Author's Notes: This is the second part of a three-part series that started with "Fear". I strongly recommend to read the first part because otherwise this story won't make much sense. Okay, I'm waiting....

Hours later - I would like to thank everyone who commented to nicely on "Fear" and who encouraged me to write more. I hope the sequel will find your approval :-). The final part will be "Light" and I'm hoping to post it soon.

Last but not least, I'd like to give a TeddyBlair Burgi Hug to my friend Tate who did an incredible job betareading this story. Without your help I would've been lost and I really appreciated your encouragement and lovely comments each time I sent you another snippet. I wish there would be more words for thank you but I'm stuck here so.... THANK YOU!

Shadows by DannyD › "This is not about you!" (Blair Sandburg, "Black and White") ›

"Did you stay all night?" Jim asked in a raw voice, as he slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes and throwing the covers of the bed away.

Blair jerked at little and raised his head, startled by Jim's voice. "Thought you might need company," the anthropologist said, closing the book after marking the page. "Morning, Jim."

Jim yawned. "Why didn't you go back to sleep after...after the....," Jim faltered for a second, not able to utter the word, "....after I fell asleep again," he rephrased. Although Blair had urged him to talk about the nightmare, with soothing words in his softest Guide voice, Jim hadn't managed to bring it over his lips. The dream itself had been awful enough, but what frightened Jim most was that he had never felt that way before. Of course, all people were scared of something. Jim was anxious he’d be too late to prevent a crime taking place, that Sandburg would get hurt in the course of action, or that something would happen to the people he cared about. Yes, there was Sandburg again on top of the list, but also his brother Stephen, his friends at the station, or little Daryl, Simon's son. Jim Ellison greatest fear was that he couldn't protect the people who had grown to depend on him, but he couldn't allow himself to be scared of a nightmare, something that suddenly decided to emerge from his subconscious, leaving him as timid as a little child.

He was afraid of his own fears.

"Oh, it's okay, man," Blair waved dismissively. "I thought you might feel better if you sensed my presence near." Seeing Jim's embarrassed grimace, Blair quickly added: "I’ve also wanted to finish this book and you just gave me the opportunity."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jim looked down at his partner. He felt embarrassed. The kid had stayed up all night to protect Jim from the dark clouds dancing in his head, and what was worse, Jim was quite uncomfortable Sandburg had witnessed last night's play. Now, as the sun came through the blinds of the window, illuminating the room in a magnificent warmth, the nightmare was only a vague memory, something to laugh about, to joke about maybe, and, most importantly, Jim wanted to leave the whole thing alone. Jim stood up, grabbing his robe and heading for the stairs. He was surprised Blair didn't follow immediately and he stopped, looking back to find his partner still sitting on the floor.

"Are you coming, Chief?" Jim asked.

Blair didn't want to mention it; he didn't want to remind Jim of last night's events, but unfortunately, he seemed to have no other choice.

"Uhm, yeah, yeah, I'm coming...," Blair confirmed, putting the book on the floor and trying to push himself up, closely watched by the Sentinel's eagle eyes. Blair slowly rose to his knees and, even slower, started shifting his legs, hands on the edge of the bed for support. He tried to suppress a moan, but Jim was at his side almost before the first sound had left his mouth.

"Hey, hey, let me help you," Jim offered, gently pulling Blair to his feet. His face was full of concern, suddenly remembering another event of the night. Watching Blair's grimace of pain, Jim carefully pushed him down onto the bed, kneeling in front of him.

"Let me see it." All gentleness left Jim's voice, knowing he was the reason for his friend's discomfort. The dream hadn’t been enough, no, he had awakened his partner, and, even worse, had hit him because he thought him somebody else. And then his partner had stayed up all night to watch him sleep. There was also the possibility Blair couldn't have slept himself as Jim's blows had injured him more than he was willing to admit.

Jim inhaled sharply, discovering the dark purple-black bruises covering the left side of Blair's ribcage. With utmost tenderness, he ran his fingertips over the sore spots to check for any serious injuries. Blair held his breath when Jim's hand roamed over his side, but he didn't utter word.

"Can you breathe okay?" Jim asked, his voice strained with self-directed anger.

Blair nodded. "I'm fine, Jim," he stressed once again, wishing his partner would stop this stupid examination and explain to him what was going on. Somehow, Jim was as stubborn as he was. But, what was worse, Blair knew it, and Jim didn't.

"Take a deep breath," Jim ordered, and Blair sighed again but obeyed. It hurt but was bearable.

Jim watched his face and was relieved when he didn't see any sign of distress. He gently patted on Blair's shoulder.

"Okay, Chief, I think you'll live," he stood as he spoke and offered a hand to help Blair. "After you've showered I'll help you put some ointment on it." On his feet again, Blair grabbed Jim's hand when the man started to pull away.

"Tell me, Jim," Blair asked calmly, watching Jim's expression change to a frown.

