They stopped to buy bagels and orange juice for the captain. Though Jim said he wasn't hungry, he bought a bagel because his partner
insisted. Blair, on the other hand, stated that emotional and spiritual revelations made him ravenous. He polished off a blueberry muffin
in the bakery, a corn muffin while they were heading to the truck, and, during the drive to the station, stared fixedly at the white paper bag
containing the rest of the food. Jim finally told him to "eat the damn bagel already," and he downed Jim's breakfast in five bites.

At police headquarters, Jim parked the truck in the basement garage.

Blair had gone from too warm to chilly, as Jim had predicted, so he pulled on his jacket as he slid out the passenger side. Pausing, one
arm in the jacket and one out, he turned quickly back to Jim. He pointed a finger at the detective, dropped his voice an octave, and said
sternly, "Stay behind me, Jim, and call for backup."

Jim stared at him for a second, then rolled his eyes and got out.

"Oh, man, I've been wanting to say that for ages," Blair said gleefully. Deepening his voice again, he repeated it: "Stay behind me, Jim,
and call for backup."

He laughed all the way to the elevator and continued chuckling as the doors closed and they headed up to the seventh floor and the Major
Crimes Unit.

The elevator made no stops. As they neared their destination, Jim told his snickering partner, "It wasn't *that* funny, Chief."

Blair turned to reply as the elevator signaled the seventh floor. A frown stopped the snappy remark he'd been about to make. Instead, he
tilted his head and asked, "What's th--"

The elevator doors opened.

Blair dropped to the floor--so fast that Jim had no chance to catch him. Clutching his head in agony, Blair began to scream, "Stop it! Jim,
turn it off! Turn it off!"

Jim slapped the button to close the elevator doors then punched 'B' for basement. Dropping to his knees, he wrapped his arms around
Blair to keep him from rolling into the walls.

It seemed to Jim that the doors took an eternity to close, but once the elevator began its descent, Blair's ear-piercing yells stopped. He lay
curled against Jim's chest, gasping for breath. "Oh, man. Oh, Jim," he wheezed. "Hurt. Hurt."

"Take it easy, Chief. Breathe slow and easy." Jim was doing some deep breathing of his own. "Inhale and exhale, buddy. Slow and easy.
What happened?"

"Loud, loud noise. Shrill. Like a knife in my head!" Blair breathed for a few seconds, then said, "Gone now. Better. Get me up."

Jim watched the display change from five to four, still holding tightly to Blair. "Just stay still, Chief. Relax."

"No. Get me off the floor. Please, Jim. Please."

"Okay, sure. Whatever you say." Jim helped him to stand, then had to support him as Blair's knees buckled.

"Wow, shaky," Blair mumbled, leaning heavily against his friend.

"Breathe, Blair. Just breathe," Jim said soothingly.

The elevator chimed, signaling another stop. Both men looked up at the display.

"Oh, no," Blair whispered, and the doors slid open at the third floor. A man and a woman stood waiting to get in.

Jim let go of Blair with one hand just long enough to hammer the 'Close Door' button with his clenched fist. "Emergency," he growled at
the astonished couple. "Take the stairs!"

The man and woman stepped back at once.

"Wait, Jim--" Blair said.

Ignoring him, Jim repeated, "Stairs."

The doors closed.

"It was okay--didn't hear anything that time," Blair said and stood straighter, taking his weight off Jim. "Oh, wow. One second, just this little
whistle, then all of a sudden I'm on the floor trying to keep my head from exploding."

Jim kept a hand on Blair's shoulder, but he leaned against the back wall of the elevator. Sweat sheened the detective's face, and he was
still breathing hard. His hand on Blair's shoulder shook slightly

"Hey, Jim, are *you* okay?"

"I may never be okay again," the detective muttered, eyes closed. "I think it was the computers, Chief. I think the noise you heard came
from the personal computers on the seventh floor. When the elevator doors opened, your hearing spiked unexpectedly."

They arrived at the garage, and the doors opened.

Jim got out, taking Blair with him. "Wait," Blair said, pulling free. He put a hand on the doors to hold them open. "We told Simon we were
coming; besides, we still have his breakfast."

"You want to go *back*?" Jim looked at him as though he'd lost his mind.

"I'm okay now," Blair said firmly. "And I can't exactly hide from computers. Tell me what to do to keep it from happening again. But if it
does--" Blair swallowed. "Uh, well, try not to let me hit the floor this time."

Blair got back on the elevator, rescued the bag containing Simon's breakfast, then stood looking expectantly at his partner.

"I know this is a bad idea," Jim said to himself. "We should go home. We should get in the truck and drive straight home. If I'm the guide,
why doesn't he listen to me?"

"Now who else have I heard asking that same question?" Blair remarked pointedly. He reached out toward the control panel and held his
forefinger poised over the number 7 button.

With a resigned sigh, Jim joined him in the elevator. Blair punched the button, and the doors closed.

As they began the ascent once more, Jim told him, "You should try to keep calm, relaxed. Maintaining sort of an even strain helps keep
the spikes from happening. Most of the time."

