Jim folded and unfolded the sheet lying across his stomach for the hundredth time. He looked impatiently at his watch and looked again at the doorway, willing the doctor to come walking in. It had been two days since the surgery to set the bone in his leg, and he was waiting for the doctor to examine his leg and give him permission to leave his bed in a wheelchair. He had already decided that if the doctor did not give him permission, he would sign himself out of the hospital AMA and get out of bed and into a wheelchair anyway. No matter what happened, he couldn't wait any longer to go and see Blair.

It wasn't that he didn't know how he was doing, at least in general. The medical staff gave him some information, as he badgered them almost continuously to do so. His colleagues in Major Crimes also filled him in when they came to visit. They had been taking turns practically around the clock visiting both of them. But he knew that his friends and colleagues held back from being completely truthful about Blair's condition, he could read their faces and read between the lines of what they would tell him. As much as he enjoyed their visits, and the meaningless conversations about what was happening at the precinct in his absence, he could see the change in their eyes when they talked about seeing Blair.

Between the medical staff and his friends, he knew that Blair was still in critical condition and still in a coma. He had discovered that Blair's heart had stopped and he'd had to be revived twice during his first day after surgery. As noncommittal as the medical staff was, with phrases like "he's doing as well as can be expected" and "he's getting the best of care," it was clear that they still didn't know if he would live or die. It was killing him to be unable to be there for his friend.

While he had been in ICU, he had tried extending his senses to listen in on Blair's room. He had been successful a few times, especially when he could follow Simon or one of the others from his room to Blair's, and hear them talking to him. But the intensity of his concentration each time threatened to pull him into a zone-out, and he figured that it would not help his cause to be found in that state by unknowing nurses. So he restrained himself, with great difficulty, and had to comfort himself with the fact that his friends and colleagues were with Blair for him. He was able to occasionally eavesdrop on the doctors and nurses in the central nursing station for updates, but nothing he heard was encouraging.

Now that he had been moved into a regular room, he had set out on a campaign to be the perfect patient. He ate whatever was placed in front of him, no matter how unidentifiable, he drank everything that was provided. He quietly complied with requests to close his eyes and rest, and cooperated with examinations and treatments without a complaint.

The reactions of his visitors had been entertaining, to say the least, ranging from raised eyebrows to Simon's "okay, where is the real Jim Ellison and why have you taken his place?" A silently compliant Ellison was a contradiction in terms, for those who knew him. He used the absolute minimum of painkiller that he could manage with, causing the nurses to double-check the morphine pump's readings each time they went to record in his chart. By the time he had his next discussion with the doctor about getting out of bed to visit Blair, he planned to have given him no possible excuse to keep him in bed.

With a quick rap on the door, the doctor finally strolled into his room. Never raising his eyes from the medical chart, he walked over and slumped into a bedside chair. After a few moments of reading, he finally met Jim's gaze.

"Well, Mr. Ellison, how are you doing today?"

"Fine, Doctor, fine. The leg is much better, and my shoulder hardly bothers me at all unless I move around quite a bit."

"Good, good. Let's take a look at that leg, then, shall we?" He moved to the foot of the bed and, gesturing at the nurse to join him, pulled away the covers.

Jim still cringed slightly whenever he saw his leg, so swollen, purple, and bandaged, but quickly recovered and reminded himself that he should be grateful that it was still there. He kept himself from looking away as they removed his bandages, checked his stitches, squeezed his toes gently, and generally poked and prodded for a few minutes. The doctor seemed pleased with what he saw, even with the small exclamations of pain that escaped once or twice. After noting a few lines in the chart, he instructed the nurse to replace the bandages, and returned to the side of the bed.

"What do you think, Doc?"

"Your leg is coming along fine. I can't find any signs of infection, and we are seeing signs of improving circulation in your lower leg and foot. I'm sorry that I hit some sore spots, but that is actually a good thing, it means that the nerves in that area are working. You may find that it hurts a bit worse as it continues to heal, and as sensations return where the nerves are healing. Don't be afraid to use the morphine, that's what it's there for."

"That's great, Doc. So when can I get out of bed and into a wheelchair?"

The doctor sighed and settled back into the bedside chair.

"You're determined to go up and visit your friend…"

"That's right. Look, you're all telling me I'm doing well. What difference does it make whether I'm sitting up in bed here or sitting up in a wheelchair in his room? I won't get in the way, I promise. I just need to see him. I…I know he's not doing well…" He looked at the doctor, knowing that his desperation must be showing in his eyes, but he didn't care. "He's not any better, is he?"

"No, he's not, but he's not any worse, either. We don't really expect too much of him yet, it's too soon. We are keeping him on life support until his body can fight back."

"Has there been any sign that he's coming out of the coma? What about his head injury?"

"He's still in a deep coma, but again, I'm not too concerned about that right now. When his systems start coming back on line, and he regains some strength, then I would expect to see him regaining consciousness. I know it's frustrating to hear, but he really is doing as well as can be expected considering his injuries."

Jim frowned at the phrase that he was beginning to hate. He tried again.

"So when can I visit him?"

"All right. Your leg does look pretty good, and you are otherwise stable. It looks like we can discontinue your IV's, your fluid intake has been good, and it looks like you are barely using the morphine pump. So we'll just change your orders to pain medication as needed, orally. I'll have the nurse call and see about getting someone up to look at your leg so we can fit a leg support to a wheelchair for you. We probably won't have that ready for you until tomorrow, though. Between now and then we can have the nurses help you practice sitting up on the edge of the bed. That's the best I can do for now."

"Tomorrow? Can’t we do something for today?" Jim struggled to keep his frustration down. "How about a phone? Couldn't I call his room, and have somebody put the receiver by his ear? I really want to talk to him, to encourage him, and what could it hurt? What do you think, Doc?"

The doctor mused it over. "Yes, we could do that. I'm pretty sure that there's no phone there right now, but all rooms are wired with phone outlets. I'll talk to the nursing station up there and get someone to put in a phone. The nurses could call you from his phone, and then when you answer, set the phone in place. Yes, I think that would work. And it may help him, even subconsciously, to hear your voice, to know that you are all right and recovering from your injuries. We still don't know a lot about coma states, but there have been some remarkable stories from patients of their experiences. At this point, it couldn't hurt him."

"Thank you, Doc, thank you."

An hour later, the phone beside his bed rang, and Connor grabbed it quickly. She had been visiting for almost a half an hour, and was having difficulty maintaining the conversation when he was so distracted. Answering it quietly, she handed it to him, smiling, then left the room. He took the receiver, surprised at himself to discover that his hand was shaking, and held it to his ear.

"Mr. Ellison? This is Nurse Davies, calling from Mr. Sandburg's room. Is now a good time for you to talk?"

"Yes, yes. How's he doing?"

