Arriving a few minutes after the ambulance, Simon had a hard time keeping up as Jim jogged across the parking lot towards the emergency entrance. Striding quickly up to the desk, he showed his badge and demanded to know which room Smith had been taken to. Receiving his answer from the stunned admission clerk, he swept past her despite her protestations and headed back into the treatment area.

He walked into trauma room 4 just as they lifted Blair onto the treatment bed. The tall woman at the head of the bed noticed him immediately.

"I'm sorry, sir, but you need to leave. We're busy here."

Jim stood his ground. "I know, doctor, but I need to speak with you about Mr. Smith. It's urgent."

The doctor looked at him for a moment, recognizing the determination on his face, and relented. "All right, you've got one minute." She called out to the treatment team as she walked towards the doorway. "Get his vitals, get an IV line in, and get a blood draw. I'll be right back."

Jim led her out into the hallway.

"Thank you, Doctor West…"

She cut him off in midsentence. "Don't I know you, Officer…"

"Detective. Detective Jim Ellison."

"Detective Ellison! I thought I recognized you." A puzzled frown appeared on her face as she looked back towards the treatment room, then at Jim. "Isn't that…"

"Yes, it's my partner, Blair Sandburg. You've treated him before."

"What's with the 'Smith' on the paperwork?"

Jim rubbed a hand tiredly over his face. "Doctor, Blair was kidnapped about 36 hours ago. We just recovered him. As you can see, he's been assaulted, tortured…" His voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat. "We don't know if he's still in danger from the kidnapper, so we don't want him admitted under his own name. And we don't want the circumstances of his rescue to hit the press."

The doctor nodded her head. "I can understand that, Detective. We'll have security on hand and respect your wishes about his admittance ID. Now I need to get back…"

Jim halted her with a hand on her arm. "Doc, one more thing. He's been drugged, we don't know what with. When we found him he came to briefly, but he was confused, violent…" He looked down at his feet, his voice trembling. "He didn't recognize us…we had to subdue him with force, he was trying to hurt himself…"

He closed his eyes and bent his head, covering his mouth with one hand as he tried to compose himself to continue, suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion and emotion. The doctor reached up and laid a hand softly on his shoulder.

"I understand, Detective. Thank you for telling us, we needed to know that. We'll run a drug screen right away, and we'll take every precaution to keep him safe. I promise I'll let you know how he's doing as soon as I can, all right? Why don't you go and get a cup of coffee in the waiting room and I'll see after your partner."

Jim looked up and met her eyes with gratitude. "Thanks, Doc." He watched her turn and head back into the treatment room as Simon joined him in the hallway.

"Come on, Jim, let's let them do their jobs. Blair's in good hands. Let's go grab a cup of coffee."

They walked slowly back down the hallway to wait.

---------------

Jim was aroused from his reverie by a firm shake of his shoulder.

"Jim? Jim? Dr. West is here to talk with us."

He blinked and looked up slowly. It had been over two hours since Blair had been brought in, and he and Simon had run out of small talk after the first 15 minutes. After pacing for the better part of an hour, he had finally planted himself in a chair and picked up a magazine. The magazine was now lying on the floor between his feet where he must have dropped it some time ago, although he didn't remember. He stood, wavering slightly on his feet.

"Why don't we go down the hall to the family room to talk?" Dr. West urged.

Simon guided him in the right direction with a firm hand on his back, and they followed the doctor into a small, quiet room and sank into the padded chairs.

"How is he?"

"Well, he seems to be stable for now. Whatever he was drugged with is pretty powerful stuff, he's been quite violent the few times that he's regained consciousness. It's a good thing you warned us, Detective, even with restraints he's been very difficult to manage. He seems to be hallucinating quite badly and he is extraordinarily sensitive to light, sound, and touch. We ended up having to tranquilize him for his own safety, as much as I hated to do that with his physical condition and the drugs he still has on board. We should get the full drug screen back shortly, hopefully that will let us know how we can help him better."

"What is his physical condition?"

"He's in serious condition. He was quite dehydrated and his electrolytes seriously out of balance. That and the combination of drugs and exhaustion put quite a strain on his heart and respiratory system. Most people don't realize that people who die from drug overdoses actually die of respiratory or cardiac failure. His cardiac function became very erratic for a while, but we were able to get it stabilized with medication short of a full arrest. He was showing the initial signs of respiratory collapse, so we've got him on a respirator for now."

Jim could sit still no longer, so he stood and stared out of the window, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"What about his injuries?"

"Well, if there's a bright spot here, that's it. As you know, he has quite a few cuts and bruises over his body. None of them are very serious, and the cuts are clean and he should have few if any scars. He does have some blood in his urine from bruised kidneys, but it doesn't look like he's got any other internal injuries. He's got burns, both heat and chemical, scattered over his body, but they're first and second degree and should also heal without scarring. He doesn't have any broken bones, although he likely has some deep bone bruises, and we don't think he has a concussion although it's hard to be certain right now, given his current mental status.

His wrists and ankles are pretty badly bruised and swollen, and there's some muscle and ligament damage along with some tearing of the skin. We'll immobilize them for now, and he may need some physical therapy once they've healed, but it should all heal. Both of his shoulders are sprained, also with some muscle and ligament tearing, but he shouldn't need surgery, again it should all heal. Considering everything, his injuries are likely quite painful but not that serious.

He had to have been psychologically traumatized, as you can imagine, and once he clears from the drugs we'll be getting a psychological consult for him. Fortunately, and perhaps surprisingly, we did not find evidence of sexual assault, in the traditional sense. He wasn't raped. I would define some of his injuries, especially as you have described his circumstances, as sexually abusive, but he was spared that particular trauma. That's something to be thankful for."

"Thank God," Simon sighed, as Jim leaned forward and rested his head against the glass, suddenly light-headed with relief.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself back upright.

"Can we see him?"

"We've still got quite a bit of work to do on cleaning, treating and bandaging his wounds, and immobilizing his injured wrists, ankles and shoulders. Even though he seems to be deeply unconscious, he's surfaced suddenly and violently when he has been conscious and we don't want to take any chances, so we're having to work around the restraints. It'll probably be another hour or more before we move him into Intensive Care.

