Title: The Game Begins

*Author's Note: This is an alternate timeline that takes place shortly after the events in Warriors.

The Game Begins

The Fugitive Sentinel #1

October

Monday

It was an ordinary Monday. Except that it didn't feel ordinary, at all.

Detective James Ellison shook his head and shrugged his shoulders a bit, trying to relieve the strange prickling tension that had been between them since he climbed out of bed that morning. In the chair beside him, still yawning into his coffee--fourth cup, Jim noted with a amused smile--sat Blair Sandburg, grad student, unofficial partner, and roommate.

He shook his head fondly at the younger man, noting that his friend was still half-asleep in spite of the caffeine. A quick glance up and over revealed that Simon's office was still dark and empty, and Jim frowned, glancing over at the clock. It was half-gone nine o'clock, and they had witnesses in the Ruan case coming in for questioning at ten. Witnesses that Simon was taking a special interest in because of a personal twist: one of them was a good friend from college.

//Simon wouldn't be late today; he's more than aware of how important this case is.// It was a high-profile case; almost as big a deal to Cascade as had been the Lee Brackett case over a year ago. Tomas Ruan, a drug-dealer with ties to the South American Mafioso, had recently been arrested and indicted for drug-trafficking and attempted sale of said drugs. He was also up on charges for murdering Nicolo Perenza, the youngest son of city Alderman Antonio Perenza. Drew Calloway, Simon's friend, had been on his way to his car in the city government parking complex when he'd seen Ruan and Perenza, talking. The talk got loud, and things got ugly, and when Perenza pulled a knife, Ruan pulled a gun.

Calloway had immediately identified Ruan as the killer, and when Ruan swore revenge, Calloway had been stashed away in a safe house. He was being transported from the safe house today for further questioning. Jim glanced at the clock again: 9:45.

"Rhonda." He waited until the blond secretary glanced his way, and smiled. "Did Simon say anything about coming in late today?"

She shook her head. "He told me last night that he was planning on being here early to get some paperwork done before talking to the witness for the Ruan case. He's got Darryl this week though; something might have come up."

"Let me know if you hear from him, okay?" Jim picked up his phone, at the same time jiggling Sandburg's knee with his foot. "Up and at 'em, Chief. We got incoming in fifteen minutes." The younger man opened his eyes and peered blearily at Jim, then nodded. Ellison grinned at him as he dialed. "You really shouldn't stay up all night, Professor. Old guys like you can't afford to miss sleep like that."

He smirked at the black look the grad student shot him. A not-so-subtle dig over the freshman students who were calling Blair "sir" this term. His non-conformist "I-don't-like-titles", young-at-heart partner shuddered every time he heard it.

"You are, like, so evil, man," Sandburg yawned, stretching in his chair. Jim tried not to watch the play of muscles moving under the baggy shirt. To cover up his involuntary reaction, he shook his head in mock-chagrin.

"I'm sorry, *sir*, what was that?" That earned him another black look from Sandburg before the younger man got up and shuffled toward the hall. Jim frowned at the phone he still held to his ear. Twelve rings; no answer at Simon's house. He got the same on his cell. Damn.

He stared morosely at the file, reading again Ruan's threats of retaliation against the witnesses, the police, anyone involved in taking him down. A strange prickling crept down his neck again, like drops of ice water. With an effort he closed the file and attempted to shake off the feeling.

"Nothing, huh?" Blair's voice was right behind him, and a warm, steadying hand touched lightly on his shoulder, then was gone. For a brief moment he allowed himself to wish it had stayed there.

"No." Jim sighed and looked at the clock again. 9:50. "Well, c'mon, Chief. I know Simon wanted to be present, but the witnesses are gonna be here regardless. Let's get going."

"Right on, man." Blair's cheerful voice soothed the disquiet inside him as they headed for the elevator.

*****

The call came shortly after they'd finished with the witnesses and returned to Jim's desk, and the paperwork that came with the questioning.

"So-- Ohhh, *man*, that feels good," Blair stretched, his back arched and arms high over his head. "Does this mean that we have enough evidence to pin him for Perenza's murder? I mean, the drug charges are a sure thing, right? And now the murder thing, too?"

Jim shook his head slightly, trying to pull his thoughts back together enough to give his partner a coherent answer. There was something about watching that lithe body moving like that, that could send him into

"Jim. Earth to Ellison. Hey, man, you in there?" A familiar hand waved in front of him, and Jim blinked owlishly, then groaned silently.

"Yeah. Sorry, Sandburg. Don't know for sure about murder one--I doubt it was premeditated. Definitely gonna go for manslaughter though. I don't know--this one, the ball's in the DA's court for sure."

"I do *not* want to see him walk," the younger man muttered darkly. "The guy is scum, Jim."

The big detective nodded, his mind suddenly preoccupied with that strange prickling sensation again. He almost knew that Rhonda was going to turn to him with the phone call.

"Simon's not in yet, Jim--you're senior detective. Got a body."

"Patch it over, Rhonda."

He listened dispassionately to the voice on the other end of the line tell him that they'd found a body--that of a large, African-American male, floating near the industrial section of the harbor. He could hardly stand the itching inside his skull as he listened, and actually reached up to scratch once, before he realized what he was doing. Blair already had their coats by the time he set the phone down.

"Let's go," he said tersely, body tight with expectation. For once, Sandburg didn't try to cajole him into a better mood. It was almost as if Blair knew, as well.

*****

The uniforms at the scene couldn't wait to cluster around him. Jim felt like the world was grinding to a screeching halt, or something. No tension level this high could be sustained for long--the human mind and body weren't designed to withstand that sort of torment. He found himself rolling his shoulders and neck to alleviate some of what he felt, trying to look as if he was going to be competent to deal with what he was certain he was going to find.

//Ruan, if I find you're behind this, the whole goddamned world isn't going to be big enough for you to hide in. You and me, buddy. Youand me.// He made a conscious effort to unclench his jaw, and headed down toward the beach. Sandburg walked beside him, silently offering his support just by being there.

One of the uniforms was giving him the details, but Jim wasn't sure the words were actually making sense. After all, he couldn't be hearing about a friend of his, killed so violentlycould he? "Wefound ID on him, Detective, and it'sCaptain Banks." The officer looked nearly sick to his stomach, and Jim couldn't say he blamed him. He nodded tersely to the uniform, but kept his eyes trained on the man--body--he was heading toward.

That first glance sent him stumbling for a moment, and Blair was there, hands on his shoulders, steadying him.

"Easy, man," his partner murmured, helping him stay upright.

"I got it, Chief," he growled low, hoping Blair would understand the curt tone wasn't directed at him. The younger man nodded and let go, his dark eyes serious.

