"That tripe is easy to spout when you've never had to fight for the right to live free," Jim Ellison said with a demeaning snort.

Blair Sandburg paused in donning his coat, Jim's tone a verbal red flag, egging the younger man on. "Oh, I forgot, I'm talking to Mister G I Joe. Heaven forbid a few lowly college students voice their opinion, man," Blair snapped back as he shrugged into his coat and pulled his hair out from under the collar. Hooking an arm through the strap of his backpack, Blair flung open the front door.

"Your shoe's untied, Chief," Jim said calmly, glancing up from his scrambled eggs.

Blair glanced down. Shit. It was hard to act all mature and worldly while wearing untied sneakers. How could Jim continue to look unaffected by their argument, when Blair wanted to hit something? "Later, man."

Just as he started to exit, his hand still on the door knob, Blair stepped on the untied lace which pitched him forward. The door slammed with more force than required, sounding like a gunshot in the quiet winter morning.

Double-Shit.

Blair hesitated a moment, standing unsure in the hallway. He wasn't `that' mad at Jim. In fact, Blair never much liked the whole `slam-the-door' thing. But he had to admit, he felt good, almost primal. Squelching his first inclination to stick his head back into the loft and give his friend an explanation, Blair quickly bent down and tied his lace before hurrying on to class. Let Jim think he was mad enough to slam a door, serves him right.

Jim raised an eyebrow as the slam echoed off the high walls in the loft. He watched the door, waiting for his guide's head to reappear with a quip about not knowing his own strength or something along those lines. Using his enhanced sense of hearing, he listened to Blair's harsh breaths, then the rustle of cloth as he moved, probably tying his shoe. Finally, the footsteps moved away.

Huh, that's different.

Jim finished his eggs thoughtfully. Their argument had started innocently enough. Blair wanted to spend a few hours protesting at some anti-war protest scheduled at Rainier that afternoon and Jim had merely asked where Blair had suddenly found extra time to waste. Granted, Jim could have been nicer about it. He was well aware of his tendency to voice his opinions with an annoyingly superior attitude. His ex-wife had told him many times he had a rare talent for it. But the anti-war protest was a waste of time. Blair was too busy for worthless posturing with a bunch of wet-behind-the ears kids.

Taking his empty plate to the sink to wash, Jim made a vow to apologize the first chance he got. Just because his friend had an ex-covert-ops roommate and a super spy for a mother, didn't make him a card carrying NRA member. Blair hadn't stopped embracing the `love, peace and harmony' culture his mother had raised him in, even if it had been just a cover for her.

For Blair it was a belief.

Jim gathered up his wallet, gun and keys, closing the door softly behind him as he left for work.

The lecture hall was filled to seating capacity and then some. A handful of seniors stood in the back, leaning against the wall with easy smiles and small waves as the teacher graced them all with a brilliant smile. It might be just a typical anthropology class for freshmen, but today the class schedule promised to show the slides from the instructor's travels. Past students knew a real treat was in store for the freshmen.

Blair leaned against the podium and eyed the large class with joy in his heart. God, he loved teaching. This year, the class size had demanded a larger room. The powers-that-be had given him the main lecture hall, bouncing Professor Schaaf's to one of the smaller rooms. It appeared Blair would have to whip up a large batch of his caramel brownies to sooth Schaaf's ruffled feathers next week.

"Okay, if you all would settle down, we'll get started. I see some familiar faces in the back," Blair teased the large group. "I'm not changing your grades back there, seniors. I don't care how many times you sneak back into my class."

As the laughter filled the hall, Blair took a moment to review his outline. He signaled his assistant to lower the lights and began his class. On the third slide, a side of the room was flooded with light as a door opened. A few students grumbled their displeasure, but quickly stilled when they saw the large black man enter and walk purposefully toward the front.

Blair looked up as the newcomer neared. "Hey, Simon! What..." Blair's greeting froze on his lips as he noticed the older man's expression.

"We need to talk, Blair," Simon said softly.

Blair nodded, his throat tight with fear as he waved his assistant over and shoved the outline into his hands. Captain Simon Banks guided the shorter man to the nearest exit.

A freshman leaned over to whisper into his friend's ear. "Did Mr. Sandburg just get arrested?"

Outside in the empty hall, Blair walked in a trance. He stumbled, causing Simon to steady him with a hand on his arm. For some strange reason, both of Blair's legs had lost their ability to hold him up. Blair wondered if he was going to make it to Simon's car before falling. Miraculously, they arrived to stand beside the car.

`Jim is dead', Blair thought to himself, closing his eyes, not wanting to watch Simon's lips form the words.

"Sandburg, something's happened."

Blair nodded, keeping his eyes closed tightly. Numbness began in his fingers and toes, spreading quickly towards his heart. Blair felt his head nod again, in small jerks.

"Jim's truck went over a cliff on highway eleven, out past Chuckanut. It doesn't look good, kid. Whatcom and Skagit county officers are on scene."

Even knowing the words were coming, didn't help soften their blows. Blair sagged against the car as if hit, Simon's quick movement the only thing keeping the grad student from sliding down to the asphalt in a boneless heap.

"It's okay, I got ya," Simon muttered, gently maneuvering Blair into the passenger seat, lifting his legs into the car and pulling the seatbelt into position before closing the door.

Simon's car had expensive leather seats. Blair let his body sink into the cushions and leaned his head back against the headrest. Simon slide behind the wheel and started the engine. "I was on my way out there, thought you might want to go along," Simon explained.

Blair nodded. "Wh... what was he doing out there?"

Simon shook his head. "Not sure, he was supposed to be on an interview in the business district."

They arrived at the scene half an hour later. County deputies were parked alongside the two-lane road. The curvy section of road was part of the Chuckanut Mountain range. The hills butted up against the coastline, elevating the highway several hundred feet. To the west, they could look across the Samish bay and see a small spit of land that pointed to the San Juan Islands.

The air was brisk from a cold wind blowing off the sea. Blair opened the door and stepped out. Gray clouds hugged the tops of the tall cedar and fir trees. The road was still wet from recent rains, causing the oil sheen to glisten on the road's surface. Blair followed Simon towards the small group of men and women standing at the front of a patrol car. A large waterproof chart was spread out on its hood.

"Captain Banks?" A woman wearing a Whatcom county uniform asked politely, extending her hand in greeting. "Sorry to have to bring you out of Cascade like this. We managed to get a plate number and called you as soon as we realized he was one of yours."

"Thanks, this is Blair Sandburg, he works with Jim. What have you found?"

"Nothing, I'm afraid," she said, glancing up in alarm. "Better watch that edge, it's not stable."

In three long strides, Simon reached Blair's side and pulled him back from the edge. A broken guard rail indicated where Jim's truck had crashed through. "Sandburg!"

Blair allowed himself to be pulled back. He'd already seen what he was looking for; Jim's Expedition was lying on the rocks below, the surf crashing against its broken frame. Simon kept a hand on Blair's shoulder, able to feel the shivers roll through the smaller man's body.

"Damn it, Sandburg, we forgot your coat," Simon muttered angrily. "Stay put. I'll be right back."

Simon jogged back to his car, popped the trunk and returned with a heavy black nylon jacket. The word `Police' was emblazoned across the back in large reflective letters.

"Put this on." Simon held it out, threading Blair's arm through one sleeve and holding it out so Blair could work his other arm in. The coat sleeves fell off the ends of his fingers, hiding his hands.

"Simon?" Blair's long hair was being whipped around his face by the wind as Simon quickly bent down and zipped up the coat.

"Yeah?"

"I slammed the door," Blair said sadly.

Simon glanced back at his car in confusion. "Its okay, Sandburg."

But Blair knew it wasn't.

In the end it was the Coast Guard that finally reached the Ford. The deputies were reluctant to scale the cliff. The tide was high above the rocks, completely covering the vehicle by the time they got close. All parties present knew this was a simple body retrieval, nothing more.

Simon puffed on his cigar, fiercely chewing the end while he monitored the progress. He was here by invitation and knew better then to try and get involved in the decision making process. Besides, it was a full time job just keeping an eye on Sandburg. What had the man been thinking? Simon's first fear was that Blair wanted to jump, but disregarded it with a snort. Sure, Jim was a sentinel, a person with enhanced scenes, the stuff that comic books were made of and Blair was his sidekick, no, more than a sidekick. Jim had corrected him once before on that issue. But he didn't think Blair was the suicidal type.

Simon's gaze caught movement out on the gray water, a large container ship en route to Cascade's port to the north. Closer to the shore, bobbing in the water, a small but strong tug waited to guide it safely in. Simon studied the compact little tug, reminded of Sandburg. A guide.

Blair stood next to him, silent and watchful. The Coast Guard crews confirmed keys were in the ignition, but there was no body. The current flowed strongly around the crash site. With the extensive wreckage of the vehicle and condition of the passenger compartment, the consensus was clear.

Jim Ellison's body had been taken out to sea.

As Simon drove back to the city, he made the phone call to Taggart. Joel agreed to break the news to the bullpen, telling Simon to concentrate on taking care of Blair. At the moment, it wasn't a difficult task. Blair sat in the passenger seat, wordlessly staring out the side window.

"Do you want to go to the loft?" Simon asked, his voice sounding loud in the oppressive silence of the vehicle.

"Okay," Blair replied in a monotone voice.

Simon concentrated on his driving. When they reached the loft, he quietly followed Blair into the building. Once inside, he watched as Blair disappeared without a word into his room. Jim's small book of phone numbers sat next to the cordless phone. With a sigh, Simon dropped into a kitchen chair and dialed the number for William Ellison.

Every available seat in the room was filled. Blair sat in the second row of the posh funeral home's main chapel. Major Crimes filled the pew to Blair's left, Simon on his right. The chapel looked like a demented florist convention gone berserk. No expense was too great for William Ellison's last tribute to his oldest son. The Ellison family and Carolyn sat in the front row, the place of honor. Jim's father had given Blair a critical once-over as he had walked in. Blair found himself wondering if he had forgotten to shave or something.

Actually, he had. Simon had to remind him. It was strange having Simon for a roommate. Blair couldn't find the energy to even ask the man why had stayed. But Blair never gave it a second thought. Lately, he hadn't been giving much thought to anything, except one.

Jim was gone.

"Mr. Sandburg?"

Blair looked up to see William Ellison standing next to Simon.

