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.

"Detective. Nice to meet you. I hope you can give us some information--your young friend says he doesn't remember his name."

"He's awake?" Koloski shot a glance at Jim.

"Off and on, just a few minutes ago." Halings leafed through the charts in the bin and pulled one out. "I was just getting ready to go back in there."

"Wait a minute." Jim held a hand up. "He doesn't remember his own name? What happened to him?"

The doctor studied Jim, frowning. "He's a very sick young man. Did Sergeant Koloski tell you anything?"

Jim nodded. "A little. Nothing real detailed."

"Okay. Let's sit down and talk, shall we? Sergeant, if you have anything else you need to do, this is just going to be rehashing what you pretty much already know."

"That's fine," the sergeant nodded, "but I need Jim to positively ID Mr. Sandburg for us. Especially in light of his not remembering who he is."

The doctor looked at both men, then nodded. "He's resting right now, so we'll need to be quiet. He was very agitated when he woke a little while ago." She escorted Jim and Koloski to the door, then paused and addressed Jim. "He looks pretty bad, Detective. I know you're in law enforcement, but it's different when it's someone close to us. Are you ready?"

Jim nodded and she pushed the door open.

The lighting was low, but Jim's sentinel-enhanced vision allowed him to see clearly. Too clearly. He choked back rising nausea at the sight of the beloved, battered figure lying on the bed in front of him. The only thing really recognizable was Sandburg's curls, though the scent and heartbeat were familiar. He took two cautious steps into the small room and gazed down at bed, recoiling inwardly at the thought of anyone doing this to Blair.

"It's him," he whispered in a ragged voice. The man on the bed jerked reflexively and Dr. Halings motioned them out of the room.

They stood in the hallway outside, Jim doing deep breathing exercises to try and calm himself down.

"You okay, Jim?" Sergeant Koloski placed a strangely gentle hand on Jim's shoulder.

"Yeah," he managed.

"Okay. You and Dr. Halings need to talk, so I'm going to go down to the cafeteria and get a bite to eat--I'll come back up here and look for you when I'm done."

Ellison nodded a distracted thanks toward the sergeant, his concentration focusing on the doctor in front of him. Halings guided him to the visitor's lounge. "I have to ask for the record, Detective, what your relationship is to my patient, since there's the question of patient confidentiality involved here."

Jim drew several sheets of paper out of his jacket and handed them to her. "Blair had these drawn up several months ago--I'm his emergency contact, since his mother is difficult to get a hold of, and, well--it's all in there."

He watched as Dr. Halings scanned the sheets that gave him the legal right to hear information of a delicate nature, along with the right to make decisions for Blair--such as the the right to decide to disconnect him from life support. The same rights that a blood relative or spouse might have. He pushed that thought to the back of his brain, a little disgusted with himself. His partner was lying in a hospital bed, injured, and all he could think of was...

The doctor tucked the paperwork into Blair's file and folded her hands across it. "Okay, to bring you up to speed. Blair was brought into the hospital unconscious, suffering from moderately severe hypothermia. His core body temperature upon arrival was under 83 degrees and we were unable to wake him. He has a blow to the head and a probable concussion, as well as numerous cuts and scrapes. Three ribs are fractured. His right ankle is sprained. He was also badly beaten." She trailed off, watching Jim's face. It'd grown progressively darker and fiercer as she talked.

The muscle in his jaw tightened. "How badly?"

"Enough that the resultant swelling and bruising partially constricted his airway, and he's passing a small amount of blood when he urinates. In addition to everything else, he's

exhibiting symptoms of amnesia--which is not uncommon for head trauma and other types of physical/psychological trauma."

Jim felt his breath catch in his throat. "What are you doing for him?"

"You mean medically?"

"Yes."

Dr. Halings paused. "He's on oxygen right now, and he's receiving warm glucose water through an IV, along with a broad-spectrum antibiotic." At Jim's quizzical look she added, "It's a precautionary measure against pneumonia, at least until his breathing eases a little and he can get up and move around some. He's sick enough without anything else."

"Can I sit with him?" Jim asked hoarsely.

"Of course. Your presence may help reassure him--he was quite agitated when he first came to. I need to check him out real quick anyway, so I'll take you there." She stood and Jim followed her out of the lounge and down the hall.

The doctor paused again outside Blair's room. "Give yourself a minute. He'll probably look worse to you this time."

Jim nodded, then took a deep breath and followed Dr. Halings into the room.

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

The doctor was right. Even though he halfway knew what to expect this time, shock still slammed into him, hurtled through him like a tidal wave. His partner was--Jesus, he'd seen car wreck victims that didn't look as bad as Blair looked. His face was a mass of bruises; discolored and swollen. His arm, which was about the only part besides his face that was visible, was dark with bruising. There was an IV in that arm, dripping steadily, and a heart monitor beeped quietly in the background. A small oxygen tube was attached to his nose, the nearly silent hissing noise sounding ominous in the still of room. Several blankets were tucked around the battered figure, but Jim could still detect shivers racking the lean frame. With a jolt he realized that smoky-blue eyes were gazing blearily at him.

"Hey, buddy," he said softly as he walked over toward the bed. "How you feelin'?"

"Mmm...r-rotten." The voice was low, rough and raspy. It sounded like it hurt to talk. The next words sent a chill spiraling through him. "Who...are you?"

"I'm Jim. You don't remember me?"

"Don't 'member...much of anything..." There was a hint of panic in the voice and the eyes now, and Jim settled himself into the chair beside the bed, his hand reaching for Blair's.

To his surprise, the younger man grasped it--albeit weakly—like a lifeline. Jim felt a rush of warmth surge through him. Even though he didn't remember him, deep down Blair obviously felt that he could trust him. He looked up to see the doctor staring at them. She glanced down at Blair.

