Jim Ellison glanced up as a dark shape ghosted through his peripheral vision.

Nothing.

Dismissing it as a freak shadow, he focused back on his report. A minute later it happened again, accompanied by a low, feline growl. Jim stared hard at the empty corner. He shifted uncomfortably, puzzled. Glancing around the bullpen, he found nothing amiss.

Rafe and Brown were arguing over their case, a difference of opinion caused by opposing backgrounds. Rafe wanted to interview some shopkeeper while Brown felt the employee deserved further attention. Jim tuned them out, reaching out further and capturing his captain's voice on the phone with his ex-wife. He respected his boss too much to listen.

All his sentinel qualities told him everything was fine at the station. So what was the problem?

Jim reached for the phone and hit speed dial two.

"H-hello?"

"Sandburg?" Jim shot out of his seat, knowing at once the reason for his spirit animal's warning. Blair sounded young, very young, five years-old young. "Blair, did you fall asleep at your desk?"

"J-jim, I'm alone," the small voice answered fearfully.

"Listen to me, Hoss." Jim snatched his windbreaker off the back of the chair. "I'm coming to get you. Hang up the phone, go close the door to your office and lock it. I'm going to call you right back, understand?"

"'Kay." The line clicked off.

Jim bounded across the office and burst in on Simon's phone call. "Sorry, sir," Jim said in a rush as he closed the door.

"Jim! I'm on the ph-" Simon protested.

Jim waved him down. "Blair's done it again, Sir, He's a kid. He's at Rainier. I've got to get to him."

"What?" Simon said, covering the phone's mouthpiece. "How can this happen during the day?"

"No clue." Jim hurried toward the other door that led directly into the hallway. "No warning. Been a month since the first time." He yanked open the door. "I'll call."

Not waiting for a reply, Jim ran down the hall to the elevator. The digital readout above the doors showed the car on the ground floor so he detoured to the stairwell. Taking the stairs in leaps and bounds, he ran without regard for his own safety, his mind on his child-partner, scared and alone in the basement office at Hargrove Hall.

Bursting out the door in the sub-floor garage, Jim fumbled for his cell phone. Laying the phone on the passenger seat of his truck, he started the motor and quickly glanced over his shoulder before rocketing the truck backwards. He spun the wheel in his hands and rammed the Ford into drive. Rubber screeched on smooth concrete, burning a short strip that would likely cause a formal complaint as Jim steered toward the garage opening. He thumbed the small keypad as he navigated the mid morning traffic.

"Jim?"

Jim cradled the cell against his shoulder, needing both hands to correct the Ford's slide on the wet pavement. He kept his voice steady. "Hey, kiddo. I'm on the way. Did you lock the door?"

"Yeah... um, I think so. I turned the thingy under the knob."

"Perfect. Now, I want you be real quiet and don't open the door for anyone." Jim took a deep breath. Everything was okay. Blair was safe. Rainier was only twenty minutes away from the station.

"But then I can't let you in," the child reasoned.

"Good point, tell you what. I'll give a password and you'll know it's me."

"Password?" Blair sounded interested. "Like spies?"

"Right." Remembering that time on the train when he had held a similar conversation with the adult version, Jim grinned. Did `adult Blair' like to pretend he was a spy when he rode as Jim's partner? "I'll even let you pick the password. I'll say it when I'm at the door and you'll know it's me."

"I get to pick?"

"Yes, can you think of one?" Jim accelerated through a yellowish-red light.

"How about... camping trip."

"That's a good one." A strange clicking sound reached Jim's ears. "Chief, are you cold?"

"I don't have clothes on," Blair whispered, sounding embarrassed.

Picking up speed on the freeway, Jim tried to remember what Blair kept in his office. Then he remembered watching Blair get ready for school this morning. "Can you see a leather backpack?"

"No."

"Look under the big desk."

"Oh, there it is."

"Okay, look inside. There's a shirt in there." Jim listened to the phone clunk on the desk. The zipper rasped open and pleased Blair noises came, accompanied by the soft rustle of flannel.

"Jim?" Blair was back.

"Yeah, sport?"

"Where am I? How'd I get here?"

Blair felt something tickling his nose and batted it away with his hand. The flies in his office were getting to be a real nuisance. He'd better get back to grading tests. It was time to end his power nap.

Opening his eyes to blue jungle, Blair groaned.

"Welcome, Young Shaman."

"No, no, no, no." Blair sat up. His office sofa had become a lush forest floor of ferns. "Incacha, you've got to give us some warning here, man." Clothes, cool, he was wearing real clothes this time. Blair peered at his shoes happily. "Well, at least I'm dressed for the lesson this time."

"Yes, you had requested this of me. I remembered." Incacha had a bow slung over one shoulder and a quiver of arrows in his hand. "Are you ready for your next lesson?"

Standing, Blair twisted to look down his back. "Don't I have to do the thing with the glowing tail?"

Smiling, Incacha shook his head. "That is only required of you once. Now you are able to pass back and forth as your lessons are ready. Come."

"Right, then." Blair chewed on his lip, thinking about Jim. "You realize I was in my office, right? Jim's going to be okay with this?"

Incacha nodded regally. "The sentinel will be ready."

"Jim!"

Jim caught the five year-old up with one arm and held him close before closing the office door behind them and relocking it. "Hey, partner."

"You took forever to get here. I waited and waited." One bare shoulder stuck out from the adult-sized flannel shirt. The hem of the shirt fell half way down his bare legs.

Jim hugged Blair once before setting him back down on the floor. "Drove as fast as I could, pal. Let's get your backpack and laptop together. I need to call your secretary and tell them you're done for the day."

"I have a secretary?" Blair asked as he followed Jim to the desk.

"Your department does," Jim answered as he unplugged the computer from the wall and started coiling up the power cord. "Get those notebooks from the sofa for me."

"Okay." Blair barefooted over to the sofa. The notebooks filled his arms and he nearly dropped one as he brought them to Jim. "Are we going hiking?"

"No," Jim answered. He stuffed them into the pack with the computer and zipped it closed. They were Blair's personal notes and Jim didn't want to risk leaving them behind. "Not this time. I have to get back to work."

"Cool," Blair responded with enthusiasm. "We're going back to the police station?"

Taking the crocheted afghan from the back of the sofa, Jim wrapped it around the bouncing tyke and lifted him back onto a hip. He shouldered the full backpack and headed for the door. "First, we're going back to the loft, then... I don't know. We'll call Simon."

Miniscule hands clung to his neck. Jim hurried down the hallways, taking a less used route to the parking lot. Blair had ridden the bus that morning, which Jim was thankful for. The Corvair would be fine, parked back on Prospect. He'd call the anthropology office from the loft.

He had no idea what he was going to do with a five year-old in the middle of the work week.

"We just wait here?" Blair tried to keep still, but his brain refused to let him. He turned his head one way, then the other, expectantly.

They were sitting on stout tree limbs fifteen feet from the blue jungle ground. A game trail meandered through the tall fern palms below. The tree bark was smooth, a comfortable enough seat. Blair could almost let his body relax enough to doze, if he wasn't so freaked out about those damn tree spiders.

"Nature will follow her true pattern. The game will come," Incacha whispered from the next limb over, watching Blair for a second. "The spiders do not live in this tree."

"You sure?" Blair tried to relax. "It's okay if they do, I just don't need them sneaking up on me."

"I am sure."

"Good, okay then." Blair leaned forward and peered down the trail. "So, what are we hunting? Is it big game? I have to admit, I skipped breakfast and I'm kinda starving. I don't remember being this hungry last time. I remember waking up hungry at the loft though."

A sudden crash below had Blair bending low to look. Something big was running away from them. Incacha watched Blair's face thoughtfully. Blair's face warmed, remembering how the other man had whispered. "I scared him off, didn't I?"

Gracefully dropping from the tree and landing lightly on the balls of his feet, Incacha motioned Blair to join him. Blair tried to land as skillfully, but caught his foot on a small limb and crashed to the ground. The Peruvian Shaman helped him up.

"There are other things to eat within the jungle, come."

After stopping at the loft and pulling out the box of clean clothes he had packed away a month ago, Jim got Blair dressed and fixed them both a hasty lunch. Blair sat on two phone books, his hands unable to manage the sandwich Jim set down before him.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?" Jim went back to the counter for a knife.

"Did I get sick again?" Blair asked.

Jim carefully cut Blair's turkey sandwich into four exact squares. "No, Blair."

"How come I don't remember being at that office before?"

Jim took the knife back to the sink, left it there to wash later and returned to the fridge. They had some left over orange juice from breakfast. He removed the pitcher and retrieved two clean glasses from the cupboard, all the while his brain searching for an answer suitable for a child.

Hell, Jim didn't even have an answer suitable for an adult.

"Listen, you remember when I explained how you take care of me?" Jim said as he poured one glass half full and the rest into the second glass for himself. Putting the empty pitcher in the sink, he joined Blair at the table. One of the sandwich quarters was already gone. Blair was busy cramming another into his mouth. "Slow down and chew before swallowing."

Checking that Blair followed his instructions, Jim continued. "Well, when the adult part of you is off learning how to take care of me, the kid part of you keeps me company."

Blair frowned as he swallowed. "Where do I go the rest of the time?"

Jim picked up his sandwich. The trick was to look completely casual about this whole deal. Otherwise, five year-old Blair tended to become scared. "You're still here. Only you're with the adult part. Both of you all rolled up into one." He took a large bite and chewed carefully.

Blair watched Jim for a few breaths, seemingly taking in the information and processing it with great detail. "But, we're both your best friends, right? Even when we're not together?"

"Absolutely," Jim said with all honesty.

"Can we go fishing after lunch?" Blair asked, completely on to a new subject now that that one had been explained to his satisfaction.

Dancing an imaginary victory dance followed by a virtual `high-five' to himself, Jim shook his head. "No can do, partner. I've got to get back to work, remember?"

"Oh, right. We're going to see Simon?"

"We sure are."

Simon Banks couldn't stop the grin from breaking out as he watched the five year-old stride into the bullpen as cocky as a banty rooster. He wore tan cargo pants and a flannel shirt over a grey T-shirt. Not unlike the adult Blair's normal attire. But the blue and yellow Batman backpack was definite teasing material for all those `can I sit in your lap again, sir?' jokes he endured from the adult Blair the last few weeks.