Ellison raised his eyes heavenward and shook his head. He'd never expected, not after all the years that Simon had been with the police force, that it would end like this. He gave a sharp nod, then moved closer to where the--to where Simon's body was. Behind him he heard a soft, sharp intake of air, but Sandburg didn't say anything; he didn't need to. The quiet choking noise that followed his gasp was eloquent in its simplicity. The big cop wasn't sure if he was glad for the silence, or not. He crouched down, eyes already working to catalogue all he saw.

There was a wound looked like an execution-style hit. There was also Fuck. He'd been in law enforcement in one form or another for all of his adult life, and very rarely saw hits this gruesome unless it was mob-related, or a military op. The entire right side of Simon's//god it hurts to even acknowledge it's him//face wasbashed in. There was no other way to describe it. Flecks of bone and gray bits clung to the ravaged face, but even with such vivid, ragged imagery staring at him, Jim couldn't make his brain actually admit it was his friend.

"Jim?" Blair's hand on his shoulder again, rubbing very gently, as if trying to calm him. With effort he focused on the voice, not letting himself get drawn into the zone that was threatening.

"I'm here, Chief," he answered quietly, then growled, "Jesus Christ, I can't believe this! I can't fucking *believe* this." A long look around showed the harbor, the beginnings of the industrial section, and a circle of cops. He looked up slightly and met Sandburg's eyes, then got to his feet. "Let's get the--let's get Captain Banks' body back to the station house," he said gruffly to the ME staff. "Make sure we get pictures of the crime scene and placement of the body."

Procedure. Protocol. Movement. He had to keep going, because if he stopped, he'd shut down. He was already halfway through notifying Joan and Darryl in his mind when he breathed in deeply, then frowned and crouched down next to the body again.

"What's wrong, Jim?" Blair crouched next to him, keeping his eyes averted from the ruined remains of Simon's face.

"It doesn'tsmell right," Jim floundered quietly for the words to best express what he was trying to say. "The scent's wrong."

"He's*dead*," Blair protested quietly. "Of course it's going to be different."

The detective shook his head. "Nonot like that. Not this fast. Rigor hasn't set in, so he hasn't been dead for long. It's hard to explain, Chief, but thisI don't think this is Simon."

He said the last very softly, and looked over at his partner when there was no response forthcoming. Blair was staring at him, his eyes wide and dark with concern, his mouth gaping slightly.

"I'm not cracking up, Sandburg," he said tightly. "I know it sounds like it, but look at it from my perspective, okay? Each person I come into contact with has a "signature scent", if you want to call it that. I don't recognize all of them, by any means, but some I do. Yours and Simon's for sure. And this", he indicated the corpse lying in front of them, "doesn't *scent* like Simon."

Blair leaned back and stared at him again, and Jim felt the beginnings of anger edging at him, //how could Sandburg not believe me?//, which disappeared when his partner nodded, a thoughtful look moving into his eyes.

"I guess it makes sense that you'd have a different way of identifying people than most of us. Or," he corrected himself, "not different, justdeeper. Most everyone smells of perfume, or aftershave, or something like that. You smellthe whole package, don't you."

"More than you want to know," Jim admitted. He stood up again, moving back from the body and waving the medical examiner's staff in. "Let's talk about this away from here. Oh, shit." //Not now, please. I do not need this shit right now.//

"What?" Blair was standing up as well, moving in sync with him.

"Who the hell called *him*," he muttered ominously, gesturing toward the gathering of cars and cops. Blair shook his head.

"Who called who?"

"Him." Jim gestured toward a large, beefy man with graying hair who was moving toward them. "McShea," he greeted neutrally, when the big man got close enough.

"Ellison." The man stared at him, then at Sandburg. "This your partner?"

The tone of voice said everything, and Jim felt his jaw tighten, wondering how long before he'd have to get dental work done for grinding his teeth so harshly. Next to him Sandburg was bristling defensively, having obviously come to the same interpretation, and Jim quieted him with a casual touch to the small of his back and a warning shake of his head.

"Blair Sandburg, meet Brian McShea, Captain of Vice. McShea, Blair Sandburg, consultant to Major Crimes."

Blair gamely stuck his hand out. "Good to meetcha, man."

McShea stared at him, ignoring the hand. "We'd heard you were trekkin' with a pretty little boy, Ellison. The guys in the squad didn't half get it right, did they?"

Ellison closed his eyes momentarily and took a deep breath. "You always had such a way of making people want to work with you, McShea." Just the name tasted bitter on his tongue, never mind how the memories felt.

"Yeah, well, you'll be working with me on this one, pal. I'm heading up this investigation, until the department can get someone transferred in, so you can cut the attitude and deal with it, Detective."

Jim was aware of Blair nearly strangling with curiosity next to him, and sighed. //I knew this wasn't going to be a good Monday when I got out of bed.// "No attitude, *Sir*, merely making an observation."

"Make your damned observations on your own time, Ellison. For now, get to work and find the motherfucker who killed one of our own."

"On my way, Captain," he said, only barely holding on to the fraying edges of his temper. "C'mon, Chief." Without waiting to see if Blair was still beside or behind him, Ellison started a slow stalk toward his truck. McShea's voice caught him just before he was out of normal hearing range.

"Have a great day, Detective. And don't forget--you're on *my* time, Ellison. You and the pretty boy remember that."

He clenched his teeth harder to avoid turning around and slamming a fist down McShea's throat. He didn't need this now. Didn't want that part of his life dredged up from the bowels of hell where it had fallen to and was welcome to stay.

Beside him, in step all the way, his Guide whispered, "Jim?"

"Later, Chief. I can't deal with *this*," Jim's arm swing encompassed the ME's car, and the uniforms, and the body bag, "and *that*," another jab to indicate McShea, " all at the same time." A quick glance sideways revealed the naked curiosity on Blair's face. "Trust me on this one, Sandburg. I'll fill you in on all the gory details. Just--not now."

"Gotcha, man. But I do want to hear." Blair bounced lightly on his feet, then headed around to get into the truck. Jim watched him, a strange warmth curling through him for a moment before he pulled himself back to the present. That was inviting trouble he *definitely* didn't need right now. He climbed into the truck and headed them back to the station.

*****

The station house was in chaos. Blair didn't think he'd ever seen it so bad in here. Cops coming from everywhere to talk to Jim; to share a few moments of quiet--or not so quiet, in most cases--grief with each other.

Brown and Rafe were as grim-faced as Jim, and the three quickly conferenced to compare notes. Blair sat at Jim's desk, quietly minding his own business for the moment, giving the other three the room they needed to start sorting out this insanity. His eyes kept tracking over toward Simon's office, staring at the darkened room. How many times had he sat here, bullshitting with some of the detectives, or doing paperwork, or any other of a myriad of things, only to have Simon lean over his desk and bellow "Sandburg, my office!"? It was incomprehensible that he wouldn't hear it again.

It was tearing Jim up. He could see it in the older man's eyes every time he looked at him. The normally cool blue eyes that looked like bits of sky had been ice-cold most of the day now. That was Jim's best defense: close up and close down, or risk shutting down entirely. And his partner was a hairs-breadth away from that now.

