DISCLAIMER: The Sentinel and its characters are the property of Paramount Television and Pet Fly Productions. No money has been or will be made from this work of fiction. This story belongs to the author. Permission is given to archive.

RATING: G. Drama, Angst.

THANKS TO: As always, the many friends, fans and writers in the Sentinel universe for friendship and inspiration. Special thanks to Barb, as always, for beta reading and all the rest.

This story takes place after the episode "S2P2" and before "TSbyBS." It contains minor references/spoilers for "S2P1", "S2P2", "Blind Man's Bluff" and "Warriors."

Feedback is always welcome.

by

The engine of the truck died and the night returned to a welcome quiet. Jim leaned forward and rested his forehead against the steering wheel in tired gratitude. He just sat for several minutes, enjoying the silence and trying to work up enough energy to get out of the truck and up to the loft. A glance at his watch revealed that it was almost 4:30am, making it an early night for this week.

This had been his fourth day in a row of working double shifts. Between a major law enforcement training conference and the usual absences for vacations, now that it was almost summer, there just weren't enough cops to go around. So he had been working his usual days as well as the last four nights on a stakeout.

Tonight had been particularly grueling, as he had been partnered with a rookie who had spent the entire night trying to "benefit from your years of experience." And he thought that Sandburg could talk your ears off! His senses had been somewhat erratic and difficult to control, probably from exhaustion. What a night.

Fortunately, their suspect had shown up, met his contact, and both had been taken into custody relatively without incident. As long as you didn't count having to run and tackle his partner-for-the-night to keep him from getting run over by the suspect's driver. Jim took a deep breath, feeling the ache set into his already tired muscles, and turning down his sense of touch to try to ignore the damp and sticky feel of his clothes and skin. It was just his luck that they'd landed in a large puddle, right beside an overflowing dumpster, with the rookie landing on top. He knew that he had to smell as bad as he felt, but he had no plan to dial up his sense of smell to find out until after a long, hot shower.

Finally he decided that he didn't want to go to sleep sitting there, feeling so lousy, so he roused himself and slid out of the truck. On his way up to the loft he wondered how Blair had spent the evening. He had insisted that his partner take the night off from stakeout duty and get some rest, and hoped that he did. Blair had been doing double and triple duty himself this week.

On top of his own work and accompanying Jim, he had been covering for a professor and his assistant while they were out of town at a conference. They had helped Blair out more than once when he needed it, because of working with Jim, so he had felt honor-bound to return the favor when they asked. After having to wake Blair up in order to eat dinner, since he had fallen asleep sitting at the table, he had insisted that Blair stay home and sleep. Since the Volvo was parked in the lot, he knew that his roommate was home now, but whether he had gotten any rest was the big question.

Taking out his keys at the loft door, Jim frowned at the sliver of light that he saw under the door. That wasn't a good sign. He hoped that he wouldn't go in to find his friend digging out from under a pile of exams or tapping endlessly on his laptop. Even Blair had his limits. Turning the key in the lock and grabbing the door handle, he readied Ellison lecture #23 in his mind, the burning-the-candle-at-both-ends speech, as he walked into the apartment.

He didn't have to look far to spot his roommate, and the all-too-familiar sight never failed to make him smile, even as it frustrated him at the same time. Blair was stretched out on the sofa, asleep on his stomach amidst a sea of journal articles. Jim remembered vaguely that Blair was working on the literature review for an article he was planning to co-author. His laptop on the coffee table was still on, with the screen saver dancing merrily along unnoticed. Jim thought that he looked incredibly uncomfortable, with his glasses digging into his face, one arm pinned underneath him and his head half-tilted off the edge of the sofa.

At least he seemed to be in a deep and restful sleep, Jim thought. He had probably been asleep for some time, judging by the infomercial playing on the TV screen. Blair would rather be caught dead than listen to some TV pitchman while he worked, so he must have fallen asleep before the evening's run of infomercials had begun. Well, he was getting some rest, even if unintentionally.

Jim walked over and turned off the TV. Watching his roommate sleeping, he pondered whether he should leave him or wake him to get into his bed for the rest of the night. Blair should really get a good night's sleep once in a while, he thought, even if he swore that he could go for weeks on only 3 1/2 hours of sleep a night. After suddenly realizing that he had been standing there just staring for several minutes, Jim decided that he couldn't think while he felt this tired and dirty, and headed off for a quick shower. It wouldn't do much for the tired part, but he knew that he didn't want to go to bed this sticky and smelly.

Returning to the living room feeling much cleaner and a little more human, he found that Blair had shifted slightly on the sofa but still appeared to be deeply asleep. Now his glasses had finally found the floor and his face was nowhere to be seen beneath a veil of long dark hair. Jim decided that Blair needed to sleep the rest of the night in a bed, even if he didn't know it himself. He strolled over to the sofa, grasped Blair's shoulder and shook it gently.

"Hey, Chief. How about getting up and going to bed, buddy?" His only response was a slight shift of the arm that was draped over the end of the sofa. He shook harder. "Come on, Blair, time to go to bed."

Blair finally moaned and rolled over slightly. "Hmmm?"

Jim grinned. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, you need to move this act to the bedroom. Come on, I'll give you a hand." Even after a good night's sleep, Blair was never a quick riser. When his eyelids began to flutter open and he started to move in the direction of sitting up, Jim carefully grasped both upper arms and helped him up into a sitting position. He quickly caught a couple of articles as they slid off of the sofa with the movement, and placed them on top of the pile on the coffee table. Blair raised bleary eyes to meet his own.

"Hey, Jim. What are you doing home so early?" Blair said, brushing his hair back from his face and blinking sleepily.

"Early is right. You've been asleep for awhile, it's going on 5am. Time for both of us to go to bed before the sun comes up."

Blair looked blankly at the mess of papers around him. "Five? I've gotta get up by seven-thirty for my seminar, I might as well just stay up. I'll get these picked up right away." He started slowly shuffling the pile of papers in front of him.

"Oh, no, you don't. Tomorrow, I mean today, is Saturday. No seminar. And we'll just leave the paperwork for later, just this once. Come on, Chief, turn off your laptop and go to bed. Both of us can sleep in for once."

