Hi gang, it's Kathy Ring (a.k.a. BlairBunny) After a seven-month gestation period, I am finally able to offer the following story.

AFTERMATH is a missing scenes/follow-up story to an excellent first season episode, CYPHER (TS105), written by Laurence Frank (the best episode yet of the series IMHO). If you have not yet seen CYPHER, I would recommend not reading this story, because AFTERMATH *will* spoil it! It is much too good an episode to be spoiled by fanfic!

Having said that, I have some people I need to thank: my sisters Barbara and Brenna, who were my "alpha readers" -- they made sure I was on the right track and asked good questions, encouraged me and made some very helpful comments. My beta readers, Laura, Sandra, Shanda & Shelagh made many more helpful comments, brought me even more on track, and also offered much encouragement to finish this story. Without all of the above (note they are listed alphabetically, as I would not want to suggest favoritism by what order they are listed), I would never have gotten through it.

I hope it brings some small pleasure to all of you.

Kathy Ring

103213.2274@compuserve.com (BlairBunny@aol.com on Monday nights)

Comments, etc. to the above e-dress always welcome.

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FORMATTING NOTES:

1. "**********" represents a single blank line between paragraphs in a standard book-formatted story.

2. words enclosed in *asterisks* should be taken as underlined.

3. words enclosed in {{curly brackets}} are from TS: CYPHER, written by Laurence Frank -- however, the interpretations sometimes enclosed by said curly brackets are mine.

DISCLAIMER: The characters Blair Sandburg, Jim Ellison and Simon Banks, as well as the entire Sentinel concept, belong to Pet Fly Productions and Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended; the following story is purely for the enjoyment of THE SENTINEL's fans. Furthermore, this story is based on the absolutely marvelous episode of THE SENTINEL entitled CYPHER, written by Laurence Frank. I have just added some scenes to "fill out" the episode.

"AFTERMATH"

by Katherine A. Ring

Detective Jim Ellison looked down at the still face of David Lash, the dead man's expression frozen into a mix of surprise and sorrow. Jim knew he should have felt something -- triumph, satisfaction, relief -- but he didn't. It was just over.

The detective turned and headed back up the stairs, setting his radio to "transmit" as he climbed.

"Simon, it's Ellison. Lash is dead."

"Where are you Jim?"

"The Bloxham Shipping warehouse. Lash is down on the ground floor in back. Send a team up to the third floor, too; that's where his hide-out was."

"How's Sandburg?"

"I'm heading back to him now. He's been drugged, but I think he's okay."

"I'll send in the paramedics just to be sure."

"Right. Ellison out." Jim turned off his radio and continued upstairs. The image of David Lash -- the psychopath standing over Blair, pinching off his nose, pouring the tri-chloryl ethanol into his mouth, forcing him to swallow the drug -- flashed behind the detective's eyes. His steps quickened. What if this time Lash had used too much, had used a lethal dose instead of merely a subduing one?

Jim reached the third floor and hurried through the rooms until he reached the one that David Lash had been using as his hide-out. Blair lay unmoving in the dentist's chair. Oh God, I can't be right... Jim's suddenly ragged breathing was an overwhelming roaring in his sensitive ears as he closed the final distance and quickly checked the anthropologist's pulse. It was slow, but steady. The detective's breathing evened out as the adrenaline spike passed. He noticed the manacles, then, that chained together Sandburg's wrists and ankles.

"Blair, wake up," Jim said, shaking the younger man's shoulder. "Come on, Chief, rise and shine." There was no response. The drug hadn't had enough time to wear off, no doubt. He'd thought the drug was only supposed to immobilize the victims, not render them unconscious, but he must have misunderstood Carolyn. His ex-wife had said it was short-acting, but how short was short?

Frustrated, the detective examined the shackles more closely, looking for a way to get them off. The chains wrapped around the chair, not only binding the younger man's wrists to his ankles, but also securing him to the chair. Jim couldn't find any keyholes on the manacles; they were fastened with bolts. But the killer had gotten them on Blair, so there must be a way to get them off.

The detective started looking around, searching through Lash's "trophies" and other paraphernalia. He found a pair of pliers lying on the table by one wall. He attacked the shackles with the pliers, using them to unscrew the bolts and then removing the metal bindings one by one. When he had all four undone, he dropped the pliers and pulled Blair's limp body out of the chair and up into his arms.

"Hold on, kid," the detective whispered intently to the rag doll he settled over his shoulder, half-encouragement, half-prayer. He charged up the short staircase, carefully avoiding the broken stair, then headed for the stairs that would take him down.

**********

Captain Simon Banks pulled open the door to the stairs inside the abandoned Bloxham Shipping warehouse and heard someone in the stairwell above him. Moments later, before he'd climbed even halfway up the first flight, Jim came into view. He had Blair draped over his left shoulder, and Jim had his left arm wrapped around the unconscious man's legs to steady him. Blair's arms dangled down the older man's back

"Is he okay?" The police captain asked, gesturing at the limp body, whose long mane of hair bounced with every step.

"I think so," Jim answered. "I just decided to bring him down. Why wait?"

"The paramedics are right behind me. Where is Lash's hide-out?" Simon asked. Jim described its location, and where to find the dead man's body. "Thanks," the police captain added.

"I'll be down at the hospital with Sandburg," Jim said.

"Okay, I'll join you as soon as we wrap up things here."

"Right." The detective continued down the rest of the stairs, Blair's arms swinging gently from side to side, curls mirroring the motion.

**********

The ambulance was just pulling up as Jim exited the warehouse. The paramedics hopped out and hustled around to the back. One opened the doors as the other pulled out the stretcher. Jim gently set down the limp form of his partner, telling the EMTs what drug had been used on the anthropologist -- dosage unknown -- and stepped back to let them do their job. In short order Blair's vital signs were checked and it was determined he was okay to transport. He was strapped to the stretcher which was loaded back into the ambulance. Jim climbed in next, followed by one of the paramedics. The doors were secured, and the other EMT returned to the driver's seat. The ambulance headed for the hospital, siren wailing, passing the coroner's wagon as it pulled in.

**********

Halfway to the hospital, Blair jerked awake, flailing against the straps that held him to the stretcher. Jim moved to reassure him, saying,

"Easy, Chief, everything's okay. Lash is dead. You're in an ambulance, going to the hospital."

"Jim?" The wild look in the younger man's eyes faded.

"Yeah, kid, it's over. You did good."

"I did?"

"Yeah, you did everything right. I'm proud of you," Jim patted the anthropologist's shoulder.

"Sir, I'm sorry, but I'd like to run some checks now that he's conscious," the EMT said, gesturing for Jim to move back.

"Sure," the detective agreed, patting Blair's shoulder again before tucking himself into one corner of the ambulance. "I'll be right over here, Chief." Blair's eyes tracked him, locked onto him the way a drowning man clings to a life preserver.

**********

When Simon got to the hospital, he found Jim sitting in the waiting room, staring blankly at the TV bolted to a wall. He had washed his face, and a little bandage covered the cut on his forehead.

"How is he, Jim?" Simon asked, startling his friend from his reverie.

"What? Oh, hi, Simon."

"How's Sandburg?"

"I'm still waiting to hear. He's awake, and seemed reasonably coherent, but that's all I know. How'd things go at the warehouse?"