He knew Jim and Simon had been close; he also knew that his friend held Banks in the highest of regards because he was able to see past what Jim occasionally referred to as his "bad-ass, wild-boy days", and see the worth of the man beneath that exterior. Simon had given Jim a second chance when most of the department had had enough of Ellison's self-destructive ways.

He wondered, watching Jim scowling at a report Henri was holding, what some of those "bad-ass, wild-boy days" entailed. After the meeting with McShea earlier, he was more confused than ever before.

//God, what a total fucking *dick*!// McShea was a like a throwback to the pre-civilized man, for sure. Whereas Ellison operated sometimes on pure instinct that seemed to be a behavioral throwback, McShea was a throwback, period, and Sandburg had the feeling that the large Vice cop practiced equal-opportunity prejudice.

He sighed, remembering the comments flung at him--at Jim, to an extent--this afternoon. Homophobic implications aside, he highly resented being referred to as *anyone's* 'pretty little boy'. But the chill light in McShea's eyes when he talked was enough to make him heed Jim's unspoken request to calm down. He let his own eyes wander for a moment, taking in the room at large, then come to rest on his partner. The younger man took care not to let them linger for too long; there were often prying eyes where you'd least expect them But sometimes the payoff was worth the risk.

In this case, almost always. He let his eyes move over the older man, seeing the familiar, handsome face with the tired, worn look it was wearing now. A large, lean body that spoke of hidden, potential delights there, for one who knew what to look for. And under the physical exterior, a soul that was battle-scarred, but had retained a gruff gentleness that Blair still found surprising, some days.

Where were he and Jim headed? Their friendship had grown and deepened until it had intimations of more intimacy than 'just friends', yet neither of them seemed particularly inclined to take that next step. He shook his head and averted his gaze, not wanting to call undue attention right now, when all eyes were focusing on Jim.

Sandburg turned over some papers, trying to find the Ruan file they'd been looking at earlier. He pushed a couple to the side, and found a small piece of paper laying innocently on the desk. The words shot curiosity, and a strange sense of precognition through him.

I know that you know…but are you sure of what you know? The stage is set and the game begun.

"Jim--man, you gotta see this."

He watched Ellison turn toward him, a scowl on his face. "What, Sandburg? Can it wait?"

"I don't think so, man." Blair jerked his head. "C'mere. Just take a minute." The bigger man sighed and walked over to where Blair was waiting, the scrap of paper still in his hand. Sandburg handed it to him. "I found this on your desk, man. Under a bunch of other papers. Was it there earlier?"

"My desk was clean when we came in this morning, and you know it." Jim's voice was taut, barely holding the pain in. Blair sighed, wishing he could do something--anything.

"Well, it was under the witness statements for the Ruan case. We didn't leave those out, did we?"

"No, we didn't." Blair watched Ellison read over the words again, and grew alarmed when the already tense features tightened further.

"Jim? Man--you're startin' to scare me here. Breathe, okay?"

Ellison shook his head. "This is weird. 'I know that you know?' What the hell is that supposed to mean? Know what?"

Blair bit his lip. "I don't have a clue, man. And what game? Somebody's trying to fuck with your head, man."

"They're doing a damn good job of it too," Ellison growled quietly. His whole demeanor reeked of "red-alert status". Blair didn't want to be anywhere around him when someone ignored that and sent the older man off.

"I know they are." Blair modulated his voice, pitching it toward the "guide" tone that his friend was used to listening to and for. "I'm here for you, Jim. What do you need? What can I do?"

Ellison was staring at the paper again, his lips moving as he re-read the words. He looked up at Blair with a strange light in his eyes. "Simon," he said quietly. "This is about Simon."

Sandburg raised an eyebrow. "What d'you mean?"

"Whoever put this here," Jim frowned, looking at his desk, "whoever that person is, they know the body in the morgue isn't Simonand they know that *we*--you and me--know that, too."

"Well how in hell could they know *that*?" Blair didn't mean for his voice to get so loud, and he glanced sheepishly over at Brown and Rafe when Jim cleared his throat. "Sorry, guys, Jim. How could they know that?" he hissed in a quieter voice. "You only figured it an hour or so ago--and its not like something we've shared with the general public."

"I don't know, Chief. But its bugging the hell out of me. C'mon, lets head down to the morgue."

"The *morgue*?" To his mortification, Blair's voice squeaked. "Man, I so do not want to go down there"

"Come on, Sandburg." The words weren't *quite* a growlbut not quite normal speaking tones either. Blair shuddered once and got out of Jim's chair, dutifully following his Sentinel out the door.

*****

Jim knocked on the ME's door once, then pushed it open slowly when a muffled "come in" sounded through the thick metal. Blair moved behind him, slowly, reluctantly. Jim sighed; he didn't like to push his partner like that, but this was too important to mess around with. *Someone* had been at his desk; that same someone obviously had an inside-track to things said only between he and Blair. He hadn't sensed anyone around; nothing had seemed out-of-the-ordinary.

"Dan?"

"Back here."

Ellison followed the sounds to the back of the autopsy room, to find Dan Wolfe, Chief Medical Examiner, already busy at work. Jim flinched when he realized that he was seeing something he'd never in a million years thought he'd see, and had to forcefully remind himself that that *wasn't* Simon on the table. Behind him Sandburg made a tiny retching noise and there was a muffled "thump" as the younger man rested himself back against the far wall, as far from the goings on as he could get.

"Got anything for us yet?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, I do." The ME looked up, and Jim could read the sorrow in the deep brown eyes that gazed at him.

"I know, Dan. We all feel the same way. Tell me what you have, so we can nail the mother who did this."

"We have the bullet wound--and ballistics is running their tests now, I'm sure. Entrance here," Dan pointed to Simon's--to the *corpse's*--forehead, "but no exit wound. Not unusual for a head wound, even a fairly close range--the skull is pretty thick. The bullet was lodged in the upper back edge of the cranium." He paused for a moment to make a note, and Jim nodded impatiently.

"Go on."

"Okay. Widespread trauma from a blunt object. Lead pipe, possibly, or a tire iron; I found residual traces of metal compounds mixed in with the tissue and blood." Dan gestured to what remained of the face. "Now, normally, I'd do a dental match, even though you ID'd him, but there isn't enough left to get an accurate match on. Whoever was doing the pipe did a damn good job of busting all the bones and most of the teeth in his--face."

"It was a tire iron, Dan," Jim muttered, his jaw tightening again. "They found it doing a parameter sweep of the area. I just got the report before coming down here. Forensics has it now."

Wolfe nodded. "Whoever used it--worked him over pretty good with it. There's trauma to other parts of the body too, not just the face and head."

There was a louder choking noise, and heavy breathing, almost like panting, from where Sandburg was standing. Jim turned sympathetic eyes toward his partner. "You okay, Chief?"

