We have a dust bunny.

It occurred to Blair that he'd never seen a dust bunny in the loft. He wondered about it. There were so many wonders pressed into his brain that his skull threatened to explode; like, for instance, how it was possible to see this bunny because they normally live on the floor, so that must mean he was face down on the rug, which would explain why it hurt. Noses didn't like being pressed into hardwood floors much, even with a rug. He wondered about his nose and how it became smashed into the floor.

The floor was shaking, like when he'd gone to see Jurassic Park in the theaters and the seats shook when the dinosaurs walked. Blair wanted to giggle. He was worried about a stupid dust bunny when a dinosaur was trekking through the loft.

"We need to come to an understanding, Sandburg," Jim's voice boomed somewhere in the air above.

The sound of something heavy being moved sounded at the same time that the pressure on Blair's shoulders and the back of his legs disappeared. Ah, I'm back on the floor, between the coffee table and the sofa. The dust bunny is under the sofa. Go figure.

Bits and pieces of that morning came to mind, mostly out of order. Blair sorted through the visions and rearranged them in chronological order. By the time Jim lifted him roughly by a handful of shirt and jean waistband and tossed him on the sofa Blair had a pretty good memory of how it came that he was on the floor.

The demon was in Jim.

They were in deep shit.

Blinking to clear his vision without much success, Blair was surprised at how good Jim looked for someone with a devil living inside his head. Jim had showered, dressed and looked ready to face the world. Blair on the other hand, was certain he didn't look so good. His left eye felt hot and thick. He couldn't get his vision to focus and he suspected he had a concussion. Time was moving too slow to be real. For instance, how long had it been since Jim had knocked him around the living room?

"...you listening to me?" Jim demanded.

Oops, Blair tried to pay attention.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Okay, I'll make a note not to punch the help. You humans are too fragile."

Super duper, a demon with a wit. Lucky me, Blair thought. "Whaztha deal?"

"Well, I'm willing to stop hurting you if you promise not to try getting away or calling for help," Jim said reasonably. "You'll notice it's basically the same deal as before, only you stop collecting bruises."

Blair gave that some serious thought. On the surface that sounded pretty good. He liked the part about him not being hurt anymore. But he was pretty sure Naomi would not approve of her son making deals with the devil. He snickered. How many times had he heard that expression? Now it seemed so damn real.

Jim's sigh and look of exasperation was so Jim-like that Blair wanted to cry. He wanted Jim back. He'd do anything to get Jim back. Anything.

"Okay, man," Blair said. "I agree. But I get to ask questions."

"You do?" Jim asked with wonder. "Why?"

"'Cos, I'm an athro... anthropologist and we ask questions. `Ss what we do." Blair raised a hand to tenderly probe his face. He had to be sporting the mother of all black eyes. "'Sides, you said you liked to talk."

Jim walked away without a word, returning a minute later with a bottle of water. "Here."

"Thanks." Blair stifled the urge to giggle. As the pain fiercely checked in, he was becoming clearer minded. The water tasted wet and cool and he realized how much he'd been longing for it. He drank half the bottle, head back and eyes closed in bliss. Maybe he should ask for some aspirin.

The demon was sitting on the coffee table, knees close to Blair's. "What questions?"

"Ah, where are you from?" Blair asked, blurting out the first thing to sprout up.

Demon-Jim leaned forward. "Same place your line is from. I didn't evolve from apes, I was created like you. Although why He bothered with you all is beyond me. You people are boring. I'm hard pressed for ways to amuse myself the last few centuries."

Blair remembered a comment the demon had made a few hits ago. "You called Jim a warrior?"

Jim preened. "Yeesss, it's been a long time. I'd thought they were all gone. Feels wonderful to take a warrior again."

So help him, Blair couldn't not ask. "You've been in others? When? Which culture?"

Jim laughed, seemingly delighted. "You really are interested. You're one of the most interesting humans I've ever met. You know what I am and you still ask questions, amazing."

Blair felt shame. Jim was possessed with a devil and he was asking stupid questions. A smaller voice told Blair it was okay, that asking questions was learning more about this evil. Knowledge was power. He had to learn everything he could to save Jim.

Jim was still talking. "Nearly every continent had a warrior, although they had different names. I liked the man in Africa the best. A mighty hunter, but he had issues. Didn't like eating his own tribe members."

Blair's gut dropped to his toes. Nausea checked in right on schedule and he swallowed repeatedly to fight it off. The action caused Jim to smile wider, his eyes actually twinkling as if remembering some pleasant memory. Blair closed his eyes and told himself to toughen up. He forced the next question. "Why do you... occupy our race if you don't like us?"

"Hey," Jim answered with a shrug. "We all have our crosses to bear." Loud laughter followed and Jim slapped Blair's knee before standing up. "I'm hungry, let's eat. Then we need to make a house call."

Eat? Blair was afraid to ask what this thing was hungry for. They had an elderly man that lived next door. He prayed the demon wasn't going to try for him. Promises or not, he wasn't going to sit idly by while people were killed and -

Jim lightly smacked his head. "I'm craving a sandwich, Mr. Anthropologist. Think you can make us a couple of those? Beef would be fine."

Struggling to his feet and swaying as he urged his legs to work, Blair wished the demon would stop nailing Jim's personality quirks so perfectly. It hurt as much as the punches and slaps. Out the windows, he could see the sun was still high in the sky. So he'd only been unconscious for a few hours. That had to be a good sign. Blair went through the motions of making roast beef sandwiches; opening the refrigerator and cupboard doors while Jim sat at the table, still talking.

"Now Vlad... he knew how to party. I wasn't fond of the living conditions, electricity and indoor plumbing hadn't been invented yet. The fourteen hundreds were rough, nothing like today. Other than those inconveniences, Vlad and I had a good time. He even gave me a few ideas. I'd never have thought of those stakes. He loved the title `Vlad the Impaler'." Jim laughed. "You would have loved all the stories that the Europeans printed about us, Blair. Romania called us a patriot. I just remember we had a blast."

Trapped in the nightmare, Blair considered tossing the wilted lettuce and serving the sandwich without. While listening with one ear to Jim's rambling, an idea formed. He snuck a peek over his shoulder, his good eye seeing Jim seated comfortably, one arm slung over the back of his chair, sipping a soda as he stared out the windows. Blair pulled off two large leaves of lettuce and ran them under the tap water. Blocking his action with his body, he pumped a tiny amount of hand soap and smeared the clear liquid over the lettuce, then ran it quickly under the water again. Jim's nose might not catch it because they used scentless soap. Hopefully his taste buds would be so confused with all the ingredients, it wouldn't be noticed until his stomach acids got a hold of it. Blair knew enough about Jim's body to know the reaction wouldn't be pleasant. As he finished the sandwich, including several slivers of red bell peppers that Jim liked, other ideas formed in Blair's mind. He could think of a dozen ways to attack the demon through Jim's sentinel abilities.

