If time were a commodity, then Sandburg wasn't just flat broke; he was in debt. Parking his Corvair, he raced down the sidewalk towards the main Cascade police station.

"It's only twenty-five lousy minutes," he muttered to himself, impatiently stabbing the elevator button for the seventh floor. A few seconds later he entered the office area reserved for the detectives of the Major Crime department, only to be met with an empty desk. No Jim Ellison.

"Hey, Sandburg." Rafe looked up from his report. "If you're looking for Jim, he left already."

"Damn. How long ago?" Blair asked, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a coat sleeve.

"Fifteen minutes, I guess. He has a stake-out tonight." Rafe returned to his reports.

"Yeah, I should be with him..." Blair looked at his watch. He could drive to the warehouse, but there would be an extra car parked on the street. Jim hated that. What he needed was someone to drive him over and drop him off. Sandburg turned and fixed his gaze upon the unsuspecting cop.

Half an hour later Blair opened the passenger side door to the Ford Expedition and slid into the seat, grateful to be out of the cold rain.

"Sandburg, what are you doing here?" Ellison asked.

"Rafe dropped me off. Why didn't you wait for me, man? I was only a few minutes late." Blair pulled the oversized coat snugly around his neck, trying to stop his shivering.

"I told you to skip it. Nothing is likely to happen tonight, it's too early." Jim passed over his coffee that he'd just poured out of his thermos.

"Then why are you here? You could need back-up!" Blair's eyes widened as he saw the cup being offered. Heat! Grateful hands accepted the warm drink. "Thanks, man."

Ellison rolled his eyes. "I have back-up. There's another unmarked at the south end."

"Oh." Blair sipped the fragrant liquid, processing that new information. "Well, I'm here now. So, what's been happening on the case?"

The cop shook his head. "Not much. It's too early for DMV to send the list on that partial license number, so any vehicle capable of transporting ten thousand CD's is suspicious."

"Man, I had no idea selling bootlegged music was such a money maker." Blair set the cup down carefully and pulled out a textbook and a small flashlight from his backpack.

"You bring more batteries this time?"

Blair held up a pack of AA's with a grin.

"Just keep the light off the windows," Jim instructed, turning his attention back to the warehouse.

The night crew was currently unloading a shipment of legitimate DVD players belonging to a large department store chain. If the bootlegged music were being housed here, it would likely be a side operation by an unscrupulous shift manager.

Two hours passed pleasantly, with Blair's page turning the only sound in the SUV.

Ellison shifted in his seat. "Did you get any dinner?"

Sandburg looked up, torn from his reading. "I grabbed an apple."

"What time was that?"

"About three, I guess."

"Uh huh. There's a energy bar in the back."

"No thanks."

//I've got movement, white van.//

Ellison lifted his microphone and pressed the button. "Copy that, I'll come around on foot."

Blair hastily started shoving his book back into the pack.

"What are you doing?" Jim asked as he fitted his Jags cap over his head and opened the door.

"Coming with you, man."

Ellison opened his mouth as if to protest, then stopped. "Fine, just stay behind me." He pointed a finger at his guide. "And, if I say run, you'd better hightail it back here, understand?" Jim ordered, with a no-nonsense tone

The observer nodded as he opened his door. The rain was still coming down in a light drizzle. A gust of October wind blew down his neck. They skirted the warehouse silently, staying clear of the loading dock activity.

Blair leaned out to peer around Jim's shoulder when they reached the final corner. The light of day was giving way to dusk. In the failing light, a white older model Dodge van could be seen parked next to an employee entrance. A single person unloaded boxes from the side sliding door.

"Is this it?" Blair whispered.

Ellison snagged the observer by the arm, pulling him back out of sight. "Could be, the plate starts with `A7', that's a match."

Blair listened as the cop relayed the information over a small radio. The back up detective called for more units to respond to their location.

"Go back to the Ford and wait, Sandburg."

"Jim, let me stay," Blair insisted in a low voice, "I promise not to move from this corner."

"I knew I should've made you stay in the truck," Jim muttered, rolling his eyes. He sighed. "Fine. Just stay back."

Within a few short minutes, several police units arrived. Parked out of sight, surrounding the warehouse. Ellison gave the order to move in and slipped silently around the corner.

Moving up to occupy the now vacant position, Blair watched with a worried frown, nervously tapping his teeth with a fingernail.

Jim had no cover as he smoothly slunk along the cinder block wall. The suspect worked with his back to Jim as the cop approached.

