Warning: This story contains a few swear words, and deals with the

aftermath of someone's drunk driving choice. It is *NOT* a death story. It

*is* a very sentimental story, with smarm (Sentinel meaning, not literary

meaning) more so then the series lets us see. If you don't like that you

may not want to read this story.

 

Thoughts are written in single quotes, speaking in double quotes.

 

Becky, Karin, Kat, Michelle, Danny, thanks so much for your encouragement,

and beta reading assistance. This story exists, and is much better because

of all of you.

 

Disclaimer: The Sentinel, and its wonderful characters belong to PetFly

productions and Paramount, not to me, as everyone knows. This is simply a

story done for the enjoyment of the fans, and no copyright infringement is

intended.

 

Author's note: Hello, everyone. I'm new to the Senfic list, and this is my

first attempt at a Sentinel story. I started watching Sentinel in December,

thanks to some good friends who taped it for me. I began writing this story

in January, (yes, I know it takes me forever to write a story.) <G> I was

caught immediately by the wonderful friendship between Jim and Blair, and

their fascinating Sentinel/Guide partnership. What started out as a simple

story about Blair's time at a New Year's party, quickly turned into a much

longer story about friendship, sacrifice, and trust.

 

The timeline of the Sentinel has me a bit confused. I have no idea when New

Years falls in the Sentinel series. It never seems to be winter there. :-)

This started out as a second season story, but by the end I was referring

to the episode "Warriors" which is third season. So I bumped it up a few

months. I know in "Finkleman's folly," Blair and Jim have been together 19

months, so I'm assuming they have been together a little over a year by the

time of Warriors. That's what I'm going with for time references. If it's

wrong, blame me as a relative newcomer. :-)

 

Summary: This is a story of friendship and realization. Jim comes to

understand just how much Blair, his friend, means to him, and that it's

okay to say it. It's a story of loss, of choices, a choice to drink and

drive, and a choice to sacrifice everything for a friend. And it's a story

about Sentinels and Guides, and the equality in that special partnership.

Last year on New Year's Eve, I narrowly escaped a head-on collision with a

drunk driver. This year I stayed home, and started this story. I hope you

like it, and that it will make everyone think twice before drinking, and

getting behind the wheel of a car.

 

This is NOT, I repeat, not a death story. I've had quite enough of that

lately, thank you very much. There is mention of Jim's losing a friend, but

he and Blair are very much alive at the end. Some of the suspense may be

gone now, but--oh well. I almost couldn't finish this story after watching

the season finale, there are some very close parallels. But since all I had

left was the final chapter, I decided I needed to write a happy ending

since I didn't get one on tv.

 

A couple of notes. I make references to the movies 'Fargo,' and

'Backdraft.' If you haven't seen them, the references may just pass you by.

I had to throw in the Fargo reference to Blair's hat, since I actually live

in Fargo, and darn if that hat didn't look familiar. :-).

 

Comments and constructive criticism are welcome. I want to improve my

writing, and a forum such as this is a great way to learn. Please be gentle

in your honesty, though--remember I am new at this. Thanks.

 

On with the story!

 

The Whole Connection

By Jackie Lang

 

For Danny, my Guide and Blessed Protector. Thanks my friend.

 

"You-all means a race or section,

Family, party, tribe or clan;

You-all means the whole connection

of the individual man.

 

--Anonymous quote credited to the Richmond Times-Dispatch.

 

******

 

'A true friend unbosoms freely, advises justly, assists readily, adventures

boldly, takes all patiently, defends courageously, and continues a friend

unchangeably.'--William Penn.

__________

 

An ear-piercing whistle shattered the silence of the precinct's garage.

Detective Jim Ellison snapped his head up and winced, raising his hands to

cover his sensitive ears. "Too late," he muttered, turning an exasperated

glare toward the source of the noise.

 

"Yeah! It's party time," Blair Sandburg called to his partner as he made

his way to the truck. Seeing the pained frown on Ellison's face, the

younger man turned contrite. "Oh, sorry man," he smiled apologetically.

"Guess I'm just *pumped* and ready for some serious fun at the station's

New Years Eve party. A little wine, dancing...."

 

He clapped his hands together and did a little dance the last few steps to

the pickup, finishing with a flourish by dipping his imaginary dance

partner. "I know there's one seriously gorgeous babe there just waiting for

Prince Charming to arrive and sweep her off her feet." Throwing open the

pickup door, Blair jumped in. He bounced on the seat, arms waving

animatedly, mouth going non-stop.

 

"Prince Charming," Ellison snorted. "Prince Nuisance would be more

accurate." He scrubbed his hands over his face in an effort to wake up,

then took his seat beside Sandburg. The detective studied his young friend

for a moment, envious. 'Look at him. Full of energy. Doesn't he ever get

tired?'

 

The case they had just wrapped up had taken its toll. He *was* tired, and

looked forward to a good supper, a hot shower and a full night's rest.

'Less chatter would help,' he thought sourly as he started the pickup and

pulled out of the parking garage, 'but I should know by now that Sandburg

is synonymous with chatter'.

 

New Year's Eve, a night meant for fun, for celebration. But it had given

Detective Ellison little reason to celebrate. New Year's awakened long

buried thoughts. Memories he could put out of his mind every night, but not

this one.

 

The kid had no way of knowing it, but Sandburg's excitement only served to

fuel the fire of his anger, a rage he'd cultivated for years, that still

burned clean and true, as bright now as the day the fires started.

 

No, a party was the last place Jim Ellison wanted to be on this night.

 

Sandburg prattled on, oblivious to his partner's mood, and Jim tried to

tune him out. 'Now'd be a great time for a zoneout,' he mused. 'Of course,

it never happens when you *want* it to.'

 

Keeping an eye on the road, the detective allowed his mind to drift from

the dark thoughts that consumed him. So much had happened in the last few

years: the divorce, and all the mixed feelings accompanying it, the

reawakening of the Sentinel thing and, with it, senses gone wild,

confusion, and a very real fear of losing control. Sandburg. Well, what

could he say about Sandburg? Mere words couldn't begin to describe that

relationship.

 

He smiled to himself. If someone had told him a couple of years ago that

he'd be rooming with, and partnering, a neo-hippie anthropology grad

student who talked incessantly, and who, for all his talk of civilizations,

couldn't even follow some basic civilized house rules, he would have told

them they were nuts.

 

"Jim?"

 

Sandburg's voice interrupted his musings and he turned his attention back

to his friend. "Huh? What?"

 

"Jim, are you listening to me, man? The party should be a blast. I never

realized cops threw such good parties 'til I went to that retirement bash

with you. Remember the horse in the elevator?" Blair chuckled softly. "Man,

I *gotta* know what surprises they'll come up with for New Year's Eve."

 

"Well, you'll have to find out without me. I'm not going," Ellison said as

he pulled into the parking lot by the loft.

 

Sandburg rumbled on, heedless of his partner's comment. "You know, I could

get a paper out of this." He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "Yeah, cops

in their downtime, playing as hard as they work. Stress reduction

techniques and...What?" Blair's head snapped around and he stared at his

friend. "What did you say?"

 

"What I *said,* and you would've heard me if you'd stop talking long enough

to listen, is that I'm not going to the party." Jim got out of the truck,

slammed the door, and started up the stairs to the loft.

 

Shocked into silence, Blair sat for a moment digesting the news. Then, in a

flurry of motion, he erupted out of the truck and flew up the stairs after

his roommate. "Jim! No way, man," he argued, spreading his arms in entreaty.

 

"'Way', Sandburg," Jim replied. He turned and opened the door of the loft.

Kicking off his shoes he headed for the couch and, with a sigh of pleasure,

settled himself in. "Just ten minutes," he murmured, feeling the pull of

sleep. "I'll eat later."

 

"Jim?"

 

Ellison didn't need super senses to know that his roommate hovered over

him. He sighed. 'Nothing's ever easy with Sandburg. *No* is the first word

any kid learns, but apparently *he* never learned what it means.'

Scrunching down deeper into the couch, Jim wished he could turn off his

hearing or at least tune out the insistent ramblings for a while.

 

"Jim, come *on.* There's got to be a law or something that says you can't

stay home by yourself on New Year's Eve."

 

Ellison opened an eye and yawned, noting his friend's crestfallen

expression. Blair stood, shoulders slumped, hands stuffed in his pockets,

staring down at him.

 

"No law, Chief. As you keep reminding me, you're younger and have more

energy. So take that energy and go party. I'm catching up on my sleep." He

turned his back on Sandburg, snuggled into the pillow and mumbled, "Have a

good time and don't drink too much. You got cab fare?"

 

Blair let out a disgusted hmmmpft. "I never drink too much. Well, almost

never. I mean, what's the point? You wake up with a major headache, puking

your guts out. That is like *so* unfun. I hate losing control, and...quit

changing the subject, Jim. Jim, listen to me, man."

 

The exhausted detective groaned as his roommate's run-on mouth showed no

signs of letting up any time soon.

 

"Give it up, Sandburg!" he barked in exasperation. "I'm tired. Go bug

someone else for a while." He pulled the pillow up over his head.

 

Sometimes the kid's voice could be so gentle, so soothing. It could calm

his fears and restore order to a chaotic mind overwhelmed by senses gone

haywire. Tonight, however, the non-stop insistent prattle brought to mind

an insect buzzing above his head. A mosquito. Yeah, one of those huge

Amazon varieties he remembered from his jungle experiences. Jim felt the

corner of his lip twitch in a smile. He couldn't very well swat his

roommate away like a bug, but the thought did afford him a moment's

pleasure.

 

A minute passed in silence--then another.

 

'What, is the kid giving up already? There is a God.'

 

Curious over Sandburg's sudden capitulation, Jim focused his Sentinel

hearing on his partner. He listened, concentrating as Blair had taught him,

filtering out the other sounds in the area until he found what he wanted.

He heard his friend's rapid heartbeat, his soft breath, a small sigh.

 

Jim opened his eyes and turned his head toward the sound. Blair sat hunched

over in a chair, studying the floor. Brown curls fell forward, hiding part

of his drawn face. Hands--almost perpetually in motion--lay at rest in his

lap. Still. No movement. Nothing, but the slight rise and fall of his

chest, indicated that the active young man was not the statue he appeared

to be.

 

Concerned, Jim sat up. "Blair?" he called softly.

 

The younger man slowly raised his head, his overly bright eyes meeting

those of his friend. Jim started at the lost, resigned expression in those

windows to his Guide's soul. Missing was the light that gave Blair's eyes

their warmth, their character, that spark that drew people to him to share

his joy of life.

 

"It's okay, man. I won't bother you anymore," Blair said dully. "Go to

sleep. I'll be quiet."

 

Jim got up, crossed the distance to his troubled Guide, and crouched down

beside him. Blair turned away, but Jim reached out to stop him. His hand

gripped the younger man's chin, gently guiding the expressive face back

into view.

"I'm worried here, Chief. There's quiet and there's quiet. You're *too*

quiet. This isn't like you. Talk to me buddy."

 

"Make up your mind, Jim. First I'm too noisy, now too quiet." Unable to

avoid Ellison's penetrating gaze, the anthropologist stuttered nervously.

"Ev...Everything's fine...great." He forced a smile.

 

Jim crooked an eyebrow. "Try again, Chief."

 

Blair sighed heavily, and looked away. "It's stupid."

 

"No, it isn't. Not if it's bothering you this much. Why is it so important

that I go to this party with you?"

 

"It's just...well...I..." Blair shook his head and bolted up out of the

chair. He walked quickly over to the balcony doors and stood looking out at

the night sky, his arms wrapped around hugging himself tightly. "You'll

laugh," he said softly.

 

Jim saw his young friend's melancholy expression reflected back in the

glass of the doorway. He wanted his Guide's smile to return, to hear his

laughter. Heck, even the chatter was better than this--silent pain. He

wanted to know why Blair felt so down, and how he could help.

 

Surprised by the strength of his feelings, Jim allowed himself to ponder

the title Blair had given him. 'Is this what it means to be a Blessed

Protector? We joked about it then, but I do feel responsible. I want...no,

it's more than that...I *need* to keep him safe--and happy.'

 

He padded softly over to where Blair stood, and gently laid a hand on his

Guide's shoulder, turning him around. He waited until the younger man

looked up at him.

 

"Blair, I won't do that to you. Ever." Jim studied his friend intently. "I

know we kid around a lot, but you know that I'm laughing with you, not at

you, right? You're my friend, my partner, and my Guide. I've trusted you

with more of myself than I have any other human being, and you've always

been there for me. Let me return the favor here. Trust *me,* okay? Chief?"

 

Blair looked up at the bigger man for a moment, than nodded. Turning back

to look out the window, he began to speak in a soft voice.

 

"When I was a kid I generally spent New Year's Eve by myself. Naomi'd go

out with her newest guy. She...she'd always ask me to go along. Mom wanted

to include me in everything." Sandburg paused, a tender smile touching his

lips at the thought of his mother. "But she just didn't 'get it' sometimes,

you know? One look at the guy's face and I knew I wasn't really welcome."

He laughed deprecatingly. "I mean, who wants a kid along? Kinda limits your

choices." Blair's voice grew husky, and he swallowed. "So I'd make some

excuse to stay home an...and watch the ball drop in Time's Square on T.V.,

if we *had* a T.V. at the time. I...I usually ended up falling asleep on

the couch."

 

"It must have been lonely for you," Jim put in, gently squeezing Blair's

shoulder.

 

"Yeah, it was," Blair whispered, his expression distant. "What I remember

most is wanting to be with all those people, caught up in the joy and

excitement of the new year. That's how it should be, right? Surrounded by

friends, and family; having fun. You can just feel the vibes, you know? The

old passes away, and all the crap of the previous year is wiped clean. You

can start fresh with a clean slate."

 

Blair reached a hand up to shove his hair back, tucking it behind an ear.

He turned to face Jim. "I just wanted to spend this New Year's Eve with my

best friend, and the people who are so important to him." He pushed away

from the window, and started pacing the room.

 

Jim waited patiently, giving his Guide time to sort through his thoughts,

and get out what he needed to say.

 

"I guess I've been looking forward to this party for a long time," Blair

continued. "You're always so quick to tell me that I'm not a cop, and I

know I'm not. But I want to...belong. To be as much a part of your world as

I can. I have to be, if I'm going to be any use to you at all as your

Guide."

 

Blair paused, a small, worried frown creasing his forehead. For a moment he

stared into space lost in thought, then reached up to push his hair back

again. He looked at Jim, his lips curving in a sad smile.

 

"I'd hoped that you would want to go with me to the party. I'm still a

little...unsure of my welcome sometimes. I don't know where I fit in at

these 'cops only' functions. Maybe they won't want 'Hairboy' hanging around

during their fun time." He laughed, a short embarrassed bark. "Yeah, I know

what you're thinking, scaredy-cat little anthro boy needs his partner to

hold his hand at the party. It's not that...I just...." Blair's eyes

darkened, and his smile faded.

 

Jim frowned. "Chief, has someone been bothering you? Something's upset you

here."

 

Blair looked away. "Jim, I've been with you for over a year now, but in

some ways it seems like only yesterday. I know some of your colleagues

still wonder about me. Why that little 'hippie cop wannabe' is partnered

with you. They wonder if I can be trusted. Some..." his voice cracked, and

he cleared his throat. "Some think I'm a...a danger to you. I'm not a cop,

and you'll end up getting killed...because of me."

 

"Who said that?" Ellison growled, his tone dangerous. "Was it someone in

Major Crimes?"

 

"No, another department." Blair held up his hand to stop Ellison's

question. "It doesn't matter who, Jim. What matters is what they believe,

and...I've been thinking...maybe they're right." The young man sighed

heavily, letting his shoulder's sag. "I worry that I'll be the reason you

get hurt someday, that I won't be there or be able to help when you need

it."

 

Jim shook his head, "Blair, don't...."

 

"No, Jim. What if they're right? I...I'm an outsider, I don't belong, and I

know that I don't exactly march to the same drummer that they do."

 

Jim smiled. "No, Chief, you are unique in the annals of the Cascade Major

Crimes unit. But we need some shaking up...from time to time." He cuffed

Blair softly on the chin and was rewarded with a hesitant smile. "Blair, it

doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. I know you, the people in Major

Crimes know you, and we trust you. *I* trust you. Now you need to trust

yourself, okay?"

 

Blair nodded. "Jim, I wanted to go to this party and have your friends get

to know me outside of the work environment. I don't know if they'll ever

totally accept me, but I want them to know...that I *can* be trusted. That

I'm not some flake, and I'll watch your back. I take that responsibility

very seriously. I'm your partner--your Guide. That's *my* job, and I will

do it to the very best of my ability--such as it is." Blair's voice lowered

to a whisper that Ellison, with all his enhanced senses, had to strain to

hear. "My life for yours, if need be."

 

Startled, Jim just stared at his young friend.

 

*My life for yours.*

 

*Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for a friend.*

 

Those ancient words echoed in the short, whispered tones of a young

anthropologist. No stronger statement of friendship could be made.

 

Jim Ellison tended to avoid emotional scenes. They made him uncomfortable.

He left that sort of thing to Sandburg, who had enough emotion for both of

them. With this knowledge foremost in his mind, he marveled as he felt his

heart skip a beat, his throat tighten and--could that be a touch of

moisture in his eyes?

 

Blair's revelation left the Sentinel with mixed feelings. Joy--and fear.

Different though they were, he shared a bond with this young man, something

he couldn't completely understand or begin to explain. Jim considered

himself independent, a loner, and had never truly needed anyone before in

his life. But he did now, and that need frightened him.

 

He knew he was overprotective of Blair sometimes. How could he not know?

Sandburg groused about it often enough. But...he worried. He worried about

losing a partner who was too brave for his own good, and charged in where

angels feared to tread. He worried about losing a Guide whose wisdom and

gentle voice gave the Sentinel control over his genetic 'gift.' But most of

all, he worried about losing a friend, a brother, who listened, who cared,

and who had somehow wormed his way into this tired man's soul. Jim could no

longer imagine a life without Blair Sandburg in it.

 

Jim tried to capture his friend's eyes with his own, but Sandburg refused

to meet his gaze. The Guide turned, walked back over to the balcony doors,

and stared out into the darkness.

 

*My life for yours.*

 

'My greatest fear.'

 

'Does he have any idea?' Jim wondered. 'Any inkling of the guilt, the fear,

*I* feel? I drag an anthropologist, an untrained college student for

Christ's sake, into situations that could easily get him hurt or...dead.'

 

No!

 

'It won't come to that. I won't let it. If I have to I'll...I'll send

Sandburg packing. I'll harden myself to his pleas, and his puppy dog eyes,

and send him back to his world of lectures and artifacts. The Sentinel

thing be damned.'

 

Easy to say, not so easy to do.

 

It wouldn't come to that. It couldn't. Detective Ellison and Observer

Sandburg. Sentinel and Guide. They were a team, a symbiosis of mind, heart

and gifts. Each giving and receiving. He didn't want to lose his partner or

his Guide, and would take even greater care to watch over him. Nothing, he

promised himself, nothing would ever happen to Sandburg. Not with Jim

Ellison, Sentinel in training, there to protect him.

 

Oh, yes, he cared a great deal about his young Guide, but he had never been

certain if Sandburg felt the same way toward his Sentinel. Jim now knew

that the bond ran deep, and was shared by both of them. He felt a catch in

his throat, and took a moment to compose himself before joining Blair by

the balcony doors.

 

"Thanks, Chief," he said roughly, then cleared his throat. "Um...just keep

in mind that this Sentinel needs his Guide alive and well...and let's not

forget all the broken-hearted women that would be left behind if something

happened to you."

 

Turning serious once more, he looked Blair full in the face, and put his

hands on both of his Guide's shoulders, shaking him slightly. "Listen to

me. Don't ever risk yourself for me, Chief. I've dealt with a lot of things

in my life, but...losing you like that would be more than I could handle,

okay?"

 

"But..."

 

Jim held up a hand. "Blair, you're my Guide. More important, you're my

friend. Even though you sometimes drive me nuts with your yanomamo drums,

your weird food, your chatter and your inability to follow the house rules,

I..." He paused, ran a hand through his short hair and looked away for a

moment. Then releasing a deep breath, looked back at Blair once more. "I

need you, and I want you around for as long as you're willing to stay. But

remember, tough guy, *I'm* the Blessed Protector, okay?" He waited,

studying his friend, seeking a promise that would put his mind at ease.

 

He saw a shadow darken Blair's eyes, a flash of pain that passed quickly

and disappeared as if it had never been.

 

"It works both ways, big guy, but I'll be careful," the young man

whispered. Then a mischevious glint formed in his eyes. "After all, it's

what I do best."

 

"Yeah, right, Sandburg. That's why I'm always hauling your butt out of one

form of trouble or another. It's a full time job, just looking after you."

Jim gently tapped the palm of his hand against his friend's forehead. Blair

laughed, and Jim felt the warmth return.

 

"Thanks, Jim."

 

"Anytime, Chief. You know that."

 

"I'll make supper. You take a nap and I'll yell when it's ready."

 

"I figured we'd catch a bite at the party. Should be lots of good food

there."

 

"At the...No, Jim, it's okay, man. We don't need to go. You're tired and..."

 

"And you're right. Nobody should spend New Year's Eve alone. I'll go with

you, but you would've been welcome by yourself." He held up a hand to stop

his Guide's protest. "Believe it, Sandburg. You've made a lot of friends at

the station who respect you for your courage and knowledge. The fact is

your being there has contributed to the solving of many difficult cases."

 

"You think so?"

 

"I know so. Now, let's get ready to go. I warn you, I'll probably just last

'till midnight and then come home and crash."

 

Blair grinned happily. "Okay, Cinderella. Just remember to bring your glass

slipper...Umph."

 

A pillow in the face stopped further comment. Blair rolled his eyes, but

smiled widely.

 

'That's more like it,' Jim thought, a moment before the pillow made a

return flight across the room, smacking him upside the head. "Look out,

wise guy," he retorted, looking around and snatching up some ammo. "You're

mine."

 

A pillow fight ensued and for once Jim didn't care if something got knocked

over or a pillow lost its stuffing. A relaxed, happy smile lit Blair's

features. The Guide's playful laughter raised the Sentinel's spirits

driving away the darkness that had surrounded his soul.

 

'When did he slip through my defenses?' the detective wondered. 'When did

this heart that worked so hard to keep people at a distance, open up, and

allow him in where nobody else has been? When did this kid's happiness

become more important to me than my own?'

 

Those questions remained unanswered. Blair ran out of missiles and stood

laughing at the sight of Jim, backed into a corner, surrounded by pillows.

 

"You..." he gasped. "You look like a Sultan in his harem tent. You got the

pillows now all you need are the women." Smirking, he continued. "Too bad

they all go for me, but I might be talked into sharing."

 

"Yeah, right. Okay, Darwin, I got you right where I want you. Cop tip for

the day. Never run out of ammo." He advanced toward Sandburg.

 

Blair's eyes widened as he realized his prediciment. He searched around

frantically for a pillow while backing away from Ellison. Finding none, he

stopped, hands raised.

 

"Okay, okay, you got me, big guy. You win. Um, we'd better get ready for

the party, huh? he babbled. "You can shower first and I'll..."

 

"You'll pick up the pillows and finish washing those dishes you left in the

sink this morning," Jim finished for him.

 

"Yeah, man...I...was just thinking about that." Blair's expression grew

thoughtful.

 

The Sentinel saw his Guide go into research mode, the gears turning in his

quick mind. 'Uh, oh.'

 

"Hey. I was just thinking about the dishes and...this is so cool, Jim. You

know, they say everybody has some psychic ability, but it doesn't usually

manifest itself except in emergencies and stuff. Do you suppose....?" Blair

walked back and forth, gesturing wildly, his excitement growing. "We should

do a study and see if you might have enhanced psychic abilities. It's

called a sixth sense...if the other five are enhanced, maybe...."

 

Ellison held up a hand. "Sandburg."

 

"What?"

 

"I'm no Edgar Cayce."

 

"But, Jim..."

 

"Ah!" The detective waved a pillow dangerously. "Surrender or die."

 

Blair puffed his cheeks and blew out, fluttering the curls about his face.

"You're no fun at all. All right, all right," he raised his hands in

defeat. "I'll drop it." He headed for the kitchen and started stacking the

dishes to wash them.

