Disclaimer:- The standard thing applies. I don't own them, I never will! It would be nice if I did but we can't have everything. Set after SenToo, probably about a month in for those who need to know and some swearing and graphic imagery for those who like to be warned of such things. Otherwise, enjoy the ride. Hope you like it.

Nahual
By Peregrine

It was raining as he burst out onto the rooftop. Pools of water reflected the night in constantly disrupted motion, breaking light into gleaming fragments on their surfaces all around him. He paused to catch his breath. Where the hell was Jim, anyway? He'd called for Blair to get up here, onto this roof, onto this damn roof with all its water, practically the middle of the night and the whole height thing, and he wasn't even here!

Blair tried to pull his jacket up against the rain, looking around and hoped the Sentinel was listening in - wherever he was.

"Jim, Jim man, I've just busted my ass running up however many flights of stairs and you're not even here. Where are you?" he asked aloud, as if he were impatiently praying to the night. The night was being stubbornly inscrutable in its lack of response, chastising him for nearly being late.

"Come on, man, it's wet -- and cold, I might add. Last thing you want is me smelling like a, um, a 'wet poodle' when we get home or whatever it was you said last time. Which was less of an insult than you would think as poodles are reputed to be very intelligent and ... "

His cell vibrated in his pocket and he nearly dropped it with fingers made cold and slippery from the downpour. "Blair here," he replied, looking around, squinting as cold rain trickled down across his eyes.

"Chief, what are you doing over there? I said five eleven, not five seven. And I said a spaniel. A wet spaniel. Look across from where you're standing." Jim sounded irritated. Blair winced as he looked across at the adjacent rooftop. He could even see Jim pacing near the edge now that he actually knew where to focus his attention. If the weather hadn't been so bad, they could have done without the phones, though Blair didn't need to give Jim an excuse to shout at him.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry. I could have sworn that you told me that the meet was on five seven." Blair walked over to the edge of the building as if getting closer would help somehow. He peered over at the blurred lights through the rain and recoiled back from the dizzying height with a small grimace. He had no idea why he did that, as if one day he'd look and hey, that twisting gut clench of fear would have vanished. Needless to say, it wasn't today. "They there yet?"

There was a pause -- from the vantage point of roughly thirty feet away, through the sheets of rain, Blair recognized the slight tilt of the head and posture that said clearer than anything that the Sentinel was listening in that way only he could.

"Coming up the stairs now. They better have that information. We need to find out who's been supplying the gangs with all this high grade weaponry before more people get killed, Sandburg."

"Yeah, I know, Jim." Blair mentally sighed at the implication that there was an answer he should have somehow. Jim had been obsessing over this case and had reached his tense, irritable stage, which would mean it was a short trip to 'intense' and obsessive. Which ended up in lines being crossed and risks taken, and the Sentinel going right to the edge. He could understand why, with this case, because the casualty and fatality rate involved in the gangs of Cascade having a supply of high-grade weaponry had escalated dramatically and the city was at flashpoint of gun paranoia. It made him wary, and here he was on the wrong damn rooftop! He saw other figures come out onto the roof behind Jim and said hastily, "Look, you go talk to them, I'll be over in the time it takes me to run down the stairs and back up again, okay?"

"Sure, Chief." Jim sounded a little more relaxed, and Blair was sure he could hear a smile in Jim's tone. "Five eleven, Chief, just in case you decide to take another tour of the area."

"Yeah, yeah." Blair grinned to himself and hung up, even as he raised his hand to Jim, who returned the gesture, and then turned back to the meeting. He was going to be soaked and exhausted by the time he was done, but maybe he would sleep the night through for a change. He hadn't really, since, well ...

It wasn't worth thinking about, so he made sure he didn't - or at least tried very hard not to. Yet there were still moments where memories ambushed him at 3 am. But then, what else was 3 am for, if not existential angst? Blair shook his head and turned, heading for the exit down from the roof. It was a sheer fluke that the surface water had made the concrete slick enough that he slipped and lurched awkwardly. His phone went skittering off into the shadows and he ended up on one knee in a puddle. Great. Now his jeans were soaked and cold water was draining down his leg and his phone was floating on the surface ...

Oh, maybe not floating any more, more like upending like the Titanic and plunging to a watery grave.

Probably not the best analogy he could have made, considering, but even if he and Jim didn't talk about it, or anyone really, it didn't stop it from being there and surfacing in his private thoughts. But that wasn't helping his phone. With a soft curse he scrambled into the shadows to rescue the sodden cell and hastily wiped it off.

The door to the side of him opened cautiously and he froze, swaying back into the shadows as the artificial lights on the roof glinted off sleek metal. Not just any metal, but the distinctive bluish gunmetal shine that he now recognized instinctively. A long barrel protruded and a large figure stepped out warily and almost immediately walked to the edge of the building overlooking Jim's rooftop meeting, and leaned down to sight his gun on the group.

Sniper rifle. Blair paused, realization dawning. If news of the Cascades PD's meet with some of the gang leaders had been leaked, obviously there would be parties interested in stopping any collaboration. And you wouldn't go to the actual place of the meeting, would you? If you had the equipment, you would go to adjoining buildings, where no one except for lost and slightly hard-of-hearing anthropologists would be lurking. His grip was tight on his now-deceased cell phone. No chance of getting Jim that way. He could yell for help - and then what? Jim would turn to look and place himself right in the crosshairs. One bullet later and the world would be down one Sentinel and he would lose his best friend. That couldn't happen. He hesitated and saw the sniper sight on the group and then threw his caution to the winds and darted out across the dark and wet. His splashing was drowned out by the rain, but the sniper did turn at the last as he thumped into him, using his speed more than his weight to overbalance him. Then and only then, grappling frantically for the gun, did he yell "JIM!" trusting the Sentinel to hear when the others would not.

Thinking did not come into it. It was a joke of theirs - well, Jim's actually - that Blair frequently did things on instinct that someone with a better-developed survival sense would have considered an unacceptable risk. Right now, everything was reduced down to trying to tug that gun free and get it away and unable to kill Jim. The metal was cold and slippery and the man was still surprised enough to not regain his advantage even when he dragged them both upright, swaying to and fro as they struggled for possession of the weapon.

"Get ... off of me!" the sniper gasped. Locked together, they were a grotesque parody of a dancing couple. Blair gave up, hoping that the guy would let him lead -- he was considerably larger and obviously had some muscle from the way he was hauling Blair around.

Knowing he was outmatched on size and mass, Blair concentrated on yanking back the man's thumb. An interesting demonstration by a recent female acquaintance had proven to him that, no matter how big and tough you were, someone yanking back on your thumb would break the tightest grip. It was funny how little snippets of information like that came to you in the middle of a life-or-death struggle. At least this one was more useful than most.

It worked, but in the process the trigger finger squeezed and Blair felt the tug of the bullet clip the front of his jacket. No sting of pain-- it was just as well he wore baggy clothes, though he mourned the damage to one of his favourite coats. The thumb manoeuvre completed, the sniper lost his grip enough for Blair to wrench the gun from his grasp, and unbalance his assailant. Blair staggered against the barrier at the edge of the roof winding himself slightly, his eyes wild when he saw the drop below him again. He had the gun, which had been the whole point of the charge into danger ...

Well hey, score one for the good guys, he thought, as he tried to catch his breath and straighten up. He glanced up to see Jim's silhouette across from him, pointing his own gun right at Blair and shouting something incomprehensible.

Why the hell was Jim pointing a gun right at him? Why wasn't he targeting the bad guy? Surely Jim could tell them apart. Unless ...

I'm in the line of fire.

Blair whipped his head around just in time to take a cracking double-handed blow from the sniper on the left side of his face, metal-hard from a knuckleduster.

The shocked numbness of the side of his head and face told him this was going to be up there with some of the best concussions he'd had to date. If he survived, it might even make his top five.

He blinked dazedly, aware that somewhere, someone was yelling his name. Quite a long way away. Oh yeah, that would probably be Jim. But Ellison was on the other building and Blair was here, and somehow he was lying here with his hair floating in the shallow puddles and he was cold and probably going to die ... again.

Been there, done that, man, he thought while the sniper rifle was tugged from cold, resistless fingers.

But if he's got that rifle, then he's going to take a shot at Jim and the others.

He opened his eyes, blinking a little and pushing himself up, feeling a warm trickle down his face in amongst the cold rain streaming down from the damp curls of his hair.

"Hey, hey man ..." Even to himself, his voice seemed a little slurred. "You don't want to kill a cop, man." He tried to push himself up, looking up at the figure silhouetted in front of him, the clicks of the rifle sharply audible over the downpour. Jim wasn't going to get here this time - he was over on a building roof, probably able to hear every word, see everything, and killing himself trying to work a way to get over to Blair. That pretty much sucked. It wasn't Jim's fault.

".. it's okay, Jim, it's too far," he murmured while he squinted up at the man who seemed to be taking no real notice of his words, but was methodically checking the weapon and then raised it in a fluid professional movement to sight on the dazed anthropologist's heart.

"Wrong place, wrong time, kid," he said by way of a final warning.

"Story of my life, man. ..." Blair managed weakly, mustering himself for one last desperate tackle. Might as well go down fighting, make the others proud of him if he could ... yeah.

He caught the faint appreciation of his bravado in the man's eyes. He considered trying to speak again, but it was obvious the man was decisive and a finger was about to squeeze a trigger and this was ... it ...

Only a piece of the night seemed to separate itself from the darkness behind the sniper. His murderer-to-be obviously thought his eyes were wide from fear, but he was way beyond that now. It was astonishment.

Something large, dark, heavy and powerful struck the man high in the back, felling him as certainly as if he had been hit by Jim's truck. He toppled onto Blair, who was flattened back into the cold and wet. Blair saw stars when he stared upwards, stunned in more ways than one.

He was sure that what he thought he had seen was not part of his concussion. Maybe if it had ended there he could have written it off as his eyes playing tricks, but this wasn't just a half-formed delusion. This big dark shape, a black shadow in the night, pushed the unconscious man aside and drew close to Blair. Close enough that the feline eyes staring at him were moonglows of reflection in which he could see his own startled expression

Wild.

There was a low rumble of sound, a deep thrum of a half growl as the black jaguar stood over him and then leant forward to sniff at the warmth trickling from where he had been struck. The interrogatory feline rumble was so familiar in tone that Blair answered on autopilot.

"It's nothing, Jim. It's fine, okay?" he said before he stopped, aghast at his own words.

Jim? How concussed was he, anyway? This was a panther. Big. Furry. Which Jim was notably not. He tried to push himself up, felt dizzy, and had to close his eyes.

Maybe it wouldn't be there when he opened them again.

There was a huff of warm breath against his numbed cheek and then a sandpaper tongue against his skin.

"Hey - hey, come on!" Blair opened his eyes again and the flash of an incisor right next to his eye made him freeze. It felt absolutely surreal, as if he had knocked back a heady cocktail of disbelief and astonishment. Boldly, he raised his hand to push that large feline head away from his face, his fingers sinking into warm, newly-dampened fur, as sensitive whiskers brushed his skin.

"Much as I appreciate the concern, Jim, don't you think you should be calling this in?" he asked before starting to laugh almost uncontrollably, nearly choking on the rain. A jaguar calling for backup! How would he work the phone? Well, he could use the speed dial ...

And that would be important because of course he would be able to snarl instructions down the phone.

Blair laughed again dizzily, his vision blurring. "Hey, Jim, you could ask for Megan. You know -- she might have experience after Skippy the Kangaroo. 'What's that, Jimmy?" he parodied in a bad imitation of Connor's accent, "Blair's stuck down the well again? Well hell, as long as it's not a fountain he can wait until the rain stops."

A large paw pushed him down, and again the world spun. The hard points of five rather sizeable claws pressed on his chest, hitching in the material.

"You know, Jim, I'd like to go home now that I think about it, maybe after a visit to our friends at the hospital. I'm not feeling that good," he said conversationally. "For one thing - and you'll laugh at this - you're looking pretty much like a jaguar now. It's a good look for you, you know. More hair, for a start ... But ... pretty heavy."

He trailed off as, before his eyes, those great cat eyes shifted from a molten gold to a familiar blue. Under his hand, he could feel the fur pull in, the skin shifting tangibly even under cold fingertips. A jawbone shifted and remoulded until he was staring up at the familiar, very human features of his friend and partner who was looking at him anxiously.

"... I said, are you with me, Chief?" Jim asked. Fingers probed gently around the area where he had been hit. "You're concussed. Just hold tight, Blair."

Blair; he called me Blair. That must mean he'd had a near death experience. Man, Jim looked worried. It was probably the rain mixing with the blood, made the scalp would look worse than it was. Despite appearing to be enigmatic and calm most of the time, sometimes, just sometimes, Jim's emotions stripped naked and ran around freely on his face. Blair nearly laughed aloud at that mental image.

"Hey, Jim," he began, a little incoherently. "Sorry about being in the wrong place. How'd you get over here? "

Jim was easing him up out of the puddle of cold water. "I jumped, Chief, " he said absently, reaching for his phone to call for backup and paramedics. "Ran and jumped like hell."

Blair's blue eyes widened "No way! That's, like, Olympic distances ... I ... oh God ..." He squinted, sickened by his vision distorting.

"Chief? Chief, come on, you stayed awake this long. This is no time to fall asleep on me." Jim's voice was urgent but getting distant.

Blair smiled a little and said, his own voice sounding faint now, "It's just a concussion, Jim. It's not like I haven't had one before."

But then he couldn't hear the answer because the roaring in his head was too loud, and he couldn't see Jim anymore because somewhere along the line it had become really difficult to keep his eyes open and it really had been a pretty long night...

He drifted into the relative calm of unconsciousness, oblivious to the fuss and excitement of clearing the crime scene. Jim on the other hand had to get the unconscious police observer as well as the unconscious sniper out of the rain, and the other hundred and one things that took up his time when all the detective wanted to do was get to the hospital and see how serious those head injuries actually were.

The Sentinel had heard the crack of metal against bone even over the pouring rain, reacting when rational thought would have told him to stop and think instead of flinging himself from rooftop to rooftop after his unofficial partner. How he actually made it there was a bit of a blur, lost in the murky haze of adrenaline. Never mind the rest of it; the hit to the head had been enough to hurry him anxiously through the necessary police work before leaving for the hospital. Blair had thought he was a jaguar, and hallucinations like that did not bode well for his friend's health at all.

***

"I thought you said they were going to keep him in another night?" Simon paused and looked at Jim, who was perched on the edge of his desk and perusing some of the files relating to the arms dealers case.

"Apparently he's been doing some persuading," Jim said with a faintly indulgent smile. "It helps that he can reel off the warning signs for head injuries better than most of the interns there."

Simon chuckled, nodding slightly. "Heh. Yeah, I can see that from Sandburg."

"Besides, the x-rays and scans didn't show a fracture after all," Jim replied He put the file down and flicked open another. "Just bad bruising, and you know what he's like about hospitals, Simon."

Simon raised his eyebrows. Yeah, that he did. "Yeah, I think he caught that attitude from you. I've been going over your report, Jim. It's a bit sketchy on certain vital details. I'm guessing I know the reason why, but if I'm going to have to cover this, I need to know what I'm covering." His voice had unconsciously dropped low and Jim nodded.

"I know, sir," he answered, shifting into a more formal work mode.

Simon waited. "Well?"

"Oh, right, sir." Jim grinned a little, his humour much restored now that he knew Blair was coming out of the hospital later that day. "Sandburg got the wrong address. I'm not sure how, but he did and he was up on that roof looking for me, and of course I heard him and called him to ride him a little about being in the wrong place. So he told me that he was coming over. I was distracted by Chavez and Deston turning up. The pair of them are paranoid to the hilt, it was raining hard, and I was trying to get them to calm down and tell me about the arms shipments."

"Not terribly forthcoming, were they?" Simon said, flicking his eyes over Jim's report again.

"No sir, but I think that was because they don't actually know a great deal. The arms sales were negotiated by a third party that neither of them had known before. They both said that it was a professional operation, though, and the price was cheap enough to tempt both of them to make that deal. That means a lot of capital behind this," Jim noted clinically.

"Yakuza?" Simon suggested, considering some of the big players in Cascade.

Jim shook his head. "Don't think so, Simon, not according to Chavez. He made some joke about them buying instead of selling. I got that much out of him, though it wasn't concrete."

Simon grimaced, seeing the possibilities of this latest development in Cascade's crime scene. "That's just great. All we need is for them to get in on the action."

"These weapons are already finding their way from street to big organisations, Simon," Jim said earnestly. "Smacks of someone creating a market or stirring trouble deliberately, at the very least."

"That's the last damn thing we need in Cascade." Simon shook his head. "Go back to last night. So Chavez and Deston were vague but useful?"

Jim nodded briefly, picking up the report again. "Yes, sir. Next thing I know is that I hear Sandburg shout my name on the other building. I turn to see him trying to wrestle a sniper rifle off of some guy who looks twice his size. The rifle fired once during the struggle. At that point, Chavez and Deston clued in and ran for it, thinking they were under attack. Like I said in the report, I pulled my back-up .38 and took a sight on the sniper just as Sandburg pulled the rifle free. Only I didn't have a clear shot. Blair was in the way. I yelled for him to move and gave the official warning, but I don't think they could hear over the storm."

"Probably not, Jim. " Simon sighed. Not that it was likely to come up, but he didn't want this guy walking on a technicality. "We don't all have your advantages. Go on."

"That guy must have known I was trying to put a bead on him. Cracked Sandburg around the side of the head with a double-handed swing and got out of the line of fire. He just ... toppled out of sight. I knew I had to get over there. I found the narrowest point between the rooftops, took a long run up, and jumped. Barely made it and scrambled up over the edge." He looked ruefully down at his left hand where a torn nail and abraded fingers stood testament to the closeness of that jump. "By the time I was up and over the edge, the sniper was up, had the gun and was about to pull the trigger. I must have hit him harder than I thought when I took him down. I then spent the next ten minutes trying to get Sandburg to respond. He wasn't terribly coherent. Seemed to be hallucinating and not understanding me. I started to get worried about that knock on the head then and that he might be going into shock."

Simon looked at Jim for a long moment. "Hmm, yeah, I can see how that might have worried you, Jim."

'Worried' was not really an adequate description for someone who had flung himself from one rooftop to another, in the middle of pouring rain, over a distance most people wouldn't even consider possible. 'Frantic' or 'desperate' might be more apt. 'It's an Ellison and Sandburg thing' was probably even better.

"He might have hit his head twice, with us both landing on him again, " Jim added. "That can send a concussion over the top."

"Yeah. Yeah, I read the report. " Simon nodded slowly, showing his concern and gesturing to the report. "You said the 'victim was incoherent'."

"Worse than Rafe's birthday," Jim replied with another worried smile. "He thought I was a jaguar or something."

Simon chuckled reassuringly. "The kid needs to get some other interests in his life aside from sentinel stuff if that's all he can come up with in a hallucination. Anyway, if you have to do this again, Jim, try not to hit the criminal quite so hard. He's not regained consciousness yet." He raised his eyebrows at Jim until he got another nod. "In the meantime we'll have to make do with the file on our sleeping beauty. Take a look. Jeff Astle - mild mannered businessman with a lucrative side-line in contract assassination. This is the first time anyone has managed to link him directly to this line of work, so as far as the Feds are concerned we've already scored some major points with you taking him down. No doubt we'll have them tap-dancing on our toes shortly."

"Sandburg did the most of it," Jim replied absently as he looked at the picture in the file and then at the sparse details about the professional killer. "A definite pro. He's been suspected in connection with a few fairly high-profile assassinations but always came out clean, looking at this."

"Including the MacIntyre killings in New York. This sort of area is quite a way off of his usual territory." Simon unwrapped one of his cigars thoughtfully, the familiar action soothing him. "I don't like it, Jim. This Astle character is a player, and for him to turn up for a meeting between you and local gangs means either Deston and Chavez knew more than they're letting on, or they have you marked down as a target."

"Do we know where he was staying?" Jim asked. He looked up at Simon, his blue eyes hard and focused. "I might be able to pick up on something extra."

Simon paused, thinking it over. Forensics just loved it when he let Jim follow up on their crime scene investigation. He had his own file where he put the weekly complaint letter. Still, that was why he was the Captain; he got to take the flak so others could do their jobs. "I'll get Rhonda to give you the address," he said with an internal sigh.

Jim nodded and put the file down. "I'll get on it, sir," he said, turning to leave.

Simon paused and then said, "Jim.." which made the other man turn to look at him questioningly.

"Tell Sandburg that was a damn-fool stupid thing to do, okay?" he said in a curiously concerned tone of voice. "And that I don't want him back in here until his brains have stopped rattling around in that head of his."

"Got it." Jim grinned at his long-time friend and Captain, then left even as Simon leant back and lit up, puffing the rich tobacco into gleaming embers and blue smoke.

"Jaguar Jim." he murmured to himself under his breath and then snorted in a low laugh as the smoke drifted. He shook his head in amazement at the imagination of their police observer.

***

Blair was busying himself at the hospital by poking gingerly at the side of his face as he waited to be picked up. There was a sort of compulsion there to prod around to determine the exact extent of the injury, and try and accept the level of damage that was there. His face felt peculiarly pulpy and numb in some areas, which apparently had to do with swelling pressing on various nerves, but in others he would flinch at the sharp pain when he exerted the slightest pressure.

"Ow," he complained aloud, and then compulsively poked around a bit more. "Ow!"

"That looks like fun," a familiar voice observed dryly from the doorway.

"Oh, hey, Jim." Blair looked up, giving a lopsided smile; a little embarrassed at being caught doing something that was probably very stupid.

"It will heal quicker without the prodding, Chief." Jim walked into the room, studying his partner. "You ready to go home?"

That brought a genuine smile from the anthropologist. "Yeah man, absolutely. Hospitals are okay to visit, but I wouldn't want to have to stay here. Well, not long, anyway," Blair replied, shying away from the fact he had stayed here about a month ago, and had discharged himself all too hastily to go charging off after the Sentinel into the depths of the jungle. He was half relieved when Jim let the inadvertent reference slide. Last thing he needed now was go into all of that and cope with the atmosphere that occurred whenever they brushed the edge of the subject accidentally.

"I've got a driver out front of your room with a wheelchair that looks like it was made around the same time as your car," Jim replied, cataloguing the damage to Blair carefully. Nasty. He was lucky not to have a skull fracture after all from the look of it, and the bruising was probably bad enough. "It can probably go about the same speed, too."

"Are you speaking ill of the Volvo? She'll know, and the next time the truck is in the shop from a car chase you will be walking, my friend," Blair warned in good humour as he got up.

"Maybe not a bad thing, I'd get there quicker after all," Jim quirked a smile. "You need a hand, Chief?"

Blair looked up and shook his head, deliberately letting his long hair hang forward to cover the worst of the bruising. "I'm fine, Jim. Let's get out of here."

It was obvious from the careful way he moved that all was not quite as well as Sandburg was making out. Jim had seen that manner of moving before. He'd used it often enough himself; the 'oh shit this hurts, everything aches, but great, I'm fooling everyone because really it's fine and I'm a man!' walk. All his friend's movements were extra careful - slow and precise, and without the patented Sandburg bounce. Not that that had been evident for a while since ... Alex.

He's still in pain. Jim considered as he reached to guide and support his friend to the wheelchair. Even with whatever painkillers they've got him on.

He frowned and was about to say something when Blair practically brushed past him to his waiting chariot of a wheelchair, to be escorted off the premises; picking up his medications on the way, and blithely chatting to assorted nurses and orderlies as if he was at some sort of social event. It wasn't until after they got outside and then to the truck that Blair relaxed enough to show how much of the normality had been an act. Even then, he brushed off Jim's concern and made a big thing of how okay he really was and that he was fine.

In a fit of independence, Blair pulled himself into the passenger side of the truck and nearly dislodged the yellow memo sticky attached to the dash.

"What's this, Jim?" he asked curiously as he picked it up and turned it over to read. It appeared to be a hotel address and room number. "The Cascade Grand?"

"Where your assailant last night was staying." Jim turned the key in the ignition. "I'm going round there after I drop you back at the loft."

"The Cascade Grand is just around the corner," Blair gestured over towards the tall building visible from the hospital parking area. "You can't seriously be thinking of taking me all the way back to the Loft and then coming back here?"

That earned him an Ellison Look.

"Jim, Jim, come on, man ..."

"Chief, you have a concussion. You are the one that reeled off the importance of rest to the doctors," Jim cautioned, glancing at him as the engine idled.

"Jim, it's not that bad. Really. It looks worse than it is. It's not ..."

"Like you haven't had one before. Yeah, I know, Chief." Jim was hesitating and Blair seized on the moment.

"Hey man, I know when it's bad, okay? I'm like ... a connoisseur of concussions!"

Jim couldn't help the amazed chuckle of laughter. "Only you could come up with something like that, Sandburg."

Blair grinned, knowing he'd won. "So, let's go to the hotel room while we are here and save yourself a round trip, and then I'll rest while you make dinner. Deal?"

Jim chuckled shaking his head a little. "Deal," he replied as they pulled away.

***

Half an hour later, Blair was considering that maybe insisting to come up to the hotel room with Jim had been one of his less-well-thought-out ideas. He had slightly underestimated exactly how much of his 'nearly feeling normal' was down to the marvels of prescription pills. He didn't normally like conventional medicine, but he had to admit there had been times when painkillers and antibiotics had been worryingly necessary. And it looked like this was definitely one of those times. But, he wasn't going to let Jim see that, having practically forced him to let him tag along up here.

"You got anything, Jim?" he asked in a low voice, in case the Sentinel was using his hearing.

"Not yet. Not sure what I'm looking for." The detective stood in the centre of the room, looking for anything that seemed strange.

"Remember to use the sense of smell, Jim," Blair murmured. His head was starting to throb rather insistently, and he leaned on a chair surreptitiously. To him, the room looked like any other hotel room - if somewhat more luxurious that the sort of places he had stayed in.

"Smell, right." Jim felt more relaxed about diving intensely into the assault of stimuli with Blair there. Though he could - and occasionally did - utilise his sentinel abilities alone, hee never felt quite so in control of them then, or able to go into them deeply, as he did when Blair was there. It was like knowing there was a safety net there that would catch him if he went over the edge, someone that would make sure he wouldn't remain lost in darkness; that was a powerful foundation to build on. He'd walk out on the tightrope of his senses a lot more readily with his partner there to catch him if things went wrong.

"Shampoo - herbal, gun oil ... down by the side of the bed," Jim commented, feeling the complexities of the smells as if they were tangible things, filtering them out one by one.

On Blair ... gunpowder residue, antiseptics, ointment, the smell of an animal of some type and the metallic scent of dried flecks of blood all over him …

The Sentinel's mouth suddenly filled with saliva and his stomach rumbled as he swallowed, surprised by the surge of hunger.

"Good one, Jim - forget to grab lunch?" Blair commented dryly.

"Must be hungrier than I thought," Jim replied, a little discomfited at that rather sudden reaction. "I'm not getting anything, Chief."

"You've hardly given it a go, Jim. Come on, you know how to do this. Try closing your eyes and filter out all of the ordinary known smells," Blair cajoled, resting his hand on Jim's back to ground him." You're looking for something that sticks out, anything unusual. Just breathe ... breathe ... Now open your senses to the room one by one."

Hearing was easily dismissed; the only sounds being that of Blair's heart and slightly raspy breathing, and the shift of his clothes against his skin. He concentrated, a sliver of that strange hunger sensation remaining, along with an almost peculiar sensation of something lurking at the back of his mind. The smells were clear and bright and swirling around him as a smudge of earth under the bed drew his attention, and he paced over, opening his eyes.

Every fibre of the carpet stood out in stark relief, and buried in among it was a small amount of crumbled earth under the shadow of the bed. He reached in and picked a little of it up, sniffing at it, tasting a little. Immediately he was in deep, delving into the complexities of the earth in a taste explosion that made him flinch back, even as the textures of the sample impinged on his awareness without his volition, sending his concentration off the scale. He was nearly in a zone, and he struggled with the dials to push his senses' responses down one by one.

"Got something, Jim?"

Blair's low voice stopped him from dropping into the scent and taste completely; it seemed today that he was teetering on the edge of a zone, or something unknown, every time he used his abilities.

"Having problems getting my senses under control, Chief," he admitted reluctantly, stepping back. He didn't like this feeling of something going out of control. Well, more accurately, he could admit to himself that he hated it with a passion, and it frequently made him unreasonable and irritable whenever he experienced anything like it.

"You're using the dials?" The anthropologist sounded concerned.

"Yeah, yeah, I am, only if I go to concentrate on one, the others are coming up with it. It feels a bit ... raw." The detective looked a little uncomfortable admitting that. It was all too like admitting he couldn't control himself and that he wasn't coping. That was a definite red light for him.

"We'll have to look into this, Jim." Blair sounded thoughtful as he replied. "It might be a hangover from last night. We've already established that your emotional state can affect your senses - leave you wide open. And you were pretty wired last night."

"I was a bit concerned," Jim replied, deliberately not looking at Blair in that moment. Panicked would have been more appropriate, when he saw the sniper down Blair and focus on him, and Ellison knew he could lose him. He hadn't even thought about it, just acted on blind instinct. It would have been too much to say he had even been aware of his actions; he just did them. "You were hallucinating pretty badly, Chief."

"It didn't feel like an hallucination, Jim," Blair replied seriously, just going with the need to talk about what he had experienced. "It felt pretty damn real. One minute I was looking up the barrel of a rifle and the next the guy was knocked out and there were you ... there was this enormous black Jaguar practically sitting on me. It even sounded like you in a weird sort of feline way. It could be something meaningful, you know, like ... a vision or something."

Almost immediately he knew he had made a mistake. Visions were a very touchy subject for the Sentinel, since Alex. There, he could think about it even if there seemed to be a taboo regarding speaking about 'the dying thing' that everyone had tacitly joined. It was uncanny. It was making a very significant chapter in his 'other' dissertation, as he noted the responses to survival and mortal danger in a closed society. Jim was typefying the normal reactions. The incident didn't get referred to. Not yet. He was meant to deal with it, only it wasn't like when he had been shot, he'd coped with that; and the way of dealing with it had been the sort of bravado and joking mixed with concern that was common in many warrior-based societies. No, he'd gone one further than that, and it had become something that pushed him away from the easy camaraderie of Major Crimes. As yet he didn't know why they behaved that way towards him, but hey, that was the point of the new dissertation. He was going to find out.

The 'dying thing'. It was like the proverbial elephant in the living room. Looming, quiet, and no one wanted to admit that it was there because it was too large and difficult to deal with. The added dimensions of guilt and visions and Jim feeling out of control had meant that the subject had been off limits since they returned.

And that he didn't really sleep through the night any more.

Mention visions and Jim could be seen pulling up all his shields, all his defences, and locking down like he was now.

"I don't think so, Sandburg," the taller man said flatly, and then made a conscious effort to unclench his tensed jaw. "You took a nasty hit to the head. There's no need to make any more of it than that. I think I would notice if I changed, wouldn't I?"

It was a rhetorical question and Blair just looked at Jim, suddenly too weary to fight his corner, especially when it was just speculation. "Yeah. I guess so, Jim."

Jim looked a little uncomfortable, as if reading that he might have overdone the slap-down of a Sandburg idea, from Blair's slightly too easy back down.

"Look, Chief, why don't you just sit down while I check the bathroom out? I won't be long," he said in a much gentler tone. It was his way of offering a strange sideways sort of apology for overreacting, but even he was surprised when Blair actually nodded and took him up on the offer.

"Sure," came the simple reply, and Jim realised that perhaps Blair, for all his assurance that he was fine and he wasn't troubled, probably wasn't feeling that good after all; and he'd been talking and poking verbally at him as if everything was fine and normal. He had to remind himself to give the anthropologist some slack.

The detective nodded and disappeared into the bathroom, to open his senses up and see if there were any clues there.

Blair sat down with a sigh of relief as Jim disappeared out of the room and could be heard moving around in the small bathroom area. Half an hour ago - and the miracle of painkillers - had him convinced that the knock on the head hadn't been that serious. Right now he was wondering how it was his head wasn't in danger of falling off, as obviously it had come close to decapitation from the throbbing, burning sensation he was feeling. He was amazed at how it could do a good impression of someone freezing, and yet burning the area, at the same time. Icy hot sensations crawled around the puffy area every time he flexed a muscle too much. He was dreaming longingly of going back down to the truck and damn well dry-swallowing the painkillers if possible. He should have gone in with Jim if his senses were a bit wacky right now, but he'd obviously annoyed the Sentinel by talking about visions, so it was best to let that drop for the time being.

It didn't change the fact that it had been so incredibly real. Each detail was etched on his mind; the way the soft fur had felt under his hand and how it had changed, shifting to skin and a familiar jaw clenched with anxiety. The eyes - feline and golden on him - changing back to ice blue, the smell of damp fur, the feel of that solid warmth, and the rumble of a growl deep inside a jaguar's throat. It had seemed very real, all his senses believed it to be real.

How wild would that be? And how way out there was he to believe, even for a moment, that it could be true? Jim was probably right, head injuries were strange, mysterious things, and the only thing it would be good for was giving Jim a bit of a laugh. He gave a little chuckle to himself as he waited. And waited.

And waited some more.

Okay, so now he really needed to go get his tablets and go back to the Loft, he had been a bit overzealous in coming up here when he could be miserable at home.

"Jim? Jim, are you done in there? I mean, uh ... done doing Sentinel things?"

He waited a moment, getting no response whatsoever, and then groaned. The detective had probably zoned on something without him there to pull him out if he was experiencing difficulties.

Blair pushed open the door and found Jim a statue of immobility standing there with his fingers spread over a folded newspaper, his eyes closed.

Now that was unusual, he didn't usually zone on touch, and by the looks of it he was in deep as well. Blair walked forward, noting like he always did that it looked like Jim dropped into a meditative trance when he zoned.

"Jim?" He took hold of his friend's arm. "Jim, come on, man, come back to me here," he said with the smoothness of someone who had done this many times before. Softly did it. It was sometimes the equivalent of being woken out of a dream, he guessed, from the way that Jim sometimes reacted. "You're in a zone, man, and I could really use going back to the truck soon, and you've got to cook that dinner for me, you know?"

Jim's hand suddenly clutched around his arm nearly painfully tight, and his eyes flew open.

Blair, who was in the middle of saying "It's okay, Jim, ease off on the arm" looked up to meet his eyes automatically, and then tried to stagger back with a cry of shock. The eyes staring at him were unmistakably feline. Golden amber with an ebony slit of a pupil that fixed on him as he tried desperately to get some space between them.

"Whoa ... whoa, Chief," Jim's voice sounded concerned, but just the same as always. "What's wrong with you?"

"Your eyes, man!" Blair replied, sounding strained, "Your ..." Even as he spoke the blue flowed back in and the alien yellow vanished, the pupils flowing back to ordinary spherical shapes. "... eyes." He trailed off as they stared back at him totally normal, if concerned.

"What's wrong with them?" The taller detective turned and looked in the mirror, blinking at his own reflection.

Pale blue eyes looked back at him from the glass, and though he felt a little like he did after his sentinel vision retracted, they appeared normal. "They look okay. Maybe you saw them dilated or something."

"Yeah, now they do," Blair replied, looking pale with the shock of seeing it so vivid and close as he shook his head. "But they were ... different. Seriously, Jim, they were like a different colour and slitted."

"Like a cat's." Jim looked at Blair, feeling very uncomfortable hearing this. "Back to the Jaguar thing again?"

"Yeah ... yeah, that's it," Blair nodded.

Jim was silent a moment. There was only one thing to explain it; Blair did still have a concussion. He was obviously hallucinating, or having flashbacks or something. He needed rest, and here they were, still on the case when he should be lying down. What was he thinking?! "I think it's time we got you back to the Loft, Chief. Maybe I should take you back to the hospital."

Blair knew he should have expected that; he'd dropped right into the trap even though he knew how Jim would react. It did sound a little out there. Definitely out there, but even so ...

"No, no Jim, I'm okay. Just a bit headachy."

It created an awkward silence between them as Blair could practically read Jim's thoughts. At least the detective didn't go as far as to voice them aloud.

"You're looking a bit pale, though. Chief, I think I've done enough of a look around."

"Did you get anything? Off of the paper?"

Jim looked at him again and Blair gestured, trying to distract him from thoughts of his possible descent into mental instability. "You were zoned on the paper, Jim."

"What? Oh yeah ... yeah, I thought I could feel the imprints of some writing," Jim admitted, looking back at the newspaper "It feels like a name or part of an address."

"Excellent. What does it say?" Blair pushed.

"Sandford 4398," Jim replied, jotting it down properly so he wouldn't forget. "Look, we're going back now, and I'll get the guys at the station to run this down for me. Simon will skin me alive if he finds out that I brought you here. He has already banned you from coming in until you are less rattled." His close appraisal of Blair after those words made it obvious he was beginning to doubt that the younger man was recovered.

"Aw man, you're kidding, right? Jim?" Blair protested even as he followed Jim from the bathroom.

"No, I'm not, Chief," Jim said, giving a last look around. "If you're getting these ... uh ... episodes, I'm inclined to back him up on this one."

Blair looked at him and sighed. "Fine. Fine, I'll rest, I'll take my meds, whatever."

Jim gave him a smile. "Come on, Chief. The world won't fall apart if you are not around for a few days, will it?" he said lightly.

"I guess not," Blair murmured to himself even as he watched the taller man walk over to the door, and grimaced at his sudden stab of depression. "I guess it won't after all."

***

After some heavy-duty painkillers, a rather nice meal courtesy of Jim's prowess in the kitchen, and a belated trip to the shower, even Blair was beginning to think that the change in Jim's eyes had been some sort of weird side effect of the crack on the head. He'd even started making fun of himself over it for Jim's benefit, and spent the evening lightly teasing his own tendency to look into things as research subjects by threatening to do a paper linking metaphysical beliefs to mild head injuries.

Jim's humour had been restored, and some of that anxiety when he looked at the anthropologist had vanished as Blair did a good job of demonstrating how normal he was. Well, as normal as he got, at least, as he discussed the case, random facts, his love-life or lack of it, all mixed into an animated hodgepodge of gestures and exuberance, until Jim had to threaten him to get him to go to bed. It meant that he was left there alone with his thoughts, and while his thoughts had been excellent company for years, in the past month or so some of them had definitely become unpleasant, as they picked away at the rawness that existed inside of him.

The 'dying thing' was notable by its absence in discussion. Again. Over a month and it still hadn't been talked about. He was starting to look at it as some sort of bizarre endurance test. Thirty-four days and STILL no one has mentioned the drowning at the Rainer fountain - how are they keeping this up? There must be special training involved. Special forces trained in stoic combat silence! Blair sighed and shook his head at his own thoughts.

He would have gone to the departmental 'shrink', as Jim referred to her with a total lack of political correctness, because he knew the signs. He recognised that he was in trouble, because - hey - Naomi would pretty much disown him if he didn't have the self-awareness to do that, but he was trapped into inaction by the very circumstances he needed to discuss. There was no way he could plumb the depth of the issues he had without revealing Jim's secret. Even with the confidentiality ethic, the shrink would react either in one of two ways; believe him and react to Jim as a freak or a fascinating specimen - both unlikely - or regard it as a manifestation of a delusional psychosis developing in his rather off-kilter brain. The latter was most likely, the former not an option.

Either way, getting help for himself on that front would cause more problems than it was worth, and his membership of the Sane Anthropologists of America would be immediately revoked. Instead of just being on permanent review.

At least he could still amuse himself, even if the joke was rapidly going stale.

He sat on his bed, the bedside light dim as he stared up at the ceiling. So here he was, stuck with the fact that he might be just a little bit losing it in the sanity stakes, and no one he could talk about it to except for those who knew about the Sentinel secret.

Simon, Megan ... and Jim. Who were incidentally all cops and, hey, watch those closed society doors slam shut and deal with it THAT way.

It wasn't that he even got to try. If there was a way to approach a fellow cop about discussing how you felt about being murdered, and incidental issues that might have brought to light about the meaning of life, and reversals of priorities and - oh, hey - a grand, almost obsessive, need to validate your continued existence, it wasn't something that had come up while standing at the coffee machine. Or eating donuts. Or doing the paperwork. Or stakeouts. Or standing in the restroom, wondering who the stranger in the mirror was with the wounded look in his eyes, as the guys chatted on beside him. And wondering how that person seemed to be answering normally, and even smiling as he responded, and yet no one noticed the aching hurt that was so raw in the blue eyes.

He'd come up with a simple hypothesis for that one. No one looked him in the eyes anymore. They looked at his face, at the rest of him, noticed everything they could about the rest of it, but no one really looked into his eyes any more. Or maybe the hurt was only in the reflection, and only he could see it, like the damn Jaguar. A theory still under investigation.

He'd tried helping himself. He knew he was doing what the textbooks described could happen after a near-death experience, because textbooks had been his only way of helping himself. It hadn't exactly been near death; there had been nothing 'near' about it. He'd made it all right, and then come back, but he wasn't going to quibble semantics with his only source of useful information. Near death, death or murder, whatever you called it, Blair had to agree he had come back with a desperate need to believe in something, just as the research described. As it happened, in his case it was a someone, and he knew it. It wasn't the sort of vague, but all-encompassing, belief that had set him on this path about Sentinels, but a highly focussed intense need to give his return to life purpose.