"Sir," Jim said sticking his head through the doorway. "Can we come in?"

Simon waved them in, his normal disapproving expression back firmly in place. It lasted two seconds before melting away. Something about a child's excitement was contagious.

"Captain Simon!" Blair exclaimed, running around the desk like a Keebler elf on crack. "I'm here again!"

"I see that," Simon said, catching the child seconds before impact and lifting him up onto his lap. Oh, hell, what're a few more teasing remarks? He'd just snap a few pictures of the kid with the backpack and keep them in his desk. "I think you added a few muscles to these arms, young man. Have you been working out?" He made a point of measuring one of the skinny arms with his hand.

"No, I don't think so. Did I, Jim?" Blair twisted to ask.

"Well, I thought you looked stronger. Guess I was right." Jim settled into one of the chairs and leaned forward, capturing Simon's gaze. "We're out on a limb here, Simon. Can I request vacation?"

Simon shook his head. He picked up a heavy resin paperweight with several colorful salmon flies inside and handed to Blair. The boy immediately began to turn it over and over, bringing it close to his face to study.

"Sorry, Jim. I already have three detectives out this week. I'd be breaking the rules."

Jim laced his fingers together and leaned forward. "What if I use comp time. The union contract will back you up on that."

Mentally reviewing Jim's calendar, Simon nodded.

"What's this red stuff, Capt'n Simon?" Blair interrupted, still intent on the paperweight.

"That's a feather, son," Simon answered before looking back at Jim. "All right, But didn't you get a subpoena to testify tomorrow morning? The Lakehurst trial started this week."

"Oh, hell."

"Jim!"

Blair snickered.

"Sorry," Jim had the grace to blush. "What about Blair? He can't sit through a trial. Those shark attorneys will have me on the stand all day. Can you...?"

"Sorry, Jim." Simon glanced fondly at the mass of curly hair bent over the paperweight. "I've got my own full plate. Departmental planning meetings all day. However, the courthouse does have a daycare facility. I believe they accept five year-olds."

Blair's attention was captured by the latest development. He wriggled down from his perch and carefully set the paperweight back on the desktop. "I'm supposed to take care of Jim. We stay together."

"Sorry, Blair," Jim said, bracing his elbows on his knees as he bent forward to talk to his mini-roommate. "I'm going to be stuck in a boring courtroom all day. Wouldn't you rather play with other kids? We'll be in the same building."

"No." Blair crossed his arms as he regarded his Sentinel regally.

Simon could smell trouble brewing.

"Blair," Jim said, drawing the name out in warning as he raised one eyebrow in admonishment. "It's really not open for discussion."

"Why?" Blair responded, doing his best to match Jim in the eyebrow department.

Simon was having a mild hernia suppressing his laughter. He would have given a month's pay for a video camera hidden somewhere in the room.

"Because, I'm the adult and you're the kid. That means I'm in charge and I get to make the rules," Jim explained patiently.

"That's not very fair, Jim. When the adult me gets back, I'm going to tell."

Now Jim looked constipated, the classic `don't laugh' struggle showing on his face. He managed to gain enough composure to talk. "Until then, I'm the boss. You'll stay in the daycare, got it?"

"Oh, hell," Blair said.

Simon and Jim both spoke in perfect unison. "Blair!"

The grocery store was crowded, reinforcing Jim's theory that a man should always shop late at night, when the majority of the city was home watching Letterman. He pulled a cart from the dwindling row and pointed it toward the sliding doors.

"Stay with me, Chief."

Blair trailed along, his wide eyes taking in all the colorfully displayed objects. With school out, the store teemed with kids of all ages. The noise of a dozen cash registers beeping, clerks asking for price checks over the intercom and people talking battered Jim's hearing like a storm. He paused, knuckles white on the handles of the shopping cart. He focused on the small fingers clutching the pant material behind his left knee as he adjusted his dials.

Better.

"Okay, just need milk, cereal, eggs and a loaf of bread and we're done." Jim pushed the cart toward aisle four. He'd start with the bread. Tiny footsteps kept up with him.

Reaching for the bread, Jim wondered if thin slices wouldn't be better. Blair didn't eat as much as the adult version but tended to like more frequent snacks. He moved down the rack to check what was available.

A squawking kid was riding in his mother's cart, blubbering about some box of crackers he wanted. The mother was ignoring the cries that grated on Jim's nerves. He glanced down with pride at the five year-old standing quietly at his side. You didn't see his kid doing that.

"Hey, Hoss. Pick out the bread you want," Jim suggested.

"Really?" Blair smiled up at Jim.

"Yep."

The way the kid zeroed in on the raisin bread was amazing. Jim shuddered and added a loaf of their normal selection to the cart, making a mental note to eat a lot of sandwiches during the week.

In the egg and milk aisle, Jim found the egg case looking like a casualty of war with cartons opened and the large mixed with the organic.

"What is it with these people? Can't they look without breaking?"

The first four cartons contained cracked shells. Bending further into the display case, Jim reached for one in the back. Damn, that had a cracked one too. Okay, then, he'd make a few changes. Rearranging the contents until he ended up an even dozen unbroken eggs, he added it to the cart.

"Come on, Buddy. Let's see if they have chocolate milk today."

Jim got three steps down the aisle before it hit him that he was alone. Spinning, he checked the immediate area. "Blair!"

There was no sign of him. Jim left the cart and hurried to check the parallel aisles, his heart pounding in his throat. Every interview he'd ever done with parents of missing kids haunted him. Part of his brain, a tiny part, always passed judgment. How could they have been so stupid?

Hindsight was twenty-twenty.

God, three aisles over and no Blair. This can't be happening. Jim wanted to take out his gun and fire it into the air to get everyone's attention, get everyone on their faces so he could search them for what was his. Instead, he broke into a jog, calling Blair's name again. People were staring. He didn't care.

A quiet voice told him to stop and listen. It sounded like Incacha.

Jim skidded to a stop, closed his eyes tightly and reached out desperately. Beeps, voices, running water, heartbeats. Where was the one he wanted?

There.

Jim spun and ran for the other end of the store. The next to last aisle, at an end display he spotted a familiar looking tiny elbow sticking out from around a rack of dried peppers.

"Blair!" Jim snapped, rounding the corner to see his mini-roommate wide eyed and clutching a large package of O'boy-Oberto jerky. Peppered, of course. Jim squatted down and grabbed the skinny arms just above the elbows. "Why did you do that?"

"J-Jim?" Blair stuttered.

"I told you to stay with me!" Jim snapped. His heart was still banging away against his tonsils.

"I w-was picking out some jerky. Like the bread," Blair reasoned with five year-old logic, blue eyes rapidly filling. A fat tear spilled down one cheek.

Oh, hell. Jim scooped him up, his fear so raw he still didn't have it under control. He took the jerky away and returned it to the display case. "No."

The young woman with the squawking kid in her cart was watching. Jim shared brief eye contact with her, a silent communication like Marryat's signal flags flashing an international message between them; absolute fear, desperation, paralyzing horror.

Jim wrapped both arms tightly around his partner. Shit, no wonder shopping carts had built-in restraints for kids. He ducked his head and listened to Blair's confused sniffles as he headed for the door.

Blair was fishing.

He held the spear high and remained perfectly still, watching the water carefully for movement. Incacha was a few yards upstream doing the same. The blue sun felt great on his back. His high-topped sneakers were safe on the shore, his tube socks stuffed inside. Blair had rolled his jeans up to just below his knees.

He was having the time of his life.

A movement off to the left caused an instant reaction and he let the spear fly. The sharp stone point pierced the water, but missed the trout.

"You're getting much better," Incacha called over with an approving nod.

"Thanks," Blair laughed as he chased the spear down in the gentle current and snatched it up from the water. Before returning to his spot, Blair took a deep breath and released it. This `lesson' was so not like the first one. He hadn't killed himself once. Incacha seemed intent on filling the pantry this time out.

Blair wondered about that. A dead guy needs to have a filled pantry? Did he eat? Were there other spirits in this blue jungle to feed? Maybe a culture to examine in the afterlife? Oh, man, how cool would this be, if he could write a paper on that? Wouldn't it just blow the doors of the academic world if he released a personal account of afterlife hierarchy and the food chain?

"Young one, what are you thinking?" Incacha frowned.

Blair got the feeling he was missing the point of their lesson.

There was a corner market a few blocks away from the loft.

The drive had been made in silence. Jim parked the truck, lifted a still sniffling Blair out of the back booster seat and propped him on one hip as he locked the truck. The afternoon was pleasant, fluffy white clouds in an azure sky, a light wind off the bay. Setting the boy down and taking his hand, they headed down the sidewalk toward the market.

Jim finally felt calm enough to talk without yelling. "I think I understand how you could have felt you were helping me with the shopping, Blair. I'm not angry that you wanted the jerky, understand? The part that I didn't like was turning around and not seeing you standing beside me. I got scared."

"Why?" Blair asked, wiping a hand under his nose. "You're big."

Taking out his handkerchief and making sure it was clean, Jim squatted down. Eye to eye with his friend, he gently covered the pug nose. "Blow."

Blair honked, his eyes screwing shut and causing another tear to break free. Jim mopped up the snot and gently attacked the tears with a clean fold of cloth.

"Buddy, no matter how big a person gets, we all can get scared. And when I couldn't find you, I was beyond scared. Do you know what happens when I get scared?"

"W-what?"

It hurt Jim's chest to see that tiny mouth quiver. They began walking again, Jim kept his strides short. "I sometimes look really, really mean. Like I want to hurt people. But I'd never hurt you, understand? Even when I'm angry, I'd never hurt you."

"And you was angry because you was scared... because I was gone?"

"Exactly." Jim allowed a tiny smile to escape. They paused again. "Now, how do you suppose we can prevent this from happening again?"

Looking up at Jim, Blair caught his lower lip, showing Jim his uniform row of white baby teeth as he pondered.

"Any ideas?" Jim encouraged.

"I never get to eat jerky again?" A mischievous glint shined in guileless eyes.

