Double Take

Upon mutual agreement, we would like to dedicate this story to Sharon, whose stories, we will truely miss. She played our emotions like a fine insturment, creating stories that left us yearning for more, and no matter what she put the characters through, they became stronger and closer in the end. Sadly, due to constant flaming, she pulled her stories and left our realm. Because of this, the TS fandom has lost a gifted writer. Good luck Sharon! Always remember that there are those who appreciate you for your gifts and love you for who you are.

Both of the young men stopped in front of the shivering woman, sitting against one of the brick walls of the buildings that formed the alley. One of the men knelt down to examine the woman. "It's okay. My name is Richie. Are you all right?"

The woman nodded. Her face filled with fear as tears gently streaked down from dark, frightened eyes. "He took my purse," she said softly, her voice still trembling from her nervousness.

"I'll go call the cops," the other man stated, then sprinted out of the alley.

"That's my brother, Jamie. Help will be here soon, you just relax." He gently wiped the tears from her face. "Did he hurt you?"

The woman was taken aback by this young man's gentleness. "No," she said, shaking her head.

"Good. Don't worry. Everything will be all right."

Moments later Jamie came running back into the alley, skidding to a stop in front of his brother. "They're on their way," he said, while panting, leaning down with hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. He looked at the woman. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Again the woman nodded, but this time with a faint smile, happy that there were still a few good souls in a city filled with crime.

Jim looked at his exhausted guide. Another night of burning the oil until the wee hours of the morning, working on notes for his classes, was beginning to take a visible toll on his friend.

"Tonight you go to bed before 4:30 a.m. Chief."

Blair rolled his eyes. "I'm fine man." Then seeing the look Jim was giving him, "Really," he said around a yawn and then bumping into the door leading into the bull pen. "Coffee....I need coffee," Blair mumbled. "Lots and lots of coffee.....Want some?" he asked Ellison while dropping his bag on the floor and then taking off his coat.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks, Chief." Jim watched as Sandburg hung up his coat, on the rack by their desks, before handing him his coffee cup. "It's kind of dirty. You may want to wash it first."

Blair looked down at the disgusting layer of coffee stains that lined the cup and then back at Jim. "Oh man. When was the last time this thing was washed?" He crinkled his nose at the offending item.

"I don't know, Chief. I guess the last time you did it."

"Jim, I don't remember ever washing *this* cup," Blair said, incredulously.

"Oh well. It just adds more flavor to the coffee anyway. You don't have to wash it if you don't want."

Blair's eyes widened. "Oh man, that is like so gross. And you talk about me and my mold experiments," Blair mumbled, as Jim made little shooing motions with his hands to hurry the kid along.

"Hey Sandburg!" they yelled in unison, causing the anthropologist to jump and sling the packet of open coffee across the room.

"Geez!!!....what are you guys doing? Are you trying to give me a coronary???"

The two men laughed at the look of shock on Sandburg's face, as he brushed desperately at his clothes to remove the coffee grounds that clung to him.

"We need a favor," Brown began.

"What kind of favor?" Blair's eyes narrowed at the two men in front of him as he opened another packet of pre-measured coffee. They're up to something. Just look at 'em smiling like two jackasses chewing on cockleburs.

"We need you in a police lineup."

"What?" Sandburg looked horrified. "No way, man. I'm busy, Jim needs me to help with the paperwork."

"Come on, hair boy....Blair." Brown quickly corrected himself after receiving an all too famous 'Sandburg Death Glare'. "We all have to do it eventually. It just comes with being a cop."

"But I'm not a cop," Blair reminded the two men, as he poured water into the holding well of the coffee maker and turned the appliance on.

"But we think of you as one," Rafe stated. "You've been through more than most of the veterans on the force. As far as we're concerned, you've earned the right to join our ranks."

Sandburg smiled at the thought of being accepted as one of the boys. He was often scared that no one liked him and that he was considered an outsider. But now here were Rafe and Brown, two decent, upstanding guys, asking him to help out, just as any other officer would. He thought about it for a moment. "Will it take long?"

"No, no. Just a few minutes," Brown stated, while Rafe nodded in agreement.

They watched as indecision flashed across Blair's expressive face.

His eyes brightened. "Okay, I guess I could do it. Just don't tell Jim. Okay?"

"No, we won't," both men chimed in unison, smiling smugly.

Blair looked around the break room, at the scattered coffee. "I need to clean this up first."

"There's no time for that, I'll take care of it." Brown said as Rafe quickly ushered Sandburg and the two cups of coffee out of the break room.

Brown grabbed a broom and swept the coffee into a neat pile. He tossed the empty packet into the garbage while he looked for a dust pan. In a hurry and not finding one.... "Screw it." He quickly swept the pile under a vending machine. "Nice and tidy," he smiled, leaning the broom back against the wall and then leaving the room.

"You just follow them in and then someone will tell you what to do." Suddenly feeling sorry for the kid, Rafe added, "it won't take too long. Don't worry."

"Okay." Blair sighed. He knew that he had nothing to worry about.

The door opened and the men in line began to make their way into the viewing area.

"You're on, kid," Brown chuckled.

"Yeah, go break a leg," Rafe poked.

"Thanks guys," Blair groaned as he followed the line.

Rafe and Brown stood outside of the observation room. "Do you have the camera ready?" Rafe asked.

"Are you kidding me? This is definitely a Kodak moment," Brown replied.

The two men laughed as they entered the room, taking their places in the back.

The light became brighter in the lineup area, and as if on que the victim stiffened a bit.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Baskem, they can't see you. Is the man who attacked you in the lineup? Just take your time." Officer Johnson coaxed.

Rafe and Brown stood silently in the back of the room, trying their best to remain professional while all the time watching Blair twitching nervously.

The woman looked each man over carefully. "The first man is too tall," she stated with certainty, shaking her head. "The next is too portly. Number three's hair is too short. The fourth? Maybe?....No, there's something missing from his face."

"Just take your time, Ma'am."

She sighed and looked at number five, the last man in the line up and she stiffened. "His hair is right...the right build..." Then she looked at his face. "That's him!" she gasped. "That face! The angelic features with a slight hint of fear, that nervous stance, those blue eyes that plead for forgiveness. The child looked as frightened as I was."

"Which one?" Officer Johnson stepped forward.

"Number five," she answered, pointing at Blair.

Rafe's and Brown's mouths fell open in shock.

"Oh shit," Brown mumbled.

"Number five, please step forward."

It took a moment for Blair to realize that they were talking to him. Finally he stepped forward.

"Please turn to your left."

Blair turned to his left, his stomach becoming tense. What's going on here?

"Now face the front and then turn to your right."

Blair complied, pausing only briefly to look pleadingly at the two-way mirror.

"Are you sure, Mrs. Baskem, that this is the man."

"Yes, I'm positive."

"Oh God." Rafe moaned, dropping his head and rubbing it with his hand.

"Thank you, gentlemen." Officer Johnson stated as the men were led from the viewing area.

"We'll be right back, ma'am."

The officers left the room.

When Mrs. Melody Baskem was sure she was alone, she smiled. She couldn't believe her luck. The young man had actually been in the line up. Her luck seemed to be looking up.

Once outside Rafe spoke up. "He's a cop, Marcus."

"He's an observer." Marcus Johnson quickly pointed out.

Brown jumped in. "There's no way he did it."

"Look, that's not my decision to make, I've got to book him. I suggest that if you are so sure of his innocence, you get out there and find the one who did it."

Rafe and Brown watched Johnson go back into the room with Mrs. Baskem.

"Ellison is going to kill us for this one," Brown groaned.

Rafe nodded. "Yeah, I wonder if my dress blues still fit."

"This is just a bad dream," Blair tried to reassure himself, certain that any second now his alarm would go off and wake him from this nightmare. But the only sound that came were the catcalls of the other prisoners as Jameson lead him past several cells before pausing in front of the last one.

Blair looked up and felt a sinking feeling in his gut rise up to choke him as he got his first glimpse of the other men in the holding cell. There were three. All taller than Blair and each looking like a poster boy for Hell's Angels. Oh God, I'm dead, Blair groaned silently. He turned to Jameson, grasping the officer's sleeve. "Look, there's been a mistake," he pleaded, eyes wide with fear, "I didn't do it. I'm innocent, I tell you!"

Jameson grabbed a hold of Sandburg's arm and in one swift motion, twisted it brutally behind the young man's back before slamming Blair face first against the bars. He wrenched the arm higher and Blair had to bite his lip to keep from crying out in pain. "You listen to me, you little piss ant. Major Crimes might think you're some hot shot just because you hang around with Ellison, but as far as I'm concerned you're nothing more than a long-haired freak who's got no business even being here. So if you think your friendship with Ellison is going to get you special treatment, you're in for a hard lesson, boy."

Still holding Sandburg in a vice-like grip, he unlocked the cell door. Opening it, Jameson grabbed the anthropologist and shoved him into the cell. Blair hit the floor with a thud, quickly rolled over and sat up just in time to see Jameson locking the door behind him. Cold, cruel eyes glared back at him as Jameson informed his cell mates, "Treat him good boys, this one here is Ellison's partner."

Blair stared in astonishment, knowing full well that pronouncement may have just signed his death warrant. With a final parting smile of maliciousness, Jameson left.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat, Sandburg looked up at the three Neanderthal's now surrounding him. Nervous, bordering on hysteria, Blair pasted a smile on his face and said, "Hey guys, what's up?"

"I' m not gonna tell him," Rafe protested. "You tell him."

"I'm not gonna tell him," Brown insisted.

The two detectives looked at one another and came to a mutual decision, "Simon," and with a nod of agreement, they headed for Banks' office.

"Sorry captain," Brown shrugged his apology. "How were we suppose to know the witness was going to pick Sandburg out of the lineup."

"Ellison is going to have an apoplexy when he hears about this. You know that, don't you?" Simon groaned.

The two detectives grinned, sheepishly. "Yeah," Rafe replied, "that's why we decided to let you be the one to tell him."

Simon glared at them. "Decided that all on your own, did you?"

"Just one of the perks of being captain, sir," Brown supplied helpfully.

"Oh, that's great," Simon moaned, "just great." He glanced into the bullpen where Ellison still sat working. Banks sighed, resigned. "Oh well, I never expected to live to a ripe old age anyway." He looked up at the two detectives. "Send Jim in on your way out."

"Yes, sir," They replied in unison before beating a hasty retreat.

"Jim, I've got something to tell you and I don't want you going off half- cocked," Simon said as he stood up and came around his desk, subconsciously blocking the door, having had many years of dealing with a pissed-off Ellison.

His best detective still wasn't looking at him. Simon could see his eyes scanning the bullpen through the glass looking for any sign of the missing anthropologist.

Then, not seeing the man, he started examining the crud floating around in his mug. Sandburg had scraped the scum from the bottom and then filled the cup without washing it. Just wait until I get my hands on that kid, he thought to himself.

"Jim, he's in lockup right now."

"Who, sir?" Jim asked as he took a long sip of his coffee, making a slight face of disgust, then smacking his lips deciding the scum merely added to the coffee's flavor.

Simon sighed. "Jim, Sandburg's in lockup. I'm sure it's all a misunderstanding, but we have to play this one by the book."

"WHAT!" Ellison rose to his full six-foot-some stature, but the obstacle blocking the door still topped him by several inches.

"Take it easy, Jim. Just take it easy. Right now, the best thing you can do to help the kid is remain calm." Simon pointed a determined finger towards the chair Ellison had just vacated and stared into the blue eyes, meeting any challenge he saw in them.

Jim brought his chest up and puffed up to its full breath and width, expanding himself like a peacock full of himself. He butted it against Simon's suit front.

Simon met the challenge and pushed back, nearly toppling the stubborn detective.

The next push Jim gave had a history of Wonder Burgers to back it up. Simon took a step back, momentarily losing his balance, but then he used the momentum of his forward step to put all his weight into the next push. Ellison stumbled back and unceremoniously plopped down in the vacant chair.

"Stay!" Simon finally voiced the directive as he saw Jim hesitate, waver on the ridge of capitulation, then submit in a deep exhalation of breath. The raging bull sat, but his face warned of impending disaster if he wasn't mollified soon.

"I've called Judge Stoddard, he should be out on bail in a few hours."

"A few hours, sir, that's not good enough," Jim raged as he once again rose and walked over to the window.

"Jim, he was I.D.'d in a police lineup. I can't make any exceptions for him on this one. A woman was robbed on the streets. Rafe and Brown asked Sandburg to join the lineup, you know all cops do it...they..."

"He's not a cop, sir. They had no right to put him up there."

"You know how they like to pull the kid's chain, Jim. They were just making him feel like one of the guys." Simon got up and poured himself a cup of coffee, tired already by the turn of events the morning had brought on. He already had one floating stogie, he hoped he wouldn't be wasting any more of his precious cigars today. He looked at the first cup of coffee from earlier that morning and wondered how he could dry the cigar out and salvage it.

"Well, I think their chains are about to be cut." Ellison was burning beneath the hard surface. Simon did not want to be Rafe and Brown right now, hell, he wasn't too happy about being Captain of Cascade P.D. at this particular moment.