 

Jim couldn't quite be sure, but he thought he'd heard Blair mutter, 'for

now,' under his breath. Smiling he turned and headed for the shower. 'So

much for a quiet evening at home.'

 

******

 

'Honest men esteem and value nothing so much in this world as a real

friend. Such a one is as it were another self, to whom we inpart our most

secret thoughts, who partakes of our joy, and comforts us in our

affliction. Add to this that his company is an everlasting pleasure to

us.'--Bidpai-choice of friends.

__________

 

'Chilly tonight,' Jim thought, reaching up to close the top button of his

coat. He drew a deep cleansing breath, hoping the brisk, crystalized air

would drive the cobwebs from his tired brain. He sniffed again, sensitive

nose sifting through the scents of the city.

 

The night air held a promise of snow. No sooner had that thought cleared,

than a few flakes began to fall, sparkling in the glow of the streetlamp,

to join those that crunched beneath his feet.

 

He glanced over at the companion who puffed along beside him. Sandburg,

always susceptible to cold, had bundled up well. His mittened hand snuck

out of a pocket to pull a scarf up over his red nose. The smaller man felt

himself being studied and turned to look at Jim.

 

"Must be a good crowd tonight," Blair mumbled through the scarf. "I still

can't believe the only parking space in a one-mile radius of the hotel is

in the nosebleed section of the 5th Avenue parking garage."

 

He shivered and Ellison heard mutters about 'cold' and 'should be on a

beach somewhere with lots of women in bikinis'.

 

"Think positive, Chief. It could've been the 15th Avenue parking garage."

Jim could just make out his partner's eyes peering from beneath a large cap

with earflaps. His lips twitched.

 

"What's so funny?"

 

"It's just...that cap." Jim's grin widened. "You remind me of one of those

characters from that movie, 'Fargo.'"

 

"Ya, you betcha, then," Blair said in his best Norwegian accent. "Hey,

those people in the Dakotas know about cold and how to dress for it. The

hat's warm. If you keep laughing, I'll..." he paused for a moment, then

remembering a scene from the movie, cackled in evil glee. "I'll have to run

you through the woodchipper."

 

"Sandburg, you're scaring me. Just for a moment there I saw a distinct

resemblance to Larry, the psychotic TV-watching monkey."

 

"Ape, Jim. Larry was a Barbary Ape, and you know the effect too much TV

violence can have on the human brain. It's been proven that...."

 

The detective let Sandburg's lecture wash over him. His attention shifted

to the city skyline. The night was calm--deceptively so. He knew in a few

hours all that would change as hundreds of New Year's revelers poured out

onto the streets, many of them unfit to drive.

 

Having worked his share of New Year's Eve shifts, the detective breathed a

sigh of relief that tonight, anyway, he wouldn't see the accidents, witness

a death come too soon, or hear the grief of the families and the excuses of

the drunks. He shook his head slightly, the muscles of his jaw tightening

in response to the tension from a long-buried memory. No excuse could ever

bring back the dead.

 

'No excuse could bring Kyle back.'

 

A soft touch on his shoulder brought Jim's attention back to the present.

He stood in the middle of the sidewalk. When had he stopped walking? He

hadn't noticed. Looking down, he saw Sandburg staring up at him, concern

and inquiry splashed across his expressive face.

 

"Jim? What is it, man? You look like you just lost your best friend or

something."

 

'Lost my best friend.' The words echoed in his mind. A coldness seeped deep

within him, a chill not caused by the temperature outside. An irrational

fear sent his heartbeat skipping, and caused his breath to come in gasps.

 

"Don't...don't ever say that, Sandburg. It's not something to joke about."

 

"Whoa, easy there, big guy. It's just...just a figure of speech."

 

Ellison examined the young face before him, blinked, and saw another. A

well-loved face, too long hidden in the shadows of his mind. Shadows caused

by grief, guilt and anger. Kyle's face. The face of his best friend who had

bled out his life in the twisted wreckage of Jim's car. His last moments

spent listening to Jim's rage, and the drunken excuses of the man who had

hit them.

 

Jim blinked again. Kyle faded and Sandburg's face came back into view,

but--bruised, covered in blood, agony clearly visible in the confused blue

eyes. A hand reached out and he heard his Guide's voice plead with him.

"Jim, don't be down on me, man. I had to...tell me you understand. Please,

Jim?"

 

Ellison stumbled back nearly colliding with a streetlamp. 'Dammit! I'm

losing it. What's going on here?' He wiped a hand across his eyes and

looked at Blair once more. The vision had disappeared as quickly as it had

come. No marks, no blood marred his Guide's face, only an expression of

shock which quickly turned to concern. Jim knew some damage control was in

order.

 

"Jim, what's up with you?"

 

"Nothing."

 

"Nothing? You're staring at me like you've seen a ghost, and you

practically mowed over the streetlight."

 

"I said it's nothing, so just drop it, okay?"

 

Jim saw Blair watching him. He figured the young man was mentally taking

notes, logging his behavior and reactions to be poured over at a later

date. He closed his eyes.

 

"Not now, Sandburg. I don't want to be a subject tonight."

 

"Jim, I'm not studying you.You're hurting. I can *feel* it. I'm here...Let

me help." Filled with empathy, the young Guide's voice soothed his

Sentinel's troubled soul.

 

'Lack of sleep. That's it. That's all this is. I'm seeing things. Confusing

Kyle and Blair.' Shaking his head, Jim dismissed the strange premonition.

To do otherwise would open the door for Sandburg to insist on running a

full battery of what would most likely turn out to be unpleasant tests.

 

"Jim, you're scaring me, man. You feel okay? Did I do something? You want

to go home?"

 

"No, Blair, I'm...okay. No really," he added seeing his friend's skeptical

expression. "I don't want to go home. We've got a party to go to, right?"

 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Blair stamped his feet and shivered

slightly.

 

"We need to get you inside where it's warm. Come on." Jim turned and strode

away.

 

He made about three steps before Sandburg caught up to him. Showing

surprising strength, the smaller man latched onto the Sentinel's arm

jerking him to a stop. Mumbling apologies for his roughness, the young man

moved in front of Jim and gently put his mittened hand upon the detective's

chest.

 

"Jim, I don't *care* about the cold...If you need me, I'm here. I'll

listen."

 

Ellison glanced up, jaw clenched tightly. He took a deep breath and

released it, willing the tension to drain from his body.

 

"I know. You're always there for me."

 

"It's called friendship, Jim. Remember? I listen to you. You *sometimes*

listen to me. We help each other out."

 

Jim felt the corner of his lip twist into a half smile. "You don't always

listen to me, Chief." He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted from one

foot to another.

 

Sandburg took him by the arm and led him to a bench on the streetcorner.

Pressing the older man down onto the seat, the younger man plopped down

beside him. Keeping his hand in contact with the Sentinel's arm, the Guide

focused his attention fully on his friend. "Talk to me, man."

 

Jim sighed. "New Year's has never been a good time for me, Chief. Some

really bad memories. I think that's why I bit your head off earlier

tonight. You were so up, so happy, and New Year's only brings me down."

 

Blair's eyes widened, his hand automatically moving to stroke Jim's arm.

"What happened?"

 

"I was thinking about Kyle O'Shaughnessy. A good friend. The best. I met

him at the police academy. I was older than most of the cadets and kind of

a loner. Big surprise, huh?"

 

Sandburg smiled and shook his head slightly.

 

"Kyle wouldn't hear of it. The kid just latched onto me and wouldn't let go

until I opened up. He was so talkative, so full of life, always had a smile

to share. You remind me a lot of him, Chief." Jim's voice deepened and he

cleared his throat. "Anyway, we became good friends and had hopes of

becoming...of being partners after the academy. Until..."

 

"Until?" Blair coaxed.

 

"New Year's Eve came around and Kyle and I decided to go out on the town

together to celebrate our upcoming graduation in March. He figured two

hunks like us would have no trouble finding women to ring in the New Year

with. He said there was no way he was kissing me when the clock struck

twelve." Jim chuckled softly, reliving the memory.

 

"We met at our favorite club. Kyle tried, but he didn't have any luck with

the ladies that night. I really gave it to him good. He could always take a

joke, though, and I never worried."

 

"Sounds like a fun guy," Sandburg commented.

 

Jim's expression grew distant, lost in another time, another New Year's

Eve. "Midnight came and went, and Kyle was three sheets to the wind." His

voice faltered, the blue eyes haunted. "I insisted on driving him home. I

remember he turned to me and said, 'I had a great time, Jimmy-boy.' He was

the kid, but he got a kick out of calling me Jimmy-boy. He says, 'I had a

great time. Better luck next year with the ladies, huh? Thanks for taking

me home. You're a good man, buddy.' That's the last thing I heard before it

happened."

 

Sandburg grip tightened on his friend's arm.

 

"One minute we're laughing, and talking, enjoying each other's company. The

next...this car comes out of nowhere, jumps into my lane and just creams

us. There wasn't time. I couldn't swerve...I couldn't do a damn thing!"

 

Ellison exploded off the bench turning to ram his fist into the side of

the building.

 

"Jim!" Blair squeaked. "Don't...don't do this to yourself. Let me see your

hand." He yanked off a mitten and reached up to pull his scarf off.

 

His anger now forced back under rigid control, Jim allowed Blair to press

the scarf against the bleeding cut on his knuckles.

 

"I was banged up pretty bad, but Kyle..." The blue eyes held a pain so deep

that Blair winced. "Kyle died shortly after impact. I couldn't save him. I

couldn't protect him. He wouldn't even have been in my car if I hadn't

insisted."

 

Blair put his hands on Jim's shoulder's shaking him slightly. "Jim, look at

me. *Please.* I know there's nothing I can say to take the pain away. I

didn't know Kyle, but he was important to you and that makes him important

to me, too. You did the right thing. You did what friends are supposed to

do. Kyle could've killed himself or someone else if he'd driven home. Could

you have lived with that?"

 

Jim shook his head.

 

"You prevented that, you kept him safe, the best way that you could. What

happened after wasn't your fault. You can *not* take the blame for someone

else's bad decision. The drunk driver killed Kyle, and almost killed you.

*He* is to blame."

 

"But I should've...."

 

"Should have what? You said yourself that there wasn't time. He jumped into

your lane. You did all that you could do, for Kyle, for yourself. You

stayed alive and I'm so very glad you did."

 

Jim looked away his eyes vacant, and the Guide desperately tried one last

time to get through to his Sentinel.

 

"Jim. You're a Sentinel, genetically predestined to protect others. That is

who you are. Your compassion, the instinct to protect...it's your greatest

strength, but it can also be your greatest weakness if you allow guilt to

destroy you."

 

Blair reached up, and turned Jim's face toward him, forcing the older man

to meet his eyes. "You're a Sentinel, a man who just happens to have a

little edge over the rest of us, but you're still a man, Jim, not a god.

All you can do is try, and hope. You do what you can to help. You do your

best, and that's all you can do. That's all any of us can do. No man,

Sentinel or not, can be expected to do more. To insist on perfection for

yourself...it, well...it borders on arrogance and that's not you, Jim."

 

Ellison closed his eyes, a frown creasing the skin between his eyebrows.

 

"Jim, don't shut down." Blair reached out, grabbing the other man's arm.

"Don't lose your humanity or you'll destroy yourself as a Sentinel, and a

cop. Please, Jim? Too many people need you...care about you. Are you

listening, man?"

 

"Yeah, Sandburg. This is one of those times I *am* listening to you."

 

He pulled away, and Blair allowed him his space.

 

"Is this the night for serious confessions or what?" the Guide asked.

 

Jim smiled slightly, and nodded. "Yeah. Come on, Junior. Let's go have some

fun. Create some good memories, for both of us." He reached out, clasped a

hand around the back of Sandburg's neck, and pulled the young man close for

a quick hug. He grabbed the hat off of Blair's head and tousled the unruly

curls, laughing at his young friend's protests of "don't mess with the

hair, Jim. Women love the hair."

 

The kid always knew what he needed. How to make him laugh, when to push,

when to pull back. Friend, Guide--whatever. All Jim Ellison knew was Blair

Sandburg could reach him like no one else ever could.

 

The Sentinel would keep his Guide safe. He wouldn't fail this friend. 'As

you did Kyle,' a voice tolled in his mind. Shivering slightly, he shook off

the coldness in his soul and hurried after his friend.

 

******

 

'Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect, and touch, and greet

each other.'--Rainer Maria Rilke.

_________

 

Noise.

 

The door to the ballroom opened and a wave of clanging dissonance hit Jim's

eardrums, setting off a reverberation in his skull that settled to a dull

ache between his eyebrows.

 

"Cool, a live band," Blair enthused as he slithered out of his coat. He

turned and, noting the hunched shoulders and squinted eyes of his partner,

changed instantly from exuberant party-goer to concerned Guide. A soft

touch gained his Sentinel's attention.

 

"Okay, Jim. Concentrate. Turn down the dial to an acceptable level. Breathe

in, slowly...that's it. Now, release...slowly...let the tension drain out

of your body." The Guide watched the Sentinel follow his instructions, and

saw the lines of pain leave his face. "Better?"

 

"Yeah, Chief, better."

 

"All right. Let's party!" The young man's high spirits returned and he

bounced off into the ballroom, head nearly spinning off his neck as he

turned in all directions trying to take everything in.

 

Raucous music blared from the stage. A swirling multi-lighted ball sent its

prisms of color over the packed dance floor. In one corner stood tables

laden with food and drink. In the other, pool tables and table tennis

provided the opportunity for good-natured competition.

 

The large ballroom held a full contingent of police and invited guests. The

dress code ranged anywhere from full dress uniforms to jeans and T-shirts.

Ellison had chosen a pair of navy pants, a cream dress shirt and a blazer;

Sandburg, his best pair of black jeans, a white shirt and his favorite

alpaca vest.

 

Blair's eyes danced with excitement, and he grinned at Jim. "Check out the

food table. I'm headed there first."

 

"Of course," Jim smiled wryly. "You know, Chief. They're probably not going

to have any seaweed extract or roots and bean sprouts tonight. Can you

handle it?"

 

Blair threw him a look of feigned disgust. "I'll deal with it. You know, it

wouldn't kill you to eat something once in a while that doesn't turn your

arteries into an example for a drano commercial."

 

"You jerk!" a female voice shrieked.

 

Sandburg jumped and looked around wildly. He sighed in relief when the

speaker slapped another young man and nearly mowed the anthropologist over

in her haste to leave.

 

"Whoa!" Blair laughed. "All is not well in romance land tonight. I hope

this doesn't bode ill for me."

 

Jim clapped the young man on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Chief. With your

track record, by the end of the evening you'll have flirted with and pissed

off every woman in the building."

 

"Thanks so much for the vote of confidence," Blair said dryly. "So, you

want to grab a bite, or what?"

 

Ellison spotted a friend and waved. "You go ahead. I want to shoot the

breeze with a buddy for a few minutes."

 

"Later, then." Sandburg pushed off, dodging and weaving through the

swirling crowd. He called out greetings and waved enthusiastically at

people he recognized, and some he didn't. His infectous smile mirrored by

everyone he met, Blair radiated happiness. And people responded in kind.

 

Ellison smiled and shook his head in amusement. 'Yeah, Sandburg, you really

needed me here tonight. You'll fill your face with food, flirt with the

women, and won't even notice if I'm here or not.'

 

The anthropologist never ceased to amaze him. Sandburg plowed through life;

each day an adventure, each person met a potential friend. In a world

filled with evil, the young man focused on the good, accentuated the

positive, and tried to find the best in every situation, and every person.

The responsibilities of being a student, teacher, police consultant,

partner, and Guide to a Sentinel he accepted unconditionally, and with

boundless energy and excitement.

 

The detective never would have guessed, when first laying eyes on Blair

Sandburg, the depth of courage and loyalty the young man would display.

Sandburg had witnessed and experienced events in his time with Ellison that

would have shaken the most experienced detective. But he kept going,

tapping the seemingly endless supply of courage and strength in the inner

core of his being.

 

Whenever he grew frustrated with Sandburg, Jim reminded himself of that,

and of how close he had come to losing this dynamo he called partner and

friend. David Lash, a name never mentioned, a face never forgotten; Lash

who lived on in the nightmares of a young anthropologist, and the detective

who had saved his life--barely.

 

'Another few minutes and I would've been too late. Sandburg would've been

another statistic and I....' He didn't want to think how he would have

lived with that failure. 'He's okay. He's here, I'm here. Time has passed.

Lash is dead. Burn in Hell, you son of a bitch.'

 

Pride. That's what he felt remembering the courage and spunk his friend had

displayed in the face of certain death. Sandburg had never given up. The

kid had fought for his life all the way, using his strength in a losing

battle at the loft, and his quick wit and fortitude to strike out with

words aimed at the very heart of his tormentor's psyche.

 

But it had cost him. Ellison knew the heavy price the young man had paid.

Blair's innocence had been shaken to the core, his trust shattered. A

darkness had haunted his Guide's soul, a terror reflected out through eyes

shadowed by lack of sleep. Though Sandburg had seemingly put the incident

behind him, the kid would never be the same. Neither would the detective.

He had, not for the first time and probably not for the last, questioned

having Blair with him on the job.

 

The Sentinel had seen the hurt in his Guide's eyes the one time he had

brought the subject up.

 

"Jim, you need me, man. I have to be there. You could zone out...or...who

knows what could happen. I *have* to be with you. You know that...Jim,

don't you want me around anymore?"

 

He'd given in, of course. Lost the battle, and the war. A war he never

wanted to win anyway. Tough Jim Ellison, former Army Ranger, had little

defense against his Guide's pleading voice, and moisture-laden eyes, or

his own fear of being left on his own to control his Sentinel abilities.

The guilt remained, however, as did the Sentinel's determination to protect

the physical and emotional well being of one Blair Sandburg.

 

He worried sometimes that Blair kept more bottled up inside then he let on.

Sandburg talked *a lot,* but didn't often allow others to see his heart's

deepest concerns. The Guide conquered his fear, absorbed and digested the

bad with the good, and continued on backing up his Sentinel, facing the

unknown with unflinching courage. A man couldn't ask for a better partner

or friend. The kid really was something.

 

'I should tell him that more often,' the detective mused. 'But he might get

a swelled head, and then he would *really* be impossible to live with.'

 

Jim chuckled softly and decided to leave the important life questions for

another night. He was here to enjoy himself. Time to get to it. He looked

around for a moment. Not seeing the friend he had wanted to talk to, he

headed over to sample the cuisine.

 

Sandburg had made good use of his time and Jim watched in amusement as his

friend picked and chose among the many selections. Some things went

straight into his mouth, bypassing the already-heaping plate. The young

man's mobile face expressed his like or dislike accordingly.

 

Jim was about to announce his presence when he noticed Sandburg sidling up

to an attractive blonde woman. The young man soon had her engaged in

conversation, and Jim couldn't help but be curious about Sandburg's choice

of pick-up lines. He turned up his hearing, frowning in confusion. It

sounded like...an anthropology lecture?

 

"No, it's true. The women of the tribe can have more than one husband,"

Sandburg insisted.

 

The blonde leaned closer to Sandburg, a slow smile touching her lips.

"Lucky women." She waved her diamond-clad hand in front of Blair's face,

and a laugh escaped her at his disappointed expression. "I'm engaged, but

for you, sweetcheeks, I'd be willing to try a threesome." She ran a hand

through his thick curls.

 

The dim light proved no challenge to his Sentinel sight, and Jim watched as

his partner's face turned scarlet to the tips of his ears. He heard the

increased respiration and rapid heartbeat that grew to a resounding

crescendo at the appearance of a large, muscular man. A *very* large,

angry-looking man with a possessive hand that moved to grip the blonde's

shoulder.

 

"This guy bugging you, Darla?"

 

Blair's eyes were perfect O's. His jaw dropped as did the carrot stick that

slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers. He cleared his throat and let out

an uneasy chuckle.

 

"Hey, no problem here. Your fiance was just showing me the spectacular ring

you bought for her. You've got great taste there, big guy. A very fine

stone," he babbled. "I'm sure you'll both be very...um...happy."

 

Resembling a gazelle caught in a lion's claws, Sandburg looked around

frantically for a means of extricating himself from this *situation.* He

spotted Ellison's grinning face a few feet away and beat a hasty retreat.

 

"So...how's your charm, Prince?" Jim smirked.

 

"You are just *so* pleased with yourself right now, aren't you?" Blair

complained. "Man, I felt like a mackerel surrounded by sharks there. That

was like *intense.* Did you see that guy? I thought I'd wake up with my

nose pointing out the back of my skull."

 

Jim shook his head but his smile never wavered. "That's Darla Pulski.

Bruno, her adoring suitor, is John Maddox. Works undercover for Narcotics.

Chief, I'd highly recommend that you steer clear of Darla if you want to

live past the New Year."

 

"Do I look like an idiot to you...don't answer that. I'm going to be so far

away from her that it'll be like we never met. She's a black widow, man."

 

"A what?"

 

"A black widow spider. You know, the ones that inject their mates with

poison and eat them...eeeuuuuwwww..." Blair shuddered. "I can almost feel

sorry for Bruno."

 

Jim laughed and clapped his friend on the back. "You forgot your food,

Darwin."

 

"Oh, man," Blair frowned in consternation. "Nope, no way am I going back

over there. I'll have to do something to forget how hungry I am." He

scanned the crowd and his eyes brightened. "Like, dance! Come on, I got

someone I want you to meet." He took off through the crowd.

 

"Sandburg!" Jim eyed the food with longing, but he didn't really want to

talk to Bruno either. His respect for Naomi Sandburg tripled as he imagined

what it must have been like trying to keep track of a pint-sized Sandburg

in a shopping mall. He followed his friend, bumping and excusing his way

through the crowd.

 

Jim found Sandburg with Taggert, Rafe and Brown, talking to one of the band

members. He looked around in confusion.

 

"So, who'd you want me to meet?"

 

Startled, Blair turned around, guilt plain in his expression. "Jim!

Um...she disappeared by the time I got here."

 

"Sandburg what are you up to?"

 

"Who me? Nothing." Blair said with his best wide-eyed innocent look.

 

A shrill sound of a microphone being moved brought their attention to the

stage. The band member Blair had been talking to made an announcement.

 

"Okay, folks it's time for the Macarena!" Cheers erupted from the crowd

and the man waved for quiet. "This is for Detective James Ellison from his

partner Blair Sandburg. It's Jim's first time folks," the guitarist

chuckled. "What do you say we put our hands together and encourage the man?"

 

Jim shot Blair a look of death, and turned to leave. He found his path

blocked by his colleagues from Major Crimes.

 

"Come on, Jim," Taggert grinned. "Sandburg set this up just for you. You

don't want to disappoint the man, now do you?"

 

"Disappoint him? I'm going to kill him!"

 

Blair stayed well out of reach of his testy partner. He spread his hands

and tried his best pleading expression.

 

"Jim, just give it a try, pleeease. You might actually enjoy yourself." At

Ellison's disbelieving look, he continued. "Well, you might! You need to

lighten up a little, big guy. Try new things. Come on, you're embarrassing

me here."

 

"Embarrassing *you?* Nah...no. Don't turn those puppy dog eyes on me.

Sandburg! Oh...all right!"

 

"Yes! You won't regret this, Jim. It'll be a blast."

 

"I already regret it."

 

Lines formed and the music started. Jim had no clue and flailed around like

an octopus, arms waving, two steps behind everyone else. He had to grit his

teeth at the hoots of laughter and the calls of "Hey, Ellison, you got

rhythm." He vowed revenge on one anthropology grad student, teacher,

consultant, Guide.

 

Sandburg jumped over to him. "Come on, man. You're not even trying. It's

easy, Jim. See?" He ran throught the set again.

 

"Let me see you on a ballroom dance floor, wise guy, and we'll see who

looks out of place then."

 

Sandburg laughed. "Jim, lighten up. Relax, will you? *Feel* the rhythm, let

it ground you, and then you can soar...."

 

Eyes closed, head thrown back, Blair raised his hands above his head. His

steps changed, altered. To the beat of a modern hit, Sandburg danced the

steps of an ancient tribal chant. Entranced, people gathered in a circle

around the young man. Responding to the primeval motion, they joined in

clapping along and trying to imitate his movements. The music ended and

Blair's eyes snapped open. He blinked, bringing himself down from the

euphoria of the dance. Smiling widely at the enthusiasic applause, he bowed

with a flourish.