"Oh, okay." Blair kept moving the piles of papers around. He was obviously talking to someone who was basically still asleep with his eyes open.

Jim sighed, then reached over and turned the laptop towards him. He knew enough to save whatever Blair had been working on, then turned the machine off and lowered the top. Just as Blair began to pick up another stack of articles he pulled them away and grabbed his arm. "Let's go, Chief."

He pulled Blair to his feet, then quickly put an arm around his shoulders when he immediately overbalanced and threatened to fall over onto the coffee table. Getting behind his tottering friend and pushing, he steered him around the sofa and into his bedroom. He had just enough time to grab the covers with one hand and yank them down before Blair tilted over and sank onto the bed.

"Saturday…Saturday…" he mumbled. "Daryl's horse show…don't forget, Jim, you promised…" The rest of Blair's words were absorbed by his pillow as he quickly returned to a deep slumber. Jim pulled the covers up to his shoulders, turned the light out and left the bedroom, softly closing the doors behind him.

Great, he thought as he turned off the lights and started up the stairs, he had forgotten all about the horse show in his sleep-deprived state. He and Blair had both promised Simon's son Daryl that they would attend his girlfriend's horse show on Saturday afternoon. There was no chance of missing it, because they would both have to answer to Simon if they didn't show up. That wouldn't be a pretty picture.

At least it wasn't until mid-afternoon, he grumbled to himself, as he stripped and got into bed. They should both be able to get in a few hours of sleep at least. Reaching for the rarely-used alarm clock on his nightstand, he set it for late morning and replaced it, grabbing his sleep mask and sliding it on before giving in to his exhaustion.

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

Once more Jim rubbed tiredly at his eyes, trying to eradicate the grit that seemed to blow into them every other minute. Although it was great to have an unusually warm and dry day in Cascade, the frequent breezes kept picking up the dust that was being loosened by hundreds of feet and hooves. He tried to dial down his sense of touch even further, to minimize the irritation, but was having difficulty controlling his senses again from being so tired.

He and Blair had been at the horse show for hours now, much to the delight of their Captain and his son. When Daryl's girlfriend was busy with her horse and the day's activities, Daryl hung out with Blair. They seemed to be having a great time together, Blair sharing dubious bits of "brotherly advice" with him about women, dating, and just about anything else under the sun they could think of to talk about.

They seemed to have bonded during their experience with Garrett Kincaid and his terrorists at the Jags basketball game. Simon had even been forced to admit that Blair seemed to be a good influence on his son, and his abiding tolerance for the observer had grown into an acceptance and grudging respect over his three years with Major Crimes.

Simon seemed to be enjoying himself this afternoon. The difficulties that he and Daryl had following his divorce had finally worked themselves out, and Jim could see a new, easy warmth between the two of them. Simon had been thrilled that his son had invited him to come along to the show, when in the past he would have done almost anything to avoid being seen with his father in public. Jim was enjoying the company of his Captain outside of the precinct, too, where they could just enjoy their friendship without having to adhere to departmental protocols.

But Jim was becoming too tired and miserable to stay much longer, even for his friends. Even with sleeping in a couple of hours, Blair had gotten up unnecessarily early and inadvertently awakened his partner. Once awake, Jim had never been one who could just roll over and go back to sleep. He didn't feel much more rested than he had for days.

The horse show was testing all of his ability to control his senses. It was beginning to take every bit of his energy and concentration to keep his senses dialed down to cope with the noisy crowd, the heat, the dust, the bright sunlight, the smells of the crowds and the horses, and all of the other distractions. As Blair joined them again in the stands, he considered whether it was time to leave.

"Wow, Jim, did you see that last horse? It was beautiful, man. All of that power and control…unbelievable. Hey, Simon, Daryl said to remind you that there are only a couple more events before Sherrie's showing in the other ring."

Simon laughed. "Sandburg, how could I possibly forget? He has it marked all over this program in red ink. You know he expects us to be in the cheering section right next to him when she rides."

"Yeah, I know. She's really nice, though." Blair looked at his program, then at Jim. A frown furrowed his brow. "Hey, man, you still got that headache? You know, I bet they have some aspirin or something in the first aid room. Why don't we go and see?"

Jim started to speak out but was interrupted by the voice of his Captain.

"That's a good idea, Sandburg, why don't you two go get something for Jim's head. I'll run over to the concession stand and get a dog and a soda for each of us, and I'll meet you at the back stands. You wouldn't want to miss Sherrie's debut." Jim could see the gleam in Simon's eye that signified that he didn't have a chance of getting away before the designated event. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in resignation then mustered up a shade of a smile.

"Sure, Simon. Let's go, Chief. I think the first aid room is under the stands, near the restrooms."

The three of them split up. Simon headed off towards the concession area, while he and Blair walked around the stands.

"You don't look like you're feeling so good, Jim. You got your senses dialed down?"

"If I had them turned down any farther, Chief, I'd be comatose."

"Well, it won't be too much longer. I'm sure Simon and Daryl won't mind if we leave right after Sherrie is done."

Minutes later, he glared at his red-eyed reflection in the bathroom mirror. He had downed three aspirin, and had to admit that he felt marginally better now that he had rinsed his face with several splashes of cool water. He took a deep breath and went out to rejoin his partner.

Part of him wouldn't have minded staying here under the stands. It was cooler and darker, and the sounds of the crowds seemed muted here. He was barely listening to Blair's chatter alongside him when he noticed a strange, low humming sound. Glancing over at Blair, he saw that he didn't seem to notice. The irritating sound continued however, and Jim decided to dial up his hearing to identify it.

Seconds later, he was stunned to feel a vibration beginning beneath his feet. The low hum increased in volume to a deep, rumbling sound, and he suddenly realized that they had to be experiencing an earthquake. Blair came to a halt beside him, swaying slightly, and looked at him wide-eyed in realization.

"Jim…"

"We've gotta get out of here!" They were in the worst possible place to be in an earthquake, standing in an open passageway beneath hundreds of tons of steel and concrete. He gave Blair a shove and started to run toward the entrance. He was stopped in his tracks moments later by the horrible screeching and groaning sound of twisting metal all around them.

