This is the first part of a story that takes place after Blind Man's Bluff.  Please do let me know what you think.
Many thanks to ShelleyK, beta reader and answerer of silly questions.
Disclaimer:  The usual.  No copyright infringement is implied or should be inferred.
Rating:  PG, for some language
Synopsis:  Blair is dealing with flashbacks from the Golden, too much
university work, a visit from mom, and guilt that's he's letting Jim
down.

It was a sunny spring day in Cascade.  For a city with an average annual rainfall that rivaled Seattle and Vancouver, this was a rare enough occurrence that the parks, and even the downtown streets, were crowded with city dwellers enjoying the bright warmth.

Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg were walking slowly along a paved path in a park near Rainier University.  The tide of skaters and other pedestrians ebbed and flowed around them.

"You just did it again, Chief," Jim said, shaking his head.

Blair looked up at his friend.  "What?  I did what?"

"I wish I knew," Jim sighed.  He was looking over his shoulder at the young woman who'd just zipped past them on in-line skates.  She was skating backward, her eyes still fastened on Blair.

Blair chuckled.  "Cryptic, man.  You're getting cryptic in your old age."

Jim gave him a dark look for the age comment, but before he could retort, two teenaged girls approached.  The redhead whispered something to her blonde companion.  Both looked at Blair and smothered giggles.

"Hi," Blair said, always friendly.  The girls laughed harder, embarrassed but pleased by his attention.

"Hi," they chorused.

"Great day, huh?"

They nodded vigorously, saying "Oh, yeah!" and "Fantastic!" as though, Jim thought sourly, Sandburg had just imparted the wisdom of the ages.

Blair grinned at them and waved.  "Well, ladies, have a good one."

"You too, Blue Eyes," the redhead replied, and they departed in a cloud of laughter.

Blair continued to smile as he watched them walk away, then he realized he was walking alone.  Jim had stopped and was staring at him, fists on hips.

"What, man?" Blair asked, genuinely puzzled.  "What's the problem?"

Jim pondered his friend silently.  Blair, his long curly brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, stood bouncing slightly on his toes.  The blue T-shirt he wore had seen better days and his green chinos were frayed around the cuffs.  He'd been putting in long hours at the university lately and faint shadows smudged the skin under his eyes.

"What is it with you and women, Romeo?  I mean, you aren't even *trying* and they're falling all over you."

Blair snorted his disbelief.  A couple--to judge by their rings, a married couple--approached, and he moved aside to let them pass.  He tossed a casual smile at them, and the woman gave him a lingering look and an appreciative grin.  She has to be in her fifties, thought the 39-year-old Jim.  Sandburg's only 27!

Blair was giving Jim's question serious consideration.  Finally, he shrugged, saying, "You're imagining it, man.  I'm not *doing* anything."

Jim muttered, "I *know* you aren't doing anything.  That's what makes it so annoying."

Blair chuckled and punched his friend lightly on the arm. "Hallucinating, Jimbo.  You're seeing things."

"Jimbo?"  Jim retaliated by wrapping one long arm around Blair's shoulders and holding him immobile.  "I'll Jimbo you, Junior," he growled.

The sight of the six-foot-two ex-military man towering over the graduate student's five-nine frame brought out the protective instincts of three elderly ladies coming up the path.  In a body, they confronted the larger man.

"Stop that!" one said sternly.  "You're bigger than he is."

Astonished, Jim broke away from Blair and found himself the object of three pairs of disapproving eyes.  He held up his hands in surrender. "No need to worry, ladies.  I wouldn't hurt a hair on his head...at least not in public," he finished under his breath.  He walked away.

Blair disengaged himself from his would-be protectors and caught up with Jim.  He looked up at his friend with wide-eyed innocence.  "You know, Jim.  I think you're right," he said.

Jim mistrusted that look.  "Right how?" he asked warily.

"Well, you said it yourself--I'm irresistible!"  Blair laughed uproariously, but the laugh turned to a startled yelp as Jim made a
lunge for him.

Blair had once jokingly told Jim that he was going to write a book called "The Sentinel Friend's Survival Guide."  Rule number one in that book should probably be 'Never tease the Sentinel'--he decided that just seconds before Jim caught him in a flying tackle that knocked the wind out of him.

