The plane flew north, out of Mexico and into U.S. airspace. Jim sat in his seat, his eyes closed, trying to ignore the pulsing ache from his bullet wound. The race through the Mexican jungle had been exhausting.

They'd done it. Blair was safe.

He found himself unable to tune out the soft breathing coming from the back of the plane. Blair's heartbeat was slow and steady. If Jim had to guess, he'd say Blair was asleep. He turned to check. Blair was asleep, still caught in Naomi's arms. Jim stood with a soft groan and went back to assist her, careful not to wake the other men dozing in their seats.

Jim supported Blair while Naomi slid from beneath her sleeping son. Blair was carefully lowered down onto the seat. She fashioned an extra blanket into a pillow and waited for Jim to lift Blair's head and slip it under. Jim took a few moments to adjust the seatbelts to keep him from rolling onto the floor. Through the entire operation, Blair never woke.

"How sick is he?" Naomi asked, following Jim back to the front row and falling into the seat beside him. She reached into a duffle bag at her feet and pulled out a package of pre-moistened cloths. She offered the pack to Jim first before beginning the task of removing the dark camouflage.

"I'm not sure, but I think it's in his lungs," Jim answered, enjoying the feel of a clean face again.

It wasn't long before the plane began its descent. After a smooth landing, they taxied toward an olive green ambulance. Jim's view through the round windows told him they'd landed at a military base, surrounded on all sides by miles of empty desert. It was still morning, but the heat waves already shimmered off the tarmac. He released his seatbelt as the plane rolled to a stop and went back to Blair.

"The ambulance will take you both to a military hospital," Naomi said, joining him in the back of the plane. She knelt down and kissed her sleeping son's cheek.

"Where are you going?"

"We're flying on. I have to attend a debriefing with my men." She stroked Blair's dirty hair back from his face.

Jim frowned at her. She was going to disappear. "So just call it in."

Naomi returned Jim's glare. "I can't stay, Jim. He'll be taken care of here. I'll meet up with him in Cascade," she explained calmly. She pushed passed him as the side hatch opened and a man dressed in army fatigues stuck his head in.

"Who's riding to the hospital?"

Naomi pointed to her sleeping son and then at Jim. "These two. We've already spoken with your C.O."

"Copy that." The man pulled himself up into the plane, followed by a second soldier.

But Jim wasn't finished with her yet. He shadowed Naomi to the front of the plane as she spoke briefly with the pilot. "Dumping him off at the closest military base is not `taking care of him'. What's so important you can't stay twelve lousy hours?"

She turned to face him, her eyes flashing with anger. "I'm not just dumping him! You're with him. If I could stay, I would!" She hissed through a clenched jaw. "Unless you don't want to be bothered---"

"Don't turn this back on me! I---"

A startled cry and an angry curse interrupted their argument. They turned as one to see the first soldier on his butt cupping a bloody nose with both hands. His partner had both of Blair's wrists and was struggling to restrain him as he fought.

"Let him go!" Jim bellowed, reaching the back in two long strides. Latching onto the soldier's uniform, just below the collar, he tossed him back into the aisle, almost landing on top of the soldier with the bloody nose. Blair scooted to the far end of the seat, pressing his back against the side of the plane, his unfocused eyes wide.

"Jim! What's hap'n..." He broke off into a fit of coughing.

Naomi appeared, sitting next to Blair and pulling him into an embrace. "Relax, honey. We're just moving you to a hospital."

Both soldiers stood, using the empty seats for leverage. Jim forced himself to calm down. Blair was okay, just scared. His urge to rip arms off bodies ebbed.

"Sorry about that, he's had a rough few days," Jim admitted quietly to the men.

Bloody Nose shrugged, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and pinching his nose with it. "That's `kay, shoulda known betteh."

Blair's coughing subsided. He looked around in confusion. "Where are we?"

"Back in the States," Naomi said releasing his shoulders and patting his arm.

With Naomi's help, Jim got Blair to stand on wobbly legs. Both soldiers backed out of the plane, allowing clear access to the doorway. Apparently portable stairs weren't available to assist passengers out of the plane. It was a five-foot drop to the ground. Jim went first, jumping to land with cat-like grace to the ground. He turned to assist Blair.

"Sit on the edge, Chief."

Blair complied, letting Jim lift him down to the asphalt with the help of the second medic. Jim tried to guide Blair towards the waiting gurney with a gentle push, but Blair locked his knees and refused to budge.

"I'm fine, man. I'll walk."

Jim judged the distance to be a less then fifty feet to the ambulance. He gave in. Blair might be known for being easy going and carefree, but Jim knew better. Blair had a rock-hard core of stubbornness. If his mind was made up, it was no easy task to try and change it. Jim had learned to pick his battles carefully.

"Fine, try not to plant your nose into the asphalt," Jim advised.

They made a strange parade towards the army ambulance. The medics went first to get the gurney back in place. Blair followed slowly, looking around him with dull eyes, his feet dragging across the blacktop. His limp from the healing bullet wound had returned, worse than before he'd been kidnapped. At the ambulance, Jim took Blair's elbow, refusing to let him climb in without help. Once he got the sick man inside, the medics took over, getting him settled onto the bed. Blair scowled at the attention.

As Jim started to climb in, the plane's engine revved. Naomi was still on board. He hit the door in frustration, causing Blair to become distracted and lose his battle with the medic attempting to fasten the strap across his hips.

Jim's eyes tracked the plane as it taxied away. Damn that woman.

"Jim?" Blair called out from the bed. The ambulance had started and the front and side doors were closing as the medics prepared to leave. Blair weakly struggled to sit up, a panicked expression on his flushed face, but the medic held Blair's arm firm, busy with taking a blood pressure reading.

"Relax. I'm coming," Jim ordered, shooting one last angry look at the plane. He climbed in and closed the door with a slam.

Blair relaxed as Jim took a seat next to the medic.

Man, Jim looked mad.

Why was it so hard to think? He'd have brief moments of clarity, then feel himself drift into a mental fog. He couldn't remember if he'd done something to piss off his friend. He did remember being in that weird house with the old furniture and the man with white-hair. Then Jim was there and they were running for the plane.

Throbbing pain assaulted the back of his head, shooting hot spikes behind his eyes. Hadn't he seen his mom in that house and again on the plane? She was dressed differently and had black stuff on her face, but he clearly remembered her voice. Was that a dream?

"Jim?" His voice sounded muffled in his own ears. Oh, yeah, someone had put an oxygen mask over his face.

"What's wrong, Chief?"

Blair felt Jim's hand on his forearm. Jim was leaning around the medic who was busy sliding a cold stethoscope under Blair's shirt.

"Was mom here...?"

"Yeah, she couldn't stay. She'll meet us in Cascade."

Blair could see Jim's pulse throbbing on his temple. Oh, yeah, he's mad. He let his eyes close for a moment. He really wished he didn't feel like crap. Jim's hand lifted off his arm and a moan escaped before he could stop it.

"Relax, Sandburg."

The hand was back, this time taking his pulse. Blair opened his eyes.

Not Jim.

A stranger stood over him. Where did Jim go? Blair could see a bright room now, not the small boxy ambulance. Suddenly, he was being lifted, bedding and all, and swung over onto a firmly padded table.

Blair swung his hand towards his face, knocking the oxygen mask aside. He tried looking for Jim, but his neck refused to support his head. Blair felt the cold grip of panic start around his chest and move up, into his throat. Where had Jim gone? He wouldn't have just left without telling him.

"It's okay, sir. Try and relax." A large brown hand repositioned the mask over his mouth.

"No!" Blair cried out faintly, cursing his body for failing him. "Let me up..."

He had to find Jim. He remembered seeing a military base. What were they doing here? Jim told him they were running. It wasn't safe to talk to anyone. Was the military after them? Blair had a sudden thought.

Did he accidentally tell the white-haired man that Jim was a Sentinel?

More hands captured his wrists and held him down. He felt restraints biting into his arms and a strap around his legs.

Oh, God! It was too late. He must have told them everything!

Blair arched, his back lifting off the table, finding a surge of strength fueled by desperation. He pulled as hard as he could to free his arms. He wasn't sure when he'd started screaming, if it could be called that. He doubted the noise penetrated the walls of the room.

Angry shouts suddenly added to the confusion inside Blair's head. He was quickly running out of strength now, unable to pull against the restraints anymore. Black spots were appearing everywhere he looked. Failure washed over him like an icy wave. God, what had he done? He clenched his hands into tight fists, his fingernails sending spikes of pain into his palms.

"I said, BACK OFF!"

The mask was yanked off his face, taking several strands of hair with it. Two warm hands cupped his cheeks, stopping Blair from thrashing his head from side to side.

"Sandburg, look at me!"