Banks sat back and looked out the window. I should have been a bus driver like my Dad wanted me to be. Sit on my butt all day, opening and closing doors on slow people, driving through puddles splashing people on the curb, I could have...

"Okay, sir, give me the whole picture," Ellison said, encroaching on the pleasant meanderings of what might have been.

The men had pushed him about, shoving him from one to the other, just manhandling him enough to scare him, but he realized that no one had even dared to lay a hand on him. The tough routine they had exhibited in front of Officer Jameson had all been bluff. Once he had returned to his desk, they had made loud, blustering noises and threats, but Blair had a feeling that the name Ellison had been enough to put caution in their sails.

"Hey, squirt, are you some kind of college kid?" The tall Cuban in the lower bunk asked Sandburg.

"Yeah, a grad student," Blair said with worry creasing his brow as he slowly raised his head to answer. He didn't want to piss these guys off any time soon.

"Hey, Bubba, you hear that? We can play."

The huge brute on the top bunk---Blair assumed to be the playful Bubba--lowered himself to the floor and grinned liked a big, happy kid.

"Oh, boy, Oh, boy!"

"Can you be our monitor, the host? We want to play Trivial Pursuit," the excited Cuban asked.

"Sure," Blair said as he pushed himself back against the wall, getting more comfortable, "but I get to choose the categories and what I say goes. Got it?"

"Yeah, I got it," the huge Bubba said in total capitulation.

"Yep, me too," the middle man said. Blair studied him momentarily. This one didn't seem too bright and just went along with the others. All those tattoos along his arm obviously had allowed ink damage somewhere along the way.

"Okay," the Cuban said. "These are the rules. This guy," he pointed to Blair waiting for an introduction.

"Oh, sorry, Blair."

"Blair here is in charge. He lists the categories and you pick. Then he'll ask the questions, and you have thirty seconds to answer. Since he can see the clock out in the hall, he calls time."

"Okay, who's first?" Blair asked getting into the spirit of things.

About an hour later, things were heating up. The Cuban, Manito, had chosen television as his category.

Blair thought over the question, "All right, ready?"

He saw the slow nod of Manito's head, the intense concentration on his face, not wanting to waste a minute of his valuable thirty seconds.

"What was it that Ricky always said Lucy had to do at the end of an 'I Love Lucy' episode?"

Manito's face brightened, he was Cuban, Ricky Ricardo was Cuban, he could do this. He grew up on this show, hell, he still watched it on his mother's television during the day.

"She had to....she had to...I know this one, just a minute," Manito was getting impatient with his own inability to answer this simple question.

Bubba went to look at the clock. "I think you're thirty seconds are up," he said proud of the fact that he was winning by fifteen points.

"ERRRRRR! Time's up," Bubba said.

Blair nodded his head in concurrence, "He's right, your time's up."

Manito slammed his fist into his head.

"Well?" he asked Blair.

"Splainin'," Blair said simply. "Lucy always had some splainin' to do."

Bubba laughed, "You a Cuban or what, man?" He poked Manito in the arm. "You should know Cuban."

Manito stood up and yelled, "Splainin' ain't no Cuban word, you idiot!"

All of a sudden a commotion was heard on the far end of the long corridor.

"I want him out of there, NOW!"

Blair stood up quickly and raced over to the bars. His first glimpse in his limited peripheral vision was of Jameson nervously jangling his cell keys, trying to hold onto the slippery object, glancing back over his shoulder with a look of fear on his face.

Then Blair saw the man he was expecting, and he was obviously not in one of his better moods. Blair smiled at him, happy to see him no matter what mood he was in. This was an angry Ellison, but there was no better Blessed Protector on the face of the earth and Blair had learned how to calm the raging river.

When the door slid open, he quickly moved forward to stand behind Jim. He kept his eyes lowered and never once looked at Jameson.

Ellison noted the exchange, or rather, lack of acknowledgment, so unlike the friendly and cooperative Sandburg.

"You all right, Blair?" came the terse question.

"Yeah, Jim, no problem. I'm just glad to be out of there. I got the feeling I wasn't exactly a guest of honor," he said lightly, but the laugh he emitted was caught in his throat and he saw the tight jaw muscles of his friend move like snakes beneath the surface.

"Wait out in the hall."

"Jim, man, come on, let's..."

He had no chance to finish. His shoulders were gently grasped between two large hands and he was carefully turned around and easily pushed off in the direction of the outer corridor. He knew from past experience he was caught in the raging river's flow right now, it was best to drift along until he could get some purchase, settle in, and then turn the raging tides with gentle persuasion and reason.

Manito yelled out into the corridor, "Hey, what's happening, man?"

Blair moved on towards the door. He turned to look over his shoulder, and with a mischievous grin, yelled back, "I think Jameson has some splainin' to do."

"Great, by now I'm sure he is being booked," Melody replied. Curiosity got the better of her and before she realized it she was speaking again. "What exactly do you have against these guys?" Cold blue eyes seemed to cut right through her, and the accent that she had found so appealing at first now sent shivers down her spine.

A slow, evil smile crept upon the man's face, and the blue eyes grew impossibly cold. "They stole two years of my life."

Everything happened quickly after that, Melody never saw the man pull the gun, and the silencer made sure no one heard the shots. Then placing the "do not disturb" sign on the door, he walked unnoticed from the Lux hotel.

"Hold still a minute, Chief." Jim said as he reached out to grab Blair's chin.

Blair tried in vain to bat Jim's hands away, "I told you, man, I'm fine."

"Humor me, Junior," Jim replied as he turned Sandburg's head from side-to-side. Ellison clenched his jaw when he got a good look at the bruise that was forming on the left side of Blair's face. He had no problem identifying what caused the injury. Jim's hand moved to brush across the bruise to make sure there was no injury to the cheekbone.

At the first touch Blair tried to move away. "Easy, Chief, I just want to make sure every things okay." Jim said as he grabbed Sandburg's shoulder to keep him still.

"SSSSSSS, Let go, man." Blair grabbed Jim's hand and forced the bigger man to let go.

"What did Jameson do to you, Blair?" Jim asked, not even trying to keep the anger from his voice.

"Jameson just twisted my arm a little...no big deal. I'm just a little sore."

"Let me see."

"Jim......come on, man...." Blair pleaded, he hated it when Jim got this way.

"You either let me see, or I haul your butt to the nearest emergency room.

With great reluctance Sandburg began to remove his flannel shirt and the t-shirt beneath it. Jim could feel the heat coming from Blair's shoulder where it had already begun to swell and he could see the bruises on the kid's arm and wrist where Jameson had held him.

"I'm gonna kill him!" Ellison snarled. Then headed into the kitchen to make an ice pack for Sandburg's shoulder.

"Hey man, I don't like being manhandled any more than you, but I think we have bigger problems than Jameson. Like why I was picked out of the line up."

Garett was shocked at the resemblance between himself and Blair Sandburg.

"This thing is cold." Blair frowned.

"It's an ice pack, it's supposed to be cold," Jim stated, completely absorbed in an article on the front page of the Cascade Tribune.

"My shoulder feels better, I don't think I need the pack anymore." Sandburg sat up, tossing the bag onto the coffee table, wincing only momentarily from the movement.

"Let me take another look at it." Jim laid the paper on the table, stood up and approached Blair.

"Give it a rest, man! It's just stiff, that's all," Blair whined. He was in pain and slightly irritated at the older man for acting like an old, mother hen all night long. Jim had made frequent visits to Sandburg's room during the night to check on the younger man, and to make sure that the ice bag was still in place. This morning, Jim had allowed Blair off of the couch just long enough for a bathroom break.

"If you let me check it one more time, I won't say another word about it."

"Whatever," the young man replied, his attention now drawn to the front page of the paper. Staring back at him was his own face. "Oh man!"

Jim stepped back, afraid that he had hurt his friend during his examination. "You okay? I barely touched you."

"Huh? What? Oh no man, I was looking at the picture." Blair pointed to the paper. "Could they have found a bigger picture to use? I mean give me a break, man, everyone in Cascade is going to think I'm a thief....." he paused for a moment. "Jim?" His eyes were wide and his voice sentinel soft.

Jim heard the sudden change in his guide's heart rate. He stepped around to face Sandburg. "Hey, are you all right?" Jim took in his partner's pale features. "What's wrong buddy, talk to me."

"The woman that picked me out of the line up...The paper said that she's dead. Oh God, Jim. They're going to think that I did it. They're going to think that I killed her so that she couldn't testify." Blair began to look nervously around the room as panic seized him. "What am I going to do? I can't stay here Jim, I can't!" He grabbed Jim's shirt, clinging to it as if for dear life.

"Calm down. It's going to be okay. You were here last night, remember? I was here with you. You have an alibi."

"But Jim, you're my partner. We're friends and roommates. Don't you think that might raise some eyebrows?" Blair took in a deep breath. "I mean, they may think you're just covering for me or something," he said, running a nervous hand through his hair. He and Jim had come through some pretty sticky situations, but he wasn't sure if he was going to get out of this one.

"Didn't you have a date with that new waitress, from Wonder Burger, the other night? What was her name?....." Ellison strained to remember the lively discussion that he and Blair had about his new love interest.

"Jennifer, Jennifer Bowman," Blair stated, still looking at the paper.

"Geez, Sandburg, you were with her the night of the attack. You had an alibi the whole time."

Blair turned his gaze to the grinning man in front of him. "You're right." He stood up and began to pace around the loft, his hands becoming animated. "Oh man, I can't freakin' believe that I didn't think about it. I guess I was so caught up about being in the line up and shocked from being booked and incarcerated, that I just pushed it out of my mind." Again the hand went through his hair, but this time the nervousness was missing. This time Sandburg was in control. He looked at the clock on the VCR. "You know? She doesn't have to be at work for a few more hours. I may have time to talk to her and get her to fill out a statement for me. You wanna come with me?"

"No, I'm going to the station," Jim said, pulling the paper across the table, and rolling it up. "I have some unfinished business with a few fellow detectives."

Blair winced as Jim whacked the paper, loudly, against the palm of his hand. Suddenly he felt sorry for Rafe and Brown.

He was about to cross the street, when he heard someone yell, "There he is!" The sound of shoe soles pounding on concrete caused him to turn around. Three men, who looked to be in their thirties, were running towards him. The look in their eyes spelled trouble. Garett turned to run, but ran into another of the group. After being lifted off of the ground he was thrown into an alley. Scared half out of his wits, he scrambled to his feet, surrounded by men twice his size. I'm quick and low to the ground, surely I can get past these bozo's and out run them. He made a break for it, only to be stopped by the largest fist he had ever seen.

Garett could have sworn he saw stars floating above him, yet he knew it was daytime. He tried to focus on the bright dots that filled his line of vision, only to have them slowly disappear as he was pulled roughly back to his feet. Looking down he saw blood had splattered across his T shirt and was now dripping and spotting his new white Nikes. "What do you want?" The fear was evident in his voice as he reached up and wiped at his nose, pulling away a blood covered hand. His stomach flipped at the sight of his own blood.

"This is where you like to play isn't it? In alleys?" The largest of the men pushed Garett back against one of the brick walls. "What's wrong? You don't like to play with men? Oh, now I remember. You like to pick on older women." The comment brought laughter from the other men.

"But I didn't do....." Garett tried to explain, but was cut off by a hand at his throat. He suddenly had the sensation that his feet were leaving the ground.

"We saw your picture, boy," A very large black man began. "Don't play innocent with us. We don't like what your kind is doing to our community. We've decided to send out a message, to others like you, that we aren't going to stand for it anymore."

"Message?" Garett croaked.

Then one of the other men laughed. "Yeah, and you're the messenger."

Laughter was the last thing Garett remembered as the beating began.

There were still a few loose ends that needed to be taken care of: the actor and the waitress. He thought that he could trust the girl, but he wasn't one to leave witnesses behind and both people had seen him. "I wonder if I could talk her into going away with me. Who knows, she might like the excitement as much as I do." Standing up he decided to pay a visit to his new interest, Ms. Jennifer Bowman.

The walk to Jennifer's house went quickly, as he went over what he would say when he finally saw her. "Look Jen, it wasn't my fault the phone rang. I mean how could I have known that Jim would need me on police business at 11:00 at night. These things happen." Blair frowned, remembering the situation they had been in. Both barely dressed, each consumed by passion for the other and by the other. Then the phone rings. "Talk about killing the mood," Blair mumbled as he strolled up the drive to her house.

He quickly tucked his hair behind his ears, wishing he had something to pull it back with. Remembering the pony tail holder in his pocket, he turned his pocket inside out, nervously scattering its contents across the walk way. "Geez, now I'll never find it." He picked up the change that he could find and decided that he didn't have time to search for the holder. Again he tried to straighten himself up a bit, using the window in the door as a mirror, then he rang the door bell.

Jennifer nodded and smiled, then stepping over to the older man, she gave him a quick peck on the cheek before going to the door.

Oh shit....this is Blair not Garett. "Now's not a good time." She tried to close the door, but suddenly felt the cold sensation of steel in the middle of her back.

"Invite him in," the man whispered, forcefully.

Jennifer forced a smile on her fair face. She liked Blair, she didn't want him hurt. "Won't you come in."

