Jim Ellison looked around his bedroom one more time before he walked down the stairs, a bag with personal things and clothes in one hand, his jacket in the other. He knew that Blair was waiting in the living-room and he also knew what was coming next.

"Jim, trust me on this you need me there!" Blair‘s pleading voice came from across the room. The look on the young anthropologist‘s face was determined and it seemed like he tried to block the way to the front door so that Jim wouldn‘t be able to leave. Jim only hoped he wouldn‘t need to be rude to persuade his partner for the umpteenth time that he could handle his case alone.

"Sandburg...," Jim sighed. He put his bag onto the floor and put his jacket, on checking his gun as he did so. "We‘ve talked about this before and I thought you understood about the gravity of the case and...."

"Gravity of the case?" Blair repeated. "Damnit, Jim! You‘re going undercover, trying to play a role that is so unlike you that a blind man would see, and you want me to stay out of it?" He snorted with fury. "That‘s ridiculous! And more than that, it‘s totally dumb!"

Jim didn‘t listen to him. They had gone through this before without success. Of course, the detective knew that his young friend was worried about the case...worried about him but he also had to understand that he couldn‘t just back off because it was supposed to be dangerous.

"It‘s my job, Sandburg," he replied sharper than he had intended. "I can‘t just quit because my little bodyguard here thinks it‘s too risky." He saw Blair flinching at his choice of words but instead of saying something else, or apologize, Jim opened the front door and left.

The elevator seemed to take hours this time to reach their floor, and Jim impatiently paced the small space in front of the closed door. He had to check with Simon one last time before he could meet his contact. And everything would depend on his acting abilities to...

As the elevator door opened Jim stopped pacing. But instead of stepping in he suddenly turned leaving his bag on the floor and headed back to the loft. Pushing the key into the lock, the door swung open and Jim almost stormed into the apartment.

Blair Sandburg was standing at exactly the same spot as when Jim had left minutes ago staring at the door. He flinched in surprise when Ellison came back in.

"Forgot something?" Sandburg asked, his voice frosty.

Jim stopped mid-motion and he suddenly didn‘t seem to know what he had wanted to do.

"Oh..., yeah, don‘t forget to water the plants every week," he answered.

Blair raised his eyebrows. "Why didn‘t you make me a list of what I should do and what not, Jim? Maybe you could sleep better then," he replied sarcastically and regretted it almost instantly when he saw the hurt in Jim‘s eyes. "Sorry, man," he added.

With three long strides Jim was standing in front of him, so close that Blair had to look up to see his face. Blair found himself pulled into a tight embrace - what the hell...? - and Jim‘s breath tickled his ear. "My mother always said that you should never leave your home without saying ‚bye," he whispered, firmly hugging his smaller friend.

Blair gently patted Jim‘s back, sighing. "Naomi used to say the same thing. I guess our mothers raised us pretty good, huh?"

Jim pulled back and smiled a little. "I‘m sorry about what I said earlier...", he started but Blair made a dismissive gesture. "It‘s okay, man, just be careful, okay?"

"You too," Jim said and tousled Blair‘s hair. With this the Sentinel turned and left, both not knowing what the future would bring.

For a brief moment Simon Banks wondered if he had spent too much time with Jim when he didn‘t need to even look up to know who was standing in front of his office doors. Maybe some kind of Sentinel virus that affected everyone who worked with Jim, he grimaced. Of course, he hadn‘t heard or seen or maybe smelled anything to jump to the conclusion that Blair Sandburg was on his way. It was some sort of 6^th sense, or maybe just because his years as a police officer had sharpened his instincts.

Blair didn‘t wait for a confirming bellow from inside to enter the captain‘s office but stormed into the room only seconds later, after a more than tiny knock at the glass doors.

"Simon, how‘s Jim doing?" the young anthropologist asked without further pleasantries.

Captain Banks was about to teach him a lesson about behaviour and manners but then he reminded himself how hard this all must be for Sandburg too. Jim had been working undercover for almost eight weeks now and all Sandburg knew were the little bits of information Simon provided him with every week after he contacted Jim. If he managed to contact Jim that was. Twice in a row Simon had waited in vain at their secret meeting point and he had almost blown up the whole gang if Jim hadn‘t sent flowers with a short note "Love, Jim" to Banks‘ home address the very next day. The Sentinel was okay, Simon knew that. And Sandburg knew that too but sometimes his head seemed to forget that and his heart took over. Jim certainly was the best man for this job. He was a good cop, well-trained and had proved himself more than once that he could remain cool headed when he had to. And those strange senses of his... ‚perfectly natural‘ Ellison had described them once but after all this time Simon still didn‘t understand what he did and how he did it. However, the results Jim and Sandburg had achieved since their first case were stunning. So, Jim indeed was the right man for this case, but how to explain this to one Blair Sandburg who would do everything in his power to help the man? Simon was absolutely aware of the fact that Jim needed Blair more than both of them dared to admit. And vice versa.

"He‘s okay, Sandburg," Simon replied and bit back his sharp comments. He motioned for Blair to sit down in front of his desk.

"What does it mean he‘s okay?" Blair asked ignoring Simon‘s offer and kept pacing.

Simon sighed. Eight weeks of hard undercover work, and eight times Blair had stormed into his office like this asking the same question. The young man had almost freaked out those times when Simon hadn‘t been able to meet Jim, and the longer it took the worse it got. Simon had to be more understanding and even Jim had asked him to be gentle in case Blair got on his nerves more than he already did.

"Sandburg, okay means he‘s doing just fine. Nothing worth mentioning has happened so far. No problems with the case or his cover."

"Did he say anything about his senses?"

The question caught Simon off guard and he hestitated for a spilt second. Enough time for Blair to notice, to think and to react.

