The phone was ringing.

Blair rolled toward the wall, clamped the edge of his pillow over his head and tried to go back to sleep. There was no way he was going to answer that phone. His friends knew better than to call the loft this late at night. Therefore, the call has to be for Jim - simple logic.

Pulling the edges of the blankets higher, he burrowed into the warmth. It was Saturday... no, wait, probably Sunday by now and he had no plans to leave the futon until the sun was high in the sky.

The insistent ringing leaked through the feathers, then stopped. Curious while even half asleep, Blair lifted one corner to listen.

"Ellison."

Yep, he knew Jim would answer and he didn't sound happy.

"What is it?" Jim's voice sounded thick with sleep. "Crap..."

Blair reluctantly unfolded the pillow to listen, more awake now. Jim had dropped his voice to a whisper which only fueled Blair's curiosity. Not enough to warrant leaving the futon, but almost. He raised his head, hoping to catch a few more words.

No dice. Jim was making a point of talking quietly. Blair could hear the phone being returned to the cradle, then silence.

Blair waited.

The stairs up to Jim's room always creaked. No matter where Jim placed his feet, at least two steps made a noise.

He rolled onto his back. This was like waiting for the second shoe to drop, if Jim was the type of person to drop his shoes, which he wasn't. He was the type to carefully tuck them under his bed. But the point was the same and Blair couldn't go back to sleep until he heard those creaks.

Tossing back the covers, Blair gave up going back to sleep. Even though it was late May, the nights were still cool. He reached for the sweatshirt he'd dropped on the floor, pulling it over his head as he walked out of his room. Jim's tall silhouette was visible in the living room, a dark shape standing in front of the long bank of windows.

"Hey."

Jim turned. "Watch your step, Chief."

"I do have some night vision, man," Blair stated softly as he carefully located the post in the center of the room with both hands, then felt for the sofa before arriving to stand at his roommate's side. "What's up?"

Jim stood in his boxers and tank top, his arms folded over his chest. He turned back to study the sleeping city. "Nothing."

Okay, time for a more direct approach.

"Who was on the phone?"

"Simon."

Single word answers, not looking good.

"Why did he call at..." Blair reached for Jim's arm, only to find the man wasn't wearing his watch. "... whatever time it is and wake us up?"

After a long delay in which it became obvious to Blair he wasn't going to get an answer, Blair tried another approach. "I guess I'll call him back and ask him."

Jim moved, catching Blair's arm before he could take a second step toward the phone. "Matro was found dead in his cell," he said in a flat voice, still looking out the windows. He released Blair to scrub his own face with both hands wearily. "He was hanging by strips torn from his bedding."

Blair's brain stalled. He opened and closed his mouth, searching for a response before giving up and focusing on Jim's words, allowing his mind to follow its own path. Matro was dead. The Bunko Captain that had poisoned Simon, been sort of responsible for a woman's death, attacked Jim and left Blair in a car trunk to drown was now dead.

Dead meant no trial.

No wait, Matro wasn't going to trial. They learned last Friday that he was going to testify against Rossetti for a plea bargain and an agreed sentence recommendation.

Oh, shit.

"Sandburg?" Jim turned his head to fix a hard stare on his friend.

"He's... he's dead?" Blair repeated slowly.

"Yeah," Jim reported bluntly. "Simon got the call from Seattle."

That's right. Blair remembered Matro was being jailed in Seattle because of security issues. "You going in?"

Jim shook his head. "No point, King County and Seattle Police are handling the investigation. I wouldn't be allowed anywhere near the scene."

"I'm not understanding this, Jim. Matro was going to serve some time, but not that much. Why would he kill himself?" Blair's eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark. He could see Jim's expression and a new thought scared him. "He did kill... I mean, you said it was... Jim?"

"Rossetti is a powerful man, Chief," Jim explained carefully. "Let's just say I'm not convinced. It's best to keep an open mind."

"Rossetti?" Blair's mind made the connection. This was not getting any better. In fact, this was beginning to suck major rocks. "You think he did... had someone do this? Because of that deal with the prosecutors?"

Jim shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised."

They stood quietly for a few moments before Jim slapped Blair's shoulder. "Well, no point in worrying about this now. We might as well get some sleep."

Back in his futon, Blair shifted around until he could locate a remnant of body heat and listened to the creaks. Jim was finally climbing the stairs. He closed his eyes. Dawn was hours away, but he didn't expect to fall back to sleep. Who was he fooling? He thought over the things Jim didn't say. Blair might be a newcomer to the world of police, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to be able to figure out the obvious; if Rossetti had Matro killed, then he somehow had managed to do it from the inside of his jail cell.

Another fact fell into place. Only a cop or a jail guard would have been able to commit the murder.

Blair sat up in bed, pulling his knees close to his chest and circling them with his arms. Shit!

Jim sighed. Blair was up again, a faint rustling of paper drifted up.

Damn, should have known Blair would never fall back asleep after learning about Matro. This was why he hadn't wanted to tell him. But keeping a secret from Sandburg was like politely asking a starving dog to drop a bone, it just wasn't going to happen. Taking a moment to put on his robe, Jim went back downstairs. Blair's desk lamp was on, painting a soft yellow rectangle on the bare wood floor into the kitchen.

"Jim?"

"Yeah," Jim answered, heading for the stove.

Blair appeared a moment later, standing sheepishly in the doorway. "Sorry, man."

"It's okay." Jim filled the coffee pot with water as Blair wandered to the table and sat down. "Hungry?"

"Any Pop Tarts left?" Blair asked hopefully.

"Cripes, Sandburg," Jim said with a snort. "You've turned into such a junk food junkie."

"Hey, you try having nothing but liquids for six weeks," his roommate protested. "Besides, it's your fault. You got me hooked on sugar, man."

Jim didn't comment as he opened the cupboard and pulled down the coffee grounds and eyed the selection. "Strawberry or chocolate?"

"Strawberry."

He tore open the package and dropped two into the toaster before returning to his coffee preparations. In truth, he was glad to see Blair snack on high calorie foods. Every time Blair wore a tucked in T-shirt it was easy to see he'd lost too much weight. Even Simon had made a few comments. The doctor had removed the wires two days ago and Blair had graduated up to eating soft foods. Jim just made sure the soft foods available in the loft held a high amount of carbs.

"So... how does Matro's death affect the case against Rossetti?" Blair asked quietly, drawing invisible lines on the table top with his finger.

Jim had been expecting the question. Expecting and dreading it at the same time. He finished measuring the coffee into the basket and hit the on switch before answering. It occurred to him they were sitting in darkness, except for the light from Blair's room.

"Watch your eyes, Chief," he warned before flicking on the overhead light. Blair waited a second before opening his eyes and looked expectantly at Jim, waiting for the answer. "It doesn't help, but it's still a strong case."

"Really?" A half smile appeared and the younger man leaned back in the chair. "Good, I was worried."

The toaster popped and Jim snagged a paper towel to use as a plate, setting the snack in front of Blair. "We've got plenty to take to trial," he said, stealing a corner of the pastry and blowing on it as he walked back to retrieve two clean cups.

"Like?"

Jim set the cups down and leaned a hip against the counter. "We have the records we found in the mini-storage," he started, clicking off each item with his fingers. "The video tape, your testimony..."

"But I never actually saw Rossetti," Blair pointed out.

"The video tape shows you both together."

"What about all the interviews Simon and the IA guys had with Metro?"

"Not admissible," Jim said. "It's all hearsay."

"Then I'm going to testify?"

Jim nodded, pouring two cups of coffee and taking them to the table. "It won't be right away, but yeah," he replied. It was time to move the conversation to other things. "Look, Chief. There's no point in worrying about this now. New evidence may be found. The investigation is still ongoing. Let's not borrow trouble."

"Yeah," Blair agreed. "You're right."

"So, now that we're up and drinking caffeine, what's your plan for today?"

Using his tongue to catch a runaway dribble of strawberry filling, Blair shrugged before mumbling his answer. "Waz gonna sleep late." He tossed the last of the pastry in his mouth, gently chewed as he pointed to Jim as if to say `what about you'?

Jim pretended to give that some thought, although he'd already decided there was no way he was going to let Blair out of his sight until he learned the outcome of Matro's apparent suicide. Rubbing the back of his neck, he replied with a similar shrug. "No real plans, I'm open for ideas."

"Cool!" Blair leaned forward, his eyes bright with sudden inspiration. "I've been thinking about some tests."

Jim slumped in his seat. He'd been had.

"Tell me again why I'm doing this?"