"Fine. You'll need to make a statement about Lash, but I'm sure Internal Affairs will say it was a good shoot. After all, it was him or you, right?"

"I'm not worried about it."

"Good," Simon responded. A few minutes passed in tense silence; then Jim began to talk, needing to release some of the nervousness bottled up inside of him.

"You should have heard him, Simon," the detective said, his voice tinged with pride and just a little distant as he remembered what he had overheard. "He was talking back to Lash, taunting him really, distracting him, throwing him off his game. And he sounded so...I don't know. Even. Emotionally, I mean. In control of himself."

"Sandburg? Controlled?" The police captain tried to turn it into a joke, but Jim didn't respond to it.

"I mean it, Simon. The kid was on top of it, he didn't lose his head."

"That's good, Jim," the other man replied, realising this wasn't the time to be teasing his friend. Not knowing what else to say, he let the silence return as they continued to wait.

**********

Carolyn arrived twenty minutes later. Before she could ask if they knew anything, or even say hello, Jim leapt to his feet and crossed the room in four long strides to meet the doctor who had just appeared in the doorway behind her. Simon was only a little slower to react, but he took the time to acknowledge Carolyn's presence with a nod and a welcoming smile.

"How is he, doc?" The detective asked.

"Mr. Sandburg is fine, Detective Ellison. He has a mild concussion, along with an assortment of bruises and contusions, and a small amount of fluid in his lungs. We'd like to keep him overnight for observation, and he should take it easy for a few days. He's likely to be, well, overly emotional for the next thirty-six hours or so, until the drug is completely out of his system. But he's going to be okay."

"That's great. Can I see him?"

"For a minute or two. He's in Room 282."

"Thanks." Jim clapped Simon on the shoulder, then nodded at Carolyn and headed down the corridor. The woman turned back to the doctor after watching her ex-husband vanish into the anthropologist's room.

"Have you run a blood test, yet, to verify the same drug was used?" The forensics lieutenant asked.

"Yes, we did. It was tri-chloryl ethanol; the concentration was 5.5 milligrams per liter."

"That's almost double what was used on the other victims," Carolyn remarked.

"Jim said Sandburg was talking to Lash, trying to distract him. Maybe he succeeded too well, and that's why the dosage was so much higher," Simon theorized.

"Is that going to cause any problems?" Carolyn asked the doctor.

"No, it shouldn't. Now, if the concentration had been too much higher, or if he hadn't been brought in as quickly as he was, it could have been very serious. We'll keep a close watch on him tonight, of course, but we're not anticipating any trouble."

"That's a relief," Simon replied, looking down the empty hallway.

**********

Blair's eyes were closed when Jim entered Room 282. The policeman almost turned around and left, but the anthropologist heard the movement and opened his eyes.

"Don't go," he said quietly.

"Hey, Chief, how're you feeling?"

"Relieved. Beat up. Kinda shaky."

"That's natural. I can't stay long. I just wanted to let you know that the doctor said you were okay. They want to keep you overnight, just to be sure. I'll come by tomorrow and pick you up."

"Thanks." Blair smiled faintly, his eyes starting to close.

"Well, I'd better let you get some rest, so you'll have lots of energy to clean up the apartment tomorrow," Jim teased. "You really left it a mess." The younger man laughed, but his laughter dissolved into a coughing fit. "Easy there, easy." Jim poured a glass of water and held it out to the anthropologist. Blair sipped it, then returned it to the detective and sank back into his pillows, giving up on the fight to keep his eyes open.

"I'll head out now. Get some rest, okay?" Jim ordered.

"Jim?" The younger man asked softly, not opening his eyes.

"Yeah, Chief?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"Finding me in time." With his eyes closed, Blair missed the expression on Jim's face. For one ugly moment, the image of David Lash looming over a helpless Blair flash-stamped itself behind the detective's eyes again. It had really been much closer than Jim cared to admit. Another five minutes...He shook his head to clear it of the vision.

"No problem. Just doing my job." The older man tried to keep his tone casual.

"Hmmm," Blair replied, practically asleep.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Jim said softly. The anthropologist didn't reply. The detective left the room quietly, making sure to close the door gently, so as not to awaken the sleeping man.

**********

Jim was lost in contemplation as Simon drove him back to his truck. Carolyn had already returned to the precinct, once the doctor confirmed that Blair would be fine. She felt that she would be of more use making sure the forensics team did a 110% job on Lash's lair than waiting at the hospital with the captain.

"He's going to be all right, Jim," Simon finally said.

"I know."

"So?"

"It was too damned close, Simon. If I didn't have these hyperactive senses...it *would* have been too late."

"But you do have them, and it wasn't too late. So let it go."

"It's not that easy."

"Yes, it is. Just do it."

"I keep seeing Lash standing over him, pouring that drug down Sandburg's throat."

"Even if you hadn't found Lash's hide-out, we were already on station at the duckpond. We would have stopped him."

"But we wouldn't have known about the duckpond if I didn't--"

"Jim," Simon interrupted. "Let. It. Go." The police captain pulled over to the side of the road and turned to face his friend. "It's over. The kid's okay. Look, Jim, you're tired. Why don't you go home and get some sleep? You can make your report tomorrow; it'll wait. When you bring Sandburg in you can both give your statements."

"Yeah, maybe you're right."

"I know I'm right," the police captain said, laughing gently to take the sting from his words. Simon pulled back out into traffic; they rode the rest of the way to Jim's truck in silence, but the quiet, this time, was more companionable than pensive.

"Thanks for the ride, Simon," Jim said as he climbed out of the car.

"Get some rest, Jim. I'll see you in the morning."

**********

Walking into his apartment, Jim flashed back to earlier that night, when he had rushed from the gym in response to the "911" page he had gotten. The stab of fear was still fresh in his mind -- the way it had torn at his gut as he'd seen the broken door, and the scattered furniture. The detective shook his head to clear it of the images, pushing away the accompanying emotions. Maybe if he cleaned up the place before he went to bed, he would rest easier.

As he worked, removing the broken door chain, uprighting furniture, setting the TV (miraculously unhurt) back on its table, picking up the papers and magazines strewn about, straightening rugs, couch covers and throw pillows, he reflected on his roommate. The kid sure had put up one hell of a fight. Lash did not take him easily.

Finally the apartment was in order again. Yawning, he took a quick shower before he turned in. He lay in bed, waiting for sleep to overtake him. He slowly became aware of how empty the apartment was. Why did it seem so quiet? He liked the solitude, the peacefulness. Being alone had never bothered him before. Then he realized what was missing: the sound of Blair's breathing. Normally he could hear the younger man sleeping in his room downstairs. But tonight he was halfway across town, sleeping in a hospital bed, and it was Jim's fault.

Disgusted with himself for letting his thoughts turn negative once more, he climbed out of bed and went downstairs. He turned on the stereo's radio, resetting the tuner from Blair's alternative rock station to his favorite jazz station. He set the volume just loud enough so that it would cover the silence. He turned the closest speaker so it pointed at the stairs to his bedroom and went back to bed. Although still painfully aware of the emptiness, Jim fell asleep at last, subconsciously straining to hear the non-existent sound of his roommate's breathing under the normally soothing music.