Blair stilled. He was gasping now, noisily dragging in air as if drowning. He only caught every other word. The black spots were everywhere, but he thought he recognized blue eyes.

"...Fine...just...the...look...'kay?"

The black spots started to fade. Those blue eyes `did' belong to Jim and he looked mad enough to kill someone. Blair didn't care if he was the cause; the relief of seeing Jim safe was too overwhelming.

"Jim..."

Jim's face relaxed into an exasperated smile.

Blair tried for an answering smile, but his lips felt cracked and dry. It hurt. Taking mental stock of his body, he realized everything hurt. He tried to talk, to ask Jim where he'd gone, but his throat didn't cooperated. In fact judging by the lump he felt and his stinging eyes, he had a feeling he'd be better off not talking at all.

"You with me now?" Jim asked. He patted a cheek and placed his other hand over Blair's heart.

Blair nodded as Jim replaced the mask over his mouth. Cool oxygen poured into his nose. He blinked his moist eyes as he felt his head clear a little.

"Here's the deal," Jim said quietly. "The restraints are coming off. You're going to let the doctor examine you, maybe get a few x-rays taken. I'm standing right over there, four feet away. Got it?"

Blair went for the nod again.

"All right then. Ready?" Jim worked on the restraints. When he was free, Jim gave a reassuring smile and pointed his finger over a shoulder.

"I'm standing right there."

Blair's eyes tracked Jim as he moved to lean against the wall. The doctor returned and Blair silently endured the exam. Medical devices were stuck in his ears, into his nostrils, and a penlight was directed into his mouth. They sat him up and removed his sweater and T-shirt. The cold stethoscope was placed all over his bare back and front, and then he was laid back down. His jeans were unbuttoned and he was rolled on his left side. He felt his pants and boxers pulled down to expose his right upper buttock. He tensed, looking for Jim and finding him calmly standing by the wall. Blair forced himself to relax, barely flinching when he felt the sting of a needle.

The doctor began asking questions about his age and what he ate last and the name of the president of the United States. Blair remembered the walk to the ambulance and the uniforms on the medics. They were in a military hospital. What? He doesn't know his own Commander-In-Chief?

Finally, they left him alone. A light blanket covered his body providing a little warmth in the cold room. Blair looked up to thank his benefactor and saw the face of his sentinel looking down at him.

"How you doing, Sandburg?"

"Tired, man," Blair mumbled.

"You're taking a trip to X-ray. Then you can sleep."

The mask was removed and the bed started rolling. Blair watched as the ceiling lights passed overhead, making him dizzy. He rolled onto his side and buried his head under the blanket.

X-ray was a dark room with a monster-sized machine dominating the center. A pretty woman wearing a white smock chatted cheerfully as she took several X-rays of his chest. Blair didn't listen, letting his mind drift. He could see Jim watching the process through a big window, his arms crossing his chest. Blair studied his friend through half-closed eyes. Jim had his `no mistakes will be tolerated' body language going on.

"Jim...you didn't dial your pain all the way down, did you?" Blair whispered when the technician had her back turned.

Jim shook his head.

"You'd better not, man. It's not safe. Did the doctors check your shoulder?"

Jim nodded.

"Did you say something?" The woman was back, pulling a film sheet out of some drawer in the machine.

"No, just talking to myself," Blair answered.

"Well, you're done here. Is that your C.O.?" She nodded her head towards Jim.

"More like my B.P," Blair said around a yawn.

"Haven't heard of that one," she said with a laugh and walked to the door to tell the orderlies she was done.

"He's a one of a kind," Blair said, making a face at his friend in the window.

Jim rolled his eyes.

Jim trailed behind the orderlies as they pushed Blair down the hallway towards their room. He'd been in more military hospitals than he liked to think about and he wasn't particularly enjoying this one. He never should have allowed them to be separated. Another doctor had been examining him down the hall when Blair had cried out. Narrowly avoiding a high-speed collision with a nurse, he'd arrived to find Blair in restraints.

Jim became angry all over again, just thinking about it. As if tossing Blair around like an insignificant pawn caught in a power play by spooks weren't enough, the military doctor felt the need to respond to his fever-induced fears by tying him down, making him feel even more helpless. Never again. Jim would not let his guide out of his sight until they were safe in Cascade.

The hospital assigned them a large room, big enough for Blair's hospital bed as well as a regular twin-sized bed placed against the far wall, ready for Jim's use. A bathroom was visible through an open door.

The orderlies saluted and closed the door as they left. Jim rubbed his forehead as he glanced around the room, taking in the gunmetal gray furniture, stark and uninviting. Heavy drapes hung at the window to block out the radiant heat. Oh, yeah. This was definitely a military base.

Blair had dozed off sometime during the ride from X-ray. Searching the dresser, Jim found a hospital gown in a drawer that would do for a nightshirt until he could find something warmer.

"Sandburg, wake up." Jim lightly squeezed his arm.

Blair slowly lifted his eyelids.

"Sit up for me. You need to finish getting undressed."

Lowering the bar on the side of Blair's bed, he flipped the blanket off his roommate. The room had air conditioning to keep the patients comfortable. It wasn't too cold, but knowing Blair, he'd want a few more blankets before too long.

Blair pushed himself up from the bed, moving like an old man. Jim supported him as he climbed out to stand next to the bed. With his eyes closed, Blair pushed his jeans and boxers off his hips, letting them pool at his bare feet.

"Okay, kiddo," Jim said with a small grin, knowing Blair wasn't one hundred percent awake. "A little more revealing than I intended, but it'll do."

He worked the gown up both arms and tied it behind Blair's neck. Jim nudged Blair back down onto the bed. Picking up the edge of the blanket, he waited while Blair stretched out and buried his face into his pillow. By the time Jim found an extra blanket to add, Blair was snoring.

The doctor entered the room after a short knock, his head down, reading from a chart in his hand. "We're definitely looking at the beginning stages of pneumonia," he told Jim. "He'll need antibiotics and lots of fluids. But he's young and fit."

"What about his bullet wound?" Jim asked, lifting the blankets high enough to display the injury but preserve Blair's modesty.

The man studied the old wound with pursed lips. "A few weeks old. He needs to stay off his leg as much as possible. It looks like he aggravated the site, probably delaying his recovery some, but I think he'll be fine. Just keep an eye on it." He set the clipboard down and turned to look at Jim. "I understand you're recovering from a bullet wound yourself." He raised an eyebrow and pointed at the empty bed.

Jim sighed and tucked the blankets back around Blair. Sitting on the edge of the other bed, he carefully peeled off his sweater and T-shirt and turned to let the man examine his back.

"The bullet went through a backpack I was wearing," Jim informed him.

"Looks okay, how does it feel?"

"Good."

"Liar." He gave Jim a knowing look. "Sit tight. I'll be right back with a fresh dressing and a sling for that arm."

The doctor took his clipboard and left. Jim's eyes scanned over the hospital bed opposite him and saw a pair of blue eyes staring at Jim's shoulder. Blair looked somewhat alert.

"You want something to drink?" Jim asked quietly.

Blair shook his head, his eyes moving up to look into Jim's. "How did you get away from those guys?"

Jim stood, going to the small nightstand under the window. A pitcher of water and several clear plastic glasses were set out on top. Jim filled a glass half way.

"Humor me, Sandburg. Sit up and drink some water."

Rising up on his left arm, Blair managed to drink without spilling. He returned the glass and dropped back down, pulling the blankets up to his neck. "Tell me, man."

"Your mother showed up."

"Mom?"

"Yeah."

"Where'd she go?"

Jim returned the glass to the nightstand. "She didn't say."

"Is it safe to stay here?"

"Yeah, I think so." Jim pulled the railing back up on Blair's bed and ruffled his guide's matted curls. "Get some sleep."

Jim woke, instantly on alert. Someone was near.

He rolled out of the bed, trying to remember where he had put his gun. It took a split second to recall where he was. By the time he remembered, he was already in defense position between the door and Blair's bed. He felt slightly foolish as he picked up the aroma of food drifting in from the hallway.

A light tap on the door prompted Jim to open it, finding a young private pushing a dinner cart. The soldier gave Jim a nervous smile.

"Dinner, sir."

"Thank you, Private."

"You can leave it by the door when you're finished, sir. Have a nice evenin'," he said in a Texan lilt.

Jim rolled the cart over to his bed, taking a seat as he lifted the covers: meatloaf, real mashed potatoes and steamed vegetables. The other tray was the same. The cook was generous with his servings. Jim tossed a cloth napkin over his lap and dug in.

"Sum' smells good..." Blair murmured, his eyes at half-mast.

"You up to eating some hot food?" Jim asked, pushing the cart away as he stood.

