Captain Simon Banks glanced at his desk clock, then raked his gaze over the men sitting in his office.

Jim fought the urge to look through the blinds into the bullpen. He didn't need to look. Using his newly trained enhanced sense of hearing, he caught the familiar cadence of sneaker steps squeaking across the freshly waxed floor in the outside hallway.

Thank God. Jim sighed quietly, giving his boss a slight nod. Simon had been a virtual grizzly bear all day. Now, waiting for Blair Sandburg, Major Crimes own personal police observer, to show up was not helping the man's temper. Last week, Simon had invited Blair to attend the weekly staff meeting. An honor that had thrilled the younger man. But Blair was running late. A few seconds later, his roommate entered the office - as usual, without the customary knock that would normally be expected on a police captain's closed door. Looking comfortable in blue jeans and a dark gray thermal shirt under a soft chamois outer shirt, Blair waved brightly at the occupants.

"Sorry, guys. I had to..." Blair's words were cut off with the sharpness of a surgeon's scalpel.

"Save it, Sandburg," Simon barked, pointing towards the only empty chair, the one closest to his desk.

Jim frowned, wishing he'd thought to save a seat next to his own. Having his civilian roommate sit in on these staff meeting was humorous on a good day and a downright disaster on a bad one.

It was obvious, even to the meter maids, that Captain Simon Banks had declared today as a bad day.

Blair fell into the chair looking duly chastised, sneaking a questioning glance back at Jim.

Jim responded with a head shake, trying to send a silent message. `Don't rock the boat.'

"Lets get started," Simon's booming voice began without its usual warmth. "With Rhonda on vacation the next two weeks and our normal sub sick, we're not going to experience our usual smooth, efficient day-to-day operations. We're lucky to get Mary from burglary to fill in."

He paused to study the faces around his office. "The first bozo that pisses her off and sends her packing, deals with me... understand?"

The group nodded like the obedient employees they all wished to be.

"So, man. Is she pretty?" Blair asked lightly, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Detective Brown was caught unprepared and snickered. Jim groaned quietly to himself.

"Sandburg..." Simon's tone was laced with danger; a saner grad student might have run for the door and never looked back. "Your excuse for a social life has no place inside these four walls. Am I making myself clear? Or do I need to get out my box of crayons and write it down?"

Brown and several others gasped in surprise. Jim curled his hands into fists.

Simon had moved beyond the normal teasing that went on daily and had gone directly into offensive attack.

Blair's cheeks bloomed the color of a summer rose. He ducked his head in a vain attempt to hide his face. "Sorry, Si- Captain. I was just... Um, sorry," he muttered softly.

Jim swallowed his rage, a pain of betrayal growing in his gut as he watched his boss continue to glower at Blair with open contempt. This was not the man Jim knew and called friend.

"Captain," Jim barked out. He paused to rein in his temper before continuing. "What's the ..."

"Can it, Detective! I'm not going to let a snotty-nose grad student belittle my command," Simon snapped.

The next scene played out like a nightmare.

Blair stood - apparently realizing as a civilian he wasn't required to put up with the verbal abuse - Simon exploded in rage. Barreling out of his office chair with amazing speed, Simon's left hand caught up a handful of thermal shirt while his right balled into a fist and struck.

Before Jim could clear his seat, the first hit landed on Blair's nose. The resulting `crack' exploded in Jim's ear. Blood streamed from Blair's face unchecked. The room erupted from stunned shock to sudden, frantic movement. Unfortunately, all of it slower than Jim would have liked. Men blocked his path. Jim roared like a wounded lion, physically throwing an office chair - still occupied - to one side as he climbed up and over Simon's desk to reach his roommate. Blair had fallen back in his chair under Simon's attack and was out of sight with Simon on top. The dark fist continued to rise and fall as the attack played out.

"Simon! STOP!" Joel Taggart shouted, reaching the pair on the floor the same time as Jim.

Jim grabbed the fist that rained blows, stilling the onslaught. Joel had a large, meaty arm around Simon's neck, pulling the larger man back and off Blair. More hands grabbed the enraged man, until Simon was dragged back and Jim could survey the damage.

"Rafe, call an ambulance," Jim ordered, kneeling down at his friend's side. Blair was on his back, choking on his own blood. His jaw hung loose and crooked, his face bruised and bloodied.

"Blair..." Words hung up in Jim's throat. Blair wasn't listening anyway.

Sliding an arm under Blair's shoulders, he lifted the younger man's upper body. Jim dropped to his butt, leaning against the wall and pulled Blair to his chest, tilting the injured face to one side. Warm blood flowed down Jim's shirt and soaked his lap.

The movement brought pain. Blair gurgled a moan, cradling his broken jaw with both hands to keep it from falling open. But the changed angle cleared the airway and Jim could hear the sound of air moving up and down Blair's windpipe.

"Hold on, Chief," Jim whispered into his ear, tuning out the nearby sounds of Simon's rage.

"How bad, Jim?" Rafe asked, kneeling down next to the two roommates.

"Bad... Did you call for medics?" Jim answered, keeping his voice calm. Blair's heart pounded Jim's ribs through the layers of clothes. He could feel each painful gasp and moan Blair uttered. As much as he wanted to get up and rip into Simon Banks for doing this, he wanted to stay here with Blair more, making sure the injured man continued to breathe.

"Jjjjaaaahhhh..." Blair groaned with a violent shudder. A bloodied hand moved to grab a handful of Jim's collar.

"Easy... don't talk," Jim ordered, his words blowing the brown curls around and tickling his nose. "Try and relax, I've got you."

Blair shuddered again, but relaxed, just a little.

Simon had been dragged out of his own office. His curses and screams easily audible in the bullpen. Apparently, it was taking the rest of the staff to keep him down. They'd gone from bad day to nightmare in less than sixty seconds. Now Jim's world was reduced to this corner of the captain's office, listening to air move in and out of his guide's lungs. Blair's chair was still on its side next to them, forming a makeshift barricade against the world.

Jim sighed and tightened his grip as another wrack of pain caused a shudder to run through the other man's body.

Damn it.

Sitting quietly next to Blair's hospital bed, Jim watched TV. Normally, the host of the nightly program never failed to bring a smile. But Jim had sat through the entire show with all the enthusiasm of watching grass grow.

The only speaker to the TV available was in the side rails of Blair's bed. And it was on the lowest setting. Jim could hear every word, even though - to an outsider - it looked as if Jim had spend the last hour reading lips. Jim didn't need volume, he was a sentinel.

The great sentinel of Cascade.

He could hear, see, taste, touch and smell better than any other person alive.

Shit.

So why didn't he see this coming? It took a broken jaw and surgery to see reality. Not his jaw of course, that would have been poetic justice. After all, Jim was the one who should have seen it. Not Blair. Yet it was Blair who got to look forward to six weeks of not being able to open his mouth. The doctors had run wire in between his partner's teeth and twisted the ends together.

Shit.

He leaned over to adjust the blankets covering the man in question. Blair was asleep, forced under by drugs. His face still swollen from the attack, he looked like someone who had faced ten rounds with Tyson while both hands were tied behind his back.

The door opened. Taggart's head appeared through a quietly cracked door. He peered into the gloom, spotting Jim with the aid of the flickering blue light from the overhead TV screen.

"Jim?" he whispered.

"Come in... he's still asleep," Jim informed him quietly.

The large man entered the private room and lowered himself into the second chair with more grace than one would expect. "The results are back. Looks like magic mushrooms."

Jim shook his head, disgusted with himself. How could he not know? Not see? Simon had been acting bizarre for hours before Blair had arrived, and he had just written it off as a bad lunch. "How is he?"

"Better, he stopped screaming at the world," Joel shifted to gaze into the bed. "He's going to be sick when he knows..."

Jim scrubbed his face with both hands. "Yeah... what a mess."

"We're going to find the person's responsible, Jim," Joel vowed. "The Chief's already been by, he swore to me we could have whatever we need to get to the bottom of this. Everything in Simon's office is in the lab, anything he touched is being tested."

Jim nodded, too exhausted to comment. He really should have remained to help process the clues, to search through Simon's things and used his senses to help, but he couldn't. Both Blair and Simon had been loaded up in ambulances and brought to Cascade General Hospital.

In fact, it had taken more than gentle persuasion to get Blair to release his hold on Jim's collar when the medics did show up. Jim had seen the look of panic in Blair's eyes when they'd taken the tube and stuck it down his throat to secure his airway. Blair's free hand had scrambled to find Jim's during the procedure and Jim had taken that hand and held on.

"You look wasted, Jim. Go home," Joel ordered softly.

"I'm fine, really. His drugs should be wearing off soon. I want to be here when he wakes up."

"Okay... what if I bring by a change of clothes? You can't be comfortable in those scrubs."

Jim glanced down at the light green outfit a thoughtful orderly had found for him. His own clothes sat in a white plastic bag in the closet behind him. The heavy starch in the cotton scrubs was attacking his skin, punishing him for his lack of caution. Jim had taken the abuse without complaint. He deserved worse.

Joel held out his hand. "Come on, give me your keys. I'll be back first thing in the morning. And I'll find a way to bring your truck down."

Jim twisted in his chair to reach his jacket slung over the back. His key ring was still where he'd left it. He handed them over. "Thanks, Joel. For everything."

Two hours later, Jim opened gritty eyelids at the first soft groan. Blair twitched a leg under the blanket - just a leg, but it was movement. Jim watched him climbed out from under the drugs and return to a world filled with confusion and pain. Scooting the heavy recliner closer to the edge of the bed, he waited until deep ocean-blue eyes made their tentative appearance.

"Hey, partner. Welcome back," Jim said, careful to keep his voice soft and as comforting as possible.

The eyes tracked the voice down like a radar scope, filled with questions. A hand appeared from under the blanket and touched the swollen jaw tenderly, exploring the damage while the eyes continued to plead for some rational explanation for being in his current location.

"Your jaw is wired shut, Chief. You're going to be okay, just a little sore for a while," Jim explained, reaching for the button to notify the nurse. A tube snaked down Blair's nasal passageway, insuring the man had a way to breathe other than dragging air between his teeth. "I'm going to let them know you're awake. They'll tell you what to expect, okay?"

Blair nodded, then his eyes widened and he reached over to grasp Jim's hand in his own. "Siiiiiiii." The noise gurgled in his throat and he paused to swallow painfully.

"Easy, kiddo. Simon's okay... he's in another room," Jim paused, patting Blair's hand before trying to remove his from the other man's grasp. But Blair held on with strength that surprised him. The meaning was clear. Blair wanted the whole story, he remembered the attack.

"Okay," Jim told him, settling back down and leaving his hand in Blair's while he talked. "It looks as if Simon was poisoned with a hallucinogenic mushroom... like that LSD-type of magic mushrooms that were popular back in the late seventies. It causes very bad trips, violent behavior."

Blair's eyes widened.

"He didn't mean to hurt you, Sandburg. I'm sure of it," Jim added.

"Heee...kayyy?" Blair whispered harshly.

"He's quieted down. I haven't been to see him yet, but Joel came by and told me he's doing okay," Jim explained.

Blair released his hand as if it burned and pointed to the door. "Gooo!"

Jim huffed. Leave it to Blair to start bossing him around within seconds of waking. "Darwin, it's three in the morning."

Blair continued to point.

A nurse entered in response to the summons. She raised an eyebrow at the drama unfolding in the room.

"Everything okay in here?"

"Yeah," Jim stood, patting Blair's blanket covered knee. "I'm being yelled at. I'm going to step out for a few minutes... need to check on our friend. I'll be right back, Chief."

Blair gave him a weak thumbs up before turning toward the nurse, no doubt getting ready to win her over. Even if he did looked like the winner in the `Looks-like-road-kill' contest, Blair would never pass up a chance to flirt with a pretty woman.

Jim found the hallways of the hospital busier then he expected. No one challenged his right to be there. He fingered the scrubs absentmindedly as he studied the large whiteboard over the nurses' station. Each line on the board had the room number and the last name of the patient assigned to that room. Banks was listed next to two-fourteen.

Jim pushed the door open slowly; the large form in the bed was still. The room was dark, but Jim easily made out the two brown colored eyes that gazed at him mournfully from the bed.

"Here to kill me, Jim?" Simon whispered, his voice rough from abuse.

"Expecting me to?"

"If you'd done to Daryl what I've done to Sandburg, I'd be looking to kill you."

Jim entered, letting the door close and sending the room back into darkness. "Not if you knew I'd been poisoned."

Simon rolled over to one side, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Shit, Jim... is he okay?"

A chair, similar in everyway to the one he'd just left, sat next to Simon's bed. Jim perched on the edge and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. "He's going to be okay, Simon."

"Oh, god. I remember everything... everything. How bad is it?"

"Broken nose, his jaw's going to be wired shut for a while. He's going to be okay," Jim repeated.

"He must hate me," Simon moaned.

Jim snorted. "He was totally pissed when he realized I hadn't been by to see you. As soon as he woke up, I got my marching orders to come check on you."

Simon would not be comforted. "I could have killed him."

"Yeah... but you didn't. Simon, you're a victim here too. You were poisoned. Any ideas as to who would do this?" Jim asked.

"No, none. Major Crimes is working a few cases that might warrant an attack. But why me?" Simon mused. "I'm not lead investigator, I'm the captain. At least... I was the captain."

"You're still the captain. Joel told me the chief was here personally to check on you. The department knows you didn't bring this on yourself. Blair knows it... and so do I."

A rueful smile found its way to the dark face in the bed. The first hint of its owner's normal dry humor. "I'm thinking this realization didn't happen right away. How long before the urge to murder me passed?"

Jim shared the morbid joke. "A couple of hours..."

Blair stared at his reflection in the hospital's bathroom mirror. He was being released later in the day. He wanted to get a good look at what the outside world would be looking at.

He looked hideous.

It was doubtful that Steven King could imagine a more nightmarish character for one of his horror flicks. The lower half of his face was still swollen from the abuse at Simon's hands, added with the surgery of rewiring his jaw. His nose was taped, the white band standing out on his face, contrasting with his black left eye. If Blair ever got a woman to accept a date with him again, it would be a miracle.

Flicking off the light switch, Blair headed back to bed. He needed to get a grip. This was not a permanent situation, in fact, the doctor had said he'd make a complete recovery. He pushed down his sudden, irrational urge of self-pity.

And ran bruised face to chest with Simon Banks.

"Ahh!" Blair said with a start, before he recognized who his guest was.

Simon recoiled, taking a quick two-step dance backwards. "Sandburg! I didn't think you were in your room," he stuttered quickly, looking like a thief caught in the act.

A white bag sat on the table next to Blair's bed.

"Isss fine," Blair said through swollen lips. With time, he would be able to speak well enough to be understood. Until then, his words would be slurred. Too tired to care about his battered face, his rat's nest of a hairdo, or the gapping gown he wore, Blair climbed back into his bed and pulled the blanket back up to his chest. At least Jim had brought him a clean pair of boxers. Mooning Jim's boss was not on his `do to' list for the day.

"I... uh...I brought you a..." Simon waved his hand towards the bag.

Blair set the sack in his lap and opened the top to pull out an insulated drink container, the surface cool against his fingertips. He carefully peeled off the lid and looked into the deep brown color of a Cascade Delight mocha milkshake. He felt his cracked lips pull into a weak smile.

"Tanks, Simmm," Blair mumbled before carefully inserting the straw between his lips and pulling the sweet, smooth treat into his mouth. God, it tasted like heaven. The stuff the hospital had been giving him paled in comparison. He pointed towards the chair as he slurped in bliss.

"So..." Simon started, clearing his throat awkwardly as he sat. "How... I mean, are... Damn!" the large man blurted out angrily before rubbing his wide forehead with one hand.

Blair paused in his greedy intake of nourishment. "Simmum. Iss kay. You werr drugs."

A look of gratitude came over the other man. He chuckled as he shook his head in disbelief. "You're a real work of art, Sandburg."

"You mean like `abstract art', Simon?" Jim entered the room carrying a similar bag.

"I would thank you kindly not to point out my crimes, Ellison," Simon huffed. "I'm trying to work though an apology here."

Blair snickered at the captain's tone. Simon really did look guilty and it was ridiculous. Of all people, Blair knew what it was like to be out of control and having to live with the fact you almost hurt others. Okay, in Simon's case, he did hurt someone else, but that wasn't his fault.

"Looks like I've been out maneuvered." Jim set the bag down on the table and pulled out two more milkshakes. "How many can you down, junior?"

Blair shook his head not pausing in the task of pulling the cool drink through his teeth. For the first time since he'd woken up after the attack, his stomach felt like it was getting some real food. He wasn't going to waste any time gabbing, when he could be enjoying Simon's gift.

Jim passed one large drink off to Simon and took the other for himself. "Well, I just came back from the station. They've determined the drug was in your coffee cup, sir. The only prints we found on it were yours."

"What?" Simon exclaimed. "My coffee? That doesn't make sense. I wasn't the only one drinking that coffee yesterday."

"It wasn't in your coffee maker, Simon. Or in anyone else's coffee. So the perp had to put it directly into your coffee cup," Jim explained, getting comfortable in the chair before taking a sip from his straw.

"Damn..." Simon muttered.

Blair pondered the information. Simon's cup stayed on his desk, except for rare trips to the break room to get washed out. In fact, Blair had heard the captain explain more than once that he preferred his cup not get washed out, claiming it ruined the taste. Personally, Blair felt the tactic was more to keep others from borrowing the cup. As if...the inside of the man's cup was the stuff nightmares were made of.

So if the cup stayed inside his office, then the person that poisoned him had access to Simon's office.

Oh.

Blair swallowed a mouthful of mocha, careful not to choke. He met Jim's knowing gaze.

Jim nodded. "Looks like one of our own has a grudge against you, Simon."

"I'm not just suggesting this to just to keep my Home Depot stock up," the doctor explained, holding the small pair of wire cutters up for Blair to see. "You must keep this with you at all times. If you find yourself with a blocked airway, you or someone else will have to cut the wires. Or you can die."

Jim cringed, thinking of the pain involved. But the doctor was right, the alternative was not an option. He continued to pack Blair's books and papers into a tote bag while the doctor went over the rest of his post op care. It always amazed him how his roommate could create such a mess in such a short time. Picking up a large textbook and recognizing it as one that Blair had coaxed him into bringing down, he eyed the other five. So where had they materialized from? He finished stuffing the last book into the cloth bag and slung the straps over his shoulder while eyeing the room for anything he might have missed.

"Okay, then," the doctor said, shaking Blair's hand cheerfully. "I'll be seeing you in about ten days for a follow up, remember what I said."

"Eu bescha," Blair muttered through clenched teeth.

He was sounding better, his words still slurred, but stronger. Blair took the position of honor in the wheelchair. They rolled toward the main hospital exit with Blair saying his goodbyes to the men and women who had taken care of him over the last two days. Once they reached the entrance, Blair rose from the chair and stretched, his face turned towards the sunshine as if in worship.

Jim had to smile.

"Oh, ma'. I um so `eady to get bach to auk," Blair said.

"Nice try, Sandburg," Jim answered, standing at his side. "I heard what the doctor said."

"Whah?" Blair tried for his best `innocent' look.

"Here's Simon. He offered to drive us to the loft," Jim said, nodding towards the sedan as it pulled up. "You get to stretch out in the back seat."

"Uh, Zim. Ackually, I thoht you'd drop me auf a' `ainieh," Blair told him.

Jim gave his roommate a dry chuckle. He loaded the bags of books and clothes into Simon's spacious truck. "Well, think again. I've already called your department head, your classes are covered for the next two weeks.

"Whah?" Blair took a step back, a look of rebellion beginning.

"You're recovering from surgery, Sandburg," Jim explained, speaking as if to an idiot or young child. "You're going to be in the loft for a while." Closing the lid to the trunk, he opened the rear door for Blair to climb in.

"You... I'h not..." Blair stopped, took a deep breath and pointed a finger at Jim's face. "You'h not doin' tis to me, Ellahson."

Jim held up a hand. "It's the simple truth, face it. The medicine the doctor gave you will be kicking in soon. You need it to breathe through that broken nose, the down side is - you'll be spending most of the time asleep."

"Is there a problem?" Simon asked, unfolding from his driver's seat to look over the top of his car.