In any case, we aren't going to be allowing any visitors at all for at least a few hours, until we see how he improves. Currently, he is unconscious most of the time, and when he is conscious he seems to have no contact with reality. Any stimulation while he is conscious seems to cause him a great deal of pain and agitation, so we have to restrict any visitors until he can tolerate them. I know that you'd like to be there for him, Detective, but I hope you can understand that I've got to do what's best for Blair."

She stood and walked over to face him, compassion evident in her voice.

"I'd suggest that you go home and get some rest before you end up here as a patient. You look like you're working on a case of exhaustion yourself. I can prescribe a mild sedative, if it would be helpful, so you can get some sleep. I know that this must be very difficult for you. Blair will not know whether you're here or not, right now, but he will need all of your support later as he recovers. You can call and check on his condition if you like, I'll leave a message at the nurse's station so they'll talk to you, but it will probably be at least 6-8 hours before we'll be reevaluating whether he can have visitors.

Go home, gentlemen. Get some rest. Your friend is being well cared for, and hopefully will be in better shape the next time you see him."

Patting Jim on the shoulder, she nodded to Simon and left the room. Jim stared after her, mutely, still struggling to grasp her words.

Simon stood and walked over, putting a supportive arm across Jim's shoulders.

"She's right, Jim. Let's go get some rest so we can be back here in a few hours to see Blair. You heard the doctor, he's stable right now and they're taking good care of him. He's gonna need you to be there for him when he starts coming out of this.

Come on. Let's go and leave our numbers with the nurse, like the doctor said, so if there's any change they can let us know right away."

He pulled at Jim's arm to get him into motion, then guided him out of the room with a hand on his back. Jim moved slowly, almost robotically, shock, relief, and exhaustion finally taking its toll. He stopped at the desk and gave their work, home, and cell numbers to the clerk, then met Simon by the door and headed out.

---------------

Forty-five minutes later they entered the loft, Simon pulling the keys out of the door and tossing them into the basket on the table. Jim had walked in without remembering to remove them from the lock. He pulled off his jacket and hung it up before turning into the kitchen.

"Jim, why don't you grab a shower and I'll fix us a sandwich or something before you hit the sack. Why don't I see what you've got in the fridge?"

He turned to face Jim, who was just standing a few feet inside the doorway, looking around blankly as if lost.

"Jim, why don't you go take a shower? You'll probably sleep better. Go on."

Jim began to slowly undress as he walked over towards the steps up to his bedroom, pulling off the kevlar vest that he still had on from the raid. As he walked by the lamp at the end of the sofa, Simon noticed for the first time the stains on the front of his black fatigues and swallowed uncomfortably. Those stains were an all too visible reminder that Jim had needed to tackle his best friend to keep him from killing himself, and that he had held Blair's unconscious and brutalized body in his arms. He looked down and noticed a couple of stains on his own uniform, remnants of his own struggle with the drugged observer.

Almost as if he had read Simon's mind, Jim slowed to a halt as he unbuttoned his shirt. Looking down at his chest, Simon could see his nose wrinkle. He knew that he had to be smelling Blair's blood and the other stains that had been on his body, only magnified by his sentinel senses.

Jim's face paled and he turned suddenly towards the back of the apartment, yanking the shirt off forcefully, buttons flying. His walk turned into a run as he fumbled with his belt and trousers on his way to the bathroom. The sounds of retching echoed out to Simon as he followed in concern.

The bathroom door was open and Simon could see Jim bent over the toilet, one arm braced against the wall as he heaved violently into the toilet. After a few moments his spasms slowed, and he stumbled back and sat heavily on the edge of the tub, gasping for breath. He reached up with a shaking arm and pulled down a towel, burying his face in it as he fought for control.

Simon went into the hall and retrieved towels and washcloth from the linen closet in the hall as he heard the toilet flush and the water start up in the shower. He stepped into the bathroom just long enough to set them on the edge of the sink.

"Here you go, Jim," he said compassionately. "Why don't you toss your clothes out in the hall and I'll bag them up for you. I'll take them to the laundry with mine."

Jim nodded without lowering the towel, and Simon left, closing the door behind him. He stood for a moment in the hallway, listening to the rustling of clothing within, and backed up when the door opened and closed quickly, leaving a pile of clothing just outside. Picking them up and carrying them to the kitchen, he found a large trash bag and sealed them inside, along with his own vest and shirt. He set the bag by the front door.

Walking up the stairs to Jim's bedroom, he grabbed a sweater from the shelves and put it on over his t-shirt, then picked up the robe that was draped across the foot of the bed. He went downstairs and rapped once on the door before opening it and handing in the robe. Returning to the kitchen, he set about raiding the refrigerator and cupboards.

Twenty minutes later, he was sitting on the sofa, looking at but not really watching an old black and white gangster movie, when he heard the soft pad of bare feet approaching. He looked up as Jim walked slowly in and sat down on the other sofa. Red-rimmed eyes were raised to meet his own.

"Sorry about that, Simon. It just…it just caught up with me, I guess. That smell…" He shook his head and closed his eyes, letting his head fall against the back of the sofa.

"Nothing to apologize about, Jim. You're only human, man." He stood and walked into the kitchen, lifting the lid off of a simmering pan on the stove. "Why don't you come on and get something to eat before you crash. I found some leftover soup and made a couple of sandwiches. Nothing to write home about, but you'll feel better with something in your stomach."

Jim stood and joined him in the kitchen.

"I don't know, Simon, if I'm up for much right now."

"Just try some soup, then. That should be easy on your stomach. Oh, and here. Take this."

He pulled a small paper envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Jim.

"What's this?"

"It's something the doctor gave me for you. Just something to help you sleep."

"I don't…"

"Jim, take it. Please. If you don't get some rest, you're not going to be any good to help Blair when he needs you."

