caught Jim's eye, and to his relief the Sentinel gave him a subtle 'thumbs up' sign, indicating that his explanation had been accepted at face value for the moment.

Sinking gratefully into his seat alongside several senior faculty members, he watched as Sid wrapped up his speech and Richards again took the mike to announce that Blair Sandburg had been accepted back into Rainer's doctorate program. The new chancellor fielded a few questions, then announced the press conference was over and skillfully herded the press to the adjacent room where refreshments were spread out like sacrificial offerings.

Acknowledging the congratulations from the other faculty members and Grant Richards, Blair worked his way quickly toward the side exit, shadowed by his roommate. Ducking out to avoid the press, they quickly and quietly made good their escape, both breathing a heartfelt sigh of relief as Jim steered his pickup out of the University parking lot and toward George Ramsey's office.

"I'm so glad that's over with, man. You think it went okay, huh?" Blair asked, his anxious gaze pinned on his friend.

"Yeah, Chief. From the steady heartbeats and the comments I overheard, your story was pretty much accepted by all. And it seems that Sid Graham, and the absent Chancellor Edwards, are perceived as the villains in this case. In fact, I heard several mutterings about how noble you are for taking that kind of heat just to protect your friends," Jim smiled as he told Blair that, pleased to hear praise of his friend and guide.

"I'll be satisfied if I just get an honest chance to redeem myself in my colleagues' eyes," the grad student murmured, a faint grin touching the corners of his mouth despite himself.

"I think you'll get that, and more, Blair. You deserve more. And I'm glad this worked, I'm glad you were able to salvage your life. And for the record, Junior: do not ever do that again. This self-sacrificing stops now. Agreed?"

"Agreed," the younger man asserted, hiding his crossed fingers beside the seat.

"I dunno, Chief. You sure that should go there?" Jim's voice was sincerely doubtful as he surveyed the framed license, commendations, medals, and other assorted displayable fragments of his life.

"Yeah, man, I'm sure. You're selling you, Jim. You have to display something that gives your clients an indication of the kind of talent they're hiring. Modesty is all fine and well when one is part of a group effort, like a police force. But now you're in the competitive world of commerce my friend. Advertising and presentation are of paramount importance. Speaking of which, you should seriously consider running a commercial on at least the local channels for a while, let folks know you're out there," Blair continued, surveying the office with a critical eye.

"No way am I filming some sort of cheesy commercial, Sandburg," the older man growled, putting excess office supplies neatly in a closet.

"Oh, no, Jim, you wouldn't film it. You don't want every bad guy in the Pacific Northwest knowing what you look like. You'd hire an actor; do something classy. Maybe a mock film noir thing, with a busty blonde and a mysterious, handsome man in a fedora. I'll help cast the 'busty blonde' if you like? Or, heck, even if you don't like. Nothing's too good for my friend," the younger man oozed false charm at his companion.

"Turn it off, Sandburg, before I get sick over here," Jim grumbled, hiding his smile from his friend. "And don't forget who's the boss in this office."

"Oh, yes sir, Sir. Your wish is my command, Sir. I live to serve you, Sir," the anthropologist gushed, hopping up to sit on the edge of the desk while Jim checked the contents of the drawers.

"And don't you forget it," the Sentinel replied, with a distracted look toward the office door.

"Who's coming," Blair asked, recognizing the look.

"Simon," Jim replied, a frown pinching the skin between his brows.

"Jim, I wish you'd try to make peace with him, man. You won't say what happened, what you guys said, but it can't be that bad, can it? Just think about it, okay?" Blair hissed as the doorknob turned and the large Major Crime captain entered the office.

"Hey, Simon, glad you came by," Blair greeted his former boss, grinning as the big man handed him a potted plant. The dark eyes of Captain Banks belied the smile of greeting he offered Blair, remaining solemn and unhappy.