After his lunch with Jim, and the subsequent grass-stained wrestling match that he had lost, Blair returned to his office in Rainier's anthropology department to find three students waiting in the hall outside his office.  Though it was only one-thirty and his office hours didn't start till three o'clock, there they were.

Apparently, his disheveled appearance did not inspire their confidence since all three eyed him askance as he approached.  He pulled most of the grass from his hair, confined the hair back in its ponytail, and resigned himself to a long afternoon.

It turned out to be even longer than he had feared.  Five o'clock had come and gone and he was still being held hostage--that's how it felt--by a petite young woman wearing tortoise-shell glasses.

"You have to take the final, Ms. Eliot," Blair repeated.

"But, Mr. Sandburg," she said desperately.  "It's Aruba!"

He nodded, trying to feign sympathy through the headache nibbling at his temples.  Eyes closed, he rubbed the bridge of his nose where his glasses rested. "I understand your family goes to Aruba every year, but you can't miss the last two weeks of class."

She sighed.  After a moment, she said, as though making a great concession, "I would be willing to do the work early--to take the exam early even."

Blair opened his eyes and his mouth, but the sight that greeted him froze the words in his throat.  A hazy golden light haloed the young woman sitting in his guest chair.  Sparkles of golden fire danced on the tortoise-shell frames of her glasses.  The sparkles grew into tiny tongues of flame licking up into her blonde hair.

"What the--!" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and sending his chair careening into the wall behind him.

"I'm s-sorry?" Ms. Eliot stammered, taken aback by the look of shock on her instructor's face.

The fire and golden light vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

The young woman stood and picked up her backpack.  Retreating rapidly toward the door, she babbled, "I mean, I'm sorry to have b-bothered you, Mr. Sandburg.  I'm sure I can work something out about the trip, I mean, about the class.  We can talk later when you're not so...when you aren't...I have to go now."  She was out the door in a rush.

Blair stood alone in his office, staring at the open doorway in horror. Fire that vanished without a trace.  Visions bathed in a golden light.

Golden.  Oh god.

Three months earlier, while helping Jim with a case, Blair had been dosed unknowingly with a new hallucinogenic drug called Golden.  He remembered only bits and pieces but knew he'd taken Jim's extra gun from his desk at the Major Crimes Unit and then shot up the police garage. He'd seen terrifying visions--creatures of fire coming to burn him up, coming to burn up the world.  Jim had disarmed Blair, at the risk of his own life.

The doctors had told Blair that flashbacks could be a possibility, but since the components that made up Golden were so new and unstudied very little information was available on the drug's long-term effects.  With Jim's help, Blair had recovered and had put the episode behind him.

Until now.

As he gathered his belongings into his backpack, Blair debated whether he should tell Jim what had happened.  Detective Ellison was already ridiculously overprotective of the young observer he'd taken on as partner.  This fact alternately amused and annoyed the hell out of Blair.  But if Jim found out about the hallucination he'd likely sentence him to desk duty, which meant no riding along on cases.

The university part of his life had taken center stage lately, so Blair knew next to nothing about Jim's current case.  From the detective's general demeanor, it was obvious to Blair that the case was close to breaking.  He didn't want his personal problems to get in the way of that, or to interfere in his ongoing study of Jim's Sentinel abilities.

No, he wouldn't tell Jim just yet.  Besides, it was probably just an isolated incident.  He turned off his office light, locked the door, and headed for his car.

He drove home *very* carefully.

Blair glanced at his bedside clock:  1:08 a.m.  He'd experienced no more flashbacks after the one in his office, but in the hours since he found himself growing more and more unnerved by it.

Jim was still not home.  They'd made it a habit to keep each other informed of late nights.  Considering the number of crazed killers and revenge-driven ex-cons that crossed their paths, it seemed only prudent.  However, Jim's voice on the answering machine said merely that he'd be late.