"Fine," Blair managed, his voice cracking a little.

Jim shook his head and turned back to the exam table. "What else? Anything?"

"As a matter of fact--" Dan turned away for a moment, then back again, and picked up an arm. "We've got skin trauma here, on the hands and fingers, and on the soles of the feet as well, indicating some sort of massive abrading."

"Abrading?" Ellison frowned and moved closer. "What kind of--"

"My professional guess is a belt-sander, Jim."

The detective didn't even blink in surprise when the door opened and closed; Blair's racing heart and the soft panting on the other side assured him his partner was shaken, but okay.

Jim watched the ME for a minute then sighed heavily. The corpse was beginning to give off a definite odor now; it occurred to him that had they found him just a couple of hours later, he'd be as certain as everyone else that this was indeed Simon Banks. But they'd found him just in time

"Dan, do me a favor?"

"Sure, Jim." The big man looked at Ellison, an eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

"Run a blood screen; do a type analysis, and check for any toxins, anything that might help us narrow things down further. And type against Simon's chart, okay? Just to--be on the safe side, since we can't do a dental screen."

"Not a problem. Do *me* a favor."

"You got it."

"Find the scum that did this." Wolfe's eyes were immeasurably sad, and Jim nodded.

"No doubts, man. We'll do it." He headed out the door, wondering when the pieces of this puzzle would start fitting together.

*****

Blair looked up from his seat when the door opened. He'd managed to get his rebelling stomach under control before the battle had been lost, but it'd been a close thing for several minutes. He was positive his skin was probably a pale shade of green; he *felt* that color.

"Just tell me one thing, man," he croaked hoarsely. "Swear, Jim. Swear on your honor as a Ranger, a cop, a Sentinel, hell, whatever you want, that that is *not* Simon Banks' body laying in there."

Ellison crouched in front of his chair and placed gentle hands on his knees. "It's not Simon, Chief. I swear it isn't."

Sandburg breathed a heavy sigh and felt a little of the tension ease from his body. Whoever it was had died a horrible death, but at least it wasn't *Simon*. Not knowing who the John Doe was didn't make it any better, but it did make it less personal. "Okay. So, now what?" Was it his imagination, or did Jim's fingers rub his legs for a moment before releasing him?

"Now," Jim pushed himself to his feet, "we check back in with Brown and see about getting Ruan brought down for questioning; then we go home and get something to eat, and some sleep."

The grad student narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Why're you bringing Ruan back in for questioning if you know it isn't Simon, man?"

"Well, for one thing, *we* are the only ones who know it isn't, and its not like I can share why or how I know, right?"

"Right"

"The other reason is, we don't know for sure that Ruan *isn't* behind it, in one way or another. Someone he has ties to on the outside could still have grabbed Simonbut damn, that's pretty complex for a mobster."

"So, err on the side of caution?"

Ellison nodded. "No harm, no foul. It's not going to hurt anything, to have him in here being questioned again."

The younger man nodded and got up, following Ellison toward the elevator. "And so, assuming it *isn't* Ruan'cause I don't believe you think it is," he waited for the older man's nod of agreement, "then who? And why?"

"You got me on that one, Chief." Jim pushed the button and leaned against the wall, considering. "There are an awful lot of people in this city who hate me, so I could see it aimed at *me*but why make Simon the target? He's out of the limelight, for the most part."

"Well maybe you *are* the target." Blair stared at his partner thoughtfully. "You're the one who got the note. Someone out there knows you've got heightened senses; the question is then, who?"

They got on the elevator with no answers to all the questions they'd raised amongst themselves.

*****

Jim hadn't had a chance to warm his seat before McShea was yelling for him. On his way past Brown's desk the senior detective mumbled, "who the hell put him in Simon's office?"

Brown shrugged. "The big boys downtown, man. This dude is a major league asshole, isn't he? How'd you do Vice without killing him?"

Jim grinned. "You'll notice I'm not still *in* Vice, right? Anyway, I prefer to let him show people his true self. I'm surprised at you, H, thinkin' I'm gonna rat out a Captain."

"Right, Ellison." The jovial detective rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Jim, wait up, man. I'll go with you." Blair's voice called to him from the doorway where his partner was returning with coffee for them.

"Not this time, Chief. Bad enough I'm going to the wolves; no sense in you being part of the slaughter." Jim forced a smile he wasn't really feeling now and gestured for Blair to have a seat. "Why don't you put your head to work, make us some lists based on those things we were talking about earlier."

"Huh?--Oh, yeah. Right. Will do, man."

"ELLISON!"

Jim sighed and forced his face into a neutral expression before walking through the door to face a man he hadn't ever thought to have to answer to again.

"Shut the door and report," the older man snapped, giving Ellison a glare. The detective closed the door, sighing inwardly as his jaw involuntarily clenched again. McShea's people skills were non-existent. He stood before the desk and gave a detailed run-down of what he and Blair, and the ME had discovered in the last couple of hours. He left out the note, and his suspicion that it wasn't Simon; he didn't know how he'd explain that to the guys he worked with daily and trusted his life with. No way was he going to share that with McShea.

"That's it?" The Vice Captain dragged a hand across his face then narrowed his eyes at Ellison. "Three fucking hours, Ellison, and that's the best you can do for me? What've you been doing, playing with your pretty boy somewhere? You *do* still like the pretty boys, I'm guessing." The words were a sneered challenge, and it was all Jim could do not reach across the desk and grab the older man by his neck.

Instead he took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself, and to relieve the tic in his jaw. His words were civil, the tone only barely so. "You got something to say to me, McShea, then say it. Don't go sneaking behind insults. I've been doing my job, and you damned well know it. We're waiting on the preliminary reports from ballistics regarding the bullet, and forensics is still going over the tire iron that the uniforms recovered from the scene."

McShea narrowed his eyes at Ellison and Jim glared back. "You always were a wild card, Ellison. Fucking self-destructive pervert with an attitude. Well I'll tell you something, Detective--I don't do attitudes."

Ellison clenched his hands into fists behind his back, digging his fingernails in to try and keep his temper from exploding. "Funny thing, hearing that from you. The thing is, it takes an attitude to recognize an attitude. Could say the same about perverts."

"There is nothing I could do that is as perverted as butt-fucking another guy."

Ellison stepped closer to the desk, his face frozen in a rictus of rage, his voice a low growl. "You keep *those* issues out of here, McShea. They're none of your business."

"Oh, but I could make them my business, Ellison. Wonder how it would go over with your buddies out there--especially the pretty boy, if you're not fucking him already--to know that their precious Detective Ellison likes to take it and give it up the ass."

Ellison gave a grunt as he stepped a little closer, his body language menacing. "You go on and say anything you want, to anyone you want, McShea. Then I'll have you brought up on harassment and slander charges. And while I'm thinking about it, you keep your filthy opinions directed away from my partner, as well. Whatever private little fantasies you want to entertain about me, go for it. But you leave Sandburg out of this, do you understand me?"