Blair was so taken in by the creature in front of him, that he didn't notice the panic that had settled in her voice. Nor did he notice his mind screaming 'DANGER' at him. His heart was in control now, and it was the only voice he was listening to.

Once inside, Blair began to apologize. "Jen, I'm really sorry about...." He was cut off when a strong arm snaked around his neck. His eyes filled with fear as they pleaded with Jennifer for help and an explanation. He felt a sudden stinging sensation in his arm and looked down in time to see a syringe being pulled away. "What's...happening ....here?" The drug was fast acting and Blair was limp within seconds.

The man released his hold and turned angry eyes toward Jennifer, whose eyes followed the unconscious man until he settled limply on the floor. You were going to let him get away? Why?" he demanded as he approached the woman.

Fearful of what he might do to her if she lied, she decided to tell the truth. "Because that's Blair....not Garett."

"Well, that just changes the rules of the game doesn't it?" A look that could only be described as insanity flashed across the man's face, as he thought of new ways to torment Ellison.

Frowning in confused consternation, Blair sorted through his disheveled file of cataloged memories trying to ascertain just how he had come to be in this position. He groaned in misery as piece by piece he recalled the surrealistic events that had occurred over the past twenty-four hours. He remembered coming to see Jennifer, knowing that her testimony could provide him with an alibi, but it was there that the memories had come to an abrupt halt.

Still feeling slightly dazed, he pushed himself into a sitting position, the movement producing a nauseating roll of his stomach. Blair closed his eyes against the onslaught, leaning gratefully back against the railing bannister leading up to the second floor. Breathing deeply, he concentrated on the rhythmic flow of air in and out through his nostrils until the worst of the queasiness had passed. Still feeling a little shaky, Blair finally opened his eyes.

SHIT! his mind screamed in protest as he scooted away from the horrific sight of Jennifer laying face down in a pool of blood, the wooden handle of a kitchen carving knife protruding from between her shoulder blades.

His stomach rolled again and Blair felt the nausea rise to choke him. Clasping both hands over his mouth, he staggered to his feet and sprinted for the kitchen, barely making it to the sink before the contents of his stomach refused to be denied and came spewing forth. Up and up it came until only dry heaves remained. A fine sheen of perspiration dotted Blair's forehead as he weakly leaned over the sink. Eyes closed, he reached out blindly groping for the faucet. Finally his hand came into contact with the knob and he turned the water on full force to wash away the evidence of his stomachs betrayal. Lastly, he rinsed out his mouth and splashed cold water over his flushed features. Turning the water off, Blair opened his eyes and forced himself to turn around.

Through the archway, he could still see Jennifer's lifeless body laying on the living room floor. His legs turned to rubber and Blair slid bonelessly to the floor. Oh my God, he thought. Now what am I going to do? There was no way he could explain this and besides who in the hell would believe him anyway. Jim!...Jim will believe me, Blair cried with a profound sense of relief at the thought of his friend. The elation quickly died. "No, wait. What am I thinking," he groaned aloud, running a shaky hand through his disheveled curls, "I can't get Jim involved in this mess."

His gaze unconsciously returned to Jennifer. Who could have done such a horrible thing and why? The far off sound of sirens swiftly moving closer provided enough motivation for Blair to jump to his feet. Thoughts in chaos, Blair was uncertain what to do. Should I stay and try to explain what happened or... The sound of several cars screeching to a halt out front spurred him into a decision. Wrenching open the kitchen door, he fled.

Simon looked up into the ice-cold, blue eyes of his best detective and shuddered inwardly. Outwardly he presented the perfect picture of calm. "Where's who?" he asked, innocently.

"You know damn well who," Ellison bellowed, his hand coming down to pound the center of the captain's desk in a point of exclamation. "Rafe and Brown. Where are they?"

Simon leaned nonchalantly back in his chair. "I'm sure they're around here somewhere."

Jim cocked his head sarcastically. "I'm sure they are, but everyone in this joint seems intent on giving me the run around. First Connors tells me they're down in forensics. Then Wells informs me they went to the morgue. I get to the morgue and Dan says that I just missed them." Jim placed both hands on Simon's desk and leaned menacingly towards the captain. "I want to know where they are," he demanded, his voice low and dangerous, "and I want to know now! Their asses are mine."

Simon pushed his chair back and rose to his full, intimidating height. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that, Detective." Simon's gravely voice informed Ellison.

"Sir, I..." A knock at the door interrupted what had promised to be the beginnings of another tirade.

The door opened and Joel Taggert stuck his head into the room. "Sorry to interrupt guys, but you need to hear this."

Simon waved him into the office. "What's up?"

Taggert glanced nervously at Ellison before turning to answer Simon. "A call just came in. Blair was found severely beaten in an ally over on Montrose Avenue."

"WHAT!?! Simon exclaimed, his eyebrows shooting skyward in shock. "Is the kid all right?"

"All I know is that he was still alive when the ambulance headed for the hospital," Joel explained.

"SON OF A ... Jim raged, before storming out of the office.

"JIM, WAIT!" Simon called, grabbing up his jacket and hurrying after Ellison.

Thrusting the curtain aside, Jim stopped abruptly at the first sight of his battered partner. "Dear Lord," he hissed, sentinel soft before moving to Sandburg's side. As he usually did when entering a hospital, Jim had automatically dialed down his senses to avoid the overwhelming smells and sounds associated with such an institution. But one didn't need enhanced senses to see the vivid bruises peppering the face and upper torso of his guide's body or to know that his nose had been broken.

Gently he brushed the blood-matted curls away from Blair's face and in doing so unearthed evidence of a head wound strategically located at the hairline. "Damn it, Chief," Ellison uttered, "I swear, I'll get whoever did this to you."

The gentle caress on his cheek was sufficient impetus to entice Garett from the peaceful realm of sleep and into the painful reality of consciousness. With a moan of pain, dark lashes fluttered against the even darker bruising beneath them, then slowly opened. Bright light and fuzzy images greeted Garett upon his return to consciousness. Wincing, a low moan escaped his lips as the throbbing pain reverberated throughout his anatomy.

"Shush, take it easy buddy," he heard a deep voice croon softly.

Garett forced himself to concentrate and the fuzzy images began to form cohesion. His first clear vision was that of a hulking figure and Garett felt the adrenaline of fear course throughout his body. "NO! No more," he cried out, all the while frantically trying in vain to escape from the person looming over him. The verbal protest swiftly dying as agonizing pain from his chest and abdominal area, stole his breath. Unconsciously he brought the one arm, unfettered by IV attachments up to try and shield his face.

Jim was shocked by his friends violent reaction and backed away, hands raised in silent submission. "Whoa, just take it easy, Chief," he crooned softly to his distraught partner, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Suddenly the curtain to the cubicle was pushed aside. An irate, elderly individual in a white coat with a name tag proclaiming him to be a doctor, glowered at Ellison. "What the hell is going on in here?" he questioned angrily as he strode to the patient's side. Reaching up, he flicked off the heart monitor, instantaneously silencing its irregular tempo and looked down at the man cowering on the bed. Not pleased at what he saw, the doctor turned on Ellison in anger. "I want you out of here now!" he told Jim in no uncertain terms.

"Now wait just one damn minute," Jim began, displaying his ID. "I'm Detective Ellison and that man is my partner, Blair Sandburg. And I'm not going anywhere until I get some answers."

Frustrated by the turn of events, the doctor turned back to his patient. "Mister Sandburg," he said quietly. "Can you hear me?"

Slowly Garett lowered the arm and blinked up in confusion at the doctor. "Yeah," he croaked, his voice rough from dryness.

"I'm Doctor Cullen," the white-haired man introduced himself with a friendly, reassuring smile. "Do you know where you are?"

Garett swallowed before answering. "Well, if you're a doctor, my guess would be a hospital."

Cullen chuckled softly at the young man's attempted humor. "Yes, that's right." The light of amusement faded from his features. "Do you remember what happened?" he questioned gently.

The glazed, blue eyes darted nervously away, belying his words. "No. No I don't," Garett stammered.

"What the..." Ellison began.

"Detective, please," the doctor interrupted. "If you would step outside, I'd like to examine my patient."

Reluctantly Jim agreed, but not before taking one final glance at his friend. Orbs of cerulean momentarily met his gaze before glancing away. And in that span of a mere moment, James Ellison saw pain, confusion and fear, but there was something else. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Detective," the doctor prompted again, rousing Jim from his silent musings.

With a nod towards the doctor he told Blair, "I'll be back," and stepped out of the cubicle.

"How's he doing?" Simon questioned the minute Ellison entered the ER waiting room.

"I'm not sure," Jim admitted with a frown. "He was really confused when he woke up. Says he doesn't remember the attack." Ellison scrubbed a hand over his face in frustration. "At this point I'm not even sure if he knows who I am."

Banks sighed, the weight of the entire world evident in that one weary exhalation. "I'm afraid I have some more bad news."

"What now, Simon?" Jim asked, not certain he really wanted an answer.

"I just got a call. Jennifer Bowman was found dead in her home this evening."

Ellison's head shot up. "Wait a minute. You said Jennifer Bowman?"

Banks nodded.

"That's the woman Blair said could alibi him for the night of the mugging."

"Not any more, she can't," Simon commented. "There's another thing..."

Jim's eyebrow rose in question, silently urging Simon to continue.

"Sandburg's Volvo was found abandoned a couple of blocks away."

"Simon, you don't think..."

Banks held up a staying hand. "No, Jim, I don't. But you have to admit that it's not looking very good for the kid."

Talk about your understatements, Ellison thought and wondered at exactly what point their lives derailed and they became ensnared in the Twilight Zone.

"As long as you take it easy, Mr. Sandburg, I don't see any reason why you can't go home, but I have Detective Ellison's promise that if you don't follow my orders, he's bringing you right back here. Do you understand?" The doctor's eyes bore into the blue ones and he didn't cut the force until he saw the gentle nod.

"All right, young man, you can get dressed. I'll have a wheelchair brought in."

There was something about the big man that scared Garett, something formidable and unforgiving. He had identified himself as Jim Ellison...Detective Jim Ellison and that Blair was his partner. It wouldn't take this guy too long to realize that Garett was not Sandburg, or his "Chief" as he had called him.

He grabbed his clothes and after the daunting task of getting dressed, quietly looked out into the hall. The waiting room was down the corridor to the left and to the right he saw an "Exit" above the stairwell door. He slowly started moving down the hall, then he increased his pace. The door was mere inches before him when felt strong hands softly land on both his shoulders. He jerked upright from the stealthful crouch.

"Sandburg! Where the hell are you going?"

Garett felt himself turned around and he looked up into the blue, inquisitive eyes that were pinning him. However, they were not so much accusatory as concerned.

"I don't know," he said in a childish, pathetic voice, the confusion and abuse of the past few hours eradicating any acting personas in his repertoire. "I just don't know."

He felt strong arms lift his legs and he was aware of being cradled like a small child against the large man's chest. Suddenly he felt safe and protected, yet this was the man he was trying to avoid moments ago. Then Garett Matthews, struggling actor, relaxed and gave into the events and chaos of the past twenty four hours.

As they drove along in the old blue and white Ford truck, Garett could feel the eyes of the driver scanning him. There was something weird about this guy. He seemed too intent on solving some kind of puzzle and right now Garett was the big jigsaw.

Garett flushed and started squirming in his seat, the seat belt restraining his movements.

"You feeling all right, Sandburg?" Jim asked as he gently took a turn and offered out an arm to help steady his passenger.

"Yes, thank you, I'm fine."

Jim turned to look at his friend. The formality of the statement took him by surprise. He turned his head and stared straight ahead, but he started focusing his senses on the heart beat, the blood pressure, the breathing patterns he knew by heart. Suddenly, he looked over in stunned awe at the man sitting beside him, but like a well-practiced man of stoicism, he immediately cleared his face of all expression and continued driving.

When Jim parked the truck, he waited patiently for the man who pretended to be Sandburg to get out of the truck. His jaw was clenched so tightly the muscle was popping in explosive bursts beneath the skin.

As Garett undid his seat belt and started to slide down out of the truck, he suddenly felt light-headed and dizzy. Once again strong arms were wrapped around him and he was pulled to the broad chest, totally supported by the tall detective.

"Take it easy, you were beaten pretty badly."

"I guess I'm just a little confused and disoriented," Garett said, already planning his act. He would not know which door they were heading to and what was expected of him. He'd better put on his best performance---an Oscar nomination delivery---or he might find himself in for another beating.

I rather wish I was this Sandburg guy, Garett thought, this guy really seems to care about him. So did that other taller guy, like he was real important to them.

When they entered the loft, Garett offered no resistance as he was led the couch. He was guided down on the soft cushions and he felt his legs being pulled up. He lay back as an afghan was thrown gently over him.

"How about something to drink, Chief?" The detective asked as he headed for the kitchen.

"Sure, fine, thanks." "Well, what'll it be?"

"Uh, the usual."

"Sandburg!" the throaty growl from behind him made him flinch.

"Coffee," he sputtered, hating himself for being forced to say something he was sure he would regret.