"No, he‘s fine," Simon‘s short reply wasn‘t convincing.

Blair had stopped pacing and suddenly Simon felt like a schoolkid standing in front of his teacher to await a lecture. Grad student or pain in the neck, Blair Sandburg would once be a terrific teacher and when he spoke, Simon just had to listen. He wasn‘t sure though if he wanted to listen to him right now.

"Simon, Jim needs me," Blair said calmly.

‚I know, kid,‘ Simon thought and tried not to meet Sandburg‘s searching gaze.

"You might think that you know that, Simon," Blair continued, again pacing like a caged panther. "But do you really know how much he indeed needs me?"

Simon sighed and raised a hand. "Sandburg, don‘t you think Jim and I had reasons to keep you off this case?"

Blair smiled sarcastically. "Yeah, the main reason for him probably was that it would be too dangerous for his ‚little bodyguard‘." He knew that he couldn‘t reach his goal by blaming Simon but damn! when would these guys learn that he was more than just the annoying chatterbox aka Jim Ellison‘s shadow?

"Yes, Sandburg, that was indeed our first thought. And believe it or not, it‘s too dangerous for an inexperienced college student to go undercover and risk his life when we all know from the start you would get yourself into trouble right away. You are a civilian, Blair. End of story." Simon‘s voice was sharp and seemed to leave no room for any arguements but Banks feared that he would lose his battle with Sandburg.

Blair stopped pacing and instead started bouncing on his toes, an unnerving tic that he knew Simon hated like hell. However, he feared, too, that he would lose his battle with Simon. But anyway, he had to try.

"Okay, I admit it, I‘m just a rookie in your business, but as far as the anthropological sector is concerned, I am a pro!" The young man smiled inwardly when he remembered that he had just used almost the exact words he had told Jim when they had tried to convince Simon that he was a student of police sciences. A long time ago it seemed. By now such silly games about the ‚thin blue line‘ weren‘t necessary anymore Blair had assumed and Simon should know of Sandburg‘s real value to the police work and to Jim‘s life but the captain seemed to forget that and just needed a push in the right direction. Blair took a deep breath.

"I wouldn‘t be of any help when it came down to a fight of life or death, and Jim would probably get himself killed because he would certainly try to save my life..."

"So, why this conversation?" Simon said and thought about a decent way to get the kid out of his office before he would talk his ears off.

"...I‘m not," Blair smiled again using another familiar term. "..Dirty Harry. Furthermore I have no clue about undercover procedures so I couldn‘t help Jim to solve his case..."

"Okay, Sandburg, so we both know now that you‘re neither Dirty Harry nor MacGyver, so please don‘t let me die here before you‘ve told me WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU GONNA DO?"

A few people outside the office raised their heads when they heard Simon‘s loud voice. Joel Taggart exchanged knowing glances with his fellow officers, and murmured: "That usually happens when Sandburg‘s on the winning track." He grinned and continued working at his computer.

Inside the Lion‘s den, Simon had lowered his voice, the sharpness and determination still clearly audible though. "And don‘t tell me that you are gonna guide Jim through this Sentinel stuff. I don‘t buy it anymore! I admit that I don‘t understand all of it but over the past few months I‘ve seen him doing the most incredible things with his senses and he could do it perfectly without you." Ouch.

Blair stood absolutely still and looked at Simon for a long time. Their gazes met and the two men knew that one of them had just lost the fight. And both of them thought it was the other one.

Finally, Sandburg spoke, carefully choosing his words. "Jim was able to do all that amazing stuff because he knew I was there too!" The Declaration of Rights couldn‘t have been more dramatic, Simon suppressed a grin and kept staring into Blair‘s eyes. He didn‘t say anything so Blair felt it would be necessary to add another one or two things to convince him.

"It‘s nothing I can explain scientifically. It‘s...just a feeling, some sort of inner calm that Jim experiences when I am around. He can allow himself to fully use his Sentinel abilities because in case something happens he knows I‘ll be there when he needs me. We could chase a bad guy a hundred times and Jim would focus on, say, his sense of sound to locate him. I bet it would go well a hundred times but as soon as Jim knows that I‘m not there to ....just be there, his control could shatter into pieces."

Blair rubbed his head seemingly searching in his mind for another fitting reason, and Simon knew that it was time to give Sandburg what he wanted but he couldn‘t. He had promised Jim to keep the boy safe and away from all evil and that was exactly what Simon Banks was gonna do. He stood up, and without another word walked around his desk and opened the office door.

"Thank you for explaining the case so thoroughly, Sandburg. It‘s all pretty amazing but my answer is NO." He grabbed Blair‘s arm and practically threw him out of his office. The glass door shut with a loud bang.

"Damn you, Simon!" Blair yelled, the anger visible on his face, his voice trembling. Moments past and nothing happened. Blair could see Simon returning to his desk, sitting down and getting a cigar out of a drawer.

Slowly, Blair went over to Jim‘s desk and sat down in front of the computer with a heavy sigh. Why didn‘t Simon understand? He, Blair, kinda understood Banks‘ reaction and he also assumed that Jim had threatened to tear Simon‘s head off if he told Blair anything. So, both knew what the other one felt, but why weren‘t they able to work together?

Taggart came over and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Bad day?" he asked sympathetically.

Blair nooded, afraid when he spoke his voice would break. Disappointment raged through his body and he stared at the blank computer screen.

Taggart smiled. "Take it easy, Blair. Simon‘s under a lot of pressure here..." After a moment of hesitation, he added, "and I‘m sure Jim‘s fine."

Blair switched on Jim‘s computer. "No, he‘s not, but thanks, Joel."