"No... no problem. Blair's just soaking up the sun," Jim explained.

"Soak from the balcony at the loft, Sandburg," Simon told him. "I need to get back to the station."

Shaking his head and muttering under his breath, Blair climbed into the back seat. Jim waited until he was completely settled in before closing the door and getting in next to Simon.

"How's the investigation going?" Jim asked his boss as they drove through the noontime traffic.

"Slow, we're not having any luck figuring out who put the drug in my coffee cup. They figure I started ingesting it about nine that morning. Which means the poison could have been put in during the night. Since I'm not inclined to lock my office door leading to the bullpen, anyone could have slipped in and out." He sighed, his eyes glancing at the rearview mirror to check on his passenger.

Jim could tell without looking, Blair was still pissed at him. Normally his roommate leaned over the seat when he rode in the back, eager to be part of the conversation. Dialing up his hearing a little, he could just make out Blair's slurred mutterings.

"I'll be in first thing in the morning to help with the interviews, sir."

"Well, there's been a wrinkle in our plan, Jim," Simon said, sighing unhappily as he continued. "IA is taking over the investigation."

"Great..." Jim groaned. "So, we can't even help?"

"Nope, they're going to conduct the interviews while we continue to work our cases. I'm on administrative leave, effective as soon as I finish getting my affairs in order."

"Whah? Why?" Blair asked, leaning forward to drape his arms over the back between Simon and Jim's shoulders.

"It's just procedure, Sandburg," Simon said calmly. "Like when an officer shoots his weapon. The department just wants to make sure everything looks above board."

"For how long?" Jim asked. He was familiar with the procedure, but was hoping they wouldn't evoke it. Now that Simon wasn't going to be at work and Blair was going to be home sleeping...

"Not too long. Three, maybe four days," Simon answered.

"Umm, you know, Simon? One of those affairs you might look into today could be my request for a few days comp time, starting tomorrow." Jim gave his boss a sweet smile. "After all, I need to keep an eye on my roommate."

"No, Simuh!" Blair begged. "Make hum go to woch."

Blair shuffled into the loft. He managed a yawn with his jaw clamped shut.

Damn, he was tired.

Jim entered behind him, closing and locking the door before setting the books down on the kitchen table. "You want anything before you lay down?"

Shaking his head, too exhausted to even summon up the energy to protest, Blair headed for the nearest sofa. The whole morning he'd been at the hospital, waiting to get home, he'd made a long list in his head of all the things he needed to get done. He had emails to send, papers to grade, and a grant proposal to write.

Now, all he wanted to do was sleep.

Stupid drugs.

"Don't get too comfortable, Sandburg. You'll sleep better in your room," Jim said, just as the phone started ringing. He answered it, missing the rude gesture Blair flashed him over the back of the sofa. "Ellison... no, he's not able to come to the phone right now... what? That's a lie! Where did you hear that? I don't care who you are, you print that crap and you'll be talking to an attorney, mister."

Blair sat up, alarmed at the intensity of Jim's anger. He watched Jim slam the handset down, looking ready to explode in disgust.

"That was the Cascade Daily! Some moron is telling the press that you're looking to sue Simon, me and the department for the attack! They called to get my reaction," Jim exclaimed.

Blair vaulted off the sofa to his feet, and the room spun. "No! No, `im... I da'nt!"

Jim caught him by the arms, his anger quickly changing to concern. "Hey, hey! Calm down, Chief. I know you didn't. I'm just pissed at the idiot that started this rumor, not you."

Blair squeezed both eyes shut. The room continued to spin, causing Blair's stomach to flip and send urgent messages to his brain.

He'd never sue Jim. It was unthinkable. Bile burned his throat. A mental picture of those wire cutters popped into his head.

Damn, he had to calm down!

"Take deep breaths through your nose," Jim ordered, moving Blair back to sit on the sofa and taking a seat on the coffee table facing him, not releasing his hold on Blair's arms. "You're not going to throw up."

Part of Blair continued to be amazed at the way Jim always knew without being told, the other part hung on every word out of the sentinel's mouth, praying he was telling the truth. After a few moments, the urge to be sick passed and Blair opened his eyes to look into the worried face of his roommate.

"Sowwe."

"It's okay. I think it was my fault, anyway," Jim apologized with a guilty grin. "I might have overreacted. You okay now?"

Blair nodded, his exhaustion back in spades. "Yeah."

"Let's get you settled in, you look ready to drop. Then I'll make a few phone calls and find out what's going on."

"'Kay."

Blair got settled into bed, still wearing the sweats he wore while at the hospital. Reluctant to leave his friend alone just yet, Jim sat on the edge of the bed. Blair's blood pressure was still high, the strong swishing sounds as each heart valve slammed shut pounded his ears. With effort, he lowered his sensitivity, eyeing the man in the bed critically. It was imperative his friend stayed calm. He knew Blair, knew how he could work himself into a full crisis when he thought he was responsible for someone else's problems.

"I'll call Simon, Chief. Not that he's going to believe these rumors anymore than I did, but I'll make it clear," Jim explained. "We'll figure out what's going on."

Blair nodded. "Tell `um... I wud'nt."

"I will, but listen to me." Jim pointed a finger towards his friend's swollen, battered face. "You can't make yourself sick over this, you hear me? You'll be back in the hospital before you can say lima beans and liver milkshake."

That got the desired effect, Blair huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. "Oh... puleease!"

"Don't knock it, kiddo. That's your dinner tonight - you need your protein." Jim stood, walking to the single window in the room and drawing the shade. The room darkened. "Rest for a few hours, I'll wake you for dinner."

Blair's eyes were already closed. He looked calmer now. Jim slipped out of the room to make his call.

When Simon didn't answer his cell phone, Jim tried the station. An unfamiliar female voice answered.

"Major Crimes, Captain Bank's office."

"Uh... Mary." The name popped into Jim's head after a moment's hesitation. "This is Jim Ellison. Is Banks in yet?"

"No," the voice lost its professional tone, warming instantly. "Jim, he's just got a call from the Chief. Everyone's looking for him right now."

"He dropped me off at my place, so he should be walking in the door any second. I need to speak with him before he sees the Chief. Make sure he calls me, okay?" Jim opened the refrigerator as he talked, eyeing the contents. He'd been kidding about the lima beans and liver, but it did beg the question. What was Blair going to eat? Living for the next six weeks on mocha shakes wasn't an option.

"I'll tell him... wait, Jim. Here he is."

After a moment, Simon's voice came on the line. "What's wrong, Jim? I just left you two. Is Sandburg all right?"

"He's fine," Jim assured him. "Listen, we just got a call from a reporter. Someone's spreading a rumor that Blair is suing us for the attack. The city's legal sharks are going to go ape shit when they hear this. Hell, Blair did is own version when he heard."

"Sons of a bitch..." Simon muttered softly. Jim could hear the sound of a palm slapping a surface before the creaking of weight on chair springs drifted over the wire. "Well, no surprise I'm holding a message from the Chief's office marked urgent. This just keeps getting better and better... what in hell is going on around here?"

Jim grimaced, feeling slightly responsible, but unable to pinpoint why. "You've got to know Blair didn't..."

"Oh, shut up, Ellison. Of course he didn't," Simon barked impatiently, then sighed. "Look, I need to beat feet to see the Chief. Tell Sandburg not to worry, everything will be fine. It's not the first time the brass had gotten their panties in a wad over a stupid rumor, it won't be the last... thanks for the heads up. It helps."

The connection was cut and Jim grinned at the milk carton. These were the times he remembered why Simon was his friend. Closing the door with a soft snick, he dialed another number he knew by heart. After this call he needed to make a list and call a grocery store that made deliveries. It was worth the extra cost to avoid leaving Blair on his own for even a few hours.

"Sally? How are you? No, everything's fine... I need a favor...what do I give someone who can only drink liquids?"

Judging by the smells wafting from the kitchen, dinner was almost done. Jim glanced at his watch and headed for the small bedroom under the stairs. Blair could sleep through a full scale attack when he set his mind to it. Joined with the fact he was on medication, he could sleep for days. But Jim knew his friend needed calories to keep his energy up.

Entering the room and switching on the light, he saw Blair pretty much as he'd been when he'd last checked an hour ago. Blair slept on his side, curled around an extra pillow, his battered face lax in slumber. Jim used the opportunity to place his palm on Blair's forehead.

He felt normal.

"Okay, Sandburg. Up and at `em. Simon's due any time now for dinner," Jim told him, gently shaking a blanketed shoulder. "You have time for a shower if you want."

"Auggnnhh..."

"Come on, you've slept enough. You can go back to sleep after dinner." Jim pulled the blanket back and pried the pillow out of Blair's grasp.

"Jiiimmm..." Blair rolled onto his back, his eyes still closed while his hands fumbled downward, trying to locate the missing blankets.

"Nah uh... wake up." Jim tossed the sought after covers to the end of the small futon and easily captured Blair's hands to pull the man into a sitting position. "Nice case of bed-head, Junior."

Blue eyes finally appeared. With soft groans, Blair managed to get to his feet and head towards the bathroom under his own steam. Left alone in the room, Jim efficiently made the bed.

"So, that's what it looks like," Jim muttered to himself before leaving. "I should take a picture."

Familiar sounds in the hallway outside sent Jim to the door. He opened it just as Simon reached out to knock. "Hey, you're on time."

Simon blissfully sniffed the air as he entered. "All right... roast?"

"Yep, with vegetables and a Greek salad," Jim announced, failing to suppress his pride.

Sally had come through for him in a big way. Within an hour of his call, she'd appeared at the loft, her arms filled with sacks. Jim had made two more trips down to her jeep to bring in the rest. They'd spent a pleasant afternoon visiting and making dinner together. She'd peeked in on his unconscious roommate and had declared him `a dear', much to Jim's amusement.

"You are a man of hidden talents, Ellison," Simon admitted. "How's Sandburg?"

"Well, he's awake. We'll see what his mood is like as soon as he gets out of the shower."

Simon's face darkened. "Shit, Jim. What's he going to eat?" He glared down at the table with its three place settings.

"Relax." Jim patted his shoulder before going to the oven to remove the roast as the timer buzzed. "I've got it covered. How did it go with IA?"

Dropping into a kitchen chair, Simon sighed. "Okay. They've talked to the immediate members of Major Crimes and asked me a few questions. They're going through everyone's personnel files now."

Jim set the large roasting pan on two hot pads. That didn't sound very promising. "Our files?"

"Yeah," the big man scrubbed his face, his voice full of dread. "They're leaning towards a revenge motive."

Jim folded his arms in front of his chest. "Revenge? From one of us?"

"Yeah. Remember last month? When I had to get on H for that Chambers case?"

Jim shook his head.

"Well, of course not... it wasn't a big deal. H pissed off a witness, admittedly the witness was a total ass - but I still had to deal with the complaint. I'd made a note of the verbal warning in his file, like I'd do with anybody." Simon shrugged.

Carving the roast into thick slices, Jim grimaced. "I don't want to think what my file looks like."

Simon grinned. "No... you don't, believe me. But, it's been better the last few months. You're not the same hothead I first got from Vice."

Jim accepted the complement with a nod, returning to the issue. "So, IA is thinking H did this to get back at you? That's a load of shit."

"I agree." Simon fiddled with the utensils, lining them up perfectly next to the plate in front of him. "If this turns into a witch hunt..."

"It won't," Jim said firmly, bringing the roast to the table before retrieving a small bowl of salad from the old fashioned refrigerator.

As if on cue, Blair emerged from the bathroom, Jim's extra robe wrapped around his body. He'd taken time to shave and comb his hair out. The dark, damp curls framed his bruised face and Jim caught Simon's wince out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, Simon," Blair said clearly, taking time to pronounce each word carefully.

"How you feeling?" Simon asked, turned sideways in the chair to assess him.

"Good." Blair eyed the table, his eyes resting on two plates. He looked up at Jim, puzzled.

"You get to eat. You want to change or stay in the robe?"

Blair answered by walking to the table, lowering down into his usual chair with an expectant expression. His stomach growled, bringing a smile to Jim's face.

"I just need to blend it up," Jim explained taking out the top half of the blender from the refrigerator filled with unidentified layers. In no time, a tall glass of bluish drink was set in front of the waiting diner.

Blair placed the straw between his lips and took a tentative sip.

"Well?" Jim asked.

Blair smacked his lips, his forehead creased with concentration. "Blueberry... orange juice... ice cream?"

Jim dropped into his seat. All the food was on the table and they were ready to eat. "Close enough. Enjoy, but you need to finish that glass. If you want more, no problem."

Simon seemed hesitant to start. "God, Blair. I can't enjoy this when you're stuck..."

"Simon, izz not your fault," Blair insisted, his words slurring from speed of delivery. He paused to swallow carefully before continuing. "Do you blame me for shooting up the garage when I ate the pizza?"

"Of course not!" Simon responded with feeling.

"Well then..." Blair waved his hand towards the captain.

Jim smiled. "Practice what you preach, Captain," he added.

"Okay, okay... I get the message." Simon picked up his fork and speared a thick slice of beef. "I'm officially removing myself from any further episodes of guilt."

After catching Blair up on the IA investigation, they settled down to eat. Blair finished his drink first and held the glass out to Jim for a refill. The evening proceeded in a pleasant manner. Finally the dishes were stacked in the sink. As Jim wiped down the table, an idea occurred to him.

"You know, Simon. What if the whole thing was a set up to discredit you somehow?"

"Why?" Simon asked, looking up from searching the cable guide for the channel of the Jags game.

"Well... I don't know. Are you testifying on a case?"

Appearing to give that some thought, Simon turned on the TV and found the Jags game. "I've got a few committees that I'm on. I'm testifying before the legislature on an organized crime bill next month."

"Wow... I didn't know you did that," Blair said, returning from his room wearing a set of clean sweats and carrying his laptop computer. He settled down on the sofa, turning sideways to set his sock covered feet on the cushions and powering up his computer.

Jim finished drying his hands and joined Blair on the same sofa. He ignored the ten toes that immediately buried themselves under his right thigh for warmth. "How critical is your testimony? If you had this pending over you, would it effect your cause?"

Simon leaned back, loosening his belt a notch. "I guess. I don't know. I'll talk to IA, they need to look outside the bullpen, that's for sure."

"Someone still had to get access to your office," Jim pointed out. "Have they interviewed the janitorial staff?"

"I'm sure they have. They're not keeping me in the loop on the investigation," Simon answered distracted by Blair's activities. "Sandburg, what are you doing?"

"Need to send my outlines to Rainer," Blair explained.

Jim rolled his eyes. The anthropology department had assured him everything was in order. Blair ran a very organized class. They'd even promised to send notes on the classes that Blair was taking so he would not fall behind. He shook his head at Simon, mouthing the words `control freak'.

"I saw that," Blair said.

"I'm just thinking you should rest. You just got out of the hospital," Simon told him.

Blair huffed, turning his head to glare at the captain. "Don't you start. Jim's bad enough."

"Don't worry, Simon. He'll be nodding off soon," Jim predicted with a smug grin as he watched the game.

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will."

"Nope."

"Yep."

"Boys," Simon laughingly admonished. "I'm trying to watch a game here."

Thirty minutes later, Jim carefully lifted the laptop off Blair and set it aside. Blair was snoring softly into the back of the couch.

"You called it, Jim," Simon chuckled.

"He never had a chance. That stuff the doctor prescribed is pretty strong," Jim said. "Help me get him up. He'll be more comfortable in his room."

Between the two men, they got Blair on his feet. Halfway across the loft, Blair woke with a groan, objecting to the fact he was heading back to his bedroom.

"Come on, Chief. You need to sleep. You're healing," Jim said as they entered the small bedroom. He pulled the blankets down, messing up his earlier job.

"It's still early..." Blair mumbled.

"It will be morning before you know it," the sentinel answered, guiding Blair down on the mattress.

"You drugged me." The protest was so soft, Jim almost missed it.

"If you'd have asked, I would have told you the medicine was in the shake," Jim explained patiently, realizing it he was already talking to a sleeping guide.

"Geez, Jim, the things you do to win an argument," Simon accused as they returned to the living room to finish the game.

Pain surrounded him. It knocked on his skull to the tempo of his heartbeat. It laughed cruelly when he rolled over and tried to curl into a small ball to escape. The room was dark and for a few seconds Blair forgot where he was and why he hurt. Although his arms and legs didn't seem to be tied down, he felt imprisoned. A fogbank impeded any chance at rational thoughts. Blair shuddered as he drew in a shaky breath, which expelled in a whimper.

"Come on, Chief... sit up for me."

A strong arm under his shoulders lifted him off the mattress into a sitting position. Blair's world came into focus with the movement. He was in the loft, Jim was with him. The pain was localizing now, focusing with clarity to his face. Blair cradled his jaw, his breath hitching with weak sobs. His fingers found wet skin. He was crying.

Jim was talking again but the words bounced off the pain and dropped away without making any sense. Still, Blair knew this was Jim sitting next to him, so things were bound to get better. He just needed to wait. A small medicine dropper was inserted into his lips and his head was tilted back until it rested on Jim's shoulder. A small blast of fluid shot out of the dropper and Blair swallowed the thick mixture automatically.

Closing his eyes, Blair tried to relax. Jim's voice rumbled against his back as he leaned against his roommate. He let Jim's words wash over him. Even though he didn't understand what Jim was saying, the tone spoke of a coming liberation from his bondage of pain. He waited, keeping his breathing shallow so as not to aggravate the men with jackhammers inside his skull.

"...a few minutes. I promise it's going to feel better."

There, he heard that. Blair nodded, letting himself relax completely. Already the sharp spikes where dulling. "Jjiimm..." Great, Blair thought. He was back to slurring his words like a patient with brain damage.

"Feeling better?"

Blair nodded, feeling Jim's shoulder bone against the back of his head. He was aware of Jim sitting behind him, holding him close. The blankets had been drawn up to his neck. No wonder he was nice and warm. He had Jim-the-furnace-Ellison in his bed with him. If this got out, his chances of getting another date would be slim. Blair chuckled at the bizarre thought, realizing he was nearly pain free.

And high as a kite.

"Wha' give me?"

"A pain medicine. We'll save it for the worst times, like now."

Jim shifted and Blair felt himself slide sideways. He ordered his arms to help, but they were slow and he was lowered back down onto his side, the blankets pulled up to his ear. The room was still dark. It was kind of weird not being able to see his roommate. Blair wasn't sure if it was the lack of light or the fact his eyes were closed. Jim left, the mattress springing up as he stood.

Almost immediately a warm, wet washcloth was bathing his face. Blair welcomed the feeling of being clean again; he really should open his eyes and thank Jim. The futon sank again as Jim returned to claim his spot. Was Jim going to sit with him all night? Geez, how embarrassing. He needed to tell him to go back to bed. He needed his sleep, too. Still... it was kind of nice. Sort of like when Naomi sat with him the time he had the mumps. Or was it the chicken pox? It might have been when....

Blair woke to daylight flooding his empty room.

Okay, that was a weird dream. His yawn was preempted by wire.

Shit. Not completely a dream.

Simon had beat the snot out of him, broke his jaw. The only other time he'd broken a bone was when he fell out of that stupid tree. This hurt worse. Blair gently scratched his puffy cheek and sat up. His bladder was demanding relief.

"Hey, good morning." Jim stood in the kitchen, working with the blender.

Blair nodded his reply, his thoughts centered on getting to the bathroom. Getting the most important task finished, Blair washed his hands and face before carefully examining his face in the mirror.

He was even more hideous.

His face was swollen, his eye black. His nose was red and dorky looking with the tape on it. He was a poster child for Abused-R-Us. Great. Just freaking GREAT.

He leaned against the sink and managed a deep breath. It must be the drugs. He was filled with chemicals and it was totally messing up his head. With a last look at the mirror, Blair told himself it would pass. All this damage would heal and everything would be back to normal. Feeling more in charge, Blair left the bathroom to join his roommate.

"Ready for breakfast?" Jim sat another shake down on the table.

God, it was going to be a long six weeks.

Simon studied the report again. IA had a wonderful way of saying they were clueless. Any department could take lessons from them. He tossed the report on his desk and leaned back to scrub his face. Three days of investigation and this was the best they could come up. Ten pages of `unknown parties' and `tentative motives'.