"I thought you'd like to sit with the family, son. Carolyn says you and Jimmy were close."

Blair swallowed, at a loss for words, feeling trapped.

Simon glanced down at the ex-police observer and turned with a gracious smile to address Jim's father. "Mr. Ellison, we all think of Jim as a brother. Why don't we consider the front two rows as family?"

"Good point, Captain Banks, I hope all of you will be coming by later today. I know I'd like to get a chance to talk with Jim's co-workers," William Ellison said before returning to his seat. The service was getting ready to begin.

Blair leaned back against the hard bench in relief. A last minute mourner slipped in at the back of the room, closing the door with more force than necessary. Blair flinched as the door closed with a bang.

"I'll be right back, I want to make sure Joel has directions to the Ellison estate," Simon said, checking to make sure Blair's coat was fastened before leaving. The rain had held off, but the wind was fierce as the strong gusts blew through the large parking lot. Blair leaned against the car, both hands stuffed in his coat pockets. The doors were unlocked, but Simon noticed Blair made no move to climb inside.

The memorial's turnout had been huge. Most of Cascade's police force had attended, as well as a few military, turning the crowd into a sea of blue and green uniforms. Officers from nearby cities had volunteered to cover the shifts, freeing the Cascade officers to let them attend. Frankly, Simon had been happy to let Jim's father deal with the details of planning the service. He had his hands full.

Spotting Joel across the parking lot, Simon jogged over, arriving just as the large man was unlocking the driver's door.

"Joel, you know where the estate is, right?"

Joel nodded, patting his breast pocket. "I looked over the map, I'm good. How did Blair do during the service?"

Simon shook his head. "Hell if I know. He sat like a statue, never moved."

Joel leaned a hip against his car. "It's like he refuses to acknowledge Jim is gone. You know, when the dam breaks, he's going to need someone."

Simon scrubbed his face with both hands. "I know. I know. Shit, I need to find his mother..." Simon caught the scowl from his friend. "Relax, I'm not going to dump him, but he needs family. I just wish he'd show some grief; scream, beat the walls, even a tear would be a change from this zombie thing he's doing."

"Is he talking?"

"Only if I ask a direct question. Then the answer is either `yes', `no' or `whatever'. I have to remind him to eat, sleep, even shower. We ran late this morning because he forgot to shave," Simon said rubbing his eyes. "Anyway, I'll see you there."

Simon turned back towards his vehicle, wanting this day over in the worst way. He looked up in time to see a dirty, white van stopping next to his car. The side door opened and two men wearing ski masks jumped out, heading with purpose for Blair.

"Sandburg! Run!" Simon shouted.

Maybe it was the three days of following Simon's orders that caused Blair to react immediately. Using the door for a shield, he stopped the first man short by wrenching it open. The large attacker hit it hard, but Ski Mask number two deftly skirted the obstacle before Blair got more than two steps into his run. Reaching out, he managed to snag Blair's coat, his other hand getting a handful of ponytail. Blair brought his left elbow up and slammed it into the man's stomach.

Simon ran, his gun drawn, knowing he was too far away to help. "Cascade Police! Freeze!"

Blair continued to fight and twist in the attacker's grip. Unable to turn, Blair used his elbows and feet until the first man landed a well-aimed punch to Blair's face, dropping him to the pavement.

Simon cursed, seeing other officers running now to assist; it was questionable if anyone was close enough to help. "Leave him, damn it!" Simon panted as he forced his long legs to go faster.

"Abort! Abort!" the second man shouted, pulling the other away. They leapt into the van as the driver accelerated away in a cloud of burning rubber.

The van tore across the parking lot, jumped the low curb and pulled out into four lanes of traffic to disappear around the next intersection. Blair still lay on his side. Simon arrived, kneeling on the asphalt, ignoring the oily dirt grinding into his best dress slacks. "You okay?"

"Simon! What the hell was that?" Joel yelled, arriving at Simon's side, his own gun drawn.

"Kidnapping attempt, I'd guess," Simon muttered as he pulled Blair's hands away from his face to check the damage. Blair seemed dazed, but he appeared to be breathing okay.

"License plates were removed. How's Blair?" Joel asked.

Other officers arrived, standing protectively around the two men on the ground.

"We've called it in, Captain," a man reported. "We gave a pretty good vehicle description and direction of travel."

"We need an ambulance, Simon?" Joel pressed with concern.

Carefully pressing his fingers against Blair's cheek bone and eye socket, Simon shook his head. Blair would be sporting a nice black eye for a couple of days, but a trip to ER was not necessary. "You okay, Sandburg?"

Blair opened his eyes and nodded, wincing from the man's touch. "Help me up, man," he asked, letting the others pull him to his feet. Blair was a mess. His hair tie had been yanked out, his long strands blowing in the wind. One side of his jacket and pants were dirty and wet from the ground.

"Any idea who those guys were?" Simon asked as Joel started to disperse the crowd.

"No," Blair answered in a shaky voice.

Simon opened the car door, waving Blair into the car. He wanted to get Blair to the loft for some clean clothes and an ice pack for that eye. Suddenly, having Blair on the street made the captain nervous. Surprisingly, once they arrived at the loft, Blair made it clear he was staying.

"I need to call my mom," Blair explained.

"Blair, I've been calling for three days. I can't find her," Simon said.

Blair retrieved a small notebook from his room and picked up the cordless phone. "I can reach her."

"What! Why the hell didn't you tell me that!?" Simon exploded, causing Blair to step back with a look of surprise. Simon immediately calmed himself. He continued at a lower volume, "Sorry, kid. I didn't mean to... don't get me wrong, I'm glad to see you talking again, but I've been trying to call Naomi for days. I would have appreciated a direct number."

Blair shrugged, taking a moment to thumb through the book. "No one has a direct number for Naomi, man. We just need to let the right people know I'm looking for her."

Simon dropped into a kitchen chair, watching Blair dial. "Why now? It's too late for her to get here in time for the service or the wake."

Blair made a face. "I don't care about that, Simon...hello? This is Blair Sandburg. I need you to get a message to my mom. I need to talk to her as soon as possible...it's urgent...yeah, okay. No, I know the number. Thanks, man." Blair disconnected and searched the book for another number, glancing briefly at Simon as he dialed. "I need mom to help me find Jim...hello? Frank? It's Blair...not too good, actually, I need to talk to mom, it's urgent...okay, yeah, I can do that. Thanks." Blair set the phone back in its charger.

Simon watched the other man with growing unease. Had Blair finally gone over the edge? "Uh...Blair, why do you think your mother would be able to find Jim's body when the Coast Guard couldn't?"

Blair raked his fingers through his hair. "Jim was never in the Expedition, Simon. He's still alive."

When Simon and Blair didn't show up at the Ellison estate, Joel called Simon's cell phone. Simon explained they wouldn't be able to appear after all and asked Joel to send their apologies to Mr. Ellison. William Ellison himself took the phone and assured Simon that he understood. The attempted kidnapping in front of the funeral parlor was the hot topic of conversation at the wake.

"Explain to me why you think Jim isn't dead," Simon ordered as he poured them each a hot cup of coffee.

Blair had changed into his sweats, happy to be out of the damp and muddy clothes. "It's obvious, Simon. Those guys have Jim! Why else would anyone try and kidnap me?" Blair said, waving his hands in the air to make his point.

Simon set the coffee mug down in front of Blair. "Do I need to remind you that you got kidnapped six months ago? And that had nothing to do with Jim."

"That threat is gone, Simon. I'm telling you, Jim's alive," Blair insisted. It felt great to say the words. He picked up his coffee and took a tentative sip. He needed to talk to Naomi, who knew what Jim was going through?

"I need to change out of this suit," Simon said, looking unconvinced.

Blair watched as Simon climbed the stairs to Jim's bedroom. `Since when did Simon store his clothes in Jim's room?' Blair wondered. The phone rang and he snatched it up quickly.

"Mom?"

"Hi, sweetie, what's wrong?" Naomi whispered, her voice hard to understand through the static.

"Mom, Jim's been kidnapped! They tried to take me today, but Simon was there---"

"Wait a minute," Naomi ordered, cutting him off.

Blair held his tongue, fidgeting in his chair as he waited. He could hear urgent, muffled whispers. Naomi probably had her hand over the speaker. After a few long seconds, she was back, speaking in a normal voice.

"Okay, start at the beginning, Blair. Tell me everything."

Blair did; Jim's car over the cliff; no body; Jim wasn't supposed to be on that road; no one had been able to figure out why; then the attempted kidnapping today. Blair described the two men, the van, everything he could think of.

"Who's with you now?" she demanded.

"Simon...actually, he's been staying at the loft with me," Blair said with sudden realization. "He's been totally cool."

"Good. Listen to me, honey. Under no circumstances are you to go `anywhere' by yourself, do you understand?"

"That's already a given, Mom. But what about Jim? Can't you and your sp---"

"Blair Sandburg! You are not to talk about such matters over a phone!" Her voice was sharp and carried the same sting as a whip.

"Sorry," Blair mumbled, hitting his forehead with a palm.

Simon was walking down the stairs, dressed in Dockers and a cotton sweater, shaking his head while rolling his eyes. Blair grimaced at the cop, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's okay; I know you're upset about Jim. It'll take me about twenty-four hours to get there. You're to stay with Simon and do what he tells you, okay?"

"Mom, I'm twenty---"

"Blair, don't start with me. Let me talk to Simon." Naomi's voice brooked no argument and Blair handed the phone out to Simon without a word.

"Ms. Sandburg?" Simon asked as he brought the phone to his ear. "Okay...no, that's fine. I was going to anyway...good, we'll see you then. Good-bye."

Blair watched him return the handset. "She's going to help us, Simon," he said with relief.

"Well, she's coming, but I'm still not convinced you're on the right track. I pray you are, but...look, kid, just try not to get your hopes up, okay?"

Sixteen hours later, Simon woke to the sound of knocking. Glancing at Jim's bedside clock with a groan, he tossed back the covers and climbed out of bed. A shadow moved towards the door in the darkness below.

"Sandburg, stop!" he whispered harshly, quickening his pace down the stairs.

Blair stood by the kitchen table, still dressed in his sweats. "It's Naomi."

"We don't know that for sure, do we?" Simon said sternly, a little amazed that Blair had listened to him in the first place. "Who is it?" he called through the door.

"Naomi."

