Blair Sandburg blasted through the emergency room doors at top speed. He grabbed the first official-looking person he saw, a white-coated woman.

"Jim Ellison?" he snapped. "Where is he?"

"Sandburg!" a gruff voice called.

Blair released the confused woman as Captain Simon Banks came down the hall toward him.

"Simon, where is he? Is he okay? The message just said was he was in an accident. Is he okay? Where is he?"

"Take it easy, Sandburg," Simon said, stemming the rapid-fire questions. "The doctor said he's got a slight concussion. They've got him down there." Simon gestured toward the far end of the wide hallway.

Blair was off, jogging toward the examination area.

"Sandburg, wait! I need to tell you--" But the younger man was gone. "He's in room two," Simon yelled, then shook his head, adding softly, "Damn."

As he hurried to room two, Blair heard someone talking in one of the other curtained exam rooms. It was a woman, and she was obviously disoriented.

"I need a chocolate cake," she was pleading. "I can't eat the yellow ones. The poison is always in the yellow ones. It has to be black. Has to be chocolate. Please find me a chocolate cake. Please. Please!"

The bizarre, pitiful cries continued as Blair swept back the curtain marked with a large "2." The sight that met his eyes was such a relief, his knees threatened to give way.

Jim Ellison, clad in a hospital gown, sat on the edge of an examination bed. A wide white bandage was wrapped around his head, but he seemed otherwise unhurt. He looked up at Blair's entrance.

"Doc?" he said hopefully.

Blair exhaled loudly. "Oh, man! You scared the hell out of me! I thought--"

"You're definitely not the doctor," Jim interrupted. "You got the wrong room, buddy."

"Very funny, Seinfeld. Do you know how many traffic laws I broke getting here?"

"Hey, Curly," Jim said, raising his voice. "I told you, you got the wrong room. You must be here for the kook next door." He gestured with his chin toward the curtain enclosing room one. The woman's cries for "chocolate cake" were softer now, but still audible.

"What?" Blair stared hard at the familiar face. There was no hint of amusement in the blue eyes that regarded him with growing annoyance. Uncertainly, he said, "Uh, Jim, cut the comedy. Joke's over. Way over."

"Listen, Curly, my head feels like it was drop-kicked fifty yards, and I'm in no mood to play along with your delusion. Hit the road." Jim pointedly turned away and stared with rapt attention at a poster admonishing "Give Blood Now."

Curly? What the hell was this? Blair wondered. Jim's face showed only annoyance at his continued presence, and not the faintest trace of recognition.

The grad student snorted. "Delusion. Ha. Very funny."

Jim turned his face farther away, staring now at the sphygmomanometer mounted on the wall.

A hollow feeling grew in Blair's stomach. "Um, Jim," he said, a dry throat making his voice husky. "Do you know, uh, that is, I mean--what's my name?"

The woman in the adjacent room chose that moment to moan loudly. She called one last time for chocolate cake, then subsided to soft sobs.

"Oh great," Jim muttered, still staring at the blood pressure gauge. "I'm surrounded by whacked-out crack-heads." He finally looked at Blair again, and he said, with exaggerated patience, "I have no idea who you are. Why don't you find a nice doctor to help you? Preferably a shrink."

The grad student stared at him. Jim returned the look, obviously waiting for him to leave.

In spite of the horrible suspicion taking shape in his mind, Blair essayed a strained laugh. "Hey now, Jim, this is so not funny any more. But you'll feel better once I take you home--"

Jim's brows lowered and a dangerous glint appeared in his narrowed eyes. "Listen to me, nut case. My head's pounding like a son of a bitch, and I'm done being patient. You get out now, before I put you out. You got me?"

The angry tone of that familiar voice, the nasty expression on that familiar face, shattered the last of Blair's desperate illusions.

He isn't kidding. He honest-to-God doesn't recognize me.

As he continued to regard his friend in paralyzed silence, the detective finally lost patience and slid carefully off the table. Jim paused a minute, obviously feeling a bit shaky, then advanced.

"Well?" he said with soft menace. "Are you going, or am I gonna have to kick your ass out of here?"

Blair's head tilted slowly back as Jim came closer, but he didn't back down. Even when the larger man was only inches away, looming over him, Blair showed no fear.