Jim hesitated a second, thinking about the plea, and how good it would feel to talk about the dream, but then embarrassment took the upper hand and Jim just jerked his hand away.

"There's nothing to tell, Sandburg." He headed for the stairs, away from his Guide's persistent glance, and away from the memories of an unfamiliar emotion called 'fear'.

***

It was Tuesday, and Sandburg had to teach classes at the university until noon. They ate breakfast, made light conversation, and left for their destinations a few minutes past eight. Jim was relieved to be alone this morning because Sandburg surely would have brought it up again – a conversation that hadn't taken place yet and Jim hoped never would. Anyway, the air was clear for a few hours, and the detective concentrated on his work.

It was mostly boring but necessary paperwork. Jim was almost grateful when asked to attend an autopsy down at Dan's Little House of Horror, as Blair called the ME's territory. It was nothing special, not even one of his own cases, but Dan had phoned him earlier asking him to come down to have a look. Maybe the man just needed company, Jim thought, while heading for the elevator. Only dead bodies from day to day must be quite frustrating, although Dr. Wolfe wasn't the kind of guy to dwell on his work. Besides, he was always good for a laugh.

What had triggered the nightmare?

Startled by the sudden and intrusive thought, Jim hesitated for a second before he left the elevator and stepped into the basement. He stood in front of the ME's office, uncertain about his next move. Knock or just enter? Ellison shook his head to clear the cobwebs clouding his brain. He knocked and moments later, he heard Dan's voice.

"Come on in!"

Put a hand on the door handle and open the door. Simple as that, but Jim suddenly felt out of place. Thinking about the present became difficult as his mind involuntarily wandered back to the events of the night before. What had induced his poor brain to scare the hell out of him?

"Get your act together, Ellison," he scolded himself and eventually entered the autopsy room.

Maybe it was the fact his enthusiastic anthropologist had come up with a few suggestions for a couple of tests to check the range of his sensory awareness the other day? And, of course, Jim at first had refused to play the part of the always willing lab rat, but Blair had insisted.

Yes, it must be the reason., Momentarily relieved, Jim joined the medical examiner at the opposite side of the examination table.

"Hi, Dan!" The ME just raised a bloody hand, and Jim could see smiling eyes behind his glasses.

"Hi, Jim! Sorry, can't shake your hand right now," he chuckled.

"No problem," the detective replied, stuffing his own hands into the pockets of his pants.

"Blair's not in the mood for this?" Dan asked sympathetically, remembering only too well the anthropologist's green face when he attended his last autopsy.

"You scared him off," Jim said and both men laughed. "He has some work to do at the university," Jim added, and Dan nodded understandingly.

"I'm always amazed how the kid manages two jobs at a time. Hell, I have enough to do with my job here," Dan gestured with the scalpel, and Jim instinctively stepped back a little. "I don't know if I would be in the mood or in the shape to do a second job all day. Although he doesn't look it, he's a tough guy." Dan drove his hands into the corpse's intestines and, seemingly satisfied with what he found, added a comment to his notes.

"You should tell him that," Jim suggested smiling, proud the ME had such a high opinion of his friend. "Anything interesting?" he asked, motioning at the victim.

Dan covered the body and took off his gloves, disposing them into the trash. "Well, to be honest, I've seen cases much more complicated and even more fascinating than this one." The doctor sounded almost disappointed, but Jim knew it was just a bad habit to make jokes out of any gruesome situation like this.

Jim leaned against the table crossing his arms over his chest. "And?"

Dan smiled slightly at Jim's short question. The man could put a whole sentence into a single word, only varying the tone of his voice. On the other hand, his talkative partner, Blair "Chatterbox" Sandburg, never seemed to be able to put all information into a single paragraph. But Jim was Jim, and Sandburg was Sandburg. No need to change either one of them.

"And....," Dan imitated Jim's voice. "... the poor fellow was shot right in the heart and met his death instantly. No time for a scream, a kiss good-bye or even another deep breath to prepare himself for the ultimate journey."

"Anything extraordinary, Walt Whitman?" Just out of curiosity Jim focused on Dan's handwritten report trying to decipher the details.

"A few bruises on his arms, nothing major. Maybe he hit something or was hit," Dan started, reviewing his notes as he talked. "Oh, yes, and he suffered ruptured ear drums."

"What?" Another short question, but the medical examiner looked up in surprise when he picked up the tone of Jim's voice. Unbelieving or... shocked?

"Uhm, ruptured ear drums," Dan repeated, although he knew Jim had understood his earlier statement. "It certainly wasn't the cause of death," Dan explained with a worried glance on his face. For some reason the detective had gone pale at the mention of the victim's injury. "But if you ask me, I say it looks pretty much like some sort of ... interrogation gone terribly wrong." The ME carefully chose his words.

Jim's head snapped up. "Torture?" His voice had lost all volume, and Dan raised an eyebrow in concern. Jim stared at the corpse covered by the blanket and a small shudder went through his body.