Blair flashed a suddenly nervous smile. "So that's the secret behind Ellison's Great Stone Face," he said, then added a heartfelt, "Thanks,
man."

The elevator signaled a stop--the fourth floor this time.

Eyes closed as he concentrated on his breathing, Blair said, "Um, Jim, could you maybe hang on--"

Jim's eyes were fastened on his partner. Wordlessly, he took hold of Blair's arm.

The doors opened.

No noise assaulted Blair's ears; he stood quietly, eyes still closed. Jim sighed loudly, and Blair opened one eye, then the other.

The woman who got on the elevator glanced at them with mild curiosity, then pressed the button for six.

Jim kept hold of Blair, and the two of them watched the numbers on the display.

When the elevator signaled the sixth floor, Jim stiffened visibly.

Blair closed his eyes again and breathed slow and deep. "Calm and relaxed," he whispered to himself. "Calm and relaxed."

The doors opened.

Nothing untoward happened. Jim exhaled the breath he'd been holding, and Blair opened his eyes again.

As the woman exited, she put out a hand to hold the doors.

"You really don't need to be nervous about the elevators," she said helpfully. "This is a very safe building. I mean, it's a police station, after
all."

With an encouraging smile, she took her hand away. The doors closed.

"She's obviously new here," Blair muttered, his eyes once more on the display over the doors.

When the elevator reached the seventh floor and the doors opened, Blair stepped out at once, Jim at his side.

"All clear," Blair reported with relief, then immediately frowned. "But...but I smell something...."

"Never a dull moment." Jim sighed. "Unsurprisingly, Chief, I don't smell anything unusual. HVAC system in this building's always been
pretty good at keeping the air clean. What does it smell like?"

Blair lifted his head, sniffing. "Confusing. There's too many smells. It's hard to...." His voice trailed off as he veered left, heading away from
the door to the Major Crimes bullpen. "This way, maybe?" Sniff. "It's sort of familiar. It's...." Sniff. "Where did it go? Man, what is it? It's
driving me nuts."

"I know, Chief. I know," Jim said patiently. He put a hand on his friend's back. "Try to ignore the other smells and concentrate on that one.
Pretend you're sort of peeling the rest away until that smell's the only one left."

Blair stopped walking abruptly. "Whoa," he exclaimed.

"Something wrong?"

"Let me go, Jim."

"What?"

"Your hand, man. Take it off me for a second."

"Whatever you say."

"Um, right. Now, put it back."

"Sandburg--"

"Come on, Jim. Just do it."

Jim did it.

After a few seconds, Blair ordered, "Off again, please." Jim complied, and there was another brief pause before Blair said, "Now, back
on." Jim dropped his hand heavily on Blair's shoulder.

"That's...that's unbelievable," Blair said. "It helps. It actually does."

"Of course it does."

"When you're touching me it's like I can focus bet--what? What'd you say?"

"I said, 'Of course it does.' If you'd asked me, I coulda told you that."

"You mean, when I touch you--"

Jim nodded patiently. "I can focus better than when you don't. I thought you knew that. I mean, when you pull me out of a zone or talk me
through some really weird use of my senses, you always touch me."

Blair's astonishment had collapsed into disgust--at himself. "No! I mean, yes, I know I do that. But that's just, like, moral support. I had no
idea it actually *helped* you do what you do. Man, I said I was taking this shit for granted, but I didn't realize how much I'd been
just...*coasting.* We've *both* been coasting. It should've occurred to me. I can't believe I didn't suspect--"

"There was magic in them thar fingers?" Jim interrupted, grinning. He pressed his hand on Blair's back. "Sentinel, on." He lifted his hand
away. "Sentinel, off." Press. "On." Lift. "Off."

"What else do I not know about you?" Blair groaned, clutching his head in both hands.

"Same thought's occurred to me about five times today," Jim agreed sympathetically. "Makes you crazy, doesn't it?"

"Oh, yeah. This is gonna take *months* to process."

Jim gave him a look of horror. "Processing" for Blair inevitably meant much more self-analysis and deep discussion than Jim was
comfortable with. He was actually fairly uncomfortable with *any* self-analysis and deep discussion.

Blair missed the look on his friend's face. His attention had once again been captured by the odor he'd noticed earlier. "I gotta figure out
this smell," he announced and headed back toward the bullpen.

Putting aside dark thoughts of "processing," Jim went after him, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

"It's definitely stronger this way," Blair said. "Smells like...smells like cologne. Kinda spicy, but not just cologne." Blair thought about it for a
few seconds. "Like, maybe, leather. And *tobacco*?"

"Simon," Jim said, nodding in recognition. "That must be Simon. He probably walked by here recently."

"Well, the tobacco I can figure out--his cigars--and the leather must be shoes or his holster, but Simon wears a spicy cologne? I never
knew that."

"It's really faint, hardly noticeable."

"Faint? You're joking, right? It's deadly."

"You might want to keep that little observation to yourself, Sandburg."

"Hey, diplomatic's my middle name."