The bomb squad captain gently patted Blair‘s shoulder and then returned to his own desk. Blair again stared at the computer screen. Absent-mindedly, he clicked through Jim‘s files. Maybe he could catch up on typing some stuff for his disseration, Blair thought when the mouse suddenly found a directory named "Jim‘s friends" and an idea, crazy but possible, came to mind. Blair clicked on the directory and soon various address files popped up. Address files? Blair had always thought that Jim only believed in his little leather address book.

"What about contact names?" Blair whispered and scrolled through the page until he found a familiar name: Sneaks. The directory contained information on Jim‘s contacts, informers, secret addresses. Blair doubleclicked ‚Sneaks‘ and immediately afterwards a request for a password flashed on the screen.

"Password?"

Okay, most people chose their password out of names of family members, friends, or places they used to go to, so Blair typed "Stephen", Jim‘s brother. He almost died of a heart attack when suddenly Jim‘s own voice came out of the speakers:

"Sorry, Sandburg, no luck today. You still have two tries to go."

Hell, Blair never thought that Jim would actually know that he would try to access his personal data file. And he had NEVER expected Jim of being capable of editing his own password. "Wow, big guy," Blair murmured to himself and thought for a moment. Then he typed "Chief"....and again, Jim‘s voice, low but assumingly very amused, sounded in his ears.

"Secret password, huh? Only one go left, Chief."

Luckily, the volume of the speakers was too low for anyone else to hear, and even if someone heard the sound maybe they would think that Blair was talking to himself. Blair leaned back in Jim‘s chair and thought of all possible names and places that Jim might have used as a password knowing that Sandburg would never think of it. Only one try left and Blair was wondering what would happen if the machine denied access for the third time. Maybe a hologram of Jim Ellison would appear, raising the index finger and saying: "Did you forget my office rules?" Whatever it would be Blair begged that it would be some sort of silent alert so that no one would notice. From his point of view he could see Simon on the phone in his office, so the captain seemed to be too occupied to pay attention to him.

The cursor was still blinking demanding the ultimate password. Once again, Blair read Jim‘s previous messages. What was he thinking when he edited his password?

"Secret password, secret password, secret password," Blair forced his brain to relax and to think simple. It couldn‘t be that hard. As far as he knew Jim had never used a password since they worked together. Bond, James Bond, huh?

Suddenly, an old memory started creeping through his mind. Very slowly, Blair soon remembered their mutual night-train incident. They had tried to protect a witness in a train and once Jim was leaving to check things out ...and Blair had demanded a ‚secret password‘ to be sure it was only Jim knocking at the door:

"Don‘t you think we should have some type of secret password, or something?"

"Secret password?"

"Yeah, so I know it‘s you."

"Okay, so why don‘t you say ‚who is it?‘ and I‘ll say ‚Ellison‘ and then you open the door?"

No, it couldn‘t be that simple, could it? Blair recalled their conversation.

"Well, you‘re right, Jim, I would have never guessed it myself," Blair said and typed.

ELLISON

Enter. Taking a deep breath, Blair waited. The screen went black - oh, great, Sandburg, your last attempt failed - and moments later the file named "Sneaks" opened!

It had started raining again. Heavy rain drops were tapping at the window in a hypnotizing rhythm, and dark clouds danced in the sky promising that the weather would at least last for another couple of days.

Jim was standing in front of the window, his back turned to the room, and watched the rain pourring down. He tried to follow the rain drops‘ path to the ground but each time the Sentinel tried to focus on the tiny water puddle, an all too familiar sting, no real pain, assaulted his forehead. His vision blurred, and Jim closed his eyes til the feeling subsided. He wasn‘t too suprised though. Mini zone-outs like this had happened regularly over the past few days. Not only his sight but also his hearing was almost constantly at fritz now. Nothing to actually worry about, it was just that he couldn‘t uses his senses to the full extent that he was used to. However, Jim was quite pissed off that he couldn‘t overhear the secret conversations and phone calls at this place that seemed to increase in number and importance from hour to hour. Although he was part of this game, he wasn‘t invited to everything yet. After all, he thought, he was just someone who did the dirty work, no matter how solid the background info the FBI had provided was. It felt like he had to prove himself again every day.

Jim was certain that the sensory problems were due to the constant pressure he had been exposed to for eight weeks now. He was tense too, physically, his muscels in his back and shoulders screeming for a massage and a long hot bath. But to relax was a luxury he just couldn‘t afford at the moment.

Despite this Jim knew that there was a logical explanation for his discomfort he sometimes was under the sneaking suspicion that a tiny devil in the shape of Blair Sandburg was sitting somewhere in his head and whenever he tried to use his Sentinel abilities, the Blair Devil poked his dreadful fork into his nerves whispering a menancing "See, you need me!". He could almost visualize the Blair Devil‘s evil grin.

Jim kept staring through the window that now reflected his own image. He looked at the man in the window: Jim Ellison or James Robicheau, his undercover part, who was he? Eight weeks pretending that he was someone else was an exhausting act. Every day, every week, and very minute of every hour. He was James Robicheau, an internationally successful sharp shooter, assassin, killer, you name it, he was it. He acted like him, thought like him and, his worst fear, almost felt like him. Of course, one James Robicheau never existed. He was just a phony cover the FBI had come up with. It had taken years to establish the name. Whenever there had been an unsolved killing, they had spread the rumour that Robicheau had hit again. Thus Jim hadn‘t to deal with the fear that the real Robicheau would show up since he simply was a mith, a legend and name without a face.