Without warning, the night was shattered by a shrill, inhuman sounding scream; a cat darted out from behind a dumpster. A second larger cat in close pursuit quickly followed. Sandburg's heart seemed to stop as he watched Ellison drop to his knees with his hands clamped over both ears.

Shit!

Sandburg bolted from his position to reach Ellison's side. "Jim!" Blair hissed as he squatted down next to the stricken man. He scooted around in front of his friend, seeing the look of pain etched on Jim's face. Blair placed his hands on each side of his partner's jaw and began to talk calmly, coaching him to gain back the control over his senses. The nearby sound of an engine revving didn't register as Blair concentrated only on the sentinel.

Suddenly, Ellison's eyes popped open. Blair found himself gathered up by a strong arm and lifted at an angle as Jim lunged sideways toward the wall of the building. They hit the asphalt, rolling in a tangle of arms and legs. The van passed within a few inches from Blair's tennis shoes.

Jim looked down at his friend tucked by his side. "You okay?"

"'Kay," Blair managed to get out breathlessly.

Ellison scrambled quickly to his feet. "Stay!" He headed after the van as it slowed to make a ninety-degree turn.

Pushing himself into a semi-sitting position, Sandburg winced at the sharp rocks and bits of broken glass under one palm. His right hip hurt from landing on the hard ground. "Great, now I'm a dog," he muttered under his breath.

A marked patrol unit sped down the alley, it's blue lights ricocheting off the brick walls on each side. Blair leaned against the wall and brushed the gravel off his hands.

God, he was tired! His throat was sore; the cold seemed to penetrate into his bones, but at least the twisting fear that had been boiling in his gut was gone.

"Hey kid, you okay?" A man stood a few feet from the side entrance, no doubt a worker from inside. "Are the police after you, too?"

"I'm fine, thanks. I came with the police." Blair pushed his wet hair back from his face as he gave the man a tired smile.

It was six AM before Blair followed Ellison down the hallway to the front door of apartment #307. The suspect was apprehended without incident, after finding the alley blocked by several police cars.

Ellison locked the door behind them as he looked around the loft. It was exactly the same as when he'd left the previous afternoon.

Exactly.

The bowl of fruit had five apples and three bananas. The door to the bathroom was half-open. The afghan was still crooked on the back of the sofa. The pile of mail sat on the kitchen table.

"You want some breakfast? I'll cook," Ellison offered.

"Nah." Sandburg waved a hand. "I'm going to get a few hours sleep."

"Did you ever get home yesterday?" He slipped his gun into a drawer.

Blair shook his head. "No, I went straight to the station," he replied, disappearing into his room.

Ellison reached for a banana. Since he'd been working this case, he'd been on the night shift. Sandburg left for school each morning during the week and then turned around to accompany him for the nightly stakeouts. It was doubtful his friend had slept more than eight hours in the last five days.

Finishing his snack and tossing the peel into the trash under the sink, Jim double checked the door and headed up stairs for bed. He'd go in later this afternoon to finish his reports. If Sandburg showed, he'd send him packing for home.

The phone rang.

Before Jim could return back to the lower level, Blair was out of his room and picking up the handset.

"Hello?... Hi, Richard."

Jim headed back up towards his bed.

"Yeah? I guess... give me the address...I know the place...it'll be about fifteen."

Watching from above, Jim was stunned to see his roommate return to his room and reappear with his backpack.

"What are you doing?"

"Going out." Blair reached for his coat.

"Now? You just got in!"

Blair grinned as he shrugged into his coat and tied his hair back. "It's cool. I've got to pick up Richard's outline, his wife had her baby last night and I volunteered to teach his eight o'clock. I'm gonna need to review the lesson if I don't wanna look like an idiot." He unlocked the door and tossed a wave over his shoulder. "See ya, man."

Ellison leaned on the railing in disbelief. After a few seconds he remembered to close his mouth.

"Jim, could I see you a moment?"

Following his supervisor into his office, Ellison dropped into a free chair. "What's up, Simon?"

Captain Banks circled his desk and eased into his leather chair. "I reviewed your bust last night. I noticed you left out the part where you zoned due to a cat fight."

Banks watched the man give a pained expression and squirm in the chair.

Bulls-eye.

"Sandburg call you?"

"Nooo. But maybe I should give him a direct order to report to me if this sort of thing happens." The big man snorted. "Hell, what am I thinking? Sandburg doesn't even know how to spell `direct order' let along follow one."

He watched in amusement as the other man's expression became hard.

"Just kidding, Jim. I saw Church this morning; he did his best to explain what he thought he saw. I put two and two together and guessed the rest."