"He's hanging in there. I'm sure he'll be glad to hear from you. OK, I'm going to set the phone down beside his ear now, and I'll tell you to go ahead when it's there. We're going to keep this first conversation fairly short, no more than 10 minutes or so, and see how it goes. We'll be monitoring him closely, as usual. I don't really expect to see any response, but you never know. Are you ready?"

"Yes, thank you. Please go ahead. And, thank you for your help."

"You're quite welcome. Anything that helps, I'm all for. Here we go…" Her voice became more distant over the receiver, and he dialed up his hearing to follow her. "Mr. Sandburg? I've got your friend Mr. Ellison on the phone for you, he wants to say hi, since he can't come and visit you tonight. I'm just gonna set it down right here on your pillow, okay, where you can hear him. Now don't you two boys stay up all night chatting, all right? Go ahead, Mr. Ellison."

Jim couldn't help but smile at her words and her positive attitude. He remembered Nurse Davies in the ICU, a big solid woman who was amazingly gentle with her hands, and he was again grateful for the quality of the nursing staff that had seen and heard since his admission. He felt a little more encouraged about Blair's chances. Clearing his throat, he suddenly realized that he had no idea what to say, but plowed ahead anyway.

"Hey, Chief, it's Jim…"

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

Simon settled himself more comfortably in the bedside chair. He could just hear the faint whisper of Ellison's voice over the phone between the hiss of the respirator and the pump for the blood pressure cuff. Watching Sandburg's face, he thought that he could see the faintest trace of improvement, a look of calm on that unconscious face. Or it could just be his imagination, just wishful thinking on his part.

The entrance of the nurse interrupted his thoughts. She motioned towards her wristwatch, then left the room. He took his cue, reaching over to pick up the phone receiver from where it was resting on the pillow next to Sandburg's head.

"Hey, Jim, it's Simon. The nurse says it's time."

"Oh, hi, Simon. When did you get there?"

"Just a few minutes ago. Look, I'll be down in a few minutes, okay?"

"OK, thanks. Hey, before you go, ask the nurse when I can call next, okay? They are sure taking their time with that wheelchair."

"You got it, Jim."

He hung up the receiver with a faint smile. Now that he had gotten permission to do so, Ellison had tried to take advantage of every possible waking moment to talk to his partner on the phone over the last day or so. The doctor and the nursing staff were keeping him to no more than 10 or 15 minutes at a time, but everyone seemed to agree that it wasn't doing any harm to Sandburg, and it kept Ellison marginally calmer and more cooperative. It was already getting stale to Ellison, though, who was still waiting less than patiently for the promised wheelchair.

With a last look at the quiet figure in the bed, he stood and walked over to the partially-open curtain to the nursing station. Spotting one of the nurses inside, he asked about the next calling time for Ellison, and was pleased to hear that they felt he could call again the next hour. Leaving the room, he spotted Joel Taggart coming into the Intensive Care area.

"Hey, Simon, how's he doing?"

"About the same, Joel. He just got off the phone with Jim."

"Well, I just came from the loft. I thought I'd get the mail, water their plants…you know. He had an anthropology journal in today's mail, so I thought I'd bring it and read a little bit to him, if I can make it out."

"That's great, Joel. I'm sure he'd appreciate it. Have you seen Jim?"

"I stopped on the way up, but he was on the phone with Blair. I'll stop by again on my way out."

"Sounds good. I'm on my way down to see him now, I'll tell him that you're with Sandburg."

They parted company, Taggart entering Sandburg's room, Simon on his way to Ellison's room a few floors down. He entered the room to find a flurry of activity. The much-anticipated wheelchair had arrived, and Ellison was wasting no time in trying to get out of bed and on the way to visit his friend.

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

He tried to contain his impatience as the orderly slowly and carefully wheeled him down the ICU hallway towards Sandburg's room. It had been six days since they'd been injured, six days that his partner and best friend had been fighting for his life without his presence. There had been no signs of improvement, but, as he was frequently reminded, no signs of a worsening condition either.

He was certain that his presence would make a difference, that he could make contact with his comatose friend in a way that no one else could, except perhaps his mother, Naomi. Since she was out of contact, away on yet another spiritual retreat in a distant land, it was up to him to be there for his partner. He was reminded of the many times that they had been there for each other over the last three years, through many ups and downs, their friendship and partnership having solidified in a way that still mystified him at times.

Approaching the door, he was surprised to feel how his pulse and breathing were fast, his palms damp. He had visited people in Intensive Care before, and remembered the time he had spent with Sandburg in ICU when he had been overdosed with Golden, the new designer drug of the day. Thinking back to that painful experience, he reminded himself that Sandburg had pulled through that crisis, and would pull through this one as well. He told himself that he could handle this, too, and steeled himself to deal with whatever he was going to see, whatever happened. He didn't have a choice, it was his partner in there.

The faint scent of cigars as he was pushed through the doorway warned him that Simon was in the room, even before he saw his friend rising from the bedside chair. He had said that he would go on and wait for him in Sandburg's room, while they were helping him into the wheelchair. The fact that Simon didn't want him to see Blair alone told him that it was going to be a difficult sight. Moving the chair out of the way, Simon nodded to the orderly and moved around behind him. The orderly pushed the chair near the bed, then left after letting the nurse know that he was going.

He could feel his mouth drop open as he felt Simon take the handles of the wheelchair, steering it as close as he could to the side of the bed. A warm hand rested on his good shoulder, and he barely heard Simon as he focused on the picture before him.

"Jim, he's gonna pull through this. He's gonna be all right."

His eyes roved up and down the bed before coming to focus on the unnaturally still face. He felt a wave of dizzyness wash over him as he took in the disturbing sight. Despite his best efforts at preparing himself, he was totally overwhelmed by Sandburg's seemingly lifeless appearance and the tubes, wires and machines that kept him connected to life. He struggled to regain his breath and calm, reminding himself that it wouldn’t help Sandburg for him to lose it now. He could freak out later back in his own room.

A voice broke through his swirling thoughts.

"Mr. Ellison? Nice to see you again." It was Nurse Davies, his favorite of the ICU nurses. "I'm sure that Mr. Sandburg is glad that you're able to come up and visit with him today. Why don't I tell you what all of this is while I do my usual check, OK?"

For the next ten minutes, he got a detailed description of Sandburg's treatment and condition from the friendly nurse. He learned what the tubes were there for, what he was getting in his IV, what information the wires were sending back to the monitors. As much as he was horrified by what he heard and saw, he was also encouraged by her calm and matter-of-fact demeanor, and her gentle touch with his partner. Finally finished with her description and her bedside checks, she walked up and put her warm hand on his. She spoke as if she could read his mind.

"I know it's all pretty overwhelming for you, but he's hanging in there. I've seen people with even more severe injuries than your friend there recover completely. It's just gonna take some time. Even if it doesn’t seem like it, I believe that you and your friends are helping him a lot by visiting with him, talking with him. Don’t worry about hurting him if you want to touch him, that would do him good, too. I'm gonna go back to the nursing station now, but you just call out if you need anything." She walked off with an encouraging smile.