"Blair, I need to check your pupils and your temperature, then check to see how your swelling is doing, okay?"

A faint nod from the bed. Dr. Halings carefully pushed the blankets down to Blair's waist and moved his gown aside, palpating his abdomen and sides gently. She worked quickly and efficiently, moving on to check his body temperature and pupilary response. Jim found himself watching Blair, surveying the damage himself. He focused on his partner and winced as he realized just *how* damaged Blair's body was. The bruising was deep and widespread. Blood flow to several areas had been minimized due to swelling, though his body seemed to have compensated for that. He could hear the ragged breaths, could almost feel the pinch and squeeze as Blair labored to make his chest work. He was so focused on Blair that Dr. Haling's voice took him completely by surprise.

"Very nice! Your temperature is coming up nicely--it's nearly 93 now."

"I...it's cold," a hoarse voice muttered.

"Yes, I know." She tucked the blankets back around him, then continued, "I expect you'll be cold for a while to come. As soon as you're warmed up to 96 we're going to take you down for some more x-rays and possibly a CAT scan. See what's going on inside your noggin." The doctor winked at Blair and he struggled to produce a smile in return. "Are you in pain?"

Again the nod.

"I can give you something for it, but it will probably make you sleepy again. It might also upset your stomach. You're concussed, which always makes things shaky for the stomach. Are you all right with that?"

"Yes..."

The doctor turned to face Jim. "I'll be on this floor for another hour or so. You call the nurses station if *anything* appears to be amiss. I'll have the nurse bring the medication in in a moment. It'll make him sleepy, but rest is what his body needs. We still need to check him every couple of hours, because of the concussion."

"Okay," Jim nodded. The cool hand holding his gripped tighter all of a sudden and Jim turned his head to see Blair with his eyes closed tight, tears leaking from his lids.

"Blair? What's wrong, buddy?"

"Hurts..." a gasp as he tried to pull air into his lungs. "Ohhh...hurts...I don't know...who I am...."

"Shhh...You're okay," Jim leaned closer to stroke silky curls from Blair's forehead. "You're in the hospital--you're gonna be fine, Chief....just fine..." He glanced up at the doctor in

alarm. She nodded.

"This is what I mean. He's in a panicked state right now, but unable to do anything about it. Can you keep him calm? We're doing our best for him, but can't give him anything very strong because of the concussion."

"I'll do what I can," he said, still stroking Blair's forehead. The motion seemed to soothe the younger man and he lay back against the pillows, quiet once again.

Sarah Halings looked at them, then headed for the door. She paused there. "I'll send someone in with the pain meds."

"Okay." Jim didn't even look up at her this time, too busy stroking Blair's forehead and looking into the troubled eyes.

A nurse came in shortly afterward and checked the IV, then injected a syringe into the line; she smiled at Blair and told Jim quietly that it would probably only be about ten minutes before the effects of the medication were felt.

It wasn't more than a few minutes after she left that Blair rolled his eyes over toward Jim. They were glazed, probably from pain, exhaustion and medication.

"Do you...know me? Know who...I am?"

The question was asked in such a forlorn voice that Jim winced.

"Yeah, Chief. Your name is Blair Sandburg. You're a grad student at Rainier University in Cascade, Washington. You've been my partner for almost two years now."

"Doing what? *Who*...are you?" The hysterical edge to Blair's voice gave way to a coughing spell that had the younger man pale, sweaty and gasping when it was over.

"You okay, Blair? Should I call the doctor?"

"No--" he panted, trying not to jostle anything else as he breathed. Damn, that hurt! He raised his eyes to the stern-looking man sitting beside him, holding his hand. Something about that hand felt right. Natural. "I--I'm okay..."

"You sure?"

"Mmhmm. Uh...what'd you say...your name was?"

"Jim. Jim Ellison. I'm a detective with Major Crimes."

"Cop?" Even through the hoarseness, the panic and surprise were unmistakable.

"Yeah, I am. Take it easy, Chief," he said with some alarm when Blair began shifting on the bed. "It's okay--shhh...what's wrong?"

"I don't know...something about that...scared me..." The voice was even raspier than it'd been a minute before and Jim winced again.

"Yeah, well, probably your mom instilled that in you. She doesn't like the police a lot."

"You know...my mom?" The hoarse voice was a little wistful now, the eyes sad.

Jim could hardly stand the pain--physical and emotional--in them. God, he'd give anything to be able to pull Blair into his arms and reassure him. "Yeah," he began, his own voice a little hoarse. "I've met her a couple of times."

"Does she...like *you*?"

Jim shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. She thinks your following me will be your downfall," 'which is probably right,' he thought with some bitterness, "but she knows I try to watch out for you."

'Who *is* this man?' Blair wondered as he lay there, sleepy eyes watching the man sitting next to him. He looked so rigid, until you looked into his eyes. Those eyes were soft with emotion. Aimed at him?

"You okay, Chief?"

"Sleepy..." Blair closed his eyes. The pain meds they'd given him were beginning to kick in and he was tired. "Why d'you call me 'Chief'?"

The older man shrugged again. "I dunno. I just started calling you that, and it stuck. A nickname, I guess."

"Mmmm..." Even Blair's yawn seemed fuzzy and Jim watched as the blue eyes dilated and unfocused.

"Go on, buddy, sleep. I'll be here when you wake up," the detective whispered as he pulled the sheet up over his friend. He noted the fine tremors still moving through the lean form and pulled the blanket up as well.

"...promise...?"

"I promise."

