"Really, he's a good guy... for a cop." Blair took a deep breath. The fog was thick, rising up from the ground. Blair kicked it as he walked along the sidewalk. He had to be careful not to see the minuscule droplets of moisture, floating and swirling, or he would fall. Keeping his head down, hands jammed into a warm, down-filled coat that Jim had tossed at him yesterday, he followed the sidewalk. Blair wasn't buying the bit about the coat being ready for Goodwill. It had years of life left.

Still, it had not kept him from accepting it.

"Thing is, no matter what, I'd probably like him. How weird is that?" He lifted his face and imagined the stars above, hidden behind the white shroud. "It's like I've known him forever. I don't get it."

Somewhere a foghorn sounded. He could smell the salt from the bay and hear the soothing slap of the waves against the hulls of the boats at anchor. Blair leaned against the railing and let his eyesight relax into the fog. It was good to let it go. His vision, like his hearing, seemed to have the hardest time with this sentinel shit.

How weird that he had a name for this, before he had just used words like `crazy' and `stark raving mad.' Now he could say, `I'm a sentinel.' Well, he could except Jim didn't want him to tell anyone just yet. Jim said it would be dangerous if the world knew folks like him were still around.

Jim.

Blair shook his head. Wet strands of hair brushed his jaw line.

The guy was too much. All rules and orders, bossing him around, insisting on his way, knowing what he was going through, having the answers - shit, saving his life.

"I'm going to do it. I know this totally freaks you out. I'm sorry. But I gotta follow my own path and it's with Jim." Blair dropped his chin to rest upon his cupped hands, his elbows on the railing as he closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Naomi."

"SANDBURG!"

Blair stood, looking back toward the block that held his new home. He couldn't answer yet, Jim was too far away and his own voice wouldn't carry. The neighborhood must be enjoying Jim's bellows. Blair jogged back.

Jim stood on the corner, fists jammed in his hips, lips pressed together and his hair damp from showering.

Blair hurried forward, amazed that he could hear the older man's heart beating out a fast tempo. It occurred to him he should have left a note. "Hey, what's up, Jim?"

The older man relaxed and dropped his arms. "Didn't expect to find the loft empty. You okay?"

"Yeah, fine. Just thinking." They started walking back. "I want to try that ride along thing."

"Good." Jim clapped him on the shoulder, then moved his hand to cup the back of his neck and squeeze. "That's real good, Chief."

"Oh, my god, Jim," Blair whispered as he stared with dismay at the stack of forms in his hands. "You have got to be sh-"

Jim grabbed the curly-haired youth, one hand strategically over his mouth and the other cupping the back of his head. He handled Blair out of the room. "Thanks Vera, we'll get this back to you a soon as we can. This afternoon okay?"

"Sure, Jim," the woman behind the personnel counter answered. She was laughing under her breath. "Nice to meet you, Blair."

In the near empty hall of Cascade police headquarters, Jim released his sentinel.

"I'm not filling this out, man." Blair thrust the forms at Jim. "Forget it. It's a total invasion of my privacy. The `man' can just get his rocks off snooping on someone else!"

"Blair."

"Jim."

"Enough!" Jim snapped, taking the sheets of paper and hooking a hand around Blair's arm. Two uniforms were smirking at them. Blair vibrated with anger. "Come on."

It was too early for lunch. Jim found an empty interview room and slid the sign on the outside wall to read `occupied' before ushering Blair inside. Chin jutted out, Blair flung himself into a straight back chair, arms crossed like a shield over his chest, reminding Jim once again how young he was. Jim forced his jaw to relax. He needed to handle this situation, not as a cop, but as scholar to young scholar.

"Where's the one-way mirror?" Blair snarled.

Jim eased into the chair next to his new friend. "It's not that type of interview room, Chief."

Blair snorted. Back rigid, nostrils flaring, he pounded the table. "Jim, I'm not gonna spill out my life to these pigs."

"Whoa, whoa... hold on a minute." Jim slumped sideways to lean on the table as he talked. He draped a limp arm over the back of the chair, the other propped on the table while scratching his head as if confused. He soothed out his tone and spoke with gentle rhythms. "There's no reason we can look at this situation calmly, right? Consider this for a minute. What is your goal? What would you be sharing with the police that you haven't already had to write down for the university? Or for that matter, your driver's license application?"

Blair's back bowed just a little. His frown started to unwind a tad. "That's not the point, Jim."

"The thing is: this place holds some seriously confidential information. You have to agree that we have a responsibility to keep that information secure, right? People, innocent people, are relying on us to guard whatever they've told us. It's just common sense. If you're going to hang with cops, you have to be checked out."

Blair sat silently, gnawing on his lip, avoiding Jim's gaze.

Jim tried again. "How about if I go over the forms with you? We're not going to lie or anything, but if a particular question seems offensive, we'll work on it together."

More gnawing. More avoiding.