The room had a table that fit around the bed and allowed the patients to eat. Jim rolled it out from the corner. Blair was moving now, twisting in his bed as if to test each joint and see if it worked.

"What time is it?" Blair asked, fighting his hair back from his eyes with one hand.

"Dinner time." Jim found the controls and raised the bed to help Blair sit up and eat. He positioned the table and set Blair's meal down, removing the cover. "Enjoy."

"Yum, comfort food." Blair picked up his fork and sampled the meatloaf. "Not bad."

Jim returned to his meal.

"How long do we have to stay here, man?" Blair asked around a mouthful of mash potatoes.

"I'm not sure," Jim answered, sipping the orange juice. He looked around the room, not seeing a phone. "I'll hunt down someone to ask after dinner. How do you feel?"

"If it means we get to head for home, man, then I'm feeling on top of the world," Blair answered with a tired grin.

"We'll get home, Sandburg. How do you really feel?"

"Like the world is sitting on top of me," Blair joked.

It didn't take a sentinel to see the fatigue in his friend's eyes.

After dinner, Blair shuffled into the bathroom, his bare backside playing hide and seek as he walked. Jim had to smother a laugh at his roommate. Man, he could be living like a king if he was in possession of a camera right now. This was prime black-mail material. Blair returned to bed, his eyes opened just enough to allow him to locate the bed and crawl in. Before Jim could completely lower the bed; Blair's eyes closed, dropping off to sleep instantly.

Jim returned the cart to the hallway. A soldier stood a few feet from their door, obviously guarding them. Jim nodded to the man and locked the door from the inside. It was ludicrous to believe he could keep anyone out, but he wanted a shower and felt better knowing the lock might slow a visitor down.

The hot water was heaven. He let it pound his shoulders and neck, but kept it from directly hitting his bullet wound. The short nap automatically readjusted all his mental dials, including pain, to normal settings. As a result, his shoulder was throbbing. With a little effort, he was able to dial down his pain to a tolerable level.

Slipping into his pants, he decided not to bother with his shirt until he had a chance to have his injury re-dressed. Jim extended his hearing. No sounds came from any of the rooms nearby, just the guard outside the door. He did pick up a quiet conversation between two men at the nurses' station.

"...usual the Army tells us nothing."

"They're probably Special Ops, just passing through."

"Did you see the hair on the short one? No way is he Special Ops."

"You're so naive, man. You have no idea how non-military some of those guys can look. It's part of the package. He probably knows fifty ways to kill you and not break into a sweat."

"Really?"

Jim tuned them out with a chuckle, glancing over at his sleeping roommate. Blair was flat on his back, one hand resting above his head on the pillow. The only death-by-Blair possible would be some poor schmuck falling asleep during one of Blair's lectures and breaking his neck as he fell. Well, that wasn't fair. Blair wasn't helpless. He'd proven that over and over. But the idea of Blair having to kill anyone...

He didn't want to go there.

After Jim spoke with the guard in the hallway, a phone was delivered to their room and plugged into a wall jack between the beds. The doctor appeared right after the phone was installed, checking on Blair without waking him, then turning to look at Jim's shoulder. As he left, he promised to send in an orderly to bandage it.

Now Jim sat on the edge of his bed, fully dressed with his left arm in a sling, staring at the phone. Deciding to call Simon first, he dialed the captain at his home. Simon answered on the first ring.

"Banks."

"Simon---"

"Jim! Where the hell are you?"

Jim jerked the phone away from his ear with a painful grimace. He found himself checking to make sure the shout hadn't woken Blair.

"Texas---"

"You better have a very good reason for not calling sooner, Detective."

Jim frowned. "Didn't Naomi call you?"

"No! No one's called. My last contact with you was your cryptic message on my answering machine a week ago."

Oh, hell. When Naomi updated him on who got injured from the pipe-bomb explosion, Jim assumed she'd actually spoken with Simon. It looked like he was wrong.

"I'm sorry, sir. It's been a little hectic."

"Gee, Jim. It's been a regular cakewalk around here! I can't even fire your ass because we got official notice you're on special assignment with the army. What the hell is going on? Did you find Sandburg?"

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. He had some serious fence-mending to do here. "Okay, in a nutshell. Blair was kidnapped by a rogue government official. I got him out and kept him hidden for a while, but he got recaptured. I went in with a team the second time, got him back again. I think it's safe to come home. Only now, Blair has pneumonia and we're at a military hospital. He's looking better. As soon as I can arrange it, we'll be home." Jim took a deep breath and waited for another outburst from his boss. Not getting an immediate response, he added in a sincere tone. "I thought Naomi called you yesterday, Simon, or I would have phoned myself."

"Pneumonia?"

"Yeah."

"Anything else?"

Sure, try a truckload of emotional baggage.

"He's beat up some, but he'll heal."

"What about you? You okay?"

Simon was sounding calmer, almost relieved.

"Uh...I'm okay. Got shot in the shoulder a day or so ago..." Jim paused, damn, how long ago was that? "But I'm patched up."

"Shit. I'm coming down."

"Simon, we're fine." Jim smiled, touched by his boss's concern. "Stay where you are. How bad was the bomb?"

"Bad, killed a file clerk. McVey was the second one closest, he's due out of the hospital soon. Henri got some cuts. The bullpen is a mess, though. We're squeezed in with Homicide right now." Simon sounded weary, as if his earlier anger had drained all the energy out of his body.

"I think it...was because of us." Jim found the words hard to say, they stuck in his throat as he forced himself to whisper into the phone.

"Trying to smoke you two out?" Simon mused. "Could be. The FBI found enough of the bomb, we might know more in a few days. So, when are you two coming home? Or do you plan on staying on in the army now?"

"I'll find out and call you back in the morning."

"Good, I'll want a complete story from you when we get together, to including what the hell Sandburg's mother has to do with this."

"Right."

"Rise and shine, Sandburg."

Blair opened one eye reluctantly. Jim sounded chipper this morning. He closed his eye again and attempted to fake another half hour of sleep.

"Nice try, slacker. Get up."

Stupid enhanced senses.

Blair raised his head and glared at his friend. Jim was dressed in green fatigues, standing next to the bed with one hand on his hip. If Blair could see Jim's feet, he'd guess one would be tapping impatiently.

"If it wasn't for that sling, man, you'd look like a recruitment poster for the army," Blair commented as he dropped his head, face first, back into his pillow. "If they run out of young guys to enlist, you're a shoe in," he mumbled into the pillowcase.

"I heard that, junior."

Blair turned his head and studied Jim with an innocent expression. "Oops, did I say that out loud?" He rolled over onto his back and scrubbed his face with both hands. "What time is it?"

"Zero-nin-er-hundred."

"God, you're even reverting back to military-speak." He felt Jim lower the bar on his bed. The covers were lifted and he felt air on his body. "Hey!" He snatched the blanket back and pulled it tight to his chest. "Some of us are clothes-challenged here, a little privacy please."

"Sandburg, I was with you when they came off, remember?" Jim said with a smirk on his face.

Blair glared up at his friend. "No, I do not."

"Fine, just shake a leg. We've got a transport to catch back to Fort Lewis. We should be in Cascade in time to have dinner with Simon, he's picking us up." Jim tossed a set of similar clothing on Blair's bed.

"Home? Tonight?"

"You have enough time for a shower and breakfast," Jim answered with a small smile.

The blanket was hastily tossed back and Blair stiffly folded his body, getting both legs over the edge of the bed. With a hand from Jim on his upper arm, he sat up with a groan. All his joints were stiff and sore, as if he'd been dragged by his heels through that Mexican jungle. He saw he was dressed in a hospital gown, complete with the gaping back. Blair had a vague memory of Jim dressing him in it yesterday.

"Give yourself a minute before you try walking," Jim suggested.

Blair nodded. He felt better after sleeping, but he had to admit to himself that just sitting up was exhausting. How was he going to handle a shower?

"What's wrong with me, man?"

"You've got pneumonia, Chief."

"Oh."

Blair pushed off the bed and when he stood without swaying; he felt encouraged. "Point me to the shower, man. I'm on a roll here."

After the shower, Blair shaved while sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. Jim helped him back to the bed to rest, placing a towel over the pillow to soak up the water dripping from his hair.

"This is pathetic, man," Blair mumbled, his eyes closed. He wanted to go home. He did not want to be sick. He had responsibilities; there was no time for pneumonia. Blair opened his eyes in alarm.

"Jim! What day is it?"

"Sunday, why?" Jim asked, looking up from reading the paper the orderly delivered with breakfast.

"They took me on a Monday," Blair said with a groan. "Oh god, man. I've been gone an entire week..."

Jim was standing next to the bed now. "Relax, your mother came through with a cover story for me with Simon, she probably did the same for you. We'll straighten it out when we get back."