At least, not on the outside. Inside, his heart was pounding so hard he was amazed the front of his shirt wasn't jumping up and down. He held his arms out slightly from his sides, hands open, unthreatening.

Palms drenched with sweat.

Quietly, calmly, Blair said, "So, you planning to throw me against the wall now, Jim?"

A faint frown appeared on Jim's face. As the shorter man continued to regard him steadily, his anger seemed to drain away and the frown changed to grudging respect. "You got guts, Shorty," he said. "I give you that."

"Detective Ellison, why are you on your feet?" said a woman's voice from behind Blair.

The doctor had entered the examination area. She was a good six inches shorter than Blair and Jim's even greater height dwarfed her. "You aren't supposed to be up yet, Detective," she told him.

"I'm ready to check--" Jim began. The statement ended abruptly as he swayed unsteadily.

The doctor reached for him, but though she was quick, she realized her patient's visitor was faster. He took the detective's arms and supported him, as she steered them to the examination table.

Once he was seated again, Jim frowned down at Blair. "You still here?" he asked grumpily. Receiving no reply, he turned his attention to the doctor. "Hey, Doc, just give me a coupla aspirin and I'll be on my way, okay? I hate hospitals."

"I've yet to meet anyone who loves them," she said dryly. "Detective Ellison, just sit quietly for a little longer, please. I'll be back in a moment." Turning to Blair, she added, "Mr. Sandburg, come with me."

"Yeah, Doc," Jim said. "The psych ward has got to be missing him by now."

The doctor put a firm hand on Blair's arm and drew him from the examination area. She pulled the curtain, shielding Jim from the rest of the ER.

Blair let her lead him down the hallway to where Simon waited. "Doctor--" He looked at the name stitched on her white coat. "--Aletti, what the hell's wrong with him? Simon, he says he doesn't know who I am!"

"Mr. Sandburg," Doctor Aletti said patiently, "Detective Ellison sustained a sharp blow to the skull in the helicopter crash--"

"Helicopter crash!"

"Please, Mr. Sandburg," she said, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "Let me finish. The helicopter was just taking off, I understand, and had gained little altitude. The pilot walked away with nothing more than a few bruises. Your friend--your partner, I believe?" Blair nodded impatiently, wanting her to get on with the story. "Your partner's lap belt wasn't yet secured and he fell some eight feet from the helicopter, sustaining a blow to the head on contact with the ground." She shook her own head in amazement. "Really, he's lucky not to have more serious injuries. But there is evidence of retrograde amnesia. He appears to have lost his memory of the last--" She looked a question at the police captain.

"Five years," Simon supplied, giving Blair a sympathetic look.

Blair regarded him blankly. "What did you say?" he asked, then shook his head. "No. No, I heard what you said. Five years. Five years? That's unbelievable!"

"I understand from the captain here that Detective Ellison was in another helicopter crash some time ago, while serving in the military?"

Blair was still trying to assimilate what he was hearing. The words "retrograde amnesia" had sent a chill of fear up his spine. "Another crash?" he repeated. "Yes, but that was, like, ten, eleven years ago, before he even came to Cascade or became a cop." He paused, marshaling his scattered thoughts. "Wait. You called him detective in there, so that means he remembers being a cop?" She said yes, and Blair asked Simon, "Does he remember you?"

Simon looked uncomfortable, even a bit guilty, as he nodded.

"So, you're saying he's pretty much gone back to a time before he met Sandburg the long-haired weirdo. Is that what you're telling me, Simon?"

"Mr. Sandburg," the doctor said, "it's not something you can take personally. Detective Ellison may remember the captain because he was right there when the accident happened. Perhaps seeing him so immediately after the trauma helped his mind rebuild that memory pathway." She yawned, then apologized for doing so.

Blair's anger faded before the sympathy and worry in Simon's face and the doctor's calm, logical assessment of the situation. He said, "Sorry, Simon. I didn't mean to take it out on you. This is just so...so unbelievable. I mean, Jim actually doesn't--" He cut himself off and turned to the doctor. "When will he get his memory back? How can we help?"

She finished another yawn. "Mr. Sandburg, his memory may never come back," she said, stretching her eyes wide to try and wake up.