At least they'd stopped looking towards his own men.

Grabbing his new coffee mug he headed for his new coffee maker for a refill. It was great to be back at work. He'd taken the time to clean out the basement of his small home and take care of some early spring yard work. He'd even managed to reciprocate Jim's great home cooked dinner with some take-out from a north-end BBQ place that came highly recommended.

But still, Simon's place was here... in this office... being a police captain.

The only thing missing was...

"Hey, Simon!" Blair entered without knocking, followed by Jim.

"Just thinking about you two clowns," Simon said, returning to his seat with a full cup. Simon noticed Jim was dressed in his exercise sweats. Blair wore his normal jeans and loose fitting layers of cotton shirts. He watched Blair settle into a chair, his hair pulled back, allowing for a full view of his face. "You look good today, Sandburg."

"Yeah... Jim kinda surprised me," Blair told him, then rolled his eyes. "When he isn't playing June Cleaver, that is."

"Watch it, Beav..." Jim growled, taking a seat beside his friend.

Blair leaned towards Simon, making a point to ignore the man next to him.

"Anyway... he's got some sort of secret ingredient stuff that's supposed to promote healing and reduce swelling. But he won't share the recipe."

Simon glanced at Jim in time to see him shrug. "I told him it's nothing, just a few vitamins and hot packs switched with ice packs. Nothing big."

"Well, whatever it is... you look good," Simon declared. "What's on your agenda for the day?"

Blair snickered. "Don't care, as long as I get to get out of that loft!"

"That bad?" Simon asked, leaning an elbow on the chair arm and reaching for a cigar. He knew he couldn't smoke inside the building, but no law had been passed yet to keep from enjoying the smell.

"It's that bad, sir," Jim answered for him. "He's getting dropped off at the University library while I go to the gym. If he's a good patient, I'll take him to the park to feed the birds afterwards."

"Hardee har har, man," Blair sang.

"What's new with the investigation?" Jim asked, taking his turn at playing `ignore the partner'.

`The two of them do need some time apart,' Simon decided, tossing the report on the edge of his desk for them to read. "The final just came in. See for yourself."

Four and a half minutes later, the two partners set the report down.

"If I was grading that, they'd get a `D' for content," Blair announced.

"It's legalese talk for `we don't have a clue'," Jim told him. "I knew we should have done the investigation."

"Well, as far as the department is concerned, they're ready to move on," Simon said, darting a guilty look at the younger man's face while he spoke the words.

"I'm not," Jim told him.

Simon's reply was cut off by a knock on the door.

"Enter... see, Sandburg? That's how normal people come in," Simon quipped as a blond woman in her twenties entered with a small stack of opened mail. "Thank you, Mary."

Setting the stack down, the woman nodded. Her trek back to the door was fast, her eyes stayed glued to the carpet in front of her feet. When the door was closed and there was no chance of being overheard, Simon frowned. "That was weird, normally she's very chatty and friendly."

"Her heart rate shot up like a rocket," Jim said, also frowning. "She couldn't get out of here fast enough."

"Heck, I thought my face was getting better," Blair joked. "So that's Mary, huh? She is pretty. She seeing anyone?"

Before Simon could think of an answer, Jim swatted Blair's arm lightly.

"Do you ever slow down?"

"What? I'm just asking, man," Blair insisted with a laugh. "A man needs his hobbies."

Jim rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to Simon. "Anyway... what's new with the lawsuit rumor?"

"Oh, the Chief's okay. He knows it's just talk. In fact, we found out where the rumor started," Simon told them. "Seems one of the ER nurses on duty the night we were brought in is married to a detective in Bunko. The rumor had a foothold in that department within twenty-four hours."

"Big surprise there, what a bunch of losers."

"Jim! That's kinda harsh, man. Even for you." Blair looked at his friend in shock.

"I have to agree with the kid, Jim," Simon warned. "I know Bunko has its problems, but-"

"Simon, I'm sorry, but everyone knows that department is where the brass pigeonholes the screw-ups. I know plenty of good officers that prefer to stay in uniform than end up starting their detective career there," Jim insisted.

Simon held up a hand to stop the flow. Even though he agreed with most of Jim's statements, these were still fellow officers. They were part of the team. "Enough, I know you and Jack had history with some of the men from Bunko when you were in Vice, but I don't need a division war brought to Major Crimes. Am I clear?"

"Yeah, sorry." Jim did look abashed.

"Anyway, the issue is over and the rumors have been laid to rest," Simon declared. "Now, get out of my office and enjoy your days off. I have work to do."

Blair trailed after Jim as they left the bullpen, still in thought.

"Hey, Hairboy! Looking good!"

"Thanks, H." Blair flashed a grin at the man. "You're such a liar, dude. But I appreciate the effort."

Once in the hallway, Blair was surprised when Jim came to a stop in the hallway, causing other detectives and clerical staff to walk around him. This time of day, the seventh floor was busy, and hallway traffic was always high.

"What?" Blair asked.

"Shhhh."

Blair waited patiently. He knew Jim well enough to recognize this wasn't a zone. In fact, judging by the predatory glint in the cop's eyes, Blair would guess that Jim's sentinel abilities were doing just fine.

After the third person accidentally brushed his shoulder in passing, Blair drew his partner to one side, closer to the wall. Jim never even noticed. Finally, Jim's body stiffened and Blair's arm was snagged. He found himself being dragged back through the bullpen, towards Simon's office. It was just like the time he'd been caught with the water balloons in the fourth grade and he got marched to the principal's office by the librarian. Thankfully, only one person was in the bullpen.

H looked up in surprise as they passed. Blair managed a casual wave as he concentrated on moving his legs fast enough to keep from being dragged. "We... uh... forgot something."

Jim didn't even knock. Flinging open the door, he pulled his partner in before slamming it behind him. Simon looked up in surprise, rising from his chair to meet his lead detective head on.

"Jim! What..."

"I just overheard you new secretary in the ladies room!" Jim hissed angrily.

Blair wanted to hear what Jim had to say, but he preferred to listen without the vise around his bicep. "Jim, man. Could you please release the arm?"

"Sorry, Chief," Jim said, turning him loose.

"Okay, calm down," Simon ordered. "Sit back down and tell us what you heard."

Thankfully, it worked. Jim lowered himself into the a chair, like a powerful spring coiling. Jim visibly got himself under control before starting again. "Mary was on a cell phone, sounded like she was talking to a boyfriend or something. She's upset - crying. She's talking about Sandburg and how bad he looks."

"Wonderful..." Blair muttered, self-consciously touching his jaw.

"That's hardly the `Nixon tapes' were talking about here," Simon interjected.

"Simon, she said, `I never would have... if I'd known." Jim looked like a wild animal, ready to pounce. He was so angry, his body was vibrating.

Simon went still, the only movement was the slight narrowing of his brown eyes.

Shifting in his chair, Blair began to feel like a mouse in a room with two lions... both well past their feeding time.

"Who was on the other end of that phone?" Simon asked in a cold voice.

"I don't know, I couldn't hear," Jim answered unhappily.

"Uh... guys? I'm not a cop here, but remember the Juno case? How are we going to prove Jim could hear that conversation?" Blair asked.

"We don't," Jim said.

"We'll just follow my secretary until she leads us to the person responsible," Simon ended for him. "Jim, as of now. Your days off are canceled. Welcome back. "

Jim looked like a cat that had just been offered a saucer of cream. "Thank you, Simon."

Quitting time for the administrative staff was five. Jim wasn't taking any chances. After driving home to change into suitable clothes and getting his backup gun, he returned to the underground parking lot just before lunch. They took the time to hit a drive-through on the way back.

"I think I'm getting tired of milk shakes," Blair said, glumly pulling out a strawberry shake before handing the bag to Jim.

"We'll make you a soy mix for dinner," Jim promised. "We just don't have time right now."

Blair's answer was cut off by Jim's cell phone.

"Ellison... okay, we're in place." He returned the phone to his pocket and slapped the wheel lightly. He was right. "She just asked for the rest of the day off."

"Wow, she must really be freaked," Blair said.

"The day you were attacked, she had gone to the City Attorney's office to deliver some case reports. I guess she never realized how badly you were injured," Jim responded. "She must be having a minor attack of her conscience."

"I still don't get it. I mean, why drug Simon?"

"There she is, Chief. Scoot down." Jim slid down, keeping is profile low. She was parked on the opposite end, but he didn't want to take any chances she might look over her shoulder and spot them.

"She's getting into the Mustang," Blair noted, peering over the dash.

"Here we go." Jim sat up straight and turned the ignition key.

They followed her out into the busy downtown traffic; her blue Mustang heading east until she took the on-ramp to Interstate Five and headed south. A few minutes later, they were in the suburbs of Cascade. She drove fast, changing lanes as she needed. Jim glanced down at his speedometer in concern.

"If she keeps, this up, a uniform is going to pull her over."

"Can you contact dispatch and warn them to stay clear?" Blair suggested.

"Not a bad idea, but in a few minutes we're going to be outside Cascade and we'll be dealing with WSP," Jim predicted. "Let's just see what happens."

After a few miles, the traffic lightened and Mary's driving settled down. Jim set the speed control to keep an even sixty miles an hour and gave his foot a break. At this rate, they'd be in Seattle before long. The sky was dark with low clouds and he activated the wipers when the first drops hit the windshield. Mary's Mustang drifted onto the shoulder of the road, hitting the line of speed dots placed there to wake sleepy drivers. With a jerk, she seemed to realize her location and lurched back, crossing two lanes in a reckless manner.

"What the heck?" Jim muttered.

"She's picking up speed, Jim," Blair warned.

Jim stomped the gas pedal to keep up. She was going faster. Too fast. Judging by the way they were losing ground, she was doing eighty and not showing any signs of slowing. Jim was sure she hadn't noticed his truck.

"What's going on? Is she drunk?" Blair asked as she drifted off to the shoulder again.

"I don't know, but if she keep this speed up and displays that kind of lack of coordination much longer, we're going to have a mess on our hands," Jim said grimly.

The freeway curved ahead, not much, just enough to bypass an old farmhouse that had managed to survive the road's construction. Mary's Ford failed to negotiate the corner. Instead, she drove off the road, and hit a small bank, which sent the car airborne. At over ninety miles an hour, the car cleared the wire fence which paralleled the freeway and plowed nose-first into a massive tree stump. The momentum didn't end there, the rear end of the car continued forward, flipping it upside down, dragging it over the stump and smashing the roof into the ground. The Mustang acted like a rubber ball, bouncing once before the front end flipped forward one last time to turn the car tail over nose and land, finally, back on its tires.

"Shit..." Jim hit the brakes, letting the truck skid into a four wheel drift as they glided into the soft dirt next to the paved shoulder. As soon as it was safe, he retrieved his cell phone and tossed it to Blair. "Call it in, Chief."

Climbing the fence slowed Jim down. A heavy cloud of dust was still obscuring the wreck. Just as he cleared the fence, he saw the first flame licking up from the crumpled hood. Black smoke mixed with the dust. Jim ran towards the damaged Mustang, trying to see into the passenger compartment.

With a loud snap and rush of air, the flames exploded into a heavy fireball, momentarily filling the compartment and began to burn the duff on the ground.

"Jim!"

Blair stood on the freeway side of the fence, holding the small fire extinguisher Jim kept in the truck for emergencies, tossing it as soon as Jim returned. It would be like trying to stop a bulldozer with a tricycle, but Jim had to try. Maybe if he just used it to keep the fire back long enough to get Mary out...

Pointing the nozzle at the driver's door, Jim shot a spray of dry chemical through the broken out window. The fire was advanced well into the front seat, but Jim managed to push it back. Mary lay sprawled across the two seats, held in place by her lap belt only. Before Jim could do more than hit the fire with the initial attack, Blair was at his side. He carried Jim's green wool army surplus blanket and used a corner like a glove to wrench open the door.

"Careful!" Jim shouted, giving the fire another blast from the extinguisher over the top of Blair's back as he reached into the car to unbuckle and lift the woman out. Parts of her clothes were burned, red skin exposed beneath. She was unresponsive in Blair's grip, her body completely limp.

Just as Blair finished pulling her completely out of the vehicle, the fire extinguisher emptied. Jim tossed it down and turned to gather up the woman's legs. Together, the partners carried her a safe distance. The fire, left unchecked, devoured the old Mustang in seconds. The heat reached Jim's face, causing his skin to tighten as they carefully laid Mary down on the wet ground.

Other cars had parked, their drivers spilling out and running to help.

Jim checked for a pulse, aware of Blair's raspy breathing and hard coughs. How much smoke had his friend inhaled?

"Well?" Blair asked, wiping his face with his sleeve.

Jim shook his head, catching his partner's hopeful eyes and watching them change to sorrow. "You do the compressions, Chief."

Blair used his toe to nudge the rock at his feet. The rain had turned into a typical Northwest drizzle that hung in the air, soaking you more completely than raindrops. One of these days, he was going to study all the different types of rains Western Washington nurtured. As the dark clouds moved in from the Pacific Ocean, they bumped up against the Cascade Mountain Range. Unable to get over the top, the clouds dumped their payload on the coastline. No wonder Blair preferred the dry lands of Eastern Washington.

Who was he kidding? He'd never talk Jim into moving across the mountains. Not that he doubted Jim could adopt a new `tribe', but he knew Jim liked being surrounded by lush evergreens. He loved being near the salt water. Rainy days never slowed the cop down. Maybe it was left over conditioning from military life, getting the job done no matter what the condition.

Blair looked up to watch Jim. The cop was deep into a discussion with a WSP supervisor. He had arrived a few minutes ago. Jim was currently nodding at something the other man was saying, their voices too low to carry to where Blair was sitting on a downed tree.

They'd been on location for hours now. It never failed to amaze Blair how many details were involved in this sort of thing. His eyes strayed to the location Mary's body had laid. He absentmindedly worried his lower lip with his finger tips. During the mad dash over the fence, he'd managed to smack his face, the wire that held his jaw in place had cut the inside of his lips.

"Let me see."

Blair jumped. Jim was standing just to his right. How does he do that? Jim moved quietly all the time, but get him outside and he could slip from place to place without leaving a footprint. Blair pulled down the damaged lip for inspection.

"Geez, Sandburg. You did a nice job of turning that into ground hamburger," Jim gently chastised. "How's the jaw feel? Did you hit it?"

Blair released his lip. "Nah... juss bumm'd my mouth."

Jim eyed him unhappily. "Well, we're free to leave."

Blair rose stiffly. "Did they... I mean, it's obvious the accident caused it...but, how'd she die?"

"Rapid deceleration injury, Chief. Her aorta probably ripped away from her heart," Jim answered leading the way back to the truck. WSP had cut the fence to allow for access, so neither man had to climb over it again to leave. "They think she was doing close to a hundred when she left the road. Question is, why did she do it?"

"Suicide?"

"Maybe... they did a blood draw, so we'll know if she was on anything."

Blair scrambled back into the cab. Now that they were on the move again, he realized how cold he was and cranked the heat dial up in anticipation.

"It's almost four. Let's head back to the loft. There's not much more for us to do until we get more information." Jim pulled back into traffic.

Soon they were back home.

"How about some dinner?" Jim asked, heading for the kitchen.

Blair headed for his room. "Nah... I need a shower, I've got that stuff from the fire extinguisher in my hair."

"At least you still have your hair. You're lucky the fire didn't burn it all off," Jim said. "I'll start a milkshake for you."

"Don't bother, Jim," Blair tossed over his shoulder. "I'm really not hungry, man."

Gathering up some dry clothes, he avoided Jim's glower and took refuge in the bathroom. Jim wasn't going to let him get away with skipping a meal, but at least he could put the argument off for an hour.

The smoke clung to his clothes. The awful smell of burning rubber and plastic coated every strand of his hair. Blair stripped quickly, kicking the pile of clothes into the corner. He stepped into the warm spray, sighing as the welcome heat spread down his torso. Standing perfectly still, he stared at the tile. During the drive home, every time he'd closed his eyes, his mind gave him a slow motion replay of Mary's car flying over that fence.

And pulling her out of the car? Blair suppressed a shudder, remembering the way her burned skin had peeled under his touch. Today had been the first time he'd ever done CPR on a real person. In First Aid class, they hadn't warned him about the sound of cracking ribs when you push down on someone's chest. Well, maybe they did. It's been a long time since Blair took any formal training.

"Hey, Sandburg! You might get clean if you actually start scrubbing!" Jim hollered from beyond the closed door.

Snatching up his bottle of shampoo, Blair went to work, wishing he could erase the memories from his mind like he could the smells and dirt from his body.

Jim entered the bullpen and looked around in amazement. Blair stood at his side, equally stunned.

It was chaos.

Simon was yelling at some man in a pinstripe suit. Henry was standing behind Rhonda's desk, all the drawers were open and paperwork spilled out onto the floor. The normally easy-go-lucky detective had a look that spoke of the early stages of a panic attack. Rafe was on the phone, trying to talk, but getting interrupted by someone on the other end. His normally neatly groomed appearance looked uncharacteristically disheveled.

"No wonder we passed Joel running the opposite way, man. He was escaping," Blair muttered quietly.

A third stranger broke away from the confusion to approach them with a clipboard and a pen. He was dressed in a brown delivery uniform. "You guys sign this for me? I've got a route to finish and no one knows where Carlos Juarez is."

Jim craned his head to one side to read the label on the box. Sure enough, it was addressed to Carlos Juarez, Cascade Police Department. Problem was, Jim had never heard of the man. "I'm not signing for a package when I don't know the person, Hoss."

"I can't take it back, I need a signature..." the man complained, turning away to head for Henry.

A phone line was ringing somewhere. Jim went to the nearest desk, Rafe's, to answer. "Major Crimes."

"This is the Cannon Company, we're calling for our monthly meter reading on your copy machine."

Jim looked back at the machine in question. Simon had gotten it for the division, to keep them from having to run to the third floor for copies. "Hey, Sandburg - you got any idea how to find the counter on that copier?" He had to raise his voice to a near shout in order to be heard over Simon's argument with Pinstripe-Suit.

Blair shook his head, before returning to stare at the loud, three ring circus that used to be the bullpen.

Before Jim could answer the Cannon representative, a familiar voice broke through the storm of confusion, bringing hope.

"I'm gone for just five days - and this place falls apart!"

Simon turned, a broad smile breaking across his face. "Rhonda!"

Jim had to hold back the laugh as Henry's panic attack seemed to get a firm foothold. He'd literally been caught red- handed trashing Rhonda's desk.

Rhonda was dressed in a bright yellow and red sundress with a white cardigan covering her sleeveless arms. Jim remembered she'd been planning a trip to Florida for weeks and wasn't due back for another nine days. Yet here she stood. She must have come straight from the airport; her rolling luggage trailed behind her.

"Okay," she said with the authority only a secretary with tender would get away with. She pointed to the delivery man first. "You... Juarez is not on this floor. I've told your company more than once he's two floors down, Records Division. And you," she left her luggage as she approached Pinstripe-Suit with a feral grin. "If that detective is trashing my desk because you lost the quarterly expense record again, I'm going to report you to the Chief for running your department with all the co-ordination of a roomful of five-year-olds on a sugar high!"

Pinstripe fell back as she approached.

"H, pick up those files!" she snapped.

"I need that report!" Pin-Stripe whined pathetically.

"Look in your inbox," Rhonda told him, shutting her top desk drawer with a slam. "I emailed a backup before I left. I'm not going to print it out for you, too." Not waiting for his answer, she leaned over H's bent over form to push a hidden button on the small desk copier. The entire top of the unit rose on a hinge. "Jim, tell them its nine-three-oh-oh-four-six."

Jim had forgotten he even had a phone in his hand. He dutifully repeated the numbers and hung up. Pin-Stripe was heading for the door, the deliveryman had already disappeared.

"Never mind... we're not going to need that secretary, anymore," Rafe said into his phone, his face beaming. "We've got our Rhonda back!" He slammed down his phone gleefully.

The room was quiet. The storm had broken.

"Wow, I knew you were good... but I didn't know you could perform miracles," Blair said through clenched teeth.

Rhonda coolly surveyed the men standing around her, her eyes finally resting on Blair. Her face softened as she took in his injuries.

Softened, but she still looked pissed. "Captain? What the hell is going on around here?"