"You okay, Jim?" Dan asked finally. He was rewarded by an almost frightened look from ice-blue eyes that begged not to question his condition. Dan mentally shrugged and continued his report.

"Yeah, could be torture," he confirmed Jim's inquiry. "It's pretty easy to inflict pain on your ears. Just about 35 kilohertz will do and you'll scream your lungs out. We are not talking about dog whistles here but a pair of headphones connected to a stereo or computer, well, I don't want to think about the possibilities. " Dan grimaced.

"Dog whistles," Jim murmured, last night's terror flashing through his brain again. Lee Brackett had put the whistle to his lips, and the mute sound had almost deafened him.

He couldn’t control the pain; the dial was gone. All techniques Blair had taught him vanished. With his concentration shattered, pain raced through his head, piercing his ears, making him lose his balance. And Blair wasn’t there to help him.

"Jim?" The doctor grabbed Ellison's arm when he began to sway dangerously. "You okay, man?" Dan pulled at the arm. "Here, sit down, Jim. You look like hell." He steered him to a nearby chair, but Jim suddenly pulled away from the grip.

"I need some fresh air," he muttered and almost ran out of the lab, away from the living reminder of his nightmare and away from the darkness suddenly enveloping him again.

****

Shouting over the heads of restless students wasn't exactly a wise idea when you had bruised ribs. Blair held his injured side while talking to his students, waving his other hand to get their attention.

"Okay, folks, I hope to see you all fresh on Wednesday. Please read the chapter in the book..." He stopped for a moment, a little bit frustrated as nobody seemed to be listening to what he was saying. Classes were over and everyone was just flying out of the room into the sunshine.

"I'll prepare a little test for you...," Blair announced, wondering how many of his students had heard the underlying threat. "A test on Wednes...." Okay, give it up, Sandburg. They don't want to hear you out, so it's their own fault if they fail with flying colors. "Remember that!" he tried one last time before the classroom was empty.

With a heavy sigh Blair carefully dropped down behind his desk, sorting through his notes and adding remarks. He reached down to retrieve a book from his backpack and winced when his ribs protested sharply.

"Man, Jim, you got a hell of a punch," Blair muttered under his breath, as he leafed through the book.

Reading through a chapter of South American tribal cultures and scribbling notes on a sheet of paper, Blair didn't notice his partner silently entering the classroom. The Sentinel watched his young friend for a few moments before he spoke.

"Does it still hurt?"

Startled, Blair jumped and looked up at Jim in surprise, his glasses almost sitting on the tip of his nose.

"Jim! Wow, I didn't hear you," Blair grinned and took off his glasses. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Jim gestured vaguely. "I heard you saying that I got a hell of a punch," Jim smiled sadly and crossed the distance between them with a few long strides.

"Oh." Blair thought a moment. "How far away were you when you heard me?"

The older man rolled his eyes in frustration. "Come on, Sandburg," he warned smiling. "Didn't you say you gathered enough information for ten dissertations?"

Blair licked his pencil and threw Jim a hurt glance. "Yes, but I'm a scientist, Jim. It's my job to gather information." He wrote something down and underlined it twice. Absently, he added: "You know bats can hear up to a range of 175 kilohertz., That's pretty amazing and I'm sure your sense of hearing is equally enhanced, if not more so." The anthropologist scribbled again. "Just a sec..."

After almost 120 seconds Blair closed his notes and stuffed everything into his backpack. "Okay, what's up?"

"I thought we could have lunch together, talk a little and just be lazy ," Jim said, not quite sure why he came here or if he even wanted to eat. He couldn't explain it, but the simple presence of his Guide made him feel safe and ...protected.

****

The two men decided to go for a hot dog and a walk through the nearby park. Blair wasn't thrilled about the idea, but he felt something was really bothering Jim so he gave in, and they ruined their bodies with unhealthy stuff. They walked, ate and watched the people occupying the park at lunch time. Jim was silent, nothing new, and Blair had never found it easy to struggle with a hot dog, walk and talk at the same time, so he just kept strolling beside his friend. Children crossed their way, yelling and making fun of each other. Now and then a walker taking his dog out invaded their space. All in all, it was a relaxing atmosp...

"HELP! Help me!" a female voice cut through the peaceful moment, and simultaneously Jim and Blair turned their heads towards the scream, reacting on instinct.

Only a few yards away, an elderly woman sat on the cold stone walkway, seemingly pushed down by someone. One of her hands covered her mouth in horror and the other pointed to a fleeing figure.

"He stole my bag!" the woman yelled in an anguished voice. Other people walked by and nobody seemed interested in helping her, some of them even looked at her in indignation because they felt disturbed in their lunch break.

"Help her!" Jim shouted at Blair, already sprinting after the thief.

Following his partner with his eyes, Blair approached the now crying woman. She still sat on the walkway, probably shocked, and Blair knelt down at her side.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, his tone similar to the guide voice he used to shake the Sentinel out of a zone-out. The concern in his voice seemed to reinforce her tears, and she covered her face with both hands.