And now he was very much afraid that his mind was slipping into the obsessional, as the pressure built up, and remained unrelieved and unrecognised by those around him.

The experiences centred around this head injury had been full hallucinations. Tangible, vividly centred on Jim - who he could clinically admit was the centre of his 'post-death thing' focus. Real enough to sucker his mind into doubting their unreality. Hallucinations rarely touched ALL of the senses; he knew that from his own research. They usually focused on one or two, but this had been so real that, even as he recalled them, trying to find somewhere that the hallucination wasn't real and it showed, he couldn't. It was as real a memory as dinner last night, for example, and no amount of worrying at it, self-analysis and self-doubt was quite eradicating the niggling conviction that at the very least it had been a significant vision.

So he lay awake in the middle of the night, even though he was exhausted in an overtired way, worrying about his state of sanity, and waiting for the point when he could take his next batch of painkillers. He just hoped Jim wasn't listening in, because he would realise how little sleep he was getting, and that wouldn't get him back in the field with him any quicker.

To pass the time, because radio or music or TV would definitely wake the Sentinel, he picked up his jacket, wondering whether it was worth salvaging.

He poked his finger up through the entry and exit bullet holes on one side, stilling it a moment. It worried him. It worried him that he didn't really care that it had been that close, but apparently that was another common theme with those who nearly died. The fact they knew something was there, regardless of the experience, gave them calmness about facing death afterwards, though privately he noted the actual process of dying still gave him a lot of problems. The books glossed over that aspect, or perhaps it was the fact that most near deaths were accident-related, so the actual death part of it was the key thing, rather than the dying. He guessed it made sense, but it wasn't really normal. He should be having the jitters over it. He should be waking in a cold sweat. Instead he was rather calmly looking at his jacket, wondering if darning it would leave too much of a mark.

He spread the brown material out and frowned a little at the damage on the other side of the cloth. There were five small tears arranged over the left side in a rough semicircle, nearly invisible in the crumpled material, and some blood on there that didn't seem to be from him. He'd managed to stain most of around the collar and shoulder, but not down there. He frowned a moment, a knot of tension tweaking at him as a memory drifted back to his awareness...

The Jaguar had pushed him down, and he had felt the sharp points of its claws through cloth on his chest.

He shivered a moment. "No way, man," he murmured to himself and examined the rips more closely. One felt a little lumpy in the padded lining behind the tear and he poked into it cautiously. A little wiggling and poking and his finger closed around a hard, slightly curved object that he pulled free and held up to examine, and then froze.

How long he sat there staring, eyes locked on the inch and a half of curved ebony claw he didn't know, because it felt like the world had stopped, tilted upside down, and shaken him loose from reality.

A jaguar claw. A real, tangible, physical jaguar claw tip. Hard and smooth, curving to a sharp near-hook at the end.

"Shit," he managed eventually, turning it over, seeing, the jagged end where it had torn, and his mind, unbidden, pulled up the memory of Jim with a torn-off fingernail and abraded hands.

He must have snapped it jumping across to the roof. Hell, it was the only way he could have got a grip in that slippery wet weather Then it must have snagged in his jacket fabric and twisted off.

It was real. He had physical evidence. It was ... shit ... it was real.

All those careful rationales, doubts, and suspicions were shredded by the mere existence of that claw, and even his renowned open mind struggled to encompass this particular turn of events.

Jim had become a Jaguar. A literal, physical transformation. In the past, he'd spoken of the symbolic transformations in some of his visions, and there was, of course, the merge. He'd felt what that was like, where he had at once been the wolf, and outside of the wolf, experiencing both viewpoints. And there had been the events at the Temple of the Sentinels. What if that dip hadn't just enhanced the Sentinel's senses, but had increased his connection with his animal spirit? He had to do some research on this. Had to find out what had caused this, what it might mean, what it was ...

He noticed his hands were shaking slightly as he stared at the claw again, feeling it as a talisman against his own natural ability to doubt himself, as he considered what else he should do.

He should tell Jim.

And Jim would do what? Look at his reaction so far. It was much easier for him to believe that his partner was having a mental glitch than to believe he was a … what? A werejaguar? That sounded like something out of a cheesy B-movie. The kind that he and Jim sometimes watched together and threw popcorn at the screen over its hilarious melodrama.

His instincts told him it was connected to the Sentinel deal and so far he'd found his answers related to that in research. He'd have to present Jim with evidence, with some sort of proof before he broached the subject again. But there was something about this that seemed dangerous. Maybe he had changed since the fountain, but he seemed more aware of Jim's senses, and the importance of controlling them and more in tune or affected by emotion, and he felt something just off about this. Maybe his death had knocked all he shields and defenses down and left him open to everything while he tried to rebuild them.

No wonder things seemed to hurt so much.

It didn't change the fact that he had come back because of Jim. That was a pretty defining point in anyone's life and Jim, willing or not, part of his self-appointed purpose was to keep the Sentinel safe, in control and though it was not something he spoke aloud, or even said to himself often ... to make sure he couldn't turn like Alex.

He knew. Just like he'd known after he came back how Alex's presence pulled and tugged at Jim when he had missed the signs before. He knew at the temple that there was a possibility Jim could fall into a darker version of himself and that he had to be there to stop it. That by just by being there he could show him there was another way even if he didn't have a clue how he was doing it. The same applied here with this feeling he could pick up with this transformation; now he could admit it wasn't him and a concussion dredging up these strange visions.

He lay back on the bed again, looking at the claw again and then folding it in the palm of his hand. He wasn't crazy. Well, not about this at least. There was a connection to Sentinels and he would find it while Jim thought he was being good and resting quietly. There weren't many quieter places than libraries, after all.

***

Jim sat at his desk at work in the morning and stared at the screen, not really concentrating. He couldn't stop seeing Blair's expression when he came out of the zone in the hotel room. Fear. Stark fear. Blair looking at him with fear in his eyes seemed so unnatural that it shook him to his core. Never that. Hurt he'd seen, doubt, indecision, courage, affection, intelligence ... there were a multitude of emotions and qualities he'd seen in Blair's eyes, but they'd never been darkened by fear of him before.

All this time he'd spent trying to make things the way they were before - before Alex. He tried so hard to provide the security, the stability that he thought Blair needed to get himself to a point where he could cope with what had happened and in the process he was discovering fundamental certainties about them just couldn't be taken for granted any more. He'd hurt his partner in a way that he just couldn't accept. He looked back on that time, what was it? Barely a month ago and it felt like he had been a stranger doing and saying all those things, but at the same time he had to acknowledge that it was him. He couldn't help but take responsibility for everything, but all the words in the world could not erase what had happened and he couldn't even find a way to attempt to try. Every rehearsed speech, every planned scenario sounded hollow and empty and like he was trying to excuse what he had done. Excuses were fragile twists of unsupported speculation that fluttered unsubstantially, threatening to rip with any mention, any discussion that exposed them to too much handling.

Most of the time he and Blair buried themselves in work. Blair didn't talk about it and seemingly didn't want to talk about it from the way he deflected discussion of the topic - and it had gotten so he didn't spend all his time obsessing over 'what ifs' unless reminded.

Like this morning. When he put out Blair's meds on the side and stood frowning at the antibiotics that were included along with the painkillers and anti-inflammatories, Blair had shrugged his shoulders and told him in a casual tone that the doctor thought the lung infection might still be there and the wet, cold and head trauma might tip him over the edge. He stated it in a diffident tone without meeting the Sentinel's eyes and shrugged again at the detective's rather aggressive inquiry about why he hadn't said anything, responding that it was no big deal and just a preventative measure.

Jim had been angry at himself for not noticing, for not picking up on it, and a search through his memory had shown he had noticed, just as he had picked up that Blair's breathing had been raspy last night and then ...

And then nothing.

He'd done absolutely nothing about it. Hoped it would go away, let the moment slide past. It wasn't that he was being deliberately callous or hard, just ... not wanting to face what might happen as a result of bringing it up. He didn't want to find out Blair blamed him , and face the loss of their friendship, most likely. And Sandburg seemed to be dealing with it fine. Better than fine. He'd scarcely know something had happened to him if he hadn't been there, fighting to cram life back into his body...

"Ellison!" Simon stuck his head out of his office and bellowed with enough volume to hush the busy office.

Jim blinked, startled out of his thoughts and got up, entering the captains' office and shut the door.

Simon was back in his chair by the time he got there, with a fresh coffee. Jim winced just a little as the strong smell momentarily brought his other senses up and online much quicker than usual.

"You wanted me, sir?" Jim watched Simon, well aware that the Captain was displaying all the signs that he had just been handed information that had soured his disposition and was going to pass it on.

"God alone knows why." Simon replied automatically. "How's Sandburg this morning? I was surprised that he hadn't followed you in anyway."

Jim sat on the edge of the table casually. "I told him you'd hang, draw and quarter him, and me if he came in. He's doing ... okay." He couldn't quite avoid a brief hesitation before he said that.

Simon paused. "That didn't sound too convincing, Jim," he queried, a little worried. "I thought you said he was okay. "

"Yeah, well." Jim rubbed the back of his neck, looking down, "He persuaded me to take him with me to the Cascade Grand. He had another sort of hallucination."

Simon's eyes widened as he looked at him. He didn't like to hear there might be a problem with one of his team, and he did regard Blair as one of his team even if they sometimes played around with the fact he was an observer. "What the hell were you doing, taking him there? You know that the hospital only released him on the condition he was going to get a lot of rest!"

Jim looked a bit sheepish, acknowledging the reprimand. "I know, I know, Simon. He seemed so normal - well, as normal as he usually is. When I found the paper, with the faint imprint, I zoned on it. He brought me out, but freaked out when I looked at him, saying I had jaguar eyes .."

Simon looked at him suspiciously, trying to work out if this was a wind-up. "Damn. He wasn't just playing into the joke, was he?"

Jim shook his head, wishing that he could say yes. "You didn't see him, Simon. He was scared, he looked totally shocked and scared when he looked at me." He tried to say it evenly, but the tone wasn't convincing enough to fool his captain.

"Which explains why you have been staring into space this morning," he said in a more understanding tone. "Look, Jim, it's just the concussion. Remember when Rafe took the hit round the back of the head and thought the office smelt of roses and had been decorated pink for a week? It does funny things to you. I've seen you do the same thing, though you must have a harder head than most."

"Concussions aren't to be taken lightly, sir." Jim reminded. "I'm ... just concerned, that's all. That it might be about other things, or aggravated a situation."

"Ah." Simon looked closely at his best detective and winced a little. "I see. Haven't you spoken to him yet?"

Jim returned the gaze steadily. "Have you, sir?"

Simon met his gaze and shook his head slowly, reading Jim's own emotions with stark clarity.

"He doesn't blame you, Jim, I don't think it occurs to him to blame anyone apart from himself," he said quietly. "That's not the way he is."

Jim shook his head, backing away from the subject. "Maybe he's spoken to Conner."

Simon replied with a dubious "Maybe."

Shit, hadn't Blair talked about this with anyone? He made a mental note to check to see if he had taken up any of the counselling services that had been offered. "Anyway, perhaps it's just as well he's not underfoot. This deal is about to turn nasty on us, Jim. FBI are getting involved. Yours ... and Sandburg's takedown of Mr Astle has connected the weapons glut to a pipeline out of the Middle East that has been in investigation for some time. They've been tagged as the Red Stars because that is the only identifying mark, a very small insignia of a red star over a black crescent. They apparently busted the main conduit nine months ago in New York, but didn't manage to pull down the entire hierarchy. It's only been a matter of time before it resurfaced. You were right, Jim, it looks less and less like a one-off glut of weaponry that is going to be moved, but the start of something big."

Jim's expression had gone hard. "Why Cascade?" he asked.

"Why not?" Simon replied with a shrug. "You said yourself that Cascade is the most dangerous place in America."

"I thought I was joking," Jim replied, straightening up as there was a knock at the office door.

"Yeah, well the joke's on us, Jim." Simon said, looking up and waving Rhonda in.

"Federal Agent Hawker to see you, sir," she said in full professional mode as a very efficient-looking woman entered the room, dressed in the smart dark suit that seemed to characterise most of the Feds they had come in contact with. Jim remembered Blair's rather irreverent speculation that Feds took a Boring Suit seminar when they trained which entitled them all to get a special bulk discount price of the same type of professional outfit. It was enough to put what seemed to be a genuine welcoming smile on his face.

"Captain Banks? Federal Agent Louise Hawker. I worked on the Red Star case in New York." She introduced herself to him, shaking his hand in a businesslike fashion. "We have an unparalleled opportunity to perhaps get right to the top levels of this organisation this time, and I don't want to waste it."

The woman was sharp and her voice wound to the edge with efficiency and tension. There was no need to have Sentinel senses to know that this woman was buried so deep into this case that it was exceptionally personal to her.

"Pleasure to have you on board, Agent Hawker," Simon said with little of his usual suspicion that he reserved for the Feds, which made Jim gave him a second glance in mild surprise. "We're hoping you can perform the same trick in Cascade as you did in New York."

"I'm hoping for more than that." She put down her briefcase. "I'm hoping that we can get the top rank of this organisation. They will need to come and cement operations here and if we play it correctly we can get all of them. It's just luck that we have managed to catch it so early in their moving-in period."

Jim considered privately that maybe luck had been involved, but so had no little courage on the part of his best friend. He cleared his throat. "Excuse me, Agent Hawker ..."

"Louise will be fine, detective," she answered with a flash of a smile.

"Louise, then. We were just wondering what made Cascade the location they settled on?"

"We believe there is a significant Russian connection," Louise replied brusquely, as if that were information that should be obvious to anyone with more than one brain cell. "Plus, Cascade has an active shipping route and enough private flights that smuggling is reasonably easy to conceal ... and there are most definitely active routes to and from Russia already established in Cascade. Combine that with large areas of wilderness which are ideal to lose people and items in, and Cascade doesn't seem that odd a choice. Why do you think you have had representatives of many different crime families and organisations here? Cascade has contacts and potential as a distribution point."

Jim nodded slowly. It did make sense, but it just seemed peculiar having his city ranked alongside New York as a problem city.

"Ms Hawker, this is Detective Ellison - he and his associate were responsible for the apprehension of Jeff Astle," Simon introduced him belatedly.

That earned Jim a more favourable glance. " That was good work, Detective Ellison. You and Mr Sandburg were exceptionally lucky. Jeff Astle has never yet failed on a contract." Agent Hawker looked up, her dark eyes assessing Jim carefully. "I was hoping to meet Mr Sandburg, and go over his statement."

"Sandburg is, uh ... on medical leave. Recovering," Simon interjected firmly. After Jim's comments, unless it was a matter of life and death, he wasn't having the anthropologist back in the office until he was fully recovered. "He took a severe blow to the head in the struggle."

"Pity." She smiled, the expression crisp and professional and lacking in warmth. "Well, gentlemen, shall we get to work? We need to be at this at twenty-four/seven to make it work. The Red Stars move fast, so we have about a week if we are lucky before they are so entrenched in Cascade you'll have a permanent weapons pipeline in your city to deal with - and I'm sure you would prefer that not to happen."

She unclipped her briefcase and handed out a couple of dossier files with brisk efficiency. "These are the case notes from New York, the profile of the organisation and any known members of their outfit. Unfortunately the end scene in New York turned into a bloodbath as we tried to reach the higher-level players when they met using a legitimate company building that turned out to be a front. The resulting firefight is not something that we want to see repeated here as there was a high fatality rate on both sides. Many of the members were killed, and as the building went up in flames it was difficult to ascertain which of these people survived. Including the deep cover agent we had managed to infiltrate into the organisation."

There was something about the quality of her voice as she said the last bit that made Jim look up from the notes he was scanning. Perhaps the changes in inflection were only audible to Sentinel hearing, but he got the distinct impression there was something about the deep cover agent that wasn't being said. "It was someone you worked with?" he asked in a softer tone.

"He w .. is my brother. Lyle Hawker." For the first time Agent Hawker showed a hint that there was a human beneath her professional persona as her poise slipped a fraction.

"There has been no confirmation that he was amongst the bodies recovered in New York. So far."

Jim and Simon could tell how much the honesty of allowing that addition of 'so far' to her statement had cost her and nodded, as the unwritten rules of their closed society that so intrigued Sandburg came into play. Never give up for dead one of your own - a lesson still fresh for them as well.

"Besides, if I can make contact with him, then we stand a very good chance of bringing this down intact. He is clever enough to have used his survival of the New York bust to escalate him in the organisation." Agent Hawker added, all efficiency now the brief human moment had passed.

"You haven't heard from him since New York?" Simon queried, looking over the undercover agent's file. They shared a certain similarity in looks. The same dark brown hair and dark hazel eyes. This Lyle Hawker had a lean, almost hungry look in his photo. Simon had seen it often in people who lived dancing on a tightrope of adrenaline, wound so tight that they practically vibrated even in the glossy still of an ID picture.

The efficient agent shook her head. "No, but in deep cover operations that's not unusual. Anyway, I'd like copies of everything that you have from your investigation so far, right up to the minute."

"Forensics have just confirmed the imprint Jim located yesterday," Simon mentioned casually, and looked up as if he was telling the Detective some news as opposed to confirming what he had reported privately. "You were right, Jim, there were some writing indentations left on that newspaper. Looks like it might be a name or part of an address."

"Really, sir?" Jim replied, his tone bland. "Any luck on picking up a match?"

"Not so far," Simon admitted. "But Agent Hawker has access to more complete databases, so I would have thought they might turn up something there. Otherwise we have our guys working on the retrievals from Astle's room. His laptop especially. Encrypted, of course."

"I can have our experts take a look at it if ..." Agent Hawker's offer received a glimmer of irritation from Simon as the implication that they could not do their jobs effectively hung in the air not quite said, even though he smiled at her.

"Our team is more than competent, they have a great deal of hands-on experiences," Simon said pleasantly enough. "Though I'm sure they would appreciate access to some of the Federal technology to help them complete their task, rather than waste time dragging experts down here and having to start from scratch."

Jim had to give the Agent credit. She accepted the rebuke with a quick nod and replied, "I'll arrange to have resources accessible to them."

His respect for her doubled in that moment. Here was someone who was not going to get territorial about making this case. She just wanted it closed and would do what needed to be done to make it happen. Sandburg would have been amazed - their usual dealing with the Feds had resulted in clashes of procedure and personality. Maybe this time they could actually co-operate rather than just tolerate each other's presence.

Simon nodded, surprised by the easy capitulation. "Jim, you will be liaising with Agent Hawker here. I suggest you two get yourself caught up and start chasing down some of those leads. As she has so rightly pointed out, time in this case is critical."

"Of course, sir," Jim said, giving his best polite smile to his temporary working partner, as he picked up the assorted files and then opened the door for her. "We'll get right on it."

***

Sneaking out to Rainer would probably get him into a world of trouble if - no, when Jim found out, but there was some research that had to be done and an article to submit to convince the university that he was worth keeping on the payroll. It had been an interesting piece to research, about cultural clashes in the urban city environment paralleling the sort of displays seen between tribes whose territories encroached on each other, drawn from some of the cases that he and Jim had tackled - taking them into the heart of those situations. At least the powers-that-be were lapping up that aspect of it, and these justified his work with the police over the years, and built him a rather quietly respected reputation in criminal anthropology, much to his secret amusement.

He had several of the cases he and Jim had worked on written up as standalone case studies, and he often used those to keep his contributions to the anthropological requirements up to date. He might not be in his office that much any more, but they couldn't say he wasn't producing the work, even if a lot of it was written up when he was technically on medical leave, because otherwise he was with Jim, or doing his teaching stint.

Even so, those powers-that-be were keeping an eye on him since he had informed them he was changing the subject of his doctorate and then stirred up hell with the Ventriss incident.

He'd even made it sound convincing, in light of his recent experience, as to why he was suddenly filled with the desire to shift his focus to deal with the attitudes to death within a modern closed society. He'd been convincing in the fact that he was seizing on a once-in-a-lifetime - excusing the bad pun - opportunity to observe reactions and behaviour directed at him as a literal representation of that concept, resulting in something that would provide a practical insight into such a rarely observed subject. He 'd rehearsed that little speech quite a few times, without taking a breath usually.

The Board had to agree, and as it was a relevant topic, or at least more relevant than his previous subject of Sentinels, they had agreed to the doctoral subject matter once he had demonstrated that he had enough material already to provide a valid research base.

In doing so, though, he had made an exchange. It would not be Jim as such who would be laid bare for the world to see. It would be himself as he sacrificed his observer status to be a part of the process. The truth was, it wasn't just the incident with Alex that had prompted the change. Jim's reaction to the first chapter of the Sentinel dissertation had been devastating and he'd realised then, as he had many times before, that whenever he was offered a choice between his friend and his own ambitions and dreams, the friend won every time. His offer to give it up had been genuine. He would rather be a friend than write a dissertation. If Jim had asked him to stop he would have; only, he realised that the whole reason why he would stop was exactly the reason why Jim wouldn't ask him. There had been a point where the Sentinel deal had become less about studying and more about experiencing. He counted himself lucky that friendship appeared to be the focus of that experience, for all of what happened with Alex. So, in the end he had done what he had then realised that Jim would never ask him to do, but would want. He'd changed the subject in a desperate attempt to start mending everything that had shattered to pieces in the fountain he flinched at every time he walked past.

Even so, changing your doctorate, even when they agreed with you, made the powers-that-be distinctly nervous, so Blair had found it politic to show his face - even as battered and bruised as it was which had been so far very good for sympathy and had netted him at least three offers of dinner when he was feeling better - just to reassure the University he was serious and worth their continued backing.

All that aside, he needed to get to some of the books in his office for that research on this latest possible development of Jim's Sentinel abilities and then plunder the library for some of the slightly more esoteric texts.

His office made him feel ... he wasn't really sure what he felt about it anymore. He'd expected to feel fear, panic - something definite at least. He felt none of that, which was almost more worrying than if he had sat down and had palpitations and panic attacks and all those other classic Sandburg reactions that he kept well hidden. It was as if that part of him had been anaesthetised and was still too numb to react. But sitting at his desk, reading selected books, well, it was like constantly prodding at the numbness in his injured face, waiting for it to hurt again. The whole thing was a mass of contradictions. On one level he was sensitive and open to other people's emotions, almost too empathetic from his recent over-reactions, but to his own senses there was a deadening, presumably so he could cope with going on. Sensitivity to other people's situations was raw, sensitivity to Jim's moods and how they acted around him was so high it was like sandpaper on raw skin. But deep inside, when he mentally poked at what he felt there, was a curious feeling of numbed detachment.

But all anaesthetics wore off eventually, and from his now-extensive medical experience Blair knew that usually when they did, it hurt like hell. It crossed his mind in the form of a masochistic wry thought that that was something to look forward to, if nothing else.

Numb or not, the strangeness made him uncomfortable, so he was not going to sit here and read all of these texts, that was for sure.

"Uh, Mr Sandburg?"

He looked up to see one of his students loitering half in the partially open door and smiled automatically, if painfully. "Alison, right? Hi, come in, come in, what can I do for you?"

The young student entered. "I tried to come and see you yesterday, but you were called in sick," she explained, her gaze finding the now rather impressive bruising on the left side of his head and she looked a little startled. "We thought it might be the 'flu that's going around, but ... I guess not."

Blair looked at her, still maintaining the smile "No, no, not the flu, just a mishap in my own research. Looks worse than it is, really."

"It looks pretty bad." The young blonde anthropology student sat nervously. "I was wondering whether I could talk to you about the final assignment?"

"Sure," Blair replied expansively. "What about it?"

"Well, I know that it's a bit late in the day to be changing it, but ..." Alison pushed her hair back nervously as she began a rehearsed speech. "Well, I was doing the Mayan topic, and it was okay, but in doing that I started uncovering information about the Olmec, and ... I know it's not how Professor Bates describes we should be as anthropologists, but I really feel that I understand and have an empathy with that subject more than with the later eras."

Blair nearly laughed aloud. It would be the height of hypocrisy for him to deny such a change. "Never apologise for feeling enthusiastic about a subject, Alison," he replied kindly. "Too many people study with an attitude of indifference, and that is disrespectful to your subject. You don't have to tell Professor Bates this, but I feel that the really good anthropologists have a high degree of empathy for their subject matter - how else can they hope to comprehend a culture so far removed from their own? But they also have to have the capacity to take that empathy and analyse it objectively. I'm not going to penalise you for having the willingness to change your subject matter because you recognise that your interests are focussed elsewhere."

The young student looked relieved. "Thank you, Mr Sandburg."

"Blair, please," he corrected automatically.

"Thank you ... Blair. I, uh - I have a draft plan, if you'd like to look it over?" she offered, pulling out a folder hastily.

"I'm pretty sure it won't be necessary, but sure." Something prompted Blair to extend his hand to receive the bundle of papers. "I'll take a look at it later tonight, and get some notations back to you for tomorrow, okay?"

She nodded, relieved. "Thanks again, Mr .. uh, Blair. I really appreciate it."

Blair nodded, putting the folder into his backpack along with all of his books he thought might be relevant. "No problem, Alison. If you or any of the others need me, I'll be working at home using my laptop, so you can get me by mail. Strictly I'm meant to be resting, but there's only so much daytime TV a man can take."

She laughed as he had meant her to. "Glad I caught you, sir, and you really should rest as well as work … I mean, yeah."

She looked embarrassed at her boldness at mentioning something so personal and then blushed even more as Blair smiled a genuine smile at her, aware that he probably had set off another crush even as she left.

There was a lot of other stuff he should be doing, but he had to get home before Jim phoned to check on him. And he would, he knew his roommate. If he didn't pick up he would be around to see if he hadn't gone completely fruit loops on him.

Blair fingered the sharp curve of the jaguar claw in his pocket as a talisman for his sanity even as he shut the door on his office, and made a hasty retreat back to the haven of the Loft.

***
As lunch partners went, Agent Hawker was turning out to be reasonable if able to match Jim at his obsessive best regarding this case. Jim considered that if he had thought he was getting wound up over the weapons shipments, he was playing a rather muted second fiddle to Louise. Not that he minded talking business, but he did find himself wondering if he sounded like this when he got 'intense' over a case, as Sandburg described it.

"... and we could have brought them down, if the hit had been better coordinated. If I'd been able to get hold of Lyle beforehand then ..." Louise stopped a moment, her hazel eyes darkened as she paused. "He could have given me the information to break the perimeter."

And warned him to get out in time, Jim added mentally as he nodded in polite agreement.

"How would you have done that, though?" the detective asked calmly as he took a forkful of food." Did you have a means of communication?"

"I'd email a spoof email that looked like spam, and then he'd contact me, depending on when he was able. I had a series of them with key words and phrases in it to suggest the urgency of matters." She gave a barely audible sigh. "And before you ask, no, I haven't had a response back since New York, but that might be for a very good reason."

"Yeah, I've been undercover a few times. Sometimes it's just not possible to get a call out," Jim agreed, thinking back to his sojourn in prison. That had been too close, even with Blair there as a contact.

That brought a genuine smile which warmed her features a great deal, changing her from a crisp efficient mask into a real person. "Thank you, Detective Ellison."

"Jim, please."

"Jim, then. Thank you. You are one of the first people to even give credence to the possibility that my brother might still be alive." Some of the tension had vanished from her body, though barely discernible to normal vision.

Jim gave a half smile. "I've come to learn that usually what we consider to be impossible is often the most likely thing to happen. At least in Cascade."

Blair dying ... Blair being alive again ... Another sentinel finding them. A whole host of impossible things, nightmares and miracles intertwined. If there were a place where the impossible collided with reality, it was his city.

She gave a slight chuckle at that, the touch of humour lighting up her expression so that Jim had to admit she really was very attractive when she smiled. "Perhaps then we can perform a miracle of our own, and finally cripple this organisation once and for all. There's no point cutting the thing off at the tail end; every single time they grow back stronger, and trust me, you don't want that in Cascade."

"You are right, I don't like the look of what they are doing already." Jim replied, sipping at the juice he'd ordered, "We've had three fatalities so far that are directly linked to these new weapons, and a rash of shooting incidents. They're flooding the streets with them."

"Standard procedure - creating a market for them so that all the factions and gangs in the area need to have them and get them established as customers." Agent Hawker pushed the rest of her salad to one side. "Who would turn them in, or double cross them when they supply the firepower they need? - And if anyone who seems to be doing so gets eliminated quickly."

"So that's why the sniper?" Jim concluded, fitting the pieces together

"They've done it before." Louise looked at him appraisingly. "If not for your friend, they would have done it again with your contacts."

"Sandburg, yeah." That tickled off a mildly anxious thought and Jim glanced at his watch. "You mind if I give him a call? He's not the best at following doctors' orders."

"Sure, no problem. I'd still like to speak to him at some point." She pushed that point again.

"Maybe tomorrow or something, he's ... well, he was pretty concussed at the time and it's only the fact he can talk fast enough to persuade people to do anything that he's even out of the hospital." Jim got out his cell and pressed a speed dial. "Excuse me a moment."

The phone rang and rang. Jim frowned as he waited and met Louise's eyes as nothing happened and there was no pickup.

"Dammit, Chief." he murmured under his breath as he was about to hang up, visions of his guide suffering a relapse and unconscious on the floor already starting to pluck at his mind uneasily as he looked up at his dinner companion. "Uh, I better drop round there before we head back - something might have ha .."

"Blair here." The voice was a little breathless as the call was finally answered.

"Hey, Chief. I was just about to come round to see if you'd passed out in front of the TV or something."

Blair gave a short laugh. "No way, man, turned that off ages ago. Fuzzy-headed enough, you know?"

"Where were you?" Jim was unconsciously opening his hearing and listening to everything he could down the phone.

"Decided to take the garbage out. Had to run up the stairs," Blair replied easily enough, and Jim could hear the thump of his heart as if he had indeed just run up the stairs.

"Dammit, Chief, now is not the time to be doing spring cleaning," Jim said in a mild rebuke. "You have to wait until you have a concussion to do that?"

Blair chuckled. "Well, it's not the sort of thing you do while in your right mind, is it? How's the case going?"

"Pretty good. We've got people working on the information we picked up last night and I'm ... uh … liaising with the Federal agent who has worked on these people before."

"Liaising, huh? That's Ellison code for she's female, good looking and I've taken her out to lunch." Sandburg's voice sounded amused, and Jim felt himself startled anew at the accuracy of his unofficial partner's observation. "Does that mean I'm on my own for dinner?"

"No, no. Not at all, Chief, I'll pick something up when I come back," he said, making a mental note of the promise. "You rest, okay? Stop the cleaning."

"Never thought I'd hear the day when I'd hear you say that to me, man. Might have to get it in writing," Blair replied with that characteristic half chuckle in his voice. "I'll see you later."

"Sure thing, Chief." Jim found himself nodding as he hung up.

"I take it he is okay?" Louise queried, having watched the conversation closely.

"Yeah. Even if he has decided to clean up the loft now when he should be resting." Jim looked absently worried and then saw Louise's strange look and cleared his throat trying to explain. "He shares my apartment."

Even if he hadn't been able to put everything back just the way it was yet. Not since then. Not since he had moved back in.

"Ah." Agent Hawker nodded, a world of assumptions in that movement, and Jim was too absent in his own thoughts to correct them.

She collected her bag and smiled. "Back to work, don't you think? See if they've made any progress with that address."

And Jim was startled out of his thoughts and nodded. They had a long afternoon ahead of them.

***

Of course, having told Jim he had been cleaning in not so many words, Blair then had to do it. He did the garbage, he cleaned the kitchen area and bundled the laundry up, and cleared out the living room area, leaving it immaculate, and by the time he was finished he was feeling distinctly shaky and stupid. All because he didn't like lying to Jim and saying he'd been cleaning would only really have been a lie if he hadn't actually cleaned. The time period was somewhat irrelevant.

After a shower and some more of the painkillers he settled down with the books from Rainer and started reading through them as he lay out on the couch.

Snippets and fragments were copied and he frowned frequently as something pulled at the hazy threads of memory. He considered he might have stood a better chance of recalling what he was missing if only he wasn't taking the damn painkillers, they always made his mind feel like it was wrapped in cotton wool. Getting frustrated, he finally made himself a fragrant herbal tea, and sat down to relax, closing most of the books.

He absently picked up the planned outline that his student Alison had given to him and scanned over it, tucking back his hair behind his ear as it strayed forward again. He had made a promise to get it back to her tomorrow, after all, and if nothing else he could send notes to her by email.

He tapped his pen absently as he scanned over the suitably general brief and then frowned and sat up.

"Attempt to show that the prevalence of the jaguar as divinity in this area over time is directly connected to the impact of the social and cultural structures of the Olmecs. Reference the Were-Jaguar statues (inclusion of pictures acceptable?)"

Blair blinked several times and then hit his forehead - where it wasn't hurt, with the heel of his hand. "Stupid! Stupid, stupid! Call yourself an anthropologist? This is basic stuff!"

The Olmec man-jaguar figures, how could he have forgotten them? They were fundamental to the current theories of the development of the Peruvian races, all the way up through to the Aztecs. The whole basis of his theory of Jaguar symbology and the Sentinel connection was based on the evidence that there was a primordial universal belief in that area of a connection between position of authority and jaguars. He'd even expounded this theory to Alex, which might actually account for why it hadn't readily jumped to the forefront of his mind when this situation came up. In his mind he had catalogued the fact that the Olmecs as the earliest known race had shown evidence of Jaguar reverence, but had repressed the connection because of the memories associated with the last lot of discussion about sentinel symbolism. Great, not only was he fighting Jim's mental blocks now, but his own, too.

He would have to find a picture of them, study what he could find. But he did remember that it didn't seem to be a symbolic transformation. Perhaps his tentative views had more substance to them than he thought. Maybe the first Sentinels were more than a symbolic merging of the divine blood of the Jaguar deity and man. Maybe it was a bit more literal than that.

He had a place to start, a trail to follow. In its own way it was as convoluted and frustrating as the investigation that Jim was pursuing, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it was just as important. Who knew what was involved in such a transformation? What it might mean, what strengths and dangers it posed? In his own mind, he had the sneaking suspicion that this was connected to Jim's immersion in the pool at the Temple of the Sentinels.

It was meant after all to enhance the powers of the Sentinel, and perhaps it did more than that. Perhaps it developed a nascent ability, one more spiritually based as the Sentinel had been tested for his or her capability to enter that world. Perhaps by reaching into the Otherworld and pulling back a dead friend, to take an example at random.

Perhaps that was what he had been. A test.

But had they passed or had they failed?

And if they had failed, was it only a matter of time before everything fell apart? Not just things with him and Jim, but the natural consequence would be the tribe as well. All of Cascade.

That line of thought made Blair shudder a little and he turned back to studying. He knew where to look now, if nothing else, and if he had a suspicious mind, he would start wondering how conveniently that piece of information fell into his lap. That was a little bit of synchronicity to ponder. When his head didn't hurt and he had more time.

Right now the books beckoned and the calling was strong enough that he momentarily forgot even about Jim's work and concentrated on his own.

***

The sight that greeted Jim when he got in, complete with Chinese takeaway wafting its rich scents all around him, was so Sandburg he was almost tempted just to leave him there undisturbed.

The anthropologist was asleep on the couch, half covered by books, his laptop open on the low table next to him. His hair had escaped and was clinging to the cushions he used to prop himself up as if static was the equivalent of superglue anchoring him to the couch. His face was tilted just a little towards the door and his glasses were resting on his chest rather precariously. Even in the dim soft light of the lamp, Jim could clearly see that through the course of the day, the bruising on the left side of his head had purpled up to a rather unhealthy glossy sheen, marring the cheekbone with the abnormal colour.

Blair looked so young with his face unguarded like that, and Jim automatically felt the resurgence of a strong pang of guilt. He was too young to have gone through what he had - in fact he couldn't ever think of a time where anyone would be old enough to deal with it. He looked tired. The few times he could catch Blair in repose recently, he was always struck by the way tiredness had etched deep into his friend's usually animated features. He kept telling himself that Blair's body had experienced a major trauma, and that it took time to recover. He was sure the restlessness was more a manifestation of other reactions rather an excess of energy. He knew what it was like to be running on empty and not being able to stop. Peru had been like that for him. He just didn't want Sandburg to experience the sort of crash that he had at the end.

He was half tempted to let him sleep, but he didn't want Blair to miss out on the food and he needed to build his strength up if he were still fighting infections, so he would have to disturb that rest. After he had put the food out and had it ready.

Jim moved over to the kitchen area, noting that it was all tidied with only evidence of a recently-made herbal tea impinging on his senses in amongst all the ecologically friendly cleaning fluid smells. The kid had been cleaning up too much by the look of it, no wonder he was tired. Maybe he would be better for a good night's sleep, though it was probably still too soon to take him into the station. He resolved not to give in to Blair's inevitable arguments, because he knew that the young grad student might overstrain himself trying to help. He'd been too ready to let that happen recently, to pretend that things were normal, and everything was fine. And Blair had been just as bad in being that way with him. But every now and then he'd get the merest hint that his friend was acting a role rather than truly living it. From the way he deflected hesitant general inquiries about how he was, how he might be getting on or coping, he maintained his reputation as Blair Sandburg, master of obfuscation, and everyone co-operated so neatly with the easy lies.
Simon was right. They would have to talk, and soon. But not tonight, not with Blair still hurt and them both on edge with this case.

Jim put out the takeaway, complete with plates, and then very carefully shook Blair's shoulder, to wake him. "Chief ... Chief? Got some dinner for you."

Blair blinked open his eyes and focused, and there was no fear, no flinching back, for which Jim was eternally grateful. That had been an oddly wounding experience, the night before at the hotel room when Blair had pulled away from him in fear. It made him realise that he had been taking something for granted that he realistically had no right to expect, not in light of recent events at least. Blair had an implicit trust in Jim that hadn't been shaken. The older detective hadn't realised how much of a foundation stone that was in his life until it had received a good shake. It wasn't the same as obedience or following his orders, because God alone knew that Sandburg went his own way, but there was a sense of faith in the Sentinel's instincts, in Jim himself, something so deep that compelled him to choose to follow Jim time and time into danger. How the hell that had survived Alex and … everything, Jim had no idea, but seeing Sandburg's reaction to him the night before had been enough to shake him badly and point out to his mind that this wasn't something that should be taken for granted.

"Hey, Jim." Blair pushed his hair back a bit, away from his face. "Man, I must have been out of it, didn't even hear you come in."

"You were studying the insides of your eyelids very hard, Chief," Jim replied, "I got food in. You want?"

"Chinese? Cool." Blair propped himself up. "And on the couch as well. What, I did something good?"

"Well, the cleaning if nothing else," Jim replied, cracking open the cartons and passing them over "... oh, and maybe the whole tackling a professional hitman thing. But the cleaning is better."

Blair grinned at that. "Uh-huh. Well, I did that and some research stuff, and obviously that was more than I could cope with." There was a brief pause of uncomfortable silence where Jim tried to work out whether he should use that to hook the moment to open the discussion about everything.

Blair flickered away from that bait as he said, "So, the case? How's it going? And this new Fed? What's she like?"

"Louise? She's pretty focussed," Jim replied in between mouthfuls.

"Man, nothing like you then, hey, Jim?" Blair gave a bit of a chuckle even as he ducked away from the swipe from his partner.

"Nah, she's got a more personal connection. Her brother is - or was an Agent in deep cover in that organisation. There's a possibility that he might have been killed in the New York bust, but no one actually knows," Jim explained, watching him from the corner of his eye

"Man, that sucks." Blair considered that fact. "She must be pretty in deep over it. Can you imagine? Believe someone that close to you dead? But not really knowing?"

"Yeah." Jim looked down at his forkful of Chinese a moment. Yeah, he could imagine it all too well. Better than knowing and the helplessness that came with that knowledge that there was nothing that could be done. "Yeah, well, she's got it under control, I think. Though you can hear it, you know?"

"Well, you can hear it," Blair corrected. "Most of the rest of us would probably be taken right in. So, where you going with the investigation? The words you found? Any luck on the address?"

"Nothing. We tried all the Cascade databases, Louise is having it run through the Feds database now, but nothing so far."

Blair mused. "Well, it's got to mean something - I mean, come on, a bonafide clue, man."

"And you know as well as I do that clues can be misleading," Jim replied, standing up and getting a beer. "Concentrate on the detail too much and you can concoct elaborate theories and miss the simple answer."

"I'm down with that, man. The Sherlock Holmes thing, you know?" Blair went off at a tangent.

"What?" Jim was appropriately derailed.
'
"You know, the whole 'When you have eliminated everything else, the remaining explanation, no matter how improbable, is the correct one'. That sort of thing," Blair replied, glancing at him suddenly.

Jim glanced sharply the young grad student. He had a sudden suspicion that this was more about the hallucination stuff. Was he seriously trying to suggest something HAD happened? "Well, yeah. What are you trying to say, Chief?"

Blair shrugged. "Nothing, man, just, you know, getting into that whole open mind thing." He backed away from the subject hastily, not entirely sure of what he was trying to say.
This was awkward. Uncomfortable. He so didn't want to have being around Jim, being at the Loft, feel like he did at Rainer. He didn't want to have that natural shying away, that deadness in him spread here and to Jim.

It was better to feel, no matter how painful, than lose that, so...