Jim brought the coffee to the square table in front of the couch. He watched as the great pretender slowly sat up and began drinking the hot, black, mint- flavored instant coffee. It was the coffee Sandburg always hated and refused to drink, the instant coffee bags Jim had gotten for Christmas last year in a gift basket from Cassie.

Jim Ellison sat back with his own mug of coffee and studied the bruised face, the pale complexion and blue eyes that looked so much like his best friend's, but weren't. He sat there pondering his next move in this game of chess.

Ellison felt his heart skip a beat...If this isn't Blair, then where is the kid, and what kind of trouble has he gotten himself into? Jim knew that whatever it was it was serious... Sandburg up on assault charges, a look alike, and no sign that Blair had returned to the loft the night before. Where are you, Chief? he silently wondered.

Slowly Blair sank to his knees, What the hell is going on? he thought quietly to himself.

It had been his every intention to confront the young man, to demand an explanation for the charade he was perpetrating in pretending to be Blair Sandburg. But the similarities between the impostor and his partner were too prevalent and instead of confronting the injured man, Ellison found himself comforting him instead.

Between the injuries he had sustained and the painkillers prescribed by the doctor, the pseudo-Sandburg had quickly crashed. Barely one third of the coffee Ellison has given him had been consumed before the smaller man's eyes were drooping with pain and fatigue. Jim had carefully removed the cup from the young man's hand as his eyes closed and he tipped sideways into sleep. With one hand bracing the sleeping figure, Jim sat the cup on the table. Rising from the couch, he carefully maneuvered the dozing man into a reclining position and after a moment's thought, replaced the dislodged Afghan over him. Then with no other recourse available, Ellison sat back to watch, wait and wonder about the impostor and more importantly, his missing friend and partner.

Sandburg knew it wasn't a wise thing to do, but he quickly got up and made his way to the nearest tree. By the time he made it to an old Oak, he was sufficiently soaked. He cursed softly as a series of sneezes shook his chilled body. What are you going to do now, Sandburg? he silently asked. You're soaked, cold, tired and hungry. You've got very little cash, no coat, and no where to go. Damn it if you don't get yourself into some fine messes. Feeling depressed about his so called life, he slid down the tree, the rough bark scratching his back, until he sat on the ground. He leaned his head back and closing his eyes, he said a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening, that he would find a way out of this. "I'm sorry Jim....." The scene in front of the loft replayed in his mind, of Jim helping the look-a-like out of the truck. Blair wrapped his arms around himself trying to fight off the wind that was slicing through the soaked, flannel jacket. He imagined that it was Jim's arms holding him, protecting him as he always did. Even though a hug from Jim was a rarity, it was always welcomed by Blair. It was the only time he truly felt safe, but he had never admitted this to the older man. The thought warmed him and his mind drifted away from his troubles to happier times as his tired, aching body embraced the darkness called sleep.

With a soft moan of discomfort, Blair opened his eyes and tried to focus on the hulking figures towering over him. As the significance of their presence finally penetrated his sleep-clouded mind, Blair stiffened. "What do you want?" he demanded, carefully trying to conceal an innate apprehension.

"Whatever you got," said the man standing directly in front of him. At some unspoken signal between the men, Sandburg was hauled unceremoniously to his feet. Blair gasped as his arms were pinned to his sides and rough hands began intimately searching his body. Closing his eyes at the extremely personal invasion, Sandburg forced himself not to struggle. Outnumbered five-to-one, antagonizing them at this point was not a viable option.

One pair of hands came up with his wallet. The young man sneered in contempt at it's nearly empty contents. His hand shot out and grabbed Blair's jaw in a crushing grip. "This all you got?" he demanded.

"That's it, I swear," Blair stammered, nervously.

The five men exchanged glances and Sandburg felt a sinking sensation in his gut. With a feral grin that sickened Blair, one of the men stepped forward. "Then I guess we'll just have to take the rest of it out in trade."

Immediately understanding the implied connotation, Sandburg began to struggle in the grasp of his captors. "No, please," he begged. "Don't do this!"

"Shut up!" barked one of the men gripping him by the arm as he slammed Blair back against the tree trunk.

A small grunt of pain and surprise escaped his lips as Sandburg's head snapped back and impacted soundly with the tree.

Slightly dazed, it took a moment for the man's next words and deeds to register.

"Don't fight us," he told Blair, reaching for his belt , "and maybe we'll go easy on you."

The feeling of hands fumbling with his belt buckle proved to be Sandburg's undoing. Bile rose up to choke him even as fear-induced adrenaline coursed throughout his body. Unconsciously, spurred on by terror, Blair struck out blindly. Raising his knee, it impacted soundly with the groin of the man standing in front of him.

The offending hands disappeared from his waist as the man doubled over in pain. "Shit," the man groaned through clenched teeth before turning hate-filled eyes on Sandburg. "You're gonna pay for that, you little prick." One hand still cradling his injured privates, the man snarled and backhanded Blair. And as the blood flowed from the cut on Sandburg's lip, Blair heard the words he had been dreading. "Screw the bastard."

It wasn't quite 8:00 am when Jim heard the lift doors open to the 3rd floor, a second later he smelled the familiar cigar smoke and knew that his Captain was paying him a early, morning visit. He opened the loft door before Simon could knock. Before Simon could comment Jim placed a finger to his lips and pointed to the couch. Simon could just make out the form of the young man that lay there sleeping. Nodding, Simon began to whisper, "I've got some good news, Jim. The M.E. placed the time of death at 3:45 p.m., that's an hour after Blair was admitted to the hospital, there is no way they can pin her murder on the kid."

Jim had been prepared to tell Simon that the man on the couch wasn't Sandburg, but forced himself to remain quiet. He knew Blair wasn't responsible for the young woman's death, but if he told Simon the truth, Simon would be forced to search for the kid, and as much as Jim wanted to find his partner he didn't want the kid arrested for murder. Maybe he could use this double to clear Blair.

Jim looked toward the couch and saw a pair of familiar, but not so familiar, blue eyes peering at him over the back.

Simon wondered what was going on. Something just wasn't right. Usually when Sandburg was injured, Ellison acted like an old, mother hen. But now, Blair had called Jim and the detective just stood in the kitchen. Something was definitely wrong with this picture.

Finally, Jim walked over to the couch and looked down at the young man. Garett felt a lump rise in his throat, as he finally noticed how big this man truly was. "Could you help me up? I really need to go to the bathroom, man."

"Sure, no problem, kid." Jim held out a hand for the young man.

Garett eagerly took the hand and allowed Jim to pull him up to a standing position. His head swam a bit but he regained his balance and padded off in the direction of the bathroom.

Simon watched the kid leave the room and walked over to Jim. "Is the kid all right?"

"I don't know, Simon....I hope so," Jim said, lost in thought of the real Sandburg.

With an aggrieved groan, Garett carefully lowered himself to sit on the side of the bathtub. "Oh God, what am I going to do?" came the whispered plea. When no answer had been forthcoming, his head drooped in despair and Garett silently began examining his options.

Ellison's eyes riveted to his captain's. "Come on, Simon, you know Sandburg had nothing to do with that!" he exclaimed, vehemently.

"I realize that, Jim, but let's look at the facts. Less than twenty-four hours after Mrs. Baskem ID's Sandburg as the man who mugged her, she's murdered." Banks saw the protest coming and held up a staying hand. "Then the woman that can supposedly provide him with an alibi turns up dead and Blair's car is found nearby. I'm telling you, Jim, the DA's having a field day with this. If it weren't for the fact that Sandburg was in the hospital at the time of Bowman's homicide, I've no doubt he'd be sitting in a jail cell right now waiting arraignment on two counts of murder."

Ellison sighed, the anger having drained out of him in the face of reality. "I hear what you're saying, sir, but the fact remains that Sandburg didn't do it and somehow I'm going to prove it."

Banks knew this moment was coming and had been dreading it. "Jim," he said, "I can't assign you to the case."

"DAMN IT, SIMON," came the explosion, "THIS IS MY PARTNER WE'RE TALKING ABOUT!"

"My point, exactly," Banks replied. "The District Attorney is not going to let you get anywhere near this case." Simon noted Ellison's clenched jaw and the determined set of his features. "I know how you feel, Jim," he commiserated.

Ellison snorted his disbelief.

"I've assigned the case to Rafe and Brown," Simon went on to explain. "And while they may not be my best team, you can rest assured that they will get to the bottom of this."

The detective did not look appeased.

"I'm sorry, Jim, it's the best I can do."

Ellison's eyes met the captain's. "That's not good enough, Simon. Officially or not, I will..."

Banks held up his hands, effectively silencing Ellison. "I don't want to know."

"Understood, sir," Ellison acknowledged with a grimace.

Simon's gaze strayed in the direction of the closed bathroom door. "The kid's been in there a long time," he commented. "Do you think he's all right?"

"I'm sure he's fine," Jim replied, apparently unconcerned.

Bank's forehead wrinkled in confusion. It was so totally unlike Ellison not to show at least some concern for Sandburg's welfare. No doubt about it, Simon mused, But it was equally obvious that the morose detective wasn't prepared to let him in on it.

Resigned to the fact that no answers would be forthcoming, Simon sat down his coffee mug. "I've got to get back to the office," he told Jim and headed towards the door. Opening it, he paused and looked back. "Don't worry Jim, we'll get to the bottom of this."

"Yes, sir," Ellison replied as he watched the door close behind Banks. He turned in the direction of the bathroom. "And I'm going to start right now." Sandburg was out there somewhere all alone while this impostor had usurped his life. His face a mask of determination, Jim strode to the bathroom door.

"Oh God, what am I going to do?" came the soft, but distinctive cry of distress from the other side of the door.

Ellison paused. His hand, raised mid-air to knock, halting. At the plaintive cry, Jim felt his resolve falter. NO! he silently admonished, then reiterated as a reminder, that's not Blair. He knocked on the door and heard an audible gasp. "Sandburg, you all right?"

At the sound of the knock Garett's head shot up. "Yeah, man," he croaked, his voice quivering with anxiety. "I'll be right out." Taking a breath to calm his nerves, Garett rose and padded to the door.

Ellison almost felt his resolve crumble as the door opened to reveal a pathetic looking sight. The counterfeit Sandburg, still obviously in pain, was partially hunched over with one arm wrapped tightly around his middle. The once beautiful face, mottled by cuts and bruises. The smaller man was unable to meet his gaze as he stumbled past Ellison and returned to his place on the couch. But Jim heard the accelerated heartbeat and knew that the supposedly calm facade was a sham.

Ellison waited until the injured man was once again comfortably ensconced on the sofa before settling himself on the coffee table, facing the impostor.

Garett sneaked a peek at the larger man and after one glance from those steely, blue eyes, he guiltily looked away.

Without preamble, Ellison demanded. "I want to know who you are and what's your involvement in all this?"

"Oh man," the human pitifully wailed as he struggled with trembling hands to replace the dislodged clothing, "what happened?" A bruised hand reached out and brushed back the bloody hair from his face. The dog whined in sympathy and the human turned pain-filled, confused eyes to look at him. "I wish you could talk," he told the dog with a quivering voice. "Then maybe you could tell me what happened here." He paused momentarily, frowning in cognizance. Suddenly his eyes widened and a heart-wrenching sob escaped his lips. "I don't know who I am," he whispered in awe to the stray.

Knowing she had nothing to fear from this hurt and confused human, the dog rose and went to him. With a empathic whimper, she nudged the man with her nose, offering the only way she knew how, friendship and concern.

"Jim, I don't understand. I'm really not feeling up to any games right now," he added a bit indignantly trying to remember everything he ever learned in acting class. Become the part, be the person. Think, breathe, and live the life you are playing.

Jim reached over and grabbed the remote out of his hands. The television was still on a commercial and the sound was low, but still audible. Jim threw the remote on the chair on the other side of the room.

Garett looked around the room quickly, he needed props, prompts, and purpose. He saw the masks hanging near the stairs, the earth music cd's that lined the second shelf, the tribal statues on the bookshelf. These relics of primitive lifestyles couldn't possibly belong to this uptight, military-type cop. This Sandburg had to be a counter-culture type, maybe a college grad with some travel under his belt.

Garett took a deep breath and threw himself into the role. "Man, what's with you anyway? I get the crap beat out of me and you want to analyze who I am and what I'm doing here. What is this, Jim, some kind of identity realization group? Just chill out."

He moved over the couch to the next pillow and pretended to be totally absorbed in the dog food commercial that had little puppies scrambling for their dinner. Garett involuntarily smiled at the sight. He had always loved dogs and wanted to have one since he was a child. Being an out-of-work actor always working late odd jobs and filling his days with auditions, didn't leave him much time to nurture and care for a puppy. Unsuccessfully, he tried to ignore the stoic-faced man who still sat perched on the coffee table.

Then the commercial ended and Frasier Crane dominated the screen, earphones in place, struggling through his talk show on the radio, his ever present, long- suffering face confirming the dilemma du jour of his friends and family. Garett paled, Not this one, of all the episodes not this one. Please.

