Dropping the file to the seat of the chair, forgotten, he rushed to the side of the bed.

"Blair?" he whispered, not wanting to agitate him unnecessarily if he was still hypersensitive.

He looked into Blair's face, the view of the familiar blue eyes incredibly welcome after so many hours of worry. Blair blinked, but didn't turn his gaze towards Jim. After several moments, Jim tried again, a little louder.

"Blair? Chief?"

Blair's gaze was unshifting, staring straight ahead. Jim reached over and passed a hand over Blair's eyes, and was discouraged to find that Blair didn't react at all. He reached over and pressed the call button for the nurse. She arrived quickly.

"Yes?"

"He opened his eyes. But he doesn't seem to be looking at anything. He doesn't respond when I talk to him."

The nurse moved up beside him. "Blair? Mr. Sandburg?" Blair remained still and unresponsive. "I'll call Dr. West, she asked to be informed if there was any change."

She left the room. Jim fought a sharp pang of disappointment as he watched Blair carefully, hoping for any sign of movement or response, but seeing none. A few minutes later, as he waited for the doctor to arrive, he watched Blair's eyes slide shut. He waited a few moments, to see if Blair would awaken again, then sat dejectedly.

When the doctor arrived, she listened and then asked him to wait outside. After too long of a wait, she returned to talk with him.

"Well, Doc?"

"He didn't open his eyes while I was examining him. I examined his eyes, though, and they responded normally, although slowly. All of his vital signs are stable. He didn't respond to my voice either, or even when I tried tactile stimulation. It's almost like someone in a coma, sometimes their eyes will open even when they're not conscious."

"Does that mean that he's in a coma?"

"Well, not necessarily. I'm not quite sure exactly what we're dealing with here. As we discussed, we just don't know a lot about the effects of the drugs he was given, especially in addition to all of the trauma. What I'm going to do is take some more blood and see what it tells us, and I'm going to get a neurological consult as well."

Jim looked down at his feet in discouragement.

"Well, is there anything I can do? Will it hurt him, do you think, if I try to talk to him, to try to bring him out of it? You know, let him hear a friendly voice."

"I can't imagine how it could hurt right now, now that he doesn't seem to be in pain when his senses are stimulated. But just for a little while right now. You can try again later if he doesn't respond. There's a chance that he's in something like a very deep sleep and his body is just needing the rest, after all that he's been through. If that's the case, we wouldn't want to interfere with his rest."

"OK. Thanks, Doc. Let me know what you find out."

Returning to the room, Jim walked up to the side of the bed and leaned against the railing. There was no sign of awakening from Blair, and if he hadn't seen it himself, he would have doubted that his eyes had ever opened.

He turned at the entrance of the nurse. She approached the bed and removed the leather cuffs from Blair's arms.

"Detective, the doctor said that you can have a half an hour for now. I'll let you know."

Jim nodded and turned back to his silent friend.

"OK, Chief, here goes." He let the railing down and then perched carefully on the side of the bed. Reaching down and gently grasping Blair's limp fingers as they rested on top of the plastic splint, he gave them a squeeze. "I'm here, buddy, and it would be really great if you'd wake up soon. I know you've got to be tired, so you don't even have to say anything or open your eyes if you don't want to. You can just move your hand here a little bit, squeeze my fingers, just to let me know you're in there."

There was no reply.

He kept it up for a half an hour, quietly repeating that Blair was safe now, that no one would hurt him any more, that he was getting better, that everyone missed him and hoped to see him soon. Blair remained unresponsive, not even a change in his pulse or breathing to show that he heard anything.

The nurse eventually stuck her head in and pointed to her watch. "It's time, Detective. Dr. West said that you could try again in three hours. By then the neurologist should have taken a look at him and we'll have the blood tests back, so we might know more."

Jim nodded and reluctantly climbed off of the bed. He gave Blair's fingers one final squeeze before he left.

"I've gotta go now, Chief, but I'll be back a little later. You rest now." Frustrated, he reached down and brushed a few stray hairs from Blair's face and briefly rested his hand on a bruised cheek. "You're gonna get better, I know it. I'll see you soon."

He turned and left the room, dejection in each step.

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

Having spent the last few hours in the waiting room, Jim stood and stretched stiffly. He had decided that three hours was little time to get much done away from the hospital, and he was not going to be late for his next opportunity to visit Blair. So he had called in to the precinct and informed them of his location, eaten lunch in the hospital cafeteria, and settled himself to read through the file on "The Doctor."

Several times he'd had to close the file and stop reading, the contents too close and too disturbing to continue. Reading some of the details of past charges against the man rekindled the anger that he had for Blair. It also reminded him to feel grateful that Blair had been rescued when he did. Some of Roberts' suspected victims had been much more severely abused, some permanently damaged, and some had died.

The alarm on his wristwatch sounded, and he grabbed the file and headed for CCU. The nurses greeted him with recognition this time, and he was permitted to go right into Blair's room.

Nothing had changed from the last time that he had visited. Blair lay still, eyes closed, with no sign of consciousness. If not for the marks of abuse and the bandages, he could almost believe that Blair was just asleep. Jim laid the file on the bedside chair and resumed his seat, perched on the side of the bed opposite the IV stand.

"Hey, Chief, I'm back. Miss me?" He carefully wrapped his hand around Blair's still fingers. "Time to wake up now, Chief. It's safe, you can come back now. Come on back, Blair."

The half hour passed slowly, Jim struggling to keep talking with no sign of response from his unconscious partner. He sighed when the nurse came in and asked him to leave, and left as discouraged as when he had arrived. This time he headed in for the precinct and spent a few hours listlessly following the efforts of his colleagues in tracking Roberts. So far, no luck. It was truly as if the man had disappeared off the face of the earth.

He headed back to the hospital. The nurse at the desk just waved him on this time, barely paying attention. He asked, in passing, if Blair had awakened, and she just shook her head.

Taking his now accustomed seat, Jim began talking. This time, in addition to the same words of reassurance that he'd spoken before, he talked about the men and women at the precinct. What Blair was missing. The gossip around the station. He just said whatever came to mind, anything for Blair to hear a friendly voice.

In the middle of a sentence, Blair opened his eyes again. Jim leaned over, grinning in surprise, getting himself right in front of Blair's face.

"Hey, Chief! Nice to see you, man. It's about time you woke up."

He looked deeply into the blank and staring eyes, seeing no sign of recognition or response there. Despite his opened eyes, Blair's face was just as blank as it had been when they were closed. Pushing the call button again to call the nurse, he kept his face right up in Blair's visual field and kept talking.

"Hey, buddy, how are you doing? You're looking a lot better, and Dr. West says that you're getting better all the time. It's great to see you, Chief. How about saying something, huh? I'm not used to all of this quiet, you know?"

Hearing footsteps behind him, he was surprised to see the doctor leading a nurse into the room.