Hopefully Jim would forgive him.

"Here you go." Blair set the sandwich down on the table, adding a generous serving of corn chips.

"Where's yours?" Jim-demon asked as he reached for the food.

"I'm not hungry," Blair said truthfully, going through the motions of cleaning the counter. One hand drifted to the carefully sealed, glass bottle of dried sage they keep for cooking.

"What happened to that eye?" Simon Banks exclaimed, dressed in casual black corduroy pants and a collarless shirt with a knitted vest.

Blair shot a look at his roommate, unsure what if anything he should say. Jim had bundled him into the Ford and driven straight to the police station without explaining his reason. It wasn't the first Sunday Blair had been in the bullpen, but he couldn't ever remember the place so deserted before, with just a few people walking around. He certainly never expected they would run into Simon.

"Typical Sandburg luck, sir," Jim said breezily. "I warned him the floor was wet but he still slipped and fell face first into the fridge."

Simon rolled his eyes. "Sandburg, were you born with two left feet?"

"Not fair, Simon," Jim said before Blair could speak. "He's just not used to living in a place where floors get mopped."

Blair gritted his teeth, seething inside as he leaned wearily against Henri's empty desk. Only half the demon's handy work was visible. Long sleeves hid the damage to Blair's wrist. Simon didn't seem to notice the way Blair walked or the slight bruising on his jaw from the slaps. The high collar hid more bruising, long and finger shaped.

"So what brings you two in on a Sunday?" Jim asked.

"Picking up a report," Simon answered. "Big meeting Tuesday morning and I plan on having Major Crime's figures memorized. What about you two?"

"Just checking my emails." Jim parked in his desk chair. "Then we're going to catch a show."

"Ah, well then," Simon muttered, heading for the door. "Enjoy and I'll see you Tuesday."

Blair hoped so.

Alone in the bullpen, Blair pulled his chair next to the demon and sat. "What email?" He stared the way Jim's fingers flew over the keys and glanced up in awe at the screen. "Holy Jehosephate! Where'd you learn that?"

Jim turned, face ugly. "Watch your mouth!" he snarled.

Blair reared back, mentally adding another tidbit of information about the demon. "Sorry, man. It's just that Jim isn't so... computer-lit."

Demon-Jim turned back to his keyboard. "I've got many skills. One of the perks. Now shut up and let me work."

Blair wisely kept quiet, watching. Jim was all over the police department's database, jumping from department to department with complete ease and using tricks that every hacker Blair ever met would give his soul to learn. Blair cringed at the expression. He really needed to re-think the whole human vs. demon relationship. Now Jim was in Dan Wolfe's world, reviewing the coroner's personal notes on all the deaths relating to the demon's activities. The autopsy hadn't been completed yet on Officer Kelly. Jim grunted and moved on to Jim's personal emails. He snorted in contempt at the ongoing investigations and finally shut down the computer altogether.

The phone on the desk rang, startling Blair. He froze and waited to see what the demon would do. Completely out of character, it answered.

"Ellison." A slow smile spread over Jim's face as he listened.

Blair felt a twinge of dread. This had to be a bad sign.

"I agree. No, he's here with me. We'll come to you. When?" Jim glanced at Blair, the smile still in place. "Good. That works. See you then." He replaced the handset.

Catching his lower lip between his teeth, Blair refused to ask. The demon didn't make him wait to long.

"Seems Brooksdale's been looking for you. He's worried."

Hope soared. Blair couldn't believe it. "We're going to meet him?"

"Yep." Jim started to stand up but paused halfway. His face creased with pain and he hunched in a bent over position, one hand on his desk.

"You okay?" Blair asked carefully keeping his interest light.

"Need a toilet." Steadying himself before moving toward the door, Jim jerked his chin. "Come on."

"I'll wait here." Blair gripped the edges of his rolling office chair.

"No." Jim pulled Blair out of his chair with a handful of hair.

"Alright, already," Blair yelped. "Not the hair, man."

Jim turned Blair loose before reaching the hall, making it clear he expected the younger man to follow. Blair dutifully followed into the men's bathroom, relieved to find it empty. When the demon disappeared into the first stall, Blair silently slipped back into the hallway. He tiptoed back to the bullpen and picked up the phone on Jim's desk, hands shaking as he dialed Simon's number by heart.

"Banks."

Blair clutched the handset and cupped a palm around his mouth. "Simon," he whispered.

"Hello?"

God, Simon couldn't hear him. Blair could hear jazz music playing in the background. Blair had no idea the captain cranked his car radio up so loudly. "Simon, it's Blair," he said, raising his voice slightly.

"You're going to have to speak up," Simon said, like a man who didn't know who he was talking to.

Blair felt like screaming. "Simon!"

The background noise faded. "Hello?"

"It's Blair. Can you hear me?"

"Sandburg?" Simon replied in confusion.

"Yeah, listen, man. Jim needs help," Blair whispered, keeping his eyes on the door. A dark shadow appeared on the cloudy glass, but moved on.

"What did you say?" Simon asked. "Speak up, Sandburg. I don't have time for your games today."

"Jim needs help. He's not himself," Blair said urgently. "He's got a demon inside him. He hit me. I didn't fall."

Incredulously, Simon's voice faded then came back strong. "...just passed through a tunnel. Didn't get that. Say again."

Blair gritted his teeth. The shadow was back and he waited a half second for it to pass.

It didn't.

Jim flew through the doorway, face dark with anger and rage. Blair shot out of his seat with a yell. "Simon!" There was no need to whisper. Blair screamed the name. "Help!"

It was unclear how much Simon had heard. Jim had the phone cord ripped from the wall. He easily deflected the chair Blair shoved toward him as he advanced, lightening fast, toward the younger man. Blair reached for the coat rack, pulling it down to bounce harmlessly off Jim's forearm. Jim was unstoppable. Before he could scramble free, the back of Blair's collar was caught in a steel-hard grasp that choked him.

Jim shook him like a dog with a rat then kidney punched him with cruel accuracy. "What was the deal, Jew-boy? No calling for help, remember?" Jim spat out in a quiet voice that spoke of painful death in the very near future.

Blair tried swinging his good arm at Jim's face. Jim blocked him easily; moving into Blair's personal space and shoving him face first into the wall. Gasping for air, his arm twisted high behind his back, Blair waited for the bone to snap in two. The full weight of Jim's body smashed him into the wall.

"I'm beginning to wonder if you're worth keeping alive," Jim said casually, his lips inches from Blair's ear.