Ellison shrugged. "I was concentrating on the van, listening for any perps who might have been inside. The cats just surprised me."

"Church thought one of them might have been part Siamese," Banks informed him with a chuckle. "Admitted to nearly needing a clean pair of shorts. So, you think the sudden noise caused the zone?"

"It wasn't a zone, more like a auditory spike. Hit like intense static in an echo chamber, it was hard for me to break out of."

"So how did you?"

Banks watched the detective's eyes slid away to study the framed trout pictures on his wall. "Blair pulled me out."

Simon sighed. He leaned on the arm of his chair and rubbed his forehead. God, this was complicated.

"Jim, we're half-way into his ride-a-long. Do you see any improvement with your senses?"

"Yes, sir. There is." Jim leaned forward. "But it's like that wooden doll. Once he figures out a way to open the first one, there's a new problem inside."

"How much longer before you get to the midget?" Banks asked with a smile.

Ellison leaned back and studied his hands. "That's the rub, Simon. The more he works with me, the more I realize it's a team effort."

"What?" Banks sat up in surprise.

"I try and remember what to do when Blair's not around, but frankly, it's not my best. I have to hold back a little."

"So you just need to fly solo a little and get some confidence," Banks insisted.

Ellison cleared his throat and shook his head. "Maybe. But that's not it."

Simon placed both elbows on his desk as he leaned forward to study his subordinate and friend. "Explain this to me, Jim. Help me understand."

"It's like trying to take a clear picture with an expensive camera, Simon. Sandburg is the lens."

Simon drummed the desk softly with his fingers.

Damn.

Blair was having problems. Apparently, when he hadn't been looking, someone broke in and installed another phone in his office, identical, sitting together, next to two pens, two notebooks, two coffee cups...

He closed his eyes tightly.

Okay, sure. He was a little tired, but it just wasn't right! Playing with a guy's vision should be whistled as foul!

He took a deep breath, then another and slowly opened his eyes.

Ah, success!

Taking the single handset firmly in hand, he dialed.

"Ellison."

"Hey, I'm gonna be working late tonight," Blair began. "I know technically it's my night to cook, but ..."

"Sandburg, what are you talking about? It's Friday. Even colleges have rules against working late on a Friday night, don't they?"

Blair cleared his throat before answering. Damn that hurt! "Normally yeah, big guy. But I promised Joleen I'd look at her computer. She called the service guys three times and so far no one has shown up. This is the first chance I've had to look at it."

"Fine, whatever. I'll grab a bite on the way home."

Blair looked at the handset in surprise; his roommate had hung up on him.

Super. Now Jim was pissed.

With a heavy sigh, he headed for the secretary's office.

Maybe the computer gods were smiling and it was just a loose cable.

Ellison glared at the phone as if it had morphed into a serial killer.

"What's wrong?" Simon asked, turning off his light as he prepared to head home.

"Sandburg is working late."

"His turn to cook?"

Jim shook his head, then stopped and nodded. Frustrated he tossed his pen down on his desk. "That's not the point. He's had almost no sleep this week, he's not eating and I think he's getting sick!"

Simon shrugged into his coat. "What did he say when you told him all that?"

Jim ran a hand through his brown hair and frowned. "I didn't say anything to him about it."

"Why not?"

"He's an adult, Simon. What am I supposed to do?"

Banks sat on the edge of Jim's desk. "I don't understand, Jim."

"What?"

"You told me how important Sandburg is to your abilities." Simon kept his voice soft, even though they were alone in the bullpen. "He's no help if he ends up in the hospital."

"I can't go over there, order him to go home, eat dinner and rest."

Simon snorted. "Here's a thought, Ellison. Try and reason with him. Save the strong-arm tactics for the suspects. I'm guessing he values your opinion. He'll listen to you."

Jim parked his Ford next to the Corvair and entered the deserted anthropology building. After knocking on Blair's office door and not hearing any sound inside, he checked the rest of that level and headed up to the next floor.

Most of the offices were locked. A light from an open door drew him down the hall way and into a nicely furnished reception area.

Ellison stood, tilting his head. He could hear Blair's heartbeat, but there was no sign of the man. He followed the sound to the large desk and leaned over.

Familiar looking blue jeans-clad legs stuck out from underneath the counter area in the `L' shaped workstation.

"Sandburg?" Jim quickly skirted the desk and squatted down next to his friend.

Blair's cheek rested in the plush gray colored carpet next to the open back of a computer, a small screwdriver still clutched in the unconscious man's right hand.