Too late, he desperately sought the remote. The man in front of him whose back had been directed at the television set now rose and sat down next to him securing him in place with a broad arm across his shoulders. Jim Ellison and Garett Matthews watched as the camera panned over to the glass and the long-haired, hippie engineer who delivered his deadpan lines and taxed the radio psychologist to his limits. Garett Matthews's shining hour was going to be his swan song.

"Do you want to tell me your real name or do I call the station and confiscate the tape. I can have NBC on the phone in 10 minutes." Jim Ellison still sat beside the confused and distraught young man.

Garett sat forward and placed his elbows on his knees as he buried his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. I was just acting out a part. I needed the money. I haven't worked in months."

Jim Ellison rose and grabbed the remote from the chair. He pressed the off button and the screen went blank. Returning to the sofa, he placed his hand on the actor's back. All his anger was kept in check by the obvious contrition in the young man's voice.

"Why don't you start from the beginning. You stole the woman's purse, didn't you?"

He must have been running for some time, because now he was in a ravine near the waterfront. With no recollection of how he had gotten here. Knowing only that he had escaped some terrible and dreadful fate.

Slowly he got to his feet, fighting off the wave of nausea and vertigo that threatened to pull him into the welcome world of oblivion, but he needed medical attention, food and some clean clothes. Some atavistic inner force pushed his tired legs on into the night, one heavy step followed by another. Man and dog bound in desperation sought their salvation together.

His head was pounding savagely against his eyes, blurring his vision. Pausing outside the door, he placed one tired hand on the head of his companion, and knocked on the door. It was opened almost immediately by a middle-aged woman in a uniform.

"Can you help me?" he asked, as he fell to his knees. The dog whimpered sadly and stayed near as the woman called for assistance from within the building. The dog would not leave the side of his master and the good Samaritans would talk for some time about the loyalty of dog to man.

Knowing Hospital policy, Betty waited until only Renee was left at the Nurses station before approaching. The two women were long time friends, and Renee never failed to keep Betty updated on the people she sent.

Renee looked around to make sure no one was within hearing distance. "I was wondering how long it would be before you got here."

"Renee, was he......?" Betty began.

"No...Thank Heavens. But whoever did this really did a number on him. The doctor says that there were at least two of them. It looks like someone held his arms behind his back while the other beat him. Renee picked up a chart and glanced over it. He has a concussion, that much I know for sure. They just moved him down to X-ray. They think that he has some broken ribs and possible internal bleeding. Betty, he didn't have any ID on him when he was brought in. Have you seen him around before?"

"No, I'd never seen him before last night."

"Are you sure?"

"Believe me..I'd remember seeing him." Betty's eyes caught the name on the chart: 'John Doe.' She was determined that the young man would not end up another nameless face in the crowd.

She moved away from the sleeping form and continued to set up the equipment.

"Good afternoon, Betty." Dr. Gates greeted the woman and offered a dashing smile as well.

Betty straightened up. "Oh hi, Dr. Gates. I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't be here, but..."

Dr. Gates held up a hand. "Shhhhh....I won't tell if you won't."

Betty's nervousness was calmed by another one of those wonderful smiles.

"So, how did you happen upon this poor soul?" Gates asked as he flipped open the chart.

"He came to the mission, asked for help and then fell to the ground." She looked at Blair, a tear threatening to form in her green eyes. "I was so scared that he had been....Well, from the condition of his clothes....."

"I can understand your concern." Gates placed a hand on Betty's shoulder. "He wasn't sexually assaulted. But, from the condition of his clothes, that was probably the attackers' intentions. Luckily he got away."

"How is he?" Betty asked, returning her gaze to the injured man.

The smile disappeared as Gates slipped into doctor mode. "He has three broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and bruised kidneys. As well as various cuts and bruises. I'm most concerned about the concussion. Unfortunately, he hasn't regained consciousness long enough for us to question him to find out the extent of the injury." He looked from Blair to Betty. "All in all, I'd say this young man is pretty lucky to have run into you."

Betty blushed slightly. "Do you mind if I stay for a while longer?" Gates shook his head. "No, seeing as how he doesn't have anyone else here, I think it would be all right. I know I wouldn't mind waking up to an angel."

Again, Betty blushed.

"Just have the nurse page me if he comes to."

"I will. Thank you, Dr. Gates."

"Anthony....Just call me Anthony."

"Thank you, Anthony." She smiled as the doctor left the room to resume his rounds.

She glanced back up at the television, turning the sound up a bit, using the controls on the bed.

"Oh this is such a great show." She spoke softly to the young man. "I love Frasier." She watched intently, laughing at the actors and their witty lines, until she saw a curly haired young man shifting nervously in his seat. She quickly looked from the television to the young man laying beside her. With the bruises, swelling and various cuts, it was hard to tell. But it looked like the same person. "Oh no....is that you? Are you Bruce?" The show was almost over so she sat still, staring at the screen, waiting for the credits to roll up. After a few more minutes of patience she finally saw the name she had been waiting for. "Garett Matthews," she said out loud. A huge smile swept across her face as she looked back at the young man laying in bed. "I know who you are...you have a name now." She paused for a moment as she noticed his eyebrows knit in pain. Long lashes fluttered as Blair tried to regain consciousness. "That's it, Mr. Matthews. Wake up. I'm going to get the doctor."

"How many fingers am I holding up," Gates asked the young man.

"Three???...." He hoped he was right, but he wasn't too sure.

Gates frowned slightly and folded the two fingers back into a fist to hold his pen. "Okay, I need you to watch the pen for me, okay?"

Blair nodded.

"Don't move your head, but follow the trail of the pen." Gates made several passes in front of Blair's face. Happy with the results of his little test, Gates made several notes in the chart. "How does everything look. Do you see halos?"

In a raspy voice, Blair answered. "Things are kind of fuzzy."

"You took a nasty knock on the head. I wouldn't be surprised if you saw pink elephants right now." Gates smiled at the young man, happy to see a smile in return. "You're going to stay here for a few days. We need to keep an eye on you." The doctor finished noting the results of the test then looked back at the young man. "I want to ask you a few questions, okay?"

Blair tried to shift in the bed to get more comfortable, but found the movement caused more pain. He decided laying still was better than being comfy. "Sure."

"Do you know what day it is?" Doctor Gates carefully watched the young man's expression, watching for any signs of distress.

Blair's face was a mask of concentration. "No....I'm sorry."

"Do you remember where you live?" Gates asked making more notes in the chart.

"No," Blair said softly.

"Okay.....let's try your name."

Blair's eyebrows furrowed with the intense concentration. His head pounded from the effort. Suddenly the heart monitor went crazy with sound and light as Blair began experiencing a panic attack.

Dr. Gates rushed to the young man's side. "Shhhh....it's okay. Calm down." He reached around and turned down the sound on the monitor, fearing that it would only intensify the panic. "That's it...just breathe. Take slow, deep breaths for me okay?" Gates whispered something to one of the nurses and she quickly left the room.

"I don't.....I don't know who....I am..." Blair panted.

"It's okay buddy....just breathe. We know who you are and we've called your family."

Blair's eyes widened. "You do?...You did?"

"Yes."

The nurse came back into the room and handed Gates a syringe.

"What's that?" Panic filled the young man's voice and eyes.

"Just something to help calm you down." Gates injected the sedative into the IV. "You should feel better in a minute.

Blair nodded as he felt his body begin to relax. "Yeah....Doc?"

"Umm humm?" Dr. Gates made note of the injection as he acknowledged the young man.

"Who am I?" Blair's lids were becoming heavy now, but he fought to keep them open, determined to find out who he really was.

"Your name is Garett Matthews. Your father is on his way. He should be here in a few hours."

Blair rolled the name around in his fuzzy mind. It didn't sound familiar. Shouldn't I remember my name? Shouldn't it ring a bell? Oh God....what will I do if I never remember? His question was never answered before he drifted off to sleep.

Garett was sure he would have been afraid of the cop, if the circumstances had been different. Jim was tough, and pretty intimidating, but right now, he was being kind, and understanding. Each time Garett had faltered, becoming scared to answer, Jim would place a warm hand on his back and rub away the fear. "His name is Kellerman."

Ellison searched through his memory, desperate to recall the name and coming up blank. He turned to Garett. "What's his first name."

"I dunno....I just know him as Kellerman." Garett fidgeted on the couch and then ran a hand through his hair. "I'm kind of scared, man. I think he killed both of those women. I'm afraid I'm next."

"He knew Jennifer Bowman, too?"

"Yeah, we were all hired by him. Jennifer is the one who called me about it." Two troubled eyes looked at Ellison. "I'm really sorry, Jim. I never .... I mean, had I known....." Tears began to form causing the blueness of Garett's eyes to intensify. He dropped his head into his hands, allowing the free-flowing tears to wash away the guilt that had been building since this whole game of deception started.

"It's okay, buddy." Jim said with a reassuring squeeze to the young man's shoulder, then returned his hand to Garett's back, patting it several times. "I'll get to the bottom of this."

Garett didn't know what to think. Here was a stranger, offering emotional support. He wasn't used to this, he was an actor after all, in a world of selfish bastards always looking out for number one. It was nice to have someone who cared. He suddenly envied the relationship Sandburg obviously had with Ellison, as he relaxed under Jim's gentle hand, recording every second to memory for later.

"Yes sir." Blair said, looking over the older man, hoping to remember who he was, but nothing came to mind. Embarrassed, he asked. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

The tears that Brandon was trying to hold back, finally came at the realization that his son didn't remember him. "I'm your father."

Blair closed his eyes. "I'm sorry." A tear slipped from the corner of his left eye. Brandon quickly wiped it away.

"It's okay. It's not your fault." He leaned down and kissed the young man on the forehead. "I'm so thankful you're okay.....what happened....oh....never mind." His *father* smiled sheepishly. "I'm here now. Don't worry. Everything will be fine." The older man gently tousled the frazzled curls on Blair's head.

"Yes, sir." Blair smiled and added, "Thanks, dad." For some reason that he couldn't understand, the word *Dad* seemed foreign to him. He shrugged the feeling off, happy to have someone who knew him and who cared.

Blair was about to drift off, enjoying the soothing way his father played with his hair, when a thought came to mind. "My dog.....where's my dog?"

"Your dog?" Brandon was puzzled, the last time he had talked to his son there had been no mention of a dog.

"I named her Lola. She found me in the park and stayed with me......Where is she?" Blair struggled to sit up. Thoughts of his new friend alone and hungry plagued his mind.

"Settle down, son. I'll find her," Brandon promised.

"I owe her. She kept me going when I wanted to give up." Blair yawned and relaxed back into the pillows. His eyes becoming heavy again as the most recent sedative took hold of his fragile body.

"Excuse me." Brandon said, a bit nervously.

The dark haired woman turned fair features to the older man, her green eyes standing out due in part to her jet black hair. "Yes?"

"I'm looking for Betty?"

"I'm Betty." She smiled.

Brandon's shoulders dropped in relief. "I'm so glad I found you..."

Betty's eyes widened, unsure of how this person knew her.

"Oh, how silly of me. I'm Brandon Matthews. You helped my son the other night."

"Yes, of course. It's very nice to meet you." She stuck out her hand and offered the man a seat.

Brandon accepted, his feet tired from his search.

"How is he?" Betty asked, upset that she hadn't had a chance to visit.

"Oh, he's getting better. He's a strong boy, he'll be fine......He was asking me about a dog. He said that she had helped him and he seems rather taken with her. I'm trying to find her."

Betty thought for a moment. "I haven't seen her lately. Not since the other night anyway. I saw her last at the hospital. She followed me there when your son was brought in for treatment."

"I see." Brandon stood up, feeling hopeless about finding his son's missing protector.

"She was a pretty little thing. Dirty, but pretty just the same, and loyal, too. She's black and white....." Betty gave Brandon a full description of the dog, hoping it would be of some help.

"Thank you for your help, and for what you did for my son," Brandon said as he turned to leave.

Betty smiled shyly, a hint of pink filling her soft, ivory cheeks. "I'll be by later to check on him. Maybe I'll see you then?"

Brandon smiled. "Maybe." He turned to leave and resume the search for the missing Lola.

He made it back to the hospital just in time for visiting hours to begin. After securing the car, he ran to the front door, skidding to a halt at the sight before him. He stood there dumbfounded for a moment. "Lola?" he called softly, as he watched a soaked dog hide behind the shrubs that lined the front of the hospital.

The dog coward behind the shrubs as the older man approached.

"It's okay, girl.....I've been looking all over Cascade for you." Brandon knelt down to pet the frightened and cold dog. Finally he coaxed her away from her hiding place. "My, you are a pretty one aren't you. I'll bet you're hungry, too. I'll fix you up. You wait right here." Brandon stood up and watched as Lola made her way back to the safety of the shrubbery.

Brandon made a beeline to the cafeteria, hoping they had some type of meat to satisfy the hungry dogs growling belly. His eyes lit up when he saw baked pork chops among the items to choose from. He ordered two of the chops, two rolls, and a bowl of apple cobbler for himself. He quickly paid for the food and made his way back to the entrance of the hospital.

Lola was right where he had left her. He sat the Styrofoam plate down in front of her. Lola approached the plate, a little timid at first, but the smell of fresh meat was too enticing for her to resist. She looked up at the man, speaking her thanks with her soft brown eyes before beginning to enjoy her dinner.