In spite of meditating after dinner and trying various breathing exercises in bed, Blair was still wide awake.  He kept reliving his brief glimpse of that appallingly familiar golden light.  Who knew when the next flashback might come?  It could happen during a lecture, while he was driving, or maybe (most horrible of all to contemplate) in the middle of a dangerous situation with Jim.

He and Jim were working to overcome the Sentinel's tendency to become lost in the experience of his hyper-senses--zone-outs, they called these episodes.  How could Blair help Jim if he was having his own personal little zone-outs, waiting to see flaming golden creatures everywhere? What if he suddenly went nuts like he had in the police garage and hurt somebody?  Hurt Jim?

"Stop it," he said aloud.  "Just stop it.  It was one time.  It will probably never happen again.  You're obsessing."

That's right.  It would probably never happen again.  He was making himself crazy for no reason.  He'd call the doctor tomorrow.  Maybe there was something she could do.

He looked again at the clock:  1:15 a.m.

Was Jim ever coming home?

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sandburg, but there's really nothing we can do for you."

Blair had taken the cordless phone into his room and closed the French doors before calling the doctor's office the next morning.  Jim was pretty careful to keep his hearing dialed back to normal range at home, to give Blair some privacy.  However, Blair didn't want to risk being overheard even by accident, so he'd also waited until Jim was in the shower--and singing (trust him to know a song about Green Berets).

Now, Blair's hand tightened on the phone as the doctor's response to his story echoed in his ear.  "Nothing?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, there is no treatment for flashbacks.  If you're experiencing anxiety, I could prescribe a tranquilizer."

If he was experiencing anxiety?  "Uh, no," he said, "that's not necessary."

"Mr. Sandburg, I know this must be very upsetting.  Why don't you come in and talk with someone?  I could probably schedule a consultation for later today."

He didn't hear the shower or Jim's singing any more; when had they stopped?  "Talk with--oh, a psychiatrist.  No, that's okay.  But I'll keep it in mind.  It's only happened once; maybe that'll be the end of it," he said with false cheer.

"Mr. Sandburg, you shouldn't try to deal with this on your own.  Talking with someone can help you understand what's happening, can help you deal with the stress.  There are even meditation--"

"No, really," Blair interrupted as he heard Jim's footsteps thudding up the stairs to his room.  "It's fine.  Like I said, there's only been that one.  It'll probably never happen again."

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

"Yes, I'm certain.  I'll call if...if I need anything."

"Yes, please do.  You have my pager number.  I'd be happy to schedule that consult for you.  In the meantime--"  She paused, then added rather apologetically, "In the meantime, perhaps it would be best if you refrained from operating heavy machinery for a few days."

"Like a car?"

"Well, yes.  Just to be on the safe side, you understand."

Noises from above told Blair that Jim was dressing with his customary speed.  "Okay, doctor.  Thanks for your help.  Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Mr. Sandburg."

He disconnected and carried the phone back out to the living room.  When Jim finally appeared at the top of the stairs, Blair was standing in front of the open refrigerator peering into its depths.  He wasn't the least bit hungry.

"Morning, Chief," Jim called as he descended the stairs.

"Mmmm," Blair replied, distracted.  He was still turning over the doctor's words in his mind.  So driving was out; how soon before his teaching and the work with Jim started to suffer?

"When's Naomi supposed to get here?" Jim asked.

There was no reply.  Jim came over and reached into the still-open refrigerator.  As he pulled out the orange juice, he commented dryly, "Air conditioning's cheaper, Nanook."

"What?" Blair asked, finally looking at the detective.  "Did you say something?"

Jim finished pouring juice into a glass then looked at his friend. Enunciating slowly and carefully, he replied, "I said, 'Your mother is one hot babe, Sandburg.'"

"Hey!"  Blair closed the refrigerator door with a thump.  "Watch it, man."

Jim grinned at him.  "So when's she supposed to get here?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"What's she up to now?  Saving the spotted whales or founding an nudists' colony or what?"

"I don't know.  She just called, said she'd be passing through and could she visit."

Jim nodded and finished his juice.  "How long she staying?" he asked, putting the glass in the sink.

"She didn't say."

Jim shook his head.  "And you didn't ask.  You two are one kooky pair--of course, on her kooky works."