Having dialed up his hearing moments before, the sound seemed to pierce straight into his brain. He clasped his hands to his ears, gasping in pain, and fell to one knee. His vision grayed with the sensory overload, and he struggled to catch his breath and regain some measure of control. As his vision lightened again seconds later, he saw the horrifying sight of his partner turning back and running towards him.

"Blair, no! Get out!" he gasped.

"Come on, Jim!" Blair grabbed one arm with both of his and yanked with all of his might to bring him to his feet. Together they ran, stumbling, toward the end of the passageway, the shifting and rolling of the earth beneath their feet making progress and balance difficult.

Just as they neared the opening, Jim saw a dark movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned his head slightly just in time to see Blair's head suddenly jerk to the side, his face obscured by the long hair still swinging with forward momentum. His body crumpled limply towards the ground as twisted metal pressed down upon him from above.

"No!" Jim shouted, just as he felt a gigantic pressure slam into his back and shoulder. He was already falling into darkness before his body hit the ground.

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

Simon had just paid for the hot dogs and drinks, and started to turn away from the counter, when he noticed an odd sensation of movement. He thought at first that he must have been more tired than he thought, and was a little light-headed. A rhythmic tapping sound above him caught his attention, and he looked up to see the sign on the front of the concession booth swinging back and forth against the wall. Startled, he looked around to see other objects swaying in movement around him, and he noticed for the first time a rumbling background sound. An earthquake!

He struggled to maintain his balance, the unfamiliar movement of the ground below him more disconcerting than he would have expected. People around him were frozen in their tracks, also trying to keep their feet, some shouting and crying out. He turned at a crashing sound behind him, and saw several stacks of cups and cartons sliding off the inside counter of the concession stand to join other supplies already on the floor.

Stumbling over to a nearby picnic table, he set the carton of food and drinks down and tried to steady himself, and them, by grabbing the edge of the table. He tried to remain calm, knowing that the worst thing that could happen in a natural disaster was to lose your head. Loud crashing and groaning sounds, followed by shouts and screaming, pulled his attention towards the stands. He was stunned to see people running towards him, away from the stands, and he suddenly remembered where he was headed when this all started…to meet Daryl in the back stands. The snacks were forgotten as he set out at a run.

"Daryl!"

The rolling of the ground subsided as he raced into the panicking crowd, searching for his son. He shouted out his son's name again and again as he got closer to the back stands, where they had promised to meet. Using his height advantage over many of the people in the crowd and shoving people away right and left to make headway, he anxiously swept his gaze back and forth, praying that Daryl had not been in harm's way.

When he neared the back stands, he could see some of the damage. A couple of light poles had fallen, one crashing into a fence and the other on top of a picnic table. He checked quickly but couldn't see any victims beneath either pole. Slowing due to the press of the crowd against him, he suddenly turned towards the sound he had been praying to hear.

"Daddy!" A short dark blur ran into his arms. He grabbed his son in a bear hug, suddenly regaining the breath that he hadn't known he had lost. After several moments, and a fervent prayer of thanks offered up to the heavens, he pulled away to take a look at him.

"Daryl, thank God. Are you all right?" He looked him up and down, noticing only the dust and dirt gracing his left side.

"Yeah, Dad. I got knocked down when people started pushing and shoving to get out, but I'm fine. Are you okay?"

"I am now, son." He pulled Daryl in for another tight embrace, feeling the slight trembling in his son's body pressed firmly against his own. They just stood there for a moment, both needing the physical contact for reassurance. He planted a gentle kiss on Daryl's forehead, and was grateful to feel the arms around him grasping him tightly. "Are Sherrie and her friends okay?"

"Yeah, I think so, Dad. I saw them outside, trying to calm down the horses. Where's Jim and Blair?"

Simon froze in his tracks, and Daryl partially released his grip to look up at him.

"Dad…"

"I don't know, son. The last time I saw them they were headed around the back of the main stands." Simon suddenly got a sickening feeling in his stomach. Yes, they had been headed around the stands...to go under the stands to the first aid room.

"Dad, we've got to find them! Come on, Dad, they might be hurt!" Daryl grabbed his arm and they headed off towards the stands at a run, weaving as quickly as they could through the milling and panicked crowd.

As they made headway through the crowd, they both pulled up short as they saw the destruction that the earthquake had wreaked. The back and corner of the main stands had partially collapsed. Odd shapes of shattered concrete and twisted metal met the sky, the broken remainder of the formerly symmetrical structure. They started up again towards the stands, both surveying the crowd around them for any sign of their friends. As they neared the stands' back wall, they noticed a small group of people, including what looked like a man in some kind of uniform, crouching down to the ground.

Simon decided to approach the man in uniform, to offer help if needed. Walking up behind him, he saw why the people were there. Lying on the ground, partially underneath the edge of the collapsed structure, were two bodies. The first he could only see as a pair of jeans-covered legs sticking out, one leg bent up and leaning over the other at an odd angle. The second, lying parallel to the stands with one arm and leg, a bloodied back, and the back of his head showing…

"Oh, sweet Jesus," he breathed, recognizing the second man immediately when he came into full view.

The two bodies were unmistakably Sandburg and Ellison. He rushed up and grabbed the shoulder of the uniformed man, who he recognized as one of the medics from the first aid room. He could barely mouth the words.

"C…Captain Simon Banks, Cascade PD. Are they…" He couldn't bring himself to finish.

"They're still alive."

He yanked out his cell phone before hearing another word and began dialing for help, looking at the same time for his son in the crowd. Daryl was standing several feet away, in shock, staring at the downed men in wide-eyed horror. Simon walked towards him as he talked, reaching out as he came near to pull his son close to his side in a gentle hug. He folded the phone closed and replaced it in his pocket, then used both arms to encircle the frightened young man.

"They're alive, Daryl, and they're gonna make it. We've gotta believe that." He pressed another grateful kiss against the top of his son's head. "We've gotta be strong for them, son."

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

He was so tired. He must have fallen asleep somehow, although he almost never slept on his stomach. All of his sensations felt oddly distant, and his pillow felt unusually scratchy against his cheek. Jim decided to see if he could move it to find a softer spot. As he started to move his arm and head, a distant sensation of pain reached him. He must have been really tired to have such sore muscles, he thought. If he was that tired and sore, he might as well just go back to sleep. He let the soft darkness surround him again and he drifted away.