"He...he...just grabbed....my bag.....," she sobbed, not actually realizing there was someone beside her now.

Blair searched his pockets for a handkerchief, found a crumpled one, and offered it. "Sorry, this is all I have," he smiled, and put his arm around her shaking shoulders. She mumbled something sounding like 'thank you', and Blair tenderly pulled her closer. Her sobs subsided as she gratefully leaned against the young man.

"Don't worry, ma'am, my friend will catch the guy," Blair promised and looked up to see Jim still racing after the man, closing in with each step.

"My name's Blair," he introduced himself when she finally met his gaze.

"Josephine Williams," she supplied her name and, with Blair's help, stood. He steadied her with one hand still wrapped around her shoulders, asking: "You sure you're okay?"

Josephine nodded and sniffled into Blair's handkerchief a few times. "Thank you, young man. It's good to know there are still a few people in this world who care." She reached up touching his cheek with a shaking hand. "You're a good man, Blair." She reminded him of a grandmother from a fairy tale, sitting in a rocking chair and knitting little rompers for her grandchildren. She stroked his cheeks, and Blair took her fragile hand into his.

"I'm glad we could help," he smiled, feeling a little bit embarrassed at the attention he got for his natural behavior.

"We?" Josephine repeated, now realizing what Blair had said earlier. "Oh, I don't want to get you or your friend into trouble. There was some money in it, but nothing worth risking a wild chase." Her warm brown eyes looked up at Blair in concern.

"Don't worry, Ms Williams. Jim's a detective with the Cascade PD," Blair explained, and they both scanned the park for any sign of Jim and the fugitive.

That was probably exactly what he had needed, Jim thought, while running after the thief. A nice, relaxing jogging track to get his mind off the scary images in his head. He felt invigorated, with his body concentrating on running, and senses on full alert. Actually, he could make a game out of it by waiting a few moments and then tracking the guy down with his hearing or any other of his senses. He felt like playing blind man's bluff, but also knew he couldn't risk any more attention on his activities than absolutely necessary. Maybe it was time to identify himself now, Jim thought.

"Cascade PD!" he yelled and, no surprise, received no answer. Of course not, but he had to least try, hadn't he? Okay, Ellison, enough fooling around, get to it.

He increased his speed, catching up with the man in front of him. He heard a voice behind him, shouting something he couldn't quite make out. It wasn't Blair’s, but it was a male voice.

"Jerry, sit down!"

Oh, great, Jim thought, almost able to touch the thief's back. All you need is a pissed-off pinscher thinking you're his lunch reward. He turned his head slightly to make sure the little wanna-be dog wasn’t trying to interfere with the course of action.

Jerry, the dog, happily ran towards him, not listening to his owner's commanding voice. Jim glanced forward; he had almost caught up with the bad guy. One jump and it would be over. The detective once again looked over his shoulder to determine Jerry wasn't in the way, preparing himself for the final leap.

Abruptly, his eye sight kicked in, and Jim focused on the dog's master who now brought a dog whistle to his lips!

This wasn't happening; it couldn't be happening. It was just a damn nightmare that couldn’t happen in the daylight. It wasn’t fair, Jim thought irrationally, when he stopped in his tracks, petrified of what he knew would occur.

For a short moment, Ellison meant to hear Blair's voice and, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Blair moving towards the dog's owner. Yeah, he was yelling something, gesturing wildly to get his attention, and trying to protect the Sentinel. His Guide knew.

The pain came the same second Jerry grabbed his leg to induce Jim to play with him. The dog stopped moving, when the sound of the dog whistle reached his sensitive ears. He turned his head to throw an indignant glance at his master, and then turned his little head again when the human beside him cried out.

The mute sound pierced through Jim's head, sending him to his knees instantly. Screaming would be a good idea, but Jim didn't know if any sound had left his mouth. He couldn't hear anything but the shrill tone assaulting his hearing. He covered his ears with both hands, fighting to turn the dial down and struggling to stay conscious long enough to complete the process. There was nothing to concentrate on, only unbearable agony ravaging his entire body.

Where was the dial? Unable to focus on the mental image of a dial in his head, Jim bit his lower lip until he tasted blood. It was yet another source of pain, but not so powerful as the screaming of the dog whistle still shrieking in his ears. Why didn't the damn dog obey? The silly thought came to mind while his sense of hearing and touch sent excruciating messages to his brain. Struggling to compensate, Jim bit harder into his lip concentrating on the taste of blood and pain in his mouth. If he could focused on that pain, maybe the other in his ears would slip to a hidden place deep inside his mind.

His teeth dug into the smooth flesh, blood already flooding over his chin now, but Jim didn't feel or taste it. Harder. He bit down harder and the pain in his ears slowly became secondary.

"Stop it!" Blair Sandburg almost crashed into the man who was unwittingly hurting his partner by the simple act of blowing a dog whistle.