So much for writing new lessons in child rearing. "You sneaky twerp," Jim said. "I'm serious. I want your promise you won't take off without my express permission again. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Blair answered, looking abashed.

They were quiet for a block. Jim snuck another look at the tiny face and cringed. The tears had reappeared. Crap. He knew he couldn't afford to show any leniency on this matter. Blair was too valuable, too special, hell, too damn innocent in this state. Jim's top priority was to keep him safe.

"Jim?" Blair said in a tiny voice. "Do you still want me as your best friend?"

Oh, god.

There was an old fashioned bench in front of the market. Jim sat and lifted Blair to his lap, tiny legs straddling adult-sized knees as they faced each other.

"Listen to me very carefully, Hoss," Jim said, his throat tight. "Nothing you do or say will ever change the fact that we're best friends. The very, very best."

"Nothing? Not even when I make you mad?" Blair asked.

"Not even when you make me mad. Not even when I make you mad." Jim pulled him into a hug and held on, whispering into a mini-sized ear. "But I got to tell you, chances are good you're not going to get that raisin bread now. So no grumbling."

Blair's face was pressed into Jim's neck. "Okay," he answered in a small voice.

Jim held him for a long time.

"A sentinel is a man."

Chewing carefully to avoid choking on bones, Blair looked at Incacha in surprise. There companionable silence had gone on for an hour. He just didn't expect it broken with a comment about Jim. Swallowing, Blair nodded. "I agree."

"His task is great, noble and many times difficult." Incacha picked meat off his own trout dinner. They were eating directly from the sticks used to roast the tender meat over the fire. "But even with all this, he is just a man. He has the same heart that you and I have."

Forgetting his food, Blair pivoted to face the shaman as they sat by the small fire. It was dark and the mood was prime for a long talk. "Jim has many fears. How can I help him?"

Unseen crickets rasped a sonnet for the night. Frogs answered. Incacha acted like he hadn't heard the question. He ate slowly, carefully. A man in a five star restaurant couldn't have shown more manners.

Blair got scared.

Jim put the groceries away while Blair explored his room. They still had most of the afternoon before them. Something told Jim he should tire the kid out and hopefully take his mind off their unpleasant shopping experience.

Blair wandered back into the kitchen, carefully cupping a figurine in his hands. "Jim? What's this?"

Recognizing the artifact, it occurred to Jim he was going to have to childproof the loft tonight after mini-Blair was in bed. "Well, best I can recall that is a three hundred year old African good luck charm. It belongs to the university. You'd better let me put it in a safe place, okay?"

Blair handed it over with much care. Jim placed it on the highest shelf, above their stereo and CD collection.

"How come he's got such a big dingdong?" Blair asked.

Jim deftly turned the fertility god around to face the brick wall. "It's part of the good luck, I guess. I'm really not the expert here."

Blair scratched his head. "I sure got a lot of weird stuff in my room, Jim."

"Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing," Jim replied. "How about we go to the park?"

"Park?" Blair's face lit up.

They reached the two-acre park and found the playground area filled with a dozen kids ranging in ages from four to ten. Three women were reading on the adjacent benches. Jim did the math and shuddered. It was plain crazy to let kids outnumber adults.

Blair fell into an instant friendship with another red headed five-year old boy and they turned the jungle gym into a fortress.

Jim watched from the empty park bench. There were some tense moments when he kept expecting Blair to plummet head first from the top of the dome frame, but he soon realized Blair was part monkey. He relaxed, even crossing his ankles to complete the look of a casual adult whose only objective was to tire out a rug rat.

"Haven't seen you around here before." The speaker was one of the reading moms, a knockout blond wearing an expensive looking jogging suit that did all the right things to her curves.

Jim waved a hand at the empty part of his bench. "First time here. I live a few blocks over on Prospect."

"Sharon."

"Jim."

She sat down, her ring-less left hand pointing at the redhead racing Blair up the side of the rope ladder. The game had turned to pirates now. "Our boys have hit it off."

"I see that." There were some real advantages to this parenting thing.

Sharon was smart and a real looker, Jim's favorite combination. They chatted about trivial matters as the boys played for over an hour. It was the typical `get to know you' conversation, with an extra layer of caution that Jim hadn't really experienced before. As if each of them had reprioritized their social life due to the two children now madly digging in the sand pile, giggling out of control. The new phase of their game was now pirates hunting buried treasure.

"Surfing, absolutely." Sharon's face glowed excitedly as she talked, "I learned in California. I was sure if I lived at the beach, I would be discovered as the next supermodel."

"You mean it didn't happen that way?" Jim asked in mock innocence. "I thought for sure you were a famous face."

She rolled her eyes, but her response was cut off by a shriek and a venomous, "Give it back!"

Jim looked over just in time to see Sharon's kid slug Blair in the eye. He bounded off the bench, the woman right on his six as they ran over to the sandbox. Blair was just sucking in a big breath, his incredulous expression reminding Jim how much it shocked his partner when he experienced violence. The red head looked like he was winding up for round two.

Jim jerked Blair out of swinging range. "You okay, Hoss?" Jim dropped to one knee in the sand and sat Blair on his other.

Sharon spoke at the same time, "Samuel Franklin Lafayette, you are in so much trouble, young man!"

"Jim, he hit me." Blair's voice quivered in awe. He held a sand dusted hand over his left eye while the right stared piteously at his new playmate.

Gently moving the hand so he could see, Jim answered. "I know. Did the fight have anything to do with what you're holding?"

"I found it," Blair said, already defensive.

Blair's other hand clutched a sun-bleached, red plastic shovel, a simple child's toy, only eight inches long. It was the type sold with tiny plastic pails at gift shops in the beach resorts. For the second time in less than twelve hours since Blair had been shrunk, tears slipped out of those big eyes.

Jim stroked back the curls, seeing only a small red spot on Blair's cheek. "You're going to live."

"Jim? Is he okay?" Sharon asked from her corner of the sandbox, looking over the top of her five year-old.

Jim nodded, "He's fine. Yours?"

"In some hot water and off TV for a week." She visibly relaxed at Jim's answer. "I'm really sorry about this." She picked her son up and moved closer. "Blair, Sam has something to tell you."

Sam had a field of freckles growing over his nose. His green eyes were downcast as he struggled with his guilt. "I'm sorry."

Blair leaned into Jim's chest, his cautious gaze on his new friend/enemy. He gathered a handful of Jim's polo shirt and looked up at his protector. "Are you going to arrest Sam?"

"Do you want me to?" Jim asked in surprise.

"He's sorry," Blair pointed out. "I don't want him to go to jail."

"Mom wouldn't let me go to jail, she talks to the judges in courtrooms," Sam said with a hint of pride.

"You're an attorney?" Jim blurted.

Sharon's smile was infectious as she nodded. "And you're a cop."

"Is she one of those shark attorneys?" Blair asked in a whisper that would have cleared out a full movie theater had he whispered `fire.'

Jim felt the burn spread all the way up to his hairline.

The sandbox incident had cemented a truce. With war averted, Sharon suggested a Chinese restaurant within walking distance. The four shared a family-sized dinner that included all Jim's favorite dishes. Had Sam been a girl, Jim could almost picture the dinner as a double date.

But dinner with two kids wasn't like any date Jim had ever experienced before. Blair ate white rice until Jim had to lay down the rules about gluttony. Sam stuck a chopstick up his nose which set Blair off in gales of laugher. The restaurant owners were an older couple that enjoyed kids. Drawn by the sounds of happy children, they introduced themselves and insisted upon treating the four diners to dessert.

Sharon and Jim parted ways outside the doors of the restaurant. Each adult had the other's business card. The roommates walked back to the loft under the glow of the streetlamps.

"Can I play with Sam again?" Blair asked as he preceded Jim into the loft.

Jim flipped on the light and locked the door behind them. "We'll have to wait and see. Right now you need a bath."

"I don't want to take a bath."

"You brought most of that sandbox home with you," Jim pointed out. "You're taking a bath."

Ten minutes later, Blair was sitting naked on the bathroom rug, peering between his toes for sand. Jim finished filling the bathtub. "In you go, Sand Monster."

Blair giggled as he rose. Throwing a dirty leg over the high wall of the tub, he growled. Jim steadied a bare shoulder as he climbed in. "Hey, Jim. If Sam's mom is a shark attorney, will she be at the courtyard tomorrow?"

Jim caught a wave of soap bubbles and pushed it back into the tub. "First of all, it's a courthouse, not a courtyard."

"Courthouse," Blair repeated dutifully as he shot the bar of soap across the water with his hands. He scrambled after it. The game was on.

"No, Sandburg," Jim said, already on his knees next to the tub and catching the five year-old by a skinny waist before he emptied three quarters of the tub water with his playing. "You're washing now, not playing."

"Jiim," Blair whined as he was plopped back down on his butt and handed a washcloth.

Jim found the bar of soap by the plug and held it out. "Secondly, we are not to use the term `shark attorney' anymore. Okay?"

"You did."

"I know."

"How come I can't?"

"I did say `we are not to use the term', which means I agree not to say it anymore either."

Blair was running the washcloth up and down his arm. "Sam's mom is pretty."

"Yes, she is."

Blair shot a cagey look up at Jim. "I think the adult me will like her when he gets back." There was a bit of big Blair in that five year-old face.

"You want a piece of this?" Jim growled, sticking out his chest.

Blair's skinny chest puffed out, every rib outlined under the baby soft, smooth skin. Blair held the pose for two seconds before the child broke into whoops of laughter and kicked his legs. Mini tsunamis threatened to crash over the tub's rim.

Jim snickered and he tried to keep the water in the tub. "Okay, okay! Enough, Aqua-Boy. Settle down and wash."

When the bath was over, Blair was dressed in light cotton pajamas and his hair towel dried to Jim's satisfaction, Jim spent thirty minutes going through Blair's room and removing any valuable, dangerous or graphically mature items and placing them into a box. He slipped the box into the hall closet. Blair sat at the kitchen table with a box of crayons and an Animal Kingdom coloring book. After retrieving a beer, Jim returned to the living room. For the first time that day, Jim dropped onto the sofa and kicked off his shoes. One of the cable channels had a hockey game on.