Jim stole a glance at the young man sitting next to him. The fact that Garett looked so much like Blair was of little comfort to the detective. The heartbeat was what he missed. It was the one thing that kept him centered, and he knew that he needed to find it soon. "Are you going to be okay talking to Simon?" Jim asked, as he watched the young man fidget in the seat.

"Yeah, sure....why not?" Garett lied. Yep, I'll be fine all right.....why wouldn't I be...I'm going to turn myself into the cops, tell them everything I know, and pray that they don't lock me away for the rest of my life.

Jim heard the increase in heart rate. A faint smile played on his lips. The kid doesn't even obfuscate as well as *my* Sandburg. "Just tell Simon what you told me. Everything will be all right."

"Yeah....okay." Garett stared nervously out the window of the old truck. How did I ever let my life get so out of control. I need to settle down. I need my family. He smiled. Hell, maybe even a dog.

As the station came into view, Garett felt ill. He closed his eyes, taking in a few deep breaths. "I can do this...I can do this....I hope," he whispered to himself, unaware that the man sitting next to him, clearly heard every word.

"Enter," Banks said, his eyes were closed as he took a long drag from his expensive cigar. The television was playing softly in the background. It was just after noon, so Simon was taking a lunch break and watching the news.

Jim looked back at Garett who was looking nervously around the bull pen. His heart was racing, not sure what fate held for him. Jim slipped back into protective mode as he slipped an arm around the frightened man and ushered him into Simon's office.

"Jim...Blair. I wasn't expecting you today. Come in, sit down." Banks motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. Simon noticed Jim sniffing the air and turned to retrieve the pizza box from the table behind his desk, tossing it on the desk in front of the men. "Help yourself." He tried to sound irritated, but a smile soon betrayed him. Simon leaned back in his chair, putting his feet back up on his desk, as he watched Jim cautiously open the box of pizza. "It's pepperoni. Jim...it won't bite."

Jim grinned sheepishly as he pulled a piece from the box. "You want some?" He gestured to the box while looking at Garett.

"No...but thanks." Garett absently rubbed at his stomach. He didn't think he could hold anything down right now.

Simon looked at the young man, noticing that he was still a bit too pale. "You feelin' all right, Sandburg?"

"Yes, sir. I'm feeling much better thank you." Garett looked down at his shoes, too scared to face the captain.

Simon turned a questioning look to Jim. It was true that the kid had been through a lot, but this was so out of character for the young man.

Jim noticed the puzzled look on Simon's face. Oh hell. I guess this is as good a time as any. "Simon, we have something to tell you." Jim began.

Garett's eyes shot fearfully from the floor to Jim. It's over.....My life is over.

"We haven't been completely truthful with you, sir." Jim laid his pizza down and accepted the napkin that Simon offered him.

"Would you mind explaining?" Simon's dark eyes switched back and forth from Jim and Garett, waiting for someone to speak.

"This isn't Sandburg." Jim braced himself for the beginning of the end of his career. Simon would roast his nuts on the corner of Fifth and Melrose for this one.

Banks laughed for a moment then became serious when he noticed the expression on Garett's face. The young man looked as though he were about to bolt from the room. "This isn't Sandburg?.....Well then who is it?"

Jim was about to speak when Garett cut him off. He couldn't let Jim take the blame for this. "Garett Matthews, sir." His voice was soft and shaky.

"Garett Matthews." Simon took a deep breath, things started clicking. If this isn't Sandburg...Where is the kid? If there are two of them, then Sandburg is still to be considered a suspect in the investigation of the multiple murders. Simon made a move for his phone. Jim slammed a hand down on it, knowing what the captain was about to do.

"Simon, please." Jim's eyes pleaded with his Captain/friend, as he leaned over his desk. "Let us fill you in on what we know. Then....if you feel you have to, then you can put an APB on Sandburg. Hell, I'll even help you. You can even put Garett in a holding cell." He heard the quickened pace of the young man's heart as he began to panic, then quickly added, "Alone of course."

"Get on with it." Simon crossed his arms over his chest, as he waited for his best detective to fill him in to the details to date.

"Jim, look." He pointed to the screen.

Ellison and Garett turned around to see a picture of what could have been Blair on the screen. Simon turned the volume up and then set the remote back down on his desk.

"It's a happy day for actor Brandon Matthews, who flew in from New York to be with his son, Garett. Garett Matthews, a young actor, was attacked this week in Cascade's Bentley Park. The young man was severely beaten, his attackers stole his wallet and his memory. You may recognize the young Matthews from the television show Frasier and a small part in the movie The World According to Garp, in which his father also had a minor role. Mr. Matthews is reported to be in stable condition at this time. The doctors at Cascade General are optimistic about his recovery and are hopeful that he will regain his memory. This is Claudia Barr reporting for channel nine news."

Jim looked at Garett and then Back at Simon. "Well unless there are three of them, I think we just located Sandburg." Ellison stood up to leave, the words of the reporter, "regain his memory," playing in his mind. This is turning into a nightmare.

"It's a happy day for actor Brandon Matthews, who flew in from New York to be with his son, Garett. Garett Matthews, a young actor, was attacked this week in Cascade's Bentley Park. The young man was severely beaten, his attackers stole his wallet and his memory. You may recognize the young Matthews from the television show Frasier and a small part in the movie The World According to Garp, in which his father also had a minor role. Mr. Matthews is reported to be in stable condition at this time. The doctors at Cascade General are optimistic about his recovery and are hopeful that he will regain his memory. This is Claudia Barr reporting for channel nine news."

Smiling, he clicked the television off. "How convenient. Memory loss.....Well, I'll just have to make sure that you don't accidently remember something you shouldn't." Thoughtfully he stared out the window for a moment, disgusted at how things had turned out. He hated messes. He hadn't earned the name "The Ice Man" for leaving loose ends behind. Tossing the remote onto the table beside his chair, he stood. Making his way to the front door, he grabbed his coat. "It's time you lived up to your name and reputation," he scolded himself, leaving the room.

As he let himself into the room and took in the sleeping form on the bed, he once again marveled at the incredible resemblance between Matthews and Sandburg. It really was amazing and had been instrumental in his plot for revenge against the detective and his partner, but the young actor had served his purpose and must now be dispensed with.

Moving alongside the bed, he removed the items from his pocket. Swiftly divesting the syringe of it's poly wrapper, he plunged the needle into the vile. Once certain of a lethal dosage, he then carefully injected the colorless liquid into the intravenous dip of the sleeping man. Smiling with remorseless satisfaction, he stepped away from the bed, discarding the used materials into the nearby wastebasket.

Task accomplished, he headed towards the door, only to have it pushed open as a middle-aged woman, dressed in a Salvation Army uniform, entered.

"Oh, excuse me!" Betty exclaimed, somewhat startled. "I didn't realize anyone was in here."

In the quiet of the room the still figure on the bed suddenly bucked upwards and began thrashing. Alarmed, Betty looked expectantly at the doctor. Matthews's reaction to the drug had been quicker than he had anticipated. In a panic, he roughly shoved Betty aside and took off down the hallway running.

Swiftly, Betty moved to the side of the bed and taking in the young man's distress, frantically pushed the call button. The thrashing body surged upwards, then collapsed, unmoving and no longer breathing. Horrified, Betty dropped the call button and raced into the hallway. "Somebody help me, please," she yelled. "He's not breathing."

The nurses station erupted into a flurry of activity as a code blue was called and several of the hospital staff rushed past her into the room. The door swinging shut with finality, behind them. Betty's concern for the injured young man grew as moments later a crash cart was wheeled into the room.

"You okay, kid?" Banks asked, peering with concern at Matthews.

Startled from his musings, Garett replied. "Yes, sir, I'm fine."

Looking at the battered individual so remarkably like Sandburg, Simon had his doubts. The kid had taken quite a beating and was no doubt still in some pain. Yet he had insisted on accompanying them to the hospital. Banks suspected that part of it was due to the fact that the killer was still out there somewhere, but he also sensed within the young man an honest desire to be of help. And Ellison, Simon snorted with silent amusement, appeared to be as innately protective of Garett as he was of Blair.

As if on cue, Ellison shot the fidgeting actor a reassuring smile. The smile however quickly turned to a look of alarm as his enhanced hearing heard a code blue called for Sandburg's room.

"What is it Jim?" Banks asked as the color drained from Ellison's face and his brow creased with dread.

Jim silently willed the elevator to move faster and turning to Simon, eyes stark with pain, replied, "Sandburg just coded."

"Sweet Jesus," Simon muttered.

Garett looked on confused. How in the world could Detective Ellison possibly know that? Was he psychic?

Jim shifted impatiently until finally the doors parted, depositing them on the third floor. Racing down the corridor, they arrived just in time to see the crash cart being wheeled into Sandburg's room. "What the hell is going on here?" Ellison bellowed at Betty, the closest victim with which to vent his fear.

"That's what I'd like to know," came the firm voice of a curly, gray-headed man. "That's my son in there."

"Dad?" Garett questioned, stepping out from behind Simon Banks imposing frame.

Brandon Matthews did a double-take. Bewildered, he looked at Garett, then at the closed door to what he thought was his son's room and then back to Garett. "Son?" he asked.

As Garett launched himself at his father, the older Matthews's arms came up to embrace his son. "Will someone please tell me what's going on around here?" he pleaded.

"Not until we get some answers of our own," Ellison growled. "I thought Sandburg's injuries weren't life threatening, so why did he code?"

"I don't know," Betty spoke up equally confused by the sudden appearance of a twin to the man she thought was Garett Matthews. " I came to see how he was doing when he just suddenly went into convulsions."

"And you are, Ma'am?" Banks asked.

"Betty, Betty Jones," she supplied. "I run the Salvation Army mission over on Haven Street."

"She's the one who found my... ‘er your friend," Brandon offered.

"And we're most grateful for that, Ms. Jones," Simon told her, "but that still doesn't explain what happened here."

The faint whiff of a familiar odor tickled Ellison's nostrils. He stopped pacing long enough to catalog and identify it.... Zeller's smoker's gum. With a sense of urgency he turned to Betty. "Was there anyone in the room with Sandburg when you arrived?" he asked.

"Yes," Betty replied, "a doctor was with him." She frowned. "But when your friend went into convulsions, instead of helping him the doctor pushed past me and took off down the hall."

"Jim, what is it?" Banks prompted, seeing the detective's alarm.

"It's Zeller," Ellison replied with certainty.

"Klaus Zeller?" Banks asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "You're sure?"

Jim nodded. "I recognize the scent of his smoker's gum."

"You stay here with Sandburg," Banks told him. "I'm going to contact hospital security."

"He's probably long gone Simon," Ellison commented. His primary focus intent on the closed door to Sandburg's room.

"Better safe than sorry," Banks replied. "Zeller's already tried to kill Sandburg once thinking he was Matthews. We've got to catch this bastard before he tries again. What I want to know is how in the Hell he got out of prison and why we weren't notified." Pausing, he placed a comforting hand on Ellison's shoulder. "He's going to be all right Jim. You have to believe that."

"You're right, sir, I do, because the alternative would be unbearable."

With a final squeeze of reassurance, Simon left to contact security and to

arrange for around the clock protection for Sandburg."

"I don't understand what's going on," Brandon Matthews confessed, as he looked down with concern into the battered face of his beloved son.

Unable to meet his father's gaze, Garett nervously ran a hand through his long, chestnut curls. "I screwed up, Pop. Big time," he finally admitted.

Brandon took his son's chin in hand, gently forcing it upward until their eyes met. "No matter what, son, I will always love you. You know that, don't you?"

Choked with emotion, Garett nodded. His blue eyes filling with tears.

Mindful of his injuries, Brandon carefully steered his son away from the others and into a nearby waiting room.

Jim displayed his badge. "I'm Detective Ellison with the Cascade P.D.," he said, interrupting the doctor's musings, "and we have reason to believe that an attempt was just made on my partner's life."

"Your partner?" Cullen questioned. "I thought he was an actor."

Garett and his father chose that moment to rejoin the others and the doctor's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Ellison grimaced. "It's a long story, Doc, but the young man in that room is my partner, Blair Sandburg."

"It's uncanny," the doctor replied, still astounded by the resemblance.

"As I was saying," Jim continued, "I believe that an attempt was just made on my partner's life. I'll need to examine the room."

"Yes, of course. I'm terribly sorry that this happened, Detective. You can rest assured that more stringent precautions will be taken in the future."

"You bet your ass they will," Ellison snarled before striding into Sandburg's room.

If he saw the picture of Matthews on the news, then Ellison and Banks surely had as well. That's probably why they were at the hospital now. They didn't seem to be in any particular hurry so the code blue was not suspect at this time. He spit out the gum he had in his mouth and reached in his pocket to pop another one in. It was then he noticed the black and white dog coming out of the bushes curiously sniffing him. He made a gesture as to kick the dog and gave a satisfied smile when the dog retreated back into the bushes.

