Naomi looked as though Jim had slapped her.

Well, in a way, reflected the detective, he supposed he had. Certainly the news that her son might become a cop had to run counter to everything she'd ever thought he was about. But Sandburg was not "about" any one thing. He was a complicated human being, one who was devoted to anthropology but also genuinely enjoyed the police work they shared. And he was good at it. His mind could make connections with a speed that left Jim dazed. The naive kid who'd saved a zoned-out Jim from that hurtling garbage truck three years ago had matured into a partner to be trusted, a Guide to be heeded (most of the time), and a friend. Jim could hardly remember the person he had been before Blair had come into his life--before Blair had *fought* his way into his life, he amended.

"Talk to me, Naomi," he said softly. "You can't just 'let this go,' you know."

She had walked to the windows on the other side of Simon's office. A piece of cardboard had been taped over the destruction wrought by the Iceman's bullet. It obstructed the view, but Naomi didn't notice. In her mind there was no room for thoughts of the world outside. The only thing she saw was her son at that press conference, his voice breaking as he gave the world a terrible lie to protect his friend.

Finally, she spoke, so softly that Jim had to dial up hearing quickly to make out the words. "The brass ring," she said like a sigh.

"What does that mean?"

She glanced back at him quickly. "I forgot about those ears," she said ruefully. "Takes some getting used to."

"You don't know the half of it." The smile eased his tense features for only a moment, then he asked, "What did you mean, 'the brass ring.'" Jim had thrown that very phrase at Sandburg two days before, when he'd accused him--accused his best friend--of betraying him for money and glory. The hurt he'd caused Blair was itself a betrayal. But dealing with *that*, he knew, had to be between him and his Guide. For now, he drew his thoughts back to Naomi.

"It's something Blair said to me," she explained. "Before he gave that horrible press conference. He told me that his life *here* was the brass ring, that he had it all right here. Then he told me everybody was going to be all right. Of course, what he meant was that once he repudiated his work, *then* everyone would be okay."

The look of pain that twisted Jim's features caused Naomi to cross the room quickly and put a hand on his arm. "No, Jim, that wasn't all of it. He meant that even though he would lose a vital part of his life--his work in anthropology--he would be saving another part that had become even more important. You, Jim. Your friendship."

He shrugged off her comforting hand; there could be no comfort, not yet and not from this Sandburg. "I know *why* he did it. I was just blown away that he *would* do it," he said hoarsely.

"You must know what a strong person he is, and an honorable one...unlike his mother, I suppose," Naomi added reluctantly.

"I've told you I don't blame you. You honestly thought you were helping Blair, you had no idea--"

She stopped him with a raised hand. "Please don't forgive me yet again, Jim. I wasn't fishing for kind words. And your sympathy only makes me feel worse."

"Then what more could I ask?" His face was hard as granite. Astonishment bloomed in her eyes as she looked up at him. Then granite became flesh again. "A joke, Naomi," he said with a laugh. "It was just a joke."

She found herself shaking a little; my god, he could be scary when he wanted to be. "How can you joke at a time like this?"

"I keep remembering what it felt like to be told that Blair Sandburg was dead," he said with brutal bluntness. "Nothing in this world can be worse than that."

There was silence between them for a moment. Naomi was close to tears as she said, "You're right. But, oh, Jim, I feel so awful for him! And I worry about what he might do next. He's been so hurt by everything that's happened--and well-intentioned or not, it *was* my fault. I'm afraid he'll feel compelled to leave."

"Leave?"

"After the press conference he was mortified. Not just because the world thinks he lied--though, God knows, that's bad enough--but because he thinks he's responsible for the trouble and pain you all went through: you, Simon, Inspector Connor. He told me the police department won't want to be associated with a liar and a fraud. I'm terrified he'll think the best thing for him to do is to leave. Give everybody here a chance to put the whole episode behind them."

"He's not going anywhere, Naomi."

The words were said softly, a flat statement of fact. When she looked into those fierce blue eyes, she believed him. If Blair chose not to take the opportunity offered him to become a detective, then Jim would think of something else. Her son and this man--this Sentinel--were joined in a way that didn't admit separation. Occasional rifts perhaps, since they were only human after all, but not true separation. Her lack of full understanding of that relationship nagged at her.

She was *dying* to read Blair's dissertation.

Jim was speaking. "So are you gonna be okay with this, Naomi? No sudden urges to detach him with love from the whole detective thing?"

Tiredly, she said, "Didn't I tell you? 'Detach with love' has become 'accept without understanding.'" It was his turn to be startled by unexpected humor. She went on. "It's obvious now, even to me, that this is where he belongs. That this is his brass ring. But I want you to promise me one thing."

A wary side-long look. "What's that?"

"Watch out for him, please?"

Jim shook his head. "Naomi, he's my Guide. We watch out for each other. We're partners."

His face lost the habitual impassivity that she had, on first meeting him, mistaken for lack of emotion. All the heartache of the last few days fell away, and he looked....he looked at peace.

Unexpectedly, she leaned toward him and kissed him on the lips. An imp of mischief danced in her eyes, and her wide mouth was drawn up in a smile. Inches from his face, she whispered, her voice low and silky, "Jim, I really *want* to read that dissertation."

Simon, Megan, and the others in the Major Crimes bullpen turned startled eyes toward the captain's office. Jim Ellison and Naomi Sandburg stood just inches apart, and Ellison's head was thrown back in a loud guffaw of laughter. Naomi noticed their stares. Smothering her own amusement, she shrugged and widened her eyes as if to say, "Who knows what's wrong with the man?"

Simon, aching all over and raging against being stuck in the damn wheelchair, exchanged a look with a similarly disgruntled Megan and growled, "What the devil is there to laugh about?"

The End

Webmaster: PJ Browning