Jim approached his partner cautiously. "Come on, Chief. It's time to go home. It's been a long day."

Blair said nothing as he shut down his computer and grabbed his coat. He followed Jim down to his truck and climbed in, still without so much as acknowledging the older man.

As he started the truck, Jim tried to break the silence. "So, Simon says you haven't been in to talk to the department shrink...." He would have gone on, but he was too busy reaching over to grab his guide as he attempted to get out of the truck while it was moving. "Whoa there, Chief! Just sit right there. What do you think you're doing?"

"I don't want to talk about this with a shrink, and I don't want to talk about it with you, okay? Just let me deal with this my way. I'll be fine." When Jim didn't say anymore, he settled himself back in his seat and re fastened his seat belt, not saying another word.

And so it came that Saturday found Blair looking out of his window to a beautiful spring day, getting ready to go to the woman's funeral.

"You don't have to do this, you know," Jim said when Blair finally left his room. He had been spending and inordinate amount of time in there. And when he was out, he was moody and irritable, to the point where the other detectives were getting concerned. He had been snapping at everyone but wouldn't talk to him. So he couldn't help but wonder if going to this funeral was going to help or hinder.

"Yes, I do, Jim," Blair responded with an air of determination. "I definitely do. But you don't have to come, if you don't want to." Secretly, Blair hoped he would come. Just having the sentinel around made him feel better. More secure. Less like he was going to fly to pieces.

"No, I'll go. I won't make you face this alone." He reached over and gripped his guide's shoulder, trying to give him some of his strength through the physical contact. "Just don't think that this is going to make everything okay."

"I know that!" Blair snapped and jerked away. Then his tone changed, "She's dead," he said flatly. "She's dead and that's that." He turned and walked to the door. "Are you coming or not?" Then headed out to the garage.

Jim sighed and followed. This had been a difficult week, he hoped that Blair would find some closure in this, otherwise he didn't know what he was going to do. His guide was hurting, but there was nothing he could do about it. This wasn't the kind of thing he could fix. He just had to try to help him get over it.

The funeral was nice, as funerals went. The woman's name had been Catherine Marks, Cat to her friends. She had a lot of friends. They all stood silently as she was lowered into the ground. After the casket disappeared from view, the people began to leave.

Blair turned to Jim and told him he had to talk to her mother. "I'll be okay, man. But I need to do this."

"Sure thing, Chief. I'll be here if you need me."

"Yeah, and um, if you don't mind," he reached up and tugged his ear, "a little privacy?"

"Sure, Chief, whatever you say," slightly miffed that he had felt the need to ask.

Blair approached Catherine's parents and set about making the awkward introduction. "Um, hi. I'm um, I'm Blair Sandburg. Detective Blair Sandburg. I was, um, the one who..." Before he had a chance to finish the sentence he found himself enveloped in a huge hug from Mrs. Marks.

"We know who you are, son," Mr. Marks said to the startled Detective, his eyes brimming with tears. "We've been trying to get a hold of you to thank you."

"Thank me?" Blair gasped in confusion as Mrs. Marks released him.

"Of course, dear," she said with tears running down her face. "You tried to save her. We heard all about how the paramedics had to pry you away from her, how you were the last person to talk to her."

"But... but ...I failed," he stammered unsure about their reaction.

"Nonsense, son," Mr. Marks said. "Cat's death was not your fault. You got the man who killed our daughter. We owe you our thanks."

"After Tommy died, well, she found a new appreciation for life," Mrs. Marks sniffled. "She was such a strong girl." She began to cry and buried her head into Mr. Marks' shoulder.

"Tommy?" Blair frowned, something tickled his memory. "She mentioned a Tommy."

"Tommy was her brother," Mr. Marks said with a sigh. "He died four years ago in a car accident. Hit by a drunk driver. That's when Cat wrote her 'Ode'."

"Ode?"

"Oh, my, you weren't at the wake were you, dear?" Mrs. Marks began to rummage through her purse, "Well, I have a copy right here. She would have wanted you to have one. Here it is. 'Ode to Everyone I've Ever Met'. Read it. It's really very good."

"Thank you, ma'am. And I wanted to say how sorry..." Again he was cut off, this time by Mrs. Marks' protests.