"But Simon…"

"…And I'm not gonna let a detective on the ragged edge work on the investigation and search for the perpetrator." His dark eyes gleamed as he made his point.

"Simon, that's blackmail."

"Call it what you will, Detective, but that's why I'm the Captain."

Jim glared at him for a moment, then gave in and opened the paper envelope as Simon filled a glass of water in the sink and handed it to him. Quickly reading the hand-written instructions, he shook out two tablets and tossed them down. Taking a couple of gulps of water to wash them down, he set the envelope and glass on the table.

"Satisfied?"

"Deeply. Now eat up, like a good boy, then you can lie down and catch a few hours of sleep."

Still glaring, Jim reluctantly filled a bowl with soup and sat down. Eating slowly at first, and then more quickly as his stomach didn't rebel, he quickly finished the bowl and a half of a sandwich. Taking his plate and bowl over to the sink and filling them with water, he stretched tiredly as he turned.

"Thanks, Simon. I guess I was more hungry than I thought."

Simon finished his own meal and put his dishes in the sink, then the two men returned to the living room and sank tiredly into the sofas.

"Jim, why don't you go ahead and go to bed? I'll turn the lights off and head home myself. You can call me when you get up and I'll pick you up so you can go get the truck."

"In a minute, Simon. I want to call and check on Blair first."

He dialed the hospital and asked for the Intensive Care unit. He inquired into Blair's condition and waited patiently on the line for the nurse to respond. Thanking her, he set down the phone with a sigh.

"How's he doing, Jim?"

"Pretty much the same. Serious but stable."

"That's good. Stable is good."

"I guess." Jim sat and stared morosely at the TV, unsuccessfully fighting a wide yawn. He reached for the phone again.

"Now what?"

"I wanna check on the forensics team and see what they've got."

Simon stood and walked over, taking the phone out of Jim's hand.

"Jim, I called while you were in the shower. They're working on it. We've got two full teams on site and they're going over every inch. Brown and Rafe are leading the investigation and they're on top of it. As soon as they have anything they'll let us know."

"Maybe I should go over there."

"Forget it. Let them do their work. You know that they won't leave a stone unturned to find Blair's attacker. After they've finished up, and after you've had some sleep, we'll take a look at the evidence. Afterwards, if you want to go over the scene alone, I'll go with you.

We want to go 100% by the book on this one, Jim. We don't want any possible excuse for this guy to get off, once we find him. You're too close to it, you've got to let Rafe and Brown handle this. You know I'm right."

Jim glared at him again, but the effect was lost when he was overtaken by another huge yawn. He sheepishly rubbed a hand over his face and stood slowly.

"All right, all right. I got it. And since I feel like I'm gonna pass out if I sit here another minute, I'm going to bed. I'll call you when I get up." He slowly walked over to the steps and dragged himself up the stairs to his bedroom, calling out behind him. "Thanks, Simon."

"Good night, Jim."

Turning off a few lights, Simon let himself out of the apartment, taking the bag of soiled clothing with him. The stains on those clothes could be evidence for a trial. He leaned against a wall as he waited for the elevator and hoped that the medication would work and his exhausted friend could get some sleep. As for himself, he didn't know how he could sleep, the vision of Blair hanging by his arms in that chamber of horrors etched permanently in his mind.

---------------

Blair turned briefly to face him, his face a mask of pain, his eyes filled with boundless horror.

He spun and started running towards the window, staggering and stumbling at first, but gradually gaining speed. Jim could hear the soft thud of each step of Blair's bare feet, see each drop of blood drip from torn wrists and ankles and splatter gently against the floor.

Jim started to run, but it felt as if his feet were glued to the floor and his body weighted down. Time slowed down as he struggled to get his feet into motion, watching Blair run by him, unable to stop him, unable to get to him in time.

Blair got closer to the window and Jim thought he heard something between an insane laugh and a sob wrenched out as he launched himself into the air, into the plate glass window, arms stretched forwards as if reaching towards oblivion…

"Noooooooo…"

Jim jerked upright in bed, the echo of his shout ringing in his ears, sweat streaming down his face. He blinked, breathing heavily, as he realized that he had been dreaming. The last vivid traces of the nightmare gradually faded as he let himself slip back onto the pillow with a sigh.

He breathed deeply, his heart pounding in his chest as he fought off the frightening images of the nightmare. It had only been the latest of several, each featuring another terrifying image of his partner and his own inability to save him.

In one, he had tackled Blair in time, only to discover that he had fractured his skull in the process of landing on top of him. He had held his partner in his arms as he watched his life drain away with the blood pulsing from the gash in his head.

In another, he and Simon had found Blair already dead, hanging lifelessly, his eyes open and staring. His face was frozen in a rictus of terror.

He rubbed his eyes with his hands and sat up with a groan. It wasn't worth trying to get back to sleep when that sleep was haunted by his fears. Jim climbed out of bed and grabbed his robe. He might as well get up and call the hospital to check on Blair's condition in the real world.

---------------

Jim stood patiently at the nursing station in the ICU, waiting for the doctor to arrive. Unable to rest, and definitely unable to sleep soundly with the endless parade of nightmares that penetrated his sleeping mind, he'd called Simon. Unable to sleep well himself, Simon had been awake and had come to pick him up and take him to the precinct. After picking up the truck, he had come straight to the hospital.

At the ICU, the nurses had told him patiently but firmly that Blair was still allowed no visitors without the doctor's permission. Jim had insisted, also quite firmly, that he would just wait there for the doctor's permission to arrive. The nurses had paged for the doctor, suggesting that Jim wait in the nearby waiting area, but Jim had politely declined. They had gone about their business, checking occasionally to see if he was still there, and smiling nervously when he'd caught their eyes.

"Detective Ellison, I'm surprised to see you so soon. Did you get some sleep?"

Jim turned to see Dr. West approaching.

"Yes I did. Thank you for the prescription, I slept like a baby," he lied. "I'm surprised to see you here. Usually ER doctors don't follow the patients that are admitted from the ER, isn't that true?"

