Blair sat listening to the rythmic beeps of the random machines connected to his partner, studying Jim's face as he slept off the last of the medication. The relief at seeing the older man back where he belonged, alive, was so great it brought tears to the Blair's eyes even as he sat there.

The sentinel would be fine, the doctor had assured him. It was a combination of blood-loss and hunger that had made him collapse at the cabin, and they'd pumped blood and fluids into him before and after the surgery to remove a bullet from his calf and seal up all his holes. He would be up and out of there in no time, with just a couple more scars to remember this little adventure with.

Blair had his own scars, but they went deeper than Jim's, and he wished his partner would wake up so he could talk about them.

How was that for selfish? Wanting jim to wake up from his own two-day ordeal so Blair could pour his heart out.

He leaned over and studied the face he knew so well more closely. Yes, he still knew every line, every feature. Not that he thought two days would change all that, it just felt good for him to reassure himself.

And then the eyelids started to open heavily, and a deep groan emerged from the back of Jim's throat.

"Jim?" Blair leaned over him. "Jim? Come on, man, wake up."

"...Blair?" The eyes opened a crack and looked, then shut again.

"Hey, Jim." Blair greeted in a whisper, smiling slightly.

"Chief," His eyes opened again, and stayed open. "Ugh. I feel like crap."

"I'll bet." Blair replied. "You're going to be fine, Jim.

Jim stared up, letting his vision focus on the face he knew so well. "How are you, Chief?"

Blair's smile grew slightly. "Me? I'm fine?"

But Jim knew when his partner was lying- he didn't even have the senses tuned in to hear the increase in heartbeat. He could tell Blair was lying from the tears that pooled in the younger man's eyes, and the stricken look he still had, under the smile. "You sure?"

Blair nodded, then paused. "No, not really. But it's not the time for that, Jim. You just rest, get better fast. The loft is too quiet when you're not there yelling about house rules."

Jim grinned weakly. "Don't get sappy, kid. You'll miss the quiet soon enough."

"Me? Miss the quiet? Never." Blair grinned, but it didn't meet his eyes.

Jim sat up slowly, feeling a sluggishness in his muscles that came from being drugged, but no other great pain. He settled back and stared pointedly. "Alright, Chief, give. What's wrong?"

"What makes you think-"

"Blair."

"Not now, Jim. There's plenty of time to talk later. You've been through a lot the last few days."

"Won't argue there." And Jim suddenly sat up straighter. "Angela! Where is she? Is she alright?"

Blair paled. "Umm, let's not talk about that now."

Jim saw his expression and felt a sudden, deep ache forming in his chest. "Blair, what is it? Where is she?"

"She..." Blair swallowed. "Jim, she didn't make it."

"What?" Jim looked at him as though he'd been speaking a foreign language.

"She was shot," Blair reported dully, hiding his own emotions. "When Simon came through the door of that cabin. Steve Varnes got off a shot." His eyes grew unnaturally bright, and a tear escaped down his cheek. "He got her in the head, man. She never had a chance."

"No," Jim said quietly, dully. A fist reached in to his body and wrapped around his heart, and was squeezing the breath out of him. Angela...she couldn't be...no, she couldn't. They were going to be happy. They had talked it all out. She loved him, he loved her. This must be Blair's idea of some sick joke.

In the silence that had fallen, Blair ducked his head, missing the stricken look that was growing on Jim's face. "It's hard for me, man. I know you weren't that close to her, but she was a really good friend. I liked her." His voice caught, but he got it under control. "I just don't know why innocent people have to keep getting caught in all this, you know? Why her? She was so..."

Jim heard the words from a great distance, and the look of pain on his guide's face was the only thing that caused his reeling thoughts to focus on what was being said.

"I liked her. I mean, we were friends, but you never know. I'll never know what...what could have been."

What could have been. The words ran through Jim's mind, and he felt himself growing sick at the thought. How could he tell Blair that what could have been, would have been, but with Jim?

Blair ran a hand over his eyes and glanced up at Jim. He saw the look on the older man's face and was surprised. "Jim? Are you..."

Jim had to fight with every ounce of strength he could find to wipe the emotions of his face. Blair...the kid always took things like this so hard. He had been fond of Angela, and he took the loss of friends hard. He knew he should comfort his guide. "I'm sorry, Blair. We...we talked a lot while those bastards had us locked up. She was a good person," he spoke carefully, dully.

Blair nodded, but studied him, unable even in his own grief to accept Jim's explanation at face value when the sentinel's eyes told such a different story. "Jim, talk to me."

Jim couldn't meet his eyes. "She was..." He paused. He felt the pain bubbling up inside of him, a great emptiness. He tried again. "She...she was..." Happiness. She was happiness, more than he had felt in a long time. She was a ray of light in his dark world, illuminating his lonely soul, showing him, showing them both, that love did exist, and everyone deserved to own their share. And that was gone now, all of it. Please, dear God in heaven, let this be a nightmare.

But no. He wouldn't say that. This grief belonged to Blair. Blair would need Jim. He didn't know about her and Jim....and he didn't have to. Jim would...well, for the first time in a long time, he would deal with this on his own.

So he met the eyes of his friend and took a deep breath. "She was a friend. I'm sorry for you."

He wanted to crawl under the thin hospital covers and sob like he hadn't since he was a child. He wanted to find Steven Varnes and put a bullet through the man who had ended her life. He wanted to see her one more time, to grab her and hold her as he had only gotten to briefly in life, to yell at her for dying, to beg her to take him with her. He wanted to scream to the heavens, to ask why she had been brought to him, why he'd been shown happiness, just to have it taken away again.

But he put an arm around the shoulder of his sensitive best friend, the brother of his soul, who would get him through this somehow, without even knowing it, and comforted him as he cried.

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