"I'm sorry," Blair gasped out. "I swear, man. I w-won't try it again."

Jim cranked Blair's arm up an inch higher, bringing another cry of pain from the younger man.

"Your promise is proving worthless."

The phone rang on Henri's empty desk.

Blair knew the line was shared by all the detectives. Maybe Simon was calling back. Jim must have thought the same. He lifted Blair from the wall, released his arm and towed him sideways by the scruff of his neck as he picked up the phone.

"Major Crime... hi, Simon." Jim's eyes narrowed, glaring at Blair. "Oh yeah, he called to ask if you wanted to catch that movie with us later. Yeah, I know. I told him you were busy, but you know how he is... yeah." Jim chuckled. "Right, gotcha, boss. See you Tuesday." Jim returned the phone.

Blair swallowed hard, wondering if he'd be alive on Tuesday. Jim's gaze burned through him. Never had he felt so frightened inside the police station. The demon was worse than Kincaid and Lash rolled into one. His side throbbed from the punch, breathing proved nearly impossible with his collar tight around his neck and his face ached from being slammed into the wall.

"That was strike two, Chief," Jim said ominously. "Third time and you're out. Understand?"

Blair nodded.

Jim shoved him toward the bullpen doorway. "I'll kill anyone you even look at for help."

Blair kept his gaze on the floor as they walked to the elevator and rode down to the parking garage.

The drive to Arlington passed without further incident. Blair realized this wasn't going to end well and he worried about Brooksdale's safety. The demon hadn't lived this long by being stupid. He must have a reason to meet with the one person that had been hunting him for the last five years. How do you kill a demon? Could it even happen? Brooksdale seemed to think it could, but Blair wasn't so sure. So far all he'd managed to accomplish was soaping a sandwich and sneaking a small pocket-stash of sage.

Jim turned the key to the off position and the engine fell silent. They sat and listened to the ticking of the cooling engine. Over the tops of the parked cars, the carnival rides spun and twirled. People walked to their cars, laughing from a fun-filled time. Others were just arriving, locking the doors and heading for the entrance gate. Jim sat like a statue behind the wheel. Blair was scared to breathe. He could almost smell the evil in the truck.

It was thinking.

Jim finally turned to study Blair, rubbing his forehead and frowning. Blair's heart skipped a beat.

"I'm thinking I can't trust you."

"No trying to get away or calling for help." Blair whispered, raising his left hand, solemnly holding up three fingers in the air. "I learned my lesson."

"Riight."

Damn it, Blair wished it would stop stealing Jim's lines.

Jim allowed Blair to follow; skirting most of the crowds by walking behind the airplane hangars with their doors open, showing fancy planes that gleamed in the sunlight. A long row of wooden bleachers waited to seat the crowds. Apparently no actual show was scheduled at the moment. Biplanes and fixed wing planes anchored by chains to the shorn field sat scattered about with interested participants getting a close look. Younger couples with children rode Brooksdale's rides. Food stands sold burgers, onion rings and drinks. The beer garden commanded a large audience, with long lines of adults waiting to get in.

Blair walked obediently in Jim's wake, terrified for these people who didn't know what had joined their ranks. They wove between children and old folks alike until they reached the office that Brooksdale called home. Brooksdale stood next to his trailer, a warrior in his own right and for the first time all day, Blair no longer felt alone.

"Hello, old friend," Brooksdale said, speaking directly to Jim.

Blair felt alone again.

Jim tilted his head questioningly. "You knew?" the deep voice of the demon asked.

A hopeless feeling of failure washed over Blair. This was not going the way he had hoped. Brooksdale appeared happy to see the demon, like a man who had won the gold metal.

"When I caught up with the girlfriend, I realized you had taken Ellison." Brooksdale looked at Blair for the first time, surprise apparent. "I see the kid's still with you, and alive. Are you getting soft?"

Jim crossed his arms. "Today seems to be my lucky day, two humans worthy of my attention. Could this human race be growing some backbone?"

"Come in." Brooksdale opened the door to his small trailer.

Blair's feet had other ideas. The last thing he wanted was to be in small quarters with these two. Brooksdale was a wolf in sheep's clothing. But before he could think about running, Jim caught his arm and pushed him ahead, ending Blair's rebellion before it took root. They crowded into the trailer. The curtain was drawn. Blair's hand found its way into the pocket with the dry sage. He crushed the herb between nervous fingers.

Jim sneezed several times as he sat. "I seem to be getting a cold. Stomach acting up, too. This body is frailer than it looks."

"Tea?" Brooksdale suggested like an old woman entertaining bridge friends. "I've got some herbal stuff, good for stomach problems."

Jim waved a hand. "Forget it. Let's talk about why you're happy to see me. I'm intrigued. I checked up on you, you spent a few hard years in prison. Manslaughter, wasn't it?"

"You should know." Brooksdale sat smoothly, a man totally at ease.

"She hated her life," Jim explained casually with a shrug. He leaned back in the folding chair and tossed a friendly arm over Blair's shoulders. "You weren't much of a catch at the time either."

"Well, I'm different now." Brooksdale crossed an ankle over a knee and picked at a loose thread in his pant's hem. "Why not leave that body and come to me? I've got more to offer."

Blair's breath caught is his throat. Was he hearing correctly? Brooksdale was offering up himself? Blair did the math, enough time had passed.

"I don't see much." Jim looked around the small trailer with a sneer. The arm around Blair's shoulder squeezed and Blair's skin crawled. "I have a lot here, too much to give up."

"Looks are deceiving. I travel all over the country. I finish my probation in less than three months. I own this carnival and three others that are managed for me. I don't show it, but I'm a rich man again." Brooksdale drew a pack of cigarettes out of his breast pocket. He tapped it against a knuckle, drawing one out slowly. "I know how to enjoy vices. You're in a cop's body. You'll never have the freedom to taste the pleasures you're used to."

Jim shifted in his seat as a deep growling sound emitted from his bowel. "Well, I'd have to admit. This body is troublesome." He glared at Blair. "This sentinel's training is a bit lax. But I still think I'm better off where I am. I've got my roommate here to help me."

Brooksdale chortled. "I dare you."

Jim stiffened. "Excuse me?"

"I double dare you to take me," Brooksdale challenged. He pulled out a lighter and flicked it open. The high flame threw long shadows across his face, bringing his cheekbone into sharp relief. He looked dangerous - evil even. "You're afraid you can't control me, aren't you?"

The arm around Blair's shoulder was lifted. Jim stood, a low growl vibrating from the back of his throat. "You dare to challenge me? I was here when the mountains were formed, when your kind was nothing but dirt under my feet."

