Title: Discovery

By: Terri D. Thomas

Dues: Yes

Disclaimer: The boys still belong to someone else, but I'm still hoping.

Warnings: None.

Spoilers: Some for "Siege". The story does include references to my fic "Choices".

Comment: My thanks to my favorite librarian, Kelly, for another quick beta. This story and all the owies are dedicated to you, Babe.

Public and private feedback welcome. E-mail me at: topekaksterri@prodigy.net

Archive: Sentinel Angst list, Cascade Library, Guide Posts and any others who want it. Just ask first. Thanks!

Discovery

Part 1 of 2

By Terri D. Thomas

"Hey Ellison, I thought your new 'partner' was starting today," Henri Brown commented, not even attempting to keep the skepticism from tinting the words.

Detective Jim Ellison glanced down at his watch and frowned. "Damn," he muttered softly.

"What happened? Did the new guy hear about the Ellison reputation?" Edwards chimed in from the back of the bullpen. "You know, your treatment of your partners is legendary."

Ellison shot a withering glare at the older detective. "I'm sure that Sandburg was just delayed at the University. He does have responsibilities there."

"Yeah, right. Doing what?" Brown pressed. "From what I saw he could better spend his time attending a grooming class."

"Look, he's a typical college student."

"Who's pairing up with the ultimate military hard ass," Brown completed. The two men chuckled at the indignant look on the detective's face.

Ellison shook his head. "I think he can handle it. From what I hear he handled Kincaid better than most of the cops around here."

Brown and Edwards suddenly stopped laughing. "Point taken," Edwards responded, his words quiet.

Ellison examined his watch once again. It was over an hour past the time that Blair Sandburg had promised to arrive. It was to be his first official day with the department. Despite the fact that he had completed his paperwork over two weeks earlier, his ride-along approval was delayed, lost in the shuffle of the disaster created by Kincaid and his band of terrorists.

Ellison flipped through the loose papers on his desk and found the business card he was looking for. Dialing the phone number listed on the card, he waited with semi-patience for the call to be answered. Finally on the fourth ring, he heard the click of the call being picked up. Before he could say anything, a recorded voice broke in. "This is Blair Sandburg, the College of Anthropology at Rainier University. This is Monday, April 2. I will be in the office this morning. I will be out of the office this afternoon and will not be checking my messages until tomorrow morning. If you'd like to leave a message for me, I'll return your call as soon as possible. If you need immediate assistance, please dial zero. Thanks for calling."

Jim waited for the signal and began his message. "Blair, this is Jim. . .uh. . . Ellison. It's past two o'clock. I was expecting you to be at the station by now. Let me know if you can't come in today. . .." The man paused for a moment and then continued, "or if you've changed you mind about doing this. . .uhm. . .project." He paused a second time. "Look, I'm just afraid that if you're not. . .well. . .serious about this that Simon's going to change his mind. If that's what you want then that's fine." For some unknown reason, Jim felt a sinking feeling settle in the pit of his stomach. "Look, just give me a call."

He hung up the phone and then stared at it as if it would ring in immediate response to his demand. Instead, the instrument was silent, mocking his impatience.

After another ten minutes of silence, Jim sighed and pushed himself from his desk. He grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair and slipped it on.

"Heading out?" Brown asked, looking up from the report he had been completing.

"Gonna run some errands. Tell Simon I'll be back in an hour or so."

Brown nodded and returned to his work.

Within a few minutes Jim had climbed in the truck and was on his way to Rainier. He wasn't really certain why he was going to the University. Blair's message had indicated that the student wasn't there, however Jim had no other idea where to look.

A flutter of panic swept through Jim. What if Blair had decided not to help him? He couldn't really blame the younger man if that was Blair's decision. After the incident with Kincaid the kid would have every right to keep as much distance from the police department as possible. However, Jim Ellison needed Blair Sandburg because Jim Ellison had no idea how to maintain control over his surging senses. "Great, Ellison," Jim muttered, "only you could end up being dependent on a hippy-wanna-be."

A quick check of Sandburg's artifact-storage-closet-turned-office showed that, as expected, the graduate student wasn't there. Ellison took the stairs up to the second floor of Hargrove Hall and searched for a sign indicating the location of the department's main office. Within seconds he had found the dean's office and without hesitation he entered. A young brunette woman greeted him. "May I help you?" she asked pleasantly.

"Yea, I'm looking for Blair Sandburg."

"I'm sorry, he's out for the afternoon, but I do expect him in tomorrow morning."

"Do you know where he went?"

"He said he had an appointment at the police department."

"He said that?"

"Yeah. I don't know what was going on, but he was really quite excited about getting down there. Something about a research project."