Unless he was a hundred percent convinced, a hundred percent sure it was necessary he wouldn't dare bring it up. He knew it would be a big deal for the detective and it took a lot of energy to face him down on the occasions that it had proved necessary. Energy he didn't really have right now.

Jim gave a hesitant smile as he recognised the backing away from the sensitive subject. "Something else to drink?" he offered, getting up. "You want the TV on? Or you need more rest?"

"Hey, don't mind me, man. Put it on," Blair replied, shrugging a little with a smile. "Simon going to let me come in tomorrow, you think?"

Jim paced back, pausing a moment. "Nah, not yet. He's not convinced those brains of yours have stopped rattling around yet, Chief."

"I feel fine, Jim," Blair protested mildly. "Seriously, man, a few painkillers and ..."

"..you're passed out on the couch. I saw," Jim finished off. "Not what you would call compelling evidence to persuade Simon you are fit to come down."

"But I'm your backup, Jim, you know that," Blair tried again. He could not explain the need he had to be there, the low-level fear that murmured at him when he wasn't there to watch his partner's back. Since the fountain that had become acute and much more pressing, the anchor to stop him following his first instinct which had been to run away from the problem. Instead, bright and fresh as his new life it had tugged him out of a hospital bed and to the middle of the Jungle, knowing that Jim needed him there.
The evidence seemed to speak against it, though. He still wondered even now if he had really had to be there. He had the strange feeling it had been important that he had physically been there even though he'd taken some of the biggest emotional knocks of his life. Just as well he somehow managed to feel them then. But most of all he felt useless. As if he ... wasn't wanted, or needed. And the worst thing of all was that he was really starting to believe that observation had been right on the money, for more than just that one trip.

It could be explained away as a direct psychological result of being isolated and everything else that had happened. But it felt like more. It felt like there was something important, some reason for him being here, a purpose, and he was missing it somehow. There HAD to be a reason ... otherwise why had he come back at all?
.
"Yeah ,Chief, I know." Jim sounded uncomfortable as he said it. "But you should rest at least another day. It's not like I don't have someone there to help me at the moment."

The words were meant to be reassurance, but the brief shadow that passed over Blair's expression showed they hadn't had that effect. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"And what if you zone, or need some help?" Blair asked with a little more force. "Is Agent Hawker fully up to speed on your Sentinel abilities already?"

It sounded just a little childishly jealous and he knew it. He had to bite his tongue almost literally to stop from guilt-tripping the Sentinel. The last thing he needed was his guide whining at him, and he felt like he was whining. Okay, he definitely had been whining with that crack about Agent Hawker.

"No, Chief, of course not." Jim at least seemed to be appreciating that part of problem. "I know you want to get back into the game, Sandburg, but the way you are now ... a day won't harm, surely? If we make any major breakthroughs I swear I'll call you, but if tidying the loft had you passed out on the couch, what is running around all of Cascade going to do?"

Blair looked a little embarrassed. It made sense; of course it made sense, it just felt wrong. "Uh, yeah ... sure. I guess there is some more research I could do." He forced himself to smile a little.

Jim smiled, trying to ease them out of the awkwardness. "Sorry Chief, but you know I'm right, huh?" He could sense his roommate's unease and upset and tried to soften the blow a little.

"There's a first time for everything," Blair replied with a small laugh mixed into his words even as he sat back and deftly deflected further issues. "Hey, turn up the TV, man, some of us don't have your hearing."

"It's plenty loud enough." Jim answered automatically.

"If you're a Sentinel who can hear an ant put on its pants, yeah sure." Blair gestured peremptorily even as Jim started laughing.

"An ant pull up its pants? Where the hell did you get that from, Sandburg?" he asked, obeying the command.

"Does it matter? All I know is that you will be listening to the next ant that comes along, won't you?" Blair replied with a half grin and then rocked away even as Jim went to mock-hit him.

"Going around listening to ants pulling up their pants. Pervert," he accused, half laughing, highly amused at Jim's burst of laughter.

"I swear, Sandburg, one day they'll produce maps to the Sandburg zone ... and all this will be explained." The detective chuckled even as he relaxed back onto the couch.

"It's an ever-changing place, Jim, it's more about the journey than the destination, as Naomi would say," Blair replied. "Now shut up and let me watch the news. Some of us were studying the inside of our eyelids the last time it was on."

Still laughing, Jim sat back and the uncomfortably tense feeling of the middle of the conversation was swept away by the banter the pair of them used to disguise feelings that were too difficult, too hard to deal with in words.

***

Standing in the middle of a jungle when he knew he was in Cascade (and with any luck asleep in bed) was usually one of the giveaways that he was dreaming. Blair prided himself on being a pretty lucid dreamer anyway, and though his dreams were usually vivid and real, he frequently noticed the incongruities that jarred him into the dream state where he became aware of the fact he was dreaming.

Opening his door and finding the living room was a deep jungle, complete with vines snaking up the stairs towards Jim's room would trigger that awareness, for example, and he could feel a part of himself step aside a moment to observe his own interactions in the dream state. The living room even smelt like the jungle, rich and deep, that characteristic feel of life teeming all around him in hot humid air. The atmosphere thrummed with the sounds of insects, birds and all manner of noises that formed the pulse of the deepest heart of nature.

He looked around and felt the humid, green-tinged warmth of sun filtering through a leafy canopy coming to rest on his bare arms as he watched a cloud of exotic butterflies waft past in a dazzling array of colour. Compared to some of the dreams he had been having recently, this was downright pleasant and relaxing. No fountain, no replays of those moments that he could never quite remember but that woke him with a nameless dread and a cold sweat night after night.

After that, a thick jungle in the living room was almost a vacation and he amused himself by laughing at the stream of ants he could see swarming up the tree to the left of the couch. None of them were wearing pants, much to his disappointment.

All of a sudden though, the relaxed atmosphere around him silenced and drew taut with wary tension. He'd heard that sound - or absence of sound - before, once, when a predator had moved into the area where he was studying a half-buried statue remnant in the jungle and it had begun stalking him and the other student with him.

The hairs prickled on the back of his neck and an utter certainty that there was indeed a predator close by swept through him. He froze, trying to see or feel somehow where it was in relation to him. A prickling sensation indicated it was above him, high in what should be Jim's room, in the darkness shrouded by intertwined foliage.

A seed of fear in the pit of his stomach accelerated its growth so he felt twined all through with anxiety. It was a living thing inside of him, threatening to paralyse him until he heard a low growl that appeared to echo above him.

And realised that it wasn't him that was in danger after all.

The Jaguar was hunting something - no, someone else.

Without real thought, he ran and clawed his way up what should have been the stairs to Jim's room. They seemed to extend further and further up, getting steeper and more treacherous as he tried to get there in time. The stair became less metal and more branches and vines as he hauled himself upwards, desperate to get there in time.
He was close to the top when it became too late; he could hear a shout and a protest of pain that made the pit of his stomach freeze in sympathetic shock. A familiar cry of pain, a familiar voice.

"Jim!" Blair struggled, hauling himself up over the edge to the canopy top, and there, sure enough ,was the sleek powerful form of the black jaguar, crouched over its prey.

"Jim ... shit ..." He hesitated and the massive head of the Jaguar swung around to stare at him with golden attention, and with exactly the same motion Jim's head mirrored that movement.

"What's wrong , Chief?" Jim's voice was coming from the Jaguar's mouth even as his human form seemed pale and drained of life. There were large bleeding chunks torn from him even as the Jaguar licked blood from stained, curved incisors.

"What ... what's going on?" Blair hunted around for something, anything to fight the Jaguar away from his friend. Although what could he do? Jim was already badly hurt. How could he save him if he was already hurt?

"Hungry, chief. So hungry ... can't you feel it? Needs to feed and what else is there to feed from?" Jim's voice replied evenly.

Blair could feel it now, he could suddenly feel the unreasoning hunger, the need to devour, to consume until the hunger left, but he could also feel for all its feeding on Jim, the hunger was growing, not vanishing.

"But it's killing you!" Blair put his hand down and felt the metal of a gun barrel beneath his fingers. Jim's gun. With shaking hands he picked it up, feeling for the trigger a little inexpertly. "It's eating you alive, man! Can't you feel it?"

"All I feel is the hunger, Chief." The words were sounding more like a half snarl even as Blair levelled the gun at the beast, the metal feeling alien and wrong in his hands. He had the distinct impression that this was the wrong move, but what else could he do? This was the only option he could see.

"That's not the way, Sandburg." The voice was stern and filled with a growling threat. "That's not going to save me."

Blair aimed again, thought and panic overriding the instinct of wrongness of this option and went to squeeze the trigger.

"Don't!" The human Jim held up a hand even as the thunder of his shot cracked apart his dreamscape. The bullet struck the Jaguar straight on, but as Blair watched it was on Jim that the blood bloomed. He raised a hand to his chest and looked up at Blair with an expression of complete hurt and betrayal before slumping back into a rictus of death. Somewhere in Blair's desperate remorseful approach to his friend, he dropped the gun and the form of the black Jaguar vanished completely, and he knelt beside Jim's body, attention captured by the pale blue eyes open and staring.

"Jim! Oh God, Jim ... no ... no, it was meant to SAVE you ... Jim ..."

He didn't startle awake. He didn't sit up and fumble for the light to let the dream dissipate into the shadows as he opened his eyes. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, waiting for that feeling of impending danger to fade, but it lingered, echoing its images back at him, bright and vivid. The inside of his head felt raw and a nameless anxiety settled into his bones. He knew it was a dream, but it held a taint that burned the images, the feelings of it into his mind indelibly.

Where the hell had that come from? It didn't feel the same as his other dreams recently, and none of them had been particularly pleasant. It felt like something had been clawing at the inside of his head, leaving it open and vulnerable, a feeling that persisted even as he lay there willing it to go.

The only other time his head had felt like this had been after the fountain ... the 'dying thing'. The vision that he and Jim had shared of that split-second merge that had been tucked away out of sight but always there, defining and secretly providing him with an anchor point. He was all too aware that he relied upon it perhaps a little too much at the moment to answer the questions he'd been unable to even ask Jim and the others. At the moment, it was practically the only thing that was even remotely holding him together. Perhaps this experience had been more than a dream after all and he ought to look at it as a vision. Why the hell not? Perhaps Jim wasn't the only one who had changed after the fountain.

He could hear movement out in the kitchen and he lay in bed a moment longer, feeling his old urge to rationalise the experience sweep back over him. He must have heard Jim prowling around and maybe he had made some noise and maybe that had triggered the dream and ...

Maybe nothing. Shit, it was early. It was only just six, what the hell was Jim doing up at six?

He staggered out of bed reluctantly, stricken with a strange urge to check that Jim wasn't standing at the table growing ears or something. Well, cat ears, not ordinary ears, obviously, because everyone was growing ordinary ears and wasn't that one of those things that never stopped growing? Or was that the nose, or hair, or something? Anyway ... he was down with the whole animal spirit thing, but this seemed out of control. Jim was the most in-control person he knew and he couldn't understand how he couldn't see all this, or at least sense it when it seemed to be going out of its way to flag itself as a problem to the anthropologist.

Research and evidence, Sandburg - it's the cops' way, he cautioned himself even as he wobbled out tiredly into the dim morning light.

"Morning, Chief," Jim hailed him and then frowned. "You okay? Didn't you sleep last night? You look like shit."

"Well, good morning to you, too, Jim," Blair replied, plunking himself down at the table. "I slept. I think." He yawned.

"You better get back there and try again. Obviously didn't get it right the first time."

"Great, now you're my mother." Blair yawned, putting his aching head down to pillow on his arms.

"Can't be, Sandburg, not a caftan to my name."

The thought of Jim Ellison in a caftan was enough to nearly choke Blair on a chuckle as he closed his eyes.

The next thing he was aware of was a prod to his arm and waffles being waved under his nose. "Chief, eat this and go back to bed, okay? God only knows why you are up, anyway. Just because I have to go in early doesn't mean you have to get up."

Blair rather sleepily obeyed, attacking the fresh food with an erratic fork. "... just checking ..." he mumbled.

Jim paused even as he picked up his keys. "Just checking what, Chief?"

Blair waved a fork around even as he swallowed a mouthful of food, "... that you were okay," he replied and smiled a little lopsidedly as the bruising felt stiff and painful this morning.

That surprised Jim. "I'm fine, Chief. You're the one with the knock to the head, remember?"

Blair nodded. "Oh hey, yeah, I know. Just had a bit of a bad dream and wasn't quite awake, you know? Just had to check everything was okay. No biggie."

Jim looked at him, studying him a moment. "Okay. Look, I'll see you later, I have to pick up Louise and get in early - see if they have had any progress on the case overnight."

"Let me know if there is?" Blair requested, still with his mouth full.

"Sure. Back to bed, okay?" Jim replied as he headed for the door. For the hundredth time in the past month since Alex and everything, he very nearly stopped and said something else.

But he never did, because it might open up the whole can of worms and there was this case and it was important and that moment translated to a brief hesitation and then a hand raised in farewell as he left the loft.

The emptiness he left behind him seemed to sap Blair's appetite and he slowed eating. He didn't know what he had expected. Another change of eyes perhaps? Some sign that something was insidiously happening to Jim? If it were, then it was very, very well hidden because his roommate looked just like he always looked in the mornings. A bit grumpy and as if he could use a few hours more sleep. And a little bit worried about him.

Well, that makes two of us, Blair considered, giving up on the food. But maybe by the end of the day he'd have some answers, and for Jim's sake he hoped so, too.

***

"Nothing?" Jim said again.

"Like I said, Jim, absolute zip." Brown put down the file again as he half leaned, half sat on Jim's desk. The bullpen was abnormally busy for this time of the morning, with double shifts being pulled. "Nothing coming up from the Feds' database either - which isn't pleasing Agent Hawker much. "

"Yeah, I heard," Jim said ruefully. He'd heard more than most when she exploded into a diatribe about incompetence, betraying the fact that she, too, had hoped that they would come in bright and early to some answer and a new lead.

"Man, the entire city did." Henri grinned a little. "Simon is getting heavy grief from the Mayor and from the Feds, so if you value your body parts, stay well clear until the second cup of coffee."

"Gotcha," Jim nodded. Piles and piles of paper and not even a solid enough lead to jump onto. Usually they were out there, making the connections, tracking them down, leaping tall buildings in a single bound ...

Yeah, all you need is a cape, Ellison, he considered, mocking himself with the words of Quinn. Sometimes his imitation of superman fell flat on its face, and right now felt like one of those times.
He might have enhanced senses and animal spirits lurking mysteriously, but it meant absolutely nothing at the moment compared to solid police work. Evidence, leads, research, that's where the hunt began.

He wished Sandburg were there. It seemed with the police observer there to bounce ideas off of, or his crazy stories about this or that tribe, somehow that Sandburg zone they joked about often provided a neat little shortcut to the answer.

But Blair didn't deserve this sort of pressure right now. Didn't deserve Simon bellowing at everyone, metaphorically cracking the whip, pushing them harder and harder. If they didn't get a break soon, Cascade would be compromised irretrievably if the information Agent Hawker had provided them with was correct. And that would mean more deaths, more killing, more major organisations moving into the area - bloody warfare on the streets of Cascade, with the cops right in the middle of it.

Dammit, that couldn't happen. He hadn't spent all this time throwing himself off of things, into things, handcuffing himself to helicopters, losing his gun and being clipped round the back of the head or nearly shot and seeing his friends suffer the same to have the whole thing go to pieces in one fell swoop.

They had all of two very slim hopes - finding out what that writing meant, or waiting for the bad guys to make a slip up. Which they couldn't count on. Which left most of them here, running like crazy up false trails as time ticked on.

And he wasn't helping much with this headache just refusing to go away and his sensory control slipping just a little every now and then. He winced at a sudden sensory spike as he heard Taggart talking to Conner over the other side of the bullpen.

"... Jim would let us know if there were anything really wrong with him, Megs," Joel was reassuring her.

"Joel, he hasn't been in for days. That's not like him. I've seen him drag himself after Jim when he can barely stand. Sierra Verde? Hospital bed - need I say more?" Megan said in a llow voice.

"And maybe Jim has wised up to that," the larger man said soothingly "Relax. Blair is pretty indestructible."

"No, Joel, he's not," Megan said firmly. "He just thinks he has to be and he's doing a damn fine job of pulling the wool over our eyes. The problem is he's never seen the really hidden side of us, the point where we take care of our own."

There was a brief silence from the captain, who nodded. "You think that is why he hasn't talked to anyone about ... it?"

Jim could hear Megan sigh. "That's exactly my point, Joel. We can't even acknowledge what happened. He didn't get shot or injured this time. He died. Actually died. Who knows how long he was gone before he came back, and somehow we are all sitting here pretending it didn't happen, trying to carry on as if it were nothing important. Shit, Joel, what's Sandy meant to do about that?"

Jim's hearing and vision spiked then with a blinding pain as someone spoke close to him. "Jim?"

He practically flinched away, pressing his fingers to his temples as he tried to quell the migraine pain, and reoriented his senses with difficulty. What was wrong with his senses? It had been a long time since he had this sort of lack of control. Three years of tests, constant practise had made him pretty much in control of using them and now mostly Blair found new uses for them, new ways to deal with their capabilities. The pool in the Temple had made them more sensitive again, it was true, but he thought he had dealt with that.

"Are you okay?" Agent Hawker leant a little closer and the scent of her perfume made him feel like someone had thrown a bottle of a cloying fragrance in his face. He nearly choked as he hastily dialled down.

"Just a stress headache," he replied hastily. "Staring at the screen a little too long."

"You sure you're okay? Maybe you need to sit this one out," she offered, frowning a little.

"Sit what out?"

Simon came out of his office, walking briskly as he announced to the room around him, "We have gunfire being exchanged down near the waterfront. If we haven't got sellers down there, we've got buyers, and buyers might have a lead. Let's get down there now, people."

He raised his voice stirring things to action around him, even as Jim automatically grabbed his coat, ignoring Agent Hawker's uncertain look even as he took the lead. Finally! Some action.

***

Blair had ignored the suggestion to go back to bed, for all the fact he could feel a tiredness underlying his every move. He was up, awake and after a shower considered himself reasonably conscious and ready to start on his research. Books were brought out, the laptop plugged in and fired up, paper strewn about the sides and pens and herbal tea at the ready.
Hours later he was still there, the only change being the way the frown had deepened dramatically as he made copious notes.

This was not good. All he'd had to do was type in 'were-jaguar' in a search engine online and information started flooding in - some wild and wacky, but a great deal about the Olmec connection. Those generally led him to more serious sources and to in-depth anthropological and archaeological treatises, references that he noted down, intending to use his qualifications to sign into online reference libraries. Even so, the picture that was emerging was most definitely supporting the fact there might be something more to this idea than a concussion-induced fantasy.

He tapped his pen anxiously as he read over his own summary points, frowning with concentration.

The Olmecs and subsequent peoples of Meso-America certainly believed that there were such things as were-jaguars, but not in the same manner that things like werewolves were portrayed. They weren't so much supernatural in the same way as werewolves were, complete with myths of silver bullets and infectious bites, but appeared more an extension of the natural into the realm of spirits. Which, as he thought about it, did tie in reasonably with the sort of perceptions he had gleaned about Sentinels. Their abilities were classed as natural and spiritual rather than supernatural and magic as such. It appeared that there was a widely held belief in that area of the world in the presence of totem spirits and the ability of certain individuals to take the literal form of specific spirits.

The word that had filtered through time for this phenomenon was 'nahual', and he caught himself mouthing the word, almost as if to taste it for its sense of reality. The naming of things could make them real, it was the belief of many cultures he had studied, and for the first time he really, truly felt the sense of control and relief that came with naming the unknown.

Nahual appeared to be either the animal spirit or the connection between the totem spirit and the human, so profound that the physical forms could become interchangeable. It was believed that in certain circumstances a physical transformation was thought to take place ...

And there were the obligatory stories of hunters shooting at jaguars and finding a man injured or dead the following day, or them changing before their eyes, or wronging someone and being found clawed to death the following day.

Normally he would have catalogued it as a fascinating phenomenon, but today those stories made his blood run cold.

It tied in all too obviously with his dream about Jim. He had shot the jaguar, and it had killed Jim. The nahual balam, the Jaguar form of the were-jaguar, was powerful and stronger than a man, and possibly possessing more abilities than even a normal jaguar, but it was still vulnerable. It could still be killed or hurt. The sense of dread that lingered with him seemed to respond to that. How had he known that? He had known this before he read about it, unless it was assumed he had read this a long time ago and his subconscious dredged it up where he had forgotten the information.

He discovered in his reading that there were the usual mythologies surrounding it, the reverence of the nahual as the animal-form and the nagual who was the man-form, forming trails of investigation that made him raise his eyebrows and long for the time and energy to tie all of this together and make a paper out of it. He found, not to his surprise, that were-jaguars were revered, that they had always been treated with respect and surrounded by rituals due to them sharing the blood of the Divine Jaguar. That these special individuals would hunt and provide game and protect and defeat enemies for the people that were in their territory, whereas others would rule in arrogance, demanding worship.

Blair nearly laughed aloud at that one. Certainly sounded like Sentinels, or the start of Sentinels. The weight of evidence seemed overwhelming.

He found the associated legends fascinating, that the shamans and other chosen ones who were nagual or able to change into a nahual form often did so by performing rituals that involved feats of agility, to invoke the transformation. Either that or the contortions shown by the carvings that had been found meant there were some really unpleasant side effects to the process. He was particularly impressed by the statue that had a man curved into a bow-shape, pushed up on his hands with one foot arching over so it stood over on the crown of his head and the other leg pointed upwards. He had snorted aloud, thinking of Jim doing that sort of manoeuvre - that was more Naomi in her deep yoga phase.

It made a bizarre form of sense; Jim's first transformation seemed to have been forced by a desperate feat of agility. Making a jump he couldn't possibly have made, but doing it somehow.

He'd found several places that held pictures of the original Olmec transformation statues and had sat there just looking at them as if the answers would flood into his mind just from trying hard enough to understand. He understood one part of the dream vision he had experienced now, but not the other. He knew that to kill the nahual was to kill the man - but he hadn't found out the meaning of Jim being eaten alive by his own animal spirit.

He had dismissed one of the first pictures as irrelevant, that of a shaman riding a jaguar, and focused on the tableau of a sequence of statues that had been presented in the major exhibition on Olmec culture a few years back in Washington. There was one figure kneeling, facing a series of other figures, that seemed to be the same person, but in differing stages of transformation. They ranged from just showing the incisors to what seemed in the end to be a jaguar standing upright with barely any human characteristics at all.

He stared, feeling something shifting uneasily in him as he regarded the figures again. His professional detachment was definitely shot out of the window on this one and he knew it, but he wasn't doing this research as a professional - for all he would make use of the resources available to one.

Gulping his now-cold tea, he navigated to the Rainer site to access the anthropological data there. The login screen popped up, waiting for his user name and TA pin number, so he typed in, "'Sandburg, 2876" and hit enter.

And then paused. Why did that simple act seem important somehow?

The homepage, complete with the new slick message board where you could query for resources or recommendations, flashed up, welcoming him to the Rainer's On-line Reference section in all its glorious up-to-the-minute technological splendour.

Blair stared at it. So maybe he had been out of it, but something important had just happened. He blinked.

"Mmm, man ... think, think ... what am I missing?"

Then realisation dawned, slowly and majestically, and he scrambled to find his cell, and then realised it was still dead from the trip into the water and got up and half-ran to the phone to call Jim, half bouncing in his enthusiasm to get through and share his idea.
Only, Jim's phones was most obviously turned off - and so was Simon's, and even Connor's, which also meant that something was going on with the case. Maybe they had cracked it themselves without him, which there was every reason to believe would happen.

He tried not to sigh as that was singularly depressing thought and it would be too easy to drift back into his 'not needed' mindset. Well, he could keep researching and keep trying them and try and stop the sudden knot of anxiety that curled in his stomach at the thought of Jim out there without him to watch his back.

***

"Tell me again whose bright idea it was to rush down here to get involved in this firefight?" Jim muttered to Simon in a gap between bursts of gunfire from where they were pinned down behind one of the trucks.

Bullets zinged in ricochets all around them and every time there was a moment's respite it was soon broken by the harsh sound of automatic gunfire from the warehouse that made him wince.

"I like to think of it as a group decision," Simon replied dryly, taking a grip on his gun and returning fire before hastily dropping down as those inside returned fire. "These guys have more firepower than the army! We've got all available units here and they are still managing to hold us off!"

"I know, I know." Jim was trying to listen and was finding himself reluctant to let himself sink in too far. The dials seemed strange; not out of control, but prone to slip unpredictably, and he was wary of plunging himself into a sensory hell.

"... Forget about them!" A panicked voice inside said urgently, the undertones of a Mexican accent audible.

"Jess is DEAD ... what is Carlos going to say?" came a reply from deep inside the building.

"Worry about that if we get to see him!" came the terse response. "You should never have accepted the meet - you know Mendoza has been watching to see when we did a buy."

"Yeah, but he won't be watching any more, will he?" There was a hint of satisfaction in that response. "Look, they're concentrating on the north side of the warehouse. If we go out with all our fire power on the eastside, the truck is waiting up there, si? Take what we can carry and take the loss, the damn things were cheap enough ..."

"In two then."

Jim was conscious then of being shaken by Simon "... is no time for a nap, Ellison!"

He blinked, the light sharp and bright and making him wince before he focused on Simon's rather anxious expression. "They're going to break on the east side," he said, getting into a crouch, ready to run. "Conner and Hawkins are there, Rafe too, but if they all come out like they are planning, they won't stand a chance. I'm going over."

Without waiting for a reply, he was gone, running in a half crouch over towards the left.

"Jim, wait for back up ... for Christ's sake, Ellison! Aw shit!" Simon groaned and began bellowing orders for a squad to follow him before the detective could get himself killed.

Jim ran and paused in cover, checked his gun, then ran again with his gun at the ready, held ready to respond to anything as his pale blue eyes focused on every detail around him. He could hear the gang members inside mustering, about to make a break for it and he half ran around the corner just as the firefight began. Conner's car was not so much being hit by bullets as systematically taken apart and stripped down to the innards shot by shot even as she, Agent Hawker and Rafe returned fire almost frenetically. As he yelled out his challenge and fired, he saw Megan take down two opponents in a row before flinching back, twisting and collapsing against Rafe as one of the many flying bullets clipped her right arm.

He was not entirely sure what happened next, only that he knew he had to get to them before they were cut to pieces. The sharp metallic smell of the blood in the air seemed to fill his mind with a red mist that settled into a strange absolute feral certainty of what had to be done. He ran through the heart of the firefight, everything seeming to slow around him, so he could aim as he ran and seemed to have reflexes that were absolutely certain and dead on with each shot he made. He'd never been this good before, never been this sure of his physical reactions in his life and that every shot he made was completely accurate and totally justified.

He was scarcely aware of who he was, only of what he was doing. He seemed more real than the world around him, more alive than these empty figures that stank of fear and blood. The hunger was bright in him, he wanted to stop this seemingly casual destruction of the lives around him and tear the throat of one of the fallen prey and feed the hunger. To roar out his challenge to those who would hunt in his territory...

His gun was abruptly empty and he looked up into the face of a terrified gang member, nearly on the point of a snarl. The man opposite him looked even more shocked than he was and automatically raised his gun to try and remove him as a threat.

Instinctively Jim slashed out with his left hand at the gun hand, so fast that it seemed impossible. A part of his mind was telling him that wasn't what he usually did, he would try and grab the wrist and twist - not try and knock it aside ... and rip ...

The man yelped, the weapon going flying as he snatched back his hand, blood appearing from a gash even as he met Jim's gaze and his face dropped into a horrified expression.

"Get away! You FREAK, get away from me!" He staggered back and fell over and the words seemed to shock Jim back to himself. He blinked and looked at his hand. Was that a smudge of mud or oil or something on it? It looked sort of dark. Black even. Even his nails, which, hang on, weren't they just a bit long?

He looked at Megan who was staring at him in amazement, even as Rafe was right behind her now, helping her keep pressure on the wound on the outside of her arm.

"Bloody hell, Jimbo," she said, fixing him with her keen gaze even as he automatically stood down as others handcuffed their prisoners. "What do you do for an encore? Walk on water or something?"

"What?" Jim was still feeling a little dazed and he glanced at the back of his hand again. There was the weirdest effect going on - like a pool of ink shrinking, reabsorbing into the back of his hand, that strange darkness was vanishing. With a peculiar sort of itching sensation his fingers prickled and he automatically flexed his hand and it appeared that with a slick snick of a feeling his nails were suddenly normal again. Aside from the blood that was apparently drying on his hand.

"Ellison!" Simon's concern turned immediately to half anger. "What the hell was that about? I have never seen such a disregard for procedure or idiotic display of heroics," and that word was uttered with dripping sarcasm, ".. in my entire career!"

Jim was suddenly conscious that everyone seemed to be staring at him and he shifted uncomfortably. The expression of the perp he had disarmed seemed fixed solidly in his mind. He was convinced that the words "freak, abnormal, different" were moments away in their thoughts of him and that called up a core of brittle fear from his childhood.

"It seemed appropriate, sir," he said formally. "Conner, Rafe and Agent Hawker were pinned down and under heavy fire. I, uh, guess I acted on instinct."

"So your instinct has developed a death wish - I see," Simon replied, glowering. "You and I need to have a few words, Detective. Conner, you alright?"

"No worries, Captain. Just nicked the outside. Up and around in no time. I could probably drive myself ... uh ... maybe not." Megan brushed the concern off as unnecessary even as Rafe helped her up, but she was still staring at Jim in a disconcerting fashion.

"Agent Hawker? You managed to stay out of the line of fire?" Simon queried even as he waved on the clean-up operation. For the first time Jim realised quite how many bodies were lying around the area and that, more than anything, shook him. He had torn through them like some sort of.. berserk creature. Totally out of control. He felt obscurely lost and panicked by that thought, but nothing of his inner turmoil showed in anything save the characteristic flex of muscle in his clenching jaw.

"Yes, Captain Banks - if you don't mind, I will go along with your people so I can start the interrogation process," she informed him calmly, for all she was watching Jim with a curious intensity.

"Of course. Detective Ellison will join you after I've had a private word with him." Simon took out a cigar automatically. "Ellison - step into my 'office'," he ordered, striding off away from the crime scene aftermath.

Jim saw the somewhat sympathetic looks from his colleagues at his impending doom even as he turned to follow his captain around the corner out of sight. Simon actually looked angry as he whirled around. "For Gods' sake, Jim! What the hell was going on there? This is not you Jim, anymore. You haven't done this sort of thing since..." he paused "..Since Sandburg has been your shadow. One minute you're fine, the next minute you are violating every form of procedure we have, running out into the middle of a firefight and how the hell you didn't get shot I'll never know - you deserve to have taken a bullet for that stupid risk. I'm very nearly tempted to do it myself, just to teach you a lesson! Jim.. Jim, are you listening to me? What the hell is WRONG with you?"

Jim blinked and pinched across the bridge of his nose as the rawness of his headache threatened to become solid in its intensity. "I don't know, Simon. I wasn't myself. That's all I can say to explain it."

Simon stared at him as if looking to read some sort of hidden answer in his face. "Tell me this isn't one of those Sentinel things," he said finally in a low voice.

"I don't know, Simon. Things just went strange," Jim replied uncomfortably, some of that feeling of wrongness lingering. "I don't know why. I'm fine now, though."

"You need Sandburg here." Simon took a long draw on his cigar, looking wary for a moment. The last time there had been a 'Sentinel thing', he had experienced the terrifying fact of Blair's death - and the even more terrifying fact of his resuscitation. The fact that it was impossible was yet another thing that they just didn't talk about.

"It's nothing," Jim said automatically. "Just stress sending things a little off kilter."

"When you go off kilter, Jim, it's the equivalent of a tornado hitting Cascade, complete with the trip to Oz," Simon replied dryly. "Just let the kid do whatever it is that he does to sort you out."

"I can't put any more pressure on him, Simon ..."

"Why break the habit of a lifetime?" Simon replied a little sharply and then continued in a softer, more reasonable voice. "Look, Jim, whatever the reason is, you need to deal with it. And I haven't yet heard of one of your problems that the kid hasn't come up with an answer for, or seen you through it. You're having problems now and if it's to do with everything from what you went through a month ago, then if it makes you feel better I'll order you to speak to him about it. There's no money in the staff welfare fund for a departmental funeral, Jim."

The detective nodded slightly, recognising and acknowledging the concern. "I'll talk to him, just ... when he's recovered"

"If you let it go on, you won't get the chance." Simon gestured with his cigar to emphasise his point. "You better take a look around here, then catch up with Agent Hawker."

Jim nodded as he reached to put on his phone again and immediately it began to beep with a warning of missed calls. "Looks like Blair's been trying to get hold of me," he said, automatically sounding worried. "I'll just give him a call back."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, Jim." Simon let the smoke drift, as he surveyed the clean up operation. If this was a taste of things to come, it was a tang of putrid corruption he could do without. Cordite and blood were strong enough that even he could smell the acrid metallic evidence, let alone what Jim might have experienced, so no wonder his Sentinel detective might have gone a little off the rails. He listened absently as Jim paced as he made the call, realising now, as never before, that Sandburg was necessary, not just an asset. God alone only knew what would happen when Sandburg finished his dissertation. That was something he really needed to give thought to.

"Chief, something wrong?" Jim said as the phone was eventually picked up.

"I should be asking that." Blair's voice had undertones of anxiety. "You okay?"

Jim frowned, his head still feeling raw and aching. How did he know ... how could he know? He couldn't, so he could bluff it. "I'm fine, Chief, why do you ask?"

"I just, well you must have had a break in the case, yeah? Just checking there were no zones or ... anything." Blair's voice had a peculiar twist of tension in it that was only noticeable to some who knew him well.

He couldn't know. For all the last word was uttered in a questioning tone and seemed to be signalling that Blair knew something, he couldn't know. "No, just a bit of a firefight. Conner took a hit to the outside of her arm, but it's nothing serious."

"Oh God, Megan? She's definitely okay?" Blair sounded really concerned then, and was successfully distracted.

"Rafe was helping her, but she was all for driving to the hospital herself," Jim answered, to reassure him. "So, you were just checking I was okay?" he asked.

"Oh.. yeah, no, no Jim. There was something else." Blair's voice became more animated. "I was doing some more research, you know, looking around on the internet and needed to go onto the Rainer's site ..."

Jim bit back the urge to ask if this was relevant as the sounds around him were making him rub his temples, but he managed to keep a lid on his headache-fuelled irritation as Blair carried on and he listened.

".. And I was, you know, having to log into the secure server to get to the online database and message board and ... thought, hey, 'Sandburg 2876, that reminds me of something .. and bam! I had it - the imprint you found."

Jim frowned, "What about it? " he asked.

"That Sandford thing -it's not an address or whatever. I think it's a username and pin number to a secure server website." Blair said triumphantly. "It has to be, man, you know, it makes sense. He had a laptop, right? Once they are into that they can do that thing where they recover all the cookies or look in the cache and find the site."

Jim's eyes widened slightly. They hadn't got as far as considering computer logons. "You sure about this, Chief?"

"Well, it's a good guess. You've been looking for over twenty-four hours for names, aliases and addresses and not getting anywhere. It's logical in this day and age. Rainer's secure server is meant to be hacker proof or thereabouts ... " Blair trailed off and coughed a little uneasily. "It's probably not so important if you've made a bust down there."

"Still important, Chief. I'll pass it to the guys working on the recovered laptop, see what they can bring up. Might take a while," Jim said even as he started moving towards the inside of the warehouse to look around the area carefully. "That's good work, Chief."

"Great. Hope it comes to something." Sandburg's voice sounded a little happier at that, but then there was a long pause and that thread of tension was back again. "Jim, when you get back later .. I think we need to talk about something, okay?"

That was never a good sign. "We can talk now if you want," Jim said in a lower voice.

"No, no ... It's probably best face to face, you know? " Blair sounded anxious and Jim inadvertently tuned in on the thud of his heart. He was stressed, if nothing else, from the increase in heartbeat

. "It's, uh, no biggie, Jim."

"Okay. I'll see you later, okay? Make sure you get some more rest, Sandburg," came the order as he hung up, and then looked at the phone thoughtfully for a moment before putting it away.

Simon walked up to him. "Sandburg okay?" he asked, noting Jim's stiff posture.

"Yeah - yeah, he had an idea about that word fragment. Reckons it's a username and PIN login for a website rather than an address," Jim replied a little absently.

Simon nearly dropped he remains of his cigar. "That's ... damn. That's probably the answer! I'll call the team, see if they can concentrate on that ..."

He was so taken with the idea he failed to note the pensive cast to Jim's expression as the Sentinel looked around the kill zone. The shock of what had happened, of what he had done was starting to set in, and he hated the thought of being out of control of himself again ... reacting in alien ways without knowing why. Driven by instinct again.
And that hadn't exactly turned out well the last time his instincts had ruled him. It had led to him doing some of the worst things in his life to someone who deserved it the least. He had felt betrayed for some reason, nothing he had ever been able to quantify and all the time he had an awareness that his reactions were off, were skewed, but could do nothing about it. And at some points, to his very secret shame and hidden guilt he hadn't wanted to do anything about it, even if he could have done. In retrospect, what had happened this afternoon had been terrifying and .. compulsive. He had again touched what it felt like to know what to do, and have no doubts, no guilt at all, just a pure innate sense that his was the power to wield and he had the inalienable right to do so. How many people ever touched that level of surety? Had that sort of self-image?

Jim Ellison most certainly didn't, and that was the problem. Whatever he had been, whether idiot or hero, cop or Sentinel .. in those moments he hadn't been himself, and that woke that deep fear again.

He couldn't go through this again. Not just for his sake, but for what he might do. He could never lose control again.

***

Blair's research had eventually taken him into that 'something has to be said' realm and a brief conversation with Megan dropped him deeper into the waters of anxiety.

The fact that he had, every time he attempted to stop, rest or nap, flashed back onto his nightmare of the Black Jaguar eating Jim alive, little by little, had wound him to a fever pitch. How the hell was he going to broach the subject?

Hi Jim, you may have noticed you're sprouting a bit more hair recently?

Hi Jim, I've got good news - If they cast Attack of the WereJaguar, you're a natural for the part?

Hi Jim - uh .. you know you thought I was hallucinating? Turns out you're the one with the problem, not me ...

Oh yeah, any of those would go down like a lead balloon with a load of dynamite set to explode when it hit bottom.

Whether Jim was late back because he knew that they were meant to talk, Blair didn't know, but either way, he was one step short of pacing by the time the detective came home.

"Hey, Chief." The door was closed carefully and Jim went straight over to the fridge for a beer. Not a good sign.

"There's some leftover pizza still warm if you want it," Blair replied helpfully from his vantage point on the couch, even as Jim found it and ate it still standing. "You should have said. I would have ordered more."

"Just need a snack," Jim replied, rummaging in the fridge. "Eaten already, but still hungry."

"Uh-huh." Blair was a little bit wary of that. "Spoke to Megan on the phone They've released her already. "

"Good." Jim swallowed a gulp of beer, pulling the pizza out and taking a bite of something strange and vegetable in the topping.

"Yeah, she told me what happened earlier on. " Blair eased into the subject carefully. "Sounds like a hell of a standoff, man. And she says she owes you dinner - unless you've gone into feeding the five thousand as well.." He gave a small, slightly nervous chuckle as he said that and deliberately left it open for Jim to comment on.

"It wasn't much," Jim replied, equally deliberately not rising to the bait. But in his head the sound of the perp yelling 'Freak' at him echoed again, souring the taste of food hitting his stomach.

"Sounded like you went on a bit of a rampage," Blair put in awkwardly, "Like, righteous berserk, you know? Which is actually a commonplace phenomenon, Jim, in many tribal cultures as lots of warriors go ..."

"I'm not from a tribal culture," Jim stated flatly, interrupting Blair's explanation. He was normal. He was from a semi-rich suburban culture, not a jungle, not anything else. A normal American citizen who just happened to have a bit of an edge when it came to senses.

Ah. So that was the way they were going to handle it. Or not handle it, as the case might be. If it weren't for the fact that Blair had a conviction in the heart of him that Jim was in a whole different manner of danger, he would have been backing off and possibly making an excuse to leave the loft for a couple of hours right now. The detective was practically bristling with the warning signs to let the subject lie … that he had come to appreciate over the years of them working and living together.

"No, well .. there are similarities which are .. well okay, that's not strictly relevant, Jim," Blair replied and took a deep breath. "Something did happen today, didn't it, Jim?"

"Nothing important," Jim responded, looking out of the window, to avoid having to meet those serious blue eyes.

"Yeah, right." Blair got up and walked closer. "Come on, Jim, you know this isn't about me and a concussion any more. Work with me, man, We've got to look at this."

"No, we don't," Jim said instantly. "This isn't going to happen again. Nothing is going to happen."

"If saying it would make it so I would back off now," Blair responded earnestly. "But it won't, Jim - it won't."

"Just drop it, Chief." It was almost a plea as much as a demand.

"Yeah well, that would be ideal, Jim, but it doesn't solve anything," Blair replied, pushing forward again into dangerous waters. "And you can't just ignore this and it will go away. We have to deal with it."

"You deal with it, Sandburg." Jim replied slowly and said very deliberately, the cold in his voice having a real edge. "There is no problem."