"See, I told you," Blair said, waiting as Simon removed the safety chain and unlocked the deadbolt.

Naomi swept into the room. "Nice pajamas, Simon," she murmured as she passed him to envelop her son in a hug. She wore a black dress that fell to her ankles with a low scooped neckline, an overnight bag slung over one slim shoulder. Dozens of bracelets jingled on both wrists.

Simon looked down at his flannel two piece set with a sigh. Joel had gone to his home the day they had learned Jim was gone to pick up a few things. It was just his luck the ex-bomb captain grabbed his Andy Griffith - Mayberry pajamas. They'd been a gag gift from his ex-wife. At least they were warm. Simon closed the door and carefully relocked it.

"Mom! You're early!"

"Got a direct flight," she explained briefly. "Are you okay?"

Simon left them to talk. Going to the kitchen, he started a pot of decaf coffee and checked the refrigerator for something to fix. Now that Naomi was here, maybe he could get Blair to eat something. At this rate, the food that Joel delivered would end up in the trash. Getting Blair to sit down and eat had proved to be a real challenge. Simon decided on grilled cheese sandwiches, pulling out a brick of Tillamook cheese.

At first it had been awkward living in the loft, sleeping in Jim's bed, eating at the man's table, using his shower in the mornings. But with time, the strangeness disappeared. Simon found he simply could not walk away from Blair. It was as if Jim's ghost was standing next to him, silently judging him. In Simon's mind, the message on Jim's face was clear: take care of Blair.

"Sweetie, I'm not sure I can do anything," Naomi said as she and Blair sat on the sofa in the living room.

"What? Mom, Jim needs us! We have to find him!"

The pain evident in the younger man's voice caused the cop to wince as he spread the margarine evenly across the bread, preparing it for the frying pan.

"Honey, I knew your kidnapper and where you where taken. Even then, I worked under orders. We don't even know if Jim's alive, let alone where he is."

"Mom...please, I know he's not ... you've got to help me." Blair's voice was barely audible.

Simon carefully laid the sandwiches into the hot pan, keeping his eyes on his task. Naomi was murmuring something soft to her son. God, this was such a mess. Blair wanted to believe that Jim was alive, but Simon wasn't so sure. Although it was interesting, if you stopped to think about the timing; why would three men try and snatch Blair in broad daylight? Was time of the essence? If so, why?

Simon continued to mull the questions over in his head. The sandwiches were finished. He set out three glasses of juice. "Naomi? Would you like a snack?"

Naomi came to the table with Blair in tow, giving Simon a grateful smile as she sat and helped herself to a hot sandwich. Blair dropped glumly into a chair next to her. Simon slid a sandwich onto a saucer and casually pushed it over in front of the younger man.

"Mom, there's got to be something you can do," Blair insisted.

"Well, let's think about this while we eat," Naomi said.

Blair picked up the triangle of toasted bread and melted cheese, absentmindedly taking a bite while watching his mother.

"Simon, what's your impression on Blair's attempted kidnapping?" she asked.

"Well, Sandburg has a valid point. Why would they try for him when the parking lot was filled with cops and military?"

"Exactly!" Blair said, gracing Simon with a grateful look.

Naomi nodded in agreement, taking another bite. Simon was happy to see Blair following with his second bite. It was the first meal he'd gotten into the man all day. He quickly pushed the jar of kosher pickles closer.

"You think Jim's been kidnapped because of his sentinel ability?" Naomi asked, removing a pickle for Blair's plate and adding one to her own.

"It's possible, we already know of one person that figured it out, Brackett," Simon said.

Blair nodded, really going to town on his sandwich now. The first half was eaten and he picked up the second without prompting from either Simon or Naomi.

"I doubt it's our military, although I'm going to ask a few questions. Could be a foreign government, which could lead to national security issues... Jim's ex-ranger and covert ops. I doubt Uncle Sam wants him falling into the wrong hands," Naomi mused out loud. "We're going to need some higher authority here, honey."

"Who?" Blair asked.

"I think it's time you met your father."

Jim Ellison groaned, his ears picking up the familiar footsteps of the doctor who had been tormenting him for the last four days. At least, in Jim's mind it was torment. He couldn't actually call it torture, although it was a close second.

"Chiwen, how are you today?"

Jim ground his teeth, refusing to answer. The doctor was young looking, with Asian facial features and long black hair pulled back to form a tight bun. He was short and slender. But the four bruisers accompanying him gave him all the physical advantage. That and the fact Jim was manacled to his bed by a short chain attached to cuffs around his wrists. Jim could sit or lie on the bed with enough slack to use the bedpan on the floor, but that was it.

At least they changed the bedpan regularly.

"Today, we will repeat exercise. Please, not to fall into trance," the doctor said with a lilting accent.

Yep, this was true torment. Who was that Greek God that had his organs eaten out every day? Jim had a feeling he knew what the poor guy went through. Since he'd woken up in this bare, windowless, cold room, it was the same. The guy would show videos and flash lights in his face until Jim would zone. And what was with this `Chiwen' crap?

"I'm sorry, our attempt to bring Haoxian failed. We try again soon."

Jim stiffened. The goons were busy cuffing his wrists, freeing him from the bed and allowing him to walk down the hall to the `testing room'.

"What?" he croaked.

"Haoxian...assistant, from the... college?" the doctor explained, struggling for the correct English word.

How did this guy know so much about him?

"I don't have an assistant, you idiot," Jim retorted bluntly. "I have a `roommate' and he knows nothing!"

The man tilted his head, his face devoid of any emotion. So far nothing Jim said since his captivity stirred any reaction. And the goons? They were silent drones, large Asian bodyguards. Jim allowed himself to be pulled to a standing position. At first he made them drag him everywhere, but that only proved the goon squad had muscles and they weren't afraid to leave bruises.

"Please, come."

Jim shuffled after the doctor, dreading the next few hours. The truth was, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't `not' zone. The man's session was brutal on his senses, nothing like Blair's careful tests that seemed like a nuisance at the time, but ended up improving Jim's ability for control.

They entered a large room with white, windowless walls. A long table dominated the center of the room, hinged on a frame, which allowed it to be tilted either vertically or horizontally. It was currently in the vertical position. After days of the same tests, Jim knew they would secure him to the table, his arms tied down above his head.

"Please to focus on the lights."

Jim steeled himself. He had to stay out of the zone...

Blair watched his mother dialing her cell phone. Part of him was surprised she even owned one. But hey, this had been a weird year. Six months ago, an old friend of his mother's had kidnapped him. After being rescued by Jim, Blair learned his sweet, sometimes scatter-brained mother was actually a spy for the government. Blair felt like the main star in an old Walt Disney movie. But when his mother had to kill an old enemy of Jim's, right in the loft, Blair realized she was more like Jim; a soldier. Instead of superior strength, Naomi used her cover as a hanging-on-hippie to fool those around her.

So Blair had come to deal with the fact he had a spy for a mother. What he hadn't wanted to think about was his father. He was `so' not ready to go there. But Jim needed all the help Blair could find.

"Hello...we have a situation in Cascade," Naomi said, giving her son a sad smile as she talked. "Yes, I think so...he knows...we'll be there."

Blair looked at Simon in alarm. We'll be where? Blair wasn't ready to go anywhere, yet. He needed to find Jim. Naomi returned her phone to her macram handbag.

"Mom, we'll be where?"

"Your father's flying out, we need to meet him," she explained. "We can get a few hours sleep, though."

Blair nodded, feeling dazed. This was happening so fast. "Ah...okay, I'll take the couch. Just let me change my sheets and you can take the futon."

Three hours later, Simon was shaking Blair's shoulder. "Time to leave, Sandburg."

Blair stumbled into the shower under his mother's orders. Pulling a pair of jeans and the first clean shirt he came to out of his dresser, he dressed quickly. Ten minutes later, they were walking towards Simon's car. Soon they were standing at a private airstrip north of Cascade. The sun was up, but the morning air was cold. Blair tucked his hands in his armpits, hating the way the cold seemed to chew on his fingers.

"He's arriving in a Cessna," Naomi stated, her eyes scanning the horizon.

Blair caught his lip and gnawed as he studied the sky. A large warm hand clapped his shoulder: Simon. A warmth invaded Blair's chest as he flashed the tall captain a grateful look, not feeling so alone.

"There." Naomi pointed to the south.

A white and blue plane landed without incident, taxiing to a stop. Two men in mechanic overalls trotted out from a nearby hangar and attached the plane to chains. The door opened and the pilot exited, carrying a small zippered bag.

Blair waited for the passenger to get out. The morning sun reflected off the windshield, preventing him from seeing inside. The pilot began to walk towards them; still the passenger door remained closed.

"So you're Blair," the pilot said, removing a pair of aviator sunglasses. He was a tall man in his early fifties with dark, wavy hair. Blair glanced again at the plane. No one was getting out.

This was his father.

Naomi stepped forward, greeting him with a warm hug. Blair watched as the couple spent a few seconds just enjoying each other's embrace. A bitter lump rose in his throat and he found himself blinking, suddenly surprised at his reaction. Why had they been denied the chance to be a family?

"This is Simon Banks," Naomi said, turning in the tall man's arms to finish the introductions.

Simon stepped forward to shake hands. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"And this is your son, Blair," Naomi finished, leaving the man's embrace and standing proudly next to Blair. "Honey, this is your father, Tristan Cahal."

It was like watching a stranger reaching out to shake the man's hand. Blair felt somehow detached from his body. Cahal was about six feet, lean and strong for a guy his age. Blair saw a little of himself when he looked into the man's face, around the eyes and nose. A long scar ran down one cheek, from the lobe of his right ear to his chin. It was smooth and not very visible, except the missing stubble from his five o'clock shadow along the scar tissue accentuated the old injury.

Belatedly, Blair realized he'd just spent the last several minutes staring mutely at the man.

Naomi gave her son an understanding smile and turned, standing between them, taking both her son's and Cahal's arms. "Let grab a quick breakfast and catch Tris up on what's happened," she said lightly, as if the awkward moment had never happened.

Blair found himself sitting next to Simon in the front seat as they drove to a House of Pancakes and parked. Falling into step beside the police captain, Blair watched his mother and Cahal walk on ahead.

"You okay?" Simon whispered.

"No...None of this seems real," Blair mumbled back. "I am like so glad you're here, Simon."

Simon clapped a large hand on Blair's shoulder. "Hang in there, kid."