The dog could smell the one she waited for on this man. She didn't like the smell he emitted. He was bad, but she was drawn by the smell of the other, the one she liked. She approached him slowly and extended her nostrils to include everything about the man. No, she definitely didn't like him. Then as the leg started coming her way, she cringed back and returned to her place in the shadows...waiting. Her atavistic senses cataloging the smells of this man for future reference.

When Blair opened his eyes, he was momentarily disoriented. His mind suddenly became an active volcano of images, ideas, and memories. He couldn't put them into any chronological order and the whole mess didn't seem to coalesce into any solid shape or form that he could deal with. Moaning softly, he shook his head, willing his racing mind to relax and seek order.

"Hey, it's okay, Chief, you're in a hospital. You're going to be okay."

The voice was one he recognized. "Jim," he said with a soft release of hope. It was Jim. He slowly grasped onto that one clear, bright, and shining thought: Jim was here. Everything was going to be all right.

Simon sat with Mr. Matthews and Garett. He listened as Garett relayed to his distraught father what he knew of his involvement in the sordid mess. Mr. Matthews kept a protective and encouraging hand on his son's knee. Simon hoped Darryl put as much faith in him as Garett seemed to place in his Dad.

"Well, Mr. Matthews, I'm sorry, but Garett is going to have to be placed in protective custody until we can sort this matter out. This is beginning to sound more and more like a set-up to incriminate Mr. Sandburg, but the resemblance is too uncanny and your son's life could be in danger. This attempt on Mr. Sandburg's life was surely a case of mistaken identity and your son was the intended victim."

"Oh, Captain, I understand completely. Believe me, I'll rest easier if I know my son is in police protection." Mr. Matthews said as he rose and shook Simon's hand. Garett remained seated with a dejected look on his face.

Mr. Matthews turned to his son and put both hands on his shoulders. Garett looked up and tried to smile, but failed miserably.

"You're going to be all right. You need to help these gentlemen as much as you can. I'll be here for you, son. I won't be far. Just trust me, okay?"

Garett rose and threw himself into his father's arms.

Simon walked away and looking out the window, pretended to peruse the parking lot for some unknown visitor. He could see the tender exchange between father and son in the obfuscated world of glass, where hospitals at night often trapped scenes of desperation and loss.

"Welcome back, Chief," Jim said as he grabbed the hand that started pulling at the bed clothes. "Do you know where you are?"

"In relationship to what, Jim? The planets or the loft? Is this a test of my navigational skills again?"

"Keep up those smart comments, Sandburg, I'll take away your maps and you'll never find your way back to the loft," Jim said, with a serious scowl on his face that never quite reached his eyes.

Blair grinned at him. He raised his right hand that sported a white hospital band. "Too late, Jim, I'm wearing an id tag. Someone will bring me home."

Jim swatted his head lightly with a playful hand. "I knew once I started feeding you, I'd never be able to get rid of you."

All of a sudden Blair's face creased into a worried frown. "Jim, the dog, where's my dog?"

Jim stood up immediately, worried that Sandburg had relapsed into the temporary amnesia the doctor said he suffered from after the blows to his head. "Chief, you don't have a dog."

"I know, I know, but there was this black and white dog that found me in the park, I named her Lola...Jim, she helped me. I need to find her...I....," he started to rise from the bed.

Two strong hands firmly, but gently, pushed him back against the pillows. "Whoa. You're not going anywhere, buddy. I'll call animal control, the Humane Society, I'll find her. Did she have an id tag?"

"I don't remember, just a black patch over one eye and a blaze down her nose. Please, Jim, just find her."

At that instant Simon walked in. "Jim, Rafe's here to take the first watch on the kid's room. Hey, Sandburg, how's it going?" Banks now directed his attention at the young man lying in bed.

"Fine, Simon, a little worn from use, but patchable I'm told." Blair smiled.

"Did you tell Sandburg what we suspect is going on around here?" Simon asked Jim.

"What? Tell me! Come on, man! Simon? Jim?" Blair started to get anxious as he saw the hesitation on Jim's face and Simon refused to meet his gaze, his sole intent on Jim's concurrence with any revelations that were going to be made in this room right now.

"Man," Blair said as he pounded his fist on the blanket, "this is like so unfair, Jim. I have a right to know. I've been brutalized, accused of robbery, and someone tried to kill me from what I've garnered from my semi-conscious state. You have the gall to stand there and make decisions for me about what I should and shouldn't know." He picked up his empty plastic water cup and threw it at Jim in a frustrated rage.

"Jim, you'd better tell the kid before they bring him his dinner tray," Simon said with a smile.

Ellison concluded the story to the best of his ability. When Jim told him about the look-alike, Blair remembered the scene in front of the loft. He swallowed a bitter pill of jealousy at the mention of this Garett Matthews, but tried not to let it show in his eyes.

Simon stood by, quietly observing the exchange. Anyone with half a mind could see how jealous the kid was of the actor. Every time Jim mentioned his name, Blair's hand tightened on the blanket he was toying with. Sometimes Ellison could be so pigheaded and insensitive.

"Blair, I think you should meet Garett. He's a nice kid. From what we can garner from his story he was a pawn, like you, in a game of revenge," Simon offered. He was sure that once Blair met Garett he wouldn't see him as a threat to his relationship with Jim.

Blair nodded his head. Simon walked out and came back moments later with the crestfallen, nervous actor.

Both men eyed each other with an indefinable awe. The likeness was unbelievable, even down to the habit both men had of pushing their hair away from their face.

Blair was the first to break the ice. "Hey, I've heard of doppleganger's, but I'd best ask my Mom if I was a twin."

Garett seemed to accept this as some secret handshake, he smiled back and approached the bed. "No way, my mom and dad would have stopped having children if there had been two of me. My mom often says I was quite the handful when I was little."

After a short time of letting the two key players in the drama get to know each other a little better, Jim, Simon, and Garett left the hospital with Rafe standing watch outside of Sandburg's room. He was scheduled for release tomorrow morning if his vitals checked out. Jim wasn't too keen on leaving him, with Zeller still out there, but Simon had pulled rank. Brown had volunteered to keep Rafe company and Jim had to admit both men would guard Sandburg with their lives.

As they approached the car, a small black and white dog came cautiously up to Garett. He turned and instinctually hunkered down to pet it. "Hey there, where'd you come from?"

Jim turned and realized this must be the black and white dog Blair was so concerned about. The markings were just as Sandburg had said. She must have recognized Blair's scent on Garett, or maybe some basic chemistry in the look- alikes also reflected in their scent. Jim's senses were not that finely honed to match that of a dog's.

"Sandburg mentioned a dog helping him in the park. He wanted me to look for her. This might be his Lola."

Garett looked up with the exact same puppy dog eyes Sandburg had down to an art form. "Can we bring her, please?"

It was Simon's car, so Jim looked at him for affirmation. "Oh, all right, but if she gets the backseat dirty, you're cleaning it," he said to Garett, but his eyes quickly pulled his best detective into the directive.

When they had come back to the loft, Simon had decided to spend the night. Jim told him to take the bed in the other room. Garett kind of got the idea that was Sandburg's room and Jim didn't want him in there. He could understand that. He doubted his Dad would want to put an exact duplicate in his old room at home either.

Knowing that Sandburg was due to be released today, he felt he had better get up and make himself useful. The least he could do was fix breakfast for his two bodyguards.

He dressed quickly and tied a rope around Lola's neck. Ellison had said to leash her when she went outside, he didn't want any violations with the residency board. Quietly he left the loft.

Jim heard the front door close. Where the hell was the kid going? Then he heard the soft pad of paws and remembered Lola; her needs had to be addressed. He focused his hearing intently on the pair as they made their way down the stairs. Then a loud horn blasted not too far off in the distance. For a brief moment he almost zoned. When his hearing returned he heard a short conversation coming from downstairs on the street.

"I have your dad. Put the dog inside the building and get in."

Jim knew it was Zeller. He quickly grabbed his gun and ran down the stairs in his boxers yelling to Simon, "Simon! It's Zeller. He's got Garett."

Both boxer-clad men were down the stairs in a matter of minutes, when they came to the bottom step Lola sat at the door whining and shaking her bottom on the tiled flooring anxious to be let out. She wanted her friend.

Simon, Jim, and Lola all raced out into the street in time to see a black BMW round the corner. Jim had no time to focus on the license plate. Lola looked up at him with big, soulful eyes. God, now there's three of them with that look.

He opened it slowly wondering if that night nurse with the cute dimple had left him her phone number. His face paled in the morning warmth when he read:

He hated doing this, but an innocent woman's life was at stake. Going over to the door of his room, he pulled it open and peered into the hall. Rafe was alone sitting in a chair eyeing all the nurses as they went by on their morning rounds.

"Hey, Rafe, where's Brown?" Blair asked.

"He went down for some coffee? How're you doing, Blair?"

"I'm fine, I just have a stuck faucet here and I can't manage it with this broken wrist. It might just need oiling, but could you turn it on for me?"

"Sure, kid, no problem." Rafe entered the room and proceeded into the bathroom. Blair closed the door slowly, while Rafe was eyeing the offending fixture. He quickly moved the chair in place. It would buy him a few minutes at least.

He heard Rafe's angry cry as he rounded the corner of his room and took off at full tilt towards the exit sign in the stairwell. Jim was going to kill him, but he liked Amber. She deserved a second chance and he would not allow her to be killed in a vengeful game aimed at him and Jim.

When he broke the last barrier to freedom and met the brightness of day, he squinted his eyes and spotted the red truck. He ran to it. As he reached up to open the door, he saw Amber sitting behind the steering wheel.

"Amber, thank God, you're all right?" Blair said, as he stood looking in.

Then Amber was pointing a gun directly at him. "Get in, Blair. If I have to, I will shoot you."

Blair's face fell, but he did as he was told.

"Amber, you're working with Zeller?"

"The grants didn't help all that much, Blair. Rome called, too. Zeller contacted me and had easier ways of making a living. Ways that wouldn't put me back on the streets selling my body. He just wanted this little revenge first. I'm sorry, but I don't owe any man anything. Not even you."

Blair sat there stunned. He laid his head back against the headrest and knew that he had once again been fooled by a pretty face.

"Captain, I'm sorry, he locked me in the bathroom. I found a note on his tray. Zeller says he has Amber and Blair was to get in a red truck out front. Thank God, Blair left the note," Rafe said in an apologetic and fearful voice.

"WHAT!!! You find him. I want an all points bulletin alert out: All black BMW's and red trucks with two people are to be stopped." He turned to Jim. "Sandburg deliberately gave Rafe the slip. What the hell is going on, Jim?"

Ellison and Banks both dressed as quickly as possible. Simon was going to close the door on the sad-eyed dog, but as he bent to take off the rope around her neck, Jim said, "No, let's take her. She might help us. My senses still can't come close to hers and she seems to have a bond with both Garett and Blair." As they left the apartment and headed towards the truck, Lola stopped by the curb and wouldn't budge for Simon. He pulled and tugged on her lead, but she whimpered and sat at the curb looking puppy-dog sad eyes up a Jim.

Ellison came back and hunkered down near the dog. She got up off her haunches and started sniffing the ground where moments earlier the BMW's tires had rested. Jim saw it then, the mud and goo left by the tire tracks when the BMW had sped off, burning rubber and leaving residue.

Jim ran his fingers over the markings and put them to his nose. He smelled bird droppings, fish scales, and he could feel the fine fragments of sand particles, and he smelled oil, the kind used on the freight vessels. "The waterfront. That's our only hope. Zeller must have taken them to the docks. Let's go." Jim quickly ruffled the dog's coat in a gesture of gratitude and all three raced towards the truck.

When Blair woke up, his head was killing him. He could still smell the vague remnants of the chloroform Amber had placed over his nose just after they had stopped at the wharf. It was dark, so dark in fact that he could barely see his hand in front of him. It was cold, too, terribly cold and dank. He stretched his legs and kicked something soft in front of him. Then he heard the low moan.

Blair crawled over to the form in front of him. He realized it was a man. Then he felt the hair and realized it was Garett.

"Hey, Garett, it's me, Blair. Are you all right?"

"Oh, my head."

Blair reached his hand behind Garett's head, where the young man was probing with his fingers. A small nodule was increasing in size as they touched it. Blair was now thankful for the chloroform Amber had used.

Sandburg started feeling his way around the small enclosure. They seemed to be in some sort of metal container, a storage container for transporting cargo in a freight ship.

"Hey, man, we've got to get out of here."

The twin captives started yelling and screaming and banging on the metal container, but the echo of the loud reverberations only came back at them increasing their discomfort. After thirty minutes they realized they were quite alone. Both men sank back in the darkness, shoulders touching, seeking warm and comfort from each other.

Simon called in all available personnel and he even called in a few favors with some of his friends in the Coast Guard to search every square inch of the area. "Are you picking up anything, Jim?" Simon asked. He was growing nervous and wanted badly to light the cigar that was in his jacket pocket, but he didn't want to add to the multitude of smells that Jim was trying to sort his way through as he searched for anything that would lead him to his friend.

"Nothing, Captain. Any word when the helicopter will be here? We'll have more luck spotting the truck and car from the air."

"ETA is 20 to 30 minutes. They are assisting with a wreck on the interstate," Simon answered.