He was not out of control, he was not feeling like something inside him was breaking down into something more primitive; he was not feeling like his very self was trickling away like blood through his fingers.

"Jim, you can't believe that. I mean, you must be feeling something?" Blair pleaded, trying to reason with him and inadvertently hitting all the sore points that would make the man react. "Look, Jim, you changed. I mean, literally changed. There is precedent - all the research points to this being deeply rooted in Meso-American archaeological evidence ..." He followed as Jim started to try and literally walk away from him, irritation in his stride. "There's a series of statues that depict a man actually physically changing bit by bit into a Jaguar. I mean an actual transformation, Jim!"

"Sandburg, I did NOT turn into a Jaguar. End of story." Jim's tone was sharp and sliced out at the grad student warningly. "I've just been under a bit of pressure with this case and everything - so have you and …well, the mind plays tricks."

"No, Jim. Not in this instance. Sure, yeah, I thought it was concussion or stress or whatever. I was more than ready to believe myself going nuts than to believe the impossible. Hell, why wouldn't I?" Blair admitted, opening his hands expansively. "But that was until I found my coat had these ... claw marks on it." He grabbed and tossed the item of clothing over and Jim caught it automatically, looking at it slowly as if it were something alien.

"… and this was torn off in the lining." He raised the small ebony arc of the jaguar claw, looking at it in awe. "I mean, when I found it, I nearly freaked, man. By then I was convinced that you were right, that it was the knock on the head and homegrown Sandburg weirdness. But after that .."

Jim could see every detail of the claw, he could even smell the scent of feline clinging to the coat, feel the rips and they all combined to ignite the fear and paranoia that existed in him of being a freak. His instinct was to deny everything and he went right with it to protect his crumbling façade that he was a normal human being.

"Chief, I'm seriously worried about you," he replied in a too-gentle voice. "Christ, I can't believe you've gone to all this effort to make it seem like I turn into a Jaguar, but.. shit, I even think you really believe it!" Jim dropped the coat and turned ice-cold eyes to challenge him, trying to conceal a brittle, ever-growing fear.

"Will you listen to me?" Blair said, starting to lose his own patience, taking the implication on board that he was somehow elaborately hoaxing his partner and trying to not let it hurt. It was Jim, this was what Jim did. Yeah, fear-based reactions - he had to let the hurt go, and deal with the problem rather than let it affect him and get in the way of trying to get through to the Sentinel. Just because it wasn't an obvious danger didn't mean it wasn't a danger, "This is not some sort of delusion, Jim, this is real and it's something we have to deal with. Any of your Sentinel abilities can become a threat or a liability to you if it is out of control. Remember what you were like at first? Now you hardly need any prompting at all ...but now there is this new aspect to deal with and it needs working on, tests and ..."

"And that is what this is about ..." Jim was metaphorically pushing back hard, pushing him away with a reflexive emotional shove. "It's about you. Can't you see that? "

"So I like setting myself up for a fall?" Blair questioned, squaring up to the Sentinel, his waving hands reflecting his passionate belief that what he was saying was absolutely necessary. "Sure, Jim, yeah. Look, you think I'd even dare bring this up unless I was sure there was some danger to you? That the shift could ... well, that there is something important that means we have to control it!"

"No, Chief, you want to control me!" Jim retorted, his voice growing louder, and more aggressive as he rejected the theory. "You just want another Sentinel weirdity to add to your dissertation, something to make me even more of a spectacular freak!"

"This is not about things being weird or freaky, Jim, this is about survival man, and ..." Blair was nearly gabbling as he refused to let Jim back away from him, stepping too close into the detectives' personal space.

"Forget it!" Jim turned and grabbed hold of the top of the grad students arms, as if he wanted to hurl the possibility and the man forcing him to confront it as far away as his strength could manage. "It stops here, Sandburg. Everything stops here!"

Blair had frozen to the spot, those words dropping into a upwelling of tension that seemed to engulf them both. "What do you mean, Jim? You mean - everything?" he asked quietly, lookking straight at him with a weariness in his deep blue eyes that mirrored a soul-deep exhaustion. "You want me to leave?"

There was a long pause before he added into the stunned taut silence. "Again."

All of Jim's old habits demanded that he wanted to be alone, that yes, it was best to be alone. Nothing good ever happened to Blair if there was something wrong with his Sentinel abilities and something was going on. But when Blair added the word 'again', he felt like he had been punched. His eyes widened in shock a little and he released his very tight grip from Blair's arms.

"No, Chief," he said, his hands nearly shaking, "I just want you to back off this ... theory."

"It's not a theory, man, and you know it." Blair pushed at him emotionally, not taking his eyes from his face. "I didn't do this research to make you a freak - I did it so we could control this ... Jim, you've got to let me do this! For your sake, please, man, I'm not trying to screw you around here, but I'm worried about what this might mean for you, for us."

"No. No, this is impossible. Enhanced senses are one thing, this is something completely out there ..." Jim shook his head, rejecting what Blair was trying to tell him.

"Yeah, like we haven't been out there before," Blair replied vehemently, "Jim, we've already broken out of the possible by current definitions. We're dealing with something that has existed and can exist and DOES. I'm thinking that the immersion in the pools at the Temple of the Sentinels not only upgraded the your senses again, but I think that the point of it was meant to be to connect the spiritual with the physical and open up those areas for exploration. " He mimed the process of the linking with his hands.

He was very carefully avoiding aspects of that trip that had never been dealt with, all the personal issues they'd never done more than brush over with vague generalities. This was more important than the past. He couldn't live in the past anymore, if only because he had died there.

"You are seeing something that isn't there." Jim denied Sandburg's theory again, with increasing stubbornness visible in the flex of his jaw. "You are making something more of this ... obsession than there is. It CAN'T be."

Blair looked at him again, the glimmer of hurt beginning in his eyes for all of his resolve not to let Jim's defence tactics get to him.

"Words can't change the past, Jim. It's happened." He cleared his throat. "Believe it, man ... Believe me! This is real, this is happening here and now! Burying your head in the sand is going to end up with people dead!"

And he barely stopped short of saying 'again' there as well, though he might as well have shouted the word with all the body language he possessed.

"Dammit, Sandburg! What the hell are you trying to DO to me?" Jim exploded out of shock, stung with an angry hurt. "Isn't it enough that I'm a freak of nature without turning me into some sort of horror movie reject? Can't you get it through your head that I can be normal, I don't have to have every moment of my life as the Sentinel experience - sometimes I'm just ... me! But every time I think I'm getting a handle on this, something happens and hey ... here's Sandburg with another 'way out there' theory which means tests, which means more ... of everything! I'm sick of it! You have no idea what it is like to be told 'Hey Jim, guess what, you are even more of a freak than we thought … and wow man, that's really GREAT ...' "

"Yeah well, it ain't been no picnic from my end either, Jim" Blair replied forcefully in the face of his wrath, "I've been trying to help you and I'm trying to help you again and .."

".. it's not exactly a success story, is it, Sandburg?" Jim snapped back without thinking. "You ever think that maybe someone is trying to tell you something?"

He saw Blair swallow abruptly and a flush of heat rise to his face, though he still met his challenging gaze defiantly. "Yeah. Yeah, maybe they are." He cleared his throat again. "But I choose to believe that if we face this we can control it."

"And there's the fundamental difference, isn't there, Chief?" Jim snapped back, the rage so close to the surface it was all he could do to control that, which left his words running amok. "You CHOSE to be interested in Sentinels. Everything you have done has been a choice! I didn't get that, I was born abnormal with this damn 'genetic advantage' and the last thing I need is someone rubbing my nose in the fact that I'm a freak by delighting in the fact that I have another problem that I can do nothing about!"

Blair's expression was wild with emotions he desperately was trying to rein in by the time Jim had vented his anger at him verbally.

"Bullshit, man, complete bullshit!" He jabbed a finger at Jim's solid chest. "You've had all the choices you need. They couldn't have been any clearer - but the difference between you and me, man? I accept responsibility for the consequences of my choices. You CHOSE to be a sentinel Jim, maybe not the first time, but the second and the third ... Don't give me this shit about having no choice. You even had handy visions that told you what those choices might entail. That's a damn sight more than I've ever had!"

Jim had to resist the snarl that seemed to be lurking in his throat. "You don't understand, Sandburg ... you don't understand what it is like to be totally out of control of your emotions and actions because they are being driven along by things and forces that you don't understand ..."

Blair gave an amazed hollow laugh. "Sure I do, Jim, so does the rest of the world. That's called Life."

Jim looked irritated and blindly frustrated, "Don't give me that, you know what I am talking about ..."

Blair looked serious. "Yeah, Jim. Yes I do ... you better believe I do understand. Otherwise … fuck man, why the hell do you think I am still here?"

The words hung in the air between them, a curdling knot of all their anger stopped dead and left hanging like a spectre of doom separating them.

Blair froze momentarily. He'd said more than he had intended; the subject needed to be avoided at all costs. He couldn't go into this now, maybe not ever. Jim was just staring at him as he looked away, staring at him with Sentinel eyes as if trying to pierce through to his heart.

No, no don't say anything Jim, not now. Don't say it because if you do I might break and that will mean I can't be there to help you ... and like it or not, partner, you need me right now..

"Blair ..." Jim said softly, his expression unguarded and emotion flying through the storm-sky blue of his eyes. "I ..."

"No, Jim." He flinched away. "No, I can't do this ... not now." He breathed a moment, trying to pull his emotions back in though he felt like he was going to shatter from the internal pressure. "Will you let me help you?"

"I can't believe it is true, Chief ... I'm sorry," Jim replied regretfully, looking at his friend. "There's nothing to help with. Everything is fine, it's just stress."

Blair rubbed his uninjured temple a moment. "Okay. Okay, fine. When you come to your senses ... and yeah, that was deliberate, Jim, and realise that I might actually have a clue about this and if you can feel that you can trust me enough to help you ... I'll be in my room."

"Chief ... I ..." Jim started but the anthropologist was resolutely walking away to his room and disappeared inside, trailing hurt and rejection almost palpably behind him. The mention of trust soured everything, dumping a clinging load of guilt over him - but it was liberally mixed with anger at Sandburg pulling such a low trick as his automatic defense kicked in to push away anyone or anything that added to his feeling of vulnerability. No one could get to him like he could and for all he tried to hide from him, the fact remained that he was convinced that sometimes Blair could see into the heart of him.

Half of Jim wanted to go after him right here and now, but that would mean admitting that the grad student was right and he really was turning into a Jaguar. Which couldn't be true. Maybe something else Sentinel was going on, but it couldn't be that. There were a lot of things he could stretch his mind to encompass, but actual, literal shapeshifting? No way.

Only, he had to admit the way his hand had looked, the feeling of long nails - okay, claws - maybe there had been the vvery real sensation of them withdrawing inward. He couldn't deny he had been experiencing the alien feelings inside of him, all those different ways of thinking. Addictive ways of thinking, with their allure of complete certainty, control and poise. Something he could get lost in and truly become a monster as a result.

"Shit," Jim murmured to himself, looking at the door to Blair's room. He shifted a little as if he was going to walk there now and the moment teetered in the balance, but then prompted by fear of the unknown he whirled and practically stomped up to his own room, angry, guilty and chronically insecure.

***

The next morning had been strained, to say the least. Jim seemed to be making a point of ignoring his roommate and barely talked to him as they performed the early morning rituals of getting up, having breakfast and preparing to leave.

Blair had watched him, his heart sinking. He had pushed too hard and instead of opening up to him, Jim had closed down. When would he learn? Just because he sometimes had to be pushed to talk about things didn't mean that Jim reacted the same way. In his anxiety, he had pushed too hard and succeeded in only making things worse.

Stupid, stupid, stupid... his mind chanted to him as he tried desperately to break into the stony wall of silence that he had helped to create.

Each foray was met with a rebuff. Each comment was adroitly deflected with a brusque reply. Attempts at conversation were thwarted and followed up with a stinging, curt, controlled response designed to leave him in no doubt that Jim was hurt, angry and thoroughly pissed off at him for even trying to make him bring this up again when the subject was most definitely CLOSED.

A final desperate attempt just to drag the whole thing out in the open had resulted in a defensive verbal thrust from the Sentinel that had shocked Blair speechless and left him stunned as Jim stalked out of the apartment without him, slamming the door to emphasise the hurled verbal grenade and avoid the consequences of its detonation.

Blair sat down, amazed that he wasn't shaking from the impact of those words.

"Whoa, whoa, Sandburg! If I did have a problem I don't need you to help me deal with it ... I don't NEED you, I don't need anyone! Now, get the hell out of my way!"

Short, sharp and very ugly. Cut out the heart of him and then threw it away when he offered it as the only thing he could give.

How could Jim seem to see exactly where to paralyse him with an emotional hurt when he seemed to be so damn blind to everything else about him? Was it some sort of perverse talent that was inborn in Sentinels, or was it just Jim who had this ability?
The door had closed on him, denying him a chance to respond. He wanted to throw something. He wanted to yell something. He could feel every injustice that had ever happened bubbling up to the surface of his mind demanding to be heard, demanding to be spoken, shouted ... whatever.

Yeah, sure you don't need me, Jim. You didn't need me the first day that we met, did you, when I saved you from the truck. Or when you fell in the oil vat,... or a lot of the other times when I covered your back and took a chance for you and you know, nothing was said. And hey man, I understand that, but shit, you needed me then...

And then immediately he countered his own internal diatribe with his other voice, his anthropologist voice, the observer trying to remain untouched by emotion.

Does it matter? He has saved your life, you've saved his. Does he have to acknowledge that he needs you for you to help him? Isn't that like making your friendship conditional?

His hands shook a little as he popped the pills out of the packaging and coughed a little. No. No, this wouldn't affect him like that. He could see what Jim was doing, and yeah, maybe he was being used as an emotional punching bag, but he'd got in a few hits of his own the night before, so what did he expect?

He'd walked away. He'd walked away last night. Yeah, okay, he had let himself be pushed into a corner and allowed Jim to see a glimpse of something he had promised himself he would never bring up, but he should have been strong enough to see it through with Jim regardless. After all, he at least had some knowledge of the danger … and Jim was acting at least partly from ignorance and a very natural fear of the unknown. He should know by now that Jim very, very rarely made the move when it came to anything Sentinel. Somehow all of that was firmly his tagalong's responsibility. As Jim had said on the beach at Sierra Verde, 'What do you mean, you don't know? This is your area!'

Which explained a lot, really. If something went wrong with Jim's senses it wasn't, "Jim, what's wrong with you?" It was, "Sandburg, what's wrong with him?" As if he were responsible for anything that was Sentinel-related and had to accept the consequences as his fault.

He should have realised that sooner. Maybe that explained why he was getting the cold shoulder from them all at the moment. If he was seen as being responsible for anything Sentinel-related, then he was responsible for his own throwing out, for all of what happened to Jim, for all of Alex, for ... his own murder.

Now that was a weird concept to conjure with.

Great. It made a rather peculiar form of sense. Why Alex being a Sentinel was his entire fault and his involvement in trying to help her had been such a major betrayal of trust to Jim, maybe? No .. .no, that was a weak theory, wasn't it?

Weak or not, it was one of the only ones he had and he was too tired to think of any more. Blair felt like he could sleep for the best part of a month and maybe then he might just feel human again, but there was something pushing him to keep going all the time. He would sleep and then wake feeling more tired than he had before he went to bed, as if his dreams were spent fighting, struggling, running, hurting, leaving him aching in the morning as if he needed to spend the day in bed just to recover enough to go to sleep again. But everyday he was pulled after Jim, tugged by loyalty, friendship, and his own need to be there, so he got up, got dressed and pushed the fatigue deep inside and faked energy from somewhere.

He downed the pain pills and swallowed. He had to convince Jim that it didn't matter about anything else, that they just had to work on a plan to get this shape-shifting under control and the rest could wait.

The only problem was, he didn't really know how to do it. Only that there were evidently ways to trigger a full change, and ways to trigger the change back.

Exactly what they were, no one seemed to know; but he had to find out before Jim changed again because everything he had read indicated that unless the spirits were appeased in some way, an uncontrolled change would result in him not being able to change back.

And the Jaguar would eat his friend alive.

***

As he sat working on another dead end lead, the Sentinel of the Great City decided he was feeling pretty shitty, all told, physically and emotionally. His head felt worse if anything, he was edgy and jumpy and guilt? He had smothered himself in the emotion and felt it in every breath and moment that swept him further away into silence and away from an apology.

Something was happening to him. He'd spent all night hunting in his dreams, the taste of blood hot in his mouth as he ripped out the throats of unsuspecting prey, as he dropped on them and crushed their skulls ... as he tried to find the one thing that would assuage the terrible hunger in him.
There seemed to be nothing that could stop it gnawing away at him as it spread like a contagion all through his body, into his mind. He had tossed and turned all night, either lying awake replaying what Blair had said, or not said, or drifting into intense surreal dreams.

The final dream had been something different and disturbing in its clarity and content. He'd thought he had been taken back to the Temple of the Sentinels, but it wasn't cloaked in jungle and half falling down. It had been night and it had been lit by flickering torches that stabbed at his eyes, even as the shadows they cast seemed to make the carved glyphs move and live under their motion. He remembered looking up, hot blood streaming down his face, feeling empty and wild and desperate. Around him bodies, dressed in ceremonial garb, lay in postures of death fresh and violent and he knew he was running out of time, that there had to be one worthy, one last sacrifice that could satisfy this hunger.

There had been only an emptiness surrounding him even as the stench of death cooled around him ...

And in the dream he had known despair, pure and simple, as he felt the sense of his self slipping away and as he raised his head to scream a protest to the night that this couldn't be, the most terrifying thing of all was that there was no words that came from his throat, only the thunderous sound of a wild jaguar's roar.

His heart hadn't stopped thumping for a good hour after that one. The feeling had faded a little, but it seemed more alive in his head now. As if it were prowling, waiting for a moment to seize control, getting worse as time crept on.

He'd made a mistake. He should have listened to Blair, and he knew it. How often had he had to admit that? And why did he always have to wait until it was nearly too late and he had nearly caused irrevocable damage to do it? Because amongst other things he was stubborn and boneheaded and his only redeeming feature was that he could admit that on the odd occasion. Remembering Blair's expression from that morning and the previous night was akin to a subtle form of torture to himself and one that he felt he thoroughly deserved. As was often the case, he'd said things to Sandburg he wouldn't dream of inflicting on anyone else. Why? Because when it came down to it, he did trust his unofficial partner, more than he had ever allowed himself to trust anyone. That trust enabled him to be open enough with what he really felt, so much so that it could hurt him. The kid would probably have found him a much more pleasant roommate and study subject if Jim didn't like him, or care for him so much. Instead, Blair ended up bearing the brunt of his pain, his paranoia, insecurity and frustration because he was one of the few people the Sentinel could allow close enough to see that side of him.

However preposterous the idea of transformations into Jaguars was, the offer of help wasn't. Whether the changing part of it was real or not, something was going on, and like it or not, every time there had been a new quirk before, it had been Sandburg who had solved it. He worked through it with him, guided him patiently through his fits of irritation, sarcasm and downright disgruntled behaviour until they worked out what was wrong, what had to be avoided, controlled, focussed on until at the end he always knew if the situation arose again he could master it.

It was another one of those things he had taken for granted up until the point on the beach at Sierra Verde where he had practically demanded Sandburg just fix everything and had experienced shock when his friend had told him he didn't know how. He was in such a state himself that he'd almost felt betrayed by that and only later realised that he had no right to expect Blair to have all the answers - even if usually he did. Jim sighed again, staring through his computer screen as he made a reluctant decision

He was going to have to apologise.

He could do that. He'd made apologies before and let it not be said that he couldn't learn from his own mistakes. Maybe he should call him now and just let him know he was willing to talk about it now he had settled down and got himself sorted out.

"Jim, my office." Simon beckoned him over and he realised the entirety of Major Crimes seemed to be making their way over as well. "We've caught a break."

Music to his ears. He was the last one in as Major Crimes crammed in there. Louise nodded to him as he shut the door behind him.

"We've finally got a lead," Agent Hawker announced without pause for preliminaries. "Not that long ago, our technical team managed to break the encryption code to get into Jeff Astle's laptop. It is worth saying that it was at a whole new level of hardware and software security to get into that thing, so all credit to them for getting in even as quickly as they did." She nodded to the various representatives of that team who were attending the briefing and Jim was pleased she had acknowledged their major contribution as he smiled over at Dawes and Martinez, who were trying not to look too smug at the attention from their peers.

Agent Hawker nodded and then continued.

"When we got in and broke into his files, sure enough there were details of his various hits, also encrypted and, following a suggestion by Mr Sandburg yesterday, the recovered forensic evidence from his hotel room secured by Detective Ellison was applied to recovered cached web pages." She gave a brilliant smile. "We lucked out, gentlemen. The password was to a secure server message board that could not have been accessed by any other means, as incorrect logins apparently block the IP address automatically, and too many attempts would have resulted in the whole thing packing up and going home, leaving us out in the cold. As it is, we got in the first time - and before you, you will see the printed out transcript of the posts on that board, complete with names, dates … and most importantly, at least one viable shipment location. It appears to be a storage facility leased to several companies in Cascade - Morton's Antiques, InTech Ltd and Cyclops Oil. We're following leads relating to all these companies, but if we can get in there quickly, we can hopefully secure people who work for the Red Stars … and by threatening their operation, get the higher-ups to show their faces."

The group nodded, appreciating the opportunity, though Jim was considering that a little more background on the companies would be useful before they went in with a full team, all guns blazing as it were.

Simon looked up. "I want full protective gear for this one, people. I can only imagine that a weapons distributor would have a pretty good means of protecting their shipments. We are going to move in one hour - full gear, high security protocols. We're going to be working with the Feds on this one and have their manpower behind them."

"Sir...?" Jim raised his hand. "Shouldn't we be trying to get people inside rather than revert to a siege situation if they have so many weapons available to them?"

"A good point, Jim." Simon replied, nodding to acknowledge the suggestion "Agent Hawker?"

"The information on the message board confirmed one other thing. The inside Agent under deep cover is still alive and currently in Cascade. With that in mind, we could potentially arrange to get in, and get out discrete information before the main force moves in.. The raid still needs to go ahead, but .... " She smiled again, some of the tight professionalism and wound-up stress that had characterised her presence at Major Crimes relaxed. "It is an opportunity worth taking."

Simon nodded. "In which case, Agent Hawker, the rest of us will get set to make a move and you try and make that contact - take Ellison with you. We'll begin the raid regardless of your progress in one hour on that location."

"That should be more than enough time," she replied as she got up. "Ellison, you're with me." The meeting broke up and Jim followed her out of the room.

He was suddenly very sure of something, just from watching her, the way she moved, it seemed to telegraph to already acute senses that there was something else he should know. "Let me guess," he said in a low voice "You've already made contact with your brother."

Surprised, Louise turned and met his eyes "What gave you that idea?"

"You didn't seem at all surprised when I made the suggestion to try and infiltrate. You were already planning a meet, yes?" Jim sat at his desk a moment, getting his things together.

"I recognised the ID of one of the people on the message board. It was him." She leant over and called up the site on his PC. "See? Username of Lilly. It was something I used to call him when we were young. It used to really, really annoy him and as a cover for Lyle, it's pretty effective. From there it was pretty easy. I spammed his registered email address and had my mobile worked into the code. He texted me back and we talked. He's up for a meet."

"Looks like you are well on it. Any reason why you haven't said anything to Simon about this?" Jim asked in a low voice, staring at the screen a moment longer.

"He'd insist on someone coming along, which has happened anyway. " Louise replied, giving Jim a more animated smile. "Though after yesterday, I'm thinking you can more than hold your own. The meet is for about 15 minutes before the deadline - Lyle's going to make sure one entrance to a disused part of that warehouse area is unguarded so we can get in. Quiet and discrete. We get in, and he gets a chance to be one of the few that made it away from that bust alive .. and he'll use that to get close to the higher-ups."

Jim nodded slightly and gave a half smile. "Looks good. We better move out. I've just got to make a phone call."

Agent Hawker smiled. She didn't need any qualifications to work out who he was going to be phoning. She waited discretely fetching her coat as she waited and surprised at the short length of time it took him to finish the call.

The tall detective seemed to notice her attention and gave a worried shrug. "Wasn't in. I just left a message. Let's get moving." He said sounded distracted for a moment, but he held the door for her as she led the way out.

***

"Come on, come on ..." Blair tapped his fingers impatiently on the edge of the steering wheel of the Volvo as he waited for traffic to finally start moving again. He hadn't been able to wait any longer. He had the clamouring feeling inside of him that it was going to be too late unless he got to Jim, and was with Jim, and man, if he didn't stop this whole adrenaline thing he was going to end up with a panic attack or something. How long could it take to get to Major Crimes, anyway?

He'd already decided he'd do whatever needed to be done to get Jim to listen to him. He knew that calling wouldn't be sufficient and if he tipped the Sentinel off that he was coming in, Jim would find some excuse to be out of the office. No, he had to corner him there and force this information down his throat. He'd drag him in front of Simon and get him involved. He'd throw a fake mental episode of lunacy if it would get him to humour him and listen for just a few moments.

Jim had to be taken out of action until he had managed to find out how to control the change that was going on. If there was one thing he had worked out is that having first shown the Nahual signs of a spontaneous and partial change, the full transformation would inevitably occur and if the proper .. what? Ritual? Process? Whatever, was not followed, the change would not reverse. In his own mind, he decided that the symbolism of the dream meant that if that happened, the Jaguar spirit would eventually dominate over Jim's essence and nothing of him would remain at all. That was a fucking terrifying thought and the moment he thought of it, it had galvanised him into action.

Dammit! Today of all days the traffic had to be at a standstill. He'd been here at least half an hour before the clogged arteries of the city streets started to move again. By the time he screeched into the garage at the precinct and leapt out of the car any observer would have thought he was on an errand of life or death.

It wasn't very heartening when he burst into Major Crimes and found the place practically deserted save for Rhonda and Megan who was manning a phone with her arm still in a sling and despite being told not to come in at all.

No, Simon, no Jim ... He made his way over to Connor's desk and sat on the edge until she finished her call.

"Sandy! Geez, now I know why you haven't been in." Without a trace of self-consciousness she reached up and brushed his hair to one side to expose the livid bruise he had nearly forgotten in his rush to get here. "That's a nasty one. Cracked you good and hard."

"Looks worse than it feels by now," Blair admitted with a half smile, "All, like, numbed out with painkillers - look, Megs, I need to get hold of Jim. Really urgently."

"Not sure if you can, Sandy. There was a break in the Red Stars case." She was watching him carefully, picking up on the fact he was practically vibrating with tension. "Sandy, are you okay?"

"What? Yeah, fine. " Blair shifted awkwardly under her scrutiny. "Why?"

"You're looking a bit ... rough," Megan said with characteristic bluntness. "So is Jim."

Blair looked uncomfortable. "We had a bit of an argument last night."

Connor lowered her voice even though there was no one else in the office. "There's something going on with him, isn't there? Like before - a ... Sentinel thing?"

The look from Blair was all the answer she needed. "What makes you say that?" the grad student asked warily.

"I'm not blind, Sandy; if you'd seen how he moved yesterday ... the only time I've seen him move like that was at the Temple," Connor replied in a low voice.

Blair winced. "Shit."

"I'm going over the statements of those we arrested and we had one who was swearing that Jim's eyes glowed a sort of yellow. The officers checking him in assumed he was high on something, but .." Megan paused a moment "I thought I saw something strange, too, though I was a bit muzzy from being shot."

"What did you see, Megan?" The intensity in Blair's low voice was enough to confirm her suspicions that there was indeed something going on with their own Detective of the Year.

"I thought I saw his hand and it was sort of dark and something like claws," she admitted quietly. "I didn't say anything, Sandy, because I thought it was me, but … he's been really on edge here since you haven't been in, and I'm ... well, well I'm a bit worried that it might be something like last time."

The look in her eyes showed that she was really concerned; 'last time' had encompassed a whole lot of things she had absolutely no idea how Blair had dealt with. Not least the fact he had been dead. And then stood by Jim, had faith in him even while, from her perspective at least until she had worked out what was going on, the police detective had aided and abetted the young grad students ... murderer.

"I'm not sure exactly what it is," Blair replied, gesturing with his hands. "But it is really important I get to him as quickly as possibly, even - no, especially if he is heading into danger."

"They're about to crash a Red Stars operations base," Megan replied. "They found the location using that idea of yours about passwords and the like."

"They did?" Blair looked pleased, but then frowned. "I have got to be down there, Megan! I need to .. damn."

He was going to upset Simon and Jim by horning in on the operation, but his instincts were overriding that fear that had held him back for so long. "Where are they?"

"Here, let me pull up the message board that we got into, it has the details." Connor moved around to let Sandburg look over her shoulder as she found the web address and logged in, pulling up the message board still intact.

Blair blinked a little. "New message," he said, catching the date and time. "Sent not that long ago."

"Bloody hell, Sandy.." Megan was scanning through the contents of the short message. "They know they are coming! How the hell could they know they're coming? We only cracked the code a few hours ago and there was no electronic trace left!"

Blair pushed his hair back so he could read more easily. "They didn't know that it was this board we are monitoring, otherwise they would have just shut it down. They must have found out a different way. We've got to get to them. What time are they due to raid? "

"In a bit under ten minutes. It's a silent Op, Sandy. The Feds were worried about leaks tipping them off so we won't be able to get through to them unless we physically get through to them," Megan said, awkwardly grabbing her coat as they both started to almost half run to the elevator. "Looks like they had good reason to be worried too."

"We can stop it then .. we can get to Simon and stop them going into the trap," Blair said with relief as he mentally calculate3d the distance.

Megan looked at him even as the elevator doors closed with unbearable slowness. "Only, if things are going to plan ... Jim and Agent Hawker are already inside."

The horrified look Blair gave her then was enough to make his fear contagious and she stabbed rapidly at the down button to try and hurry them along.

***

Jim had to admit he was impressed at how smoothly their part of the operation was running. Agent Hawker and her brother were both pros, and the entrance to the Warehouse was sufficiently far away from the main working area that there were no random watchers. There was enough cover to make sure their progress was easily disguised and a brief use of his senses showed that working machinery was principally over the other side of the building. All in all a pretty discrete set up and a good place for a meet.

The pair of them entered the back entrance of the warehouse undetected and moved silently through the dark corridors, Jim listening for anyone approaching until they reached the designated meeting spot in a dustsheet-covered room. It reminded Jim rather bizarrely of Sandburg's original place to stay, with that same sort of musty smell that came from dust and slightly damp cloth.

Agent Hawker loitered by the door as he checked the contents of the room in case they had been compromised and there was an ambush lurking. Nothing, all rather surprisingly clear. He turned and nodded, glancing at his watch. A couple more minutes.

"Hope your brother is punctual," he murmured in a low voice. "We've got about ten minutes to get out of here. "

"He'll be here," she replied even as Jim looked up suddenly, hearing the echoing steps of someone approaching quietly, the scent of gun oil, cordite, plastique and weaponry approaching. In other words, the presence of someone who spent most of their days dealing with weapons.

"Company," he murmured, pulling his gun discretely.

She looked carefully out of the door. "It's him." Her smile was genuine as the man, standing equal in height to Jim and looking suitably in contrast to his sister's neat FBI suit, paused, looked around warily, frowning and then appearing to recognise Jim.

"Lyle! God, it's good to see you.." Louise risked a hasty embrace even as the man looked over her shoulder, jumpy and paranoid.

"I thought you said you were coming alone?" he asked, frowning a little at Jim and pulling away. "Lou, I'm sorry about New York, but they locked down everything. Spent some time recovering. I can't be sure they haven't picked up what we've done, but I had to risk it."

"Why?" Louise asked. "What's happening?"

"It's coming to a head in here." Lyle Hawker was looking around warily. "Internal politics. The New York deal destabilised everything and it's turning into a mess of cutthroat politics. Rumour has it that there is some sort of takeover brewing which means they might be distracted."

Louise nodded. "What have you got?"

"You'll have to hurry and get it. I'm expected in five minutes in the centre of town and I'll barely make it, but they think I left about 10 minutes ago. I managed to set up a terminal in one of the rooms upstairs. Stole a logon, and I have left it linked into the main database. You should just have time to get up there, transfer the files and get out before the bust. That way they'll think it was another leak, I'll be in the clear with an alibi and I can get close to the big boss.." Lyle told them in a low voice and pulled out a blank CD. "Here, it's ready to roll. If you can get the information out it should be able to take out the whole group. " He turned to leave. "You better leave if you don't want to get stuck in your own raid; I have got to go...I'll soon be out of this, sis, don't worry."

"Thank God, Lyle." Louise nodded, relieved. "Where is the computer?"

He was already turning to leave, glancing over his shoulder with wary dark eyes. "Stairs along there, up and first room on the right. Hurry, there's not much time."

Jim didn't even get a chance to say anything before the undercover agent whirled out of the room and headed off.

He didn't like it. Something seemed off in their interaction. Surely there would have been something more from him than fear and anxiety on being reunited with his sister? He could smell the paranoia on him, but nothing else.

"Is he always like that?" he murmured as they half jogged up the stairs.

"What? Lyle?" Louise glanced at him as she opened the door cautiously "He goes in deep when he's undercover ... that's what makes him one of the best."

Jim had already checked with his hearing. There was no one there and the only sound was the hum of electrical equipment. Seemed to fit the description. They entered cautiously and found the covered-over monitor, concealing any light that might attract attention.

"I would have thought he would be more pleased to see you," Jim remarked, niggling at that point as he put the blank CD Lyle had passed him into the CD writer's drive even as Agent Hawker was typing carefully and dragging files over for copying.

"He'll show that when the job is done," Louise said confidently. "Big files ... going to take some time ... looks to be an export of their database. We'll have them, Jim, we'll be able to take the whole damn lot of them down." She grinned triumphantly, watching the files transfer.

Jim looked at his watch again. "We have seven minutes at the outside."

She looked at the computer as the information started to burn across in a whirring flicker of a red light and smiled. "We'll make it, even if I have to get out and push."

***

"Your team ready, Joel?" Simon asked quietly into his handset.

"Just say the word. Two minutes, sir." The captain's voice crackled back.

"On my mark, everyone." Simon broadcast on the secure channel. He clicked it off.

"Damn, I hope Jim is out of there."

This raid had pulled in some heavy armament from the Feds and it would be lucky if there was anything left of the place once they were through with it. Jim was meant to page him the all clear, but so far ... nothing. And they still had a go for ... two … no, one minute's time.

"Shit." He muttered under his breath, looking at his watch again on the off chance it might have stopped and buy his friend some more time. They had to make a go of it, but ..
But nothing, risks had to be taken, and Jim of all people knew the risks.

"Move out," he ordered finally, even as he was dimly aware of a car screeching to a halt behind him, outside the perimeter.

***

"We've got to go," Jim murmured urgently, looking at his watch. They would be moving in.

"Just one more minute," Louise replied.

Jim was edgy. This had seemed too easy. Way too easy. That raw feeling was back in force, and the urge to pace was nearly overwhelming. He listened, the crunching of stealthy approach from outside clear and...

Wait a moment. The absence of sound suddenly impinged on his consciousness. Where were the busy sounds of working people in the warehouse? With a frown he concentrated his sense of hearing into the building. There were plenty of mechanical sounds, machinery sounds, but if he filtered those out and concentrated, he couldn't hear any heart beats .. only the multiple quiet electronic beeps of timers.

Timers? Eyes widened and even as Louise ejected the complete copy of the CD, he grabbed it and grabbed her. Hissing, "It's a set up! This place is rigged to blow!"

"Wha..? What do you mean?" Louise hesitated as if she was going to try and get something else from the computer.

"We've got to get out of here." Jim was already moving and tugging her behind him as he fumbled for his phone, trying to get through to Simon.

He should have his phone on silent, unless he'd left it in the car.

"It's rigged to explode."

And the most strategic moment for it to explode? When all of the FEDs and Cascade PD stormed the building which would be any moment ... now ...

***

Blair sprinted up to grab hold of Simon who was partway to the building, panting for breath "Call it off! " he gasped out, even as Connor followed, favouring her arm as she tried to run. "They know - it's a trap!"

Simon nearly shrugged him off irritably and then stopped, looking at him sharply. "They know? How?!" It came out more aggressively than he anticipated.

"He's right, sir." Conner said, wincing as she drew up level, the running having jolted her arm. "Some sort of leak. We saw a message on that board warning about it!"

Simon grabbed his handset and bellowed into it. "Cease advance! Cease advance! Units return to position!"

"Where's Jim?" Sandburg queried urgently, looking at the group hesitating and then starting to fall back, "Where's...."

The crack of sound as the bottom level of the warehouse exploded gave them a moment to flinch even as the shockwave knocked them off of their feet and showered them with scintillating pieces of shattered glass and the thump of debris. The air was squeezed around them, a giant hand momentarily crushing them to the ground even as curling tentacles of fire and smoke rose and wavered to the sky, a leviathan monster of smoke and flame erupting from the shell of the building.

For a brief moment, the event was so shocking that nothing moved, that all the downed police officers seemed lifeless until the initial stunned horror wore off.

Simon wished he hadn't looked up, wished that he hadn't seen Blair pushing himself up and staring at the burning building with eyes so dark that they reflected the destroying flames on their surface.

Perhaps it would have been easier if he had yelled out, protested what had happened somehow instead of just staring at the flames as if someone had just gutted him, and ripped the purpose of his existence from his life.

Simon blinked, feeling the warm trickle of blood from a small cut run down near his eye even as he struggled to stand. He brushed it away irritably, too near shock for his emotions to surface. Jim had been in there, perhaps already dead before the trap was set for them - and part of his mind could see that was real and wanted to rage that a good friend was gone - while the other part with his ingrained training kicked in and demanded he look after the living first.

He shook his head, partially deaf from the explosion and saw Sandburg stagger to his feet and try to jog unsteadily towards the blazing deathtrap of the warehouse.

"Sandburg!" he called out and coughed at the bitter taste of smoke in the air. "Blair, get away from there!"

The look flashed over his shoulder was as close to someone on the edge of endurance as Simon ever wanted to see. "He could still be alive in there!" came the rough-voiced response. "He'll need help getting out."

There had been plenty of miracles with these two in the past, but Simon had to make the hardest decision of his life and give up his own hope for another miracle as he gave a curt order.

"Joel! Stop him!" he yelled, knowing if Jim had survived, he would kill anyone who allowed Sandburg to endanger himself for him.

The burly-looking captain stood and grabbed at Sandburg, missed and had to run after him to the point where skin grew taut and smarted with the radiating heat, even as Sandburg tried to find a way in through the barrier of flame. Joel tackled him, bringing him down, as part of the building started to collapse, flailing at the ground around them with angry lumps of red-hot masonry.

"Blair, no! No, give it up ... no one could survive in that!" Joel yelled, even as Blair struggled again to get to him.

"He's alive, man," Blair insisted, his voice cracking with the force of his denial. "He's got to be alive! But he'll be in trouble. Let me go, Joel! Let me ... go!" He twisted aside as a billow of smoke and thump indicated flooring was giving way inside the building, spewing out more debris.

"No, babe, come on, he wouldn't want you getting killed." Joel grabbed him again and started dragging the anthropologist away even as the front of the warehouse started to collapse inexorably towards them.

"Joel! Get the hell out of there!" Simon bellowed, running towards them to grab Sandburg's other arm and drag him bodily out of danger.

Blair turned and looked over his shoulder as he was carried away and the brief flash of image that he saw in that momentary glance seemed to burn permanently on mind.

A noticeably feminine shape seemed to crash forward from a second floor window as if pushed hard, just ahead of the start of a catastrophic collapse. Explosions surrounded the falling shape wrapping her in a shroud woven of fire and debris.

Thick dark smoke belched forth as the wall itself tumbled and for a split second there was a flare of brilliant light behind it, revealing for the briefest moment, the darker silhouette of a feline shape leaping outwards and down as the wall collapsed down behind it.
That moment crystallised in his mind, complete with the stench of acrid fumes that made his eyes water.

Yeah..acrid fumes, he was sticking to that story ...

He stopped fighting them then. There was no point, Jim had changed in reaction to a mortal danger and he needed to find him in his Jaguar form ... and work out how to bring him back. He hadn't imagined it. It was real. He had to believe that, otherwise he had to ask himself, why was he still here?

***

"Nice explosion." A tall, blond man commented to the darker-haired man next to him, who was standing looking over the scene with dark shadowed eyes. "But then you used a truckload of plastique."

"It was all we had on hand when the message came through," the other man replied, staring at the still blazing fire and all the activity below them. "Besides, you'll cover the cost with the profits from the Hessen deal, sir"

"Mm. I thought the plan was to get all of them as they entered the warehouse?" The taller man shielded his eyes, as the skeleton of the building burned bright in the dimming light.

"They hesitated and turned back. Ellison's partner raised the alarm, so Dawkins informed me. We still made an impact."

"You got Ellison and the leader of the investigation. The Board will be pleased."

"Yes." The response was cold and empty. "That was something at least."

"They were concerned about the involvement of Detective Ellison after you pulled that file on his recent cases and I took it to them. Especially after he managed to capture Astle. He was one of the best!" The blond man shook his head. "Shame, still ... at least he performed a service for us before he died."

"Who, sir? Ellison? Yes."