Maybe that was Sandburg‘s meaning when he said that the role was so unlike him. During the last years they had managed to create a ghost, someone to be afraid of. Just the mention of James Robicheau was supposed to make the people shiver. He was a man who murdered out of cold blood, no questions asked. He just did it when the price was right. And the so-called purchase price for his services was always right: Remarkable one million American dollars per hit, no matter if it turned out to be successful or not. Just the price of the name. However, due to his ‚records‘ Robicheau had never failed or missed his target.

Jim had managed to bring James Robicheau to life, at least, he hoped that his acting had been good enough to persuade his clients. Surprisingly, they hadn‘t asked him to prove his talent in front of them, and Jim assumed that they either trusted his references so much that they didn‘t need any proof, or they wanted to wait for the absolute proof, namely the killing of a human being.

"You are no killer, Jim!" Sandburg‘s voice echoed in his head and suddenly Jim shuddered. Of course, he was no killer. Yes, admittedly, he had killed people, criminals, in the line of duty but that had always been self-defence. This time was to be different, and Jim didn‘t know how far he had to go before they could arrest his clients.

There was this word again: His clients. Oh, man, the members of the Charleston Family were nothing less than criminals of the worst kind. They didn‘t commit the crimes they were accused of openly or by themselves, no way would they get dirt on their hands. They had always had other people, hired killers, to do those jobs. However, if Jim managed to get asked, or payed, to kill someone, they could bust them. There was certainly much more involved than just the killing of one person, but Jim‘s assignment was meant to be as the final drops that let the vessel run over.

Jim turned away from the window when he heard someone enter the room. It was Michael Wheeler, one of the ‚muscles‘ the family had hired.

"Hey, buddy, Mr. Charlston needs you in the salon," the man said and waved him out of the room.

Calmly, Jim walked towards him, his eyes didn not seem to even see the bodyguard until he caught up with him at the door. Reaching Wheeler, Jim‘s hand suddenly came up and he grabbed the man‘s throat with brutel force, squeezing hard like it was nothing but a leaf in the wind.

"To you it‘s Mr Robiceau and sir, got it, pal?" he hissed and increased the pressure on the man‘s throat. Wheeler‘s eyes went wide with horror and he tried to pry Robicheau‘s hand away from his throat.

"....yes, sir...." he gasped trying to get air into his lungs.

Satisfied with the reaction his actions had caused, Jim loosened his grip for a tiny moment. Wheeler relaxed visibly, just enough for Jim to notice and in his eyes shone a cold fire when he suddenly tightened his hand on the man‘s throat again. He pressed hard, longer than necessary, and grinned when he felt that Wheeler was about to lose consciousness.

James Robicheau released the man and shoved him to the ground with a swift movement of his strong arm. He‘d definitely learnt his lesson.

"Maggie‘s Diner" was their meeting point. Blair had waited more than an hour before Sneaks, loud and striking as always, appeared patting his back like they‘d known each other for years. When they had first met back then, Blair had wondered how this man managed to be one of the best informants to the police. Sneaks was everything but a secret agent who daily risked his life for the things he did. But Jim trusted him and Blair was willing to even give him his new hiking shoes when he could provide him with information about Jim‘s whereabouts. And Sneaks could. It took a little longer to persuade him to open up, mainly because he only trusted Blair with Jim around, but finally Sandburg had talked long enough to get the details he wanted, not asking why Sneaks knew about the case. It had almost turned out to be distasterous when the snitch had demaned his pay and Blair only had to offer 75 bucks. He had ‚agreed‘ on taking Blair‘s sneakers again, and after he‘d left, Blair had taken an old pair of hiking boots out of his backpack putting them on while muttering something about "loud and striking..but good". Tying his shoe laces, Blair emptied his cup of coffee and thought about his next steps. He knew it was crazy, but he needed to be near Jim, no matter how that would be. As long as Jim sensed his appearance, he would maybe be able to relax and concentrate on his impossible task. Blair planned on hiding somewhere outside the Charleston property and hoped the Sentinel would feel his presence.

Not thinking about the peril he would soon get himself into, Blair paid his bill and left the diner. If he didn‘t think about it, it would maybe not occur.

Richard Charleston was an old man with grey hair, grey eyes and always wearing grey suits. In the true sense of the meaning he looked like a grey mouse but Jim knew that he was the one who gave the orders, the one everyone listened to, and the one who had hired James Robicheau.

"James," he greeted him as the entered the dining room the next evening. "Come here and try this wonderful wine!" The old man pointed to a seat beside him and offered him a glass of red wine.

"Thank you, Mr. Charleston," Jim said while he sat down and took the glass.

"I got it from an old friend of mine. He lives in France and has one of the most incredible collections of wine," Charleston explained and watched eagerly when Jim put the glass to his lips and tasted the wine.

Well, if that was his most incredible wine, Jim didn‘t want to try the most terrible one, he shuddered inwardly, because the red liquid tasted just like.... Jim made a chewing movement, but his sense of taste didn‘t send any reactions to his brain. Great. What was he supposed to say? At least he didn‘t ask him if the meal was too salty.

"What do you think, son?"

Jim swallowed the wine, and pretended to think about the flavour for a moment.

"Please forgive me my ineloquency, Mr. Charleston, but I think it just tastes....interesting. I‘ve never had anything like this before. Your friend seems to have a good nose for such things, " he answered eventually.

Charleston clapped his hands. "Yes! That was exactly my point when I tried this beauty for the first time. You just can‘t describe the taste!" He got all excited about Jim‘s good judgement and pourred himself and Jim another glass.

Jim smiled and sipped again, still tasting nothing but a liquid substence on his tongue. While Charleston told him more about his friend in France, Jim suddenly was distracted by a sound. He turned his head slightly to the right but when he tried to turn up his hearing, he heard nothing. No, no sound, he corrected himself, a feeling. It almost felt like little earthquakes.