 

"There's Sandburg, right in the middle of things as always."

 

Ellison glanced over to find his captain standing next to him.

 

"The center of attention," he agreed. A slow smile crept over his features,

and a chuckle escaped his lips. "The center of attention. Yeah. Simon, I

think you can help me out, here. Sandburg wants so much to be accepted by

the men, and I want to get him back for this Macarena thing."

 

Simon quirked an eyebrow. "Revenge, Jim?" he grinned. "I think I know what

you've got in mind, and...it's already done."

 

"No kidding? the guys voted in Sandburg?"

 

"Yeah. I mean, Jim...Sandburg was born to play this role," Simon laughed.

"He's not a cop, but since Sandburg *forgets* what the word observer means,

the guys forgot that little technicality and voted him in."

 

"You okay with it?"

 

"I've got no problem with it. In my opinion, he's earned his place on our

team. *Don't* tell him I said that. Sandburg already takes too many risks.

I don't want to encourage him. As far as the vote goes, the kid was a

shoo-in. If you vote for him, it'll be unanimous."

 

Jim nodded. "By all means let's make it unanimous. He's got my vote."

 

"Now all we've got to do is tell him." Simon nodded at Sandburg who was

instructing some of the dancers in the finer points of tribal dance.

 

"No." Jim interjected. "This is a big honor for Sandburg, a rite of

passage, and it should come as a total surprise." He laughed. "It's much

more satisfying that way. Rafe, Brown, will you flank me and make sure our

slippery anthropologist/observer doesn't escape?

 

"Our pleasure," Rafe said.

 

Jim couldn't get the silly grin off his face. He looked over at Blair who,

feeling the eyes upon him, glanced up with a questioning expression, and an

answering smile.

 

'You, my young friend, are about to find out what it really means to be

*accepted* by the Cascade Major Crimes Unit...and I'm going to enjoy every

minute of it.'

 

******

 

'Be courteous to all, but intimate with few, and let those few be well

tried before you give them your confidence....'--George Washington.

__________

 

Later that evening.

 

The high pitched squeal of a microphone caught everyone's attention, and

all eyes turned to the stage. Simon Banks stood next to a tall,

elderly-looking man who wore a full-length purple robe, and sported a long

white beard.

 

"Okay, folks, it's twenty minutes to midnight. Are you ready for the New

Year?" Cheers broke out and Simon waved for quiet. "Father Time here is

ready to pass the baton to Baby New Year. All that remains is to announce

the lucky soul who's been elected to play this esteemed role."

 

Laughter, cheers, and chants of "diaper, diaper" echoed around the room.

 

Blair bounced on his toes in an effort to see better. He laughed and turned

toward Jim. "No way, man. They actually have somebody dress up like a baby?

What idiot did they convince to do that?"

 

Jim's lips curved in an enigmatic smile.

 

Banks continued. "As you know, the presenting of the Pacifier award is a

time-honored tradition in the Major Crimes department. One of our officers,

usually the one with least senority, is elected to play this honored role

and ring in the New Year. The votes are in and this year's recepient of the

Pacifier award is...Blair Sandburg."

 

Blair clapped his hands, and smiled. A moment later his brain caught up

with his ears. He saw everyone looking at him, and his eyes widened.

 

"Did he say...? He didn't."

 

"Congratulations, Hairboy, you're elected," Brown said with a grin.

 

"But...I'm not even a cop...Jim, you're always telling me I'm not a cop.

How did I get elected?"

 

The detective raised an eyebrow, and stood with arms crossed.

 

"Guess this must be one of those surprises you were so anxious to see,

Chief."

 

Sandburg backed away slowly, only to bump up against Rafe and Brown. The

cops each grasped an arm, and Blair objected as he found himself lifted and

propelled toward the stage. He shook his head wildly, curls flying.

 

"Na, no, no, no, no...bad idea guys. Guys! I'm like *so* wrong for this

part. No really...infancy is best experienced only once. I haven't been a

baby for 27 years! I don't remember the language. I...guys are you

listening to me?"

 

They reached the stage. Simon looked at the protesting electee and nodded

toward a doorway.

 

"Okay, gentlemen, take our reluctant infant backstage and get him into

costume."

 

"C..costume?" Blair squeaked.

 

"Yes, costume, and I must say, Sandburg, that it suits you."

 

Blair groaned. "Did he just say that? Suits me? Trying out your punning wit

tonight, Simon?"

 

"Hurry up, Sandburg. Time's a-wasting."

 

Blair threw a pleading look over his shoulder. "Jim, help me out, here."

 

"Sandburg, I 've just got one word for you."

 

"What?"

 

"Macarena."

 

"Jim, come *on.* That was all in fun. I just wanted to include you in the

fun," he protested.

 

"Ditto, *dude,*" Ellison grinned and nodded at the stage door. "Take him

away, guys."

 

"Noooooo..."

 

Rafe, Brown, and Blair disappeared backstage.

 

Jim turned up his Sentinel hearing and laughed out loud as Blair's

complaints became audible.

 

["A diaper! No way, man. No possible way am I going to wear *that.*"]

 

Smiling to himself, the detective made his way toward the backstage door.

 

'This is turning out to be one hell of a party. I'll have to thank Sandburg

for insisting that I come. If he's still speaking to me when it's

over...Blair not speaking. Now *there's* a pleasant thought.'

 

Taking a deep breath, Jim opened the door, and prepared to face baby New

Year.

 

******

 

'This can't be happening,' Sandburg closed his eyes and willed himself

somewhere else. Anywhere else. 'Why did I have to insist on going to this

party?' He opened his eyes and saw two faces staring back at him.

 

"Take off your clothes," Rafe said.

 

"What?!"

 

"Just do it, Blair. We don't have much time." The young officer handed

Sandburg a white t-shirt, and a pair of shorts. "Put these on."

 

Sandburg complied, but balked when Rafe handed him an adult-size diaper.

 

"A diaper! No way, man. No possible way am I going to wear *that.*"

 

"Sandburg! Are you going to put that on or do I have to do it for you?"

Brown threatened. "If you don't get out there soon, Banks is going to put

all of us on permanent graveyard shift. So get dressed!"

 

"All right, all right, watch your blood pressure there, big guy." Blair

took the diaper and put it on. It fastened on the sides with colorful,

oversized safety pins. Over the t-shirt, he put on a large bib with Happy

New Year blazoned across it. "Happy now?"

 

"Ecstatic," Brown said.

 

"Anybody who knows me will know that this is so *not* me. No

self-respecting Sandburg has ever been caught dead in disposable diapers.

They're an ecological nightmare, man. Naomi only used cloth diapers when I

was little."

 

He found himself at eye level with two chests, and looked up into two

amused faces.

 

"Okay! Little-er. I'm shorter than you guys but I assure you I outgrew the

need for diapers years ago." He ran a hand through his hair in agitation.

"This is *not* cool. I'm never going to live this down."

 

"You'll survive, Sandburg," Rafe said. "You think you're the only one to

get picked for this honor?"

 

"You?"

 

"Yes me, two years ago. I survived and so will you."

 

The stage door opened and Ellison came in.

 

"It's almost time for you to shine, Sandburg. Whoa...check out those white

legs. I need my sunglasses." He reached up a hand as if blocking a bright

light. "You could use a little sun, Chief."

 

"Ha, ha, very funny. Try and get a tan in a city where it rains 360 days a

year. Who ever sees the sun?" Blair said huffily. "Look...joke's over,

right? You're not really gonna make me go out there, are you? Well, are

you?"

 

Jim put a hand on Blair's back, guiding him over to the door. He put

something in his friend's hand. It felt like--a baby bottle.

 

"What's this?"

 

"A prop, Darwin."

 

"No, Jim, don't make me do thi..."

 

Plop. Sandburg's appeal ended abruptly when Ellison reached over and stuck

a pacifier in his mouth.

 

"One last prop, Chief. I kinda like it. I'll have to get one for home use."

Laughing at Blair's disgusted look, he opened the door, stuck his head out,

nodded, and opened the door wider.

 

Blair pulled the pacifier out of his mouth and drew a deep breath to launch

a new round of complaints. Before he could get a word out he felt Jim's

hands on his back, and a gentle shove pushed him out on the stage.

 

"You're on, Chief."

 

*Oh, my God!*

 

******

 

'Tis a French definition of friendship, rien que s'entendre, good

understanding.'--Emerson.

__________

 

A wave of laughter and cheers washed over him when he stumbled out on

stage. The noise faded as his mind focused on the visual. He stood apart,

watching as strangers friends, and co-workers cheered, clapped, and

laughed. Laughed at him.

 

He looked down to see Taggert, Rafe, Brown, and Jim. Taggert raised a glass

of champagne and toasted him. Brown had to sit down, he was laughing so

hard. Rafe just looked happy that it was someone other than him on stage,

and Jim--Jim leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, a satisfied grin on his

face.

 

Sandburg closed his eyes. He had never felt so embarrassed, or so hurt. Jim

had sworn that he would never laugh at him, yet here he was, grinning away

at the silly anthropologist, along with the rest of the cops. 'Am I just a

joke to them?'

 

Blair felt a prickle of anger form, but he clamped down on it immediately.

He could handle this. It was nice to see Jim relax and laugh, even if it

was at his expense. He owed this man so much, and could put up with a lot

more than this to bring a smile to the Sentinel's face.

 

He opened his eyes and watched as the pleasure drained from his friend's

face to be replaced by a look of concern. Jim straightened up, his lips

moved, forming Blair's name. He pushed toward the stage, his gaze locked

with that of his friend.

 

A clout across his shoulders caught Sandburg by surprise, nearly sending

him to his knees.

 

"Sandburg, I haven't laughed this hard in years," Simon Banks chortled,

reaching up to remove his glasses and wipe the tears from his eyes. "I told

you that outfit suited you."

 

Sandburg stood uncertainly as the purple robed man moved over to him and

presented him with the baton. He took it, and cheers broke out again. Banks

moved over to the microphone and shushed the crowd.

 

"The baton has been passed. Father Time here, as you know, is Ray Johnson,

who will be retiring this year. Baby New Year is Blair Sandburg, a police

consultant who has quickly proven his value to our department. Let's put

our hands together and say thanks to Ray for years of service, and welcome

Sandburg, the newest member of the Cascade Major Crimes Unit."

 

Joy and acceptance.

 

Blair Sandburg felt both. He sensed the silly smile plastered on his face,

but didn't care. These people were his friends, laughing with him, not at

him. (well, maybe at him too, but he did look pretty ridiculous) *He,*

Blair Sandburg, anthropologist, had been accepted by the officers of the

Cascade Major Crimes Unit. He was one of them.

 

As an anthropologist, he had witnessed countless initiation rituals in

cultures around the world, and should have realized that what he had been

experiencing was his own form of initiation ritual. And he had passed!

 

Sandburg took a bow with Officer Johnson, and shook the older man's hand.

He noticed Jim standing right below him.

 

"Everything okay now, Chief?"

 

"Everything's fine, Jim. I finally *got* it." Blair smiled warmly at his

partner. "Thanks, buddy."

 

Jim smiled and nodded his head. "We all voted for you, Sandburg. Remember

that."

 

"Sandburg!" Simon bellowed. "Get your butt over here. It's almost midnight,

and Baby New Year has to lead the countdown."

 

Blair laughed. "Duty calls." With a smile, and a wink for his partner, he

turned and made his way to the microphone.

 

"Okay, everybody, grab your partners and your confetti, it's almost

midnight." He looked at the large clock opposite the stage. "Here we go.

Ten seconds, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one....HAPPY

NEW YEAR!!"

 

The sound of noisemakers and cheers filled the air, confetti rained down.

Sandburg spared a glance for his partner, but Ellison showed only a slight

discomfort.

 

'He's getting better at this," Sandburg thought with pride. He walked off

the stage, over to where his partner stood slightly apart from all the

celebration. "Happy New Year, Jim."

 

"Happy New Year, Blair." Jim reached out and patted his partner on the

shoulder. "I'd hug you, but...dressed like that?...people might talk."

 

Blair snorted. "Sorry, big guy, but you're not my type." His laughter faded

and he glanced sheepishly over at his partner. "Jim...I'm sorry about the

Macarena thing. I thought it'd be fun for you, but...well, sometimes I

don't think. You mad?"

 

"No...I guess I can make a fool out of myself once a year and survive.

Besides, who's going to remember me after your performance tonight?"

 

Blair groaned. "Don't remind me. I'm sure everyone at the station will make

sure I never live it down."

 

"You understand what that meant, don't you?"

 

"Yeah. It's like an initiation ritual, man. In some tribal cultures, to be

accepted into the warrior societies, a young man must undergo a ritual. He

does something difficult or dangerous to be accepted by his peers." He

looked down at his costume. "I got off lucky," he grinned. "Humiliation

never killed anyone."

 

Jim laughed but sobered quickly and studied his young friend. "You got your

wish tonight, Chief. You're part of us now."

 

Blair smiled shyly. "Yeah. They welcomed me. Me. Blair Sandburg,

anthropologist. It feels...it feels....really..."

 

"Good?" Jim prompted.

 

"Great." Blair replied. "I feel like I belong. Like it's okay for me to be

your partner now. I have the trust of the people we work with, and their

opinion is all that matters. They think I can handle it. Now, if only *I*

was so sure...."

 

"Blair..."

 

"I'd better go get changed. Yeah, this experience has been *very*

enlightening, but this diaper's getting a little drafty, you know? Be back

soon." He rushed off, leaving behind his pacifier prop in his haste.

 

Ellison picked up the pacifier. 'Why is it I need one of these things for

Sandburg most of the time, but when I really want him to tell me what he's

feeling, he clams up.'

 

The detective glanced toward the stage door that had swallowed up his

friend. 'Sandburg you *are* my partner. You watch my back, I watch yours.

You help me in so many ways. You don't need a gun for that. A gun doesn't

make you a cop, or a good partner, and neither do the opinions of people

who don't know you. Blair, I trust you with my life. I'm afraid *for* you,

but I'm never afraid that you will let me down. No, I fear that I will let

you down. That's what I fear.'

 

******

 

Sandburg emerged a few minutes later, all traces of babyhood gone. He had

planned to get right back to Jim, but found himself delayed by a young

woman who wanted to learn more about the tribal dance he had done earlier

that evening. Always willing to 'talk shop' about anthropology, especially

with an attractive young woman, he regaled her with tales of his travels.

 

Forty-five minutes passed before Sandburg realized it. He needed to get

back to Jim, who was no doubt waiting impatiently for him. He made a date

with the woman to meet at the university museum and said his good nights.

Looking around for Jim, he spotted him talking to Simon, and made his way

through the crowd to them.

 

"Hey, you still here?" Blair asked his partner. "I thought you were gonna

pull a Cinderella and disappear at midnight?"

 

"Leave without Prince Charming?" Jim said. "So, Prince, you coming, or you

got another ride home?"

 

"Nah, enough excitement for one night. I'm ready to head home. Lead the

way, Cindy." Sandburg chuckled, and ducked to avoid Jim's elbow. The three

men walked over to the coat rack.

 

Rafe spotted them and dashed over. "You guys leaving? Any chance I could

bum a ride home? It'll take forever to get a cab tonight," he said

breathlessly. "I had a friend drop me off 'cause my car's in the shop,

*again.*

 

"Hey, no problem," Blair said. "I understand completely. My car loves my

mechanic. It's in his shop all the time. If it's not one thing it's

another."

 

"Ain't that the truth," Rafe said.

 

The four men put their coats on and walked outside. Sandburg noticed Jim

and Simon conspiring together.

 

The captain looked at Blair and started snickering. "Oh, Sandburg," Banks

struggled to keep a straight face. "Don't forget your binkie." He nodded at

Ellison, who pulled out the pacifier, and waved it before Blair's face.

 

Sandburg made a quick grab for the offending item, but couldn't prevail

over Ellison's lightning-fast reflexes. He stood, arms crossed, tapping his

foot impatiently, exasperation evident on his features.

 

"Nope," Jim said, pocketing the pacifier. "Guess I'll hang on to this," He

flashed a smile at Simon. "You know his mouth, I gotta live with the guy."

 

"Great, more jokes," Blair groaned. "Tell you what. I'll go get the pickup.

You guys stay here and get it all out of your system, okay? Keys?"

 

Jim laughed. He reached into his pocket for the keys and held them up.

"What do you think, Simon? What's the law about Baby New Year's driving?"

 

"All depends on whether he's had his shots or not," Simon grinned.

 

"That's it! I'm outta here," Blair said, snatching the keys from Ellison's

hand. Head held high, he marched away. He knew the dignified pose had

failed when he heard the hoots of laughter from behind him.

 

******

 

'Loyalty means nothing unless it has at its heart the absolute principle of

self-sacrifice.'--Woodrow Wilson.

__________

 

The Rolling Stones boomed out their 'Sympathy for the Devil,' in the

confined space of the truck cab. Sandburg sang along, enjoying this brief

moment of musical freedom, and volume, before Jim got in the truck.

 

"Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name. But what's puzzling you is

the nature of my game," Mick Jagger crooned.

 

"This truck's got a great sound system," Blair said. "Too bad Mr. Jim

'Santana's the only band worth listening to' Ellison doesn't make better

use of it."

 

Sandburg stopped at a red light and tapped his hand on the steering wheel

in time with the music. Warmth poured from the truck's heater. He unhooked

his seatbelt to shed his coat, and his 'Fargo' hat. 'No need to give Jim

any more ammunition for jokes tonight,' he thought.

 

"Let me please introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste. And I lay

traps for troubadors, who get killed before they reach Bombay."

 

Sandburg drove around the last corner and stopped at yet another in an

endless series of red lights. He could see his friends standing on the

corner laughing and goofing off. He sighed heavily, expecting the ribbing

to continue all the way home. 'At least Simon's got his own car,' he

thought gratefully.

 

Tapping his hand impatiently on the steering wheel, Sandburg waited for the

light to turn green. The song built towards its climax, Jagger giving it

his all. Blair's mittens became drumsticks, the steering wheel his

percussion. With all the power behind Sandburg lungs, he gave Mick Jagger a

run for his money.

 

"Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name, oh yeah, but what's confusing

you is the nature of my game."

 

He looked up. Nope. Still red.

 

"Just as every cop is a criminal, and all the sinners saints...." Jagger

continued.

 

"Yeah, well, Mick, you don't know the cops I do."

 

Movement caught his eye, and he glanced over to see a car approaching the

intersection. 'Guy's going way too fast,' Blair thought absently. 'The

light's gonna change any second now.'

 

He came to full attention when he noticed the driver slump forward. The car

began weaving, turning off course, turning toward--

 

Jim!

 

Everything seemed to slow down. Senses focused, amplified, Sentinel-like,

if such a thing were possible for him. Hearing dimmed, until only the rapid

pounding of an adrenalin-taxed heart filled his awareness. Vision narrowed

focusing on the car, and his oblivious friends in harm's way.

 

He saw Jim's head come up, swing around, his mouth drop open in surprise.

 

No time!

 

Protect the Sentinel!

 

*My life for yours.*

 

*Don't ever risk yourself for me, Chief.*

 

'I'm sorry, Jim.'

 

Real time returned in a rush. Blair floored the pickup, putting himself in

the path of the oncoming car, using the truck as a barrier to turn the car

and keep his friends safe.

 

'God, please let it work. Keep them safe. Keep *him* safe.'

 

Only when he heard the screech of tires, and felt the first jolt, did he

spare any thought to what would become of him.

 

Mick belted out the final verse. "So if you meet me, have some courtesy.

Have some sympathy, and some taste. Use all your well-learned politesse or

I'll lay your soul to waste."

 

'I don't want to meet him...Jim, don't let me die,' he thought as the

darkness took him.

 

******

 

"And then you stuck that pacifier in his mouth...priceless, absolutely

priceless," Rafe laughed. "His face...I should've had a camera."

 

"I'm keeping that pacifier. Whenever his mouth kicks into high gear, I'm

gonna pull it out and...." Jim paused as his sensitive ears picked up a

sound. He turned and felt the blood drain from his face.

 

"Jim?" Simon asked.

 

"Look out!"

 

'Not enough time,' Jim knew, as he shoved Simon over with every ounce of

his strength, then turned back for Rafe. He pulled the young cop behind him

and braced for the impact, the pain.

 

Nothing.

 

Opening his eyes, he saw a truck drive into the path of the oncoming car.

The car plowed into the truck, the impact sending the pickup on a twisting,

spinning journey, finally coming to rest on its passenger side. The

tortured screech of metal impacting metal sent Ellison to his knees,

grasping his head in pain. The car, turned from its deadly path, crashed

into a dumpster. The echo of a scream hung in the air, then--silence.

 

Ellison scrambled backward, turning to look for his friends. "Simon? Rafe?"

 

"Here," Rafe called, his eyes round with shock.

 

Simon lay sprawled on the ground, his ear to a cell phone. "Yes, the

Bloomsbury hotel. Looks like a drunk driver to me. Get an officer over

here, and rescue units immediately. It's a bad one." He turned off the

phone, got shakily to his feet, and nodded at the others. "Let's see what

we can do to help here. We owe our lives to...oh, my God!" He stared at the

truck, and Ellison's eyes followed his gaze to view the devastation before

him.

 

The crumpled remains of the blue pickup were familiar.

 

Too familiar.

 

His truck.

 

...Blair!

 

"Sandburg!" He ran to the truck. No movement in the cab. No sound.

Wait--relief flooded his mind as he heard a weak heartbeat. 'Alive, thank

God.'

 

He could see Blair through the shattered windshield, and immediately began

pulling the glass away, breaking up the windshield with his hands,

unmindful of the cuts or the pain.

 

"Blair!"

 

No answer. His Guide was unconscious. Caught by one of his legs, Blair hung

upside down, hair flowing down the the pickup seat. Blood streamed from a

gash in his forehead. The blood soaked into Blair's hair, than dripped, to

puddle on the ground next to one of his limp hands. Ellison's medic-trained

eyes could also see the growing red stain on Blair's pants from the leg

that held him trapped.

 

The Sentinel reached a shaking hand through the broken window to feel for a

pulse. Not trusting his senses, he sought assurance that the weak heartbeat

he heard did indeed belong to his guide.

 

'So much blood,' the detective thought. 'Just like Kyle.'

 

Just like Kyle, who had bled to death in Jim's car.

 

"Not again," Jim whispered, his voice trembling with panic. "Never again."

 

He leaned over the truck and started pulling at the one visible door.

 

"Open, dammit! Blair, hang on, buddy, I'll get you out."

 

"Jim!" Simon's voice boomed.

 

"We've got to get him out of there Simon," Ellison tugged at the unyielding

door, strain evident on his face. "He's hurt. I won't let it happen again,

do you hear me? I won't let another friend bleed to death in my car. I

can't lose Blair, now help me, dammit!"

 

Simon maneuvered himself between Jim and the pickup, raising his hands in a

calming fashion when he saw the wild expression in Ellison's eyes.

 

"Jim, easy...easy now," he said soothingly. "The rescue units are on their

way."

 

Jim pushed Simon aside and the captain grabbed him by the arm.

 

"Ellison wait!" he barked in a commanding tone.

 

The no-nonsense timbre of command broke through the detective's panic to

reach the mind of the former military operative. Ellison backed away from

the truck, and raised a shaking hand to his face.

 

"We have to wait." Simon continued gently. "We don't know how serious

Sandburg's injuries are. We could hurt him worse by moving him. Jim,

listen...do you hear the sirens? Those people are trained to help him. Let

them do their job. You've got to calm down now. Blair needs you.

 

'Blair needs me.' Ellison let out a pent-up breath and nodded his head.

 

A moan came from the pickup. The detective jerked away from Banks and went

down on his knees before the shattered windshield.

 

"Blair?"

 

******

 

'But it was even thou, my companion, my guide, and my own familiar

friend.'--Book of Common Prayer, Psalm LV.

__________

 

Darkness.

 

The ebony tide swirled around him. Caught in an eddy, he struggled,

fighting the current that threatened to sweep him away. Part of him wanted

to give in, to let the stream take him where it would, but something kept

his exhausted body fighting, denying him the peace he sought. Someone

called his name, insisting that he go back.