The other man leaned back a fraction. "You threatening me, Ellison?"

"No, *Sir*, merely making sure you understand how things are. Are we clear here, McShea?"

"I'm not finished with you yet, Detective. Remember--I'm watching you."

//And I'm watching you, too.// He nodded to the bigger man and turned and left the room.

*****

His partner wasn't at his desk making lists. His partner wasn't in the room. Ellison focused for a second, listening intently, and heard Blair's heartbeat coming toward him. Elevator. //Sandburg must have gone to get the forensics reports.//

How in the hell he'd gotten lucky enough to have his "researcher" turn out to be a friend, partner, and roommate all rolled into one package, he'd never figure.

There were two lists next to the Ruan file, in Blair's familiar scrawl, and another piece of paper in a style he'd only seen once before: just a few hours ago. A knot formed in his stomach when he reached to pick up the paper.

Hello, Detective Ellison!

Did you miss me while I was gone? I know a secret…and I'll bet you thought only you knew it.

Have you told anyone it's not him yet? I didn't think so. Who could you tell? After all, no one else but the four of us know what you are

Have you checked your truck lately? Are you missing anything important?

Better hope you don't get a flat tire anytime soon

"Sonofabitch!" Jim's voice came out as a hoarse, strangled sound. //'L'? Who the hell is that? Lash is dead…who else could it be? Who's gone away?// A shadow fell over the paper and he looked up to see Blair standing over him, an odd look on his face.

"Jim…Man, we got a big problem."

"I know." His words were curt, tense. He lowered his voice, gesturing Blair into the chair beside his desk. "They're my prints on the iron, aren't they?"

Sandburg looked up at him, shock clearly written over his face. "How the hell did you know?" he hissed softly.

Jim wordlessly held the latest note out for Sandburg's perusal. "I'm about to be in some seriously deep shit here, Chief. Let me see the file."

Blair's eyes were panicked as he handed the folder over. "What're we gonna do?"

"I'm gonna take a look real quick, then give this to H, and we're gonna go get some dinner. It's been a long day." //C'mon, Sandburg. You're bright. Clue in here, pal.// To his relief, his partner did just that. Sandburg nodded and swallowed a couple of times, then he casually folded the note up and shoved it in his front pocket. Jim smiled faintly, then flipped the report open.

He scanned it quickly, his stomach doing an odd lurch while he read. It was strange to read his name listed as the match for the fingerprints found on a weapon attributed to the murder of a police captain. He closed it back up again and dropped it casually on his desk, placing the Ruan report over it. Blair's lists went into his pocket. He stood up and stretched, feeling the heat of Blair's panic washing over him again. "Easy, Chief," he whispered, almost silently. Louder, he told the younger man, "get your coat and stuff together, man. Hey, H. Me and Sandburg are gonna go grab a bite to eat. Want us to bring you anything?"

"Nah, man, that's cool." Henri Brown looked up from his computer screen. "You gonna be back?"

"Who's on late shift tonight?"

"Rafe's got it, and I'll be here 'til ten."

"We'll catch you before then."

"All right." Brown nodded. "Have a good dinner, man. Yo, Hair-boy--relax, man. We'll nail the bad guy."

"Right, H," Blair responded faintly, a half-smile ghosting his lips.

"C'mon, Chief," Jim indicated the door with his head. "I'm starved. Let's get a move on." He could hear the younger man's wild heartbeat and felt his own catch in sympathy. Poor kid was scared to death.

"Right, yeah. Comin'."

"Oh, H?" Jim turned as they cleared the door. "Forensics sent up their reports, finally. They're on my desk--help yourself."

"Will do, man."

*****

The truck seemed wrapped in silence when Jim pulled it out of the parking garage. Blair stared out the window, watching the buildings flashing by, wondering when police lights would spring on behind them. His mind wandered over the note, and he shifted to pull it from his pocket.

"Where're we goin', man?"

"I don't know," Jim responded quietly. Blair glanced over, surprised to see weariness and…fear?…etched into the bigger man's face. The quiet voice, devoid of almost all emotion, said volumes. Sandburg unfolded the note and read it again.

"Who the hell is 'L'?" he wondered out loud. The note was an interesting puzzle in itself, and he read it through several times, eyes moving silently over the words.

"Don't know," Jim responded tersely. "We know it can't be Lash--he's dead. But who else?"

The grad student closed his eyes for a moment at the mention of Lash, then opened them and read the note again. "'No one else but the four of us know what you are'. Signed 'L'." He let his vision blur a little bit as he focused on the note and the words, letting them float around in his head. A horrible vision formed at once and he sat up so fast he banged his head on the rear window of the cab. "FUCK! Jim--Brackett! *L*, for *Lee*. He's the only other one who knows you're a Sentinel!"

"Shit!" The older man cursed, narrowly missing losing control of the truck. He pulled over to the side of the road. "Sonofabitch--we put him away for a long time. What the fuck is he doing out?!"

It was obviously a rhetorical question, so Blair didn't bother to answer. He dug inside his backpack for his cell phone and flipped it open, quickly punching a phone number.

"Who're you callin'?" Jim's fingers were clenched around the steering wheel; knuckles white with strain.

"Jack Kelso. If anyone knows, he would." The younger man waited for his friend to come on the line, but all he got was the answering machine. He disconnected and sighed, staring at Jim. "Man, if it's Shit. Who knows what Brackett's capable of."

"We *know* what Brackett's capable of, Chief." Jim's voice was grim, and Blair shuddered.

The truck shifted back into drive. "Where're you going now?"

"Home."

"Why? They…Jim, what are you…what are *we* going to do, man? If you stay, you'll be--" Sandburg stopped; he couldn't even make himself say the words.

"I'll be arrested. What, Chief--you suggesting I go on the run? Become a fugitive from the law?"

"Well you sure as fuck can't stay here! Man, McShea would throw away the keys! While you were in talking to him I went and talked to Kendrickson." Blair closed his eyes briefly, praying Jim wouldn't incinerate him on the spot for sneaking behind his back. Strangely enough, the bigger man didn't seem surprised--or fazed.

"What'd she have to say about him?"

"That he's the biggest bigot she's ever met…and that he obviously hates your guts. You stay here, you'll be toast for sure."

"Not to mention I'd play nicely into Brackett's little game. And probably his hands," Jim added, almost as an afterthought.

"What d'you mean?" Blair looked at him, his voice sharper than usual.

"Well think about it, Chief. If I'm in jail for murder--murdering a fellow officer, no less--I'm a sitting duck. Easy target, if Brackett wanted to take me out of the picture for good."

"God, this just keeps getting better. I *knew* that guy was a total dick. *Fuck*, Jim! What're we gonna do?" Blair glanced out the window in agitation; he was surprised to see them pulling into the parking area for their building.