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

A nurse coming in to check Blair an hour later woke him from a light doze. Sandburg was still asleep, hand gripping Jim's tightly.

The woman checked Blair's temperature and the fluid level in the IV bag. She talked to him in a soft voice to wake him up then checked his pupilary response and the rest of his vitals. So much about this reminded Jim of a similar time when Blair had been dosed out of his mind on Golden. He'd sat a bedside vigil then, too.

'That's when I first realized how much I loved him...realized that I was in love with him,' he mused. 'Funny how things come full circle. It was my love for him that led to this...'

He shook his head, trying to push those thoughts away.

"Jim...?" A quiet voice, fractionally less hoarse than an hour or so ago.

"Yeah, Chief?"

"How'd...we meet?"

Jim blew air out through his mouth. "Well, that's complicated, Blair. Can you trust me to tell you the whole story later when you're a little more up to it?"

Blair stared into the cerulean gaze, caught in the tender light he saw there. "Yes..." he whispered.

The nurse marked his responses and statistics on his chart, then looked up and smiled pleasantly. "You're doing really well, Blair. You're temperature has gone up another three-tenths of a degree. Won't be too long before they'll let you out of bed."

"Can't...wait," he rasped quietly.

Jim stood up and stretched, aware of Blair's eyes tracking his movements. "I need to get something to drink, Chief. Do you want me to bring you anything?" He turned to look at the nurse. "Are there restrictions on anything for him?"

She pulled the chart from his door and scanned it. "He can have warm liquids orally if he's awake and coherent." She smiled at the two men. "Looks fairly awake and coherent to me. I'm Lila, by the way. I'm your second shift nurse, Blair."

Jim smiled at her. "Hi Lila. I'm Jim."

"Hi...Lila." Blair's cheeks puffed out then and Jim caught the sudden stiffness in his body as he tried to stifle the cough that accompanied the words. Lila moved to prop Blair up

slightly, making it easier for him to breath.

"Easy, honey. You're okay...that's it, breathe slow..."

"Ji--" Blair stretched a hand out to the older man, which Jim immediately grasped. Lila gave the two of them a long look--which neither one saw--then turned back to fussing over the bed. She adjusted it so Blair was sitting up a little bit more.

"That should help. Take nice, slow, shallow breaths, Blair. Your body needs the oxygen, but you can't breathe too deeply right now."

"Lila, will you be with him for a little while? I have to find Sergeant Koloski." The detective suddenly remembered he was supposed to be helping the older man with information for his report.

"Yes, I'll be in here for a little bit. I still need to do a few other things."

"Be...back soon...Jim?" Blair gasped slightly, but didn't cough this time.

"I'll be back in just a few minutes, buddy." He squeezed the cool hand in his, felt the tremor pass through it. "I'll bring you back some tea or broth, how's that sound?"

"...good..."

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

Sergeant Koloski was waiting in the visitor's lounge. "I'd almost given up on you," he remarked as Jim sat down across from him. "How's the kid doing?"

Jim shook his head. "The doctor and the nurse both said he's doing well, that he's so much better... He looks like death warmed over, to me. You should have seen him yesterday morning, you probably wouldn't recognize him." He lost himself in thoughts about why there was such a difference, then shook himself. "You said you needed information?"

"Yeah." Koloski pulled his notebook out and settled back into his seat.

Jim watched him for a moment, bemused at being on the receiving end for a change, then settled himself back more comfortably.

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

Lila smiled at him from her seat behind the nurses' desk. "He's asleep, Jim," she commented, shaking her head. "Poor kid. I have a son at home not much younger than him, I suspect. Hits you hard, you know?"

Jim swallowed. "Yeah, it does," he managed finally. 'How many times will we play out this scene?' he wondered.

"It's okay, Jim," she continued softly. "He's going to be all right. He looks like a strong man--like a fighter."

He stared at her, noting that she held the stare and returned it in measure. "He is," he said finally, pulling his gaze from hers.

"Good. Did you bring him something to drink?" Lila indicated the two steaming cups he held.

"Yeah, the cafeteria had chicken broth."

"Wake him up and have him drink it. His body needs the nutrition as much as it needs rest." She smiled and turned back to her charts.

Jim watched her for a microsecond longer, then headed for Blair's room.

He stood in the darkened, quiet room just watching his partner for several minutes, listening to the sounds of Blair's body. The well-known, much loved heartbeat sounded a little different just now, weaker, a little slower than usual. The harsh, labored respirations probably weren't as discernible to those who didn't have heightened senses, but to him the sound echoed in the quiet room. He listened to the comforting thrum of blood moving through the weakened body, trying to push healing through the veins.

Blair smelled differently, too--a combination of odd smells, most of which permeated the hospital itself, clung to him. Jim could smell the chemical and biological after-effects of Blair's body working to heal itself. Although a hint of infirmity was tangible, there was also the fresh scent of wellness pushing through. He smiled faintly then; perhaps Blair *would* be all right, just as Lila had said.

Six steps took him to Blair's bedside and he drew up the chair, settling himself in.

"Blair? C'mon, Chief...wake up. Snack-time, buddy." Jim stroked his fingertips across Blair's forehead, having come to the conclusion that this was about the only part of his guide that wasn't bruised in some way.

"Jim?" The younger man shifted as his eyes opened.

"Yeah, buddy. C'mon, wake up. No, don't move...just let your body relax." He helped Blair shift slightly, so he was resting a little higher against the pillow. "Want me to adjust the bed up?"

"Little bit..."

"Here," Jim handed him the broth. "Lila says to drink it all-- you need the calories."

Blair looked down at his blanket-swathed form. "How...can she...tell?" he joked weakly.

Jim chuckled. "Maybe from the sponge bath?"