Jim choked. Who knew Rhonda cussed?

The impromptu staff meeting was held in the bullpen. Simon switched on the voice messaging system to keep the phones from interrupting. Rhonda sat at her desk, while the other detectives and Blair pulled desk chairs near to form a half circle. Simon perched himself on the edge of her desk, his back against the doorframe to his office.

"Mary? Mary from Burglary?" Rhonda asked her boss.

Simon had gone over the facts up to the fatality accident yesterday. Luckily, Jim already had a reputation of having very good ears. No one doubted it when Simon had glossed over the part where Jim had caught the one sided conversation through the doorway as he passed.

"Right, she was sent up at the last minute to cover you," Simon explained. "They told me Beth got food poisoning."

"Except now it looks like that might have been intentional, just to get Mary into the bullpen," Jim added. "What did you find out about the phone call? Who did she call?"

"Well, that's where it gets interesting..." Simon's voice dropped a notch and the men leaned forward in their chairs. "This does not leave the office. Am I understood?" After getting nods all round, he continued. "She called one of the general lines shared by Burglary, Bunko and the Gangs Unit on the fifth floor."

Blair watched as Jim, Rafe, Joel, Henry and even Rhonda stiffened with the news. No one said a word and he was reminded of the TV commercial for a phone company. The one where the pin drops and the sound is clear and loud.

Blair was tempted to look for a pin, just to see if it worked.

Jim was the first to break the spell. "We know who took the call?"

"No, and before you ask, I already checked. There was no tape made."

"Tape?" Blair was confused.

"Sometimes the department will randomly record different phone lines, sort of a quality control thing," Simon told him.

"That sucks, sound more like a `big brother' thing to me," Blair replied.

"Well, Big Brother was asleep at the wheel," Jim snapped. "You know, if another cop is responsible for this, he may have killed Mary to keep her quiet. She was obviously upset when she saw Sandburg yesterday. Maybe she's having second thoughts."

"I've thought of that, the ME should have a preliminary report for us soon, I'm surprised we don't already have it. We're working in conjunction with the State on this, since the accident happened outside our jurisdiction," Simon informed the group. "Meanwhile, the fifty dollar question is still the same... why?"

"Maybe it's personal," Rhonda said, looking up at her boss and chewing on her lower lip.

"Personal?" Simon responded. "What did I do?"

Blair wanted to laugh, but knew better. Simon sounded so dumbstruck at the notion. "Oh, come on, Simon. You mean you've never pissed off other cops as you clawed your way to the top?"

The joke fell flat, making Blair wish he'd stayed quiet. He wanted to kick himself; heck, from the look on Jim's face, he might have some help in that department. Before anyone made a comment, Rhonda saved him.

"That's what I mean." She held up a hand when the cops went from glowering at Blair to going bug-eyed-surprised. "No, listen. You guys don't hear what some of the other departments say about Major Crimes. Why do you think I dropped everything and flew back here when I heard a Cascade Captain assaulted a police observer?"

No one noticed Simon's wince.

"What are you saying, Rhonda?" Jim asked.

She smiled patiently at the men in her department. "Major Crimes has the reputation of being the `golden child' with the Chief, the Mayor and the City counsel. You guys have an amazing records of solves, your stats are becoming legendary and if it wasn't for the large dollar amount on the line-item column for car insurance, you all would have your own statue in the lobby of City Hall."

This time Jim cringed and Blair couldn't help but snicker.

"So, what you're saying is... other departments are jealous?" Simon asked with awe.

She shrugged.

"You know, it's not unheard of in a society for the weaker ones to..."

"Sandburg, not now," Jim said, rubbing his forehead. "I think we get the picture."

"Right, right, sorry, guys."

"Another thing... I've heard talk around the break room. Mary was dating one of the detectives," Rhonda continued. "I got the impression he was married, because she was real secretive about it. Now, I don't think she was the type to poison you for money, but if she had been asked by her lover..."

Simon's eyes narrowed. "Rhonda, have I told you lately how lucky we are to have you on the team?"

Jim balanced the two coffee cups carefully in order to free a hand and open the door to the bullpen. Setting them down on his desk, he resumed his position in front of his computer. The office was humming, returned once again to the effective unit is was. Only now, everyone agreed that a large amount of credit was due to Rhonda.

She should do very well for herself when her contract came up for renewal.

Jim sipped the dark brew before returning to his task. Simon was in his office, setting up a meet with IA. They needed access to the files of the fellow detective on the fifth floor. Jim's job was to gather everything they could on Mary, to get a line on who she'd been seeing.

He noticed the bullpen was missing one police observer.

"Where's Blair?" he asked the room in general.

H answered, "taking a jog down to see if the ME report is ready."

Jim frowned.

"Come on, babe," Henry said with a laugh. "Lighten up! How much trouble can he get in inside a ..." his eyes widened. "Never mind." The black detective ducked his head, returning to his reports.

"Be right back." Jim tried not to run. Blair would not appreciate it if Jim arrived out of breath and looking worried. Now that Jim thought about it, Blair wasn't going to be happy, period. He needed an excuse, a halfway reasonable cause for following his partner down into the basement like the worried parent of a toddler gone missing.

The sign next to the elevator advised all police personnel of `in progress maintenance'. Jim turned on his heel and headed for the stairwell. He was so busy thinking up a lie, he almost missed the sounds floating up from above.

"...it feel, you little punk? Bet it's hard to breathe with that yapper of yours wired shut."

Sounds of rubber squeaking on tile and grunts followed. Jim forgot about obfuscating lies and took the stairs three at a time, using the handrail to keep from plunging head-first.

"...understand why they even let you hang around, geek. Now you threaten to sue the department? What's wrong, kid? Blackmailing Ellison not bringing in enough dough? You gotta have something over him, no one would want your sorry ass around them twenty-four seven."

Jim's foot slipped, pitching him forward. He slapped the wall on the next landing hard to keep from going down and ricocheted off to descend the next flight of stairs. He kept his eyes on his feet. He couldn't afford a fall right now. Blair was in trouble. He was picking up heartbeats below. Blair's was fast. Two others were close by.

"Shit! Someone's coming!"

Damn! Jim risked leaping the last six steps. He was close now. He should be able to see something on the next turn.

A grunt, followed quickly by the sound of running feet told Jim he wasn't going to get a look at Blair's attackers, but he knew their voices. If he had to personally interview every employee in the department, he would.

The last landing loomed up and Jim flew past it, desperate to see his partner. Any attempt to remain quiet was forgotten.

"Sandburg!" Jim spotted Blair on the landing below. He was alone, lying on his side. A red plastic bag, the type they used for bio-waste had been pulled down over his head. The bag was large, extending almost to his waist. The bastards had used a wire tie to traps his wrists behind his back.

Jim arrived at the narrow landing, falling to his knees. Blair was squirming like an inchworm on a hot skillet.

"Easy... settle down." Jim yanked the bag off first. Blair's hair stood on end, energized by the static electricity from the plastic. "Oh, shit!"

His partner's eyes were wide in panic. They'd duct-taped his mouth. Trickles of blood ran from his abused nose.

Blair couldn't breathe.

Without taking the time to apologize, Jim dug a fingernail under the edge of the silver tape and ripped it off. The younger man immediately started sucking in air, curling his lips back away from his teeth. Jim laid a hand on his chest, feeling the lungs expand and contract as he listened.

"Do you have the wire cutters with you?" Jim started patting down the younger man's jean pockets, not finding them. "Damn it, Sandburg! You're supposed to carry them!"

"What's going on here?" a man's voice asked.

"Call an ambulance! He's been assaulted," Jim barked, attacking the thin twisted wire around the other man's wrists. Thankfully, Blair's long sleeves had protected his skin.

"...Jim...no!" Blair spoke between attempts to gulp his air.

"Shut up and breathe, Chief."

The wire was off and Blair pushed himself into a sitting position, shaking his head. Hair obscured his face and he pulled it back with one hand, the other latching on to Jim's light jacket and tugging to get the cop's attention.

"No! I'm... fine, just... chill."

Jim tried, his eyes going to the ceiling for a moment to try and calm his anger. The urge to reach down the throats of the assholes that did this and rip out their lungs was strong. Blair's hand released his jacket and began to pat his chest in a steady rhythm.

"They just wanted... to scare me, man," Blair explained, talking easier now that he didn't have to gasp. "I fell into the wall when I struggled."

The pats and Blair's ability to speak in full sentences did the trick. Jim turned to the newcomer. "Forget the ambulance, would you get to a phone and call Major Crimes? Tell Captain Banks I need him here."

With a nod, the man left. Jim returned his attention to his friend. Blair sat on the ground, back against the wall with Jim on his knees facing him. "Where are those cutters?"

Blair blushed, his gaze falling to his hands. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. "My... backpack..." he muttered quietly.

Jim's blood was starting to pound his temples again. "I'm getting you a chain, you're going to wear them around your neck. Do you hear me?" he asked, anger making him speak through clenched teeth.

"Jim..."

"Don't even try, Sandburg!" Jim ordered. "This is not open for discussion."

Blair looked defiant for a second, locking onto Jim's angry glare with his own. Just as Jim started to believe they were heading for a full scale fight, the edges of Blair's mouth raised a fraction and he sighed.

"Okay, Ellison. You win," Blair told him, wiping at the blood under his nose with his sleeve.

"Smart move, Junior. I'm bigger and meaner. You never stood a chance." Jim handed over a clean handkerchief. "Did you see the assholes who did this?" Sounds of footsteps pounding down the stairs told them help was arriving. He helped Blair stand.

Blair shook his head, pulling his wild mane back. "No... I saw their hands though. They were wearing those gloves you guys use at crime scenes."

"Jim! What happened? I got a call..." Simon paused at the upper landing, his eyes wide, taking in the red bag and Blair's appearance. "Son of a... don't tell me."

Back in the bullpen, Blair accepted the invitation to use Simon's couch. His face still throbbed from the abuse. His nose was stuffed up, forcing him to breathe through his mouth. The attack had caught him off guard, which was stupid - once he thought about it. The rumor of the lawsuit did nothing to endear him to the other cops. In addition, the knowledge thatsome departments were envious of Major Crimes, plus Blair looking as `un-copish' as a Mr. Rogers in an biker's bar; there was bound to be some fallout.

Blair let his head fall back against the cushions. "Some student of human nature I turn out to be," he muttered.

Jim entered the office. "Don't kick yourself too hard, none of us saw it coming."

Blair eyed the small brown bottle in Jim's hand suspiciously. "If that's what you've been slipping into my shakes, forget it."

"You need to open up your nasal passages again, Chief."

"Later, okay? I'll take it back at the loft tonight."

"You can't tell me your comfortable breathing like this." Jim sat down next to him, shaking the bottle. "It's not the strong stuff."

"It still makes me sleepy!"

"Can't be helped." Jim unscrewed the top and carefully measured the correct dose into the eye dropper. "Lean your head back."

"No."

"Yessss."

"Noooo." Blair was not giving in. He'd capitulated on the stairs, only because Jim looked so freaked out. But he wasn't going to let this become a pattern. He was an adult.

"Sandburg," Jim set the bottle down and crossed his arms. "Here's the only option. We go back to the loft. You rest. I don't get to finish my job today, which puts the case on hold, and possibly endangers the rest of Major Crimes."

Okay, he was an adult with a best friend that wasn't above a little emotional blackmail.

"Fine, give me the stuff." Blair held out his hand, accepted the medicine and took it. "Gaack... you'd think they'd find a way to make it taste good."

"Like dark beer flavor?" Jim quipped, putting the cap back on the bottle.

"Sure, bully me around and then taunt me with something I can't enjoy."

"Okay," Jim stood. "I'll be at my desk, Simon's still meeting with IA. Why don't you lay down and rest? The stuff should kick in soon."

Blair toed off his sneakers with a frown, not happy with the latest turn of events. "Jim... do you resent the fact that I'm always around?"

"No," Jim told him, snagging the red plaid throw Simon kept folded up at the end of the sofa. "I heard some of what those bozos said. It's not true, Chief. None of it. They were just being asses."

Blair squinted up at his roommate, trying to judge if Jim was being honest or not. "It's just that we are around each other a lot, and it wasn't what you originally signed on for..."

"Yeah, so what?" Jim shrugged, opening the blanket with a flick of his wrist. "You didn't expect a job that involved watching my back all the time either. I was just supposed to be the subject for your diss."

Blair blinked slowly. It was too fast for the medicine to make him sleepy, he must be crashing from the adrenaline rush caused by the events in the stairwell. "You were never `just' my subject... okay, maybe at first - but I don't consider you that now, Jim. I want to help; you need someone with you. It's dangerous, man." Jim was firmly pushing him down to lie sideways. Blair just got his feet up onto the sofa when the plaid blanket settled over him like a shield of safety.

"I know," Jim told him. "And I want your help, so forget that stuff about me resenting you."

"Okay." Blair did another closed jaw yawn and burrowed into the sofa. His eyelids were too heavy to hold up. He never even saw Jim leave the room.

More footsteps approached. Jim had given up the pretense of looked busy an hour ago. Instead, he tapped a pencil on his desktop, his eyes fixed on the door into the bullpen. How long could a stupid meeting take anyway? Blair was sleeping, his soft snores remaining constant. At lease he was getting some air movement through his nose now. A vast improvement since he first laid down.

The door opened and Simon crooked a finger at him, a silent invitation to join the small group. Jim rocketed out of his chair and joined them in the hallway.

"Okay, remember, Jim. You're along as a witness. If you do anything else, it will just muddy the investigation," Simon warned with a stern look. He returned his unlit cigar to his mouth and nodded to the two other men standing at his side. "You know IA's Captain Sheffield already, this is Detective Garr. They agree the case needs to be reopened, Mary's blood work came back. She ingested the same crap that I drank."

The older man, Captain Sheffield nodded. "In light of the attack on your ride-a-long today, we have enough cause to speak with the detectives that Mary worked for. You really think you can recognize the voice you heard today?"

"Absolutely," Jim told them. He didn't need to add that he'd also picked up a few smells that would make finding the men easier.

The four men entered the large work area that housed three different divisions. Each division had their own captain. The room was crowded with men and women, many wearing hostile expressions when the Major Crime and IA members walked in.

"I'm Captain Sheffield," the IA Captain said. "I want to thank you all for helping us with this matter. We'll be out of your hair as soon as possible, so you can get back to work."

A short heavyset man with red hair crossed his arms. "What's this witch-hunt all about? Why start in our bullpen?"

Sheffield raised a hand as the other detectives nodded in agreement and a few muttered comments drifted from the men standing in the far back. Jim had to admit, he did not feel the love in this crowd. He didn't care. Two of these yahoos had threatened his partner.

He just wanted a chance to get his hands on them, one at a time or together, the outcome would still be the same.

Sentinel two - Assholes zero.

"We'll be going to all the divisions if we need too. I'm going to ask that each man read the statement typed on the index card. The women don't need to participate." Sheffield handed the white card to the nearest man, who looked at it and read the words out loud.

"What's wrong, kid? Blackmailing Ellison not bringing in enough dough? Someone's coming." He looked up at Jim and shrugged, passing the card to the next man.

The card made it half way around the room before a younger man took it. He was leaning against a desk, his body reminded Jim of a boxer. His face looked like he had no problems getting dates each weekend. He raked a hand through his black hair and pulled a face. "I'm not reading this shit."

Sheffield raised an eyebrow, his body perfectly still. "Excuse me, Detective....?"

"You heard what I said. And it's Detective Higby." The rebellious cop handed the card off to the next man. "I know my rights, and I'm not playing."

"You don't have to, cowboy," Jim said, his anger so concentrated he felt like a bowstring pulled all the way back. His hands literally itched to throttle the younger man's neck. "I recognize your voice just fine."

"Jim..." Simon stepped forward, effectively blocking Jim's route. "Keep it together! That's an order, mister."

Higby turned an angry sneer on the man next to him, the one he'd handed the card to. "I knew I shouldn't have listened to you, Phil!"

Phil was older, with the same athletic build. He turned to Higby with a look of disgust. "Way to go, partner! You're such a screw-up!"

"And that's the other one," Jim said, pointing a finger at Phil.

Sheffield nodded at the two men. "Would you two like to join me in my office please?"

To Jim's amusement, Simon continued to act as a barrier when the two angry cops followed the IA officer's out of the bullpen. Jim let him. It helped him ignore the voice in his head that was demanding blood. While the voice had been useful when Jim was living in Peru, it wasn't always appropriate here in Cascade.

Besides, there were too many witnesses.

Blair pushed himself off the leather sofa, surveying the dark office. He was alone, the sky outside the window was starting to darken. A childhood fear rose in his chest. Did everyone leave? Did they forget he was sleeping in here?

The uneasiness vanished as Jim opened the door carrying a coffee mug. "Hey, partner. Hungry?" He set the cup down on top a two-drawer filing cabinet.

"Not really. What time is..." Blair paused and sniffed the air. A heady scent of chicken broth tickled his nose.

"Homemade, Sandburg," Jim said, nodding to the mug. "I warmed it up in the microwave."

Okay, Blair had to admit, his stomach was definitely showing some interest. Any soup that had that aroma attached was worth trying. Besides, this would be the first non-milkshake meal he'd had since Simon's attack. He picked up the cup and peered into the golden-yellow liquid. The mug was warm against his fingers. Blair took a sip.

"Well?" Jim asked after Blair took a few more sips.

Blair smacked his lips. "Where did you get this? It's good, man. Really good."

Jim smiled. "I have my sources. We're about to have a crew meeting. A few things have come to light while you've been sleeping."

Blair tossed off the blanket and rose to his feet. "I'm ready."

The meeting took place in Simon's office. Blair had a vague deja vu as Jim, Rafe, Henry and Joel settled into their seats; only Simon was missing.

"What happened while I was asleep?" Blair asked Jim in a whisper.

"You'll see," Jim answered as Simon entered with a file.

"Okay, everyone's here," the captain headed for the conference table, not his desk. "Let's do this where we have more room. I've got transcripts from Higby and his partner's first statement, they're not saying much - waiting for their attorneys, I suppose."

"They getting booked?" Jim asked.

Simon could only shrug. "Too early to tell yet. They're being held for questioning, because they're cops - we're keeping them under observation in IA's office."

"Who's Higby? What's going on?" Blair asked.

"Right," Simon scratched under his chin. "You've been out of the loop, haven't you? Okay, Jim recognized Higby and his partner as the two that jumped you in the basement today. They're from Burglary, where Mary worked."

Blair gaped in surprise, looking at Jim who discreetly pointed to his ear.

"Ah... okay, that was fast," Blair said slowly.

"Just to be sure..." Simon pulled out a small recorder and hit play.

The voice on the tape sounded angry.

Blair's mind was instantly back on the stairwell, hands grabbing him from behind, one in his hair, keeping his head forward. He shuddered, laying both palms flat on the table. "That's him."

"Thought so... second, Mary's blood work is in. She had traces of the same drug that was used on me. Looks like she ingested it while driving."

"So, she took it on purpose?" Henry asked.

"Looks that way," Simon answered. "Maybe she didn't realize how dangerous it was."

"Are the two meatheads that attacked Blair the same parties responsible for poisoning you?" Rafe said, rolling his pen between his fingers.

Simon shook his head. "Well...here's the ugly facts. Higby and his partner just came off a stake out. They were out of the building when Mary made that call. Since we know she was calling an inside line to the department, it means she wasn't talking to either of them."

"So we still have a dirty cop," Jim growled.

"Looks that way," Simon continued. "IA is going with the assumption that Sandburg's attackers were reacting to the rumor of the false lawsuit and the death of their secretary and just happened upon a likely victim to... act out their grief."

"That's a load of crap!" Jim erupted, making pencils dance as he hit the tabletop with his fist. "They don't belong here if they `act out' like a couple of ten-year-olds!"

"I know and the Chief agrees," Simon said calmly. "Cool your jets, Jim. I'm just saying that we can rule out those two as Mary's silent partner."

"So, we're back to the question of `who was she having the affair with'," Henry stated.

"Right, that's where we stand. Jim, you've been working that angle, what can you tell us?" Simon asked.