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

Simon paced and puffed furiously at his cigar. He knew that it had just been minutes since the paramedics had arrived and immediately begun to assess their patients, even though it had seemed like hours. More sirens drawing near had to be additional fire department and police units. He was incredibly grateful that the closest fire station was less than a mile away, the rescue squad and truck units on the scene almost immediately after his call. Now he was waiting anxiously to hear their assessment of Sandburg and Ellison.

The images of their still forms were etched into his brain. While waiting for the paramedics, he had gone up to see what he could see and do, to see if he could talk to the men and give them some encouragement. Both had been and remained unconscious, for which he was deeply grateful after seeing their injuries. At least the injuries that he could see.

Ellison was lying on his stomach almost parallel to the building. His blood-covered back and left shoulder had looked nasty and scraped but not necessarily serious, and the odd angle of his left arm from his shoulder suggested an injury there. Peering under the overhanging edge of twisted metal, the visible injuries to his right leg were the most frightening.

Protruding from his calf through a bloody tear in his khakis was a white shape that had to be bone. That was bad enough, but it was the piece of metal piercing his leg a few inches away and the small pool of blood gathering beneath it that took his breath away. He had wished desperately that he could see Jim's face, but it and his right arm were too far under the edge of the structure. The track medic had said that his pulse and breathing seemed to be all right, that was a good sign, but they would have to wait for the paramedics to try to assess him further.

Sandburg was only a couple of feet away, what they could see of him. He was lying on his back, only his denim-covered legs protruding from underneath the structure. His right leg was bent strangely at the hip, and the medic had guessed that it had been dislocated. Simon had gotten right up against the edge of the stands to peer through the maze of metal bars and beams to try to see the rest of his fallen friend, despite dire warnings from the medic to move away from the possibly unstable structure.

The usual regularity and order of the metal structure was now interrupted with occasional pieces that were bent and twisted, some supporting chunks of fallen concrete. The late afternoon sun only successfully pierced the internal darkness in places, and the resulting patchwork of light and shadow made his effort to see more difficult. By moving from opening to opening, he eventually got a fairly complete picture of his injured friend.

He could just see Sandburg's face, deceptively peaceful, although the blood along his right forehead and temple area belied that appearance. His right arm disappeared behind a beam, although his left arm seemed uninjured at his side. A shaft of fading sunlight illuminated his stomach, where a metal bar was lying across him. One side of Sandburg's shirt had folded up, and Simon could see that the metal bar had deeply indented the soft flesh there, diagonally from beneath his right ribs to just above his left hip. He couldn't see any blood, so he prayed that it was just pinning him there, not impaling him, and he deliberately put the idea of internal injuries out of his mind as too terrifying to consider right now.

As he peered intently through the gaps, he could see that it was going to be difficult or impossible for paramedics to penetrate the web of metal beams and bars in order to treat Sandburg's injuries. How were they going to remove that metal bar and pull him out? Trying to spot any gaps large enough for a person to pass through, he did notice Ellison's right arm not far from Sandburg's side. He hadn't realized that they were that close, although it didn't surprise him. It only made sense that the partners would be just as close in peril as they would be anywhere else.

"Captain, how are they? Are you and Daryl all right?"

He looked up to see the concerned face of Henri Brown at his side, glancing worriedly at the paramedics and what he could see of their patients.

"Brown, what are you doing here?"

"The word's gone out, sir. I think that most of the department knows by now. I wanted to come and see if there is anything I can do."

"We're fine. Ellison and Sandburg…well, we don't know yet. They're both injured, and both pinned under there. The paramedics are treating them now, they said they'll let us know when they can." He suddenly felt very tired, and almost overwhelmed with relief to have a friend and colleague there for support. It must have been obvious, as Brown reached over and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"How's Daryl taking this?"

"Not too well." He glanced behind them to the nearby picnic table, where his son was sitting silently watching the paramedics in action. Simon had wanted him to go home with his girlfriend and her parents, but Daryl had insisted on staying to make sure that his friends would be okay. Some bystanders, hearing the exchange, had gone and found a picnic table and carried it over so they would have a place to sit. "He feels that it's partly his fault, that they wouldn't have been hurt if they hadn't come to the horse show for him."

Brown nodded sympathetically. "Tell you what, sir. Why don't I go over and hang out with him for a while, talk to him. Just be sure to let me know when you find out anything."

"Thanks, Brown. I appreciate your being here. I'm sure that Jim and Blair do, too."

He watched Brown walk over and sit next to Daryl on the bench. Daryl seemed slow to notice him, but when he did, he allowed Brown to engulf him in a warm hug. Brown began to talk quietly to the frightened young man in his arms. As Simon began to turn back, he spotted another of his men approaching. Joel Taggart joined him, slightly out of breath from his jog across the grounds from the parking lot.

"Simon, I got here as fast as I could. How are they?"

Simon started to give the same reply as he had to Brown, when he was interrupted by a man in Fire Department uniform.

"Captain Banks?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Captain Lewis, with the 14^th." They shook hands gravely. "Sorry about your men. I've just spoken with our paramedics, and they said you had asked to be updated as quickly as possible on their conditions."

"That's right. What can you tell me?"

Lewis consulted a notepad. "This is just an initial assessment, all right? It looks like the initial impact to your detective Ellison was to his back left shoulder, so he may have a broken shoulder blade or some broken ribs in the back along with the obvious cuts and scrapes. There might be other broken bones or dislocation in that shoulder, we aren't certain yet. There is a chance of a head or spinal injury, we don't know, but there were signs of spontaneous movement a few minutes ago that looked hopeful. There is also the chance of internal injuries, of course. But his vital signs are pretty good right now, even though he is still unconscious."

"What about his leg?"

"The leg seems to be his most serious injury right now. As you saw, he has a compound fracture of his lower leg, with part of his bone protruding through the skin. He also has a metal bar piercing his leg, that goes all the way through to the ground. Between the two injuries, he has lost a fair amount of blood. We are working to reduce the blood loss, and we've started an IV to replace his fluids.