"Detective, I was coming by to talk to you, and I hear that Blair is awake again." She walked around to the other side of the bed and looked closely at Blair, holding the fingers of his other hand. "Blair, can you hear me? Blair, can you squeeze my fingers?"

Jim watched closely, but he saw no response from his silent friend. Leaning back to give the doctor room, he watched as she waved a hand in front of the blank face. Nothing.

She suddenly dropped her hand quickly towards Blair's eyes, stopping just before hitting his face. Jim gasped in surprise, startled at the sudden movement, and gasped again when he saw Blair blink. He looked up, wide-eyed, as the doctor repeated the movement, and Blair blinked again.

"Blair?" Jim said hopefully.

Dr. West leaned back, visibly pleased with Blair's response. "Well, Blair, I'm glad to see you're coming back. Your friend here has been waiting for you." She proceeded to thoroughly examine Blair as Jim watched. Despite his initial excitement, his enthusiasm waned somewhat as nothing else seemed to have changed. He drew in a deep breath as he watched the doctor pinch Blair, hard and undoubtedly painfully, but was thrilled to see a tiny twitch of muscle from Blair in response.

Finishing her exam, she pulled the covers back up over Blair and gently patted him on the arm.

"That's terrific, Blair. You just rest now. Detective Ellison and I are going to leave for now, but he'll be back with you real soon. Take care now."

They walked from the room, Dr. West walking behind the nursing station and picking up Blair's chart. Jim leaned against the tall counter, eager to hear her findings.

"Well, Doctor, what do you think?"

"I'd say that's a definite sign of improvement. He's responding to his environment, even if minimally. That's good."

"What about the blood tests? What did the neurologist have to say?"

"The blood tests show that he still has some metabolites in his bloodstream. Translation: the drugs are working their way out of his system but there's still some in there. The neurologist felt that it was too early to get too worried. In his opinion, Blair's state is probably both medical, a result of the drugs, and psychological, a result of the trauma.

He didn't want to try to run any tests right now, as long as Blair is showing steady signs of improvement, no matter how slow. If that improvement stops, then we'd want to do a CAT scan, maybe an MRI, and have a psychiatrist in to see him as well. But for now, as long as he's improving and physically stable, we don't want to jump to anything prematurely."

Jim wasn't sure whether that was good or bad news. "So what's next?"

"Continue what we are doing. Support him medically as he recovers. Keep stimulating him as you are. I don't know if it's making a difference but it may be, and it certainly isn't hurting him. And we'll see."

"OK. I can do that. Can I see him more often?"

Dr. West looked at the chart, then looked at him. "I guess we can let you see him a little more often, how about every two hours for thirty minutes at a time. But not after 10:00, we want him to get plenty of rest. You can come back starting at 8:00 in the morning. Understood?"

"Thanks, Doc."

He returned to Blair's room, eagerly returning to his perch on the side of the bed.

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

"Well, Chief, I'm gonna have to go soon. It's late, and the doctor wants you to get your beauty sleep. I'll be back in the morning, though…"

He stopped in midsentence as Blair's eyes slid open. Shifting a bit on the bed, he leaned over to be right in front of Blair's face.

"Hey, Chief! Thanks for waking up again so I can tell you good night. It's great to see you, man."

Jim searched Blair's eyes for any sign of recognition, and was sure that he saw a slight shift in Blair's focus. He squeezed Blair's fingers gently.

"Blair? You with me, buddy? Can you squeeze my hand?"

Nothing happened, other than a slight increase in Blair's breathing and heartbeat that no one other than a sentinel would have felt. Jim tried again.

"Hey, Chief, I know you're in there. You can do it. Just look at me, squeeze my hand, tell me to quit bugging you…"

Try as he might, he couldn't sense any other response from his silent partner. Carefully keeping the disappointment that he felt from his expression and his voice, he hoped, he went on.

"That's okay, Chief. You're doing great, and you're gonna be better tomorrow. Don't worry about it, we'll talk soon. You just get a good night's sleep, and I'll see you first thing in the morning…"

As Blair's eyes slid closed, he felt a slight pressure on his fingers. He looked down, and could both see and feel Blair's fingers curling slightly against his. Looking up in amazement, he saw that Blair's eyes were still closed, but he saw a single tear wend its way slowly from the corner of a closed eye, down his temple and into his hair.

Feeling the sudden sting of moisture in his own eyes, he returned Blair's grasp with one of his own. Reaching down with his other hand, he gently wiped the moisture from Blair's temples as he spoke reassuringly.

"It's all right, Blair. It's gonna be all right. You're safe now, and you're gonna get better. I'll be right here. You just take it easy, Chief, get some sleep. I'll stay with you for a while, okay? You just rest."

He felt Blair's fingers relaxing in his hand, and gradually his breathing and heartbeat slowed to the gentle rhythm of sleep. The nurse finally came in to send Jim from the room, so he gave Blair's fingers one last gentle squeeze before letting go and climbing off of the bed. The nurse spent a few moments checking Blair, then rejoined Jim in the hall. He told the nurse what had happened, and she nodded and made notes in the chart. Finishing, she pointedly wished him goodnight.

Jim left the CCU with a spring in his step, even as he wiped some suspicious moisture from his own eyes. As difficult as it was to look at Blair's injuries, the sight of that tear slipping from his eyes had hit him hard. Whether it came from fear, from pain, or from nothing at all, it had deeply touched him.

He could hardly wait to get back in the morning to see Blair again. Perhaps tomorrow would be the day that Blair would be back. It was hard to believe that it had only been three days since Blair had been abducted, three days had never passed so slowly. As soon as he got outside of the hospital he pulled out his cell phone to call Simon to tell him the good news.

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

Getting off the elevator, he turned at the corner and pushed through the double doors and into CCU. Walking up to the nursing station, he spoke to the woman sitting behind the counter.

"Good morning. How's Blair?"

The broad smile that he received in return set his heart racing.

"Good morning, Detective. I believe that there's someone in room 6 that would like to see you."

He all but ran over to room 6, almost colliding with the nurse coming out of Blair's room. She held a hand up in front of him.

"Detective Ellison, just a minute."

"Is he awake?"

"Just a minute. Yes, he's been awake a couple of times this morning, and he's doing better. But please take it slow with him, Doctor West said that we need to take it at his pace right now. She'll be back later this morning to check on him. If he's still doing well she said he'd probably be transferred to a regular room later today."

"Thank you."

Taking a deep breath, trying to keep from expecting too much, he entered Blair's room.

Blair's eyes were closed, but his bed had been raised from the earlier flat position. He noticed that there was a pitcher of water and a cup with a straw in it on the bedside table.

He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed as usual. Taking Blair's hand in his, he gave it a brief squeeze. He almost jumped when he received a weak squeeze in return, and he looked up to see Blair's eyes flutter open.

"Blair!"