**********

Jim found himself outside of the Bloxham Shipping warehouse, staring up at the dark, grimy bulk of the abandoned building. The dock area was eerily quiet. Even the water washing against the dock seemed muted. David Lash must be here somewhere, he thought to himself, and he's got Blair. He strained for any sign of the psychopath -- a light in a window, music playing -- something, *anything* -- but he found nothing. Only some gut-level instinct prodded him forward, telling him that *this* was the building to search.

He worked his way inside the warehouse, every part of his body focused either on moving noiselessly or on finding Lash and Sandburg. He's probably established himself upstairs, Jim thought to himself. It would be too easy to be seen on the ground floor. He decided to start his search on the top floor and work his way down. He climbed the stairs, alert for any clue to the location of the two men. He heard no voices, heard no sound at all save for his own heartbeat. The darkness inside the building forced him to move with frustrating slowness. If only he could see better, he could move faster! He was hesitant to use his flashlight, for fear that Lash would see it before Jim was close enough to see the psychopath.

He began to search the third floor as best he could in the darkness, working so silently that it would have warmed the heart of his Special Forces drill sergeant. As he left one room, entering a hallway, he thought the far end was a bit lighter. Maybe that's where they are! He moved slowly, skulking to the end of the tomb-like hallway, and found himself at the top of a short flight of stairs, which led down into a large room. Candles burned everywhere, lining the stairs and placed throughout the room, casting a cheerful glow on a spook-house horror show. An empty dentist's chair, draped in chains, stood at the center. The "trophies" from Lash's victims were displayed proudly -- even the drug dealer's wheelchair -- mementos from four lives snuffed out by the same psychopath that had Blair. There was no sign of either man.

Jim headed down the stairs. He was almost at the bottom of the short flight when the stair under his foot collapsed, pitching the police detective down the last of the stairs to crash noisily into the floor near the dentist's chair. His gun clattered out of his hand as he hit and it skittered several feet away. Jim leapt to his feet and snatched up his gun, looking around repeatedly, ears straining for any sound that could warn of Lash's approach. But after several minutes he relaxed; Lash did not seem to be near enough to have heard all the noise. Still alert for any hint of the psychopath's return, the police detective started to examine the room in more detail.

As Jim reached the far end of the room, his radio crackled to life.

"Jim, this is Simon. Where are you?"

"I've found Lash's hide-out, in the Bloxham Shipping warehouse. I'm checking it out now."

"I think you'd better come down here. We're at the duckpond."

"Why? What have you..." The detective's voice trailed off as his gaze fell on a small pile of clothes, topped with a leather jacket that looked suspiciously like Blair's. And that shirt -- hadn't Blair been wearing a blue-grey knit shirt like that when he left for the lecture earlier that evening?

"Jim? Jim, are you still there?" Simon called urgently.

"I'm okay," Ellison replied distractedly as he sifted through the clothes, using a pen to move each piece.

"I really think you should head down here," the police captain prodded. Jim was instantly focused on his radio.

"What's wrong? Have you found them?"

"I'll explain it when you get here." Simon clicked off his radio to forestall any more questions.

As Jim headed out, a sense of deep foreboding overcame him. It had to be that Simon and the others had found Blair and Lash, but why wouldn't he just *say* that? Unless...no, it didn't pay to think negatively. He'd find out what was going on when he got there. Now that he thought about it, though, hadn't he heard a sharp noise as he fell down the stairs? A popping sound that could have been a gunshot? He began to hurry even more. And then he heard it: a siren wailing in the distance, coming steadily closer. Jim broke into a run, taking the stairs three and four at a time.

The siren stopped before the detective reached the duckpond. By the time he got there, he knew what he would find, and he was horribly, terribly correct. An ambulance had pulled up, and a circle of people were gathered around a body on the ground. One of the paramedics was just draping a sheet over the body. The other was packing up their tackle boxes of medical gear. Another body, already shrouded, lay unattended and uncared-for at the edge of the pond. Most of the cops present stood in small knots, their faces white with anger and sadness.

Simon saw him coming and moved to meet him.

"Jim," he said, laying a comforting hand on the detective's shoulder. "I...I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. We were just...too late." Ellison swatted off his captain's hand and pushed his way through the unresisting honor guard around the body farthest from the duckpond. He yanked off the sheet and stared down at the expected but still shocking sight: Blair, naked, looking like a drowned rat with his hair plastered to his skull, a yellow scarf still knotted around his neck. His gold ankh lay against chest hair darkened to black by the wet, and his countenance seemed so peaceful with his eyes closed, as if he were just sleeping rather than being dead...

**********

Jim awoke abruptly, shaking and in a cold sweat. He was breathing hard -- almost to the point of hyperventilating. For one long, indefinite period of time, the detective didn't know if Blair's death was nightmare or harsh reality. No more annoying Sentinel tests, no more coming home to find his own front door chained against him, no more finding the empty milk carton in the trash with no replacement in sight. No more epiphanal moments as they conquered one more aspect of his heightened senses. No more late-night movie marathons. No more looking into the younger man's eyes and knowing that there was *one* person, at least, in the world who understood what he was going through. When had the kid come to mean so much to him, anyway? Yes, he had just defended Blair's continued presence as his partner only yesterday, but that was for his help with the sensory thing. That's what it was *supposed* to be. So when had Blair's friendship, his presence not as a Sentinel Guide but as a person come to be so much a part of Jim's life? When had part of his definition of "home" come to include Blair? After all, the anthropologist was just staying with him temporarily, right? Hadn't he said so, on the night when Blair had been made homeless by that drug-lab explosion? But the ape was gone, and Blair had remained. Why hadn't he told him to leave? Wasn't he supposed to be the loner, the maverick, the solo cop who worked with no-one, and needed no-one? Somewhere along the way, in between sensory tests and popcorn fests, he'd lost that. And he didn't want to have to find it again.

Jim flung off his covers and went downstairs into Blair's room. He wandered around it, studying the pictures that lined the inner windowsill, examining the odds-and-ends that decorated his walls. It was comforting, somehow. Even Blair's natural scent lingered faintly in the air. The anthropologist's presence was so strong in the room that Jim didn't feel alone. He laid down on the younger man's bed and was asleep before he realised he had closed his eyes.

**********

Jim woke up the next morning, embarrassed to find himself lying on Blair's bed. The fears of the night before seemed remote and unlikely in the brightness of the cheerful morning.

The policeman took the steps up to his own bedroom three at a time, eager to change and get to the hospital to pick up Blair. Once the anthropologist was back home, then things would return to normal and he could go back to pretending he didn't need anyone.

Looking at the radio/clock next to his bed, he was shocked to find it read 11:12. He couldn't have slept *that* late, could he? Jim dressed quickly and dashed out of the loft, breakfast unthought-of in his haste.

**********

By the time Jim reached the hospital and found a parking place, it was two minutes shy of noon. He went to Blair's room and found the anthropologist unhappily picking at his lunch.

"What's wrong, Chief?" He asked as he walked in. "Lunch not up to your high standards?"

"Hey, Jim." The younger man's gloomy expression lifted. He gestured at his tray. "I've had better."