The blood drained from Blair's face so fast, and so visibly, the doctor took him by the arms and pushed him backward into a chair a few feet away. She dropped into a chair next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Now it's my turn to apologize," she said guiltily. "That was a stupid thing to say. Blame it on my exhaustion. Mr. Sandburg, it's entirely possible that your partner will regain his memory over the next few hours or days, after he's had a chance to rest and recover from the trauma. Getting him into familiar surroundings quickly could certainly help that process. But I would be less than honest if I didn't tell you that he might regain only a part of his memory, or he might never remember anything more than he does right now. The human brain is a strange organ. For all our medical knowledge, we still don't completely understand cases like this. I'm sorry I can't be more encouraging."

Blair was staring at the floor between his feet. He gave no sign of having heard anything she'd said after she put him in the chair.

The doctor shook her head and stood.

"Thank you for your help, Doctor," Simon told her. "When can we take Detective Ellison home?"

"I'll release him shortly. His clothes are dirty but serviceable. He can take Tylenol for the headache--that'll probably be with him for some time--and he can sleep. He should be monitored closely though, awakened every hour just to make certain there are no symptoms of more severe brain injury." The doctor's brown eyes reflected concern as she looked down at Blair. She drew Simon aside and said softly, "Captain, Detective Ellison is going to need someone to stay with him for the next--"

"I'll be with him," Blair said, and both the doctor and Simon looked at him.

Emotion had roughened Blair's voice, but Simon was glad to see that his face was no longer blank with shock. Now, it was filled with determination. "You said getting him into familiar surroundings might help," Blair said, "so I'll take him home as soon as you release him."

The doctor seemed hesitant to voice her next concern, but finally said, "Mr. Sandburg, he wasn't exactly welcoming to you before. In fact, he seemed extremely...well, hostile. Are you sure you should be the one to take him home? Perhaps the captain--"

"We're roommates, Doctor," Blair told her bluntly. "His home is my home. I'll just have to help him remember that."

She recognized the end of that particular discussion and excused herself to finish up the paperwork that would release the detective.

"Oh, man. Oh, man. Oh, man."

Simon seated himself beside Blair, who was rocking slightly and shaking his head. "Sandburg, are you okay?"

"Simon, this is crazy! At first, I thought he was kidding me, you know? Some kind of stupid joke. But he just kept looking at me with the weirdest expression--like we were strangers. And the things he said...." Blair's voice trailed off.

Simon patted him on the shoulder, a bit awkwardly, but wanting to offer comfort. "Are you sure about taking him home? I'd be glad to--"

Blair's voice was firm. "No, Simon. He's my partner."

"There's something else you should know."

Blair missed the soft words, as another thought occurred to him. "Oh, geez, I'm so stupid!" he said, tapping his forehead with a closed fist. "No wonder Jim was so hostile. His senses are probably all out of whack! The trauma could've affected his control--

"Sandburg."

"Might even make him more prone to zoning or to those killer sensory spikes he used to have. Might even--"

"Blair!"

Simon's tone finally broke through the anthropologist's preoccupation. "Huh? What? Sorry, man. Did you say something?"

Simon looked away, then back. "There's...well, there's something else you need to know."

Blair groaned. "Now what? Isn't it bad enough Jim doesn't know me? That he seems to have a burning desire to knock me on my ass even if I am a total stranger?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Simon told him gruffly. "He doesn't remember you now, but he will. Once you get him home and start feeding him tofu and green spaghetti, he'll remember exactly why he wants to knock you on your ass."

Blair gave a weak chuckles. "Not green spaghetti," he protested. "Green soba noodles. And Jim loves green soba noodles." The smile left Blair's face and he steeled himself. "Well, Simon, lay it on me. What else do I need to know?"

"It appears that Jim doesn't remember...I mean...he seems to have forgotten the, uh, the Sentinel stuff, too."

Unmoving, seemingly unbreathing, Blair simply sat and stared at the captain. Half a minute went by, then he collapsed back into his chair.

"You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding."

Simon shook his head. "Like the doctor said, I was right there when the accident happened. Jim was unconscious for maybe two or three minutes. When he woke up, he was groggy, didn't seem to know where he was at first. Then he sort of focused on my face. He said his head was killing him and I said something about him using his Sentinel superpowers to do that dial thing you taught him for pain." Simon made a wry face. "He looked at me like I was from Mars or something and asked what the hell was wrong with me. Wanted to know why I was talking comic book crap."