Blair stopped suddenly, turning to stare at Simon in horror. "What about your job, man? You've been with me for days! Are you in trouble for missing work?"

"Relax, Sandburg. I'm on personal time. Frankly, after your near abduction yesterday, I have a valid reason to stay close ...at least till we figure this out."

A bolt of fire burned down Jim's spine. His body arched off the table as a scream ripped out of his mouth. The fire disappeared, leaving a wake of trembling muscles.

Shit! This was not his favorite method for coming out of a zone!

Jim panted, desperate for air. He closed his eyes against the bright lights in the ceiling. The table had been rotated again so he lay flat on his back.

"Diu buqi, chiwen," the Asian man said softly, removing the patches connected by wires to a machine. "No more. You rest."

The straps were removed, Jim had no strength to fight them after a session on the table and gritted his teeth as they pulled him to his feet. He hung like a rag doll in their grasp. The Asian pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and dialed. As Jim was carried out of the room, the man began speaking in Chinese. Jim stiffened as he heard a familiar word.

Sandburg.

"No! Listen to me. Sandburg knows nothing. He's just a grad student that rents a room," Jim shouted over his shoulder in frustration. Any attempt to move his arms or legs failed. It was like trying to swim in Jell-O.

The man continued his conversation as if Jim had never interrupted.

Blair sat in the booth next to Simon. A plate of French toast appeared in front of him. Simon slid the selection of syrups near, within easy reach to both of them. He glanced again at Blair, wondering what the younger man was thinking. The restaurant was empty; most of the morning rush had already left, allowing them to sit in the far corner without a chance of being overheard.

"This is the Ellison from your report, that retrieved Blair and helped you with Hersch?" Cahal asked as he spooned salsa over his omelet.

"Right, I told you about Jim. Blair rides with him for his dissertation," Naomi explained, sampling the serving of fresh fruit.

"You're Ellison's boss?" Cahal asked, looking at Simon. "What do you think about this? Do you believe the accident was rigged?"

Simon shrugged, pouring maple syrup over his pancakes. Frankly, the more he thought about it, the more he started to believe Blair's theory. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but this was Jim. He had a way of popping up at the strangest times, why not from the grave? "We never found a body. Jim had no known reason to be traveling on that road. We don't have any witnesses to the accident. Yeah, I think after Sandburg's attempted kidnapping, something hokey is going on."

"We need to let them try again. Let them take me. I can lead everyone to Jim," Blair said, making no move to eat his breakfast.

"What?"

"Sweetie, no..."

"Out of the question."

"What else can we do? It's been four days, we can't wait much longer!" Blair insisted, crossing his arms across his chest.

"More than likely, Ellison is dead because he didn't talk. Maybe they want to try getting their information from you now," Cahal pointed out calmly.

"No!" Blair slammed his fist down on the table, sending his clean fork skittering to the floor. "Jim's alive. I'm his partner. They need me to understand his..." Blair's mouth snapped shut, his eyes widening with alarm.

Cahal gave his son a puzzled look. "Understand what?"

Blair turned to Simon with a panicked expression.

Oh, damn.

"Mr. Cahal, Blair's been working with Jim for over a year now. It's true it started off as just a ride-a-long program, but it's become something much more." Simon couldn't believe he was having this conversation, again, with yet another one of Blair's parents. To make matters worst, Naomi was sitting there smirking at him.

"Simon, hold it," Blair interrupted wearily. "Mom... can we trust him?"

"Yes, honey. I've trusted him with my life - and yours' - for twenty-six years. You can trust him with Jim's."

"Simon, what do you think?" Blair asked.

"It's your call, Blair. I'll back your decision one hundred percent," Simon promised.

Blair dragged a hand through his hair, expelling a gust of air through pursed lips. "Okay, Mr. Cahal. Here's the truth."

"Blair, I think you can drop the formality. I'd be honored if you called me Tristan. I know Naomi always encouraged you to use her first name," Cahal said.

"Um...okay, Tristan...did Naomi ever tell you about my paper? My first dissertation?"

"Actually, yes. Burton's theory of sentinels, you wanted to find a modern day sentinel," Cahal said.

Blair blinked in surprise. "Yeah...exactly. How'd you know that?"

Cahal shrugged. "You're my son. I've been following your life from the moment you were born. I just couldn't be part of it," he added sadly.

A part of Simon's heart developed a sudden ache. What if he'd been forced to watch his son grow up? Never to be a part of his life, living on the outside, never being allowed in?

"Oh...well, I did it. I found a real sentinel," Blair said simply. "It's Jim."

Naomi sat next to the father of her child. They were back at Jim's loft now. Simon had taken Blair down to the station to file a formal report on yesterday's kidnapping attempt, giving them her and Tristan time to talk. Even though she'd been hopelessly in love with this man, she knew they'd never have a future together. Too many years of traveling in their own directions prevented them from returning to that innocent first love they'd shared when they were young.

"Tell me what a `guide' is again?" Cahal asked, shaking his head.

"Jim tried to explain it to me once. Blair helps him with his senses. He analyzes any problem Jim is having and develops a working solution on the fly. He'd have made a brilliant operative, in fact together, they would be unstoppable," she said, knowing she sounded like a proud mother. She didn't care. She was.

Cahal raised an eyebrow. "What is this, love? You're turning our son?"

She laughed. "Blair would rather eat glass, sweetie. I'm just thankful he's accepted what I really am."

"You're his mother, of course he accepts you, babe."

"It wasn't easy for him," she admitted, suddenly saddened as she remembered having to kill a man in this very room, right in front of him. "Tris, Jim is Blair's world. I'm afraid we can expect Blair to go ahead with his plan whether we help him or not."

"Allowing him to be snatched? No partner is worth that," Tristan said darkly.

Naomi sighed. "After Hersch took Blair, Jim would have done whatever was necessary to get him back. Remember, I worked with Jim, I watched him set aside his own injuries to go after Blair in Texas. He was so amazing when we arrived at the estate. He pinpointed everyone's location in the house and knew exactly where to find Blair. I know Blair has the same determination in finding Jim."

Tristan eyed Naomi, resignation showing on his face. "I guess we'd better make a few phone calls."

It was just after one in the afternoon when Blair and Simon returned to the loft. Hanging his long coat on Jim's hook, Simon saw the takeout bags on the table. He had called the loft before leaving the PD and Naomi had informed them lunch would be waiting for them when they returned.

"Great, I'm starving," Simon said rubbing his hands together.

"I'm going to do some research on the net," Blair said, heading for his room.

"Sandburg, you get back here and sit down. You didn't eat breakfast, you are eating lunch," the tall cop ordered in his best `I'm the captain voice'.

"Honey, I got you some Yucatan lamb," Naomi tempted with a smile.

Blair cocked his head to the side, eyeing the bags. "With real smoked jalapeno?"

"Mmmm....hmmm."

"Okay, I could eat." Blair moved to sit at the table as she spooned out his dish.

"Uh...what is this stuff?" Simon asked, not liking the looks of Blair's food. He was all for trying new tastes but his constitution was not a strong as it used to be.

"Greek. Try some dolmades, Simon," Naomi offered, nodding her head towards another bowl. "Tristan likes it, we've got plenty."

Simon sat down, happy to see there was only enough lamb for Blair. "Well, it smells good, what is it?"

"Its beef, onion, and rice wrapped in boiled grape leaves," Tristan explained, laughing at the Simon's face.

"No, Simon it's really good," Blair supplied as he started eating his lamb. "The recipe is from Southern Greece, the Peloponysos. There is also a Greek dolmades recipe from Asia Minor, Constantinople, which was eighty percent Greek-populated until 1920, when ethnic cleansing by the Turks really kicked in. You'll like it, try it."

Simon sighed as he picked up his fork; trust Blair to turn even a simple lunch into a history lesson. He had to admit, the smell was tempting. He took a bite. There was a hint of mint and lemon. "It's good. Thanks."

They eat in silence for a few moments. Simon relieved to see Blair eating with a little enthusiasm, something he hadn't seen since Jim's disappearance. After the meal was over, Naomi insisted the men let her clean up alone. She ordered them to take their coffee to the living room and work on a strategy for finding Jim.

Simon dropped into the chair, feeling stuffed and wishing he could loosen his belt a notch. "I checked at the station, no one reported seeing the van from the memorial yesterday. The description of the two men we saw were too vague to get any promising results...Sandburg, are you okay?"

Blair was walking like a drunk as he left the table. "I'm sleepy, man," he mumbled. Then without warning, the young man crumpled, his coffee splashing to the floor.

Even though Simon was out of his seat in an instant, he knew he'd never reach Blair in time, but Tristan was somehow ready. In one long step, he caught Blair in his arms, holding him until Simon could help.

"What the hell? Naomi, call an ambulance," Simon ordered, feeling real panic build as he saw Blair was unconscious, but thankfully breathing on his own.

"Its okay, Simon," Naomi said, leaving the kitchen. She laid a gentle hand on Blair's forehead and leaned over to kiss the tip of his nose. "We drugged him. It was the lamb. Help Tris get him to the sofa."

"You did WHAT!" Simon bellowed as he lifted Blair's legs and helped his father lay him down.

Naomi crossed to the door, opened it and revealed two men and a woman carrying a black bag waiting silently in the hallway. As they entered the loft, Simon stood, pushed Tristan away from Blair. Reaching for his gun, he held out his left hand to ward them off.

"Everybody, just back off!" he ordered, his gun out and ready to back up his words.

With a fond expression, Naomi chuckled. "Simon, relax. They're here for Blair. This is Doctor Simmons. These two men work with us."

"He wouldn't need a doctor if you hadn't drugged him, Naomi," Simon bit out angrily. No wonder this woman drove Jim to distraction. She was a living nightmare!

"Simon, trust us. We need to do this to keep Blair safe," Naomi insisted.

"I didn't see you asking him first," Simon pointed out, not moving as he blocked all access to the unconscious man.

Tristan took a step closer, causing Simon to swing the gun in his direction. Naomi held Blair's father back. The room froze as if some cosmic remote pause button had been pressed. Finally Naomi sighed.

"Okay, let me explain."

Blair woke refreshed. Enjoying a lazy stretch, he pulled the warm blankets around his shoulder and rolled to his side wanting a few more minutes of sleep. Jim must have turned off the alarm. Lazily, he wondered if it was Saturday. With a sudden start, he sat up in horror.