 

The course changed. Blackness gave way to greys and silvers with flashes of

color and sound. The color grew in intensity as his mind sought the

connection with his body. Color became pain--bright, fire engine red, an

agony that jolted him back to awareness.

 

He gasped, attempting to draw breath from lungs that seemed filled with

Jell-O. The struggle weakened him still further and he couldn't find the

strength to open his eyes. He felt drops falling on his face. 'Rain...so

thirsty.' He parted his lips and felt for the droplets with his tongue.

'Funny metallic taste--not water--blood.'

 

Blood?

 

'Wha...happened?'

 

Why did he hurt so much? Why was his leg testing all its nerve endings at

once; his head pounding in time with his heartbeat? And his chest...oh,

God...when had he met up with the mule that had kicked him? He moaned

softly.

 

"Blair?"

 

Comfort. A familiar voice...who?

 

'Think,' he demanded, forcing his fuzzy brain to concentrate.

 

Sentinel, partner, friend, his mind provided.

 

Jim.

 

"Blair, open your eyes for me," Jim's anxious voice requested. "Please,

buddy."

 

He could do it, for Jim.

 

Slowly his eyes opened and he blinked, attempting to focus on the blurry

face before him. Something was wrong.

 

"Wh...why you standing on...your head?"

 

"Shh...don't talk, Blair. There's been an accident. The rescue crews are on

their way. You'll be out of there soon."

 

Blair slowly turned his head and winced as daggers pierced his skull at the

movement. He saw the shattered remains of the truck around him and realized

it was he who was upside down.

 

"A..Accident?" His blue eyes widened as the memory returned. "Jim!

Ahh....hurts."

 

"I'm here, Blair, lie still now. Don't move."

 

Blair felt the soft caress of his partner's hand, a feather-light touch

stroking his cheek. He saw the cuts on that hand.

 

"Jim...all right?...Hand?"

 

Ellison looked at his torn and bleeding hands. "I'm fine, Blair. Just some

cuts from the glass. Don't worry about *me.*"

 

"Si...mon? Rafe?"

 

"We're all fine, Sandburg. Thanks to you." Simon moved into Blair's line of

sight.

 

Blair closed his eyes, relief flowing through him. 'It worked. They're

safe.'

 

"Paramedics are on their way. You just hold on, now," Banks said gently.

 

"Glad..." Blair tried to laugh, but it came out as a sickly wheeze. "Just

glad I'm..." He felt his mouth fill with blood and choked, coughing to get

a clear breath. "...not wearing that...stupid diaper...doctors...could just

see...their faces."

 

A forced smile touched Jim's lips. "The nurses would probably love it, and

knowing you, you'd still manage to get a date."

 

"Yeah...would be a...challange...ahh," Blair hissed in pain.

 

"Shh...be still. I know how hard it is for you to be quiet, buddy, but now

would be a good time."

 

"No, more...pacifier jokes." Blair fought to breathe, his heart hammering

out an uneven rhythm.

 

"No more jokes tonight. Just keep breathing, okay?"

 

"Hurts to breathe."

 

"I know, Chief. I know." Blair heard the pain in his friend's voice.

 

"Dizzy..." Blair felt his eyes drift closed. The pain had faded from fire

engine red to crimson "...'s not so bad now."

 

He could hear his friends talking to each other, but only got fragments.

It took too much effort to listen.

 

["Where are they?"]

 

["...going into shock."]

 

["...internal bleeding."]

 

["...lose him!"]

 

Thoughts passed through his mind in rapid succession. Jim sounded so

scared. Did Jim get scared? He always seemed so in control. Except when he

got mad. Was Jim mad at him? I wrecked his truck. Does he understand why?

Gotta make him understand.

 

Blair felt his oxygen starved muscles contract. He shivered and couldn't

stop.

 

"So cold," he murmured.

 

"You'll be warm soon. I promise. Stay with me, Chief."

 

The pain had dulled now to a deep purple. The river of darkness called for

him to return to her peaceful depths; made him promises of an end to pain,

and no more worries. It would be easy--so very easy to let go. Blair felt

his heart pound in an off-beat rhythm. Each breath became a battle in a war

for survival--a war that, in his weakened state, he didn't know if he could

win.

 

'Is this what if feels like to die?' he wondered. 'What a paper I could

write.'

 

Scholarship gave way to panic as he felt blood well up in his throat once

more.

 

Choking.

 

No air.

 

Can't breathe.

 

Help me. Somebody help me!

 

He felt strong hands lift and turn his head and he coughed, spraying a fine

mist of blood over the shattered windshield and the friend who held his

head.

 

"I've got you, Blair. Just keep breathing. Don't you dare stop!"

 

Jim. The young Guide's eyes sought those of his Sentinel and saw panic

there to mirror his own.

 

'So much to tell you, Jim...things you must understand....' he thought.

 

"Jim!" Blair gasped out the older man's name, and with fading strength

lifted his hand and reached for his partner. He felt Jim's fingers encircle

and warm his own, and he smiled, knowing that no matter what happened he

wasn't alone. His friend was here with him. The pain continued to fade from

deep purple to dark brown and the Guide knew that his consciousness would

soon follow into the blackness.

 

'Have to stay awake...tell Jim....' His eyes drifted shut.

 

"Blair! Stay with me here...you with me?"

 

'Always...my friend.'

 

"Do you hear the sirens? The paramedics are here. They'll help you. Wake

up, Buddy."

 

He was so tired. So very tired. He stood at the edge of the river. One step

and the current would take him, pull him down. This time there would be no

return. His strength was gone.

 

"Blair, don't you do this," a distraught voice pleaded. "Please,

Blair...don't leave me alone."

 

Jim.

 

Only the fear and pain in that voice could call him back. And only the love

that he felt for this man could give him the strength to turn once more

from the darkness to the light. A voice in his head warned him that his

duty toward his Sentinel was unfinished. The Guide needed to know that his

Sentinel and friend would be all right, and that Jim understood the choice

Blair had made.

 

He tapped the feelings in his heart to give his failing body strength.

Opening his eyes, the Guide zeroed in on his Sentinel's face.

 

"Blair, thank God. No...don't talk. Rest."

 

"Jim...listen...please. I..." A cough shook him, tearing through his

weakened lungs, stealing the breath needed for speech. 'Waited too long.

Time's up.' Blair's blue eyes bored into Jim's, willing the Sentinel to

read in the Guide's soul the feelings he could no longer give voice to.

 

******

 

The eyes--Sentinels of the soul, he'd once heard them called. Sentinels

guarding the deepest secrets, the most heartfelt feelings of his Guide's

spirit. Jim lost himself in those blue eyes and he watched silent, and in

awe, as a dam broke and the emotions poured forth. Wave after wave washed

over him, and he struggled with the tide, fighting, trying to understand

the source, the message behind the soul-stirring emotion.

 

******

 

'Jim. I don't have the strength to tell you but you must understand. You

told me never to risk myself for you and you waited for a promise that I

couldn't give. The vow I made to you tonight was more than an

over-emotional anthropologist speaking to hear himself talk. My life for

yours, a deeply meant promise from a Guide to his Sentinel, from one friend

to another.

 

'You are a Sentinel, Jim. A man with responsibilities that I could never

bear. You protect the tribe, an entire city of people...and one Guide, who

knows how often he gets himself into trouble, and who is so grateful for

his Blessed Protector.'

 

Blair felt his heart skip and thump heavily in his chest, and a wave of

blackness washed over him. 'No! Need more time.' Determined, he shook off

the dark and forced his eyes back up to his partner's face.

 

'I am your Guide, Jim. Do I understand everything that that means? What all

of my responsibilities to you are? No, I don't. And you will never know how

afraid I've been. How afraid I am that I'll fail you in some way because of

my inexperience. I don't know everything about being a Guide, but...I do

know that while your responsibility is to a city, mine is to you. I assist

you as best I can with your Sentinel abilities. I listen when you need me

to. I help you, so you can help others. I watch over you and yes, I protect

you, too. That is my role. That is what being a 'Guide' means to me.'

 

******

 

'Those eyes...pleading with me, so desperate, so much pain,' Jim thought.

'What are you saying to me, my friend? What is so important?'

 

"I'm here, Blair. Please...stay with me."

 

******

 

The young Guide saw the anguish in his friend's eyes and flinched inwardly

at being the cause of such pain. His hand tightened imperceptibly on Jim's,

but the Sentinel felt it and returned the pressure.

 

'Jim, I didn't mean to cause you pain or to make you angry with me, but I

meant it when I said this partnership works both ways. You are my Blessed

Protector. You watch over me and keep me safe. But you need to understand

that sometimes the Guide must do the protecting. It's as much a part of who

*I* am as who you are. The Sentinel protects the tribe and his Guide. The

Guide looks after his Sentinel because no one else will...and he needs

looking after.'

 

Blair heard muted voices in the background. Movement. Colors, shapes passed

by, but he paid them no mind. Nothing mattered but Jim, the feel of his

friend's hand in his, the grief in his Sentinel's eyes. Jim must

understand. Accept. And in doing so free his Guide, allowing him to leave

at peace.

 

'Can you understand, Jim? There are times when I can't stand by and simply

observe. Times when I can't obey you and keep out of harm's way. It is my

duty, my desire to protect you, and I will, when I can make a difference.

That is the choice I made, the choice I will *always* make. That is the

choice I need you to understand. Tell me, my friend, my brother. Tell me

you understand. I couldn't bear to have you angry with me through all

eternity.'

 

Blair allowed the love he felt to shine from his eyes and he smiled. 'It's

done.'

 

******

 

"Blair? What is it? What are you trying to tell me?" Ellison asked,

confusion evident in his expression.

 

The Guide felt the tears well up and spill down his cheeks. 'I've failed.'

 

"S...sorry...Jim, don't be...down on me...had to..." he gasped.

 

"Down on you? Blair...are you worried about the truck? Is that it? Blair, I

don't care about the truck..."

 

"No..." Sandburg felt the darkness reach for him. It had been patient long

enough and insisted he surrender. "...not truck...Tell me you...understand.

Please...Jim."

 

******

 

So weak, that whispered voice. But not too weak for Sentinel ears.

 

"Understand? Blair what?...Oh my God...."

 

Jim felt the blood drain from his face. He'd been here before--seen

this--seen Blair, bloody and in pain. The vision he had dismissed earlier

had come to life before his eyes in full technocolor and sound. But this

was no dream. He couldn't wake up, now. Blair was dying before his eyes,

and he was helpless to stop it

 

"The vision. I saw this. I could have stopped this. Blair...God, I'm so

sorry."

 

******

 

Blair was too tired to figure out what his friend meant. All he knew was he

had protected his Sentinel, but failed his friend. Jim didn't understand,

and the sadness the young Guide felt at leaving his confused and angry

Sentinel behind was more than he could bear.

 

'Take me now,' he told the darkness. 'I won't fight you anymore.'

 

Voices. Lots of them.

 

Blair felt his hand torn from Jim's. The pickup jolted, but he felt no

pain. A stranger talked to him, but he couldn't hear the words...could no

longer see the face. Blackness enveloped him in softness--and he let go.

 

Falling.

 

His last coherent thought was that, this time, Jim wouldn't be there to

catch him.

 

******

 

'A heartbeat does more than measure life--Its rhythm holds the voice of

love.'--Lee Ann Chearney.

__________

 

Siren song filled the air, but the Sentinel didn't notice, his attention

centered fully on his Guide. For a moment he saw the deep sadness in

Blair's eyes before consciousness faded and the young man's body went limp.

 

"Blair, nooooo..." His voice broke, and his hand tightened convulsively on

the slack fingers of his friend. He felt hands grabbing him, pulling him

away--away from Blair. He struggled, but felt his Guide's fingers slip from

his own. The connection broken, he threw back his head and screamed, a high

pitched animal wail of anger, pain, and loss. The hands released him and he

whirled around to face his tormentors. Simon stood between him and three

wide-eyed paramedics. Fear and concern darkened the captain's eyes.

 

"Jim, please. Let them help Blair." Simon pulled the frantic detective away

from the pickup, allowing the firemen to begin extricating the young

anthropologist from the truck.

 

The minutes seemed like hours. Ellison watched as the firemen used the jaws

of life to free Sandburg from the demolished truck. He stood by helplessly

as Blair was gently lowered onto a backboard, then quickly moved away from

the accident scene.

 

["I've got arterial bleeding here. Pressure on that leg now!"]

 

Ellison hated this feeling of helplessness. He was a doer, not a spectator.

His Guide needed help, his best friend needed him. The Sentinel's

protective mode was fully armed and operational, and to be forced to the

sidelines was intolerable. 'I'm his protector. I should be there for him.'

 

["Blood pressure 70 over 50!"]

 

["He's crashing!"]

 

Jim tuned in, focusing his hearing on one sound only, the rapid erratic

heartbeat of his friend. He listened as the laboring muscle slowed, gave a

final thump, and stopped. A last shuddering breath escaped Blair's lungs;

no inhalation followed.

 

"Blair!..." Jim moved instinctively toward the still figure on the ground,

but found himself caught and held by strong arms.

 

"No, Jim. Let them do their job," Banks said.

 

"This can't be happening. Not again...Blair...he...he's not breathing,

Simon. His heart's stopped...I can't...I can't go through this again. Not

Blair...not him. Everyone leaves. Everyone I allow myself to care about.

Not Blair...I can't...lose him. I need him too much, Simon."

 

"The kid's a fighter, Jim." Ellison felt the consoling arms of his captain

and friend tighten around him, and took comfort in the living presence

beside him.

 

["He's not breathing! Check his airway!"]

 

["Start bagging him."]

 

["I don't have a pulse! Start chest compressions."]

 

A flurry of activity began over Blair Sandburg's lifeless form. One

paramedic began CPR, another put an Ambu bag and mask over Sandburg's

blue-tinged mouth, and began pumping air into his lungs. The third prepared

an IV solution and spoke into a phone, giving the patient's vitals to the

doctor, and relaying orders from the hospital.

 

Ellison's medic training gave him insight, and he listened as the

paramedics reported Blair's condition to the hospital. The words were

familiar, but seemed unreal because it was Blair being discussed. Blair who

lay on the ground bleeding, drowning in the blood that filled his chest

cavity and squeezed the rhythm of life from his heart and lungs.

 

["I can't get a pulse. Paddles!"]

 

A jolt of electricity coursed through the paddles into Sandburg's still

body, sending it arching off the backboard. Ellison winced, feeling the

shock surge through his own body.

 

["Again!"]

 

Jim found himself chanting a Sandburg mantra. "Please, please, please."

 

["I've got rhythm."]

 

Yes, there it was, the familiar beat of his Guide's heart. 'Not dead. Still

with me.' The paramedics quickly moved Blair toward the ambulance. Jim

broke free of Simon's hold and rushed over.

 

"I need to be with him."

 

"I'm sorry sir, you'll have to follow on your own. He's stable for the

moment, but...he's bleeding so badly inside. I don't know...we need to get

him to the hospital now."

 

Jim brushed his hand over Blair's face then stepped back, allowing his

friend to be loaded into the ambulance.

 

"I'll be right behind you, buddy," Jim whispered. 'Fight this. Stay alive!

Tap that source of strength deep within you. I've seen it. I know it's

there. And if it's not enough then take my strength. Take it all, because I

don't want to live in a world without Blair Sandburg in it.' "Do you hear

me?" he called out.

 

Only the faint wail of a siren answered him. Jim turned and stumbled

blindly back to his truck. He stared at the shattered remains, the twisted

metal and broken glass, and shuddered at the thought of Blair inside it.

His nose twitched at the overpowering scent of blood. Blair's blood. So

much of it lay on the ground. Too much? Was there enough left in his

Guide's body? Enough to keep him alive?

 

Something caught his eye and he bent down to retrieve a blood-covered piece

of fur. Blair's 'Fargo' hat. He crushed it to his chest and smelled the

essense of his Guide. The newest herbal shampoo, and other scents that just

said, Blair. The hat was saturated in blood. Ruined. Blair would never wear

it again. Never....

 

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the truck. A noise

caught his attention and he looked up to see the driver of the car

staggering around, muttering incoherently, and ignoring the attempts of a

paramedic to get him to sit down.

 

A spark of anger, like the lighting of a match, broke through the haze of

grief. Jim watched the drunk stumble about, unhurt except for a few

scratches. His eyes returned to the pool of blood at his feet, the image of

Blair suffering still fresh in his mind. The reek of alcohol filled his

sensitive nostrils and he began to shake. The spark ignited, fueling the

rage. An explosion of white-hot fury filled his being and he erupted. One

moment he was beside the pickup clutching Sandburg's bloody hat, the next

his hands were wrapped around the drunk's throat. He picked the man up and

rammed him against the car.

 

"You drunken son of a bitch! You never think about the people you hurt!" He

waved the bloody hat in the man's face. "Do you see the blood? My partner

is bleeding to death because of you! Why? Why does an innocent always have

to pay? Why?! Answer me, you bastard!"

 

His grip tightened on the drunk's throat. The man's eyes bugged out, and

choking noises escaped his lips. It would be so easy to snap his neck. He

wanted to. He wanted it so badly...for Blair, for Kyle, and for everyone

who had lost someone to one of these irresponsible drunks.

 

"My friend is choking to death on his own blood. How does it feel? Do you

want to die that way?"

 

"Jim! Let him go," Simon Banks interceded. "Please Jim, don't do it. This

won't help Sandburg. He needs you at his side, not sitting in a jail cell."

 

Ellison's gaze slid from the drunk's face to find his captain on one side

of him, Rafe on the other.

 

"Think of Blair, Jim. You know he wouldn't want this."

 

Blair. A picture of his Guide formed in Ellison's mind. Blue eyes sparkling

with mirth, hair blowing in the wind, a gentle smile. Gentle. That

described Blair. A gentle man who would never want someone else to suffer

because of him.

 

"Blair wouldn't want this, Jim."

 

Ellison let out an explosive breath, dropped the drunken man as if burned,

and turned to walk off into the night.

 

The inebriate lay on the ground gasping. "You can't do dis to me. Dis is

America an I ga rights. I wanna lawyer."

 

Banks pulled the man to his feet and silenced him with a deadly glare.

"Yeah, you got rights and you're going to get them read to you right now.

Collins!" he gestured at a uniformed officer standing nearby. "Read him his

rights and get him out of here."

 

As Collins walked over to lead the man away, Banks pulled the drunk close.

"Let's get one thing straight. That kid they hauled out of here, broken and

bleeding? He's one of us and we take care of our own. If he dies..."

Simon's voice broke and he cleared his throat. "If Blair Sandburg dies, no

lawyer, nothing will save your sorry ass." He waved at Collins to take the

man away. "Get this piece of scum out of my sight."

 

Simon turned away and looked for Ellison. The tall silent figure stood

before his crushed truck, a stunned, empty look on his face. Banks had seen

that look before: when Jim had told him about Kyle O'Shaughnessy's death,

when his partner Jack had first disappeared, the day his divorce to Carolyn

became final, when Danny Choi died in his arms. Each time the detective had

closed up a little more, and reigned in his emotions.

 

Now Sandburg.

 

The captain had seen a remarkable change in Detective James Ellison since

Blair Sandburg entered his life. The young man proved invaluable not only

as a focus for Ellison's Sentinel abilities, but as a control for his

emotions as well. Sandburg somehow got past those famous Ellison defenses

as no one, not even Simon, had ever been able to do, and it had helped mold

Jim into a far better man.

 

Simon Banks knew the deep affection Jim had for the kid. Ellison had become

closer to Sandburg than to any of his other friends or partners. The

Sentinel thing assured that. As he watched the silent, grieving figure, the

captain wondered if Jim would recover from the loss of this partner, his

'Guide.' Banks didn't understand the bond between Sandburg and Ellison, but

he could feel the connection between them. It ran deep. Soul deep. And

right now he was witnessing a soul in agony. Watching Jim's reactions to

Blair's injuries and to the man who caused them, the captain feared for his

friend's sanity if the kid died.

 

'Time to be a friend, Simon.' He took a deep breath, squared his

shoulders, and walked over to Ellison. The still figure didn't acknowledge

him until he laid a hand on a tense shoulder.

 

"Why, Simon? Why'd he do it? What was he thinking?"

 

"You know the answer, Jim," Simon said gently. "Sandburg was thinking of

you, and me, and Rafe. His friends. The kid has always put others ahead of

his own safety. One of the reasons I worry so much about him."

 

Jim closed his eyes. "'My life for yours,' he said. That's what he told me

earlier tonight." He opened his eyes and looked at Simon. "I never wanted

that, Simon. I told him never to risk himself for me."

 

"Would you do that yourself?"

 

"What?"

 

"Stand by when you knew your actions could save the lives of people you

cared about."

 

"We're not talking about me. Blair...he's got this protective streak

running through him. He never thinks of his own safety. He just reacts."

 

"I wonder where the kid picked that up?" Simon chided gently. "Jim, Blair

cares about you. You're important to him. The Sandburg I know could never

stand by and allow harm to come to you. Not when he could prevent it. Don't

expect the kid to be any less honorable than you, Jim Ellison. He is what

he is and cop, or not, I'm damn proud to call him one of my men...and a

friend."

 

Ellison looked over at his captain. "Blair would love to hear you say that.

He's always wanted your good opinion. He respects you so much, Simon." He

glanced over at the truck once more. "I never should have allowed him to

start working with me. I can't keep him safe. It's all my fault."

 

Banks reached out and grabbed his friend's arm. "Whoa, now. This accident

had nothing to do with you, or the job. It was a drunk driver, Jim. It

could have happened to any of us at any time. There was nothing you could

do to prevent it. Stop running yourself through the wringer here."

 

Simon placed his arm across Jim's shoulders, squeezing gently. "I'm here

for you Jim, and so are your other friends. You won't go through this

alone. Right now the kid needs you. Be strong for him, and for yourself.

Now...we need to get to the hospital. Are you ready?"

 

"Yeah, I'm ready. And Simon...thanks."

 

"I'm your friend, Jim. Good times and bad. You remember how I leaned on you

in those tough times during my divorce? It's my turn. Lean on me now. I'm

here." Arms around each other's shoulders, they made their way to the car.

 

******

 

'And Jonathan...loved David as he loved his own soul.'--1 Samuel XX, 17.

__________

 

'Like a caged tiger,' Banks thought as he watched Ellison pace the waiting

room floor. Sandburg had been taken to surgery immediately upon arrival,

and all his friends could do was wait, and worry. The room was filled to

capacity as many of the officers of Major Crimes stayed on to wait for news

of Blair, and to support his partner.

 

The captain watched his officers with pride, and respect. Each man and

woman in this room knew the fear that Jim Ellison felt at this moment. A

partner down, life hanging in the balance. All of them had been here

before, waiting for news of their own partner, or supporting another

officer through their ordeal. Police officers didn't dwell on that thought,

but it was there nonetheless, every day when they picked up their badge,

strapped on their gun, and went out into the street. A cop counted on his

partner, trusted his partner, and was often closer to that partner than to

family. A bond not easily broken, except by death.

 

'We few...we band of brothers.' Where had he heard that?

 

Simon's eyes continued to scan the room, which was remarkably quiet

considering the number of people assembled. Few words were spoken, and

those in hushed, subdued tones. He could hear the pages of a magazine

turning, a sigh and a crack of joint as someone stretched from a cramped

position. Partners sat together, drawing strength from each other.

 

A soft snore emanated from a corner and Simon looked over, his eyes meeting

those of Henri Brown. The younger detective smiled slightly but did not

move. Rafe had fallen asleep, exhaustion overcoming the adrenalin rush of

his near miss. He lay slumped bonelessly against Brown, head resting on his

partner's shoulder, dark lashes standing out stark against his pale face.

Caught in the grip of a dream, the young man muttered in his sleep and

moved restlessly. Brown reached an arm around to pull Rafe closer and spoke

to him in soft, soothing tones.

 

Simon's gaze returned to Ellison and he saw the detective pause

momentarily in his pacing to observe Brown and Rafe. On the way to the

hospital the captain had watched and worried as Jim withdrew back into his

shell, throwing up tattered shields after his emotional outburst at the

accident scene. For a moment now, as Jim watched Brown comfort his

sleeping partner, the shield fell, and pain flickered in those blue eyes.

For a moment only, then Ellison wrenched his gaze away. He cocked his head,

eyes glazing over as he listened to sounds that only a Sentinel could hear.