Letting his head fall back on the plush sofa, Jim closed his eyes. He was exhausted.

Jim felt Blair climb up onto the sofa and settle in next to him.

"What's this?" Blair asked.

"Hockey," Jim answered without lifting his head or opening his eyes.

"What's hockey?"

"It's a game."

"How's it played?"

Jim raised his arm and peered at his watch. "Excuse me a second." Jim reached over the back of the sofa to grab the phone. He dialed.

"Hello." The man Jim wanted answered on the first ring.

"Simon? Can I ask you something? What time would you send a five year old to bed?"

Blair scowled up at Jim mutinously.

Simon was laughing. It rather pissed Jim off.

"An hour ago," Simon managed to choke out before hanging up.

"I'm not tired, Jim," Blair proclaimed with narrow eyes.

Blair watched Incacha sleep. He added a blue stick of wood to the fire and pondered the way the dinner had ended. No matter what Blair had tried, the shaman had not allowed the conversation to return to Jim and that cryptic announcement.

What did it mean?

Blair hugged his shins and rested his chin on his knees. Of course, he knew Jim was a man, although, Blair was hard pressed to use the adjective `just' when he was describing the cop. Jim wasn't `just' anything.

Yet, why had Incacha said it?

Actually, it sorta pissed Blair off when Jim would downplay his gift, falling back from its wonder as if it were a curse. It was like digging up a hoard of first century gold coins and saying it was just money. Jim's ability was more than a gift. It was a direct link to countless generations of warriors, each anointed with the duty of protecting the tribe. There could be no greater honor, no greater purpose or calling. To be the sentinel was to be the hope of the tribe.

How could Jim not get that?

`I just needed to get away for a while. You're always in my face, watching me.' The words Jim had spoken back in Clayton Falls.

Blair stared at the fire without seeing it.

Was Jim still feeling that way around him? Was he hiding it, letting it build up like a pressure cooker inside? Would he wake up one morning and hate Blair?

"This lesson is like hunting. You are scaring off the game," Incacha said. In every aspect he still looked asleep, except Blair had seen his lips move.

"I'm screwing up my friendship with Jim, aren't I?" Blair whispered wretchedly. "God, it wouldn't be the first time, either."

Incacha sat up, a small sigh escaping.

If adult Blair could be labeled `not' a morning person, then there was no classification yet developed for the child version.

Jim had been forced to physically pull the child out of bed and plop him down at the kitchen table before the bowl of cereal. He'd shaved and come out to find the boy dozing in the chair, looking all the world like the Pinocchio puppet with his strings clipped. Jim then had to pull a chair up and shovel a few mouthfuls of soggy Cheerios into the sleepy-eyed boy before giving up all together and carting him back into the bathroom to help him brush his teeth.

A palm full of cold water splashed into the small face helped a little and also made Blair less than happy, if not downright pissed off. Jim was glared at while the white knuckled mini-fist manipulated the Power Ranger blue toothbrush up and down. He made spitting sound like a curse.

Thinking the worst was over, Jim stuffed papers into his soft-sided carrying case when his hearing picked up quiet snores coming from the lower bedroom. Jim's shoulders slumped in defeat. Tossing everything down on the sofa, he went back into the small room to wake up his guide. He was going to be late for work.

"Come on, Sandburg," Jim begged, seeing the child sprawled across the futon, only one leg out of his pajama bottom. The tyke had passed out in the middle of getting undressed. Jim sat on the bed and slipped an arm under the bony shoulders. Blair's head lolled. "Work with me, Hoss."

"Jim?" Blair asked as his pajama top slipped over his head.

"It's me. We need to get going."

"Tired."

"I know." Jim tickled his ribs until Blair squirmed with a giggle. "Finish undressing. I'll get you something to wear."

Finally, Blair was dressed, hair combed, shoes on his feet and possessing a backpack with a juice box, a banana and three granola bars for breakfast. Although Blair didn't have specific knowledge about the food because he'd fallen asleep again when Jim was stuffing his feet into the tennis shoes.

"From this day forward, your official bedtime is seven-thirty," Jim decreed to the limp body he carried out to the truck. Blair's snores didn't change as Jim transferred the child into the booster seat and used a spare blanket to pad between the boy and the truck window.

He was ten minutes late for his meeting with the prosecutors handling the Lakehurst case. Jim's part in the case had been small, but vital. Jim was the only eyewitness to Anthony Lakehurst's being in possession of the handgun that had killed an undercover ATF officer. The Feds were watching the case closely. Jim entered the prosecutor's office to find a handful of men and women, dressed in power suits, standing around a conference table, sounding like generals planning an invasion.

"You're late," the lead prosecutor snapped as his secretary led Jim in. "What the...?"

Jim jiggled the sleeping child a little higher on his hip, hoping the drool spot forming on his suit wasn't too large. "Is there someplace I can lay him down while we do this?"

"Smoke comes from the fire," Incacha told Blair patiently.

Blair listened, still and waiting, wanting to understand.

"When the air is right, the smoke does not follow its natural path, the path that all things must follow. The smoke will stay low and spread out to confuse us."

Waiting a breath to make sure the man was finished, Blair nodded. "We call that an inversion layer, when cold air is layered over the top of warm air."

Incacha did not answer. He stirred the fire with a stick and waited. Blair knew the lesson wasn't about fire or earth science. They were talking, in the shaman's usual cryptic manner, about the sentinel, about Jim. Blair studied the fire as he pondered.

Jim was the smoke? No, not the smoke. Jim was the fire. Okay and the smoke was what Jim did or said or maybe even the vibes he gave off. Yeah, okay, there were plenty of times Blair would be confused about Jim's vibes.

"You're talking fear based responses."

"The smoke is not wrong. Smoke comes from fire. This is the way," Incacha added.

Blair settled more comfortably on the soft mat of ferns he'd been using for a bed. It was still dark in the jungle. But Blair didn't fear what was out there. He closed his eyes, laid his open hands carefully on his knees and made sure his back was straight.

He needed to think about this.

Blair missed the approving smile from the other man sitting across the fire.

After the attorneys were certain Jim's testimony wouldn't screw up their case, he was dismissed. Jim went to collect his sleeping roommate from the broken down sofa in the tiny break room.

Blair woke as he was being lifted. "'Shim," he slurred and proceeded to stretch like a baby tiger while yawning. He looked around with interest as he clung to Jim's neck. "Where are we?"

"In the prosecutor's office at Superior Court," Jim answered as he nodded briskly to the secretary making goo-goo eyes at the child in his arms. He hurried out into the marble floored hallway. The daycare was one floor up. Juggling the tiny backpack, his portfolio case and his friend, he freed a hand to push the elevator button.

"We all done?" Blair asked hopefully.

"No, I have to testify now. You're going to the daycare to wait for me."

The response wasn't unexpected, but Jim had hoped they could avoid it.

"Buuut, I want to stay with you," Blair whined. "And I'm hungry. I want to go back to the loft and eat my breakfast."

The elevator arrived, loaded to the gills. Jim turned toward the large marble staircase. He wanted privacy for this conversation. He tried to remember it wasn't Blair's fault he'd woken up cranky after insufficient sleep. "I know you do. But you know what? I slipped some special snacks into your pack. You're going to have breakfast in the daycare."

Blair wasn't buying the excitement Jim was selling. He tucked his arms between their two bodies and slumped on the sentinel. "I don't want it. I want to go back home."

"Hey, Hoss. There's a very, very bad man that needs to go to jail," Jim said, pausing on a landing between floors. He leaned down to set everything but the boy by his feet. With both arms free to deal with his guide, he slid Blair around, crossing his wrists under the skinny butt. Front and center now, he could see Blair's sullen frown and mulish brow as the tiny fingers started to mess with Jim's dark blue tie. "My job today is to tell the judge what I saw. Otherwise the bad man might go free. We don't want that to happen."

"What did you see?" Blair asked, reluctantly curious.

"We don't have time to go into that right now. How about I tell you later?"

"Can't we just go home? Can't someone else tell the judge?"

Jim shook his head. "Nope, just me. I need to do this. It's the right thing do to, partner."

Blair fell forward onto Jim, hiding his face in Jim's neck. "We're supposed to stay together. You said."

"Yeah, I did." Jim's gut twisted as he scented the tears. Shit. How did fathers ever manage to go to work? Was the unemployment rate higher for men with five year olds? "But the judge won't let you sit in the courtroom and wait for me to be done. Now, I'm told this daycare is really a fun place to wait. I'll come and hang with you if I can, okay?"

Blair slid his head back on Jim's shoulder as one hand started fiddling with the knot around his neck again.

"Blair? Okay?" Jim repeated. "I really need your cooperation on this mission, partner. It's important."

"He's a real, real bad man?" Blair asked.

"Yes." Jim freed one hand and gently carded the fine, springy hair of his guide. Moved by unexpectedly strong emotions surfacing like a whale's tale, Jim kissed Blair's forehead. "He is."

"Okay," Blair agreed unhappily.

"Thanks, Chief. I really appreciate the backup here."

Blair sniffed.

Jim collected their stuff and hurried up the stairwell.

He never noticed the man who had been listening half a floor up, hidden around the corner.

"Jim?"

"Sharon?" Jim said, his stomach dropping. "Please tell me you're not connected with this case."

She smiled, her eyes twinkling. "No, I'm co-counsel on relevant civil charges the government is worried might be filed. I'm here to observe."

"Thank god," Jim admitted honestly, slipping into the back row of the stately courtroom. "I'm not up to another crisis in my life right now. I just had to leave Blair at the daycare."

She sat down one pew in front, turning to talk, her arms folded over the back. "He wasn't too excited about being left behind?"

"He fought me all the way," Jim admitted. "Up and until he saw the toys and the other kids playing. Then I couldn't put his highness down fast enough."

Sharon nodded. "They'll take good care of him. Sometimes I take Sam there to play, if I know I'm only going to be working a few hours. Too bad he's not there today, Blair would have had someone he knew waiting for him."

"That kid can made friends on a deserted island," Jim told her.

The court bailiff picked that moment to enter from the back door and the proceedings started. Jim settled back, knowing he would soon be dismissed into the small side room where the witnesses waited for their turn to testify.

