Penance

"Goddammit, Sandburg--what the *hell* were you thinking?" Jim barely waited for the loft door to swing shut behind him before lighting into his partner. Blair swung around to look at him, recoiling slightly from the seething detective.

"What d'you mean? I didn't do anything unusual--nothing you wouldn't have done." Blair spread his hands in an attempt to placate, but Jim wasn't having anything to do with that.

"Maybe that's the problem--you've gotten too used to that. 'Taking a risk' has gotten to be the norm for you. Endorphins spiking right now, Professor?"

"That's not fair, Jim. I don't yell at you when you do something potentially risky or stupid."

"Yeah, well, it's my *job* to put my life on the line; it's not yours."

"Since when is it your job to endanger yourself? C'mon, Jim...be reasonable, man. You're coming unglued over nothing."

"I don't see it that way." Jim paced the room like a caged animal and Blair drew away, nearer the door. "It's like you've suddenly decided you're Superman or something," Jim continued his rant. "Don't you have any idea, after this long, what bullets can do to a person?"

"Come on, Jim. It's not like I was in any real danger." Blair halted his steady backwards movement. "Man, I can't even believe you're getting yourself all worked up over this. Everyone's fine, so what difference does it make?"

"Sandburg--"

"Come on, Jim, lighten up." Blair tried a smile on the bigger man, his tone carefree.

"Don't try to blow this off," Ellison commented between clenched teeth. "You were in danger out there, Sandburg."

"What, like that doesn't happen every time I walk out of here with you? Come on, Jim. You're gonna have to do better than that." The grad student grinned and continued, "Besides, it's not like it would matter--you're the important one in this partnership, big guy."

Blair watched in amazement as Jim's entire body stiffened. "That's not even funny, Blair." The words were delivered in a tone that made ice seem warm.

"Well, so what's your problem? How come all of a sudden you're all over my ass?"

Jim jerked his head up, frustration and naked longing etched on his face. "Because I'm in love with you, dammit, and I can't stand the thought of anything happening to you, especially on the job!"

As soon as the words were out he wished them back. Time ceased within the loft; both occupants were frozen, staring at each other. Before Jim had a chance to say anything else, Blair spun around, grabbed his keys and coat, and was out the door--gone.

Jim stared at the door, wondering when and if he'd be back. And wondering how he'd managed to screw up so completely the one relationship that meant more to him than any other ever had.

*************************

'He loves me? He's *in* love with me? Since when?' The thoughts circled restlessly inside Blair's head, causing an itch that the grad student longed to scratch. *Since when* was a good question. Jim had never--*NEVER*--indicated that he felt anything for his partner-cum-roommate beyond a just-friends feeling. Yeah, they were *good* friends. Best friends, even. Lived together, worked together, played together. Hell, they did

everything *but* sleep together. So when did Jim decide he wanted to do that as well? "Damn," he mumbled out loud. He'd been hiding and sublimating his feelings for so long he didn't even remember anymore when they'd started. He *didn't* need this now. Didn't need the confusion it brought.

And now what? Where did they go from here? From best friends, to two men who obviously loved each other. Were *in* love with each other. How did he bridge that gap? Yesterday, hell, thirty minutes ago, they were best friends, nothing else. Now he faced the possibility of being able to tell Jim how he felt. No more hiding, no more shoving feelings down so far they got lost in everything else. His head started to hurt from the thoughts running rampant through there, but one stayed uppermost in his mind: When had Jim fallen in love with him?

Blair shook his head and eased the car out onto I-5. He didn't have any particular destination in mind, just wanted to drive for a while. He needed to think, figure out where he was going with these thoughts of his.

His mind gave the mental equivalent of a shudder when he tried to conceive of how Jim could be in love with him. As far as he knew, Jim Ellison, Detective, Sentinel and upstanding citizen, was as straight as straight got. And himself? "Well, bent in a few places, but that makes life more interesting." He laughed, a slightly hysterical sound

in the closeness of the car, and turned up the radio in an effort to shut out his thoughts for a few minutes.