Brooksdale stood, steady and sure. "Yet here we are, me daring you."

Blair was certain Jim was about to rip the man's head off his shoulders. Paralyzed with fear, he could do nothing to warn the older man of his pending danger. Splitting his attention between the two sudden rivals, he didn't notice the change right away. But when he did, he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Jim's profile grew blurry and dark. Like a peel falling away from rotten fruit, a dark shadow pulsed and moved, lifting away from Jim's body, swirling into a mass that buzzed revoltingly. Air swirled in the close confines of the trailer. A putrid stench attacked Blair's nose and he covered it with one hand as an involuntary gag hunched his shoulders. The mass moved across the short space and covered Brooksdale like a shroud of death.

"No!" Blair cried out without thinking.

Brooksdale's chest puffed out and the dark evil soaked into his clothes and skin.

Jim sagged into the chair with a groan and would have fallen to the floor had Blair not caught him. "Jim!"

"Ahhh," the demon-Brooksdale chortled happily. "See? Am I not the master?"

This was not looking good for the human side. Blair pushed Jim back, his chair scraping the flooring noisily. Jim's eyes were closed and his breath too shallow. His skin was pale and damp, like a man having a heart attack. Blair laid two fingers across his neck. The pulse was faint and rapid. "Jim, open your eyes." Blair kept the carnie owner in sight as he fretted over his partner.

Brooksdale shuddered and dropped back into the chair, face twisting in pain. Blair instantly moved to shield his semi-comatose friend with his own body. Groaning, arms reaching and hands clutching air, Brooksdale fought an invisible battle. Blair wondered if he had enough strength to sling Jim over his shoulder and run for the truck. Scared, Blair turned his back on the demon and urgently shook Jim's shoulders. "Open your eyes, Jim. Now!"

Blue rheumy eyes looked back. "'Airr..."

"Yes!" Demon-Brooksdale shouted, standing triumphantly.

Blair sized up their situation. They needed to escape, but no way was Jim in condition to run. Frantically looking for a weapon, Blair snatched up a battered book, turned back to the demon and raised it high over his head. Stance rock solid, he was ready to protect Jim at any cost.

"Good choice, kid," Brooksdale said, gesturing to the book. "Thanks for your help. I'll take it from here."

Blair glanced up at the book. He held a King James's version of the Holy Bible. "Brooksdale? That you?"

"Right now it is." Brooksdale picked up a set of keys on the table. "It's been a long chase, but I'm not at the finish line yet." He opened the door.

"Wait!" Blair called out uncertainly. Should he let the demon get away? For that matter, could he do anything to stop him?

"No time. I've got to do this alone. Take care of your partner." Brooksdale disappeared through the doorway, leaving it open to allow the carnival noise to filter into the trailer.

Blair moved forward and watched the carnie owner run across the field toward several parked planes. He reached a blue biplane and began unhooking the chains from the wings.

"Blair?"

"Jim!" Blair turned to find his friend standing, bracing himself with a hand on the wall, looking as durable as a wet Kleenex. "You okay? You -" Blair was shoved aside as Jim half stumbled, half fell down the steps and dropped to his knees in the grass. The older man's back bowed as he vomited. Blair followed; his haste causing him to spill down the steps. Dropping to his friend's side, Blair promptly reeled backwards to fall on his butt when the smell hit his sinuses.

Within the disgusting pile of half-dissolved sandwich and old bits of unidentified globs, flies thrashed about, hopelessly glued to the thick slime.

Blair gagged, turning to throw up himself but producing only burning clouds of bile. Sounds of Jim's retching caused Blair's own stomach muscles to clench twice more. The trailer and surrounding stands protected them from wandering fair goers and carnival workers. Blair crawled back to Jim's side and snaked an arm around the shuddering torso, trying his best to support the man as he threw up.

Finally, Jim dropped wearily to an elbow, nearly prone in the grass. Flies were breaking free of the vomit and rising slowly into the air. Blair hauled Jim's body back. The sight of those flies creeped him out like nothing else he'd ever seen. He didn't want Jim anywhere near them.

"S-sand...burg..."

"I'm here," Blair answered between grunts. The fact that Jim allowed himself to be dragged across the grass said wonders for the man's health. Jim was sick.

"Where's..." Jim drew a sleeve over his mouth, smearing a trail of slime over his ash colored face; dull blue eyes searched the immediate area.

"Hold on," Blair ordered after managing to prop Jim up against the trailer's tire. He flew back up the trailer's steps, snatched a kitchen towel from a wall rack and threw back the hanging curtain. Wetting the cloth in the small sink, Blair rushed back to wipe Jim's face. The older man looked like one the Dan Wolf's customers, ready for a stainless steel freezer drawer. "Here, man. Just rest a second."

Weakly protesting the treatment, Jim pushed Blair away. Blair managed to keep the bigger man in place, ignoring the pain in his own wrist. Finally, Jim gave up, a frown advertising his displeasure. "Brooksdale, Sandburg. Where is he?"

Blair turned to check. The airplane was free of its chains and the carnie owner was doing something with the front, by the wings. Blair had no idea what it was. "He's there, Jim. I think he's in control. You know? Not the demon."

Jim's whole body shook. "Impossible." He groaned and gently captured Blair's hands. Misery haunted his gaze. "Blair..."

"Jim," Blair whispered, ignoring the vomit breath and leaning close enough to touch foreheads. "Don't, okay? Just don't. I know you tried to fight it." Words caught sideways in Blair's windpipe. "I'm just glad you're back. I was getting lonely."

Jim swallowed hard, looking like he wanted to say more, but he straightened instead, looking over Blair's shoulder. "I gotta stop him."

"No," Blair yelped as he tried in vain to keep Jim down. His wrist did not like the way Jim was twisting it. "Stay put. Let Brooksdale go," Blair pleaded.

But Jim had an agenda and wasn't about to be swayed. The sentinel found his way to his feet. "Stay put. Call for backup." The cell phone was pushed into Blair's good hand. Jim leaned away from his friend and trotted drunkenly toward the distant plane.

Jim poured on the speed, determined to bring the man in. He wanted that demon, knowing it would be stuck in Brooksdale's body long enough to get him into solitary lockup. Jim had no idea how he would managed to convince the authorities to isolate Brooksdale. One thing for sure, after sharing a body and mind with it, Jim knew of its history, of the atrocities it had committed. The demon had to be stopped. Nothing else would be acceptable. First he needed to catch the man, and worry about the rest later.

Jim's plans met a fierce obstacle however, in the form of one teaching fellow. One minute Jim was running, next he was face down in the field with a heavy weight on his back.

"Chief! Get off!" Jim bellowed.

"Jim," Blair yelled back, effectively penning him down. "Listen to me, damn it. You gotta let him go!"