"Well, one meal won't kill you." The words were out of his mouth before he thought about it. Dumb choice of words, Ellison! He tried to cover his slip by pretending it hadn't happened. "Has the doctor been by yet?"

"Yeah, he said I can go home this afternoon." Blair didn't react to his comment -- or at least he hid it well enough. "And believe me, man, I can't wait."

"That's good," the policeman replied. His stomach growled; Blair giggled as Jim looked embarrassed. "I never got around to eating," the older man explained carefully. The graduate student pushed the tray toward him.

"Here, you can have mine. I've had about all I can stand."

"It's can't be *that* bad," Jim said, attacking the remains. It wasn't a gourmet meal, but it wasn't as inedible as Sandburg was making it out to be.

Blair shook his head in surprise that anyone could eat a hospital lunch with such enthusiasm.

"And you complain about what *I* eat," the amused anthropologist commented. Jim just continued to wolf down the food.

**********

Not very much later, a nurse came into the room, pushing a wheelchair.

"I'm sorry to say, Mr. Sandburg, that we can't tolerate your behaviour any longer. I'm going to have to kick you out," the nurse flashed the young man a winsome smile. "Now maybe we'll get some work done around here."

"Has he been bothering you, ma'am?" Jim asked, drawing himself up to his full height, doing his best beat-cop imitation.

"I'm innocent!" Blair protested, as the nurse also replied,

"He's been ever so much trouble, officer."

"Well, I'll take care of it. He'll get what he deserves."

"I doubt that."

"I think I'd better get out of here while I still can," Blair said, hopping out of bed and looking around for his clothes. The nurse handed them to the young man, still grinning. The anthropologist changed quickly in the closet-sized bathroom. As he came out, the nurse patted the wheelchair's seat.

"Sit here, no complaints, no protests," she said. "The only way you leave is by sitting right here with your mouth closed."

"Yes ma'am." Blair obeyed meekly, eager to get home.

"I wish I could get him to do that," Jim remarked dryly as he held the door open. Blair glared at him for a moment but didn't make a sound.

**********

It didn't take long to fill out Blair's release paperwork, and then he was wheeled to the doors.

"Out you go. Shoo!" The nurse said cheerfully.

"You don't have to tell me twice," Blair replied, bouncing out into the bright sunshine.

"Take care of him," the nurse told Jim. He looked at her, and saw that underneath all her joking, she was serious. He wondered what she knew of last night's events.

"I will," the detective answered, and followed his roommate outside.

**********

The ride back to the loft went quickly, filled with Blair's endless chatter. For once Jim didn't mind -- it was good to be driving home, with Blair prattling on in the seat beside him. That's how it was supposed to be. He mentally shook his head; he certainly had developed a strange idea of what was "normal."

**********

Blair was glad that Jim let him talk. He knew he was babbling, but he didn't want to stop. He *couldn't* stop. He wasn't even sure what all he was rattling on about. All he knew was that as long as he was talking, he wasn't thinking about...other things. So he kept up the chatter all the way home.

**********

Blair made a little sound of surprise as he followed Jim into the loft. He looked around at the straightened apartment. It was like Lash's attack had never happened. Even the front door was mostly fixed. If only it would be so easy for me to forget it, for everything to be put back the way it was! The graduate student wished. Wait a minute, didn't Jim say he was going to leave the mess for *me* to clean up?

"But I thought..." Blair stopped, not willing to admit he had so much trouble knowing when Jim was joking.

"Yeah, well, I decided to take care of it myself. If I'd waited for you to do it, it would be 1997 before we ever saw the floor again," Jim replied, fighting to keep at least a semi-stern expression on his face.

"Uh, right." Blair didn't know what else to say. He wished Jim weren't so hard to read. "Look, man, I'm gonna take a shower, okay? I'd like to get cleaned up." His skin was crawling. Whenever he didn't make sure his mind was otherwise occupied, he found himself reliving the previous evening in too-vivid detail...the chill of the concrete floor seeping into his bones...the way the gag cut into the corners of his mouth...the feel of Lash's hands on his face. {{"Are you...are you ready to die? Because...I'm ready."}}

Blair was suddenly rescued from his memories by a pair of strong hands gripping his shoulders and giving him a shake.

"Blair, are you okay?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, man, I'm fine," the anthropologist lied, consciously banishing the nightmare images. "Sorry, I was just thinking about, um, school and all. Look, I'd better get in the shower." He headed for the bathroom.

"Don't take too long." Jim warned. "We've still got to go down to the station and give our statements."

The detective was worried. Blair was obviously having flashbacks and he didn't know how to help. Well, the doctor had warned that his partner would be more emotional than usual. It looked like he was right. Jim growled in frustration, and went to the kitchen to raid the refrigerator.

"Hurry up, Sandburg!" Jim called out.

**********

Blair stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, listening to Jim moving around the loft. A nice hot shower was just what he needed...

{{"You just relax, now. We're gonna go see the ducks. And then you're gonna have a nice h-- you're gonna have...have a nice hot bath."}}

Blair jerked back from the stream of warm water, swallowing a scream as he rebounded off the shower wall. Shut up! The young man mentally shouted at the voice haunting him. Damn it, Blair, get a grip on yourself! He turned the water temperature down until it was barely lukewarm, then washed as quickly as he could. He heard Jim yelling at him to hurry up. Blair's response was a grunt of displeasure that his friend, even with his Sentinel hearing, didn't catch.

Believe me, Jim, the anthropologist thought to himself, I'm doing this as fast as I can.

**********

Blair dressed quickly, grabbing his favorite bracelet at the last minute before joining Jim in the living room.

"I was thinking," the older man said as he led Blair out into the hallway outside the loft, "maybe we could try that Cajun restaurant you mentioned for dinner." He locked the door, then they headed for the elevator.

"That sounds great," the graduate student agreed.

**********

The trip to the precinct was much like the drive home from the hospital. Blair filled the air with words, hardly pausing enough to breathe. Jim wondered if the younger man ever ran out of things to say.

If words were pennies, he'd be rich, the detective thought to himself. He laughed, earning a curious glance from his roommate.

"It's nothing, Chief. You were saying?" With that encouragement, the graduate student continued his story about some of the funny answers the freshmen in the "Intro. to Cultural Anthropology" class he taught had come up with on their last test.

**********

There was a news crew camped out at the main entrance as Jim drove past Headquarters. Blair stopped in mid-sentence when he saw them waiting.

"Relax, Chief," Jim said, noticing the look of panic on his friend's expressive face, "we're parking underneath."

"That's good," the young man replied, his voice a little unsteady.

**********

Blair was quiet as Jim escorted him upstairs to Major Crimes.

"So, Jim, what...just what am I going to have to do here?"

"Explain what happened. That's all. Just like you've done before. All you have to do is give a statement about last night's...events."

"Oh."

"Don't worry about it, Chief. It's not hard."

Yeah, easy for you, maybe. Blair thought. I don't *want* to remember what happened. This time it's different. I was the only one there. It's just me {{Now...it's time for Hairy Blairy...}} Lash's voice sang in his mind. He shivered as he shook off the memory, hoping Jim didn't notice. If the older man did, he didn't mention it. They had reached Major Crimes, now, and the detective gave his roommate an encouraging pat on the back as they walked into the department.

"Look, I'll be giving my statement too. It'll be over before you know it."