"Wha---?" the man managed before the young anthropologist grabbed his arm, hitting the torturer's item out of his hand. Blair kicked it with his foot and the whistle was nowhere to be seen. Without a word of explanation, Sandburg ran towards the spot where his friend was lying on the grass, unmoving now.

He knew what had happened and Blair cursed himself that he hadn't done anything sooner. He had seen the dog chasing Jim, and had almost been amused by the sight. He had even seen the dog whistle.... but he hadn’t thought of the effect such an instrument might have on his Sentinel friend until it was too late. Damn you, Sandburg!

When he dropped on his knees beside Jim, Blair was breathing hard and in short gasps, his ribs hurting from the exertion. The Sentinel hadn't moved; His hands still covered his ears and his whole body curled up and tense. His eyes were open and staring, but not seeing. Blood slowly trickled from his mouth dripping onto his chin and shirt and, for a terrible moment, Blair panicked.

"Jim!"

There was no response from Jim, although Blair's loud voice must have hurt his hearing further... unless he wasn't deaf already. Oh no, please, please, don't do this to me, Blair thought, alarmed when he realized what the assault to Jim's hyperactive hearing might have inflicted.

"Jim?" He gently touched his friend's shoulder. "Jim, can you hear me?" Blair's voice was low and on Sentinel level. Receiving no reply, the anthropologist suddenly knew what had happened. At least, he hoped to have figured it out. It pretty much looked like a zone-out, a concentration on an overly-stimulated sense. Sound? Touch? Or both?

Blair's hand tenderly roamed over Jim's tense body, a gentle touch, almost a loving caress to free him from his frightened mind that had caused the zone-out. "Come on, Jim. Feel my hand, listen to my voice if you can." His mouth almost touched the Sentinel's face when he continued the soothing whispers. The blood disturbed Blair more than anything. He didn't know what had caused it and that made it worse. "Jim, please....come back to me. Concentrate on my voice and follow it back to the surface," he spoke softly while he bent forward so - if all else failed - Jim could at least feel his presence. A few strands of his curly hair fell onto Jim's face and hands, as his voice forming more words of comfort and peace.

PAIN.
EARS.

PAIN.
MOUTH.

PAIN.
HEAD.

PAIN.

There was something else. Something distracting the PAIN. Just a little. But it was there. Something... familiar and yet strange. A scent accompanied by a feather-light touch on his hurting face. Comforting. Better than the PAIN still spreading through his head. Jim couldn't remember this sensation. It hadn't been there minutes ago when the PAIN started. Maybe it would be a good idea to try and focus on the softness on his skin? Come on, Jim, give it a go. Carefully, afraid the PAIN would come back, Jim started loosening his gritted teeth.

PAIN.
MOUTH.

It hurt! -- Then it was over and Jim suddenly felt warm blood running down his face. The pain was still there, both in his ears and mouth, but not so bad anymore. The silky touch on his face though remained, easing the ordeal, and Jim tentatively moved a finger to examine it.

Blair held his breath when Jim suddenly started moving. Only one finger, but it was a start. Not moving himself, Blair watched as the finger found one of his long curls and slowly, hesitantly, twirled the hair around it.

"Jim?" he whispered. "It's okay now. You're safe and nobody can hurt you." During the whole time Blair had stroked Jim's shoulder and head, and now he gently touched his face. "Breathe. Follow my voice and snap out of it, please," Blair did everything to let his voice sound even and not so desperate as he felt. Jim needed him calm and strong.

The finger twisted the curl, pulling slightly as if to determine its strength. Cautiously, Blair covered Jim's hand with his. The sense of touch seemed the only way to communicate right now. Warmth meant safety and hopefully his partner would be able to understand the gesture.

"Can you feel my hand, Jim? It covers yours. It's nice and warm, huh?" Blair smiled giving his voice an even gentler tone. "It seems you like my hair, too. Can you feel the softness on your skin, Jim? I bet you can tell me exactly how many little hairs you're holding, can't you? Why don't you tell me about it, Jim?"

"T-tickles." came the slow reply from the hurting man in front of him, who still caught on the dark curl like it was a rock in the rough sea. Jim's voice was slurred giving Blair a hard time understanding what he was saying.

"I bet it does, Jim." Blair's heart pounded heavily when Jim finally started blinking, squinting a little at the light as his vision and other senses got back online. The anthropologist still stroked his shoulders and head, smiling reassuringly when Jim's puzzled gaze met his. The finger eventually released the strand.

"Did I zone-out?" Jim asked weakly, still covering one ear with his left hand. Thousands of little bells and at least a dozens offending alarm clocks must have gone off in his head at the same time. Ringing, buzzing, clanging... A starting headache made it difficult to concentrate, and his own voiced seemed to come from a distance.

A feeling of relief rushed through Blair's body when Jim responded to his words coherently. "Yeah, you scared me for a while, buddy," Blair admitted.