Summing up all his reserve, Jim tossed his friend off his back with a twist. Blair landed awkwardly and released a painful yelp. But the kid was determined. Before Jim could rise to his hands and knees, Blair scrambled back and latched on to his left bicep. Jim took his eyes off the taxiing biplane to see a white-faced Blair radiating something close to panic. Jim turned back to see the distant plane. Brooksdale was picking up speed; going into the wind to gather enough lift to overcome the plane's weight. If he was lucky Jim could still catch it. Blair's single handed hold was easy to break out of and he rose to a knee while pulling his Sig from its shoulder holster. He had an arrest to make.

"No!" Blair lunged forward, catching Jim under the chin with his bent forearm and bowling the cop over onto his back. Blair climbed on top, straddling his stomach, his left hand had Jim's gun hand captured and pressed into the stubby grass. "Stop thinking with your badge and listen to me! Brooksdale is going to take care of the demon. He has to go alone, you can't risk it."

"Blair," Jim shouted back. "It can't jump back to me."

"I'm not willing to risk that," Blair pronounced hotly. "What's your plan? It goes through floors and walls. It will get out in a jail. Listen to me. Brooksdale's in charge."

Jim's head was clearing, strength returning. Reaching Blair's neck with his left hand, Jim grabbed a handful of collar and downed his partner, firmly, yet gently. Blair's face was damp with sweat, making him look sickly. More and more of the last twenty-four hours became crystal clear and he remembered what had happened to Blair's right wrist. He had to be careful. "Don't try stopping me, Sandburg. I've got to stop this thing, you have no idea -"

"Too late," Blair interrupted, looking over Jim's shoulder as he struggled to free himself from Jim's hold.

Jim turned.

The old plane was halfway into its takeoff, gathering speed. It was obvious Brooksdale didn't have clearance as a smaller plane was forced to taxi into the grass to avoid being hit. Climbing to his feet, Jim watched the wheels lift off the runway and Brooksdale was out of his reach.

"Damn it!" Jim cursed. He spun on his heel, grabbing Blair as he looped back towards the parking lot. "Come on!" Holstering his gun first, Jim checked for his truck keys, finding them in his pocket. Blair did his best to keep up, even though Jim could tell his partner's strength was fading fast. They slalomed between old men and ladies with strollers, causing more than one annoyed glance. Jim ignored them all, finally reaching his destination. He wanted to keep his attention on the plane. He needed to get some air support started. "Can you drive, Sandburg?"

One look at Blair's face killed that idea.

"Never mind, get in." Jim unlocked the door and hustled his winded friend into the passenger seat. The plane had started a steep turn toward the west, climbing in altitude as it straightened. Jim ran around to the driver's door. He jumped in, slammed the door and jammed the key into the ignition. The truck started without protest. Jim ducked low, getting a fix on the plane. It was still heading west.

"Jim..."

"Not now." Jim managed not to hit another car or pedestrian as he exited the dirt parking lot. He picked up speed on the highway and tried to remember how the roads in this area were laid out. "Get the map out, Sandburg. I need a direct route toward the coast. And where's the cell phone?"

A hand fumbled to open the glove box as ordered. "Ummm." Blair looked over his shoulder. "I think I dropped it back in the field," Blair admitted as he pulled out a road map. "Sorry."

"I'll use the police radio," Jim muttered and reached for the microphone. He had several tactical and state operation channels that were monitored. He should be able to hail a state patrol dispatcher. "Find that road."

"Right." Blair bent over the map to squint over the small blue and black lines on the folded paper.

It just took a few minutes to reach the dispatcher, relay the information and send a message to Simon in Cascade. It was not as if Jim lied when he said a killer was attempting to escape in an airplane. Jim kept checking the sky as he followed Blair's clipped instructions. Activating the blue light on the dash, the traffic stayed out of his way. Jim had no problem keeping Brooksdale in sight. The old plane's airspeed was slow and even though he was faster than the truck, a responding radar unit airplane was on the way to intercept.

"He's over the water now," Jim told the dispatcher thirty minutes after leaving the air show. Blair had done a good job finding adequate roads. Soon they would be reaching the coast themselves. Jim wondered about the possibilities of getting a boat. There were plenty of places on the islands that a plane could land. "Chief, find us a marina."

"Jim..." Blair ran a hand down his face with a sigh. "Would you listen to me?"

"Later, find us a place we can get a boat." Jim slapped the steering wheel, wishing for the hundredth time Blair hadn't stopped him from reaching the plane. He was going to have a long heart-to-heart with his friend. Sure, the last couple of days had been...

A living Hell.

Jim pushed the thoughts from his mind. Later; he'd deal with all of that later. First he had a killer to catch. A green street sign flew by. They had another ten miles to the coast. Looking up, Jim puzzled over Brooksdale's direction. The plane angled north. "He's heading for Canada?"

The miniature plane-shaped silhouette in the sky turned nova and Jim slammed on the breaks in shock, sending the Ford into a four-wheel drift that left them skewed over both lanes. Sentinel vision could easily see the broken sections of wings, still burning, fall away from the fractured body of the plane. Sections of sheet metal, piping and glass began their slow fall toward the earth. Black lines of smoke marked the passage of the largest parts of the plane, still moving forward, caught in momentum as if the dead plane hadn't realized its life was over. Then Jim saw what he knew he'd see, Brooksdale's body, missing many important elements, falling with the debris.

"He did it," Blair whispered in a small, young voice.

A grenade, Jim thought in shock. Brooksdale must have had a hand grenade inside the plane all along. "He did have control."

"Yeah," Blair whispered in awe. "He's been conditioning himself for this moment since he got out of prison."

"He told you that?" Jim looked over at his friend, not liking what he saw. Blair had passed the line of exhaustion.

The police radio chattered. The radar plane apparently had seen the explosion. For a minute Jim felt panic. Could the demon manage to jump into a rescuing body? How far could it travel?

"It's over," Blair whispered, letting his head fall back against the seat.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Blair answered. "Brooksdale said it had to jump before the host died. Ah, Jim? We're blocking the road, man."

The engine was dead. Jim turned the key, tossing a quick wave at the approaching station wagon before pulling out of the way. The reality of the scene back at the air show hit him. If he had reached that plane, if Blair hadn't stopped him, he'd be freefalling to earth right now.