Jim was silent from the time they pulled into the parking lot until they made their way upstairs to the front door. Blair fidgeted with his backpack, not liking but respecting the silence, knowing his friend had to think. There was a note taped to the door.

Detective Ellison and Mr. Sandburg. Very good, gentlemen. Very good. You especially, Mr. Sandburg; you get extra points in the game for being the one to figure out it was me.

I'm really enjoying out little game, Detective. Aren't you? You want to guess what the prize is?

"What the fuck is this?" Blair tore the note off the door, at the same time Jim spun around, weapon drawn. "Jim--how'd he know?"

"He's got us bugged, somehow. Truck, for sure…shit." Jim holstered his weapon, looking as uneasy as Blair felt. "We're gonna have to be careful what we say inside, Chief."

Blair nodded, and stepped back for Jim to open the door.

Inside, nothing looked out of the ordinary, but then again, nothing appeared out of order in the truck, either. Jim took a cautious step forward, and Blair followed suit behind him, moving in his partner's shadow. Jim stepped to the center of the living room, holding his fingers to his lips. He was silent for what seemed like forever, just standing there, listening. He moved quietly around the room, pausing now and then to cock his head and concentrate, the expression on his face unreadable. Blair shifted restlessly by the door, knowing what the Sentinel was doing, but needing to talk so bad he felt like would implode soon, if not given the chance.

At last Jim stopped in front of him and heaved a great sigh, nodding. "I think we're clean in here," he said quietly. "If we're bugged, then its something I can't hear."

"Gotcha, man," Sandburg murmured, dropping his backpack. "Now what?"

"Now…we sit and talk. I have…some things in mind. I've had them--planned--since my run-in with Oliver last spring."

Blair gaped at his friend. "What--'things'?" he demanded in a strangled voice. "What're you planning, Jim?"

"You're right about one thing. I can't--" Jim broke off when his cell phone rang. "Ellison."

The grad student watched with growing unease as Ellison listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. His face grew stony, and his eyes went from the sky-blue of a warm summer day to something resembling ice chips. He blinked, watching the tic in the bigger man's right cheek become pronounced. The conversation he heard scared him to death.

"Give me an hour, H. I'll come in on my own, man, but you need to give me a little time to-- You know better than that. I'll turn myself in, H. Give me an hour to get things taken care of here, and I'll turn myself in to you. Just--do me a favor, man. Don't tell McShea yet, okay? I need a chance to get Sandburg settled, man! Please, H. Okay. Yeah. Thanks. Yeah. An hour. Right." Ellison hung up the phone, and stood there, staring at Blair, an odd expression on his face.

"Jim?" Blair narrowed his eyes. "Talk to me, man. What's going on?"

"They found the gun used to kill--whoever that is. Found it wrapped inside some cloth and a paper bag, stuck inside a drainage ditch on the very outer perimeter of where the body was recovered. The gun matches ballistics' reports on the bullets. You want to guess whose fingerprints are on that gun?"

Blair stared at Jim, certain he hadn't heard what his ears were telling him he'd just heard. //No! This is like the worst fucking nightmare possible come to life!// He was dimly aware of things going a little fuzzy and dark around the edges, then hard hands were griping his arm and the back of his neck, moving him, forcing his head down, telling him to *stay* *put*.

"Breathe, Sandburg! Dammit, breathe! What the hell, you think you can live without breathing?"

The blackness was receding a bit now, and Blair gulped in air, panting lightly. He was aware of a large warm hand gently stroking through his hair, softly massaging his scalp. He shivered. "Okay, man, I'm okay. Jimit's okay, buddy." He reached up and set his own hand over Jim's, squeezing lightly, feeling Ellison's other hand gently rubbing there. "JimI'm breathing, man. It's okay."

Jim pulled back, letting go of Blair's neck, but staying crouched between his knees. One hand lightly touched his knee before shifting to the more neutral territory of draped over Ellison's own lap. "You sure you're okay, Chief?"

"I No." Blair shook his head. "Jim--what the hell is going on, man? Talk to me. Tell me. Please."

Ellison gave a harsh bark of laughter and stood up, his big body taut and tense as he paced. "They have my fingerprints on the weapon used to kill the man they all believe to be Simon. I'm being charged with murder, Chief. H is giving me an hour before he tells McShea; before I'm expected to be there to turn myself in."

Blair shivered and wrapped his arms tight around himself, sternly admonishing himself for his earlier behavior. //Get a grip, Sandburg. Jim needs you alert and thinking, not acting like a wuss. Deal with it.// "So what do we do?" he asked quietly.

Jim spun to stare at him. "That's it?" he demanded harshly. "You're not going to ask me if I'm sure I didn't do it, or did I do it, or anything else? Just 'what do we do'?"

The younger man shook his head, the strength of his belief shining from his eyes, thrumming in his voice. "I know you didn't, man."

"How? Why?" Jim's legs seemed to give out; he dropped to the edge of the coffee table, facing Sandburg.

"I know you." The conviction behind those words was a powerful thing, and Blair watched Jim reel backwards a bit. He reached a hand out and gripped Jim's, squeezing once before letting go. "You're the original Boy Scout. Now, c'mon, man. You said you had some things set up for--an emergency. What're we doing?"

Jim shook his head, his expression at once tender, and bemused. "'We' aren't doing anything. You're staying put. I'm the one going."

"You can't be serious." Blair gawked at him, certain for the second time in ten minutes that he'd heard wrong.

"It's not going to be safe out there, Chief. Not where I'm going." Not willing to say more, in case they were bugged after all, Jim closed his lips, fixing Blair with an implacable stare.

//Fuck. Mount Olympus is easier to move than Jim Ellison when he's sure he's right about something.// Well, he hadn't made it this far in life by lying down and letting things run over him. He fixed Jim with a glare of his own. "You don't really think it's gonna be any safer for me here, do you? C'mon, man," he shifted off the couch to pace. "I'm gonna be guilty by association. Even if no one actively thinks I helped you, they're all gonna figure I knew something--in which case, life will be hell for me." Blair paused, trying to gauge the effect, if any, his words were having. Ellison met his look with a stony one of his own. "Fine. How about this then: You go, and that leaves me wide open and alone, in case Brackett decides he needs or wants two bargaining chips. In all likelihood he has Simon; man, he's got you by the balls if he has both of us. And man, you think it might be dangerous out *there* for me? With you to watch my back? Imagine how it'll be if Brackett's got me."

He knew he was playing dirty, going for the soft underbelly in Ellison's defenses, but dammit, there was no way he could be left here alone. No way. Jim needed him too much, and he needed Jim too much. He fixed his gaze on the cobalt-blue eyes that were staring daggers at him and waited.

"You're a bastard, Sandburg." The words were a pained hiss, and Blair nodded solemnly.