The next day Blair fished silently, intent on his task. He speared a large trout and they stopped to prepare it. There was enough for both of them. Incacha dressed it out expertly while Blair readied the coals in the fire. It didn't occur to him to ponder the fact that technically, all of this was symbolic, that he wasn't really kneeling over a fire. Yet, the hunger rumbling around in his stomach like a restless snake was real enough.

His mind was still on the smoke lesson from last night. His meditation had separated his own fears from the puzzle. This wasn't about Blair the guide.

Well, okay, yeah, it really was. But to be a better guide, he needed to better understand Jim. Jim's fear could be like the inversion layer. It clouded and hid the real issues. Incacha was right. Jim was a man with his own ghosts long before the sentinel gifts showed up. Blair needed to guide the whole package, not focus on just the enhanced senses.

"I know lots and lots about a sentinel. I've studied them for nearly ten years. It's Jim that I need to get to know. Jim the man," Blair whispered to himself.

"You are wise," Incacha said joining him, holding long strips of white meat pierced with long, green twigs.

Blair smiled up at him fondly. "You're a good teacher."

They prepared the meat for cooking in companionable silence.

"I wonder what's taking so long," the ATF officer asked.

Jim looked up from the reports he was reviewing. He dialed up his hearing to listen to the proceedings in the adjacent courtroom. He didn't normally do this. He may be occasionally frustrated with the courts - hell, show him a cop that wasn't and Jim would claim the cop did not know his job - but he still believed in the principle of the system. Therefore, when the judge had ruled the witnesses were to be excluded from the proceedings per the defense attorney's motion, Jim had dialed down his gift.

It sounded like the testimony hadn't even started yet. The counsel was still arguing some detail of the case. Jim dialed it back down and sighed. "No idea."

"Damn attorneys," the ATF agent muttered, crossing his arms and glaring at the wall over Jim's head.

Knowing this case involved a dead ATF agent, Jim kept silent and didn't judge the man's anger. He remembered too clearly how he had screamed at Beverly when Danny had been killed.

An hour later, one of the prosecutors slipped into the room. "Sorry, guys, we got blindsided by an eleventh hour search warrant motion. The judge is going to release you for the rest of the morning. Can you both be ready at one?"

Jim gathered up his stuff and escaped. He'd break Blair out of the daycare. They could grab some lunch and do something fun. If the search warrant on this bust was thrown out, his testimony would be inadmissible. Jim wished the prosecutor team luck as he rode the elevator to the daycare floor.

"JIM!" Blair dropped the blue glop and launched himself forward.

Jim caught him in mid-flight, his smile turning to a laugh as he snatched the Playdough covered hands and saved his suit. "Whoa, whoa, Hoss. Let's clean this up and find somewhere to wash these monster hands."

Blair giggled, turning his fingers into claws and trying to growl menacingly. The grandmotherly-type woman sitting at the Playdough table with two other toddlers laughed.

"Was he any trouble?" Jim asked. He put his guide down. "Put that stuff back into the can, Blair. Or it will dry out."

"Blair and I had a wonderful time," the woman assured.

"Yeah, Miss Julie read us a story," Blair said, launching into a narrative with all the energy of a nuclear reactor. "That's Austin and Becky. We played with Legos. I built a Mayan temple, but we only pretended to do a sacrifice, `coz we didn't really want to hurt anyone. And they have videos, Jim. You ever heard of Spongy Bob? He's a real sponge and he wears blue pants with big buttons."

Jim nodded as he helped Blair with the Playdough lids. When the boy paused to suck in a breath, Jim spoke to Miss Julie. "I still have to testify, but I'm released until this afternoon. Is it okay to bring him back?"

She was still grinning, her face holding a trace of `Blair-shock'. Jim was getting used to the effect the five year-old seemed to have on people. "Absolutely. I was only going to volunteer for half a day, but if he's coming back, I'll stay longer."

They had to wait until Blair said goodbye to the other worker, a younger woman working at a computer. She squatted down to give the boy a hug. Then Blair had to tell Jim the names of the three goldfish in a small tank by the window. Finally, after all the goodbyes were finished, they headed for the main entrance.

"So, you had a good time," Jim guessed.

"Yep," Blair answered, skipping as he walked. Apparently this new game involved Blair's tennis shoes not touching the seams where the slabs of marble met. "I don't even mind much us having to go back. Did you tell the Judge about the bad guy?"

"No, not yet. Sounds like I'm up in the afternoon. Right now we have time to goof around. What would you like to do?" Jim held the large glass door open for an older man to enter.

"Is there a park around?"

"Probably." Jim took the small hand in his. "Let's find out."

Jim remembered seeing a park with a playground nearby. He'd have to be careful with his suit, but they should have an hour before lunch. Two blocks down, Blair paused before a stone lion next to the sidewalk.

"What's this?"

"It's a lion."

Blair rolled his eyes. Jim could almost hear adult Blair saying `Duh, Jim.' He waited for it, wondering if he should allow a kid to talk to an adult in such a manner. But, once again, Jim was pleasantly surprised.

"No, the building. What is this place?" Blair's head was tilted up, his eyes large as he stared in awe at the old, grey stone structure.

Now Jim wanted to roll his eyes. Why should a little shrinking make anything different? "It's a museum, Chief."

"Is it open?"

Jim considered the fib for a split second before coming to his senses. He had no doubt Blair could read the word `open' on the door. "Yes. Would you like to go inside?"

Blair nearly jerked Jim's arm out of his socket as he pulled the older man up the three stone stairs leading to the entrance.

The motion was denied and Jim found himself on the stand at twenty minutes after one. It was nice having Sharon in the audience to look at while he answered the questions. When the defense attorney got his turn, Jim braced himself. But the questions were routine and Jim knew his stuff. He only answered the question asked, never offering more. It was the prosecutor's job to pull out the relevant information Jim shared, not his. He'd trust them to make the case for the twelve men and women watching from the side of the courtroom.

After an hour, the judge called a break and Jim got to stretch his legs. They waited in the wide hallway outside of the courtroom. Jim accepted a cup of coffee and tried not to spill any on his clothes. His thoughts returned to Blair in the museum and the fun he had watching the kid shoot from exhibit to exhibit in spontaneous wonder. It was like trying to keep up with one of those small, rubber superballs he and Steven used to buy with their allowance. One hard bounce would send it all over the room with explosive power. He and Steven only tried it once in the kitchen. Sally had nearly skinned them alive.

"You've got a smug grin, officer." Sharon joined him, holding her own coffee.

"Took Blair to the museum. Kid went nuts over the African tribe exhibits," Jim said, feeling like a parent and grinning over the feeling.

"I can't even get Sam to watch the discovery channel, mister. What's your secret?"

Jim laughed. God, if she only knew. She'd have him committed. He felt good. "You two care to join us for dinner? I make a mean taco."

"Sure, Sam and I will bring the guacamole," she promised. Her smile faltered as she looked over at a group of men scowling at them from down the hall. "You're not very popular with the defense. Your testimony will drive the final nail in his coffin."

Jim didn't back down from the men's glare. "Their client is scum. He deserves to fry for killing that agent."

"No argument from me." She patted his arm. "You've got my number. Call with the details about dinner."

"I will." Jim watched her walk back into the courtroom. He glanced at his watch, judging the time he had left before returning to the stand. His hearing caught the conversation taking place among the defense attorneys, who stood in a tight group down the hall. He didn't intend it to happen, but then again, he didn't stop it.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, damn it. I don't like it anymore than you do. But we're being paid to get him off, not rehash our ethics class."

Jim wondered what he could look forward to when he got back on the stand.

His break was up and he headed back to work.

"I get so scared for him, you know?" Blair said to his campfire companion. They hadn't moved from breakfast. The fish bones had gone into the flames. They drank river water and stayed by the fire to talk. "His job is so dangerous. There is so much we don't know about his senses"

"Was he not doing this job before his senses returned to him?" Incacha asked.

Blair pulled a face and stabbed the fire with his stick. "Yeah." He sighed, trying to release his defensiveness. "Yeah, he was. And Jim even tried to tell me this. I know he's a good cop. It's just..."

Incacha waited silently.

Damn, Blair had never been taught before by a professor that spoke this little. "It's just. I... I push him, you know? The tests and stuff. He has to stay... in one piece. I need to keep him safe. I can't imagine getting off this rollercoaster." Blair shook his head, angry with himself. "Damn, I'm thinking about me again."

"No, this is different," Incacha said. "You are seeing your feelings for your sentinel."

Nodding, Blair smiled fondly. "I still remember the first time he introduced me as his partner. Man, a feather would have knocked me on my ass."

Incacha chuckled.

"It's just so weird, you know? All I've ever had is Naomi," Blair continued. He looked up. "That's my mom."

"A forceful woman in the spirit world." Incacha shivered theatrically.

"The state would redirect?" the judge asked.

The prosecutor nodded, a ghost of a smile on his face. "Yes, we would, your honor."

"Proceed."

Jim relaxed as he moved a bit in the seat. He had done well. He'd survived the cross examination. Frankly, he was mildly surprised. He'd expected worst. It might still happen. He knew they'd get another chance when the state was finished.

Before the prosecutor could ask Jim a question, a man burst through the rear doors, rabbiting up the aisle. The judge frowned at the display of bad court protocol. Jim was intrigued. The prosecutor's face paled and his eyes widened as if horrified. Too late, Jim missed the whispered cause for the man's distress.

"Your honor. The s-state is requesting a sidebar," the prosecutor said.

It was torture waiting for the bailiff to escort the jurors into the back room, safely out of earshot from whatever disaster had occurred. Jim's hearing was cranked all the way to ten as the two main opposing attorneys whispered over the bench to the judge.

"Your honor. I've been informed there's been a horrible incident at the court's daycare. It affects our witn-"

Jim's seat became a missile launcher.

"Jim! What is it?" Sharon called out.

Not able to waste time to answer, the sentinel raced through the audience portion and hit the door, slamming it against the wall and startling the courtroom guard outside. He ran flat out for the stairs, chased by cold terror.

Security officers were everywhere as Jim neared the daycare. Two stopped him at the entrance.