Jim monitored the coroner's team progress as they carried Brooksdale's body up from the coast guard boat. Blair stood silently at his side. It was dusk and the retrieval operation was nearly over. A light rain started to fall. There were so many agencies present in the small sleepy marina south of Cascade that Jim felt he was at a convention. Federal, state and local officers swarmed the parking lot and boat ramp, filling out reports, clicking pictures and talking on cell phones. From the grim looks on the Coasties' faces, Jim knew the body recovery had been messy. As each rescue person had passed, Jim had reached out with all his sentinel ability to scan for the demon's presence. Now the final crew carried Brooksdale's remains and still there was no demon. Jim felt a stab of sympathy for the old carnie owner, mixed with grim admiration.

Jim would have done the same thing. Only, Jim had lacked the dead man's control.

"You still here?" a state patrol Captain asked Jim, walking up to the group.

Jim tossed the last of the cold coffee down his throat. "Yeah, I owed it to the guy to be here when they brought him out."

The captain grunted, crossing beefy arms over his smoky blue uniform. "Hear he was a wife killer."

"Yeah." Jim ignored the low, muttered objections from Blair.

"One less trial to sit through," the captain said without remorse.

"He'd already served his time for that," Jim said flatly, eyes following the progress of loading the black rubber body bag into the dark van.

The rear doors slammed shut, sounding like both barrels from a shotgun, perforating the damp, salty air.

"Well, we're done here. Maybe you should take your friend home. He's not looking too hot," the captain advised before moving away.

Jim turned and glanced at his companion. "Sandburg?"

"Jim?" Blair replied dully.

Taking a hard look, Jim realized what had caught the trooper's attention. Clothes dirty and wrinkled, long hair stringy and limp, bruises marring his face and neck, Blair looked ready for his own body bag. "You ready to head out?"

Blair looked around the darkening lot. "We done here?"

The kid must have been in his own zone-out. Jim gently took an arm. "Yeah, let's head back."

"Wait, what about..." Blair dropped to a whisper. "You know, did you feel anything on anyone?"

"No, it's gone or in an orca. Let's head home before we're soaked." Jim urged the other man toward his parked truck.

"What about Brooksdale? We need to notify someone, right? He must have next of kin or something."

"Taken care of, this isn't our jurisdiction." Jim opened the passenger door and waited for Blair to climb inside, noting the stiff way he held his arm. "Let me see that," he asked after Blair was in place.

Blair offered the arm for Jim's inspection. The wrist was swollen and bruised, hot to the touch.

"Shit, Sandburg," Jim swore softly. "Can you wiggle your fingers?"

A couple of fingers twitched. "It's fine, just sprained," Blair explained.

Even sentinel touch couldn't be sure. Jim shook his head. "You need an X-ray, Sandburg." The reality of the last twenty-four hours resurfaced in his mind. He'd beaten and terrorized his friend, his best friend and roommate. A weighty sigh escaped him. Blair would be better off without a sentinel in his life. The guy was just too damn stubborn to realize it.

"Jim, it's nothing." Blair pulled away, guarding his arm protectively close. "Let's just go home."

During the drive back to Cascade, Jim waited until the warmth from the truck's heater and the cadence of the windshield wipers lulled Blair into a doze before changing direction. His new destination was a smaller hospital with a late night ER room. Blair needed that X-ray.

Finding an empty parking spot near the sheltered pull through used by ambulances, Jim turned off the engine. The upscale southern suburb of Cascade didn't see the business that downtown Cascade General dealt with on Saturday nights and Jim was grateful. He eased his door open without waking his partner and quickly walked around to Blair's side. Steeling himself for a fight, Jim carefully opened Blair's door.

"Huh? Jim?" Blair blinked slowly as he straightened. "Home?"

"Almost," Jim answered, reaching over to unbuckle the seatbelt. "You've got a date with an X-ray tech."

"Jim!" Blair hissed. "I said no, damn it."

"I know." Jim tried to school the anger from his face. This wasn't Blair's fault. But just looking at the damage Jim had done, made him furious. He backed away from the truck. Blair needed his space, needed to know he wasn't going to be forced to do anything against his will again. "Please, Chief? Will you get checked out and give me some peace of mind?"

"What?" Blair looked puzzled.

"I'm responsible," Jim explained. "I can't let you continue to suffer, and it'll only get worse if it's broken."

Rolling his eyes, Blair huffed as he scooted clumsily toward the end of the seat to climb down. "This is stupid."

Pressing the heel of his good hand into his temple in a worthless attempt to dull the pain, Blair groaned. "Shit."

The doctor, a young woman with a short afro and latte colored complexion looked sympathetic. "I know casts are a bother, but your fractured wrist should heal without too much trouble." She made a note on her clipboard, the pen's tip making a loud scratching sound in the small exam room.

Blair let his bare shoulders slump. He sat, wearing only his jeans, on the edge of the exam table, too tired to dress. The room was warm and the thin mattress was actually looking like a nice place to curl up and sleep. God, he was tired. Too tired to think about how Jim was going to take this latest bit of information. As the doctor continued to talk, he thought about Jim's pissy attitude. The cop must still be angry over how Blair had stopped him from going after Brooksdale. But Blair didn't have a choice and he'd do it again in a heartbeat. Jim was alive and demon free. That's all that mattered.

"Mr. Sandburg?" the doctor said.

"Yeah?"

"Will you tell me?"

"What?"

The woman looked understanding. "I know this is hard. Men sometimes feel they can't admit to being in this situation because others will feel less of them. I want you to know that's plain rubbish. No one should have to go through what you've just experienced. You need to put your own safety first," she explained in a sad tone.

Blair blinked. What was this woman saying? "Excuse me?"

She turned as another man entered the room. He was much older and wearing the same white smock that she wore. "This is Doctor Tyler. I've briefed him on your case. I thought you might rather talk to a man about this."

"Hello, Mr. Sandburg," Tyler said smoothly.

Blair didn't like the way these people were looking at him.

"I understand you're in a volatile relationship right now. Your roommate is abusive?"

A second groan escaped. He didn't have time or the energy for this. "No, no, no. You guys have this all wrong. Jim didn't do anything."

"He says he did," Tyler said, still speaking like Blair was a skittish, mistreated puppy. "Those bruises on your body are talking a lot louder than your words right now."

"No," Blair corrected wearily, feeling suddenly betrayed by Jim. "You're not listening with your ears. You're letting your eyes tell the story. And it's the wrong one." Blair tried to slide down to the floor, he'd fix this stupid misunderstanding right now. "Where's Jim?"

"He's with the police right now," the woman doctor said.

A wide-shouldered orderly arrived, pushing a wheelchair.

The room was becoming too small in Blair's mind. "The police? Jim is the police. I need to talk to him. Get out of my way." He couldn't get around the wheelchair. The blockade of bodies and narrow confines of the room frightened him. When the door opened again, a rush of relief sprang to his throat.

"Simon!"

The tall captain frowned. "Sandburg." He glanced around the room at the medical personnel. "Cascade Police. I need a few minutes alone with Mr. Sandburg, please."