Jim's jaw clenched, he was worried that they may be to late, but he also knew that there were other people's lives at stake in the city and couldn't begrudge the other citizens the use of the life-saving equipment that the helicopter held.

Although their eyes had adjusted to the darkness they were still unable to make out anything inside the container. Taking a deep breath, Blair slowly dragged himself into a standing position.

"What are you doing, man?" Garett asked.

Blair could here the pain and confusion in Garret's voice and knew the man was most likely suffering from a concussion.

"Well, yelling didn't work, so I thought I'd ‘look' around....someone put us in here, there has got to be a way out." Reaching out his right arm Blair felt for the wall. Slowly he walked alongside it feeling for a crack where the door was. Halfway across the container he felt heat....nothing intense, but a slight warming of the air. Blair extended his left arm and took a cautious step towards the warmth. His hand brushed against metal...smooth metal, not the kind the walls of the container were made of. It only took a moment for his mind to register that he may touching the side of a truck.

"Garett, get over here," Blair called.

"What.? What is it?" Garett asked, as he slowly and clumsily made his was toward the voice.

"I think we just found our way out of here, " Blair said as he tried to open the door. Finding it locked he made his way to the other side, only to find that door locked as well. Making his way back the way he came, Blair brushed against Garett, his hand touching the cool leather jacket the other man was wearing....his jacket. Jealousy flared, but was replaced by a plan. "Take off the jacket."

"What? Oh man. I'm really sorry, it was cold and Ellison let me use it," Garret began to apologize.

"I'm not mad," Blair lied, "I just need the jacket." Once the jacket was secured around his hand and arm, Blair sent a silent prayer and slammed his fist through the window of the driver's side door. He swallowed a scream of pain as his fist registered the blow. After clearing away the glass he dropped the jacket and felt across the dashboard for the headlight switch. The container was filled with light, their joy only lasted a second when he saw Amber's body lying across the truck seat in a pool of blood.

Oh, Amber, how could you be so dumb? Remembering Jim's speech about not allowing your feelings to get in the way of your job, Blair pushed his grief aside, he had a job to do. Somewhere in the corner of his mind he registered the sound of Garett as he knelt in the corner and wretched. It took all his resolve not to do the same as he removed Amber's body from the truck and placed her on the cold floor of the container. His eyes were filled with tears as he placed the jacket over her face and turned his complete attention back to the truck.

Jim scanned the waterfront from the air. Simon sat beside him doing his best to keep Ellison from zoning. It was on their second pass that Ellison spotted the black BMW.

"Simon," was all Jim had to say, the captain could see the car, as well.

"John, take her down as close as possible." Simon told the pilot then called in the location to the rest of the team.

Jim was free of the helicopter as soon as it touched the ground. Running full tilt toward the car, all thoughts of caution were gone. The dog, that had ridden quietly along with them in the helicopter, rushed after him.

The car was empty. Using his sight Jim scanned the area. He was about to give up when he saw Zeller coming out of a building 100 yards away. It was obvious that Zeller had once again altered his appearance, but no amount of plastic surgery could disguise the cold cruelty in Zeller's eyes.

Zeller was so confident in himself that he never knew what hit him. Startled, he found himself pinned up against the side of the building staring into the face of the man he had sworn revenge on.

"Where are they?" Jim spat.

Zeller smiled coldly. If it was his fate to spend his life behind bars at least he would have the satisfaction of being present when Ellison's *Little Friend* died.

Zeller's eyes darted to the container across the freight yard at the same time it began to rise up off the ground. "You're too late, Ellison."

Jim's eyes followed Zeller's line of sight. His stomach clenched as understanding dawned. There was no ship in sight, only water. Zeller's plan was to sink the container in the water, the heavy metal ensuring that the bodies would have never been found.

"Even if you kill me, if you just shoot me now, you'd never be able to make it in time to save you friend."

Jim's finger tightened on the trigger as he pushed the gun he held into Zeller's chest . It was the sound of ripping metal that kept Jim from doing just that.

From Simon's point of view it was hard to tell whose jaw dropped the lowest, Ellison's, or Zeller's, as the two men watched the red truck rip its way out of the container, that now hung almost fifteen feet in the air.

He saw Garett standing at the passenger side door and leaned across to unlock the door.

Garett slid inside, being careful to avoid the blood as much as possible.

"No keys," Garett stated.

"Nope," Blair said, as he reached under the dash and pulled down a bundle of wires.

"What are you doing?" Garret asked, watching in amazement.

Blair shot the man a look that said 'You have got to be kidding,' before he spoke. "Hot-wiring." There was a spark as the wires connected and suddenly the truck roared to life. The two men were so relieved that the truck had actually started that it took a few moments for them to realize that the container had begun to move.

"Put your seat belt on and hang on...." Blair yelled, giving the other man a few minutes to comply before he threw the truck into drive and slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The tires screamed as they fought for traction, then the truck rushed forward.

Blair's ears were filled with the sound of screaming metal as the truck broke free of the metal container.

Garett had only agreed to come after he had been assured that his dad had spent the night safe and sound in a safe house, and that he would be brought to the hospital soon.

Jim hesitated a moment when he entered the room. It hit him again how much these two men looked alike, the resemblance was even stronger as both men were now dressed in blue hospital gowns. Jim listened for a second, hearing the familiar heart beat, then he smiled and stepped over to his roommate's bed.

Ellison studied his partner for a moment, looking over the various cuts and bruises on the young man's face. He tried tilting Blair's head up for a better look, instantly receiving a swat for his attempt at mother henning the young man.

Garett chuckled a bit at the antics. "I don't envy you, Blair," he laughed, just as his father walked into the room. Brandon immediately began doing the same thing as Jim had done to Blair. "Come on, pop. I'm fine," the young man whined under his father's intense scrutiny.

For the first time since this whole ordeal started, Jim studied the older man closely. Geez, he could be a double for Brother Marcus. This is just too weird.

Brandon looked at Jim. "What are we going to do with these two?" The tone in his voice was that of exasperation, but fatherly pride shown clearly in his eyes.

The question shook Jim out of his thoughts of the monk. He smiled evilly before answering. "Handcuffing them to their beds comes to mind, but knowing Blair and how he's a magnet for trouble, the building would probably fall in around him."

Blair rolled his eyes and then huffed, "Geez, Jim, I'm not that bad."

"Are too, you little mischief magnet."

Blair's eyes widened, while trying to hide a smile caused by the new nickname. "Am not." He took another swing at the older man which Jim easily sidestepped.

Brandon and Garett were laughing now at the brotherly teasing and the look of mock annoyance on Blair's face.

Garett held his injured ribs and laughed. "Oh man...guys, please!!! I'm hurting here."

At that moment Doctor Cullen walked in and looked at his two patients. He shook his head. "Somewhere in your family trees there must have been a cat. You young men most definitely have nine lives."

"When can we get out of here?" the twins asked in unison, then looked at each other and grinned.

Ellison spoke first. "I'm sure they'll want to keep you for observation." At least I hope. Jim threw the doctor a hopeful glance. Sandburg needed to rest, which he would refuse to do at the loft.

"Quite the contrary," Dr. Cullen spoke up. "I think they can leave, today. They've been driving the nurses crazy and considering they have half of the nursing staff's phone numbers, I think they are well on the road to recovery."

"Only half?" Blair looked hurt, "and I've been working so hard."

"Me, too," Garett added. "Maybe we could compare notes." An evil gleam filled Garett's blue eyes, while Blair wiggled his brows.

"These two should definitely be kept apart," Brandon stated, watching the two.

Blair looked over at Garett, who was trying to sit up. "So, when will you be going back to L.A.?"

Before Garett had a chance to answer, his dad spoke. "He's not."

Garett looked a bit confused.

"He'll be staying with me while he recuperates. We'll be going back to my house in a few days."

"Great!" Blair exclaimed. "That'll give us some time to get to know one another better." He was practically bouncing, as was Garett.

The similarities run deeper than just their features, Jim mused, watching as the young men chatted excitedly.

"Why don't you lads get dressed while I get your release forms in order." The doctor then addressed Jim and Brandon. "Gentlemen, I would like to discuss your charges medications and give you instructions to assure their speedy recover." Dr. Cullen left the room with Ellison and Brandon following close behind.

Jim heard Blair and Garett making plans as the door closed behind him.

"So Garett, how do you feel about Chinese?"

"I love it. I know this great recipe........"

As Blair stepped through the doors he was greeted by a friendly face and a bounty of warm wet kisses.

"Lola!" He quickly dropped to his knees and began loving the dog. "Garett, this is Lola. She practically saved my life."

Garett joined Blair. "Yeah we've already met. Looks like you've already adopted her," Garett stated, watching the love that passed between the young man and the stray.

"Truth be told, I think *she* adopted *me*." Blair laughed. "She really stuck with me when I need someone."

The two young men stood up and Lola sat in between them.

"Hey, Jim," Blair began.

Here it comes, Jim thought. He wants the pooch. Well, at least it's not a psycho ape, hooked on violent movies. "Yeah?"

"Can we keep her?" Blair practically begged, without embarrassing himself. His puppy dog eyes were at their best.

"I don't know, Chief. I mean, is she even housebroken?" Jim looked doubtfully at the dog. That's all I need. Two roommates in need of housebreaking.

Lola barked as if she knew what he was thinking.

Garett patted her head, while longingly watching her. This was the dog he had always dreamed of.

Then Blair had an idea. "Let's let Lola decide. Okay?"

Jim shrugged. "Sure, why not." I didn't have much of a say so about you coming to live with me, now did I kid.....not that I would ever change anything. Jim smiled at the thought as he watched Blair with the dog.

Blair knelt down to Lola's level. "Hey girl. How about it? Do you want to come and live with me and Jim and be spoiled for the rest of your life?"

Jim cleared his throat. "No coaxing, Chief."

Blair grinned sheepishly, then turned back to Lola. "Or do you want to stay the great protector of the city park, leading poor lost souls to help?"

Jim could have sworn he saw the dog actually giving it some thought. Lola looked at Blair then she went to Garett, who was now kneeling, too. She looked deep into his eyes, as if searching his soul. Then she looked at Jim. The older man saw a flash of wisdom in the dog's big, brown eyes, as Lola made her decision.

Slowly she padded over to Jim and took his hand in her mouth, leading him over to Sandburg. Blair looked a bit confused at the dog's actions. Then she gave Blair a kiss and went over to Garett. Kissing him as well, she then sat down in front of him. Lola lifted her paw and placed it on his knee, and then barked. Her choice had been made.

Blair was overcome by sadness and a sense of loss, but the look on Garett's face quickly washed the feeling away. "Looks like you've got yourself a dog, Garett.

"I've never had a dog before. What do I do?" He looked at the dog in amazement.

"Feed and walk her, but most importantly, love her. She's a great dog and she'll be a good friend." Blair reached out and stroked the dog lovingly.

Garett was beaming when he looked up at his dad. "Dad? Would you mind another guest?"

Seeing the love and awe in his son's eyes, Brandon didn't have the heart to say no. "Sure, I think she'll fit right in. Lola and I have gotten to know each other pretty well over the last few days, haven't we girl?"

Lola barked.

"Do you guys want to come over to the loft?" Jim asked. "We can order something for lunch."

"Chinese!" The two young men shouted in unison. Grinning again, at each other, for their timing.

Jim looked at Brandon and the older man nodded. "Chinese it is. Come on, Chief."

"We'll follow you," Brandon told Jim. "Come on, son. The car's over here." He gestured to the white Ford Taurus, then wrapped a protective arm around his son's shoulder.

"Come on, Lola." Garett called over his shoulder.

Lola wagged her tail happily as she followed the two men to the car.

Garett held open the back door until Lola was safely inside. After shutting it, he climbed into the front seat next to his father.

"Oh, I meant to tell you. Your agent has been trying to reach you about a part."

"Yeah, I know about it already. He's been trying to get me to read for it, but they film in Vancouver. It's always raining there. I'm not sure I want to leave LA."

"What's the part for?" His father inquired, hoping it would be a good break for his son.

"Something about a cop with heightened senses or something. I think it's suppose to be one of those buddy-buddy cop shows. That's all I really know."

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to think about it. Maybe you'll have made your decision by the time we go to your sister's wedding."

"Yeah...maybe." Garett suddenly laughed when Lola licked his ear. "Who knows, maybe I can get Lola on T.V. too!"

Both men laughed as Lola barked her agreement.

"Lola?"

Blair nodded, still looking through the window. "I mean, she doesn't even know him."

Jim thought about what he had witnessed earlier. "This may sound a little strange, but I think she sensed that he needed her. After all, we have each other and Garett lives alone. I guess she sensed his loneliness. I think she knew that, no matter what, you had someone to come home to, someone to talk to, but most importantly, someone who cares about you." Jim noticed a blush spread across Blair's face. "I think she wanted Garett to have those same things."

"I guess you're right. She is a smart dog." Blair smiled with pride. "And it didn't sound strange. I think it made perfect sense. Garett's really lucky to be getting her."

Jim reached over and ruffled Sandburg's hair, then letting his hand fall to Blair's shoulder, he gently squeezed it. "I'd say we're all pretty lucky to have each other, Chief."

The End.

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