The major problem is the metal bar. It is firmly implanted through his leg, and we can't move it. It's the only thing pinning him there. We don't know yet if we will be able to cut it to remove it, we have to try to ascertain the stability of the structure before we do anything. If that bar is key to the stability of that area, cutting it could cause that part of the stands to collapse further."

Simon digested that information. "So what will you do?"

"We have structural engineers on the way that can help assess the stability of the metal grid. If we can shore it up, to make it stable, we'll cut the bar off above his leg and pull him out, bar and all. The bar can then be removed surgically and safely in an operating room. And if we can't…we'll do whatever is necessary to save his life." The look that he gave Simon left no doubt as to what he meant. If worst came to worst, they would amputate his leg to keep him alive.

He took several deep breaths, trying to hold his emotions in check.

"What about Sandburg?"

Lewis rubbed his forehead. "That's a little more complicated. As you know, only his legs are outside the structure. His right hip appeared to be dislocated, but shifted back into place when they straightened his leg. We can see that he has some kind of head injury, but we can't get in to assess it. The bar across his abdomen is firmly in place and appears to be applying pressure to his stomach and abdominal area. He's unconscious. That's about all we know. He could be just pinned in, or he could have very serious internal injuries. We're monitoring his vital signs, but we just can’t tell much right now."

"So what are you doing to find out?"

"As I said, we have engineers on the way to assess the structural stability of the stands. If we can stabilize the area, and we can get to him, we should be able to find a way to cut the metal bar loose and pull him out. If that is all that is holding him in there. In regards to further assessing his condition, we are working on getting a small camera unit that we can put on the end of a pole. We should be able to get the pole through some of the gaps, so we should be able to at least get a better picture of the rest of his body. If he regains consciousness, we can also string a microphone in there the same way so we can talk with him.

I'm sorry, Captain Banks, I wish the news were better. We just don't know how stable those stands are, they could be quite stable or they could collapse further at any moment. We'll do everything possible to keep them both alive until we can get them out, I give you my word."

Simon removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, then replaced them slowly. He shook Lewis' offered hand.

"I know you will, Captain, I have faith in you and your men." He watched as Lewis nodded to Joel and returned to his men.

Joel glanced quickly at him, then turned his eyes to the ground. Simon could see the dampness in those eyes, and knew that the news was hitting him hard. Joel Taggart had known Ellison for years, and had struck up quite a friendship with Sandburg after he had helped him through a difficult time a while back. He could practically hear the wheels turning in Joel's head, just like in his own, playing out all of the possibilities of the situation. Few of those possibilities were good ones. After several moments of silence, both men looked up.

"Look, Simon, I'm going to call around and let folks know what's going on. People are going to want to know what they can do to help. I think I'll direct them to the hospital to start giving blood, they're probably gonna need it later. They'll probably take them to the trauma center at Cascade North, right?"

"Right. That's a good idea, Joel, it'll give everyone the feeling they're doing something for Jim and Blair." He patted Joel on the back, grateful for his calming presence. The men and women of Major Crimes were a tight-knit group, and he knew that every single one of them would give their all, not to mention a pint of blood, to help their friends and colleagues. He was proud of his unit.

"I think I'll let Brown know what's going on, then I'll get on the phone." Joel walked over to the picnic table, where Brown and Daryl were sitting quietly side by side. Simon decided to join them, to talk with his son while Joel filled Brown in. He really didn't want Daryl to know all of the details of Ellison's and Sandburg's situation, he was upset enough already. Sitting down beside his son, he gestured with his head and the other men walked away, talking.

"How are you doing, son?" He slipped his arm around Daryl's shoulders and gave him a hug. Daryl looked up at him, his eyes glassy and wide with shock.

"I still can't believe it, Daddy. How are they going to get them out? What are we gonna do?"

Simon sighed, wishing that his role as a father provided him with all the answers.

"They've got experts coming, Daryl, to help get them out without the building falling on them. And the paramedics are taking care of them until they can get them out and to the hospital. They're gonna be all right, son. All we can do right now is pray for them." He hugged his son again, guiltily grateful that he was safe in his arms.

Time passed all too slowly, and Simon watched firemen and others joining the paramedics and the Fire Department captain near the stands. He stayed connected to his son, an arm around his shoulders, quietly talking to and reassuring him. Brown came up and handed them cups of soda and left them some food from the concession stand, wordlessly offering the support that he could, and joined them sitting on the picnic table to wait. They were startled at a sudden shout.

"Captain Banks! We need you over here…" Simon released his son and leapt to his feet, running towards the beckoning paramedic.

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

"Jim, can you hear me? Jim, it's Simon. Don't move, Jim, just let me know if you can hear me."

The sound seemed muffled and distant. He tried opening his eyes, but for some reason they were slow to respond. Next he tried to answer, but his mouth didn't seem to be working much better.

"Mmmm…"

"I heard him, he's coming around! Jim!"

This time the voice seemed closer, more distinct. It had to be Simon. He tried again to answer, and he thought that he could feel his eyelids start a slow, upward path.

"Smmnnn…"

"That's great, Jim, keep talking. Just don't try to move."

He wondered why he kept saying that. Moving more than his lips and eyelids seemed unlikely right now, in any case.

Sensations began slowly returning. A dusty smell filled his nose, and the gritty feeling against the side of his face was increasingly irritating. Beginning to wonder why he was lying on his face in the dirt, the sudden intrusion of pain brought him quickly to a higher level of awareness. He suddenly remembered what had happened, and put all of his effort into making himself understood.

"Sandburg…"

Simon's voice returned.

"It's gonna be all right, Jim. Just relax, they're gonna get you out as soon as possible."

"Get me out…Sandburg?"

"He's here, too. They're going to get you both out. Just don't move, and try to relax and let them help you."

"Blair…?"

His eyes finally cooperated and came fully open. Although initially gray and somewhat blurry, blinking his eyes and concentrating helped bring his view into focus. He was lying on the ground on his stomach, the left side of his face in the dirt. In front of him he could see metal bars and pieces of concrete.

Lifting his eyes and shifting his head slightly, he looked as far around as he could. More metal and concrete and…an arm. He blinked again and focused on the arm, allowing his vision to follow the arm up… a short blue sleeve… a chest and shoulder… a face that was partially obscured by a metal bar blocking his view. Even in the dim patchwork of light, he could recognize the unconscious face of his partner.