"You're right. I was just filling in a shift in the ER, I usually work in internal medicine. My name happened to be next on the roster for new admits, since Mr. Sandburg's primary care doctor, Dr. Lee, doesn't have admitting privileges here. I'm surprised you'd know that."

"I've been in the hospital once or twice."

"Yes, I guess you have." She smiled and walked over to the chart rack, pulling out the middle chart and opening it. "Let's see how your friend is doing."

The doctor spent a few moments flipping through the chart, reading test results, and flipping back a few times to re-read a page. She finally looked up.

"So, how's he doing? Can I see him?" Jim asked hopefully.

"Tell you what, Detective. Let me talk to the nurses and examine him, and then we'll talk. Why don't you take a seat and I'll be back with you in a few minutes."

Jim reluctantly walked out to the waiting area and sat. It didn't take long before he could take it no longer and he arose, pacing back and forth across the quiet, softly lit room. It seemed like hours, but was likely only fifteen minutes before he was joined by Dr. West.

"Let's sit, why don't we," Dr. West said as she took a comfortable padded chair, the chart in her lap. "Blair is doing better. His electrolytes look much better after a few hours on IV, his cardiac function is more stable. He's still struggling with his breathing a bit, between weakness and the drugs, so he's still on a respirator. Hopefully we can take him off soon, hopefully within the next few hours.

We're not seeing any signs of infection from his injuries, but we've got him on antibiotics just in case. He still seems to be under the influence of the drugs in his system, he has brief periods when he seems to be regaining consciousness but becomes quite agitated. We're leaving the restraints on for now. In general, he's improved."

"What have you found out about the drugs he was given?"

"Not nearly enough. I've run his drug screen past a colleague who works in chemical dependency. There are traces of a pentothal type of drug, commonly called "truth serum," as well as stimulants, narcotics and hallucinogens. Quite a mix. From the metabolites in his bloodstream, he believes that he had been drugged for at least twenty-four hours before he came in. I have to say that there were some chemical compounds that he didn't recognize exactly, but that were similar to hallucinogens that he had run across.

His best guess is that the effects should be wearing off, for the most part, within the next few hours. He couldn't be certain, with the unrecognized chemicals, but that would be typical for those types of drugs. Since hallucinogens affect everyone differently, we'll just have to wait and see. Even when the primary effects wear off, the psychological effects could last longer. That's what we'll have to keep an eye out for".

"Psychological effects?"

"It's not uncommon for people who have been drugged against their will, as opposed to those who used the drugs recreationally, to have paranoia, anxiety and/or depression afterwards. They also seem to be more susceptible to flashbacks from the hallucinogens. Now, none of these may happen to Blair, but you should know that it’s possible."

Jim paced back and forth nervously, before coming to rest in front of the doctor.

"OK, I got it. When can I see him?"

"Well, Detective, I can let you see him now. But I need to warn you. He still seems to be extraordinarily sensitive to stimulation, becoming quite agitated at times. You can go in and see him, but please be quiet, don't talk to him or touch him. Later, when he doesn't respond so badly, it may be helpful for you to talk to him, to reassure him, but not now. OK?"

"OK."

The doctor stood and led him to the door to Blair's room.

"Please be prepared, he doesn't look too good right now. He really is getting better, though, you need to remember that. And remember, please don't stimulate him in any way. It seems to be too much for him to handle right now. That will pass, too."

Jim nodded. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and entered Blair's hospital room.

---------------

Walking in and slowly up to the foot of the bed, he let out the breath in a deep sigh. As much as he had prepared himself, and considering that he had seen Blair before he came in, he was still disturbed by his partner's appearance.

Blair lay still and pale upon the bed, with only a short drape covering him from waist to almost his knees. A respirator tube disappeared into his mouth, and was taped to his face, a strap wrapped around his head to help secure it in place. It vibrated gently as it rhythmically inflated Blair's weakened lungs, its repetitive click and hiss the only sounds in the room. His face was also partially obscured by bandages that covered his eyes, in stark white contrast to the vivid bruises and welts on his face and neck.

Jim turned to ask the doctor about Blair's eyes, having heard her follow him into the room, but she held a finger to her lips and gestured towards the door. He nodded, frustrated, but wasn’t ready to leave yet. He continued his visual examination of his friend.

Blair's wrists and ankles were bandaged and encased in plastic splints, both hands and feet propped up on pillows to keep them elevated. His upper arms were strapped to his sides, undoubtedly to protect his damaged shoulders. Even with the cuts, crimson welts and darkening bruises that he could see, he knew that there was a great deal more beneath the drape. IV and catheter lines ran away from Blair's limp form, and patches on his chest were attached to wires that lead to the heart monitor.

Leather cuffs were secured around his calves and forearms, attached to straps that were tied to the bed frame. A webbed strap crossed his chest, similarly tied to the bed frame on each side. Jim could hardly believe, looking at Blair's battered and bruised body, too weak even to breathe on his own, that the restraints could be necessary. But then again, he had seen the surprising strength with which Blair had knocked him over and fought himself free from Simon in his desperate, drugged efforts to escape his captivity.

He just stood and watched for a few moments, wishing that Blair could regain consciousness for just a moment or two so he could talk to him, reassure him. Reality was more depressing, though, and Blair remained still and insensitive in the bed in front of him, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with the respirator's pump.

Just as he turned to go, he heard a loud clatter behind him. He turned to see a nurse trying, too late, to keep a tray of instruments from falling to the floor that she had inadvertently bumped with her hip. Glancing quickly back to the bed, he felt his mouth fall open in shock as he saw what the doctor had been referring to.

Where moments ago he had been completely still, Blair was suddenly thrashing in the bed. The straps on the restraints were stretched to their fullest as his arms and legs jerked against them, the bed rattling with the harsh motion. His head was jerking forward violently and his chest strained against the webbed strap as he fought to force himself up and off of the bed, a guttural choking sound escaping around the respirator tube that filled his throat. One of the patches on his chest was loosened, a loud buzzing sound of alarm ringing out from the heart monitoring machine. Had he been unrestrained, he would have been out of the bed on the floor, or fighting his way out of the room.