Blair tried not to sound as if he'd already repeated himself five times, even though he was positive he had. "Okay, I'm trying to test that balance thing you did when we were playing basketball. Remember? The day Matro- "

"I remember, Chief," Jim interjected unhappily.

"Oh... right, anyway... I want you to cross the railing without falling off so I can establish a baseline to work from. I'm convinced if we work on your heightened sense of touch, you'll improve your balance dramatically," Blair explained.

They'd left the loft as the eastern sky began to lighten, driving south. Blair said he knew of a park that had specialized setups for athletes with winding trails for joggers and places to warm up, including railings mounted between posts. He hoped to have Jim walk the waist high railings like a balance beam without slipping off.

"With or without shoes?" Jim asked.

"Ah... both."

"Naturally." Using Blair's shoulder to steady himself, Jim stepped up onto the two and a half inch handrail. "If I break a leg, I'm not going to be a happy sentinel."

He fell half way across, landing lightly on the grassy side of the railing.

"No problem, Jim." Blair patted an arm encouragingly. "I expected a few falls. Try it again without shoes and socks."

This time Jim made it three spans, a total of nearly twenty feet. He walked slowly, both arms out from his sides for balance. Blair checked his stopwatch and scribbled a few hasty notes as he went.

"Are we finished?" Jim asked.

"Baseline, big guy. We're finished with the baseline," Blair told him.

It never failed to amaze Blair how Jim could show the patience of Job when doing certain activities like stake outs and such. But the minute they began to work on his sentinel skills, the big cop turned into a four year-old. One thing Blair was starting to realize about the guy was the value of the food bribe.

"Just work with me here and I'll treat for breakfast."

Jim's smile rivaled the rising sun. "You're on."

"Okay." Blair led the way back to the place where Jim had climbed onto the railing, talking as he went. "Now, this time, I want you to close your eyes. I'm going to be right beside you. But instead of relying on your vision, man; I want you to use touch." Bracing himself as Jim used his shoulder again to mount the rail, he continued. "Let yourself totally go, Jim. Every inch of your skin is responding to the gravity around you."

He looked up, Jim stood tall, closing his eyes and listening. A flush of warmth traveled through Blair's chest. This was so cool. This was what he'd dreamed of all his life, a real sentinel to work with. No, more than just work with, Blair was helping. They were exploring the world of the sentinel side by side.

"Think of the gravity like a plumb-line. It's your ally. You don't need to see. Each muscle in tune, ready to keep you balanced." Blair spoke softly as Jim's face relaxed, and a since of confidence seemed to appear. "Okay, just step out and let your body take over."

Holding his breath, Blair waited. Jim's first step was slow, but fluid. The next two steps seemed a little faster, but still moving with an appearance of control. Jim's arms were loose at his side. It looked like he was simply crossing the street. Blair grinned. This was going to be so cool.

Jim's step faltered and before Blair could move, he was falling.

"Jim!" Blair dropped to his knees at Jim's side, thankful he'd fallen in the grass and not the graveled pathway to his left. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Jim sat up, brushing old grass clippings from his sweatshirt.

"What happened?"

"I think I zoned," Jim admitted sheepishly. "Everything kind of blinked out for a second and then I was eyelevel with the bug world."

"Okay... okay, I should've expected this..." Blair dropped back to sit on his heels while chewing his lip. Jim was too focused on a single sense, that being touch. But Blair still wanted Jim to keep his eyes closed, so that canceled out sight. "Okay, how `bout this." He scrambled to his feet and jogged over to a nearby bush, plucking off a cluster of small lavender flowers and holding it to his nose. "Perfect!"

Jim was standing back at the starting point, patiently waiting for the next instruction.

"Now, I want you to try again and keep your eyes closed. I'm going to give you this lilac. I'm thinking your brain is going to register the scent and keep you from zoning." Blair held out the flower, but snatched his hand back as Jim reached for it. "Wait, I don't want you to hold it." He checked his jeans pocket. "I've got a paperclip..."

Finally, Jim was ready. He stood on the rail; the lilac flowers clipped to the collar of his sweatshirt. Blair repeated the basic instruction as before and fell silent as Jim began to move.

When he'd completed the same distance as before, Blair let out a whoop of joy. Jim opened his eyes and jumped down.

"Oh my GOD! Jim! JIM! You did it, man!" Blair slapped the sentinel's back and held out the stopwatch. "Look! You cut your time in half! Your balance was awesome! Crap! Why didn't I bring a video camera?"

Jim laughed, holding up a hand. "Rein it in, Skippy. Now, how about that breakfast?"

Later that morning, after breakfast and over an hour of listening to one very excited grad student, Jim drove back towards Prospect Street. His stomach was happy. He even got Blair to eat a high calorie meal.

"Who knows how many previous circus performers might have been sentinels over the years, Jim. Some of those folks were amazing!" Blair said, looking up from his notes. He'd been writing nonstop since leaving the restaurant.

"Uh huh."

"I mean, think about it, Jim. It's been proven that the human brain only uses a small percentage of its capacity..."

Jim let the lecture wash over him, not particularly listening to the details. He'd learned enough over the months to know this euphoric stage could go on most of the day. Jim had to admit this discovery couldn't have come at a better time. Blair would be running to the library, researching the internet, and calling fellow colleagues and even medical doctors until he'd satisfied every last detail. And more importantly, he wouldn't dwell on Metro's supposed suicide and the pending Rossetti trial.

His cell phone rang. Blair picked it up from the cup holder and passed it over, his lecture on brain activity placed on hold.

"Ellison."

"Jim... more bad news," Simon announced grimly. "Can you and Sandburg come down to the station?"

"Can we swing by the loft and change, or do you want us as we are?" Jim asked.

"Casual is fine, how long before you get here?"

"We'll be in your office in twenty minutes." Jim ended the call and handed the phone back. "Simon wants us."

When the two men walked into Captain Simon Banks office, Jim had run several scenarios through his head; and none of them good. Simon knew this was his day off. He knew Jim had been working long hours recently. Therefore it had to be very bad `work related' news or they wouldn't have been summoned to the police station. Since Blair's presence was also requested, Jim had a feeling this had do to with Matro's death.

"Jim... Sandburg, have a seat." Simon stood next to his coffee pot. "Want a cup? It's fresh."

Blair shook his head first, causing Jim to copy the motion. He just wanted to get this meeting over with.

Simon returned to take his seat. "Okay, there's no easy way around this..." He paused to rub his forehead. "I just got a call from the Captain in charge of the evidence department, seems we have a problem with the video that was found in Rossetti's nightclub."

"What!" Jim shot out of his chair.

"Jim, calm down." Simon ordered sharply. "Sit back down and let me finish," he ordered firmly.

"Simon, that tape is critical!" Jim was cut off.

"Ellison! Sit! Down!"

Not even Jim could ignore the commanding presence of Simon Banks when he stood and looked down his long nose at his detective. Jim forced himself to sit, his pulse pounding in his ears.

"We still have the tape," Simon explained calmly after sitting. "But the chain of evidence has been compromised. The tape was found out of the secured area, the seal had been broken. It's very likely that the prosecutor won't be able to get it admitted to the jury." He raised a hand. "Jim, before you say anything. IA has already started an investigation. And no, we are not getting to take part, so don't even ask. I've already been there and tried."

The office was quiet for a few seconds.

"First Matro, now the tape... Rossetti's doing this somehow, Simon," Jim explained, once he trusted himself to speak calmly.

"Rossetti's attorneys have filed a motion to reconsider bail. The hearing is tomorrow morning in front of Judge Eiler," Simon told them grimly.

"Shit." Jim closed his eyes and dropped his head. Eiler was one of the old school judges. He'd look carefully at the change of circumstances and no doubt lower the bail. Rossetti was a rich man. Richer then the IRS was probably aware. He'd make bail. Rossetti was going to be released.

"Jim?" Blair's face had paled.

"It doesn't look good, Chief."

"Half a million."

"That's all?"

"Yep, he was out within three hours."

"Shee-it! I wish I could come up with that kind of dough."

Blair continued to doodle on the legal pad he'd found on Jim's desk. Too tired to even raise his eyes to see which two passing cops were having the conversation. It didn't matter. The entire floor was talking about Rossetti's release from custody, pending trial, and the snafu with the video.

Judging by the abuse which Jim's keyboard was being subjected to, Blair suspected Jim was not having a good day. It was nearly quitting time. Blair had only been at the station for about an hour and a half. He'd been at Rainier, babysat by two plain-clothed police officers with instructions to keep him in sight the entire day. Then, at three that afternoon, he had been hand delivered to Jim, like a freaking UPS delivery. He half expected them to ask Jim to sign at the `x' when they'd walked him into the bullpen.