"Haven't had...one."

"I know, you're gettin' kinda raspy, Chief." Jim touched a finger to Blair's chin, intending only to lightly scratch at the stubble there; instead, he found himself gently stroking, the

feeling of soft/rough whiskers under his fingers a pleasant sensation. He jerked his hand away when he heard Blair's heartbeat pick up--he didn't want to scare the man, or cause any kind of mistrust. Blair believed in him right now; it needed to stay that way.

Sandburg reached a hand to hold the cup, then lowered his arm again, dismayed by how much he was shaking.

"S'okay, Chief, here." Jim held the cup to the younger man's lips, encouraging him to take several sips. He set the cup on the bed-table, then picked up his own coffee and took a big swallow.

"Can you...tell me...how...you...know me?"

"Are you up to it?" Jim surveyed his partner doubtfully.

"Don't know...but we can...try." Blair raised his eyes to Jim, large pupils staring out from a bruised face. He rasped, "Please?"

Jim ran a hand across his face. Christ almighty! Kid had no memory of either of them, but he sure knew instinctively how to get around Jim, flash those puppy dog eyes at him.

"I met you because you're doing your dissertation on me." Jim listened carefully for a moment, making sure no one was near the door. "I have...heightened senses. You called me a sentinel, said I'm a, and I quote, throwback to a pre-civilized breed of man, unquote."

Blair looked impressed. "I...said that?"

"Well, you were quoting Sir Richard Burton, the explorer, when you told me that."

Blair watched the man sitting next to him, eyes flashing with intensity. There was something drawing him to this man. The touch of his hand a few moments ago had sent little sparks flowing through him, warming him faster than anything the hospital had been able to do so far. He trusted this man, implicitly, for some reason. There was something *so* familiar about him, which made sense, if they were partners. Partners. Now *that* was weird. How could they be partners if he wasn't a cop?

And the way he looked at him, touched him, was there more going on between them? He flicked a quick glance at Jim's hands; they were devoid of any jewelry.

"Are you...married?...Am I?"

Jim was startled; this was a total non sequitur. "Uh, no, to both questions. Why?"

"Wondering...trying to...fill gaps." Blair reached a hand for the cup on the table. "Help me...?"

"Sure, buddy." He supported Blair, then the cup, watched encouragingly as the younger man drank down more of the rich, warm liquid.

After that drink Blair leaned back against the pillows, exhaustion sweeping over his body. He closed his eyes, not wanting Jim see the tears he could feel filling them. His whole body ached, both from the bruises covering him, and from the constant tremors running through him as he warmed up. Warmed up. Hah! Now *there* was an unlikely event. 'I've never felt so cold in my life,' he thought. 'Wonder if I'll ever feel warm again?' He felt one tear trickle down his cheek and turned his head to blot it on the pillow, allowing the weariness to envelope him. Who was he? Would he ever know? Ever get his life back? Ever feel *good* again? It seemed as though his whole life was encompassed by pain and cold and fatigue. Everything stopped and started with when he'd opened his eyes a couple of hours ago, with nothing but a black void behind him, and another one in front of him.

No, not *just* a void in front of him. There was Jim. A stern face with eyes that were alive and soft and caring. Eyes that said he *was* somebody; somebody who was cared about, cared for, that he didn't just emerge from a void. Eyes that knew who he was, even if *he* didn't know who he was. He moved his hand slowly until it was lying open, palm up. Before he'd even completed the motion of turning his head to look at Jim he felt a warm--oh, so warm, so alive!--hand grasp his own, tighten around it reassuringly. Feelings of comfort, security, safety, love, welled up inside of him and the tears spilled over in earnest.

"Hey, now, Blair? What's wrong?" The warmth, the caring in that voice washed over him like a soothing balm, calming him.

"Dunno..." his voice was raspier than it'd been. Tears, maybe? "Everything...nothing...I don't...know who I am," he finished in a rough whisper. It hurt to talk, to breathe, to be alive. "You tell me...but I...have no memory. I believe you...because...I have no...choice. I'm lost...and I feel...like you're the...only thing...anchoring me...right now." He wheezed slightly, drawing in much needed air carefully, trying not to jostle anything.

"It'll get better, Chief. I promise. And I'm here. Whatever you need, buddy. You called me your Blessed Protector once, Blair. I obviously screwed up with this one...but I'll try to

make it up to you."

"What...happened?"

"What, to put you in the hospital?" Jim squeezed Blair's hand at the younger man's nod. "I don't know. The state troopers who found you believe you were beaten. No one knows how you got concussed--the doctor is hoping you'll remember so you can tell them. The police are, too."

Blair frowned with Jim's words. Beaten? Surely he'd remember something like that, wouldn't he? 'Not that the memory is so great...' He closed his eyes again. He was so tired...

"Gonna...take a...nap...for a little...bit."

"Good idea, Chief. Atta boy, close your eyes...I'm gonna go outside and call my captain, okay? I'll be back in just a few."

"'kay..." Blair was already sliding into the arms of sleep, cradled gently there. His respiration evened out slightly, though not enough for Jim to believe he was resting easily yet. He sighed quietly then climbed to his feet. Time to let Simon know what was going on.

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

The next several days brought marked improvements all around. Blair's body temperature evened out around 97 degrees, and the doctor told them he'd hit the so-called norm in the next day or so. Meanwhile, 97 was certainly cause for celebration since it put him back into the 'normal' range. Some of the swelling in his chest area decreased, enough so he was breathing a little easier. After the third they took him off the oxygen, although it was available if needed. The worst of the concussion was fading too, although Dr. Halings said he'd probably have headaches for a while to come. Best of all, on the fourth day after hospitalization, he was finally allowed out of bed.