All eyes went to the senior detective. Jim opened his file, still glaring but making an effort to control his anger. "Twenty-four, grew up in Kent, Washington. Moved to Cascade when she finished her AA degree. Hired by the PD two years ago. Lives alone, no pets, family still in Kent. I talked to a few of her friends, who agreed she was seeing someone as of the last six months. She stopped going to the clubs and accepting dates. But, like Rhonda said, she was closed-mouthed about who the man was."

"Where is Rhonda, anyway?" Blair asked, realizing he hadn't seen her since before the stairwell incident.

"She's gone home to lose her jet lag, she'll be in tomorrow," Simon responded before slapping his hand down on the conference table. "Okay, IA will accept limited help on this one. Jim, tomorrow you drive down to Kent and talk to the family. Mary's funeral isn't for three more days, so hopefully you can learn something. Rafe and H, you take Jim's caseload till this case is over. Joel, you and I are going to work with IA on the personnel files. They granted us access because of our rank. Any questions?"

Blair waited until it was apparent no one had anything to add before raising his hand.

"Sandburg?"

"Do we have any more of that soup?"

"I can't believe I have to wear this," Blair said, his tone bordering on a whine.

"Look at it this way, Chief, you may be starting a new fashion statement," Jim told him.

"This isn't fashion, this is paranoia."

Jim took his eyes off the road and gave his petulant partner an exasperated look. Blair had woken that morning in a foul mood and it didn't seem to be improving. Jim had fashioned a necklace for his partner to wear that held a small pair of stainless steel wire cutters. Blair had grumbled; but he put it on. Jim wasn't looking forward to the three-hour drive to Kent. He eyed the multi layers of shirts his partner was wearing. It was still early spring, but the weather wasn't unseasonably cool.

"You cold?" Jim asked.

"No."

Right, reduced to single word responses. Jim could count on one hand the times Blair's been like this. Most of the time, he was upbeat and ready to meet the day with a smile. Still, everyone was entitled to an off day, and it wasn't as if Blair didn't have a good reason for his surly mood. The wires had really torn the inside of his lip. They'd called the doctor yesterday, who prescribed a numbing agent and recommended salt water washes.

Jim leaned over and flicked on the radio. Blair went back to his textbook, scribbling notes on a small pad of yellow paper. They traveled for almost an hour this way, until Blair sighed and closed his book.

"You know what I miss the most?" the younger man said, keeping his attention focused on the passing scenery.

Jim turned off the radio. "What?"

"It's stupid, but... I can't lick my lips."

"Your lips..."

Blair had a tube of Chap Stick out, coating it onto his lips before continuing. "Yeah, I told you is was stupid. It's just little things like that; yawning, licking an envelope, sticking out my tongue..."

"You're too old for that one, Junior," Jim teased lightly. Rain hit the windshield and he reached down to turn on the wipers.

"You never know, man. I might be in a conversation with someone, and it really calls for the old `sticking out the tongue' thing."

Jim chuckled. "I think what you're missing is being in control."

Blair nodded. "Exactly. One minute, everything is normal and I'm like, all excited about being included in the crew meeting and everything. I never expected Simon to wait the meeting for me, that was so cool." Blair turned his head away, his voice dropping until Jim had to use the dials to pick up his next words. "And the next minute... he's all freaked out and I can't breathe..."

Jim let the tempo of the wipers tick of the seconds, unable to think up a suitable reply. The sound of the tires on the wet road surface filled the cab.

"Anyway... that's what I miss." Blair returned his attention to his book.

Jim sighed. He was terrible when it came to stuff like this, but he couldn't not try. His friend was sending out an SOS and Jim hoped he had the adequate words. "Listen, you're bound to resent that attack. I know you don't blame Simon. I was proud as hell when you woke up and demanded that I go visit him. You forgave him before I did. But you're still entitled to be pissed off, understand? You were attacked by a friend in what should have been a safe environment. That's not an easy thing to accept." Jim paused, wondering if he was helping or babbling.

Blair nodded, running his fingers over the spine of his textbook. "It's like my mind knows it wasn't Simon's fault, he didn't ask to be drugged. But... when I get tired, I just can't stop... getting angry."

"It's normal, Sandburg. Once....when I was a platoon leader, my men were practicing at the range. One fired his gun. The round ricocheted off the concrete and hit my leg. It wasn't life threatening and I was watching him the whole time, so I know it was just a case of inexperience. But, I was on crutches for two months and I missed a chance to lead a mission that I really wanted." Jim shrugged. "I knew it was an accident, but I couldn't stop blaming the kid for putting my career on hold."

"Yeah, that's what if feels like. I feel like someone hit the `pause button' on my life. I can't drink a beer, can't play a pick up game at the `Y', I have to wear a freaking pair of wire cutters around my neck!" Blair's anger grew with each word as he unleashed his feelings. He waved his arms in full rant mode. "I want my life back!"

It was hard to rant with your jaw wired shut, but Jim thought his partner did an admirable job.

"Feel better?" Jim asked calmly.

Blair took a deep breath, filling his lungs until his chest puffed out, and released it with a swoosh of air. He raked both hands through his hair, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. After fifteen seconds, he lowered his hands and flashed Jim a grin. "Yeah, actually. I do."

"Thought you might."

"How'd you know?"

"Been there, done that, got the T-shirt."

"They make a T-shirt for this kind of thing?"

"Yeah, it's the one with the big bull's-eye on the front and back."

Blair's mood transformed. He laughed.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, man. Take the next left. See, there's the park."

"I think Kent has more than one park, Chief."

"Jim! I'm reading it right off the map, take this left." Blair huffed and refolded the city map. Geez, get lost once or twice and no one believes you can read a map.

They found the address. Mary's parents lived in a two-story home surrounded by a yard busy with flowering shrubs and an large apple tree just beginning to leaf. The walkway was lined with a cedar bench and a matching planter holding a young tree.

"Japanese Lace," Blair said, eyeing the planter.

"Uh huh." Jim knocked on the heavy double door. "Their entrance is obscured from the street with all this shrubbery, it's not safe."

Before Blair could tell him today wouldn't be a good day to give these folks crime prevention tips, a tall man with a short gray beard opened the door.

"May I help you?"

He looked about mid-fifties, dressed in a suit and tie as if he'd gotten ready for a normal day of work, but never left. Blair couldn't help but note his grey hair hadn't been combed. His eyes were red and sad. He wore a silk tie with small dancing bears, the type a friend would buy as a gift... or maybe a daughter.

"Detective Ellison from Cascade PD. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg." Jim held out his ID. "We called earlier? We'd like to talk to you about your daughter, Mary."

"Warner Mullen, come in."

The front door was located between the two floors. Blair followed Jim up a half flight of stairs turning right at the top. The living room was nice. A sofa unit formed three sides of a box with a coffee table in the middle. A fireplace with a mantle sat against one wall. Blair could imagine what the room would have looked like for Mary as a child on Christmas morning. Pictures of Mary and another boy a few years older were arranged around the room. Mary had turned prettier as she had grown, going through the pigtails and braces stages.

Large picture windows offered views of the cul-de-sac and the Kent valley below. The walls were painted dark red. It seemed to work, complementing the wood floors and the oak antique sewing machine cabinet in one corner. Green, healthy houseplants lined the wall in front of the picture window.

"This is a nice room," Blair told him as he took a seat next to Jim on the oatmeal colored sofa.

"My wife works part time as an interior decorator," Mr. Mullen said. "She's with my son right now in Covington. My granddaughter is taking the news... badly."

Blair diverted his gaze as the man fumbled for a handkerchief and wiped his eyes. This part of riding with a cop sucked. As a child growing up, Naomi avoided situations that involved too much negativity and she certainly did her best to keep her young son from such unpleasant situations. As a result, Blair the adult was always uncomfortable in the presence of grief.

"We're sorry to have to visit at such a bad time. Cascade Police sends its condolences, Mr. Mullen. Mary was well liked by her co-workers," Jim said.

Mullen nodded, sitting up straighter with a sigh. "She loved working there. We were hoping she'd get hired by Kent or Renton. Cascade is so far away, but Mary liked her independence."

"You were told Mary was under the influence of an unknown hallucinogen when she had that accident, right?" Jim asked.

Mullen nodded again then shook his head. "She didn't do drugs."

"We think she may have ingested it without realizing how potent it was. My captain inadvertently ended up with a dose as well," Jim explained.

Mullen's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "How?"

"That's what we're investigating. It could be accidental, but if it wasn't - we want to find out who's doing this and why," Jim explained. "Did Mary talk with you about her work at the station? Who her friends were or maybe who she was dating?"

Blair's fingers worried the button on his sleeve cuff. This was the million-dollar question. If they could find out who the mystery man was in Mary's life, they'd have a direction. But Mary's father shook his head from side to side.

"No, not really. She never talked much about work. I figured she couldn't."

Well, that seemed to be that. Blair listened to Jim finish the interview before they thanked the grieving father and returned to the truck. He felt his bad mood slip back into place. What a waste of the day. They were no closer to finding out who masterminding these attacks than when they started.

Let's get some lunch," Jim suggested as they drove away.

Blair held back a groan.

Another milkshake.

"Here." Jim handed over the instant breakfast drink. "Mix it in with your shake."

They'd found a family drive in that was reputed to have over twenty different flavored milkshakes. After taking almost ten minutes to decide, Blair picked a peanut butter flavor.

Blair eyed the mix dubiously.

"It's vanilla, Chief. It's not going to change the flavor, but it'll add protein." Jim handed over a plastic spoon and waited while his partner mixed in the powder. "I called Simon when you went to the bathroom, told him about the interview. Also got us the rest of the day off."

"Really?" Blair perked up with the news. "What did you have in mind? And don't tell me we're cleaning the loft, man."

Jim laughed as he led the way back to the truck with his burger and fries. He almost hated having to eat solid food in front of his friend. "What? You don't think cleaning is fun?"

"Let me put it this way, Jim....no."

"Well, we need to run by the loft for a second, then it's a surprise."

Blair read his textbook during the ride back to Cascade, taking notes. The rain continued the entire trip north, but the traffic was light and Jim made good time. Before, the rush hour traffic had a chance to build up, they arrived back at the loft.

"Tennis shoes and sweats, Chief. Meet me at the truck in ten."

Blair looked intrigued and Jim was happy to see a small bounce in his friend's step as they walked into the loft. Jim changed as fast as he could, heading out the door for the storage locker in the basement. By the time Blair met him at the truck, he was ready.

"Okay, what's up?" Blair climbed in, taking a moment to zip the hooded sweatshirt he wore over a faded tie-dye T-shirt.

"Well, like I said. Simon gave me the rest of the afternoon off, as long as dispatch knows where I can be reached. So I thought we'd run down to the Y and get some exercise." Jim uncovered a orange basketball and dropped it into Blair's lap with a flourish, before starting the engine and pulling out into traffic.

"Really! Way cool!" Blair happily spun the ball on one finger. "Wait a minute, though. What about the doctor's order not to play rough?"

Jim shrugged. "We won't play rough. Just you and me. And I'll take it easy on you."

"Hah! You're thinking I'll let you win, man. I'm gonna so smoke your sentinel butt!" Blair chortled happily.

Business at the YMCA was light when they arrived. The inside court had a few men at one end playing some one-on-one. With a wave, Jim and Blair claimed the other basket. Blair was out of his jacket and pulling his long hair back into a ponytail.

Jim waited until he was ready, warming up by bouncing the ball from his right hand to his left, and back again. "Remember, short-eyes, keep it light. No heavy blocking or aggressive moves. You wearing your wire cutters?"

Blair patted his chest. "Yep, bring it on, old man."

They warmed up slowly, rubber shoes squeaking on the waxed floor. Blair was fast, anticipating Jim's moves almost before Jim decided which move to make. Even though Jim had several inches on him, he had to work to sink each basket. Several times, Blair burst through his defense and stole the ball neatly, leaping with the grace of a deer as he aimed and made many baskets himself.

Jim worked on keeping out of Blair's face, making sure any moves he made that involved contact was below the neck. Without realizing it, he used his enhanced sense of touch to help keep his contact easy.

After nearly an hour, Blair called a timeout. He was breathing fast, his face and arms glistening with sweat. Jim had been monitoring his partner's respirations, making sure he was moving adequate air to support the strenuous workout. Blair seemed to be doing okay, and as Jim had hoped, he was seeing some of the contagious enthusiastic sparkle in those blue eyes.

"Break! Break!" Blair laughed, heading for his towel and water bottle. "You're amazing, man!"

"What?" Jim asked, following to the sidelines for his own water bottle.

"You're like fighting a soap bubble, Jim!" Blair exclaimed in a hushed voice, unable to contain his excitement as he talked. "I push, you react like that...bam! You fall back!" he said, snapping his finger. "What are you doing? You dial up your touch or something?"

Jim tossed a glance at the other men at the opposite side, seeing they were not paying any attention to the hyper hippie with him. "Yeah, something like that, why?"

"Jim! It's got to be affecting your balance or something! Why didn't you tell me you could do this? We need to run some tests..."

"Whoa! Whoa! Slow down to light speed for a second, Sandburg," Jim said with a laugh, talk about having his plan backfire in his face. The last thing he wanted to do was a bunch of tests. "Maybe it's effecting my balance, maybe not. I normally don't have this easy of a time with my dials. It's probably just because I'm concentrating on not knocking you over."

Blair finished wiping the sweat from his face. "That's my point, man! We've got to train you on this. Think of your improvement in the field. You'd have the balance of Spiderman if we work on this now."

Jim barked a laugh. Blair was too much. "Spiderman? Are you sure you're feeling all right? I think we should call it quits."

Blair pointed a finger at his face. "Oh, no, you don't, Ellison. I'm on to you. I've got you by twelve points. We're back out on the floor as soon as your old heart gets its second wind, man."

"Bring it on, Junior!" Jim headed back out onto the court with a grin.

"You want some of this?" Blair taunted, tossing his towel back on the bench and trotting behind him.

The next time they took a break, Blair was looking like he'd had it. Jim firmly declared playtime over and tucked the ball under one arm as he headed for the truck. "Come on. We'll shower back at the loft. I've got more of that soup you like in the freezer."

Blair gave in easily, letting Jim know how truly winded he was. "You never told me where that soup came from. It's not take out, is it?"

Jim shook his head. "Nope, it's a Ellison secret."

"As long as we have six weeks worth in supply, I'm down with that."

Once in the parking lot, Jim spotted a green Jeep Cherokee parked next to his Ford. He knew that vehicle, recognizing it as the same one he saw every day in the parking garage at the station. He scanned the parking lot, looking for its owner.

"What's wrong?"

"Someone from the station is here."

"Who?" Blair looked around the lot.

"I'm not sure, I recognize the vehicle though."

"Maybe they're just working out," Blair suggested.

"Ellison."

Jim turned, spotting a man about his own age dressed in a suit standing near the wall of the building, out of the light drizzle. He recognized the Captain of the Cascade Bunko Division immediately. "Captain Matro."

"Got a second?" He left the protection of the building as he neared. "I wanted to talk to you about the case you're working on."

Jim knew little about Matro. What little he knew, he didn't like. Matro was a grandstander, always bragging about being the youngest person to make rank of captain in Cascade's history. But his department was a joke. In Jim's opinion, it was the fault of their leader.

"I'm off duty. If you want a meet, you should go through Banks," Jim said coolly.

"Your department is trying to cover its screw-ups by throwing the blame on others. IA has pulled the files of my men after that captain of yours went schizo and attacked your... whatever you call him." Matro's gaze diverted long enough to run up and down Blair once before returning his attention to Jim.

Jim's hands curled into fists. "Like I said, sir. Make an appointment."

"Jim..." Blair's voice was barely audible. "Look at the tie."

Jim did as instructed. Matro's tie was dark blue, a perfect match for his suit. He shot a puzzled look at Blair, not understanding.

Blair nodded at the man. "The tie pin, man."

The exchange did not go unnoticed. Matro's hand rose to finger his tie and Jim caught a glimpse of a gold clasp with a small dancing bear.

Dancing bears...

Mary's father had a tie on today with dancing bears.

"Nice tie pin. Girlfriend give that to you?" Jim asked sarcastically. He knew Matro was married; the man wore his expensive looking wedding ring for the world to see.

Matro's other hand had slipped into his raincoat. Before Jim could move, he struck fast, pulling out a small box-like devise and jamming it into Jim's side.

Realizing too late he still had his touch dial cranked high, a white-hot, fiery pain exploded throughout his body. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was Blair's scream of outrage.

Blair shoved as hard as he could. Matro fell back, breaking contact and Jim folded to the asphalt like a deflated balloon.

"Jim!" Blair dropped to his knees, just managing to keep Jim's head from bouncing off the hard ground.

God! His dial must have still been up. He rolled Jim over to check his breathing. The unresponsive cop showed no signs of waking. They needed to get to a hospital. Blair laid his fingers over Jim's neck. He had a pulse. It felt okay, but what damage did the stun gun do? Would Jim's enhanced ability of touch magnify the weapons ability to damage his heart? Thoughts bounced around in Blair's brain like a ping-bong ball fired at high speed into an empty room, before he could complete one, another question hit him.

A hand fisted in his hair. Blair found himself on his feet from a cruel yank that brought tears to his eyes. Yet it was the dull thud of Jim's head hitting the pavement that caused Blair to wince as Matro leaned over and brought his face within inches of Blair's.

"Tell me what you learned today or I swear I'll do him now!" Matro ordered. He had a gun in his left hand, pointed at Jim.

"Nothing!" Blair blurted out, then gasped as the hand in his hair shook his head. "Just leave, man! Jim needs a doctor!"

Matro glanced down at the fallen cop, his face showing no remorse. "It was just a stun gun, you idiot, he's fine. But if you don't start talking to me, he's going to be beyond a doctor's help."

"We went to Kent to see Mary's father... he didn't know anything!" Blair hissed. His scalp felt like it was getting ripped off his skull. Without thinking, Blair latched onto Matro's wrist.

"You're lying, scum! You knew about the tie clasp Mary bought me. He told you we were seeing each other!"

"No! Oww... No, listen to me!" Blair closed his eyes in pain. If Matro kept this up, he'd need a wig - and maybe skin graphs. "He was wearing a tie with a design of dancing bears! It matches yours, man. That's all!"

"Shit!" Matro tucked the gun back in his shoulder holster.

Blair sighed as the hand left his hair, knowing quite a few strands left with it. But his relief was short lived as he was spun around and one wrist circled by cold metal. "What are you doing, man? Just leave, already. I'm not going to stop you." He struggled, but was too late. With both hands cuffed behind his back, Matro spun him back around and Blair could see the gun was back in the cop's hand again.

"If you call out or try to bring any attention down on us, I'll kill the person you attract. You got it?" Matro said as if talking about the weather.

"You're crazy," Blair realized. Okay, maybe this was one of those times Jim was always telling him to think before he spoke. But, damn! Blair was having a hard time believing this was a cop he was talking to.

Matro pointed the gun back at Jim's head. "People will think this is just a backfire. They won't find his body until long after we're gone."

"NO!" Blair cursed himself for bringing the cop to this decision. "I'll be good! I won't say anything, I swear, man. Just don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

Matro eyed Jim with obvious dislike. "Maybe I just want to give Major Crimes a little payback..."

"Think about it!" Extreme panic was making it hard for Blair to breathe. "You don't want... that king of heat, dude. You'll be a cop-killer. Cascade will never... give up trying to find you!"

"Yeah, damn it... I think you're right." Matro swung his leg, catching Jim in the ribs hard with his dress shoe, before yanking Blair towards the Jeep.

Twisting his neck to check on Jim one last time as he was dragged away, Blair looked for any movement from his friend. Was Jim in a zone? He had to be all right. Someone had to be coming out of the building soon. They would find him and call an ambulance. Blair knew Jim's ID and badge were locked safely away inside a special box Jim had bolted behind the seat in the truck. No one would know Jim's a cop! They wouldn't know to call Simon. The doctors would probably give him all types of weird drugs!

A sharp blow to the back of his head caused Blair to return to his present situation.

"Are you retarded or something, kid?" Matro asked in disgust. "I said, get in."

Blair awkwardly scrambled into the passenger seat. Matro fastened the seatbelt, pinning him in before slamming the door.

"I'm clueless as to why Ellison even keeps you around. You're as useful as tits on a frog," the kidnapper mumbled to himself as they drove away.