*************************

'Shit. Way to go, Ellison.' Jim stared at the closed door, hoping against hope it would open at any moment and Blair would come bounding back inside the room. He knew it was a futile hope; he hadn't heard anything in the half-hour since the Corvair had roared out of the parking area. Damn, damn, damn! What had he been thinking anyway? Well, obviously, *not* thinking was what it amounted to. Who knew that his feelings were so close to the surface? He'd been doing such a good job of keeping them hidden away, had been doing it for so long. Just one stupid little incident to bring everything swarming to the surface.

***************************

Earlier that morning...

There were at least three children in the building with the kidnappers; everyone on the street could hear them when they screamed for help, the sounds echoing in the dark quiet of early morning. The kidnappers had decided that they weren't going to be content with the situation and had upped the ante: deliver the ransom money in thirty minutes, or the kids would die, one at a time so the remaining ones could watch and anticipate. And the deaths would *not* be quick or painless.

Jim and Simon consulted with two of the snipers from the SWAT team they'd called out, then decided on Jim trying to get around the back of building. He would hear the men in case they tried anything and could react accordingly. Blair stood next to the Expedition, quietly for a change, his eyes watching the building. Jim could see how this was affecting his guide--the younger man's hands trembled slightly and his breathing was rough, as if he were in pain.

"Chief?"

"Yeah, Jim."

"You okay, buddy?"

"Fine. Just...had some thoughts about those kids, man. They're never gonna be the same after this."

Jim watched his friend closely. "We'll see that they get help, Sandburg. You know that."

"Yeah, but man, it'll leave scars."

"Maybe." The detective shook his head. "What's up here, Chief?"

Blair stared at him, eyes large in the darkness. "I was in school one time--not long after me and Naomi left the commune—and there was this guy, he wasn't happy with...hell, I don't remember anymore. Anyway, he took one of the classes hostage and threatened

to kill the kids one at a time unless whoever it was he had his beef with listened to him."

"Was it your class?" Jim asked the question gently, sure of the answer. Blair surprised him though.

"Not mine, no. But a good friend of mine *was* in that class, and she was one of the ones who died before they took him seriously."

"Ah, Blair...I'm sorry, buddy." Jim rested a hand on Blair's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze, longing to wrap his partner in his arms and hold him. "Hey, Chief." He waited until the younger man looked up at him. "That's *not* going to happen here, okay? We'll get those kids out." It was a personal thing, anyway. Jim hated people who picked on children--it smacked of weakness and cowardice. Sure, pick on someone a lot smaller than you. What good was that? Pitting yourself against a smaller, younger, weaker adversary was pointless and proved nothing.

"I know," Blair responded quietly. Jim squeezed his shoulder once more, then turned away to get his earpiece and microphone. A hand on his wrist stopped him. "Hey, Jim--thanks."

He turned back. "Nothing to thank me for," he replied gruffly. "And keep your head down, understand? I don't need to worry about you, too."

"Right." Blair smiled, one of his megawatt smiles, and Jim felt his heart roll over in his chest.

*************************

Jim snorted at the memory. Of course Sandburg hadn't done what he'd told him. Not only had he not kept his head down, as soon as one of the kidnappers appeared in the doorway, an arm wrapped securely around a small neck, gun pointed at a small head, Blair had rushed the man, tackling him with a strength Jim had never considered the smaller man having. All of this taking place in the midst of an unending spray of gunfire.

It had taken all his self-control not to ream Blair there in public; that same self-control was sorely strained by his intent to not wrap the younger man in his arms and never let go. The agonizing wait while the kidnappers were read their rights and readied for transport; the children, all unharmed, thank god, checked out; his own slight injury caused by a flying piece of glass, tended to. During the entire interminable period Blair had waited quietly in the truck, probably sensing from the smoldering glares Jim threw his way that he was in *serious* trouble when they got home.

And then he botched it. Couldn't he have just yelled at him, worked it through and out of his system, then got on with life? Hell no! He had to totally screw it up.