Four days of lying around had caused a considerable decrease in degree of mobility and a physical therapist was called in to help him get his muscles back in shape. He still moved very stiffly, as everything ached, but the doctor and the therapist assured him that the more he moved around the easier it would get.

He hadn't regained his memory, though he'd had a few flashes that seemed to signal it was returning. The hospital psychiatrist told him that it was not uncommon for victims of physical assault to suppress those memories, much in the way a rape victim or wartime

vet would suppress painful memories. 'Trauma is trauma to the brain,' he'd told Blair. 'Your body needs to concentrate on healing, so it suppresses that which might hinder the healing process. Give it time.'

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

Blair stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, gown off, looking at his bruises. A lot of them had faded and the worst of the swelling had gone down. His chest looked like a mad artist's palette, with the colors thrown around haphazardly. Sickly yellow, some brown and black, an odd bit of violet and green. His arms weren't much better, and his face... Well. He was just grateful that Jim hadn't indicated he modeled for a living, 'cause he wouldn't for a long time, like this.

His nose was a little crooked now. It had been fractured, like his ribs, though not badly. His bottom lip was still puffy, and scabbed over. The swelling around his eyes had gone down, but both had turned spectacular shades of purple, interlaced with green. He knew he startled people who weren't used to seeing him--and a few who were. He wondered where one of those people was right now and when the door opened as if on cue, he found himself wondering, not for the first time, if Jim Ellison was psychic.

"Chief? You in here?"

He pulled the gown back on and opened the door. It was a rhetorical question, he knew, since Jim had explained some of his abilities to him. Still, it was a *common* question. "In here, Jim," he rasped. He was waiting patiently for his throat to heal enough to permit a normal speaking voice. Dr. Halings said his larynx had been bruised and it was anyone's guess as to how badly, or how long it would be recovering.

The door opened and clear blue eyes regarded him. "You okay?"

"Fine. Just...checking things out." He made his way gingerly back to the bed and settled himself.

"Dr. Halings told me she's going to discharge you in the morning."

"That's good." Blair lay back on the pillows, anxious for the day when a trip to the bathroom didn't wear him out. "I bet you'll be glad to get home, huh?"

Jim nodded, wondering when would be a good time to bring up the living arrangements. He hadn't told Blair yet that they were roommates and he wasn't sure *why* he hadn't told Blair. What was he waiting for? Christmas? It'd be here in seven more weeks, if he wanted to wait a little longer... He shook his head when he realized that Blair had asked him another question. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Have you talked to...Simon?...yet?" Blair paused over Simon's name, wondering for the umpteenth million time when things would begin to seem familiar again.

Ellison sighed. "Yeah, and he made phone calls for us. Contacted your advisor and the department chair. You've been granted an indefinite leave of absence as well as a deferral for your papers." Here Jim shrugged, "Before you ask, I don't know what papers, Chief. You don't tell me every thing going on at the U. As far as your dissertation, well, your advisor said that they'll wait and see how long it takes for you to get back on your feet and get your memory back before making a decision about that. Either way, you're bound to get some time."

"And my job with you? As your...?" Blair trailed off, stumbling over the words.

Jim sighed again, a bigger one this time. "Well, your Memories, or lack thereof, don't impede your actually *working* with me, at least not on the job. And I'm not about to toss in my hat as far as the sentinel stuff goes, just because you got a memory block. The doctors say that amnesia is rarely a permanent thing. As soon as your body has recovered physically from the trauma you should be good to go, should start getting those

memories back. We know it's going to happen, because you've already had a few memory fragments surface." He paused. "It's gonna be a while though, before you're physically fit to go with me, Blair. You'll *have* to stay at home for a week or two, to let your ribs and your head finish healing, at least."

"Are you going to stay with me?" The question was asked in a very small, uneasy voice.

Jim winced slightly. 'Now's the perfect time to tell him,' his thoughts goaded. 'Go on...' "Whatever you need, Blair. Just let me know."

The younger man nodded, satisfied with the answer.

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

It was a bright, beautiful autumn morning when he was discharged. Not at all typical weather for this state, this time of year. 'Now how did I know that? A memory of actually living here, or just something I read from a book?' Blair sighed. He was starting to second guess himself now and it was really beginning to him. Jim looked up at him and frowned.

"You okay?"

"Fine, Jim," Blair replied absently as he watched Jim tie up his shoes. He was still too stiff and sore to bend very well, so Jim had volunteered. His partner had also gone shopping for him when they realized he didn't have any clothes other than the ones the ER team had cut off of him.

"Uh-huh. You 'bout ready to go? Need anything else?" The big man knew he was hovering, but having come so close to losing Blair, he was finding it difficult, to say the least, to give him his own personal space. Fortunately, his partner didn't seem to notice, or to mind.

"Nah, I'm done." Blair rolled his eyes at the harsh rasp from his throat. "Ready to play Frankenstein for the kiddies." He wiggled his eyebrows in an attempt to look like a bad guy, causing Jim to laugh.

"C'mon, then. Let's get you home." Jim gestured grandly to the wheelchair sitting by the bed.

"Do I have to?"

"Hospital rules, pal. C'mon, get in." Jim saw Blair settled then leaned down to make sure the brakes weren't on. His own breath caught in his throat when several locks of Blair's hair brushed against him. He turned his head to find large blue eyes gazing inquisitively at him. "Let's go," he finished hoarsely. Blair nodded.

"Wait," he added suddenly as Jim moved the chair toward the door.

"What's wrong, Chief?"

"Nothing, just...wait a sec, okay?"

"Sure."