"Ready to go?" Jim opened the middle drawer, dropped his pen inside and slammed it shut.

"Yeah." Blair reached for his backpack.

"Excuse me?" A young man with the FTD Florist ball cap walked into the bullpen with a long white box. "I've got a delivery for B. Sandburg?"

Blair started to raise a hand, but was cut off with a brisk body check by Jim that forced him backwards. He landed with a plop back on the chair he'd just vacated as Jim pushed his way through. Blair rolled his eyes with a sigh. "For crying out loud, Jim."

"What is it?" Jim demanded, stepping between Blair and the box.

"Just sign here, sir," the man said.

"Set it down on the desk," Jim ordered, pointing to an empty desk across the bullpen. "Let me see your job order."

The delivery kid looked ready to bolt for the door and Blair wished he could ease some of his fear. Other detectives gathered, no doubt responding to the threatening overtones Jim was throwing out like shrapnel from an exploding hand grenade.

"You dating some rich babe, Hairboy?" Henri commented.

Simon had joined them from his office, scowling at the crowd milling around the desk. "What's happening?"

"Sandburg got roses," Jim responded, he turned back to the delivery kid. "Who placed the order?"

"Ah... it doesn't say... I could... call..."

Blair squeezed into the circle of cops, tired of being on the fringe. The roses were red, the type that cost a small fortune with long stems and perfect pedals. Blair frowned; he wasn't even dating at the moment. Having your mouth wired shut for six weeks had kept him out of the mood. So, who would send these?

"Are there any other Sandburgs that work here?" Blair asked, his mind going to the most obvious solution.

Simon graced him with an appraising look. "Good question, I'll go check." He turned to the delivery man. "Come with me, you can call your boss and check about who sent these."

"There's a tape," Jim stated, taking a yellow pencil from a nearby coffee cup and using it to lift a common cassette tape from the tissue.

Henri stepped back. "I'll get a player."

The crowd was starting to shrink and Blair was finally able to get close enough to stand next to Jim and look closely at the flowers. "I don't get it, Jim."

"Don't touch anything, Chief," Jim told him needlessly. He eyed the tape closely. "No prints... damn it."

"Here's a tape player." Henri set it next to the box and opened the door to allow Jim to ease the tape in. Using the eraser head to push it firmly in place, Jim closed the lid and hit play.

After a few seconds of silence, the soft chords of a familiar tune began to play. Blair recognized the song almost immediately.

"... Every breath you take... every move you make..."

"My wife loves this song," one detective muttered quietly.

The song continued. No other comments were made as it played. Jim shifted his stance, crossing his left arm over his torso and cupping his right elbow. He began to rub his chin with his right hand, his eyes narrowing at the player as he frowned.

"... oh, can't you see? You belong to me... my fool heart aches... with every step you take..."

Shit. Blair didn't want to hear anymore. The familiar words were taking on a completely new ominous meaning. He watched Simon walk out of his office and knew by the older man's expression what he'd found out. No one by the name of Sandburg worked in the building. Blair crossed his arms and felt goosebumps sprout up under his sleeves.

The song finished and the tape fell silent. Finally after a full minute, Jim hit the stop button.

"Chief?" He turned to look down at Blair. "Any idea who'd send you this?"

Blair shook his head, not trusting himself to speak out loud and risk sounding as freaked out as he currently felt. No sense in letting the entire Major Crimes Unit know he was scared of roses and a copy of Sting's popular bestseller.

"Okay, I want this taken down to the lab - use gloves," Simon ordered. "Henri, take the delivery kid's statement and cut him loose. Ellison, Sandburg... my office."

Jim waited until Simon had his door closed and all three men were safely inside before speaking.

"It's Rossetti, Simon! I'm sure of it."

Blair dropped into a seat, the words from the song still haunting his thoughts. Jim paced angrily, like a caged animal. Blair ignored the sympathetic look Simon tossed toward him as he walked behind his desk and sat down with a sigh.

"I'm not arguing with you, Jim. But we still have to prove it."

"He's taunting us!" Jim smacked his fist into a palm. "What's the DA saying?"

"None of the suspects involved in the video production that we arrested are willing to talk now. They've all heard about Matro and they're clamming up. The IA's investigation is progressing, although they won't say how. The rumor mill is pointing back to the Burglary Unit. Seems one of our old friends, Detective Higby, was in the evidence room the day before the tape was found." Simon propped his elbows on the desktop and folded his hands together as if in prayer. "The Feds have been talking to the Chief, who's been talking to me, no one is happy."

Blair's mind tuned out the conversation; neither man seemed to be including him at the moment anyway. His thoughts returned to that day Matro had attacked Jim and taken him to Rossetti's nightclub. He'd been so worried about Jim he had not giving thought to his own predicament, until Rossetti had touched his face. Being blindfolded had only heightened the feeling of helplessness that had paralyzed him. The guy had wanted to buy him! He had acted like a man on a shopping trip.

Blair's stomach began to churn. His lunch was making its presence known.

"Chief!"

Blair blinked, looking up from his study of the carpet. Jim was leaning on the edge of Simon's desk, both men looking expectantly at him. "What?"

"Did you hear my question?" Jim asked. The blank expression answered the question. Jim repeated himself, "Doesn't your semester end this week? Any chance you could get someone to cover you?"

Blair sat up. "Now hold on, Jim. I'm willing to drag your cop-shadows around. I'm not about to run and hide," he complained.

"Sandburg," Simon was using his `let's be reasonable' voice. "Your testimony is the strongest piece of evidence left. The Feds wanted you yesterday, but I told them we could keep you safe."

"Wanted me? What the hell does that mean?"

Jim tossed Simon an angry look before answering. "It doesn't mean anything, relax. Simon is just saying everyone is worried about your safety. Rossetti can... make things happen. The Feds are just concerned that someone in the bullpen might fall under his influence."

"Someone did... remember, Jim?" Simon interjected. "That's what started this whole mess in the first place!"

"Simon, I'm not going along with their plan," Jim turned to address his boss. "Blair is not going to disappear. Hell, this trial could be dragged out for years."

Oh shit! They were talking about some kind of witness protection thing! Blair's mind switched off, no longer able to follow Jim and Simon's argument. This was unbelievable, this wasn't happening to him. He hadn't felt so out of control of his life since the day Kincaid had dragged him up to the helicopter waiting on the roof. At least in that situation he had a clear idea which team he had wanted to be on; this situation sucked! No way was he going with the Feds. Jim could keep watch. He would know...

`But he has to sleep sometime,' a small voice in his brain reasoned.

`He's a sentinel, he'll always be on alert,' Blair answered himself.

`He shouldn't have to be. It's not his problem, it's yours. His life shouldn't revolve around keeping you safe from this creep.'

Blair's fingers were getting tingly. It was getting hard to catch his breath. He did not like where his thoughts were going.

`He's my friend...'

`You're a liability; you should go with those Feds. Or, better yet, just take off.'

`No! Jim needs me to help him with his senses.'

"Some help ...spends all his time ... rescuing you..." Blair muttered out loud between gasps for air before his vision grayed out.

Jim spun back to his partner, cutting off his involvement in the heated argument with his boss. "Blair?"

Blair was doubled over in his chair, his long hair hiding his face. He was breathing fast, way too fast. His fingers curled inward.

"Wonderful!" Jim muttered, dropped to one knee as he forced his partner to sit up straight in his seat. "Sandburg, stop. You're hyperventilating. Work on holding your breath."

Simon quickly moved around the desk and dropped to kneel on Blair's opposite side. "Should I call someone, Jim?"

"No, wait a second." Jim captured Blair's head with both hands over his ears, turning it to see his face. "Look at me, Chief. Slow it down."

With visible effort, Blair fought down the panic attack, taking large gulps of air and forcing himself to hold his breath. After a few minutes, he was able to breathe at a slower rate. Jim eyed him critically, not liking his friend's pale color, the look of a trapped animal.

He felt like kicking himself for his stupidity. Blair was not an idiot. Jim had been so focused on his argument with Simon, he'd managed to give off enough clues about the Fed's protection program. They'd wanted Simon to turn Blair over this morning after learning about the videotape. Simon had told Jim and Jim had hit the roof.

He wasn't about to let the government separate them. If it came to Blair's safety, Jim would find a way to keep Blair in one piece and at his side; even if that meant Jim would have to leave his job and Cascade. And not just because Blair helped with his Sentinel abilities. Jim felt the same responsibility for Blair that he'd felt for the Rangers under his command in the Army. Captain Ellison never left a man behind and Sentinel Ellison had the same creed.