He rubbed his head absently, noting that the cut on the side of his temple had faded to a slight sting--no more noticeable now than an insect bite would be. A glance at the clock showed that it had been over three hours now since Blair had rushed out. When was he coming back? Was he coming back? Jim sighed. It was time to get ready for work. Simon had told him to relax, take the morning off, but he needed the diversion. Holding in his mind the thought that Blair *had* to come back, if only to retrieve his stuff, Jim headed for the bathroom to shower and shave, his hearing extended, just in case.

*************************

A semi sounding its horn at him pulled Blair from the near-doze he'd been sinking into and he corrected his shift between lanes. Christ, he was tired. A quick glance at his watch showed it to be...oh, shit, it wasn't really nearly ten, was it? Man, he'd been gone for *hours*. Jim was *really* gonna kill him when he got back.

He shook his head to clear the fog, then cocked it when he heard a choking noise. The Corvair faltered slightly, coughed again and began decelerating. Blair frowned and glanced at the gas gauge which read below the red "Empty" line. Oh, man, could this

day *get* any worse? As soon as the thought wandered through his head Blair banished it. The answer to that question was *always* 'YES'.

He looked around, trying to figure out where he was, how far he'd traveled. Last time he'd really been aware of a direction was turning off of I-5 onto I-90. It looked, judging from the sign he saw coming up, that he was now on State Highway 28, probably heading toward Spokane. God, how long had he been driving? At least three hours. 'Wonder if I'll make it to the next town?' As if in answer to his question the car choked and coughed a couple more times, then quietly died. Blair guided it off the road and sat there, head in his hands, trying to decide the best course of action. He could call Jim to come get him, or he could call a tow truck to take him to a gas station. He could do neither of those, he realized with a start, since the cell phone was in his backpack, which was at home. All he'd grabbed when he left were his jacket and his keys. Dammit!

He vaguely remembered a gas station maybe ten miles or so back; closer than the next town, at any rate. Maybe if he made it there he could find someone to give him a lift back to his car, or at least call a tow truck to come get it. He sighed looking out the window at the sky; it was promising to rain, possibly snow. 'I hate this fucking state and the fucking weather. I *swear* I'm moving to the tropics before winter next year.' Blair snorted. Yeah, *right*. How many years had he been saying that now? He stuck the keys in his pocket, grabbed his spare pair of mitts from the glove box and exited the car. No one in sight. Well, why should there be? After all, it was early November, and a weekday. That dismal thought in mind, Blair turned up the collar on his jacket and headed back in the direction he'd come from.

*************************

It seemed like he'd been walking for hours. Well, maybe he had. His watch showed it was almost noon. He squinted into the distance and thought he saw the outline of buildings against the gray November sky. Several cars had passed him, but none had slowed down and he'd been loathe to try hitching. While there was a time not too far in the past when he'd have stuck his thumb out in a heartbeat, he'd been working with the police for nearly two years now and had seen up close and personal some of the results of such impulses.

Blair shivered and huddled further into the collar of his jacket, wishing, not for the first time, that he hadn't acted so impulsively this morning. Of course, how the hell was he supposed to react, with a bombshell like that dropped on him? 'Jim loves me...' He shook his head, trying to clear it. Jim had loved him five, six hours ago. Now, he'd probably kill him the minute he saw him again. If he'd been worried last night, during the hostage situation, that was *nothing* compared to being gone for hours on end, with no word. Blair sighed again and lowered his head, trying to keep the driving wind from freezing his eyes

out.

*************************

Jim glowered at the phone in his hand. He'd tried the loft, he'd tried Blair's office. He'd tried Blair's cell phone, just in case his partner had returned home and picked it up. Damn, damn, *DAMN*! He slammed the receiver down with more force than necessary, a strange feeling clenching at his stomach. 'I shouldn't have told him. I didn't mean to tell him. What if something's happened to him? I'll never forgive myself.'

"Jim? You okay?"

He jerked his head up to see Joel Taggart standing by his desk, gazing at him in concern.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Joel. Thanks. Just...worried a little about Blair."

"What happened?" The large man settled himself into the chair next to Jim's desk. 'Blair's chair,' Ellison thought with a pang.

"Uh, we had a, well...an argument this morning and he rushed out. I haven't heard from him since."

"When this morning?"

"Around six or so, not long after we got home from the Tompkins case."