"Cool. I'll put it over here in the MC display," the anthropologist decided, setting the pot down amongst an eclectic assortment of knickknacks.

"The 'MC display?'" Simon wondered, picking up a small figurine of a desert horned toad.

"Office warming gifts from the gang at Major Crime, of course. That one's from Rafe. Said it was supposed to be for good luck, I think. I was just heading out to get Jim and I some lunch, can I get you any?" the young man offered, turning his expectant gaze up at the Major Crime captain.

"No thanks, I just ate. Just wanted to drop by and wish you luck," Banks explained, looking ready to make good his escape.

"Hey, man, stay, visit a bit. I'll be back before you know I'm gone," Sandburg assured him, slipping out the door while giving Jim a pointed look.

"Have a seat, Simon," Jim invited at last, indicating one of the comfortable chairs scattered around the office. "How are things going at the precinct?"

"Okay. Quiet without Sandburg around. Got a couple of guys from Burglary to bring us up to a full staff. Not bad, though it took a while to get them fully trained. Henri took care of that, he's proving to have some serious leadership potential. Should go far," Simon reported, sounding as uncomfortable as he felt. The angry words both men had spoken created a wall of discomfort between them, not helped by the fact that, though they both regretted what was said, neither one was willing to overlook the essential truth that fueled the outbursts.

"Good. Good. I'm sure everyone is relieved things have settled down," was the equally awkward reply.

Silence fell between them, thick and stifling; the old feelings of friendship and camaraderie could not survive in that airless environment. Sensing that there was really only one chance to salvage anything of their former friendship, Jim spoke softly, shattering the deadly stillness.

"I was wrong to hold you responsible for what happened to Blair," he admitted stiffly, finding the words hard to say despite his determination to try and reconnect with his former boss and long time friend.

The bigger man gave a resigned sigh. "You were no angrier with me than I was, Ellison."

"Maybe, but I spoke out of turn. I should never have left him alone, I should have been there for him. I had no right to take that out on you."

"So, we were both wrong. I was out of line, too. Looking back, you resigning is a good thing, and I saw the press conference. The kid is back at the U?"

"Yeah, just as a student for now, he wants to take some criminology and psychology classes, and he's still going to have to do his dissertation. And he'll work for me part time, too." Jim couldn't help the grin that crossed his face at the thought that they had managed to reclaim most of their old lives. Only Jim's employer changed, and he couldn't find it in his heart to regret that. He was still fighting on the side of truth, justice and the American way, according to Sandburg; just doing so as an independent contractor. He was looking forward to the challenge.

"Sounds like business as usual for you two," Simon said, unconsciously echoing Jim's thoughts. "If you need information, you know, for a case...give me a call. If I can help you, I will," he offered awkwardly.

"Thanks, Simon. I appreciate that," Jim smiled a little, feeling a loosening around his heart at the mending of fences between himself and Simon. They still had a ways to go, but the first steps had been taken, and maybe in time they could regain the easy friendship they'd enjoyed the last few years.

The Sentinel's pleasant thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his hyper roommate bearing two big bags emblazoned with the logo for Wonder Burger.

"Hey, hey, you two didn't kill each other, that has to be a good sign," Blair said with manic good cheer as he handed Jim a double-decker burger and large onion rings, before removing the top from his chicken salad. "Sure you don't want some of these fries, Simon?" he offered, holding out a bag of his secret vice.

"No thanks, Sandburg. Just looking at them is clogging my arteries. Look, guys, I didn't just come by to wish you luck here. Something crossed my desk this morning you need to know about. Now, I don't have any details yet, just the bare basics..." He paused, seeing two pairs of blue eyes trained intently on him. Taking a steadying breath, he gave them the news.

"Alex Barnes escaped the mental institution yesterday."

Author's notes: Huge thanks to Susn, whose insightful commentary helped make this story far more than I ever hoped it could be. And to Dagmar and Vicky, who continued to encourage me even though they want me to return to my roots as it were. :)