"Sorry... Jim," Blair said, looking at Simon, then quickly away. It didn't take a sentinel to see the faint blush growing on the observer's face. "I can't believe I did that."

"Forget it, Chief," Jim answered softly. "It's been a shitty day all around."

Simon rose to his feet, shaking his head wearily. "Both of you go home. You've got round the clock surveillance on the loft tonight. Just promise me you'll stay inside and we'll talk about this some more tomorrow," he pleaded half-jokingly.

Jim nodded. "Good plan, Sir. Come on, Chief."

Jim went from sleep to fully awake and on alert that something was wrong in less than a second. He lay perfectly still, just listening. The normal sounds of the loft gave no clue as to what had woken him; the faint electrical buzz from the TV, the slight rattle from the wind gently buffeting the window panes, the hum from the old refrigerator - all normal sounds. Then his ears located the new element, the one that spoke of danger. Blair's window was being eased open, one inch at a time.

Silently jack-knifing up in bed, Jim checked the number of heartbeats below.

"Son of a ... " he muttered, throwing back the light sheet and running for the stairs.

Silently entering the small bedroom seconds later, Jim looped an arm around the waist of the man halfway through the open window and yanked him back into the room to fall back on the futon, where he belonged. "What the hell are you doing, Sandburg?" Jim hissed.

Blair landed on his back, his full backpack clutched to his chest. He scrambled off the bed, matching Jim's fury with his own. "What does it look like, Jim?"

"It looks like you were sneaking out your window," Jim shot back, taking a second to turn his back on Blair and slam the open window down. "Care to explain before I handcuff you to the center post?"

The room was dark, the only light available managing to find its way in from the skylights in the kitchen. Still, Jim was able to take in every detail of his friend. Blair was dressed in dark jeans and a black cotton sweater, his hair had been pulled back and he wore his sturdy high top sneakers; his pack slung high on one shoulder.

"I'm leaving before something else goes wrong. Last time you got hurt. I'm not letting it happen again."

"I got hurt?" Jim repeated slowly.

"Yeah, and it could have been worse. Matro wanted to shoot you in the head. He had his gun out and pointed at you, Jim. I'm not going to watch Rossetti do the same. And I'm not going to go with the Feds either. I'll swear I'll be back for the trial," Blair's demeanor slowly changed from anger to resignation as he spoke. "I'll listen to the news or read the papers. You said the trial could take over a year, man. I'll just travel or something."

Like the proverbial light bulb in the cartoon, the one that blinked on above the character's head, Jim understood. "So you're not taking off because you're scared of Rossetti?"

Blair planted both fists against his hips with a look of indignation. "Of course not! I'm just not going to let you or anyone else get hurt because of me!" the younger man protested loudly.

The last three words seemed to echo in Jim's addled head, bringing understanding. "Chief... Blair, this is not because of you. This is not your fault. Rossetti is the one that's behind this. Not you."

Blair didn't look convinced, if anything he looked even more miserable. "Helloooo, Jim? The flowers? The tape? I must have done something!"

"What? What could you have possibly done different?" Jim argued, waving his hands in the air. "I saw the tape, Chief. You didn't say one word to that sick bastard!"

Blair's gaze slid towards the closed window as he played nervously with the strap over his shoulder. "Matro told me not to say anything," he whispered.

"It wouldn't have mattered," Jim told him gently, his earlier anger gone. "Even with your mouth wired shut, two black eyes and a broken nose, you caught his eye. He's a dirt bag, Chief, a user. He saw the potential money he could make and then had it taken away. He's just sick enough to become infatuated with you. Plus he's getting off on rubbing the PD's face in knowing our chances of stopping him are dwindling to squat."

Blair backed up to the futon and sat down hard, letting the pack slide off his back. "Man, I'm such a screw-up..."

"No, you're not." Jim lowered to sit beside him. "You're the victim. I'm just sorry that working with me has put you in this position."

Blair laughed. "That's exactly what I was thinking when I went through that window, man. Me working with you puts you in dangerous situations."

Jim groaned. "Okay, maybe you are a screw-up, because I have no idea how you can believe that. I thought you were supposed to be some kind of genius, how can you add two and two and end up with five?"

With a hint of a smile, Blair shrugged. "Math was never my strongest subject."

"What, `B' plus?"

"No way!" Blair puffed out his chest in mock irritation. "I actually got an "A" minus once! I couldn't eat for a week."

Jim snorted, not sure to believe his friend. He let the matter drop to return to a more important issue. "Listen, Sandburg... no more stunts like this one. You understand?"

Blair's shoulders slouched again as he remained silent.

Not a good sign.

"I'm dead serious here. No. More. Disappearing. Acts." Jim inflicted each word with every ounce of warning he would muster. This was not the time for half-veiled comments and jokes. He had to make Blair understand how vital his cooperation would be.

"Jim..."

"Look at me!" Jim snapped sharply, reminiscent of previous orders he had barked out as a Captain in the Army. "This is not open for discussion! I can't be a hundred percent if a part of my brain is worried about you."

Blair had a rebellious spirit, part of that upbringing from his mother, no doubt. Jim could see that spirit fighting for control on his friend's face. Jim rethought his mode of attack. Time to stow the Ranger for a bit. He sighed and draped an arm around Blair's shoulders, ignoring the prickly feeling of the yarn fibers on his skin.

"When you were locked in that trunk and I couldn't get that crowbar to work, then the car sank into the lake..." Jim rubbed his closed eyes with his free hand. "I gotta tell you, Chief. I'm still having nightmares here."

"You're not the only one," Blair muttered, his misery evident in his voice. "I could feel that car sink. I could still hear you working on the lock. I knew we were underwater, yet you let yourself sink too..." Blair gently nudged Jim with a shoulder before slipping out from under the arm and standing to pace as he talked. "The idea that you might be hurt or... worse. You can't help yourself, Jim. You're the guy that always jumps in the way or runs to the rescue. It must be part of the Sentinel genetic makeup or something."

"Simon was there, as well, Chief. We're your friends. We were not going to give up. You would have done the exact same thing, don't even try to tell me different."

"Okay, okay..." Blair stopped pacing and scrubbed his face. "I guess I'm just freaking out, as usual. I seem go from panic attacks to stupid ideas with ease."

"Cut it out, Sandburg," Jim chastised. "We already discussed the incident in Simon's office, drop it. As for your stupid idea, I'm not going to argue with you on that. It was totally stupid. Now we're back to the part where you look me in the eye and promise never to do that again."

Blair dropped his hands and glared. "Shit, you have a one-track mind."

Jim raised an eyebrow. He'd said enough. No more talk, he wanted that promise.

"All right! Damn you, Ellison!" Blair curled both hands into fists. "I promise!"

Jim was the model of calm. "Promise what?"

Between clenched teeth, the words Jim had waited for were spoken.

"I, Blair Sandburg, promise not to try and escape from the protective custody of Jim Ellison."

"Or from any other agency that is so deemed by Jim Ellison to be protecting Blair Sandburg," Jim added with a knowing look.

Blair's face took on a darker glare, but he repeated the sentence and finished the oath.

Two hours later, both roommates woke as the phone rang. This time Blair didn't hesitate. He beat Jim to the phone by a few seconds.

"Hello?"

"...."

"Hello?" Blair tried again, watching Jim's face as the other man waited, knowing that the older man was listening.

"...Soon..." a non-human voice said.

The handset was snatched from his fingers and Jim brought it up to his ear. "Who is this?"

It was Blair's turn to wait and watch, only he wasn't blessed with sentinel hearing, but from the looks of it, no more was being said.

"Is that you Rossetti? You're not fooling anyone... shit!" Jim punched the `end' button. "He hung up."

Blair frowned. "What was that? It sounded like a robot."

"It's a device that disguises your voice," Jim said.

"They really have those kinds of things? I thought that just happened in the movies," Blair said.

"Yeah, they have them-"

The phone, still in Jim's hand, rang and Jim cut himself off to answer it. "Listen to me you jackass! I...oh, sorry, Simon" he muttered, covering his eyes with his hand. "We just had a prank call, I thought you were... what? How bad?"

Blair's heart skipped a beat. He gripped the back of a kitchen chair with both hands.

"Okay, we're on our way...no... he's safer with me. We'll be there in twenty." Jim ended the conversation and replaced the handset. "There's been an explosion at the University, Chief."

"No," Blair whispered in horror.

"Simon's on his way, so he doesn't know much."