Part of Jim was instantly ecstatic. Blair hadn't changed his mind. He had every intention of helping him. Another part of Jim felt a knot of anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach. Why hadn't Blair shown up?

"Thanks," Jim said as he turned away and headed out of the office.

"Oh, wait a sec," the woman shouted before Jim was out of earshot. "Blair did say that he had to run an errand too."

"Where?"

"The courthouse. Said he needed to pick up some papers from the archives."

"The archives?"

The woman shrugged her shoulders. "That's all he said."

"Okay, thanks," Jim responded and left the office.

Within thirty minutes, Jim had made his way back downtown to the Courthouse. Spotting Sandburg's car parked in a parallel space near the corner, he shook his head and muttered words of frustration to himself. He was only a few blocks away from the station. He had wasted time going all the way to the University only to end up a few hundred yards from where he started.

"This isn't looking good, Sandburg," he mumbled. "If this is how you define responsibility I may need to rethink our partn. . .," Ellison stopped, catching himself before completing the word, "our association," he completed.

He took the steps up to the entryway of the large building two at a time. He pulled open the doors and approached the guard station. Pulling out his badge he handed it to the familiar-looking guard on duty, who waved him past the metal detectors with a smile and a nod. "How are you doing, Detective?"

"Just fine Officer. . .," Jim responded.

"Michaels, Sir." The man took a step closer to Jim. "I wanted to thank you."

"For what?" Jim asked, confused.

"For what you and Captain Banks did. I was one of those taken. . .," his words trailed off.

"Kincaid," Ellison guessed.

"Yeah." The man wrapped his arms around his midsection, a flash of fear in his eyes. "If you hadn't shown up when you did, they would've. . ."

Jim could feel the heat of embarrassment rising in his face. "Just doing my job."

"Yeah, well thanks. Hey, one of the others that was held hostage is here."

"Sandburg?"

Michaels nodded. "Yeah, I think that was his name. At least that's what he told Kincaid, although I'd never seen him around before."

"Do you know where he went? He's the reason I'm down here."

"No, sorry."

"Do you know where the archives are?"

"The only archives I know of are in the attic. There's nothing formal set up."

"Who do I see to get to them?"

"Probably Benjamin Martin in Administration. He pretty much runs everything around here." The young man pointed to the office only a few doors away.

"Thanks."

Jim made his way to the office. Martin was cooperative and admitted to having seen Blair. "Yeah, he came in a couple of hours ago. Haven't seen him since. He must still be up there."

"You don't know?"

"Well, we don't baby sit. He wanted to look through some of the old court records, the stuff that's not on film. We have a deal with the University. They keep some of our records on film there and we give them access to the records as needed here."

"But he hasn't come back?"

"Haven't seen him." The man turned to a woman at a desk behind him. "Margie, have you seen the kid who wanted to look in the archives?"

"No, not since he checked in here."

The man turned back to Jim. "He must still be up there." He shook his head and smiled. "You never can figure out those academic types. They can spend hours with their heads buried in books."

"Yeah, doesn't make much sense to me either," Jim smiled. "How do I get up there?"

"Take the elevator to six. Go to the end of the hall. Take the stairs all the way to the top. The door should be unlocked presuming your friend is still up there."

Jim left the office, took the elevator to the sixth floor and found the stairs. He pulled the stairway door open and began a climb up to the top of the building. He found himself at the top of the stairs facing a heavy, wooden, closed door. He pushed on the handle and the door opened. His nose was suddenly assaulted by the combined smell of dust and old books. He couldn't help but sneeze. He pulled out his handkerchief and held it over his nose, trying to breathe fresh air through the fibers.

"Sandburg?" Jim said in a voice that he thought would be loud enough to echo through the room, but not so loud as to disturb anyone else who might be in the archives. There was no response. He repeated, "Sandburg?" Still nothing. Jim sighed, frustration overwhelming him. "I suppose I should’ve expected this," he muttered. He’d been a fool to think he could depend on the grad student.

He turned to the door and started down the stairs. Before he could complete the step down, a soft thumping sound made its ways to his ears. He listened intently for a moment, not immediately identifying the source. The beat continued steadily. Frowning, Jim tilted his head trying to hear the sound more clearly while mentally trying to categorize the sound. Futilely, he shrugged his shoulders and turned to resume his trip down the stairs. He took two more steps, but still kept his hearing focused on the sound.

Suddenly he stopped as his brain finally made a connection as to what he might be hearing. It was a sound he had heard before when he was on the roof trying to stop Kincaid's escape. A sound that he had since forgotten about. "Impossible," he mumbled, but he turned and ran back up to the attic.

