I want to thank three very dear friends of mine: Bonnie, for beta'ing. Yes, BB. You are the GrammarQueen. *G* Angie, who has well earned the affectionate title of 'MomSmurf' and answered my numerous questions on ER procedure, injuries, and all kinds of technical junk like that. And, last but not least, Sphinx my cybersis. Just 'cause she's the bounciest person I know.

I know this story is so short it probably doesn't even warrant feedback, but I'm still going to beg. If you liked it, let me know; if you loathed it, let me know and why. Shycat

Despite the lights of his office, the outer darkness was enough to affect the overall atmosphere. He tapped the tip of the pen in his hand against the desk surface. The test in front of him was almost mocking in its silence. It was for a class he didn't even need and was now wishing he hadn't taken. The professor had had mercy on his students and decided a take-home test would be more merciful.

'Oh, you think you've got me beat,' Blair silently reprimanded the piece of paper. 'But I'll show you yet.' He looked at his watch. Getting a little late. 'After I get home. . . It's almost eleven.'

He tucked the pen in the desk drawer, gathered up the papers, and tucked them carefully into his backpack propped against the side of the desk. As he stood up, backpack slung over his shoulder, a surprising yawn escaped him.

'Sleep sounds awful good right about now, too. Hopefully I can get to sleep before two tonight.'

He hoped.

He did his routine check of his office to make sure he wasn't missing anything, switched off the lights, exited the room, and locked the door behind him.

The corridor lights were dimmed appropriately for the lack of activity in Hargrove Hall. The only sounds that came to Blair were his own soft footfalls. The lonely sound didn't bother him in the slightest. It was, in fact, a sound he had become quite accustomed to. The light chill on the other hand was a constant that he didn't think he'd ever become accustomed to.

The air outside of the Hall proved to be even colder and he huddled into himself, arms tucked in tightly against his body, head ducked down. Not only was it colder, but it also seemed so much darker, despite the street lamps that adorned the parking light.

'Just my imagination,' he tried to persuade himself, but he shivered nonetheless.

And it would just happen to be that on a night like this he was parked all the way out in the 'boonies'. Less light and more cold.

A light sprinkling of moisture fell onto the uncovered portions of his hands and his already numb face, stinging with each icy drop.

'Perfect. Now I'm going to get the flu. Jim's going to have a field day with this.'

The farther he walked from the buildings, the weaker the surrounding lights appeared. It never occurred to him to wonder if it was either factual or a figment of his imagination, which was always working in high gear. Either way, the shadowy ambiance unsettled him, as if it were a forewarning of sorts.

He saw his Volvo--oh the beautiful, sweet car-- not far off and he breathed a "thank you" underneath his breath. His pace sped up distinctly as he was anxious to finally reach his car. A clang to his left froze every nerve in his body. Feeling a tinge of nervousness creep into his bones he turned his head in the general vicinity of the noise. An umbra spread out across the trees on the edge of the parking lot, where his car was parked. He squinted, but was still unable to make anything out. Probably just an animal, he tried to reassure himself.

'You're getting a little jumpy, Blair,' he chided himself. 'Just calm down. You're overworked and your nerves are totally frazzled. You're going to have a heart attack by the time you're thirty.'

"Calm down," he said aloud, hoping the verbal command would help. It did a little.

He pulled his keys out of his pocket, readying them as he neared the vehicle. He had few intentions, if any, of staying out here, by himself, in the chill darkness with strange clangings going about. Finally, he reached the Volvo and he found himself nearly sighing in relief. He felt a little ridiculous for letting his mind's fancy get the better of him.

'Take a little darkness, add a considerable amount of cold, a splash of rain, weird sounds, and--voila!--an overactive imagination.' He chuckled softly as he fit the key into the lock.

Something solid and heavy rammed up against his back, shoving him against the car door. The keys fell to the pavement with a sharp chang. The sound didn't even register as he pushed back against his assailant, feet digging into the ground in an attempt to give him extra strength. Perhaps surprised by the retaliation, his attacker backed off. Blair whirled around, breath coming out in heavy pants, heart galloping in his chest.

The vagrant in front of him glared at him,eyes glazed over with a look Blair had seen enough times to clearly identify. The man was a drug addict.

Greasy hair, unshaven face, dirt-smudged face and hands, clothes that appeared to have been taken straight from a trash dumpster. In one trembling hand was a gun, pointed straight at Blair.

Blair's hands rose in a gesture of supplication. "Hey, man. Just calm down. Maybe I can help you out."

"Need . . . a fix," the bum rasped.

"Okay, I can help you," Blair said, in what he hoped was a very calm, soothing manner. He moved his hands out, turning them palms up. "Why don't you just give me the gun and I'll get you some help? Are you cold? Hungry?"

"N-not cold! I don't want food! I want drugs," the man spat, revolver wavering dangerously.