 

Banks watched as Jim's mouth fell open slightly, his eyes squinted and a

line of concentration formed between his brows. The detective shook his

head abruptly, winced and resumed his pacing, frustration evident in his

expression.

 

'Jim's trying to listen to Blair's surgery,' the captain realized. 'He's

frustrated, and can't go deep enough because he's afraid of zoning in front

of all of us. He needs a quiet place where he can be alone.'

 

Simon got up and left the room, returning a few minutes later. "Jim, come

with me, okay?"

 

Ellison followed him out the door, his expression fearful. "What, Simon?

Did you hear something?"

 

"No, Blair's still in surgery. Just follow me." He led the way to the end

of the hall, opened the door to another room and ushered Jim inside. "It's

quiet here and you'll be alone."

 

"How did you....?"

 

"Jim, I'm not dense. I know you want to be with Blair now. And you can't,

not with all of us around. You'll be alone here, so go, be with him. I'll

be nearby to pull you out if you zone." He patted Jim on the shoulder and

left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

 

Ellison looked around the room. It was a small Catholic chapel with room

for only four pews, and a small altar at the front. On the wall hung a

figure of Christ on the cross. The figure's compassionate eyes seemed to

stare right into the detective's soul and tears welled up, blurring

everything before him. He sank down onto a pew and put his head in his

hands.

 

"I...I'm not very good at this. Please...please don't take him from me,"

Jim said in a whispered voice. "I believe we were brought together for a

reason. To do good, help people--I don't know. But there's still so much

left for us to do, to learn, about each other, and these special gifts I've

been given." Jim blinked the tears from his eyes, and looked up at the

figure on the wall.

 

"I remember when Blair took me to the monastery. He told me how much he

admired the monks, and how he could never have that kind of dedication or

commitment. It took me a while to realize it, and him too, maybe, but he

does have it. He has pledged himself--to me--his Sentinel--his friend."

Ellison's voice choked and he swallowed the tears he feared to cry.

 

"Blair has sacrificed so much to stay with me. His dissertation's on hold.

He gave up the career opportunity of a lifetime, the study in Borneo, to

stay with me out of friendship. He's risked his life and followed me into

danger time and time again. And now...now he offers his own life to save

mine." Jim shook his head in wonder.

 

"What did I ever do in this life to deserve such unselfish devotion? To

earn his trust? To deserve such a friend? And how do I go on...if..." Jim's

voice faded to a whisper. "...if he is taken from me?"

 

He drew a deep breath, closed his eyes and reached out with his hearing. So

many people, so much emotion. He heard the joy and pain of a new mother as

she struggled to bring her child into the world, the muffled sounds of pain

and laughter, the cry of a sick child, an old woman's scream of loss as her

lifepartner passed on. So many heartbeats, so many...where was it...the one

he sought. There...a familiar beat he knew as well as his own. Blair. 'I'm

with you, buddy. Can you feel me beside you?'

 

He widened his hearing from Blair's heartbeat and listened to the doctors

as they fought to repair his friend's broken body. Somber voices.

 

["God, look at this...Drunk driver was it? SOB ought to be shot."]

 

["I heard this kid drove his truck in front of the drunk's car to save his

friends standing on the streetcorner. Can you believe it? Brave just

doesn't cover that in my book."]

 

["Yeah....Shit! Give me some suction, I've got a bleeder here. No here!

Christ! Here's another one. Where's it coming from? Gotta stop it, kid

can't afford to lose any more blood."]

 

["His BP's dropping...."]

 

Sounds merged into one: the excited voices of the surgeons, a crazily

beeping monitor, Blair's irregular heartbeat, Jim's own heart, pounding

with fear. A symphony of sound, then--silence.

 

"NO!" Jim's eyes flew open. His Sentinel hearing had failed. Only the

silence of the chapel greeted his ears, the faint sounds of voices and the

hospital intercom. 'He's still alive. He'll make it through. He's got to.'

 

Jim tried to remake the connection with his Sentinel hearing. He had to

know what was happening to Blair. Sound faded in and out, loud to soft,

muted as if his head was underwater.

 

"What's happening to me? Just like in Peru...just like...."

 

He looked around wildly, searching for a black panther, then spoke to the

air. "Are you here? What's happening to me? Another test? Do you want to

know if...if this Sentinel can function without his Guide?" Jim slumped

down on the pew and looked up at the ceiling. "No...he can't. End of

lesson."

 

Jim squeezed his eyes tightly shut, hoping to feel the soft touch on his

shoulder, wanting, more than anything to hear the voice of his Guide.

 

"Blair, I'm lost here. Without your guidance I'm a Sentinel without senses,

a man with no direction. I...I feel like a ship adrift on the ocean, no

rudder, no wind, no destination. You are the wind in my sails, Blair. You

guided me, kept me steady and on course, helped me fight the storms, and

brought me safely home to port. You, Blair. Only you. I feel your presence

at my side and I am calm. I can face the tempest that is my life. Help me,

Chief. I'm not used to this feeling...this fear."

 

"Jim, calm down," his mind heard the familiar voice. "Slow your breathing,

that's right...slow and easy. You can do this, I know that you can. Believe

in yourself as I do."

 

Jim pictured Blair in his mind. He saw the light, the faith shining from

his friend's eyes. "Stay with me."

 

"I'm here. Rest now. You look so tired."

 

"Rest...just shut my eyes for a moment...."

 

"Jim? Jim, wake up."

 

"Blair!" Ellison sat up quickly and fell off the pew. He stared bleary eyed

at Simon, who reached out a hand to steady him.

 

"You fell asleep, Jim. Probably the best thing for you. Wake up now.

Blair's out of surgery and the doctor wants to talk to you."

 

"Hmmm...wha? No, Blair's here, Simon. Right here by me."

 

"You were dreaming, Jim," the captain said gently.

 

Jim looked around. The room was empty, but for him and Simon. No sign of

Blair. His heart plummeted.

 

Simon saw his distress. "You okay?"

 

'Even in my dreams he looks out for me.' Jim swallowed and shoved his

feelings down deep. He took a deep breath and got up. "I'm fine. Let's go

talk to the doctor."

 

******

 

'A faithful friend is the medicine of life.'--Ecclesiasticus 6:16

__________

 

[We almost lost him.]

 

[Critical condition.]

 

The doctor's words cycled through Ellison's mind, in an endless circular

loop. He tried to still the voice in his head, and listen as the surgeon

described the operation, listing Blair's injuries.

 

"He had a ruptured spleen which caused bleeding into the abdominal region,

and a massive hemothorax, generating more bleeding into the chest cavity,"

the doctor said, grimly. "Both are generally blunt trauma injuries caused

by impact with the steering wheel. Mr. Sandburg also has three broken ribs,

a compound fracture to his left leg, shock, and concussion. We intubated

him to assist his breathing, and will be monitoring him closely for the

next few days."

 

"Will he make it, doctor?" Simon asked.

 

The surgeon sighed tiredly, his expression grave. "At this point, I can't

give you a definite answer, captain. I wish that I could, but it's just too

soon. I want to monitor Mr. Sandburg's heart and lung activity closely. His

heart stopped twice on the table and has not yet regained a fully normal

rhythm."

 

His gaze shifted from Banks to Ellison. "He is critical as I said before,

but the fact that your partner is a young, healthy man is in his favor. I

believe if he survives the first 48 hours, and barring any unforeseen

complications, his chances of a full recovery are greatly increased. We've

done what we can for him now, the rest is up to Mr. Sandburg.

 

[We almost lost him.]

 

"Detective?"

 

Jim started. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

 

"Did you have any more questions about the surgery?"

 

"No...thank you for taking the time to explain everything to me."

 

"I just wish I had some definite answers for you, but medicine is not an

exact science. Detective...I just want you to know we will do everything

possible for your partner. I...I lost my mother four years ago in a car

accident. The driver of the other car had been drinking."

 

Jim closed his eyes briefly and shook his head. "I'm sorry."

 

"So am I, every time I operate on an accident victim whose only crime was

getting in the way of some drunk. And especially sorry when I have to face

that person's family and tell them I couldn't do enough to save their loved

one. I hope this time, for Mr. Sandburg, that it will be enough."

 

Ellison's jaw muscles tightened and he nodded quickly at the surgeon. "I

need to be with him."

 

"He's in ICU, Mr. Ellison. You should go home and rest," the doctor

suggested, his tone gentle. "Mr. Sandburg is unconscious and will be for

some time. There's nothing you can do for him, and he won't know that

you're there."

 

Ellison turned an ice-blue gaze on the surgeon. "He'll know."

 

Banks stepped in quickly. "Doctor, these men are partners, close friends.

If Jim believes that his presence will help Blair, then it will. Please,

let him stay."

 

The surgeon studied Ellison for a moment then nodded his head. "It's highly

irregular, but...all right, you may sit with him."

 

******

 

'Some friendships are made by nature, some by contract, some by interest,

and some by souls.'--Jeremy Taylor.

__________

 

Jim paused before the door to Blair's room, and took a deep breath. The

steady beap of a heart monitor, and the rasping wheeze of a respirator

broke the silence of the room.

 

The Sentinel 'listened,' trying to hear the familiar heartbeat, but his

senses, perhaps overwhelmed by the torrent of emotion, continued to betray

him. He shook his head in frustration.

 

His mind told him what he would see behind this door, but his heart didn't

want to face the truth. Sandburg would have a field day with this. He could

almost hear his Guide's comment now.

 

"Jim, you're amazing, man. You can walk seemingly unscathed through the

worst murder scene, but you hesitate at my hospital room? Whatever happened

to 'separate yourself...if you let your emotions get in the way you're

useless, potentially dangerous.'"

 

'Blair, maybe I'm finally realizing that there is no 'separating myself'

when it comes to you.'

 

He pushed open the door and entered. Sandburg lay still and pale on a

hospital bed. Motionless, but for the slight rise and fall of his chest

from the respirator. So still. So quiet.

 

Stillness, quiet. Words not usually associated with his spirited, energetic

partner. Jim paused, and swallowed heavily, trusting normal senses for

assurance that Blair still lived. Tubes ran from the young man's body to

various machines that monitored his vitals. Bandages swathed his head and

chest, and Jim could see the outline of a leg splint through the thin

blanket that rested over his partner's legs. Bruises covered the left side

of Blair's face and Jim reached out instinctively to comfort. His hand

stopped just a hairsbreadth short of brushing the mottled contusions.

 

"What would the girls think of you now?" he asked his silent partner,

caressing the area around the bruises. "They'd probably say you are a hero,

and the bravest man they know. Your little black book would be filled for

months. You'd like that wouldn't you, Chief?"

 

His sensitive fingertips felt the heat, the swelling from the broken blood

vessels under Blair's skin, and Jim wished that these hands that could feel

so much had the ability to take the pain away, to heal with a touch. But he

had not been blessed with that gift.

 

Ellison noticed a chair in the corner of the room and he pulled it over

close to the bed. He sat down, reached for Blair's hand, and held it gently

in his own.

 

Brave just doesn't cover that, the doctor had said. Jim remembered many

times telling the kid not to turn hero on him. And Blair's usual response

was 'Who me? You must be joking.' But the young man never hesitated to

throw himself in the line of fire for a friend or stranger. It didn't

matter to Blair. If someone needed help, he was their friend. He would be

there.

 

Jim thought back to his first meeting with Blair at the University. "I

must've scared the hell out of you, throwing you against that wall. Most

people would've run in the other direction, but not you, Chief. You

followed, and I saw an act of courage that I'll never forget. You threw

yourself under a garbage truck to save me, a stranger, a man who had just

made a Sandburg sized indentation in the wall of your office." He reached

over and gently brushed back a curl on Blair's forehead. "I think I knew

then that I had met someone who would change my life. I resisted and you

persisted. I never had a chance did I?"

 

No response from the slack face before him.

 

"I'm persistant too, Blair, and when I do let myself care about something,

I don't let go easily. I'm here, buddy, by your side, and I'm not going

anywhere. I won't let you leave. I...can 't. You hear me?"

 

******

 

'Ah, were I sever'd from thy side, where were my friend--and who my

guide?'--Byron.

__________

 

Time passed. Seconds became minutes, minutes hours. Time lost to a man

whose world focused exclusively on the still face of a friend, and the

sounds of monitors and respirator. No sound, no movement from Blair.

 

The silence unnerved the Sentinel. From the moment they met, Sandburg had

filled Jim's senses. The sound of his voice soothed away the day's

troubles and pains. His laughter brought reluctant smiles to the taciturn

detective. The young Guide's heartbeat became as familiar to Jim as his

own. Unfamiliar scents became commonplace: herbal shampoo, rain forest

cologne, candles, unusual foods and home remedies. The visual touches

around the loft announced Blair's presence: masks, papers, books, figurines

from all over the world, towels on the floor, dishes in the sink. The soft

touch of Blair's hand on his arm or shoulder, gave help, and comfort, when

he needed it.

 

Ellison felt something poking at him and he reached into the pocket of his

blazer. His breath caught when he pulled out the pacifier Blair had been so

anxious to part with, and he had insisted on keeping. The flippant thought

he had had at the party came back to haunt him. 'Blair not speaking...now

*there's* a pleasant thought.' His chest tightened and he swallowed, jaw

clenched in a vain attempt to keep emotion at bay.

 

"Sandburg, I spend most of my time trying to figure out how to shut you up,

at least long enough to get a word in edgewise, and now...I can't stand

your silence."

 

He unclenched his hand from around the pacifier and dropped it into a

nearby wastebasket.

 

"It hurts, Blair. You would tell me to turn down the dial to an acceptable

level, but there is no dial for the heart is there, Chief? No way to turn

down this ache inside and make everything all right. No 'acceptable' level

for this pain."

 

No guidance now. No words of wisdom to calm the fear this time. Jim could

see Blair's body in front of him, but could no longer sense his presence,

his spirit. The Guide was no longer *there.* He had traveled far away,

where his Sentinel could not follow, and the separation weighed heavily on

the older man's heart and soul. Jim rested his forehead against Blair's

hand.

 

"Where are you, Blair? I don't *feel* you anymore."

 

The soft thump of a door closing alerted Ellison to another's presence in

the room. He looked up into the tired, bloodshot eyes of Simon Banks.

 

"Jim, how is he?"

 

"No change. I know it's too soon after the surgery, but I keep hoping...."

 

"I know." Simon looked down at Sandburg, and then back at Jim. "How are

*you* holding up?"

 

Jim shook his head. "I don't feel him anymore, Simon. I can't explain it.

You can't possibly understand."

 

"Maybe not, but I can listen."

 

The Sentinel caressed Blair's hand, unaware of the gesture or of his need

for physical contact to replace the absence of his Guide's healing voice.

"Blair is my focus, Simon. My...control, my *Guide.* I expect to turn

around and find him at my side, sharing his knowledge, or ready to pull me

out if I lose my way. I feel...disoriented." He closed his eyes and put his

hands to his temples, pressing in a vain attempt to ease the tension.

Opening his eyes he looked at Simon once more.

 

"You saw what I was like when I first became aware of my Sentinel

abilities. I had no control, no idea what was happening to me. I thought I

was losing my mind...and I would have, if I hadn't met Blair." Jim glanced

at his partner.

"He's taught me so much and continues to teach me. *I* have these

remarkable senses, but *he* allows me to use them fully. I overcame my fear

and learned to use my senses because of my Guide, and the trust I have in

him."

 

Jim's eyes met his captain's. "I'm terrified, Simon. I'm afraid for him,

and for myself. What is happening to me?" He looked back at Sandburg.

"...to us? What are we becoming? What am I losing here? My life, my soul,

my sanity? Does it all go with him? Simon, if he dies...."

 

"Jim, I won't lie to you. He might, and you need to prepare yourself for

that." Simon moved around the bed to Ellison's side. "If Blair dies you'll

do what he would want you to do. You'll go on and live your life. Blair

cared enough about you to offer his life for yours. Don't let that

sacrifice be wasted. Don't destroy yourself. He wouldn't want that."

 

"I know." Jim brushed his hand lightly over Sandburg's hair. "What a tongue

lashing he'd give me if he could hear me now." His smile trembled. "The

Sentinel thing...I don't know if I can get a handle on it with...without my

Guide."

 

"You aren't alone in this you know," Simon answered softly. "Do you think

that Sandburg never thought of this possibility?" He looked down at Blair,

than met Jim's eyes. "After the incident with Lash, Blair came to my office

to talk. He gave me copies of all his Sentinel research, and told me to

keep them in a safe place. He made me promise that day that if anything

ever happened to him that I would help you. He entrusted you to me."

 

"He said that?"

 

"Yes, he did. You were uppermost in his mind. The thought of you being left

on your own frightened him more than almost losing his life. He wanted to

know that you would have the help you needed." Simon studied Ellison for a

moment before continuing. "Jim, I'm not a Guide, and I could never replace

Blair, but I will be there for you any way I can."

 

Jim leaned his elbows on the bed and rested his face in his hands. Simon

lay his hand on the detective's shoulder.

 

"Jim, you're exhausted. Go get something to eat. I'll stay with the kid."

 

"No...I don't want to leave him."

 

"You won't be any use to Blair if you don't take care of yourself. Have you

looked in a mirror lately? You'll scare the kid when he does wake up."

Simon pulled his weary friend to his feet. "I went by your place and got

you some clean clothes. They're out in the waiting room." His eyes drifted

down to Jim's chest and his voice softened. "I thought...maybe you might

want to change."

 

Ellison looked down and his lips tightened when he saw the splashes of red

on his once pristine shirt. Blair's blood. He brushed his hand over the

crimson stains his eyes straying to the still form of his partner. "Thanks,

Simon."

 

Simon nodded. "Go clean up and get something to eat. You have a room full

of friends out there waiting for news. They care about you, and Blair. Talk

to Rafe. He's pretty shook up. I told Brown to take him home, but he

refuses to leave until he knows Blair will be all right."

 

Jim grasped Blair's hand and squeezed it gently. "You wanted to go to the

party to be accepted, Chief. I wish you would wake up and see all the

people who care about you. Blair, you didn't want to be left alone on New

Year's Eve, and you're not alone, buddy."

 

"You don't live in a world alone. Your brothers are here too," Banks

murmured absently. He shook his head, his eyes meeting Ellison's. "I heard

that somewhere and thought they were good words for a policeman to

remember. Jim, I don't know what's going to happen, but we are here for

you, and for Blair. All of us. We are your brothers. Brothers in spirit if

not in blood. They're waiting for you. Go for awhile, eat, talk to them.

I'll be with Blair. He won't be alone."

 

Jim nodded tiredly, and with a final glance at Blair, turned and left the

room. Simon took the chair Ellison vacated and scrutinized Blair's ashen

face.

 

"I never thought I'd say this, kid, but I much prefer the Blair Sandburg

who is all bounce and mouth." He reached over and lay his hand on Blair's.

"When I first met you I didn't understand. I couldn't see what Jim saw in

you. Sandburg you annoyed me like nobody else. I told Jim to cut you loose

but he refused to listen. I'm glad he didn't. I was wrong." Simon studied

the floor than raised his eyes back up to the still face.

 

"I care a lot about Jim, and I've seen the positive influence you've had on

him. I don't know how, kid, but you've managed to get inside, get him to

open up, and it's made for a much healthier, happier, Ellison." Simon

patted Blair's hand and his voice cracked with emotion. "You've taken good

care of him, Blair."

 

Banks scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed heavily. "You and Ellison

are my best team, Sandburg, but a team requires two people. I don't want to

lose either of you."

 

He leaned closer to the motionless figure. "I want to thank you for my

life. I know exactly what you did, and don't think I'm not grateful. But

listen...if you can, stay with him. He needs you so much. I'm afraid for

him. Blair, if you can, stay...but if you have to go...I want you to know

I'll be there for him. I'll keep my promise to you."

 

Disturbed by the quiet, the stillness so unlike the usually animated young

man, Simon paced the room, talking to fill the silent void. The captain

relived his memories of a young anthropologist who wanted to be a police

observer, but ended up being so much more. He stopped at the end of the bed

and studied the young man on it. "I wish you could see all the officers out

there, Blair. That 'thin blue line' is much thinner tonight because so many

of them are here."

 

Sighing at the lack of response, Simon returned to the chair, resuming his

quiet vigil until Jim came back. The heart monitor droned its steady beat

and Simon felt his eyes drift closed. A discordant note sounded from the

machine and his eyes flew open. He looked at Blair, and up at the monitor.

The sounds grew harsh, a growing dissonance of irregular beaps and

whistles. The wavy line on the monitor went flat and a long solitary wail

came from the machine. Simon jumped to his feet and stood helplessly over

the bed. "No, Blair...kid, don't do this."

 

******

 

'A good man is the best friend, and therefore soonest to be chosen, longer

to be retained and indeed, never to be parted with.'--Jeremy Taylor.

__________

 

The door pushed open with a bang as a doctor and two nurses rushed in.

 

Simon stammered. "His heart...it stopped...."

 

The doctor and one of the nurses moved quickly to Sandburg's side. The

second nurse took Simon by the arm and led him out of the room. "Please

sir, you have to wait outside."

 

"But...what happened? Is he?...Will he?...."

 

"I'll let you know as soon as I have some information." With that she

turned and went back into the room.

 

Stunned, Simon just stood there for a few moments, his tired brain unable

to process a coherent thought. The image of a grieving Ellison popped into

his mind.

 

"Jim's gonna kill me for sending him away." Simon turned and strode rapidly

down the hall toward the elevator. He stopped before the door and pushed

repeatedly on the button, growling impatiently when the door didn't open at

once.

 

"What's taking this damned thing so long?" he blurted, wishing for the

comfort of a cigar. The door opened and Simon nearly collided with a

wild-eyed Ellison.

 

"What's happened to Blair?"

 

"How did?...nevermind, I don't want to know. Jim, I was just sitting there

and the heart monitor started to go crazy, and then he flatlined. The

doctor's with him now."

 

Jim ran a shaking hand over his short hair. "I never should've left him,

Simon. I should've stayed with him. I promised I wouldn't leave him. God,

how could I have been so stupid," he muttered as he rushed down the hall to

Blair's room, Simon following closely behind him. Not even pausing, Jim

pushed the door open and walked in.

 

The doctor and nurses looked up as they came in, but made no protest.

 

"Detective, Captain. Mr. Sandburg gave us a bit of a scare. The shock has

weakened his heart and I've been concerned about his heart rhythm. He

experienced an episode of arrhythmia that caused a momentary cessation of

heart function." Seeing Ellison's pale face, the doctor hurried on. "He's

stable now. His breathing is good, but...we will continue to monitor him."

 

"But?" Ellison questioned.

 

The doctor sighed. "Mr. Sandburg has developed a fever. I'm going to give

him something to try and curb it before it goes too high. In his weakened

state, a high fever could be very dangerous. His heart needs to recover

from the shock, and a fever will sap what little strength he has."

 

Jim and Simon stood by as the doctor administered medication and did some

final checks of the monitors. The doctor whispered something to Banks then

left the room. Simon gave Jim's shoulder a squeeze.

 

"Jim they don't want me to stay in the room. You know where I am if you

need me, okay?"

 

"Yeah, Simon...thanks, and pass that on to the guys, too."

 

"Will do."

 

Simon left and Jim was alone once more with his Guide. He moved to the

bedside and captured Blair's hand in his.

 

"You frightened me, Chief. The doc says you have a heart problem, but I'm

the one's going to have a heart attack if you don't stop scaring me like

this. I'm sorry I left you. It won't happen again. I'll be here at your

side, where I belong."

 

******

 

'If you have a friend worth loving, love him. Yes, and let him know that

you love him, ere life's evening tinge his brow with sunset glow. Why

should good words ne'er be said of a friend--till he is dead.'--Unknown.

__________

 

Time passed, how much, he didn't know. A day, two days? No light, no

windows, no clock gave away the hour of the day. Nurses came and went,

checking Sandburg's vital signs, administering medication, and finally

removing the respirator, replacing it with an oxygen mask. Their concerned

glances were lost on the silent figure with shadowed eyes who sat by the

bedside, his attention focused on his partner's face. Ellison stayed put,

and worried, and wondered if he would go slowly insane by the silence, the

lack of his friend's voice.