"Sandburg?" he shouted, this time not caring whether it was too loud. There was still no response. For a second he doubted as to whether he had jumped to the right conclusion. He concentrated on his hearing. The thumping sound was still there. He knew he was right.

Crossing the floor he approached the bookshelves that ran perpendicular to the wall. Looking down each isle, he tried to find the source of the sound. The dust assaulted his nose and throat, but he ignored the effects. Instead, he continued to listen to the sound of what he knew to be a heartbeat.

Coming to the last row of shelves, Ellison found what he was looking for.

End Part 1

Discovery

Part 2 of 2

By: Terri D. Thomas

"Sandburg," Jim whispered, now understanding why the young man had not answered his earlier calls. Lying on the floor, trapped under a fallen bookshelf, was the anthropologist. The young man made no movement in response to Jim's approach. Clearly he was unconscious. The detective rushed forward, but resisted the urge to immediately treat the injured man. Instead, Jim positioned himself at the top of the fallen shelf and tried to lift it. He could barely budge it, let alone lift it off the trapped man. "Damn!" Jim exclaimed, frustration overwhelming him.

He knelt down next to Blair's head and let his sensitive fingers find a pulse at the man’s neck. Even though he was certain that what he had heard was Blair's heartbeat, he had to make sure that he had not been mistaken. As expected, the beats he heard matched the thumping against his fingers.

As he counted the beats he watched a trail of blood run from a cut above Blair's eyebrow, down his temple and into his dark hair. The shelf lay across his chest, pinning the man to the floor. Heavy books and files were scattered around the upper part of his body.

Jim pulled out his cell phone and dialed police dispatch. After requesting medical assistance, he returned his attention to the young man.

"Blair?" Jim said softly, hoping to get a response. The student didn’t move.

Jim laid a gentle hand on the man’s cheek. "Sandburg, can you hear me?" he asked, voice louder.

He was rewarded with a whispered groan. The now semi-conscious man’s eyelids fluttered.

Jim patted the cheek lightly. "Wake up, Chief."

"Ugh," Blair moaned again. This time the blue eyes opened. For a moment they stared blankly at the ceiling above. Then they began to search his surroundings. When his eyes met Jim’s they stopped. "Hey," he gasped.

"Hey yourself," Jim responded. Before Jim could continue, Blair started to move to sit up. "Don’t," the older man ordered. "You're trapped and you’re hurt. I’m not sure how bad yet."

Blair frowned, obviously trying to piece together what happened. He tried to move his arm and found that it was trapped. "I can’t. . .I can’t move," he gasped, voice panicked.

"That’s because your arms are trapped under a bookshelf. You must’ve pulled it down on yourself. I tried lifting it off, but it’s too heavy. I’m gonna have to go for help. Will you be okay?"

Blair nodded and then groaned again. "My head hurts," he mumbled.

"I can imagine. You’ve got a nice gash in your forehead. I’ve called for an ambulance."

Blair closed his eyes. "Think I might need it."

Jim clenched his jaw. There was no doubt in his mind that the weight of the bookshelf had done some considerable damage to the anthropologist. He reached down and placed his large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. "I’m going for help, I’ll be right back."

"I’m not going anywhere." Blair gave the older man a half-hearted smile.

"From what I’ve seen so far, that’ll be a first."

Jim stood and ran for the attic door. As he made his way down the stairs for help, he heard the sound of an ambulance siren approaching from the distance.

************

An hour later, Detective James Ellison found himself pacing the confines of the small hospital waiting room waiting for word on the health of one Blair Sandburg. With the help of two courthouse employees, the detective was able to lift the heavy bookshelf from where it lay on top of the young observer. Once removed, Jim examined the man, easily detecting fractures in two ribs and a badly bruised hip to go with the deep laceration in his forehead.

"Detective Ellison?" The voice startled Jim back to the present. He turned to face the young man who had entered the waiting room. "Dr. Robeson would like you to come back now."

"How's Sandburg?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not really sure. You'll have to ask the doctor."

Ellison followed the nurse to the ER cubicles. Concentrating on his hearing, he easily detected Blair Sandburg's voice. "There's really no reason for me to stay," the young man had said.

"I don't think you understand how sore you are going to be," a female voice answered.

"Yeah. . .well. . .I'm sure I can handle it," Blair retorted.

"Handle what?" Ellison asked as he entered the cubicle. Blair was lying flat on his back, trying to readjust the flimsy hospital gown and sheet over his body.

"Mr. Sandburg has stated that he wants to go home today. I'd prefer that he spend the night here so that we can keep an eye on him."

"Sounds like a plan, Sandburg."

"There's really no reason," Blair argued.

"How bad are his injuries?"

"Well, he has a minor concussion, two fractured ribs and a nice road map of bruises forming from his hip to chest. He's very lucky he didn't suffer internal organ damage."