He didn't know how to explain it to Jim. Although he was glad to be leaving the hospital, everything on the outside was an unknown. *Everything*. He had grown used to the staff here, and to Sergeant Koloski and Officer Jenkins who often dropped by to visit. It felt like he was leaving the *one* place he knew, heading off into that void again. A warm hand touched his shoulder, then rested there, squeezing lightly. Blair tilted his head up to see Jim standing there, a look of understanding on the chiseled, handsome features. *Handsome*? Where'd that come from? He raised a hand to grasp Jim's and returned the squeeze.

"All set to go now?" Jim asked huskily.

"Yeah. Let's do it."

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

Blair managed to wait until they were out of Spokane before the question that had been bubbling inside of him since he opened his eyes to see Jim Ellison standing over him worked its way out.

"What are we--exactly--to each other?"

Jim started, the question catching him totally off-guard. "What do you mean?" he questioned back.

Blair sighed. "Are we, you know, involved? Lovers?"

"Why...do you ask?"

Another sigh. Man, getting an answer out of this guy was difficult. What was he hiding? "Because you've been sending me signals all week, but they're different. Sometimes you act like we're an old married couple; other times it's like we're friends, other times it's somewhere in between. I don't know how to respond anymore. I'm attracted to you...but I don't feel like I can trust myself anymore. I have no way of knowing if I felt like this before I lost my memory, or if it's because you're the *only* anchor I have in reality. So I need to know: are we lovers? Were you just not telling me because of the amnesia, or what?"

Jim pulled the truck off to the side of the road and turned to face Blair. He took a deep breath, considering what he should say, how he should say it. 'You could just tell him yes,' the little imp in his brain teased. 'He'd never know the difference.' Until he regained his memories! 'But who knows when that might be. Go on...what've you got to lose here?' Only my best friend. 'Yeah, but think of what you're gaining!'

He drew another deep breath, not believing he was about to do what he was about to do... "Yes, we're involved...but it's a very new relationship. I wasn't sure what your reaction would be to me telling you I love you--and didn't want to chance alienating myself from you while you were recovering."

Blair sighed in relief. "I thought so. Hey, man, that's cool. I guess some things go deeper than memory, huh?" The raspy voice sounded a little sultry now. "Gonna be a while before I'm good for much...but it's nice to know." He stretched out his hand, touched Jim's thigh, then smiled when large warm fingers twined with his own. Everything suddenly felt right with the world.

Jim hoped that Blair couldn't feel his fingers shaking. It seemed as if his entire body was shivering with emotion right now, most of it screaming at him, 'why the hell did you do that?' He closed his eyes briefly, trying to see a way out of this. The hand holding his squeezed and he opened troubled eyes to look at his partner.

"Jim?"

"Just thinking, Chief."

"Should we get going? You said it's quite a drive back to Cascade, right?"

"Right. Yeah." Jim put the truck in drive and pulled back out on the interstate, every fiber of his being screaming at him over this deception. What had he been thinking? Wasn't it enough that it was virtually his fault that Blair had been injured, no, make that nearly killed? Did he have to go and *lie* to him on top of everything else? He shuddered slightly at the thought of what would happen when he told him the truth, and vowed to do it as soon as they got home. He couldn't live a lie--why had he thought he could?

"Cold?" Blair felt the shudder run through Jim's body through their clasped hands.

"A little, I guess."

The younger man scooted closer--as close as seatbelts would allow. He laid his head against Jim's shoulder, then nestled a little closer as Jim stretched his arm over, cradling him. "Mmmm...nice. Jim?"

"Yeah?" Oh, good. His voice didn't shake hardly at all.

"Mind if I take a nap? I'm--" his statement was cut off by a huge yawn, and Jim found himself grinning, "--sleepy."

"Go ahead. I'll wake you when we get into Cascade."

"'Kay." Blair closed his eyes and snuggled down a little, finding a comfortable position that didn't put too much pressure on his healing ribs. The cab of the Expedition was soon filled

with the quiet, even sounds of a healing sleep.

Jim found his fingers gently stroking the soft skin of Blair's shoulder where the two met, wondering at the trust his partner was showing. *Did* Blair have feelings for him? Did he have those feelings before his injuries? Would he still trust Jim after he told him the truth? He caressed Blair gently, wondering if he'd just eliminated *any* chance of ever actually having a relationship with his partner.

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

"Hey, sleepyhead. Wake up, Blair." Jim shifted slightly, helping the younger man sit upright.

Blair blinked owlishly at him, trying to clear his sleep-fogged brain and bring his eyes into focus. "We there?"

"Coming into Cascade now."

"Wow, I slept the whole way, huh?"

Jim smiled. "All four hours of it." He paused, watching his partner looking at the passing scenery. After several minutes he asked, "Anything look familiar?"

Blair shook his head. "No." He gave Jim a half-hearted smile then turned back to the window, staring quietly.

"Chief. Sandburg." Jim stroked a finger down Blair's healing cheek. "C'mon, look at me, okay?"

His partner turned, eyes bright with moisture. "What if I never get my memory back? What if nothing ever seems familiar?"

"It will, Blair. I'll do everything in my power to see that it does. C'mon, baby," Jim's heart rolled as he realized that the endearment had slipped out, but Blair either didn't notice, or took it for granted that he called him that, now that he "knew".

"You can't guarantee that, Jim. No one can," he finished sadly. "Not even the doctors could guarantee me that. They only said that amnesia *rarely* becomes permanent. I have no sense of self, no sense of *being*. I don't know who I am, or where I come from...I wouldn't even have a name if you hadn't cared enough to try and find me."