"Ah. Ripped him a new one, huh?"

"What?!" Jim raised his eyes hurriedly, wondering what Taggart knew, or thought he knew.

"Hey, Jim, anyone could tell looking at you that you were pissed as hell at the kid. I know you told him to stay put and he didn't. So, what'd you do? Threaten to kill him? Maim him?"

"No," Jim muttered quietly. "Nothing that dramatic. But I did...say some things I may regret..."

Taggart stood up and rested a warm hand on Jim's shoulder for a minute. "Give him time--he's probably off makin' like a bunny with one of his harem. He'll get over it and you guys can get on with your lives. But Jim, man, cool it, okay? You scare *me* when you get mad."

"Right," Jim muttered when Taggart moved from his desk. "The day I scare *you*, I turn in my badge." But his mind wouldn't move from Joel's other words: 'makin' like a bunny...harem...' He nearly groaned out loud. Odds were laid ten to one that Joel was right, and that hurt worse than anything. 'It was a major shock, Ellison, the poor kid wasn't expecting anything like that. It'd be understandable for him to...' To what? Go fuck some little co-ed, knowing that Jim was in love with him? Blair wasn't that shallow. He'd come back, and they could talk. Jim could explain how much he needed him, wanted him, cherished him. He groaned again. Sandburg had been gone for over six hours now. Where the hell was he?

*************************

"Hey, man--need a ride?"

The car slowed down next to him, a pale face peering out the window. Blair turned toward it.

"Yeah, if it's not a problem."

"Nah, no prob. Where you headin' to?"

Blair pointed with his chin. "Gas station up the road, whatever's first. My car ran out back there," he jerked a thumb in the opposite direction. "I just need to get a tow to get it filled."

"No prob, man. Climb on in." The young man with the pale face and dark hair climbed over the seat into the back and Blair slid into the vacated seat.

"Thanks a lot, man. God, it's freezing out."

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" The driver, another young man—Blair guessed both boys were about 19 or 20--pushed down on the gas and the car leapt forward. "Kinda car you drive, man?"

"Corvair." Blair smiled, thinking about his car. Jim gave him a lot of grief about it, but he loved the old thing.

"That's cool. My old man useta have a '65 Mustang...bitchin' car, that one. He wrapped it around a tree one night after drinkin' too much."

"Bummer, man." Blair smiled inwardly once again. These kids were like the ones that passed through his classes every day. He turned and looked at the guy in the back seat. There was a girl there too, huddled next to the young man. "Hey, thanks again for picking me up. Think I was walking for, like, hours."

"Can seem that way when it's real cold out."

"Yeah. It can."

The kids seemed content to be quiet after that, and Blair respected their silence. All he wanted to do was find a truck stop or a gas station, call a tow truck and be on his way home. Maybe he'd even risk calling the loft and leaving a message. Surely if he tried to contact Jim his Sentinel wouldn't go *completely* ballistic on him when he returned home. Would he? His stomach rolled over at the thought of Jim going ballistic in a totally different way, and he nearly missed the sign for the gas stations at the exit they were breezing past.

"Hey! You could have dropped me off there--" The words froze in Blair's throat when he felt the prick of a knife against his throat. "We could, but we're not gonna. Now shut up!"

ShitshitSHIT. This was exactly why he *didn't* hitch anymore! Too many weirdos in the world. "What do you want? My wallet? Keys to the car? You can have it--anything

you want, just--"

"I said, *Shut* *Up*," the young man in the back seat stressed the words, pushing a little harder with the knife.

The car did a 180-degree turn then and Blair realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that these kids had never intended to let him off anywhere. They'd seen him walking, alone, vulnerable, an easy target. He rolled his eyes over to make contact with the guy holding the knife. "Come on, man, you don't want to do this really. Let me go. I'll give you my wallet...just let me out of the car."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he screamed as he backhanded Blair. "You're not getting out of the fucking car, so shut your mouth or I'll kill you instead of just robbing you!"