"I'll get dressed." Blair headed for his room, his mind swirling with visions of fire and devastation. Minutes later they were in the truck, heading for the campus. The city seemed deserted, only the street sweepers moving about. Jim used his blue `Kojak' light, cutting the normal commute into a fraction of what Blair was used to. As they neared the familiar buildings of Rainier University, evidence of disaster began to unfold through the windshield; flashing red revolving lights from fire trucks and ambulances, heavy dark smoke, broken windows. Blair searched for `ground zero', his heart sinking as he realized everyone's attention seemed to be focused on Hargrove Hall.

He was out of the cab before the Ford came to a complete stop, not hearing Jim call his name as he sprinted across the lawn. He was brought up short by a strong hand on his arm.

"Damn it, Chief. I said wait for me!" Jim gave his arm a rough shake before releasing him. "Now, this time, stay close."

They wove between fire and police personnel busy with their tasks. No one challenged them or stopped them as they walked toward the damaged building. Heavy smoke poured out the open main doorway. All the windows on the main floor were gone, many belching out smoke.

Blair's eyes were drawn to a large hole, gaping open halfway down the side of the building.

"My office..."

"Ellison! Over here!"

Blair was pulled sideways and towed behind Jim to where Simon stood with an older man wearing a fire uniform and a white helmet with the word `chief' on the sides. Simon held a heavy, gray vest and looked angry. He thrust it into Jim's hand as they arrived.

"We'll talk about this later, Detective."

"Right... here, Sandburg. Lift your arms," Jim ordered.

His mind in a daze, head still twisted on his neck to get another look at the building that held his office, Blair didn't even register what was happening until he felt the thick weight of the vest rest on both shoulders. Jim even took a second to free his long hair. "What... why am I wearing this?"

"Just in case," Jim told him before looking back at Simon. "Thanks, Sir."

"Don't mention it," Simon answered. "Okay, this is what we know so far. They're still fighting the fire, but it looks like they'll have it knocked down soon. Joel's on his way. Witnesses say they heard the explosion, no one saw it though. The fire was heavy on the main floor, south side when the first trucks arrived."

"Anyone hurt?" Blair asked.

Simon's face softened an instant. "Yeah, unfortunately. A night watchman has been flown to the Harborview Burn Unit in Seattle."

The realization hit Blair like a kick to the gut. The phone call, just before Simon's might have been from the bomber. His office was the target. Now a man was hurt.

Jim's hand tightened on his shoulder and the memory of the promise he'd made hours ago to Jim came back to haunt him. "I told you, Jim!" Blair choked out. "Someone was going to get hurt because of-"

"No!" Jim cut him off. "This is not your fault."

"That was my office!" Blair insisted.

"Enough." Simon ended the argument. "Now is not the time, gentlemen."

"Simon, we got a phone call tonight," Jim told him. "It was right before you called. The voice had been electronically altered and it said the word `soon'. Now, I'm thinking Rossetti made the call. We need to get a subpoena for his phone records and get a record of the calls to the loft tonight as well."

"Alright," Simon fished his cell phone out of his pocket. "I'll get things started. There's Taggart," he pointed towards the large man coming their way. "I want you two to work with the fire investigator after they knock this down. See if you can," he pointed to his nose, "do your thing. Maybe you can find a clue that will connect this fire to Rossetti."

One thing was sure, Blair figured as Simon moved off to one side to make his call and Jim started talking with Joel, Blair didn't have to worry about getting someone to cover his classes this week. He gazed unhappily at the building that used to house his office and the anthropology department. It looked like the semester had come to an early end.

"Anything else, Jim?" Blair asked watching Jim sift through a pile of burned debris.

They had been at the University for hours. The fire was out and the sun was well above the eastern horizon. They'd already gone over the floor, returning a second time to Blair's office. Joel had reasoned the bomb had been in Blair's office, somewhere in front of his desk or where the desk used to be. The office was unrecognizable and Blair looked ready to throw up as he gathered a collection of books, binders and loose pages together in a box. Jim wasn't sure why he bothered, the stuff looked ruined.

"No, I'm not picking anything else up," Jim replied as he took one last look around.

"Sulfur... Joel said a timer device had to be used to give the arsonist time to get away, maybe he used a regular road flare," Blair suggested, wiping his grimy hands on his filthy jeans.

"Yeah, that would work." Jim stepped over the broken shards of pottery. "What's this?"

"What?" Blair watched Jim move aside a ceiling panel on the floor. "What do you see?"

"Not see, smell," Jim replied holding up a single long stem rose. Remarkably, the panel had protected it. Except for the wet ash that clung to its pedals, it looked unscathed. "I'm willing to bet this is a match for the flowers delivered to the office yesterday." He stood, keeping the rose. "Come on, let's go find Simon before we head out."

After checking with Simon and turning the rose over, he hustled Blair and the box towards the Ford. Having him out in the open, even though the campus had been closed to the public during the investigation made him nervous. He didn't bother to cover the seat before pushing Blair into the truck cab. He could have them steam-cleaned later. They both needed showers and food. Simon had promised to swing by later to catch them up on the investigation.

During the drive home, the cab was unusually silent. Jim had no words for his friend. That office had been important to him. Hell, even Jim was rather fond of it. The quirky room had matched his quirky guide.

He slapped the steering wheel hard in frustration.

"What?" Blair asked, jarred alert.

"Nothing, sorry," Jim said. "I'm just pissed."

"Oh... yeah." Blair paused to yawn and winced. "Ow...me, too. I can't believe all that stuff is gone," he added sadly, turning to watch the passing scenery.

Jim glanced over, catching a reflection of Blair's face in the glass. Blair looked exhausted. His face was almost complete black from soot. "Sorry about your things, Chief."

Blair shrugged, looking calmer the Jim expected. "My important stuff, the papers on you, are at the loft. The student's scores are logged into the campus main computer. I guess they have insurance to replace their equipment. Those artifacts though..."

Jim noticed an important part of Blair's verbal inventory was completely left out. Was he not ready to deal with the loss?

"What about your box? Any of that salvageable?"

Blair shrugged, studying the black dirt under his thumbnail. "Whatever, man. I'll try and see what I can save. Naomi always warned me not to hold on to the material things, I guess she was right."

Arriving at the loft, Jim checked out the food options while Blair showered. They were running low on groceries, he'd have to do something about that. Jim pulled a package of pancake mix out of the cupboard. He was whipping the batter when the first soft sob from the bathroom floated out. Jim hadn't even been aware he was listening. Pausing, he tilted his head and dialed his hearing up even more, catching another soft cry. Blair was doing his best to muffle the sounds of his distress.

Damn Rossetti! If the guy had walked into the loft at that particular moment, Jim would have killed him with his bare hands.

The box from the fire caught his eye. Jim left his meal preparations and walked into Blair's room. The box was a regular sized, the type that held reams of paper. Its contents half filled the box; charred loose papers, soaked wet from fire hoses, blue ink from a pen running free into the fibers. The corner of an open journal peered out from under soot covered photos. Jim zoomed in on the date and did the math.

Blair would have been fifteen when he wrote that journal entry.

He spun on his heels and marched to the phone, punching the numbers in with fierce jabs of his finger.

"Rhonda? I need a favor..."

When Blair exited the bathroom wearing sweat pants and a T-shirt, his skin pink from scrubbing, Jim's stack of cooked pancakes had grown to six inches. He had added frozen blueberries, thawed out in warm water as an afterthought. Jim snuck a look at his roommate's face. To a normal person nothing looked amiss. But Jim could see a hint of redness around the eyes.

"Wow! I didn't think I was hungry, but I think I'll change my mind. Thanks, Jim." Blair sat at the table, rubbing his hands in anticipation.

"No problem, if you're half as starved as me, we'll need a few more stacks of these babies."

Sounds of footsteps nearing the door came just as the meal was being cleared from the table. The knock on the door caused a passing flicker of fear on Blair's face. He looked at Jim expectantly.

"Ellison? It's Pederson and Howe. We've got some guy that says he's got orders to pick up a box."

Jim nodded. "It's okay, Chief. I'll explain in a second," he whispered as he pulled his gun from the drawer and went to let them in. His ears told him three men stood in the hallway, all heartbeats were calm. "Slide a business card under the door," he ordered and waited. In a second, a white card appeared. Jim toed it off to the side, using his sentinel vision to read without picking the card up. `Cascade Fire Restoration and Record Retrieval'

Opening the door, Jim stood off to one side, his gun pointed towards the floor but at the ready. An older man with Albert Einstein hair stood between two plain-clothed officers. He looked up at Jim in surprise.