Blair's eyes slowly tracked over to his face, and their eyes met. Jim was so thrilled to see Blair actually looking at him that it took him a moment to realize that he didn't seem to be looking at him as much as looking through him. There was no spark of recognition, no gleam of intelligence and humor that Jim was so used to seeing in Blair's expression. His gaze was flat and blank. After a few moments his eyes closed again.

Jim was both pleased and shocked. He just sat for a moment, trying to gather himself, then turned as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Dr. West walked in to the room and spoke to him in a quiet voice.

"Good morning, Detective. And how are you this morning?"

"Good," Jim said, copying the doctor's soft tone. "Blair woke up a minute ago, but didn't stay awake long. He looked at me."

"Yes, he seems to be responding better this morning." She walked around the bed, then reached down and gave Blair's arm a squeeze. "Blair, it's Dr. West. Can you open your eyes for me?"

Blair opened his eyes slowly.

"There you go. Blair, can you look at me, please?" Blair's eyes swung slowly up to her face, the same blank expression on his face. "Very good. Would you like a drink?"

The doctor reached over and poured some water into the plastic cup, then moved it in front of Blair's face. His eyes gradually tracked down to the cup, and his lips opened. She carefully eased the straw between his cracked lips, and Jim heard Blair take a few small sips.

"That's good, Blair, very good. I think that's enough for now."

Dr. West replaced the cup on the bedside table. Blair's eyes followed her movements as she reached down and grasped his hand.

"Blair, I'd like you to squeeze my hand, please." Jim watched as she gave Blair's hand a squeeze, and saw Blair's hand move briefly in reply. She let go of his hand and moved down to the end of the bed and moved his feet, one at a time, and Blair moved each a tiny bit in response. The doctor nodded in satisfaction, then gestured at Jim to follow her from the room. Blair's eyes slid closed as Jim got up from the bed.

Jim met her at the nursing station.

"Has he said anything?"

"No, he hasn't spoken. As you can see, he's moving quite a bit more this morning, although he only seems to do it in response to movement or stimulation. We haven't seen him initiate any movement yet. And he's tracking visually, as you saw."

"He looked like he didn't even recognize me, Doctor. Are his eyes really all right? Why isn't he talking? Do you think he might have brain damage from the drugs?" Jim's words came rushing out in concern.

"Slow down, Detective. You've got to remember that he is greatly improved from when he first came in. Don't forget that he had large amounts of hallucinogens in his system. He may still be having difficulty distinguishing reality, after what he's been through. Remember what the neurologist said, not to get too worried yet, as long as he continues making steady progress. And this is quite a bit of progress."

"I know, but…"

"I know, you want him to be well. You've got to be patient, Detective. Blair is recovering, even if slower than we would like. Give it time."

"Yes, Doctor," Jim said glumly.

"Why don't you go back in with your friend? Talk to him, reassure him. He may be more conscious and connected than he seems. We want to encourage him, but not push him. Getting him to sip some water is good, too. And he still needs a lot of rest, so we're keeping the limits on your visiting time for now. If he continues to have a number of awakening periods through the day, we may even want to set aside a couple of hours in the afternoon for a nap. At least until he regains some strength."

"All right. Thanks Doc."

By midafternoon, he was ready to go back to the loft and take his own nap while Blair took his. The day had been incredibly frustrating, and it had been more tiring than he would have believed to keep up a positive front with Blair. He'd felt that he was so close to breaking through to Blair, but it hadn't happened yet.

Blair had continued to open his eyes intermittently throughout the day, and to move in response to a touch or movement. But he hadn't spoken, and his expression had never changed. It was as if Blair's body was there in the bed, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. As the day had progressed, Jim had become increasingly fearful that this was all of Blair that was left after the drugs and the torture.

He dragged himself home to the loft, discouragement leaving him tired and lethargic. Staring into the kitchen, he couldn't dig up enough energy or enthusiasm to fix anything to eat, so he just went upstairs to lie down. Even as tired as he was, he had difficulty resting, the image of the blank look on Blair's face hard to get out of his mind. He finally settled into an uneasy sleep.

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

He awoke with a start, his heart pounding and breathing hard. It must have been another nightmare, he thought, although the dream was already fading fast. Sitting up, he reached for the cell phone on his bedside table and called the hospital.

Blair had been transferred to a room on a regular medical ward while he had slept the afternoon away. Getting the room number, Jim quickly got up and dressed, and headed out.

Jim checked in at the nursing station, introducing himself to Blair's new nurses. He waited patiently as they checked Blair's chart, to make sure that Jim was on Blair's visitor list, and to check the doctor's orders on visiting. He was surprised but pleased to hear that Dr. West had changed the order to allow Jim unlimited visiting privileges.

The nurse was quick to point out that the unlimited visiting still meant that he could visit only as long as it didn’t interfere with Blair's care, and Jim nodded his understanding. He was also told that Blair seemed to be resting comfortably since his arrival. He thanked her as he headed towards Blair's room.

Entering Blair's room, Jim was pleased to see that he was the only patient in the double room, and had the bed by the window. Blair looked like he was resting peacefully, and Jim thought that his skin tone looked healthier and the dark circles around his eyes less pronounced. As always when he had been away for a while, Blair's visible injuries made him wince in sympathy as he also felt a refreshed surge of anger at the man who did this.

He straightened Blair's bedclothes, then sat carefully on the side of the bed. Carefully grasping Blair's hand, he gave a gentle squeeze and readied himself for Blair's response, or lack of one.

"Hey, Chief, I'm back," he said softly. "I'm not sure if you're asleep, but I just wanted to let you know I'm here."

Looking into Blair's face for a response, he was pleased to see Blair's eyes open and slowly track over towards him. Their eyes met, and this time Jim could see that they were truly focusing, or trying to. Blair's eyes seemed to rove over his face, searching, and Jim saw a puzzled, questioning expression form on Blair's face. His heart leapt into his throat and he squeezed Blair's hand a little tighter, feeling a slight pressure back in response.

"Blair?"

Blair blinked, and his cracked and dry lips opened.

"Jim?" croaked out in an uncertain and quavering tone.

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

Jim watched as a nurse joined Dr. West in Blair's room. Once Jim had pressed the call button and informed the nurse that Blair was awake and had spoken, she had hurried out and had the doctor paged. Jim had been politely but firmly asked to leave so that the doctor could examine Blair, who had closed his eyes again shortly after speaking to Jim and listening to Jim's reassurances. He hadn't said anything else.

Pacing back and forth in the hall, Jim finally stopped and leaned against the wall, extending his sense of hearing to listen to the activity within. The doctor was examining Blair physically while she asked him questions.

Blair spoke only a few words, even at that his voice sounded as if he were tiring fast. He knew who he was, but was confused and uncertain about almost everything else. The more questions the doctor asked, the more that Jim could detect a note of fear in his replies. He was just about to interrupt when the doctor ended her examination and suggested that Blair close his eyes and rest. Jim walked a bit down the hall to wait for her to exit.