He took a few deep breaths, and focused again on the silent figure in the bed. The return of Simon's hand on his shoulder reminded him that he was not the only visitor in the room.

"Simon?"

"Yes, Jim?"

"I…uh…Simon, I'd like to be alone with Blair, if you don't mind."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm sure. Thanks, though, for being here."

"You got it. I'll be outside in the waiting room."

"Thanks."

He barely heard Simon's retreating footsteps as he focused all of his senses on his partner. Even though it had only been a few days, Blair's face almost seemed that of a stranger for a moment. His dark stubble of beard contrasted sharply with the white bandage at his temple and the tapes securing a nasal tube and his breathing tube, and made his face seem too pale. As pale as his skin was, though, Jim was thankful to see that it was no longer the ashen gray that it had become at the accident scene. Dark rings around his eyes made them appear sunken, and his face gaunt and thin. He took another deep breath, and forced himself to pull back from an impending zone-out.

Glancing again over the still form in front of him, he decided that he would take the nurse's advice and try using touch, along with talking, to reach his friend. If he could just figure out how to do it without hurting him. Blair's good hand was occupied with IV's and a temperature gauge on one finger. His other hand seemed to be uninjured, even though that heavily bruised shoulder was secured against his side with a wide strap that crossed his chest. He reached over tentatively and grasped the limp hand gently, letting the two hands rest together lightly on Blair's chest.

The sensations coursing through that contact startled him. He had not consciously dialed up his senses, but he must have unconsciously, needing to sense the life still beating there. The throbbing of his pulse, the warmth of his skin, the coarseness of Blair's chest hair brushing against his skin, the regular rise and fall of his chest… all were startling in their intensity. He briefly immersed himself in the sensations, needing the simple reassurance of that touch more than he had realized, then reluctantly tuned his senses back down towards normal. Blair needed him to do more than zone out. He swallowed and began another one-sided conversation with his partner.

"Hey, Chief, it's me. It's great to see you, man. They finally let me escape and come up here to see you for a little while…"

The time passed in a blur. He couldn't have told anyone later what he had talked about, he had talked about everything and nothing. A few times he wished that he had his partner's gift for endless stories and obfuscations, struggling a bit with the effort to keep up a conversation all on his own. When he was finally interrupted by the nurse, he had run out of things to say and just sat there with his hand over Blair's, feeling the connection there and trying to help heal his friend by sheer force of will.

"Mr. Ellison, it's time for you to go back to your own room. Mr. Ellison?"

He roused himself and forced a smile.

"Yes, I hear you. Can't I stay just a few minutes longer?"

"Now, Mr. Ellison, you've been here for almost thirty minutes already, and you need to go and get some rest. You won't do your friend any good if you wear yourself out, you hear me?"

"Yes, I guess you're right. I just…"

"I know, you just want to help him. And you are helping him, I can see that. His aura is brighter when you're here, do you know that?"

"What?" He looked up to meet her kindly eyes.

"You know, his aura, his energy field? I know that a lot of people don't believe in it, but I can sense people's auras. It's a gift. And I can see how his aura is larger and brighter when you are here with him, much more than when his other friends visit him. You two must be very close, very special friends for you to be able to share your energy with him like that."

"We're partners…" He didn't quite know how to take the nurse's statements. It sounded like something Naomi would say. Auras? Sharing energy?

"Look, it doesn't matter if you believe in auras, or believe me at all. What does matter is that I think that your friend knows that you are here with him, and that somehow the two of you are connected in a very special way. I believe that you are strengthening him through that connection, whatever you want to call it - friendship, love, whatever. What matters is that you keep doing it. And to keep doing it, you need to get your rest, too. I've already called for the orderly to take you to your room. I look forward to seeing you up here tomorrow." She turned and walked off to the nursing station.

He looked after her, trying to get a handle on what she had said. A clearing of a throat behind him signaled the arrival of the orderly, and he was quickly and efficiently wheeled from the room, having the chance for only a quick "good night, Chief" on his way out of the door. They nearly ran over Simon on the way out, and he guessed that Simon had been hovering in the doorway and listening in on his visit. He accompanied them on the elevator down to the medical floor, and waited until Jim was comfortably back in his own bed. Sliding gratefully into the bedside chair, Simon couldn't wait to ask about his visit with Blair.

"So, how'd it go, Jim?"

"I don't know, Simon. It was so hard seeing him like that, you know…" Both men were silent for a few moments, each contemplating their own hopes and fears regarding their young friend. Simon broke the silence.

"What do you think about what that nurse said? She was really something, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, she was something all right. I'm not sure what to think about all of that. What do you think, Simon?"

The Captain took a moment to reply, clearly choosing his words carefully. "Well, I've heard stories, too, about people who have awakened from comas and remembered things that happened around them. Too many to not believe that it's possible. And the other thing, about you and him? I don't know, Jim. Before Sandburg was around, I don’t think I would have given it another thought. But now? I don't know, after seeing you and him at the fountain, and you bringing him back to life after Alex Barnes killed him…" His voice ran out, and Jim could see that he was replaying in his mind the events of that horrible week. His own memories chilled him as well.

Even as he was musing over Simon's words, they were interrupted by the nurse.

"Good evening, gentlemen. Mr. Ellison, it's time for your evening medications. Here you go. Now that you are off the IV you'll need to be taking medication three times a day for a while. The doctor prescribed pain medication as well, and before you say that you don't need it, he said that he wants you to take it, at least in the evening, for a couple of days. You need to get your rest. So here you go."

Handing him a cup with several pills in it and a cup of water, she stood over him and waited. As much as he hated to take any medications, he had to admit that he was feeling drained and his leg and shoulder had begun a steady ache. The pain hadn't bothered him at all while he was visiting Blair, but it was definitely back. He reached over and took the small cup of pills and tossed them in his mouth, then followed them with the full cup of water. The nurse smiled as he returned the cup to her.

"Very good. And Captain Banks, you'll need to be leaving soon. Mr. Ellison has had a busy day, and he's probably going to get drowsy when those meds kick in. When that happens, I'd like you to go home. All right?"

"Yes, thank you, Nurse." Simon smiled after the retreating form, then turned back in the chair. They spent several minutes playing with the TV remote, trying to find some kind of sports on TV, and finally stopping on a baseball game. After a few minutes discussing the starting pitchers and the lineups, and finding the best angle of the bed for watching TV, he glanced over towards the bed. "You know, she's right, Jim. You look kind of wasted right now. I think I'm gonna head out, and I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Get some sleep."

"OK. Thanks, Simon. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Jim."

A few minutes later, the nurse came in to check, and found him sleepy and barely focusing on the TV. He was amazed that the medication was hitting him so strongly, and he had to admit to himself that he felt exhausted. The nurse turned down the room lights and convinced him to let the head of the bed down a bit, and pulled the door shut as she left the room. It took less than five minutes for him to drift into a deep and dreamless sleep.