"Huh?" Jim shifted into a sitting position and slowly rolled his head from one side to the other to ease the tension. He brought a hand to his mouth, trying to wipe away the blood still running down his chin.

"I said 'big time'," Blair repeated a little bit louder. "You okay?" he asked in concern when Jim's hand soon oozed with his own blood. Blair fumbled through his pockets searching for something to use.

"...think I just bit my lip," Jim mumbled and produced a handkerchief out of his own pocket pressing it against his bleeding mouth.

"Is he okay?" a voice asked, and Blair turned his head to find Jerry's owner standing in front of them, a confused look on his face. He apparently didn't understand what had happened, and Blair had no intention of telling him the unbelievable truth.

"Yes, thanks. Just...a ...." Jim grinned, wincing a little, when he expectantly waited for Blair to answer the man's question. "....just a sudden...flash of a migraine," Blair finally lied, looking up and smiled convincingly.

"Oh." The man stood still, a little bit uncertain of what to say next. "I was just surprised when you ran into me and....the dog whistle," he trailed off hoping for an explanation, with Jerry sitting next to him watching Jim with vigilant eyes.

"I thought it was something else. Sorry about that," Blair apologized without blinking.

"No harm done," the man said. "Hope you're feeling better soon," he addressed Jim who had reached out to stroke Jerry's little head, the dog licking his hand in turn. Jim nodded. "Thanks."

"Jerry!" The dog reluctantly left Jim and followed his master. "Good day, gentlemen." The man waved shortly and walked away. A few people who had gathered around them and silently watched the incident slowly broke up as well.

"What about the woman?" Jim suddenly remembered the reason for the wild chase and he looked around to find Josephine Williams. She was stilling standing on the walkway, watching the action around her with sad eyes.

Blair supported Jim's body when the older man slowly struggled into a standing position. He swayed dangerously and grabbed Blair's arm when the world around him began to dance.

"Whoa, Jim. Easy does it." Blair reached out and steadied his friend’s wobbling form. "I think your sense of balance is a little bit out of whack. So, take it easy, buddy."

What the hell is going on here? Jim thought, frustrated as he slowly walked by Blair's side.

Asking himself the same question, Blair looked up into his friend's face, noticing the distress and discomfort while they walked. Now was not the moment to ask the question burning on his tongue since last night, but Blair intended to bring it up later.

Why wouldn't he talk to him?

****

Talking and apologizing to Josephine Williams for his failure to catch the thief was one thing, talking and explaining to Simon Banks why he had to go home and take off the remainder of the afternoon because his head was exploding was another thing, but....talking and confessing to Blair Sandburg was an entirely different universe. A universe of darkness and fear he didn't want to get into... anymore.

So, Jim decided to escape their conversation elegantly by vanishing from Blair's view for the rest of the day. Trying to ease his growing headache, Jim went to bed early, with the blinds tightly shut, white-noise generators in place. No sight, no sound.

Downstairs in his room, Blair was staring at the ceiling, his view almost trying to weld a hole into the wall to spy on Jim. He didn't need Sentinel hearing to notice his partner was wide awake, tossing from one side to the other either trying to find any sleep or trying to avoid it. Hell, what was bothering him so much he couldn't talk to Blair about it?

They were friends, weren't they? Weren't they?

Jim was hurting, so much was obvious. The physical pain from the assault to his hearing today was one, his ears still ringing, his head aching and lips sore and burning like fire when he tried to drink, eat or even speak. So much for the things that caught the eye, but Blair also saw the hidden pain in his friend's eyes. Pain he was seemingly afraid to show to anyone, including Blair, or maybe especially Blair.

2.45 a.m... Blair heard Jim coming downstairs, his bare feet making little noise on the steps. Walking into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator, bottles rattling slightly -- whatever Jim did, he tried to do his utmost to be as silent as possible in order not to wake him. Blair listened carefully, hearing him stroll over to the couch and sit down with a low but heavy sigh.

Suffering in silence?

Maybe he - Jim - hoped Blair would hear him and come out to talk? Jim truly wasn't the kind of guy to come begging on his knees. This probably was Jim's way to plea for help.

"You okay?" Blair suddenly found himself standing in the doorway of his room, glancing through the darkness where Jim was sitting. If Jim was surprised to see him up, he didn't show it, encouraging Blair to move to step 2 of his plan, joining him on the couch.

"That was the hell of a day, huh?" Blair began in a soft voice, knowing Jim's ears were still tender from their ordeal in the park.

"I've had better," Jim replied shortly. He DID NOT want to talk about this. Particularly not to Blair. His young friend expected him to be strong and in control, not a weeping wreck tormented by the shadows of his past and present. Though deep inside his heart, Jim longed for Blair's soothing words, or a comforting pat on the shoulder. He definitely didn't want to break down in front of him, but it gave him consolation to know he could.

Blair wouldn't mind. But he would.

Years of military training, always playing the leading role of the 'tough guy', had left their traces, and his stubborn head forbade any weakness. Whatever Blair was going to say, he would meet any sign of understanding or comfort Ellison-like, as expected of him.