Blair ignored the man, twisting in his seat; he could see Jim still unconscious on the ground, becoming soaked by the rain. Maybe he was starting to wake up. How long does a stun gun knock a normal person out, anyway? Certainly not that long. Blair wished he knew more about this sort of thing. He really needed to do some research.

Lost in his thoughts, Blair didn't hear the cop's next question. He missed the strange look Matro gave him and the following sigh of resignation.

Bright lights shot through Jim's skull, bringing pain. Loud sounds crashed with the strength to knock down buildings. Nausea hit hard. Hands turned him over as the contents in his stomach shot up his throat and out his mouth like a rocket.

"...Easy, fella..."

"... vitals are steady..."

"...Doe, police en route..."

An intense pain around his arm was relieved with the loud sound of Velcro ripping open. Jim fell back onto the hard bed, wishing he was dead. This was worse than when he'd first become a sentinel, before Blair...

Blair!

Knocking the hand that held the penlight aside, Jim rolled over onto one elbow. He was in an exam room, looked like Cascade Hospital's trauma room. A startled nurse and young intern stepped back in alarm.

"I'm... a c-cop..." he said, clutching his gut as another wave of nausea threatened. "Get me... a ph-phone."

By the time they arrive with a phone, Jim could breathe without wanting to throw up, and his dials were closer to normal. His side ached as if he'd been kicked, but otherwise, he was fine. Still, he was forced to hang up twice before hitting the correct sequence of numbers. As the phone rang, he gave the intern a stern look. "I'm okay... how's the man that came in with me? My partner?"

The intern, a kid with a pronounced Adam's apple that danced when he swallowed answered. "No one came in with you."

"You sure?" The ringing stopped as the other end was picked up. "Can you go check for me?"

"Jim? That you?" Simon asked.

"Yeah, I just got attacked by Matro from Bunko, Simon. I think he took Blair."

"What!" Sounds of papers shuffling drifted over the phone. "Where are you?"

"Where am I?" Jim barked impatiently at the nurse as he slid off the table and carefully bent down to retrieve the white plastic sack with his shoes from under the table.

"Cascade General..." she told him quickly.

"I heard, Jim. I'm on my way."

"Wait, first get an APB out on Matro, he was in his jeep... hold on, Simon." Jim looked up from tying his shoelace as the intern trotted back into the room, shaking his head. Jim felt his stomach sink to his knees. "He's got Blair, sir. He's to be considered armed and dangerous. Frankly, I'm surprised I even got to wake up."

When Simon arrived ten minutes later, Jim was ready. He'd signed the proper paperwork, thanked the hospital staff for their concern and jumped into Simon's car before it came to a complete stop.

"Anything?" Jim asked hopefully, knowing what the answer would be.

True to form, Simon shook his head. "I've updated IA on this development, they promised to forward what they have on Matro. What the hell happened?"

"Take me to the `Y' on Fifteenth, that's where he grabbed Sandburg. He used a stun gun on me... man! I can't believe I didn't see that coming!" Jim brought his fist down on Simon's dash in anger. "I'm sure he was the one seeing Mary, he was wearing a tie clasp that matched a tie Mary's father was wearing today. She probably bought both a the same place. I never expected him to attack in broad daylight."

"From what IA was hinting at, Jim. Bunko was being investigated for possible corruption. Looks like it started at the top," Simon explained. "In light of this information, we are officially working with them on the case. They'll give us access to the information they have."

"You mean IA knew Matro was dirty! And they didn't think it worth mentioning before now?" Jim yelled, causing Simon to wince painfully.

"Calm down, Jim!" Simon shouted back, keeping his eyes on the road, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "They only knew the dirty cop was in Bunko, they didn't know who it was. Everyone was being examined as a possible candidate."

Jim closed his eyes, filling his lungs and forcing himself to expel the air slowly. Still, his next sentence was hard and cold in his own ears. "Simon, if Sandburg gets hurt and I find out IA knew Matro was dirty, there won't be a hiding place safe enough for them to run to."

"Jim, are you threatening fellow police officers?"

"Yes."

Simon sighed, keeping his eyes forward. "I thought so."

"Remember what I told you, kid. You attract anyone and you've just signed their death warrant." Matro grabbed Blair's arm and hauled him out of the passenger seat. Blair had been blindfolded the last two miles. He knew he was still in Cascade, but that was all.

A complicated pattern of knocks opened the door from the inside and Blair was shoved through the doorway. He stumbled for a moment in the thick, plush carpeting. The air was warm and heavy with cigarette smoke.

"What do you want, Matro?" a deep, masculine voice asked.

"I need to see Rossetti."

Blair felt a tug sideways. Sounds of laughing and music drifted into the room from another location in the building. It reminded him of a casino or nightclub.

Matro shoved him into a seat. "Do yourself a favor and don't say a word, understand?"

A sudden increase in the festivities told him a door had opened.

Deep Voice was back with the Rossetti guy.

"Matro, to what do I owe this pleasure?" The voice was also male, but soft and eloquent sounding. Blair's nose picked up the odor of expensive cologne.

"My plans have changed," Matro answered. "I need my money now... and a car."

"Really?" Rossetti sounded amused. "And this is my problem how?"

"Cut the crap, Rossetti. I don't have time for games. You owe me, the entire network knows. Do you really want me to start telling them you can't be trusted?"

Arrogant laughter answered. "None of us can be trusted, you know that. Lighten up; I'm just having a little fun. Besides, you've brought me such an exquisite gift... I should be thanking you."

A soft hand caressed Blair's jaw, gliding to the back of his neck.

Blair froze. Just when he thought his life couldn't get any worse, it did.

"Hands off. He's my insurance, not a prop for your sex videos," Matro said calmly.

Blair's heart banged against his ribs. With strength he didn't think he possessed, he remained perfectly still, too afraid that one wrong move would change Matro's mind. Given the choice, he wanted to walk out that door with the dirty cop. The hand gently squeezed his neck before withdrawing, finger tips brushing a path all the way back to the point of his chin. Blair wanted to scrub the touch off with steel wool.

"A pity. I'd give you an extra ten thousand for him."

"What! So you can net a half mil? Forget it! I'm not here to make you richer, I just want the money and a car." Matro answered sarcastically. Sounds of keys hitting the table caused Blair to jump. "And dump the Jeep in the ally."

"You're acting brave for a man with trouble on his tail. What's keeping me from killing you, keeping your money and just taking this lovely young man?"

Blair's heart kicked into double-time. `Please, please, please - have an good answer for this guy.'

"A complete... and detailed journal that lists dates, names and locations of the bodies. It's in a very safe place, but could turn up when you least suspect it, if I suddenly disappear."

"Are you playing both sides?"

Blair could almost feel the sudden chill. Certainly the temperature in the room had suddenly dropped by ten degrees. A bad feeling hit him. Unless Matro was very careful, neither one of them were looking at bright futures.

"No," Matro answered easily. "I'm just a cautious man. I've made you more money over the years than you can spend in one lifetime. Once I hit the border, you'll never hear from me again."

"You'd better be telling the truth. I have friends everywhere, Matro. I can find you and make you a star in one of my more extreme videos... for the clients with the darker taste."

"I'm only looking for my share."

A snapping of fingers told Blair the order had been given. He breathed a small sigh. Before sucking in his breath sharply as the hand returned to stroke his cheek again.

"You sure I can't offer you something? These bruises will heal in time. He's perfect for a production I'm planning in Asia. I have others you can use for insurance, you know."

Blair couldn't stand anymore, he jerked back in his seat, escaping the touch. This guy was creeping him out... major time! Someone grabbed him by the neck. Judging by the strength, Blair would guess it was the crime boss's body guard. He was shoved forcefully forward in his seat, his lower rib cage striking the edge of the table hard and bringing a gasp of pain.

The hand was back.

`Come on, damn it! Tell this guy!' Blair mentally pleaded with the cop, praying Matro wasn't desperate for the extra ten thousand. Blair would rather end up with a bullet in the back of his head than go with Rossetti's plan.

Matro chuckled. "As much as I'm tempted, the guy after me is only going to behave if I have his partner."

"A pity..."

"Geez, Simon. All anyone had to do was take one look at this place to know Matro was on the take!" Jim said in disgust as he looked around the living room.

The search warrant for Matro's home came through in record time. Matro's wife was out of state on a business trip. Sheffield and Garr were upstairs searching the bedrooms. Jim could hear sounds of drawers and closet doors being opened and searched. The condo had the look of being professionally decorated with a taste for oak and brass. A burgundy leather couch with matching armchair held counsel in a corner near a free standing fireplace. The oil paintings of land and seascapes looked original.

"Jim, you can't be sure Matro didn't come from a family of old money," Simon admonished as he started searching through a stack of mail sitting on an entry table. "Some could say the same about your loft."

"Riiight," Jim answered, spying a large rolltop desk through a doorway off to the left. "I'm taking the office."

They searched for an hour. Jim riffled bank records, dumped files of correspondence upside down on the oriental carpet, left drawers pulled out and dangling on the end of their tracks. Nothing. He eyed the office critically. Where was the man's computer? Everyone had one in their home nowadays. Maybe he used a laptop like Blair did.

"Simon stuck his head into the doorway with smudges of dust on his nose. "We have a warrant to search, Ellison - not destroy," he admonished.

"He has my partner, Simon. Besides, the guy probably has a maid."

"Find anything?"

"No... you'd think the guy's a saint. Donations to UNICEF, DAWN and MADD. I'm going to nominate him for cop of the year," Jim muttered unhappily. His eyes fell on the fax machine. "Simon, do you know how to do that report thing for fax machines?"

"Uh... maybe." Simon joined him at the machine. "Looks pretty high tech to me."

"Yeah, but if I remember right, they have a way of telling all incoming and outgoing calls that are successful. We could use that information instead of waiting for the phone records to be subpoenaed."

Simon pulled his cell phone out. "Let's call Rhonda."

With Rhonda's help, they printed a report for the last two months. Jim scanned the pages carefully, unsure what he was looking for. The guy used his machine frequently.

"Look, here's one to a Sedro Wooly prefix. I have a nephew that lives up there."

Jim looked at the number his boss was pointing to before scanning his paperwork. "Here it is again. Looks like he calls it once a month." Jim scanned the rest of the list. "The other numbers are local. How fast can we get an address on that number? If he's on the run, it may be somewhere he could think he's safe."

Simon was dialing his cell phone. "I'm on it."

Jim rubbed his forehead wearily. It was getting dark outside and his stomach was starting to complain about missed meals. His thoughts turned to Blair. He'd be just as hungry, maybe even more so. Would Matro take time to get him something he could eat? Unlikely.

"Okay... thanks, Chuck. I owe you big time." Simon closed the phone and returned it to his pocket. "It's a mini storage place, Jim."

"Okay, so he's got stuff stored... why have it so far away?" Jim mused.

"Well, if he was expecting IA to come down on him, he'd need a place to stash some money and clothes."

"It would be perfect if he was running for Canada, Simon," Jim said, warming up to the idea.

"Okay, I'll tell Sheffield we're out of here."

"Get in."

"Why?"

"Because... I said so?" Matro looked at Blair with disbelief. "Remember? I'm the guy with the gun? You're supposed to do what I say? Any of this ringing any bells?"

Blair shook his head. "But I told you I wasn't going to try anything. Why can't I ride up front?"

They were in the alley again. A dirty, white Pontiac had been delivered for their use. Now Matro was standing with his hand on the raised trunk, waiting for Blair to climb in.

"You know... I'm seriously thinking about that ten thousand dollars I was offered for your skinny butt, Sandburg."

"I'm going, I'm going."

With a hand from Matro, Blair clumsily rolled over the edge into the empty trunk. It smelled like grease and old, musty canvas. At least the man had removed his blind fold. Not that being in a car trunk was going to provide much in the way of visual distraction.

Blair curled on his side, looking up at Matro. As scared as he felt at the moment, he knew he'd rather be in the trunk than left behind. "Hey... thanks, man," Blair said, feeling just a little stupid.

Matro paused in the act of slamming the trunk down. "What for?"

"In there... you could have taken the money, but you didn't," Blair said, his face growing warm. "Thanks."

Matro shook his head. "You're amazing, kid. I'm using you as a shield. That's it. You're more valuable to me as a hostage. Besides, I have plenty of money socked away."

"Is that where we're going? To get the rest of your money?" Blair asked, curious in spite of his situation.

"Shut up, kid. Remember our deal, no noise."

The lid slammed in place and Blair's world was dark. The engine started and the car begin to move. A tire hit a pothole, causing Blair's head to bounce against the floor of the trunk. After a few sharp turns it felt like they'd pulled out onto a road and the vehicle's speed increased.

"Okay... first things first... I need to get my hands in front..." Curling into a tight ball, Blair grunted as he tried to get the cuffs over his butt. "This always looked... easier on television..."

Jim fidgeted in his seat, not happy with Simon's insistence that they take his car and not Jim's truck. He hated being the passenger. He'd rather be driving, it kept his mind busy. He shifted again. No matter what position he tried, his legs would begin to burn with restlessness.

"Simon..."

"Jim, we'll get there when we get there! Stop asking!"

Jim had a brief insight into what it was like for Daryl having this man as his father. "I was going to ask if you thought we should contact Sedro Woolly PD on this."

"Oh... sorry," Simon tossed an amused glance to his right. "I don't know... Matro has a lot of contacts. Some cops are going to have a hard time believing he's dirty. We might be tipping our hand if we tell too many cops about the mini storage unit."

"Yeah, you've got a point."

"I have a feeling he's managed to switch vehicles by now. This is a long shot, but it's the only real lead I can see," Simon continued.

Jim nodded, shifting his long legs again, looking for a position that didn't make his muscles cramp up. Maybe it was a residual effect from the stun gun. He turned his head, trying to loosen up his neck muscles. Taking an effort to relax, he closed his eyes and drew on his guide's training.

There...

His dial for touch had bumped itself up again. He turned it down to normal, bringing relief. He sank into the seat with a sigh.

God, he needed Blair. It scared him how strong that need seemed.

"You okay?"

Jim nodded. "Fine."

Simon cast another glance to his right, this one accompanied by a look of concern. "We'll get him back, Jim."

"He doesn't deserve this shit, Simon."

"I know."

"Kincaid... the golden... now this. He's going to leave. He'd be an idiot to stay," Jim declared moodily.

"I think he's going to surprise you, Jim. I admit, when you first brought him in, I had him pegged as a flake," Simon admitted. "I took one look at that hair and his clothes and figured he put the letter `P' in the word `Punk'. But, hell, he proved me wrong at every turn."

Jim held his tongue, knowing Simon was right, because Jim had made the same call when he first walked into that office at the university and saw Blair wiggling to that stupid music. He first reminded Jim of that comedian he saw in the movies, Pauly Shore. But Blair had held the answers. He knew what he was talking about.

"If Matro does anything..."

"I know, I know." Simon lightly slapped the steering wheel. "Do me a favor, could you occasionally remember I'm your superior officer? I'm supposed to report it when my men repeatedly make death threats regarding fellow police officers, even the dirty ones."

"Yes... finally!" Blair brought his hands up and eagerly scrubbed his face. He'd been wanting to do that for hours. The ratty carpet someone had used to line the trunk made the side of his face itch. He began to explore his prison. The trunk was empty except for an oily smelling cloth and a few pieces of cardboard.

Fingertips found a loose section of plastic lining on one corner. Blair tugged, flooding the truck with a red light.

The taillight.

A grin formed, splitting his dry, cracked lips. He ignored the pain and started pulling on the leather cord around his neck.

Jim heard the siren approach from behind. A Washington State Trooper flew by them, driving fast. It was the second State officer in the last few minutes. A small, persistent whisper in his head caused him to reach down to Simon's radio. It was similar to his own, but had the options of switching to several other frequencies used by other police and fire agencies, a critical tool when dealing with a multi-agency operation. Jim switched to the WSP channel.

"... -tly northbound on `I' five... refusing to pull over!" it was a female voice, young sounding and very excited.

The dispatcher responded. "Copy. All units. We have a white, sedan with Washington plates. Traveling northbound..."

"This is Captain Grotto, are the taillights still signaling the SOS?"

"Yes, sir! It stopped for a second... then started up again," the female trooper reported.

"Simon..." Jim turned in his seat. Hope began to build.

"We can't be sure, Jim," Simon said doubtfully.

"Come on! Simon!" Jim insisted loudly. "This is Sandburg we're talking about! Who else would figure out a way to signal for help?"

"Yeah... yeah." Simon reached down for his blue light and tossed it onto the dash as he floored the accelerator. "Give me the mike, Jim. I might as well introduce myself if we're going to crash this party."

Jim eagerly handed it over. "I wish you hadn't used the word `crash', sir."

"Don't worry, Jim. I'll just picture the way you drive... and do the opposite. We'll be fine."

Jim rolled his eyes. It wasn't their car he was worried about.

Captain Grotto was happy to have Cascade officers to help. Three units including his own were involved so far. The speeds of the chasing cops had reached the nineties. Simon had his speed near a hundred. They passed other cars as if they were parked. Simon was a good driver, careful and cautious. He stayed to the far left lanes as much as possible, his entire body caught up in the act of driving.

Jim remained perfectly still. That earlier voice in his head was now screaming at him. The troopers had been told that the driver may be a rogue police officer and that the person in the trunk his civilian hostage. They had acknowledged the information in a tone that promised they would be careful.

After a few minutes, they reached a straight part of the highway. Jim pushed his sight several miles ahead, zeroing in on the car being chased. "I see it... the left taillight is shorting on and off... three long... three short... it's Blair, I'm sure of it!"

"Okay, can you see the driver?" Simon asked tightly, keeping his eyes on the task of driving.

It occurred to Jim he may be breaking some kind of personal record for his sentinel sight, he couldn't remember ever stretching it this far. Perhaps it was the likelihood that this car was holding his guide that gave him the ability. He zoomed even further, until he could clearly see the side of Matro's face in the small mirror in front of the driver's door.

"It's him, Simon."

"Good."

"... all units... road blocks are set up at Edgewick exit... Edgewick exit..."

Jim's mind flashed to another high speed incident. Was it really only a few days ago? He still had a clear image of Mary's car flying into the air.

"Simon, if he hits that road block with Blair in the trunk..."

"I know, Jim. I know. We'll do everything we can... at least they know not to fire at the back of the car."

Blair wished his Morse code skills went beyond a simple call for help. He had so much he wanted to tell the cops that were chasing them. Like the driver is a cop... granted, he's a dirty cop, but he still knows all the little cop tricks.

And that scared Blair.

The car took another sharp swerve, bouncing Blair's head off the side wall of the trunk, bringing stars. Somewhere close by, a driver was laying on his horn. It was probably okay to stop sending the SOS signals. Judging by Matro's driving and the numerous sirens he'd been hearing for the last few minutes, he'd gotten the message out.

What he wouldn't give to have Jim in one of those cars chasing them right now.

Blair rolled over onto his back, using his hands and knees to brace himself. He had more bruised skin than healthy at the moment and he was tired of getting knocked around. In fact, if he stopped to think about it, he was totally sick and tired of the way his day had gone. He wondered what Matro was thinking right now. Did he even have a clue as to how the cops had picked him out? Blair smiled. He had kept his promise, he'd never made a noise. And if he ever got out of this trunk alive, he was going to seriously look into wearing tools as jewelry for the rest of his life.

The ride became bumpy and Blair knew Matro had left the pavement.

This was so not a good thing...

Their speed didn't slow. Blair braced his body for the unknown.

First there was the sound of metal on metal, followed by a soft jarring and something hitting both sides of the car at the same time. They were still going fast when a sudden lift and sickening weightless feeling caused Blair's stomach to drop. They were airborne.

Immediately, Blair pictured Mary's Mustang and tensed as he waited for Matro to plow into a stump or something equally as lethal.

What he didn't expect was the sound of the splash.

Still, the landing was hard. Even though he'd tried to brace himself, he broke free and slammed hard into the closed lid of the trunk.

Blair fought to remain conscious. His head felt as if it had been split in two. His hip had scraped painfully on something, ripping his sweatpants.

When awareness returned and the pain subsided, a cold wetness had soaked his back and butt. He could feel the car rocking gently... like a boat.

"Oh... shit..."