When Naomi Sandburg had visited them six months earlier, Jim had been surprised--way too *agreeably* surprised in Blair's opinion--to see just how young and attractive she was.  Naomi herself had seemed all too willing to return the police detective's regard.  Between them, they'd given Naomi's son some uncomfortable moments.

"You just watch yourself, big guy," Blair said, only half-joking. "Remember that's my *mom* you're talking about."

Jim returned the orange juice carton to the refrigerator and gave his friend a particularly mischievous look.  "I'll try, Chief.  I'll try. But it's easier said than done when she's in the room, you know?"

"Jim--" Blair began warningly.

The older man shrugged.  "Hey, I'll just keep in mind what it would feel like to have you calling me 'Dad.'"

The look of astonished horror on Blair's face caused Jim to burst into loud laughter.  Thoughts of his personal troubles vanished and a reluctant grin spread over Blair's face.  "Man, you are such a--"  He shook his head, unable to think of a suitably dreadful epithet.

Jim held up a hand in a placating gesture.  "Take it easy, Chief.  I'll be a perfect gentleman."

"That'd be a first."  Blair ducked the lazy swing Jim took at him.  He felt better.  Talking with Jim had eased the tight knot of worry in his stomach.  He should keep a sense of proportion about yesterday's incident.  It was only one flashback; it would probably never happen again.  Still, he recalled the doctor's warning about driving and decided it couldn't hurt to leave his car home for a day.

"Can you give me a lift to the university?" he asked.  "The Corvair's been acting up."  No more than usual, but not an outright lie.

"Sure, no problem.  But I need to leave ASAP.  Paperwork's piled up to the ceiling and Simon's threatening six kinds of hell if I don't get it finished this week."  Simon Banks was captain of Major Crimes and Jim's boss.

Blair gathered his backpack and said, "Hey, I'm ready now."

"You wouldn't want to lend me a hand with the paperwork, would you?"

"Can't, sorry.  I've got a backlog of my own to deal with."

As he filled his pockets with wallet and keys, Jim mused, "Why is it that your workload at the university always picks up just when I've got paperwork to do?"

Blair grabbed an apple from a basket in the kitchen.  "Don't know, kemosabe," he said with a shrug.  "Just lucky, I guess."

Jim dropped Blair off near Hargrove Hall, where the grad student's office was located.  "You gonna need a ride home?" he asked as Blair stepped out and closed the Expedition's door.

"Nah.  I'll probably be late so I'll just catch the bus."

"Okay.  I may be late myself, depending on how briskly the paperwork goes."  Jim grimaced and Blair chuckled.  'Brisk' and 'paperwork' were mutually exclusive concepts, at least the way Jim did paperwork.

"See ya' later," Blair said, backing away from the vehicle and waving.

"Later, Chief."

The truck sped off, and Blair turned his steps toward Hargrove.

The sunny weather was continuing, and the campus walkways were crowded. As he walked, Blair was greeted by several passersby--the grad student was popular with the students and most of the faculty.  He breathed in the fresh air--well, fresh except for the indecipherable odors wafting from the chem building--and found himself smiling.

The fountain in front of Hargrove hadn't been turned on yet and the early morning sun glittered on the surface of the still pool of water. It was pretty but blinding, and Blair blinked against the glare.

The reflected brightness began to waver strangely.  Golden splinters of light grew and coalesced into an amorphous shape.  The shape gathered itself and rose up from the water, a sinuous, snake-like creature.  It lunged toward him.

"Shit!" he exclaimed and jumped back.

Golden light scintillated around the edges of his vision.  The snake-like creature burst apart and dissipated onto the surface of the water in a shining effervescence.

Several students were sitting on the low concrete wall that ringed the fountain.  One of them recognized Blair.

"Problem, Mr. S?" he asked.

Blair swallowed, his heart racing.  The golden light had faded, replaced by the clear bright sunshine.  "N-no," he managed to stammer.  "Just a, uh, a bee sting."

The young man nodded sympathetically and resumed the conversation with his friends.

Blair entered Hargrove Hall on leaden feet, his hard-won peace completely shattered.  The brilliant spring day suddenly seemed icy cold.

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