"You're not going to be there?" He didn't know if that made it better or worse.

"No, I'll be giving my own at the same time. Don't worry," the older man repeated. "You're among friends."

"Right. Yeah, sure, it's okay."

**********

After hanging up their jackets, Jim left Blair with Simon and headed down the hallway toward Internal Affairs, where his interview would be conducted. Blair watched him go, looking a little like an abandoned puppy, then turned to face his friend's boss, trying to keep what he was feeling from showing.

"Hey, Simon," Blair said, his voice deceptively steady and relaxed.

"How are you feeling?" The police captain asked, not fooled by the anthropologist's act.

"Fine," he lied.

"Good," Simon replied. "Would you like me to take your statement?" He hoped the younger man would feel more comfortable if he took Sandburg's statement himself, rather than having it taken by one of the other officers whom Blair didn't know as well.

"Sure."

"Okay, why don't we go down here, then." Simon led the way to one of the interrogation rooms, carrying a notepad and a small tape recorder. "Just relax, Blair," he told the younger man, trying to put him further at ease by front-naming him. He gestured for the nervous man to sit, then placed the tape recorder on the table in front of him. The captain sat down, and looked steadily at Blair. "Are you ready?"

"I guess so," the graduate student replied, fidgeting in his chair. He glanced at the mirror dominating one wall -- that's gotta be two-way glass -- then looked back at the older man. "As ready as I'll ever be." The police captain smiled reassuringly, and pressed the PLAY and RECORD buttons on the tape recorder.

**********

Jim walked out of his Internal Affairs interview, glad it was over. He never doubted for a moment the rightness of his use of deadly force with Lash, but he understood the necessity of reviewing any situation in which a police officer fired his weapon in the line of duty. Nonetheless, he was relieved to have it behind him.

He wondered how Simon was doing with Blair, knowing his boss had planned to interview the anthropologist himself. His "partner" certainly was quite a handful at times. Most times, he corrected himself with a laugh. He looked at his watch; he'd been in his own interview for over two hours. Still, knowing the way his roommate chattered, he could very well be only up to when he'd left for that lecture yesterday evening. The detective went in search of whichever interview room Simon was using with Blair.

**********

Jim found Carolyn sitting in the observation room adjoining the interview room occupied by Simon and Blair.

"How's it going?" The detective asked, surprised to find her there, but not curious enough to ask. Right now he was a little more interested in what was going on just beyond the window.

"Better. He had trouble getting started. Simon has him much more relaxed now." The head of Forensics answered. Jim sat down, facing the two-way glass.

"You've been here the whole time?"

"Just about." Carolyn nodded.

"Does Sandburg know you're here?"

"I think he knows the mirror is two-way. Simon hasn't mentioned my presence, though." The couple fell silent, listening to Blair as he told his story, with occasional promptings and questions from Simon when he hesitated too much or seemed inclined to stop.

**********

"...and I just couldn't take it anymore." Blair was saying. "I don't know, it was like something inside me snapped. I remember Jim saying once how he'd try to talk to the bad guys, you know, and throw them off, confuse them? And I was...I don't know, angry I guess, yeah, kinda cold and angry inside, so I started talking back to him, telling him he *couldn't* be me. See, he couldn't be me, because he didn't know all the little things that make me...me."

"That was very good, Blair," Simon praised, rather surprised that the young man had stayed calm enough in the middle of such a precarious situation to think so clearly. Maybe Jim was right to trust the kid as much as he did, after all. "What happened next?"

"Well, I started taunting him about his pet duck, and his brother and all. I don't know how smart that was, though, because he like *completely* lost it then." Blair paused as he tried to control the memories that flooded his mind, having only limited success. "And he was screaming at me to shut up, and then, then he was...leaning on me, and pinching my nose so I'd have to breathe through my mouth. He'd been mixing up this drug, see, and he poured it down my throat, and I couldn't breathe but I didn't want to swallow." Blair's face took on a distant look as he relived the horror of the previous night, and he gripped the edge of the table tightly. "He was...stroking my throat, to make me swallow, and I was trying not to, so I was choking. And I knew that I was going to die, and I didn't want to die--"

"It's all right, Blair," Simon interjected, seeing that the younger man was too distraught to continue. He laid a hand on top of Blair's left hand. "Take it easy. It's all over now. Just relax." The captain waited as the graduate student tried to regain his equilibrium. "Look, would you like a drink or something? Water? Coffee?"

"A cup of coffee would be great, man."

"Coffee it is."

"With milk."

"Sure." Simon patted Blair's shoulder, then left the interview room to get the drink. As the door closed, the anthropologist dropped his head onto his crossed arms and tried to fight back the nightmare images dancing behind his eyes.

**********

Inside the observation room, Carolyn watched her ex-husband as he reacted to the story being told. She saw how tense he became when Blair began describing being drugged by Lash. How had this young man managed to slip under Jim's defenses so easily? She had a secret suspicion that he'd gotten closer to Jim's soul than she ever had, and she'd been *married* to the man!

Jim turned to her as Simon walked out of the interview room.

"That's when I got there," the detective explained. "Lash was just making him swallow that drug. When I first looked in and saw what was happening, when I saw what he was doing..." Jim's voice trailed off as he tried and failed to find the words to adequately describe what he had felt: the anger, the revulsion, the fear. He'd never been good at verbalizing his emotions, even as a kid growing up. Carolyn put a hand on his arm.

"It's okay, Jim." She wasn't sure if she meant it was all right that he couldn't explain his feelings better -- after all, why should now be any different than when we were married? -- or if she meant that Blair was all right, and he didn't have to worry any more about finding the young man in time, because he had.

Simon returned then, carrying two Styrofoam cups, forestalling any further conversation between them.

**********

Blair looked up as Simon walked in.

"Thanks, man," the younger man said as he accepted one of the cups. He took a long sip, burning his tongue but not caring.

"Do you think you're ready to keep going?" Simon asked, closing the door and then sitting down. He sipped from his own cup, more cautiously than Blair had.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"Good." The captain smiled at Blair before consulting his notepad. "You said that Lash forced you to swallow the drug. Then what happened?"

"That's when Jim came, man, just like out of a Dirty Harry movie. I mean, right in the nick of time. I couldn't see him too well, and I could already feel the drug kicking in, but there he was, coming down the stairs. Then the step he was on broke, and he fell. That let Lash try to get the jump on him. I was starting to have real trouble keeping awake, but I could hear them fighting. I knew it would be okay, though."

"Why is that?"

"I knew Jim would beat him. Once Jim found me, I knew I was going to be okay, after all."

"Oh," Simon replied, surprised by the depth of faith the anthropologist had in his friend. Does Daryl have that kind of faith in me? Somehow, I doubt it, though I wish he did. "And then?" He prompted, pushing away the depressing thoughts about his son.

"Then they went through this glass wall or something." Blair was saying. "I couldn't tell what was happening -- I could hear all these sounds, like stuff breaking. A lot of stuff. I...I got pretty scared, then. I mean, 'cause it was going on so long and all. I knew Jim could beat him, but...anyways, just as I passed out, I thought I heard gun shots. Next thing I know, I'm waking up inside an ambulance and Jim's telling me everything's okay."