"You sure the illegal access and download was using Jacobs' secure login?" The blond man warmed his hands by putting them in his pockets.

"Yes sir, alarm bells will be going off all through the network, and neither of us will have been anywhere near this place at the time." Lyle Hawker looked around at the devastation he had caused. "They won't find Jacobs to question him either .. not that easy." He gave a slight, shark-like smile.

"You have the team ready for when they call the Board Meeting? Are you sure they will use the InTech building?"

Lyle could barely suppress his impatience at the idiocy of his boss. "Yes, sir. It's a new building, specialising in security systems and technology. It's got a helipad and is state of the art and the logical choice for a top-level meeting. It's considered impregnable." He gave a slight smile as he added, "Unless, of course, you are already on the inside."

The blond man laughed. "Well said. As long as the team is ready. The meeting is bound to be in the next day or so, that's for sure. You want a lift?"

Lyle Hawker shook his head. "No. Tonight, I think I need the fresh air," he replied, not wanting to spend any more time around the man than he had to. "Thank you, sir."

He turned to walk away, but stopped and stared at the fire one last time, giving a truly unpleasant smile as he did so, before walking steadily back off into town.

***

"The fire department are still working on getting the blaze under control," Joel reported to Simon back at Major Crimes "They say they must have used plastique or some similar sort of explosive for it to go up that thoroughly. I'd agree with that."

"Any chance of survivors?" Simon asked again, knowing the answer but having to ask anyway.

Joel shook his head slowly. "Not at those temperatures. I'm sorry Captain. Jim was a good man." Instinctively, both their gazes travelled to the soot-smeared form of Sandburg who seemed to be working intently on something with a tense sort of edgy energy that was almost painful to watch.

"The best, Joel," Simon said in a low voice. "You spoke to Sandburg after?"

Joel nodded. "We all have." They all knew. There were slim chances and there were fatal certainties … and all of them knew what had happened and which category this was. "He doesn't seem to accept it."

"Well, if we go through all the facts with him, maybe then ..."

"He knows them, sir. He was quoting them back to me. He knows what I told him is true. That no man alive could survive that collapse; that Jim gave his life to push Agent Hawker out to safety, as the place was about to come down. He knows that. He could probably recite all the statements backwards and forwards with everyone of them saying Jim Ellison is dead... but .." Joel swallowed a moment. "But he doesn't believe it."

Simon nodded slowly. "Agent Hawker was sure he didn't make it out behind her?" he asked, grasping at straws.

"She was barely conscious, sir," Joel replied quietly. "But I doubt it. She was caught enough in the explosion even as she fell that the doctors think it would be very unlikely that a second person could have cleared the worst of it."

There was little Simon could say to that and he swallowed, glancing away from the other captain. "Right." He looked at Sandburg again. "It's late, Joel, and we've all had a rough day. You all go home."

There was a time for them to be together, and a time for them to be alone, and remember. It was another unspoken ritual of their closed society. Remembering their fallen colleagues alone where no one would have to conceal the devastation of losing one of their own, and then later on coming together.

Joel nodded and moved off to pass the word around. Simon saw him tell Blair, and saw the polite brush-off, and the several attempts to get through to him but Joel might as well have been talking to a brick wall.

He acknowledged each of his team as they filtered out one by one until the office of Major Crimes was empty of everyone bar himself and Sandburg, sitting at Jim's desk working feverishly, the light of the desk lamp illuminating the haggard lines in his face. Simon was abruptly convinced that the grad student was very close to a complete breakdown and considering what he had managed to bounce back from in the past, that spoke volumes about the relationship between Jim and him.

"Sandburg." He went over to the desk, feeling the sharp sting of memories of looking out and seeing Jim sitting here. Sometimes frowning and working, sometimes having made some joke and laughing at Sandburg, or bouncing a rolled-up piece of paper over his partner's head into the bin. Or working late to get the job done. The times when he had had a rough discussion on the phone and looked out of the window to see Jim focus on him and give him some small sign of support, his discretion absolute and his loyalty unquestionable. There was no pain like losing someone you cared for, and for cops there was the knowledge it was someone who put their life on the line for you, got hurt for you, went that extra mile because they cared. He couldn't give in to it yet. Not with the kid relying on him to be the strong one.

"Blair. It's time to go home." Simon spoke softly.

The police observer looked up, the tiredness stark on his face, but his eyes were almost feverishly bright. "I can't, Simon, I've got to finish this." He continuing typing.

"Look, Blair, if you don't want to go back to the Loft on your own, I could ... I could stay, or you could come to mine." Simon offered gently, putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder. The thought of him going back to that empty apartment was somehow disturbing. He couldn't imagine going back into that place where memories of Jim would be spilling out of corner and object.

Blair shook his head. "No, look .. I've got to finish looking this up .I don't have much time."

That did not sound good. "Looking what up, Blair?"

"Details about Jim." Blair replied absently. "Time is running out for him."

Simon took a deep breath. Joel had been right, this was worse than he thought. "Blair, Jim's gone. You've seen the reports - he's gone, son, I'm sorry, but he's gone."

Blair's blue eyes looking up at him were manic with a form of desperate denial. "No, Simon, he's not. I know he's not dead. He's.. changed."

Okay, if Sandburg was clinging to the edge it was on the side of insanity, not sanity. "Sandburg, I want to believe that, but it's not possible. I know how you must feel..."

He was totally unprepared for the way Blair whirled on him, "Do you? I don't think you could, Simon. I don't think anyone can. I don't think anyone can understand how I feel right now. I'm failing him, Simon, every moment that I fail to find the solution to this problem is like knowing somewhere he's alive, in pain and needing rescue and I'm the only one who might even have a clue how to find him!"

"Jim is dead, Blair." Simon tried again to reason with him. "I know you and Jim had been having issues over this hallucination that he had changed into a .. cat or something, and believe me, if I thought it was at all possible I would seize the opportunity. Jim was one of my best friends, and I ..." His throat tightened as the lump of emotion there seemed to burn suddenly. "I want more than anything for him to be alive, someway, somehow, but it's just not going to happen. You've got to understand that, son. "

He blinked a few times, feeling the burning prickle of moisture in his eyes, taken unawares by that surge of emotion.

He felt a hand on his arm "Simon .. Simon, you have to trust me on this. I'm not nuts."

That was enough to get an unsteady snort of surprise.

" Hey, no more than usual, then. Jim and I, we had an argument about this because I had some proof that he changed." Blair stared at the screen though it was evident he wasn't seeing anything. "He was still mad when he left this morning, only.."

Simon winced. Well, that explained Sandburg's refusal to let go of him.

"Only it is true. I've been doing research on it, I have data and hypotheses from the leading minds of anthropology. The concept of the Man-Jaguar is one of the most deeply-rooted commonalties to exist all through time and history in the Peruvian area. Man, the link with Sentinels is practically a given!" Blair was babbling, talking rapidly in the manner he used to try and persuade Jim one of his wild theories was correct. "The animal spirit, the Nahual, can be invoked to surface as the physical form, Simon, in times of need or by ritual. If today didn't count as a time of need, I don't know what is!"

"Sandburg, do you know what you are suggesting?" Simon resisted the urge to take a grip on him and shake him. "It's not possible. However much you want it to be possible, it's not. Jim is dead, do you understand that?"

"I understand that he will be if I don't work out the answer." Blair replied, facing the barrage of Simon's words and letting them hit him. "Without the proper .. I don't know, ritual or whatever, the nahual spirit dominates and then Jim will be gone completely. I can't let that happen, I just can't. That is what I am trying to work out."

Simon sighed, shaking his head in despair. "Blair, you can't seriously believe ..." He stopped, biting off the phrases that would have ridiculed the police observer's belief. Shock, the kid was in shock and trying to cope. And here he was trying to systematically knock down whatever fragile structures he was using to keep himself propped up and to cope with the loss of his best friend. "Look, go home. Take days off if you need to. This is going to be toughest on you."

Blair looked at Simon again, about to protest and then realised with a jolt how much pain the older man must be in. He didn't have even the glimmer of hope that he did. As far as he knew, one of his best friends had died today, set up in a raid that he had helped to organise. If you knew him the guilt was visible, the loss etched deep. And he wouldn't leave unless he did.

He stopped a moment and copied work into emails and sent them to his laptop. "I'm sorry, Simon," he said even as he closed down. "I didn't mean to do this to you, or the others .."

Simon stared, not following why he was apologising. "Do what?" he asked finally.

"Make you think you have to deal with a lunatic anthropologist as well as the loss of one of your team. I know you're hurting, man. I'm sorry."

Simon was nearly speechless. Only Sandburg could do that to him. Here was the kid on the edge of a nervous breakdown, having just lost his best friend, and he was worried about him?

"You're unbelievable, Sandburg," he replied, shaking his head. "Unbelievable. Look, you want to stay with me tonight?" Maybe he could get him drunk, get the grief out that way, and wait for the devastation of reality to hit him. This obsession was NOT healthy.

"No, Simon, it's okay. I need to be back home." Blair replied, grabbing his coat. "I can do some more work on this, get some answers maybe. I'll be in tomorrow."

"You don't have .."

"Yes, I do, Simon, I have to be here." Blair stated firmly.

"You won't be doing anything outside of this office unless you promise me there will be no repeat of what you did after the explosion." Simon said gruffly as they walked towards the elevator together.

"What did I do?" Blair asked, obviously still thinking as the elevator started its trip down.

"Run straight towards the fire - what were you thinking?" Simon said with a little bit of worried anger escaping.

Blair glanced at him. "I was thinking I could help Jim," he said after a long pause.
The doors opened at the garage and they stepped out and Blair turned to head towards the Volvo.

"Jim wouldn't want you getting killed over him," Simon called after him even as the grad student bent to unlock his car door.

Blair seemed to freeze a moment and then just as Simon believed he had pushed him over the edge, he was amazed to hear a chuckle and then barely suppressed laughter. He looked over at Simon, his eyes dark and open with a brief flicker of nameless emotion that didn't match the smile and laughter.

"Man, you could have told me that, oh say ... about a month ago. "

Simon nearly dropped the cigar he had been automatically getting out of his pocket as he stared at the younger man.

"Night, Simon," Blair said, raising his hand in a wave and Simon automatically responded, too stunned by those words to even move as Blair pulled out of the garage, leaving him alone there in the dark.

The Captain of Major Crimes had never felt so uncertain, so lost while having the conviction that he might be on the verge of losing more than one friend one way or another. How could they have missed what had been happening to the young anthropologist? Why had they sat there discussing it with everyone apart from the person who it had happened to as if somehow he wasn't really there to answer anymore. In some strange way it was if a part of them had yet to realize he had come back to life.

Had Jim missed it too and now it was too late to ever undo that damage?

***

Blair considered that the problem with belief was that the more intensely you believed in something, the more solid, more real it was to you, the stronger was the doubt-shadow that it cast.

Though Blair believed that Jim was alive and in the nahual form of a Black Jaguar, he didn't know it. He also believed it as if his own life depended upon it, which in a peculiar way, he reasoned it did, but the doubt was still there. For all he didn't go to bed and was on the couch instead, with the balcony doors open, reasoning that if there were natural instincts dominant in Jim, the jaguar might return to its lair if it could, the shadow of a doubt still niggled.

It gnawed at him quietly as the fire of the stove died down, and remained a glowing ember in the darkness behind him as he stared out at the night beyond the window, willing Jim to come home.

And nothing. If he were truthful, he would have said he had hoped that the Jaguar would have been close already. It made sense.

With each moment that passed the tower of his belief was being relentlessly eroded by the self-interrogation of doubt.

'Mr Sandburg, can you really say you saw the shape in the smoke? Could you be a hundred percent sure? Hand on heart, swear on the religious text of your choice, completely sure that the dark shape in the smoke had been there?' And the whispered answer, if he was being truthful, was .. no. He couldn't be sure. For all the reasons that Simon and Jim had considered beforehand, he could not categorically say there wasn't a seed of doubt - and there was a possibility that he was wrong.

Truth was pain, he decided. Strange how he could feel this so acutely when his own emotional injuries were still numb. And he could feel it. He could feel even the possibility that Jim was gone taking on a shape that seized at him. Fear dipped icy fingers into the pit of his stomach and gripped, squeezing the emptiness into his body. A fear so insidious and pervasive that he lay there on the couch in the darkness as vulnerable to its touch as he had been to David Lash, unable to deny the whispers of doubt.

If Jim is dead..

All the evidence told him he was. Even the miraculous survival of Agent Hawker had brought with it more evidence for the death of his friend in her semi-conscious testimony to his self-sacrifice and bravery.

Please, pleaseplease.. Blair looked out into the night, his throat tight with a surge of fear trying not to succumb to that "what if."

He looked over at the answer phone again, drawn there. He wished he hadn't played the message automatically when he got in to the empty apartment. He wished he hadn't stood there as Jim's voice had rolled out of the machine into the space where he should have been standing next to him. There was no way he could ever describe the mingling pain and his curious need to stand and just hear the words, so mundane but .. oh God..

"Chief? You there? ... Pick up if you're there ..." He could hear the sigh and could imagine all too clearly how Jim must have turned and tucked his phone in to himself.

"Look, Chief, we've had another break - it's to do with your idea and I just wanted to say.." There was a pause as if Jim were searching for words, "I wanted to say I was sorry about going off at you this morning. It's .. well look, I'll admit something is a bit screwy, I know I should have said it before, but you know.."

Blair found himself nodding to the recorded voice of a ghost. He knew, he understood. He should have pushed it the night before and he hadn't.

"Mind, I still don't think it is what you think it is, but I just wanted you to know that I'm willing to try and work with you on this. You're right .. it is my problem and not yours. So, uh, see you about seven, yeah? Get something in, my shout and we'll go through this together, Chief. "

The click had made him jump and he'd played the tape again and again, never quite giving in to tears, because that would be admitting Jim was gone. Tears were for the lost. Lost friends, lost loves, lost moments in time ... and Jim wasn't lost. Couldn't be lost. So no tears.

So he couldn't grieve, he couldn't deal with that aching loss inside though the rare Ellison apology discovered too late nearly destroyed him. He didn't want to be right, he never wanted that. This wasn't a game where he scored points for getting the right answers; it had stopped being about that a long time ago. It was, as he had said many times, about friendship; about what he could do for his friend not for any more reason than the fact he was his friend. Jim didn't understand that. He wasn't sure he understood it himself, it was just the way things were, and the way things should be. Being a friend was not about what a difference it made to the other person, it was what a difference it made to you; how it changed you, not them. And God, how he'd changed by knowing Jim, more than anyone could know.

The night wind swayed the drapes and he shivered, resisting the urge to play the message just one more time. He had never wished so hard for anything in his life, wished with enough intensity that it would burn him up inside, burn away that icy chill, drive off the nameless fear that ate at him.

But nothing, still nothing except an exhaustion that made him feel as if his limbs had been cast in lead, weighed down with depression and wrapped in the constriction of sorrow.

The nahual Jaguar didn't come, but sleep did, shaking vision-dreams featherlike from its silent wings.

***

Opening his eyes to a canopy of stars when he knew he was barely asleep inside an apartment indicated that he was dreaming. Realising that he was stripped to the waist and tied in place on something uncomfortable and stonelike was an indication this was probably going to be another nightmare.
A glance to one side revealed steps dropping away towards the dark sea of the jungle seething at night, an ocean of restless foliage. Flickering torchlight made the stone glow golden around him even as the night breeze whipped the flames higher. Around him he could smell the metallic tang of blood, taste the dark bitterness of death in the air, shocked at its familiarity.

His attention prickled and he looked over into darkness and there was the rumble of a large feline snarl in the shadows beyond the torchlight.

His heart rate leapt, with hope and fear mixed. "Jim?"

Being tied down to a large block, uh ... to a sacrificial altar was not a good sign when there was a hungry Jaguar lurking. Perhaps it wasn't Jim at all; maybe it was Alex or some other Sentinel hunting him in his dreams. He struggled then, thrashing to get free and then flinched as the tall shape of a warrior rose above him, a black obsidian blade glittering with the flickering light.

"No!" he protested. "No.." he realised abruptly who it was and gasped out as the knife raised high "Incacha! Please don't!"

The shaman spirit turned to him looking at him with wise dark eyes. "You do not wish to be free? You are not tied here, just tangled. " He asked as he slit the bonds holding Blair there and helped him to sit.

"Thanks. I mean ..." Blair was struggling to merge the urging of his observing mind, and that part of himself submerged in the dream. His observing awareness was clamouring at him to get answers, tap into the knowledge of these dream visions. The rest of him was just trying to cope - rather badly.

"Your Sentinel is being lost to the darkness."

"I know! I know, Incacha. I don't know what to do, though." It was that same powerless feeling he felt when confronted by Sentinel problems.

The shaman's spirit looked at him and said, "Save him or let him die. The choice is yours."

"But how? I don't know how. I'm no shaman, I know you said I was, but.."

"The way is in you," Incacha replied cryptically. "Would you sacrifice your life for him?"

"Yes." Blair replied looking at the bright golden eyes fixed on him from the darkness. Hungry eyes. Eyes that wanted to devour everything.

"Then the way is in you," Incacha repeated and pressed the obsidian knife into his hand. "There is much power in the choice of sacrifice. But this is your choice. Take or Give. You or him. Find your own choice and think and feel the nature of that choice. Understand it, shaman, understand the reasons behind instinct and with it will come the way. Be ready."

The obsidian shone like the bitter tear of some dark god in his hand and he looked up as the black Jaguar prowled forward, needful of something from him. He had the knife, he could fend him off, and likely both of them would die or he could just ...

Raise the knife and turn it inwards on himself and save his friend, by feeding the nahual with his own life.

A choice maybe, but for him not much of one; he could not allow Jim to fall into darkness if a mere exchange of his life for Jim was all that was needed to save him. It was times like this that the nagging feeling his life was on loan from his Sentinel came into its own. It made decisions like this a lot easier.

No need for this sacrifice to be tied to an altar and have his heart cut out, no, this one would do it himself and offer everything for the life of his friend.

Blair dropped to his knees in front of the panther, raising the blade in front of him and in the spilt second where he decided to plunge it to his own heart the Jaguar roared in protest and he woke with a start.

The noise seemed to echo in his own head in the predawn grey of the morning. He was shivering from the coldness of the room and he looked around hopefully. No Jim, no nahual ... nothing...

Things were not looking so good. He brushed back his hair and coughed a little. He was tired and drenched in sweat and he felt like he was missing something, but was desperately afraid that he hadn't. Maybe this was why he had come back. Just for a short while, but long enough to save Jim from being lost. He could probably count it as time well spent.

He tried cooking some breakfast - some bacon and eggs, but he just sat and looked at it until it went cold. It was more Jim's type of breakfast, anyway.

And as that random thought crossed his mind, he could not stop himself from the conviction that he needed to put a breakfast out on the balcony, just in case.

It was with a mixture of hopeless embarrassment and defiant certainty that he put a selection of some of Jim's favourite things out on the balcony just as the sun rose over Cascade.

And every moment he hoped that the jaguar would appear. That something would come to prove his intuitions, but it didn't.

"Come home, Jim," he murmured in the chill dampness of the Cascade morning. "I need you. Come home."

But there was no miracle on this early morning and none even later when he made his way into the office, drawn there by the need for justice.

***

The nahual balam licked at its burnt and singed fur absently, even as its mind tried to process what had happened. The surety was there again, growing stronger in the heart of the self that was Jim Ellison. He could remember, if he tried, some of what happened; he could remember walking on two-legs, a stupid inefficient way to move, it seemed, and being with the female - with Louise, and running to get out of the building and being trapped. It was getting harder to frame his own thoughts coherently. The jaguar-thoughts were like an insidious drug. Cats did not make mistakes. Feline thought centred on dividing the world into right and wrong, and what the cat thought was good was "right" and what was bad became "wrong". Jim was becoming rapidly aware of how much of the human mind and personality was defined by reaction to uncertainty, doubt, judging themselves wrong or incorrect. Cats did not do that, and having the shape of cat-thoughts in his head was like riding on a continuous high of heroin or another souped-up narcotic. He recognised that he'd sometimes touched the fringe of these thought-shapes before; when in the heat of the fray, his judgement became absolute and decisive, but as the thoughts remained present, more and more of the mind that was Jim was being smoothed away.

He remembered -What did he remember? The explosion and seeing that they had to get out, getting clear of debris and hearing the roar of fire behind him and the surge of heat. Pushing Louise in front of him and half throwing her out the window.

And running and knowing he had run out of time and jumping knowing he had to clear the collapse, fire all around him as he stretched, and carried on stretching, changing mid jump, cloaked in smoke as the building began to collapse. He had landed heavily, turning, seeing the female .. Louise had not cleared the danger zone and darting back to drag her away.

Only the fire ... the fire pushed at the animal instincts in this shape and demanded with an internal voice that he fought to control that he run, leave the dangerous hot fire ... run, run ... get away, for the bright hotness could not be fought, only evaded.

He'd managed to control that up until the point where Agent Hawker was clear and fiery debris rained down around him in the smoke and dust.
His control had snapped, and jaguar instinct had swallowed him whole, submerging him as he ran fast, away from that place, away from the smoke and heat, to hide and be safe.
When Jim had clawed his way back to the surface it had been night again and he had tried everything he knew to change back. He'd tried willing it. He'd tried breathing exercises that Blair had shown him, which he discovered were not suited to Jaguar bodies. He tried calling up a vision, but he was living a vision, so that was no good. Here he was, a massive black panther, the power of his body like a coiled spring, able to run, jump, move, kill in a ridiculously easy fashion, but he had never felt so helpless in his life.
He was drowning very slowly in emotional quicksand. Slowly but inexorably it was dragging him in, consuming him, and he was terrified.

That sounded good - Jim Ellison, terrified. Terror was something that happened to other people. Yeah, right - Blair had him nailed with the fear-based responses; he could see that and could feel that as the vital part of him that was resisting the absorption by the cat-thoughts.

He had only himself to blame. Sandburg had tried to warn him, to work with him and he'd spent all this time pushing him away because he hadn't wanted to face any more change and admit anything new about himself.

He'd struggled then to find his way to somewhere he could hide out until he could get back in control. Every time he approached a human, that sharp hunger rose and started to drown out his own thoughts, that need to devour and feed somehow connected to humans. Instinct warred with human reactions, but both sets of reactions drew him back towards 852 Prospect. In the dampness of the night he returned there, but to the roof. Try as he might he could not get the panther part of him to willingly enter that lair - apartment.

He could hear Blair's heartbeat, he could smell the fear, hope and anxiety on him. But the Jaguar hungered every time he thought of going near him and he didn't trust himself to control the beast if he became unbalanced by emotion.

That night a panther had slept on the roof over apartment 307, watching over the Great City with golden yellow eyes.

The following morning, Jim found the edges between him and his nahual-self blurring even more. Memories were merging, losing their shape and acquiring the fading soft edges of dreams. But he did remember that he liked the food that was put out for him even if he had to wait until Blair had left before he could drop from the roof down onto the balcony to eat it.

The hope he felt at that moment steadied him and gave him focus. Blair knew. Blair knew what had happened to him. If he knew his partner and friend at all, he wouldn't rest until he had an answer. That had been what he had always done, teased and pulled at the possibilities until an answer came loose that would work. Even when Jim told him not to bother, to ignore it, that it was stupid, that he was stupid...anything to get the tests and trials to stop. But they always found the answer in the end. He had to trust Blair could do the same this time.

In the meantime the nahual part of him wanted to hunt and that insistence was growing stronger as the sun rose. Very well, they would hunt, but he would choose their prey. No one said he couldn't combine his instincts as a police officer with that of the nahual. Jaguars need to track and hunt; he'd go hunting whoever tried to have him killed.

***

Megan was watching Blair and steeling herself for the talk Simon had requested her to have with him as a friend. If there was anyone who looked like he needed to be taking time off, it was their police observer. She wouldn't put any money on him having slept the night before, not with him looking pale, with dark smudges of fatigue brushed under his eyes blending into the rainbow bruise colours on the left side of his head. When he crashed he was going to go down hard, she had to agree with Simon on that one.
And without Jim there, did he know there was anyone to catch him? Well, that was why she was going to talk to him, even as they tried to catch those responsible for his best friend's death.

Megan sighed a little. Jim being gone struck deep. She'd stayed because of him, because she had touched the edges of the sort of friendship that he and Sandy had and, with her typical Australian front, had pushed and pushed at them and instead of pushing her away, to her surprise, the pair of them had let her in. Since the fountain, she had experienced a kind of dread that she might one day have to deal with one of them after something had happened to the other.

And in all the times that those morbid thoughts had found her, she'd never been able to come up with anything to say that might be remotely helpful.

Still, Simon had asked her. She got the impression their Captain was too shaken by the loss of his close friend himself to deal with the possibility that Sandy might be having some sort of Post-Traumatic Stress problem. The fact that he said that the young anthropologist was acting strangely wasn't a good start, but she could hardly blame him for going off the rails a bit.

She managed to wait until he went in to look at the evidence pile that they had on the table in the briefing room alone and walked in after him, closing the door.

Blair glanced up. "Hey, Connor," he greeted her, looking back at the work in front of him. He rubbed his eyes a moment. He was starting to get disturbing flashes of images impinging over his vision. He was beginning to think that if this was what Jim had gone through while Alex was around, no wonder he had seemed distant and irritable. "Something I can do for you?"

"I came to see how you are doing," Megan said in a soft voice.

Blair shrugged. "I've been better." His tone was even as he flicked a look up at the tall woman.

"Simon's worried about you," she said, half sitting on the table. "He thinks you are .. um.."

"Losing it? A detective short of a Crime unit? One anthropologist short of an expedition?" Blair replied, meeting her gaze dead on.

Megan couldn't quite suppress a chuckle at that. "Sandy, come on, he's worried about you. So am I."

"You don't need to worry about me, Megan. I'm fine. I'm always fine," Blair murmured, looking at the piece of paper in his hand again as if that would stop the other detective from prying into his thoughts.

"You know, Sandy, we get special outback training over in Australia. Part of that is the ability to smell a load of bullshit when it is shovelled your way." She leaned forward. "You're not alright - and you haven't been for some time."

The anthropologist put his pen down and looked up at her. "You know, I'll give you 10 out of 10 for observations skills and a big fat zero when it comes to timing." He said that a little sharply. "Because frankly, everyone's timing sucks on this. I cannot do this now; I can't go through all of this now. If it's going to make you all happy and shut Simon up, I'm fully aware that I'm probably well inside the town borders of Nutsville and looking for a nice padded room to rent. But what I do know is that if I don't hold on long enough to solve this I will have failed the best friend I ever had and betrayed what little trust I managed to regain from him." His eyes were a too vivid blue then and he looked away again. "I swear ... Megs, just help me do this now and after, if I'm still around you can take me shopping for a nice straitjacket of my own. Because if I'm wrong, I'll need it."

Megan blinked a minute. "Wait .. wait, what do you mean, if you are still around? Sandy? What are you planning?"

"Hey, man, nothing - just a melodramatic turn of phrase to get you on my side, you know?" Blair gave a hesitant smile to try and disarm the abrupt tension his comment had spawned. "Megan, please. Simon can't deal with it, but you at least have an open mind. I think Jim is still alive."

Connor stared, not having expected that as a twist. "Still alive? But … the reports? I mean, Sandy, we were there, you saw what happened. There was no way Jim could have escaped."

"I told you there were some Sentinel things going on with Jim again," Blair replied. "We argued about it. Before he left that morning, because he couldn't believe it. What you saw the day before, what I saw when the sniper was about to kill me ... that was real."

Megan stared. "Sandy, you can't seriously be suggesting what I think you are suggesting, can you?"

Blair nodded. "I'm sure of it, as sure as I can be about any of this stuff. Otherwise, why would I know, like gut deep, that Jim is running out of time?"

"Because you are trying to make yourself feel you can change what had happened?" Megan suggested cautiously.

"No, no man, you think I don't know the difference between this and survivor's guilt? I've lost people I've cared for before, I do know what it feels like," Blair admitted in a soft voice. "This is different. After I died ..." He cleared his throat a moment. "After I died, I had this whole out-of-body thing which, I found out later, Jim shared. We merged then to bring me back. I don't know anything else about what happened, but that .. but we sort of connected and I can't help but feel I would know if he were really gone." He stopped, suddenly aware he had been babbling somewhat incoherently and backtracked hastily. "Sorry. Sorry, you can tell Simon all his worst fears are confirmed, okay? I'll understand. It won't stop me from doing what I have to, though."

Connor was staring him as if he had grown a second head. "Sandy, don't you know what happened on that day? Haven't you even spoken about that?"

It almost sounded accusatory and she bit her lip as she tried to call that back.

Blair shook his head slowly. "Not an easy subject to bring up. But hey, I read the reports, so I guess that covers it."

"My God." Megan shook her head. "You don't know, do you? You don't know what he was like then?"

"I know that Simon told me that he wouldn't let me go, that he kept trying." Blair replied, "That he came after me, and that's all I need to know. That's all I need to know to do what I have to do now, to keep going. There is a hope, Megan, a slim hope but one nonetheless. I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't go after him."

"You always do, mate." Megan replied in a soft voice. She had a dilemma going on. If Jim was dead, then Blair was so far gone that he needed serious help, but if Blair were right, then, well, this could be their only chance.

She looked at her friend and colleague again, and realised something else. Blair thought he was completely alone in this. Whether Jim was out there or not became irrelevant. What he needed was someone with him, someone trusting him, and she could give him that at least. He was looking down now as if drawing in on himself, not expecting anything from any of them because that was what he had had since he died.

"So, no worries, Sandy, Connor's on the case," she said brightly. "What do we need to do?"

The stunned amazement on his face was more than enough payback for that risk.
"You did hear everything I just said? You got the fact that I think Jim has turned into a black Jaguar in there?"

"Yep. You ought to see the things that happen in the Outback sometimes. Man turns into Jaguar? Pah, barely news," she disclaimed with a dismissive gesture. "So, we have an AWOL feline detective and a group of international gun merchants. What do we go after?"

She leaned over to reach for a file and felt a soft touch on her hand.

"Thanks, Megan." It was barely audible, but sincere and told her that he knew exactly what she was doing, and was appreciating it, so she nodded in response as they both continued as if that moment hadn't occurred.

"I need to get in to speak to Agent Hawker. I'm thinking that Jim - well, knowing Jim, Jaguar or not, he is going to go after the RedStars," Blair said, all business now. "And she was the last one to see Jim alive; she might have seen something."

"Like who set them up? You know the Feds think they made our computer hacking."

Blair shook his head. "No, I don't think so - I mean why post a message on the board, warning of the attack, if that was where you got the information from? I mean, man, that would be plain stupid. One of those 'Server temporarily down' pages would have done it. They didn't know that's where we got them, they found out elsewhere. A leak."

Connor nodded, following that logic. "Not one of Major Crimes and the only other contact was ..."

"Agent Hawker to her brother." Blair finished. "I've been looking up a lot about him, just in case."

"Anything?" The Australian leafed through the proffered file

"Impressive record. This isn't his first deep cover," Blair replied. "He's had commendations all over the place. It doesn't look like it's him, but I can't see where else it could have come from. It doesn't make sense!"

"There IS nowhere else it could have come from except between Agent Hawker and him. And if it was her, then she would have known when to get out," Connor mused. "Perhaps they were onto him and monitoring what he was doing?"

Blair nodded slowly. "That's a possibility, yeah. But I'm still thinking Agent Hawker is the key to this."

"Simon's got an alert coming in for him, the moment that she wakes up," Megan replied. "You'll have to hook up with him."

"Oh man!" Blair groaned. "He already thinks I'm off of this planet."

"Sandy, he thinks that about you at the best of times." Connor smiled a little as she said it.

"Thanks," Blair replied in a tone rich in sarcasm. "I'll speak to him. Um, I'll just take him a coffee or something and try and sweeten him up."

"Good luck on that one." The Australian inspector smiled at him "But if anyone can do it, you can."

"Yeah, yeah." Blair got up and, with her ushering him out of the room, set about his next phase of investigation.

***

Jim had guided his nahual form back to the explosion site, the heat still in the stone and earth as he padded carefully around, unseen.

No different to doing what he usually did, looking, smelling, tasting, hearing - only a Sentinel Jaguar's senses were as clear and sharp as he had experienced coming out of the pool at the Temple of Light. He had that same feeling in him, the feeling that he had all the answers, that everything made sense and that it was only a matter of time before they came together. He was seeing smells, seeing with Sentinel vision what a feline saw. Heat, electromagnetic fields all blended and tangled into one - every person walked around him cloaked in a glory of rainbows, the energy fields of their bodies in constant motion. He didn't dare stare too long and hard in case he zoned or the nahual part of him dominated, but now he understood why cats sat and just stared. If they saw this every time they looked at a human or any other creature, then no wonder they would sit and just watch. And presumably at some point they learned to understand.

Staying out of sight was not so hard for a feline. Even for a hulking great panther. People didn't expect to see a panther loitering around Cascade, so if they glimpsed him at all he was written off as a stray dog or an aberration, at least for now.

He sniffed around the exit of the place, where he and the female .. and Louise (he'd have to remember to use names and focus) had entered. He smelt the trail of the two-leg ..the man, her brother, clearer and sharper away from the area. It smelt almost musty; a decaying yellow in his perception as if something was slowly rotting away. He certainly hadn't noticed that before when he had met him, not even a tinge of anything more than aftershave. Perhaps animals smelt more than just a physical smell, after all. It was easy to track ...what was peculiar was that he had obviously stood watching, because the smell was concentrated, and there had been another man with him.

Had it been him? The two-leg kin of the female? He raised his head watching the faint wavering yellow decaying trail flickering like a mirage to feline eyes. He would follow. That two-leg had moved into the city on foot. Easy prey for a skilled hunter.

The Jim part of his mind thought that was strange even though he couldn't remember why, but the nahual balam curled its tongue around the sensitive whiskers and stalked after its chosen prey, rumbling with anticipation deep in his chest. Hunts were simple and clear. He would hunt, he would feed the hunger that burned in him yet.

***

'He ran past the Temple rising up out of the jungle and turned, looking around for the sound that had called him.

There, there it was.

"Blair! Chief, I can't hold on ..."

Jim's voice, somewhere near. Wait a minute? Hadn't he been with Simon, waiting to be given permission to visit the recovering Agent Hawker - how had he slipped here? Had he fallen asleep or was he just sitting next to Simon, staring into space like Jim did in a zone?

Either way, he was back in the dreamscape and there had to be meaning to these experiences - and hopefully answers. He ran through the jungle, past the temple and then had to stop suddenly, teetering on the edge of a vast chasm. At the bottom, a mighty river thundered, a river that shifted before his eyes into thunder and boiling storm clouds, twisting and writhing alive.

"Chief ..."

He glanced over and saw Jim, slipped part way down the cliff, barely clinging on. "Help me, Chief, I can't .. I can't hold on."

"I'm here, man, I'm here. I'll get you up." Blair lay flat and reached down desperately with his hand, to try and take hold of his friend.
He stretched, Jim stretched and as Blair looked beyond Jim, the stormcloud river seemed to boil up beneath him, reaching for the trapped Sentinel.

"You'll need a rope!" Jim advised, sounding strained, looking at him, trusting him to find something.

"Shit, man ... I don't have a rope," Blair replied, reaching again, fingertips splayed and nearly touching his friend's questing hand.

"What's that wrapped around your wrist then?" Jim asked even as he slipped a little further. "Hurry, Chief!"

Blair looked and saw the rather surreal fact that there was a rope around his left wrist. Except it was a rope that seemed to be growing out of him. He gingerly pulled at it and nearly gagged as the rope seemed to unravel his skin, plaiting itself longer with strands of fresh blood. Jim was a long way down and he couldn't help but wonder how much it would take to reach him.

The swirling storm clouds behind Jim drew together into the snarling, roaring head of a panther, rushing up the chasm to engulf them.

No time to hesitate. He ripped at the blood-and-skin rope, hurling it down, feeling a deeper tug all through him as Jim's hand gripped it and the Jaguar storm roared with fangs of lightning and swallowed them both whole.

He yelped and startled awake, opening his eyes to the busy corridors of Cascade General.

"Easy." Simon patted his arm. "Didn't mean to scare you, Sandburg, just getting your attention."

Blair blinked blearily, having jumped nearly out of his skin at Simon's touch. "Wha?"

"You must have dozed off for a couple of minutes. Looked like you needed it." The police captain still looked at him, concerned. "You with me?

"Yeah, yeah sure, Simon." He got up stiffly "She's awake?"

"And talking. Her injuries could have been much worse, she'll probably be released by tomorrow. It was the concussion they were monitoring, mainly." Simon said, not unaware of the irony of telling Sandburg that. "Come on."

The pair of them entered the hospital room that it became evident Agent Hawker had only just been wheeled in to, as there was a nurse still fixing her up. She seemed alert enough, however, as she turned to see who had entered.

"Captain Banks .."

"Agent Hawker, good to see you are making a speedy recovery." He saw her glance at Blair. "This is Blair Sandburg, Jim's .. he was Jim's partner."

"I'm very sorry, Blair." The FBI Agent apologised immediately. "I owe my life to your partner's bravery and sacrifice."

"There's quite a few people who do." Blair replied, clearing his throat, to stop his voice getting rough. He tried a slight smile and was aware that she looked uncomfortable.

"Do you feel up to talking about what happened?" Simon asked in a low voice "Anything you can tell us? They knew we were coming, so there had to have been a leak."

"I've been thinking about that, Captain." Louise pushed herself into a half-sitting position. "The only thing I can think of is that my message to Lyle was intercepted somehow. I'm so sorry … The meeting went fine, and Lyle had arranged for us to get a download of the entire Red Star database. That's why we were still there when the building blew. Detective Ellison knew somehow that something was wrong, but he grabbed the CD with the download and. … it gets a bit fuzzy after that," she admitted.

"I can understand that. You haven't got anything? Anything that might help us?" Simon asked in a low voice even as the monitors continued their metronome beeping behind them.

"I had been scanning the entries as they downloaded," she replied. "One location kept coming up, one that linked in with previous information."

"Don't tell me - another warehouse?" Simon asked, having to stop himself from picking out another cigar.

"No, not this time. The InTech building. The more I think about it, the more likely it is that InTech is the shell company. You have to get licences to shift some of the technology they produce and have to avoid scanning with surveillance equipment in case it fries the chips. Perfect smuggling cover. If the big chiefs are in Cascade and that is their base, that is where they will go."

Simon glanced at Blair and nodded. " We'll check it out," he promised. "Anything else you can remember?"

"Lyle said there was an internal power struggle going on, that might make them careless." She was obviously struggling to stay awake, and the nurse frowned at them both.

Sandburg remained silent, just watching her intensely and she seemed discomfited by his attention. "I'm .. just really sorry about Jim," she said, feeling the need to apologise again to this young man who looked like he was teetering on the edge of some abyss. "If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be alive - I still don't exactly know how I got clear of the building after he pushed me out of the window. I thought one of your men had pulled me clear, Captain Banks, but apparently not. It's all still hazy."

Simon was disturbed by the light of hope that came into Blair's expression then and rested a cautioning hand on his arm. "No, Sandburg, just leave it, okay?" he murmured in a low voice. "Don't do this to yourself."

Blair looked about to protest and then backed off. "I'll just uh .. wait outside a moment," he muttered under his breath, turned and stepped out of the room.

That had to have been Jim, had to have been! Conviction flooded him with energy that ignored his exhausted state. To him, the random comment was proof that Jim had survived and not just that, that there was enough of him there to use that transformation to help a downed colleague. And if Jim was out there and still able to reason, he would have gone after those that set them up.

Simon exited the room and had a quick word with the security guards, getting them to take position at the door as he came over.

"I know what you're thinking, Sandburg," he said in a warning tone. "And it's not possible, okay?"

"Let's just assume we had the discussion and agreed to disagree, Simon," Blair replied, tying back his hair absently. "There was one thing about her story that she seemed to not pick up on."

"Oh?" Simon queried as they strode out of the hospital.

"If her brother arranged the download, surely he would have known roughly how long it would take? And if he did, then either way he was deliberately putting them in danger." The police observer looked at Simon. "Not very brotherly of him."

"I noticed that as well." Simon nodded approvingly. "But his record is squeaky clean."

"I know, but people change," Blair replied. "Everyone is squeaky clean until the first mud sticks."

That was not a Sandburg thing to say. Simon nearly had to do a double take to remind himself that it wasn't Jim walking beside him.

"Anyway, I think we need to head over to InTech. You can do the, you know, rattle a few cages thing." Blair looked enthusiastic about the prospect. "They've got no reason not to see you if they want to keep their cover story straight."

Again Simon was surprised. That had been much along the lines that he had been thinking, and the way Jim would think also. Jim had always said the kid was a quick learner. "Who said anything about 'we'?"

"Hey, man, I can be useful - trained observer, you know? I've backed Jim up for three years now, and he's more stubborn than you'll ever be," Blair commented and then turned serious on the police captain. "Don't cut me out of this, Simon. I need to be there." He kept silent the fact he believed if it was the front organisation to the Red Stars, then that was where he would find the Nahual and Jim.

Even if his own visions were telling him some rather worrying things about what he might have to do to get Jim back, but he'd worry about that when he was faced with it.

Simon turned and looked at him carefully. "Just don't do anything stupid," he cautioned as they got into his car "I've lost enough of my team to this case, I'm not losing anyone else."