Jim was shoved aside as the doctor pushed around him, dashing over to the table by the wall and picking up an already prepared syringe. She approached the bed and nodded to the nurse, who held Blair's arm with both hands long enough for the doctor to inject the syringe into the IV port. Both women stepped back and the nurse pushed a button on the monitor that silenced it.

Just moments later, Blair began to quiet, his movements slowing, his flailing becoming weaker. He continued struggling for a few minutes before he became completely still again, his body again limp and motionless. The doctor and nurse quickly replaced the heart monitor patch, the renewed trace of his cardiac activity jumping and racing across the monitor screen. They straightened the respirator tube and IV lines and checked him over from head to toe. They checked the security of the restraint straps and repositioned his head and limbs gently on the pillows. The doctor stood back finally, with one last look at her patient, before motioning towards the door. Jim followed her from the room and down the hall into the waiting room, where he collapsed into one of the padded chairs.

The doctor looked at him compassionately.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Detective. As you can see, he reacts rather violently."

"Is he…has he been that way since he came in?"

"Yes. Some of the chemicals in his bloodstream are similar to known stimulants, and we believe that they've had the result of making his nerves much more sensitive than normal right now. In layman's terms, a whisper may sound like a shout to him right now."

"What about his eyes? Why are his eyes bandaged?"

"Oh, we don't think that he's had any damage to his eyes. It just seemed that his eyes were causing him a lot of pain whenever he's been awake, so we decided to keep them covered for now. We believe that his eyes are just extremely sensitive to light right now, just like his other senses. I guess I should have warned you. At least he's getting better."

"That was better?"

"Yes, believe it or not. This time he didn't pull the restraints loose or pull out his IV port. This episode wasn't nearly as violent or as long-lasting as they have been. The drugs are obviously beginning to wear off."

Jim ran a hand over his weary face. "Then what?"

"We'll just have to wait and see. I'm hoping that we'll be able to get him off of the respirator soon. Hopefully he'll begin to have some periods of normal awakening and we'll be able to talk with him and assess him further. With the amount and variety of chemicals in his bloodstream, it's hard to know exactly what we'll be dealing with. But his blood tests show that those blood levels are dropping steadily, and his symptoms should be fading as well."

The doctor stood to leave the room.

"Why don't you come back in the morning, Detective? He should be much improved by then, and hopefully you'll be able to talk with him. For now, there's nothing you can do here. I'll see you tomorrow."

Jim stood and shook the doctor's hand, then watched her walk purposefully away. It had shaken him more than he'd like to admit, seeing Blair still so out of control. If the doctor's description of the effects of the drugs was accurate, he could imagine all too well how painful his injuries must be if his sense of touch was similarly magnified. He knew through his own painful experiences with his senses how intense and overwhelming they could be, and Blair didn’t even have someone to guide him and help him dial it down, if he was even capable of such organized thought right now.

Discouraged, Jim slowly headed out of the waiting area and out towards the truck. With nothing useful for him to do here, it was time to check in on the investigation. His step quickened at the thought of identifying and catching the perpetrator, and he pulled out his cell phone and dialed the precinct as he climbed in and started the engine.

---------------

Rafe stood in front of him at the door to The Doctor's apartment.

"Are you sure about this, Jim? You don't really need to go back in there, the forensic technicians have gone over every inch, twice. We've got fingerprints and tons of evidence. Don't do this to yourself, man."

Jim shook his head, slowly.

"I've got to do this, Rafe. You didn't see Sandburg like I did. He was like a wild animal, totally out of control. I've gotta see it myself. I've gotta try to understand what he went through so I can help him deal with it."

"Can't you just leave that up to the counselors?"

"Could you? If it was your partner that was kidnapped and tortured? Could you just stand by and leave it up to a counselor that doesn't even know him, doesn't know what he was like before…" He looked down, unable to finish his sentence, and cleared his throat before looking up again. "Let's just do it, all right?"

Rafe nodded and rested a hand on Jim's shoulder.

"All right. We can stay as long as you like. Just tell me when you're ready to leave."

Unlocking the door, Rafe pushed it open and stood aside to let Jim enter before him. Jim took a deep breath and walked into The Doctor's chambers.

---------------

Simon looked up at the knock on his door.

"Enter."

Rafe opened the door and walked in. "Hey, Captain. Just wanted to let you know that Brown and I are gonna head out, if you don't have anything else for us. I'm too fried to do much more tonight."

Looking at his watch, Simon was startled to see that it was after midnight. All of Major Crimes had been at it nonstop since Blair had been found that morning. None had complained that it was Sunday, normally their day off. He didn't even think that anyone had taken time off for meals, having seen several deliveries to detectives at their desks and carry-out debris stacking up in wastebaskets.

"Go ahead, Rafe. And tell anyone else still here to go home. We're not gonna catch this guy if we're too tired to think. See you in the morning."

Rafe nodded and turned back towards the door.

"Oh, wait. Have you seen Jim recently? Is he still here?"

"I think I saw him headed for the gym when we got back from the scene. He didn't say much, but he didn’t have to. I think he needed to work off some energy, if you know what I mean."

"Yes, I do. Thanks, Rafe. Goodnight."

Simon stood and stretched, then turned off his desk lamp and grabbed his jacket off of the coat rack. He thought about heading home, the siren song of his soft bed and pillow calling to him, but he knew that he needed to make one stop first.

Walking up to the door to the basement gymnasium, he could see that the lights were still on. As he opened the door he could see that the punching bag in the back corner was still in use, just as he had expected. He dropped his jacket on a chair by the door and walked back to check on his lead detective.

Jim was steadily working the heavy bag, a look of fierce concentration on his face. His sweatpants and tank top were soaked, and rivulets of sweat ran down his face and arms. He was panting heavily, each hit to the bag punctuated by a grunt of exertion. Simon could see a ring of moisture on the floor around the bag, evidence that Jim had been at it for some time.