"Blair!"

"Yes, he's here, Jim, and he's alive. We've got a whole crew of people working to get you two out of there. You've just gotta be patient." Despite the measured tone of his Captain's voice, Jim could hear an unmistakable edge as well.

His senses continued to gradually come back online, and his thinking began to clear. He realized that he could hear sirens as well as multiple voices behind him. The sensation of pain grew in his back and left shoulder, and his right leg throbbed with a fiery pain, in sync with his heartbeat. Focusing on his need to check out his partner, and trying to ignore his own pain, he tried experimenting with moving his right arm. Although it seemed to be ridiculously heavy and uncooperative, he was relieved when it finally responded, although it did intensify the ache across his back.

Jim reached towards the still form in front of him. Touching Blair's arm, then his chest, he concentrated on feeling for a pulse and breathing. He was rewarded with both. The pulse he felt there was fast but steady, much to his relief. He could feel the chest rise and fall, although too rapidly and too shallowly. There was no sign of voluntary movement, no flicker of consciousness, as he looked at the part of Blair's face that wasn't blocked from view by the metal bar. He left his hand resting on Blair's chest, needing the reassurance of touch until he could find out what was going on with him.

"Blair, can you hear me? Blair?" There was no response.

"Jim?"

Simon's voice intruded from behind him.

"Yeah, Simon?"

"Jim, a paramedic wants to talk to you, to see how you're doing."

"What about Blair?"

"There's another paramedic here helping him."

"I can see him, Simon, I can touch him. He's unconscious. How badly is he hurt?"

"We don't know yet…Jim, talk to the paramedic. Let them assess you so they can treat your injuries."

"Simon, what aren't you telling me?"

A moment passed, and he could hear his friend sigh.

"Jim, I'm not hiding anything from you. They just don’t know. They're having a hard time assessing his injuries. He's pinned in by a metal bar across his stomach, so they can't just pull him out. And there isn't room for someone to get in to him. They're trying to figure out what to do."

"Maybe I can help, Simon. I can reach him, at least this side of him. Maybe I can crawl in a little farther…"

"No! Jim, don't try to move. You're hurt, too, and if you try to move around you could make things worse. Stay still, I'm gonna have the paramedic talk to you."

Jim laid still and listened to the paramedic as he asked questions and examined him at the same time. He had worked with Dale before at an accident scene, and knew him to be a competent man. He patiently answered the numerous questions until they finally seemed to run out, then asked Dale to give him his assessment of his injuries.

Dale was initially reluctant to give him much detail, and he had to press him for more. He finally gave in. Jim soberly absorbed the information about the situation and his injuries. At least now he could make sense of his aching back and shoulder, and the burning and throbbing pain in his leg. Knowing where the pain came from didn't help reduce it, and he decided that not being able to see his damaged leg was probably a good thing right now. "…and we've started an IV in your uninjured leg to replace some of your fluids, since we can't reach your uninjured arm, to try to keep you from going into shock before we can get you out of there. That about sums it up. Do you have any questions, detective?"

"What if it takes a long time to get us out. I mean…my leg…" He was having a difficult time trying to find the right words to ask, and not entirely sure that he wanted to know the answer. But he had always been a "give it to me straight" kind of guy, and this was no exception. He wanted to know, even if it was going to be bad news, then he could work on dealing with it.

"Now, Detective, let's not cross that bridge until we come to it, all right?" The paramedic was giving him his best positive bedside manner.

He persisted. "I need to know. Could I lose my leg?"

Dale took a minute for a breath. "If worst comes to worst, and there is no other alternative to save your life…yes, amputation at the lowest possible point would be the last resort. But we don't know if that will be necessary."

He let the information filter through his mind. He couldn't imagine life without a leg, even if he only lost part of it. His life had been spent in motion, in activity, from the military to the police force to his trips to the gym. He had always taken his fit body for granted, and was secretly proud of his good physical condition at his age. The thought of an artificial limb was something that he thought was terrific for other people, but for him…

His thoughts were interrupted by a low and painful sound near him, a sound he had been praying to hear.

"Uhmm…."

"Blair!" He slowly moved his right arm. Hoping that he wasn't aggravating any unnoticed injury there, he grasped Blair's forearm. "Blair, wake up, buddy."

"Jim, what is it?" Simon asked.

"It's Blair, Simon, I think he's coming to. I just heard him." He tried giving the arm a careful squeeze. "Blair…"

"Uhhh…."

"That's it, wake up, Chief. Come on, open your eyes now…." A small flicker of movement in Blair's eyelids encouraged him. "There you go, Blair…wake up and talk to me, buddy."

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

His eyelids had never felt so heavy. He could hear Jim, but he sounded funny, like he was talking through water or something. His whole body felt strange, heavy, like gravity had him and would never let him go. He knew that something was wrong, but he just couldn't figure it out with all of the fog in his brain.

Jim's voice sounded louder, worried. He wondered what Jim was so worried about. But if Jim wanted him to wake up so badly, he might as well get up. He concentrated on opening his eyes.

"Jim…?"

"Hey, buddy, it's about time you woke up. Don't move, just talk to me."

His eyelids finally creaked open to reveal a blurry landscape. He blinked and tried to focus and make sense of what he saw. His vision slowly cleared to reveal lines and shapes, light and shadows. He struggled with confusion.

"What…?"

"You're gonna be okay, Chief, just don't try to move."

He wasn't sure that he could move, his body had turned to lead. He couldn't figure out where he was, why he was sleeping in this strange place. The sound of Jim's voice was familiar, though, and he tried to move his head to look over and find him. The movement awakened an incredible ache in his head, and he stopped.

"Uhhh…."

"Chief, don't move! I'm right here."

He could feel a gentle grip on his arm, reassuring in its presence. The pain in his head seemed to spread and blossom throughout his body as he gradually came more awake. He decided to try to take some deep breaths, to combat the pain, and was only rewarded with more pain at the effort. It felt as if the whole world was resting on his abdomen and chest, and breathing seemed to come only in short gasps. He began to panic.

"Jim…I…I…can't breathe…" He moved his left arm, grasping at what he hoped was Jim's. "What's wrong…with me…Jim…." Squeezing the words out between gasps for air took all of his energy.