Jim!

How could he sleep when Jim needed him? In fact, now that Blair thought about it, how did he get into bed? The last thing he remembered was being in the living room with Simon, Naomi and ... that guy. Blair had a hard time knowing what to call him. Climbing out of bed, a twinge of pain flashed across his lower back. Blair rubbed it absentmindedly as he went to the doorway and peered out into the darkened loft. His alarm clock told him it was a little after two in the morning.

Blair crept into the kitchen. Simon's feet were protruding off the end of the couch. If Simon took the couch, where were Tristan and Naomi, upstairs in Jim's bed? Maybe, Blair knew one thing for sure; he would need to change the sheets before Jim got home. Some things you can't hide from a sentinel, not that his mom would ever - then again, it was better not to ask.

Blair quietly pulled two bottles of water out of the cupboard and returned to his room. He had to get ready. A year of living with Jim had trained him in the art of moving around quietly.

Fifteen minutes later, Blair carefully opened his window. He was dressed warmly in a thermal shirt under a thick sweater and jeans. His backpack was stuffed with supplies. Once on the fire escape, he pulled a knit hat down over his ears and climbed down the old fire escape ladder to the alley, thankful for the regular maintenance that kept it in good working order.

If Naomi and Simon weren't going to help him find Jim, he would do it on his own. The street was deserted. His car was still parked in the lot where he'd left it. As Blair crossed the street, he realized he might have a dead battery. Simon had been driving him around since Jim disappeared. He hadn't felt like going anywhere anyway.

The door was locked. Blair fished his keys out of his pack. His head was bent over his task, making it easy for the two men to approach him from behind without being noticed. A slight shuffle in the loose gravel was the only warning Blair had he wasn't alone.

"Wait! I---" His words were cut off as a damp, pungent cloth was clamped over his mouth. Catching Blair in a bear hug, the large man waited calmly as his cohort held the cloth in place until Blair's body relaxed and he hung in his kidnapper's arms.

The door swung open, waking Jim from his doze. The lights in the room had been dimmed to mimic nighttime. With a soft curse, he watched as two of the mute Knuckle-Draggers carried Blair in. His friend was unconscious, wearing jeans and a thermal undershirt and socks. The stark room was bare except for Jim's small bed. They started to lower Blair to the floor. Jim sat up.

"No, put him here with me!" he ordered harshly, moving over to make room. The room was cold and the tile floor was like ice.

Surprisingly, the men did as they were told, dropping Blair on the bed and leaving without a word. The sound of a heavy deadbolt lock slid into place. Jim quickly checked Blair's pockets, finding them empty. He'd been thoroughly searched, his red Swiss Amy knife not in its usual place. Jim thumbed a lax eyelid open, careful not to let the chains hit Blair's face. Blair's pupils were dilated and even. The smell of chloroform lingered on his friend's face. Jim noticed a black eye in full bloom. Temperature was normal. His breathing seemed okay.

"Sandburg?"

Light slaps had no effect. He was out for the count. Straightening Blair's arms and legs to a more comfortable looking position, Jim draped the blanket over them. A few more hours of sleep wouldn't hurt their situation. Rolling on his side, he arranged the chains so they wouldn't snare his bedmate while they slept.

"Goodnight, Chief."

With the healthy heartbeat of his guide close, Jim dropped into a deep, restful sleep. Several hours later, he woke. Blair was still lying on his back, beginning to move both legs in a fitful motion, soft moans escaping. While Jim shifted to give his friend more room on the narrow bed, the lights in the room brightened. Past experience told Jim food would be delivered soon. He needed to get Blair awake.

"Sandburg, wake up," Jim urged softly, shaking a shoulder.

Blair's eyes opened slowly, confusion clearly evident. Glancing around the room, he lit on Jim's face, inches from his own. With a gasp, Blair gently brushed the soft stubble growing in on the square jaw with one hand. Jim couldn't help but grin. Blair's expression was priceless.

"Hey, buddy," Jim said.

"Jim... Jim?" Blair whispered in awe.

"Yeah, it's me," Jim said, his grin starting to fade as Blair swallowed hard and began to blink, his lashes growing damp. "Hey, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

Blair pressed the heels of both hands hard into his eyes, a slight shake of his head causing Jim to relax.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm ... it's just..." Blair paused to take a deep breath, fighting for control. "They told me you were dead. I'm so sorry..."

"You're sorry? It's not your fault this happened," Jim said. Maybe Blair was drugged with more than chloroform. He didn't seem totally awake.

"I slammed the door, man. I didn't mean to, but I tripped and I still had my hand on the door," Blair explained, rushing his words. "I should have told you it wasn't intentional, but I didn't... I'm sorry."

Realization arrived.

The fight - the one they'd had about the war protesters. Their last conversation before Jim had found himself waking up for the first time in this room. How many days ago was that? This entire time, Blair thought he was dead?

"Its okay, Sandburg. I knew you didn't mean it. Besides, I was out of line that morning. Sometimes I deserve a slammed door," Jim assured him, wanting to change the subject. "How did they get you? Where's Simon?"

Blair scrubbed his face. Looking around the room as he answered, "Simon's at the loft with Naomi and---"

The door opened, allowing two of the goons to enter and interrupting their talk. Blair sat up with a start, moving to shield Jim. One guard stood by the door holding a handgun while the other set a bag on the floor. Without comment, they backed out of the room and locked the door.

"Breakfast," Jim explained, sitting up to lean against the wall. He was starting to get tired of the same meals. If they were feeding him three times a day, then this would be his fifth day of Wonder Burger cuisine. Even he had limits. "How did they get you? Was anybody hurt?"

Retrieving the bag, Blair sat on the edge of the bed, making a face as he pulled out Wonder Burger breakfast sandwiches. "No one's hurt. I slipped out the window."

"What? Why would you do that?" Jim asked as Blair handed him a sandwich.

"Jim, I knew when they tried to take me at the memorial service, that you were alive. How else was I going to find you?"

"You LET them take you? Are you out of your mind?" Jim exclaimed, pausing from unwrapping his meal.

Bair lifted the top English muffin and peered at the egg and sausage with obvious distaste. "I admit I didn't expect it to happen so fast, but yeah, basically I wanted them to." He reconstructed the sandwich and took a small bite.

Words failed Jim. He stared at his friend in shock. Several comments came to mind, but none making it past his lips. Blair chewed his food and looked around the room. The sack also had two orange juice cartons. Leaning down, he opened one carton and passed it over to Jim.

"So, why'd they send the Expedition over the cliff? Why fake your death, man?" Blair asked, opening his own juice and taking a swallow.

"I don't know," Jim admitted wearily, giving up on trying to figure out his guide's reasoning, then gasped as Blair's words sunk in. "They drove my Ford over a cliff?! How bad?"

Blair snorted. Holding his arm out, he made a fist and pointed his thumb to the floor.

Jim groaned, letting the back of his head fall against the wall. "Oh, man, my insurance agent is going to have a stroke."

"You've been missing for days, Jim. Why are they holding you here?" Blair asked after a few minutes. "Where are we, anyway?"

Jim shrugged, wadding up his wrapper and pitching it into the open sack. It sailed in without hitting the edges. Maybe Jim's luck was changing. "I don't know. Some guy comes twice a day and makes me watch lights and video's until I zone. Then after they wake me with some electro-shock therapy, I get dragged back here."

Blair's mouth gaped open in surprise "They `shock' you out of a zone? Are they crazy? Don't they know what that can do to your heart? Who's in charge? Wait till I get a piece of this guy---"

"Whoa, whoa, Rambo, before you start making threats, remember those two sumo-wresters that delivered the chow? There is more where they come from," Jim warned. "The lead guy is more your size and age, though, keeps calling me `chinwee' or `chanwo' or something."

"What? How'd it sound?"

Thinking hard, Jim closed his eyes, trying to remember the exact word he heard. Now that Blair was here, maybe the information could be useful. "No, not exactly, but close...chiwen. That's it, chiwen." He opened his eyes and looked expectantly at Blair. "What's that mean?"

"Chiwen, sounds familiar," Blair murmured. Wrapping his uneaten sandwich back up, he returned it to the sack. "It sounds Chinese. Did he use any other words?"

"Oh yeah, his English is pretty basic. He talks mostly Chinese to his goons and on the phone. He even had a name for you, Haoxian or something like that."

Blair stabbed the air with his finger. "I remember! Chiwen and Haoxian are two of the nine sons of the dragon!"

"What?"

"According to the Chinese legend the Dragon had nine sons, each with their own strong personality. Now, there's no general agreement as to what each son was called. But I know Chiwen and Haoxian are two names commonly used. In fact, Chiwen is a term used in architecture if I remember correctly." Blair was off the bed now, pacing the floor in short strides. He stopped, suddenly hugging his ribs and shivered. "Burrrrr, what's with this icebox anyway?"

Jim shrugged, hearing footsteps approaching the door. "Here they come."

The door opened. Three men walked into the room, the first one took Blair by the arm and pulled him aside while the other two started to free Jim. The cop sat quietly through the procedure as they restrained him with another set of handcuffs, his wrists in front. Jim stood stiffly. When Blair moved to follow, his guard pulled him back with a jerk.

"I'm going with Jim," Blair snapped at his captor, trying to pry large sausage-sized fingers from around his bicep. The man pulled Blair backwards towards the empty bed, reaching for one of the cuffs dangling from the chain.

"No!" Blair insisted angrily as he fought. "What's the point of bringing me here, if you're not gonna let me help?"

"Sandburg, stop it," Jim ordered, held in place by strong hands on his upper arms.

"No! They can't shock you anymore, damn it!" Blair shouted, successfully twisting free for a moment. But Blair's guard countered the move by grabbing a handful of long hair and wrenching Blair's head back to a painful angle. Another large hand clamped down on the back of Blair's waistband and with a heave, Blair found himself face down on the bed. "Ow! No! Listen to me! Ouch! Take me with Jim!"

Once one cuff was clicked into place, the guard freed Blair's head and quickly snapped with the second cuff on Blair's other wrist. Blair scrambled to his knees, jerking roughly on the chains. Jim was pulled out of the room. "Jim!" Blair shouted in frustration.

"It's okay, Chief! I'll be back in a few hours," Jim yelled back through the closed door as he was pulled along the hallway, part of him furious at how they treated his friend, the other part realizing they had forgotten to lock the door.