"Please come in, sorry about the gun," Jim said, tucking his weapon out of sight back into its drawer.

"Ah...thank you, I understand you're a police officer, yes?" The man's German accent was thick, reinforcing his appearance. "This is an emergency, yes? The fire at the school?"

"That's right, let me show you." Jim returned the gun before addressing his roommate. Blair stood behind the kitchen chair, his face clearly advertising his confusion. "Chief, the department sent an expert out to get to work on your things from the box."

"Expert? What kind of expert?" Blair asked looking back at the newcomer.

"I restore documents, young man. We must move quickly, quickly! I need to get them into the freezer as soon as possible." The `Albert look alike' slapped the back of one hand into his other palm as he spoke. "Where are the papers?"

"Oh...oh! In here," Blair flashed a broad smile taking the man into his room and leaving Jim behind with the two cops.

"Captain Banks will be coming by later," he told them. "You want some coffee? I can loan you a thermos."

"Sounds great!" Pederson admitted. He was a heavyset man, partially bald with a face that had been scarred from a bad case of Chicken Pox as a child. His partner was younger, tall and thin.

Both men were on loan from Cascade Police Organized Crime Unit and had been personally requested by Jim. They'd proved themselves in the past as far as Jim was concerned. Most importantly, they'd been partners for many years and were good friends. Too good to let the other become corrupt by a crook waving a wad of money.

"So, how's Sandburg holding up?" Howe asked as Jim filled a thermos with hot water in preparation for the coffee.

"He's keeping it together," Jim answered.

"You hear about Higby?" Pederson asked, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. "He's missing."

Jim left the thermos in the sink to warm up. Crossing his arms, he leaned back into the counter and gave them his full attention. "What? How long has he been missing?"

"Way we hear it," Howe said, "he took off from his desk the moment the news of that video got out. Hasn't been seen since. Not by his partner or friends or anybody."

"You ask us, those two don't deserve a second chance," Pederson said with feeling. "Brass should have canned them after that attack on the stairs. They stink up the entire department."

"He's the one that IA thinks screwed with the video?" Jim asked bluntly. He knew this was station grapevine gossip, but it was worth hearing.

"Yeah, according to Gonzalez in Evidence, his signature was in the log a few days before the video was located outside the evidence locker. No chance in hell a prosecutor is going to get that admitted now. Too easy to claim the video was altered," Howe explained. "With the digital technology you can put the President in Saddam's lap and make it look real."

Jim grunted in agreement, turning back to pour out the water and fill it with fresh coffee. As he handed it over to Howe, Blair emerged from his room followed by the restoration expert carrying the box like he held the original Declaration of Independence. Jim instantly liked the old man.

"Jim! Wolf thinks he can save my stuff. Isn't that cool? You sure the department is okay with this? They know it's my stuff, right?" Blair sported a wide, hopeful smile, his eyes sparkling with eager anticipation.

"Yeah, they know," Jim lied. "It's okay, Chief."

"Cool!" Blair followed Wolf to the door. "Thanks so much, man. I hope you can save my journals, the rest of that stuff is important too, but not as special as my travel notes."

"Ah, Blair. I will work on everything with the utmost care! I am so thrilled to see such a young man who still values the written word," Wolf declared solemnly. "I am off to get started now. I will call you when I am finished."

After the guests left, Blair returned to the kitchen to finish drying the dishes, a happy smile on his face. "This is so cool, Jim. I can't believe Simon even thought about my stuff. I'm not going to forget this, ever! I can't wait till he gets here and I can thank him."

"Well, we still have a few hours till he arrives, I'm going to grab a shower and try and get a few hours sleep. I suggest you do the same." Jim headed up the stairs to get his robe, leaving the rest of the kitchen clean up to his roommate. Once up in his room, out of Blair's view - and hopefully, earshot - Jim pulled out his cell phone and called his boss. "Simon? Yeah, I'm whispering... listen, I need to ask you a favor. When you get here, Sandburg is going to thank you for authorizing the cost of having his notes and personal journals restored by a professional service... I know, I know. Just go along with it, okay?"

The body of Detective Higby was found two days after the University bombing. The call came to the loft, interrupting the argument between the two roommates.

Blair threw himself onto the sofa as Jim stomped off to answer the phone. He hadn't been allowed out of the loft since their trip to Rainier. Simon visited frequently, updating them on the IA investigation, the improving condition of the security guard injured in the bombing, and the speculations of the Fed's on the case against Rossetti.

As far as Blair was concerned, the threat appeared to be over. No more prank phone calls, no flowers being delivered to the loft, no nothing.

Blair wanted out. He had to get out of the loft. He didn't even care if it was only a trip to the station and back, he was nursing a serious case of `loft fever'. He'd worked on his dissertation, cleaned his room, even cooked a gourmet meal last night, having a little fun with on-line shopping at a local grocery store that made deliveries. Enough was enough. He couldn't spend the rest of his life hiding.

Jim hadn't agreed.

And that's what had started their argument. Part of Blair's brain knew he was being unreasonable, but it was a small part and he didn't care. He was trapped by his own stupid promise. How he had let Jim maneuver him into making that promise still mystified him. When it came to verbal manipulation, Blair had thought he was the king, not Jim. Now he wasn't so sure.

"Okay, we're on our way." Jim returned the phone to its cradle.

Blair shot out of the seat. Yes! Road trip!

"Go get your vest, Sandburg," Jim ordered. "Looks like they found Higby's body."

Suddenly, the idea of getting out of the loft didn't seem as appealing. "Body? As in... dead?"

"As in dead for a few days," Jim answered, slipping his holstered gun into the small of his back. He tilted his head towards the room under the stairs. "Vest. Hurry up, you wanted to get out of the loft, remember?"

Oh, goody. Blair headed for his room, trying to remember where he'd last put that Kevlar vest. Why was it, his wish had to come in the form of getting to see a body, a body that had been dead for days. Blair buttoned a flannel shirt over the vest, thankful the weather was overcast and cool, even though it was late May. Once out on the street, Jim waved to the two officers, this time, a woman and her male partner.

"Where are we going?" Blair asked as he pulled himself up into the passenger seat and closed the door.

"The old cannery by the river. Seems a real estate agent found a new padlock on the door and called the police. A uniform found the body inside."

Half an hour later, they arrived at the scene. A long narrow wooden building with peeling white paint sat next to the riverbank. In the city's early days, boats loaded down with fresh salmon unloaded their catch. Working in the cannery had been hard, with long hours. A dwindling supply of the salmon forced the cannery to close its doors over forty years ago. `For sale' signs advertised the building as available, but one look caused Blair to wonder how the building was able to stand up to even a light wind. The foundation seemed to be sinking into the ground, causing the wooden planks of the long wall facing the street to rise and fall in waves. The entire building was tilted at an angle.

Marked police cars with flashing blue lights parked in a huddled fashion around a large garage-sized door that opened up on metal tracks. The place was a beehive of activity, reminding Blair of the time Jim's friend Danny Chow had been shot and killed. It seemed more police personnel were needed when it was one of their own.

Jim stepped out of the truck, waiting patiently for Blair to join him before they headed for the entrance. A few feet away, Jim reared back with a wrinkled nose. Blair knew then it was not going to be pretty.

"Dial it down, Jim," he said automatically, without thinking.

"Whew, this is going to be ripe, Chief," Jim told him. "Make sure to breathe through your mouth when we get inside."

Blair nodded, following Jim into the coolness of the large, old building. As old as the building was, it still had electricity. The inside was mostly open, with a few vertical posts. Half way down the length of the structure, several bright lights on stands had been arranged in a circle, pointed inward. Police technicians and photographers were milling about in the lights. Blair could see bright colors of red and gold in the center.

"There's Simon," Jim said just as the man broke away from the working police technicians and joined them with long, fast strides.

"Hold up, Jim," Simon ordered, breaking off to glance at Blair with a worried expression.

"They found Higby?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, I just got here a few minutes ago. He was murdered, Jim." Simon rubbed his forehead. "I'll stand here with Sandburg. I want you to go check it over. No one has moved anything."

"Hey, wait a minute, Simon!" Blair protested, feeling his anger build. "I've seen dead bodies before, I can handle this."

"Just for once, I'd like to think I can give an order that you would follow without arguing, Sandburg," Simon complained. He nodded back over his shoulder. "Go on, Jim, Sandburg and I will wait here."

Jim patted Blair's arm. "Be right back."