"Hang in there, buddy…try to relax, don't push it…we need help here!" Jim shouted.

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

Jim could feel Blair's heart racing even faster as he tried to fight the pressure in his chest to gain his breath.

"Detective?" The voice of the paramedic Dale sounded behind him.

"He's awake, but he's having trouble breathing, he can't catch his breath. Can you do something for him?" Jim tried to find a calm tone, for Blair's sake.

"It's probably the pressure from the metal bar resting on him, keeping his lungs from inflating fully…"

He interrupted impatiently. "Look, can't you give him some oxygen, maybe something to help him relax and breathe easier? If you can reach an oxygen mask in to my right hand, I can help get it on him."

"Yes, we can do that. I'll be right back." He heard footsteps retreat, and the sound of shuffling equipment in the rescue squad.

He turned his attention to his partner. "Chief, we're gonna get some oxygen for you, to help you breathe. I want you to try to relax, it'll be right here." He gripped Blair's hand firmly. "You still with me?"

"Yeah…hard…to breathe…hurts…"

"I know it does, buddy, but hang in there." He could see Blair's eyes squeezed tightly against the pain, a single tear escaping from the corner of his eye and wending a path into his hair.

"Jim…why… you…my room?"

Jim realized that Blair didn't know where he was or what was going on, he thought he was in his bed in the loft. He knew, as a former medic, that confusion could be a sign of a concussion. He hoped that it was just temporary, not a sign that the blow to his head had caused serious damage. He struggled to keep his voice as even as possible, to not let his own feelings of worry influence Blair. He needed him to stay calm.

"Here you go, Detective. I'm passing it right over your head, can you reach it?"

He scrabbled around with his good hand until he could feel the smooth plastic shape of the oxygen mask brush against it.

"I've got it!"

"Okay, you want to get it over his nose and mouth, with the strap around his head if you can."

"All right. Here goes." He got a firm grasp on the mask and started reaching it towards Blair's head. "Chief, I want to put this on your face, it'll help you breathe better. Can you help me out here?"

He saw Blair's eyes open briefly, struggling to focus on his hand and the mask approaching his face. Stretching his arm to its furthest, he was just able to land the mask over his partner's nose and mouth. He grasped Blair's good arm and carefully steered it over to his face to hold the mask in place.

"Hold on to that for a minute, buddy. Let me get this strap on to keep it in place."

Extending his fingers and arm as far as he could, he got the strap partly over Blair's head. He was afraid to try to pull it tight, worried that any additional pressure on the bloody side of his head could cause further injury there.

"OK, it's on," he called out to the waiting paramedic.

"All right, Detective, the oxygen's on. Tell him to try to relax and breathe slowly, as much as he can."

He relayed the message to his partner and gently grasped his arm as he repeated one of Blair's calming mantras back to him, suddenly glad that he had paid attention for once. Blair opened his eyes and turned them to meet his own, the look of panic dimming slightly, replaced by a look of gratitude. His breathing, although still fast and shallow, gradually became a little less pressured and urgent. Jim felt the trembling in his arm subside as well, and he helped his partner lower his arm gently back to the ground as he breathed his own sigh of relief.

"Jim…" Blair's voice, already weakened by his inability to get a full breath, was further muffled by the oxygen mask. Jim had to dial up his sense of hearing to hear him. "What's…going on…?"

Jim took a deep breath, and told his partner what had happened, keeping it as simple as possible. He decided to minimize his own injuries in the telling, as Blair didn't need to know anything that would upset him further.

"…and we're both, well, stuck here right now. They're working on getting us out, though. So we just need to hang on, okay?"

"Okay…" Blair breathed.

"Look, Chief, one of the paramedics wants to talk to you, to see how you're doing. I don't think he can hear you, so I'm gonna repeat his questions to you and then repeat your answers back to him."

"Mmm-hmm…"

The next several minutes were spent in an agonizingly slow back and forth between Blair and a paramedic, with Jim as the go-between. He added his own visual observations of his partner to the information that he shared. He could just see the bar that buried itself in Blair's midsection, pressing impossibly deeply into his flesh, the normally pale skin darkening from the bruising deepening there.

Blair had to stop talking every few moments just to breathe, his limited lung capacity taking its toll, and Jim wondered if there might be broken ribs or a punctured lung as well. He had been unable to feel any broken ribs on the side closest to him, but couldn't reach across Blair's body to reach his right side. Thoughts of other possible injuries - internal injuries, spinal injuries - played repeatedly through his mind as his fears battled his efforts to stay positive.

Despite Blair's obvious efforts to sound calm and matter-of-fact as he relayed his feelings, his injuries to the paramedic through him, he was just as obviously in great pain. A sheen of perspiration had appeared on his pale face, and each breath was accompanied by a soft moan. The arm that lay in his grasp trembled softly but noticeably. Jim wished that his partner could dial down his senses, the way he could as a sentinel. He knew how wearing and debilitating pain could be, and he couldn't imagine how Blair could bear such pain for long, much less the unknown period of time it would take before they would be freed. Finally the paramedic seemed to be running out of questions.

"Look, can you give him something for the pain?" he said impatiently.

"I'm afraid there's nothing I can give him right now. Once he's out of there and in the emergency room, they can fully assess his injuries and see if there's anything they can give him. I'm sorry, Detective." The paramedic's voice was apologetic.

Jim could hear new voices coming up behind him. It took him more effort than usual to focus, and he realized, despite his efforts to turn down the dials, that his own pain was more intrusive and it seemed harder to think. His leg was throbbing as if a red-hot ice pick was inserted there. He couldn't give in to his own injuries now, though, Blair needed his help. The sound of Blair's struggles for breath filled his head, the moan that accompanied each effort making him ache for his friend.

He grasped Blair's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Hey, you still with me buddy? Blair?"

The soft pressure against his hand was faint but welcome all the same.

"Sure…just hangin' out…man…"

Blair's effort at humor brought a lump to his throat. The Sandburg personality had obviously not been damaged.

"Just checking."

Behind him he could hear Simon's voice talking to the paramedic, asking about Sandburg's condition. Even though they had stepped back several feet, he listened in, as he was sure that Simon knew he would.