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

Hanging up the phone, Jim lay back in his bed and let his eyes slide closed. As hard as it was for him to maintain a one-sided dialogue over the phone with his comatose partner, he hated when their scheduled contacts for the day were ended and he had to hang up. That was one of the hardest times of the day for him, when he felt most tired and discouraged about Blair’s recovery, one of the most difficult times in his daily routine.

Every day after his breakfast, he was taken up to visit Blair in the ICU, then he was returned to his room for a rest period and lunch. Following lunch there was a period of treatment for his leg, then another visit with Blair. This routine had gone on for several days now, but it seemed to have been the pace of his life forever. After his supper he would be able to speak to Blair on the phone for a while, which was not nearly as satisfying, but he would accept it as better than nothing.

After over a week in ICU, there had still been no sign of Blair returning to consciousness. He had improved somewhat, and had been upgraded from critical to serious condition by the doctors. The general consensus seemed to be that Blair was likely to pull through. Jim could see that the tube from his nose had been removed, and he thought that a chest tube had been removed as well. The doctors talked about things like improving renal function, bowel sounds, and liver function. He was still on a respirator, though, still in a coma, and the doctors could give him no reassurances of when, or if, he might regain consciousness. Jim refused to accept the implications of "if" as too unthinkable.

The only other sign of change that he could see was a fading of the bruises on Blair's temple, shoulder, and abdomen. It was depressing to him that he had been there long enough for his bruises to begin to fade.

There were other signs that time had passed. A riot of flowers, cards, banners, and balloons filled his room. Blair’s room was similarly festooned, although no flowers were allowed in ICU. Visitors to both men were somewhat less frequent, life going on outside of the hospital for their friends and colleagues. He had encouraged them to spend more time visiting Blair when they came to the hospital, instead of him, since he could talk with them on the phone at any time where Blair could not.

His own treatment seemed to be going well. There were signs of returning muscle and nerve functioning in his leg and foot, and the doctors and his therapist seemed encouraged. The healing nerves created an increase in pain, though, and although he could manage it pretty well during the day, he still needed pain medication at night to let him sleep. He had hoped to have gotten out of the hospital by now, but his medical team wanted him to stay for a few more days, especially since he would not be able to use crutches due to his injured shoulder. His frustration was tempered by the knowledge that he was staying closer and was visiting frequently with Blair.

His daily interactions with Blair had settled into a pattern. When he first arrived in his room, he would chat with the nurse on duty. Then he would turn on the CD player that Simon had brought from the loft, playing softly some of the music that he knew that Blair liked to meditate or relax to. Getting his wheelchair as close to the bed as he could, he would then make contact, grasping his hand briefly, squeezing his forearm, or brushing nonexistent hair back from his face and shoulders. Then he would start talking. Since their friends were telling Blair what was going on at the precinct and in the outside world, he spent his time talking about their world.

He talked about how his senses were reacting to his injuries, his medications, and his hospitalization. He talked about how they could spend the down time that they both would have after they were discharged from the hospital, since they would have some time on medical leave before they could return to their normal activities. He talked about the next vacation they wanted to take together, and planned it down to the most minute detail. He talked about the nurses, and sometimes exaggerated their physical attributes in ways that he knew would be attractive to his friend.

He told him in the most positive possible terms how they both were getting better. And he talked about how he missed him, and hoped that he would wake up soon. That was the hardest part, trying to express how he felt without getting all sappy and maudlin. So much of their friendship was just there, just the way they were together, not something that they talked about and dissected. Trying to put it into words was not in his nature, just as he had been grateful that it seemed to be part of Blair’s nature to be able to understand that about him.

He had found a kind of acceptance of Blair’s condition. It seemed most comfortable to him to think of Blair as just being in a very deep sleep, needing to rest while he recovered. Thinking of him in that way made it possible to tolerate seeing him, motionless and unresponsive, day after day.

His facade of calm acceptance and positive attitude towards Blair’s recovery cracked at times, though. He had been surprised one morning, when entering Blair’s room, to find him being given a sponge bath by a lovely young nurse. The sight of her smoothing the cloth over his pale skin, carefully moving and positioning his limp body as she worked, and drying him softly as she went brought a lump to his throat. Even though he knew that this had to be a regular routine, something about seeing someone performing such an intimate task on his friend, and Blair’s total unresponsiveness, shook him deeply.

The sight was a jolting reminder that his partner could not perform even the simplest tasks, like bathing, or even breathing, for himself. The images were a stark contrast to the mental picture of his friend that he struggled to maintain, a picture of an intelligent, vibrant, and fiercely self-reliant young man. It had taken all of his resolve to visit and talk to Blair later that day, and to keep his own feelings of depression out of his voice.

As he recovered more of his own energy and ability, and became less hopeful about Blair’s recovery, he began to think more and more about what Nurse Davies had said. He began to pay attention to how he felt during and after his visits, and intently studied Blair for any sign of change during their interactions. It surprised him, once he noticed it, that he always felt less pain and more full of normal energy during his visits with his partner, especially when he made physical contact. Shortly after ending their visit and returning to his room, he would begin to feel the return of discomfort and fatigue. Watching Blair’s face closely, he could almost imagine that he looked more like he was asleep and less like he was unconscious by the end of their visits. He wasn’t sure what it all meant, but it was hard for him to ignore the pattern that he thought he saw.

His musings were interrupted by the nurse with his evening medications.

"Good evening, Jim, here are your meds. Is there anything I can get for you?" It was another sign of how long he had been in the hospital that he, and all of the nurses and orderlies on his floor and in ICU, were on a first name basis.

"No, thank you, Helen. I don’t need the pain pill tonight, I’m feeling pretty good. I’d like to try to get to sleep without it."

"Oh, okay. It’s up to you, that one is just on a PRN basis. If you change your mind, or need it any time during the night, just use your call button, all right?" She fussed with his covers for a moment, then left the room, turning out the overhead light as she went.

He watched the end of the Mariners game, even a winning effort failing to raise his spirits. After a hopeless try at finding something else interesting to watch on TV, and a total lack of interest in picking up one of the books and magazines on his bedside stand, he finally gave up and let the head of the bed down to try to sleep. Despite the lack of his usual pain medication, he was able to drift off relatively easily.

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

He awoke with a start and it took a moment to realize where he was, still in a hospital room. It was dark, but he thought that he could make out the first early glow of dawn's light beginning to brighten his window. Breathing hard, he could feel a small trickle of sweat running down his spine, and it made him shiver. He also felt a dampness under his eyes and on his cheeks that he quickly wiped away.

The images of his dreams still faintly flashed before his eyes. He couldn't remember dreaming any other night that he had been in the hospital, and wondered if the pain medication that he had been taking before last night had been responsible. The dreams had been vivid, and seemed to have repeated over and over in his consciousness until the images were seared into his mind.