"....and then my friend Jacques sent me ten bottles of this wine as a Christmas present," Richard Charlestion closed his tale and forced Jim‘s attention back to the conversation.

"That‘s very kind of him," Jim said just to say something, still wondering about the feeling he had sensed before.

"Just between you and me, my dear James, he‘s a real jerk. But a terrific winegrower." They both laughed when the telephone rang.

Jim didn‘t bother to try to listen in to the conversation but thought once again about the strange feeling. What bothered him most was that he thought he actually knew that feeling but he couldn‘t place it.

"Okay. We‘ll come down. Mr. Robicheau surely can handle this problem." Charleston hung up the phone with a sigh.

"We seem to have a small problem, my friend," he explained, and Jim stood up to follow him to the hall, the feeling increasing when they left the room. What was it?!

"What‘s wrong here, Wheeler?" the old man asked his employee when he and Jim entered the hall. Jim almost stopped in his tracks when he recognized the familiar figure held by Wheeler and another man, Franklin. The strange feeling had reached its peak and Ellison wasn‘t puzzled anymore when the feeling - the heartbeat - now became a face.

Blair Sandburg in flesh and blood!

A million thoughts ran through Jim‘s head, all cursing the young man who looked at the approaching two men with fear. What the hell was the kid thinking???

"We found him sneaking around the house, Mr. Charleston," Wheeler said, throwing a fearful glance at James Robicheau who just stared at them showing no sign of emotions on his face.

Richard Charlestion just took a look at the young man in worn-out jeans and hiking boots and considered that no immediate danger radiated from the kid. Just a poor fellow who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He waved Jim. "Take care of that, son." With that, he left.

Blue eyes met blue eyes. Whereas Blair‘s eyes showed his fear and were begging for a reassuring smile that everything would be alright, Jim‘s eyes only reflected coldness and, Blair swallowed a little, no recognition. Of course, one false move, one false comment and they both were dead. Jim didn‘t know what had gone wrong, and why his partner was right now standing in front of him. All he could do was to play his part so that no one would suspect their relationship even in the slightest.

"Who are you?" Jim asked in a voice Blair hadn‘t known before. Cold and menacing, and he shivered. ‚What are you doing here?‘ Jim‘s eyes seemed to ask, but Blair wasn‘t sure about it. After all these weeks of undercover work, the old Jim Ellison seemed to be gone. At least on the outside, Blair hoped.

Franklin, who held Blair‘s arms behind his back, spoke. "ID says name‘s Blair Sandburg. Also got an ID of Rainier University."

"What were you looking for?" Jim‘s questions came short and sharp like gun shots and Blair hurried to answer him.

"Look, man, I wasn‘t sneaking around. See, I‘ve moved to Cascade a couple of weeks ago and got lost. I mean totally lost, no clue where I was and I just tried this road hoping I would reach a familiar point. Then suddenly my car..."

Franklin twisted his arms behind Blair‘s back and the anthropolgist gasped in pain. Wheeler grabbed his long hair and violently pulled it back.

"Mr. Robicheau didn‘t ask for a lecture, pal!" he hissed increased his grip on Blair‘s hair. Jim‘s face showed no reaction, and Wheeler smiled satisfied.

"I‘m an...anthropologist," Blair stated and his eyes begging Jim to help them both out of there. His pleading glaze didn‘t seem to impress his friend though because when Jim finally spoke, Blair felt his blood freeze in his veins.

"An anthropologist, huh?" he repeated and still not moving a muscle. Only the movements of his mouth when he spoke indicated that he was indeed alive and not some robot. Suddenly, he smiled, but it wasn‘t the well-known Ellison smile. More like an evil grin of a man who held all the aces in his hands. He stepped closer until their faces almost met. "Do you know what I think, Mr. Sandburg?" A little shake of the head as far as the tight grip in his hair allowed. "I think that you are sneaking around. Whom do you work for? Vice?"

Was he out of his mind? Blair managed a short, "no", and cried out in pain when the pressure on his arms increased.

Jim looked over at Wheeler and Franklin who both looked at him expectantly. What was he supposed to do?

"Franklin, after we‘ve finished here, I want you to check out our informants if there‘s a police observer, or whatever, named Blair Sandburg working for any PD in Cascade. Got that?" he ordered and Blair was sure that Jim was right now the most dangerous person in his life. Jim didn‘t seem to realize what he had just said. He was James Robicheau now.

"Yes, sir!" Franklin confirmed.

"Hey, man, I‘m telling you, I am an anthropologist! I work as a teacher at..." Blair started explaining facts that Jim was supposed to already know. Hell, if Jim didn‘t know that who did?

Without any warning, Robicheau‘s fist came up and conntected with Sandburg‘s jaw with raging force!!

I don‘t believe this, Blair managed to think before he drove into the black hole of unconsciousness. He went limp in Franklin‘s and Wheeler‘s grip and the men did little to stop his fall to the ground.

"Take him to one of the bedrooms upstairs. I wanna have a little chat with him later," Robicheau said and the two men obeyed.

Jim took a deep breath and forced his muscles to relax. His fist still clenched from hitting Blair‘s face...oh, god. What had he done? He flexed his right hand to ease the cramping when he tried to calm his inner turmoil. He went to his bathroom and locked the door. He sat down on the edge of the bath tub and buried his face in his hands. His heart raced, almost out of control, and Jim closed his eyes and forced to breathe slow and steady. "You know the drill, Jim. Relax, inhale deeply and let it out slowly." One of Sandburg‘s endless lectures popped up in his head and Jim faught the image away. No, no, Sandburg, why didn‘t you stay out of it?! Why the hell didn‘t you stay at home and for once in your life do something you were told to?

WHY!???