"I am," he said softly, moving closer to the bigger man. "But you know I'm right. I need you, buddy, and you need me. We're partners, Jim. Friends. And friends stick together. That's what it's about, remember? Friendship." //And maybe something more, that will be worked out, in time.//

"Friendship," Jim repeated hoarsely, staring at him. The ice had melted a little bit, and Blair was surprised to see a blaze of heat under the layers of cover. Heat that was quickly banked, but there nonetheless. "You're right, Chief," Jim said finally, shaking himself. "Let's go then. We're running out of our hour, and we need that for a start. Nothing but your backpack. Nothing obvious. A change of clothes and your laptop, if you can fit it into your bag. We're running, Chief. Travelin' light."

Blair stared at older man, a multitude of emotions welling up inside of him. "This is for real, isn't it? God"

Jim reached out and gripped his arms hard, getting into his face. His words weren't unkind, but they were forceful. "Blair, if you can't handle this, you'll have to You have to handle it, Chief. Not handling it isn't an option any more. Take a minute, take some deep breaths; go with it. Do what you're always telling me, and center, okay? Relax. It's gonna be okay, Sandburg. I promise."

Sandburg took several long, deep breaths, pulling in and releasing the much-needed oxygen slowly, giving his body a chance to calm down. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the warmth of Jim's hands on his arms…the way that warmth moved through him, comforting him. Deeper feelings aside, Jim made him feel *safe* in a way no one else had ever done. He breathed in and out once more, then opened his eyes, surprised to find Ellison had swayed a little closer. To his complete shock, the bigger man inclined his head and brushed a gentle kiss across his forehead. "Atta boy," he growled very softly. "Now go get what you need--nothing obvious, nothing heavy. We leave in five minutes, Blair."

*****

They were quiet in the truck. Not knowing how strong the bug was, or what its range, Jim had told Blair before they got in that their best defense right now was total silence.

His partner was dying of curiosity. He could tell from the way Sandburg was fidgeting and squirming on the seat next to him. A small smile crossed his lips when he thought of how much energy the younger man just…*radiated*. Energy that was usually harnessed, but right now was being left without a direction. Wanting to comfort, but not able to speak because of the potential of alerting their stalker, he slid his hand across the seat to gently grip Blair's thigh for a moment. The action startled Sandburg out of his introspection, and he squeaked and jumped before settling down and turning a warm, if shaky, grin on the older man.

"S'all right, Blair," Jim said quietly. Sandburg nodded, and actually looked a little bereft when Ellison pulled his hand back. The radio crackled to life then, at the same time Jim's cell phone rang. "Here we go," Ellison muttered. He stared straight ahead as the phone continued to ring, and an insistent voice on the radio demanded he answer his call-code. He reached down and yanked the radio out of its holder. It crackled once more, then quieted.

The cell phone rang three more times before quiet reigned in the cab once more.

"That's it, isn't it?" Blair's voice was subdued, and Jim looked over at him, eyes sympathetic and uneasy all at once. He'd never been on the "wrong" side of the law before; this was unsettling, to say the least. He took a deep breath, consciously trying to ease his grip on the steering wheel.

"Yeah," he said, just as quietly. "That's it." His fingers itched to reach out and touch Blair again, to just make contact with the presence that was his anchor in the mad chaos that was his life. He resisted the pull and clenched tighter on the steering wheel, grateful when they approached the east-side of town, as was obvious by the ever-decreasing quality of the neighborhoods.

As they got further into the "dark" side of town, Ellison began looking around for several things. A place to get rid of the truck; a place to cover them for a couple of hours until they could put the first part of the plan into action, and a place to get rid of the phones.

The first thing he found was a way to get rid of the cells. Jim stopped at a corner and waited for a few minutes, with Blair getting antsier and antsier inside the truck as he negotiated with a punk that had been lounging against the wall. He got back into the truck with a satisfied grin on his face.

"Seventy," he said succinctly, answering the question he read in Blair's face. "For both."

"Not bad," Sandburg nodded, his eyes still dark and troubled. He fell silent again, obeying Jim's gag rule as the truck continued to roll slowly through the streets of east Cascade.

His eye fell on a corner car lot as they moved down the street. A car lot that had something he'd had in his much-younger, long past days: a motorcycle. //Perfect way to disguise. None of the guys at the station right now know that I was a cycle buff when I was younger. Just Simon// The pang that hit him then was so fierce it nearly took his breath away. Even knowing the older man wasn't dead wasn't a comfort anymore, because the danger he was in was almost worse. He pulled the truck to the side of the road again, eyes scanning. There was a flop house about two blocks down. Perfect. Just perfect. He drove past the lot to the flop house and parked the truck in the back, near the dumpster.

"What're you doing?" Blair hissed quietly, startled into speech.

//Probably saving our asses, in the long run.// "Something we need to do," Jim hedged, not comfortable talking, knowing the truck was probably still transmitting. "C'mon, Sandburg." Jim slapped his partner's thigh gently, gesturing with his head toward the backpack. "That, too."

"Right."

They exited the truck, and Jim gave one last, loving look at it, wishing he'd been able to drive it longer. Yes, it was old and beat up. It was a good truck though, a classic. But it was *just* a truck, he reminded himself sternly. And when things became liabilities, it was time for them to go. Especially now. He--*they*--couldn't afford anything that would be a liability. They were on survival mode now. Survival of the fittest not necessarily being the strongest in this case, but the most cunning. Well, fine. Brackett was one of CIA's best and brightest, but Ellison was no slouch in the self-preservation/survival field, either.

The person behind the desk in the lobby--and Jim honestly couldn't tell if it was a male or a female--didn't even blink twice when he said he wanted a room. She or he--even the timbre of the voice didn't give them away--nodded, took his cash, and handed him a key.

The room was as dingy on the inside as the motel was on the outside. Ellison wrinkled his nose in disgust at the odors--stale urine and semen--that permeated the air. He couldn't tell for sure if the odors originated in their room, or if it was just *in* the air; it was too strong, too musky. Blair's nose was wrinkled up too, so he figured it must be stronger than he'd imagined.

"What are we *doing*, Jim?" The younger man waited until they were inside the room with the door bolted shut, then stood there, in the middle, staring at Ellison like he'd never seen him before.

"We're starting our new life, Sandburg," Jim's voice was taut, a strangled sound of pain, rather than the usual calm, even tones.

"Tell me." Blair's voice was hushed, almost as if he was feeling Jim's pain. Maybe he was. Ellison shrugged mentally. They were so connected--how had he thought he'd make it without his shadow beside him?

Jim sat down on the edge of the bed, gesturing for Blair to sit in the room's only chair. The younger man shook his head and perched himself on the dresser right across from Jim. They were so close their knees were nearly touching. Ellison drew in a deep breath, all the need within him--need to have Blair, to protect Blair, to clear himself of this setup, to be free--surging within him. He closed his eyes for a moment, centering, as his partner had so carefully taught him to do.