"So," Blair said softly. "Okay. Guess I've got my work cut out for me."

Blair was trying to convince a vending machine to give him either a drink or his money back when Simon, sitting in the waiting area, called, "Sandburg, he's coming."

Forgetting his thirst, Blair turned quickly. Jim was walking down the hallway. Though Jim's clothes were dirty and he was quite pale, Blair's heart lifted at the sight of his friend on his feet and basically whole. When Jim noticed Simon, he changed direction to approach the captain.

Blair's relief became chill fear in an instant. Jim's gaze had drifted over him, then passed on by. His eyes hadn't even paused. There was no recognition, no acknowledgment at all.

Part of Blair--the anthropologist in him that was always categorizing, processing, trying to understand--that part was amazed by the strength and sharpness of his reaction to Jim's lack of acknowledgment. However, the larger part--the part that considered himself Jim's friend, Jim's partner--well, that part was quietly freaking out.

So much for the cool, logical detachment of the scholar.

"Can you give me a lift home, sir?" Jim asked Simon.

Before Simon could answer, Blair reached them. "I'm taking you home," he said.

Jim frowned. "Who the hell are you? Do you get your jollies hanging out in the E.R.?"

I can't believe I have to do this, Simon thought, then said, "Detective Ellison, this is Blair Sandburg. He's a civilian consultant with Major Crimes. He is, in fact, your partner."

"He's what?" The absolute astonishment--and distaste!--on Jim's face gave Blair a shock so intense it was physically painful. Yet, though he winced at the unpleasant jolt, once again he held his ground.

"Partners, Jim. We're partners," he told the detective firmly.

Jim ignored him, his attention staying on Simon. "You're kidding me, right, Captain? This is a joke." A grin spread over Jim's face, and he added, "That's it, isn't it? Who put you up to this? Was it Jack?"

The smile vanished and Jim suddenly looked confused. "Wait, no....Jack's...Jack's gone--isn't he?"

Jack Pendergrast had been Jim's partner. He'd been missing for four years when Jim and Blair, working one of their first cases together, had solved the mystery of his disappearance and death.

"Detective, you've been in a serious accident," Simon explained. "Your memory's scrambled right now, but it'll come back. It will all come back." I hope to god it will. "For now, just take my word for this one fact--Blair Sandburg here is your partner. Has been for four years. You two are, uh, one of my best teams. He's going to take you home because the two of you live together."

Jim had been looking skeptical, but now skepticism became outright disbelief and his face flushed dark red. "We live together?! Captain, no way is my head that messed up. I'd definitely remember if I swung that way!"

Before Simon could formulate an answer to that, Blair growled angrily, "Don't stroke out, Stud. We just share space, nothing else. You are so not my type."

Blair's resentment evaporated as Jim swayed on his feet. He and Simon each took an arm, and Blair said, "Come on, Jim. Let's get you home. You need to rest."

Jim sighed. "Now that's the first thing you've said that I understand, Curly. I'm way too beat to argue with you any more. Just get me to a bed." He snorted. "So long as I'm in it alone."

Simon cut off Blair's angry retort. "Sandburg, please."

Blair took a deep breath. "Right. Sorry, Simon. Let's get him home."

It took the concerted efforts of both Blair and the captain to get Jim into the loft. He was nearly asleep on his feet and leaned more and more heavily on Blair during the elevator ride to the third floor.

"You got him?" Simon asked, as they started out of the elevator toward the door to the loft.

Only semiconscious, Jim had draped himself over the shorter man. Blair's voice was muffled by the arms enveloping him but he said, "I'm fine, Simon. Get the door open."

Jim patted him on the head, saying groggily, "You know, Shorty, you're stronger'n you look."

Blair, staggering from wall to wall as they made their way down the hall, grunted. "If I didn't...know better," he wheezed, "I'd swear you were--whoa! not that door, Jim!--I'd swear you were doing this on purpose...just to...give me a hard time."

"Nope, never seen you before in m'life...." The detective's voice trailed off and he dropped his head onto Blair's shoulder. "Sleep," he mumbled. "Need sleep."