They drove for another ten minutes or so before turning off the main road onto a secondary road, labeled only as "Highway 21." The man behind the wheel whispered something to the man leaning over the seat, then turned his attention back to the road. The minutes ticked by, the knife point pressing into his skin. Blair could feel droplets of moisture running down his neck, but wasn't sure if they were blood or sweat--even in the frigid air he was sweaty, probably from the adrenaline pumping through his system. He closed his eyes. 'I can do this--I can stop this guy...just get me out of this...please god,

if you're up there and listening...I could use some help with this one...' A deep breath to center, to calm him. He opened his eyes and feinted slightly to the side, hand reaching for the knife. A cold, steely touch to his temple stopped him and he gaped in surprise at the young woman holding a gun to his head. 'What the fuck is this? Kids-with-dangerous-weapons day?'

"Don't," she breathed, hands shaking a little. "I don't want to shoot you."

Blair closed his eyes. He was about to get blown away by some punk kid, and Jim would never know that his feelings were returned.

The car slowed, then stopped. Blair opened his eyes to see the driver getting out. The boy with the knife followed, and then he was dragged bodily from the car. 'Oh, man, this doesn't look good.'

He was still thinking that when the first of the punches caught him squarely in the solar plexus.

*************************

Blair's office was empty, with no signs that anyone had been in at all today. Jim stopped off at the Anthropology department office. The secretary, a young Latina woman, looked up with a harried expression in her eyes when he spoke to her.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I'm Detective Ellison. I'm looking for Blair Sandburg. He wasn't in his office and I was wondering if you'd seen him today?" Jim flashed his badge and the young woman smiled briefly.

"You're the cop friend, aren't you? No, Blair hasn't been in at all today--he had two classes to teach, too."

"Did anyone hear from him?"

"I don't think so. Hey, Monica!" She turned and called over her shoulder.

"Yeah?" A voice from behind a partition.

"Do you know if anyone talked to Blair today? Knows where he is? The cops are looking for him." Her eyes twinkled at Jim at the last line.

"Haven't a clue, Ana. Far as I know, no one's heard from or seen him today."

Ana swung her head back around. "Sorry, Detective."

He smiled--at least, that's what it felt like his lips were doing. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"No problem."

Jim left campus with the dread in his stomach growing stronger with each passing minute. Something had happened to Blair--he'd be home by now, otherwise. Or at least would have called. 'Dammit, Blair--I'm sorry! I didn't mean to blurt it out, scare you like that. Please, buddy...be okay. Don't do this to me...please don't do this...please be okay...' If something *had* happened to Blair, it was his fault. He should have been able to control himself better than that.

*************************

Blair groaned as another punch contacted solidly with his ribs, and felt as much as heard the *crack* from the bone breaking. He wasn't sure which one was hitting him anymore; all he was aware of was the incredible pain shooting through his body and the red haze that was hanging in front of his eyes.

"Fuckin' fag," one of the boys said as he slammed another punch into Blair's stomach. He moaned quietly, not even able to summon up the strength for a real protest any longer.

Part of his brain was still working, processing...trying to recall why the boys would make *that* comment...oh, yeah. They'd found a picture of him and Jim in his wallet, when they'd removed it to take his cash. He hadn't even remembered the picture—it was taken shortly after Kincaid had held up the precinct--an old picture. Why'd he have it? 'Cause it was a nice picture, them getting an award for action 'above and beyond the call of duty', or something like that. They had their arms looped across each other's shoulders, and were smiling into the camera. To most people it would look just like two friends mugging for the

camera--which was what it had been. Apparently his two assailants chose to make it something more. Then they'd found his police credentials, tucked into the pocket of his jacket.

"Fuckin' fag fuckin' works for the cops," the other boy had said, spitting toward him.

"Man, pigs and fags--lethal combination. Should we off him?"

"Nah--let's just leave 'im...he'll be dead soon enough--no one'd last long out here."

"Better idea--let's drive for a while, then toss him outta the car. Make sure."

"Yeah! That's cool, man. Let's go."

They shoved him back into the car, pushing more roughly when he Stumbled, trying to keep from jarring his broken ribs so much. He lay across the seat, gasping for breath, the red haze dancing dizzily, black dots swimming through it.