Hands shaking as he pulled out his badge, Jim managed to not to fight his way inside. "I'm Detective Ellison! My kid's in there!"

"Calm down, sir." The uniform didn't release Jim's arm. "We'll get our sergeant."

Jim stood, fists clenched. He needed to get his act together. His hearing was all over the board and he couldn't bring it under control. His mind's eye kept seeing Blair's face pressed up against the glass display of African ceremonial bowls less than three hours ago.

Oh, please, please, God.

"Jim Ellison?" The security sergeant was a small man with an unhappy expression and a tight grip on his holstered sidearm.

"Is he okay?" Jim barked. "Blair? Is he alright?"

"He's been taken. Two unknown males dressed in worker overalls attacked the woman in the daycare."

Jim felt his knees weaken. This couldn't be happening.

The prosecutor and the judge himself appeared at Jim's side, hearing the report. The judge swore softly. Sharon arrived a second later and squeezed between the men to stand by Jim's elbow.

"What happened?" She saw Jim's face and made the connection. "Not Blair?"

The judge answered. "A boy's been kidnapped. Am I to understand this boy is the officer's own son?"

Jim didn't bother to correct the assumption. He nodded, fighting the nausea as he tried to remember how to speak. "H-how long ago?"

"Less than fifteen," the sergeant answered. "We have the building in lock-down. My men are on every possible exit. We have procedures for this type of thing. We're doing a complete floor-to-floor search. We'll do everything possible to get him back," he promised. "I need to confirm our original description of the boy: five years old, dark, curly hair, wearing jeans and a t-shirt?"

Jim nodded. "He's small for his age."

"Okay, thanks. That's what we had. I have to get back in there. Please, try and relax. I'll keep you informed of our search."

"I have to talk to my bailiff." The judge clapped Jim's shoulder. "I'll be right back."

Jim didn't answer. His mind raced with new possibilities. It had only been minutes since Blair had been kidnapped. Would it take longer than fifteen minutes to get out of the building? The sergeant seemed to think so. It was very possible Blair was still here somewhere.

Hands folded behind his head, Blair lazed in the warm sun. He closed his eyes, almost able to forget that the world around him was completely blue. It got old fast. He made a decision. When he got back to the loft, he was going to find a red apple and just stare at it for an hour. Snickering softly at his crazy idea, he let his thoughts return to Jim.

How many times had Jim tried to tell him?

Blair knew he could be a single-minded jerk sometimes. It had been the driving force behind most of his achievements. But what was he trying to do now? There was no degree in the University of Jim Ellison. Blair needed to wake up and smell the friendship.

Yeah, he had a paper to write. He knew a dissertation committee was in his future. But was all of that more important then Jim? The original deal Jim and he had brokered so many months ago in his office just wasn't an issue anymore. They had something solid here. It shone bright. Why was he spinning crap about the Holy Grail when he was living the truth it represented?

Blair adjusted his head on his hands and wiggled a bit in the soft moss that cradled him. Lesson number two was physically easier to learn than the first one had been. Incacha had wandered away a while ago and something told Blair this class was over. Almost like a vacation.

He wondered how Jim was doing with Mini-Blair.

"Will you help me?" Jim asked Sharon.

"You know I will," she pledged. Anger that nearly matched Jim's flashed in her brown eyes. "What do you need?"

"Just stand here. Be ready to move."

"You got it."

Jim leaned against the wall and waited for the air currents to settle. Sharon remained silent at his side. No one paid them any attention. He sorted through the scents: leather, cotton, floor wax, and the chemical smell given off by the fluorescent lights above.

Jim set these aside and went after the organic: sweat and pheromones. He let it wash by him. He went for subtle: dozens of mixed fragrances. He sorted through them one at a time. He searched for his goal and found it: Johnson baby shampoo, the greasy scent of fried chicken strips from Blair's lunch and salty Playdough.

"Come on." Jim broke from the wall and headed down the hallway, away from the main elevator and large stairwell.

He followed the trail, speeding by clutches of whispering men and women. Guards were stationed in doorways. Jim wasn't challenged. He wore his detective shield like a passport. Sharon jogged to keep up with him.

Turning a corner, Jim walked a dozen yards and lost the scent. He spun around, retracing his steps.

There. He had it.

"Excuse me, sir," a red-jacketed man said. "I can't let you pass." He had a radio clipped to his side and the smell of excitement about him as he guarded a door labeled with the universal sign for stairs.

"I'm Detective James Ellison, Cascade Police, Major Crime. I'm following the possible trail of the kidnappers." Jim provided a close up of his badge.

It worked.

The man stood aside. Jim and Sharon slipped into a service stairwell.

"Up or down?" Sharon asked.

"Down," Jim answered and he followed the scent. It was stronger here, less confusing scents to mingle with. He cast his hearing further, careful not to go too far and have an unexpected noise take him out.

They reached the subbasement and found it unguarded. The walls didn't have the artwork found on the upper levels and the carpet was gone. They had reached the maintenance area. Jim had a feeling this level had no exterior doors. How did the kidnappers plan to escape from here? He didn't stop to think what this meant. He was following the right trail as sure as a train followed its tracks.

Jim unwound his hearing a bit more and let it drift.

"No! Stop it!" a familiar and very scared voice cried out.

Jim flew down the hallway at a dead run. Rounding the corner, he spotted another red-jacketed security guard standing in front of a closed door. The man had a radio in his hand and was carefully monitoring the activity.

"Off limits, sir. You'll have to go back up."

Muffled sounds of Blair behind that door urged Jim's fingers toward acts of murder, but he managed to nod agreeably and started to turn back around. "Sure, sorry."

Just as Sharon moved back, unwittingly giving space, Jim spun back to the guard and struck. He caught the man just under the ear with the edge of his hand in a near lethal chopping motion, followed by a downward blow from both fists together to the back of his head. Slamming to the floor, the guard's forehead hit with enough force to knock him out. Jim snatched up the radio and tossed it at a wide-eyed Sharon.

Bringing his finger to his lips, he bent his head to listen to the sounds beyond the door. He could hear the soft, impotent thuds from small fists hitting an adult's body. Blair was fighting.

"Carter? It clear?" an urgent whisper asked through the door.

"Yeah, all clear," Jim answered in as close to Carter's voice that he could manage.

"... In big trouble when Jim finds me!" Blair bellowed tearfully. "No! Stop it!"

The sound of ripping cloth sent Jim over the edge. He twisted the knob and kicked the door open to reveal a utility room complete with a janitor's cart, a floor sink and a mop in a pail. Overalls and a duffle bag sat in a far corner. Blair was in the middle of the floor, by a drain, sobbing desperately. The child only wore his jeans and was pinned down on his back by the large hand of his captor, who was dressed as a security guard.

"Jiiim!" Blair wailed.

The kidnapper tried to rise from his knees and spin around, gun in hand. He never had a chance. Teeth cracked and a jawbone snapped as Jim dropped him, venting two hundred and ten pounds of raw fury in one pile-driver punch. The guard crumpled into a still heap.

Jim reached over the unconscious man to gently lift Blair off the rough cement floor. His guide's skin was cold and finger shaped bruises stood out on his arms.

Shivering and fighting, Blair tried to climb up Jim's front with handholds of suit and bare feet digging into abdominal muscle, the young mind still telling its body to flee even after the danger was gone.

"I've got you. You're safe, Blair." Jim pulled him close, momentarily fighting the arms and legs to hold him tightly. Blair suddenly changed his course, recognizing who held him, and latched onto the broad chest of his rescuer.

Jim backed out of the room, stepping carefully over the first guard. Part of Jim registered Sharon and her calm report over the security radio. He could hear the sounds of approaching footsteps. Help was coming. Let them deal with the kidnappers. The larger part of Jim just wanted to soak in the reality of Blair's return. He stumbled several yards down the hall and slid down the wall to cuddle his kid.

"They hurt Miss Julie, Jim," Blair said brokenly between hitches and sobs, clutching Jim's suit lapels with both hands and jerking them with frustration. He fell face forward into Jim's chest and cried brokenheartedly.

"I know, I know." Jim smoothed the messy hair down and gently cupped his hand over the small skull and down the back of his neck. No lumps or depressions. "Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?" He ran his hands down the bare back, thankful beyond belief that the kid's jeans were still fastened. "Shhh, calm down and talk to me. Are you okay?"

Men arrived. Sharon was talking to them, pointing to the downed kidnappers and to where Jim and Blair sat, clustered together. One of the armed officers came and squatted at their side, a profound look of relief in his eyes. "Is he okay?"

Jim was still trying to pull Blair back so he could calm the boy down. "I'm trying to find out, I t-think so." Tugging Blair gently away to see his face, he cupped the boy's chin and cheeks with his hands. "Hey," Jim whispered. "You're safe."

"Jim," Blair answered through his sobs. "I was so scared."

"Me too, but we're back together now," Jim said. "Did that man hurt you?" When Blair nodded his head, Jim's chest tightened. "Point to the places you hurt, Hoss."

Blair pointed to his arm.

"Anywhere else?" Jim asked.

Blair shook his head, tiny chest heaving as he gulped in air. "Why'd he hurt me, Jim?"

"They can't hurt you anymore, Buddy," Jim said and tucked the boy back under his chin. He could feel every beat from the tiny heart as it pounded in fear. Jim rocked side to side in little, gentle motions, the action starting to calm them both back down. He ignored his inner warrior's demands for revenge. Blair needed him right now.

The officer went back to report to his supervisor.

Sharon approached with a warm looking afghan. "Hey, Blair." She wrapped the cover around Blair's shivering shoulders.

Blair didn't resist as Jim turned him sideways and folded him tightly into the warmth. He tried to tuck both arms into the blanket, but Blair wouldn't release Jim's suit. Giving up, Jim pulled out his handkerchief and went to work on the messy face.

"Blow," Jim whispered and Blair did. "Hey, look who's here."

Cleaner and warmer, Blair settled within his cocoon, his sobs quieted as he pressed close to Jim. He turned his face into Jim, a sideways glance at Sharon. "D-did you see?"

Sharon sat, carefully folding her legs beneath her stylish lawyer skirt and nodded. "I did. You are so brave, Blair. I bet you were scared. I would have been."