Blair took as cleansing breath and forced himself to calm down. The chains were strong and attached to the bed frame with heavy-duty hardware. No matter how hard he pulled, they wouldn't budge. They were not coming off short of full access to a toolbox and maybe a welding torch. With a moan he sat on the bed, his back against the wall. At least he was warmer now, nothing like a fruitless fight to get the blood flowing.

"Okay, think," Blair muttered. He studied the cuffs carefully. They looked like standard issue. Blair raised a hand to his head, rubbing his scalp where his hair had been pulled. "Please still be there... yes!"

Blair located the hairpin with his fingers and worked it out. After ten minutes, he had one wrist free. The next cuff was off faster, now that he knew where to probe for the release. He made a mental note to buy Taggart dinner the next time he had the extra money. Joel had taught him how to pick the lock on handcuffs once, when they had a few hours to kill at the station. Hoping to be kidnapped, he had `borrowed' one from his mother's purse and hidden it in his hair.

Blair fully expected to be stopped by a locked door. With a shock, he twisted the knob, it opened easily. The hallway was empty. It was just as cold here as it was in the room. What was it with these people? Couldn't they afford a little heat? Blair checked both directions. The hallway was well lit. No other doorway was visible. To Blair's right, the corridor made a turn and disappeared. To his left, it ran for fifty feet to a set of double doors. Feeling like an actor in a movie that had been denied the script, Blair headed for the double doors.

The doors opened up to a warmer lobby area, with carpet and desk, like a receptionist would sit behind. No one greeted him, as he moved cautiously into the room. It looked like an unused office space: no phones - Blair was disappointed to note - no chairs, no artwork, no nothing. Now he had a few more choices to make. A set of frosted glass doors looked like the way out, but there was no way he would leave Jim behind. The other two doors were identical. Scuff marks on the floor to the closer door gave him the clue he needed.

As Blair entered another short hallway, he heard voices. Creeping silently to a corner, he peered around to see Jim strapped to a table that was tilted so he was lying at a forty-five degree angle. A large screen monitor sat at the end of the room with a strange set of multi-colored lights that flashed in sequence. An Asian man in his mid twenties was reading a chart, standing next to Jim's head. He was wearing a white smock, the type a doctor would wear. Every once in a while he would look up and say something too quiet for Blair to hear. This must be the doctor that Jim had been talking about, Blair thought to himself.

Jim was motionless. With a sinking feeling, Blair recognized the man was in a zone. Those damn lights - what does this guy expect? The monitor had been paused on a scene of a city, the angle suggesting it was shot from a high vantage point, like a rooftop. Blair checked over his shoulder, none of the goons were in the room. Where had they gone?

The doctor was rolling a machine closer to the table, his back towards Blair as he worked. Long wires connected to round, white patches were being placed under Jim's shirt, along the edges of his back.

Crap, the electric shock treatment!

Blair moved swiftly, silent in his socks. Picking up a small medical penlight off a tray, Blair pushed it into the man's back, between his shoulder blades.

"Turn around and I'll kill you," Blair hissed with feeling, if he'd had a real gun he wouldn't hesitate to shoot. This monster was electrocuting his sentinel.

The doctor froze, his hands in midair, still holding the leads from the machine. "Ah...Haoxian is awake."

"Take those straps off Jim," Blair ordered.

After moving the table back to a flat, horizontal position, the doctor unsnapped the buckles and waited for his next command.

Blair was at a loss. What was he going to do now? He needed to wake Jim from his zone, but would his voice be enough? He couldn't risk this guy turning around and realizing he was being controlled with a non-lethal penlight. He'd have to try.

"Jim, listen to my voice, man," Blair said. "We need to get moving. Wake up for me."

With a snort, Jim moved his head. Blinking as he lifted a hand to rub his forehead. Blair felt like cheering.

"He does what you tell him," the Asian man said with wonder.

Blair ignored him. "Jim, hurry up. We need to get out of here."

Jim sat up with a groan. "Sandburg?"

"Yeah, a little more speed here, Jim. You're slowing down my rescue---hey!"

A meaty arm circled his chest and Blair felt his feet leave the floor. His back was crushed into the large, hard chest of one of the doctor's goons. Both his upper arms were pinned helplessly to his sides. Two other goons appeared and stood next to Jim's table, sending a very clear message for Jim to remain where he was.

"You are truly a resourceful son," the doctor said as he turned and spied the penlight in Blair's hand.

Blair gave Jim a guilty look. "Sorry, man."

Jim graced him with an understanding nod before glaring at the doctor. "Listen, I don't know what you're trying to do here, but it's obviously not working. Why don't you just give it up?"

"And tell him to let me down while you're at it," Blair added.

The doctor nodded to Blair's captor and Blair was returned to the floor. It was embarrassing enough to have a three hundred pound mountain of walking muscle slip up behind you; did they have to handle him like a sack of groceries? Blair snuck a peek over his shoulder before moving to stand by Jim. Cripes, the guy wasn't even breathing hard.

"You can't keep using electro-shock treatment on Jim!" Bair insisted. "You don't know what it's doing to his cardiovascular system."

The man shrugged. "He falls into trances. I cannot wake."

Blair looked around the room. "What are you trying to do?"

"Whatever it is, Chief. I'm not going to do it," Jim stated firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

The man pointed to the monitor. "I need Chiwen. We need an enemy killed. Chiwen can see far."

Blair swallowed hard. Assassin? He wanted Jim to kill someone? He had a better chance of training a frog to perform the Nutcracker.

"Forget it!" Jim said, his eyes becoming cold and hard.

"Listen," Blair said, placing a soothing hand on Jim's shoulder. "Jim is not Chiwen. I understand your legend, but neither one of us are the sons of the dragon. Jim's a police officer, he saves peoples lives, he does not kill."

The doctor shrugged, removing a newspaper clipping from his board and handing it over. "He is a soldier, soldiers kill for their country. This is a fact. Here is proof he is Chiwen."

Blair took the paper, holding it for both Jim and him to read. It was a clipping from October 1994 and it featured Jim's involvement in the prosecution of a sniper. Unfortunately, it was the case that had taught both Jim and Blair the world was not prepared to deal with his sentinel abilities. The paper clearly covered the fact that no person could have seen the killer at the distance Jim claimed to have seen him.

Uh oh. Blair looked over at Jim.

"I don't care what you think, I'm not killing anyone for you," Jim stated, snatching the clipping out of Blair's hand and wadding it up before throwing it to the floor.

"Besides," Blair said with a wave of his hand towards the lights. "If you think you can hypnotize him or something, forget it, man. Jim was an ex-ranger. He can't be programmed." Blair didn't know that for a fact, but had a feeling it was true. "You can't program someone to do something they don't want to do, anyway."

"I fear you are correct," the doctor said with a sad face. "Take him," he ordered to the goon, pointing at Blair.

"Wait!" Blair backed up, bumping into Jim's leg as the goon neared, a fourth one appearing to help. "I need to stay!"

Socks did not provide the traction necessary to resist being pulled by a human mule team across a tile floor. In no time, Blair was pulled away from Jim. Blair caught a quick look at his friend's expression. Jim was giving the young doctor a look that would have had any sane man running for his mama.

"If Chiwen does not do this, we will kill Haoxian," the doctor said, calmly returning Jim's angry glares with his own calm expression. "Take him to the van."

"Jim, don't! Whatever he tells you, don't do it," Blair shouted as he was lifted off his feet by his upper arms and carried out of the room.

Simon Banks watched Naomi pick the lock on the backdoor to the large two story vacant office building. It was just unnatural. Seeing her in this `spy' role went against nature herself. But then again, Simon was in the middle of one of the strangest days he'd ever experienced in his life.

First, he had woken out of a deep sleep for no apparent reason with a sudden urge to check on Blair. Finding him missing, he had sounded the alarm. They found Blair's backpack on the ground next to his car. Tristan and Naomi had not acted surprised; in fact, they had looked as if they had expected Blair to vanish into thin air. Naomi had made a phone call. Then, without explaining, they had dressed quickly and waited for Simon to do the same before urging him into his car, where they drove to a nearby emergency helipad.

Now, five hours later, he found himself part of an international raid on an apparently not so vacant office building just east of Vancouver, Canada. Teams from the United States and Canadian Royal Forces had merged together within a few short hours to plan and execute the raid. Simon crouched beside Tristan as Naomi flashed the men a smile and pushed the door open with flourish.

"Getting slow, Naomi," Tristan said dryly.

"I didn't see you whip out `your' pick set, darling," she answered as she chambered a round in her Glock and led the way into the building.

Simon swallowed hard. Someone really needed to pinch him. He followed Blair's parents into the building. Immediately, loud arguing met their ears. Naomi darted down a hallway. According to the blueprints they had managed to study briefly before the raid started, there was a set of rollup bay doors on the north of the building, close to where the three had entered. The bays were large enough to drive semi-trucks into, allowing the loading or unloading of merchandise. Judging by their current direction, Simon figured the sound was coming from one of the bays. Tristan was speaking softly into a high-tech microphone built into a small earplug. They reached a door. A window set into the door allowed a view of the bay area. Two large men were dragging Blair towards a parked black van. As Blair fought to free himself, one man pulled him into a bear hug from behind, freeing the other man to pull his keys out of his pocket and open the sliding door.

Naomi reached up and slowly tried the doorknob. It turned easily. "Ready, on three..."

"Wait," Tristan told her.

Simon bristled; it was obvious Blair was being taken out of the building, judging by the way the younger man was pleading with his captors to return him to Jim. Why was this man hesitating? They outnumbered the two and were armed, now was the time to act, while they were distracted.

Just then, Blair lifted both legs, drawing his knees close to his chest and shoved off hard against the side of the van. Even though the man holding him was massive in size, Blair was no lightweight. His strong leg muscles shot the man backward, his head striking a supportive steel beam and knocking him unconscious. Before the other goon could react, Blair was free and running back the way they had come.

"Okay, move out," Tristan ordered. "I've got the Neanderthal, you two get Blair."

They charged into the room. Tristan raised his gun just as the second man pulled his own gun out and took aim at Blair. Tristan quickly fired twice, hitting the man in the forehead and chest. He dropped without a sound, a surprised look frozen on his face.

Simon never missed a beat, following Naomi through the bay as they ran after Blair. Damn, that kid was fast.

"Blair!" Naomi called out as softly as she could and still project enough for her son to hear her.