The passage of time ceased for him--he was aware only of the motion of the car beneath his body, then a loud noise as the door was wrenched open next to him. Cold air hit his face, blowing stinging droplets of rain against his skin, and he was falling...arms and legs flailing, trying to catch something, hold on. His freefall ended abruptly with a sickening thud that resounded dully through his skull, and the world went black around him.

*************************

"Sarge, there's something lying on the side of the road up there."

"Jenkins, how the hell can you see that far? And in this rotten light, no less?"

The young trooper grinned. "Lotta carrots, Sarge. Seriously, there's something there."

Sargent Koloski nodded--he could make out the barest outline of...something. Something too big to be a dog... "Holy Christ, it's a person!"

State Trooper Jenkins paled slightly. "You're right, Sarge. Jesus!" He barely waited for the patrol car to come to a halt before throwing himself out the door, running for the man lying there as if dead.

"Is he dead?"

"Not yet," was the blunt answer.

Koloski followed his partner as soon as he'd put the car in park. Jenkins was carefully checking the man's neck and back when he arrived at his side. He helped him gently roll the young man over, taking care not to jostle him too much. He sucked his breath in over his teeth at the bruises mottling the skin that was exposed; there was also a large gash and prominent bump over the right eye.

"What else, Jenkins?" Koloski asked tersely.

"He's hypothermic. Broken ribs, I think--or at least cracked badly. Looks like a sprained ankle, too, judging from the swelling. But Sarge--" Jenkins lifted the shirt and both men

sucked air in this time. "Sarge, he's in a pretty bad way. Whoever did this worked him over thoroughly. I wouldn't be surprised if he's bleeding internally." Jenkins shifted the body gently, searching through his pockets for a wallet, ID of any sort. "I can't find his wallet."

"Right." Koloski nodded and headed for the car radio. He contacted dispatch and requested a LifeFlight chopper, then returned to his partner's side with the emergency kit and blankets from the trunk. "Jenkins."

"Yeah, Sarge?"

"Chopper's on its way, ETA about 20 minutes."

"Gotcha. Can you help me wrap the blankets around him? Be careful not to raise his arms or legs very high." Jenkins pressed two fingers to the man's neck, feeling for a pulse. He shook his head. "It's really weak, thready. I hope that chopper hurries."

Koloski grunted an answer, trying to get a blanket under the young man's head without moving him too much. "Damn I hate to see shit like this," the older man muttered. His partner looked over at him, eyebrow raised questioningly. "Kid like this, beaten--probably didn't have more than twenty bucks in his wallet, he's been beaten within an inch of his life...Shit!" He drew back, startled, when swollen, bruised eyes opened suddenly, staring straight at him. Koloski opened his mouth to speak to the kid, but didn't get the chance. The eyes closed again as quickly as they'd opened.

"I don't guess that counts as regaining consciousness?" Koloski looked at his partner, his eyebrow raised in question.

"No." Jenkin's answer was clipped as he stared in concern at the young man.

Koloski checked his watch then began scanning the sky. "Damn I hope that chopper gets here soon."

Jenkins nodded from his position next to their John Doe. "Me, too. He's not gonna last much longer without medical attention." The young trooper shook his head. "It's a good thing we decided to go this way, rather than save this road for the end of the patrol. He'd have been a corpse by then."

Koloski nodded. "Wonder how long he's been here?"

"I'd guess a couple of hours. His body temp must be pretty low--he's not even shivering any more."

"How the hell do you know all this?" Koloski was astounded. All the troopers were trained in emergency first aid; his partner seemed to have several levels beyond that.

"I got my EMT license before I decided what I really wanted to do was law enforcement. A lot of the training has come in handy on remote patrols like this one." The younger man blushed under the keen stare. "C'mon, Sarge--I'm not the only one who knows this

stuff."

"Maybe not, but you're one of the better ones. Heads up," Koloski said, gesturing toward the sky. "Doe's ride is here."

"I'll ride along, if they've got room, and report to the doctor."

"Sounds good, kid."

************************

By the time Koloski made the drive to Spokane and found his partner, Blair Sandburg had been admitted to the hospital, under the name of John Doe.