"Dr. West, what do you think?"

She walked toward him and gestured at him to walk down the hall with her, away from Blair's room and toward the nursing station.

"Well, he's finally fully conscious, as you know. I just gave him a brief exam, but things are looking good. He seemed to tire very quickly, and he's pretty disoriented, but he seemed to understand everything I said and respond appropriately, as best he could. It's awfully early to come to any conclusions, but I don't see anything so far that makes me concerned about brain damage. I didn't want to get into his memory of what happened to him, I'm not sure that we want to go there right now.

I'd say that we should just go slowly and cautiously with him. He's obviously still quite weak, so we still want to be sure he gets a lot of rest. He seemed to be getting pretty anxious, asking about you, and calmed down when I reassured him that you would be back in a little while. So for right now, I'm going to tell the nurses to let you stay with him as long as he wants, if that will help keep him calm."

"What if he remembers what happened to him, or asks what happened if he can't remember? What should I tell him?"

"I'm not a psychiatrist, but I'd say follow his lead. If he remembers, try to listen and be supportive. If he doesn't remember and asks, I'd probably try to be as vague as possible. I'll talk to our psychiatrist this morning and see what he suggests. I'm not sure Blair is quite up to a psychiatric evaluation yet, lets just see what happens. Okay?"

"Okay. Can I go back in now?"

"Sure. I'll let you know what the psychiatrist suggests about dealing with his memories and the trauma."

"Thanks, Doc."

Jim returned to the room and pulled the chair right up to the side of the bed. Blair's eyes were closed and he seemed to be resting, so he decided to just wait and not disturb him. A few moments later he saw Blair's eyes slowly open and struggle to focus, and heard his heart rate climb.

"Hey, Chief," he said softly, not wanting to startle him.

Blair's eyes slowly swung over to focus on him, and Jim saw his hand sliding over on the bed. He carefully reached over and loosely grasped Blair's hand. As Blair gradually focused on him, his grasp was weakly returned.

"Jim…" whispered out.

"That's right, Chief, it's me. How're you doing, buddy?"

Blair's face assumed a confused and quizzical expression as he seemed to search Jim's face for something.

"Jim…okay?"

Blair's tone seemed to be asking if Jim was all right. Jim wondered why, but decided to play along if it would ease Blair's mind.

"I'm fine, Chief, just fine." He punctuated it with a warm smile.

A relieved expression crossed Blair's face, and his eyelids drooped tiredly as he visibly relaxed.

"Thank God…you're okay…" he mumbled as he drifted into sleep. Jim began to pull his hand away, but Blair's tightened almost imperceptibly. With a grin Jim settled himself more comfortably against the side of the bed. If it made Blair feel safer for now, he could give up the use of one hand for a while.

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

"What…" Jim jerked awake as a large hand shook his shoulder.

Simon was standing over him, grinning.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, I just stopped by to see how the kid's doing, and I find both of you sawing logs in here. What do you think about actually sleeping in your own bed instead of propped up against his bed?"

Jim straightened up stiffly. He'd fallen asleep, resting his head on his arms atop Blair's bed. Throughout the day Blair had awakened off and on, each time seeming anxious at first but calming down when he saw and heard Jim. Jim didn't think that Blair was even aware that he held Jim's hand like a lifeline.

Blair had still seemed fairly disconnected and confused. He sipped some water when prompted, and watched when something happened around him or the nurse changed his IV's, but only spoke a few words and moved very little. He looked passively at his bandaged hands and glanced down his body as he was examined, but didn't react to the sight or show any emotion.

Jim said some words of reassurance, but was afraid to say too much. Blair seemed unable to stay awake for any period of time, but at least Jim was fairly certain that he was sleeping rather than unconscious. He recognized the familiar snuffling, snoring sound that usually emanated from the downstairs bedroom in the loft.

He stretched and tried to surpress a yawn.

"Hi, Simon. When did you get here?"

"About fifteen minutes ago. I saw that you were both sleeping, so I chatted up the nurses a bit. They just said that it was about time for you to go home, so I volunteered to roust you out. Come on, it looks like he's asleep, let's get out of here before we wake him."

Jim carefully extricated his hand from Blair's and eased the chair back away from the bed quietly. He stood and followed Simon from the room.

The nurse met him just outside the door.

"Good night, Detective. See you tomorrow. And not earlier than eight, okay? Both of you need a good night's sleep."

"Good night, Sally. See you tomorrow."

Simon nodded to the nurse and they headed down the hall.

"So, how's he really doing, Jim? The nurse was pretty vague when I asked her."

"Well, I'm not sure that they really know yet, Simon. He woke up several times today, but he just looks around a bit and then goes back to sleep. He's only said a couple of words, he seems to be worried about me for some reason and gets upset, but calms down when I talk to him and he sees I'm there and okay. I sure wish I knew what that was all about, but I'm afraid to ask him right now. I'm not sure I want to stir things up."

"Has the psychiatrist seen him yet?"

"No. Dr. West wanted to wait another day, and see if Blair is more connected and talking more, before calling in the psychiatrist. She didn't think that it would be very productive today, and apparently the psychiatrist agreed that it would be better to wait rather than start asking him a lot of questions that he might not be able to respond to right now."

Simon nodded.

"How's he doing physically?"

"He still looks pretty awful, but he was able to move his hands and feet okay when prompted, so they're thinking that those injuries are healing okay. It's hard to tell if he's in much pain, he doesn't show it right now, but they have him on a mild painkiller in his IV. I don't know, Simon. I mean, I'm thrilled as hell that he's awake, but…well, it's disconcerting, seeing him so…so…I don't know. So disconnected. So distant. I wonder what's going on in his head, if anything's going on in his head. That's what scares me, I guess."

Simon patted him on the back as they slipped out of the doors into the cool evening air.

"Well, he's been getting better every day, so we'll just have to hope for the best and see what tomorrow brings."

Jim gave him a wry sideways glance.

"Simon, have you been listening to one of those radio psychologists again? If you get any warmer and fuzzier you'd be scaring me."

"Funny, Jim, very funny. For that, you can buy dinner."

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

The psychiatrist settled into the padded leather chair behind the impressive mahogany desk.

"Detective, I'm glad you could join us. I understand that you are Blair's partner, roommate, and friend, and that you also saw the place that he was found in."

"That's right. If there's anything that I can do to help Blair, just tell me. What are the results of your evaluation?"

Jim sat nervously on the edge of the chair. He'd been waiting to talk with the psychiatrist ever since he had spoken with Blair earlier in the morning, but Dr. Peterson wanted to talk with both he and Dr. West at the same time. Dr. West had just arrived, so they were just getting down to discussing his assessment of Blair's mental state.

"Well, I'm still trying to make sense of some of the things he said. That's where you come in, since you know Blair better than anyone here and know something about how he was injured. Hopefully, together, we can come to a better understanding of what's happening with him right now."