"Right. Yours and mine both," Jim snorted, then forestalled any reply by pushing Blair forward through the doors to Major Crimes.

The detective nodded to the men and women on the weekend shift as he and Blair headed for Simon's office on the far side of the room.

"Sorry for the delay, Simon," Jim said as they entered.

Blair deposited the paper bag on the captain's desk and added, "Breakfast is served at last."

The usually nattily attired captain was dressed in black jeans and a red sweatshirt. "It's about time, Ellison," he said, then looked closely
at Blair. "Sandburg, you okay?"

"I'm fine, Captain. You sure smell good today."

Simon looked up from opening his orange juice. "What?"

"Oh, yeah, Chief," Jim said softly. "Dip-lo-mat-ic." To Simon, he said, "Never mind. We're having a strange morning."

"Just tell him," Blair interrupted, closing the door to the bullpen. "Don't dance around it. Captain, the truth is that Jim had this dream last
night. Well, actually it was a vision." Simon's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Incacha was there and the wolf--" The eyebrows went higher,
and Blair's voice faltered. "--and, well, Incacha told Jim that we...well, that is, I seem to have, um--"

Jim nodded appreciatively. "Nice footwork, Chief."

"Well, somebody explain what's going on," Simon ordered. He pulled apart the two halves of his bagel, already spread with cream
cheese. "I want to know why I've wasted most of my Sunday morning here at the office. Ellison, talk. You said there was a situation."

"My sentinel senses are off-line, Simon." Before the captain could do more than give him a surprised look, Jim added, "And Sandburg
seems to have...acquired them. Temporarily."

The bagel dropped from Simon's fingers, landing cream cheese side down on his desk. He gave no sign of noticing, but instead looked
at Blair, then Jim, in wordless disbelief.

Blair blinked, his head tilting in a listening pose. Jim shifted position, moving closer to his friend, but Blair shook his head slightly, so Jim
seated himself in the guest chair.

Simon observed this quick byplay with interest, then put his attention back on Blair. "He's lost 'em, and you've got 'em?" he said.

"In a nutshell," Blair replied.

Simon licked cream cheese from his fingers, wiped the fingers carefully on a napkin, then picked up his fallen bagel. Another napkin took
care of the cheese that had stuck to his desk. Once he'd completed these housekeeping tasks, he took a bite of his bagel, chewed, and
swallowed.

Blair leaned against the wall by the door and waited for Simon to digest.

After taking a drink of orange juice, the captain said to him, "You're okay?"

"A-OK, Captain--well, for the most part. And Jim's watching out for me."

"I see." Double meaning--acknowledging Blair's words and noting to himself that Jim's eyes hadn't left Blair since Jim had made the
original blunt announcement of the loss of his sentinel abilities.

Simon ate more bagel, then asked, "And this is only temporary?"

"Most definitely," was Blair's rapid reply. "No question. The situation is ab-so-lute-ly temporary."

"How temporary?"

"We don't know, Simon. There isn't exactly a rule book."

Jim said softly, "Ab-so-lute-ly no rule book."

Blair grinned, but the captain's face remained serious. "But you're handling it--*both* of you?"

In unison this time: "Yes, sir."

Simon nodded. "All I need to know." He gathered the rest of his breakfast into the bag, drained the last of the orange juice, and headed for
the door. "The tickets are there on my desk. Sandburg, I appreciate you going with Daryl to this play, since I'm out of town all week and his
mother can't go. It's some kind of experimental thing, and I don't want him in that neighborhood alone."

"No problem, Captain. It's cool. I'm looking forward to it."

"You'll pick him up at Joan's on Friday?"

"At five. Thought we'd grab dinner first," Blair said.

With a firm nod, Simon Banks was gone.

Blair stared after him for several thoughtful minutes. Finally, he said, "His breathing sped up when you told him, Jim. Then it just leveled
right back out. Stayed steady the whole time. Much as he yells, I never would've figured Simon for the calm type."

"Simon yells about the little things, Chief, or when he's angry or afraid. When it comes to the important stuff, he's a rock."

Now Blair turned his intent gaze on his partner. Jim finally grew uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "What?" he asked.

Blair shook his head. "The sentinel stuff that's happening to me is pretty obvious. But there's definitely something going on with you, too.
Must be the guide stuff. I guess I just never considered that there *was* guide stuff--or at least, I didn't think it was something that was
obvious from the outside."

"Obvious how, Sandburg? Aside from no sentinel senses--which is a pretty big 'aside,' I grant you--I don't feel all that different."

In answer, Blair looked at his own right shoulder, where Jim's hand rested, and then up at the detective, now standing beside him.
"Weren't you sitting over there?" Blair asked, gesturing with his chin to the guest chair across the room.

Startled, Jim looked back at the chair and then at his friend. "When did I--" he began, then broke off in confusion.

"I was watching Simon leave and you musta thought I zoned." Blair smiled. "You don't even remember moving, do you, man?"

Staring at the chair again, Jim slowly shook his head and said, "Now that's spooky."

"Really? *I* find it downright comforting," Blair replied, looking thoughtfully up at the sentinel who was currently his guide.

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