He'd never regained consciousness. The trauma team checked him over and decided the rest of his injuries could wait until they had him warmed up again. His core body temperature was 82.7 degrees.

Koloski listened to Jenkins' report, shaking his head. He knew that on top of that the kid was concussed, with numerous other fractures as well, not to mention the beating. 'I'm *really* glad we did decide to go that way,' he thought as he made a mental note to call his own son when he got home and tell him he loved him. This man was someone's brother, father, son, spouse...something. There was someone out there who was looking for him...wondering, worried.

"C'mon, Jenkins. We've got quite a drive before we get home, and I want to come back tomorrow, see how our boy is doing." Koloski glanced at his watch. Christ, it was after eleven now. He sighed. Well, long day, short night, another long day. A day in the life of a Washington State Trooper...

*************************

Jim rolled over and stared at the clock. The luminous numbers-- which he'd have been able to see even if they weren't—showed 4:34am. It'd been nearly 24 hours since Blair had stormed out of the loft. He hadn't called, hadn't been seen by anyone...hadn't been home. Regular calls to the station last night had netted him nothing, other than to irritate the desk officer on duty—and he'd apologized repeatedly. Where was he? Was he okay? With friends? A woman? Sick or wounded?

He dug his fingers into the material of his blanket, heartsick at the thought that something had happened to Blair--and reasonably positive that something had. If Blair was okay he'd have heard something by now--if only because Blair would *never* not contact him to at

least let him know he was okay. He flicked his eyes to the clock. 4:38am. Jim got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. There was no way he was going to get any sleep--might as well make use of the time.

6:30am saw him striding into the nearly deserted bullpen, a determined look on his tired features. Most everyone was home--regular duty shifts for the detectives didn't generally

begin until 8:00am, but he couldn't wait any longer. Couldn't sit at home and twiddle his fingers. With shaking hands and a heavy heart he dialed dispatch and asked them to put out a state-wide APB on Blair Sandburg.

He was sitting at his desk when Simon arrived about a quarter 'til eight. His captain offered a greeting, then swore softly when he saw that Jim was sitting there, eerily still and silent--obviously zoned on something.

"Jim." Simon spoke quietly, shaking his shoulder a bit.

"*Jim*." A little more forceful this time, a rougher shake to arm.

"Come on, Ellison, snap out of it. Come on, come on..."

Jim blinked slowly, breathing deeply to fill his lungs with the oxygen that had been slowly running out in his system. "Simon?"

"Yeah, Jim. What happened? Where's Sandburg?"

"We need to talk, sir."

Simon gave him an assessing look. "Come on into my office."

**************************

The call on the Corvair came in first. Brown frowned at the report, then got up to knock on Simon's door, knowing both he and Jim would want to know.

"Come."

The normally smiling man was unusually grim when he stuck his head through the door. "State's found Sandburg's car, out on highway 28, about ten miles from the turn-off for Moses Lake. It'd been sitting a while--they pulled two citations from it."

"*Moses Lake*?" 'What the *hell* was he doing out there?' "You're sure, Brown?" Jim could feel the fear rising up in him.

"Positive. The news just came in over the wire."

"Man, that's only maybe 80 miles or so from Spokane." Simon watched Jim barely holding it together. "What sort of condition was it in?"

Brown shook his head. "They didn't say. I'll call back and find out."

"Thanks, Brown." Jim dropped his gaze back to the floor, guilt flooding his system.

"Jim--it could mean nothing." Simon tried to keep his voice neutral.

"I know exactly what it means, Sir. I failed him. He counted on me to keep him safe, and I let him down. This is my penance for that." Jim clasped his hands together in an effort to keep them from shaking, then jumped up from the chair he'd been perching on to pace the floor restlessly. "I have to *do* something, Simon-- I can't just sit here. God, it's been...over 24 hours now. Who knows what's happened to him!"

"Let Brown call the State Patrol and find out the condition of the car. Then you can start your search in the Moses Lake area." The phone rang on Simon's desk, cutting off any further comments he might have made, as well as Jim's responses. "Banks. Yeah, he's right here." He held the phone away from his ear. "For you."