Blair felt his brain go numb.

Naomi.

"Sandburg?"

Blair blinked. He stared up at him in confusion. "What?"

"You zoned for a second. You ready to get dressed?" Jim picked up the extra clothes and looked expectantly at his friend.

Blair nodded. Anything to take his mind off his mother.

The doctor gave both men one last exam. Each patient received the standard warnings. Jim needed to take it easy and continue to wear the sling. With Blair he was firm: bed rest, finish his antibiotics, lots of fluids and more bed rest. Both men were to follow up with their doctor when they reached Cascade.

Jim thanked the doctor, happy to be heading home. He took the handles to Blair's wheelchair - another of the doctor's orders - and headed for the exit. Blair sat quietly in the chair, his damp hair pulled back in a ponytail. His temperature was down to almost normal, but Jim could see the weariness in his eyes. Blair's face was pale, the greenish fading bruises and black eye drew more than one double take from the military personnel passing by.

Outside, the dry heat hit them like a physical force, causing Jim to appreciate the air conditioning they enjoyed while inside. He loaded Blair into a waiting military van, climbed in and they were driven back to the airstrip.

At the airstrip, Blair insisted on walking again. Jim watched carefully, ready to assist him up the ramp into the belly of a C5A aircraft. The large plane was configured with seats facing backwards. Boxes of cargo covered with netting and secured with straps filled the belly of the plane. The accommodations were stark and utilitarian. Several military personnel were already seated. Jim found two empty seats side-by-side and they buckled in.

"Try and get some sleep, Sandburg. We're looking at a four hour flight," Jim warned.

Blair ran his fingers over the armrests. "I can't find the button to recline the back."

Jim smiled. "This is the military, Chief. Not Alaska Airlines. We're lucky this plane is set up for passengers, otherwise we'd be holding on to the webbing and sitting on the floor."

"I suppose an in-flight movie is out of the question, then," Blair joked.

Jim snorted and glanced over at the other men seated in the same row. "He doesn't get out much."

The ramp closed with a loud clang and the plane vibrated as the jet engines started. The noise from the engines rebounded inside the plane at a deafening roar.

Jim pulled out two sets of earplugs, compliments from the hospital, and handed a pair to his friend.

"Thanks, man. I can't even hear myself talk," Blair said.

Even with the plugs in, Jim dialed down his hearing and settled back for the ride.

Behind the two friends, a man dressed in green camouflage watched them settle in with cold eyes and a cunning smile.

The plane began its taxi toward the runway.

Blair gripped the padded hand rests tightly.

Come on. Come on.

Finally he felt the wheels touch down.

Yes!

They'd caught a tail wind and made good time back to Western Washington. Even though he'd tried to rest during the flight, the noise and his own fear of flying kept him awake and tense. He'd never been so exhausted from `just' sitting in his life. The constant noise of the engines had given him a killer headache. He longed to be back in the loft.

The plane taxied to a stop, the cabin becoming unnaturally quiet as the engines fell silent. Around them, the soldiers started gathering their belongings, getting ready to disembark. Jim held Blair in his seat with a hand on his arm.

"Let's go last, Sandburg. We'd just slow them down."

Finally the cargo area was empty of all other personnel. Blair rose stiffly to his feet, feeling uncomfortable in the borrowed military clothing. The only items he'd been able to hold onto since being rescued by Jim back in Maryland was his hair tie and hiking boots. He followed slowly behind Jim as they walked down the ramp into the drizzle of the Northwest.

"Man, I never thought I'd be happy to see this miserable weather. I can't believe we're finally home," Blair said quietly, looking around. Tall Douglas fir and cedar trees surrounded the landing strip; the heavy cloud cover obscured any chance at viewing Mount Rainier.

They had landed at an Air Force base on the south end of Tacoma, Washington. It was another hour or so north to Seattle, then a few more hours to Cascade.

"I'm going to remember you said that the next time you start complaining about the rain," Jim said as they slowly walked towards the open gate in the chain link fence surrounding the airstrip. He nodded to the two armed guards as they passed through. A familiar sedan was parked near the fence. Blair recognized Simon's tall form as he opened the driver's door and stepped out wearing an expensive full length rain coat.

"About time you two got back!" Simon said when they neared. He frowned, seeing Blair's injuries up close. "Damn, Sandburg. You look like twenty-miles of bad road."

Blair started to respond, intending to reassure Simon he was fine, but found himself caught in a bear hug by the older man. Before he could marshal his thoughts, he was released. Blair looked up in surprise. Simon gave him a look that was somewhere between relief and anger.

"Simon? You okay?" Blair asked.

"I'm fine, Sandburg. Let's get out of this rain before you get my seats all wet," Simon said, clearing his throat. He reached out and grasped Jim's hand in a warm handshake. "Should we get lunch or head north?"

"Let's eat in Seattle, we can last for an hour," Jim said.

Blair opened the back door and crawled into the backseat. Several pillows and a folded blanket rested in the middle of the long leather seat. He gave Simon a weary smile through the open driver's door. "Cool, man. Thanks."

"You're welcome, we'll wake you when we stop for lunch," Simon told him, climbing into the driver's seat.

Jim settled into the front passenger seat. "Do you have any aspirin?" Jim asked Simon, nodding to Blair with his head.

"Glove box."

After Blair had taken two aspirin, he wrapped up in a blanket and got comfortable. As much as he teased Simon for driving this big gas-guzzler, he had a new found love for its roomy backseat.

Before they reached the on ramp for the northbound lanes of Interstate Five, Blair was sound asleep.

"Okay, talk," Simon ordered.

Jim twisted his head to make sure Blair was asleep. "Naomi's hippy lifestyle is a cover. She works with some government agency involved with national security." Jim glanced over at Simon, to see how the big man took the news.

Simon was silent for a full mile.

"You're telling me that Blair's mother is a spy..."

"Hard to believe, isn't it?"

"Try impossible to believe."

Jim adjusted his left arm. The sling was biting into his neck. "When I got home last week, she was waiting for me. She knew Blair's location, but couldn't make a move to rescue him. She was sure someone on the inside had kidnapped him, but she thought if she let the wrong person know he'd been found they'd just move him to another location. She managed to sneak into the loft and leave the information with me, since it was a good bet I wasn't being watched."

"Why take Sandburg?"

"Apparently, Blair's father is high up on the spy food chain. Sandburg was supposed to be leverage for the bad guys. She was vague about the details."

"Sandburg comes from a pair of spy parents," Simon said in disbelief. "Okay, putting the visual picture of Naomi, super spy, out of my mind for a second. Why the Lone Ranger act? Why not ask me for help?"

"I wanted to, Simon. But it wasn't an option. Naomi made it clear I couldn't tell anyone. I think she was worried about bugs and tapped phone lines." Jim shifted in his seat. Simon was a good friend. He knew how he'd feel if the roles were reversed.

"And pipe bombs left in desks?"

Jim's jaw snapped shut. Okay, he deserved that. He turned to study the backs of the building that butted up to the interstate. They were in south Tacoma now, not exactly the high-rent district. Tattoo parlors and pawnshops were spaced between pizza and Mexican restaurants. The usual businesses found near military bases.

"I had no idea they would go to that extreme, Simon," Jim admitted in a quiet voice.

"Jim, I didn't tell you over the phone because the FBI is still investigating it, but they suspect the file clerk put the bomb in your desk."

Jim's head snapped back, forgetting to keep his voice quiet. "You're kidding! She blew herself up?"

Blair groaned in the back seat, causing Jim to curse. He turned to check. Blair opened his eyes briefly and coughed a few times.

"Try giving him some more water," Simon said keeping his eyes forward. The rain was falling hard now, large drops hitting the windshield and obscuring the view. The wipers were on the high setting and still not keeping up.

Jim released his seatbelt and reached over the seat. Blair had stopped coughing and was rubbing his eyes as he looked around in confusion. Jim snagged the water bottle from the floor board with his good arm.

"What's wrong?" Blair asked pushing off the seat to sit up.

"Nothing, here, take a drink."

Blair took the bottle and tilted it up to take a drink and passed it back. "We home yet?"

"No, we're still in Tacoma. How's the head?"

"'Kay."

"Go back to sleep."

Blair laid his head back down and closed his eyes. The two men in the front seat rode in silence for a few miles. Jim continued to watch the scenery while he listened to Blair's breathing and heart rate. Simon's announcement about the file clerk was like a heavy weight lifted off his shoulders. The only death in Blair's kidnapping wasn't an innocent as they had believed, but someone working with the bad guys. He'd make a point to tell Blair the news at lunch.

"Is he asleep?" Simon asked after a while.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Where is Naomi now?"