***

This was a strange forest to hunt in. Sharp metal and clearness like ice everywhere, but no coldness.

Glass ... a submerged part of the nahual mind supplied, a building of metal and glass.

Still, it had many places to climb and thin ledges to jump from and cold metal stepping stones that allowed him to climb and lie, tail twitching, waiting for a moment to get inside. There was a cave beneath, where an opening was watched by a two-leg. The need to feed was distracting now; surely this one would be sufficient to hunt. If prey crossed the path, then one did not ignore it to struggle after the original trail. One pounce and the two-leg would fill his belly and rid him of this consuming hunger.

No.

The nahual balam lashed his ebony tail, frustrated at this inability to act as he wished. He snarled and pushed at the inhibition. It was weakening rapidly.

No, ignore the two-leg, hunt unseen in the dimming light, get inside the parking garage .. the cave, then hunt bigger game...

Reluctantly the panther moved, slinking in the dimming light into dark shadows and hastily jumped beyond sight of the two-leg. He prowled the perimeter and then, following an inner prompting, managed to break a handle and push a door open and slink up into the building, scenting the yellow spoor of its chosen prey drifting old and new around these strange trails.

***

"Captain Simon Banks to see your CEO," Simon announced gruffly at the secure reception area. "And Blair Sandburg, consultant to the Cascade PD."

"I'm sorry, sir, but Mr Gillick is holding an emergency meeting of the board," the security guard replied pleasantly. "He is unavailable."

"Son, I think you don't appreciate the gravity of this situation." Simon leaned forward. They had been stalled over and over by receptionists, assistants and now building security to get even this far. "I've already explained this four times, and right now I'm a hair's breadth from hauling the next person who annoys me up on charges of obstructing a police investigation. Do I make myself clear?"

Blair nearly smiled as he looked around the plush foyer, complete with sparkling feng shui water feature and a jungle of lush-looking plants amongst the stylish designer furniture. InTech was certainly doing well for itself, that much was obvious and Simon was in full flow.

"Yes sir. I'll, er, just try and contact his Personal Assistant, see if we can get a message into the meeting," the man said hastily, picking up the phone.

"See that you do that." Simon stood back to look at Blair. "And I thought the Mayor's office was bureaucratic. Jesus."

"Elaborate social structures accrue around hierarchies of power," Blair replied absently.

"What?" Simon looked at him. "You okay there?"

"Mmm hmm." Blair was scanning the area, looking for something, anything that might play into his intuitions. "Yeah, sure, Simon. Sorry, just taking a look around, you know?"

"Stay with me, kid," Simon cautioned, unconsciously mimicking the movement. "I have a bad feeling about this place."

There was a sudden distant crackling noise and Blair frowned. "What was that?" he asked, looking around again.

"Either this Board meeting involved a lot of celebratory champagne, or that was gun fire," Simon said and reached for his gun as he turned to the security guard. "What the hell was that?"

The man was looking a little panicked even as he said, "I'm sure it's nothing, sir, please hold on while I contact upstairs and .."

An alarm sounded, and everywhere security lockdowns started to scroll through on the console desk that the guard lurked behind, looking more than just worried now. All around them, doors and shutters were locking automatically, as if this was some sort of high security vault rather than a regular business building.

"Man, this is not looking good!" Blair said, whirling around. "What's the deal with all this security overkill?" He sounded nervous.

"InTech sell security systems, amongst other things," the guard said even as he tried to get the system to respond. "They turned the central hub of the building into a showpiece. Very popular with Middle Eastern clients with a good few million to spare. Shit, the lock down has been initiated from the primary console upstairs ... and, someone has just activated a release on the garage." He flicked the cameras that way and a group of armed men could be seen jogging inwards, heading to the lower stairwell entrance.

As if they had rehearsed the move to perfection, the three men turned to look at the stairwell door in a synchronised movement.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Simon said. "Sandburg, come on, they'll be here any moment!"

The security guard was frantically trying to phone out even as the entrance sealed again.

"Come on, man!" Blair encouraged, looking back over his shoulder at the guard.

"I've just got to ..."

Whatever the man had to say was drowned out by the staccato of automatic fire and Simon pushed Blair onward, running forward through the nearest doorway, half-ducking even as the attackers flooded into the reception.

Blair didn't even have time to think as he sprinted forward, into a large open-plan office. Thank God no one was working late in this building. Maybe that too had been deliberately organised.

"Dammit!" Simon was trying to call Major Crimes for backup. "The signal's bad. We need to get higher."

"Yeah, sure man. Run headfirst towards the gunfire, like that's a sensible thing," Blair muttered as they exited the office and ran down the next corridor, finding another stairwell.

"You should be used to that by now," Simon said dourly, following the grad student and then moving past to take point as they took the stairs at speed.

They ducked into another office level and hid out of sight as Simon tried again to call for backup.

Blair coughed, his lungs burning a little from the exertion. What was this all about? An armed raid, and obviously not for hostages. Well, aside from a couple of hapless members of Cascade's Major Crimes department who just happened to have a talent for turning up at the wrong time? He was damn sure it wasn't a ransom stunt.

So, maybe it was a manifestation of the internal politics Agent Hawker had mentioned; a challenge for power inside an arms-dealing organisation could be unpleasant, and possibly brutal - would it be an armed coup?

No reason why it shouldn't be.

"Geez, these guys take the term 'hostile takeover' way too seriously," Sandburg muttered. "Any luck, Simon?" he asked hopefully.

"Managed to get a text through," Simon said, breathing deeply as he checked his ammunition. "I'm thinking we find somewhere to hole up while they have their little corporate takeover, and when the cavalry turn up, then make a move to mop up the pieces."

"I can cope with any plan that involves sitting right now," Blair replied wearily. "That's a good plan, Simon"

"Yeah, well, that's why I'm the Captain and you're ..." Simon hesitated. It was a thought he had not wanted to face. So much of whom he thought of as Blair, was inextricably tied up with Jim. Had been tied up with Jim ... and after this? When it hit home that there was no miracle, what would happen to him then? Just on the practical front, where would he live? His dissertation gone, his reason to be with his extended family at the department vanished. And suddenly Simon found himself wondering what Blair had to anchor him here anymore. Not just here in Cascade, but here in this life.

"And you're the underappreciated anthropologist," he finally finished, and had a moment of satisfaction at Blair's surprised smile.

"Steady man, I might even start to believe you care," Blair said lightly.

"My word against yours, kid." The police captain smiled even as they leaned back, waiting. "It'd never get past the jury."

***

Simon was amazed they had managed to stay out of trouble as long as they had. He was even more astonished that Sandburg seemed to have dozed off, though his eyes were flickering under his eyelids and the pained sounds of the word fragments that escaped his restless dream eventually drove him to shake his companion by the shoulder and then to clamp a hand over the younger man's mouth as he nearly went through the roof in shock.

"Steady, steady," Simon whispered. "What the hell were you dreaming about to make you so jumpy?"

"Statues in a circle," Blair mumbled, the images still flickering there on the edges of his vision. "Oh man ..."

Simon raised an eyebrow at him and Blair sighed, knowing there was no way to convey the importance and impact of the circle of statues, the were-jaguar statues. He had seen the were-jaguar transforming in stone right round to the kneeling man, hands raised in supplication. The circle spun one way, then the other and he was swept in somehow, yelling for Jim, glimpsing some other statue in the centre he couldn't quite see, but which was familiar to him in some way. He knew it was important, because the urgency had been of some last desperate attempt to communicate with the familiar frustration he felt when he was trying to make someone understand something he was trying to tell them, only in this case he was trying to explain it to himself.

"We better move again. Backup is stuck outside at the moment." Simon helped Blair up. "Whatever else InTech is, it does sell a security system worthy of Fort Knox. Unless we can shut down the lockouts, we are cut off."

"And unless we move, we're dead," Blair added and tilted his head as the comparative silence was broken. He hushed his voice. "I hear something."

Gunfire, and close. The pair got up hastily and ran again, moving up another level, running into what appeared to be a research and development area, complete with pieces of machinery in construction and piles of stacked, half-unpacked crates. It was a long room, with a great deal of floor space and clusters of computer terminals and would have been ideal to hide in if quite a few other people hadn't decided to do the same.

Simon and Blair ducked down hastily as a group of men half ran into the space near to them. "What do you mean, you lost it? The thing is HUGE!" The man rasped down the radio. "It's ripped half the team to shreds! No one said anything about nine-foot fucking black attack cats in our briefing. I'm down to four men!"

Simon's eyes widened and he glanced at Blair silently, disbelieving what he was hearing - and denying the fact that the coincidence was too great.

No, it couldn't be. That was too crazy even for them. A small voice inside asked if it really were any different from watching Jim drag Blair back to life, just by placing his hands just so on his best friend's face. Or watching him track someone with visions, or behave in a way that should have had that friend hating him with a passion, and then watching that friend doggedly believe in him, let every moment slide and then go on as if nothing had happened.

How much more extraordinary was this than the last month or so?

"Sir!" The tone of the man behind the leader of that group was one of terror as he pointed behind them all.

The low growl from the other end of the room carried with spine-chilling clarity, and was followed by the appearance of a heavily-muscled panther on top of one of the crates, staring at them with an intense glowing hunger in its eyes.

"Jim." The whisper was barely audible, but Simon heard it clearly just before panicked gunfire began. It forced them to move and provoked a startled reaction from the hunted team perceiving another enemy that made them targets as well. Before Blair knew it, the area was a blur of gunfire, with Simon pushing him down as he returned fire, even as the anthropologist tried to desperately think if somewhere in all his studying, his dreams, his slightly warped sanity, he had uncovered the solution to saving Jim. Because that was Jim, he knew it, for all Simon yelled at him to stop staring at the black cat, because that's all it was ... a damn big black cat.

And right this moment, the only answers he had were not necessarily good ones.

***

The hunger burned, and these ones were prey. They were loud and their colours and smell were sharp and offensive to him. Their colours blurred on a dark background, like
... petrol pollution on water .. a faint part of him supplied.

But now he was so hungry, so full of the need, that he was willing to taint himself with the blood of these in the hopes it would assuage his driving instinct to devour everything that crossed his path. And nothing could stop that now. He would kill and kill until the hunger ceased, for all the part of his mind that was like the echo whispers in a deep cave begged this to stop. He could not now, never finish the killing hunt until the hunger was gone or he was no more.

He dropped down from on high onto one of the two-legs in the instinctive hunting manner of the Jaguar. His mouth gaped open and the gleaming incisor fangs connected with his victims' head first so the weight of his falling body focused on those ivory points and they punctured the human skull, like knives slicing through butter.

That man died immediately, grey matter from his brain mixing obscenely in his matted hair as the panther withdrew and then sniffed at him and snarled, frustrated as he continued to stalk the next victim.

The hunger driving him, the nahual panther sprinted at the next pair, knocking them both over and as one struggled beneath him, there was a lightning slash of the claws and the screams of the freshly disemboweled man were mercifully short. Once again, the berserk nahual sniffed and even licked a little at the mortal wound before turning away with a yowl of disgust and frustration.

Blair was watching the drama with wide eyes, stomach turning with revulsion, but trying to find the pattern, the feeling behind what the panther wanted and most obviously was not getting. He was also aware that it was more nahual than Jim right now and that filled him with a chill dread. The image of Jim from his dreams being eaten alive, falling into the chasm ... lost in the darkness … flickered urgently in the forefront of his mind, even as he ducked and shied away from the bullets sparking off the heavy lab machinery shielding them.

The second man that the panther had knocked over was pushing himself up and pushed himself to his knee, freezing there as the nahual balam's attention swung his way and with deliberate slowness the panther licked its muzzle clean of blood and regarded him intently. The man raised his hands defensively, "Please .. no .. don't."

Abruptly there was a sudden and visible shift in the Jaguar's behaviour. Suddenly, the nahual Jaguar, sleek and black, stopped, scenting towards the kneeling man, waiting with his tail sweeping in arcs of impatience.

Terrified, the gunman stared into the golden eyes of the Jaguar and froze completely, hypnotised by the form of death tensed in front of him.

The pair of them remained in this tableau for a moment while the other remaining attacker ran for it, exchanging fire with Simon as he fled, wild-eyed with fear, to the door.
The large police captain went after him even as Blair remained fixated on the scene before him. Something meaningful was happening, he could tell.

The Jaguar pounced, jaws around the man's throat. The gunman panicked, and tried to fire at the creature on top of him, a bullet tearing a long bloody streak through black fur as it slid over the Jaguar's flank.

In a single devastating movement, the Jaguar jaws snapped shut and blood spurted, the man gurgling a few last moments of life into the Jaguar's mouth before death claimed him.

This time the dissatisfaction was a roar of feline anger that shook the air as the black tail whipped angrily. Whatever the nahual jaguar had been looking for, that had not been it.

Simon thumped on the door, rattling it, trying to get out, discovering the man who had fled had the forethought to slam the locks shut, locking them in with the beast. He turned to see the Jaguar stalking towards them both and hastily checked the bullets in his gun.

"Shit." Only one round left, for all there were scatter guns around them, they were over there with the jaguar. "Sandburg! Dammit Blair, get back here, I've only got one shot." He sounded scared even to himself and decided he had the right to sound that way, having watched the creature kill three men in less than ten minutes.

"No! No, Simon, you can't," Blair protested immediately, his own expression wild as he flashed back to his first disturbing dream. "You know who that is! You want to kill your best friend?!"

"I know who you think it is." Simon felt the hairs go up on the back of his neck at another hunting rumble from the beast as it stalked forward. "But it's not. Look around you, Blair; the thing is dangerous, deadly. Would Jim have done this? Torn three men apart? This is a beast! If it were him, then I doubt it is now. It's got to die before it kills one of us and you know Jim would much rather die than kill one of his friends, even unknowing!" He adjusted the gun in his grip again, steadying it.

It couldn't be Jim, it couldn't be, but if it was, forgive me, Jim, because I know you wouldn't want this...

His grip nearly wavered again and he barely heard Sandburg talking, no pleading with him as the beast turned its head and snarled at him. All his instincts told him he was facing a deadly killer and it was going to be it or them that died.

"I know ... I know, Simon, but he is there, I KNOW it," Blair begged the police Captain to just listen. "If you will just let me try!"

"No," Simon refused sharply, and certain that he was right now he raised the gun and levelled it at the head of the approaching Jaguar. "Get behind me, Blair, we can't afford to miss."

It was most definitely an order and three years with Jim had made obeying Simon's decree almost second nature. Blair moved over to him, his mind understanding the reasoning Simon was making, but he could not explain why, when Simon went to pull the trigger he shoved him so the shot went wild. Instinct kicked in, the knowledge that perhaps there was a chance for Jim whispering at him made him risk losing their only way out of this situation.

"Jesus CHRIST! Blair, what the hell is wrong with you?!" Simon bellowed, frantically looking around for some other kind of weapon.

"I can't let you kill Jim ... I …" Blair looked at the Jaguar and the connections started to drop into place piece by piece.

The man that had knelt had been like the kneeling statue of the were-jaguar sequence. Incacha telling him to choose to do it; it had been rejection and reluctance that had failed the other man.

'I'm right. The sacrifice has to be a willing sacrifice, or the ritual doesn't work'. Blair considered, 'Am I willing? Incacha asked me that. Yes. Yes I am. If I had to give my life for anyone, it would be Jim, Naomi or my friends. I know he wouldn't want me to, but ... that's part of it, of how it works. The research translated the glyphs as a worthy sacrifice. Perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps it is a willing sacrifice.'

He straightened up. "Simon. Stay behind me." He said it firmly, reversing their roles as he went to step forward. "I'm going to try something."

"Sandburg, you CAN'T .."

"Yes I can." Blair replied in a voice as brittle as ice, committed to this now. "Don't do anything, no matter what happens. Don't make a sound. Trust me, Simon."

"Blair .. you .."

"Trust me." The young anthropologist repeated and then very deliberately walked towards the nahual panther and dropped to his knees, mimicking the posture of the statue and the gunman that had evinced the change in behaviour in the creature. Initially he bowed his head, his hair falling forward, long and wild even as he slowly raised his head and looked directly into those golden amber eyes, locking them together.

Simon nearly cried out again, paralysed by fear for the young grad student. "No, Blair, oh God.." but he stayed where he was as a rumbling indicated the creature was aware of his presence. A rapid move would provoke the beast and it was so close to Blair now that he couldn't even try to stop it in time.

The hunger of the creature was palpable, and golden eyes stared back at blue for a long moment, studying him with a focus of attention that was strange and intense. Blair's heart was beating hard in that way that gave him the impression someone in the next building could hear it, but he remained still, even as he spoke softly. "Here I am, Jim, it's Blair. I'm here. Hope you're not too far down that cliff, man - I'm not going anywhere ..."

The panther was staring at him and he could feel the tension coiling, ready to spring and he swallowed. He was ready for this. Ready, willing and shit-scared. But as long as it worked, and Jim was okay and he could have his life back to normal without him, he could do this. That wouldn't be too hard. Megan knew about the Sentinel thing now and Simon would sort that out with her, and Naomi - she would 'process' it and would be fine, she was not the type to let grief stand in the way of personal growth.

He should care that this was going to be it, but he found that the fear was not there for death, only the manner of dying. The fear of an ending lived in that numbed, hurt place inside of him and he felt a sense of surrealism about all of this, that it was happening, but somehow it didn't matter. Calm and unmoving he waited, drinking in every detail of the creature. If he had to ask for one thing, it would be to know he had succeeded before he died. He'd try and hold on that long at least; maybe get to see Jim again before he went - if that were the way things had to go.

There was a stir of muscles rippling under black fur and the nahual pounced. Powerful jaguar jaws fastened tight around his throat, the heat of that mouth like a furnace on fear-chilled skin.

This is it, a squeeze, a snap and rip and life will be over and no coming back this time.

Blair closed his eyes as the press of sharp fangs delved into flesh, as the rumble of a jaguar growl vibrated through his body, curdling his insides with instinctive animal panic which he willed himself not to give in to. If he did, Jim would die, be worse than dead. Be lost forever, he understood that now. It wasn't just Jim's life he was fighting for here, it was his very essence and soul.

The pressure increased around his throat and he remembered rather absurdly that big cats sometimes asphyxiated their prey rather than tearing and killing. Of all the ways to die again, he had to choose not being able to breathe. Inhaling was hard now, he was suffocating, and choking, and he needed to get oxygen now! He should fight to breathe, shouldn't he?

No. Just let it go. Let the hard points, sharp and harsh over his jugular, pierce deep and the Jaguar could have the blood it seemed to crave and that would bring Jim back. He could feel that it would. He might get to see it if he held on.

He didn't move even though he could hear Simon yelling behind him; he lay there with the nahual over him, the jaws wanting to release the life in him, counting every second to be his last, fighting fear and doubt.

He had done that with Alex before the fountain, in the fountain. He felt that same fresh clarity he had then, just before the final moments occurred. Those terrifying few seconds of conscious thought where he knew that death was in him and rushing towards his mind, as the last few thoughts flared panic-bright in the overwhelming clouded darkness...

Only, nothing. The nahual panther released his throat and lay down wearily with his sides heaving as he regarded him expectantly with golden, slitted feline eyes.

Blair coughed and rasped weakly as he tried to breathe again, the air roaring in his ears as his heart celebrated the reprieve by throwing an adrenaline party in his chest. What now? If the panther wasn't going to kill him, what was meant to happen?
A massive paw shifted and planted heavily on his chest; ebony claws flexed out as the paw drew down, tearing the flannel shirt he was wearing down to his stomach. The paw lifted as if to swipe in the same gutting move that had disembowelled the other Red Star member, and Blair just looked into the golden eyes and trusted his instincts again.

"Yeah, if you need it .. go on, Jim," he murmured, hoping that the tremors running through his body weren't counting as reluctance.

In the background he could hear Simons groan with fear for him as the paw flicked sharply and just left fine stinging scratches on the surface of his abdomen, in a movement that made him shake with another adrenaline surge.

Yeah. It's a test. To see if I'm willing or not. Blair considered, breathing again.

The nahual jaguar backed away from him then and lay down once again, flanks heaving with fatigue and tiredness, staring at him and waiting for his move now, with all its hunger and need focused on him.

In a strange almost-daze, Blair knelt back up, never taking his gaze from the jaguar eyes that were reaching for something inside of him. The way inside of him that Incacha had told him he had to find. But what was it? Something emotional? Physical? Spiritual even, like the merge?

The image from the dream swept over him.

"You'll need a rope," Jim said, sounding strained, looking at him, trusting him to find something.

"Shit, man ... I don't have a rope," Blair replied, reaching again.

"What's that wrapped around your wrist then?" Jim asked even as he slipped a little further. "Hurry, Chief!"

Blair looked and saw the rather surreal fact that there was a rope around his left wrist .. except it was a rope that seemed to be growing out of him. He gingerly pulled at it and nearly gagged as the rope seemed to unravel his skin, plaiting itself longer with strands of blood.

Blood! Yes, that was it, a rope of blood to reach Jim, to feed the nahual spirit so that Jim could re-emerge. Jim had talked about hunger in the first dream, Incacha had talked about feeding the panther, and blood was the common theme in all sacrificial rituals, the importance of blood and its inherent power to influence the gods and spirits. The research he had done had described the evidence of how blood was collected, how all the religions of the Olmec, Maya up through to the Aztecs and Inca, made offerings of blood.

Offerings - funny how he had never thought about the word before, but it seemed obvious in its meaning now. You offered something to the deity involved, something of value; wealth, devotion, life.. yeah. Incacha had urged him to think about what sacrifice really meant, and only now he was coming to some sort of realisation.

What was it that people made an offering for? Made a sacrifice for? To gain something. To gain some sort of bargain with the divine, some sort of control over things. Not so much bribery as a covenant.

As if it was there in front of him, the missing statue from his last dream, the most recent hopeful attempt from his subconscious to communicate the answer to him, flashed into Blair's mind. The statue in the centre was the one of the shaman riding the jaguar. It was a literal representation of two entities, not a metaphorical one of a shamanic Journey as the texts had described. Sacrifice to gain control. He understood that now. The nahual spirit was never meant to rage out of control in its animal form, it was meant to be controlled and appeased through ritual and now at the last he seemed to know what that ritual required.

His thoughts cleared then, and marvelling in the simplicity of it all, Blair leaned forward and reached for the great paws in a solemn reverent motion and turned his arms so his wrists were upward, leaving the underside of his lower arms exposed. He didn't know how he knew this was the right thing to do, only that it was; he didn't know why when the nahual Jaguar placed its paws just so, that he knew somehow it would not sever major arteries, but allow significant bloodletting as he looked still into those eyes and nodded his permission.

And was still looking, without a sound, or a reaction as sharp ebony claws slid deep into his flesh.

It was the pain in a dream, the realness of it drowned out by the peculiar calm and altered state of consciousness he was experiencing. One part of him was telling him that it hurt, it hurt badly and another part drifted above that, telling him that there was more he had to do and that pain was nothing.

With deliberate slowness he pulled his arms away, allowing the claws to dig in and rip deep tracks in his flesh that immediately welled blood, crimson and fresh, pouring hotly down his arms. The nahual released him, waiting again even as he stared disbelieving at what he had just done. His arms were pulsing like fire now and he cupped his hands to collect the blood in them.

It was old magic, old rituals, all rooted in instinct and recorded in myth and legends across cultures, making a pact with blood with a powerful entity.

He offered the cupped, ever-filling makeshift bowl of his hands. "Drink," he urged the panther softly, the words strange in his mouth. "This is what you want. This is the rope of myself, this is the way within me that I was told to find. Drink your fill, nahual balam, so my friend will come back to me."

The great black Jaguar sniffed over the fresh crimson liquid and then lapped it with the enthusiasm of a cat discovering cream instead of water. It couldn't get enough and the hands remained there, continually refilling with Blair's life as the blood flowed down the deep channels of claw marks into the bowl of his hands, giving it away little by little as the great cat lapped it up.

Simon, who was on the verge of a complete break down in terms of what he could accept as even remotely sane, could only stand and watch Sandburg seemingly willingly bleeding to death, even as he could hear the repeated litany over and over of, "Come back now, Jim, I want you back now, you can't be much deeper, man, can you? I know you are in there, you know I won't let you fall, I can't let you go, man, you know I can't, so come back now, buddy, before your own buddy runs out of that rope you asked for..."

Even if he didn't understand the words, he could feel the intense reaching and yearning, which made the atmosphere electric.

But the panther remained a panther, and the blood continued to flow.

The nahual panther found the scent of this one bright with colour, had tested him, found no disagreement even from that other part of him that this one was not worthy and the sensation of drinking that crimson life, rich and dancing with the glow of energy, was not dissimilar to having starved for days, and being abruptly presented with ambrosia. It felt like he tasted food for the first time, feeling it fill everything deep inside, stopping that aching bottomless hunger and lighting the darkness.

The voice meant nothing to the nahual, but it felt compelled to listen even as it drank and as it went on and on something stirred in the depths of its mind.

Something was reaching for that sound, grasping upwards, something or someone that was hearing that voice and screaming soundlessly while engulfed in the darkness.

Jim was there; in the closest thing to hell that he could possibly conceive could exist. It was like drowning in the abyss, no sensation as he struggled, striving to get out - but for all he knew he could be pushing himself deeper into the void. He was drowning in a thick sensory deprivation, everything that made up himself being stripped away, crushed, violated by the unnatural domination of the out-of-control nahual spirit. It was his dark side made manifest and unleashed, the predator in him that he had to acknowledge, even as he tried to repress it. There was no way to convey the horror that had occurred as he was consciously aware of being repressed himself as the unwanted part, being crushed and gradually dissected and ripped apart, feeling fragments drift even as he yelled for help, screamed in a voiceless desperation.

He'd lost hope. He'd run through the cycle of hoping that his friends would help him, then to doubt if they could and then finally, before he was buried alive, choking and fighting continuously for existence in the tomb in his own mind, he prayed that they wouldn't try to help him. Because that close to the nahual mind, he could feel the unslakable hunger, and his ability to stop the Jaguar's need to hunt and kill had faded as the hunger grew. He couldn't bear the thought that he might kill one of them like that. The thought that Blair might put himself on the line to save him, naively trust that Jim was in there somewhere and face the Jaguar in the hope Jim would be able to shake off the instinct in the manner of one too many bad plots in movies, terrified him.

It terrified him because Blair would be facing his friend, all the primal parts of himself without the human peculiarities of restraint, compassion or hesitation, so there was no possession to shake off, no spell to break. He was the nahual, the jaguar was him; but like this, not a part he actually admitted to himself he could be. He was terrified he would kill them all and that thought tormented him as he sank and was lost, buried in the depth of the nahual's subconscious like a mouldering subconscious skeleton who had no need for identity as the structure of everything he was rotted away.

And then there was the voice.

".. Come back to me, Jim, I'm making as long a rope as I can, but you have to take hold and .."

Something about that voice, that started to pull together the eroded fragments that were floating in the void.

"..didn't do all this so I could lose you, Jim, because you don't know help when you see it .. Jim? I know you're there, I can feel you there .. come on..."

The whispering echoes of the repeated name 'Jim' formed a kernel for the rebuilding of a lost self, and he used all the energy he had to pull himself together as the world around him tilted and he seemed to be looking up…

"...Come on, Jim, come on, reach for me, don't know how much more of this I can do .. reach for me, man, you can do it .."

The voice drifted and faded on the wind. He frowned. He had hands again. He had a shape, a human shape here and he looked at his fingers with wonder. He had been convinced he had disintegrated forever, his very soul eroded and subsumed by primal instinct.

He looked up, sensing a movement above him in the darkness, the strange curling movement of a living rope slithering towards him. He stretched even as the surface he seemed to be standing on started to crumble as the mindscape around him wavered.

"No! No, I won't fall into the darkness ... No!" he shouted defiantly. He was NOT going to lose himself like that again. Never again!

With every last ounce of effort he could muster, he jumped for that rope, hands gripping tight and yelling incoherently as it twined itself around him like an anaconda.

"BLAIR! BLAIR, HELP ME!"

And there was a flash of light, a connection made and everything changed.

***

Simon had thought that Blair couldn't possibly look any worse; circumstances managed to prove his opinion wrong in one moment. The young man was looking pasty and his eyes half lidded; the whispered words were slurring slightly or tumbling over each other as he slumped inwards on himself. God alone knew how much blood he had given to the Jaguar; he only hoped it was less than it seemed. But it didn't seem to be doing anything, aside from saving their lives, and every time he drew close to try and stop this madness the creature rumbled at him warningly, and continued lapping from the cupped hands.
But then Blair went rigid, his eyes flying wide open and staring unseeing through him in the most chilling way that he had ever experienced. He parted the bowl of his hands, his entire body shaking as if he had received some tremendous shock, or been struck by lightning.

Simon was half expecting him to collapse in convulsions or a seizure and started cursing under his breath as he moved closer very carefully. He knew he shouldn't have let this happen!

But strangely, Blair didn't collapse, but instead he said in a very clear voice. "I hear you Jim, I've got you. I think you should turn back now, you've been a Jaguar too long."

And the nahaul balam roared, a triumphant thunderous roar, and stretched. Black fur pulled in, bones slid and shifted before his eyes, ears withdrew and the features wavered momentarily between a strange deformed combination of human and jaguar, before snapping back then in a rush to reveal the kneeling form of Jim Ellison, presumed-dead detective of Cascade Major Crimes, clothed, singed and bloodied but most definitely human and alive.

What happened next was nearly as surprising as the transformation. Even as shocked as he was, Simon couldn't help but notice that Jim was shaking like a leaf, but he wasn't expecting him to lean forward and hold onto Sandburg for dear life. That was the only way it could be described. As if the fragile-looking, exhausted anthropologist was the strongest person on the earth at that particular moment in time.

"Oh God, Chief .. oh God..." Jim had never felt the need just to touch another human being so profoundly in all his life. "I was .. I was gone ... shit ..."

It was strange to speak; the returned detective's voice was rough from disuse and overwhelming emotion - and there was something else going on, something had changed between them. He could feel it, even as he felt Blair's arms wrap around him, supporting him in that long moment. He could smell the blood on him, he had to try and face what he had done, but not right now. He couldn't right now.

"..got you, Jim..." Blair managed, completely chalk-white then, even as he tilted and propped himself up against the larger man. "I knew I could get you back. You've gotta trust me on these things."

Jim gave a shaky laugh. "Yeah, chief. Fuck, I'm not doing this again. Ever."

Simon was just staring, blinking away the blurring distortions of emotions from his eyes, feeling their moisture as he rubbed the back of his hand across his face and then shook his head slightly. How the hell could he accept this? He couldn't, but he could ignore the fact that something had just happened and pretend he hadn't seen it and just move on. If he started to think too hard, he'd lose his grip on sanity.

"Sandburg, let's get those arms bandaged immediately," he ordered, focusing on the practicalities. He was fine as long as he did that. "You don't need to lose any more blood. Welcome back, Jim." He tried to think of something sensible to say, but failed, and settled for a rare partial hug to his returned-from-the-dead friend.

"Good to be back," Jim replied in a rough voice even as he turned over Blair's arms and winced. "I did this?" he asked in a tight tone.

Blair shook his head wearily. "No, Jim, I did. Which was kinda the point, actually. I'll explain it later."

"Now that's an explanation I'd like to hear, if only so I don't report you for giving me orders," Simon mock-growled, getting a weak smile from the grad student.

".. Is simple .." Blair looked like he was about to drowse off as his eyelids drooped. "Blood is a fundamental part of all pacts and rituals, and rituals are all about controlling things.."

"Sandburg, you are the only person I know who can confuse me while you are barely conscious," Simon retorted. "All I need to know about is results."

Blair waved airily even as Jim was trying to wrap strips of his partially-shredded shirt around his arms and wrists.

"Jim's alive. That's all the result I need."

Jim looked up at him quickly, feeling a definite tug of an emotion then that was not just his own.

"Thanks to you, Chief," he countered softly, still badly shaken. He had been .. no, he hadn't been anything at all, and that was the point. He'd been gradually eaten away, conscious of what was happening all the time, fighting it but helpless to stop it. He'd never been in that situation before; he'd always had a way to work on, a chance to take that he could risk. Not this time, not after he'd made the decision to reject all of Blair's offers of help.

"Better ask Simon for a raise, then," Blair replied, closing his eyes. "Oh hey, I forgot he doesn't pay me anything."

"In that case, I'm going to put in a request for double your current salary." Simon smiled at them both.

Blair half-grinned. "I'll settle for a one-off bonus."

The bandage strips were pulled tight even as Jim said, "What's that then, Chief?"

"The right to say 'I told you so' to both of you," Blair said with a weary smile and no real bite to his words. "But you know, man, I'm thinking karmically that's not such a good thing, so I'll settle for a retraction of the past few days' suspicions regarding Blair Sandburg's sanity."

Again there was a definite feeling there, something that filled Jim with an aching underneath the awareness of the light tone. There was a connection not unlike the sensation that had followed the merge; an intimacy that was one the one hand startling and on the other terrifying, but more to the point there was a … presence. Jim couldn't describe it any other way. If he closed his eyes and tried to sense where Blair was in relation to him, he felt him pulsing inside his blood, literally under his skin.

He should have shrugged it off, he should have cracked wise and told him that declaring him sane was a little too unbelievable, but .. he didn't. He looked up at his partner and said, "I'm sorry, Chief. You were right, I should have known that" as he finished off the makeshift bandaging.

The absolute stunned amazement on Sandburg's face couldn't have been feigned. It was almost as if the last thing he ever expected was an apology, let alone one from Jim.

"Jim, I .. nearly.."

"No, Chief, you didn't," Jim said, cutting him off.

Simon was looking at them with a bemused scowl. "Look, this can wait; getting Sandburg to hospital can't, and that means getting out of this building. And from what was said downstairs, the only way to do that is to get to the control panel in the boardroom."

"Getting out of this room might be a start," Blair murmured. His head was thumping, he felt dizzy and nauseous as if he couldn't get enough air, and his heart appeared to be finding a way to climb out of his chest to escape the brands of fire on his arms. And he was tired. Someone had obviously seized the opportunity while he had been distracted to fill his bones with molten lead and siphon off the little strength and drive he had to push himself along over the past few days.

"Maybe Jim could turn into the panther again," Simon suggested, looking at the air vents speculatively.

"No!" Jims protest was instinctive and violent. "No, I'm not doing that ever again! Forget it!"

"You can't?" Simon asked, sounding disappointed.

"He can't," Blair said a little too swiftly, looking at Jim again and then away suddenly.

He knows. Jim wasn't sure whether he was relieved or anxious that Blair knew how deeply the experience had scared him. He knows I can't face that again. What else did he feel in that sudden rush?

"We can take the door out between us all," Jim decided. "Hold on, Chief, let's get you up." He eased his friend to his feet.

"Whoa." Blair wobbled, spots appearing in front of his eyes as he tried to stand even as Simon went over to the door.

"Steady, Chief." The touch made the connection brighter and clearer, and Jim lowered his voice. "What's .. what happened to us, Blair?" he asked quietly.

"You accepted my gift, the offering of blood," the anthropology student replied softly. "And I'm thinking that is how the ancient Olmecs and other cultures controlled the nahual sentinels."

Jim had a very nasty suspicion crawl out of the fear of his mind, ugly and terrifying in its conclusion. "You could make me change. You control that."

Blair nodded slowly. "I think so."

"Fuck." Jim Ellison, totally at the mercy of another person. Able to be plunged into his worst nightmare by someone else. Even with that person being a friend, a best friend - handing over that sort of control to anyone was terrifying. It was enough to through his newly reclaimed reason and mind, still raw and fresh into an unreasoning panic.

"Promise me, Chief .. promise me that you will never under any circumstances do that to me. Swear it." He gripped Blair tight as he emphasised his point.

Blair nodded wearily. "I swear, Jim. I swear I won't. Trust me, I'd never do that to you."

Jim looked at him, fighting a terrible feeling of insecurity, as if he was dangling back over that chasm again and he could be pushed and fall at any time. The mere thought of it was enough to stir cold, hard fear to choke him, and he had to clamp down on everything to stop that from ruling him.

He couldn't even look at Blair then, wanting to shrink away, so he missed the expression of a tired exhausted hurt in his friend's eyes as Blair felt Jim flinch, saw the pulling away.

Sandburg wondered then if the warning that he could have died from the process might not have been a blessing rather than a curse.

Blair had to face an existence where the person he had done this for, been willing to give everything for, flinched from him, hated him. And yeah, he'd accepted the fact he might lose everything, but that didn't mean it didn't hit him with a surge of reaction that made him feel physically ill, his joints ache and everything he had used to keep himself together was disintegrating bit by bit.

His vision started to grey a bit and his balance went to pieces even as he heard Simon kicking hard at the door, repeatedly.

"Jim?" Blair realised his voice sounded echoey as if he was listening to himself through a plastic tube. "I've kinda got this..uh.. self-serving spineless goober thing going on right now," he said distantly, knowing Jim would understand the reference even if Simon didn't.

That earned him a hasty check.

"How much did I .. take ..?" Jim asked eventually, not liking the look of his friend at all. Guilt flickered over his expression, marking him with its warm touch.

"Couple of pints, maybe more." Blair admitted slowly, not really having a clue how much it was. He'd been in a semi-ecstatic altered stated of consciousness at the time and things appeared different then.

"Jesus, Blair! You shouldn't have…" Jim faded off at the silence from Blair that dared him to say he hadn't needed it or wanted it.

"I'll slow you and Simon down. You know it," Blair replied firmly, wishing the greyness to his vision would back off. "Man, if I could walk more than a few metres then I'd be with you, but.."

"You're a spineless self-serving goober, yeah, I know," Jim finished for him in a curiously concerned tone. "You sure you're going to be okay, Chief?"

Blair just gave a slight smile and shrugged a shoulder at him even as he wobbled again.

"We'll find you somewhere safe to rest," Jim promised. "Then get the reinforcements in and get you seen to."

"You too, Jim." Blair gestured painfully. "That bullet clipped you when you were a Jaguar. Burns too ..."

"I'm okay. " Jim glanced at his side. It hurt, but he was still running on adrenaline.

"Look, are you two just going to talk, or help? Jim, use that army training of yours and kick the damn door down," Simon interrupted grumpily.

"Sure." Jim kicked the door in the exact spot and the door flew open.

Simon scowled. "Smartass."

"Got to make up for the face somehow," Blair chipped in hazily.

"No kidding, Sandburg," Simon replied even as Jim used his Sentinel hearing to check there was no one close and led them out.

"We're finding Blair somewhere safe," Jim said quietly. "He can't move."

Simon glanced at Blair who did look like he belonged more in an ICU than clambering up a building after them. "I could stay," the police captain offered looking between Jim and Blair for an answer.

"No, Jim will need you." Blair was guided into a private office area and was put on the couch. "I'll be okay, just lie here until you do the good guys thing. You know, storm the board room, cavalry arrives, yay for the good guys .. that sort of thing. You save the day. I'll just ... take a load off."

He wasn't fooling either of them, but Simon had to agree it made sense. "Just stay out of sight, Sandburg, no heroics."

Blair snorted. "Are you kidding? Go ...go on, both of you. Hero stuff for you to do. Me? I'll be doing what all sensible anthropologists do in an emergency - falling asleep."

Simon snorted and had to wait for Jim who took great pains to make sure Blair was comfortable before they left him and headed up to try and take back the building.

***

"Is the building secure?" The tall blond man turned around to his aide.

Lyle Hawker nodded. "The protection detail near the ground floor experienced difficulties. I still haven't had coherent reports," he replied, "But the upper levels are ours. Congratulations, sir, you have nominal control of the Organisation."

The blond man nodded. "Stupid fools, not even considering the possibility of an internal coup. Still, they paid for their arrogance. Transport and cleanup is on the way?"

"Indeed, sir." Lyle nodded. "I am concerned about who might have been in the building at the lockdown. There is a faint possibility that it might be a certain Detective Ellison."

That earned him a sharp look. "The one in the file? I thought he was declared killed at the warehouse explosion."

"It's a possibility, sir. I've since discovered that the Federal Agent reported killed actually wasn't."

"Dammit, Hawker! You lured them in with genuine information. What if one of them still has it?" the man exploded. "You assured me that information was secure and the login access and download would register to Jacobs!"

"It did, sir, or else the emergency meeting wouldn't have been called and your takeover wouldn't have occurred," Lyle replied, looking at the security system displays. "The Federal Agent doesn't have it, but Ellison is still alive ..." He tapped the screen.
"We have three heat signatures registering in the building that are not our people. These two seem to be making their way upstairs, and we'll have people waiting for them. This one has remained stationary for the past half hour or so."

"Wounded, you think?" the blond-haired man asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lyle nodded. "Easiest target of the three for information purposes. If Ellison is alive and has that download, then you have just taken over a death-trap of a business."

The man gestured. "Collect the third person, make them talk. Perhaps Ellison would surrender if an innocent were threatened. It would fit his profile. Whatever has to be done, do it .. but make sure there is no download or witnesses to complicate things."

Lyle nodded in agreement. "As you say, sir. I'll take care of it immediately."