Jim nodded as the doctor gave the list of the damage, secretly impressed with the accuracy of his heightened senses. He had been able to identify all of Blair's injuries.

"But I'm okay," Blair stated confidently, breaking into Jim's thoughts.

"He's going to be very sore when all of those little nerve endings come alive," the doctor pointed out.

"Sounds like you should stay, Chief."

"Come on, Jim. There's really no reason. I'm just going to lie in bed here. I can do that at home."

"I've tried telling him that I'd prefer to have someone there to keep an eye on him, just in case."

Jim thought about the alternatives and then made an offer. "I can do that."

Blair frowned. "Uh. . .well. . .I really don't want to put you out."

"It's no problem. I mean we're only talking one night. It's the least I can do. I still owe you for that garbage truck incident."

The doctor frowned. "What garbage truck incident?"

"Never mind," Blair and Jim responded in unison.

"So how about it, Doc, will you spring me?"

Dr. Robeson turned to Jim. "If you will keep an eye on him and make sure that he's not having any problems, I'll go along with it."

The doctor headed for the doorway. "I'll have the nurse prepare the paperwork."

After she was out of earshot, Jim turned his attention back to Blair. "So how are you feeling?"

Blair gingerly sat up. He tried to stifle the groan that escaped from his lips. "I'm okay."

"Yeah, it sounds like it," Jim frowned as he helped Blair sit up the rest of the way.

"No, really, I am."

"Uh huh. . .," Jim scoffed.

Jim held out the man's pants and then turned his back to give Blair a semblance of privacy as he slipped his pants on under his gown from the seated position. He heard another grunt and turned around. Blair was standing. . .sort of. He was bent slightly, favoring his sore ribs, and trying to fasten the button on his pants.

"Need help?" Jim offered.

"I can do it," Blair gasped as he batted away Jim's hands.

Jim watched as the younger man finally succeeded. Blair slid the gown off his shoulders. Jim took the opportunity to inventory the man's torso, noting the tightly wrapped tape around the ribs and the multitude of purple bruises that were already beginning to show. "Boy, you sure did do a job on yourself."

Blair gave the man a crooked grin. "No kidding. Now I know what that guy felt like when I knocked the vending machine over on him."

"So, what happened?"

"I'm too short, that's what happened." Blair sighed and sat down in the chair next to the bed. Jim held the man's shirt open and helped him into it. "I couldn't reach a box that I needed that was on the top shelf, so I climbed up and. . .," he paused, taking a breath.

"And you pulled the shelf down on you."

Blair's gaze dropped to the floor in embarrassment. "Yeah."

"You're lucky you didn't kill yourself."

"I know." He paused for a moment. "How'd you find me?"

"The secretary at the University told me you'd gone to the Courthouse archives."

"Good thing she paid attention, I guess."

Jim nodded. After a long period of silence as he watched Blair button his shirt, Jim finally spoke. "I discovered something today. . .something that I had forgotten about."

"What?" Blair's eyes lit up as if he already knew the discovery was related to Jim's newfound senses.

"I can hear your heartbeat."

"You what?"

"Your heartbeat. . .I can hear it." Jim leaned back against the wall. "That's how I knew you were in the attic."

"You heard my heartbeat?" Blair repeated, clearly astonished.

Jim nodded. "I heard it for the first time when Kincaid took you to the helicopter. In all the excitement I forgot."

"That's amazing," Blair exclaimed as he stood up and then grimaced and collapsed back in the chair.

"Easy, Chief."

"Tests. . .we need to do tests. Can you hear other heartbeats. . .the doctor's? The nurse's?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know. . .I guess so. I've never really tried. I didn't realize I could until it dawned on me I was hearing yours."

"Whoa, that is so cool."

Jim sighed. "Yeah, so cool."

"What's wrong?" Blair frowned in concern at the look of anguish on Jim's face.

"Well, it's kind of. . . I don't know. . .strange. Now that I have identified the sound of your heart I can't seem to get it out of my head. It's like this constant drum beating in the background. Or like a song that won't quit playing in your head."

"Geesh. . .that's so. . .," Blair started to respond.

"Irritating," Jim finished, cutting him off. "Knowing that I'm going to go through life with you always on my mind isn't the most appealing of thoughts."

"I think it's great, I mean, how lucky can you get?" Blair chuckled and then held his ribs as the pain hit. "Oh, ow, ow, ow, this is so not fair. . .," he groaned.

"Yeah. . .that's what I'm saying, Chief," Jim muttered as he turned and left the young man sitting in the room. As Jim walked away he grumbled to himself when he realized that his footsteps were keeping pace with the rhythm of the heartbeat playing in his head.

End