"Who knows? She said she'd meet up with Blair in Cascade," Jim answered bitterly.

Simon took his eyes off his driving to glance over at Jim. "I take it she's not your favorite person right now. How did Sandburg take the news?"

Jim shook his head. "He's not talking about it much."

"I'll bet."

Prospect Street never looked so inviting. Jim automatically zoomed in on his truck; it looked untouched. He'd taken a taxi to the airport, not sure how long it would take to bring Blair home. Leaving the truck parked at the airport for more than a few days could mean applying for a loan to get it out of hock.

"You can just drop us off, Simon," Jim said as the car pulled into a parking spot.

"You sure? You got your keys?"

"Yeah, it's about the only thing we managed to hold onto all week." Jim reached over the seat and gently rousted Blair awake. "We're home, Chief."

Simon killed the motor. "I'll walk up. Knowing you two, there's a band of guerillas in your living room."

"Funny, Sir." Jim checked on his roommate. Blair was waking up slowly. "How you doing, Sandburg?"

"Good...and Larry was a Barbary Ape, man." Blair mumbled, pushing himself up in the back seat and looking out the window. "We're home?"

"Yeah"

"Cool..."

As he led the way into the building, Jim wondered what the neighbors would think if they looked out and saw the two of them dressed in olive drab fatigues. Punching the button to call the elevator, he remembered the last time he'd entered his home and found Naomi inside. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

"You want something to drink, Simon?" Jim asked, unlocking the door and tossing the keys into the basket.

"Coffee?" Simon asked hopefully.

"Coming up." Jim headed for the kitchen with a watchful eye on Blair. "You okay, Sandburg?"

Blair stood in the middle of the room. He turned to give Jim a puzzled look. "Where's my backpack, man? My laptop was in it... and my glasses. What about my car?"

Now that he was home, Blair must be connecting the dots and realizing the cost he would have to pay for being kidnapped. Jim looked to Simon for help. Simon was watching Blair with a sad expression.

No help there.

"Let's not worry about that right now, okay? We can start calling around in the morning," Jim suggested.

Blair finger-combed his hair back from his face in frustration. "I need that computer, Jim. All my disks were inside my pack. Simon, did you guys find anything?"

Simon had his raincoat off. He dropped onto the sofa as he shook his head. "Sorry, kid. You disappeared without a trace. Do you remember ever getting to the university?"

"No...I can't remember. Shit, why can't I remember?" Blair was starting to become agitated.

"Okay, there's no point in getting worked up over this. We'll deal with all of it tomorrow." Jim finished scooping the coffee grounds into the basket and hit the on button. "You didn't eat enough to call it a meal in Seattle. Let's order take out, you pick."

Blair shook his head. "I'm not hungry. I'm changing out of these G.I. Joe clothes and taking a shower." He disappeared into his room, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Well, this is fun," Jim muttered. He checked the fridge for possible ingredients for a quick dinner. Even though he preferred Blair's cooking, Jim could scrounge up a decent meal when he had to. He was not going to let Blair go without food. He opened the freezer and removed a loaf of wheat bread. "You up for some grilled cheese sandwiches and soup, Simon?"

"Sounds good." Simon stood and joined him in the small kitchen. "I'll start the soup."

By the time Blair was finished with his shower, the two cops had the table set for three. Blair opened the bathroom door dressed in sweats, a towel draped around his neck. He eyed the soup suspiciously.

"Come on, Sandburg, just one bowl," Jim coaxed from his seat at the table.

"You guys ate a few hours ago."

Jim shrugged. "We're hungry again. Sit. Eat. We made plenty."

Blair dropped into the empty chair and let Jim serve him a large bowl of bean and bacon soup. He didn't comment when half a grilled cheese sandwich was added.

The next morning, Jim woke to the sound of light tapping on his door. He checked the alarm clock as he rolled out of bed and grabbed his gun from under his pillow and a robe from the railing. He didn't make a habit of answering the door with a gun, but it wasn't every day he'd just returned from rescuing his roommate from a corrupt American spy. He padded down the stairs while checking on Blair's status. He was still asleep. After a light snack yesterday afternoon, he'd gone to bed, waking only when Jim insisted he take his medicine.

Jim tilted his head, only one heartbeat from the other side of the door. He removed the security chain and opened the door.

"Naomi."

"How's Blair?" She entered the loft.

"Sleeping." He knew she was referring to his health, but he refused to offer the olive branch to the woman.

"Okay, how are you?" She stood in his loft, hands on her hips as she eyed him. She was still dressed as he'd last seen her. Judging by her smell, she hadn't changed her clothes or even showered in the last twenty-four hours. Her face was haggard looking, fine wrinkles around her eyes and mouth showing her age. Her hair was limp and stringy and her breath smelled like stale coffee.

"Better than you, I'd guess." Jim pointed toward the bathroom. "The towels are in the top cupboard, we have guest toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet."

Okay, so he'd offer the damn branch.

Naomi didn't even hesitate, she disappeared into the bathroom. Jim opened a cabinet door and set his gun on the top shelf, next to the casserole dishes and quietly slipped into Blair's room for a clean set of sweats for Naomi to wear. Blair was sound asleep on his stomach, his head turned toward the doorway. The blankets ended half way down his back and trailed onto the floor. Jim took a second to readjust the covers. Blair seemed to be breathing a little easier, his lungs sounding clearer than yesterday. A feather light touch on Blair's forehead told Jim his temperature was very close to normal.

Waiting until he heard the water in the shower start, he opened the bathroom door and set the sweats on the closed lid of the toilet. If Naomi was aware of his presence in the small bathroom, she didn't comment. As tempting as the thought seemed, Jim kept his eyes averted from the shadow through the shower curtain. He smiled to himself when he recalled the way Blair had sounded after he'd just met Naomi for the first time and had commented on her beauty. Even sick, Blair would kick his butt if he knew Jim had snuck a peek.

By the time Naomi emerged wearing the grey sweats, Jim had coffee made and was just finishing two servings of French toast. He was pleased with his cooking ingenuity, as long as recipes were limited to the few items they had in the pantry, bread, six eggs of dubious freshness and milk that was two days over the pull date; he was a master chef.

His immediate future included a trip to the grocery store. He was actually looking forward to a few days of dreary errands. Before leaving last night, Simon had placed Jim on medical leave of absence. He'd spend the next few days cleaning and restocking the kitchen shelves and helping Blair get his life back to normal, if that was even possible.

"Smells good," Naomi said with a smile, appearing at his shoulder. She pulled at the hem of her sweatshirt. "Thanks."

Jim nodded as he poured her a cup of coffee. They sat down to eat their breakfast in an atmosphere of a fragile truce. Jim extended his hearing into the small bedroom under the stairs. Blair was still out for the count.

"Any idea where Sandburg's car is?"

Naomi nodded her head as she washed down a mouthful of French toast with coffee. "It should be delivered tonight. They took him near the University and left it by a private airport east of Arlington."

"Was his computer and stuff still inside?"

"I think so. But, I'll replace anything that got damaged or is missing," she stated simply.

Jim paused and watched her eat for a few seconds. Did she think it would be that easy?

"There's been some damage, Naomi, but I doubt you're going to be able to fix everything with a visa card."

She set her fork down and wiped her mouth with her napkin. "I realize that, Jim. Believe it or not, I'm not an airhead." She gave him a little grin. "I just play one on TV."

He found himself mirroring her smile with a small shake to his head. Why was it, he was pissed off with her when she wasn't around and within an hour of her showing up, he couldn't hold on to his anger?

"What are you going to tell him?"

"The truth." She leaned back and gripped her coffee mug with both hands.

"About?"

"Me. The reason for the lie. Why he was kidnapped."

"His father?"

Her gaze slid away from Jim to the coffee mug in her hand. "If he asks."

Jim rubbed his forehead. "Naomi, is it safe for Sandburg to stay here? I still have some contacts. If we need to disappear, I can swing two new identities."

Her eyes returned to study Jim thoughtfully. "What about your job? Blair is the one in danger, not you."

It was Jim's turn to study his coffee mug. She knew a little about his abilities. Was she fishing for more information about the unique relationship between a sentinel and guide? Even though it was Naomi asking, she still represented the government. Would she use this knowledge against them? Being `recruited' into service for his country was not the life he planned, for him or Blair.

But she didn't push it. He was saved from answering when she stood to retrieve the coffee pot. She poured Jim a second cup, then one for herself. "I think he's safe. We're still rounding up Hersch's accomplices, but the real danger to Blair died when Hersch did." She returned the empty carafe and hit the off button. Sitting back down, she gave Jim a small smile.

"Was one of the accomplices the file clerk that was killed at the station?" Jim asked.

Naomi nodded. "Sweet justice, if you ask me."