"Blair?" Jim wondered if there was more here than met the eye. "Do you still want this ride along?"

"Yeah... it's just..." Blair rubbed his forehead as if weary. "Okay, man. You win. Let me work on this. I'll come find you if I need help or something."

Jim scooped up his jacket and shrugged it on. "Welcome to the exciting world of police work, Sandburg. Let's go find us a hotdog stand."

"I thought you had to talk to a witness?" Blair asked as he followed Jim out into the hallway.

"We are. The guy that runs the stand might have ID'd our perp."

Cascade had several bridges, large architectural achievements sufficient enough to land them a few footnotes in building textbooks. Jim headed for the Sixteenth Avenue Bridge out of habit. He liked the stout art deco-style beams and the view it offered of the Cascade skyline. Traffic was light. They had missed lunch by an hour. A narrow strip of park lay tucked against the shoreline. Joggers and dog owners used the trails even in the winter. The hot dog stand did its business at the north end. Jim found a parking place within sight of the cart with its large red and white umbrella. The rain had held off the last three hours, but grey skies threatened. The hotdog stand was not crowded with customers.

Jim turned off the engine but made no effort to get out. "We can grab a bite while we're here."

Blair wrinkled his nose. "You want to eat at Mister Tube Steak? Why don't you just shoot the lard directly into your heart, man?"

Jim laughed. "You sure you're only nineteen?" That comment produced a shy smile. "So... I noticed you had a professor listed as your next of kin in case of emergency. Where are your folks?"

Rising and dropping one shoulder, Blair unsnapped his seatbelt. "Never met my dad. My mom's... away right now."

"No one else?"

Hand on the door handle, Jim caught the reply as Blair opened the door and slid out. "Don't need anyone."

The kid stood next to the truck bumper. Jim watched him through the windshield. His years with Jack had taught him not to mutter any comment to himself unless he wanted his sentinel to hear him. `Sure you don't, kid,' Jim thought, `tell me another one.'

Blair eyed the sauerkraut and shook his head, preferring to dump a few spoonfuls of diced pickles on his lunch. These weren't the typical hotdogs that Naomi used to rant and rave over. These were bigger and smelled good, like a Brauts. Jim had a twenty out and paid before Blair could reach for his wallet. The owner made change and Jim waved it off.

The generous action softened the guy's initial reaction upon learning Jim was a cop. He began to talk. "Yeah, I saw them. They were standing on the trail there." The old man pointed down the grassy slope. "The taller guy was mad about something, kept waving his arms and yelling. The short, fat guy didn't say much at all."

"Tell me about the tall guy. What did he look like?" Jim asked as he wiped a bit of mustard from his chin with a paper napkin.

"About your height. He had a real weird face, like that actor you used to see on that cop show? Down in Florida? All marked with pits."

Blair nodded. Noticing Jim's puzzled look, he said, "Poxed face."

"Yeah, right. Like that," the man concurred.

"Anything else?" Jim asked.

"Let's see..."

The first bite burned Blair's tongue. He backed the hotdog out of his mouth and waited for the sensation to fade. Jim was still focused on his interview. Blair searched inside in head for the dial. He could do this. Yeah, okay, the dial setting was off. The temperature was probably okay. Blair closed his eyes. Turn the dial.

It was like trying to perform a delicate maneuver while wearing hockey gloves, but the knobs started to turn. He could see the numbers rotate down.

No, crap. Too many knobs were turning.

A wave of rotted cabbage hit his nose. "Auugh!" Blair reared back. His stomach churned. Jim was calling his name, his tinny voice coming from the bottom of a deep hole. The hotdog fell to the grass as Blair pawed his nose and waved a hand before his face. His nostrils burned from the stench. Backpedaling, his heel caught in the lawn and he fell hard on his hip, his elbow hitting a pointy rock. To his shame, the new pain filled eyes with hot tears.

A hand on his shoulder kept him from rolling away. "Sandburg, listen to me." Jim's voice was closer. Blair could feel his body heat as the man knelt at his side, leaning over him. "Listen to my voice. Focus on sound right now."

"J-jim," Blair blurted out, still scrubbing his nose. He could pick up the odor of sauerkraut from Jim's empty hand. It pushed him over the edge and Blair rolled free of Jim's hold and threw up.

"Damn it," Jim muttered as he backed away.

Blair wanted to find a hole and crawl in.

Then Jim was back, this time smelling of alcohol wipes. A strong arm snaked under Blair's shoulders and he was lifted away from the small mess he'd dumped on the grass. A clean cloth, Jim's handkerchief, wiped his mouth. The smell of rotted cabbage had receded.

Blair's world started to realign. Jim's blurry face returned to a sharp focus. There was no sign of disgust, only worry. "You okay, Chief?"

The wet lawn has soaked the butt of his jeans. His elbow hurt. His windpipe felt filed with acid and he was embarrassed as hell. No, he wasn't okay. Jim didn't wait for an answer as he lifted Blair to his feet like he weighed nothing. Blair's head spun and he swayed.