"Anything I can do to help," he repeated.

Dr. Peterson cleared his throat as he referred to his hand-written notes.

"Blair is talking more today, although he's still disoriented and having some difficulty in answering questions. I didn't want to push him too hard, but I can tell you my preliminary assessment.

Blair is only partially oriented. He knows who he is, but is confused about where he is, what the date is, and why he's here. He kept referring to being in "a clinic" and seemed to think that it was later in the week, at least Wednesday or Thursday. He talked about having the flu and being sick."

Jim thought for a minute, then spoke up. "We don't know exactly how he was abducted. There was a room where he was kept, for at least part of the time, that looked a lot like a hospital room. I'm pretty sure that he spent some time in there. And there were some signs that someone there had been ill. We suspect that he was given medications or drugs to make him sick, to weaken him."

He didn't mention that the psychiatrist's question forced a sensory memory to return vividly to his brain. Visiting the scene, he had been overwhelmed by the sensory input, his emotions whirling. The images that it had created in his mind, of what Blair may have experienced, had been both frightening and painful to contemplate.

Thinking about the doctor's question, he had suddenly remembered that part of the sensory input that he had been unable to process was the odor of someone who had been sick. He hadn't sorted it out on a conscious basis, but after living with the man for a couple of years he subconsciously knew the odors associated with his roommate, in sickness and in health. He was now certain that Blair had been sick in that room.

The psychiatrist continued. "He seems somewhat anxious about your health and well-being, Detective. Blair seems to think that you were injured, and dying, and worries that he wasn't able to save you. He seems uncertain as to whether you are dead or alive, although he seems to vaguely remember seeing you here, alive and well. There seems to be some difficulty in distinguishing between his fears and reality. He mentioned the name McCleary. Were you recently injured in the line of duty, something to do with someone named McCleary?"

Jim shook his head. "No. But we were involved in the planning of a major effort to bust a major local criminal named McCleary. We were planning to put the operation in motion on Wednesday and Thursday."

"Wednesday and Thursday? That concurs with his confusion about today's date."

"Now that you mention it, we'd received information from an informant that the purpose of Blair's abduction was to brainwash him to obtain information about a Major Crimes' operation. It could have been the McCleary operation. Blair was part of the task force."

Dr. Peterson pondered that information for a moment. "Brainwashing? That's a term I haven't heard for a long time. I know that he had a large quantity of chemicals in his bloodstream when he was admitted. You believe that they were physically weakening by making him physically ill, then using drugs to get him to give details about your department's plans?"

Jim shared the information about the electronic device that he had seen. The psychiatrist nodded as he listened.

"Well, I suppose that's possible. I don't recognize all of these chemicals, but the use of drugs, physical abuse, and other methods of disorienting prisoners have long been used to attempt to obtain information and change behavior against a person's will. It also would not be uncommon, under those circumstances, to try to use feelings about a significant other, such as friendship, loyalty, or love, to help the process along. If he believed that you were in danger, it's possible that he could have been convinced to give information that he thought would help to save you."

"Like if believed that the operation was already underway, or had already happened, and he had been told that I'd been injured or wounded."

"Exactly."

He digested that possibility. "Okay, what else?"

"Blair has no memory or understanding of how he was injured right now. That seems to be a blank for him. He said something about dreaming that he was dead, and being in Hell, but that is about it. He demonstrates a distinct lack of interest in his injuries, as a matter of fact. His lack of interest and lack of memory could be due to the drugs, to physical and emotional shock, or both. What can you tell me about how he was treated?"

Jim took a deep breath and filled the doctor in on what he had seen and what he suspected. He couldn't even make eye contact as he described The Doctor's chamber of horrors and Blair's condition when he was found. When he did look up, he was relieved that Dr. Peterson maintained an expression of professional interest, only partly shaded by an all-too-human frown of concern.

"I see. He probably was in shock at the time that he received much of his injuries, both physically and emotionally, from what you describe. The addition of powerful psychoactive drugs could have intensified his experience. Hmmm. We'll have to see, but there's a chance that he never will remember everything fully or accurately, or he could remember it completely in time. It's too early to tell."

"So what do I do? What if he does ask about how he was hurt? And what if he does start remembering? My God, he tried to kill himself…"

"One thing at a time, Detective. If he asks, tell him the truth. I wouldn't go into all of the details, but he deserves to know what happened to him. I'd be fairly vague and general at first, and see how he reacts and if he even wants to know more. If he doesn't ask, I wouldn't push him to remember.

If he does start remembering, the best thing you can do is be supportive. It could be very frightening or overwhelming for him. His memory could return in the form of flashbacks, where he suddenly is mentally back in the situation, just as it if was happening in the here and now. The most important thing is to try to help him to feel safe. If he begins remembering or having flashbacks, and you have fears for his safety or he doesn't seem able to handle it, you should call me. We can give him medication, even if it is for the short term, if needed.

If he becomes dangerous to himself, we can hospitalize him for psychiatric treatment until he is safe again. I can see, Detective, that idea is repugnant to you, but Blair's health and safety is what we need to focus on right now. Regardless, we will want Blair in therapy once he is ready for it. This kind of severe physical and emotional trauma just doesn't go away, even if it seems like it might if he doesn't remember right away."

"Doc, I don't know how to say this, but is he going to stay like this? I mean, it's like he isn't really here, mentally. He's so quiet, so blank. Like he's not feeling or thinking anything at all. You have no idea how unlike Blair that is."

"His current reaction is not that unusual, given the severity of his experience. I wish I could guarantee that he will quickly return to his old self, but I can't. It's not unusual for people who are severely traumatized to suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD, but it is a treatable disorder. There have been some remarkable advances in treatment of trauma in the last few years. Some emotional flattening, as you describe, is fairly typical for a trauma victim.

The wild card here is the psychoactive drugs that he was given, in apparently massive doses. I wish that we knew more about these particular drugs, but we don't. Over the long term, if he doesn't seem to recover like we would expect even given a PTSD type of reaction, we can do some scans to see if there is any evidence of brain damage. It's far too early for that now, in my opinion. Let's wait and see."

Jim rubbed a hand over his face, trying to stave off the discouragement that was building within him. "Okay, so what should I expect? How can I help him?"

"I wish there was an easy answer for you. The best thing you can do is just be his friend and be supportive, no matter what."

"That's easy enough."

"Well, not necessarily, Detective. Dr. West here tells me that you have a remarkably calming effect on your partner, that he obviously trusts you and feels safe with you. That alone is definitely helpful to him right now. But you need to be prepared for the possibility of a long and difficult recovery. Dr. West tells me that he is recovering steadily, physically, but his mental and emotional recovery could be a rocky one."

"Blair has always had the ability to bounce back, Doctor, and he's been through some tough situations. He's stronger than he looks."