"Mr. Sandburg needs a cast for that wrist," the woman doctor said pointedly. "It's broken."

"I understand." Simon held the door open. "We'll only be a minute."

Even the beefy orderly buckled under Simon's insistence and soon Blair and the police captain were alone.

"Simon, I gotta talk to Jim." Goosebumps were breaking out on Blair's arms, caused by fear not cold. The urge to rip the hospital apart to find his sentinel was overpowering him, rushing his respirations and making his fingers tingle. Twinges of a panic attack taunted him.

"Blair, sit down." Simon urged him backwards, into a hard plastic chair. He pulled a rolling stainless steel stool close and sat down in front of the younger man. "Jim's fine. I sent him home. You're spending the night with me."

"What!" Blair nearly shouted. "You guys can't decide that! I'm not a little kid to pass off between adults. I have some say in where -"

"Blair," Simon interposed with force. He took each of Blair's shoulders in his hands and squeezed. "I'm sorry, okay? Bad choice of words. I'm just trying to figure out what the hell happened. Jim tried to get me to arrest him for assaulting you - don't worry, I didn't. But, the only way I could get him to go home and rest was by promising to take care of you. We'll meet up tomorrow. It was the best I could do."

"Oh... man..." Blair swallowed hard. Anger dissipated. Gravity pulled on every fiber of his body, threatening to send him collapsing to the floor like a spineless corpse. He was so tired. "Why would he... Simon, Jim isn't responsible for this."

"Look, you're obviously exhausted. You're in pain." Simon shared a rare smile of friendship. "I want you to relax and let me take charge. Jim will be fine. Let's get you fixed up."

Blair told himself it was exhaustion that caused his eyes to water. He wiped his face with his good hand and nodded. "I could sleep," he muttered quietly, gaze shifting to the floor. "Thanks, Simon."

Blair woke in Daryl's bed, feeling stiff. Every part of his body protested as he clumsily rolled out of bed. Bruises on his torso and back felt like deep smoldering fires on his body, beating with his pulse. His skull felt too tight. Even his black eye was demanding attention. A bottle of aspirin and glass of water waited for him on the side table. Blair fought the cap, won and downed three. The bedside clock's red LED face told him it was after nine. Outside the morning light filtered through heavy cloud cover. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten ten hours of uninterrupted sleep.

He sat on the edge of the bed, thoughts slow in forming, remembering why he was with Simon and not in the loft. The pain of Jim's rejection still stung, but he guess he could understand his point of view.

Maybe.

If he was an anal retentive idiot with guilt issues.

Anger drove him stumbling toward Simon's kitchen. He'd been here once before with Jim and the floor plan of the two-story house was typical for a three bedroom home in the suburbs. Jim had said Joan was less willing to stay in their house after the divorce and had chosen a trendy apartment closer to her job. Simon apparently hadn't gotten around to selling the large house. Maybe he never would.

Feeling like a pair of old tennis shoes which had spent thirty minutes clunking around in a dryer, Blair shuffled into the brightly lit kitchen in search of coffee.

Simon sat at a small, white tile-topped breakfast table. "Morning, Sandburg."

"Uhhhhggghh." Blair up righted a coffee mug next to the pot with his left hand. The carafe stuck a bit, but he managed to pour and replace it without damage. He greedily sipped the heavenly smelling brew before going to the table to sit. It felt weird to know he was with Simon, looking this way. His uninjured hand swiped his tender jaw, feeling the early stages of a ragged beard.

Simon looked amused. He folded his newspaper and stood. "Eggs?"

The sudden fact he'd gone more than twenty-four hours without food seemed impossible. Blair was famished. "Thanks."

"Coming right up." Simon set out preparing a breakfast that included more than just eggs. As he laid raw bacon into a skillet, placed biscuit dough into a square pan and mixed up a batch of eggs and milk for scrambled eggs, they enjoyed a comfortable silence. Finally he broke away from his work to pour more coffee into Blair's empty mug. "You were trying to ask me for help yesterday when you called me, weren't you?" Simon asked, averting eye contact.

Blair nodded. "Yeah, I managed to get away for a second."

Simon sighed. "I'm sorry."

Blair grimaced. He didn't need two friends doing the guilt thing. "Not your fault, Simon," Blair explained. He stroked his cast absentmindedly. "And it's not Jim's fault either. We were fighting something totally evil. If anything, it's my fault for not helping Jim enough. He wasn't prepared."

Simon looked pained. "I'm getting this feeling the two of you are about to drag me into the Twilight Zone."

"More like a Stephen King nightmare," Blair admitted. He turned when the doorbell sounded. "Is that Jim?"

"Should be." Simon returned the coffee carafe. "Hope he's hungry. No, Sandburg. Stay put. I'll let him in."

Blair obeyed, remembering the rare times Naomi got called to a school to pick him up at the principles office, times where he'd either screwed up or been victim of some bigger kid's temper. Just like then, he found himself reviewing his actions of the last couple days. It was not a puzzle, actually. Thanks to the demon, he had a graphic demonstration of his failures. Most importantly, he'd failed Jim by getting comfortable, being lazy, not pushing the testing of Jim's sentinel abilities. He'd been so caught up in the rush of being a police observer that -

"Hey."

Blair looked up from his study of the coffee mug in his hand. "Hey, you okay, man?"

Jim looked like crap. Clean clothes couldn't hide the tightness around haunted eyes, jerky and tense movements in a normally fluid body. Jim grunted softly as he stiffly sat. He set a black, zippered cloth bag on the floor. Blair was the obvious subject of his scrutiny. "I'm good. How's the ... arm?"

"Doesn't even hurt," Blair fibbed, rushing to add before Jim's attention focused on his heart rate. "What's in the bag?"

"Some stuff for you, clean clothes, shaving equipment, your toothbrush." Jim's voice faded as he continued. "I'll bring some of your books if you tell me which ones."

Simon stood at the stove, busy with his meal preparations, his back to the conversation. But a subtle stiffening of the tall man's spine caused Blair to put two and two together. "But... I'm going home today. Right?"

Jim ducked his head a moment, then pinned Blair with a weary, yet firm look. "Sandburg, it's too -"

"No!" Blair pounded the tile with his good fist. His chance to fix everything was slipping away. "Ellison, this has got to end."

Jim glanced at Simon's back and Blair felt a twinge of regret. He ignored it. Yeah, Jim was a private man and they were basically having a personal argument in front of his boss, but he didn't care. Simon knew the score more than anyone else on this planet and Blair didn't care what the man heard. "Listen to me. This was not your fault."