The water inside the trunk was rising and he heard Matro opening the car door, splashing as he swam away.

Blair felt his panic rise like the cold water that was now up to his ears.

"Hey! Somebody! Help me!"

The plan went badly.

Matro must have anticipated the tactic, because he took the next off ramp before the roadblock even came into view. Simon was the second unit following. The off ramp gently curved which allowed Matro to keep his speed high as he took the corner, ran the stop sign at the end and headed east.

"All units! The suspect is eastbound on Smoky Point Road!" the original female trooper reported.

"McKnight, take the Willows Road," the WSP Captain ordered over the radio. "Cut him off. I'll go south, in case he takes the May Valley cutoff."

Jim thought about searching for a roadmap in Simon's glove box, but disregarded the idea. Simon seemed content in just following the trooper that was following Matro. He watched as the Pontiac swerved hard into the oncoming lane to go around a sports car.

"God, Simon... he's going to end up crashing," Jim groaned.

Simon didn't spare the energy to reply.

The sports car pulled off the road, responding to the trooper's lights and sirens. The chase continued for another mile before Matro met his match. The daylight had been fading for the last half hour. Most drivers had already turned on their headlights.

"Shit! Simon, there's a truck blocking the road ahead!" Jim shouted, spotting a large delivery truck in the middle of trying to turn around.. He zoomed in on Matro's face, just in time to see the look of surprise as he wrenched the wheel hard to the right. "There he goes!"

Matro's car left the road doing at least eighty miles an hour. It plowed through an eight foot tall chain link fence and sailed over a drop off. Simon and the trooper slammed on the brakes, both cars fishtailing on the wet roadway. Jim held on, not taking his eyes off the unfolding drama. Matro's car belly-flopped with a huge splash into the middle of a small lake, causing a massive wave to hit the shore fifty feet away.

Jim had the door open before Simon's car came to a complete stop. Tossing his gun under the seat, he spilled out of the car and hit the shoulder running. The Pontiac was sinking fast, nose-first into the water. He could hear Blair calling for help. Matro was out of the car, swimming for the far shore.

Jim wanted Matro.

But he wanted his friend out of that trunk more.

"Simon! We need something to pry the truck with!" Jim yelled as he ran for the lake. Leaping clear of the tangled mess that used to be the fence, he leaped off the bank to land feet first into the water. It was deep and Jim dialed down his sense of touch as his head went under. The water was murky, but he could see the long stems of the water plants growing on the bottom, reaching up to try and entangle his feet.

Jim used his arms to pull himself upward again, breaking the surface. The water smelled like fish scales and algae. Kicking hard, he swam to the car, already half submerged. The driver's door had been left open and Jim pulled himself underwater to search for a release to the trunk.

He couldn't find it. The car was too old to have one. Jim quickly located the steering wheel with his hands, locating where the keys normally hang on the column. Only the keys were missing. Jim pushed himself out of the passenger compartment, returning to the surface to grab a breath of air before swimming to the back. Only the top of the trunk was visible now, level with the surface of the water.

"Sandburg!"

"Jim?" the muffled voice was full of surprise, then panic. "JIM! Get me out of here! The water's at the top!"

"Find the biggest air pocket, Chief!" Jim shouted back as he searched the bank for Simon. "Stay calm!"

Simon was in the water, swimming towards them. Further down the bank, the female trooper was running along the shore, yelling into her radio. The lake was large, a few farms set back from the edge. No signs of a dock or boats visible.

"Simon! We need something to force the trunk open!" Jim yelled.

His boss was nearing the car. He swam on his side, kicking his legs, his right arm pulling at the water with strong strokes. His left arm was immobile, held close to his body. Jim prayed he was bringing something to force the trunk open. As he waited, the car settled another inch into the water. He could hear Blair hyperventilating inside the trunk.

"Jim!" Simon held a long crowbar out.

When Jim grabbed it, he pulled Simon to his side. "I got it." Simon turned it loose with a nod.

Aiming for the lip of the trunk, Jim rammed the end of the crowbar in deep and pushed off with his arms, using his upper body as leverage. The crowbar slipped out as the car's nose dived further into the water.

"Don't do this..." Jim pleaded to the vehicle as he pulled it out and rammed it in again. This time it stuck fast and Jim brought both feet up to the bumper, curled into a ball and used his legs to push off as he pulled with all his strength on the crowbar.

With a loud, obscene belch, a huge air pocket erupted from the trunk and the old Pontiac completely slipped under the surface.

Jim managed to take a huge gulp of air as he rode the vehicle down towards the lake bottom. He could hear Simon calling his name, his hands on his shoulders trying to pull him off the car. But Jim held on, not willing to give his Guide over to the lake. His arms started to cramp and he pushed harder with his legs. Jim looked up as his lungs started to burn for air; the surface was six feet above his head now. Soon they would be sinking into the tall weeds below.

Simon appeared at his side, his large hands grabbing the bar just below Jim's. He curled into a similar position and added his strength.

The latch gave.

The sudden release caused Jim to push away as his legs straightened. He dropped the crowbar. The same thing happened to Simon. Both men madly twisted in the dark water to swim back. Jim could see Blair, eyes wide, struggling to get his legs under his body. Jim reached out, snagging Blair's shirt behind his neck and started kicking for the surface. Simon latched on to one of Blair's arms and did the same.

Jim's head shot out of the water and he drew in a lungful of sweet night air. The area was alive with blue and red lights dancing across the water. He hauled Blair up, getting his head as high as he could before wrapping his arm around his partner. He rolled over onto his back, trying to float while pulling Blair close to lay on his chest. The younger man was gasping and coughing at the same time. He beat the water with his cuffed arms in panic.

"Blair... calm down... breathe!" Jim panted, pulling his friend higher as he started an awkward side stroke towards the shore. Simon moved to a position in front, taking a handful of Jim's shirt and starting to tow them both along. The assistance made it possible for Jim to use both hands to hold Blair and just kick with his legs.

Blair coughed as if he'd swallowed half the lake, but he was breathing. By the time Jim's feet brushed the muddy bottom, Blair's coughs had quieted down.

"That's it, Chief. You're okay now," Jim told him as they made their way up to the shore.

Blair's third step failed and he crumpled in the waist high water. Jim hoisted him back up by an arm, Simon took the other and between them, they carried him towards the waiting troopers.

"Fire units are on the way," an older Trooper with captain bars told them as the female trooper wrapped a green blanket around Blair's shoulders. "Is anyone else in the car?"

Jim shook his head. "The driver swam away."

They were under the trees and protected from the falling rain. The wind was blowing, feeling like an artic blast against Jim's wet skin. A small crowd of bystanders had gathered to watch the excitement. Simon's car and several other state patrol and county cars completely blocked the small two lane country road. They let Blair collapse to the ground.

"Sandburg, look at me." Jim lifted the younger man's chin as he squatted down by his side.

Blair was shivering so badly, he was almost convulsing. Jim checked his pupils carefully, they were dilated and even. A good sign. He ran fingers through the wet curls, causing Blair to cringe in pain.

"Sorry, Chief." Jim tenderly explored the top of Blair's scalp; a large lump was forming just above his forehead, right where his hairline started. "Blair, talk to me. Tell me my name."

"J-J-Jim..." Blair's teeth chattered, he sat on the ground, his legs curled tightly against his chest, his shoulders hunched forward. "I'm...f-fine, man."

"How's your stomach? Are you going to be sick?"

Blair shook his head, his large eyes suddenly meeting Jim's. "Where's M-M-Matro?

Jim nodded towards the distant shore. "He ran away."

Simon knelt down to join them, he had his handcuff key in hand and quickly removed the cuffs from Blair's wrists. "The ambulance is here. Let's get him inside where we can warm him up."

They made a pathetic sight as the three waterlogged men climbed into the back of the large, red fire department ambulance. The two medics that arrived with it immediately got down to business. They listened to Jim go over Blair's wired jaw and the need to watch for any airway problems as they began to strip the younger man out of his wet clothes.

"Simon and I are going to step outside, Chief," Jim said, patting a bare shoulder. "Behave yourself." He smiled at the poisonous look that earned him and nodded for Simon to join him.

"What is it, Jim?" Simon asked after the door was closed.

"I'm going after Matro," Jim said.

Simon looked at the dark lake. "Jim, State and County have set up search grids, they're waiting for the dogs to arrive. Let's let them track him down."

Jim smiled, feeling the thrill of the hunt start to warm his bones. "He's on foot, in an unknown area. I won't have any problem hunting him down, Simon. He poisoned you and left Blair to drown. I want him."

Simon eyed his detective with a worried look. "I have a feeling you'd just go off by yourself the minute I turned my back... Just let me borrow a WSP radio and get my flashlight and our guns. And don't leave without me!" Simon trotted off towards his car, his shoes making squishing noises as he ran.

Jim climbed back inside. Blair was out of his clothes now, wrapped in several blankets, and breathing oxygen through a mask. He still shivered, but he looked better. Without getting in the way of the medic taking a blood pressure reading, Jim squatted down next to the gurney to talk to his partner.

"Sandburg, Simon and I are going after Matro..."

Blair's reaction was immediate. He yanked his mask down and leaned forward to grab Jim's arm. "Wait! Let me get my clothes back on and I'll come!"

"No," Jim calmly pried the hand off and returned it to the blankets, holding it tightly with both hands. "Simon and I will catch him. You go to the hospital and get checked out. I'll meet you there."

Blair was not buying what Jim was selling. Pulling his arm free from the medic, he started to scramble off the gurney, the blankets falling off his shoulders. Jim's eyes were drawn to the large bruises that covered Blair's shoulders and arms.

"I'm coming, man!" Blair declared, raising his feet to swing them over the side. The medic leaned back in surprise.

Jim caught both legs and held them down. "Listen to me! You are not coming! Understand?" Jim turned to the man. "Can you give us a second?"

"Sure." He left the two men alone, stepping outside and closing the door.

Blair looked ready to lead a single person revolt. Jim couldn't remember a time he'd ever seen his friend this mad.

"Just, listen...okay?" Jim held up both hands as he sat down on the side bench to have this discussion. Blair quieted down, looking as open to Jim's opinion as Fort Knox, with his eyes narrow and lips pressed into a thin line of anger. "You've been kidnapped, knocked around and locked in a car trunk. This does not fall under your doctor's orders of `taking it easy'. You getting what I'm saying here, Chief?"

Blair shook his head, sending droplets of water spraying out in an arc, pounding his own chest. "Jim! I'm okay. Listen to me, I'm breathing fine now. You need me ... Matro is dangerous! What if you zone? He'll kill you!"

"I've got Simon along, remember? He'll watch out for me. I'll hear and see Matro long before he sees me," Jim explained calmly. "I can't do as good a job if I'm worried about you at the same time. Please? For me... stay out of this one, okay?"

Blair crossed his arms, looking stubbornly resistant to the thought of being left behind.

Jim sighed and tried again. "Sandburg, you've got a head injury. Technically, you classify as a near drowning and you're sporting some serious bruises. I'm not going to risk anything else happening to you tonight. If I have to, I'll cuff you to this gurney."

Blair looked shocked. "You wouldn't!"

"Yes, I would... I'd rather have you pissed off at me than have you hurt anymore," Jim said honestly. And he meant it, every word. Even if Blair got so mad he moved out and left. Jim would rather that than even allowing the slightest possibility that something else happen to his friend.

Blair began to weaken. He uncrossed his arms and drew the edges of the blankets back up around his shoulders. "You'll be careful?"

Jim nodded. "I swear. And I'll keep Simon with me the whole time."

"You'd better, Ellison," Blair said with a growl.

Jim patted his knee. "I'll catch up with you at the hospital." He rose to leave.

"Jim..."

"Yeah?"

Blair gave him a wan smile. "Thanks for getting me out of that trunk, man... and tell that to Simon too."

"I will, guppy-hair."

Blair drew the blanket closer around his body as he frowned. "Great, another stupid nick name..."

Keeping up with Ellison proved a little harder than Simon realized.

`How does Sandburg do it?' he wondered for the twentieth time as he failed to duck a branch that slapped the side of his head.

They had found the location where Matro had climbed out of the lake without a problem. Actually, Jim had found it. It had been amazing. Jim had just headed for the location as if a bright neon flashing arrow that only he could see was pointing to the spot. After spending a moment standing silently, sniffing the air, Jim had started off at a trot. Since then they had crossed a cow pasture, a road and now were working their way through a stand of young evergreens.

Simon's mind kept returning to that horrible day Kincaid had taken over the station... and threatened to kill his son.

Jim had been awesome then, too. But, nothing like what he was seeing now.

Jim didn't move, he flowed. His actions were sure and purposeful. Not one ounce of energy was wasted. He was a human heat seeking missile and Simon found himself feeling almost sorry for Captain Matro. He was also glad he'd come along. For one thing, he was keeping constant communication with state patrol and county officers. He'd even managed to snag a compass from one very prepared officer so he could give halfway decent updates on their locations.

Jim basically ignored all radio conversations, except to shoot him an irritated glance when he'd first forgotten to keep the radio volume turned low. Simon now had the volume setting down as low as possible and had to keep it close to his ear if he wanted to hear anything. But it was worth it. The search had started and the dogs were at the lake now.

Simon did not want either of them to be mistaken for Matro and end up the ones arrested... or shot. He still remembered the brief but nasty argument he'd had with the officer in charge when he told the man they were tracking Matro. Simon had to play every intimidation factor he possessed to get the reluctant permission to proceed. Nevertheless, he expected an unpleasant phone call would be made to his Chief in the morning.

Jim suddenly stopped.

Simon left his musings and concentrated on the job at hand. It was dark, almost pitch black in the trees. They had only seen two farmhouses during their tracking. The small flashlight he held was used sparingly, for times he literally couldn't see his hand in front of his face, like now.

Simon killed the light. "What is it?" he whispered softly.

"A barn ahead."

Simon looked over where he thought Jim's shoulder might be, seeing only varying degrees of darkness. He'd have to take Jim's word for it.

"Come on. No lights," Jim whispered so softly that Simon almost believed he'd mentally put the words inside his mind rather than spoken them out loud.

Surely, that wasn't some new Sentinel trick?

He followed as they broke out of the trees. The night sky was still hidden by heavy clouds. The rain was back, falling with regularity again. Simon couldn't remember a time he had been so wet for so long. At least the movement was keeping him warm, but he had a feeling he was going to be one cold cop when this ordeal was over.

It was so damn dark. Simon reached out and snagged Jim's shirt, again wondering how Blair did this. He could hear his own feet as he kicked over rocks and stepped on twigs, but Jim moved without sound. It was eerie.

They crested a small hill and the lights from a far off farm house came into view. Simon released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The barn was visible faintly visible now. It was huge, reminding Simon of the type built by the early Dutch settlers. His ex-wife had been into barns when they'd first gotten married. He had driven her all over the state to take pictures of them.

She would have loved this one.

The barn was at least as high as a four story building. The roof was sloped in a curved formation. To build something similar in this day and age would not only be expensive, but time and manpower intensive. The enormous double doors were closed. Simon followed Jim to a smaller, normal sized door built into the side.

Jim paused at the door, his head tilted to one side.

"What?" Simon asked quietly.

"One person inside, he's on an upper floor," Jim responded.

"Are you sure it's Matro?"

Jim nodded. "He used a strong musky scented cologne. I'm sure." His back was pressed against the wall, his gun in his right hand, his left on the doorknob. "Ready?"

Simon pulled his own gun out. "Let's do it."

"Okay, let me get a trooper in here to witness the signature and we're done," the medic said.

Blair waited impatiently, sipping water from the plastic bottle they had given him. It had taken him nearly twenty minutes to convince them he was sane enough to refuse treatment. Sure, his head felt like one of those chocolate oranges that you slam down before eating, but otherwise he did feel okay... sort of.

Besides, he had to find Jim and Simon.

"You're refusing aid?" the female trooper asked as she entered the rear of the ambulance. She looked young, maybe twenty-five with a short brown hair and dimples.

Blair nodded, causing the pain in his head to throb again. "Ah... yeah, I'm fine. No sense in wasting the hospital's time or anything. Can we get this over with?"

After the proper lines were signed, witnessed and more lines were signed, Blair received a copy of the medical report. Now there was just the matter of his clothes. The fireman handed the plastic sack containing his waterlogged sweats over and Blair couldn't help but make a face when the smell hit his nose.

"I think I can help you out," the trooper said with a kind smile. "Be right back."

Less than a minute later, she returned with a set of light gray sweats. Large letters across the back and down one pant leg spelled out WSP. "We're about the same size. I can swing by Cascade PD and pick them up in a week."

Blair accepted the unexpected gift with a heartfelt smile. "Oh, wow... thanks! I'll have them clean and ready and even treat you to dinner!"

She smiled, both dimples standing out. She held out a pair of white tube socks. "For dinner, I'll even throw in the socks."

After dressing in dry clothes and wet sneakers, Blair thanked the two medics and stepped out into the night. It was still raining. Two county police cars and a state patrol car were still on location, parked under the trees. The cops had set up a field command center complete with battery operated lights. Walking carefully to keep his head from falling off his shoulders and rolling away, Blair headed towards them.

Since he wasn't sure how Jim and Simon had managed to arrive in time to save him, he had no idea if he should be looking for Jim's truck or Simon's car. He knew they were tracking Matro on foot, they had told him that much, so how had they arrived?

"You're the kidnap victim?" an older man in a county uniform asked; he had two bars on each point of his collar. Blair knew that made him important, but he couldn't guess the rank.

"Blair Sandburg." He stuck his hand out and tried to act like he makes it a habit to spend every other day standing around in command posts. "I ride with Jim Ellison, Major Crimes, Cascade Police."

The man shook the offered hand. "Captain Blankenship, Skagit County Sheriff's office. You sure you're okay? Peggy says you signed a refusal."

"I'm good. Just glad to be out of that trunk," Blair admitted. "How's the search for Captain Matro going? Have Jim and Simon checked in yet?"

Blankenship returned to the map spread out on the hood of the patrol car. He pointed at a spot, the location meaningless to Blair. "We think they're northeast of our location. The dogs just started their track, but they're heading due north. I think your friends are on a wild goose chase."

Blair rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out why the dogs would go the wrong way. "What are they using for scent?"

"We found a jacket on the shore, in the general location Peggy saw the perp come out of the lake. The dogs took one sniff and headed north," Blankenship said. "We're getting ready to move in that direction."

"What about Jim and Simon?" Blair asked, alarmed that his friends wouldn't get any back up.

"They've got a radio... they can let us know if they see anything,." Blankenship rolled up the map as he talked.

"Wait! You need to send at least one car northeast, man. Jim's an ex-ranger! He's a good tracker," Blair insisted. "That coat could have been left behind by a local."

"I suppose...," the man nodded to the female trooper. "Peggy? You want to take that route? Mr. Sandburg can ride with you."

Peggy nodded. "We'll let you know if we find anything."

The inside of the barn was filled with odds and ends one would expect to find on a farm. A night light of sorts glowed somewhere above them, casting a dim glow that created shadows around strange looking farming equipment. Jim picked up the scent of chemicals, their metal taste contaminating the air all around him. He dialed down his sense of touch, smell and taste. He couldn't afford to have any problems with his senses right now. That left his hearing and vision.

He knew Simon was following as quietly as he could, but still winced when the man scuffed something round with his foot. The soft clank and rattle sounded like a college band warming up for a football game to the sentinel's ears. A hand found its way to the back of Jim's shirt.

"Sorry."

Jim didn't bother to answer, but towed his captain along the wall, trying to get a bead on Matro's location. He was above them, that much Jim knew for certain. So where was the access to the next level? The front half of the barn was open all the way to the very top. The back had a second and third level, the floors open to the front door. Jim dialed up his vision, using every bit of light available. The interior of the barn became as bright as if it was the middle of the day.

Jim found the access, spotting a vertical ladder anchored towards the back wall. He kept them both as close to whatever cover was available, just in case Matro had seen them enter. So far, his heartbeat had remained the same. Jim was counting on that to mean the man was resting after his long run from the lake.

After climbing the ladder, Jim got another fix on the heartbeat. It was another level up. They continued up to the second loft. Bales of hay were stacked to the ceiling. A maze of narrow corridors criss crossed in every direction. Jim estimated at least fifteen hundred square feet of floor on this level. Very little of the light reached this far.