The dreams had been full of him and Blair. Joking to kill time while sitting in the truck for a stakeout. Biking down one of their favorite paths through the woods. A friendly argument over where to eat lunch. Fishing side by side in a rushing stream, then talking about life and sharing fish stories by a roaring campfire. Image after image of he and his best friend, a healthy, exuberant, energetic anthropologist and police observer. He could also remember vividly not only the visual images, but the feelings of warm and comfortable friendship and camaraderie. Awakening to the harsh reality of his own hospitalization and Blair's twilight existence in a cold and impersonal ICU room a few floors above, he could feel the warmth of those memories fading away even as he desperately tried to hold them tight.

The other image from his dreams was also vivid, perhaps because it was so strange. That dream repeatedly featured an image of a solitary Blair walking towards a jungle. Jim was running, trying to catch up to him, but he seemed to be unable to make any headway and couldn't get any closer. Blair stopped briefly at the edge and turned to look at him, a sad smile on his face as their eyes met and locked.

His image flickered and brightened, then suddenly he changed shape and became a wolf. The wolf looked at him, then raised his head and howled, a cold and lonely sound, and turned and disappeared into the jungle. As warm as the first dream had made him feel, that final image chilled him down to his soul. It seemed familiar somehow, in a frightening way, but he was unable to make any more sense of it and the image faded as he became more awake. He was glad when the first rays of sunshine began to beam into his room and banish the uncertainties of the night.

Picking up the call button and pressing it, he was ready to begin his day. He felt an indefinable urgency to see Blair as soon as possible.

After what seemed like an interminable wait for breakfast and the rest of his early morning routine, his morning visit was postponed by a visit with Blair's doctor. He was leaving just as Jim entered the room, having just finished his examination, and Jim called out to him.

"Doctor? Can I talk to you for a moment?"

The doctor turned and approached him. "Sure, Mr. Ellison. Look, why don't we go down the hall. There's a small private room where we can talk and I can have a cup of coffee. Is that all right?"

Jim nodded, and the doctor pushed his wheelchair down the hall. Leaving him for a few minutes, the doctor returned with two cups of coffee, handing him one before he sat down.

"Thanks, Doc. I just wanted to ask how Blair's doing. Any sign that he's coming out of the coma?"

The doctor slowly sipped his coffee, then set it down on the table carefully.

"No, there's not. Actually, he had a scan yesterday, and I was just reading his results before examining him this morning. They weren't encouraging. There has been some reduction in brain activity since his last scan."

"What does that mean?"

"I'm afraid that it means that his coma is not improving right now. Even though his other organs are recovering slowly, his brain's functioning is beginning to deteriorate. In practical terms, that means that it is less likely that he will be coming out of the coma and more possible that it may become a long-term thing, or even a permanent state. I'm sorry to have to tell you this, we had hoped that his brain functioning might improve as the rest of his systems improve. But that hasn’t happened."

Jim could barely think as the doctor's words sank in. His worst fears were coming true. Blair wasn't recovering, he was drifting farther away.

"But…isn't there something that you can do to reverse it?"

"No, there isn't a medical treatment that we can give him. You and your friends have probably helped as much as anything by your visits with him and your attempts to continue to stimulate him. Unfortunately, there is still so much about the brain that we just don't know yet. We will continue to treat his injuries, and we can sustain him on life support. I know this is hard for you to hear, but you have been very clear that you wanted us to keep you informed about Mr. Sandburg's condition."

"Um…yes. I'm glad you're telling me, Doctor." He could barely speak, the shock of the news seemingly overwhelming his own brain and body.

"Look, I'll give you a few minutes, then I'll have an orderly take you back to your room. I know that this has been a shock, I can prescribe a sedative for you…"

"No, thank you, Doctor. I won't need a sedative."

"All right, then. An orderly or nurse will be along for you shortly. And…I'm sorry that the news isn't better." He stood and, after walking over and laying a hand sympathetically on his shoulder, turned and left the room, closing the door after him.

He barely noticed the entry of an orderly, the trip down in the elevator, or the process of getting settled back into his own bed. His thoughts were consumed by the doctor’s words that repeated themselves endlessly in his mind. As much as he had tried to prepare himself for anything that might happen, the thought of never having his friend, roommate and partner back was unimaginable. The image of a Blair that never awakened, that spent the remainder of his life just as he was now, in a twilight existence maintained by machine, was beyond his comprehension. He couldn't conceive of his life without Blair, their paths torn apart by the hand of fate.

Lying in his bed, his dream images returned to him, unbidden. The images of he and his partner, in good times and bad, but always together and there for each other. He could feel a catch in his throat and a heaviness in his chest as he replayed memory after memory, as if they could erase the harsh reality of the day. Images of a dark future intruded at times, a future in which there was no Blair. Those images were too painful, too lonely, and he pushed those images away.

Images of Blair working with him on his sentinel abilities came as well. Helpful at times, irritating at times, humorous at times, memories of tests and experiences over their years together flowed through his mind. A chuckle at the memory of a particularly spectacular failure at one of Blair's tests died on his lips, and he felt unshed tears floating in his eyes. How could he continue to be a sentinel without Blair there to guide him, to be his shaman? The words of his first guide, Incacha, came to him suddenly.

He knew, without making a conscious decision, that he would not, could not be a sentinel without Blair. There was no real choice. What good was being a sentinel doing for him now, doing for Blair now? As his thoughts became darker, his final dream images returned as well. The image of Blair morphing into a wolf and running into the jungle was especially vivid, and he suddenly felt a chill go up his spine as he finally realized why that image had been so disturbing. He wondered why he had not figured it out before, it seemed so clear to him now.

He had seen an image of Blair morphing into a wolf in a dream months before, a dream that presaged Blair's death by drowning at the hands of an evil sentinel, Alex Barnes. Finding Blair dead in the fountain, and trying to revive him with CPR, he had seen a vision then of a wolf turning and running away into a jungle. The spirit of Incacha had come to him then, encouraging him to use the power of his animal spirit to bring Blair back.

Bending over Blair's cold and lifeless body, he thought that he had seen the faint image of a wolf superimposed over his face. He saw a vision then of a black jaguar and a wolf, colliding with a bright flash of light, in what he thought of as a collision of their animal spirits. He still wasn't sure that he understood all of what had happened then, and what it meant, but Blair had come back to life. He had avoided discussing it afterwards with Blair because it was just too uncomfortable, too frightening to think about. All he had wanted to do was be grateful for Blair's life.

Whatever it all meant then, it came to him that the dream had come to him now for a reason. Just as he had brought Blair back from death at the fountain, he now felt certain that he had to try to use his sentinel abilities to bring him back now. He somehow knew, with a chilling certainty, that it was Blair's only chance.

Blair's words to him, at the hospital after being revived from drowning, on discovering that they had shared his vision, suddenly came back to him.

His own words came back to him as well.