 

Talking kept his mind from dwelling on his fear. Jim began to speak,

slowly, his voice hesitant. Blair usually carried the conversation, and Jim

was used to giving quick, short, responses, not filling the hours of

silence with his own voice.

 

"My life before you came...how do I describe it? I guess after Peru, it

was quiet, uneventful outside of the job. The days passed in an endless

sameness. Sameness...is that even a word? I'd go to work, come home. But

after Carolyn left the loft wasn't really a home, you know? Just a place to

store my stuff and sleep. I had the place to myself, things the way I liked

them, and I didn't need anybody. I kept myself busy. I kept telling myself

it would be enough."

 

"It wasn't."

 

Jim swallowed, his voice wavering slightly. "Th...then you breeze into my

life, Chief. You upset my rituals and wiped away the sameness with a

neverending string of surprises." A smile touched his lips, and he chuckled

softly. "I never knew what to expect when I walked through the door at

night. Strange, primal music, food I've never heard off, scents and tastes

to set my Wonderburger stomach on edge. Way too healthy...and don't even

get me started on those home remedies!" Jim squeezed Blair's hand gently.

"We are such opposites, you and I, yet...we clicked. I've never felt as

comfortable with anyone as I do with you. Why is that?"

 

No answer of course, not that he expected any. Jim left the chair and paced

back and forth across the room to work off his nervous tension.

 

"When I first met you, well...you saw my reaction. Then I thought, okay, I

can handle this punk kid for a few weeks. Get him to help me control these

runaway senses of mine, and then say goodbye. But something happened in

those weeks, somehow you became indispensable to me, your presence, vital,

in my ability to function as a Sentinel...and as a cop." Ellison walked

over to the bed and stood looking down at Sandburg.

 

"Blair, I've never told you how much your being with me on the job

helps...not just with the Sentinel thing, but with everyday police work.

Trained or not, kid, you're a natural. You're so quick. That mind of yours

is a storehouse of knowledge that never stops processing information, or

thinking up suggestions, ideas, solutions, points of view that never would

have occured to a hardened veteran like me. And...you have this wonderful

way with people, Chief. I charge right in and scare the hell out of a

frightened witness but you...you calm their fears, gain their trust and

cooperation where I never could. We're a team you and I. We compensate for

each other's strengths and weaknesses. We...complete each other."

 

Ellison rested his hand on Blair's forehead. So hot. The temperature

continued to climb. The pale face grew flushed with heat.

 

"C'mon, kid," Jim pleaded. "It's not your time. Not yet. You're so young.

Too damn young. There's still so much for you to do. Your dissertation. You

gotta finish it. What about the book and movie rights? You don't want to

miss that, do you?"

 

Desperate, his hands brushed over his Guide's face, seeking a response.

"Don't leave me alone, here. I mean...who am I gonna yell at about breaking

the house rules? And...and who's going to nag me about my eating habits,

and help me with my paperwork?" His agitation growing, Ellison began to

pace the room once more. "Who will guide me...." His voice faltered and he

cleared his throat. "Wake up, Blair. Open your eyes and speak to me.

Please...." The last word came out as a whispered plea.

 

Jim swayed, and he gripped the rails of the bed until his head stopped

spinning. Exhaustion pressed heavily on his mind and body, and he knew he

must rest soon or end up in a bed beside his partner. His eyes longed to

close, his mind called for sleep, but the detective fought the call,

fearing to wake up and find his partner gone. Something told him not to

leave his Guide. That he should hold Blair's hand and not let go, talk to

him, ask him to return to his Sentinel. Ellison sensed danger, his mind

cried out for him to do something or risk losing the other half of his soul.

 

His sleepy mind lurched as that thought passed through. 'The other half of

my soul. Is that it? Is that what the Sentinel/Guide bond is? Are we that

close?'

 

His mind screamed danger, and fear. It reminded him that love equals loss,

caring brings pain. A pain he had promised himself never to feel again. His

heart fought back telling him to listen and understand. Listen and accept

the emotion he felt, the love for this friend. His knees began to buckle,

and he sank down into the chair by the bed.

 

"Blair...I...there are things I want to say...to you...You're the best

friend...I...the best...." he struggled for the words, then sighed, giving

up in frustration.

 

He couldn't do it. The words in his heart died on his lips, unable to

overcome the rigid Ellison control. He had trained himself well. Avoid

emotional scenes at all cost. Emotion brings pain. Don't let them know they

have the power to hurt you. Never speak your feelings aloud--even to an

unconscious friend.

 

The words wouldn't come but Ellison couldn't stop the thoughts that raced

through his mind.

 

'I hid the emptiness, the loneliness of my life behind walls that kept

everyone apart from me. Then you came along and talked your way through my

defenses. You battered down the walls I'd built, saw inside, and taught me

the meaning of the phrase, 'no man is an island.' Chief, you became the

bridge between me and the rest of the world. You forced me to look at

myself, my life, and change. And I have changed, thanks to you. I can't go

back to the way I was. I...can't. Trust never came easily for me, Blair; I

rarely let anyone inside. It hurt too much when they left. My mother, Kyle,

Jack, Carolyn, Danny, and so many friends on the force...gone.'

 

"Will you leave too, Blair?" he whispered.

 

The silence held no answer for him. Jim felt the warmth of his Guide's

hand in his and allowed his head to fall forward, resting his cheek against

Blair's hand. He closed his eyes. A warm tear tracked down his cheek onto

the unmoving hand, and Jim felt himself slip into the darkness of sleep.

 

******

 

'Let the soul be assured that somewhere in the universe it should rejoin

its friend, and it would be content and cheerful alone for a thousand

years.'--Emerson.

__________

 

"This really *sucks,* man."

 

Blair heard his voice echo off the rocks on either side of him. He had

wandered for hours lost, in this dark, barren place. The walls of the

canyon rose sharply on either side of him, and he had no choice but to

continue up the steep incline or return the way he had come.

 

'Nothing back there, might as well keep going up,'

 

He was tired, hungry, and thirsty. His head pounded. It was so damned hot

here, and...and...he was pissed off...and more than a little afraid.

 

"Am I dead, or what? This is so *not* what I expected the afterlife to be,

you know?" He spoke to the dark sky.

 

No moonlight penetrated that thick blackness, no star twinkled its

reassuring familiarity. No light at all, but for the faint glow that

emanated from his body. At first he'd thought it was pretty cool,

glow-in-the-dark Blair, but now he wasn't so sure. The soft light shining

down on the path before him had begun to fade. As the hours passed (at

least he assumed it was hours, who could tell here?) he had seemingly made

no progress in finding a way out of this place. Exhaustion caused him to

stumble every few steps, reawakening a phantom pain in his head, chest, and

leg.

 

He paused to wipe the sweat from his face. Maybe he was climbing up a

volcano or something. That seemed a logical explanation for the heat that

drained the strength from his body, and made breathing a struggle.

 

'Well, if I get up to the top, and find no way out, I can always throw

myself in the volcano. Kind of a romantic end for an anthropologist,' he

thought.

 

Or maybe....

 

'Hell? Could it be?'

 

"No, God, You wouldn't do that to me, would You? I mean...I know...I

obfuscate once in a while...okay, okay," he gestured his hands out in front

of him. "Maybe more than once in a while. And...well...I love women." He

smiled as numerous faces and names came to mind. Then realizing to Whom he

was speaking, he wiped the smile off his face. "Um...hey, women are Your

greatest creation I've always said. Such an infinite variety of minds,

faces and figures, and...ummm...I can't help wanting to...uh...you know."

 

Sandburg shuffled uncomfortably and ran a hand through his hair. "But I'm

not a bad person or anything. I never mean to hurt anybody. I'm just not

the settling down type, I guess." Blair looked around as far as he could

see, which wasn't far. "Besides, from what I can tell, I'm all alone here,

and I *know* Hell should be filled with axe murderers, and other nut cases,

like some of those Jim has taken down."

 

Jim.

 

He had to find him. He had seen the grief in his Sentinel's eyes at the

accident scene, and knew his friend would be frantic with worry, and

probably blaming himself for something he had had no control over.

 

"The choice was mine, Jim. I tried to tell you, but you didn't hear me, did

you?" He shook his head sadly. "You always have to be in control, my

friend, and I took that from you. I made the decision, and I have no

regrets, but for the fact that you are probably furious with me right now."

 

He continued his upward climb, pausing momentarily to lean against a

boulder. His eyes closed as a wave of exhaustion brought on a spate of

dizziness. 'Oh, man....' he swallowed quickly and rested his head against a

large rock. "It's lucky for you that I haven't eaten in a while, or I'd be

baptizing you with my lunch."

 

Blair pushed away from the rock, and lurched back upward on the neverending

path to nowhere. He was lost, and fear frayed the edges of his courage. Was

there an end to this journey? Should he even bother to keep going, or just

lay down and sleep as his tired mind and body requested.

 

'Your Sentinel needs you,' a voice whispered insistently. 'You must return

to him.' The words tore through the Guide's exhausted mind, and drove him

forward.

 

"Jim, where are you? I have to find you. I have to make you understand,

just in case I don't...I...well, you know."

 

He pictured Jim's face in his mind and heard the faint sound of his

friend's voice.

 

["I think I knew then that I had met someone who would change my life. I

resisted and you persisted. I never had a chance did I?"]

 

Jim? Yes, that was his voice. I'm not dreaming it. "Jim! Where are you, I'm

here! I'm coming. Wait for me."

 

Sandburg picked up his pace. His leg protested the increased speed, his

breath came fast in his chest, and dizziness assailed him. Fingers went

numb, torn and bleeding from gripping the rocks to pull himself ever upward.

 

["Where are you, Blair? I don't *feel* you anymore."]

 

"Jim, I'm here! Find me, please? I'm so tired." He continued to push

forward, the sound of his partner's stricken voice giving him the strength

to keep moving. He had to find Jim. His friend needed him.

 

["We are such opposites, you and I, yet...we clicked. I've never felt as

comfortable with anyone as I do with you. Why is that?"]

 

"I feel the same, Jim. Oh, the house rules get on my nerves sometimes, and

your silence when you're hurting. I wish you'd turn to me more, but I know

it's hard for you."

 

He continued to force himself up the mountain, but felt his strength fading

fast.

 

"I won't give up," he gasped. "It's not my time. I'm not ready. Jim needs

me. I have to find him." He kept going, chanting a mantra to give himself

strength. "Jim needs me. I have to find him...Jim needs me...."

 

["Don't leave me alone, here."]

 

"I will always be with you, Jim. Partners, yes. Friends, yes. But it's

deeper than that isn't it? We are bonded, you and I. Sentinel and Guide. I

don't understand it, but I know it's true. I...I love you, as a friend, as

a partner, and as my Sentinel. Yes, mine as I am your Guide. The way I

feel...the love...it's nothing sexual, big guy, which would totally freak

you out I know, just a deep abiding love for *you.*

 

Blair felt the path straighten out. He struggled a few more feet and

stumbled out onto a flat plateau.

 

"Jim I searched my whole life for a purpose, something to fill the

emptiness inside. You walked into my office that day and I found it. I

found myself responsible for another person. A Guide to a Sentinel, the

dream of my life. You needed me, and for the first time I didn't run from

responsibility, but embraced it. This last year and a half has been the

most fulfilling of my life...and you are the most important thing in my

life."

 

It seemed lighter, grey instead of black, but the light didn't come from

him. The glow from his body had faded now, almost extinguished.

 

'Like a candle wick after the candle is blown out. I'm so hot, so thirsty.

Maybe *I'm* burning out.'

 

"Jim, you still with me, man? I won't object if you want to be a blessed

protector now."

 

His feet grew heavy. The tightness in his chest constricted his breathing,

and his head pounded in time with his heart. He tripped on a rock, and

sprawled in a boneless heap in the dust. Rolling over, he lay still for a

moment, staring upward at the darkness.

 

"Jim, are you still there? I'm trying...trying to find you. I don't want to

leave you. Believe that." Exhaustion clouded his mind and slurred his

speech. "Ss...So tired, Jim. I want to stay...with you, but if I

can't...promise me you'll keep going. Find another to guide you. Someone

better. You're the Sentinel. You must go on. You are needed. Jim, promise

me...."

 

An inhuman scream interrupted his plea, followed by a deep voice tinged

with anger, and sadness.

 

"Chosen One. Your bond with the Sentinel was formed before you both came

into being. You searched your entire lives for the other half, the missing

part, that person who should be at your side. One Sentinel, one Guide.

Bonded together. Two men forged from one soul. You were chosen, young

Guide. You are needed. There is no *other* for your Sentinel."

 

Blair looked around wildly, searching for the source of the voice. "Who are

you? You call me chosen, but how can I be? I don't feel worthy. I don't

have the knowledge, or skills I need to keep him safe. If you know so much

about me, then you know my greatest fear." Blair's voice dropped to a

whisper. "That he will die, because of my inexperience."

 

"The bond between Sentinel and Guide is a deep one," the voice continued,

its tone gentle. "The connection is instinctive, yet learned, built upon

trust and love. You will always be learning, always forging that bond to

greater strength. The love and sacrifice that you have shown, young one,

those cannot be learned. They must come from the heart, and your heart is

full."

 

The Guide felt a soft touch on his cheek though his eyes sensed no presence

before him.

 

"Young Shaman, there is so much yet for you to learn. You do not know the

power that you hold. You do not fully understand who, and what you are.

That will come...with time comes wisdom and understanding. Your Sentinel

waits for you, friend of the soul. He is incomplete without his Guide.

Trust in him, and yourself. Return to him."

 

The voice faded, and vanished in a gentle breath of air that caressed

Blair's face. He rolled to his side, and levered himself up on his hands

and knees. 'Close, so close. I can feel it. Jim needs me. Gotta keep going.'

 

He crawled forward and came to the end of his journey.

 

A cliff.

 

Blair looked down and felt his stomach curl. So high. He gasped, and backed

away from the edge trying a quick meditation to calm his racing heart. It

didn't help. He saw a rope bridge connecting his side of the cliff to

another. The light grew brighter on the other side. He wanted to go there.

Jim would be there. The voice had told him the Sentinel waited for his

Guide.

 

Jim. Where was his voice? Why was he silent?

 

"Jim!" he shouted in panic.

 

No answer. No Jim. He was alone again.

 

"NO!! Jim don't leave me here. Please...help me," he whispered.

 

The rope bridge. He would have to face his fear and cross the bridge to

find his Sentinel. Blair crawled to the edge, took a couple of deep breaths

for courage, and got to his feet. He put a hand on the rope. It burst into

flames at his touch, and he jerked his hand back. The bridge burned across

to the other side and dropped into the depths below. Only a thin strand of

the anchor rope remained.

 

Blair's body trembled uncontrollably as fear and anger sent adrenalin

coursing through him. His mind raced, and he felt the beginnings of a panic

attack. "I can't...can't stay here." His heart pounded, he hyperventilated,

bringing on a wave of dizziness. "I'm...alone. Always

alone...forever...can't...no... Pleeease?...."

 

Heat. Fire. His mind flamed. His body burned. Head spinning, Blair stumbled

back a step and collapsed. Tremors ran through his body as the fire claimed

him.

 

"Hot....burning me...Jim help...Jiiiiimmm!"

 

******

 

'A friend is a single soul dwelling in two bodies.'--Aristotle

__________

 

"Blair!" Ellison sat bolt upright, instantly awake. Heat poured from

Sandburg's body, and Jim could feel the tremors that racked his partner's

slight frame. He leapt to his feet and reached for a cloth. Dipping it in

a basin of cool water he gently stroked the cloth over the feverish skin.

 

"God, Blair, you're burning up!"

 

Blair's trembling body gave a final shudder and went still.

 

"Don't you leave! Stay with me, Chief." Ellison gripped his partner's

shoulders and shook him gently. "Listen to me...you fight this. Blair!"

 

Sensing a presence behind him he turned. "Doc, you've got to *do*

some...thing...wha...Blair?...." his voice trailed off, and he stumbled

back in shock, bumping up against the bed.

 

Blair stood before him. Whole. No trace of injury. His eyes open and filled

with compassion. Ellison just stared. Those eyes--they held an ancient

wisdom, a calmness, a deep age that did not fit his young friend. Jim broke

eye contact and glanced quickly down at the bed, seeing his partner still

there. His gaze returned to the figure before him.

 

"You." Jim closed his eyes and turned away, pain etching his features. "Why

do you come to me in his form?"

 

"The Sentinel and Guide are one. You look at this form and see yourself."

 

"No. Last time I saw myself. You appeared to me as I was in the jungle when

my senses awakened. You came to me as a Sentinel and taught me what that

means; the responsibility I would shoulder. Before that, you told me the

price it would require. My life...and my soul."

 

He glanced down at the bed. "Is this what you meant? Is this the price I

pay?"

 

"What do you fear?" the Spirit Guide asked.

 

Jim looked up sharply at the familiar question. "I...I fear being a

Sentinel without a Guide, losing control, losing my mind."

 

"What do *you* fear?" it questioned again, gentle but insistent.

 

Jim looked away from the demanding blue eyes. His gaze rested on the still

figure below him. No more hiding. The Spirit Guide would accept no answer

but that which was closest to the Sentinel's heart.

 

"I'm afraid, so afraid of losing...my friend," he whispered. "I fear losing

the other half of my soul." He dragged his eyes upward again. "That's it,

isn't it? What you meant when you said I see Blair, I see myself?"

 

"The Sentinel and Guide are one. It has always been so."

 

"I made the choice to be a Sentinel, to live this life. *I* made that

choice. He didn't. But still he stayed with me through it all."

 

"No choice?" the Spirit Guide canted his head slightly, his tone gently

chiding the Sentinel. "Did not your Guide choose to stay with you rather

than follow an opportunity in his chosen field?"

 

"Borneo," Jim muttered. "He did have a choice and he chose to stay with me."

 

"And did not your Guide choose to offer his life to save the life of his

Sentinel?"

 

Jim closed his eyes and nodded.

 

"Sentinel, know that the Guide has made his choice, as you have. He is your

Guide, now and always. He understands the risks, and responsibility it

brings."

 

"Sandburg is not responsible for me. I don't want him hurt trying to

protect me," Jim argued. His hands tightened on the railing of the bed, and

he shook his head unwilling to accept the truth he was hearing. "Blair is

too much a part of my life now. Too much a part of me. I can't risk him.

I...." his voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't want to be left alone

again."

 

"You accepted your destiny as a Sentinel. You understand what you are,

*who* you are." The Spirit Guide moved to the bedside and stood opposite of

Jim. "The young one learns what it is to be a Guide, and what his

responsibilities are. He accepts his calling freely, with no regrets. This

knowledge he wished to share with you. But you did not hear him."

 

'I couldn't hear him...and I didn't listen...to the warning....' Jim

thought. His eyes met those of his Spirit Guide.

 

"There is something I have to know...something about my Sentinel abilities.

Will you answer me?"

 

"Ask, Sentinel."

 

"When Blair and I were going to the party, I had...I saw...a vision of the

accident to come. I saw his pain. I could have prevented it. I...what is

happening to me? Am I turning into some psychic freak too? I don't want to

know the future. Not if I can't do anything to change it."

 

"Belief and trust are required for a warning to be heeded."

 

"I *believe* in the tangible. What I can see and touch. I never believed

in...it just seemed too weird. I need to know if psychic ability is another

of my 'gifts?'

 

"The gift of 'sight' is the realm of the Shaman. The young one will learn

and understand the power he holds. The gift is shared by Sentinel and Guide

when there is danger to one or the other. The strength of the connection

will grow as the bond does between you."

 

Jim's eyes met those of the Spirit Guide. "And will our bond be severed?"

he whispered. "Will I lose my friend?"

 

Silence.

 

"C...can you heal him?" Jim asked, desperation causing his voice to crack.

 

The Spirit Guide turned sorrow filled eyes upon the figure on the bed.

"That power is not mine. It dwells within him." His hand rested on Blair's

head. "And here, within you." The other hand reached out to touch Jim's

chest over his heart. "The Guide councils and protects his Sentinel. The

Sentinel protects the tribe...and his Guide. Love and trust bind the two

as one."

 

Jim winced. "Blair calls me his 'Blessed Protector.' He trusted me to keep

him safe. But I failed him...this time and so many others. He may die

because I wasn't there for him."

 

"You do not understand the lesson your Guide taught you."

 

"Understand? Understand what? You just told me it's my job to protect my

Guide. I don't want Blair risking his life for me! I want to keep him safe.

What is so wrong with that!"

 

The Spirit Guide shook his head slowly, his eyes solemn. "Your ears are

open, but they do not hear, Sentinel. The Guide and Sentinel are equal.

Each responsible for the safety of the other. Your refusal to accept this,

to accept him *fully* as your Guide, threatens the bond between you. Your

Guide must be allowed to follow his own conscience, and find his own

destiny. You cannot deny him the same choices you allow yourself."

 

"Deny? But...." 'Deny him? Is that what I've done?' Jim pondered.

 

"You are a Sentinel. Protector. Solid as the earth you are bound to. Your

realm is the physical, the body, the sensual. The Guide is healer/teacher.

His dominion is over sky, the mind, emotion, the spiritual. Opposites and

compliments. Each has skills the other lacks. Separate you are incomplete,

together you are whole. Bonded. Guide and Sentinel. Connected, mind to

mind, heart to heart. Through you, the Guide is grounded and centered in

this world. Through him your spirit can soar. You are forever connected to

earth and spirit world, bonded in life...and in death."

 

"Death?" Jim's gaze fell on his silent partner. "Are you telling me that if

Blair dies, I die with him?"

 

"The man may survive, if he chooses. The Sentinel will perish with his

Guide or the Guide with his Sentinel. You walk the same path, share the

joy, and the pain. Your Guide understood this even if you did not. "

 

"Last time we met you taught me what it meant to be a Sentinel. Are you

here now to teach me what it is to be a Guide?"

 

The Spirit Guide nodded at Blair. "Your Guide offered his life for you as

you would for him. I can teach you nothing greater than that. The young one

has much to teach you, but you did not hear the secrets of his heart, or

understand the lesson he taught. I am here, so that you might hear, and

understand. Come." The Spirit Guide held out his hand.

 

"Where are we going? I won't leave Blair."

 

"You will be with him. Come." The Spirit Guide rested his hand on Blair's

forehead and reached across the bed to touch his other hand to Ellison's

temple.

 

The hospital room disappeared in a burst of light, and Jim came to himself

in the middle of an accident scene. He shook his head groggily and realized

that he and the Spirit Guide stood before his crushed pickup truck. He

watched himself cradle Blair's bleeding head in his arms.

 

"No. Not again," Jim whispered. "Why? Why bring me here? What can I

possibly learn by watching him suffer...again."

 

"Listen, Sentinel. Listen with your heart not your ears, and his words will

be clear to you. Hear the thoughts of your Guide's soul, and understand as

he asked you to."

 

"I see myself holding him. Will they see us?" Ellison asked.

 

"No. We are reflections in time, and can only observe..." the Spirit Guide

gave Jim a pointed stare, "...and learn."

 

Jim nodded, and turned his gaze to Blair's pain ravaged face. He knelt down

beside his counterpart who was oblivious to his shadowy twin. Crystal blue

eyes met sorrow darkened indigo ones, and once more the Sentinel witnessed

the build of emotion. But this time the emotion became thought in his mind.

He discovered the soul of his Guide, and felt the love he had for his

Sentinel and friend. He listened--and finally understood.

 

['I watch over you and yes, I protect you too. That is my role. That is

what being a 'Guide' means to me.']

 

"My life for yours,' you told me. I couldn't accept that. I'm sorry, Blair.

I've been so blind."

 

["You watch over me and keep me safe. But you need to understand that

sometimes the Guide must do the protecting. It's as much a part of who *I*

am as who you are.]

 

"I remember the shadow that darkened your eyes, when I told you that I was

the Blessed Protector, not you. 'It works both ways, big guy,' you

whispered to me. I wouldn't listen. I tried to deny who and what you are;

my equal, my Guide."

 

['Can you understand, Jim? There are times when I can't stand by and simply

observe. Times when I can't obey you, and keep out of harm's way. It is my

duty, my desire to protect you, and I will, when I can make a difference.

That is the choice I made, the choice I will *always* make. That is the

choice I need you to understand.]

 

"I understand, my friend." Ellison's features darkened in anger as he

witnessed himself babbling about the truck, totally oblivious to the most

moving words that had ever been spoken to him. "I wish I could tell you,

Blair. I wish you could hear me now."