"Nonsense, you have nothing to be sorry about. Now you get along. And read that, will you?" She turned and walked to the waiting limo to take her away.

Blair just stood there, not entirely sure of what had just happened when a voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"They may not blame you, but I sure as hell do." Blair turned to see a young man, maybe 18 or 19 years old, the resemblance to Catherine undeniable.

"Who...?" He started to ask.

"I'm Cat's other brother, Daniel. I read the paper. I saw the news reports. You didn't even try to save her. You coulda just let the guy go he wouldn't have killed her."

The accusations in the young man's eyes was more than he could bear. "I... I'm sorry.... I tried..." he stammered, trying halfheartedly to defend himself.

"Bullshit! You didn't do nothin', man. You just let him kill her. You're as much to blame as the asshole with the knife!" By this time he was shouting and the few stragglers were turning to see what the commotion was about. Luckily, Jim noticed his partner's distress and hurried to his side.

"Hey, back off, kid. He did what he could. If he had let the guy walk out with your sister, she would probably still be dead, or worse. If you want to find someone to blame, blame the robber, not Blair."

"Yeah, but he..." Danielís voice trailed off under the full brunt of the Ellison Glare and simply shot Blair a venomous look before spinning on his heel and storming off.

"He's wrong, you know," Jim said softly as they watched Daniel's retreating back.

"Hmm? About what?" Blair was not really paying attention, he could tell, but he had to say it anyway.

"About it being your fault. It wasn't. It was the guy with the knife, Churning. It was his fault, not yours." Blair's noncommittal grunt worried him. He wasn't getting better, this wasn't helping. Noticing the card in Blair's hand, he asked, "What's that, Chief?"

"Huh? Hmm? Oh, that," he broke out of his reverie and looked for the first time at the card that Mrs. Marks had given him. "It's some sort of prayer card or something. Catherine wrote it when her brother died." He looked at it for a long moment, deciding if he wanted to read it.

On one side was a picture of Catherine, smiling and pretty. She was wearing a green blouse that matched the green of her eyes. Those eyes, in the picture they were alive and laughing, but he remembered the last time he had seen those eyes, filled with pain, as her life's blood slipped away. He started to tremble until he felt the steady hand of his friend, anchoring him, giving him strength.

He took a deep breath and turned the card over to read the back.

Ode to Everyone I've Ever Met I have something to say to you, To everyone I've ever met. I want to say 'Thank You'. Everyone of you has touched my life In one way or another. Whether we just passed each other on the street, Or we had known each other all my life, You had an effect on me. And I, I hope, had an effect on you. With every person I met came a new set of experiences, And with every new experience, came a new choice. The choices Iíve made were mine alone, And I do not regret any of them. I have learned to live life as it comes And to accept the challenges it brings. I've loved, and lost, And learned to love again. I have never feared death, As it is an essential part of life, And I accept that. I would like to think that I made a positive impact on the world before I left, But if that is not the case, Then I would like to think that I at least made a positive impact on you- Everyone Iíve ever met.

At the bottom, it read: Catherine Ann Marks 1974-1999

As he finished reading, Blair felt the tears sliding down his cheeks, but made no move to wipe them away. He knew Jim was reading the card over his shoulder, and that his friend would understand.

Jim saw the tears and decided it was time to leave. This was more than his sensitive guide could handle right now. "Come on, Chief. Time to go." He gently steered the younger man to the truck and opened the door for him. Blair silently climbed into the truck, tears still streaming from his eyes.

Jim sighed and walked around to the driver's side and climbed in himself. He hated to see his best friend hurt like this. The kind, gentle man that had somehow worked his way into the tough ex- Ranger's heart didn't deserve this kind of pain. They drove back to the loft in silence.

As he drove, Jim's thoughts drifted to that day. He had been setting things up at home, getting ready for the game. //What's taking him so long?// He had wondered. //How long does it take to pick up some pretzels and beer?//

He was just settling in on the couch to watch the pre game show, when he heard the sirens, not unusual, but for some reason that sound filled him with dread. As they got closer, he got up and stood out on the balcony to try and pin point their location. He didn't want to stretch himself to far without his guide, didn't want to risk a zone out.