He could also see that Jim was wearing down. His punches weren't very sharp, not as crisp as Simon had seen before, and he stumbled once or twice stepping into and away from the bag. Even as Simon watched he could see him visibly tiring, arms becoming heavier, and his grunts of exertion began to sound almost like sobs.

Simon walked up to the side of the bag opposite Jim.

"Hey, Jim. What do you say you call it a night, huh? Why don't you hit the shower, then we'll grab a bite to eat. I'll buy."

Jim kept pounding away, ignoring him, jabs giving way to almost flailing swings at the bag as he tired. He didn't give up until he slipped on the damp floor and fell into the bag, wrapping his arms around it to maintain his balance and pressing his face into the leather, gasping for breath. Simon reached over to grab an arm and steady him, feeling the muscles trembling in exhaustion beneath his hand.

"Come on, man. That's enough. Let it go."

Pushing himself off the bag and wavering slightly on his feet, Jim wiped sweat from his brow with one gloved hand.

"Let it go? Let it go?" Jim gasped. "How can I let it go, Simon? I went back there and saw that place. Saw what he used on Blair. Saw the place where he tortured him for hours, saw Blair's blood…" He picked up a folding chair and threw it across the room, barely able to keep his balance as he let it go. "I can't just let it go!"

Simon slowly walked up to face him.

"Jim, you said that you wanted to go back so you could help Blair, to try to understand what he went through. You knew it would be rough, to try to face the hell that he went through, but you did it anyway. For Blair. That's what you need to think about right now."

Jim slumped into a chair, tired arms falling into his lap.

"Jesus, Simon, that's all I can think about. How he was when we found him. How terrified he looked when he was trying to kill himself by jumping out of the window. How frantic he was in the hospital, just a little noise sending him ballistic…" He dropped his head onto his crossed arms, his shoulders heaving.

"Jim, that's not the only Blair you need to think about. You need to think of him before this happened, and how he's going to be like that again. You need to think of him as strong and healthy, once he's recovered. And he needs you to get there."

"But God, Simon, I keep seeing him like this in my head. And I wonder if he will be able to recover. They don't even have a clue yet as to what all of those drugs have done to him! What if…"

Simon quickly cut him off. "Jim, don't. He's getting better, the doctor said that he's improving. Don't start expecting the worst. You've gotta focus on getting him better. You should know better than anyone that Blair's a fighter. He's gonna get through this, Jim, but he's gonna need your help.

Come on, let's get you out of those gloves and into the shower. We'll grab a bite to eat, then I'll drop you off. You want to get some sleep before you go back to see Blair in the morning, don't you? He doesn't need to see you looking like death warmed over. Let's go."

Jim reluctantly staggered to his feet and let Simon unlace and remove his gloves. Simon grimaced at how red and swollen Jim's hands looked, but withheld comment as Jim picked up his gym bag and headed for the showers.

---------------

Despite his exhausting workout the night before, Jim was awake early and immediately on the phone to the hospital. His mood soared as he was told that Blair had been taken off of the respirator and was breathing on his own, and that his condition had been upgraded from serious to fair. He was still reacting strongly to any stimulation, but not as violently, and they hoped to remove at least some of the restraints after the doctor's evaluation later in the morning.

Jim showered and dressed hurriedly, not bothering to prepare breakfast but rather stopping at a drive-through espresso stand on the way to the hospital. He couldn't wait to see Blair, see an improved Blair, to replace the vivid and horrific images from the day before with ones more hopeful for his recovery.

Arriving at the nursing station at practically a jog, Jim smiled apologetically at the frown from the nurse seated behind the desk. She hadn't been on duty before when Jim had been visiting, so she demanded that he show identification before acknowledging that he was the same James Ellison that was on Blair's visitor's log. She warned him not to disturb Blair in any way and gave him a ten minute deadline to be out of the room. He wanted to argue with her, but decided that he would take the ten minutes for now and negotiate with the doctor later.

Entering the room, Jim was again taken aback by the sight of Blair's injuries. If anything, they looked worse, bruises blackening even further in the several hours since he had last seen him. The bright crimson of the welts had become a darker shade of red, and Jim couldn't help but think of how small and helpless Blair appeared before him. Helpless was not a word that he could normally imagine applying to his partner.

Forcing himself to look for the positive, he could see that the respirator tube had been removed. Only a reddish patch by his mouth, from the tape, was a reminder of its former presence. An oxygen cannula was now held beneath his nose by a strap that wrapped around his head. Otherwise he looked much the same, tubes and wires trailing from his body, restraints and bandages encasing him, eyes still covered to protect him from the light.

Moments later, lost in thought, a tug at his arm pulled him around to face Dr. West, who gestured to him to follow her from the room. After closing the door behind them, they stopped to talk.

"Well, Detective, you don't waste any time."

"Good morning, Doctor. You said that I could come back and visit him in the morning."

"That I did. Well, let me take a look at his chart and give him his morning examination, and we'll talk."

Jim paced and checked out the ancient variety of magazines on the waiting room table. It seemed to take much longer than it had yesterday, and he began to become concerned when the doctor joined him.

"Well? How is he today?"

"I haven't had my second cup of coffee yet, Detective. Join me for a cup?"

She led him down the hall and into a break room labeled "Medical Personnel Only." Pouring both of them a cup of coffee, they sat at the crooked and scarred table in the center of the room.

Jim waited until she took her first sip, then asked again.

"So? How's he doing?"

She gave him a sideways look as she finished taking a long drink.

"He's definitely better. He's physically stronger, he's breathing well on his own and his cardiac function looks good. We are just keeping him on oxygen for a little while as a precaution, but his respiration is much better."

"What about his…his reactions?"

"That seems better, too. I gave him a more thorough examination just now. He still startled rather strongly when I touched him, he jerked and his breathing and heartrate jumped up, but it wasn't anything like the violent convulsions that we saw yesterday. We may be able to remove some of his restraints and see what happens. I'm not sure we would want to remove the restraints on his arms yet, we don't want him to further injure his shoulders or knock the IVs loose."