"What happened to `detach with love'?" Jim returned with a raised eyebrow.

She raised her coffee in a silent salute.

After the breakfast dishes were done, Jim took his turn in the shower. Blair showed no signs of waking anytime soon. Naomi busied herself making some phone calls. Jim didn't purposefully listen, but did catch a few words like "Rainier" and "laptop". When he descended the stairs dressed for the day in jeans and a blue sweatshirt, Naomi set the phone down with a sigh.

"The laptop was in the car, I'm having it delivered to the loft," she told him.

Jim adjusted his sling. "Good. If you're okay here, I need to pick up some groceries. Sandburg's antibiotics are by the sink, he'll need to have something for breakfast when he takes one."

"I'll take care of it."

Jim fished his keys from the basket and left.

Blair woke with the pleasant feeling one gets from knowing you're in your own bed. He rolled over and blinked a few times in an attempt to clear his vision, willing the alarm clock to become focused. It never worked, but he tried anyway. He lifted his body and leaned out to read the time.

Ten-fifteen.

Jim let him sleep late. He settled back into his bed and hitched the blankets up over his shoulder, thinking about all the weird places he'd woken up during the last week. This sure beat sleeping by the river under that overhang Jim found for them. Tossing back his blankets, he decided to start his day. It was time to face the music with Rainier and see if he still had a job. Being kidnapped played havoc with a person's sick leave.

Sitting up made his head spin. He got to his feet slowly and shuffled out of his room, using the desk, walls and doorframe to ensure his balance. In the kitchen, he found the coffee pot basket had been removed, washed and was drip-drying on a kitchen towel.

Jim must have already made the morning pot and finished it himself, the dog.

"Hi, sweetie."

"Mom!" Turning in suprise, Blair steadied himself by grabbing the back of a nearby chair.

"How are you feeling?" She stood in the living room, wringing her hands as if unsure of her welcome. The action made her seem more like a stranger to Blair than she had already become.

"When did you get here? Where's Jim?"

"He went shopping. I think you two are out of groceries." She tucked a red strand of hair behind her ear. "He told me to make sure you eat something when you take your medicine."

Blair nodded, looking around the loft. The weekend before he'd been kidnapped, both he and Jim had goofed off, declaring an unofficial holiday. In truth, Blair had a bad case of cabin fever. Getting shot after capturing Quinn had forced him to recuperate in the loft and he wanted out. They'd driven down the coast, eaten seafood and camped out. The plan was to catch up on the housework a little each night during the week. That never happened.

The place didn't look bad, but living with Jim had given him some insight into how a clean freak lived. The mail was piled up on the coffee table, along with the daily newspapers. A fine coating of dust covered the TV and the shelves. Dust bunnies were holding court in the corners and under the furniture. Blair had never seen the loft this neglected.

"Would you like some French toast?" Naomi asked, sounding like a waitress on her first day.

"Ah...okay." Blair sat at the kitchen table and watched his mother take the egg batter from the refrigerator. They were acting like strangers, rather than mother and son. Blair felt like he was living in an alternate universe, only he didn't belong. This Blair had a spy for a mother. He hated this reality. He wanted his flower power, hippy mother back.

"Here's your medicine, honey. Do you want me to make another pot of coffee?"

"Only if you'd like some."

"I never turn down free coffee." She inserted the coffee basket and found the filters and grounds.

"So, Naomi..." Blair felt clueless. He picked up the pill bottle and started slowly spinning it on the table.

"Let's try this." She was facing the stove. The frying pan was hot enough for the eggs-covered bread to be added. "You ask me any question, I'll answer it."

Blair studied her as she worked. Any question? Man, where should he start? He had a million of them.

"Are those my sweats?" he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Naomi dropped the spatula. Blair had never heard his mother snort before. She followed the unladylike noise with a peal of laughter, reminding him of the `old' Naomi. The spatula landed on the floor, splattering egg as it fell. Blair couldn't stop the giggle as it bubbled out of his throat. Naomi knelt down to pick up the utensil as she shot her son a hopeless look, still laughing.

Blair held up his hands in a helpless shrug. "Sorry, it wasn't supposed to come out that way," he admitted with a chuckle.

Naomi rinsed the spatula off. "Jim brought me something to change into after I showered. I guess he got them from your room. They're too small to be his," she said getting herself under control.

Blair's eyes narrowed with suspicion. Jim and Naomi? He shook his head, grinning to himself. Some things never change. But the laughter helped; Blair felt some of the awkwardness between them ease. He spun the bottle again on the table, getting the courage to ask another question. "How come you never told me you worked for the government?"

Naomi flipped the bread. "When you were little, I didn't want you to know. I didn't want to scare you."

"And when I grew up?"

She left the stove and poured a cup of coffee, setting it on the table for Blair. Her face serious again. "If you knew too much, people would hurt you to get the information. I couldn't let that happen," she told him softly, covering Blair's hand with her own. "I'm sorry, Blair. I just wanted to keep you safe."

Blair swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "Why `did' they take me? It's not like I know anything." God, he sounded pathetic. He dropped his head, unable to retain eye contact with his mother.

"The man responsible was someone I knew before you were born, his name was Hersch. What did he tell you?"

Blair shrugged. "He just said he... knew you, back when the three of you..."

"Did he tell you about your father?"

Blair had a sudden vision of Darth Vader reaching out his hand towards Luke Skywalker. Shit. No wonder the guy jumped. Blair was tempted to look around for a deep hole. Did he really want to have this conversation?

The plate of French toast and a fork appeared magically on the table. A bottle of syrup was added. Blair's hands shook as he manipulated the cap on his medicine bottle.

"No...not really."

The cap was off. Blair peered into the bottle and glumly noticed the number of white pills inside. He supposed he'd have to take every one of them, too.

Naomi was sitting in the chair that Jim usually used. She had a cup of coffee in front of her, which she clutched with both hands. Blair had a sudden thought.

"What happened to him? This Hersch guy?"

The switch of topics caught Naomi unprepared, a flash of emotion appeared briefly on her face. Blair's mouth fell open in shock. He knew that look. Jim sometimes had it when he talked about having to use deadly force...

"Naomi? Tell me you didn't," he whispered in horror.

Naomi blushed, her hands began to tremble. She refused to look into her son's eyes. Blair felt the acid burn of bile climb his throat. Any hope of eating breakfast was history. He'd be lucky if he made it to the bathroom in time.

Like a racehorse out of the starting block, Blair bolted for the bathroom door, knocking the chair over on its side. The slamming of the door sounded like a gun going off.

Naomi closed her eyes and dropped her face into her hands.

Jim exited the elevator, balancing three bags of groceries. No easy trick considering one arm was still in a sling. Opening the front door was not going to be possible. He stood in front of his door and tapped it with the toe of his sneaker. He could hear talking inside; it sounded like Blair was awake. The smell of hot French toast drifted under the door. Jim frowned as he heard a chair fall over and a door slam.

"Naomi? Sandburg? Open up," he called out. He considered dropping the food and going for his key. But the sound of a person approaching the door stopped him.

Naomi appeared, her face contorted in grief. Tears tracked paths down both of her cheeks.

"What happened?" Jim demanded, looking around for Blair. He picked up the unmistakable sound of someone being sick coming from the bathroom.

Setting the paper bags down on the table, he glanced down at the untouched breakfast and the opened pill bottle. What was left to throw up? Blair only had a little soup last night and three bites of his cheese sandwich.

"I take it your talk is not going very well," he asked in a flat voice as he bent to pick up the chair and set it right.

Naomi shook her head. Her hands clutched the oversized sweatshirt she wore. "He hates me, Jim..." she said, making a move toward the front door.

Jim blocked her path before she could take a second step.

"No way, Naomi. You're not taking the easy way out." He pointed a finger up towards his loft. "Go upstairs and rest. You look like you haven't slept in two days. We'll try this again after lunch."

Jim wasn't sure, but he thought he caught a flicker of hope in her eyes before she turned toward the stairs. He watched as she ascended the staircase, then, filling a glass with water, he headed to the bathroom, tapping lightly before opening the door.

"Sandburg? You alive?"

Blair was sitting sideways on the floor, an arm curled on the seat of the toilet, one flushed cheek resting on his arm in exhaustion. His haunted eyes registered Jim's approach.

"Here. Rinse." He held the glass out until Blair finally moved to accept it. He took a clean washcloth from the cupboard and ran it under the facet.

Blair sipped the water a few times and spat into the toilet bowl. Finally satisfied, he flushed and swapped the glass for the wet washcloth. "Thanks," he croaked, wiping his face.

"Did your medicine just get a one-way ticket to the city water treatment plant?"

Blair shook his head.

"Okay." Jim reached down with his good arm and helped Blair to his feet. "Take a shower, shave, brush your teeth and I'll have a meal waiting for you when you come out."