Shaking a shoulder gently, Ellison felt elevated heat radiating through the flannel shirt.

Damn it, Sandburg!" He reached in and pulled the head and torso out to better evaluate him.

"Whaa..?" Blair moved his head slightly, his eyes still closed.

Jim laid a large hand on the hot forehead. At least 103 degrees.

"I guess Simon was wrong, Sandburg," he said, carefully maneuvering the sick man up into a sitting position. "Strong arm tactics are needed with you." He grunted, pulling the Blair up to stand on weak legs. Jim stabilized him with an arm around his waist.

"Ohhh, man. My head hurts, Jim<.>" Blair lifted a hand.

Jim snatched the screwdriver from Sandburg's grasp before he could bring it up to his face.

"Impaled object in the eye, that's all we need tonight," the cop muttered under his breath as he pulled the younger man into the hallway.

"Jim?"

"Sandburg?"

"Where...?"

"Treatment room three."

Blair raised a sweaty face from the starched cotton sheet and looked blearily around the room.

"Three?"

Jim finished wetting some paper towels and placed them over Blair's forehead, gently pushing his head back to rest on the exam table. "You're sick, Sandburg. We're at the hospital."

Blair closed his eyes and moaned.

A very haggard looking doctor in her early thirties entered the room, interrupting any further conversation.

"Okay, sorry for the wait, you're positive for streptococcal bacteria." She removed a notepad from her pocket and scribbled a hasty prescription.

"Stepo...kas...?"

"You have Strep throat, Chief."

The doctor flashed the tall man a quick smile. "I'm prescribing penicillin. Expect the fever to be better within 24 hours. Lots of fluids, even if he doesn't want to drink, which he probably won't. Aspirin or Advil for pain." She turned to the man on the bed. "Mr. Sandburg, if you don't get better in three days, see your doctor. You'll need a different antibiotic."

Jim accepted the prescription from the doctor. He'd heard the nurses talking about a MCI that occurred, involving several patients. The staff was scrambling to prepare, expecting to be hit with the first wave at any minute.

He helped Sandburg sit up and rotate, so he could slide off the bed. "Thanks, doc."

"Any questions, Mr. Sandburg?" She paused for a moment and studied the feverish man trying to stand next to his friend.

"Umm. No?"

"Okay, I'm getting the feeling you're not really with us right now." She looked doubtful for a moment. "Will you be staying with him?" she asked Jim.

Ellison smiled. "We're roommates. I'll watch him, I'm familiar with Strep."

"Okay," she said, relieved. "I'm sorry to rush you, but it sounds like we're going to be very busy in a few moments."

Blair fell blissfully onto his bed, not even caring about the small plastic box of computer disks that dug into his abdomen.

He was home. Jim had insisted on stopping to fill the prescription and then by a 7-11 before coming home. Some part of his brain was wondering where his car was, but he dismissed it as unimportant.

"Come on. Stand up for me, Sandburg."

Strong hands pulled him up. He reached out to grab his pillow in an attempt to remain in his bed.

"Hey...l'me rest."

"You can, but not on this dumping ground. Here, sit."

Blair found his butt planted in the chair next to the small computer desk. He watched with droopy eyelids as his roommate worked.

Jim cleared the books, disks, and empty Sobe bottles off the bed. Then apparently not satisfied, he stripped off the blankets and sheets, leaving just the futon mattress.

"Hey." Blair tried to reach for the sheets.

"They stink," Jim stated, tossing them onto the floor. "Where's your extra bedding?"

"Extra ...?"

"You know, the set you use when this one is being washed?"

"I just wash this ... use it."

Jim sighed. "Don't move. I'll be right back."

Blair blinked and found himself alone in his room. A moment later his roommate returned, carrying white sheets.

Jim tucked the extra width of the bottom sheet under the mattress. He folded the flat sheet in half and draped it on top. Blair marveled at his friend's efficient speed as he returned the blankets to the bed.

"Wow.... how'd ya get so fast?"

"United States Army," Ellison replied as he fitted a fresh case over the pillow. "Okay, let's try this again."

Blair settled down back onto the bed, letting the sheet and blankets get tucked around him. Oh, god! He was in heaven! He closed his eyes for just a moment.

"Blair, wake up. It's time for your medicine."

Sandburg rolled over and swallowed. A flash of fire tore through his throat, causing his eyes to fly open. The room was dark. He recognized the tall form silhouetted in the light from the open doorway.

"Easy," Jim coached, wincing at the pained expression on Sandburg's face.

