Funny, Blair couldn't remember a mountain falling on him....

Consciousness creapt up on him slowly, and he became aware of little things bit by bit. First and most noticable- his head hurt. No, the back of his thread throbbed with every beat of his heart with sickening pain. Yeah, that was more like it. Second, his hands were tied behind his back. Huh. Not the most comfortable way to wake up, surely, but also not fairly uncommon. Not for Blair Sandburg. Not anymore. Third, he was on a floor, a hard, cold, concrete-feeling floor. Dirty, if he were to go by past experience. And if he were to open his eyes he knew he would find four walls closed in on him, one door he couldn't find a way out of, and not a clue where he was or what was happening.

Alright, time to put things into perspective, Sandburg. Last thing you remember- ummm, waking up that morning. Jim leaving for the station. Angela giving him a wicked massage....after that it got fuzzy.

Alright, forget the memories...so to speak. Take stock of present situation.

Oh. That meant he had to open his eyes.

Reluctantly, Blair swung his heavy eyelids open, regretting it- as he knew he would- when the dim light in the room he was in jabbed in through his eyes and directly into his brain. He blinked against the fresh pain as his eyes slowly adjusted to the light. With as little head movement as possible, he took in his surroundings to confirm his thoughts. Yep, small room, no noticable features. One door, no obvious way out.

Maybe he'd be lucky and it wouldn't be locked. Yeah.

Alright, so his memories were vague and his situation was uncertain.

Deja vu.

Blair knew what came next- movement. He couldn't just lay there sprawled whereever it was he was sprawled until someone came to fill him in on the next course of events. He'd have to move.

He lifted his head off the ground, and his thoughts broke off, spinning away, a rush of vacuum-like air whirling around in their place. He shut his eyes briefly and rode the wave until it subsided, and he tried to sit up.

Big mistake. The air in his head seemed to be suddenly replaced by sickening pumps of blood, throbbing so hard he felt nauseus.

In the silence that filled the room, his ragged breathing was the only thing ridding the little cell of it's tomb-like quality. Until the silence was broken by the sound of a rusty hunge. The door, the door was openning.

Reacting out of fear and defense, Blair tried to jerk himself into a sitting position, so he could at least face whoever it was coming in.

Another mistake. After only being able to make out the dark outline of a person's body, Blair's world once again went black.

Jim hadn't left the station the next afternoon when Angela strolled in. He was pouring over files, comparing the few known accomplices in Morgan McCullough's life as a petty thief, and all McCullough's other friends and relatives, with scetches that had been made of Angela's descriptions of her attackers. So far, they had a few could-be's, but not enough for Jim to actually make some arrests on.

"That's not one of them," a voice came over his shoulder.

He looked up to see Angela standing there, gazing down at the pictures spread around his desk. she was studying the one he held in his hand, shaking her head.

"Angela. What are you doing here? The doctors released you already?"

"Not really," she shrugged. "They wanted me to stay for observation, but I didn't really see a need." She spoke lightly. "Besides, you need my help."

"Are you feeling up to it?" Jim would have pressed the issue of her leaving the hospital more if Blair's life wasn't at stake.

"I'm okay,"

He studied her carefully. She was a little paler than normal, but her heartbeat was steady, and she stayed on her feet easily. But there had been so much blood...

"It was just a flesh wound, Jim." She grinned crookedly. "I've always wanted to say that. Flesh wound," she giggled, perching herself on the corned of his desk to sort through the mass of pictures.

"Alright," he agreed finally, smiling a little himself. "Let's do this. I've got a few pictures that match your descriptions, we just need your confirmation if any of them are the guys we're looking for." He handed her a short stack of mug shots and watched her reactions as she studied each one.

"No. No, no, no." Her heart rate jumped suddenly. "Bingo. But this won't help you much." She handed him pack one of the pictures.

He looked at the cockily-smiling face and suddenly placed the dead, staring eyes he had seen on their staircase the day before. "Uh. I didn't even recognize the guy."

Angela lowered the other pictures, looking at the one he held, her expression unreadable. "What was his name?" she asked suddenly.

"His name? Why? Do you know the guy?"

"No, I killed the guy," she retorted, her face losing a little of it's color.

He put the picture down firmly, shielding it from her view. "Angie, I'm not sure how you feel about this, but you did what you had to do. Would you feel any better if you hadn't shot and he'd killed Blair?"