"Jim, I know you don't wanna talk about this....," Blair spoke up again, and Jim wasted no time and cut in sharply.

"You're a clever kid, Sandburg. I don't. So don't even try!" Barking orders was so easy.

'Tough-guy mode,' Blair mused grimly, but didn't even think of backing off. "Talk to me, Jim," he offered gently. "Whatever this is all about I'll understand and won't think any less of you."

Wrong choice of words, Blair knew the second he'd spoken them out loud. Jim turned his head and through the darkness of the loft Blair meant to see the piercing blue eyes getting hard. "I mean... I want you to know you can talk to me." Blair rephrased.

"I'll take that back," Jim grumbled. "You’re not as smart as I thought. Otherwise you would get back to your room and shut the door behind you." 'Go to bed, kid, before I say something I'll regret later,' Jim begged silently.

"I think it has to do with the nightmare you suffered last night and in the park today you finally reacted to it, " Blair continued not impressed. Jim barked when he tried to protect himself from the humanity radiating from Blair. "Your brain wanted to digest the memories and that might also explain why you had this little episode with Dan this morning. As far as I see it....."

Jim exploded. "Who do you think you are Sandburg?! And who gave you the right to discuss my so-called mental problems with our medical examiner?" he shouted, wincing at the volume on his ears. He practically jumped from the coach, his enhanced vision alert for any obstacle.

"I talked to him on the phone this morning because I wanted to know if you were still there as Simon had mentioned. Dan just said you behaved a little bit strange when you saw one of his corpses. He was concerned, Jim, and that's why he told me," Blair defended himself. Still sitting on the coach, his eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, the thought that he had just entered enemy land didn't come to him. If Jim needed to fight before he opened up, it was fine with him.

"And the smart-ass anthropologist jumped to the conclusion that Ellison needs therapy, didn't you?" Jim snapped angrily.

This conversation led the wrong way, and Blair changed his tactic. Logic didn't seem to have any effect on the Sentinel.

"Jim, I'm just trying to help you," Blair said softly, his voice automatically switching to guide mode. "I'm your friend and there isn't anything you have to feel ashamed of. Trust me."

The other man stood at the opposite end of the room, leaning against the kitchen counter. "I don't need your help," he said in a normal voice, and Blair turned his head in his direction, trying to see him. For a minute, the anthropologist considered switching on the lights, but then he decided he felt safer talking in almost total darkness.

"Jim." Blair sighed deeply and collected his thoughts, then continued: "I want to help you, buddy. It hurts me to see you hurting like this." He paused shortly to let his words sink. "I mean you're always there for me when I'm freaking out."

No reaction. Maybe the hot water was boiling inside Jim, but as long as he remained silent and seemed to be listening, Blair kept talking.

"Like...," A long-forgotten memory came to mind and, although distressing himself by remembering it, Blair said: "....the time after Lash had tried to kill me." The young man shuddered at the flashback. "I dreamt about it all night long. Seven nights a week, for months and even today...sometimes he comes back to me in my sleep." Blair swallowed and Jim almost reached to comfort him. But he couldn't.

"You were always there for me, man," Blair remembered, his voice thick with emotion and old fears. "No matter how often I screamed my lungs out in terror, you always came down to hold me and tell me everything would be okay." He stared in the direction where Jim was standing, hoping to have broken the chains around the man's soul.

"I was just trying to sleep, Sandburg. And that's very hard when you jump out of your skin every hour because your roommate has his shaky days."

Jim hated himself. The hurt in Blair's eyes was heart-breaking, and Jim could see him flinch away from the words as though suffering a physical pain.

"You don't mean that, Jim," the younger man whispered, trembling with hurt and anger.

"I do, Sandburg," Jim growled. "I'm a soldier, as you might remember. I learned to survive long before you came up with the romantic idea of writing about the Sentinel thing, the 'Blessed Protector' of the tribe, and Lord of the Jungle. I can't allow myself the luxury to dwell on nightmares or fears. Face it, Sandburg. Only in your academic world, the Sentinel is a noble hero."

Without a reply, Blair stood up from the couch and made his way to his room. He hit a chair once stumbling a little. Jim heard him moving around his room, and after a few minutes he came out again, fully dressed in jeans, shirt and jacket, his backpack on his shoulder.

"Blair...", Jim began lamely, knowing what was coming next. Though he didn't block the way when Blair passed him heading for the front door.

"I'll sleep in my office," the police observer announced and opened the door, not waiting for an answer or Jim's attempt to stop him. The door shut silently, and Jim wasn't sure if he'd seen Blair grab his keys when he left.

"Brilliant, Ellison, brilliant. You're a complete idiot," he murmured, knowing it was useless right now to follow Blair. They both needed time, Jim probably more than Blair, and with this thought, he dropped onto the couch.