Blair skidded to a halt in his stocking feet and turned in shock. "Mom! Simon! Where did you guys come from?"

She caught up with him, sparing a moment for a brief hug. "Where's Jim?"

"I'm going back for him now," Blair said, shooting Simon a grateful look as the captain clapped his shoulder. "We've got to get him out, man. This guy is crazy! He wants Jim to kill someone!"

"Okay, sweetie, calm down. Just tell us how to find him," she said. Tristan joined them in the hallway. "Your father and I will handle it, you stay here with Simon."

Blair shook his head. "No way! Jim might need me, he's zoning and they're shocking him out of it!"

Simon nodded to Blair. "I'll watch him, we'll all go together."

Naomi sighed, not looking happy with the agreement. "Okay, but if anything happens to him, I'm blaming you, Simon."

"Riiight," Simon drawled in his best `Jim' voice. What else was new? Once he got Jim and Blair back together, where they belonged, he was going to take a nice long fishing trip - alone - with a box of cigars and two bottles of Jack Daniels. Maybe he would even remember to pack his fishing equipment.

They kept Blair in the center of the group, refusing to allow him to lead. Blair softly called out the required turns at each corner. Soon, they arrived in a carpeted lobby and Blair pointed towards a door. Two other teams appeared to assist.

"Okay," Tristan said. "This is how it happens. Simon, you wait here with Blair. We'll go in and neutralize the targets and bring Jim out."

"Wait. Jim could get hurt," Blair said. "Let me go in, if Jim is okay, he already knows we're here."

"And then what?" Tristan asked impatiently, "Wait out here for you to get shot? No partner is worth that!"

Blair drew himself up tall and squared off. "I don't know what you call a partnership, but Jim `is' worth it! I'm not going to seem threatening to them. Give me a gun, I'll distract them enough for you to come in, plus protect Jim!"

"No, not a chance," Tristan replied. "Banks, hold him here if you have to. We're going in, you two stay."

Reluctantly, Simon latched onto an arm and pulled Blair close. "Sandburg, I'm with your dad on this. We stay put."

"He's not `my' dad, Simon," Blair hissed back angrily.

Tristan acted like he hadn't heard as they lined up to storm the far room, but Simon knew better. He'd seen the other man flinch. He leaned down. "Sandburg, he's here to get Jim out. Cut him some slack," Simon whispered into a curl covered ear.

Blair scowled, but remained by Simon's side as they watched the agents slip through the door and disappear.

Jim knew help had arrived. But he continued to act like a beaten man, willing to kill some visiting Chinese national in Cascade on a business trip. Jim didn't really want to dwell on the threat too much, not willing to consider whether or not he would really perform such an act to save Blair. He was just relieved to know his friend was safe and help had arrived.

The doctor was going over the details of the hit, where to find the target, what to expect for a weapon, and how to line up the shot. The guy had done his homework, Jim had to give him that much. He schooled his expression to remain passive and pretended to study the maps and floor plans laid out. Two of the goons were lounging nearby, one holding an automatic loosely in his massive hand.

When the first agent slipped into the room followed by Naomi, Jim leaned over the map and pointed to a spot near the position they wanted him to use during the kill. His wrists were still cuffed together forcing him to extend both hands. "Are you sure that's not a fire door? If it locks behind me, how am I expected to get away?"

The doctor started to answer, but a shout from one of his men interrupted. With his hands clenched into fists, Jim brought them up in an undercut punch to the doctor's jaw with all his strength. The man fell back against his equipment with a crash.

"Freeze! No one move. Federal agents!"

Jim remained still as agents swarmed into the room. The doctor lay on the floor, moaning as two men rolled him over onto his stomach, a gun pressed to the back of his skull while they searched him for weapons. The goon standing closest to the hallway quickly held up empty hands and stepped forward. Jim realized he was purposefully blocking the view of his partner from the agents.

"Watch it, he's armed!" Jim shouted.

But the far goon already had his gun up and pointed...at Jim. Before Jim could react to the sudden threat, a tall man with dark hair stepped between them. Two guns fired at the same time and Jim watched as a red rose appeared on the goon's forehead.

"Tris!" Naomi shouted, running to the tall man as he fell to his knees, weakly clutching his side. Jim moved fast, catching him before his head hit the floor. Naomi was at his side in an instant, placing her hands over the bullet wound.

"Get the medical team up here!" she shouted.

"Jim!"

Looking up, Jim saw Blair running in, with Simon close behind. Blair dropped to his knees, skidding to a stop opposite his mother.

"Ohmygod..." Blair muttered as he saw the injured man. "Mom?"

"I don't know, honey," Naomi answered without looking up.

Bright red blood flowed between Naomi's fingers. Tristan's face was white and pinched in pain. He was barely conscious. Blair reached over and added his hands to help his mother stop the bleeding.

"Jim, are you okay?"

Jim felt Simon's hand on his shoulder. He nodded, looking around the room. The doctor was cuffed and being pulled to his feet. The other goon was also taken into custody. The agents had to use two sets of cuffs because of the man's size. A team of white shirted medics arrived. Jim let Simon pull him back and help him stand. The Captain had a key and quickly removed Jim's cuffs.

They stood together, watching the medial crew work on the man, Naomi and Blair remaining at his side. Jim rubbed his wrists painfully. "Simon?" he asked.

"He's Blair's father, Jim."

"Shit."

The medics were attaching bags of IV's and another crew appeared with a gurney. Blair became non-essential personnel and was gently pushed back to make room for more medical crew. Naomi remained, either because of her determined personality or her ability to sweet-talk the men into what she wanted, it wasn't clear. Jim moved forward and gently pulled a very dazed Blair to his feet.

"Are you okay, Chief?" he asked, draping his arm around Blair's shoulders.

Blair shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving the prone man on the floor, his face slack with shock. Jim remembered the harsh words the two had exchanged just before the rescue began. He recognized the look of guilt, as well as shame, on the younger man's face.

A medic moved to one side, giving Jim a momentary glimpse of the injured man. Jim frowned. He knew that face. "Simon, is that who I think it is?"

Simon nodded. "Yeah, I wasn't sure at first myself, but it is. Tristan Cahal, the Assistant Deputy Director of the CIA."

"Guys...I think I'm gonna---" Blair complained weakly, holding his bloodied hands away from his side.

Hearing the ominous gurgling sounds, Jim quickly turned Blair aside. The last thing the medics needed was to get hit from behind by vomit. Simon was ready with a trashcan, holding it under the curly head. While Jim steadied his guide, Blair emptied his breakfast.

Simon and Jim exchanged looks over the bent head.

"Wonder Burger for breakfast," Jim said gravely.

"God, they did torture you guys," Simon replied with dark humor.

Cahal was taken to Vancouver's hospital by helicopter. After a quick hug to her son, Naomi was allowed to ride along. Simon, Jim, and Blair were ferried to the hospital in a tactical van belonging to the Canadian government, arriving an hour later.

"When are they going to tell us something?" Blair complained for the tenth time, knowing he was very close to whining, but not caring. They had already given a detailed statement to the Canadian and US officials.

"Sandburg, its surgery, some things take time," Simon explained patiently.

Blair had been pacing the floor in the small private waiting room, tired of sitting for the last several hours. Tossing a dark look at Simon, Blair felt a pang of guilt as he noticed the older man's condition.

Simon looked exhausted. His normally strong face was drawn and weary; his eyes red as he leaned his head back against the wall to rest. The padded chairs looked comfortable enough for a normal sized person, but with Simon's tall frame it seemed like a poor fit.

"Simon, why don't you switch to the sofa? You can lie down," Blair suggested. "You look really beat, man."

Simon opened his eyes and pinned him with a stern look. "I'm tired because a certain anthropologist picked the middle of the night to pull a disappearing act, Houdini. What were you thinking, Sandburg?"

"I had to find Jim," Blair explained, looking over at Jim resting in a recliner in the corner. The Vancouver doctors had carefully checked the sentinel over and declared him slightly dehydrated, but okay. Jim opened his eyes, giving Blair a look that said `we'll talk about it later' and closed them again.

"Besides," Blair continued, ignoring Jim's look. "You found us, so what's the problem? My plan worked."

"What plan?" Simon challenged, sitting up straight. "The only reason we found you is because Naomi drugged you and had a tracking device implanted in your spine."

"What!"

"What!"

Blair twisted, trying to look at his own back. Jim was out of the recliner and lifting the thermal shirt to check. "You've got two small bruises here, Chief, looks like puncture wounds, maybe a large hypo."

"I can't believe she did that, Jim!"

"You better thank your lucky stars she did, kid. There was no way in hell we would have found you two otherwise," Simon explained.

"Why didn't they tell me?"

"It was better if you didn't know," Simon said. "A drug would make you talk; they might have tried to dig it out."

Blair shuddered as he rubbed his back, remembering that morning when he'd woken with a backache. God! His own mother! "But I do want it out!"

"Relax, its short acting - the latest in spy technology. Very hush, hush," Simon explained. "It's supposed to start dissolving after seven days."

Just then, Naomi entered the room. Her face was drawn, small age lines around her eyes and corners of her mouth. She gave the men a wan smile. "He's going to be okay."

"What a relief," Blair muttered, collapsing into the nearest chair.

Naomi sat down and patted her son's knee. "The bullet caused some extensive bleeding and they were worried his liver was damaged, but it turned out okay. How are you, Jim? Nice beard you've got started there."

Jim nodded, rubbing the fur on his face. "I'm fine. Thanks for getting us out."

"Well, it wasn't the original plan I had, but it worked. Simon made a big difference," she said, giving the man in question a warm smile. "I looked over your statements. You say they wanted you to kill Gao Wah?"

Scrubbing his face with both hands, Jim dropped back into the recliner. "Yeah, he was due to visit Cascade next week."

Blair sat up in alarm. "Rumor has it he's up for a Nobel Peace Prize for his writing! Why would anyone want to kill a writer?"

Naomi gave her son a sad look. "Having him killed on United States soil by an ex-ranger would provide the proper damaging pressure between our two countries, fitting someone's hidden agenda. I'm sure they'll learn more from the prisoners," she said with a nod. "I'm going to check which room they're putting Tristan in. I'll be right back."

Blair was dumbfounded. Unable to believe what he, Simon and Jim had gone through all because some unknown group wanted to hurt the relationship between China and the US. "I just don't understand what makes some people tick," he muttered unhappily.