At the sink Jim splashed cold water into his face to get a clear head. Looking up into the mirror between water drops he saw his own image. No, the man he saw was James Robicheau, not him. Jim Ellison would have never hit his partner, but James...James Robicheau would do it without blinking. Robicheau was to blame, not him, not him, Robicheau was the killer, the man who‘d hit his partner to unconsciousness, NOT HIM!

"Fuck you, Ellison!" he spoke to his reflection and suddenly turned away with disgust.

Another deep breath, and he fumbled his cell phone out of his pocket. It was over. This way or the other. Simon had to know and to blow the place up. He had just hurt his best friend, and he didn‘t want to wait until something else happened. It was risky to call his boss from this place but to hell with it. It was over.

Jim dialed Simon‘s number. It rang several times before he heard someone at the other end of the line pick up. Before Simon could even say his name, three words escaped Jim‘s lips before he disconnected the call: "Blair‘s here."

"Excuse me, sir?" Jim smiled without joy when he heard Wheeler‘s voice calling him. He turned and found the man standing right behind him.

"What is it, Wheeler?" he barked.

The bodyguard stepped back a few inches, mindful of the treatment he received just yesterday. "Mr. Charleston asks you to join him for dinner at seven, sir," he announced.

Jim nodded. "Fine. I‘ll be there." He looked around. "Where‘s the kid?" he asked, hoping that his voice wouldn‘t reveal his concern.

Wheeler pointed to a door at the end of the hall. "Seems a little stubborn, but I could handle it," he smirked, sending rushes of ice down Jim‘s spine. However, his face only shone with rage when he bent forward and grabbed Wheeler by the collar of his shirt.

"I only said to take him upstairs, Wheeler. I didn‘t say to harm him..." With deliberate strength, he added, "That‘s my pleasure to do. Did I make myself clear?"

Wheeler nodded frantically, fearing another lesson like before. "He struggled and kept kicking at me when he came to. And when I saw what you‘d done before, I thought..." he started but Jim‘s sharp voice cut him off.

"You‘d better learn to do what I say, Wheeler, no more, no less," he said between gritted teeth, almost unable to withhold his rage that someone else had dared to hurt Blair. Someone else than ....him? STOP IT, ELLISON!

"Tell Mr. Charleston, I‘ll be there soon!" Jim released his grip and walked to the locked door at the end of the corridor.

Blair lay on a bed, hands tied behind his back with flex cuffs, blindfolded and gagged. He didn‘t move when Jim entered the room, and the Sentinel assumed that the man was sleeping or....unconscious.

Jim sat down on the edge of the bed and took in his friend‘s appearance. Although Wheeler assumingly had hit him after Jim‘d left, he couldn‘t see any visible sign of abuse...not counting the dark purple bruise on Blair‘s cheek where Jim‘s fist had hit him only hours ago.

Gently, Jim removed the gag and was startled when he suddenly heard Blair‘s low voice.

"Please don‘t hit me...again," he pleaded.

"Shhh, Chief, it‘s me," Jim said softly, while working on the blindfold. Blair must have assumed he was Wheeler, and Jim cursed himself that he had left Blair alone with the jerk.

"Don‘t hit me, Jim," Blair‘s words tore at Jim‘s heart and when he manged to take off the blindfold, he could see that Blair still had his eyes squeezed shut tight, maybe expecting the next blow.

Jim reached out to touch Blair‘s head to comfort him and watched in horror when Blair flinched violently at the touch of his hand. Oh, what have you done, Ellison? Despite his reaction Jim carefully laid his hand on Blair‘s hair and slowly stroked the mass of curls.

"I will never hurt you again, Blair," he whispered and at the same time wondered if he were able to keep his promise.

Blair raised his eyes and the fear and pain was clearly visible in those deep blue oceans.

Jim smiled reassuringly and his hand gently brushed the terrible bruise on Blair‘s face. "I‘m so sorry, Chief. I didn‘t have a choice you know? You just showed up, I mean...., what was I supposed to do?" He was talking nonsense and he knew it. Whatever he said couldn‘t change the truth about what he had done.

Blair still hadn‘t said anything and Jim now worked on the flex cuffs that held his hands behind his back. Feeling the cold metal of a knife‘s blade at his wrists, the young anthropologist tensed up again.

"Easy, buddy. I said I was not going to hurt you." Jim cut the plastic cuffs and carefully moved Blair‘s arms. The young man moaned when his hands came back to life and Jim gently rubbed his hands to stimulate the blood circulation.

"Okay?" Jim asked and assisted Blair when he tried to shift into a sitting position. He winced at the movement causing Jim to raise his eyebrows in concern.

"Where did Wheeler hit you?" he wanted to know, his voice suddenly taking on the same cold tone Blair had heard before.

Sandburg just shook his head, afraid that anything he said would make Jim mad again. Jim could feel the new-built tension when he tenderly placed a hand on Blair‘s stomach.

"What hurts?" he insisted, his voice soft with concern. He concentrated on his fingertips moving slowly over Blair‘s shirt while checking for injuries. It wasn‘t easy to feel anything through the cloth, but Jim didn‘t want to scare him further if he‘d moved his hand onto his bare skin. Jim almost jerked away, somewhat uncomprehending, when his sensitive touch suddenly indeed detected a swelling on the abdomen area. His sense of touch worked and for a second Jim stared in awe at his partner. Was that possible?

Blair winced a little and his own hand came up to stop Jim‘s examination. "Please," he whispered. Jim ignored his plea and continued his gentle roaming over Blair‘s uppor body to determine if his guide - yeah, there‘s the word again! - was hurt anywhere else.