He closed his eyes, but his brain wouldn't rest. Sitting there for a few minutes, Jim listened to the sounds of the night, not even trying to track his friend. Tomorrow they could talk. No, he would apologize and Blair would talk. Maybe.... Jim's eyes opened and he walked over to the kitchen table. Finding a piece of paper and a pen, he began to write.

****

Jim Ellison grunted in frustration when he found himself chained to an examination table again. He didn't have time for such silly games, and he looked around to see any sign of ... Lee Brackett.

"Come on, Brackett, what do you want this time?" Jim shouted angrily, when he spotted the Ex-CIA man standing at the end of the table, watching him with an amused smile on his face.

"Ah, Mr. Ellison, it's so nice you could bring yourself to join us again tonight," Brackett's voice was as cold as last night, and Jim inwardly shivered at the memory of the experiment he had conducted.

"Fuck you, Brackett," Jim spat, trying fruitlessly to free himself from the shackles holding his wrists and ankles in place. It all seemed like a terrible déjà-vu -been there, done that. The Sentinel knew it was just a nightmare, nothing to worry about, but nevertheless he felt the familiar fear creeping up his spine. Just a nightmare, meaning he really couldn't get hurt, could he? This time he had the advantage. It's all a matter of the mind, as Sandburg would say. Just your imagination.

"Actually, Mr. Ellison, I don't feel up to that," Brackett replied with a wry smile on his face. "I'd rather try to research these incredible senses of yours again."

Jim laughed. "Oh, sure, I already know the dog-whistle trick."

Trying to blink, Jim suddenly realized he couldn't open or close his eyes at will! Something seemed to hold his eyelids in place, forcing them to stay open. Jim could already feel the tears rolling down the side of his face from the effort.

"We are going to darken the room a little," Brackett announced, and within seconds the room fell dark.

Instinctively, Jim’s eyes adjusted. 'Try to picture the dial, Jim.' Sandburg's voice sounded clear in his head guiding Jim to minimize the possible damage.

'God, Chief. Help me.'

"Now...," Brackett's voice overpowered the whispers of his Guide. Seconds later, a flashlight ignited, sending out fireballs of light and brightness, hitting his over sensitive pupils. Jim cried out in agony, pulling at his restraints like a madman. Golden stars danced in front of his burning eyes, blinding him forever.

As if not enough pain, his ears picked up a ringing sound, not quite the same like the dog whistle but painful enough to drive him crazy. Jim jerked violently and...

...opened his eyes!

Covered in sweat and his hands shaking from the latest nightmare, Jim took a deep breath and looked around. He was okay; his vision cutt through the now semi-darkness of the loft. Just another nightmare, he sighed in relief, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was still sitting at the kitchen table, the letter he'd begun writing laying in front of him, the pen in his fingers. The memory came back in a rush and Jim didn't need to scan the apartment to know Blair hadn't returned home yet. It was 5:53 a.m. and he would probably find him at the university.

The ringing in his ears remained though, and Jim shook his head, yawning and stretching. It took him another second to realize the offending ringing wasn't his ears but the telephone in front of him

"You're getting old, Jimbo," he mumbled and answered the call.

"Ellison."

"Uhm, hello. Is this Detective James Ellison?" an old, female voice asked hesitantly.

Jim didn't recognize the voice but replied: "Speaking. Who is this?"

The woman didn't answer the question. "Here's a young man who begged me to call your number, Detective."

Instantly on alert, Jim tightened his grip on the receiver and turned up his hearing trying to find out what was happening on the other end of the line. He picked up two heartbeats. He knew before his hearing sent the confirmation to his brain.

"Blair?!" he shouted. Why would Blair call him? No, wrong question. Why would he ask someone to call him? Was he afraid Jim would cut the line when he heard his voice? Oh, Sandburg, I'm sorry, Jim thought and hoped he could earn his friend's trust again. They would talk about it.

"J--Jim?" Blair's voice sounded tiny and scared over the distance.

"Hey, Chief," Jim greeted, giving his voice as much comfort and warmth as he could. Come on, Blair, don't make it too hard, please. The thought was interrupted by a sudden sob on the other end.

"Blair? What is it?" Jim asked gently.

"Can y-you pick me up, p-please?" a shaken voice pleaded.

Something was definitely not right, and Jim restrained himself from yelling at his Guide for beating around the bush. He could hear his racing heart and occasional hiccups, indicating Blair had been crying.

"Where are you, Chief?" Start with a simple question, then carefully work your way up to the next one.

"I'm not sure," Blair's voice trembled.

"Can you describe the area, buddy?" Jim probed softly, his own anger forgiven and forgotten.

"Jim?!" An almost-sob and a deep breath to deliver the news. "I don't know what’s happened, Jim," Blair admitted, and at first Jim thought he meant their earlier fight. Blair's next words though gave him the chills, and Jim immediately knew he would never ever forget the moment that cut into his heart like a knife.

"I had an ... accident. I think I'm b-blind, Jim."

The End (for now)

To be concluded in "LIGHT"

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