 

His vision blurred. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. "Chief, I know

that if I lose you I lose a part of myself. But I can't keep you from doing

what you were born to do any more than I can stop myself from being an

overprotective Sentinel. I'll always try and protect you, and hope you

understand my need to do so."

 

He glanced up at the Spirit Guide who nodded encouragingly. "And I must

learn to accept your need to be there for me, to protect me if you think

it's necessary, and the risk that involves. You couldn't promise to stay

out of danger, but you did tell me you would be careful. I'll hold you to

that, buddy, and try not to demand more."

 

He watched again as his partner lost his battle to stay conscious, and saw

himself dragged away, screaming his pain for the world to hear.

 

"Please," he beseeched the Spirit Guide. "I can't...watch...."

 

He closed his eyes. When he opened them he stood before Blair's hospital

bed. Jim lay a hand on the burning cheek, wincing at the fire that consumed

his Guide's body.

 

"I don't sense him. It's like his body's here but 'Blair' is gone."

 

The Spirit Guide ran his hands over Blair than rested one lightly on the

young man's forehead.

 

"His soul wanders far from the physical body. The path has grown dark, and

he has lost his way." The hand moved down to caress a fiery cheek. The

Spirit Guide frowned and his eyes met Ellison's. "The fever weakens him,

and the thread that binds spirit to earthly form grows thin. The connection

of body and soul must be made soon or the body will die and the soul will

begin a new journey."

 

"Help him...Please. There must be something...."

 

"Your Guide sacrificed all for you. What would you risk for him?"

 

"Anything...."

 

"Then open your heart, Sentinel. Do not close off your feelings. Unlearn

that which you have learned. What does he mean to you?"

 

"He's...my friend, my brother. There's so much of his life he has yet to

live: things to discover, people to help, kids to teach...I...I need him. I

want him to live. The Sentinel needs a Guide, the book said so. The cop

needs his partner to watch his back. The man...the man...."

 

"Why do you fear your feelings? Accept, embrace them. Allow the friendship,

and love you feel for your Guide to shine as a beacon through the darkness."

 

The Spirit Guide glanced down at Blair, and rested a hand over the young

man's heart. "There is power here, strength if he chooses to tap it." His

eyes met Ellison's again. "You are bound together by love, by choice, by

destiny. Help him to find his path once more. Remember that words of truth

hold great power. Speak to your Guide, Sentinel."

 

"How? He is so far from me now. Will you help me?"

 

"Follow the thread that binds you to your Guide. As he is your protector,

so too must you be his guide. I cannot follow you on this journey. It is

you that he trusts. It will take an act of great courage for the young one

to reconnect body and soul. He will do so only for one he trusts with his

life. That one is you, Sentinel."

 

"I understand."

 

"Do you? Are you prepared for the sacrifices you will need to make to bring

your Guide home? Are you willing to make them? There is danger on this

journey. If you follow your Guide you risk being trapped forever with him."

 

Jim looked at his partner. His expression softened, and he turned back to

the Spirit Guide, jaw set resolutely, his gaze unwavering. "Then we'll be

together."

 

The Spirit Guided nodded slowly. "You begin to understand, Sentinel." The

familiar features of Blair Sandburg blurred, morphed into panther form.

 

Ellison stared into the wise emerald pools of the panther's eyes. He heard

a final warning.

 

"Be aware, both Sentinel and Guide will face their greatest fears on this

journey. Only if you work together will you be able to overcome the

obstacles in your path and return." The panther began to vanish. "Go now,

Sentinel, your Guide needs you...." The green eyes held the Sentinel

captivated for a moment longer than faded.

 

Jim turned back to his partner. He lowered the railing on the bed and sat

down beside the still figure.

 

"Hang on, buddy. I'll be there soon."

 

He took Blair's hand in his. Closing his eyes he opened his awareness,

searching for the bond, the thread that would lead him to his Guide.

 

'I'm not sure I can handle being in your mind, Sandburg. I have enough

trouble trying to figure you out from the outside.' He squeezed his

friend's hand.

 

Fading.

 

Sight, sound, smell, taste, touch. All the senses that made him aware of

his surroundings dimmed, and he found himself in a grey world. A mist rose

at his feet obscuring his view. He peered through the fog, searching. Then

he saw it. A white ribbon of light snaking through the rocks. The thread

that connected him to his Guide, and tied the young man to his fragile hold

on life. Jim started walking, his eyes never leaving the narrow lifeline to

his friend.

 

"I'm coming Blair."

 

******

 

'The brave man is not he who feels no fear, for that were stupid and

irrational, but he whose noble soul its fear subdues, and bravely dares the

danger nature shrinks from.'--Joanna Baillie.

__________

 

The Sentinel wandered in the darkness, searching, seeking his lost friend.

The fog grew thick and heavy. Serpent-like tendrils coiled around his legs

weighing down his feet. The enhanced senses he had come to depend on in

situations like this could not penetrate the murky haze. He felt

alone--vulnerable. Fear and desperation gripped his mind as the lifeline

connecting him to his friend grew dull, occasionally fading into the mist.

Time was running out for Blair, and for him.

 

Vaporish arms reached out to pull him from his path, and the effort it took

to fight them off drained the strength from his body. He stumbled,

exhaustion forcing him to his knees. The glowing thread he followed escaped

his grasp, and vanished into the gloom. Panic surged through him; an

inarticulate cry escaped his lips.

 

A dark tendril snaked around the Sentinel's neck, and he felt the touch of

a comforting hand on his cheek. A breathy voice whispered in his ear,

telling him to stop fighting, close his eyes, rest. Sit down, it entreated

him; feel the pressure ease for a moment. Strong arms encircled and cradled

him. He leaned back, resting his head against a pillow softness. Opening

his eyes, Jim looked up into the face of a woman of surpassing beauty.

Skin, pale as moonlight. Hair, black and glossy as a raven's feathers. The

eyes that captured and held the Sentinel's gaze were midnight blue, gentle

and welcoming.

 

"Who are you?' he asked.

 

"All humans know me. Most fear me, but all will come to me willing, or not,

at the end of their journey."

 

Ellison frowned. "The end of...No, my journey isn't finished. I know who

you are, Lady, and I'm not ready. My Guide needs me. I won't fail him."

 

Death lifted her head, her eyes distant, all seeing. "Blair is close to me

now. So close. He has fought well, but can fight no more. Soon I will claim

him."

 

"No!"

 

"You cannot win this battle, Sentinel," The melodious voice insisted.

"Leave him to me. Turn back now or I will claim you both." Seeing the

stubborn set of the human's jaw, she continued. "There is no shame, Jim

Ellison. You have done your best, but it is not enough."

 

Weariness muddled his thoughts, and stole his will. Not enough. His best

was never enough. And Blair would die because of it. The Sentinel had

failed his Guide. The protector had failed his friend. He was

nothing--nothing. Jim leaned forward resting his forehead against his

knees. 'I'm so sorry, Blair.'

 

A voice pushed its way past his grief.

 

['Be aware, both Sentinel and Guide will face their greatest fears on this

journey.']

 

Jim's head snapped up. 'My greatest fear. It's not being there for Blair.

Failing him.'

 

Ellison pulled out of Death's arms and scooted away. She made no move to

follow, but only studied him, her eyes filled with sorrow. Jim shook his

head to clear the fog from his mind, took a deep breath and brought his

eyes up to meet Death's.

 

"I won't give up," he said firmly. "I'll find Blair, and if he chooses to

go with you I won't try to stop him. You'll have us both, Lady, for I

*won't* leave him. But know this, if he chooses to come with me, I will

fight for him."

 

She nodded regally, her expression warm. "So be it, Sentinel. Your feelings

are strong, and do you credit. Seldom have I seen such loyalty among

humans. You are a good match for your Blair." The figure began to vanish in

the mist. "Go to him. The way is short now."

 

Ellison struggled to his feet, and lurched forward in a stumbling run. The

lifeline, where was it? In the distance he saw a break in the gloom. A

faint beacon of light cut through the darkness, and called to him. He moved

forward with renewed strength and determination. Soon he reached the end of

his journey, and could go no further.

 

A cliff.

 

'Not this again,' he thought, and immediately began looking for a way to

cross to the other side. No sign of a bridge, nothing but a narrow rope

spanned the abyss. The mist began to clear, and Jim saw a figure crumpled

on the other side of the cliff. The face was hidden by a mop of brown

curls, but he would know that man anywhere.

 

Blair.

 

He must have spoken the name aloud for the still figure flinched and moved

his head restlessly. The curls fell away. The face that greeted Jim was

pale, almost translucent. The closed eyes were shadowed by dark circles.

 

"Mmm...."

 

"Blair. It's Jim. Wake up, buddy."

 

The eyes blinked, opened, than closed again. "Nn...no more. No more

voices...in my head."

 

"Blair, open your eyes. It's Jim. Look at me."

 

The eyes blinked again, and stared in bewilderment. "Jim?"

 

"Yeah, it's me, Chief."

 

Blair levered himself painfully up to an elbow, then pushed himself to a

seated position. Drawing his knees up he wrapped his arms around them, and

rocked slowly.

 

"Not real," he murmered shaking his head. "Nothing's real...lost...so

alone. Can't play this...game anymore." He shivered and hugged himself

tighter. He let his head fall forward until his forehead rested on his

knees. "No more...please...too tired."

 

"Blair, look at me! I'm here, I'm real. You're not alone, buddy. Please,

look at me."

 

Blair raised his head and peered at the distant figure. "Jim?" he asked

again. A spark of hope lit the weary eyes.

 

"Yes, Blair." Jim held out a hand. "Cross the rope, Chief. Come to me."

 

Blair crawled to the edge by the rope. His eyes drifted down, past the thin

cord into the seemingly bottomless pit before him. Mesmerized, he tried to

see an end. How far down? How long to fall?

"C...can't...Jim...fall...Jim...*can't.*"

 

Ellison didn't need Sentinel abilities to hear the pounding of his friend's

heart or his frightened gasp. 'Oh, God. Heights. Blair's greatest fear.'

Adrenalin surged in response to his Guide's terror. 'Calm yourself! Talk to

him. Be his guide. Help him as the Spirit Guide said you could.'

 

"Blair!" Jim's voice rang out, cutting through the younger man's fear, and

forcing his eyes up to meet the Sentinel's. "You *can* do this. I'll be

right here with you."

 

Eyes wide in panic, Blair shook his head, curls flying wildly about his

face. "Nnnoo...I'll fall...." The Guide put a hand to his head and closed

his eyes. "Dizzy...so hot. Jim, why's it so hot?"

 

"Blair, you're burning up with fever. Your spirit and body have separated."

Jim ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Don't ask me to explain it,

but you have to come back or you'll die. The bridge is your lifeline. The

thread that remains will break soon. Chief, you have to cross now! If I

could come get you, I would, you know that, but this decision is yours to

make."

 

"I...I can't, Jim. Don't ask me to do this. Go back. Leave me. It's

dangerous for you here. I sense that. Please...*go,*" the trembling Guide

entreated.

 

Ellison knew he had only one card left to play from a deck that seemed

stacked against them.

 

"Sandburg, I have it on good authority that a Sentinel and Guide are bound

together...forever. Where one goes the other follows. I don't want to die,

Chief. I have a lot of living left to do, and so do you. But if you choose

to go, I understand, and I'll be right behind you. The choice is yours, my

friend. Either way, we stay together."

 

"No, you can't stay here," Blair whispered. "Jim, you're a Sentinel.

Special. You're needed. Go back, please!"

 

Ellison took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. A voice in his memory

urged him to act.

 

['Words of truth hold great power...allow the friendship, and love you feel

for your Guide to shine as a beacon through the darkness.']

 

The time had come to deal with another of his fears, and speak 'words of

truth.' Jim captured Blair's eyes with his, and refused to let him look

away.

 

"Special? Needed? And you aren't?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Blair

you're my partner, my Guide, my best friend. Irreplaceable, and essential.

What I am, the Sentinel part of me, is dependent on you as my Guide to

control and strengthen these gifts I've been given. Remove the Guide, and

the Sentinel ceases to exist. No one can take your place, Blair. *No one.*"

 

******

 

'We cannot be separated in interest or divided in purpose. We stand

together until the end.'--Woodrow Wilson.

__________

 

"No one can take your place, Blair. No one."

 

The words of his Sentinel brought tears to the young Guide's eyes. Special,

essential. Those words described his friend, not himself. Sentinel, gifted,

needed, irreplaceable, essential; Jim, not Blair. Not Blair Sandburg,

ordinary anthropology grad student, and struggling Guide to a Sentinel. A

Guide who lived daily with the fear of screwing up, and losing that

Sentinel. He shook his head slightly, and raised doubtful eyes when Ellison

spoke again.

 

"Blair, we share a great gift, a bond. We are Sentinel and Guide. The words

you said to me...about what being a Guide means to you? I...I didn't

understand what that meant before, but I do now. Chief, I *understand.*"

 

Blair drew in a sharp breath. He spoke no words, but a radiant smile touch

his lips expressing the pure joy in his heart.

 

"Look into my eyes, Blair. Take my strength, feel the...the love. Follow

that bond. It's strong, solid beneath your feet. It'll hold you, and keep

you safe. Trust me, my friend. Believe in me as you have so many times

before." Jim stepped closer to the edge of the cliff, and reached out a

hand. "You made a choice to be my Guide, Chief. Make another, come back to

me...or wait for me to come to you."

 

The Guide saw the fear in the Sentinel's eyes. Fear for him. Fear of losing

him. He closed his eyes; a tear escaped, and tracked down his cheek. Blair

made his choice, the only choice really, because the alternative was

unthinkable. He had to try, for Jim--and for himself.

 

Blair had no doubt that the Sentinel would join his Guide if he refused to

cross the chasm. He couldn't allow that to happen. He'd rather fall. Fear

ruled his mind, but not his heart. There was something that frightened him

far more than heights, and that was failing his Sentinel and friend.

 

The blue eyes opened. Wiping away the tears, the anthropologist sent a warm

smile and a determined nod to his friend. He watched Jim's lips curve in

response as the Sentinel gave him an answering nod. Forcing himself to his

feet, the young man swayed dangerously near the edge. He took a deep breath

to calm his pounding heart, and clear his spinning head.

 

"Whoa!" He took a step back. "Help me, Jim! I can't do this alone."

 

"I'm here. Wait a moment, let your head adjust to standing up. You're

strong, Blair. You can do this."

 

"Don't leave me. Don't let me fall."

 

"If you go, I go."

 

Blair stared, than laughed, feeling his tension ease a bit. "What's up with

the movie references, Jim? First Fargo, now Backdraft."

 

Ellison smiled. "Hey, it's a great line." His voice deepened. "And

besides...I mean it."

 

'I know,' Blair thought, observing his friend's serious expression. 'That's

why I have to make it across.'

 

He stood before the rope. So narrow. He would be walking a tightrope,

literally. He chuckled nervously, and saw Jim raise a questioning eyebrow.

 

"When I was a kid I wanted to be a pirate or a circus star. But tightrope

walking wasn't high on my list of things I wanted to do, you know? I was

thinking of something safe, like working with lions or something."

 

He stepped one foot out onto the anchor rope, and smiled anxiously at Jim.

"I get to...work w...with a growling lion every day. Now let's see how I do

w...walking the plank." Blair took a deep breath, and placed his other foot

on the rope. Swaying slightly, he put out his arms for balance. "I'm not

afraid.

I am...*not* afraid."

 

One step, two steps, three. Count the steps. Look at Jim.

 

"Jim, if you clench your jaw any tighter you'll break a tooth."

 

"Keep moving, Sandburg. Growling lions don't have to worry about their

teeth."

 

Another step. Another. Closer.

 

"Oh, man!" Blair groaned as a wave of heat and dizziness swept over him.

"Not...now!" He sent a panicked glance to Ellison. "Jim! What's...hap...."

he gasped for breath. "Can't...breathe! Jim...."

 

The young man went rigid. He flushed bright red; lungs struggled to draw

breath. His eyes rolled up into his head and he teetered precariously on

the rope.

 

"Blair! What is it? what's wrong?" Jim cried out as his friend wavered on

the rope, seemingly unaware of his danger. Ellison saw the truth before his

eyes. Blair was dying. The battered body, connected to the spirit by only a

thin thread, had been pushed beyond human limits, and was shutting down.

The separation of body and soul neared completion.

 

Fear and frustration squeezed the older man's heart, as he stood by

helplessly. Blair was so close--he couldn't lose him now. Not now. Not

watch as Sandburg plunged off the rope, his spirit gone, his body left

behind in a hospital bed lifeless and cold. "Don't do this, Blair! Don't

give up! Chief, I can't lose you."

 

[Sentinel, through you, the Guide is grounded and centered in this

world....As he is your protector, so too must you be his guide...Help him

to find his path once more.]

 

"Help him...f...find his path...." Jim stammered. "...guide...of course!."

He stood at the edge of the rope, and called out to his friend. "Blair!

Listen to my voice. Block out the heat, the fear, the pain, the dizziness.

Block everything but the sound of my voice. Listen to me, Chief. Hear only

my voice calling you. Follow it back."

 

The color leached from Blair's face leaving it bone white. His eyes

fluttered, opened, widened in fear. "Ahhh...." he gasped, arms pinwheeling

as he struggled to stay on the rope. By some miracle, or the strength of

Ellison's will, the young man regained his balance and looked around

dazedly.

 

"Jim...wha happened? Ss...tired...wanna sleep."

 

Anxious to get Blair moving again, Jim barked a command. "Get moving,

Sandburg! No stopping to smell the roses."

 

"Roses? Wha?..."

 

"Move!"

 

An ember burned in blue eyes. "All right, all right, don't bite my head

off!" Sandburg said with spirit, anger helping him to forget his fear. He

took a step, then another.

 

"A little further, Blair," Jim coaxed, gently this time. "See my hand

reaching for you? Almost there."

 

'Almost...there.' Sandburg blinked the sweat out of his eyes, not wanting

to move the arms that stretched out to give him balance. His eyes drifted

down of their own accord, down, down...blackness...void.

 

"Sandburg!" Ellison barked, startling the anthropologist, and nearly

sending him off the rope. "Don't look down," the Sentinel continued softly.

"Look at me. Reach out, grab my hand."

 

Closer, closer. Blair stretched out an arm, teetering on the thin rope. His

fingers brushed Jim's. One more step. Jim leaned out, grasped the younger

man's wrist and pulled--hard.

 

Blair let out a shriek and flew forward. For a moment he fell, and knew he

was dead. Then he felt strong arms wrap around him holding him close.

 

"I've got you, buddy. You're safe now," a soft voice whispered.

 

"Jj..iimmm," he croaked. His heart was in his throat and he couldn't catch

his breath. Exhausted, Sandburg sagged against the larger man. He rested

his head on the Sentinel's shoulder, burying his face in Jim's shirt.

'Real, solid. Not a dream. I'm safe. Safe.'

 

The force of the Sentinel's embrace robbed the younger man of breath, but

he gave it up happily, and returned the hug. Jim held him tighter, rocking

him gently.

 

"Umph...im...." a muffled voice sounded at the taller man's shoulder.

 

"It's okay, Blair." Jim murmured into the dark curls.

 

Blair turned his head to the side, and spit a curl out of his mouth. "Big

guy, this is really nice, but I already had my ribs crushed once, and my

kidney feels like it's being pushed into a lung here."

 

Ellison pulled back from the embrace smiling slightly. His hands moved up

to cup Blair's face. He looked into the younger man's eyes for a moment

than whispered gruffly. "You scared me, kid."

 

Blair snorted. "I scared you? Man, I scared me! Jim if you hadn't...I never

could've...." He ripped a hand through his curls and let out a long, deep

sigh. "I've never been so scared...not even when...when Lash...." He

shuddered, and Jim pulled him close again, stroking the dark curls

soothingly.

 

"Shh...It's over. You're safe, now."

 

Sandburg's body trembled uncontrollably reacting to the stress, and not

obeying his command to stop.

 

"I...I'm ssorry...J...Jim. Don't know what's the mmmatter with mme.

Cc..an't stop shaking."

 

"It's okay, Blair."

 

"Y...You wouldn't d...do this! They were right...d...dressing me in a

d...diaper."

 

Jim pulled back and shook Blair slightly. "I don't want to hear talk like

that. A baby? You? Blair, you're the bravest person I know."

 

Blair snorted. "Yeah, right." He looked down, and Jim raised his chin with

a finger.

 

"Darn right," the older man emphasized, shaking Blair's shoulders lightly.

"Chief, how many college students could face the things you've faced, the

things you've seen? How many would throw themselves under a garbage truck

to save a stranger? Or take out a terrorist with a vending machine? How

many could hold a serial killer at bay with no weapon but their tongue? Or

defuse a bomb on an oil rig? How many would cross a rope with a petrifying

fear of heights, or drive..." Ellison's voice choked, and he cleared his

throat, "...drive a truck into a drunk to save a friend? Only one...and his

name is Blair Sandburg." Jim looked deeply into Blair's eyes, willing his

young friend to see his worth. "And if he wasn't trembling so hard, he

would feel it from the lion."

 

"You?" Concerned, Sandburg studied his friend. "Jim, are you all right?"

 

The Sentinel saw that his young Guide had forgotten his own fear in his

concern for his friend. 'Always thinking of me first, don't you, Blair.'

 

['Open your heart, Sentinel. Do not close off your feelings.']

 

The Spirit Guide's voice echoed in Ellison's mind, reminding him of a fear

he hadn't faced. 'And he said, he wouldn't be with me on this journey.'

 

"No, Blair, I'm not all right."

 

"What is it? Your senses? Did you hurt yourself? I...." A hand over his

lips silenced the young man. The wide blue eyes questioned Ellison's action.

 

"I...I'm not *okay,* Chief. I almost lost you, and I want you to know how

that made me feel." Jim sighed, looked away for a moment, then reaching a

decision, he nodded to himself. His eyes returned to Blair's anxious face.

"I...was lost, frightened...alone. Blair, you're so important to me. I know

I have trouble expressing it sometimes. Heck, *all* of the times. I'm not a

man who...who finds it easy to say what I feel. You know that."

 

Blair nodded; a small frown creased his brow. "Jim, it's okay, man. You

don't have to...."

 

"No. I want you to hear this. I need to say it. Will you listen, and not

interrupt?"

 

Blair nodded solemnly.

 

Jim swallowed, and began speaking in a hesitant voice. "When I told you

that I could handle a lot of things, but losing you wasn't one of them, I

meant it. I share something with you that I've never had with anyone else.

A bond that I'm just beginning to understand." He paused for a moment, deep

in thought, then shook his head, and glanced back at his partner. "You gave

me my life back, Chief, my sanity, and control of a gift that still scares

the hell out of me sometimes. You gave me your friendship, and trust. You

listen and you're there for me. Always. No price can be put on a friendship

like that. No price." His voice choked, and he felt Blair's hand squeeze

his shoulder. He lay his own hand over his friend's.

 

"Chief, you're my partner, and my Guide. I respect that part of you, but I

don't want you to think that's all I value. You're my friend, Blair. My

best friend. I'd give up my badge, and my Sentinel abilities in a heartbeat

to keep your friendship. That's what's most important to me."

 

Blair's eyes shone. "It's about friendship," he whispered.

 

"I just didn't get it before," Jim finished. "I do now, and I will never

take it for granted again."

 

"Jim...man...I don't know what to say."

 

"Speechless Sandburg? Now that would be a first." Jim cuffed the younger

man lightly, and Blair laughed breaking the tension between them. "Okay,

Chief, about this lion thing..."

 

Blair, held out his hands. "Hey, big guy, don't be mad. I wasn't myself

when I said that."

 

Jim grunted. "Uh, huh. Well at least you named me after the *king* of

beasts. That's something anyway."

 

Blair shuffled his feet, glanced down, up, then down again.

 

"Uh...I hate to break this to you, Jim, but the male of the lion species is

actually kind of a...a bum. The female does all the hunting and he

freeloads....Hey!" Blair ducked to avoid Jim's elbow. His lips twitched and

he chuckled.

 

Jim shook his head, but one look at Sandburg's face, and he couldn't help

laughing. "C'mon, Chief, let's get out of here." Putting an arm around

Sandburg's shoulders, Ellison guided him onto the path.