"You know I wouldn't. But..." she shrugged, trying to hide her deep emotions under a light tone. "That doesn't stop me from seeing his eyes in my head, does it?"

"I know how you feel. Really." Jim paused, Angela went back to the other pictures. "Angie?"

She let out a breath. "I'm gonna be fine, Jim. Don't worry. Let's just find Blair."

He nodded, letting her look silently. He studied her face, her heart beat, as she went through the rest of the pictures.

She glanced up at him. "What's wrong?"

Jim looked back down at his desk. He knew he had a tendency to throw people off-balance when he stared, but he couldn't help it. "Sorry, nothing."

"We're going to find him." She misinterpreted his discomfort.

He sighed. That was something else. "We are. I just hope it's soon."

Angela followed his gaze to the pictures he had yet to go through, and her eyes widened suddenly.

His senses, still focussed on her, picked up her sudden change of breathing. "What?"

She reached down and picked up a half-covered picture, a blonde man. "This is...this is the one..." She stopped trying to explain and put the picture in his hands. "Find him."

Jim heard the urgency in his tone and nodded, standing and going to Simon's office, knocking twice before throwing the door open. "Got a match, Simon. I think this guy was in charge."

Simon picked up his phone. "Rhonda, put an APB on a Steve Varnes, blonde, twenty-seven years old, 5'11, approximately 180 pounds. And get back to me the second you hear anything." Simon put the phone down. "You want to check out his last known address?"

"You bet your ass I do," Jim grabbed the picture back.

"Wait, wait. This is more than a hunch, right? I can't have you busting down some guy's door on a feeling."

"Angela ID'd him."

Simon glanced out the open door and saw the girl now sitting in Jim's seat, looking hurriedly through the other pictures. "When did she show up?"

"Coupla minutes ago. Can I go or not?"

"Go on. What about her?"

"I'll drop her at her apartment." Jim replied as he went out the door, shutting it on any other questions Simon might ask. "Angela? I'm going to find this guy."

"Good, I'm coming with you."

He didn't stop his movements towards the elevator as she followed, but looked over at her. "I'll drop you somewhere. Your apartment?"

She frowned. "No thanks."

The doors opened and he stepped into the elevator, followed quickly by Angela. "How about the loft? You'll be safe at the loft."

She faced him with a frown. "You could have told those four men that."

He winced slightly. "That was a stupid thing to say, huh?"

She shrugged. "I'll be safe with you, Jim. I...I feel safe with you."

He met her eyes, and that was all it took for his Blessed Protector instincts to kick in. She was practically asking him to keep her with him so she would be safe....so he would. "Alright. But...if I tell you to stay in the truck, what does that mean to you?"

She blinked. "Um...that I should...stay in the truck?" she suggested, waiting for the punchline.

He grinned. "You and me just may get along, Angie."

Steve Varnes' last known adress turned out to be a middle-class family home in a nice neighborhood on the outside of Cascade. Jim pulled up feeling like an interloper. There were two cars in the driveway, children's toys scattered around the yard- this was your average family home.

"You were trying to protect me from this?" Angela asked to break the silence as they sat in the truck.

Jim glanced at her, saw the smile. "Maybe Simon got the adress wrong." He turned back towards the house, dialing up his sense of hearing. God, he wished Blair was there. One touch of his Guide's hand activated his senses to twice what Jim felt he could do alone, got him on the trail of what to look for.

Concentrate, Ellison.

He made out three different heartbeats, two slow and steady, one softer and faster- a child, he thought. There were low voices as the two adults talked about the man's day at work, a rythmic pounding that sounded like the child beating a couple of blocks together. The low murmur of a cartoon on television. The sounds of the refrigerator turning off, the air conditioner. A sudden patter of tiny footsteps- a cat, probably just a kitten. The animal was pattering around the house, dodging the laughing child. Jim was entraced by the sound of the four paws padding against the hard floor of the kitchen.

Until he became suddenly aware of a hand on his shoulder, shaking him.

"-on here? Jim, come on, you're scaring me."

He blinked, shaking his head slightly as his other senses suddenly came back online. A zone-out. Great, that was just what he needed right then.

He gave the worried Angela a shaky smile. "Sorry about that, guess I got lost in thought for a minute."

"Uh huh." She looked doubtful. "You must think some pretty deep thoughts. I asked if you were going to go in, or did we come all this was to check out the property value?"