"What I don't understand is why he kept calling me Chiwen. What was that all about, Chief?" Jim asked.

Blair shifted in his chair, suddenly bone weary and wanting to be home again. "Well, the legend of the dragon says each of the nine sons had a special gift. Chiwen likes to gaze into the distance and his appearance is often carved on pinnacles... you know, maybe that's based on an early sentinel...I need to research...," Blair mused, staring off into space.

"So why did you get called Hoaxian?" Jim asked, a smile playing on his tired face.

Blair shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. "Who knows?"

Unfortunately, Simon was looking interested. "Well, he must have had a reason. You two certainly fight like brothers. What was this Hoaxian guy's gift?"

"Uh...what does it matter?" Blair stated, feeling his face heat up. "Besides, I forget."

"Sandburg, in all the times you've talked non-stop to me on stakeouts, you've never forgotten a myth, culture, or legend. Now, give," Jim growled.

"Well, I remember his image was used to decorate the eaves of palaces. He was known for being adventurous," Blair said, hoping he'd satisfied them.

"That's not so bad," Simon noted with a frown.

Jim crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you `not' telling us? Remember, we can look it up on the Internet as well as the next guy."

"Okay, he was adventurous and ... reckless."

"God, he sure nailed you, Sandburg," Simon said with a snort. "But how did he single Jim out?"

"Remember the Juno case?" Jim asked with a heavy sigh. "I made the mistake of testifying where I'd seen the sniper and where I was standing?"

"Oh, yeah," Simon groaned. "How can I forget? I still have to endure those `looks' from the DA's office."

Jim pulled on his earlobe, exchanging an amused glance with Blair. "Yeah...well, the guy had the news clipping from that case. He must have thought I was some reincarnation of the legend. Who knows?"

Naomi picked that moment to poke her head into the room. "Tristan is in his room now, three-oh-six. I'm going to sit with him for a while."

Blair stood, feeling uncertain. "Uh...mom, can I join you?"

"Sure, sweetie," Naomi said. "I'd love to have you join me."

Blair looked over at his friends. "So, you guys ... heading back to Cascade?"

Jim smiled. "I'm going to stick around, if that's okay with you, Simon."

"If you two are staying, then so am I. Why don't we get a room for tonight? I saw a decent hotel two blocks over. We can register, you can clean up. We'll come back to pick up Sandburg later," Simon suggested as he stood.

Blair followed his mother to Cahal's room and sat in the chair at her side. The chance to study the man was not going to be passed up and Blair took time to scrutinize his face. Cahal looked older as he slept. The scar on his face drawing Blair's attention again as he wondered how it had happened.

"You look a lot like him, you know," Naomi said softly, interrupting the younger man's thoughts.

Blair tilted his head as he shrugged. "How come I didn't get any of his height?"

Naomi quietly giggled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "You're perfect the way you are, Blair Sandburg...you know, Tristan picked your name out. He had a great-grandfather named Blair."

"Really?" Blair had to admit he liked knowing that. "I need to take off my shoes and socks."

"Why?"

"I think I'm growing roots," Blair said with a devilish grin to his mother.

She removed her arm and cuffed him. "Brat."

Blair make a point of rubbing his head and looking pained, then sobered. "Mom, why didn't we stay together? Didn't you love him?"

"Ah... honey," she breathed in a whisper. "I loved him like I've never loved any man before in my life. And we were supposed to be together, but the year you were born he was sent to Uruguay. He saw some ugliness that ... well, it really changed him." Her gaze shifted to the window and she looked lost in past memories. "It was a long time before he could even talk to me. By then you were born and he was afraid some of the things that had happened to him down there would result in people wanting to hurt me and you, just because we're his family. So we didn't tell anyone you were his son," she shrugged, fixing a smile back on her face as she turned to look at Blair. "But he never stopped caring about you, and made me to recount every one of your exploits as you were growing up."

"Oh, great," Blair moaned. "Not the toilet bowl scene..."

"He laughed so hard, I though he was going to need CPR," she admitted.

Blair shook his head as he turned his attention back to the man on the bed.

His father.

Wow.

"So... is it okay? I mean, now... after all this time, are there still dangers?" Blair felt like a kid again, wanting something so desperately but afraid to reach for it and have it snatched away at the last minute by fate.

Naomi's arm was back again and she was squeezing hard. Blair was surprised to hear a hitch in her teary voice as she answered. "We'll make it work, baby. I know you have real friends that will help us keep you safe."

Later that afternoon, Jim and Simon returned to the hospital. Naomi and Blair sat together watching Cahal sleep peacefully in his hospital bed. He looked better, no longer pale. He was breathing easily. His private room looked suitable for VIPs. Plush carpet, real drapes, nice artwork, and lavish floral arrangements were placed throughout the large room. Two armed guards in suits carefully checked Simon's ID before letting them in.

"You ready for some dinner, Chief?" Jim asked, feeling like a new man after a shower and shave.

Blair nodded, "Yeah, I guess. Mom, can we bring you anything?"

She shook her head. "I'm going to grab something from the cafeteria later. I need to make a few phone calls. They want Tris flown back east as soon as he's stable."

Blair let the two cops pick the restaurant. They slid into a circular booth at a nearby steakhouse. Blair picked up the menu, squinting at the print. Before Jim could comment, Simon spoke.

"They've got that French Dip you always order, Sandburg."

Hello? That was exactly what he was going to say.

Blair nodded and folded the menu, setting it back on the table. "Sounds good, I'm going to hit the men's room."

Pretending to study the menu, Jim watched Simon slid out of the booth to let Blair stand. The captain eyed the other diners in the room.

"Well, I need to wash my hands, I'll walk with you," Simon said casually. "If the waitress comes while we're gone, order the bacon-cheeseburger for me, Jim."

"Right," Jim answered. Watching the two men walk towards the back of the restaurant. Blair was giving the taller man a lecture about the saturated fat content in ground beef topped with bacon. A strange mood overcame Jim and he recognized a twinge of jealousy.

What the heck? They weren't grade school children, for Pete's sake. It was no big deal.

Jim slapped his menu down and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. Hell, the three of them had been through a lot this year. It was a good thing to see Blair and Simon becoming friends, to see his boss exhibit the same concern for the younger man that he felt every day. After all, his kidnappers had faked his death. As far as the world, and his best friends were concerned, Jim had been dead. He should be thankful Blair had Simon during those dark days. Earlier, back in the hotel, Simon had told Jim about the memorial service and his concern over Blair's withdrawn behavior.

Lost in thought, Jim was surprised when Blair and Simon slid back into the booth. Blair's hair was pulled back into a leather tie. Where had that come from? Simon must have brought it from the loft for him. With a mental kick to himself to `get over it', Jim decided on the chicken pasta dish and set the menu down.

"So, how's Cahal?" Jim asked.

"He's still okay, I'm just thinking..." Blair said, picking up his water glass and making the ice cubes clink together. "I kind of feel bad about what I said to him, just before they got you out."

Simon grimaced. "That was partly my fault. I shouldn't have referred to him as your dad."

"But he is, and I don't understand why that pisses me off so much. I treat him like dirt and he turns around and saves Jim's life," Blair muttered unhappily.

"I think you're being hard on yourself. He said some harsh things, although I totally agree with his decision to keep you out of that room. I can't believe you wanted to enter first ... carrying a gun."

Blair cracked a lopsided grin at his friend. "Yeah, well, I was afraid they'd go in with guns blazing and you'd get shot in the crossfire. You almost did." Blair got serous again. "But Naomi told me he was working in Uruguay the year I was born. I guess it was real ugly, and his partner almost got him killed."

Simon frowned. "I read Langguth's book `Hidden Terrors', a true story about the CIA's involvement down there. Not the agencies finest hour, that's for sure."

"That's what mom said," Blair said glumly. "I just wish he'd wake up so I could apologize."

"Take it a day at a time, Sandburg," Jim advised. "You're not used to having a father, believe me, it's totally normal to have disagreements from time to time; after all, you're two different individuals."

"True, and the fact he flew out here to help, tells me he's supportive, even if he's a little jaded about partnerships," Simon added.

"Ah...that reminds me," Blair said with a guilty glance at Jim. "He kinda knows about your sentinel abilities, Jim."

"Oh, great," Jim moaned, dropping his chin to his chest. "The number two guy in spooksville knows I'm a sentinel! Why am I thinking this is a bad thing?"

"Wow, he's the second guy from the top?" Blair said in disbelief.

"Yep," Simon said. "It could be worse, Jim."

"How?"

"Sandburg's dream of having Timothy Leary as a dad could have been true."

"Yeah, true. I'm sure an LSD-Guru would have been a real asset in our rescue," Jim admitted with a wry grin.

Blair turned thoughtful. "I guess being with him back in the seventies was just part of Naomi's job. I never did understand why she got involved with him. She never did drugs once when I was growing up..."

"It's a good thing, Sandburg---" Simon started.

"---we'd hate to see how you would have turned out like if she `had' used drugs," Jim finished with a grin.

Blair huffed and rolled his eyes.

The waitress arrived, interrupting the gentle teasing. Jim settled back with a contented sigh and let his friends order first. It was going to be all right. With the three of them together again, they could face anything, which caused him to wonder. Waiting for the waitress to leave, Jim leaned forward, his elbows on the table.

"So, Chief. Now that we have these new aliases as the sons of the dragon, and you said there are nine sons, don't you think we should figure out which one Simon is?"

Blair looked interested by the suggestion. "Good point, man! Let me think..."

"Those are scary words, Sandburg. It brings us nothing but grief," Simon moaned.

"Well, Jim," Blair said, ignoring the comment. "Bixi was the bearer of burdens, that certainly fits."

"No kidding, just knowing you two is a burden."

"What else have we got?" Jim asked.

"Suanmi is fond of smoke and fire, that's a good one too," Blair quipped as the twinkle returned to his eyes for the first time in six days.

"I could use a cigar..."

"No, I've got it!" Blair exclaimed as he bounced in his seat. "Pulao! His image was carved on bells, `cause he was fond of roaring!"

"Sandburg!" Simon roared.

"That's it! You've got it, man!" Blair laughed.

The End.

Note from writer - Timothy Leary passed away in 1996 - so technically he would already be dead when this story took place, kind of a tacky reference, I know. But in my universe, he's still alive - so I left it in.

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to LKY

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