"I have no doubt of that, Detective. Otherwise he wouldn't be doing as well as he is. But you will need to be prepared. When someone has been seriously traumatized, it has significant effects. Blair may act emotionally flat, as he is now, or he may be unusually emotional. He may be easily frightened, anxious, or depressed. He could have nightmares, have problems with memory and concentration, or have difficulty with normal everyday actions. At times he could even seem to be hallucinating, if he is having an intrusive memory or flashback. You just need to be ready to accept just about anything.

Probably the most important thing you can do is treat him normally, as much as you can. Try to help him to feel safe. Very often, when someone has been abused, including sexual abuse, the victim feels bad, dirty, somehow to blame. As if it was their fault, and that it has changed who they are. That no one would want them or care about them anymore. He needs to feel that you, and his other friends, family, and colleagues, still care for him and accept him the same way they did before this happened. That's probably the most important thing you can do for him."

"Believe me, Doc, there's no problem there."

"Good. We'll just have to see how it goes. You can always call me at any time, I'll give you my office and pager numbers. I'll continue to check in with Blair while he's here. Once he is discharged, we'll set up appointments for him on an outpatient basis. Depending on what happens, I may want to refer him to an excellent therapist I know who is an expert with dealing with trauma. But we'll see. Do you have any more questions for now?"

"No, thanks, Doc. If I have questions later, I'll call you."

"That will be fine, Detective. You too, Dr. West. Please feel free to consult with me at any time."

They stood and shook hands, then left. Jim's mind was still reeling with the psychiatrist's information combined with his fears for his partner. He did feel a little relieved that he had seemed so knowledgeable about dealing with trauma victims. Walking back towards the ward to check on Blair, he suddenly stopped in his tracks as an idea struck him. There might be someone who could find out more about the unusual drugs that Blair was given. He sped up, eager to get outside of the hospital so he could use his cell phone to call the University.

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

Jim spotted the man in the wheelchair as he rolled out of the elevator.

"Jack! I'm glad you could come. Dr. West should be here in a few minutes. After we talk, I'm sure that Blair would love to see you."

"Hey, Jim, I'm glad I can help out. How's he doing?"

"Better. I hope that you've got good news for us."

"I think so, but we'll have to see what your Dr. West has to say."

"Here she comes." Jim raised a hand in a half-wave as Dr. West practically trotted off of the elevator, shaking her head.

"Sorry, Jim. I got tied up in the ER. So this is your mysterious friend?" She turned and held out her hand. "Tamara West."

"Jack Kelso. Pleasure to meet you, Dr. West. Jim says that you've done a terrific job with Blair. Thank you. He's a good friend."

"You're welcome. Listen, why don't we go down the hall and find some privacy so we can talk."

Jim let the doctor take the lead, followed by his friend in the wheelchair. Blair had introduced him to Jack Kelso, a former CIA agent, to elicit his help with a rogue ex-CIA agent who had crossed their paths. Two days ago, when Jim had suddenly had a flash of inspiration about "The Doctor" and his drugs, he'd gotten on the phone and called Jack.

After expressing his indignation over Blair's abduction, Jack had readily agreed to use his network of contacts to try to get information about "The Doctor" and also about the unusual drugs that he'd used. He'd called this morning, excited, and asked to meet with Jim and Blair's doctor. Jim had been impatiently waiting for the meeting all day, and even the recovering Blair had noticed that something was up, asking if Jim was all right. Jim had decided not to tell Blair anything about Jack's research until he knew if it would help him.

Entering the small family waiting area, the three arranged themselves around a small table. Jack opened up the zippered bag that he'd carried in on his lap and pulled out several pages of material. Glancing through them, he separated them and handed pages to Dr. West and to Jim.

"All right. Dr. West, I assume that Jim told you that I used to work for a large government agency. I still have quite a few contacts and friends in that agency and in "high places" as they say. When he told me about the man who assaulted and drugged Blair, how the FBI came in and took over the case, and that some of the drugs couldn't be identified…well, it smelled pretty fishy to me. I agreed to use my contacts to see what I could do.

I took the toxicology reports that you provided and faxed them to some experts. What you have in front of you are analyses of the drugs and clinical data on their use. This is unofficial, of course, but your unidentified drugs have been used experimentally in certain circles. There was one compound that they couldn't identify exactly, but it was similar enough to a drug that they knew that they included all of the relevant data.

I'm not a doctor, so I asked for some quick and dirty summaries. Basically, none of the compounds are known to cause permanent damage, even though some of the effects are slow to fade. And there are some specific recommendations for medications that can help recovery. I'm told, Doctor, that you would recognize them as standard anti-anxiety and antidepressant medications. Correct?"

Dr. West scanned through the pages, stopping to read a few paragraphs more thoroughly.

"Yes, I recognize the listed medications. I'd want to consult with our psychiatrist to be sure, but there shouldn't be any problems with starting Blair on the recommended course of treatment. If we have questions, is there someone we can speak with?"

"I know that this is unusual, but if you have questions, you'll have to give them to me and let me contact the relevant individuals for answers. I hope you can understand, much of this information is considered classified and they have already put themselves at risk by giving me this data. I called in some heavy markers on this one."

"Thanks, Jack. I owe you one. A big one. For Blair."

Jack shook his head. "You don't owe me anything, Jim. Blair's a good man, a friend. It made me sick to hear what had happened to him. Anything I can do, you know you can just ask."

Reading through some of the pages, Dr. West nodded, then stacked the pages back together neatly. "Thank you, Mr. Kelso. If you don't have anything else for me, I'll leave you two gentlemen on your own and see if I can catch Dr. Peterson before he leaves for the day. I'd like to get Blair started on medication right away. If he has any questions, how can I reach you?"

"You can call me at the University, or Jim has my home and cell phone numbers. Don't hesitate to call at any time."

She stood and shook his hand. "I won't. Thank you again for your assistance."

After watching her leave the room and close the door behind her, Jim turned to Jack.

"Thank goodness there's something they can do now to help him get over the drugs." His expression suddenly became more intense. "Now tell me about the man."

Handing Jim a couple of the remaining pages, Jack began reading. As he listened and read along, Jim felt the embers of anger flaring to life again, anger that he had been struggling to keep in check for Blair's sake. In his present state, Blair wouldn't be able to sort out that it wasn't anger at him, but anger for him.

His intuition had been correct. "The Doctor" had shady connections to covert groups, allegedly supported by the military and government, who had used and honed his talents for creating and using drugs for their own purposes. Those groups were suspected of working on new techniques for using psychoactive drugs to achieve their ends, from obtaining information to changing behavior without the knowledge of the victim. A new kind of chemical weapon.

Because of his value to certain individuals and groups, he had been protected from the consequences of his personal passions and obsessions. He would be helped out of the situation and it would be "cleaned up" after him. It wasn't clear whether the dead and missing witnesses had been taken care of by the man himself or the men assigned to keep him out of prison.

After reading through the information, Jack looked up and cleared his throat.