"Another smartass. Just what I need," Jim grumbled as he opened the door of the truck. he was rewarded with a small laugh as Angela watched him. Preoccupied, worried about the zone-out, Jim gave another thought to his missing Guide. *Blair, you'd better be out there somewhere, buddy. I'm gonna get a lot worse before I get better. If I get better.* he didn't know if he could function for long without his Guide to lead him- he didn't want to know. he wanted to find Blair and let everything return to the way it was supposed to be.

Glancing back at the truck, *By God, she actually stayed put. Have to get her to teach Blair that trick* Jim gave her a small wave before knocking on the door. Not that he was worried about anything happening in the suburban house, but it helped him to know she was at least following the situation as much as she could.

She waved back with a casual salute, keeping her eyes on him as he turned back to the door.

Jim grinned at the door. Angela was a character all right. He could see exactly what it was that Blair saw in her.

The door opened finally to reveal a man about Jim's age, surprise in his expression. Brunette, though, with a small, well-trimmed moustache. Not the one they were looking for. "Hello?"

Jim flipped his badge out to where the man could see it, then smiled to lessen the effect the symbol always had on unsuspecting civilians. "Detective Jim Ellison. I'm looking for a man named Steven Varnes. I was told he might be found here."

The man rose his eyebrows. "You were told wrong, officer. I'm sorry," and the door started to shut.

Jim held out a hand to stop it. "Excuse me, Mr...."

The man sighed. "Varnes. William Varnes."

"Mr. Varnes. Steven is your brother?"

"Yes. Beyond that, I have nothing to do with him, I really can't help you."

"I just need to ask a few questions."

"I can't tell you-"

"Mr. Varnes, your brother is wanted in connection with several different crimes, including attempted murder, rape, and kidnapping my partner. If I don't ask you these questions, it will not improve my mood any, and certainly won't make you look all that innocent. I suggest you let me in, take a few minutes to answer my questions, and then both of us can go on with our lives."

Varnes, frowning dolefully, nodded and opened the door, letting Jim in.

The key to dealing with civilians, Jim noted with a twist of sardonic humor, was exactly what they told him in the military- winning over their hearts and minds. Typical suburban house, he noted, looking around. The smell of dinner filled the air, there were pictures on the walls, doilies under the lamps. Very lived-in, very...not anything he ever wanted to live in himself.

"What's going on, Bill?" A younger woman in an apron came out of what Jim assumed was the kitchen.

Donna Reed. Geez.

"This man's a police officer," Varnes informed his wife.

The woman's pretty face wrinkled in a frown. "This is about Steve, isn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jim stated. "Your brother-in-law's in a lot of trouble."

She snorted. "What else is new? How lond is this going to take, officer?"

"Not long. When did you see your brother last?"

"A few days ago. He's always over here, asking for money, a place to sleep. We stopped giving in to him a long time ago."

"So what was he here for?"

"He came to gloat," The young woman answered, wiping her hands on her apron. "He said he wouldn't need us anymore, that soon he'd have more money than we'd ever see."

That was an admission of guilt if ever Jim heard one. "Did he give you any details?"

"None. He did say he and his friends would be in it together, whatever 'it' was."

"Friends?" Grasping the cue, Jim lifted up the file he held. "Would you mind taking a look through these to see if you recognize any of these men as current friends of your brother?"

"Sure," William gestured at the large, uncomfortable-looking sofa as he sat himself down. "Have a seat, officer."

Remembering maners, Mrs. Varnes spoke up. "Would you like something to drink?"

"No thanks, this shouldn't take long."

William was looking at the two photos Angela had pulled out, the one man who was now dead, and another dark-haired man she'd found while Jim had been talking to Simon. "Yeah, they're both around Steve a lot lately. This is James....can't think of his last name."

"And the other one?"

"Peter Staff."

"That's right. Now, do you know where we could find any of them? Was there some special spot they liked to hang out? Anything you can think of."

"I don't know, officer. My brother and I didn't relate to each other socially, you know?" Varnes' brow creased as he thought about it. "Although, I had to pick Steve up once when he was drunk and give him a lift home. He said he was calling from a phone booth near Pete's house, but I remember noticing when I came to get him that he was in the middle of a bunch of old warehouses."

Jim almost snorted. Figured. Most cases he and Blair worked on seemed to end up in one warehouse or another. "Where was that? Do you remember?"

"Uh...near 1st street. The phone booth was across the street from a KFC. I never saw where Peter was supposedly living."

"Alright, Mr. Varnes. I appreciate your help. I'm sorry to intrude on you. You'll be available if I have any more questions?"