 

***

Taking stock, in amongst the moments where exhaustion dragged him out of consciousness, Blair was discovering something else. He was starting to hurt. His body hurt, various parts of it seemingly competing to get the most of his attention. Blood loss was worse than he thought, with the lowered blood pressure causing all sorts of strange effects. It felt almost like he were on the verge of a panic attack all the time, with his heart thumping away very loudly, his headache hovering just this side of a migraine and the nausea and dizziness persisting even though he was lying down. His arms were pulsing hot and painful and his throat felt bruised as well. All of this nearly, very nearly conspired to hide the fact that the numbed emotional wounds inside him were starting to regain their feeling.

Whether it was Jim's final flinching away from him that had proven to be the last straw, or something in the merging and connection had triggered it, he had no idea, but a month's worth of avoidance was preparing to hit him around the back of the head hard.

How could a single act of shrinking away be so painful? It wasn't like he hadn't experienced it before. Perhaps it was because this time, he knew this could be it. He knew about Jim and control. Hell, they made enough jokes about it, but it had a basis in fact. Jim might like him, or possibly care for him, but even if he loved him, how many people would give even the person they loved complete control of their worst nightmare? Jim wouldn't, not willingly at least.

And he wouldn't understand about the ritual tests because he hadn't experienced them, he wouldn't realise that Blair had mentally been willing to die in his place to bring him back, which surely was demonstration enough of his trustworthiness.

He was being attacked by wakening memories, glad in one way Jim wasn't here. Perhaps then it was best that he ... leave. But would that solve the problem, who only knew? Being hated would kill him; Jim had become his reason to exist after his death, and being rejected would leave him with … nowhere. He curled up and tried to stop the memories awakening, but the images were so demanding that he never heard the two men who entered his sanctuary and grabbed him roughly even as he startled awake.

"Hey! Get .. mmph..." Blair managed just before a rag was stuffed in his mouth, his arm yanked painfully behind him and secured and he was carried, thrashing and kicking enthusiastically, over to the temporarily-unlocked elevator.

He would have thought he might have known better by now. Staying behind in 'safety' was the quickest damn way to end up hip deep in danger, in Cascade anyway. Fighting wasn't winning him any friends either; one of his rather well-aimed kicks to the groin ended in him being dropped on the elevator floor and once the swearing had ceased there had been some rather swift and unpleasantly accurate retribution.

"Stop that." A new voice said as the doors opened. "He's not going to do us any good if he can't answer questions. Get him out here."

Blair became dimly away that he was being hefted over someone's shoulder and taken over to a couch. Ironically being carried like that, head down, did a lot to clear the muzziness of his thoughts even though he blinked as he was thumped down and pain shot up his arms.

The makeshift gag was pulled out of his mouth and he coughed immediately, his lungs starting up that rasping sound that he now knew was the start of another chest infection.

"Well, well ... you know InTech have a very strict policy on breaking and entering, you know." A voice said near to him and he looked around, seeing Lyle Hawker in front of him. His eyes widened a moment.

"I see you recognise me, which can only mean you work as part of Major Crimes, one of Cascade's finest." The man crouched closer, gripping Blair's face and turning it to show the technicolour rainbow of the healing bruise from his run-in with the sniper. "A-ha. The irrepressible Mr Sandburg, I believe. I have heard about you ..that makes introductions a great deal easier, doesn't it? We're almost old friends here."

Blair looked up at the man, "Screw you, man. What the hell is all this about? Aren't you a..?"

"A Fed?" Lyle shook his head, completely open about it in front of others, "Perhaps once I was. Things change, sometimes in a matter of moments, just like life and death. You of all people should know that, Blair. May I call you Blair?"

"You may as well, no one else does," Blair said tersely. "You can also tell me if there is any particular reason that you dragged me up here out of my nap. Perfectly good waste of sleep, man."

Lyle actually laughed a moment, though his dark eyes remained untouched. "Well, I was curious, Blair ... curious as to what you were doing here and who you were with. Because rumour has it that you and Detective Ellison are joined at the hip?"

"Well, I can see why you aren't a Fed anymore," Blair replied, allowing some of his anger at life in general to leak over. "That might be a bit difficult as my partner is dead - fucking set up by you!"

"I would very much like to believe that, but I'm finding it hard to ..."

"I wouldn't think that a man who could plan the death of his own sister would find much hard to believe," Sandburg shot back, the anger fairly crackling off of him as he strove to keep the man off balance. "Your buddies here know about that? How you are a sellout federal agent, and willing to kill your own family?"

The man covered the angry reaction smoothly and plastered on a thick fake smile. "The job does have some perks, after all."

"Yeah, I bet. Shit, man, you really are a piece of work! You think there is anywhere for you to go after this? Give it UP!" Blair looked at him in disgust. "And there is your sister, thinking you are doing all you can to bring down this organisation, and giving you the benefit of the doubt, and it was you all along ..or let me guess, you were misunderstood, you were found out? Oh no, wait, wait - the ends justify the means, that's a good one." Blair's eyes were electric with rage that seemed to pour out of him "Newsflash, man, there are some things that no ends can justify!"

"Oh ho ... You think so?" Lyle crouched and looked at him face to face. "You think you have anger, little man?" he hissed in Blair's face, his eyes dead, devoid of the spark of compassion and life. "There are some crimes that don't need justice, they need vengeance. The person you love being murdered is one of those." He gave a twisted smile. "You know what I like about vengeance? It strips away all weakness, all compunction, and makes you blind to any distraction. There might have been a time before when I might have resisted working over a civilian like yourself, Blair."

He smiled again, a shark smile. "That was before I was betrayed by my own people, my own sister, and nearly died in New York. People who, as an afterthought, killed the woman I had fallen in love with. I waited all my life for her - Elaine, and I found her in there, deep in the heart of the RedStars ... and God, I'd never been so happy or in so much danger in my life. But she's dead. And now that place where she should be in my life is filled with the need for vengeance. And I'm telling you this, Blair, as a favour to you. I want you to abandon any hope that I might be bluffing, that I'm really a good guy because I'm not, but frankly, beating someone to death can be time-consuming and I want answers now."

He gestured and two of the men around him dragged the shaky anthropologist upright. Blair stood as straight as he could, glaring at them all.

"You get one chance to do this easy." Lyle sat back, leaning against the desk watching him a moment. "Where is Jim Ellison, and does he have the downloaded data?"

Blair shook his head. "Man, don't you listen to me? Jim is DEAD. You killed him. He saved your fucking sister and he was killed, for Christ's sake!"

It was evidently the wrong answer and Blair found himself doubled over in pain, considering where to decorate the floor if he gave in to the urge to vomit from the impact to his stomach.

"Wrong answer, Blair." Lyle tsked at him. "And here I was thinking we have a good relationship going on here. Shall we try that again?"

"Go to hell, Lyle!" Blair was clinging to the rage in him that had got him this far.

"I could give you directions, if you want," the other man replied coldly, "We know you are in here with someone, two people actually. I'm betting that one of them is Ellison."

"You'd bet wrong." Blair straightened again. "Is there a part of the concept of being dead you don't understand? Considering you've got such a chip on your shoulder about it. Or do you think SHE is going to turn up out of nowhere, too, huh? She'd be pretty fucking disappointed in you if she did."

Blair caught sight of the anger in the man's eyes. Well great, he'd managed to distract him by really pissing him off. He wanted to call to Jim, needed the help, but stopped himself because the 'reaching' was too strong. If he 'reached' he could force Jim to change, command him to come to him to rescue him.

But he had promised not to ever do that to his friend.

He had promised.

***

Simon nearly ran into the back of Jim as the ex-ranger suddenly stopped and swayed a little. "Jim?" he hissed in a whisper, checking the stairwell behind him. "You hear something? You okay?"

Jim shook his head. "No .. I felt something." He turned and looked around and Simon was amazed to see the hint of betrayal in his expression. "I think it's Sandburg. It feels like a presence tugging inside of me. Like a hand just held over the top of me. Dammit, Chief, you promised ..you..." He tensed again and then relaxed.

"Jim? What the hell is this?" Simon questioned again urgently as he glanced around for enemies.

"Hold on a moment." Jim held up his hand and listened hard, scanning the building for Blair.

Not where they had left him.

With a sinking heart he scanned upwards and then stopped.

.",, it's a simple question, Blair, all I need is a simple answer." A man's voice replied. "And we can stop all this unpleasantness, though I believe Russ there might want to ..um ..discuss a few things about you kneeing him the groin just then. He's not a patient man. But he's a fucking saint compared to me. For the last time, who were you with? Where is Jim Ellison and does he still have the downloaded data?"

He could hear the faint coughing and hitched breathing of someone in pain and then a hiss as long hair was used to pull back his partner's head.

"..He's dead...told you, man, Jim Ellison is ...dead. I lost him ..." There was the unmistakable sound of something hard hitting flesh hard, then the almost breathless, inaudible cursing from Sandburg, along with a heavy thump to the floor.

Jim's eyes widened in horror and immediately he was locked onto the sounds, the rasping pain of his friend's breathing, the sounds of him kicking out at anyone who came close.

"So who is the third man? We already know the second was Simon Banks. Shame he didn't make it." The male voice pushed again.

Jim heard the sharp inhalations of pain, a different kind of pain. "You're lying, man."

"Believe what you want. Who is the other heat signature?"

He heard Blair laugh, a short bitter laugh ."You wouldn't believe it, man ..."

"Try me." The man did not sound amused.

"A panther. You did know you took over a building with a damn attack cat in it, didn't you?" Blair's voice was defiant and Jim could almost imagine him staring his interrogator down.

There was an angry silence and the sound as if someone had been hurled bodily across the room.

"I have no patience for games, Blair."

"I ... I'm serious." The words sounded a little ragged. "You think I got the rips in my arms from .. the security .. guard?" There was a pause and the sound of cloth being torn. "Ow! Shit, man! Don't wreck the bandages, Simon will be pissed at .."

A sharp pain on his cheek brought him round "Shit, Ellison!"

Jim blinked, coming around at the slap from Simon. "What?"

"Well, thank God for that, the kid makes it look damn easy." Simon replied. "Was that ..?"

"A zone? Yeah." Jim swallowed and turned haunted eyes to his Captain. "Blair's in trouble. They've got him .. they're.trying to find out if I'm still alive and .." He reached suddenly to his pocket. He did still have the disc there. He had no idea how the transformation worked, but everything he had on him when he changed he had now. "And this." He pulled out the CD.

Simon stared at it as if it were the literal Holy Grail. "The information to eradicate the Red Stars Agent Hawker mentioned - you had it and it was thought lost .. with you."

Jesus, his friend was here evidently not-dead in front of him and holding the information for which they had been pulling overtime for months. The information seemed to hit him afresh and he kept waiting to wake, or something. But this was real. He looked the same, sounded the same, but after what had happened it was a wonder he wasn't losing it.

"How's Blair doing.. I mean, are they ..ah..?"

Jim nodded slowly, listening up the other stairs.

"Shit." Simon looked up as if he could see or hear the grad student as the ex-Army Ranger could.

"We've got to get there. They're waiting for us on both stairwells" Jim said, checking his weapon, desperation in his eyes even as Simon looked over the automatic he had acquired from their battles. "Come on! We've got to get to him."

***

Blair was lying face pressed into the floor. As he blinked, dazed again, he focused on the fact that he was making a large dark red stain from his nose on the rather expensive carpet.

That'll teach them, he considered muzzily. Yeah, watch me fight them with the ability to inconvenience their cleaning bill. Take that!

He became dimly aware that Lyle was talking to him again.

"You know, what I don't understand, Blair, is why you are trying to be so loyal to a man who's left you to die before."

"He didn't." Blair rolled to look up awkwardly even as the response came automatically to his lips, "He .. came after me."

Lyle laughed. "You are so naïve, Blair. I read the files on you and Ellison. It was obvious to me, stop fooling yourself."

Blair shivered a little as the words conjured up all the horror of that time. Why couldn't this have happened before, when his memories were still numb with shock? It was a compulsion to ask the question even though he knew it was a trap, even as he swallowed, tasting the metallic tinge of blood as he did so. "What was obvious?"

Lyle laugh was cold and mocking. "You mean you didn't realise that Ellison and Barnes were both using you as bait? That's all you were to either of them ... bait to lure out the other. Good strategic move mind, if Ellison hadn't screwed up."

The impact of those clinical words hit him worse than any of the physical attacks. He stiffened as the possibility scratched like a fingernail over the emotional chalkboard where he had patiently assembled all his reasons ... excuses for Jim's behaviour, his own behaviour.

"My God, you didn't realise?" Lyle laughed at him incredulously, "You mean you've let him get away with it? He threw you out, tossed you out like a lump of meat to draw her in and you've been protecting him?"

Oh god, he wished the pain would stop now. He was too tired for this.

"He didn't know," he murmured softly. "He didn't know it was her."

"Really? I'm talking about that night. He knew it was her then, didn't he, and that she was on the loose? Knew that you and she knew each other. You tell me that a friend would let someone they even remotely thought might attract the attention of a killer be alone and unprotected, on a night she was on the loose? You were sold down the river, Blair ..or at least into the fountain." The ex-agent chuckled at his weak attempt at wit.

He shuddered, hearing that cold assessment. "He wouldn't. He came after me .." Blair mumbled again. "He'll come after me."

Lyle gave a triumphant smile "So he is alive. You know where he is, don't you? Does he have the data?"

"I don't know. I don't know." Shit, couldn't he even keep his mouth shut for one second?

A new voice spoke. "We can't wait much longer. Step this up."

"Patience, sir." Lyle replied to the man over his shoulder. "I have just the thing to get him to talk." Blair felt himself lifted. "Take him to the upstairs reception area ... I believe our hosts have got another one of those hugely expensive feng shui water features there as well as downstairs. May as well make some use of it. You two, bring Mr Sandburg. I've heard it can be rather beneficial to face your worst fears. It's not a big fountain like Rainer's, but you can drown in a puddle if you try, and this is bigger than that."

"..no.." Blair could barely raise a whisper, around the cold that flooded through him. No, he couldn't do that again. It was all he could do to walk past the damn thing at Rainer without flinching. This would have been a really good time for his strength to make a miraculous appearance. He tried to get his legs working as he was dragged through into an executive reception area and he could hear the bubbling trickle of water close and fear reached into him, a blizzard of shock and cold in his mind and body.

"No!" He shouldn't have had any strength left, but he found the energy to struggle released by that raging whirlwind of fear, but his arms were still tied behind him, his legs refusing to cooperate properly due to blood loss, and the various kicks he'd received seemed to have resulted in his knee refusing to bend.

He ended up bent over the side of the water feature, a hand pushing his face close to the surface of the water, which he was struggling to stay away from as if it were boiling acid. He was beginning to appreciate Jim's dread of feng shui in a whole different way.

"Last chance, Blair." Lyle Hawker's visage appeared close to his, his voice soft and private ."This must be pretty unpleasant for you. All those memories coming back to haunt you. Did you call for him when she was pushing you under?"

The question stung as it hit the mark, and Blair pulled away, even as he was pushed closer. "Screw you, man!" he gasped. "You know shit!"

"Tell me if he has the data." Lyle repeated, putting his hand on the curls on the back of Sandburg's head "Tell me now. Last chance, Blair. I want Jim Ellison and the data. Talk!"

"How ..the hell would I know?" Blair replied, his voice rasping his defiance.

"Well, it was nice talking to you, Blair," Lyle replied, and pushed down hard, plunging the police observer's head deep into the chlorinated water.

Wisps of his hair floated wildly in front of his eyes as he held his breath and struggled hard. There was a knee in his back holding him down, preventing him from kicking and pinning his hands, too.

The first ache of the need for oxygen smouldered at the base of his lungs

Ohmygod,ohmygod, can't breathe, not again ..can't ..

His lungs started to burn with the pressure and he exhaled, feeling the bubbles of stale air roll up past his face to tangle in his hair.

He could feel himself 'reaching' again, the fear making him metaphorically search for a way out.
It would be so easy to reach inside of Jim, to call forth the panther to save him. The temptation drifted like a lifeline before outstretched fingers.

He needed to breathe…he needed Jim ..he ...

Couldn't betray Jim like that again. He'd seen the darkness, felt it in that linking and realised it was a fate worse than death ... he'd promised.

"Well, Chief, I don't know what you want me to say. I don't know if I can get past this. To me, it was a real breach of trust and that struck really deep with me."

"I've got to have a partner I can trust."

The 'reaching' halted, trembling inside of him. No. He would not. What was the point of living if he screwed up again? Betrayed him again. It was over anyway, there was no one. Jim would be relieved not to have that threat in him and..

His lungs were wildfire now.

Had to.

Breathe ... water...

And he jerked and flailed as the first watery inhalation hit his lungs, the taste of chlorine burning all the way down his throat.

***

It was a little disconcerting to see Jim freeze midway through their firefight. They were barely a floor away from the boardroom and pinned down, as they made little progress to their goal.

Jim tensed again. "No...no..." he protested to thin air, "Don't, Sandburg.."

"Jim? What is it?" Simon tried to keep him with him.

"He's reaching for me again. Closer." Jim swayed.

"I still don't see the problem," Simon muttered and returned fire up the stairwell. "You made it through those gun battles to that lab room with only one mark on you. And that firefight at the warehouse. Looks to me that, a sentinel Jaguar can practically walk around bullets, so why the hell are you crouched down here when they are working over your best friend?!"

"You don't understand what it was like, Simon. I'd rather die than go through that again!" Jim replied in a tight, intense tone.

The jaw was clenched and tight. "And Sandburg 'reaching for you' can .. what? Make you change?"

Jim nodded. "He promised. Dammit! He promised, Simon! He's going to, I can feel it." He tensed again.

" The kid's tough, we know that, so what the hell are they doing to him to make him do this? Simon demanded. "Jim? Jim!?"

~echoing splashes, muted sounds of terror distorted as if through water, the reaching again~

"No..."Jim widened his eyes in anguish, partly of what was happening to his friend, and what he thought was going to happen. "Chief..." He half started up almost instinctively.

"Jim!" Simon pushed him away from the gunfire and swore.

"They're drowning him ..dr ..ahh..."

The reaching intensified and then it faded, as if the hand closed … and then his senses were filled with the sound of liquid gurgling down into lungs as Blair took the long-held breath under water. Jim flinched and stood totally bewildered and astonished.

"He didn't do it, he's drowning instead of doing it! I've got to get to him!" He looked like he was going to just run out into the middle of the gunfight and Simon grabbed his shoulder.

"You idiot! You won't make it, not unless you change or something! You know that!"

"I can't, Simon," Jim refused, checking his gun, "I just .. can't. You don't know what you are asking!"

"Damn right I don't. And that's why I can ask it," Simon snapped back, worry making him sharp,. "I thought better of you, Jim. I don't know what I'm asking, and frankly I don't care. All I see is that somehow it's fine for Blair to endure his worst nightmare for you, but you can't face yours for him. That's what it looks like from here."

Jim looked at him, the sounds unbearable, all his instincts warring in that moment. If he changed now he might never come back and he would be worse than dead ...but ..
Blair. God, what he had done - no one had believed in him like that, ever. Simon was wrong, but in asking the question he had forced the answer.

"Get to the control board, Simon, there's choppers overhead ..ours, I think, but they can't land for some reason. I'm going after Blair," he said abruptly.

He stood and reached for that place that tugged inside and the nahual form slipped its leash and he shifted into darkness, a piece of the night made flesh, with reflexes and speed that could not be matched.

Simon nearly dropped his gun in shock and with trembling fingers lifted it to aim again. He couldn't cope with the kid dying again. And he knew Jim wouldn't make it if he did. God, what a mess. To have the miracle given to him, then cruelly snatched away with interest claimed.

***

He was yanked up by his hair and his body convulsed, coughing the water out of his lungs painfully as he gasped for precious oxygen.

"You really want to do this again, Blair? You really want to go back in?" He was pushed under again, his straining lungs inhaling more water and then up again and he was held there when it happened.

The connection he had held back from rushed into HIS mind, much like the feeling of the merge they had experienced and he convulsed again as if struck by internal lightning. He could feel the energy from him begin to flow out, away towards Jim, draining him moment by moment. The blood had been the physical level and starting point of the ritual, but it appeared that for every transformation there was a sacrifice required - and normally this was energy, not blood.

It wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't lost so much blood, been worked over and then partially drowned, but he could feel himself going into shock ..and he could sense Jim's mind. Jim's mind was in control of the panther and he was coming for him, running, fighting, not letting anything stand in his way...

He was amazed that he could feel Jim's mind, sense the complexities and myriad emotions that made up his friend. He could feel the fear, the terrifying dread that he was going to fall into that hungry abyss again, but at the same time he could feel the flaming, blazing need in him to get to his friend, to rescue him.

It was a revelation of sorts. Like falling into fire, the emotion lit up in stark relief the dark flickering shadows of pain, worry, guilt, tangling through the fact that Jim cared deeply about him. That feeling filled the man, a restless ocean of emotion he didn't seem to know how to deal with, that he fought to contain and control, but it stretched out and ebbed and flowed with its own internal tides ... Jim probably hated the fact he had feelings like that.

He could hold on if Jim cared, had to, as the knowledge was instinctive that if he died now before commanding the change back, he would leave Jim trapped in his worst nightmare and condemned to a literal fate worse than death.

He could feel meaning, words mixed in with the connection. He didn't hear the words so much as he felt them mingled with images, the meaning somehow translating into his mind.

:I'm coming Blair, hold on, oh god don't die, please, I'm sorry, I would have understood if you'd made me change, I would have ..you didn't have to die for me again..:

:I hear you Jim : He pushed back :Hurry, I 'm holding on, but I have no strength, and .. I'm sorry ..:

He didn't even know what he was apologising for, only that there was a need for it and an upwelling of dark regret that he could not stop. His time was running out, energy pouring away like sand in an hourglass, feeding the nahual so Jim's mind remained intact.

:Chief?: the response was soaked in incredulity as well as recognition : I feel you, this isn't the same. The hunger isn't there, I feel .. it's taking from you, isn't it. Hold on, I'm coming. Who is there? :

Blair opened his eyes, discovering he had been dropped on the floor. His vision was fading and he coughed, his mouth filling with liquid warmed to blood heat in his lungs that gushed with the force of the cough behind it. Breathing in was a strain, water compressing the space, the oxygen he could get down there as he floundered, shaking all over. He couldn't stand any more.

"...pushed him too far, into some sort of a seizure." The other man was complaining. "We must leave. If we have to be sure, then raze the building, like New York."

"Ellison has a history of surviving the impossible," Lyle was saying. "And he will come after Mr Sandburg here. It's his weakness."

***

The change he had been so afraid of was smooth and somehow very different from before. He was dreading the emergence of the hunger and the presence of the insidious drug of jaguar-thoughts and yet … though he could feel the shape of them, he was himself, Jim Ellison, with all his very human thoughts, feelings and shortcomings intact. And that was a miracle in itself. All he felt this time was the power and the strength of the body he commanded, the reflexes that no human could hope to duplicate or counter. Something, no someone was turning the nightmare around and there were no prizes for guessing who that person was. He bounded up the stairs, able to smell and sense when an opponent was about to fire, to zigzag and clear the route for Simon behind him. It was ridiculously easy in this shape.

He could feel the presence again, stronger, complete inside of him. He could see and feel Blair's mind connected inextricably with his own and the pain in it nearly made him falter. The colours, the feelings - he had never seen anything so beautiful. It was at a time like this he could appreciate the term brilliant, because Blair's mind glittered and shone in his awareness, lit with his emotions, which were light, warm and pervasive - and powerful. Incredibly powerful. And wounded. He'd been bleeding all this time, covering up that arrow in his centre all this time and pretending that nothing touched him, that he was coping and they'd let him because it was easier than facing what they had done and allowed to happen to him. He had loosed that vision arrow at his friend over a month ago, and never reached out to see if the damage had truly mended - and now all too clearly he could see that it had stayed, working deeper and deeper on a mental and emotional level that his partner was so adroit at concealing.

He could see the pain trying to strangle the bright thoughts, twisting in and around them, so although they were not revealed, the doubts were there, blended with the complete and utter isolation and despair he felt at trying to reach them while all the time bleeding emotionally and having them all ignore every attempt. His friend was tired beyond exhaustion, trying to cope with his own descent into darkness and return.

My God .. I never realised ..

:I hear you, Jim: The presence felt as if it was exhausted beyond the comprehension of normal limits of endurance, but was somehow carrying on … and he realised with a shock that the energy that made it so different to be the panther this time was coming from his partner and friend.

:Hurry, I 'm holding on, but I have no strength and .. I'm sorry..:

The feelings then were of an anguish unfiltered by human perceptions or shields. He was losing him; he needed to get to him!

:Chief?: he responded, focusing toward him, trying to send reassurance : I feel you, this isn't the same. The hunger isn't there, I feel .. it's taking from you isn't it. Hold on, I'm coming. Who is there? : he repeated.

Images drifted back to him, from Blair's perspective and memories, saturated with the sensations of pain and exhaustion that showed him who was there, where they were. Blair was running out of time and instinctively he knew that meant he was too. He had been wrong; Blair hadn't leashed him, he had bound them both together, each as tied as the other, losing and gaining simultaneously.

He opened the door and slunk in and jumped up on the receptionist's desk, his black form mirrored in the fake marble surface. He let the hunting rumble escape him as his muzzle curled and he exposed the long gleaming white incisors.

Attention was dragged away from Blair, which had been the intention. He roared and the sound was like thunder in the open area. And then he moved, and moved fast.

There was one major advantage of being the panther. No one thought to use people as hostages against a cat. Blair was lying there, shaking in full view and no one was grabbing him and forcing Jim to back down, which was possibly the only thing that could have stopped him. He may not have been overwhelmed by his nahual spirit like before, but he was more than willing to share the elemental rage at what had been done to Blair.
He was on the first hired help in moments; the lunge and jump bringing his quarry down with a thump hard enough that the crack of his head on the floor would convince anyone he was out of the game. Jim found he could feel and smell the moment when bullets were being fired his way from the shifts in scent and aura and he leaped up, then sprang out over space even as people panicked and tried to shoot him.

He was dancing black fire around them, his panther body and reflexes combined with a human's reasoning ability making him impossible to evade. All the time he fought he was conscious of that presence in his own mind, fading and dimming moment by moment as Blair was slipping away. He had to get to him, protect him and get him to turn him back so he would not drain any more of his guide's remaining energy.

He jumped to the edge of the feng shui water feature and roared again, his large jaguar head swinging around as he heard Simon sneak into the other room to the control console that would deactivate the hi-tech security of the building. With his usual skill with all things electronic, Simon elected to shoot the crap out of the console, and the lights flickered and cut out abruptly.

He jumped down to Sandburg, seeing him shaking still, the scent of blood all over him, the sound of water in his lungs and the small convulsive coughs that had no energy in them somehow terrifying. The energy patterns with all their vivid colours were collapsing inwards in small vortices, drawing away from the surface of his body and curling up into a tightly knit area like a galaxy collapsing slowly into itself, and he could feel in himself the echo of pains stabbing all over him, centering on his chest. Blair would not be able to take much more of any of this. It was a source of amazement that he was still conscious even now.

"I can't see the fucking thing!" The voice sounded panicked

"It was over by the water feature, you idiot - hose the area!"

Jim looked up, feline eyes seeing easily in the dark at where the blundering Red Stars were aiming. Blair was a trussed-up sitting duck in their promised line of fire. He should have jumped clear, but he hastily gripped Sandburg by his soaked shirt and dragged him out of danger so his body covered his as the bullets flew.

Pain, an impact in heavy muscle near his left shoulder and he yowled in pain as a bullet caught him, but got Blair out of the way before he stopped and the emergency lighting flickered on.

:Hurt … you're hurt.: Blair's presence once again in his mind.

:Nothing much, Chief. You can't take any more of this, can you?: Jim replied softly into that connection between them.

The response was a feeling of shame and guilt over not being able to hold on as long as Jim needed. :Too much already, I think. I'm so tired, Jim, really tired. I don't think ..if I sleep I'll be able to wake up again:

Fear struck at Jim then, not fear that he might be trapped, but fear of losing Blair again.

:Hold on for me buddy, just hold on. Bring me back now, I'll make sure we'll cope. Simon's released the security system, help is on the way. Just hold on a little longer Chief? Please?:

The response was shaky and weak. : I'll try. Taste some of the blood from me, Jim, it's part of the ritual.:

There was no lack of it and he let the Jaguar lick a spot on Blair's face, remembering how this had all started, and heard Blair wheeze out in a hoarse whisper. "Turn back, Jim, become human again."

It was like a switch was pulled and he could feel the change flow over him, the fur retracted, his bones shift and he was there, kneeling next to his friend. Unfortunately, bullet wounds were much more painful in this form and the bullet was obviously wedged in tightly at a peculiar angle.

"Blair, c'mon buddy, I'm here," he murmured, leaning over him, his left arm refusing to work properly. His friend was cold and clammy to the touch, and he drew his gun. "Just a little longer, they've landed on the roof. I can hear Connor."

The lights flickered on again as an emergency generator kicked in, and the men that Jim had left standing started to emerge. "All teams, get the hell back here, we're clearing out and covering tracks. If you are still in the building in five minutes, you take the consequences." The blond-haired man spoke into a handset and turned. "Set the timer, Hawker."

"You'll put the timer down and put your hands up." Jim's voice rang out as he stepped out from the niche where he had dragged Sandburg to comparative safety. "Cascade PD! Surrender your weapons, you are all under arrest!"

"Ellison - I am not surprised." Lyle Hawker showed no inclination towards surrendering his weapon, and the others with him hesitated. "You seriously expect to take us out alone?"

"Not alone." Simon's voice announced his steady presence from the side entrance. "Your security lockdown has been released. You are moments away from a Federal task force descending upon you from all sides. Give it up."

Lyle smiled at them both. "Well played, gentlemen. But I am the one holding the timer, and we do have the equivalent of a self-destruct function. No 'building of tomorrow' is complete without one. I learnt that from the Bureau." His voice was sharp with bitterness as he held up an electronic timer undoubtedly similar to the one used on the warehouse that had nearly claimed Jim's life. "Clear passage or I blow us all to hell."

The man beside him looked at him, stunned. "Hawker.. you can't..."

"Shut up, Reinhardt," Lyle said, holding the timer in one hand and his gun in the other. "You should have stayed a freelancer like your brother, you don't have the head for big business."

Without needing to look he raised his gun and fired at the man standing next to him at point blank range in the side of the head. "I mean that literally now of course. Good-bye Mr Hettinger. Shame you made the same mistake your colleagues did. 'Stupid fools, not even considering the possibility of an internal coup', my ass." He looked scathingly at the corpse for a brief moment, smiling with faint satisfaction.

He turned back to Jim and Simon. "Safe passage out of here and the data download and I'll not blow up the building. Seems fair?"

"You won't do that," Jim said calmly, managing to hold his gun steady even with his own blood drenching his shoulder rapidly. Some of the nahual strength was lingering, but he could feel himself starting to unravel into fatigue and pain. "Why would you want to kill yourself along with us?"

Lyle laughed, a hollow husk of a laugh. "Because I realistically have nothing to lose? I'm the most powerful man on earth at the moment, Detective Ellison. I don't care if I live or die. I don't care who goes with me because both sides are as guilty from where I am standing. The Feds betrayed me, killed the woman I love and left me to die. My own SISTER led that raid. The only reason that I want that disc is so I can destroy the RedStars with what the crime families describe as 'extreme' prejudice'. I don't trust the Feds, or you or anyone to do it. Plus of course, there are the details of the financials on there - perhaps I might be able to find enough oblivion if I have enough money. But really, if it comes to it, I'll cut my losses. You think I care if I died now? Do you know what it feels like to lose someone like that? The person you need to live?"

"Yes," Jim said softly, glancing very briefly at the prone form he was standing over. "I do. And if they loved you and cared for you, they wouldn't want you to do this."

"But she's not here to stop me, that's the point. I've crippled the Red Stars, and I've taken a hit at the Feds, too." His face seemed pale and stretched over the bone in a rictus of decision. "You are going to let me go, Ellison? I can see you want me dead because of what I've done to your friend. The ends justify the means, you know. He seemed to think not, but he was wrong."

"Lyle." Every moment they continued talking was a moment that the reinforcements drew closer. "Lyle, think about this! Give yourself up, this can be dealt with and .."

The undercover agent shook his head. "I didn't get to bring her back Ellison, not like you with your partner. You know he's been on borrowed time since he was murdered, don't you? His time and yours have run out."

He raised the detonator even as a strong female voice rang out. "Put the detonator down, Lyle."

The expression of the disaffected agent's face became beatific ."Perfect. Perfect. Hi sis, just the person I wanted to take with me."

"Lyle, stop this, please. We'll get you the help you need. Put it down or I'll have to shoot you." Her voice was pleading with him even as she levelled the gun to aim at her own brother. The barrel wavered just slightly as she targeted him, the anguish of seeing what her brother had become seeming to weaken her resolve.

Lyle shook his head and smiled at her mockingly. "You won't shoot me, Lou, you never did have the guts. I, on the other hand, always followed through."

"We're not kids any more, Lyle." His sister faced him down. "Don't do this. I'm sorry for what happened in New York, I didn't know it would turn out like that, I didn't know you were in love. Let's talk about this, please?"

He held up the timer and laughed, "When did talking ever work for us, Lou? Brother and sister, yet couldn't communicate worth a damn. Only one person understood me, and you killed her."

He gave a glassy manic smile to all of them and looked at her mockingly as he reached for the button to detonate whatever trap he had contrived.

"Bye sis. See you in hell."

Even as Jim aimed and prepared to fire as he knew the man really was going to do it, a single shot rang out and Lyle Hawker collapsed to the ground, the timer unset and bouncing harmlessly over the carpet. His sister, her face still bearing the butterfly stitches and unhealthy pallor of her own close encounter with death, could have been carved in alabaster for the paleness and fixed expression she wore. She stared, just stared at the body on the carpet below her as she lowered her gun from the fatal shot she had made.

Perhaps it was only Jim who could hear her whisper. "I'm sorry, Lilly. So sorry. Forgive me, bro, I love you," even as she turned away to beckon the rest of the SWAT team forward to mop up.
To the rest of the world, she was as cool and professional as the first time he had seen her at Major Crimes.

The click of police issue guns from all around them told Jim all he needed to know. It was over, and they needed to get Blair to a hospital, and quite possibly himself. His arm was pulsing with a sick agony peculiar to the deep trauma of a bullet wound, and contrary to popular belief, he knew that shoulder shots were often very unpleasant indeed.

His own shoulder and side was stabbing at him sharply as he knelt down again. "Chief? Come on, Chief ..You still with me?"

"..can't go anywhere.." came the mumbled response and the cough bubbled unpleasantly, "Jim? I'm really tired, Jim."

He sounded it and that alarmed Jim more than anything. Blair couldn't go to sleep, he would most likely go into shock and that could be dangerous. Fatal.

"Here, buddy, let's get those arms untied." Jim was oblivious to everything else as he awkwardly undid the penknife from Blair's pocket and cut the tough plastic strip that had been binding the anthropologist's hands together.

His partner wasn't doing so well. To his Sentinel senses it wasn't surprising, with the blood loss, the beating and the near drowning, let alone the less obvious but no less debilitating energy drain of the nahual link all contributing to take Blair's vitals down to near critical levels. "Let's get a medic down here!" he bellowed out automatically, making at least three heads turn in his direction.

"Well, bugger me." He heard Connor's voice clearly, the surprise evident. "Ellison!"

"You have got to be shitting me!" Henri Brown was close behind her, pushing down the stairs to where Jim was lifting Blair to tilt on his side so the water would cough out better.

"Jim! Man, we thought ..You're looking pretty good for a dead man! Where the hell have you been?"

"Thanks, H," Jim smiled a little up at them and looked immediately back down at his partner. "They had Blair." He said as if his brusqueness had no further need for explanation. " I'll explain later, when everything is okay?"

They nodded and as they crowded around him, Jim realised with a clenching horror that somewhere in those last few moments when he had been talking, Blair had closed his eyes and drifted away from all of them, into the realms of unconsciousness that might prove deadly.

***
There was a pain in his chest. Quite a sharp pain that spread out into a dull throbbing sensation all over his body as if someone were striking a slow drum of agony in the centre of his chest, over his heart, that echoed in every part of him. He was lying on the jungle floor, naked and hey, it was suddenly obvious why his chest hurt. Fingers stirred and fluttered weakly around the arrow shaft that protruded from over his heart. He was trying to work out if the strange tinge to the light was the silvery blue of night or the steel grey of pre-dawn until it occurred to him that it probably didn't matter as he wouldn't live long enough to see either. The arrow must be in his lungs at least, hard edges sawing away every time he inhaled or exhaled.

Nevertheless, he was able to push himself up, looking again in horrified fascination at his mortal wound. Who had done this? Who!? How long did he have?

He looked up, seeing a figure frozen over him, half reaching for him but locked in a moment of time he didn't seem a part of any more. The crossbow was in his hand and emptied as if recently fired.

Jim, his Sentinel, his best friend standing over him with the jungle equivalent of the smoking gun.

Jim had done this? Jim was responsible?

"That looks uncomfortable." A voice said beside him and Blair turned, barely able to breathe.

"Incacha." Blair coughed weakly, the pain flooding through him, and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, "I'm dying."

He was half amazed he had said it so calmly, even if it irritated him to sound like a whining fool stating the obvious.

"Perhaps." The shaman shrugged diffidently. "But then you could say equally that you are living."

"Not for long." Blair was sure you weren't meant to feel pain and physical effects in dreams, but he was. God, yes. His chest and back burned and stabbed at him with every breath, turning the knife with a torturous twist.

"Only humans measure time, young Shaman, and in doing so can learn to control it." Incacha looked at him, with a warmth in his dark eyes. "Would you prefer to not be living or dying, but ..healing?"

"Well, yeah, but …" he looked at the arrow again. "I can't take this out. I'll die."

"But it won't heal with it in there, will it? What is the point of holding onto it now?" Incacha looked at him again. "Why hold onto death? Is it that important?"

"Well, it was pretty important to me. I died, man, that counts as pretty major." Blair felt dizzy a moment. It was hard to talk.

"You didn't die, shaman. If you had died you would have passed on peacefully. Look at yourself and realise why you have refused to heal."

Blair coughed again, feeling blood in his lungs filling slowly. He was running out of time. What did Incacha mean? Everyone knew he had died; every time he looked at himself he could see the shadow of that death. He didn't fear death anymore, only the manner of dying and ...

It clicked then.

"I didn't die, I was murdered," he said softly, half to himself.

Incacha nodded. "It is a different matter. Death itself is not the end, it is the means. But you need to understand that holding on to blame, and vengeance, leads to a more final destruction."

The Chopec shaman pointed to the dark glistening pool on the ground, where he had bled. The surface shimmered and he saw the manic face of Lyle Hawker, detonator in hand in the brief moments before he was stopped and killed. "The path of blame. Even success would lead to destruction."

"But I don't blame anyone." He looked at the frozen figure of Jim, seeing the eyes wide with horror and shocked guilt. "I don't blame Jim."

"It is not necessarily you that chooses to walk that path. You chose the other way."

Incacha gestured and the forest ahead of them parted, splitting trails into one that led to the high temple with the altar stone he had dreamt himself upon, and one that led to the dark chasm.

"The path of vengeance is rooted from this point here," Incacha told him and touched the fletching of the bolt still protruding from him.

Blair watched horrified as Jim unfroze and turned away from him, unseeing and seemingly blinded to the fact his friend was NOT dead, merely critically wounded. The Sentinel started walking towards the crevice in an erratic line and around him, the shadowy forms of other friends joined him, all stumbling inexorably towards their doom in the hungry chasm

"No! NO!" It was practically a scream even though his chest felt like it was tearing apart. He pushed himself up, staggering forward. "Jim! No!"

He tried to walk after him and failed.

"You cannot save them unless you are rid of the death still in your heart," Incacha said, nodding to the arrow shaft.

Blair looked at them. Jim was close to the edge. He reached and, closing his eyes, gripped the shaft and tugged hard. Pain exploded in him, and he dropped to his knees "I.can't ...I can't do this alone."

Incacha smiled as if Blair had realised a great truth. "You don't have to anymore," he said and walked towards the temple. "And that is your lesson."

"Jim, help me ..." Blair fell back again, struggling uselessly to tug at the obstruction. "Help me pull the arrow out, Jim."

His voice sounded distant even to himself, "Can't save you if it's still there. I'll die before I can get to you."

He closed his eyes again and he could hear Jim's voice.

"Oh God, Blair. Not the arrow .. how?" There was the warmth close to him, the comfort of him near. If he was that near, he wasn't walking into the danger of the chasm. That was a good thing.

"Hurts ..Hurts .." The hand was over the pain now, warm and soothing. "You'll help me, Jim? Can't do it alone. I'm so tired. So tired of being alone. If you don't want me around, let me go, man? Please?"

"Chief.." The voice sounded choked. It had to be a dream then, because Jim never allowed himself to show emotion like that.

"I'll be here, Chief, I won't go anywhere." The voice was close to him, and the hand rested on the exact point where the pain centred.

The warmth was enough to convince the patient Jim was doing something and he smiled weakly even as he open fever-bright eyes.

"Then neither will I," he rasped out and closed his eyes as another warmth stroked over his forehead, his body seeming to relax more and allowing him to rest rather than struggle. He could let go of the death in him if he had help, and Jim had promised. He hadn't lost him yet, so there was hope enough to draw him back.