"You handled yourself very well, Blair," Simon praised him. "You were in a bad situation and you kept in control."

"Thanks," the anthropologist replied, surprised and pleased, and just a touch embarrassed. Maybe Simon doesn't think I'm *completely* useless? The young man thought to himself.

"Look, I'll go have this typed, and then you can read it and sign it."

"Sure. Do you think Jim's done yet?"

"He might be. Why don't you go wait at his desk, and I'll go check for you."

"Thanks, man." Blair bounced out of the interview room, thrilled to be done. Simon collected the empty cups, tossed them in the trash can and gathered up the tape recorder and his note pad. He was met at the door by Jim.

"I want a copy of that tape."

"Why am I not surprised?" The captain responded. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to know I need a copy, but not so long that I don't need it."

"Uh huh."

"Simon, I need to know what went down. All of it."

"If Sandburg wanted you to know, wouldn't he tell you?"

"Come on, sir, he could barely tell it once. It would be easiest for him if you just gave me a copy."

"Yeah, we'll see. You'd better get out of here, he's looking for you."

**********

Jim found Blair sitting at his desk; the graduate student had his feet up, and was engrossed in a heavy tome entitled "Ethnology and Ethnography -- Trends and Techniques in Comparative Anthropology, 3rd Edition."

"Where did that come from?"

"Your desk. I stashed it here a couple weeks back. You don't check your bottom drawer real often, do you?" Blair answered with a cheeky grin. Jim just shot his roommate a disgusted look, knowing it was expected of him. He noticed the message light was flashing on his phone. He pushed the younger man's feet off his desk and gestured for him to vacate the chair.

"Look, Chief, I need to make a few phone calls. Why don't you go read in the break room while I take care of them? Once our statements are typed and signed, we can go to dinner."

"Sure, Jim." Blair walked off, book in hand, as the detective settled himself and checked his voice mail. Most of the calls were from Don Hass, the reporter from KCDE, reminding Jim that he had promised the newsman a hot tip, which he had never given.

"Reporters. Vultures, more like it," Jim muttered as he dialed the number from his voice mail.

**********

An hour later, Jim headed for the break room, having put away the tape of Blair's interview which Simon had given him. He briefly wondered when he'd have a chance to listen to it. He reached his destination and peered inside. Blair was once again deeply engrossed in his book. Moving silently, he crossed the room, walking up behind the young man. Jim tapped his roommate on the shoulder, startling him. The detective grinned as his partner leapt out of the chair, sending his book sliding across the table.

"Sorry, Chief," Jim said, not sounding particularly apologetic. "Come on, it's time to sign some papers." The detective led the way to Simon's office, fighting to keep his expression at least relatively calm. He found his mood growing increasingly bright. This ordeal was finally almost over, and then everything could go back to normal. By the time they had both read their statements and signed them, he was positively giddy.

Get a grip, Ellison! He admonished himself silently. He made sure his expression did not reveal his mood, something he had a lot of practice with.

"Hey, Ellison, the news is coming on," one of the other detectives called out. "Your buddy Hass is going to do a piece on you."

"Come on, Jim, let's hear what he says about you this time," Simon said, slapping him on the back. The three men filed out of Simon's office and into the Major Crimes common room. The TV was already on, and a crowd had gathered around it, including Carolyn. Jim and Blair found the edge of a desk to perch on, and Simon moved to the front of the crowd, next to Carolyn.

The commercial break finished, and the news started up again, with a Special Report By Don Hass. The reporter started by saying Cascade was safe at last from the Yellow Scarf Killer. Then he summarized the case, reminding his viewers of the four victims and the investigation's twists and turns.

{{"In a daring eleventh-hour rescue, Detective Ellison saved the life of a police observer by gunning the killer down moments before he would have struck again." Don Hass paused dramatically before concluding, "And so Cascade will sleep easy tonight, because of you, Detective."

The audience in Major Crimes broke out in amusement at this final pronouncement, laughing and nudging one another. One officer clapped Jim on the shoulder. Jim nodded, looking a bit embarrassed. Blair laughed, but his laughter had a self-conscious edge to it. The graduate student had to do something to release the emotions stirred up, first by reading his statement -- which forced him to relive it all yet again -- then by the news report. And he'd much prefer laughing to crying (or screaming) around this crowd.

"Well, I'd say you're guaranteed good press for the rest of your career," Simon announced, teasing Jim.

"Just put in a good word for me," Carolyn added. "This is my best side." She tapped her left cheek, smiling sweetly, and then headed for her own office. The other cops began to disperse, drifting back to work. Blair laughed at the teasing, then looked around, checking to see if anyone was still in immediate earshot. Satisfied, he looked back at his roommate.

"Hey Jim," Blair said, poking the older man on the chest, to ensure his friend's attention. "Last night, when you said I did everything right, did you mean that?"

"Yeah," the detective replied. He had wondered if Blair would remember what he'd said in the ambulance. Both men stood up and walked over to Jim's desk. Blair stopped in front of it as Jim moved around it. "You kept your head, even though you thought you were gonna die." He got Blair's jacket from the coat tree behind his desk.

"You know, the Chinese believe," Blair caught the jacket that was tossed to him, "that when you save a man's life, you become his blessed protector, and it's your duty to do that for the rest of your life." He pulled on his jacket, tugging his curls free automatically.

"Really?" Jim replied, putting on his own jacket. "Well, here's today's rescue: call Christine. Beg, crawl, whatever you gotta do." He led the way out of Major Crimes, heading for the elevator, his truck, and dinner.

"Yeah, I'm pretty good at that, huh?"

"Don't ever lie to her," Jim pronounced, the wicked twinkle in his eye belying the solemnity of his voice. Blair listened intently, nodding, missing entirely that fact that Jim was teasing him. "Remember: trust, commitment..." The detective trailed off, unable to say more without bursting out laughing at his young friend taking him seriously.

"Speaking of commitment, I've been thinking about getting a Cascade P.D. insignia tattooed right on my chest." The anthropologist gestured at the area about his heart, hoping to divert the rest of Jim's lecture. He'd had enough of weighty matters and was ready for a little R & R.

"Above the nipple ring?" Jim couldn't resist joking as they reached the elevators.

"How'd you know about that?" Blair responded after only a moment's pause, tossing the joke back at Jim. The older man smiled at the quick return as he leaned over to push the elevator button.

"Let me tell you something. You get a tattoo, and your 'blessed protector' is gonna kick your ass down seven flights to the lobby, all right?" He mimed throwing a punch at his roommate as the elevator doors opened.

"Okay, tough guy." Blair replied, putting up his hands in surrender. The two men filed into the elevator. "Come on, do you really think I'd put something on my body that I couldn't take off? I was just kidding. Although, an earring would be nice. You know, something tasteful, maybe a small silver badge." The graduate student tugged at his left earlobe, then laughed and patted Jim on the back. It was so hard for him to tell when the older man was teasing, and he enjoyed knowing that he was doing so now. Jim was grinning quite openly, no longer trying to hide his ebullient mood. The doctor's estimate was wrong -- it hadn't been thirty-six hours yet, and Blair was clearly back to his usual irrepressible self. It was finally over, and they could put it all behind them and life could go back to normal.}}

**********

Dinner at Cajun Charlie's was very relaxing -- the food was good and the atmosphere cheerful, enhanced by a band playing zydeco music. Jim's shrimp gumbo and Blair's blackened bourbon chicken were consumed at a leisurely pace, interspersed with light conversation and long bouts of quiet enjoyment of the band's artistry.