"Thanks." Jim took the receiver, praying it was good news. "Ellison."

"Detective Ellison? This is Sergeant Adam Koloski, of the Washington State Patrol. We found a man yesterday evening who matches the description on the APB for a Blair Sandburg."

"Yes?" Jim could barely keep the tremor from his voice.

"We air-lifted him to Spokane General Hospital, Detective. He was in a pretty bad way when we found him."

"How bad?" Jim shot Simon a look, wishing he could hear the conversation too.

"When we found him he was suffering from hypothermia due to exposure, and what appears to be a nasty beating."

Jim was silent for a long moment, his eyes closed as he tried to block the images that Koloski was conjuring up for him.

"Detective?"

"Yeah, I'm here. You said 'matches the description'. What about his ID?"

"We couldn't ID him--no wallet, nothing. Looks like he might have been robbed."

"He's at Spokane General right now?"

"Yes. He's been admitted as a John Doe."

"Fine. I'll be there in a few hours."

"In that case, I'll fill you in when you get here. I'll be at the hospital, waiting for you. Take exit 29a from I-90. Left at the light, then right, then right again. You can't miss it."

"Thanks, Sergeant."

Jim hung up the phone. "They found Sandburg--he's been air-lifted to a hospital in Spokane. The trooper that found him said he's in pretty bad shape."

Simon nodded. "You want me to go with you?"

Ellison shook his head. "No--there's no need. It's a four-hour trip each way, Simon. Plus if he's gonna be in the hospital for any length of time..."

"Take as much time as you need, Jim. I know how much the kid means to you."

Jim raised pain- and guilt-filled eyes to his captain. "You do?"

"I do. You might be good at hiding things, Ellison, but I was a good detective before I took this job. Now go on, get out of here."

The detective nodded his thanks since his voice seemed to have forgotten how to work, turned, and left the room.

*************************

The trip actually was closer to four and a half hours; he made it in a little under three.

The directions that Sergeant Koloski gave him were easy to follow; ten minutes after arriving in Spokane he was pulling up in front of the entrance to Spokane General Hospital. He hastily parked the Expedition in a space marked "Emergency and Police Vehicles", being sure to display the placard that designated his vehicle an 'official police vehicle' before hurrying into the hospital.

There was a man in a state trooper's uniform standing near the information desk and he headed toward him.

"Sergeant Koloski? I'm Jim Ellison."

The trooper held a hand out and Jim grasped it. "Detective Ellison. Nice to meet you."

"Call me Jim. Where's Blair? Can I see him?"

"He's in CCU for now--I'll take you up there and you can talk to the doctor. I'm going to need for you to identify him for me, then I need to get some information from you for my report."

"He hasn't said anything?"

"He hasn't regained consciousness yet." Koloski watched the emotions playing across Jim's face. "What's the story with this kid?"

Jim sighed. "He's my partner."

"*He's* a cop? What, you work Vice or something?"

Jim smiled slightly as he followed the sergeant into the elevator. "No, I work in Major Crimes, and he's not a cop. He's doing his doctoral thesis work on closed societies, and he rides along with me for information for his dissertation. Officially, he's a civilian observer, but I consider him my partner. He's helped me solve a lot of cases."

"Mmmm. Different. Kid fits in okay with the police structure?"

"Not at first--but he does better now." Jim paused. "Sergeant Koloski--"

"Call me Adam."

"Adam. Is he...was he..." Jim broke off, unable to articulate his thoughts. They were all jumbled up inside him, pushing to get out.

"He was in pretty bad shape when we brought him in here, but this hospital has some damn good doctors. He's getting good care, Jim." The elevator pinged then, signaling their floor.

Jim nodded, tight-lipped, and followed Koloski off the elevator and down the hallway.

There was a small group of people, several dressed in scrubs and one in a white doctor's coat, standing in a cluster near the nurses' station.

"Doctor Halings," the trooper called. The woman in question turned, a smile breaking out on her face. "Back so soon, Sergeant?"

"This is Detective Ellison. Jim, Dr. Sarah Halings. She's your partner's doctor."

"Dr. Halings," Jim offered his hand.