Sniffing, Blair turned his head, still pressing an ear over Jim's heart. His voice grew stronger. "I was really s-scared. I was mad, too. I-I told him... Jim was coming and I was right." Blair looked up at Jim. "You found me."

All Jim could do was nod as another wave of emotion punched. He dropped his face into Blair's curls and waited for the feeling to pass.

"I'm going to tell Sam how brave you are," Sharon continued. She was bringing the traumatized child closer to a feeling of safety and Jim adored her for it. He could feel the child's muscles relaxing as he snuggled. The tears were quickly tapering off.

"I was brave, huh?" Blair agreed. "Jim is real brave too. We're best friends."

Amused, Jim managed to fight the tightness. He tilted his head to wink at Sharon. "Did I mention that Blair and I have a little contest for your affections?"

Blair sucked in a horrified breath and blushed. "Jim!"

"Such a hard choice," Sharon answered, pretending to consider the suggestion. "I'll have to think about it."

Another person dropped down to sit cross-legged and joined the party. To Jim's complete amazement, he saw it was the judge. The guy had `grandfather' written all over his face. Jim would never be able to think of the old guy the same way again.

"Well, what do we have here? The missing young man?" the judge asked when Blair looked at him curiously. "Hi, I'm Judge Rockwell."

"I'm Blair," Blair answered quickly, before Jim could make the introductions.

"I'm so glad to meet you." Rockwell looked at Jim. "They wanted to know if Blair needed to meet the medics. I told them I'd find out."

"He says he just has bruises on his arms," Jim reported, thankful that the `powers that be' were keeping the crowd around them small. Still, Blair would need to be looked over. "Can we find a better place?"

"Very sound idea. Maybe you all would like to wait in my chambers," Rockwell suggested. "It's warm and comfortable. And I have jellybeans. But I have no idea how to eat them."

"I do!" Blair sat up, bumping Jim's chin.

They rode the elevator to the top floor. The judge led the way down back hallways that ran behind the courtrooms, places the average public and police officers never saw. Arriving at the roomy chambers, Jim, Blair and Sharon settled into the comfortable chairs. The view of Cascade was impressive. The judge's desk was oak. The carpet was thick. Noble certificates hung on the walls.

Blair had eyes for only one thing. A clear, glass fishbowl on one of the bookshelves held jellybeans. He couldn't squirm out of Jim's lap fast enough. He accepted the small paper cup the judge pulled from an antique looking dispenser.

"Uh, not too much, please, sir," Jim asked as the judge took a tiny guppy net hanging on a small brass hook above the fishbowl.

"One scoop, Detective?" He waited for Jim's permission. Blair stood at the judge's side, his crocheted blanket trailing from his shoulders like a cape. Both man and boy watched Jim's face closely.

The scoop looked about the size of one-eight of a cup. "Okay, one scoop."

Blair had a small finger pressed against the glass, patches of red blotchiness on his cheeks the only visible sign of the early crisis. "I want lots of red ones, please."

"Excellent choice, my young friend." The judge filled the net and poured the candies into Blair's cup.

"What about you?" Blair asked his benefactor with concern.

After another scoop was poured into a second cup, both judge and boy returned to the desk.

"You have to eat them one at a time. `Coz each one has its own flavor. It's not fair to mix them together in your mouth." Blair was talking to the judge, but stood expectantly before Jim.

Jim took the hint and lifted Blair back to his lap where the child continued to look at the judge across the desk and give instructions. "Even though all the flavors end up in your tummy and get mixed together later. The mouth wants `em one at a time."

The judge made a point of carefully eating a red candy. "I see your point."

Settling under Jim's chin like a man returning home after a perilous journey, Blair held his cup out for Sharon. She took a yellow candy.

"Thank you, Blair."

"No thanks, partner," Jim said when the offer was repeated to him. He arranged the blanket loosely, leaving enough room for the small hands to work the candy to the mouth. His kid was speaking in complete sentences again and putting the trauma behind him faster than anything Jim had ever seen before. His appreciation for his partner's resilience tripled.

"I can also show you how to eat jerky," Blair said with careful casualness, diving into his cup. "If you have any."

Oh, God help him. Jim wanted to start crying all over again. He squeezed Blair until the boy protested with a quiet grumble. "Blair, you're not getting any jerky," Jim murmured into the Johnson Baby shampoo-scented hair. "Give it up."

A polite knock on the door interrupted them.

"Enter," the judge said with a grandfatherly chuckle.

No way was Jim ever going to view this man the same way again.

The security sergeant stuck his head in. "May I borrow Detective Ellison for just a moment? We'll be right outside the door here."

"Chief," Jim said, stroking Blair's hair back. "Will you be okay with Sharon and the judge? Keep our chair warm?"

"Okay," Blair answered, still focusing on the cup.

Jim lifted him up to slide out from under. He saw Sharon lean close as she asked Blair for another jellybean, beginning a conversation about who liked what color the best.

Jim stepped out into the hallway.

"Thought you'd be interested to know," the sergeant began.

Jim's nose picked up a familiar scent and held up his hand. "You might want to hold off a second. Save having to repeat everything all over."

"Jim!" Simon Banks turned the corner and rushed toward them. "Tell me he's okay!"

Jim grinned. "He's fine, sir. He's inside with Judge Rockwell."

"Oh, thank the dear Lord." Simon sagged against the wall.

"My boss, Captain Simon Banks, Major Crime." And Blair's second parental figure, Jim added mentally. "We're about to be briefed, sir."

"Right," the sergeant started again. "We found hair dye and a small dress, along with a full syringe. I think the plan was to smuggle him out later today as a sleepy little girl child."

"Shit, that might have worked," Jim said as the fear returned. He wanted to throw open the door, just to check that Blair was still safely eating jellybeans.

"Why did they take him?" Simon demanded.

"The judge told us," the sergeant explained, pointing at Jim, "his testimony was likely to bring in a guilty verdict on Lakehurst. We think this kidnapping was to get Detective Ellison to willingly destroy his credibility during the re-cross."

"My God." Simon looked ill. "Jim, I had no idea..."

Shaking his head, Jim was quick to put his boss at ease. "I didn't either, Simon. I know we would have done it all differently if we had."

"What about the kidnappers? Have they said who hired them?" Simon asked.

"Well, no." The sergeant shared a smile with Jim. "They're still unconscious."

"Jim?" Simon said, lifting one eyebrow.

"Hey, they're damn lucky they're breathing," Jim answered honestly. Frankly he was rather surprised the guy that ripped Blair's shirt off still had a heartbeat.

The door opened to reveal Judge Rockwell holding a very frightened looking Blair in his arms. "We just needed to see for ourselves that you were still in the hallway."

Blair looked ready to cry again. "You've been gone a real long time, Jim."

"Come here, Hoss." Jim caught his friend under the arms and transferred him over.

The medics arrived to check Blair. The judge and Sharon waited in the hallway. Simon was allowed to stay, per Blair's request. The team of professional and friendly men made a point of talking to Blair as the child sat in Jim's lap before they touched him.

Jim was pleased with their tact.

"So, you've had an exciting day," the younger medic, about Blair's real age when he wasn't shrunk, commented. He had introduced himself as Tom. "I see you've already started the proper treatment for exciting days. Are those jellybeans?"

"Yeah," Blair answered. He had the cup back in his hands and was down to three. None of them red. "Want one?"

"No, thanks, I'm trying to cut back." Tom waved a hand at his partner, an older and plumper medic with reddish skin and an easy smile. "Now, Andy, here. He's all about jellybeans."

To prove the point, Andy accepted a black bean and popped it into his mouth. "Yummy."

Blair snorted happily. He'd been trying to get Jim to eat that one. Blair didn't seem to like black jellybeans.

When the ice was sufficiently broken, they took blood pressures and pulses. They examined the bruises. Jim could hear their heartbeats speed up with anger, but they remained outwardly calm. Blair didn't like it much when they flashed the light in his eyes, but they won him back over when they made the penlight a gift.

They checked his head, his ears, mouth and nose. Using an expensive looking electronic stethoscope, they listened to lung, heart and bowel sounds.

Tom grew very serious. "Blair, did they take off your pants? Or put their hands into your pants?"

Eyes wide, Blair shook his head carefully. "That's bad."

"Yes, it is, Hoss." Jim carded his fingers through Blair's curls as he talked. "Did anyone try it? I want you to tell us, it's not your fault if they did."

"They didn't, Jim," Blair answered.

"You're sure?"

Blair gave Jim a sideways glance. "Yeah, I'd tell you. But he didn't."

"Okay, then." Tom tickled Blair's toes. "We're all done."

Simon followed Jim into the loft. He carried the Wal-Mart bag, Blair's backpack and a grocery bag in his arms. Jim had Blair. It was half past four and Blair's power nap had already begun. Simon and Jim had parted at the court after dividing chores between them.

Blair's clothes had been ruined. His shoes and socks kept as evidence. Simon had made the run to the store to buy exact replacements. Jim had taken Blair and made a fast trip through the grocery aisles for taco fixings. They met up again in front of the apartment building.

"Originally, we were going to have Sharon and her son over tonight," Jim explained as Simon closed the door. "But she thought it would be best to postpone. Give Blair some time to get an even keel."

"Wise woman," Simon admitted, absentmindedly sliding the chain lock into place. "Nice lady for an attorney."

Blair spoke sleepily from Jim's shoulder. "We a'reed not to say shark no more."

Simon laughed.

"That's right," Jim said heading toward Blair's room. "A gentlemen's agreement."

Coffee sounded like a sweet plan, Simon headed for the cupboard where the men kept the good stuff, knowing Jim wouldn't mind. He swung back around when he heard a shrill cry, Jim instantly answering in a soothing murmur.

Simon gripped the edge of the counter. Jim's request that he watch Blair today came back to haunt him. Had he taken Blair with him, none of this would have happened. Blair's weak cries came from within the room. The noise was more exhaustion than fear. Simon could tell the difference, remembering fondly his own son at that age.

Jim reappeared with Blair on his hip. "We just remembered. Cartoon time is on. Blair's found this spongy guy very fascinating, in a totally academic way, of course."