"Jim, Naomi..."

"Is sleeping upstairs. Let's just hit the pause button for a few hours, Chief. We'll get through this, okay?" Jim noticed the look of shock on Blair's face. Whatever she had told him, it must have been a doosey.

"I have to call Rainier, man," Blair whispered dully, his voice still hoarse.

"After your shower. The morning is nearly over anyway." Jim collected the glass from the sink and headed for the doorway. Blair remained still, staring blankly at the wall. "Sandburg, take a shower."

"Right." Blair nodded and began to strip.

Jim closed the door. The sound of soft sobbing from above being muffled by a pillow reached his ears. Exasperated, he ran his hand through his hair.

Two Sandburgs.

Double the pleasure, double the fun.

Jim was right; the shower helped, a little. Blair twisted the handle, ending the spray of water. He felt wrung out, too exhausted to even think straight. His brain seemed lost in an endless feedback loop.

His mother killed a man.

It was unreal. This was a woman that refused to swat a spider! Therefore, Blair rationalized, this was not his mother, but a clone. Or better yet, an evil twin sister.

"Sandburg?" The door opened a crack and Jim's head appeared. "Are you okay? What's so funny?"

Blair finished wrapping his towel around his hips and shrugged. "Nothing, just thinking."

Jim paused, his head tilting to one side. It didn't take a mind reader to know he was using his extra sensitive hearing to listen to Blair's heart rate and breathing.

"Seriously, man. I'm fine."

"Okay, then. You've got some hot oatmeal waiting for you." Jim said after a few seconds.

Blair dressed, leaving his combed hair loose to air dry. The temperature in the loft was warm, warmer than Blair had ever felt before. It felt perfect. Jim must be sweltering. Blair paused in thought. Did Jim have a dial to control his body temperature? He'd have to talk to him about it one day.

As he entered the kitchen he checked the loft for his mother. Jim said she was upstairs, asleep. The idea of trying to eat with his mom at the table made his stomach churn. He doubted Jim would go so far as to serve him in bed.

The table was set with a bowl of oatmeal and a small plate of cantaloupe, sliced into long strips. Jim was pouring a glass of orange juice as Blair sat down.

Well, then again, maybe he would.

"Your mom's asleep. What happened?"

Blair picked up the spoon. "Nothing."

"'Nothing' didn't send you into the bathroom to talk to Ralph on the big white phone, Chief," Jim said joining Blair across the table.

Blair kept his eyes on his bowl. "She killed the white-haired man," he whispered.

"And..." Jim reached out and pick up a slice of cantaloupe from Blair's plate.

"My mother doesn't kill people!" Blair hissed, keeping his voice low.

Jim swallowed a mouth full of melon, his face showing his disappointment. "Sandburg, you know lots of people who have been forced to use extreme measures. One of them is sitting across the table from you."

"That's different, Jim. This---"

"Listen to me, Chief. I know you're sick, but you are `way' off-base here. Hersch was going for your mother's partner; he had a knife. She stopped him. Are you telling me that makes her a cold-blooded killer?" Jim pointed the uneaten cantaloupe towards his own chest . "If it does, then I'd better turn myself in as well."

"She did it to save someone else?"

"You thought maybe she just off'ed him for kidnapping you?" Jim asked with a wry smile.

Blair shrugged.

"Look. I agree this is a shock. But that doesn't change who she is to you," Jim spoke in an easy tone. "She found a way to serve her country and raise a fairly spectacular, if not slightly annoying, child."

"It's just not Naomi, Jim," Blair tried to explain, ignoring that last comment. "It's like finding out Nixon was a Democrat. It's not ..."

Blair's explanation was cut off by a knock on the door. He gave Jim a puzzled expression. It was not as if they never had visitors, though usually it was Simon or even a neighbor coming to ask Jim's advice as a police officer. Blair was just surprised Jim hadn't heard the visitor coming. He must have his hearing dialed down.

Jim set the cantaloupe back on Blair's plate and pointed to the oatmeal as he stood to answer the door. "Your mom is expecting a delivery. Eat."

Blair tried a taste; it was better then he'd expected. It tasted like Jim added some honey to sweeten it up. The raisins were a nice touch too. Blair had to laugh. Jim was more of a `Jewish mother' than his own...

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Jim backing away from the open door, both hands raised as if in surrender. A man wearing baggy green pants and a dirty raincoat, holding a very large gun entered the loft, closing the door behind him with his foot. Blair's spoon dropped from his fingers, missing the bowl and splattering oatmeal across the table.

"What are you doing out of prison, Donner?" Jim asked. He stood still, his palms turned away from his sides.

Donner glanced around the room, his eyes briefly touching on Blair. "I know where all the skeletons are hidden, Captain. They couldn't afford to leave me in there, too afraid I would talk to the wrong people." His gaze drifted up to the upper bedroom. "Your woman up there?"

Blair gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles. Why did the crazies always end up in the loft? This guy looked about Jim's age, maybe younger and an inch shorter. His face was hard, ugly-looking. His eyes were small and spaced too far out from his flattened nose. He looked familiar. Blair knew he'd seen him somewhere recently. Since he'd only been a couple of places over the last several days it didn't take long to figure out.

"You were on the plane out of Texas!" Blair blurted out without thinking.

"Smart guy. What you're doing with Captain Ellison is beyond me. You related, maybe?" Donner asked with a sneer.

"Shut up, Chief," Jim warned.

Blair closed his mouth with a snap.

"Hey, lady! If you don't want to see these two guys dead, get down here," Donner called out.

Naomi appeared on the stairs, looking at the gun with wide eyes, reminding Blair of a wild horse seeing a lasso for the first time. Seeing the look Donner was giving his mother filled him with dread.

"What do you want, Donner?" Jim asked, just his tone deadly.

"Come over here, Red."

Naomi managed to cross the room without stumbling. As she neared, Donner reached out and pulled her close to his side, his gun pointing at Jim.

"I gotta tell ya, Captain. Seeing you and the hippy on the plane was too good to be true. I told you I'd make you pay for testifying at my hearing. First I was just gonna kill you. But then Red shows up today, so I think I'll have a little fun first." He began to paw at Naomi with his free hand.

Blair literally saw red as he jumped to his feet with a curse, his chair slid across the floor and hit the wall.

The gun swung away from Jim to bulls-eye Blair's forehead. "Think about it, kid! Most of your neighbors are at work. I can kill you, the captain and still get Red to the car before the first cop shows up."

"Stay put, Sandburg!" Jim ordered. He raised a hand, palm out, towards Blair.

"Jim, what's going on?" Naomi asked in a shaky voice.

Suddenly Donner shoved Naomi away, towards Jim. She managed to stay on her feet long enough for Jim to steady her with his good arm. Donner gestured with the gun at Blair. "Find something to tie up the captain."

"Forget it," Blair countered, relieved to see Naomi free. There was no way he'd help this creep.

"Okay, I'll just shoot him now. You're right, dead people don't need to be watched."

Blair looked at Jim, desperate for instruction and got the nod to do as he was told. Crossing over to a drawer that held odds and ends, he pulled out a small ball of packing twine, holding it out for Donner to see.

"Good, now give it to Red."

Blair walked silently over to his mother, handing her the twine. Naomi still looked terrified.

"Okay, Red. Tie up the captain first. Use that chair."

Naomi wordlessly followed Jim to the kitchen chair. Blair watched Jim take his arm out of the sling and sit while Naomi started to bind his wrists. Blair couldn't be sure, but it looked like she was whispering something.

Before Blair could make up his mind, he felt a fist in his hair and was yanked roughly to stand close to Donner's side. Blair caught a brief vision of Jim shaking his head, a silent command not to try anything with this guy.

"So, hippy. You never answered my question. What are you doing with the fine captain here?" As he spoke, Donner shook Blair's head like a rat in a dog's mouth. "Red here is easy to figure, but you're the mystery."

Donner seemed intent on ripping most of Blair's hair out by their roots. He bit down hard on his lip, refusing to cry out. The gun swung towards his head, hitting him just above his ear with a stunning blow. A blinding light flashed inside Blair's head as his legs buckled. Only the hand in his hair kept him from falling.

"Come on, don't be shy, kid. We've got all day to get to know each other." He leaned in close to whisper into Blair's ringing ear. "I want to put on a nice show for the captain before I send him to hell."

"I'm going to need something to cut this with," Naomi called out meekly, standing between the kitchen table and the cooking island. A large block of knives sat within her reach.

"Just use one of those knives, Red. Don't try anything. I'm watching you."

Blair's vision cleared as the stars began to fade. He was having a hard time with his balance, wincing as Donner jerked him upright when he tilted. Naomi reached for a knife, while Jim sat silently in the chair, his face a mask of cold fury.