"I‘m okay," Blair stressed but when Jim reached another sensitive spot he hissed, and closed his eyes. Jim focused on Blair‘s vital signs and to his surprise, his extraordinary hearing provided him with a strong heartbeat, maybe a little bit fast, and a steady breathing pattern. He shook his head to digest the sudden income of information that his enhanced senses delivered. All FIVE of them.

"You gonna be okay," Jim confirmed and brushed over Blair‘s uninjured cheek. The grad student slowly opened his eyes. They still shone with something like fear and Jim wished he could change the time and make it up to him. His hearing suddenly on alert, he just smiled.

"Sorry that I came here," Blair started, feeling a little bit more comfortable now, when he saw Jim‘s genuine smile. However, as quick as the smile had brightened the man‘s face, it faded. Without further notice, Jim grabbed Blair‘s collar and dragged him up to his face.

"Listen, Sandburg! If you‘re trying to kid with me, you‘ve just made a big mistake!" he yelled at him, and Blair expected another blow to his face or body any second, tensing up to shield himself against the hit. Jim saw the fear in his eyes and started whispering...."it‘s okay....", when the door opened and Wheeler poked his head into the room.

"Sorry to interrupt, Mr Robicheau, but dinner‘s ready," he said, smiling at the sight of Robicheau grabbing the boy‘s shirt.

"I‘m coming!" Jim said coldly, but winked at Blair to assure him that he would never hit him again. He shoved him back onto the pillow but made sure that the sudden movement didn‘t cause Blair any pain.

****

Dinner went smoothly. The old Charleston still kept telling him about his buddy in France, and promised Jim a special bonus when he‘d fulfulled his contract.

"I was wondering, sir, what exactly is my contract?" Jim asked and watched the man‘s reaction to his question.

Richard Charleston just smiled and raised his glass of wine. "Too many question, James. Too many answers to tell." He drank his wine. "But let me assure you that by tomorrow evening, the world will have another rumour of James Robicheau to spread."

Jim nodded understanding. "Please don‘t get me wrong, Mr. Charleston, but I‘d like to do my homework thoroughly and I‘d appreciate it if you would be so kind as to give me a few details on my target. I‘d like to be prepared."

Charleston still smiled and didn‘t seem to take offence at Jim‘s persistence. "I understand, but be assured that your target is quite easy to hit and acutally you won‘t need much information." He helped himself to another glass of wine and cheered.

After dinner, Jim dared to gather some remains of the meal and headed towards the room where Blair was imprisoned. Wheeler, guarding the door, threw him a strange glance at the plate he was carrying but Jim shot back with the same hard look so that he just opened the door.

Blair had his eyes closed but when Jim tuned in to his heartbeat he noticed that his friend was awake. He also listened to Wheeler‘s steps as the man left his post and went someplace downstairs.

"Are you hungry, Chief?" Jim sat the plate onto the bedside table and touched Blair‘s shoulder.

"What is it?" Blair mumbled when he slowly opened his eyes.

Jim almost laughed at his question. That was the old Sandburg who first asked about the content of the meal before he ate. Jim enjoyed the feeling for a moment and helped Blair sitting up.

"Mostly vegetables and all that kind of healthy stuff," he explained grinning. Reaching under his jacket Jim produced an ice pack which he carefully pressed onto Blair‘s swollen cheek.

"It‘s more like water now, but it‘ll help a little," Jim said, and Blair replaced the hand with his own. Taking a fork he tried the food, and chewed carefully as if to determine the ingredients of the meal.

"Thanks," Blair said between a few bites. "It helps."

"Good."

Jim sat with him in silence and watched him eating. Occasionally, Blair rested his head against the pillow when the effort of just chewing and swallowing seemed to overwhelm him.

"Does it hurt bad?" A stupid question, but Jim didn‘t know what else to say.

Blair shrugged. "Maybe a dentist can reset my teeth there." Not thinking what he was saying, he continued in his usually Sandburg style, "oh, man, I thought the man‘d broken my jaw..."

Jim flinched and bowed his head in guilt. Realizing what he‘d just said, Blair reached out to lay a comforting hand on his friend‘s arm.

"Hey..., I‘m sorry, Jim. I didn‘t mean it to sound that way. It...it was just so not you who did this," Blair said calmly. "After all, you had to play your role or get us both killed. And as for me, the latter would have been a real bad choice." Jim looked up and met Blair‘s gaze, unbelieving what he‘d just heard.

"Chief, I‘m so sorry, I didn‘t mean to hurt you, and....", his voice broke and he looked away before Blair could see the tears that dwelled behind his eyes.

"It was stupid of me to think I could help you out," Blair continued and sighed deeply. "Guess Simon was right."

"You did help me, Blair," Jim stated and now returned the look. "I don‘t know what Simon told you...." Blair just shook his head. "...but for a few days now my senses had completely gone haywire. Couldn‘t focus on the conversations, or use any other sense." He paused for a moment and then added: "..not until you showed up."

"Guess I was right, too," Blair murmured, his eyes glowing with excitement.

Jim stood up and took the now empty plate. "Hey, Chief, I gotta go now before they suspect us to have an intimate relationship," he grinned. He patted his partner‘s shoulder.

"Don‘t worry, it‘ll all be over tomorrow. Simon knows that you‘re here and I‘m sure he‘d already called in all available units to get you out of here." He listened for any suspicious sounds from the corridor, there were none, and opened the door.

The next day, Jim looked out of window and focused on any sight of an approaching SWAT team. He was sure that soon all hell would break lose after he‘d left Simon with his strange call.

Jim walked up the stairs to check on Blair. If someone would stop him, he would come up with a reasonable explanation but he just had to see with his own eyes that his partner was doing okay.

"James!" Charleston‘s voice stopped him before he could reach the upper floor.

"Good morning, sir," Jim greeted with a smile, and followed the man‘s waving hand to come down again.