"Of course." Simon watched as the cop dropped onto the sofa and turned Blair around. The boy could comfortably watch TV and still have full body contact with his protector. Jim thumbed the remote and the TV hummed to life.

"This is a sneaky plot to get me to fix dinner, isn't it?" Simon groused good-naturedly.

"Please take care not to burn the meat, sir," Jim said, tickling Blair until his fingers were slapped away.

"Stop it. Bob is on," Blair ordered, congestedly. He saw Jim's handkerchief approach. "Aw, come on, Jim."

"Blow."

Simon faked a scowl as he pulled the hamburger meat from the bag and hunted around for a fry pan.

"Jim! What's with me waking up in bed with you?"

Jim awoke, groggy and wondering why his arm smarted. Then he got smacked again. "Ouch, watch who you're hitting."

A very adult-sized Blair clambered out of Jim's bed dressed in jeans, flannel shirt and hiking boots. Jim sat up and yawned. He had the day off and they had slept in. "Welcome home, Sandburg."

Blair was still indignant. He stood with his arms crossed. "I'm waiting for an answer, man. This is totally freaking me out."

"Yeah, and it's also hell on my sheets." Jim tossed his bedding back to tsk-tsk at the dirt left behind on Blair's side. He rolled his eyes at the drama. "Oh, relax. You - the mini-you - had a few nightmares. You wanted to sleep up here with me. No big deal."

"Oh," Blair said, scratching his dirty hair and yawning. "Okay, then. I'm going to grab a shower."

"Works for me." Jim rubbed his arm and watched Blair walk down the stairs and disappear into the lower bedroom. He fell back, his head cushioned by his stack of pillows, and gazed out the skylight. Something had told him last night would be the end of the visit. He had prepared himself for this. He'd even taken a camera and snapped a few pictures.

So why did it have to feel like someone had just plunged a knife into his chest?

Jim forced his body out of bed. Last time Blair had returned starved. Time to get breakfast going. He donned his robe and barefooted it into the kitchen. Blair came out of his room with a towel around his waist and an armload of clean clothes. "Where's all my stuff?"

"In the closet. Mini-Blair got an eyeful of your hung god." Jim turned to check Blair for bruises and found none. "Have a nice time with Incacha?"

"The best, man." Blair's smile was brilliant, downright radiant. "Totally awesome."

"Good, breakfast in twenty." Jim reached for the frying pan.

"Jim?" Blair hitched his towel higher on his hips. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. Go on, shower."

Chopping and grating, Jim prepared enough ingredients for two `Ellison special' omelets. He just hoped by the time they were ready, he'd have a hint of an appetite.

Blair reappeared in fifteen minutes with a damp head of combed hair, wearing clean sweats and a somber expression. "Oh, man, Jim," Blair said breathlessly. "Oh, god."

Quickly setting the knife down, Jim turned in time to open his arms. "When did it hit?"

"During the hair rinsing," Blair said into Jim's terrycloth lapel, hugging Jim tight. "God, man. Feels like it happened yesterday. I was so scared. No wonder I had nightmares. That made Lash look like a Disneyland ride."

Guilt turned the imaginary knife still plunged into his chest. "I'm sorry, Blair. I'm so sorry."

Blair leaned back to gaze up at Jim in disbelief. "What are you sorry about? You totally came to the rescue."

Before Jim could point out that had he not been partnered with him, he never would have experienced the incident, Blair backed up and smacked his arm again. "Ouch! Sandburg! When did you get so damn violent?"

"Don't try and change the subject," Blair ordered. "I'm not letting you do the guilt thing over this. You did good. You were great. You saved my butt, literally, man. Was it because you were testifying? Did they think you'd stop or change your story?" Blair snorted. "Unbelievable."

"Sandburg," Jim said. "Had they managed to smuggle you out by dressing you like a girl, I probably would have done whatever they asked."

Blair's eyes narrowed in anger. "They were going to dress me like a girl? Those bastards!" Suddenly alarmed, he grabbed the counter edge. "Oh, crap! What about the charges? They're going to expect a kid to testify, man. We can't let them get off!"

"Relax." Jim led him to the table and sat him down. "The prosecutor called last night. He told me the two kidnappers woke up and immediately rolled over on their bosses. They couldn't make a deal fast enough. I'm sure we can finish up with written testimonies. Simon can take yours. You can just sign your name messily. It will be fine."

"Good," Blair said, slumping forward with his arms stretched out on the table. "Wow. I got to tell you, Jim, when the memory of what we do here hits me, it's such a trip. I can't begin to describe it."

"Pretty wild, huh?" Jim sat down across the corner and dropped his hand on Blair's. "That adventure had me scared for you. Are you sure you're okay? No fallout?"

Blair licked his lips carefully. "I'm not sure. It happened so fast. Feels like you got there almost instantly. Like it was over before it started. Oh, shit, Jim. They really nailed Miss Julie." Blair's faced twisted with misery. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine, Hoss," Jim said. "Wasn't even admitted into the hospital. Slight concussion."

Blair swallowed thickly. "Okay... okay, then. Good." He blew a shaky breath through pursed lips and turned to Jim. "Please don't feel guilty, okay? You so don't need guilt on top of all this weirdness happening right now."

"Blair, it's not easy for me," Jim admitted.

"I know," Blair said. "Would you try, though? Will you talk to me? Or maybe Simon? I don't see how you could have done anything different."

Jim didn't answer, instead his gave fell on the table. He compared both their hands. They were the same size now. Last night those hands had been so small, so fragile, yet strong and filled with promise. And one mini-hand could lie sideways across his palm and have room to spare.

"Jim? Please?" Blair asked patiently, not pushing. Not demanding.

"Sandburg," Jim looked up at Blair's face. "I can't let you be hurt and not accept some of the guilt. But... hell, I'll try to keep it within reason."

"You know," Blair said. A slow smile formed. "I could talk to Miss Sharon. She probably has a few insights." He waggled his eyebrows.

Jim decided the pup needed some of his own medicine and he smacked Blair's arm. "Don't make me ground you."

"Ow, okay, that does hurt," Blair commented, then brightened. "I deserve some jerky."

Jim rose to fix breakfast. He rubbed his chest, happily noticing the knife had gone away. "What is it about you and that jerky? You're like a glutton."

"Don't know, man," Blair answered, his bounce back. "It just tastes good when you're only three feet high."

Jim smelled cigar and heard familiar footsteps. "Want to have some fun with Simon? Go hide in your room."

"Oh!" Blair bolted from the table with glee. "This is going to be a riot."

Definitely seeing the kid within the man, Jim shook his head and opened the door, careful to make his expression seem tired and serious. "Morning, Sir."

"How is he?"

"Better, woke up about half an hour ago. Had some pretty bad nightmares."

Simon dragged a palm down his face. "Damn."

"I thought you could talk to him." Jim was having a damn hard time keeping up the act. It was almost too cruel. He closed the door.

"Sure, where is he? In his room?" Simon headed for the French doors. "Hey, Blair? It's Captain Simon."

Raising his hand to knock, he wasn't prepared when the doors flew open and adult Blair charged out to grab him in a bear hug. "Simon!"

"What! Oh, hell!" Simon bellowed trying to pry the strong arms off. "Let go of me, you little shit! Stop laughing, Ellison! You are so fired!"

Blair gazed up at Simon with loving eyes. "Don't you w'ove me anymore?"

Jim had to drop into the chair, unable to remain standing as he rocked with laughter, his control totally depleted, when Simon growled and picked Blair up in his own bear hug and they disappeared into the small room.

"Jim! Jim, save me!" Blair screamed between peals of laugher. "No! Simon, that tickles - Jim! Get in here, man. I'm serious!"

Holding his sides, Jim couldn't summon up enough strength to stand, let alone go to his guide's aid.

"That should do it." Jim folded the thick papers carefully. One set would stay in the loft. Another in the safety deposit box. A third one was already in an envelope for Simon Banks.

Blair chewed on his lower lip in thought. They sat together, cross corner at the kitchen table. It had been a week since he'd returned from the second lesson. "Feels weird, man."

"I know." Jim stood. He needed a beer. "And illegal. But I don't see any other way. Even Simon agrees." He returned with two bottles and set one down before his roommate.

Blair unfolded the top paper and was reading it. "Kelso can produce some pretty decently faked adoption papers."

"We're lucky he trusts us enough not to ask questions." Jim took a long pull and set the bottle down. Briefly glancing at his friend, he went back to studying his beer label. "You okay with this?"

Blair frowned. "What do you mean?"

Shrugging, Jim tried to express his fear. "I mean, I just assumed that my name should be on that paper. Is that what you want? Or would you rather find-"

"Don't you want to be on it?" Blair asked.

"Of course I do," Jim answered, irritated Blair would think differently.

Blair started to chuckle. "We're doing it again."

"What?"

Shaking his head, Blair put the papers down and twisted the cap off his own beer. "Jim, I can't think of anyone, other than Simon, that I'd even consider being my dad."

"I'm not your dad, Chief. These papers say I have shared custody of mini-Blair when he's with me. It's only to keep the government from taking you away, that's all."

Blair chugged his beer and smacked his lips appreciatively for a few seconds. "You remember the other day? When I told you I was taking Molly to that new place by the old wharf? What did you say?"

"Don't start on me." Jim shook a stern finger at his friend. "That place is a dive and gets rousted by vice every other weekend. Molly's too nice a girl for you to take there. I don't care what stupid paper she's working on."

Blair just snorted, staring cross eyed at the finger inches from his nose. "Yes, Dad."

Jim snatched his hand back.

Blair snickered. "I'm just trying to tell you, I trust you. I trust you to take care of mini-me and so does Incacha. He tells me every time I see him."

"Good." Jim tilted the bottle back and let the beer slid down his throat.

Blair looked around the loft. "Each time I come back, the loft is more and more my home, you know? I've never had that kind of feeling before."

"It's called putting down roots," Jim told him. "I'm glad you're getting a taste of that."

"But this is your home," Blair said. Now he studied his beer bottle in apparent fascination. "You sure you want this to go on?"

"Let's make an agreement, Sandburg," Jim answered with a warm smile. "A gentlemen's a'reement, okay? Best friends can share roots."

Blair's smile was genuine. "The very best of friends, man."

end

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