"Please, what can you tell me?"

"Well, from the information I've gotten, I can tell you what I think, but it isn't much. His head injury doesn't seem to be too much of a concern right now, he is alert and oriented now even though he was a little confused initially. He may have a concussion. He has an injury to his right shoulder and possibly his arm, although he says is able to move that hand and fingers.

His right hip may have been dislocated, but seems to be back in place now. Our biggest concern, of course, is with the bar that is across his abdomen. It is placing pressure on his internal organs, pressing them up against his diaphragm. That is what is causing his breathing difficulties, we believe, it is keeping his lungs from having enough room to expand fully. The oxygen seems to be helping. He is able to move his legs and feet a bit, so we don't believe that he has any spinal damage.

What we don't know is what kind of internal injuries he may have. He may just be badly bruised and pinned down by the bar, or he may have damaged organs and be bleeding internally. We just don't know."

Jim could hear the deafening silence, and he knew that Simon was trying to stay calm, just as he was, as he heard the uncertain news.

"I know this is difficult for you, Captain. Believe me, we will do everything we can." Jim heard him walk away, and the footsteps of his captain approach.

"Simon…"

"Did you hear everything?"

"Yes."

"Okay, Jim. I'm gonna go over and talk with the Fire Department right now, okay? See what they're doing to get you two out. You just hang in there."

"Okay, Simon, thanks."

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

Simon rubbed his forehead again, working at the furrow of worry that had settled there.

"Look, Captain Lewis, I'm not an engineer. Can I have it in plain English?"

"Well, the point is, it doesn't look too good. The way that some of the metal bars are bent and twisted, it's almost impossible to be sure what cutting parts of the metal grid will do."

"So what are you going to do? You've gotta get them out, and soon. You know their situation, they're both badly injured and need to get to a hospital."

"I know, Captain Banks, I know. What we are doing is getting all the equipment we can dig up to try to stabilize the structure. We’re getting as much as we can from the other five fire companies, as well as from any construction company we can reach on a weekend. Jacks, welding equipment, saws, manpower…we've put the call out for everything we can get our hands on.

The plan is to put jacks in place under as many bars and beams as we can, and maybe even weld crossbars in place where it looks like it might help. Then we'll cut the bars holding them in, with either saws or cutting torches depending on how close they need to cut, and hope for the best. I'm afraid that's the best we can do in a reasonable period of time."

"How long is this going to take?" Simon asked impatiently.

"As you may have noticed, trucks and men have already been arriving. This has to be a coordinated effort, so we're going to wait about another half an hour, then get started. Bill Grant is going to be working with us, he's a civilian construction engineer that I've known for 15 years. He's the best. Once we get everyone started, any new arrivals will have to check in with Bill or myself, so that we keep everything coordinated. I know that it must seem to you that things are moving too slowly, but we've got to do it right the first time here."

"So when do you think you could be ready to try cutting them out?"

"That's hard to say, but right now I'd estimate a couple of hours."

"A couple of hours?" Simon was horrified.

"At least. Maybe a little sooner for your man with the leg injury, since he's right at the outer edge, and we may have to get him out before we can get close enough to the other man. We've got to try to be sure that we won't be collapsing the structure on top of your men and the rescuers as we try to get them out."

Simon couldn't imagine how he was going to tell Ellison and Sandburg, or how they could wait that long. A new wave of fear and discouragement washed over him. He couldn't imagine what they were going through, what they still had to go through.

"Well, don't let me keep you, Captain Lewis. I'll…I'll fill in my men."

They shook hands again, and Lewis gave him a sympathetic clap on the shoulder before hurrying away. Simon took a deep breath and tried to find the courage to tell his men. They deserved to hear the truth, no matter how bleak.

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

Jim listened to Simon's explanation of the plan to free them. He restrained his immediate impulse to yell out, to demand that they do something, anything, faster. He knew that they were doing the best they could. Blair was silent, and he couldn't tell if he had heard Simon or not. He hoped not.

A commotion behind him heralded the arrival of the communications equipment they had been promising so that they could communicate with and monitor Blair. He listened in as they set up a tiny camera on the end of a pole, with a two-way microphone/speaker unit along as well. After several long minutes of trying one gap in the metal structure after another, they finally found a path through which to thread the pole. Looking up as best he could, he could just see it, hovering over Blair, out of the corner of his eye.

"Mr. Sandburg, can you hear me?" a tinny voice said from the speaker.

Blair opened his eyes and looked around.

"What?"

"Hey, Chief, they got that camera and microphone up that they talked about. Can you see it? It should be just about over your chest."

He could see Blair blinking, trying to focus in the slanting afternoon light.

"Oh, yeah…got it…"

The voice came through the speaker again, a little louder this time. "Mr. Sandburg, please let me know if you can hear me."

"Yeah, hi…" Blair breathed softly, and tried to muster a smile for the camera. "I'm on…Candid Camera…"

"That's right, Mr. Sandburg, we can see you now."

"Please…call me Blair…"

"You got it. Blair, this is Paramedic Dale. I'm going to talk to you and ask you some more questions about how you're hurt and how you're feeling, all right?"

"Sure…nothing else…to do…"

Jim listened in as Blair answered questions again, and tried moving what he could as requested. As before, he had to take frequent breaks from talking to gather his breath, even with the oxygen in place. He could also see that each movement seemed to increase his pain. Blair's face grew even more pale and the trembling in his arm increased.

He was just about to ask Dale to give Blair a break when he heard an odd sound and felt a faint but now familiar vibration from below. He gasped in horror.

"Oh my God…"

Simon's voice popped up immediately. He hadn't known that he had stayed so close.

"Jim, what is it?"

"Simon, get back! Get everyone back. It's an aftershock!" He grabbed Blair's hand tightly. "Hold on, Chief, just hold on…"

He locked his eyes on Blair's as the shaking intensified. The terror that he saw reflected in those wide blue eyes was short-lived, however. He heard a strangled gasp from his partner and saw his eyes clench shut just as the hand in his squeezed hard, once, then fell limp. The pain in his right leg exploded into a red-hot fireball that burned up his leg before a dark curtain seemed to overtake him and he spiraled down into a welcome oblivion.