He settled back into his bed and searched his heart and his memories, and thought about how to reach and bring back his friend. He tried to hold on to his mental image of a healthy, happy Blair as he mentally spoke to him.

"It looks like we're taking that trip after all, Chief. Hold on, buddy, just don't leave without me."

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

As much as he had tried to prepare himself, he was filled with uncertainty as he heard the orderly leave Blair's room. He exchanged pleasantries with Nurse Davies without really paying attention, wanting only to see her heading back to the nursing station so he could be alone with Blair. She finally left, and he set out on his plan.

Finding the CD player and the stack of CD's on the bedside table, he searched for the one he wanted. Locating it, he put the disc in and pressed play. The sounds of aboriginal music played softly, bringing with it the painful memory of Incacha's death in his loft. Incacha had heard and commented on the music that Blair had been meditating to, calling it "earth music." It seemed only fitting that the same music be the backdrop as he attempted to make contact with him, to bring him back.

Getting his wheelchair as close to the bed as possible, he set the brakes and levered himself upright to balance on his good foot. Shifting his balance, he let himself down onto Blair's bed, careful to avoid any tubes or wires snaking from the silent figure as he sat. Looking down into that familiar face, he again felt fear clutch at his chest. After his discussion with the doctor, he could no longer look at Blair's face and pretend that he was just sleeping. Blair was slipping away from him, from life, and it was up to Jim to reach him.

Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, he took a moment to try to listen to the music, to find some calm and focus. He pictured Incacha in his mind, his previous encouragement to use his animal spirit to restore Blair to life at the fountain, and his faith in him that he could do so. He also pictured the Blair that he wanted back, bursting with energy, with a mischievous grin and eyes that were bright with intelligence and good humor. A surge of emotion grew in his chest as he realized how deeply he already missed that Blair in his life, and how desperately he wanted him back.

Opening his eyes, he leaned over the motionless body. Slowly and painfully pulling his injured arm from the sling, he reached over and placed his hands on each side of Blair's face, just as he had done at the fountain. He was surprised at the warmth of that pale skin, and he eagerly extended his senses to feel the steady pulse beating beneath the surface, the vibrations from his machine-aided breathing. For a moment, he just allowed himself to feel the pace of Blair's life, and felt as if his own body was changing its rhythm to match.

Closing his eyes again, he pictured his animal spirit in his mind, the black jaguar pacing and prowling, full of life energy. When he opened his eyes, he glanced into Blair's face and searched deeply there. He gently cupped Blair's face with his hands. Focusing all of his concentration there, his awareness of the room around him faded, and his whole universe consisted of he and Blair, and what he hoped was a growing connection there.

As he continued to focus solely on Blair's face, it seemed as if the room around them disappeared, to be replaced by a jungle. Trying to maintain his focus, staring into the quiet face, his eyesight wavered and blurred. His hands began to feel warm, and it felt as if the warmth was flowing into Blair's temples as he held his hands there. His vision cleared slightly, and he saw the image of a wolf suddenly glowing from Blair's face. He could feel his heartbeat and respiration speed up, and was startled to feel a similar change in Blair as well.

His eyesight wavered again, and suddenly he saw only the jungle vision from his dream. He again saw Blair walking away from him, turning to smile at him, and morphing into a wolf. This time the vision changed. He was again running towards Blair to stop him, but instead of being slowed down and unable to reach him, he could feel his own body changing, turning into a jaguar. The jaguar ran towards the wolf even as the wolf raised his head and began to howl, and interrupted the howl with a loud and angry growl. The wolf began to turn and run into the jungle but was headed off by the jaguar, that now stood in the way. The two animals circled each other, occasionally touching noses, rubbing heads together. The jaguar nudged the wolf to follow.

They began to run, side by side, along the edge of the jungle. Their paces matched stride for stride as they picked up speed, a picture of smooth grace. Suddenly they parted slightly, then turned and ran towards each other. They leapt into the air and collided, merged, with a bright and blinding flash of white light. His consciousness was filled with the blinding light, painful in its intensity, and he could feel the shock throughout his whole body. The vision and the jungle disappeared, and he found himself back in the hospital, leaning weakly over Blair's body. He felt exhausted, and could feel sweat dripping down his brow as his heartbeat pounded in his ears and his chest ached from heavy breathing.

He heard footsteps rapidly approaching from the nursing station, and tried to regain his composure and sit up straighter, reluctantly removing his hands from Blair's face.

"Mr. Ellison, what are you doing? What's happening?"

The urgent voice of Nurse Davies helped bring him back towards normal awareness, and he swallowed and tried to find the energy to respond.

"I was just talking with Blair."

"Just talking? You look like you just ran a marathon. And I don't know what you were saying or doing, but his monitors just went crazy. I came to check on him." She checked the wires and monitors on and around the bed, and a frown overtook her face. "That's odd, I'm getting the same readings here, so its not just the monitors. His heartbeat, blood pressure and temperature have increased. I've never seen anything like it."

"Are the readings better, or worse?" Jim had a hard time even forming the words, in fear of her response.

"Actually, they are better, closer to normal. I think they are the strongest readings that I can remember for him since he's been here."

Jim sighed in relief, and turned his attention back towards his partner. Yes, he thought he could see a difference in his face, it seemed that a trace of color had returned there. He felt incredibly exhausted, yet exhilarated at the same time. Letting himself relax, feeling his pulse and breathing return to normal, he let the nurse help him put his sore arm back into the sling. She was about to help him off the bed and back into his wheelchair, when he heard a tiny sound of movement from the head of the bed, his senses suddenly on overdrive. He turned towards the sound.

He could barely believe the blessed sight that appeared before his eyes. Staring into Blair's face, he was rewarded with the sight of his eyelids slowly blinking open, and a long-missed view of the deep blue eyes of his friend. His eyes wandered slowly until they found Jim's face, and stopped and attempted to focus there. Jim was thrilled to see an awakening intelligence there, allaying his fears, and he quickly grasped his hand.

"Hey, Chief, welcome back."

Blair's eyes drifted away, and glanced around a moment before coming to rest back on Jim's face. He thought that he could see a question forming there.

"You're in the hospital, but you're gonna be all right. Don't try to talk or move around, you've got a breathing tube in there and you're wired for sound. You got pretty banged up, but it's all right, though, you're gonna be okay. Just rest, buddy, I'll be right here."

The eyes blinked drowsily, then began to close. Before they slid shut entirely, Jim felt a gentle pressure from Blair's hand in his, and he gratefully squeezed it in return. He closed his eyes and let his head drop on his chest as the weight of his emotions overpowered him. A gentle squeeze on his shoulder reminded him that the nurse was still there.

"Well, well. I knew that there was something special between you two. I don't know how you did it, but your friend seems to be on his way back. I'm gonna go page the doctor, he's going to want to check him out right away. I'll just leave you here for the moment, but you'll need to get off of his bed so the doctor can check him out."