"Let's get you back to the truck." Jim left an arm around his shoulders.

It was half past five before they got back to the loft.

Jim watched as Blair plodded wearily into his room, the curtains swaying as he past through like a silent ghost.

Jim ran a hand over his short hair in frustration. It had been a shitty first day for the kid. Jim felt like kicking himself. Had he forgotten what it had been like for Jack in those early days? What had he been thinking to put sauerkraut on his hotdog? Hell, Ellison, he thought, tomorrow let's take the kid to a sewage plant and hold his head under.

After the interview, Blair had been eerily quiet the rest of the afternoon. It had been obvious to Jim he was still embarrassed over the park disaster. The teenager's pinched face during the drive home spoke of residual pain. Jim grabbed a bottled water and found some buffered aspirin. Knocking on the door frame first, Jim pulled back a curtain. "How about some - shit, kid! Why didn't you tell me?"

Blair had his shirt off and stood peering awkwardly at the back of his right arm. Dried blood caked his elbow and forearm. "I... didn't realize..."

"Come on out here. Let's clean you up."

"I'm fine, Jim." Blair shrugged off the offer. "It's a scratch."

"Sandburg, you can't even see it." Jim thumbed toward the kitchen. "Let me look."

He got Blair to set on the edge of the kitchen table. The sight of the kid's ribs reminded Jim of Blair's misery in dealing with his senses. Jack had done the same thing, dropping pounds because the food affected his senses. Thankfully, aside from the episode in the park today, Blair had been eating while living in the loft.

Blair shivered and then blushed.

"Here." Jim crossed over to the sofa and whipped the afghan off the back. "Just leave me access to that elbow."

Blair wrapped up while Jim prepared a shallow bowl of warm water mixed with antiseptic solution. During his younger days, Jim had held the job of field medic while on digs or anthropological field trips. The skill had come in handy while working as Jack's partner.

"All right then," Jim said, setting the bowl and his supplies on the table. He sat in a chair and gently took Blair's elbow in hand. "Let's see what we've got."

The cut was ragged and swollen. Lint and shirt fibers stuck to the wound. Jim began bathing the sight with a wet cloth. Blair hissed.

"Sorry."

"It's fine," Blair said tightly.

"You know, it's okay to admit when something hurts," Jim said. "I'm not going to call you a spineless goober or anything."

The comment had been meant as a joke, but the reaction proved it was a flop. Blair seemed to fold in, both physically and emotionally. Jim finished cleaning and bandaging the arm in silence. He wondered when he would learn to keep his mouth shut.

"Why are you whispering, Jim?" Simon asked.

"Blair's sleeping," Jim said, carrying the cordless phone across the loft floor. "I don't want to wake him."

There was a definite advantage to not having doors to Blair's room. Jim listened to the even tempo of breathing coming from within. He pulled back one panel of fabric. By the light of the kitchen he could see Blair sleeping, his head at the edge of his pillow, one lax hand spilling off the futon. A grunt and sound of Blair tossing about on the futon caused Jim to hurry toward the front door. It was time to take the conversation to the hall, the roof or maybe Canada. "What's up?"

"Just checking on the kid," Simon told him. "He feeling any better?"

Jim paced the hallway outside the loft. "Some. Today was defiantly a set back, sir."

"How so?"

"He's humiliated for getting sick in the park. I blame myself. I need to give him more time to adjust to his senses."

Mr. Rushing from down the hall poked his bald head into the corridor. He waved a pudgy hand at Jim and disappeared back into his apartment. Sheets of rain bathed the skylight overhead. The dampness worked its way through the bricks into the building.

"I also wanted to let you know the background check on your new roommate came back clean," Simon added. "He's clean. No wants. No warrants. Has a few juvenile charges that are closed and sealed. Disturbing the peace and disorderly conduct out near Hoodsport."

Jim nodded, not surprised to hear it. "Let me guess, some `save the forest' rally not appreciated by local law enforcement?"

"Got it in one," Simon said with a chuckle. "One more bit of good news. The James trial is continued. The DA called me tonight to let you know you don't have to testify in the morning."

Things were looking up. "Great, I can sleep an extra hour then," Jim said with a heartfelt smile. "I'll be in at the regular time then."

"See you tomorrow, Jim."

He had just relocked the front door when a piercing scream, followed closely by a heavy thud and a crash blasted apart the silence. Before Jim could reach Blair's room, the sentinel came flying through the curtains. Jim caught him without thinking, mostly to keep from being bowled over.

"Sandburg! What's the matter?"

"Big! Big cat!" Blair babbled. "OHMYGOD, JIM! Freaking b-big cat in there. SHIT!" He towed Jim across the hardwood floor in his desperation to put as much space between himself and his new bedroom.

Jim required half a second to realize what he was hearing. He smiled down at the young man in his grasp. "I guess it's time to explain the part about spirit animals."

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