With caution born from crashing twice through rotten planking, Jim Ellison grimly tested each wooden stair before trusting it with all his weight. What a pathetic excuse of a building. It was overdue for a date with a bulldozer, or - hell - a direct hit from an anorexic seagull.

David Lash, head case and wannabe FBI consultant, was dead, sprawled in a pile of broken lumber on the floor below. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. Just yesterday Jim had entertained unwanted images of Lash as a child and had felt pity. Those pictures were gone.

Jim traversed dark hallways, his feet stepping over flooring thick with mold. Finally, he found himself back in the shrine-like room, darker than before due to a few gutted candles that now lay on their sides. The building was too rotted to burn down, another fine product of Cascade's weather patterns. He instinctively checked the room for other possible threats and found none.

Sandburg.

Blair hadn't moved since Jim's first arrival, before the fight with Lash. The police observer looked deflated, slumped in the dentist chair, wrapped in enough chains to tether the Queen Mary. Gibberish protests, raw and weak, paused each time he dragged in a new breath.

Jim leaped the last bit over the broken step. This part of the floor hadn't collapsed the first time he'd fallen on it, it would likely hold him again. The room was colder now, the destroyed wall allowing icy, musty currents to filter in from below.

"Easy, Blair. It's over." Jim talked soothingly as he neared.

But Blair jerked in this binding, his nonsense mutterings switching to terror-filled mini-screams.

"Hey, hey, calm down. It's okay," Jim shushed, quickly moving close. He centered himself in Blair's line of vision. Gently capturing the pale and drawn face between his hands, Jim tilted Blair's head up. Instinct kicked in and he sniffed, finding no scent of blood in the air.

Blair's pupils didn't track the movement.

"You okay? You hurt? How much of that shit did he give you?"

"Jimjimjimjimjimjimjim -" But Blair was calling for Jim, not talking to Jim.

Jim leaned closer. "Chief, calm down and talk to me."

Wide eyes looked back, flooded irises so dilated they had no color. A shattered sob broke Blair's song, spilling hot tears over Jim's thumbs.

Shit! Even if Jim got the chains off in the next five seconds, Blair's mind was still a prisoner.

Frustration canceled out all protocol that had up until now marshaled Jim's life. Police duties, crime scene rules, standard operating procedures, hell, the entire police manual evaporated like steam on a cold morning.

"We're out of here," Jim said. He pulled Blair out of the damn chair by his coat lapels and gathered him close. Blair's manacled feet swayed several inches above the floor, his head lolled against Jim's shoulder.

Jim crossed the room toward the only available exit, wondering, as warm tears soaked into his sweater, how he was going to deal with the broken step. The solution appeared in the sturdy form of Simon Banks.

"Take him, sir," Jim asked even as Simon was bending down, his hands tucking his gun away. He reached down for the drugged man in Jim's arms. "Careful, Lash gave him that sedative," Jim added.

"I got him." Simon rose with Blair in his grasp. He set Blair on his feet. "Can you stand, Sandburg?"

Blair's knees buckled instantly. Distressed, panic-filled moans, muffled by Simon's coat caused the police captain to grit his teeth.

Jim scrambled up the broken staircase and caught Simon before Blair ended up in a fireman's carry. "Give him back to me."

Blair quieted down as soon as the transfer was complete. Simon looked more than a little concerned. "Is he okay?"

Jim jostled his load more comfortably back in place. "He's going to be fine. He's just scared. I don't think it's really sunk in yet. Lash is dead." Jim jerked his head in a sideways, downward motion. "He's one floor down. Tell the crew to be careful, this building is a rat trap."

"Understood," Simon answered, his eyes drawn back to Sandburg's form. "Shit, he's shivering." Shucking out of his long coat, Simon wrapped it around the police observer. The two cops coordinated who held what until Blair was covered.

"Thanks, sir." Jim nodded, satisfied when the additional barrier seemed to calm his friend down a few more degrees. Guilt emerged. "My gun is somewhere on this level. I know I should stay and help with the scene -"

Simon held up a hand. "I've got it. Believe it or not, I remember how to contain a crime scene. We'll find your weapon. Go." He waved Jim down the hallway before turning away to bark commands into the small microphone-receiver unit hooked over his ear.

Jim left, hugging Blair close.

A few years ago he had assisted Cascade Fire evacuate occupants in a two alarm apartment house blaze. He had carried a grandmotherly type twice Blair's weight down four flights of stairs. This was a piece of cake in comparison.

And suddenly they were outside. A squad of police officers passed without a glance, obviously warned by Simon of their presence.

Reaching his goal and free of the warehouse, Jim's strength began to fail. Adrenaline only carried a person so far. An old, metal picnic bench sat forgotten in a strip of grassless earth running between the building and the street. It would do. Jim straddled the bench, shifting Blair to sit in front, both legs draped over one of Jim's. Blair's head still rested on Jim's shoulder.

"You still okay, partner?" Jim whispered, circling his arms around Blair's torso. The kid had no motor control yet.

Blair mewed a string of indistinguishable syllables.

Jim tightened his hold.

Too. Damn. Close.

Jim felt brittle, unable to relax even with Blair safe again. The nightmarish dread shadowing him the moment he'd burst into his wrecked home last night to find Blair missing wouldn't leave. Jim had stopped expecting happy endings a long time ago.

His track record was dismal.

His men on the chopper.

Danny.

"S-squeezing... me..."

Jim loosened his hold. Blair's eyes were open.

"You okay?" Jim asked.

"Um hmmm." Blair rolled his head back and peered around them in half interest, the crusty tear tracks on his cheeks caught the flashing lights of nearby police cars. "How?"

"Duck shit," Jim answered. Hearing Blair's voice made breathing easier.

A glint of curiosity telegraphed across the younger man's face. He pursed his lips a moment and seemed to store the information for later retrieval. With a grunting sigh, he relaxed against Jim's chest. "Remind me... to feed more ducks, man," Blair whispered and closed his eyes.

By the time Simon got someone to them with the proper tools to break the chains, Blair was snoring.

Jim grinned, there were still a few happy ending left in the world.

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