 

"Jim!"

 

Ellison heard the panic in his friend's voice, and looked down into Blair's

frightened eyes. The Guide held out his hands. They faded, and disappeared.

 

"What's happening to me?" Terror punctuated each word. "Don't let me go.

Jim, I'm disapp...."

 

He vanished.

 

"Blair!" Ellison ran forward. No sign of his friend. He saw movement out of

the corner of his eye, and Death materialized before him. Forgetting his

fear of the dark lady, he rushed up to her, wild eyed and frantic.

 

"What have you done to him! He chose to go with me."

 

"So he did, Sentinel. Your friend has returned to his body...as you are

now."

 

Ellison glanced down and saw his hands begin to fade. He looked up as Death

spoke again.

 

"You have won this round, Sentinel, and I am not sorry." She stared at him

pointedly. "But listen well. The life you and your Guide live is fraught

with danger and will bring many opportunities for us to meet again. Guard

yourself, and your Guide for I do not wish our next meeting to be soon."

 

Ellison nodded. "I will."

 

The mist rose, surrounding him. He felt himself pulled back--back to his

body, to the hospital room he had left, and to Blair.

 

******

 

'Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours for one lone soul, another

lonely soul--Each chasing each through all the weary hours, and meeting

strangely at one sudden goal; Then blend they--like green leaves with

golden flowers, into one beautiful and perfect whole--And life's long night

is ended, and the way lies open onward to eternal day.'--Sir Edwin Arnold.

__________

 

Sensation returned slowly, each sense awakening as if from a long sleep.

Dull, muffled sounds filled Ellison's ears, becoming clearer with each

passing moment. Flashes of light hurt eyes accustomed to a dark world.

Touch revived, and he felt himself sitting on the edge of a bed, a warm

body cradled in his arms. Blair. He had no memory of how Sandburg had ended

up in his arms. He focused on Blair's placid face; pale, no sign of life. A

spike of fear flashed through him.

 

"Blair?"

 

He lay a hand on his friend's forehead feeling for fever. Sweat beaded on

Sandburg's face and Jim's sensitive fingers felt the difference. The fever

had broken.

 

Ellison let out a sigh of relief. "I know you're in there, Chief," he said.

Reaching one arm behind him, he searched for a damp rag to wipe Blair's

face. "It's all right. You've been through so much. Rest now. I'm anxious

for you to wake up, but I can be patient a little while longer."

 

Mindful of the broken ribs, he gently lowered the young man back to the

pillow, and got off the bed. His hand brushed through the sweat soaked

curls, following the curve of a cheek, tracing a line down an arm until he

reached the hand, covering it with his own. "I can wait, but don't be too

long, please?"

 

He squeezed Blair's hand softly, and started, feeling the gentle pressure

returned.

 

"Chief?"

 

******

 

Dull pain pushed into his awareness, invading the warm, dark cocoon he had

retreated to. His perception widened to include sound and touch. He felt

arms holding him close. Safe. He could rest now. A sound thrummed in his

ear; warm breath stirred his hair, and tickled his face. He wanted to reach

up to push the kitty away, but his hand wouldn't cooperate.

 

The thrumming sound became words, a voice. Chief? Only one person called

him that. 'Jim's voice. Not a...kitty.' He smiled inwardly, envisioning the

tough detective's reaction to being confused with a cat. A lion maybe. Now

where did *that* thought come from?

 

His head hurt, and he felt--strange. He couldn't seem to think clearly.

Jim. Jim's face. He wanted to see it. Why wouldn't his eyes open? Fear

raised its ugly head, speaking lies, telling him he would never see Jim

again. He shivered, suddenly cold.

 

A hand stroked his hair, his face, and he took comfort from the touch. He

felt a large hand grip his smaller one and squeeze softly. Focusing his

will, he weakly returned the pressure.

 

"Chief? Blair, you with me?" a hopeful voice sang out.

 

"NaUuhhhh," Did that croak really come from his vocal cords? What was up

with him?

 

"Didn't quite catch that, buddy," amusement and relief colored the voice.

 

'Right, Jim, you try talking with a mouth dry as the Sahara desert,' he

thought. His eyelids fluttered and opened. Blinking muzzily against the

light, he saw Jim's anxious face leaning over him. "Whaa...im?" he rasped.

 

"Water?"

 

"Ummhmm..."

 

"Coming up." Ellison poured a small amount of water into a glass, then

lifted Blair's head slightly. Putting the cup to his friend's lips he

allowed him a couple of sips. "Not too much now. Slow and easy, that's it."

 

Blair collapsed back against the pillow exhausted from the small effort.

"Thanks," he whispered. Feeling the pull of sleep, he fought to keep his

eyes open.

 

"Anytime, Chief." Jim noticed the drooping eyelids. "It's good to hear your

voice, partner, but you should rest now."

 

The younger man slowly shook his head. "No...."

 

Jim winced in sympathy at the painful rawness of his Guide's usually

melodic voice. "Don't talk, Blair, let your throat heal."

 

"No...Jim I...remember now. You were there...didn't let me...fall.

Remember all...you came for me...."

 

Ellison leaned close to his friend's ear. "I'll always be there for you,"

he whispered softly. "It's what Sentinels do...and Guides too."

 

A faint smile touched Sandburg's lips. "Ummhmm," he murmured.

"Blessed...Protector...always...on duty."

 

The Sentinel looked through his guide's weary eyes into his soul, and saw

the love there, love for him. It still amazed him. "Always," he repeated.

 

Ellison watched as Sandburg's eyes drifted closed, and he settled into a

restful sleep. Brushing the thick curls from his friend's face, Jim leaned

close, sealing his pledge with a soft kiss to Blair's forehead.

 

'You call me Blessed Protector, Blair, but it's me who's blessed...to have

you in my life. Sleep now, I'll be here when you wake.'

 

He sat down in the chair by the bed, and watched his sleeping friend.

Feeling safe at last, the Sentinel allowed his eyes to close, and sleep to

claim him.

 

******

 

'To lose a friend is the greatest of all evils, but endeavor rather to

rejoice that you possessed him than to mourn his loss.'--Seneca.

__________

 

Jim pulled his rental car up to the gate of the cemetery, and rolled to a

stop. For a moment he sat quietly letting the car idle, his mind filled

with memories of his last visit to this place. With a shake of his head, he

put the car into gear, drove through the gate, parked and got out of the

car.

 

No footsteps marred the pristine whiteness surrounding the graves. Silence.

No sound, but the crunch of snow beneath his feet, disturbed the solitude

of this peaceful place.

 

It had been a long time--too long, since he last visited his friend. He had

never returned after the funeral. The memories, the pain, and the

soul-killing guilt had kept him far away.

 

Even with the passage of the years, his heart led him with unerring

direction to the stone he sought. The little pine tree he had planted had

grown larger, but the site had changed little from what he remembered.

Beautiful, quiet; the tree stood sentinel over the grave that looked out

across the bay.

 

Jim crouched beside the stone, brushing away the snow that clung to the

carved letters.

 

Kyle O'Shaughnessy

June 19, 1966 - January 1, 1991.

Beloved son, brother, friend.

Taken from us too soon.

 

A photograph was inlaid into the stone, Kyle in dress blues. The picture

had been taken to celebrate his upcoming graduation from the police

academy. A graduation the young man hadn't lived to see. Jim traced the

features with his fingertips. Time had blurred this once familiar image in

his mind, but the picture brought everything back: all the joy, the

friendship, the grief. Reddish-blond hair, the curls having been shorn off,

poked out from beneath the hat, green eyes sparkled with hidden mischief,

the mouth curved slightly in an impish grin.

 

'Kyle always had a smile on his face,' Jim thought. 'It could never be

tamed even for the seriousness of his graduation photo.'

 

Jim cleared his throat. "It's been a long time, buddy. Too long. I...I'm

sorry for that. I've been so focused on how you died, and my own anger, and

guilt, that I forgot *you,* how you lived, and what a great friend you were

to me." Jim bowed his head for a moment lost in thought, then looked up

once more.

 

"The Chopec tribe that I lived with in Peru; they believe that when a

person dies the body returns to the earth, and the spirit moves on to its

next life. To grieve at a gravesite makes no sense to them, for what is

there is just earth. The person you loved has moved on."

 

Jim's fingers moved to trace the letters of his friend's name. "You have

moved on, Kyle, and it's time that I do too. It's time to forgive myself,

let go of the grief...and the anger. When I think of you now, buddy, I'll

remember my friend, and how he lived, not how he died. I'll remember the

friend who shared my love of basketball, and never missed a three pointer,

the friend who always sprang for the beer...and that atrocious Irish brogue

you used to tease me with." Jim smiled. "Good memories. Good memories my

friend."

 

Ellison's mind drifted back to his academy days. The cadets had gathered

together after the funeral of a police officer. Quiet, and solemn, each

man, and woman had sat lost in thought. For the first time they understood

their own mortality, and realized that the profession they trained for

could someday require the ultimate sacrifice from them--their life.

 

"Do you think we just disappear after we die?" one cadet asked.

 

"No," a familiar voice answered.

 

Jim looked up at Kyle's soft reply. His friend's expression was thoughtful.

 

"No, I don't believe that," the young man murmured. "Part of us lives on in

the hearts, and minds of the people who love us. As long as someone

remembers us, we can never really die, right?" The voice faded into an echo

of memory.

 

Jim let his hand rest on the stone a moment longer. "Right, Kyle." A soft

smile touched his lips. "You'll always be with me, my friend. I'll never

forget you."

 

Jim sighed, and brushed his fingers over his hair. "I've got to go now,

buddy. I'm picking my partner up from the hospital today." He chuckled

softly. "It's been all I can handle trying to keep him there this long. If

I'm late, I'll get a Sandburg lecture for sure." His smile faded, and his

attention returned to the faded photograph on the gravestone.

 

"Kyle, I know you're glad I have someone watching out for me. Sandburg's a

good man, the best. A partner I trust with my life, and with my friendship.

He calls me his Blessed Protector, and I guess he's my guardian angel." Jim

chuckled softly, then sobered. "When I look at him, I see a little bit of

you. I...I almost lost him too, but I've been given the second chance with

him that I missed with you."

 

A voice in his memory spoke sweet and clear. "Don't be a loner, Jimmy boy.

Don't shut yourself off from those reaching out to you."

 

"You're still watching out for me, just as you said you would," Jim replied

to the distant voice. "You knew me so well." He patted the stone, and got

to his feet. Retracing his path through the snow, he paused, turning back

to look once more at Kyle's grave. "Don't worry about me, kid, I'm

okay...and I know that you are too." With a final salute to his friend, he

made his way back to the car.

 

Blair was waiting for him.

 

******

 

'Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive.

And it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.'--Anais Nin.

__________

 

Jim strolled into the hospital, and into the elevator. He immediately

reached out with his senses to check on his partner. He found Blair's

heartbeat easily, and laughed to himself when he picked up the sound of his

partner's indignant voice.

 

["I don't want to sit down! I've been flat on my back forever!"]

 

'Oooh, grumpy patient,' Jim grinned, knowing his partner's dislike of

hospital stays. As soon as Blair became coherent, he had started clamoring

to go home. It took the combined efforts of Jim, Simon, and the doctor to

convince him to stay put.

 

[But Mr. Sandburg, the wheelchair is hospital policy. The rules..."]

 

["Rules," Sandburg snorted. "Didn't anybody ever tell you that rules are

meant to be broken? Ask my partner, the rule Tsar. I've been working on

him. He's starting to bend the rules occasionally. Soon I might even get

him to break a few."]

 

"In your dreams, Sandburg," Ellison muttered as he rounded the last corner.

He didn't need sentinel senses to pick up Blair's next comment.

 

"Nurse, I got it. I *got* it! I don't need a chair, I can do this myself."

 

Jim peeked into Sandburg's room, and saw his partner balancing on a pair of

crutches. A harried nurse stood nearby, hands outstretched.

 

"Chief, what do you think you're doing?"

 

"Jim!" Blair's face lit with a bright smile. "Where've you been, man? I am

like *so* ready to vacate this place." He nodded at the nurse. "Tell her I

don't need a chair. I got the hang of this, see?" The young man lurched

forward on his crutches eliciting a startled squeak from the nurse.

 

Ellison sent her a smile, gestured for her to leave, then turned back to

his wavering partner.

 

"Sandburg, sit down before you fall down."

 

"Naw, I got it now...no really!" he nodded enthusiastically. "So, where

were you, anyway?"

 

"There was...someone I needed to see first. Sorry I'm late."

 

"S'okay. Can we go now?" Blair bounced with eagerness.

 

Jim canted his head, studying his friend. "Sandburg, you're the only person

I know who can bounce while on crutches."

 

"I *don't* bounce. I'm just...anxious to go. Can we go now?" he repeated

plaintively, taking another step. He came down hard on the rounded top of

the crutch. "Ow, ow, ow! Why don't they put more padding on these things?"

 

Jim folded his arms. "Look Baryshnikov, you aren't going to be turning any

pirouettes for awhile, so plop your butt in this chair before you hurt

yourself."

 

"But, Jim...."

 

"*Chair,* Sandburg!"

 

"All right, all right." Blair moved the crutches to one hand, hopping a

couple steps to get to the chair. He bent over, hissing in pain as healing

ribs complained at the movement.

 

Jim moved quickly to his friend's side. "Easy there, Chief, let me help."

He eased his partner down into the wheelchair. "Is the pain bad?"

 

"S'okay, man. It'll pass. Wish I could turn down the dials like you can.

But it won't work for me."

 

"How do you know? Let's do a test...listen to my voice, and...."

 

"Jim are you trying to be funny here? Trust me...It's a Sentinel thing, not

a Guide thing, okay? I know what this is about...you're getting back at me

for all the tests I made you do."

 

"Tests," Jim muttered to himself.

 

"What?"

 

Ellison looked down at Sandburg. "The tests...Sandburg, I think we should

go ahead with those psychic tests you wanted to try."

 

Blair perked up. "Really?" His eyes widened, and he tipped his head back to

look up at Ellison. "Whoa, wait a minute here. Who are you, and what've you

done with my partner, Mr. Jim 'enough tests, Sandburg!' Ellison?" He

studied the older man skeptically. "You're actually volunteering to do a

test? What's up with that?"

 

Ellison held up a hand to stop the flow of words.

 

"I'll take the test on one condition."

 

"Here it comes," Sandburg moaned. "So, what's the price? Lunch at

Wonderburger? I do dishes for a month? What?"

 

"You take the tests with me."

 

"Me?" Blair cocked his head. "Jim, I'm not psychic. Nothing special about

me."

 

"Stop that!" Ellison tapped his friend lightly on the forehead.

 

"Ow!" Blair rubbed the spot. "Geez...beat on a guy with a concussion," he

said mournfully, but at Jim's concerned look, his lips twitched with

laughter. "It's just...you're the Sentinel, the gifted one, Jim. I'm

just..." he shrugged a shoulder, "...me."

 

Jim smiled. "You just might surprise yourself, Chief. Deal?"

 

"Well, okay," the younger man said uncertainly. His mind kicked into

research mode, and he brightened. "You know, this could be an interesting

chapter for my dissertation. Maybe you could learn to read my

thoughts...Oh, man, *that's* a scary thought."

 

"Frightening," Jim agreed with a smile. He helped the younger man wrap up

in a coat, and plopped a hat over the unruly curls. "Gotta keep you warm,

Sandburg."

 

Blair reached up, and pulled the hat from his head. "Hey! It's my...I

thought you said it was a goner..." He looked closely at the hat. "No,

this isn't mine...." He looked up, a puzzled frown on his face. "Where'd

you get this? I had to special order mine out of a catalog."

 

Ellison flushed slightly. "Well...your hat was...the blood it...and I know

how much you liked it. I looked everywhere, couldn't find one. Finally

I...um...well, I joked about it being a Fargo hat...."

 

Blair's eyes widened. "Jim, you didn't."

 

"Yeah, I did. I got a hold of a detective in Fargo, North Dakota. He had a

good laugh, but he found a hat, and express mailed it to me. Just got the

package yesterday."

 

Blair just stared, his mouth slightly open.

 

"Don't you like it?" Jim asked. "We can always find that catalog and try

and get one exactly like your old one."

 

Blair blinked, and shook his head. "No." He clutched the hat to his chest.

"No, Jim...I...I'm sorry. I love the hat. I'm just...processing here. I

can't believe you went to all that trouble...I...." He looked up at his

friend, eyes shining. "Thanks, man."

 

Ellison patted the younger man's shoulder. "You're welcome, Chief." He

cleared his throat. "Well, we should go, Simon and some of the guys are

waiting downstairs."

 

"Great! They can sign my cast."

 

Jim chuckled, and wheeled his friend out the door, and into the elevator.

He reached over to push the button.

 

"So, Sandburg, what was that crack about my being a--how did you put it?

Rule Tsar?"

 

"You heard that?" Blair reached up to tap his own forehead. "Duhhhumm

question, of course you did. Well it's true...."

 

"It is not...."

 

"Is too...."

 

"Sandburg!"

 

Two nurses on the floor smiled as the door closed silencing the arguing

voices.

 

******

 

'Hand grasps at hand, eye lights eye in good friendship, and great hearts

expand and grow one in the sense of this world's life.'--Robert Browning.

__________

 

Simon Banks, Taggert, Rafe, Brown, and a few other officers from Major

Crimes waited in the main lobby. The elevator door opened, and Simon

grinned as the familiar sound of bickering reached his ears.

 

"I see things have returned to normal, or at least what passes as normal

with you two," he commented.

 

Blair lit up like a roman candle. "Hey guys! You wanna sign my cast?"

 

The assembled group smiled at the young man's animated greeting, and

gathered around to the add their signatures to Blair's artwork in progress.

 

Rafe stood awkwardly at the end of the line. Blair noticed his discomfort,

and waved him forward. "Hey, Rafe, how you doing, man?"

 

"Uh...I'm fine, Blair. Shouldn't I be asking *you* that? How do you feel?"

 

"I'm good." He pointed at the cast. "Aren't you going to sign it?" He held

out a pen.

 

Rafe took the pen and looked for a place to sign. "Geez, Blair, half the

hospital must've signed this already."

 

Curls bounced as Blair nodded exuberantly. "Yeah. Cool huh? Most of them

are nurses. Some even left their phone numbers." He aimed a cheeky grin at

Ellison, who sighed, but refrained from commenting.

 

Rafe found a spot and signed his name with a flourish. He hesitated a

moment, then looked up into Blair's smiling face. "Um...Blair...what you

did...thanks doesn't seem like enough. I owe you my life, and I'm so sorry

you were hurt."

 

"Hey, man, no thanks needed between friends, right?" Blair extended a hand.

 

Rafe smiled, and clasped the hand with his own, reaching out with the other

to tousle Blair's hair. "Right, Hairboy," he laughed.

 

Blair grinned, and turned to Simon. He saluted. "Reporting for duty, sir!"

 

Simon rolled his eyes, but smiled warmly. "I don't think you're back to

full bounce yet, Sandburg. Give it some time. Rest up a bit."

 

Blair groaned. "All I've been doing is resting. I'm never going to get

caught up. Jim's desk must be stacked with paperwork. Bet it looks like the

Leaning Tower of Pisa by now. And I was supposed to turn in a paper a week

ago. I'll never get an extension. There are tests to grade, and...."

 

Ellison held up a hand. "Whoa, calm down, Chief. My paperwork is handled.

The school arranged to have the tests graded and you already have an

extension on your paper. I talked to your professor myself."

 

Sandburg blinked. "You did? And he agreed to it? What did you say to him,

Jim? Professor Christianson *never,* and I mean never, gives extensions."

 

"I just turned on the ole Ellison charm, and had him eating out of my hand."

 

The anthropologist raised an eyebrow. "Ellison charm, yeah, right. You

probably threatened him with unpaid parking tickets or something."

 

Jim coughed, and looked away. Blair gaped. "Jim you didn't!"

 

The detective shrugged. "It worked didn't it?" He turned away from his

startled partner to speak to Simon.

 

Blair shook his head, chuckling softly. "I can't believe you sometimes."

His fingers slipped down to maneuver the chair back and forth, unable to

sit quietly even for a moment. "Hey, I wonder if I could do a wheelie in

this thing?." He made engine noises and pushed himself down the hall.

 

"Sandburg!" Jim hollered, following after him. The detective let out

a longsuffering sigh, but as he watched his friend's antics, his expression

softened. 'That kid, what can you do?'

 

He watched Blair awkwardly turn the chair around, and winced in sympathy

when his friend reached to cradle sore ribs.

 

A shadow lengthened behind the wheelchair. Jim's eyes widened as his Spirit

Guide, in panther form, materialized behind Sandburg, who was making his

way back at a slower pace.

 

'What indeed, Sentinel?' a low voice rumbled in his mind.

 

The Sentinel nodded at the panther, acknowledging its presence, and the

question. 'What I can do is be glad that he's still here with me. That we

remain together as Sentinel and Guide.'

 

The cat dipped its head. 'The young one is most precious to you, and you to

him. As the Guide loves, and watches over his Sentinel, so too must the

Sentinel love, and look after his Guide. That is the bond between you, the

whole connection.'

 

'Love and trust bind the two as one,' Jim thought, echoing the lesson the

Spirit Guide had taught him. 'Always,' he replied to the Panther's

imperative. 'It comes with the job and is a responsibility I accept with

no regrets, as he does.'

 

The Spirit Guide dipped its head once more, than reared back on its hind

legs, pushing the wheelchair with its front paws. Blair shot forward with a

startled squawk. "Whoa!" He swung around, but saw nothing. "Man, guess I

don't know my own strength."

 

The panther began to fade. Just before it disappeared, one eye closed in

what Ellison swore was a wink. The Sentinel stroked his chin, his hand

moving up to hide a smile.

 

"Sandburg, I never knew you had racing ambitions," he said dryly.

 

"Yeah! When I was a kid, I wanted to win the Indy 500 in the worst way."

 

"I thought you wanted to be a pirate or a circus star?"

 

"Uh, huh, them too. Hey, you know that phrase--being a Renaissance man?

Well, I was a Renaissance kid. I had many interests, and even bigger

dreams...." His voice lowered. "Like finding a real, live Sentinel someday."

 

"Well, one out of four ain't bad."

 

"What?"

 

"I don't see any trophies at home saying you've won the Indy 500," the

detective stated. "You don't own a ship so piracy is definitely out, and

your head is still attached to your shoulders, so you never ended up

playing with lions at a circus." A slow smile spread across his features.

"But you did find a Sentinel, and I guess you're stuck with him."

 

Blair smiled. "I can live with that."

 

Jim nodded, and they joined the others.

 

"Say, Jim," Sandburg asked hesitantly.

 

"What, Chief."

 

"Well, I've been wondering...did you...I mean...were you ever picked

to...you know...be the baby New Year?"

 

Ellison rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and looked away. Blair

glanced over at the other cops who all found something else to look at.

 

"What? Is it some big secret? Are you all sworn to silence? C'mon...I want

to know the truth."

 

"What do *you* think, Sandburg?" Ellison asked pointedly.

 

Blair studied his partner. "I think the image of you in a diaper is just

*way* too frightening, man." He ducked to avoid Jim's elbow. Laughter

bubbled up, and he sent a saucy grin to the older man. "Hey! What would you

do without me?"

 

Ellison basked in the warmth of his Guide's smile, and the welcome sound of

his laughter. He rested a hand lightly on Blair's shoulder, feeling the

life coursing beneath his palm. His sensitive fingertips picked up the

comforting beat of his friend's heart. Jim squeezed gently, reassured that

Blair would be all right now, and was coming home. The last of the tension

drained from the Sentinel's body, and he felt such--joy. His own laughter

spilled out.

 

"Without you? Hmmm...." he rubbed his chin as if in serious thought.

"Well...I'd probably be eating at Wonderburger a lot more."

 

Blair made a face, and huffed in mock disgust. "Uff! Guess I'll be sticking

around then. Your health depends on it." His eyes met Jim's, and he laughed.

 

Ellison smiled in return. 'More than you'll ever know, buddy, ' he thought.

"So, Chief, you all set to go home?"

 

"More than set." Blair pulled on his Fargo hat, and waved toward the door.

 

"Home, James!"

 

******

 

The end.

 

'There is nothing final between friends.'--William Jennings Bryan.

 

 

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