"Doctor, I wanted to talk with you about that. You know that the injuries to his wrists and ankles were made by chains. I visited the crime scene last night, to…to try to understand what happened to him. In addition to the chains, it looked like he was also, at some time, restrained by leather cuffs much like those. Could he be reacting to the restraints partly because that is what was used to restrain him, to torture him?"

The doctor looked at him pensively. "That's certainly a possibility. Even if it's not a conscious thing, and I can't imagine how it could have been given his condition yesterday, he may have something like a "sense memory" of the cuffs being used on him. That would help to explain some of his extreme reactions."

"The other thing that we found, in addition to used syringes, was an electronic device. It had attached headphones and goggles, and when turned on it had bright pulsating lights and loud pulsing sounds. One of my colleagues, who was with me at the time, said that he had seen something like it before. He called it a "mind machine", or something like that, that was used for meditation and relaxation training by a therapist he knew.

He thought that this device was much louder and much brighter, and had several settings that frankly made me nauseous after looking at it and hearing it for a few minutes. It might have been modified or specially created by the perpetrator. The thing reminded me of "brainwashing machines" that were rumored to have been used by foreign governments to get classified information back in the cold war. That would also explain why he's so sensitive, wouldn't it? If he was exposed to that, and the stimulation was made even worse by drugs…We had been told that he was being brainwashed for information on Cascade PD operations."

The doctor shook her head. "No wonder he's been so sensitive to any stimulation. That would make a lot of sense. The combination of the drugs with intentional overstimulation…you're probably right."

Jim plowed ahead nervously. "I'd like to make a suggestion. Take off all of the restraints. You said that he's not reacting so badly this morning, and it may be making things worse. And maybe you could remove the bandages on his eyes. You could lower the lights as much as possible. If he's starting to regain consciousness, I'd hate for him to wake up and think that he's blind. I can imagine how frightening that could be for him. If he reacts badly, you could always replace them. If you're afraid that he might lose control again, I'll stay as long as you want just in case you might need some help controlling him…"

"Whoa, slow down, Detective. One thing at a time. I know this is hard for you, but you've got to remember, we still don't know about all of the effects of the drugs. We've got to go slow, we don't know how much he can tolerate or how he's going to be when he wakes up. I don't think you want to take any chances right now."

"Of course not, but…"

The doctor waved a hand at him as she interrupted.

"I think we can remove the chest and leg restraints, and unbandage his eyes, for now. Let's just see how that goes before we do anything else. I just don't want to take the risk of leaving him totally unrestrained until he regains consciousness and we can evaluate his mental status."

"But…"

"Detective…Jim…I know he's your friend, and I can see that it's driving you crazy seeing him like this. But need I remind you, you said that he was attempting to kill himself when you recovered him. Let's not take the chance."

Jim sat back, deflated at the vivid memory. He nodded glumly. The doctor patted his hand, then stood and put their cups in the sink.

"OK, Doc, you're right. I'm sorry, it’s just…well, it's just hard."

"I know it is. Let's hope that he continues this steady improvement, and you'll be able to talk with him soon."

They left the break room and headed back towards Blair's room.

---------------

Jim stared at the elevator doors in front of him, waiting to arrive at Major Crimes for the morning briefing on "the Sandburg case."

He'd stayed at the hospital as the doctor supervised the removal of Blair's leg and chest restraints, and the cautious removal of the bandages from his eyes. He'd seen Blair react, startling, his muscles trembling and his heart rate and respiration skyrocketing, but he hadn't opened his eyes. Jim had stayed as long as he could, hoping for any sign of awakening from Blair, but nothing had happened other than Blair's return to silent stillness. He'd left a message with the nursing station, asking to be notified immediately if Blair regained consciousness, and reluctantly left. He didn't want to miss the briefing.

He squeezed through the opening as soon as the doors opened, and headed into Major Crimes. Not even waiting to hang up his jacket, he walked straight through the bullpen and into Simon's office.

"Morning, Jim. Coffee and donuts on the end of the table. We're just about ready to start." Simon waved in the direction of the goodies and took his seat at the head of the table. "How's Blair?"

Jim helped himself to a couple of his favorites and a cup of coffee before sitting down at Simon's right hand, nodding to the other detectives already seated at the conference table.

"He's better. He's off the respirator and his heart is stronger. He hasn't regained consciousness yet, but he's better. They're gonna move him to CCU today."

"That's great, man," Brown said as he took the seat next to Jim. "Let us know when he wakes up, we'll stop by and visit him."

Nodding, Jim opened the file folder on the table in front of him and began looking through the materials within.

"What have we got?"

Rafe spoke up, as one of the lead detectives on the case.

"We have a lot. From the fingerprints, we have an ID on the perpetrator. Actually, several IDs. "The Doctor" was born as Robert Roberts. No, I'm not kidding, that's his real name. But he's also been ID'd as Richard Kinsley, Brent Alexander, Dr. Timothy Stansfield…and a few others. This guys got quite a record, he's really been around. Lots of bells and whistles went off when we ran this guy."

He took a sip of his coffee before continuing.

"Born and raised in Indiana. Nothing that we know about until years later when he shows up in Chicago and gets in trouble for practicing medicine without a license. He's not really a doctor. He got off of that charge but has a series of names, alibis and moves from then on. As far as we can tell, he's kept the nickname "The Doctor" for two reasons.

One, because he has manufactured and sold his own designer drugs. And two, for experimenting on his victims."

Jim kept his eyes focused on the file in front of him, hearing the reactions of his colleagues around him without intending to do so. He heard increased heart rates, rustling sounds as people shifted uncomfortably in their chairs, and even a "bastard" from someone at the other end of the table. The image of Blair as they had found him flashed before his eyes. He startled slightly as he felt Simon's hand on his shoulder, briefly, in support. Rafe continued.

"He's had all kinds of charges. Attempted murder, assault, manufacturing and distribution of controlled substances, rape, weapons charges…this guy has a rap sheet longer than my arm. But he's spent no time in prison. Witnesses disappear or die, evidence disappears, legal filings get screwed up…this guy disappears and shows up somewhere else a few months later, with a new business and a new name. Either this guy lives a charmed life or he's got friends in very high places."