Blair slammed both hands in to his pockets and pulled a face. For crying out loud, they acted like he was a novice. Dead women in bathtubs, bodies riddled with bullets, secretaries that crash... crap, he'd seen it all. He turned away from Simon with a flash of irritation and watched Jim walk away. Jim neared the lit area and a few of the technicians fell back to allow him in. Blair caught sight of a man's bare leg before Simon's chest blocked his view.

"Simon..." Blair growled.

"Sandburg," Simon growled louder, folding his arms with an unspoken show of authority.

"Look, I just want to keep an eye on Jim, okay?" Blair explained slowly, looking up into the frowning face of the Police Captain. "It's not like I have his sentinel vision or anything. They're at least a hundred feet away, man."

"Oh, all right. But stay put." Simon stepped to one side and turned to watch. "What the..."

"Shit!" Blair recognized the signs of Jim's zone instantly. He was standing like a zombie and two technicians were having to prop him up to keep the zoned sentinel from falling over. Blair broke into a run.

Skidding to a halt on the old wooden floor, Blair moved to replace the technicians and accept the weight of his friend. "Jim! Jim, man. Don't do this...Simon can you get everyone to back away. Give us some space?"

"Okay, folks. Let's take a break," Simon clapped his hands. "Just leave what you can here. I'll call you when we're done."

"Shouldn't we call for help, Captain?" a man asked, setting his camera bag down.

"No, no. It's okay," Simon insisted.

Blair tuned them out, his concentration fixed on his sentinel's lax face. "Jim?" he called softly. "You're going to so hate yourself in the morning, man. Listen to me." He ran a fingernail lightly up and down Jim's forearm as he spoke. "Take a deep breath, Jim," Blair breathed in to illustrate and choked on the putrid order. "On second thought... bag that idea."

"Why's this taking so long, Sandburg?" Simon asked as he stood helping Blair hold up the zoned man.

"I don't know! I'm at a loss." Blair fought back the panic, forcing himself to think. Voice wasn't working, touch wasn't getting through, smell was out... "Simon, you got a mint or something?"

"Yeah, wait a second." Simon transferred to a one handed hold to free a hand to pull a tin of Altoids from his overcoat pocket. "Here."

"Perfect." Blair took a small white mint from the opened box and carefully inserted it into Jim's slightly open mouth. "Don't bite, man. I need all my fingers." He rubbed the mint back and forth on Jim's tongue. Jim's eyes fluttered and he pulled back from the strong mint. "Yes! Jim, Jim... you back with us now?"

With a shake of his head, Jim grabbed Blair's arms to steady himself before regaining his balance and standing on his own. He looked at both men in confusion before realization dawned on his face. "I zoned?"

"Yeah, big time too. What did you zone on?" Blair asked. Now that Jim was back, he twisted to see if he could find the source of the zone.

And saw the body of Detective Higby.

Two sets of hands pulled him back. They spun him around to half carry-half drag him towards the entrance. Blair didn't resist. He couldn't muster enough strength to manage even a weak protest. It was as if someone had stolen all his energy. Only one thing was clear in his mind.

He'd been wrong, so very, very wrong.

He'd thought he'd seen it all. Hardly!

As they neared the entrance, Jim and Simon slowed to a stop.

Blair's legs refused to hold him up. They lowered him down, his arms caught in the vise-like hold of Jim's hands until his butt met the wooden floorboards. Jim knelt beside him, his face etched in worry.

"Chief?"

Blair blinked, curious of the sudden thick viscous feeling in his head like someone had filled it with heavy weight motor oil. A thought surfaced and broke through. `Shock, I'm in shock. How weird is that?'

"Sandburg, you still with me?"

Blair managed a nod, wondering if this is what it was like for Jim when he came out of a zone.

"Could you manage a few words for me, Chief?"

"Wh-why?" he croaked. "Why is ... he like that?"

Jim rubbed his closed eyes hard with a thumb and finger. He was tired. Tired of reading reports and sifting through data. With a sigh he finished the last of the water bottle and checked his watch. Crap, it was later then he'd realized.

"We got it!" Rafe entered the bullpen holding a file high in his right hand. Henri followed close behind. Both men had grim looks of determination on their faces.

Simon stepped out of his dimly lit office. "Keep it down, gentlemen."

Movement behind the Captain's broad back told Jim it was too late for the warning. He watched as Blair appeared to stand next to Simon.

"I wasn't really sleeping anyway," Blair reported dully.

"We found the scene in one of Rossetti's videos, his company produced it about a year ago," Henri explained as Rafe opened the file and set several large, color 8 by 11 stills down on Jim's desk. "A real sick film, let me tell you. But this scene was identical to how we found Higby."

"Right, except for the brown wig... sorry, Blair," Rafe looked up with a grimace and a flash of concern.

Jim picked up a photo; it was the same, right down to the gaudy silk red and gold silk sheets and the sex toys. Only this person didn't have a butcher's knife buried in his chest. He dropped the photo as if the filth in the picture was spreading to his fingers. "Rossetti is shoving this in our faces, Simon!"

"I agree, Jim," Simon answered, drawing near to look over the photos. "But we still have to play this by the book. It's going to take good detective work to bring him down for this murder, not emotional outbursts." He nodded to his men. "Good work, you two. I think this is all we're going to get finished tonight. Let's wrap this up and pick it up first thing in the morning. With Higby's murder, Major Crimes is back in the picture on this case, at least from this perspective anyway."

Jim stood. He was more than ready to call it a day. "Come on, Chief."

"Just a moment, Jim," Simon said, holding up a hand. "I want to talk to you and Sandburg in my office."

Jim followed Blair into the office. Simon switched on the overhead light and closed the door. Something told Jim more bad news was coming their way.

"The Feds called the Chief. I'm afraid they've got some valid issues about taking Sandburg into protective custody."

Blair stiffened. "What? They can't do that, can they?" He looked at Jim in alarm. "I have some say in this, right?"

Jim expelled a gust of breath through puffed cheeks, his eyes raking the office as he considered his options. He should have seen this coming. Rossetti may be playing a macabre game of cat and mouse with Cascade PD, but the Feds were watching and they'd be getting more and more nervous about the safety of their last witness.

"Jim! Tell me they can't just do this," Blair demanded in a loud voice.

"Calm down, Chief," Jim soothed taking a moment to look Blair in the eyes before turning back to Simon. "What are they suggesting?"

"For now, a local safe house. I think I can limit it to just nights. With Higby gone, I can convince them the danger here at the station is minimal," Simon answered.

"I'm staying there, too," Jim told Simon.

"I already told them that, they understand."

"Okay." Jim turned to stand directly in front of Blair, both hands resting on his friend's shoulders. "I think it's a good idea, Chief. I know I could use a full night's sleep. I promise you won't be out of my sight."

Blair swallowed hard, still looking unhappy, but willing to consider the new turn of events. The key to getting his partner to agree was to make it sound like Jim would benefit. Then Blair would be all for it. Jim knew it was underhanded and manipulative, but he also knew that Blair liked to pull the same stunt on him from time to time.

"I guess," Blair whispered. "Just for a few nights."

"I've seen cleaner youth hostels."

"I'll pass the comments on to the president, Sandburg. Now, go to sleep."

"You'd just think the accommodations would be nicer," Blair grumbled.

He didn't want to be sleeping here, the room had all the charm of a mission street flop house with dingy, smoke stained curtains - which hid iron bars, by the way - and ratty looking orange shag carpet. The sheets smelled like mildew and Blair was certain he'd seen a hoard of cockroaches scurry for the wall boards when Jim had turned on the light. Blair wanted to be home, in the loft with his books and a clean bathroom, which reminded him.

"Did you see that bathroom, Jim? I mean did you notice the green slime growing around the pipes going into the toilet? I peeked into the bathtub, it had the `mother of all rings' in it."

Rolling up on to an elbow Jim pinned Blair with his fiercest scowl. "I swear to God, Chief. If you don't shut up, I'm going to stuff a sock in your mouth. You've got to be as exhausted as I feel. It's after midnight. Now, put your head on that pillow and close your eyes."

Blair flopped backwards with a huff, he was tired. He was so tired he couldn't sleep, if that made any sense. The thought of closing his eyes scared him. He couldn't get the sight of Higby's body out of his mind. The cause of death was no mystery, having a humungous knife shoved through your ribs and into your heart had a tendency to kill you. Surprisingly, there was not much blood. As gross as that image seemed, it wasn't the knife that caused the cold sweat to break out on his brow.

"Sandburg, calm down," Jim said in a soft voice. "You want the lights back on?"

"Sure, might as well give the cockroaches more exercise, man," Blair answered, working for sarcasm but managing to sound like he was being strangled instead.