Jim murmured his assent, and the nurse walked back into the nursing station. He let go of Blair's hand and moved his hand to Blair's chest, letting it rest there for a moment, feeling the stronger heart beating there. He finally raised his hand to Blair's face, feeling the warmth there, briefly letting it rest on the stubbled cheek before letting it drop tiredly to his side.

When the nurse returned, he didn't fight her as she helped him back into his wheelchair and called for an orderly to return him to his room. He somehow knew that Blair would be all right, that he would still be there, all of him, the next time he visited. As soon as he hit his bed he dropped into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.

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

The faint sound of a baseball announcer permeated his consciousness, and he began the process of awakening. As he did so, he realized that he felt more relaxed, more rested, than he could remember for some time. He let loose a huge yawn as he opened his eyes. The TV was indeed playing in the corner, and he smiled at the familiar voice that greeted him.

"Well, it's about time, Jim. You were beginning to worry us." The concern on Simon's face seemed to dissipate as he saw him awakening with a smile on his face and straightening up in the bed.

"What do you mean, Simon? Can't a guy take a nap around here?"

"A nap? Jim, you've been asleep for almost 8 hours. I'm told that you fell asleep right after visiting Blair, and you slept right through supper. The doctor has been in to look at you, and the nurses have been checking on you every hour. They couldn't figure out why you would be sleeping so deeply, they even tried waking you up a couple of times and couldn't."

"I'm fine, really. I was just really tired, I guess. Simon, have you seen Blair?" He was anxious to find out from his friend if Blair had really awakened, or if it had been just a wonderful dream.

"Yes, I have." Simon was unable to keep a grin from spreading across his face. "The nurse told me when I went into his room that there was some improvement, but she should have warned a guy. I mean, I think I jumped three feet when I looked over while reading to him, to see him awake and looking at me. He didn't keep his eyes open long, just long enough for me to say hi and tell him that you were okay and would be back to see him soon. I told the nurse, and she said that he has awakened a few times, just for a moment or two, then gone back to sleep."

"They're sure he's just sleeping?"

"Yeah, the doctors don't quite know what to think of it, but they are sure that he's out of the coma. They said that it would be normal for him to sleep a lot, he still has a lot of recovering to do, but he is recovering."

"Did they say if he might be able to come off of the respirator some time soon?" Jim couldn't wait to hear the sound of Blair's voice.

"They are going to be doing some more tests in the morning, but they said that they might try taking him off tomorrow."

"Thank God." Despite their best efforts, neither man could resist the grins that took over their faces. Simon tried but failed to return to his sober and respectable captain's face, and eventually ventured to ask the question that he could no longer hold back.

"Jim, he also has you to thank, doesn't he?"

Jim looked sharply at Simon, wondering how much he had guessed. "What do you mean, Simon?"

"I talked to Nurse Davies. She seemed pretty certain that it was something you did that brought Blair out of the coma. It was the Sentinel thing, wasn't it? Like you did at the fountain, bringing Blair back?"

"I don't know how to explain it, Simon, but yes. I had a vision about Blair, like I did at the fountain. I don't know how or why, but somehow it helped me to reach him."

Simon removed his glasses with a sigh, cleaning them on his shirt and rubbing the bridge of his nose before putting them back on.

"All right, Jim, I don't need to know any more. I still don't understand all of that, but whatever it is between the two of you has saved his life. Again. Does Blair know what happened?"

"I don't know, Simon. I guess we'll find out after they take him off of the respirator and he can talk to us." Jim sobered at the thought of Blair's recent experiences. "Part of me hopes that he doesn't remember any of it…"

"Amen to that." Simon had his own harrowing memories of Blair's injuries and his long and painful wait for rescue, as well as his long period in the coma. "We'll just have to wait and see. Look, Jim, I need to call the nurse. They made me promise to tell the nursing station as soon as you woke up. It's late, anyway, and they're probably going to run me out of here. I'll see you tomorrow. I'll let people know in the morning about Blair, everyone is going to be thrilled."

"Simon, please be sure to tell them that we still don't know how Blair is doing, how much he remembers. If they come and visit him, I don't want anyone telling him things that might be upsetting to him until the doctors have a chance to check him out. All right?"

"Sure, no problem. It will be a huge relief to everyone to hear any good news about Sandburg." Simon rose from the chair and gave him a clap on his good shoulder before heading for the door. Reaching the doorway, he turned back for a moment and spoke with an unusually rough voice that belied his effort at a casual appearance. "Jim…I'm really glad about Blair." Jim saw the warmth and dampness in those deep brown eyes as their eyes met, then Simon turned and strode out of the door.

Jim eased himself into a more comfortable position in the bed, and the smile returned to his face. Blair was going to be all right. Blair was going to be all right. Blair was going to be all right…

He fell asleep with the smile still on his face.

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

"So, Chief, you ready to blow this place?"

He looked over at Jim and smiled. "You must be kidding. I was beginning to believe that I might survive my injuries but die from the hospital food before they would discharge me."

The smile on Jim's face in return was a welcome and frequent sight these days. It seemed that Jim had been smiling ever since he had awakened in the hospital more than two weeks ago. He still had a hard time believing that he had been in the hospital for almost two weeks before he had awakened, even though a glance at a calendar proved it to be true.

Jim and the doctors had talked to him, after he had awakened, about his injuries and his time in the hospital. He had no memory of being injured. His last memory before awakening was of being at the horse show with Daryl, Simon and Jim. The doctors said that he would probably never remember, that those missing memories never made it into his permanent memory due to his head injury. The look on Jim's face as the doctor explained his memory loss lead him to believe that there was a great deal that had happened, that Jim wished that he couldn't remember himself. All of their friends had also been careful when talking about the horse show and the earthquake that injured both he and Jim.

He had decided not to push it for now, with Jim or with their friends. He had also decided not to talk about, yet, his vague impressions, almost like dreams, of some of his time in the coma. Jim had told him about everyone visiting him even while he was unconscious, and he seemed to know that it was true somehow even as Jim said it.

His most vivid dream of that time was of the jungle, of his and Jim's animal spirits merging, and he knew when he mentioned it to Jim that it was more than just a dream. Jim had been reluctant to discuss that as well, so Blair just added it to his list of things to get to later. And he would get to it later.

For now, he couldn't wait to get out of the hospital. After almost a month, he couldn't wait to get home. The doctors had really wanted him to stay a few more days, but conceded and signed off on his discharge when he had agreed to the visits of a home health nurse for as long as they wanted after discharge. He still had one arm in a sling, and needed a cane for support for his still aching hip, but he was more than ready to go home.

He looked impatiently at the clock, waiting for the tardy orderly with the wheelchair that would take him out of the hospital. As much as he hated the thought of being in a wheelchair even one more time, he also knew how weak he still was. The doctors told him that he had made a remarkable recovery, but that he still had a ways to go. They had suggested that he rent a wheelchair for a couple of weeks, to use at home, because of his ongoing weakness and occasional balance problems, but he assured them that he would take it easy and be careful. Besides, knowing Jim, he knew that he would have someone watching him like a hawk to be sure that he was safe. He didn't look forward to the upcoming weeks of continuing medications, treatment, and therapy, but he was sure that it beat staying in the hospital for even one more day.