"Look, I can't help you with that. I don't have any drugs, but I can take you somewhere to get you some help."

"Don't make me hurt you," the bum pleaded. "Just give me what I need. Y-your money. Just hand me your money."

Logic said that he should just give the man what he wanted, but the humanitarian in him debated that there had to be a way to keep this man from the drugs. He shook his head. "I don't have any money on me. Come with me and I'll get you some."

For a moment the vagrant seemed to consider Blair's proposal. Their gazes met. The glassy eyes flared with newfound life. "Liar!"

Before Blair even knew what was happening the weapon flashed in a glittering arc and he felt an exploding pain in his skull. His body jerked back against the car and the gun raised again, smashing against his nose. Mind reeling, he felt a warm wetness gush over his lips and dribble down his chin. Thought escaped him, his entire world encompassed by nauseating pain. Another blinding blow slammed into his temple and stars sprang before his eyes. His knees failed to support him and he felt his body plummeting towards the ground. Darkness claimed him before he was even aware of hitting the hard surface.

Admittedly, the loft wasn't much better. Three hours after being dismissed by Simon, Jim stood over the stove, stirring the contents in the pan. He found himself wondering when his roommate would be home. This morning, before leaving, Blair had said something about being home before eleven. A glance to the watch told him that it was just past ten. Mindlessly, he kept stirring, the rising wisps of steam from the beef stew warming his hands.

Should he call Blair? He stopped stirring and looked down in the pot, not even seeing the viscous mixture. It didn't seem like a bad idea at all and something was tugging at the back of his mind; something that didn't feel right.

He left the stove and grabbed the phone next to the refrigerator. Without a second thought he dialed in Blair's office number. After several rings Blair's voice came over the line, stating that if he left a message and number he would get back to him as soon as possible. Jim hung up, feeling slightly frustrated. It was possible Blair had just left and was headed home. Once again, he picked up the phone, this time dialing in Blair's cell phone number. He let it ring ten times before hanging up again. Blair might not be answering for any number of reasons; but it was the darker, more foreboding reasons that spurred him into action.

In ever growing haste, the stove top was switched off, his jacket grabbed from its hook and keys from the basket, and the lights were switched off. The door slammed behind him, leaving the now barren loft in silence.

Sight focused at full intensity, he scanned the parking lot trying to find the location of the frightening sound. He took a few steps in the direction of the sound and saw, all the way at the edge of the parking lot, Blair's Volvo. On the ground beside it was an unmoving heap that vaguely resembled a human. His breath caught when realization sank in. He jumped back into his truck, cranked up the engine, and sped down the relatively short distance.

As soon as he reached the far end of the parking lot he jumped out of the truck, leaving the engine running. Ignoring the freezing weather, he shrugged off his jacket. He knelt beside the injured young man and was finally able to see the damage done. Sour bile rose up in his throat when he saw the crushed nose, dried blood covering the entire face, and clinging to the dampened curls. A gentle hand ran over the features, inspecting for further damage. Most probably a concussion. He threw the jacket over the limp body.

"Geez, Blair," he muttered, sympathy coating his tone. "You sure do know how to get into trouble, don't you?"

Something shiny caught his attention before he could proceed to lift his partner up--car keys. If he just left them here and the Volvo was stolen, Blair would never forgive him. He picked up the small collection of keys, sparkling dully in the dim light, and stuffed them into his jeans pocket.

He took in a deep breath, disregarding the sting of the cold air in his lungs. Bracing himself, he slipped an arm underneath Blair's knees, the other around his shoulders, clasping a hand underneath one of Blair's arms for a better grip. Using his legs to push himself up with his burden, he rose. He knew he'd weight-lifted more than Blair, but that still didn't make the kid a lightweight. Carefully, the young man was slid into the truck and over to the passenger's side. A pained groan escaped him.

Jim tensed. "Blair? Are you with me, buddy?" He wanted to tap his partner's face until the young man came to, but the visible injuries and blood kept him from doing so.

Another groan was his reply.

"We're gonna get you some help," Jim soothed, not really sure if Blair was aware enough to understand him; the words helped calm him down some, though.

The truck pulled out, emergency lights flipped on. He grabbed the cell phone lying beside him on the seat and, one-handed, punched in 911.

"911," the operator answered.

"This is Detective Ellison. I have an officer down. Possible concussion, fractured skull, broken nose. He's bleeding from several areas of the face. I'm en route to Cascade General Hospital. I need a team ready when I arrive. ETA in five minutes."

"I'll contact the hospital right away, detective," the operator informed him. "Can I have the name of the injured officer?"

"Blair Sandburg."

"Thank you, sir. Cascade General will have a team ready as soon as you arrive."

"Thank you." And with that the phone was flipped off and his foot pressed down further on the gas pedal.

"I hope you're all right, kid," he murmured. "Please be all right."