The lamp between the twin beds clicked on. Jim was sitting on the edge of his bed, his elbows resting on his knees as he scrubbed his face wearily. But he didn't look mad, which Blair expected.

"Want to talk about it, Chief?"

`No,' Blair thought as he sat up and scooted back until his back rested against the cheap headboard. "About what?"

"Whatever has your heart firing like a jackhammer."

"I hate it when you do that, Jim. It's not like I want the whole world know when I'm freaked out."

"I'm not the whole world, I'm just one exhausted sentinel," Jim said with a smile. "You're thinking about Higby."

Blair saw a chance to change the subject and grabbed it. "What made you zone, anyway? You never told me."

Jim shrugged. "I'm not sure, I just remember being so mad... the next thing I knew you're putting that mint on my tongue."

Blair chewed that over for a second. "You zoned on an emotion? Is that possible? Maybe it was a combination. But, if you think about it, your emotions could-"

"Nice try, Darwin, but I believe we were talking about what was freaking you out."

So much for the diversion tactic. Blair closed his mouth was a snap and glared at the blankets in his lap. Both of them were sleeping in their T-shirts and boxers. "It's a good thing it's almost summer, man. Because these are lame excuses for blankets."

Jim's sigh was loud and spoke of stretched limits to his patience.

Blair swallowed hard, diverting his eyes to the drapes, they really should be replaced. He wondered how many packs of cigarettes would have to be smoked to get drapes that color.

"Blair, it's okay to be scared."

"Good because I passed scared yesterday, I'm working on petrified here, man," Blair answered quietly. "Is it okay to be petrified?"

"Yeah, I think that's okay too."

"Rossetti's like the monster that used to live in the corner."

"Don't you mean `closet'?"

Blair frowned as he shook his head. "Nah, we didn't stay in places with closets. I had corners growing up."

"Okay, go on."

"That's all... he's out there. He's not in jail where he should be, he could be anywhere. I keep expecting him to jump out, like those cheesy horror flicks, complete with a hockey mask and chainsaw." Blair smoothed the blanket flat, then pleated it between his fingers, only to smooth it flat again as he spoke, unable to watch Jim, afraid of what he'd see.

The room was silent for a moment. Blair gave the blanket a rest and began to inspect his fingernails, checking to see if he'd gotten all the dirt out from under them. Between the Rainier explosion and being inside that cannery, he was having to clean his hands a lot lately.

"I know you never watched the video of you, Matro and Rossetti together; but have you ever seen a picture of Rossetti?" Jim asked.

Blair gave that some thought. "No, now that you mention it, I don't think I have."

"Wait a second." Jim walked over to his duffle bag and returned with a file. "I brought a few files with me, in case I couldn't sleep."

Blair didn't want to open the file Jim set on the bed. "Are there any pictures of ..."

"No, none from the cannery, just all we have on Rossetti, plus a few decent pictures," Jim explained.

Blair opened the file, his eyes spotting the picture clipped to the upper left. To Blair's surprise, it was a publicity shot of the man. He was expecting a mug shot. Actually, he was expecting something along the lines of his `monster' theory, complete with fangs and glowing eyes. The man looking back at him had neither.

"He... he looks like Mr. Rogers, the guy on the kid show," Blair muttered as he studied the kind eyes, a weak chin and graying hair. "A guy you'd expect to live next door."

"In his case, looks are deceiving. He's suspected of making snuff films as well as the porn he admits to. The Feds have been keeping surveillance on his estate. He's been keeping a very low profile. It appears he hires others to do his dirty work. Unless he managed to slip by the Feds, there's no way he could have personally killed Higby or set off the bomb at Rainier. I'm sure his goons are responsible for both," Jim said.

Blair shook his head, unable to make the connection between the face in the file and the memory of those fingers stroking his face over a month ago. Yet they were one in the same. He closed the file and handed it back to Jim. "Thanks."

"No problem." Jim returned the file to the bag before climbing back into his bed.

Blair leaned over and turned off the lamp. "You'd think the Feds could spring for an exterminator. Did you see the size of those cockroaches?"

"Sandburg..." Jim growled.

"Night, Jim."

Jim woke.

The room was still dark. Glancing at his wristwatch, he knew he'd been asleep for only an hour. Blair was breathing gently, a miracle in itself. He'd been prepared for nightmares. The last thing he'd wanted was for his friend to see the nude body of Detective Higby wearing identical glasses to Blair's and a wig of long brown hair. A dozen long stemmed red roses had been dropped in random across the body. The word `soon' had been scrawled across his chest, apparently written in blood, just below the knife.

Wide-awake and thirsty, Jim quietly slipped out of bed and pulled on his pants. The light seeped in under the door. Jim figured he'd get a glass of water, check on the night crew of federal agents that were guarding them and hit the john. Slipping through the door, he padded down the short hallway into an empty living room. They must be in the kitchen.

The house really was a dive. Sometimes you got a nice place, sometimes you got a dump.

Jim walked into the kitchen, it looked cleaner and he could smell lemons. Maybe they used a lemon scented cleaner. Suddenly, Jim froze. He extended his hearing.

He and Blair were the only two in the house.

Shit.

Jim hurried back to their room, keeping the light off as he entered. He crossed to Blair's bed and clamped a hand over his mouth, careful not to add too much pressure. Blair's jaw was still tender.

"Chief!" he hissed.

Blair woke with a fearful start, large dilated eyes blinking unseeingly.

"Get up. We're leaving. Don't make a sound. Got it?"

Blair nodded, doing as he was told. Jim handed him his clothes and shoes before finishing his own dressing. Possible scenarios ran through Jim's mind as they quickly dressed in the darkness, none of them favorable. All boiled down to the fact Blair was in danger. Jim knew they were near the interstate close to a major off ramp that was favored by truck drivers.

Blair was ready, pack in hand and Jim led the way as they slipped back into the hallway. Casting out his hearing like a fishing net, he reaffirmed no other heartbeats were in the house. The agents that should be guarding them were either dead or had abandoned them. Jim headed for the back door with Blair's hand anchored in the back of his shirt. The mud room off the back was crowded with an old washer and dryer and large quantities of toilet paper and cleaning supplies.

He pushed Blair to one side and lifted the heavy curtain covering the door's window a fraction of an inch to check the backyard. It looked clear. No visible alarm system was apparent and Jim didn't have time to investigate. None of the agents had mentioned an alarm system. He unlocked the deadbolt.

Then remembered he'd left his own duffel bag with his cell phone in the room. Should he go back? Something told the cop to forget it. They needed to leave. And fast.

They were at the alley when the explosion rocked the neighborhood, lighting up the sky like a sunrise and throwing bits of wood and shingles in every direction. Both men hit the dirt as the debris rained down around them like a spring shower.

With his ears still ringing, Jim dialed down the pain. Before the neighbors came to investigate, they needed to be gone. Latching on to Blair's arm, he jerked his friend to his feet and ran. Three blocks away, they reached a twenty-four hour truck stop and entered the area used by long distance truck drivers to shower, make personal phone calls and relax. Blair was talking and Jim realized he'd left his hearing dialed to zero, an unconscious action from the explosion.

"...you hear me now?"

"Yeah, sorry," Jim answered.

"You okay? What happened back there?" Blair whispered urgently between gasps for air as Jim herded him into the men's restroom.

"Shhh," Jim hissed. His senses were still reeling from the explosion, Jim couldn't tell if they were alone or not. Moving quickly, he peeked under the stalls, no feet. "I'm not sure what happened. I woke up and we were the only two alive in the house."

Blair leaned against a sink and wrapped his arms around himself in a hug. "Alive? Where'd the Fed guys go? Did you smell a bomb?"

Jim shook his head. "No, nothing. But the bomb could have been sealed so tight I wouldn't have been able to."

Blair shivered, dropping his head and closing his eyes. "Shit, that explosion scared me, man. If you hadn't of got us out of there..." He shivered again, tightening his arms. "What are we going to do now? Call Simon?"

Jim shook his head. "No, we need some distance. I'm a little fed up with the kind of protection we've been getting."

Blair lifted his head, his eyes clouded in confusion. "Distance? Where we going?"

"How much money do you have?"

"A little over ten bucks," Blair admitted sheepishly. "I haven't been to the bank."

Jim pulled out his wallet. "I've got fifty-three," he muttered. "We need a car, but that's not going to be enough."

Blair dropped his arms, bracing himself on the rim of the sink. "Jim, this is a truck stop, we can get a ride. Which direction do you want to take?"

"They don't accept riders," Jim answered, then caught the knowing look on his friend's face. "Do they?"

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