The last words were nearly swallowed by the sobs that had been building. Jim quelled his own sobs and pulled Blair to him, holding him as closely as he was able with the seatbelts in the way. One hand remained on the steering wheel, the other tangled gently into soft curls. "It's okay, Blair. I'm here for you...I'm not leaving you...we'll find *you* again, buddy.

Just takes time...please, shhh...."

He murmured the words over and over until the smaller body in his arms began to settle down, sobs giving way to the occasional sniffle as Blair got himself under control.

"You okay?" Jim asked when he released the younger man.

"I don't know. I feel like I'm hanging on by a thread here. But I guess so," he sighed finally.

"Let's get home and get you settled and we can discuss this further."

"You said you're gonna stay with me, right? How long?"

"How long what?"

"How long can you stay?"

Jim clenched his fists on the steering wheel. "We live together, Chief."

Blair stared at the man sitting next to him. "*How* long did you say we've been involved?"

Oh, Lord. "We've lived together since, I don't know, since a month or so into our partnership. You used to live in a warehouse; you'd converted some of the space into living quarters and used the rest for projects. The warehouse was also being used by a local gang for a drug lab, and the building was blown sky-high one night because of a gang war." Which wasn't the whole explanation, but enough for the moment.

"And you let me move in."

"It was supposed to be a temporary thing, you were only going to stay for a week or so. Somewhere along the way it just kind of rolled over into weeks, then months. You've lived there for nearly two years."

"Wow." Blair smiled. "Convenient, huh? How come you didn't tell me before?"

"I was afraid," Jim said, very softly.

"Of what?" A puzzled frown greeted him when he looked up.

"I don't know. Didn't want to spook you."

'Spook you.' Those words seemed familiar for some reason. Blair closed his eyes, trying to grasp the elusive memory, groaning in frustration when it slipped past him. "Dammit!"

"What's wrong? Blair?"

He shook his head. "I think it was a memory trying to catch my attention," he said ruefully. "I guess I wasn't ready to play ball."

Jim nodded toward the window. "Anything at all look familiar out there?" They were further into the city, turning now onto Cascade Boulevard. Almost home. Almost time to tell the truth.

Blair shook his head silently, his eyes speaking volumes for him.

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

Jim parked the truck in the small lot next to the building. The Corvair, which had been towed back to Cascade courtesy of the police department, was parked in its usual spot. Blair walked past it without a word, until Jim stopped him.

"How d'you like the car?"

The younger man turned and looked at it. "Nice. Whose is it?"

"Yours."

The smoky-blue eyes grew wide and he darted over to it in excitement. "How long have I had it?"

"Beats me, Chief. You had it when we met. That's all I know." Jim walked over to him and put an arm around the lean figure. "Let's go inside. It's getting chilly out here, and you're not healed yet, no matter how good you feel."

"I don't *feel* all that great," Blair retorted with a touch of spirit. "You do, though..." he leaned in toward Jim as if to kiss him, but the bigger man pulled away.

"Let's get inside first, okay? There's a few things...I need to tell you."

'That sounds ominous', Blair mused as he followed Jim into the building and up the stairs. 'God, nothing looks familiar. *Nothing*!' His--friend?--stopped in front of a door on the third floor and fumbled in his pocket for keys. Blair leaned against the wall, watching him, wondering what Jim needed to talk about--about them, obviously--that hadn't been covered. A new relationship, he'd said. Maybe they weren't 'out'. Jim was a cop after all, a detective, no less. A relationship with another man would be a big deal even if they weren't public about it.

The door swung open and Blair was pushed gently inside. He looked around the room, trying to decide if the comfortable feeling inside him came from *remembering* this place, or if it was just because he knew from Jim that it was his home. He shrugged mentally. Whichever it was, he didn't care. At least he felt like he belonged here.

"Sit down," Jim said. "I'll get you some tea."

"Tea?"

"Hot tea. You drink a lot of herbals. I know where you keep your 'stash', so this won't take long."

"Okay." Blair moved toward the sofa, taking time to run his gaze over all aspects of the room. He shivered briefly and hugged his arms around himself. In spite of having maintained a 'normal' body temperature for a couple of days now, he was still easily chilled and sat down still wearing the heavy sweater Jim had gotten for him.

"Hang on a sec and I'll build us a fire." Jim set the kettle to boil then headed for the fireplace.

"You don't have to do that, Jim. Come sit with me?" Blair patted the cushion next to him in invitation.

"In a minute, Chief." He quickly built a fire, ignoring Blair's protests that it wasn't necessary, then returned to the kitchen to make tea, now that the water kettle was boiling.

Blair watched the activity, glad on one hand that Jim had ignored him about the fire; the heat felt good and he moved to the end of the sofa to greedily soak up as much as he could. On the other hand he couldn't help but feel like Jim was putting off telling him something unpleasant; something he was certain he wasn't going to want to hear.

"Here you go," came the warm voice above him, handing down a steaming mug before seating himself on the couch.

"Mmm...thanks. Um, peppermint!" he said with some surprise after taking a careful swallow.

"Yeah, that seems to be your favorite."

"Thanks, Jim." He set the mug down and moved closer to the big man.

"Blair...there's something I need to tell you." The detective shifted away uneasily, finally standing up to pace. This was going to be awful. What on earth had possessed him to lie about something so crucial? To lie at all? He was about to destroy the best friendship he'd ever had. 'Not to mention all the trust you've worked so hard to build for him. You're the center of his world right now. He's trusted you for over a week now, to know all about him, know what to say and do for him. He's alone, scared and vulnerable and you're going to blow his trust in you sky-high in one minute when you do this.'

"Jim?" Blair's voice was quiet, hesitant. Almost scared. "What is it?"

"I--wasn't quite straight with you. I lied to you, in fact."