"One last thing. I put the word out that Blair was just not another inconvenience for their pet psycho. That based on what you've told me, he couldn't identify him anyway, so he's no danger to him or them. I told them that I'd put a safety net in place, that if anything happened to Blair, you or me in connection with this matter, information and identities would quickly be made very public. And I wasn't bluffing. I've already taken care of that.

I'm gonna give you one more piece of information. But before I give it to you, I just want to say that you need to think before you do anything with it. These men are dangerous, and they would not hesitate to take you out. These projects are that important to them. I think I know how you feel about Blair, and how badly you must want justice for him. I can't tell you what to do, Jim. But Blair needs you to help recover, and getting killed trying to get revenge won't help him."

He picked up the last remaining piece of paper and laid it face down on the table between them. Their eyes met, Jim's smoldering in anger and Jack's full of compassion. With a nod, Jack backed his wheelchair away from the table and turned toward the door.

"I'm gonna go and see Blair. I'll tell him that you'll be there shortly." He wheeled himself out of the room.

Jim watched him go, then reached out for the piece of paper and turned it over. It gave Roberts' current location and the plans for getting him out of town. Despite what the FBI agents had said, he was still in Cascade. He carefully folded the typed page and placed it in his pocket, then gathered himself to go back and spend some time with Blair before leaving for the night. He had a long night of thinking ahead.

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

The cool night breeze swept in from the harbor, bringing the tangy scent of the salt water to Jim's sensitive nose. He pulled his jacket closer around him and settled back into the chair, letting the fresh air clear his head.

After the meeting with Dr. West, he had joined Jack in Blair's room. Blair had seemed pleased to see Jack, in his current vague and disconnected way, and Jack had admirably held up his end of a mostly one-sided conversation. He'd kept it pretty general, inviting Blair and Jim over for a beer after his discharge, telling Blair that he'd teach him how to pop wheelies if he was going to be using a wheelchair temporarily while his legs healed, and that he had a new computer program that he was sure Blair would want to try out.

Jack didn't stay long, Blair tiring quickly and all but falling asleep in the middle of the conversation. After a few more words, Jack excused himself and left. On his way out of the door, he had turned to look at Jim. As their eyes met, Jim saw a reflection of his own sorrow and anger about Blair mirrored in Jack's expression. He had just nodded in reply.

Blair had seemed exhausted, so Jim had said his goodbyes and reminded Blair that he'd be back in the morning. Now he was sitting out on the balcony of the loft, the piece of paper with the information about "The Doctor" in his hand, thinking about his options.

He wanted no more than to just go in, guns blazing, and be sure that the man never hurt another living thing again. The revenge of the Old West. If he accidentally took out a few of his watchdogs in the process, so be it. Just thinking about it made his mouth water in anticipation, the pleasure that getting revenge for Blair would bring to him. Although that would be too quick. Perhaps getting him alone in a basement or dark alley somewhere and letting his fists fly, letting all of his bottled-up rage out on him until Roberts was beaten to a pulp and begging for death. The way that Blair had seemed to be desperately seeking death when they had found him.

Jim allowed his mind to flow freely into dark fantasies of revenge for a while, brushing aside the thin veneer of civilization that had prevented him from acting on those violent thoughts. It only took a brief flash of his memories of finding Blair, and of his condition since, to send his thoughts and emotions surging again. The strength of his emotions threatened to send his senses reeling, and he fought for control, knowing that he was in danger of a zone-out without Blair there to guide and to ground him.

After a while he pulled himself back to reality, knowing that acting simply on emotion would be dangerous and probably unproductive. Any plan of action, if there was to be a plan of action, had to ensure Blair's safety and Jim's survival. He allowed himself to fully feel his anger and fear for Blair to build until it felt like a red-hot flame in his gut, then focused his mind fully on the problem. As he focused and sorted out the possibilities, he felt the familiar shift, from red-hot anger to icy determination, that had allowed him to survive in the jungles of Peru and to excel as the lead detective in Major Crimes.

Several cold hours later, he decided that not acting was not an option. The man could not be simply allowed to go free to harm another innocent person again. Justice would be served. With that in mind, he began putting together the outline of a plan. As the morning began to dawn around him, he got up stiffly and walked back into the loft, heading for the bedroom. He could still get a couple of hours of sleep before he could go back to visit Blair. Then, while Blair rested between visits, he could begin to put his plan into action.

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

"Zebra Two, report."

A brief crackle of static preceded the response over the radio.

"Zebra Two, no contact. Over."

"Zebra Three, report."

"Zebra Three, no contact. Over."

"Base, report."

"Base, no contact. Over."

"Roger Two, Three and Base. Zebra One, no contact. Continue surveillance. Out."

Jim clicked his mike twice, then released the button and settled back against the cold brick of the alley wall. No action so far on their watch of "The Doctor's" hiding place. He flexed and released stiffening muscles, trying to keep limber after hours of surveillance.

At least two members of his covert team had been watching for any move of their subject for the last 36 hours. Deliberately leaving Simon out of the loop, even though he knew that Simon knew that something was up, he had assembled his team.

Even though more than a dozen detectives and other officers had come to him individually and privately, to let him know that they would offer their time and talent to help bring Roberts to justice, the FBI be damned, he had decided to go with a small, select team. Rafe and Joel represented his colleagues in Major Crimes, even though every detective had volunteered. Some had to maintain the appearance of a routinely functioning department and give Simon at least the appearance of plausible denial should everything go to hell.

In addition to his Major Crimes colleagues, Jack Kelso had offered his help as well. Even though physically disabled and no longer thought to be a major player in intelligence circles, Jack was still a force to be reckoned with and had no love for the dark underside of the government's covert operations.

At the meeting of his team, Jack had shown up at the loft and invited the other three men to come downstairs and check out his van. There he had handed out communications equipment, kevlar vests, and other equipment that the team would need, but that would draw attention if they had checked them out from Cascade PD. Jack had agreed to have his van act as base, with it's own communications base setup, and to make himself and his equipment available 24/7 until they had completed their mission.

Jack had also, to Jim's astonished delight, found a federal judge who was sympathetic to their cause. He showed Jim a federal court order to pick up Roberts for arraignment on a variety of charges, even including a hate crime charge. It stated that part of Roberts' actions against Blair had been racially motivated, that Blair had been selected as a victim because his name was Sandburg. Whether or not it was entirely true, it bolstered the federal case.

Jim had already discovered, through careful questioning of Simon, that Cascade PD had not received a Cease and Desist order or anything other than the subpoena for their evidence on the case. That meant that they could act on the federal court order with at least the appearance of propriety, as long as they were not interfered with in the process and the other feds didn't catch wind of the operation. Jack had assured them that if they could take Roberts into custody on the order, and turn him over to the federal agents identified by the helpful judge, that Roberts would never again see the light of day. Jim wasn't sure that it would be enough, that it would satisfy his need for not only justice but revenge, but he knew that it would have to do. He couldn't do Blair any good in his recovery if he himself was in jail, or prison, or dead after a botched attempt.