"Jim?" Simon spoke up from the other side of the hospital room. He'd never seen his friend so close to cracking up emotionally. When Sandburg had started thrashing around and mumbling about an arrow in his chest, the police captain had thought he would have to call a doctor for the Sentinel, not for Blair. The colour had drained from him, leaving him a sickly fear-tinged grey even as he slipped his arm out of the sling to take hold of his partner's hand. "You okay, Jim? What was the deal with the arrows?"

Jim looked at Simon, guilt in his tired gaze. "Before Alex and the fountain, I had a vision where I was hunting and I shot a wolf in the heart with an arrow, thinking somehow that there was an enemy there. The wolf changed into Blair lying there with his eyes open and staring, and I realised I'd killed him. It flashed back to me when I realised that Alex had gone after him. I never told him. I never told him about that. And yet.."

He looked across at the young man's now resting features, some of his anxiety fading. "His temperature is dropping, I can feel it."

"Thank God for that," Simon replied fervently. "He's been too damn sick this time, When the doctors said.."

'I'm sorry, Captain Banks, but it's not hopeful. Frankly, it's surprising he is alive. He's lost a lot of blood and his body is on the verge of complete exhaustion and his vitals are very erratic... You have to consider the possibility that there is a chance that he might not make it …'

"..said how ill he was," he amended the thoughts in his own head, "I have to admit, Jim, I wasn't sure if he was going to make it."

"He can't leave me." Jim ignored the painful stiffness in his shoulder. "Not now. I'm going to talk to him about everything. If he wants to have nothing to do with me then, well, at least it will be his choice this time."

"Sometimes, Ellison, I wonder about you." The police captain shook his head. "After all this? After this weird shit with the whole changing thing, and you still think he might abandon you? For God's sake, you must be the one who is not thinking straight. Get your ass back into bed before that nurse decides to strap you there. If she finds you out of it one more time, I swear she's just going to sedate you until your shoulder is healed."

"I shouldn't leave him," Jim protested as he was ushered over to his bed.

"Believe me, Sandburg will know you're here. He always knows when you are around," Simon replied. "I thought he'd lost it on me. Seriously gone. You didn't see him after we thought you were dead." The older man shook his head. "You wouldn't want to see him like that, but he still knew you were out there. All he was worried about was not whether we all thought he was due a visit to the local psychiatric ward, but whether he was letting you down and how I was feeling."

Jim nodded slowly. "Megan said he admitted to her like he was falling apart over the incident with Alex. And now this. How did it get so complicated? I should have just talked. Instead I waited to use it as a weapon, the one time he felt he couldn't go to pieces I brought it up and used it to make him back down."

"The argument?" Simon checked and nodded. "We've all let it slide, we can't do that anymore. I tell you, he might as well have hit me over the head when he made that crack about wishing I'd told him that you would have wanted him to die for you a month or so earlier."

Jim winced. "He died because of me, Simon. And he nearly did again. I could feel how close he was. I could hear him drowning again, them hurting him because of me."

"And you think he won't forgive you for that?" Simon said, looking at the pale drawn features. "Of course he will."

"Why? Why would he do something like that?"

Simon nearly spluttered a moment, trying to frame a coherent response. "Because he's Blair," was what he eventually came up with to encapsulate the complex reasoning in his head. "Anyway, you might have missed the fact you saved his life a couple of times in the mix here."

"Which wouldn't have been necessary if he weren't hanging around with me," Jim said quietly. "You can't deny that."

"No, no... But you didn't force him to stay. He chose to, Jim. He chose to stay with you and it's not like he didn't have opportunities to go," Simon pointed out. "But he didn't. He stayed. Even when you pushed him away, he still came back."

"I know." Jim stared at Blair again, hearing every painful hitch of breath in detail. "I'm a selfish bastard for allowing it, and now he'll feel I've trapped him."

"What do you mean?" Simon asked quietly, watching as the monitors next to Blair seemed to be evening out little by little. Jim had been right.

"The change, the Jaguar thing. After the whole deal with the blood, Simon, if I change it affects him." Jim replied. "I'm like a fucking vampire, Simon. As if everything else weren't enough."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating, Jim," the police captain replied, trying to calm the ex-Ranger and stop him from completely spiralling into depression. "Now stop this and go to sleep, okay? Sandburg isn't the only hurt person here, you know. The doctor said you needed a lot of rest as well before they will release you. So get. Rest now. That's an order, Detective."

It worried Simon that his arbitrary order was obeyed without a word of protest, or even an Ellison quip. This was going to be a long, slow recovery for all of them, it seemed, not just those more obviously injured.

***

A hospital was not one of Blair's favourite places, it probably never would be. He'd preferred it when Jim had been there and would sit with him, even though he'd kept falling asleep all the time, prompting a 'Gee, Chief, if I'm that boring all you had to do was tell me to shut up" joking comment from the Sentinel. The tiredness was mainly due to the massive antibiotic doses he'd been given to try and combat the infection that had flared out of control the moment his system weakened. They always tended to wipe him out, and Jim had been really worried about him with the way he just kept drifting off. Well, that had been his interpretation of the way the detective hovered over him whenever he flickered in or out of consciousness. He'd been worried about Jim's arm, not believing Jim when he'd said he'd had worse fishing trout, but laughing at the Sentinel's hand-on-heart story of the one that got away and nearly took his arm with it.

It had been a couple of days before he discovered he'd been really sick, that he had been teetering on the edge of death again, and for how long. With that knowledge came the recollection of the last dream vision he had experienced - and the ones before that. After Jim had been discharged and on his insistence had actually left his bedside for more than ten minutes or so, and despite the very frequent visitors, he had a lot of time alone to think. And write. He'd taken the minor mercy that it was a good thing he had been out of the loop for the better part of a week as his arms were well on the way to healing by the time he was conscious. The doctors had informed him that somehow whoever cut him - as they had incorporated that injury and the damage around his throat into the 'Blair tortured for information' part of events - had very skillfully managed not to sever any tendons or his major arteries. It was still painful, but with patience, and his dictaphone, he was doing the old Sandburg thing of catching up with the theoretical while on medical leave.

The one thing he noticed about the dream visions was that they didn't fade in his memory. He would lie there late at night, when the lessening pain in his chest felt not so much like the stabbing pain of an arrow through his heart and more like someone poking at him with a blunt knife, and the visions would replay as he analysed them as he would some ancient text or anthropological source.

Hindsight was a marvellous thing, he decided. In the illuminated light of hindsight they all made sense. His first dream had been a warning of Jim's change having begun and the danger his friend was in; and what not to do, regardless of it being his first response and natural. Simon nearly shooting Jim had been an odd mirroring event of that warning, and he'd known the consequences as a result of that vision with enough conviction to stop it despite their apparent mortal danger.

The sacrificing dream. If Incacha was like that with Jim, then no wonder Jim was confused about his Sentinel abilities. He was sure as hell confused by his dream until he started picking it apart. It had shown him in the place, the Temple of the Sentinels, the origin of this transformation. It had shown him the possible consequences in the stench of death and darkness. He had even told him in a rather cryptic literal way how it had to be done and he had managed to miss his instinctive actions in that dream.

The vision of Jim falling over the cliff. That had felt so real. He'd felt like he had been losing Jim then, and it had been the fear he experienced with it that had prompted him to ignore the voice of the rational and follow his instincts.

Everything tied in together with a synchronicity that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He'd entered the altered state of consciousness of a shaman which had been a shock when he actually realised that had been what he had done. He could see the patterns and that new part of him, felt a harmony in what had been accomplished.
The Blair Sandburg, mild-mannered ..uh, slightly hyperactive grad student part of him was running scared. It was all very well for the universe to be happy that things had been sorted out, but that left him to deal with the fallout and somehow he was meant to know instinctively hao to do that.

He was going home today, and he had no real idea of whether he had a home anymore.
He knew Jim. He knew that the shift in the dynamics of their relationship would almost inevitably lead to its catastrophic collapse; how could the detective who struggled with control issues be able to even tolerate the fact that his life and his very soul were at the whim of someone he had not so long ago thrown out for betraying his trust?

Facts were facts, after all.

It hadn't helped that on Jim's last visit the previous night, he'd played turnabout on him;
"Blair, when you get home tomorrow we have to talk."

Never again would he underestimate the impact of those words. He'd used them on Jim a fair few times and never realised the effort it took not to flinch. Or the complete dread that took up residence in every waking moment as a result.

By the time Megan arrived to pick him up at Blairs insistence as, Jim's shoulder still making it impossible for him to drive and he didn't want to put him to the trouble of getting a taxi over , Blair was practically vibrating with nervous energy and his thoughts flitting in and out of best and worst case scenarios;

On the one hand, Jim had been very worried and, yeah caring about him since the take down of the Red Stars.

On the other, he'd quashed any attempts by him to talk about what happened.
But, he'd felt that Jim cared. More than cared, if he was truthful.

But then he had also felt the terror and soul-destroying fear in the man during the change, and his hatred of it and all things connected with it, which of course included a certain anthropologist.

It was better than watching a game of tennis, the way his thoughts bounced from one side to the other.

Tiring, too.

"Need any help, Sandy?" Megan asked as he limped painstakingly to her car.

"I'm fine." Blair was trying to stay upright, with mixed success. "Whoa, who put that tricky bit of pavement there?"

"Leapt out and got you, eh?" Megan steadied him to get in.

"I could give you a description to put out an APB on a maliciously uneven pavement with a loose curb," the anthropologist replied with a slight smile.

Megan was still not overly convinced Blair was ready to go home. The fact that he hadn't been clamouring to do so was a very worrying sign because usually it was all they could do to get the grad student to sit still long enough for treatment. That she was the one taking Blair home when it should have been Jim aroused her suspicions even further. Now he was accepting what they threw at him with only a hint of his old self showing through.

They drove in silence for part of the way before Megan commented.

"You don't seem that excited about going home, Sandy." She wasn't expecting a direct answer, but she got one nonetheless.

"I'm not sure if I have one any more," Blair replied, staring out at the road ahead of them.

"What?" Connor nearly slammed on the brakes at that.

"I don't think it's going to be my home much longer," Blair said evenly. "Jim wants to talk to me tonight. I'm guessing he wants me to leave."

"Sandy, you can't be serious." Megan sounded horrified, "Why would he do that to you?"

"To protect himself. To protect me. It's a Sentinel thing, Megs." Blair sounded weary again.

"The fact that he did change, like you said?" Megan guessed. "Something to do with that? And the scars on your arms?"

He gave her a startled glance and she smiled. "Inspectors get that special outback training I mentioned before, remember? I'm not blind. So, spill. What's the deal?"

"It's complicated." Blair struggled for words. "I'm not sure I can really explain the depth of it, but the change doesn't just affect Jim, it affects me as well because of that ritual with the scars and all that. It sort of gave me .. power over him in some ways. That's what he sees and feels. And you know Jim. Control issues."

"And then some." It was Megan's turn to frown "You can't just stop it?"

Blair shook his head. "No. It's done; you can't pretend it never happened. I mean, hey, it's a whole lot more complicated than that, but that is what Jim will feel and remember. He couldn't look at me after the first time. He..."

His voice gave out and instead of embarrassing himself further, he just stopped. Tears were for the lost, and he hadn't lost anything - yet.

There was a long embarrassing silence until he cleared his throat.

"So, uh..yeah, if I call you later or something, would you mind picking me up? Taking me to a motel or something. I'd go to my office at Rainer like before, but uh, yeah, hey, probably not the best idea."

Megan was silent a moment longer. "Sandy, I think you're underestimating Jim here. Don't fix this in your head as something that is going to happen. I think ... he just wants to talk with you about things. Like we all do."

Blair glanced over at her, pushing his hair back a moment. "Oh. About that?"

She nodded. "Jim wants to talk first, though."

"Well, I feel like a melodramatic idiot now," Blair muttered sheepishly, "Man, I can be so stupid sometimes."

"No, no, Sandy, not at all." Megan pulled in outside of 852 Prospect and stopped the engine. "Look, if you guys have a blow out, you phone me, or Simon, and you stay with us. I'm not going to have you in a motel or something, not when you are just out of hospital, for Christ's sake. Not like before. That place was a pit."

"A cheap pit," Sandburg corrected, his smile a little more genuine at the offer.

"Sandy, a pit is a pit, cheap or not," Connor said disapprovingly. "I'll get you up there, make nice for awhile and then leave you and Jim to it," she said.

"Thanks, Megan."

"No worries, Sandy." She smiled and then looked at him seriously "Sandy, just one word of advice? If you've got him talking, don't let him stop, okay?"

"I won't, Megan, I won't."

***

Jim had gone to a lot of trouble, Blair could see that. He'd cooked some of his favourite things, which he appreciated the effort, considering the shoulder the detective was meant to be resting. But to start with, they talked about nothing much. A bit of station gossip, a bit of this, a bit of that, with Blair desperately trying to get some sort of feeling from him as to what Jim was thinking and feeling, or what emotional time bomb he might get dropped on him from on high.

It was made all the more disconcerting with the way that Jim was being nice. Like after Lash nice, like after the Golden nice, like after Maya nice.

That was throwing him for a loop. He'd sort of got the impression that after Alex he'd forfeited his right to that sort of treatment. After that incident even the concern that had been exhibited had had an edge to it, as if Jim were deliberately not allowing himself that concern, or pushing him away. Now, after those short intense moments where he had seen and felt the texture of his friend's emotions, Blair considered that it had most likely been an attempt to be normal made sharp and brittle by the enormous control Jim had been exerting on his feelings.

But even that knowledge didn't necessarily mean he had a clue what Jim wanted to say to him. He'd realised in his connection with Jim's mind, an experience he felt awed by in a way he couldn't describe, that human emotions were not linear. They were multi-level, multidimensional and in constant dynamic flux, evolving into more and more shapes and feelings. He could attempt to describe it as a feast, with an incredible array of subtle spices, rich and redolent, combining to produce something endlessly fascinating. He could try and describe it as a symphony of sounds too vast to absorb or analyse, only to feel; or perhaps colours blending, twisting in hypnotically beautiful lights, but none of these could tell him how to interpret the reasons why Jim felt the way he did, or what he might feel like in the future.

He was made comfortable on the couch, he was brought a drink, he was placed just so and in the end he felt like the proverbial lamb being led to the slaughter by the time Jim finally got around to what he wanted to 'talk about'.

"Chief, you feeling up to having that talk?" Jim asked casually. "I'll understand if you want to give it a rest." He glanced across at Blair, monitoring him automatically, even as he tried to steel himself.
You promised yourself you would do this. All those excuses you made of waiting until he was stronger, until everything was fine and that is should wait until he had recovered were just excuses. You knew he wouldn't truly recover unless you had the talk, but you put that down as worry talking.

But then they had experienced the nahual bond. And he'd seen, he'd felt and touched the edges of that pain inside of his friend. Blair had been walking wounded since the fountain, had been ready for the pain to end, and yet had gone on. Jim could scarcely look at him without remembering that moment where he felt him falling into that pain all over again.

"No, no man, I'm fine. Really." Blair sounded nervous even to himself. "Go ahead. Talk. I'll mark it off on the calendar."

Jim gave a slight smile and sat down, facing him. He had to stop and obviously consider where to begin as he started using the low soft voice that was frequently more worrying than when he shouted. "Through all of this, I've realised some pretty important things, Chief. Things that I should have done something about some time ago, things that I haven't said for one reason or another..."

Blair's heart was sinking without trace. So much for Connor's optimism; if anything it sounded like the start of a 'I'm really sorry, but it's just not going to work out' relationship break-up talk. He'd had a few of those in his time. He'd even on occasion been the one to give them, though that was not the usual profile of a Sandburgian breakup. It was kind of ironic he should be getting one of those from Jim, though perhaps he shouldn't be as surprised as he was. Three years of living together had been a commitment that a lot of relationships never reached, a level of participation and of living in each others' lives and memories that he would have to say he had never reached with another person. He kept his face calm and interested as he listened, aware that Jim was giving him a slightly peculiar look as he continued.

"And this seemed like a time to get things out in the open, to talk about everything and.." Jim frowned again. He could feel a surge of anxiety and resigned expectation rise up in him and he wasn't completely convinced it was his own. Okay, this was another thing to add to the list of things to discuss. "..look at the future."

Blair nodded encouragingly, as the fragile hopes he had allowed himself began slowly and majestically to collapse inside. He was too much of a threat to Jim after all, he made the man feel too vulnerable and not unnaturally the Sentinel must want him to leave. Or perhaps, he couldn't cope with what had happened and was projecting that onto the only person available. "Sure thing, man. Where do you want to start?"

Jim marvelled. To look at him on the surface, he'd never would have realised what turmoil was going on underneath, but now he could feel it. Now they were back and close together, he could feel that echo effect again that, he reasoned, must be the result of the transformation and bonding, and Blair's emotional state was far from detached. The hurt was bleeding and raw in him, the exhaustion constricting, so every moment his friend was struggling to appear normal when underneath it he felt one slip would take him into collapse.

He revised his tactics hastily. "Actually, perhaps we should start with why you are feeling so uh...anxious right now?"

Blair looked startled. "What do you mean?"

"I can feel it, Chief. Not sure how, but I can feel it faintly, like I'm hearing an echo or something. I know it's you. Don't ask me how, though I'm betting it's all to do with this whole were-jaguar thing and what you did, but I know," Jim replied. "Talk, Sandburg. Tell me it's not true."

Blair shrugged, trying to appear casual about everything as they stepped into dangerous territory. Great, now they had an empathic connection of sorts? He might as well forget any hopes of salvaging their friendship, Jim would never cope with that sort of intrusion into his life. "I can't. I am pretty freaked out here, Jim."

Jim shook his head, focussing on him. "Why? I don't get it. What have I done?"

"It's more what you are going to do," Blair said, took a deep breath and continued in the face of Jim's incomprehension. "Look, it's no big deal, man. If you want me to move out, or stay away from you or something, I understand. Just give me a moment to phone Connor - she said she'd put me up for a few days until I can get myself sorted out and ..."

"Whoa, whoa, Chief." Jim looked stunned as he tried to fathom what was going on. "Where is all this coming from?"

"Look, man, it was pretty obvious that you weren't happy with what I did when you were the nahual," Blair blurted out in a rush, letting all his fears spill out somewhat incoherently. "And I'm sorry, Jim, I really didn't know that was what happened with it. I just thought that it would bring you back, not do that to you. I mean, I should have known, because I guess that's what I'm meant to do, right? But I guess, well hey, I must have sucked at the research, you know. Must have cut some corners or something and maybe not understood the dreams and visions I was getting then, because I understand them now, but you often do after the event. But I wasn't, like, completely with it then, Jim, and I'm sorry, but I understand why you might not feel comfortable having me around, man."

Jim was wearing the expression of someone who had been mugged by a passing mob of incomprehensible emotions.

"Wait, wait, you think I want to throw you out?!" he said, raising his voice a little. "Because you saved my life?"

"Well, not so much the saving the life thing - more the price paid side of it, you know?" Blair found himself prodding at the site of injury between the two of them in horrified fascination. "I mean, Jim afterwards you could barely look at me, man. You can't deny that. You hated it, and everything to do with it. Including me."

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose.

Damn. Of all the things he could have felt and seen, he had felt that?

"I'm sorry, Chief. It was reaction, I swear it. I wasn't really thinking straight and I didn't understand how it worked. I'm not sure that I do now, but I do know I was wrong to draw away from you then. To make you make that promise. Jesus, Chief, I never expected that from you." He tried to communicate his sincerity with his eyes and body language. " I never expected you to go through all that again for me."

"You heard it then?" Blair felt a chill steal over him, fixating on that aspect. He felt he'd been so weak then, so vulnerable. The thought of Jim hearing all that while Lyle Hawker had set about tearing apart all the illusions he held about Jim and Alex and what had happened to him - Jim must have heard the wavering of his certainty under that unbearable pressure. "You heard, what, all of it?"

"Some." Jim looked at him, struggling to find a way to open up the topic. "I heard enough. Why, Blair? Why did you let him do that to you?"

Blair looked stung and the hurt surfaced, as he reacted defensively, betraying the fact that he felt under siege somehow. "I did the best I could Jim, I just couldn't stop them, there were so many of them, man, and I tried to fight them, I really did, but I was pretty weak by then and, yeah maybe I should have found a different way, but shit, man, it's difficult to stop people when you are having the crap kicked out of you."

"No, no, Chief, I didn't mean that." Jim looked momentarily horrified at how his words had come across. "I meant you should have given me up to them. Should have called the Jaguar in me rather than drown."

Ah. The defensive hurt slipped away out of sight again. "I made a promise, Jim. I couldn't betray you again." Blair looked away, staring at the flicker of fire in the small stove. Last time he had watched that flame dancing he had been paying vigil throughout the night to an impossible dream. And even though he'd found his miracle it had still turned out to be a source of hurt and pain. Perhaps that was the way with miracles when it came down to it.

"Betray me? You've never betrayed me. Why do you think you ..oh." The last words he'd said to Blair before the Fountain; words born from a feeling he couldn't understand, insecurity and aggression that he recognised now as his human and nahual sides fighting for dominance. It was with a shock that the detective realised that the seeds of his recent ordeal had taken root then. If he had lost Blair then, he would have had his very soul eaten by his animal self until there was nothing left of Jim Ellison, Sentinel, Detective and sometimes world class Idiot by his own admission.

Jim met Blair's steady, sorrow-filled gaze, his expression steeped in the regret he had buried relating to that time. "Okay, look, this is where I was really going to start. I've been practising for days. Back to the whole issue with Alex. I look back at that time, Chief, and it feel like I am watching a stranger in my own memories. I look at you and every time I can't believe I said or did those things, that I threw you out, that, God, Chief, that I accused you of betraying me. I don't know why I said that."

"Because it was true," Blair replied, his voice oddly calm, though the feelings echoing hollowly between them told a different story of loss. "All true. I should have told you, Jim, I tried, but - look, it doesn't matter. Ignorance is not an excuse. It's the only one I have, though."

Jim shook his head, unable to contain his agitation now. He'd tried so hard over the past month and it had done more harm than good.

"No, Chief, it wasn't true. It's hard to explain, really hard - I'm not even sure I totally understand what was going on. Everything felt distorted and out of control, and you were there. You were the only thing I could control; I could let everything out at you and there was something in me that needed you away from me. I'm not sure why, half the time it was a need to be alone, and the other half a sort of fear for you that seemed irrational. And then it spilled out at others, and then..." Jim nearly choked as his habitual response started to try and prevent him from going any further. "I've never had the guts to say this to you, but I wanted to apologise for it, for all of it. I don't know if you can you forgive that - I felt the hurt in you, Chief, you can't pretend that it didn't destroy you. I can't understand why you have stayed, or followed the person responsible for your death. I know you died because of me."

It was possibly one of the longest serious speeches Jim had ever made and he fought an completely irrational thought that Sandburg's complete stillness was a sign that the man had become literally paralysed in shock. He stared, begging him mentally to speak, to shout, and to do something aside from tearing them apart with this terrible silence.

Eternity had to be silence, he realised that. It was made up of the endless moments between something being said that could change everything, and the answer. A universe could be born and collapse in a fiery death in this trapped moment.
Blair's blue eyes were looking at him, studying him. There were times when Jim felt like the younger man could see past everything, right into the heart of him and this was one of those times.

The 'presence' in his blood pulled at him then and he didn't flinch, just met Blair's gaze as his friend and roommate finally spoke.

"You're wrong, Jim. I didn't die because of you. I came back because of you."

The anthropologists deep blue eyes looked old then, full of the shadows of experiences someone his age should never have faced. "And that's worse, isn't it? It creates a tie to you. Like this whole business with the nahual creates a bond to you. Dependency, you hate dependency, either someone being dependent upon you - and yes, that would be me, Jim, sorry about that, man, but I had to have a reason to come back, you know? - or you being dependent on someone. And hey, that would be me again. I don't have to be a genius to realise where this journey is leading, man."

It was a weary challenge. It was one of Blair's normal tactics that had the implicit 'Tell me I'm wrong, Jim, tell me I'm way off base. You know you can't' message woven into what he said.

He did strike a nerve, it was true. Maybe for different reasons than Blair described, but he could and would strenuously deny that what he wanted to do was throw his friend out. Somehow, for all of everything that had happened and how he knew he should be reacting, having Blair far away from him seemed incomprehensible. Unnatural somehow. And that was a big turnaround for him.

"Chief, I'm not going to pretend I'm totally comfortable with everything that has happened, because you and I both know that would be a lie," Jim began in a low voice, leaning forward. "I screwed up, Blair. The fact I didn't really understand why it was happening is irrelevant, either with Alex or with this. You died because of me, and nothing I could say or do can ever make up for that, could mean anything. So I did the worst thing possible - I didn't say or do anything. I made these excuses in my own head - pathetic attempts to make things easier and I let myself believe them, even though if I were truly honest, I knew they weren't true. I told myself you needed time to cope, I thought I could make things normal again and that would help you recover somehow.

"You kept telling me you were fine, insisting you could carry on as if it hadn't happened, as if all those things I did in Sierra Verde hadn't happened either. And they hurt you. You brushed them off, but I felt them in you, Chief, I know they hurt. And it started there, when I should have trusted you and had the same faith in you that you seemed to have in me. I was the one who made the first mistake, and then afterwards I let it carry on, knowing that everything wasn't fine but finding it easier to pretend it was."

His mouth went a little dry at the peculiar glint in Blair's eyes then, as the police observer sat up straighter as if some of the crushing pressure on him had eased.

"Jim, you do know you are an idiot, don't you?"

Jim opened his mouth to respond and then stopped, waiting for the rest of it. If anyone was entitled to tear him to pieces it was Blair, and perhaps it would be the trigger to allow his friend let out that pain and anger.

"What are you? A reincarnation of some sort of early martyr? Are all the troubles of the world your responsibility? I mean, karmically, man, there's probably some universal law against it, you know? I mean, come on Jim, every time I get hurt, do you have to bleed?"

Jim interrupted then, unable to stop himself. "I think that's your deal, Sandburg."

The grad student flushed a little as he scored a telling point.

"Good point, but missing mine. Jim, I am an adult … yeah, yeah, save the derisive comments." Blair's voice was becoming animated, the words so long pent up starting to flow again. "Give me credit for making my own mistakes, hell, blame the universe a little for bringing two Sentinels together in the same time and place, and then failing to provide a handy instruction booklet that tells you what to expect as a consequence. You take me into the light, Jim, and I follow you into the darkness - it's a sort of balance, you know? Ying and Yang, a whole duality deal going on. Light and Dark, Sentinel and Other ... Guide, Shaman, whatever I am. Other is good enough, I don't need the label to define it, I know. But you have stop blaming yourself."

"And blame you instead?" Jim said sharply, thrusting away that. "No way, Chief. And you can't tell me that you don't blame yourself because I felt that too in the nahual merge; I felt everything - I don't understand it, but I know it was there. If you didn't blame yourself, then why is it still in you like, like a gaping wound in your centre?"

"The arrow. You know about the arrow," Blair stated, the choice of phrase ringing alarm bells. He read his friend's expression and comprehension dawned. "You've known about the arrow for some time." For the first time he started to look angry rather than hurt or exhausted.

In a strange sort of way that gave Jim a peculiar sense of relief. Blair had been taking too much in, too many carelessly hurtful gestures tossed at him, isolated as if shunned for a non-existent crime. Blair getting angry was a good thing. It was a way to let out the hurt in him.

"I had a dream vision, before Alex, before I threw you out, that I was hunting an intruder and there was danger. I was in the jungle and seeing movement of a strange wolf in my territory so I fired. I shot the wolf in the heart and it was lying there looking at me, and then turned into you. Dead. I'd killed you." Jim uttered in a tone as if he was confessing a heinous murder, which in his own mind he had comitted.

"Shit. Jim, why the HELL didn't you tell me about this?!" Blair nearly shot up out of his chair explosively, for all that his knee was unstable. "I dreamt this - I SAW this when I was recovering! It explained a lot man, if I'd known before.."

"I'm sorry, Chief. You've got every right to be angry."

"No, oh, no you don't. Don't think you are getting away with tricking me into getting pissy at you." Blair waved his arms at Jim aggressively, the movement exposing the layers of bandages around his arms as his loose top flapped its sleeves. "You are going to listen to me, Jim. Do you want to know what the problem has been? Really? Incacha told me in the follow-up to that vision I had to let go of death. I had to be willing to embrace it for the nahual and then I had to let it go. And I haven't been able to let it go, not because of you, Jim, or the fact I died. No, it was how I died that was the problem. Death, yeah, no problem - Me and Death, we're like buddies, you know? You realise that in the moment it happens ..it's.. shit, Jim, it's familiar. I mean it's like tasting something you'd forgotten you'd ever tried before. That's what death is like. But dying? Dying's another matter, Jim."

The feeling of the remembered asphyxiation welled up suddenly, dramatically, much to his irritation. If it weren't the memory of water, it was the hard warm pressure of a jaguar's jaws pressing hard on his neck, choking and terrifying. He started coughing a moment, the sound still raw and rasping and Jim stood to help him straighten up, unsure of how his help would be received.

"We can stop this, Chief, if it is too much?"

"Are you kidding me, man? Just when I'm getting to the point where I explain everything? You should know better than to try and interrupt me mid-cathartic purge, man." Blair took a gulp of his drink to try and ease that irritation as now the words were bubbling up in him, desperate to be released. "Jim, the reason I've been so screwed up is because I was murdered. Hell, man, it's the reason why everyone has been so screwed up over this. It was a vision-induced revelation, man, you know? I suddenly realised that the pain was the fact that someone specifically wanted to kill me and they did it. Someone actually wanted Blair Sandburg dead. Not because he was a victim of opportunity, not because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, or liked the wrong person or just picked up the wrong bit of pizza. No, they wanted me dead because I was ..me."

Jim shook his head, the mention of it taking him back to that time and the sour taste of regrets filling his mouth. "Chief ..don't, please."

"Hear me out, Jim. I'm sorry, man, but it's got to be said. First of all, it was Alex that murdered me. You gotta understand that. I remember it pretty damn clearly. It wasn't you, it wasn't anyone else, it was her. She did it very deliberately, and with full knowledge of whom she was killing. For once it wasn't the fact that I caught someone's eye, or that I was tagging along that put me in danger. No, Jim, she sought me out, took me down to that fountain, stunned me enough that I couldn't fight her and drowned me. I'd like to say I don't remember it, Jim, but I do. Very clearly. Which has weirded me out because in my dreams it's something else that has terrified me, something without a shape; and finally I worked it out. It was the fact that someone thought I was important enough to murder, that what I was doing was important enough to kill me over. Do you understand that, Jim? All of a sudden I realised that I had been treating what could be the most important thing in the world as a study, when I had been living it! Living a destiny instead of observing it, being a part of it. If I had just been a true observer, Jim, I would never have had to die. But I haven't been, not for a long time, but I've carried on with the fiction of it because it is that fiction that has allowed me to be where I need to be.

"Somewhere along the line, you, me us .. we didn't become the means to an end, we were the end. Sentinel and Other - we're not the journey, we're the destination, and Alex saw that before we did. She saw that I wasn't just observing and studying, she saw I was a blockage to her and you and the instincts of the Sentinel. Did you know that some big cats only cross each others' territories to fight or mate? Sorry..."

Blair gulped some more drink after nearly splashing Jim as he waved his hands around with his glass still clutched tightly as he continued his impassioned speech.

"..And the problem with you guys, all of you guys at Major Crimes? You are all trapped in your own closed society reactions. And I'm an anomaly. I'm a living murder victim. I've seen you all with murder victims, and until I had the last dream, I didn't realise. That's how you are treating me. You are going through the cycles that you all have to murder victims; of half blaming me for being murdered, to pitying me, to trying to distance yourselves emotionally and burying yourselves in normality, to covering up the pain and that sense of peculiar failure that I know you all experience on finding a victim."

Blair took a deep breath, nearly shaking now. "Only I didn't go away. I came back. I'm the murder victim who came back and whether you know it or not, half of the avoidance you are doing is because I am a constant reminder of the failure of your roles as protectors to save me. I tell you, man, this was like instant enlightenment. "

"But we did fail you, Chief, you're right about that," Jim said in a soft voice, those words striking an instant chord in him. They had let him down. How many times had he heard the guys say It should never have happened? We knew he was in danger, why did it happen, if only, if only..

As if he had died and not come back? Blair was right, they had been treating him like a murder victim and they all judged and assigned deep personal opinions on death, even if it were just pity and compassion at the waste of a life. It was still a judgement because that was what their job was and who, in the end, they all were.

"Jim, you didn't. You're trapped in your own social reactions, man; I'm the anomaly that's challenging everything, you know? People don't know what to do, so they opt for doing nothing."

"But we should have..." Jim tried again. His grand apology was being steamrollered, but Blair's eyes looked bright and alive again and this was the first time in a month he had heard Blair 'lecture'. He decided he could live with a month's worth of rehearsed apologies blown out of the water if it set that spark back in his friend.

"It's okay, Jim. If I didn't realise, and this is my job to notice, then why should any of you?" Blair replied. "I didn't like to think of myself as a victim - you know the whole powerless thing, and neither did any of you. Which is a compliment in a way. Means that you were all uncomfortable with the fact that I was a victim and preferred to try and make me fit into a different model, but were struggling with that and your need for justice. That's the crucial bit. Incacha showed me that ... if I didn't let go myself, I couldn't stop you being taken by the path of vengeance, like Lyle Hawker. I was having problems doing it for myself, but for you, for my friends I found I could. If you helped me."

"I was there, Chief," Jim replied, nodding agreement, "You were delirious, but I heard that."

Blair shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed, "Well, yeah man, I guess I might have been asking for help pretty loudly."

"You got it, partner, you got it," Jim said softly, moving to make him sit down again. "Look, I'm just going say one thing, Blair. I don't want you to leave, not now n, not in the future because this is your home as much as it is mine. If you want to, then... I'll deal with that, but I don't want you to go, though I know you will find that hard to believe, but it's true. I'm not going to pretend that I'm completely together about this new thing of changing into a jaguar, and given a choice I wouldn't want it, but it's too late for that, isn't it?"

"From the moment Alex put you in that pool, yeah," Blair confirmed, his almost manic tones calmed now. "Sorry, Jim."

"Like I'm sorry about when you di..you were murdered? Yeah." Jim nodded, "Chief, I'm probably going to be an irritable son of a bitch about this, I'll admit it."

Blair raised an eyebrow and gave a rather startling grin "Really? You do surprise me, Jim. How exactly am I going to notice this radical personality change?"

"Very funny, Darwin." Jim found himself smiling back in response with a relief that was incredible. "Being the Jaguar is ..it's like mainlining hard drugs. Even with you there to steady me, I could feel the temptation. When I say I don't want to do it again it's not because it's agonising, it's because it's so tempting just to stay there in a shape where doubt and uncertainty don't exist. Blair, I'll work with you on this, but I need you to know that. And I release you from that promise, I should never have made you make it. Not then, not ever."

Blair looked at him steadily, shaking his head to disagree. "The promise stands, Jim. You choose the change."

"And I suck the life out of you. It nearly killed you, Blair," Jim pointed out, allowing some of his emotion to show through about that. "I attacked you as the Jaguar, I took the blood, too much blood."

"Just this time, Jim. Because of the blood offering, an offering, Jim, that was the point. The sacrifice had to be willing, had to be initiated by them, not the Jaguar. Makes sense, really. The Sentinel gets someone totally loyal in control of their nahual shape, but there is also the means to prevent them abusing the control by forcing the change through them being the source of energy." Blair sighed a little. Jim hated anything that involved him getting hurt, and he could see that he wasn't going to get any voluntary changes out of Jim on the basis it was going to 'hurt' his partner. "I'm thinking that was only as much as it was because you were right on the limits of, um, being.."

"Lost," Jim nodded. He remembered the hunger and the need for it to be satisfied and how it had grown. It made sense that the greater the hunger, the more of Blair's blood had been required to reach him. He had no idea what might happen now the connection had been made. "My mind was being eroded away bit by bit, Chief. I don't think I can explain what that was like; I don't think I want to."

"I felt what it meant, Jim, I know." Blair rested his hand reassuringly on his partner's arm. "I think what I most need to say is that this is what it's all about now, Jim. I'm not an observer any longer, I can't be - I'm your partner. I'll have to find a way for that to continue somehow after I submit my dissertation. If it means a different career path, then that's what I'll do."

Jim was stunned. "You can't do that, Sandburg!" he protested.

"I'll be submitting the dissertation soon," Blair replied with a slightly stiff shrug "I have to start thinking about it, Jim."

"Whoa, whoa - the dissertation?" Jim looked almost afraid and it was Blair's turn to feel a tug of fear and anxiety that was not his own. "I thought I was going to get to read it, Chief. You promised that I would get final say and .."

"And it's not the Sentinel dissertation," Blair replied gently, knowing now he had been right. "I'd already decided after the first chapter that it wasn't worth it. It wasn't a bluff, Jim. Some things are more important to me than the dissertation."

"But .." Jim was stunned and his expression reflected that.

"Its simple, Jim. A choice between my friends and an ambition, and the friends win every time." Blair smiled quietly to himself. "This is more important than personal ambition, Jim. I can get my doctorate on a different subject."

Which was a message for the Sentinel as well. Blair had followed him into darkness, and was doing so now, trusting implicitly that Jim could always lead them into the light. What could he do in the face of such a commitment?

The Sentinel nodded slowly and thoughtfully as a more comfortable silence enveloped the pair of them. He recognised this silence as the gentle ease that surrounded friends that had been long missing between them. The power of words never ceased to amaze him, and evaded him as a natural means of dealing with his own problems. He would always regret what had happened. But he would always regard it secretly with a wonder that would give him the strength to go on. The knowledge that there was someone in the world who had been willing to give up everything for him, as he did for the people he protected was as close to a feeling of salvation as he could imagine.

In light of what they had experienced, answers dropped into place, some of them with chilling impact - a Sentinel alone would become nahual. Primal, unconnected with the tribe and with a hunger so desperate it would consume them utterly, leaving the terrifying remains of a Sentinel Jaguar beast to terrorise the innocent. In the pool at the Temple it had been his awareness and guilt over the pain that had occurred to his friends, Blair in particular, that had stopped him rejoicing in the power of the nahual and allowing it to dominate. It was those moments when he remembered his friend's death, the hurt in his eyes when he had stood there mesmerised, kissing and enraptured by Alex and then let his best friend's murderer get away after holding his gun on him again. It was all the things he had discovered when he had been fighting against the jaguar-thoughts that made up himself as a human. It had been the regrets that made him a Sentinel rather than a nahual, and Blair's ordeal had been a necessary part of that. He had used his pain and regrets to draw that line and deny the siren call of the primitive power. To shout back to the waiting form of the lurking nahual balam, "This is not who I am!"

In doing so, he had chosen a way that could not abide in solitude.

And then of course, with the classic judgement of the Ellison clan, he had managed to miss that part of the arrangement and try and separate himself off from the one person who connected him with the world. Leaving him vulnerable once again to the growing strength of the nahual jaguar spirit. It had been too close this time. Too close for both of them.

"Been a hell of a time, Chief," he said succinctly.

"You're telling me." Blair smiled and gave a little chuckle. "Got a friend and roommate who can turn into a panther. I'm thinking of going shopping for a flea collar."

"I'm sure it'll look very attractive when you wear it, Chief," Jim replied, embracing the light banter like a long lost friend.

"Only if it doesn't have a bell on it," Blair retorted, grinning. "Though, you know.."

"No Sandburg, no bells," Jim said firmly.

"You sure?" The blue eyes were wide with feigned innocence. "It's just that it might be a good way of getting you out of zones, and.."

"You'd never be able to sneak in the fridge again," Jim pointed out.

"I can't now," Blair quipped back.

There was a pause, and Jim said carefully, a world of hope and offered friendship in his words,. "We okay now, Chief?"

Blair smiled, "Getting there, Jim. Definitely getting there," he replied, comfortable once again in his friend's presence. They had a lot to work on. There would be problems with the nahual shapeshifting, and his own newly awakened predisposition to slip into visions and dreams. The emotional bond that allowed them to peer so clearly into each others' minds and hearts was another complication, and at the back of it all Blair had the suspicion that this was just preparation for something else. The greater Jim's abilities became, it seemed that the greater the challenges they faced and if the universal rule ran true to form, they had some interesting times ahead of them.

For a brief moment he looked at Jim, their eyes met and they didn't need to have emotional bonds, or spirit guides or visions, to know that things were healing. Blair nodded at his best friend and Sentinel.

Yeah, he would continue following Jim into darkness, because he knew Jim could always find the light.

And all Jim had to do was remember the wonder of Blair's mind and emotions when they were linked to know he had already found the light he needed, and that now he'd never lose it ever again.

The End

Authors note:- Thankyou to all the various people who manfully stabbed at beta-ing this (Deanna, Kathy and Daggy most of all) . I swear I'll learn the mysteries of the comma so it won't be so bad again. You may or may not be interested to know that the 'nahual concept is real, the were-jaguars statues are real, in fact all the information described here is based on actual artifacts and theories. There's even a rather good black panther werejaguar set It's only where I start experimenting with Sentinel things that we leave myth and jump into fiction! Anyway, thanks to everyone who helped me with this, I appreciate it! Hope you liked the story and feel free to feedback.

-         Peregrine