Blair felt his stomach drop to his toes. "About what?" he asked carefully, hoping his voice wasn't trembling as much as it sounded.

Jim closed his eyes. Jesus, this was hard. "About...about us."

"What about us? What'd you lie about?" the younger man sounded confused and hurt, as if the one constant he'd known was being taken away, which, of course, it was.

Jim flinched when he heard that word from Blair's mouth. "About *us*, Blair. We're not involved, never have been. We're just friends. Best friends." 'Probably won't even be that, now.'

"Then...when you said you love me...?"

"That's true," Jim managed to push out, a rough, ragged sound. "I've been in love with you for a long time." God, this was like deja vu. "That's how all this--" he gestured wildly, taking in Blair's injury and their present situation, "--happened. I told you I was in love with you, and you freaked. Turned around and walked out of the loft." Jim began pacing, hoping the motion would help. "I didn't hear from you again until I got the call the next morning that you were in Spokane General Hospital, under the name John Doe."

Blair exhaled in a gasp. "What else have you lied to me about?" he questioned in a rough whisper.

"Nothing else, I swear." He could hardly stand the pain shining in those vibrant eyes; closed his own against the tears shining there.

"Why?" Blair's voice was ragged with emotion.

"I don't know." His own voice wasn't much better. "I guess...I love you so much, Blair...I just wanted it to be true. And when you asked me it just seemed...natural...to say yes; maybe because I've wanted it for so long..." He paused then, not sure what else to say, but knowing he had to say something. "I wish like hell I hadn't lied to you."

Blair stared at him for a long moment, naked vulnerability in his eyes. "I don't know what to say."

Jim whirled before Blair could see the tears shining in his eyes. That was it then. Just like that it was over. "I'll understand," he began, before his voice cracked. He stopped and tried again. "I'll understand if you don't want to live with me anymore...but I hope you'll stay until you get back on your feet. I--" His voice cracked once again, and he stopped, trying to decide what else to say. The silence spread out, encompassing the loft. Jim focused on it, listening intently. He could hear Blair's heartbeat, hear the still

slightly ragged breaths his partner took. He stood there, his back to the man he loved, listening, waiting.

Blair watched Jim pace the living room, not quite believing he was hearing the words he was hearing. Jim had *lied* to him? About something so crucial, so important? He shook his head, trying to decide what to do, what to say. The impulse was to leave, but he had no where else to go. Jim's words echoed in his mind, 'You left then.' Why had he left? For the same reason he wanted to leave right now? Because he was afraid of confronting those feelings? Or maybe because they were such a shock to him?

He knew he was attracted to him; he was also starting to really care for the guy. He only wished he knew for sure if those feelings were what he *really* felt, or just a spillover of his reaction to everything. Of course, even if that were the case, did it invalidate those feelings? He still cared for Jim--a lot. And if he was very honest with himself, he was probably falling in love with him.

His emotions were all screaming betrayal though, in light of Jim lying to him. Why hadn't he just come right out and said something like, 'we've been roommates for almost two years, but I'm in love with you.' Would that have made it any better? Worse? Made any difference at all? Why had Jim been so fearful of him finding out? Was he, Blair, strictly heterosexual? He didn't think so...the thought of being in a relationship with a man seemed just as normal, or natural, as being in a relationship with a woman. So what was the big deal?

He sighed. Damn, why this, now? He was tired and hungry and he ached all over. His mind was still full of the thoughts he'd had earlier in the day about stepping out into a void that contained nothing he was familiar with. On the other hand, it took an incredible amount of courage to stand there, knowing what this could do, or mean, to him and still do it. Wanting to make it right as soon as possible. He looked at the man standing across from him, back toward him. A man standing very, very still...

"Jim? Hey, Jim, are you okay?"

He'd been on the verge of a zone-out, concentrating so hard on Blair's heartbeat that the quiet voice directly behind him surprised him, but not as much as the arms that suddenly went around his waist.

A shudder ripped through him at the touch of Blair's warmth against him and he swallowed hard to keep the tears at bay.

"I've really screwed things up, haven't I, Chief? I don't know if you can forgive me for lying...but I hope we can still be friends, and that you'll trust me again some day."

Gentle hands turned him around until Blair's chest was pressed against his own. His own arms came up to hold the smaller man close, savoring the moment.

"It's okay, big guy. Well, I mean, it's not *okay*, but I think I understand the motivation behind it. I can't say I'm crazy about the fact that you lied to me...but you came clean about it, man. That means a lot."

"If you need somewhere else to stay, I'm sure Simon would--"

"Jim. I don't want anywhere else to stay, especially not with someone I don't remember, don't know, for all intents and purposes. I'm fine here. Just...don't do it again, okay? I can handle it once, maybe, but not twice. Don't tell me anything that isn't the gospel truth, please." Blair's voice was rough and raw, shaking slightly with the emotions surging through him.

Jim held him tightly, hoping this was really going to be okay. He was on the verge of fucking up all aspects of his life majorly if he didn't watch it. He was still astounded that Blair hadn't run for the door; never mind that he seemed to want to stay.

He shook his head, deciding to leave it alone. If Blair said he was okay with it, then he ought to be able to be as well. Wait a minute. The conversation of the last few minutes finally processed. 'Big guy'?

"Blair, you called me 'big guy' a minute ago."

A raspy voice from his chest muttered, "So? So what?"

"That's what *you* call me."

Blair was silent for a minute, then the significance of what Jim had just said hit him. "I do? Oh, man! D'you think this means I'm getting my memories back for real?"

Jim rubbed Blair's back, taking care to do so lightly. "I hope so, buddy. I hope so."

~end part one~

[ Part Two ] [ Sentinel Stories ]