A warm hand touched his knee, lingering there in a slight, gentle caress, for just a moment. "Tell me, Jim," he prompted gently. "What are we doing." The voice was as caressing as the easy touch had been, and Jim opened his eyes to meet his partner's vibrant blue eyes. Eyes that were warm, watching him.

"In a couple of hours we're going to leave here. You're going to go first. Take a taxi back across town to an ATM machine--any one, doesn't matter. Take my credit card, and yours, and max out the cash withdrawals. Then you're going to get on a plane. It doesn't matter where you go, but you have to end up in Carson City, Nevada. The more convoluted you can make the trip, the better we'll be in the long run."

"I'm going alone? Jim, I thought we were--" the hurt in Blair's voice was palpable.

Ellison cut him off, not wanting Blair to get the wrong idea. "We need to split up for the first leg of the journey, Chief. McShea, Brown, all of them, are going to be looking for *us*. For a team. If we're separate, at first, it'll be harder for them to find us. Especially if we leave town from different areas, going to different places, by different modes of transportation."

"How long? Separate?" Blair's voice was still oddly-pitched, but his eyes didn't have that hurt look in them, and Jim breathed a little easier.

"No more than four days. I have friends that are still in the business, Sandburg, and they can help us, but we have to get to them as quickly as possible. We have too many variables going here right now. The police" Jim swallowed, another twinge of pain hitting. This was hard, turning his back on the friends who trusted him to be an honorable man. He shook himself. "Brackett's whereabouts, and Simon's safety…we have all these things we have to consider. And if we're taken--by the police, or by Brackett--we won't have a second chance to get to my people."

"How are you going to get--where we're going to meet?"

"Saw a bike at the car lot a few blocks back. I'm gonna go tonight, after you've left, to an all-night check cashing place; write a check, then go get the bike. Then I'm out of here. Right now, Brown and Rafe will be telling McShea…although they might hold off for a little while. But when they realize I'm not coming in--"

"They're going to assume the worst," Blair finished softly. The younger man leaned forward, placing both hands on Jim's knees. "*I* believe you, Jim. I believe *in* you. We're running because it's the only way, man. You're innocent, and we're gonna prove that."

Ellison smiled faintly at the younger man's assertions. Blair's trust in him was heart-warming, to say the least. "Yeah, well, there's one more thing, professor. You're not gonna like this one."

Sandburg gave a snort and raised an eyebrow. "I don't *like* any of it. What's one more?"

The detective hesitated, sweeping his eyes over his partner's form, lingering for a brief moment on his lips, then moving up to his hair. Almost without conscious thought, Blair raised a hand to his head, a question in his eyes. Jim nodded. "We have to disguise ourselves, Chief. And that's the best way, for you."

"Oh, man--" Blair fingered his hair for a moment, then sighed. "It's not the hair, Jim. I get that, and it'll grow again. I just look…well, geez. I look a lot younger, when it's short." He snorted again, indelicately. "That can't hurt either, I suppose. As long as no one thinks you're on the run with an underage kid."

"Grow a beard," Jim suggested teasingly, then hesitated, looking over his partner again. "Actually, that might be a good idea. For both of us."

"We'll see." Blair gave his own lingering look, and Jim felt a little rush of heat unfurl in his belly. His partner stood up, and Ellison stood with him. "Let's do it, man. Get it over with."

"Okay." He looked away from the younger man, not entirely certain he could do this, even if it was necessary.

It was almost dreamlike. Ellison turned to his bag and pulled out the pair of scissors he'd packed, anticipating this. Blair was still standing in front of him, his eyes a little wider than usual, their color a deeper, darker blue. He turned around and pressed backward, fitting his back to Ellison's chest, just barely touching, and met Jim's eyes in the mirror. It was a jolt to look at that combined reflected image: pure smoky heat meeting clear blue ice. The bigger man shivered from the impact, then brought the scissors up to hand them over. Blair shook his head and tipped it forward just a bit, making a silent offering. Jim felt a strange mix of tenderness, desire and hunger sweep through him when he raised both hands. One hand cupped Blair's head gently, almost tenderly, and tilted it back up so he could meet the smoky blue gaze straight on. He combed his fingers through the curls once, then brought the scissors up, holding them angled against the dark strands.

//I'm sorry,// he whispered in his mind, letting his eyes echo that into their mirrored communication. //I forgive you,// the azure depths meeting his seemed to respond, as the scissors clicked shut, the first piece falling silently to the floor. Or not so silently; his sensitive ears heard the tiny shift in sound waves as the nearly weightless strands drifted downward. His eyes held Blair's in the mirror and he sighed when the younger man moved backward slightly once again, until their bodies were fitted to one another's. He shivered lightly, then again when the slight vibration echoed in Blair's body, transmitting an energy current between them. Ellison shifted his hands and picked another section of hair, readying the scissors. Blair's eyes never left his; his body never flinched away.

When he was done his partner turned to him, a strange glow in those beautiful eyes. "Don't worry," he said quietly, the usually deep voice husky. "It'll grow back."

"I know," Jim whispered. "But--" His fingers stroked once through the shorn locks, then he pulled back, his mind screaming at him that this was dangerous. For both of them. He took a deep breath. "It's time, partner." He dug in his pocket for his wallet and took out both credit cards. "You have the pin numbers. Max 'em out. This too." He handed Blair his ATM card. "Get as much as you can from all of them, then take a plane ride. I'll see you in Carson City, at the Blue Moon Café, in four days."

"Four days," Blair repeated hoarsely. He was right, Jim thought frantically. He did look younger. Younger, more vulnerable. His fingers curled in on themselves with his efforts to keep them down.

"I'll be on a motorcycle, Chief. Look for it--a black and yellow Honda."

"Right, man." Sandburg swallowed, then leaned in and grabbed Jim hard around the waist, hugging him tightly. "Take care of yourself, Jim," he whispered harshly against Ellison's chest. "Don't let anyone see you…get you. And dammit, *watch* yourself. Don't zone…Don't--" Jim could hear the tears in his friend's voice, and pulled back slightly, letting his hand raise to run a soothing finger down Blair's cheek.

"We're both gonna be fine, Chief. We'll see each other in a few days. And we'll get this worked out. All of it." Jim had the feeling that he and Blair were both hearing and answering more than just the words spoken when his partner nodded. He gave the younger man a tight squeeze, then turned them toward the door. "Go on, Sandburg. I'll see you soon."

Blair grabbed his backpack off the end of the bed and nodded. "Yes. I--Take care, Jim."

Jim watched Sandburg walk out the door and head for the street to hail a cab. He tracked the younger man by his heartbeat until the cab was too far away to hear any longer. Then he closed the door and sat on the bed, staring down at the pile of cut hair for a long, long time.

~Finis~ (for now)

To Be Continued in Chapter 2, "A Lone Sentinel".

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