"Those bruises on your body match my fists, Sandburg, my shoes." Jim turned to Simon, face twisted in anger. "Why aren't you arresting me, Simon? You don't think I'm capable of hurting him?"

"No, I know you are," Simon said, turning with a level look, pointing a spatula at him. "But I don't think Blair is capable of calmly playing the part of your punching bag. There's more here to the story. I'm going to trust the kid on this one, Jim."

Jim shoved back from the table and stood. "Damn it, I can't do this."

"Get back here, Jim!" Blair bounded to his feet, tossing Simon an apologetic grimace as Jim scrambled to follow, slowed by his stiff joints. "Jim!"

The sentinel's hand was on the doorknob.

"Please," Blair said softly, keeping all hints of anger from his voice, Jim needed careful treatment. "Come on, man. Running doesn't solve anything. We've got to talk." He carefully slipped his left hand under Jim's elbow and tugged. "Let's go into the living room."

Jim's forehead thudded against the solid door. "Chief..."

"I know," Blair soothed, border-line crooned. "But, you're so getting the wrong picture. We're both victims." He tugged, silently rejoicing when Jim allowed Blair to pull him back from the door.

Once in the living room, Jim folded into Simon's Lazy-boy and Blair sat on the sturdy looking coffee table to face his friend as he talked. "You've got to stop beating yourself up. It wasn't your fault."

"I'm not the one who's black and blue," Jim said tightly.

"I'll heal." Blair smacked Jim's knee lightly. "And you were hurt, too. Only your damage isn't in Technicolor." He changed the subject. "Why are you kicking me out of the loft?"

"It's not safe."

"The demon is gone." Blair nibbled his lower lip a second, thinking. "Right?"

Jim nodded unhappily. He appeared to ponder something then met Blair's gaze squarely. "What if there're more out there? I let it hurt you. I gave it full control of all my actions. I couldn't stop it. It moved in and controlled me. Shit, Sandburg..." Jim closed his eyes and rubbed them with one hand. "I just want... to feel safe in my own skin again."

Blair's breath stalled. Sliding off the table to kneel, Blair caught Jim's free hand with his own left. "Jim, I swear to you. I'll help you. I'm sure you can fight them. Evil's been around since the dawn of time. It's my fault -" He swallowed hard. "- you're not stronger with your abilities. Give me another chance?"

"Sandburg," Jim said with an exasperated sigh. "You didn't sign on for this."

"Perhaps, but I'm here now. And I'm staying," Blair vowed.

"This is nuts." Jim stood, brushing by Blair. He paced the spacious living room between the sofa and the entertainment center. "I'll just end up driving you away, Chief. I'll get tired and cranky. I'll shoot off my mouth without thinking and say something stupid."

Blair bit back a laugh. "I've got a newsflash for you, man. You're already the recipient for that particular door prize, but I'm not a weak nerd, dude. I thought you knew that. I can take whatever you dish out."

Jim froze, shooting Blair a serious look. "I never thought you were weak, Sandburg."

"And I'm not letting you ditch me. I'm staying at your side." Blair stood up awkwardly, waving his hand to emphasize his point. "Even if you throw me out, I'll find somewhere close to live. I'll be there every time you turn around. You need me."

A frown thinned Jim's lips. "I don't deserve you, Chief," Jim admitted straight-faced.

Caught in the process of drawing in a breath to continue his argument, Blair paused in shock. Jim's compliments were as rare as tropical flowers in the northwest; worthy of enjoying. Warmth returned to his body and he felt light enough to fly.

A hesitant grin appeared like a shy five-year-old on Jim's face.

"Breakfast is on the table!" Simon bellowed from the kitchen.

Jim followed his roommate into the loft. After a leisurely breakfast, they'd driven home with all thoughts of Blair staying away forgotten. Jim's own feelings were mixed. He knew he needed this man in his life, but hated when he got hurt. The memory of hurting Blair, feeling his fists sink into skin and muscle, hearing the pain-filled grunts would haunt him until he died. A solid weight saddled his chest again, unable to be thrown.

No, the demon did that, not him. Jim had to remember that. He paused after locking the door behind them and took a deep breath. The demon was gone. They had survived. Blair was right. They needed to move on. The tightness in his chest started to go away.

"You cleaned," Blair stated as he looked around the loft, his eyes skipping over the post that he'd been tied to.

"I couldn't sleep last night," Jim admitted. "Spent half the night running to the bathroom."

Blair blushed deep red. "Ahhh... about that..."

Jim grinned. "I know, Sandburg. I figured it out. For what it's worth, I think it helped to send the demon packing."

Rising briefly on his toes, Blair grinned back. "Really? Cool. Hey, I know..." Blair disappeared into his room, tossing away the tote bag Jim had packed and returned. "Take a bath, then get some sleep."

Jim shook his head. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Blair turned on his heel and headed for the bathroom. "I'm starting your bath. I've got just the stuff to relax you. Then you're taking a nap. Then we're going to set up a testing schedule, I've got to book some lab time at Rainer..." His voice echoed off the bare bathroom walls as the sounds of running water drifted out. "Hey, I know, I'll make a pot roast for dinner. We'll stay in tonight. Maybe take a drive to the coast tomorrow."

Jim chuckled. The dark pressure of guilt was nearly gone now. He took off his coat and hung it on the hook next to the door. Jim knew he'd have more bouts of guilt. It was just the way he did things. Hopefully he wouldn't let it screw up his friendship with Blair. Jim would never admit it in a million years, but being taken care of was rather nice.

Blair appeared, crossing to his room and back to the bathroom holding a dark purple bottle. The subtle scent of lavender and rosemary filled the loft. Jim wandered over to the open doorway to watch Blair fuss as he sat on the edge of the tub pouring some oily looking concoction into the water.

"You're okay being here, right, Chief?" Jim had to ask as he leaned on the door frame, arms crossed. "The memory of what happened is not going to bother you?"

Blair met Jim's gaze, expression serious. "I'll remember. I want to. It'll remind me what happens when I don't take my job seriously."

"Your job?"

"Yeah," Blair said, grinning. "I'm your back up. I'm also the guide, remember?" Blair stood, squeezing by Jim to stand outside the bathroom.

Warm air tickled the sentinel's skin, radiant heat from the bath water swirling in the tight confines of the room. "You're still not borrowing my fishing gear, Mr. Guide," Jim joked, touched deeply by this man's commitment to him, wishing he knew how to voice it.

Blair grinned up at him knowingly as he single handedly backed Jim into the bathroom. "Eh, give me time, Jim. I'll wear you down," he promised before stepping back and shutting the door.

Jim smiled. The tub did look inviting. Unbuttoning his shirt, he sighed. "I don't doubt you for a second, Sandburg."

End.

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