The heavy weight was rapidly becoming an unconscious heavy weight. "Simon," Blair said urgently. "Door! Now!"

The captain finally found the right key and got the door open. He put Jim's gun and holster down then helped Blair get inside with his burden.

Climbing the stairs to Jim's room was completely beyond Blair, so he lurched into his own bedroom. Just as he was about to release Jim, the detective cracked one eyelid, murmured "Ah, bed," and fell forward onto the futon.

Seconds later, Simon was standing in the doorway staring down at the futon with a wry look. "Well, you've obviously got the situation well in hand," he commented.

One denim-blue eye regarded the captain from beneath Jim's unmoving form. "Remind me...to laugh...later," Blair gasped. "Get him...off me."

Simon complied, rolling Jim off his partner and onto his back.

Blair got to his feet and worked the knots out of his shoulders. "Man! Like having a truck fall on you," he complained.

"Should we take his shoes off?"

Blair glanced briefly at the snoring sentinel. "Oh, forget the shoes. He certainly doesn't care."

They went out and closed the French doors.

Blair said briskly, "Thanks for your help, Simon. It's late. You should head home."

"I'd be glad to stay and help. The doctor said he should be wakened every hour."

"I know. I have her instructions." Blair patted his shirt pocket. "But there's no reason we both have to lose sleep. I don't plan to get much rest tonight, but I'll set my alarm to wake me just in case."

"Well, if you're sure--?"

"Go, man. You've had a hell of a day yourself."

Simon nodded tiredly. "A hell of a day." He started to leave, but turned back in the doorway. "Sandburg, if you need anything, anything at all--I'm off tomorrow, so just give me a call."

"Thanks. Why don't you come over in the morning? We'll see where we stand." Blair cast a worried look at the doors to his room.

Simon put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "He will remember, Sandburg. Things'll look much better in the morning."

"I'm sure. Good night, Captain."

"'Night."

Blair locked the door after the captain had gone. Leaning back against the door, staring toward his room, he muttered, "I sure as hell hope you're right, Simon."

*~12:14 a.m.~*

Blair switched off the alarm a minute before it would have sounded.

He was sitting in a chair in his room, watching his partner sleep. A book rested, open and facedown, on his stomach. He'd given up trying to read it; the soft sound of Jim's breathing kept intruding on his concentration. Watching Jim's eyes moving rapidly beneath closed eyelids, Blair found himself wondering what dreams he was having. Wondering what thoughts--what memories--were playing out in his mind.

Blair leaned toward his sleeping friend. He gripped Jim's shoulder and shook it.

"Wake up, Jim. Hey, man, open your eyes," he said softly. Jim gave a low grunt, but nothing more, so Blair said more loudly, "Come on, Jim. Up and at 'em. Time to rise and shine."

Jim's eyes flew open suddenly. One hand grabbed Blair's arm, the other clenched into a fist, ready to fight off an attacker.

"Take it easy," Blair said quickly. "It's just me. You're okay."

"What--? Where--?" Jim looked around in confusion. His eyes finally focused on Blair, and he frowned, saying, "Shorty, izzat you? What's wrong? Why'd you wake me up?"

"Everything's fine," Blair assured him. "The doctor told me to wake you every hour--concussion, you know." He kept his voice even, but the nickname--Shorty, for god's sake!--made his stomach clench.

"Doctor?" The confusion remained a moment longer, then cleared somewhat. "Oh, yeah. Crash, hospital, doctor--I remember." Jim winced, put a hand to his head, and added, "And the headache. I definitely remember the headache."

"Here. The doctor said you could take Tylenol." Blair handed him two tablets and the glass of water that had been sitting on the nightstand.

Jim swallowed the medicine gratefully and handed the glass back to Blair. "I remember something else," he said, yawning. Blair looked up hopefully. "I remember Captain Banks telling me we're partners--you and me. Is that right?"

Blair sighed with disappointment and nodded. "Yeah," he said, picking up his book and settling himself in the chair again.

Jim yawned again. "Seems crazy...not remembering...thing like that....crazy...." His eyes closed and he slept.

Blair regarded him silently for a long minute. "Crazy as hell," he agreed.

He reset the alarm.

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