"Good morning, James," the old man took his arm and guided him to the salon like an old friend. "I think it‘s about time to discuss details of your hit today."

"The sooner the better," Jim joked and sat down on one of the chairs. To his surprise Franklin was present, too, and seemed to be guarding the doors. Jim nodded in his direction but received no reply.

Charleston reached into his desk drawer and produced a small folder.

"You know for yourself, James, that you just can‘t kill someone when you want to do it. You have to wait for the right moment. Sometimes it‘ll take years. Sometimes the moment never shows up. And sometimes you just kill someone out of pure instinct to protect your own life and so on." He smiled. "You know all that, don‘t you, my dear Robicheau?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, sir."

Charleston put the folder onto the table but he didn‘t open it yet. "Our target, your target, is a man with a very good reputation. Brilliant military background, covert-ops expert. He‘d played tricks on us and our friends too often, and we decided to put out the contract. He‘s a well-trained man, and so we were more than pleased that you took the offer to solve our little problem."

Jim took the folder, Charleston handed him over. "Any weak spots?" he inquired.

The old man shook his head. "As far as his military training is concerned, none," he replied. "There‘s only one thing that sometimes seems to get in his way."

"What is it?" When Charleston spoke again, Jim opened the small folder, and the blood suddenly ran cold in his veins.

"His humanity.—Don‘t you agree, Detective Ellison?"

In the same second, Jim stared at the folder in his hands, containing his own photograph and personal data. Remaining calm, he looked up and found Charleston grinning like a kid.

"How did you find out?" he demanded, surprised by his own calm. Charleston shook his head in disbelief. Franklin had moved closer, a gun in his hand now that precariously pointed at Jim‘s head.

"As I said before, your humanity betrayed you," Richard Charleston explained. Moments later, the door swung open and Wheeler entered the room, dragging Sandburg with him, a gun pointing at his side. Blair seemed to be still half asleep and the cheek where Jim had hit him the day before was now badly bruised in a gruesome composition of black and dark blue colours.

"For all we knew about James Robicheau he would have killed the boy without blinking twice." Charleston shrugged. "You didn‘t, but I must admit that you nevertheless put on a terrific show, my friend."

Jim nodded. "Damnit," he cursed and casually crossed his legs, his hands resting on his thighs, playing with the fabric of this trousers.

"Are you okay, Sandburg?" he asked calmy, without taking his glance off Charleston, who seemd to be unarmed. Franklin was standing behind the old man‘s chair, his gun still pointing at Jim.

"I‘m fine," came Blair‘s tiny voice from across the room. Wheeler now squeezed his throat with one arm making it hard for him to breathe.

"Don‘t you wanna know what we‘re gonna do with you?" Charleston seemed disappointed at Jim‘s lack of concern or interest. He looked at the two men and shook his head. "You can say what you want, one thing is true. The man keeps his cool."

There was a whisper, inaudible to anyone else but the Sentinel in Jim. "Breathe." The next moment Jim heard Blair choking as Wheeler pulled his arm tighter around his throat.

"Wanna say somthin‘, pal?" he sneered and his attention wandered off for a moment.

Breathe. Relax. Focus. With his guide at his side everything was possible, and with a fast movement - almost too fast to be followed by the human eye - Jim pulled his gun out of his boots and fired twice. Franklin and Wheeler went down almost stimultaneously.

Blair cried out when Wheeler‘s lifeless body dragged him to the ground. The heavy weight of the dead man almost made it impossible to breathe.

"Blair?!" Jim shouted, pointing his gun at Charleston who now only understood what had just happened. "Don‘t move," he warned slowly walking around the table to free his friend.

"Blair? Are you okay?" With a disgusted grunt, Jim shoved Wheeler off of Blair, all the time his gun aiming at Charleston, whose face colour now matched the colour of his suit.

"Yes, ....yes, I think I‘ll live," Blair grabbed Jim‘s free arm and levered himself up to a sitting position. From a distance, they could hear the sirens of approaching police vehicles. Simon. Jim put his arm around Blair‘s shaking shoulders and the kid trustingly leaned against his body.

Minutes later, a unit of uniformed police officers stormed the house. Richard Charleston got arrested still not digesting what had just occurred. Jim didn‘t take his gun off the man until he was handcuffed and led out of the house. He felt Blair‘s arms going around his waist, suddenly shivering when the shock of the events of the last few hours set in.

"Blair?" At Jim‘s questioning voice, Sandburg raised his head and the two pairs of blue eyes met again, warm and gentle this time.

"Hmm?" His head dropped against Jim‘s chest. "Can we go home now?" he asked, his eyes closed and his arms still around Jim‘s middle.

Jim smiled and was wondering how to manage to get up from this impossible position, when he heard the voice of Simon Banks. He looked up and found his captain scanning the room, seemingly searching for an explanation of the chaos around.

"Would one of you two teddybears there care to explain what the hell happened here?" Simon asked and searched his pockets for a well-deserved cigar. "Jim?" Then he saw the small bundle of brown curls and torn jeans in his detective‘s arms. "Sandburg?" He rolled his eyes at Blair‘s small wave and decided to postphone his lecture for a later date.

Jim stood up carefully, supporting Blair‘s body when they both walked up to the tall man. Banks had finally found a cigar and put it into his mouth.

"Well?"

Jim looked down at Blair, and then he turned his head to glance at the two dead bodies on the carpet in front of them.

"Well, ...., it‘s a long story, sir, but, basically, I found my focus and my sense of sight worked beautifully again."

"As I told you, Simon," Blair‘s voice came from somewhere under Jim‘s arms, and Banks was wondering if he would ever understand the deep relationship between Sentinel and Guide.

THE END