Blair brought his hand up as the pain throbbed in his neck. It felt to his foggy brain like he'd swallowed molten lava.

"Uhhhggg."

"This will help. Sit up."

Rolling to his side, he pushed weakly into a sitting position. His head was throbbing in time with his throat. Jim took his right wrist and turned his palm up to cradle three small pills. Blair stared at them without comprehension. The thought of trying to get them down his throat was too much.

"Here's some juice."

Slowly shaking his head, Sandburg extended his arm back out to return the medicine.

Ellison gently pushed the offering back. "Take them. The Advil will help with the pain and the antibiotic will fight the infection."

"Hurts," Blair managed to get the word out.

"I know, let's get it over with."

Rolling the pills into his mouth, Blair reached for the small glass. The swallow caused his eyes to clench shut, but he got the medicine down. Relieved the ordeal was over he handed the glass back to Jim.

"Finish the juice, Sandburg. You need the fluids."

Blair's mind briefly flashed on images of rebellion. His facial expressions must have tattled on him.

"Sandburg, if you don't stay hydrated, you'll be back in the hospital."

Blair glared at his friend and finished the juice, taking small sips; each swallow took a Herculean effort. After the torture was over, he handed the empty glass back.

"Good, lay back down."

Sandburg planted his face into his pillow and let his roommate adjust his bedding. He wearily turned his head to the side.

"Jim..."

"Yeah?"

He waited until the man was level with his face before continuing. "Shoot me."

Ellison huffed a laugh and patted his shoulder.

"It'll get better, partner."

The low sound of gargling drifted from behind the bathroom door. Sandburg had slept until noon, waking with a need to use the bathroom. Before he could return back to bed, Ellison intercepted him with a warm glass of salt water and instructions to gargle the entire contents.

The bathroom door opened and Sandburg shuffled out, looking more alert.

"I'll bring you some soup and your medicine," Ellison said, getting up from watching TV and heading for the kitchen.

Blair nodded and disappeared into his room.

Pouring the broth into a mug, he entered the bedroom to find Blair sitting up on the futon, leaning against the wall. Jim handed the soup over. Sandburg took an experimental sip and softly grunted his thanks.

"You're welcome." He measured out the amount of pills and handed them over. "Be right back."

Jim returned a moment later with a glass of juice and a second mug of soup for himself.

"How's the throat?"

Blair made a sour face and swallowed the medicine as Jim sat in the chair.

"Should get better tonight," Ellison told him. "Susan, Richard and someone called `mad dog' called you. I told them you were sick. Took messages."

Blair nodded and mouthed the words `thank you'.

Ellison nodded and swirled his mug to mix the finely chopped chicken bits that had settled at the bottom. "We need to talk about your schedule, Sandburg."

He ignored the irritated look that statement caused. "Richard told me he had more than one offer to teach that class yesterday morning. He did admit you were the best choice as a sub." Ellison leaned forward. "But, damn it, Sandburg, you were running on fumes. Why do you push yourself so much?"

Studying the mug in his hand, Blair shrugged.

Jim leaned back into the chair. "Look, I'm not ragging on you. I know you want to help out, but you've got to be realistic with your time. If you want to ride with me at work and keep your classes..." He raised his free hand up to ward off the look of protest from the sick man. "I know, I'm not saying you don't have time for both; but you're going to have to learn a very important term."

"What..." Blair croaked painfully.

"It's a word that can be used when needed and will be understood by your friends," Jim said with a wry smile. "'No'. Now you try it."

Sandburg smirked at his roommate. "Ha, ha."

"I'm serious. People are going to understand. You're looking at two weeks down time here."

Blair sat up straight with alarm.

"Yes, you are. You're contagious. Some overachiever probably gave this to you because he or she didn't stay home when they should. Are you going to pass this along to your friends?"

Blair frowned and slumped back against the wall, then looked in alarm at his friend. "What `bout you?" His words were hardly recognizable by the other man.

"I'll be careful. Don't worry."

Blair sat his empty mug down on the floor and accepted the juice glass from Jim.

"Tomorrow you should find talking easier, you can call someone to tell them you're not coming in. You get sick leave, don't you?"

Sandburg nodded unhappily.

"If you want, I can swing by Rainier a couple times a week and pick up stuff to keep you caught up with classes," Jim offered.

Blair smiled and handed the empty glass back.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, get some more rest. Try and make up for lost time, Chief." Jim gathered up the dirty dishes and waited until the other man had situated himself back on the bed. "If you need me for anything, just croak."

The End

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