Jim's mood had mellowed by the time the two men left the restaurant. The giddiness of earlier had passed, leaving behind a warm glow of contentment. Blair was still quite bubbly, dancing to the memory of the music as they left, clutching a CD he'd bought from the band. Knowing the way his roommate was, the detective knew he'd be hearing that CD for the next five days almost non-stop. He smiled indulgently; right now, at this moment in time, he didn't mind. At least that was normal, and a return to normalcy was what he was looking forward to.

**********

There was only a momentary hesitation on Blair's part as they walked into the loft. Jim took off his coat, pretending not to notice. Blair went to put the CD in his room, considering listening to it right away.

"Hey Chief, wanna watch a movie?" Jim called out from the kitchen, pulling a beer out of the refrigerator. "We could make some popcorn, have a beer, you know."

"Sure, man, sounds great," Blair responded, coming back out of his room. "How about 'Big Trouble In Little China?'"

"Again? We've seen that at least three times since you bought it."

"Actually, I've seen it more like ten times, but hey, who's counting? C'mon, Jim, it's a great movie."

"I don't know if I'd call it 'great'..."

"Then what do you want to watch?" Blair asked, deflating a little.

"Okay, we can see your movie again," Jim relented. "But you have to make the popcorn."

"Deal!" The graduate student agreed. He bounced into his room for the videotape.

**********

Jim looked away from the end credits of 'The Presidio' to find his roommate sound asleep. Jim smiled, feeling a surge of almost paternal affection. Blair looked so young, so innocent when he slept.

Guess two movies were too much for the kid, he thought as he turned off the TV. They hadn't planned on watching two, but when Blair had started to rewind the tape of 'Big Trouble In Little China,' it turned out that 'The Presidio' was just about to start on HBO. So, they'd decided to turn their little popcorn fest into a double feature.

"Come on, Chief, time for bed." Jim tried to rouse the younger man, but Blair just snuggled deeper into the cushions with an indistinct mumble. Jim thought about leaving the anthropologist on the couch, but decided he'd probably sleep better in his bed. The detective pulled the sleepy man to his feet and half-walked, half-carried him down to his room. He sat him on the bed, then pulled off the graduate student's shoes and belt. Jim pushed the younger man down and covered him with a blanket. He headed for his own bed, turning out the living room lights as he went by. The popcorn bowl could wait until morning.

**********

Jim jerked awake, instantly aware, grabbing his gun from under his pillow. He scanned the lower level, searching for what had awakened him. His hyper-sensitive eyes found nothing amiss -- the front door was still secured, and he saw no intruders prowling about the living room. He listened intently, identifying each sound...his own heart beat, which steadied as he focused...the faint hum of his bedside clock...the wind whistling past the windows...Blair's breathing -- but it was ragged, and his heart beat was racing, panicked. He moaned softly, a sound rich in fear and pain. Jim was down the stairs in an instant, safety off the gun, ready to defend his friend from whatever threatened him. No-one was taking him from this apartment again.

Jim found Blair tangled in his blankets, twitching restlessly, caught in the throes of a nightmare. After assuring himself no-one else was in the loft, save Blair and himself, Jim re-engaged the safety and set the gun on the anthropologist's desk. He touched the younger man's arm, about to shake him awake, when Blair flailed out wildly with a cry of terror, catching Jim by surprise. Knocked backwards by the blow, he fell to the floor, landing hard on his backside. Blair, still caught up in the nightmare images, tried to rush past him. The blankets had maintained their strangle-hold on the graduate student's feet, though, and he also fell to the floor, landing face down next to Jim. The older man pulled his roommate to his knees, shaking him to try and break the nightmare's hold.

"Blair, wake up!" Jim shook the younger man again. "Sandburg!" The anthropologist jerked awake, his eyes full of the horror he'd been reliving. Unable to see who held him in the dark, he fought free of the older man's grip with a shriek, falling again, trapped by the blankets wrapped around his feet.

"Sandburg, it's me, Jim!" The detective grabbed at his roommate, straddling him so he couldn't hurt himself flailing about in the dark. "It's Jim," he repeated, catching the hands that raised up to hit him. Blair finally stopped struggling, relaxing underneath the larger man.

"Ji...Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief, it's me. You just had a nightmare." He smiled reassuringly, then realised Blair couldn't see him in the dark, not having his Sentinel-sensitive vision. "It's okay," he said, touching Blair's cheek, unaware of whose words he was echoing. "It's okay."

Blair heaved up, unbalancing Jim, causing him to tip over onto the floor. The young man scrambled out from under the detective and hunched up against the side of his bed, shivering.

"Hey, Chief, what's wrong?" Jim asked worriedly, reaching out to touch his roommate's shoulder.

"Nothing. I'm fine. I'm sorry I woke you. Go back to bed, Jim."

"No, you're not fine, and I'm not going back to bed. Not until you tell me what's wrong."

"Please, Jim, it was just a bad dream." He was still trembling, though not as noticeably as before. "I'm okay now, so you can go back to bed. I'm sorry I--"

"You said that already. That's one hell of a nightmare, to have you falling out of bed like that. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No. I'm fine. Good night."

"It was about Lash, wasn't it?"

"Good night, Jim." Blair's voice was tightly controlled, but the Sentinel could hear his Guide's heart beat racing, could see the sheen of sweat on his face. And he could not entirely conquer the tremors that betrayed the fragility of his control.

"You know, sometimes it helps to talk about it. Aren't you always saying that?"

"Good night, Jim," the younger man repeated, his voice wavering just a little. Jim studied his partner carefully, debating whether he should press the issue. He knew he was right, that the nightmare was about Lash. Should he push? Maybe his roommate really wasn't ready to talk about it yet. He knew that, for himself, sometimes he needed a day or two to assimilate things before he was ready to talk about them. Maybe he should drop it for now. At least for tonight.

"Okay, kid," Jim said, deciding to back off. "Let's just get you back in bed." Unconsciously falling into Big Brother mode, he pulled Blair up from the floor and sat him on the bed, before the younger man could voice any protest at the manhandling. Blair stayed sitting upright as Jim retrieved the blankets from the floor and moved to tuck them around his roommate's still faintly shivering form. Blair blocked him, saying,

"I can take care of it, Jim. Go to bed." He pulled the blankets from the detective's grasp. He met the larger man's gaze for a moment before looking away. Drop it, Jim, please, I can't...I don't want to talk about it. I'll fall apart, I know I will and I don't want you to see that. Blair silently begged.

"If you're sure..."

"I'm sure. I'm fine. Good night."

"Okay." Jim agreed slowly. He studied the anthropologist one last time, but the graduate student wouldn't meet his gaze again. Apparently the floor was far more interesting -- even in what had to be near-perfect darkness for the younger man. He patted his roommate's knee. "Good night, Chief. I'm upstairs if you need anything."