Then he heard the shot.

He spun and ran to the door, pausing only to grab his gun and shield, glad that he had been able to convince Blair to wear his when he left.

He sprinted the two blocks that separated him from his guide. When he got there, he saw the paramedics trying to pull him from the body of a young woman lying on the floor of the store. Next to the woman was a man, shot in the shoulder, being restrained by two other officers, their blood mixing on the floor. The coppery stench was almost overwhelming. He had to get his partner out of there. He pulled his friend back and picked up his gun where he had left it by the woman.

Jim had tried to get him to talk, he seemed to be in shock at first, his heart rate was too fast and weak. As they talked it had strengthened, so that he didnít try to get Blair to go to the hospital, that might be a bad idea anyway.

That week he had tried numerous times to get the ex- graduate student to talk about what had happened, but he refused. He became moody and irritable. Jim could hear him, late at night shuffling papers downstairs in his room. He wasnít even sure if he had slept at all that week.

//This has got to stop.// Jim decided as he pulled into a parking place outside the loft. //We're going to have a serious discussion when we get upstairs, whether he wants to or not.//

They got up to the third floor apartment and took off their coats. Blair started to head straight for his room, the way he had everyday that week. "Hold it, Chief," Jim stopped him, "We need to talk."

"Yeah, well, man, I donít want to talk," Blair tried to jerk away, but Jim was not going to be deterred.

"No, Blair you need to talk. This is eating you up inside, you need to let it out. Talk to me." He looked his partner in the eye and added a silent plea for him to finally open up, to let him help.

"Look, man. You just wouldn't understand. We come from two different worlds. Let me deal with this my way."

"I've tried it your way, Chief, and you aren't dealing. Come on, let me help, I've been there before. Shooting your first bad guy in the line of duty is hard on everyone."

"No you haven't!" The vehemence of his reply took Jim off guard. "You were in the Army, a Ranger! Youíve been 'trained' to accept this stuff, a training I never got, and frankly never want to get! You want to know what's bugging me? It's not that I shot that guy! I accepted that after a day or two. It's her," he held up the picture of Catherine. "She died because I couldn't save her. I didn't even know her, but she tried to help me and she died." He slammed his fist down on the counter to emphasize his words, then spun away and stormed off into his room, locking the door behind him.

Jim stood there, stunned. He debated going in after Blair, he could easily knock the door down, make him talk. But he decided that that wouldn't do much good. Maybe later he would try again.

Inside his room, Blair paced furiously for a few minutes. //What gives him the right to tell me what I need,// he fumed mentally. //When did he become the expert on one's inner feelings. Where does he get off trying to feed me that crap!//

He sat down at his desk and looked at the card from the funeral. He had stared at it constantly on the way home. It wasn't fair. She was barely 25, younger than he was when he had met Jim and began hanging out with cops. She was so young, and pretty, she didn't deserve this. He put his head down on his desk and let the tears slide silently from his eyes.

He lay there for a long time, falling asleep, when a voice startled him.

"Well, you sure aren't making this easy, are you?"

He looked up to see... her. Catherine. Standing beside his desk, wearing the same green blouse as in the picture and a knee length pleated black skirt. His jaw dropped and he couldn't seem to speak.

"What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost? Oh, wait, that's right, you have," she gave a little smirk then walked over to his bed and sat on the edge, tucking her feet up under herself, facing him as he swiveled in his chair.

"But... but, you're... d- dead!" he finally managed to choke out. He frantically stood up and tried to back away, but his desk stopped him.

"Yeah, I know. I was there. Didn't we just cover that?" She indicated him to take his seat. "Sit down buddy, we need to talk."

He weakly sat and stared at her. "Catherine, I.."

"Cat, please. Catherine is too formal, and I think we've earned the right to be friends. What about you? What do you want me to call you? Things were kind of hectic back there and Iím afraid I never was any good at remembering names."

"Blair is fine, um... Cat. But, um... I just wanted to say, I'm sorry. I am so sorry."

She just looked at him, slightly confused. "For what?"

He couldn't look at her any longer, so he looked at his hands clasped in his lap. "For letting you die." That came out barely above a whisper. He waited for the ghost to agree with him and damn him for all eternity for what he had done, he was surprised to hear something else. Laughing.