"Let him go, Donner."

"Not until I find out what he means to you, Captain." Donner gave Blair another shake. He raised the gun again, ready to slam it into Blair's head once more.

Blair closed his eyes and waited.

It never came. For some reason, Donner made a funny choking sound and the fingers twisting in his hair relaxed. Blair opened his eyes in time to see a gray flash and followed by blue, rush toward him. Suddenly, Blair was flying over the back of the sofa. He landed in a clumsy jackknife on his shoulder and rolled off to land hard on the floor, knocking the coffee table on its side with a crash. Mail, magazines and newspapers slid across the wood floor.

Blair struggled to get his feet back under him. They seemed to be trapped in something. Sounds of choking and labored breathing came from the other side of the couch. What the heck had happened?

"Mom! Jim!" Blair finally freed his legs, pulling at the afghan Jim kept on the back of the sofa. Naomi appeared around the couch, looking down with a concerned expression on her face. She shoved the coffee table away and knelt down next to him.

"Are you okay?" Reaching out, she turned his head to examine where the gun had hit him. "Is your vision blurry?"

"What happened?" he asked, still trying to stand.

Jim came into view, phone in one hand and Donner's gun in the other. "Stay put, Sandburg. You took a hard ...hello? This is Detective Ellison, 852 Prospect. I need an ambulance and police units for an armed intruder in my home...he's in my custody now...that's right...good, thanks." Jim's eyes flicked back to Blair. "How's the head?"

"Damn it, Jim. I'm fine. Will you two tell me what happened?" Blair demanded, frustrated with his rubber legs, his head spinning.

Jim was dialing the phone again. "Unless you have a sudden craving to watch a man die with a knife in his throat, you'd better sit still." Jim turned to stare down at the space behind the couch. "Hello, Simon? You're not going to believe this..."

Blair looked at his mother as he settled back down on the floor. "I think I'll just stay here," he whispered, feeling sick to his stomach. All the previous signs of fear and terror were gone from his mother's face. "You okay, mom?"

She joined him on the floor, her back against the couch. "I'm fine, now that you're safe. I haven't thrown a knife in years."

Blair studied his mother. She'd been faking it; the entire time, it was an act. And he'd fallen for it, just like Donner had. Damn, his mother was good. Blair reached out and pulled her into a hug.

"He was going to kill Jim and hurt you. I don't care how you did it, I'm just glad you knew how to stop him," he whispered in her ear.

She gave a weak laugh. "I have to tell you, honey. I've seen more field action being around you and Jim than I have in the last five years. I'm supposed to be semi-retired, after all." She pulled back and patted his cheeks, her face becoming serious again. "Are you sure you're okay? Let me check your head."

Blair rolled his eyes and gave in. He knew he'd have a lump, but he's had worse. He couldn't get used to the concept of his mother stopping Donner. What if Naomi hadn't been in the loft?

"Mom, you saved Jim's life," Blair repeated in wonder, giving her another fierce hug and adding a kiss to her cheek.

Naomi smiled. "Does this mean you're not ashamed to have me for a mother? Knowing what I really do?"

Blair shook his head. "God, I'm sorry, Naomi. I've been a real jerk."

Jim appeared again. "I hear sirens, guys. It's too late for Donner, but I want you checked out, Sandburg."

Blair realized the awful choking sound had ended a few seconds ago. "Who was he, man?" Blair asked.

"Alexander Donner," Jim told them, dropping down onto the couch with a heavy sigh and setting down the gun next to him. "He was charged in a racial beating on the base I was stationed at, right before Peru. I broke it up. The victim nearly died." Jim rubbed his forehead. "Just our lousy luck he ends up on the same plane out of Texas. I never even noticed him."

"Give yourself a break, man. It's not like you didn't have a lot on your mind," Blair said, giving his mother a look. "He goes from zero to full guilt-mode in sixty seconds flat."

"Smart ass," Jim complained.

Naomi laughed.

Uniformed police officers arrived at that moment, guns drawn. After checking to make sure the intruder was dead and the weapon secured, they used their radio to signal the fire units to move in. Jim briefly talked through the scenario, adjusting the story to take the responsibility for killing Donner.

Blair listened to Jim's explanation from the sofa as the firemen took his vitals and flashed a small penlight into his eyes. Naomi remained by his side. Behind them, Donner's body was being photographed and bagged. Blair made a point of keeping his eyes forward.

The medics gave their most convincing argument, but Blair refused to go to the hospital. He stubbornly shook his head as they explained the reasons he should be examined by a doctor.

Finally, Jim waved his hand and ended the stalemate. "Give him the waiver to sign. I'll watch him."

After the medics left, giving Blair the standard instructions to watch for nausea or vision problems, Simon arrived. He glanced down at the body-bag two officers carried out the door.

"I can't leave you two alone for more than a minute."

"Hi, Captain Banks." Naomi waved from the couch. "You're looking wonderful."

Simon gave her a startled look and placed his hand over both eyes in weary resignation. "I need to retire."

Simon ended up staying for lunch.

The aftermath of Donner's attack couldn't be ignored. Jim and Naomi worked vigorously on the blood staining the floor. All the police personnel were long gone. Naomi had ordered Blair back to bed until the food arrived, letting Jim back her up with a `no way you're talking yourself out of this' look.

Simon's contribution to the cleaning was righting the coffee table and returning its contents from all corners of the room. Now the police captain sat comfortably in the large chair drinking a cup of black coffee, after having received a full verbal report of Donner's actions.

Jim returned the sponge into the bucket and eyed the floor critically. "I think that's got it. Good thing you missed the jugular or we'd been hosing the loft out," he said, rocking back off his knees and standing.

Naomi tossed her sponge in with his and accepted Jim's hand as she stood. "I'm just relieved I hit Donner and missed Blair. I was aiming for the man's wrist."

Jim looked at her in alarm. "What?"

She flashed him a smile. "Just kidding, Jim. I scored top of my class in knife-tossing at Spy College. I knew exactly where that blade was going."

Picking up the bucket of dirty water, Jim looked at Simon to check his reaction. Naomi kidded like a fellow cop, dealing with the intense emotions after a kill with inappropriate jokes. This was not the Naomi that they knew.

The sound of the elevator arriving at the third floor, followed by the fragrant aroma of Thai food told Jim it was time to set the table. "Lunch is here," he announced, heading for the bathroom with the bucket.

"I'll get Blair," Naomi said, absentmindedly brushing off her sweatshirt and heading for the small room.

"I can't believe that's Naomi, Jim," Simon whispered as he headed for the kitchen.

"Tell me about it," Jim agreed picking up his wallet to pay the deliveryman. He should have just enough for a decent tip.

"Did she say who Blair's father is yet?" Simon asked, joining Jim at the door and handing over the money for his share.

Jim shook his head, letting Simon carry the food and locking the door. "Nope, and we're not going to ask, that's for Sandburg to tackle when he's ready."

"I still can't believe Naomi is capable of killing a man with a kitchen knife from twenty feet," Simon repeated, shaking his head.

"Believe it, sir. She throws like a pro."

"I'm not thrilled that you lied about that. I know you said you wiped off her prints and added yours, but are you sure that was necessary?" He started opening the boxes for the different dishes.

"Consider it a needed obfuscation for national security. Naomi needs her cover intact. It doesn't fly to give a `hanging-on-hippy' credit for taking out that piece of trash," Jim said, looking up as Blair and his mother walked out of the bedroom.

"...what about Moonbeam?" Blair asked.

"Yes."

Blair shook his head; going to the kitchen sink and washing his hands. "How about Violet?"

"Definitely," Naomi answered, smiling happily at the two cops. Jim was pleased to see the return of their unique camaraderie.

"No way, mom. She's...what? Ten years older than you?"

"Who do you think trained me?" Naomi answered sweetly, picking up a plate and helping herself to some noodles.

Blair joined the other three at the table. He still looked pale, but Jim was relieved to see some of the sparkle back in his eyes. He handed Blair a plate of the mild noodles.

"Thanks, man. What about Weird Harold?"

Naomi made a face as she chewed her food and swallowed with a sip of water. "Weird Harold! Even the government has standards, honey. Weird Harold was just that...weird!"

Simon's right eyebrow rose in a perfect `Mr. Spock' imitation. "You gonna ask, Jim?"

Jim shook his head and picked up his fork. "Do I look stupid, Simon? One thing hasn't changed. You don't want to get between two Sandburgs; they'll pull you in and you'll never come out the same again."

Blair laughed softly, twirling his fork in his noodles. "It's already too late for you, man."

Faking a heavy sigh, Jim tried to hide a grin. "Yeah, I know, Chief."

The End.

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