Raising his head, Jim jumped in.

"Witnesses have died? Why didn't someone tell me? We need to get protection in place for Sandburg!"

"Easy, easy, Jim," Simon soothed. "We've already got officers and beefed up hospital security in place. I put it in motion as soon as we got this information."

Jim settled uncomfortably back into his seat. Just as he was about to raise another question, a sharp rap sounded at the door and it swung open before Simon could answer. Two men in dark suits and white shirts walked in, holding up badges and a folded piece of paper that was dropped on the table in front of Simon.

"FBI, ladies and gentlemen. That's a federal warrant for everything you've got on the Roberts case. Files, evidence, the works. We're taking over this one."

Simon stood up angrily. "You've got to be kidding! That bastard kidnapped and tortured one of our men! If you think we're going to just stand by…"

The second man began walking around the table and gathering all of the files on the case as the first one spoke.

"That's exactly what you're going to do. I'm sorry about your man, but this is a federal case now. Need I remind you of the penalties for interfering in a federal investigation?"

Jim stood beside Simon, his eyes flashing in anger. His hands tightly gripped the edge of the table as he watched the agents gather up the information and turn to leave.

"Oh, and I wouldn't worry too much about Mr. Sandburg's safety. I can assure you that Roberts is long gone by now. He won't be bothering the citizens of Cascade any longer. Good day."

They quickly left the room and closed the door behind them. The room exploded into action as detectives stood, angrily expressing their dismay. Jim headed for the door, but was cut off by Simon before he could follow the federal agents.

"Jim, calm down. Everyone, calm down!" He waited for a moment as the din lessened. "Look, people, it's not going to do Blair any good for all of you to get arrested for assaulting federal officers. Or for interfering with the feds. Let's take a deep breath here. There's nothing we can do. I'm as angry as you are, but we're out of it." He turned back to Jim. "Jim, why don't you go on back to the hospital and see how Blair's doing. There's nothing you can do here, now."

Glaring around the room, Jim brushed past Simon and out of his office, slamming the door behind him. He angrily stormed across the bullpen and out of Major Crimes.

Half an hour later, he walked up to the nursing station in CCU. He pulled out his ID and showed it to the nurse at the desk.

"I'm Detective James Ellison. I understand that Blair Sandburg was just transferred here from ICU?"

She looked down at the desk in front of her. "Yes, room 6. I see there's a note on his chart, asking you to be notified when he awakens. He's just arrived, so we've just been in the process of getting him settled. Let me check with his nurse to see if he's ready for visitors."

He waited for a few moments before he was met by a young nurse, wearing a bright pink patterned top over standard white uniform pants. She smiled and extended a hand in greeting.

"Hello, I'm Shellie, Blair's nurse. You're Detective Ellison?" Jim barely had time to try to reply before she was ushering him towards room 6. "Good, good. Blair's just fine, we just got him all settled. He didn't wake up yet, but I'm sure that he'll be happy to see you when he does. Why don't you just go on in and have a seat. Let me know if there's anything you need."

Jim watched, stunned, as she walked off at a rapid pace. He hadn't had time to get a word in edgewise. Shaking his head, he walked into Blair's room.

He was pleased to see that Blair had much more privacy than he'd had in the ICU, with an individual room rather than one separated off with only half walls. He had a window with a great view of the foothills behind the city. But of course, he wasn't appreciating the view.

Blair was as quiet and still as ever. Jim was glad to see that he no longer had an oxygen line, and that he only had cuffs on his arms, they hadn't had to replace the leg and chest restraints. There was a heart monitor in the room, but it wasn't hooked up. Rather than a brief drape, he had a normal sheet and blanket covering him. Jim knew that it was probably just psychological, but it made him feel that Blair was getting better.

Walking up to the side of the bed, he leaned over and looked carefully into the battered but familiar face.

"Hey, Chief," he whispered. "I'm here. You can wake up any time now, buddy. You're safe, and you're gonna get well. Wake up, Chief."

Blair didn't respond, and he wasn't sure whether he thought that was a good thing or a bad thing. Jim was glad that he was no longer responding in agitation, and perhaps in pain, at any stimulation. He hoped that it meant that he was in a more normal rest, maybe just sleeping. The possibility that it could mean that he was more deeply unconscious, maybe even in a coma, was something that he tried not to think about. He sighed and let himself down into the bedside chair to wait and watch.

Some time later, he jerked to attention at the sound of someone clearing their throat at the door. He raised his head from the back of the chair, where he must have fallen asleep. Looking towards the door, he spotted a uniformed officer gesturing at him. With a backwards glance at Blair he walked out into the hall.

"Detective Ellison? Officer Zane. I'd been assigned to protect Mr. Sandburg, and I just received orders that the protection order has been dropped. I thought I'd let you know that I was leaving. I didn't want to wake you up earlier when I arrived. Oh, and I have a package that arrived for you."

"Here?"

"Yeah, it says Detective James Ellison, Cascade PD, care of Cascade General Hospital. Weird, huh? Well, I gotta go, Detective. I hope your partner gets better real soon."

"Uh, yeah…thanks."

With a small salute, the officer took off down the hall and Jim carried the package to the desk at the side of the nursing station. Taking out his pocket knife, he carefully sliced through the layers of tape, then returned the knife to his pocket. Opening the thick envelope, he pulled out a thick sheaf of papers, with a handwritten note on top.

"Jim - Something about this smells funny. It's got the FBI, or the CIA, or the Justice Department written all over it. Just in case they come storming in and pull a fast one on us, I'm taking the precaution of sending you a copy of the file at the hospital. They can subpoena all of the files we have at the precinct, but they'll miss this one. Happy reading.

Simon

Jim grinned to himself as he read the note. He'd have to remember to get Simon a dozen of his favorite cigars. He walked slowly back into Blair's room, reading the first pages of the clandestine file. Just as he readied to sit, he glanced briefly over to the bed, then froze in place.

Blair's eyes were open.