Jim was waiting with him, finishing loading up his things from the hospital room into a large box. He was happy to see Jim looking so well, he had only been out of the hospital a few days himself. Even with a bulky brace on his injured leg, and an obviously still stiff and sore shoulder, Jim looked like he was recovering well too. He felt badly that he had not been able to be there for him during his recovery, but Jim had repeatedly told him that many of their friends and colleagues had been there for him.

The orderly finally showed up, and Blair eased himself off of the side of the bed and into the chair. Putting the leg rests into place and straightening up, he asked if Blair was ready to go.

"Oh, yeah. Jim, are you ready?"

He received a million megawatt smile from his best friend, who dropped the box on the bed and walked over to his side, putting an arm across his shoulders.

"You bet, Chief. I can hear Simon coming down the hallway. Our chariot awaits. Let's go home."

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

Simon eased his car slowly to the curb right in front of the building's entrance.

"You two need any help?" he asked.

"If you could just get the box, and unlock the doors, we'll be fine," Jim replied, tossing Simon his keys and easing himself out of the back seat of Simon's sedan.

He reached down and opened the passenger door, beating Blair to it as he awkwardly reached across his body to try and open the door with his good left hand. Looking down at Blair trying to carefully squirm out from under the seat belt and turn sideways in the passenger seat to stand up, Jim tried but failed to keep a trace of a grin off of his face. It still seemed unreal to him that Blair was back and coming home, after a long month away. Coming home. The words echoed in his head, they sounded so right. He started to reach over to help pull the seat belt out of the way, but pulled his hand back quickly when it was swatted away.

"Come on, Jim. Knock it off, will ya?"

"Sure, Chief. I just thought I'd give you a hand, since your shoulder's not back to 100%."

An exasperated sigh followed. "Jim, it's not just the seat belt. It's the 10 minutes you made Simon spend at the drive-through window while you read the entire menu for me, when I just wanted something cold to drink. It's the fact that you yelled at Simon every time he went over 25 miles an hour all the way here. It's the winter coat that you brought to the hospital for me to wear home, even though it's spring.

Jim, I'm okay. Or I will be. I love you, man, but you gotta get past this. I know it had to be hell for you, seeing me in that coma for all of that time, but I'm back." He reached over and grabbed Jim's forearm and squeezed, hard. "Feel that? I'm here, man, and I'm not going anywhere. You can't keep treating me like I'm made out of glass, like I'm gonna break. I know I still need some help, I'm still not 100%, but you gotta let it go. I'll be okay."

Jim looked over into Blair's face, their eyes meeting, seeing the warmth and understanding there. It still brought a lump to his throat when he looked into those eyes, when he saw that grin. The memories of the painful days and weeks in the hospital were still too vivid, still too fresh.

"I know you will, Chief. I just…"

"I know." Blair squeezed his arm again, and more words passed unsaid between them. Each taking a deep breath, Jim reached down and helped Blair to his feet, handing him the cane and helping him to balance. They both stopped for a moment and looked up at the loft.

"It'll be nice to have you home, Chief."

"Yes, it will," Blair grinned. He stared to limp slowly toward the door. "Come on Jim, we're gonna be late."

Jim looked quickly over at his roommate, and was rewarded with a wide grin.

"Uh, late for what?"

"Come on, Jim, you guys are like sooo transparent. I've known about the welcome home party for days. Don’t worry, though, I'll act really surprised. I really appreciate it, and I wouldn't want to disappoint everybody."

They made their way slowly into the building and into the elevator, each still moving slowly due to their injuries, but each also grateful to be coming home. As planned, they were greeting with a roaring "Welcome Home, Blair!" when they opened the door. All of the detectives from Major Crimes were there, as well as Simon's son, Daryl. The loft was properly festooned with banners, streamers, balloons and the like, and the table was covered with food and treats that would have fed an army. He saw the grin on Blair's face as he checked out the room, as well as the quick frown in his direction when he spotted the folding wheelchair that was set unobtrusively in a corner. He knew that he would be hearing about that later from Blair, but he didn't care.

Jim kept his eye on Blair as the afternoon progressed, despite Blair's words earlier. It warmed him to see that a smile never left his roommate's face, nor the faces of the others. They all were watching out for and caring for Blair, hoping to be not too obvious. When he was standing, there was always someone nearby who got out of his seat, so that there would be one ready for him when he needed to sit down. He always had a plate of food and something to drink at hand. It seemed that there was always someone with a hand on his shoulder, giving him a half-hug, or sitting closer than they needed to be. Apparently their friends needed reassurance of Blair's presence and recovery almost as much as he did.

Blair was not oblivious to the actions of his friends. Jim caught his eye once, as Brown was telling a joke and gently resting his hand on Blair's shoulder, and saw Blair's gentle smile and shrug that showed that he knew exactly what was going on. He didn't complain, though, and seemed to be soaking up the warmth and fellowship of his friends and colleagues.

Jim eventually dropped a few hints, and people started leaving. It had not been a long party, everyone not wanting to tire Blair out, but it had been a huge success. He could see the beginning of healing in their friends, who had also been affected by his and Blair's injuries and ordeal. As he closed the door behind their last guest, he turned and saw Blair heading slowly out onto the balcony. He grabbed a beer and moved to join him.

Blair leaned into the railing, his eyes sweeping over the familiar vista, and took a long deep breath. Jim joined him, taking a long pull at his beer, enjoying the familiar sights of both Blair and the view. Blair sipped at his tea, seemingly at peace.

"You doing all right?"

"Yeah, Jim, I'm fine. It was a great party, man, thanks."

"Well, it wasn't entirely my idea. Connor did most of the planning, and everyone pitched in. I think we'll have enough leftovers for a month."

Blair grinned, and turned to face him. His face became serious.

"You know, I haven't really had the chance, but thanks, man."

"For what, Chief?"

"For everything. For being with me at the hospital, even when I couldn't know you were there. For not giving up on me, even when they thought I wouldn't make it. Everyone has avoided talking about it, but I know." He looked down for a moment, then looked up into his face. Their eyes met, both pooled with emotion, and his voice was low and rough. "I don't know how, but I know that I wouldn't have made it without you. Thank you, Jim."

He didn't know what to say, how to respond, a rush of emotions tightening his throat. Blair didn't seem to need a response, though, he just smiled and reached up and grasped his shoulder for a moment, then turned back to enjoy the view. Since he couldn't find the words, he moved over and draped his arm across the shoulders of his best friend, hoping that the warm contact could say what he couldn't. He was gratified when Blair's arm slipped around his back in response. His own voice was rough when he finally spoke.

"Welcome home, Blair. Welcome home."

THE END