He wanted to follow, to make sure Blair was going to be all right, but knew he wouldn't be welcomed. The receptionist pointed him in the direction of the waiting room, sympathetic to his plight. He smiled sadly at her kindness and went off to wait. Impatient. Worried.

His mind was a jumbled mess. It had all happened so suddenly. He hadn't even had adequate time to process past events. The only thing that made sense was that Blair had been mugged.

Jim rubbed his face into a palm that shook with agitation.

'Please, Blair.'

It seemed like hours had passed--when it had actually been about thirty minutes--before a doctor entered the waiting room. She stood for a moment, watching the detective's anxious pacing. Finally, she spoke up.

"Detective Ellison?"

He stopped and turned to face her. "Yes? How is he, doctor?"

"Surprisingly, much better than I had expected considering his injuries. He's suffering from a slight concussion and a broken nose, but once he came around he was coherent and very aware of his surroundings. He must be a very resilient young man."

Jim laughed. "That he is."

"We'll have to keep him overnight for further observation, but I think tomorrow he should be okay to go home. Oh yes, he asked about you, too."

Jim perked up at the mention. "He did?"

She nodded, still smiling. "Yes. He wanted to know if you were here. He would like to see you."

Jim stepped towards her, expectantly. "And that would be okay with you? He's up for visitors?"

"Well, it seems he won't calm down until he sees you. It would be in all of our best interests if he does." The smile widened to indicate that she actually found the situation to be quite amusing. "Follow me. I'll take you to his room."

Without question, Jim followed the middle aged woman out of the waiting room and into the antiseptic hallways.

The doctor had left after checking up on Blair again, leaving Jim alone with his friend.

"Hey, Chief," Jim greeted his friend softly. "How's it going?"

The young man lying on the bed tried to smile, but found it painful through the bruises and cuts marring his face. "Okay. Could be better though."

"I can see that. Do you want to talk about it?"

Blair's irises contracted, then shifted their focus off to the side. "It was really ridiculous on my part."

Jim settled himself in the chair beside the bed and leaned towards his best friend. "Why's that, kid?"

"Because I thought I could change his mind. He was a junkie, man. Just wanted a fix. I offered him help. Asked him if he was cold, hungry. And I could tell that he was, but he didn't care. Drugs were all he wanted." Blair frowned at the thought. "Is that really what it all tumbles down to?"

Jim found his own smile fading at Blair's troubled mood. "Drugs?"

"Not caring," Blair corrected feelingly. "He didn't care about anything but getting a fix. You could see it in his eyes. He was way beyond the point of caring. He's out there somewhere and it will go on and on, a never ending cycle; and somewhere along the line someone is going to get killed. I was lucky, man. I got out of the situation alive, he didn't. He was already dead. I saw it. And what has killed him will kill someone else."

The words registered deeply in the Sentinel. "I'm sure we'll find the guy. We'll get him off the streets, then he won't be able to attack anyone else. And we'll get all of your stuff back."

Blair waved a dismissive hand, head rolling on the pillow. "That's not important. I can replace all of that. Just find him. Please. He needs help. So many people like him need help."

Jim's lids fell shut. The dejection in his Guide's voice bit at him like the outside cold had done. "We can't help them all, Chief."

Blair spoke, hushed, accepting. "I know, Jim."

Jim reached out and grasped one of Blair's fidgeting hands in his own. The kid was so cold. He squeezed the icy hand. "Want some company tonight?"

"Jim . . ." Blair argued, leaving his heart of out it. "You should go home and sleep in your own bed."

"I think you need me here more than you need me at home. I'm going to talk to the doctor. I'll be back in a minute. Okay, kid?"

Blair nodded. "Okay."

He released his grasp on the smaller hand, albeit reluctantly, and left the room.

"You gonna sleep there?" he asked groggily. The medication that had been given to him earlier was beginning to take effect.

"Nah. I'm going to borrow the other bed. I'm sure they won't mind too much. They don't seem exactly busy tonight."

Blair grunted. "Probably not." He yawned. "Oh man. I'm sorry. I think I'm gonna pass out here real soon."

Jim smiled. "Don't worry about it. You need the sleep. You've been through a lot."

"Just so much on my mind," Blair murmured. "Wish things could be different."

His eyes fluttered as the young man fought valiantly to stay awake, but the medication coursing through his system finally won the battle and he succumbed to sleep. Jim pressed his lips together, pondering the last troubled words that had come from his partner. He brushed a hand lightly across the bruised features, marveling over Blair's dismissal of his own welfare.

"After inflicting the damage that he did you're still more concerned for what'll happen to him. Amazing. Even after everything you've been through, everything you've seen, you still have this amazing faith in human kind." He moved his hand down to take the same cold hand into his. It was warmer than it had been earlier. "Maybe that's a good thing; because it means you will make the difference."

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