Blair didn't answer; he just nodded and continued to stare at the floor. Jim collected his gun and left the room, deciding to get a glass of water before he went back to bed. Turning up his hearing a notch, he listened to the sounds coming from his partner's room as he walked into the kitchen. It was too quiet. Blair wasn't moving, wasn't lying back down. But if he was "fine," why wasn't he going back to sleep? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he really does need to talk about it tonight. After getting his drink, he sauntered casually back into the younger man's room and leaned against the wall by the curtained doorway.

Blair was still sitting up, clutching the blankets tightly. The anthropologist looked up at the larger man silhouetted in his doorway. He felt his control crumbling. What's wrong with me? Why can't I be stronger than this? *He* would be stronger than this.

"Feel like talking about it now?" Jim asked softly, breaking the oppressive silence.

"N-not...not really," Blair replied. Damn it, I sound like I did when my voice was changing!

"That's okay." The detective kept his voice calm and reassuring. "You don't have to if you don't want to." Words notwithstanding, he made no move to leave. He really didn't know why he had said that -- he fully intended to stay until he got the graduate student to open up. He sat down on the bed, not so close as to be threatening, but close enough to be supportive, close enough to show his acceptance of the anthropologist's night terrors. It was quiet for a long moment. "Do you want me to turn on the lights?" The older man asked. Blair just shook his head negatively. The silence returned.

"It must have been pretty scary," Jim said at last, deciding to start the ball rolling himself. His partner didn't reply; he just sat there, mutely struggling to control his runaway emotions. The Sentinel could hear his Guide's pulse racing, the thundering heart beat betraying the battle within. He moved a fraction closer, laying a comforting hand on the subtly trembling shoulder.

"It's okay, you know. It's over now. He can't hurt you anymore."

Blair just nodded, still not trusting his voice. The silence grew heavy between them.

"For someone who talks so much, you sure are quiet tonight," the older man commented. When Blair failed to respond to the gentle barb, Jim put his arms around the younger man's shoulders. "C'mon, Blair, what's wrong? What's eating at you?"

"What's eating me?!" The anthropologist exploded off the bed, his voice colored by anger and disbelief. "I almost get killed by a psychopath, and there was *nothing* I could do to stop it, and you want to know what's eating me?" The young man paced tensely, letting his fear express itself as anger, instead. "I'm *this* close to completely losing it, and it wouldn't take hardly *anything* to send me over the edge, and you want to know what's eating me? I thought I was gonna *die*, Jim, and I was afraid you'd get killed too 'cause you'd zone out or something and I wouldn't be there to snap you out of it! I can't stop remembering him, the way he...he *touched* me, the sound of his voice, the look in his eyes, and you want to know what the hell is eating me?!"

Jim just stood up and stepped in front of Blair to stop his pacing. He put both hands on his roommate's shoulders.

"I'm sorry," he said, not knowing what else to say. "I'm sorry this happened to you."

Blair broke free of Jim's hold, not remotely mollified. The younger man stomped into the kitchen, flicking on the lights angrily and set about getting himself a glass of water. His hands were shaking so badly, though, that he couldn't hold the glass steady under the faucet. Then another, larger hand wrapped around the glass, on top of his own. Blair looked up into the understanding eyes of his roommate.

"It's okay to be scared. Anyone would have been scared in that situation. I was," Jim admitted. The admission was hard to make, but Blair needed to hear it.

"*You* were scared."

"Yes. I was afraid I wouldn't find you in time. I was...angry with myself for not seeing through him sooner. I thought...I thought I'd lost my partner."

"I...I didn't know," Blair finally said. "I was...afraid of what you'd think of me, if you knew how scared I was. I thought you'd think I was a wimp, that you wouldn't want me around anymore."

"Fear is natural. The important thing is to not let it control you. And you didn't -- you kept your cool. It's not easy, but you did it. So don't sell yourself short. You've proven several times over that you aren't a wimp. Stop worrying about it. Look, it's late. The doctor said to take it easy for a few days, right? So why don't we get some sleep?"

"Yeah," Blair drained his glass and put it in the sink. He let himself be herded back into his room. Jim's a good man, Blair thought as he crossed the threshold. I wish I were more like him. How did he end up as my friend? The anthropologist stopped in front of his bed and turned to face his roommate. "Thanks, Jim. For...understanding."

"No problem." The detective watched as his partner climbed back into bed, pulling the covers over his legs but not lying down. "Planning on sleeping sitting up?"

"I thought I'd read for a bit." The graduate student leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp.

"Chief, you have to sleep sometime."

"I know, I know! It's just...look, I'm just not as strong as you, okay? I need a little more time, that's all."

"Stop beating yourself up. It's not easy dealing with the sort of ordeal you've been through. Anyway, the doctor said you'd be more emotional until the drug wore off, remember? It will pass."

"Yeah, sure."

"Get some sleep, Chief. Things will be better in the morning." Jim patted Blair's shoulder, then headed out of the young man's room.

"G'night, Jim."

"Good night, Chief."

**********

Jim turned out the kitchen light and went back upstairs. He kept his hearing focused, though, on the bedroom downstairs. He heard Blair pick up something, heard pages turning. At least half an hour passed before his roommate set down whatever he'd been reading and clicked off the light. The bed creaked and the blankets rustled as the young man settled himself. Jim focused tightly on his partner's breathing, waiting for it to even out with sleep.

The detective listened as his roommate fell asleep at last. He lay awake for some time, wanting to be sure the nightmares were over, at least for tonight. As the minutes ticked away peacefully, the detective decided the demons were indeed gone for the night.

He had a feeling that, in the morning, they'd go about their usual routine as if this night had never happened. No mention would be made of the nightmares, or the fears they had shared. Maybe that was okay, though. Maybe it was enough to have shared them, just this once, to have admitted to each other what it had been like for them. Now, maybe, they could move on, could really get back to Life As Normal. Though with Sandburg around, who knew what that was?

Damn it all, when *had* "they" become a part of Life As Normal? He really should throw out the graduate student now. Not tomorrow, of course, but in a week or two. Give him a little time to find a decent apartment. Not like that warehouse! Because this arrangement was just temporary, after all. You're a loner, remember, Ellison? Except he wasn't, not anymore. Somehow one Blair Sandburg had grafted himself onto one James Ellison, and he didn't know how to get rid of the kid. He didn't know if he *wanted* to know how.

Jim heard Blair stir in his sleep, then settle again.

Admit it, Ellison, you're stuck with him. He thought with a sigh. Well, there were worse things that could have happened to him. Every Sentinel needs a Guide. Jim smiled contentedly, picturing the young man asleep downstairs, wearing an undeserved angelic air of innocence, no doubt. His Guide was certainly no angel, and as for innocent...well, maybe in some ways, but not completely. Does every Sentinel's Guide need a Blessed Protector? *His* certainly did. Jim laughed to himself. His Guide was quite a handful, that was for sure. Enough! The tired man told himself sternly, trying shut down his brain. It was late, and if he didn't get some sleep, he wasn't going to be able to protect anyone, blessed or not.

The detective willed himself to relax. Everything was back the way it should be. Nothing was missing. Everyone was where they were supposed to be. Things were definitely on their way back to normal. Really, this time.

Blessed Protector, huh? He thought to himself as he finally wound down enough to doze off. But who's gonna protect me from *him*?

***** THE END *****

Email Katherine A. Ring

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