Matro was somewhere on this floor.

Jim leaned over until his lips touched Simon's ear. "He's here... stay close."

He saw the man nod his understanding. They worked the maze methodically, taking one row at a time. He was picking up the soft sounds of the rogue cop's breathing now. It was close...but still above them?

Crap! Jim looked up just as the bales of hay began to fall towards them.

"Just before you joined us, your captain gave their last location. He described a large barn surrounded by a stand of young trees," Peggy Sheen said as they sped down the dark roads. "That should put them at the Pfaff Tree Farm."

Blair gripped the door handle, bracing himself with both feet. What was it about cops and driving? If they arrived without crashing, it would be due to guardian angels or good karma... or both.

"So... ah, did he say if they'd seen Matro?"

"No, just kept updating their location." She cranked the wheel expertly, taking the car through a ninety degree turn. "How good is this Ellison guy?"

Blair smiled. "The best."

She'd turned the heat up full blast when they'd gotten in and even found a small towel for his hair. Blair felt human again. The rain was hitting the windshield steadily, the wipers flicked back and forth to keep the glass clear. Even Blair's head was beginning to feel better.

"There it is," Peggy announced.

Blair peered into the rainy night, seeing a farm house near the road. Rows and rows of small trees lined both fields. Further back, a large dark shape rose over the tops of the miniature forest.

"They went to the barn, right?"

"That's was his last report," Peggy answered as she turned onto a dirt road that bypassed the farmhouse and headed towards the barn. The car slipped in the mud, its tires spinning before finding the traction to push them through. She parked her car at the edge of the tree lot and killed the engine. She reached for her radio. "I'm going to have my dispatcher call the house and tell the owners to stay put."

Just as Blair nodded in agreement, two shots came from within the barn. Blair was out the door and running, ignoring the trooper's shouts to stay. He reached the side door to the barn without incident. No other sounds of gunfire came from inside. He slipped through the door and paused to get his bearings. Sounds of overhead movement caused him to look up.

The highest floor looked like it was used for hay storage. Bales were stacked five high. In the dim light, a cloud dust was growing at one end, as if something had been disturbed. Blair knew without a doubt Jim was up there.

A violent sneeze shattered the silence. Blair recognized his roommate's sneeze instantly.

Blair carefully moved for the ladder at the back, keeping his pace slow enough so not to make any noise. Jim would have been proud.

"Matro!" Blair recognized Simon's voice coming from way above. "Give yourself up!"

Okay, now he knew both Jim and Simon were up there. So... where was Matro?

Something heavy landed on the ceiling directly above Blair's head, as if a person had jumped off the ladder to land onto the loft above. Blair backed away, finding protection in the deep shadows next to a tall, tarp-covered piece of machinery. A perfect place to wait and see who was coming down. The last thing he wanted to do was end up Matro's hostage again. He needed a weapon, something to stop Matro long enough for Jim to make an arrest.

Just as Blair spotted a perfect length of pipe leaning against the wall, a large hand clamped over his mouth, an arm wrapped around his chest and he was jerked backwards against a hard and wet chest.

"Chief," the speaker's face was so close, Blair could feel the tip of the nose bumping into his head, right above his ear. "This is not the hospital."

`Jim lived for these droll comments,' Blair thought as he was tugged off his feet and dragged even further away from the back wall, then released only after both men were well out of sight from the base of the ladder and their whispers would not be overheard.

"What are you doing here?" Jim demanded and he firmly pushed Blair down on his knees behind a solid metal utility trailer.

"At the moment, I'm having a heart attack, Jim!" Blair hissed back. "How'd you get down here so fast? That was you sneezing on the upper floor!"

Jim peered over the top of the trailer, eyes fixed on the ladder. "Shimmied down a rope."

"Oh... there's a trooper outside or maybe coming inside. I think she was calling for back up when we heard the shots - where's Simon? He okay?" Blair asked, keeping his voice so low he was certain only Jim could hear.

"He's fine, his gun went off when the hay fell on us. Matro doesn't have a gun. Simon is flushing him out."

Blair was impressed. Sounded like a decent plan, only where was Matro? Just then a dark form appeared at the back wall, climbing down the ladder. Blair felt something cold, heavy, and hard pressed into his hand. He instantly recognized it as Jim's automatic. Before he could ask what the heck Jim was up to, a firm hand pushed him down again and his partner was creeping towards the end of the trailer.

It wasn't the first time Blair had held Jim's gun. He remembered back on that train, when they'd been protecting the witness, he'd been prepared to shoot whoever came through that door. It freaked him out then and he was still freaked out now. What was he supposed to do with it?

Blair blinked and Jim disappeared. Just like that. One minute he was crouched at the end of the trailer and the next minute...gone.

"Cascade Police! You're under arrest!"

Sounds of a fight broke out immediately and Blair stood to watch.

Matro was Jim's height and age. He didn't have Jim's build, but he fought hard and - as Blair watched - dirty. He dodged Jim's first swing and drove his own towards Jim's jaw in a hard uppercut. Jim deflected it easily, catching the man in the side with a jab. Matro's knee sprang up, aiming for Jim's groin. The sentinel must have expected it; he twisted at the last minute, but missed seeing the fist that connected hard with his cheek.

Jim fell back momentarily, shook his head once and flashed a quick wicked grin before launching back in earnest. Blair couldn't follow the fight after that, it was like both men had become supercharged in a no-holds barred fight that had them rolling in the dirt in no time.

Blair cringed as the thuds echoed off the walls, the grunts of pain like a sick symphony. The truth hit Blair like a two-by-four. He knew why he was holding the gun. Jim didn't want to just arrest Matro, he wanted to maim.

"Simon!" Blair hollered, as best he could through clenched teeth. He needed help, he needed to stop Jim. "Get down here!"

"Coming!"

And he was, Blair could see his legs on the ladder. "Ellison! Back off!" the captain hollered as his head cleared the ceiling.

Jim acted like he hadn't heard. Matro was starting to look like the underdog now. His blows were glancing harmlessly off Jim while each of Jim's were accurate and as lethal as Blair had ever seen before. Blair couldn't stand anymore. He set the gun aside in the dirt and jumped into the fray, grabbed Jim, wrapped both arms around his chest from behind and tried to pull.

Matro fell to his knees. Jim dropped down on one knee to follow. He wasn't backing off. Blair tucked his head against the sentinel's neck to protect his jaw from accidentally getting hit and tugged again.

"Jim! Please, man! This is not who you are!"

Jim was panting hard. He stilled. The two fighters were locked in combat. Matro took advantage of Jim's pause to aim a roundhouse punch towards Jim's head.

Jim caught it easily in his hand. With a hard shove, he sent the man backwards into the dirt to land on his back, just as Simon arrived at their side.

"John Matro! You are under arrest for kidnapping, attempted murder, assaulting a police officer and anything else I can think of!" Simon shouted, bending down to roll him onto his stomach and cuff both wrists behind his back. Sirens could be heard approaching. Back up had arrived.

This time when Blair pulled Jim back, they actually moved. Blair turned the sentinel loose and checked the damage. Jim was still breathing hard. Blood flowed from his nose and a small cut above his left eye. Taking the edge of his borrowed sweatshirt in hand, Blair started to wipe the blood out of his partner's eye.

Jim stopped him with a wry grin. "No... it's fine, Chief." He leaned back against a large pile of stacked bags of sand, using his own sleeve to gently wipe his face.

Blair dropped into the dirt at his side. "Feel better now?" he whispered as Simon read the Miranda warning to the prisoner. He leaned over to pick up the gun and laid it in his partner's lap.

Jim huffed, then nodded his head. "Yeah... actually, I do."

Jim watched as the female trooper verbally took Blair to task. The same aid crew that had earlier treated Blair was now applying a butterfly closure to the cut above Jim's eye. He made sure he could watch the drama unfold as they worked.

First she yelled at him for not obeying her then she threatened to arrest him for obstruction. For Blair's part, Jim had to admit, he did manage to look truly sorry, although Jim thought it was more because his partner had been hoping for a future date with the pretty trooper, than being worried about going to jail. Still, he hung his head in shame as she vented.

Finally, she finished. She took a deep breath and placed both hands on her hips. "And don't forget you still owe me that dinner, mister!"

Blair broke into a happy grin as she stormed off. Jim could hear her muttering under her breath. Something about Blair being lucky his mouth was wired shut. He laughed softly. Was she considering kissing or hitting?

"Hey, Jim! How's the head?" Blair asked brightly as he approached. He waved at the two medics. "Hi, guys!"

"How's your head, Chief?" Jim answered with his own question. "What's this I hear about you signing a refusal? You told me earlier the medics didn't think you needed a trip to the hospital."

The two medics looked up in surprise, pinning Blair with a suspicious look.

Blair backed away. "I'm... gonna go check on Simon. Be right back." He turned and hurried away.

"He always that manipulative?" the older medic asked as he packed away his aid kit.

"You have no idea," Jim admitted with a heavy sigh.

Captain Blankenship personally delivered the three Cascade men to where they'd left Simon's car by the lake. Divers had located a bag filled with money in the Pontiac. Simon had talked to Sheffield and the Police Chief by cell phone, giving a complete update on the arrest. There would be depositions and meetings with the county prosecutors to look forward to, but right now, all Jim wanted was to get home to his loft, with his guide.

Without having to be asked, Blair climbed into the back seat of Simon's car. He'd been powered by an adrenaline high while at the barn, even finding time to chat with the elderly man that owned the property and getting permission to use the bathroom before leaving. Now the younger man was running on fumes.

Simon started the car and cranked the heat on high. Although the rain had slacked off, it was still in the forties outside, too cold to be running around the countryside in wet clothes.

"Okay, Jim... home or hospital?" Simon asked as he turned the big car around to head back to the highway.

A good question. Jim turned in his seat to look at Blair while he pondered the question. Blair had already burrowed into the corner formed by the door and the backseat, a car blanket wrapped around his upper body. His head was tilted back, and soft snores spoke of his exhaustion.

Why is it, the only guy wearing dry clothes gets the blanket?

"The loft, I guess," Jim decided.

They drove in silence. Jim waited for Simon to address the issue weighing heavy between them. After they reached the freeway and Simon had the cruise controls set, it started.

"Jim... talk to me. What the hell was that fight in the barn about?"

With some relief, Jim recognized Simon-the-friend as the person asking, not Simon-the-captain.

"Okay, I know what you're going to say. But I did wait till Matro threw the first punch..."

"Why was Sandburg in possession of your gun?"

"Officially... I knew he wasn't armed and I didn't think the situation warranted arresting him at gunpoint."

Simon snorted. "We're attempting to capture a fleeing felon, every procedure manual in the U S of A allows for use of a firearm, and you tell me the situation didn't warrant it? Tell me another one, Officer Ellison."

Okaaaay... Simon-the-captain had arrived. Jim straightened his spine and kept his eyes forward. "I may not have used my best judgment at the time, sir."

"Okay, okay - enough with the ranger attitude. Give me the un-official version."

Jim relaxed. "Shit, Simon. The guy is one of us. He arranges to have you drugged, probably killed a woman, kidnaps Sandburg and leaves him to drown... the bastard took the damn key!" Jim scrubbed his short hair with both hands, before continuing at a softer volume. "I was afraid if I confronted him with a loaded gun, I'd be tempted to pull the trigger, Simon."

"What if Sandburg hadn't been there to pull you off?"

Total silence.

The rain began to fall again, rewetting pavement that had just started to dry out from the constant friction of rubber tires. Simon leaned forward to flick on the wipers, then dial down the heater. The temperature had reached a comfortable level, even with wet clothes.

"I don't know... I'd like to think I would have stopped," Jim sighed. "But I'm glad Sandburg showed up when he did. You might have had two cops to place under arrest today."

By the time they reached the exit that would take them to Prospect Street, it was after one in the morning. The streets were empty. Jim spotted a twenty-four hour convenience store on the next corner.

"Simon, pull into the Seven-Eleven." When the car stopped in the deserted parking lot, Jim turned with a apologetic smile. "Can I borrow a ten?"

Simon wordlessly pulled out his damp wallet while shaking his head and sighing.

"Thanks, be right back." Jim opened the door.

"Whazz hap'n?" Blair asked from the backseat. He pulled his frizzy hair back from his face and blinked fuzzily around.

"I'm just grabbing something from the store, Chief." Jim hurried inside, making his purchase and paying quickly. Blair was still awake when he returned. "Okay, we're set."

"What's so important you couldn't wait till later, Jim? It's not like you have any vices to indulge," Simon teased.

"Sandburg hasn't eaten. I thought I'd grab a liquid meal supplement, we're out and I don't feel like making a milkshake." Jim took a vanilla flavored can of Ensure from the bag and passed it to the backseat with a straw. "What's wrong, Chief?"

Blair was staring into space, eyes fixed unfocused somewhere between the two men in the front seat.

"Oh, man... I just remembered something!"

"What?"

"Matro took me to some guy... I think he ran a casino or something. The guy offered him ten thousand dollars to buy me!" Blair blurted out, becoming angry. "Shit! How could I have forgotten that!"

Simon twisted in his seat. "Calm down, Sandburg. It's not like you've been goofing off the whole evening. You've had a lot on your mind."

"You don't understand!" Blair slapped the seat with his palm. "This guy is sick, man! He makes porn videos - the kinky stuff! We've got to stop him!"

Jim felt his gut twist, ice formed in his chest. "This guy wanted to buy you for one of these videos? What's his name? What did he look like?"

"Matro called him Rossetti, totally freaked me out, too..." Blair shuddered. "But I was blindfolded. Oh! Wait! Matro said he had a book that would implicate him! Maybe it's at his house!"

Jim shook his head. "We searched that... but it might be in that mini-storage."

"I'll get a search warrant in the morning," Simon stated, putting the car in reverse and backing out of the parking spot. "You okay, Sandburg? That guy try anything while you were there?"

Jim was going to ask the same thing. His thoughts became dark. He should have pulverized Matro in that barn.

Blair was rubbing his cheek. "Believe it or not... Matro wasn't selling."

"Still hurt?"

"Just a little," Blair studied the menu, his mouth watering at all the options available.

When the waitress arrived, he still hadn't made up his mind.

"Come on, Sandburg. You can't eat everything in one night. Just pick something!" Jim insisted with a smirk.

"Okay, okay. Ummm... I'll have the prime rib... medium, please... extra horseradish." Blair folded the menu and handed it over.

"You're not going to be able to chew that," Jim stated matter-of-factly.

Standing up to head for the bathroom, Blair paused to stick out his tongue at his friend. God! It felt so good! "Be back, man."

The ache in his jaw was worse than he'd let on. Once in the bathroom, he cupped a hand under the faucet and broke a pain pill in half to swallow. He studied his reflection in the mirror as he washed his hands.

Six weeks. Six long weeks had passed. Matro's attorneys were talking about a plea bargain for a shorter prison sentence in trade for testifying against Rossetti. When the news had been released of the crime boss's arrest, the town of Cascade had been shocked. Rossetti was an alias. The man had turned out to be a reputed businessman, with legitimate ventures that reached everywhere - even into a few influential groups with political standings. The Feds had jumped on board to help bring down all the players in the porn videos. More arrests were being planned.

But today was special. Today, the doctor had removed the wires.

Blair headed back to the table. Simon had arrived, late from another meeting with the Chief, IA and the Feds. He was dressed in his best suit and looking tired. Both he and Jim had been in deep conversation, which ended the second Blair returned.

"Hey, Simon."

"Sandburg!" Simon broke into a smile. "You look great. How's it feel to be wire-free?"

"Tender, man. Very tender." Blair took his seat. "How'd the meeting go? Did Matro's lawyers come through with the information?"

"With flying colors. We had a decent case against Rossetti before, but with Matro's testimony, it's even better," Simon said happily.

"Good." Blair crossed his arms over the table. "But I gotta know, why did Matro drug you in the first place?"

To Blair's surprise, Simon looked embarrassed as he picked up his water glass, taking a sip before answering. "He said he suspected IA was on to him. He needed to keep them occupied with a new case while he finished getting his money and affairs in order. His plan was to head for Canada, switch identities and hop a plane."

Blair leaned forward, sure Simon had left something out. "But why you?"

Jim answered. "Rhonda was right all along, Matro was jealous of Simon's skill in running his department. Bunko is... was the worst department in the police department and Major Crimes happens to be the best. Seems our Captain is going to get an award from the City Council in a few months that states just that."

"Wow! That's great news, Simon," Blair said with feeling. "Congratulations!"

"That's not to be blabbed to anyone, Sandburg," Simon growled, still looking embarrassed but obviously pleased.

"So...What were you guys talking about while I was gone?"

"Nothing..." Seeing the look on Blair's face, Simon sighed. "Okay, I was telling Jim about a video I saw today. The Feds found it with Rossetti's personal collection. Apparently the man had cameras installed everywhere in that club of his."

A swarm of butterflies started doing figure eights in Blair's stomach. He glanced over to see Jim doing his impersonation of a face carved out of granite. "So... what was on it?"

"You... It was the night Matro brought you in to ask for the money. It's going to be a key piece of evidence in Rossetti's prosecution," Simon said, picking up the cloth napkin and spreading it across his lap. He kept his eyes downward, avoiding Blair's face as he spoke.

"Ummm... he's still in jail, right? The judge didn't lower the bail or anything, did he?" Blair asked.

Jim loosened up his stony face enough to quickly answer the question. "He's still there, Chief. He's not going anywhere."

"Good." Blair toyed with his fork. "At least something positive came out of all this." Blair didn't want to think about his own testimony he would have to give. He made his thoughts return to dinner and leaned out to peer expectantly toward the door to the back kitchen. "How much longer till we eat? Did you order yet, Simon?"

When the waitress finally arrived, her arms loaded down with plates Blair could hardly restrain himself. He literally sat on his hand hands to keep from snatching his food from out of her hand. Finally, the dinners were passed out to the respective owners.

"Okay, a quick toast before we eat," Simon said, holding his water glass out towards the center of the table.

"Nooo... eat first, toast later," Blair moaned.

"I'm paying for this, remember?" Simon said with a mock frown. "So here it goes. To good friends who remember the importance of forgiveness. The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong."

Jim clinked his water glass against Simon's. "Hear, hear."

Blair had to grin. "Okay, I can get behind that, man." He tapped his glass gently against the others. "Can we eat now?"

"Dig in." Simon laughed, preparing to do the same.

Blair didn't have to be told twice.

"Small bites," Jim cautioned.

"Right, right." Blair sawed quickly through the succulent meat, taking care to keep the portion small. He dipped it into the broth, then into the horseradish. This was going to be soooo good!

"Careful, Sandburg, there are young children present," Simon chuckled. "Keep it `G' rated."

Blair ignored them. He carefully inserted the fork bearing the first solid food he'd had in the last one and a half months into his mouth, letting the morsel rest on his tongue for a second.

His taste buds were in heaven.

His mouth wanted to send him flowers.

Carefully, he began to chew. The flash of pain hit him unexpectedly. Blair groaned; his fork dropped to his plate with a clatter, both hands flew to his jaw to cradle and comfort his face.

Jim looked on in sympathy, but kept silent.

Oh please, please, don't do this...

He tried again. And groaned louder as he felt the tears begin to well up in his eyes.

This was so unfair!

Jim scooted his chair closer, lifting his own napkin to Blair's face. "Come on, Chief. Spit it out."

"Noooooo," Blair moaned, rocking slightly in his seat, his eyes closed as the pain throbbed.

"The doctor warned you this takes time," Jim reminded gently, draping an arm around Blair's shoulders. "You've waited this long, what's a few more days? Now... spit."

Blair spat.

"Okay," Jim picked up Blair's plate and switched it for his own. "We'll finish dinner and you can take the rest of that pain pill when we get back to the loft."

Blair eyed the new plate Jim had set down. Fluffy scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese and lox. The smell alone was making him dizzy with hunger. Jim had ordered what Blair should have ordered, had he listened to the doctor's advice to begin with.

"Thanks, man."

"Anytime, Chief."

The End

end - maybe, I'm thinking Rossetti would be an interesting villain to bring back. (g)

Side note - When I first met my husband, his jaw was wired shut, recovering from having it reset by the army. It was nice having such an close research source available each time I had a question.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

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