He looked up and saw her with her hand covering her mouth, trying to keep her laugher contained, and failing. "Oh, Blair," she gasped out when she was finished, "Is that all? You blame yourself for my death. Don't. The choice wasn't yours."

"But..." he tried to protest

"No, now you listen to me, Blair Sandburg," she said in all seriousness. "That jerk chose to pull a knife in that store, and I chose to try and get it away from him. The fact that you were there doesn't make it your fault."

"Maybe, if I had lowered my gun, you would be alive today, if I had made a different choice." He ran his hands through his hair and settled with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "If I had been quieter, if I had done something!"

She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, and he could feel a slight chill through his shirt. "Blair, do you know what would have happened if you had lowered your gun?" He shook his head as she held his gaze. "I would have done the exact same thing I did, only the robber would have gotten away. You could have been hurt or killed. I wouldn't have wanted that on my conscience. My stupidity cost me my own life, I would hate to think that it had cost someone elseís life too."

Blair tried to protest but she cut him off. "At the funeral, everyone did the standard 'Oh she was so young, and had her whole life ahead of her' thing right? Everyone talking about how pretty I was and how smart. Did anyone mentioned the fact that I'm as stubborn as a barrel of donkeys? Or that I tend to speak my mind, no matter what comes out?" He just stared at her and slowly shook his head a little. "No one stood up and talked about how I nearly self destructed when Tommy died. Or all the times I got may ass kicked because of my attitude. I just got myself into trouble one too many times, thatís all. It. Was. Not. Your. Fault." She emphasized, giving him a little shake.

Tears began streaming down his face again as she talked. "They mentioned the attitude thing," he choked out, laughter mixing with the tears. "They said you had too much pride for your own good."

"Damn straight!"

He looked at her sadly. "But, I'm a cop. I'm supposed to protect people. I couldn't protect you."

"No," she said. "And I couldn't protect my little brother from the drunk driver that killed him. Did you know I was supposed to pick him up? I was late. And I couldn't save him. I wrote that 'Ode' as a way of coping. I learned that the only thing I can control is me. And the only thing you can control is you. You did everything right."

"And everything went wrong," he said gloomily.

"Sometimes, it just works out that way. There's nothing you or I or anyone can do about it." She frowned and scrutinized him for a moment. Blair squirmed uncomfortable under her gaze. "He blamed you didn't he. Danny got on your case at the funeral." The guilty look on his face must have read volumes. "Damnit! I'm gonna have a talk with that boy!" Her frown deepened as she considered her brother's actions.

"No, its okay. It's not his fault. He was just venting. It's okay. Things haven't exactly been easy for him the past couple of years, you know."

"That's life," she sighed and stood. "Sorry. Look I don't have a lot of time but I need to say one last thing." She paused and smiled. "Thank you." She leaned in and gave him a hug.

"For what?" Blair asked confused. Even after everything they had talked about, what was there to thank him for?

"For caring," she said, stepping back. "Look, do me a favor and reread the 'Ode', and, remember, I meant every word. Live your life, Blair. Don't stop living just because I died. You have some really great friends who care about you and a very worried about you. Don't be afraid to ask for help. That's another thing I was never very good at." She smiled one last time and began to fade from his sight.

As she disappeared from view he could hear her reciting the last part of the Ode. "I hope that I at least managed to make a positive impact on you, Blair Sandburg."

Blair opened his eyes and blinked. His neck was stiff from falling asleep on his desk. He looked around, remembering the conversation that he had with the dead girl. Spotting the picture of her, he picked it up and looked at it again. Then he flipped it over and reread the poem on the back. He sighed and stood up.

Jim heard his friend wake up and exit his room. Heard him shuffle over to the couch where he was sitting watching the weather channel. "Jim," his guide spoke quietly, but he heard every word. "I'm sorry. Can we talk?"

"Of course, Blair. If you think you're ready." He cast a concerned look at his partner. His hair was mussed and his clothes slightly wrinkled from his little afternoon nap, but the look in his eye assured him that everything was going to be okay.

"Yeah, Jim. I'm sure." 

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