Now it was after midnight, and Jim was pushing himself to stay awake. Since the beginning of the operation, he had spent practically every moment on the stakeout or with Blair. Blair's doctor had started him on the psychotropic medications recommended by Jack's "sources" two days before, and although Jim hadn't really seen any improvement, the doctor had told him not to expect any so quickly. His partner continued to recover physically, and to sleep a great deal of the time. Dr. West was content that Blair's recovery was continuing steadily, so Jim had to satisfy himself with that. Blair was still far from his usual self, but had actually shown a hint of humor the last time they had talked, and that had been enough for Jim to hang on to for now.

He pulled the earpiece away from his ear and focused his hearing more tightly on the small suburban house that was their target. Listening carefully, he heard Roberts' banter with one of his watchdogs, laughing about his freedom and his expectations for his next location. Just hearing the man's voice stoked the anger within him, Roberts' good humor in stark contrast to Blair's pain and trauma. His attention almost diverted by his thoughts and concern for his partner, he almost missed the conversation that he'd been waiting for. Sitting up suddenly, he replaced the earpiece and microphone and spoke softly to his colleagues.

"Ready, Zebra Team. Target may be on the move. Stand by."

He listened as Roberts talked with his lone bodyguard, his other watchdog sleeping in a back bedroom. The bodyguard expressed his disgust at Roberts' plans, but Jim could hear the jangle of car keys as they verbally negotiated for two hours of free time for Roberts to entertain himself. The next sound he heard was that of Roberts using the phone to make arrangements to meet a prostitute, followed by the creak of the front door of the house opening as the agent walked outside to visually scan the neighborhood.

Apparently satisfied, the agent returned to the house, and Jim could hear the clink of keys as he tossed them to Roberts. With just a few reminders to keep out of sight and not draw attention to himself, the agent told Roberts to return in two hours. Jim hurriedly contacted the team.

"Ready to move in. Target preparing to leave the building. Go!"

Drawing his own weapon, Jim silently eased himself along the wall of the alley, his focus intent on the door of the small frame house directly across the street. He could see, with his peripheral vision, Rafe and Joel moving cautiously to take positions on each side of the neighboring houses, weapons drawn.

Laughing and waving to the agent inside, Roberts walked out of the house and pulled the door closed behind him. Seemingly without a care, he strolled down the sidewalk towards the dark sedan parked at the curb. Stopping for a moment to light a cigarette, he walked around to the driver's side of the car. Reaching down to unlock the car door, he froze at the sound of Jim's strident voice.

"Freeze! Cascade PD! Put your hands up and on the roof of the car!"

Despite Jim's verbal warning, Roberts slowly turned towards him, laughing.

"Let me guess. You must be Ellison, Sandburg's partner. Right?"

"You got it. Detective James Ellison, Cascade PD. You're under arrest, Roberts. Put your hands up and stand still."

Roberts continued slowly turning until he faced him.

"You have one sweet little partner, Ellison. I'm only sorry that I didn't have more time to get to know him better. But you can't touch me, I've got federal protection."

"Not any more. We've got a federal warrant for your arrest. Turn around and place your hands on the top of the car, Roberts."

His smirk growing, Roberts reached inside his jacket with one hand. His movement was arrested as his chest seemingly exploded, gunshots and the sharp crack of a rifle echoing through the silent neighborhood. Jerking backwards, Roberts slid slowly down the car to the pavement, leaving a crimson trail on the car door, dead before he even hit the ground.

Jim ran up to his body, his weapon still at the ready, kicking Roberts' lifeless hand away from his body. Reaching down and pulling the bloodied jacket open, he was surprised to discover that there was no gun. Lying half in and half out of the inner jacket pocket he found a small card. Pulling it out, he held it up to the halogen glare from the nearby streetlight.

It was a game piece from a Monopoly board game, a "Get Out of Jail Free" card. On the back was a phone number and the name of a federal judge. Not appreciating the intended humor, Jim let the card fall, drifting down to land lightly on "The Doctor's" bloodied chest. It landed right on top of the three bullet holes, centered precisely over Roberts' heart.

Jim looked up at the sound of an engine starting up a block down the street. He watched the barrel of a sniper rifle being pulled in through the van window, then a brief wave of a hand as the van pulled away and drove slowly down the street. Jack didn't need to be found in the vicinity when the official response arrived, and Jim was sure that forensics would not be able to identify the rifle from which the third bullet had come. Jim would never forget Jack's contribution to their mission, and he knew that someday he'd find a way to repay him, even though Jack had asked for nothing but to help.

Rafe and Joel joined him, standing and staring down at Roberts as the front porch light flipped on and the door of the safe house was thrown open.

"Good riddance, you son of a bitch," Joel muttered as he holstered his gun.

Startled at the burst of profanity from the normally mild-mannered detective, Jim saw the gleam in his colleagues' eyes that he knew had to match the fire in his own.

"Damn right," Rafe added, reaching over to slap Jim lightly on the shoulder as they stepped back from the crumpled form on the ground and readied to meet the wrath of the approaching federal agent who no longer had an assignment in Cascade.

Six hours later, Jim hauled his tired body down the hospital hallway and toward Blair's room. After a long night of interrogation and threats from the federal agents who had been protecting Roberts, they had finally given up, unable to discount the federal order that Jim had been able to produce.

Simon had said little other than to point to the legal and proper federal order, but had also supported the quick action of his detectives in responding to the federal order, stating his support of interagency cooperation in this and future operations. He defended his detectives' response to what they had believed was the suspect reaching for a weapon. After watching the federal agents storm their way out of the bullpen, he had only reminded Jim that he needed to see his "official" report on his desk in the morning. Jim had merely responded, "Yes, sir," and quietly left Simon's office. They would catch up on the unofficial report later.

Now, as sunlight brightened Blair's room, Jim quietly entered and walked up to the edge of the bed. Blair was snoring softly, apparently sleeping restfully as the hospital approached the day. Jim looked into his friend's face, seeing the gradually fading signs of his injuries that still sparked a flare of anger in him every time. Not wanting to disturb Blair's rest, he gently reached over and grasped Blair's hand for just a moment, then released it.

"It's over now, Chief. He'll never hurt anyone, ever again. He'll never be able to hurt you again."

Blair slept on, undisturbed. Jim reluctantly turned to leave the room, taking one last reassuring look before he headed out into the hallway. He needed to go home, shower and change, and get at least a couple of hours of sleep before seeing Blair again. Blair didn't need to see him looking as exhausted as he felt. And now Jim felt that he could actually get some real rest, now that he knew that Blair would be safe and that justice had been served.

Now they could both work on recovery. No matter what happened, or how long it took, they both had a lot of healing to do. That particular mission was just beginning.