Varnes nodded. "As much as I hate the idea of having a convict for a brother, if he's done everything you say he has, he deserves to be caught."

Jim nodded his agreement, saying a polite goodbye to Mrs. Varnes and heading out for the truck.

Angela greeted him with a frown. "That took forever. Does Blair always just sit here in the truck while you go off and be a cop?"

"Actually, no. I don't think he has once yet."

"Huh. Well, when I see him I'll tell him he was right. Did they tell you anything?"

"I've got an address that might be close to where one of his friends might live." Jim informed her, starting the truck and pulling out on the road.

"Aha. Then success is sure to follow."

He glanced at her. "You're sure cynical for someone your age. Trust me, the way my job usually goes, this is a lot."

"Sorry," she said quickly. "I don't mean to...I mean, sometimes, I get stressed, and I have this sort of reflex that makes me laugh at everything....defense mechanism, you know? At least that's what Blair said. I'm not really trying to-"

"It's alright," he held up a hand, stopping her line of chatter. He was glad she was there, he decided. He wasn't used to working alone, not anymore. And she was enough like Blair to...

No, stop that thought before it gets frightening. Jim had to check himself sometimes, to make sure he wasn't constantly comparing everyone he met with his one-of-a-kind roommate. He's even caught himself flirting one day for an exceptionally long time with a waitress that had big blue eyes and dark, curly hair, before it occurred to him who she reminded him of. That led to all sorts of psychological questions he really didn't want to get into.

"It's okay. But listen, this place isn't going to be as safe as the Walton's house back there, so you think you can contain yourself and wait in the truck one last time?"

She frowned. "If I must, but don't you think I could help?"

"Help?" Jim glanced over at her as he drove them further downtown. "Look, this isn't tv, alright?"

"And what do you mean by that?"

"I mean...most civilians watch Lethal Weapon and they think they've got a good grasp on what a cop's world is like. These men are dangerous, okay? Once they shoot you, you don't-"

"Alright, you can stop right there." Angela was glaring now. "Of the two of us in this car, who here has first-hand knowledge of how dangerous these men are? I'm well-aware of reality, thank you, it's beaten down my door twice in as many days. Next time you have to give a lecture on how reality operates, talk to someone who doesn't know."

Jim shut his mouth firmly. She was right. It was almost funny- he was about to tell her people don't just get up after being shot, but here she was, shot one day, up the next. She did have experience with the dangerous side of his job- too much. More than she should have. "Sorry. I guess I forgot who I was talking to. But the fact remains, if I need backup, I'll call for it. Having to worry about you would only slow me down."

She made a noise, neither agreement nor argument.

"This may not turn out to be anything. I'll probably end up spending two hours searching empty warehouses."

"Two hours? I'm supposed to sit in this stupid truck for-"

"Hey." It was his turn to interrupt. "I know it stinks, but you asked to come. Let's not take our frustrations out on the truck, alright? This ride is a classic."

She glared back, ready to retort, but an unexpected smile broke through her anger, and she let out a laugh.

"What?"

She kept laughing, shaking her head slightly.

A slight grin creased his face. "You gonna let me in on the joke?"

"You, you're the joke," she said through bursts of giggles. "Oh, I didn't mean it that way, sorry. Just...us arguing, and you getting defensive about this truck...." She laughed out loud. "Sorry, this 'ride'." The laughter grew, almost hysterical.

Jim shook his head with a smile. It was hard to be serious with those eyes twinkling over at him, tearing with laughter. It had to be the stress of the last two days, he decided as the smile turned to full-out guffaws of his own. Just hysterical release, that's all it was.

When she finally calmed down, wiping her eyes, she turned to him in apology. "I didn't mean-"

"It's okay." Jim took a deep breath, steadying himself, checking how close they were to their destination. Seeing how close they were, he quickly grew serious. "Just do me a favor, okay?"

"I'll stay in the damn truck," she answered before he could ask. "But you'd better find some way of letting me in on what's going on, or I'll go nuts. And it had better not take two hours."

Jim nodded. "I'll do my best." He tightened his hands on the wheel as they turned on to 1st street and he saw the distant lights of the fast-food chicken joint. Blair could be close by, he realized. In one of the old building lining the otherwise dark streets.

He'd find his partner if he was anywhere around here, Jim knew with a growing determination. He'd find him and the bastards who grabbed him, and he'd make sure they were all put where they belonged.

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