"We have a dirty-clothes hamper for a reason, Sandburg."

Sitting on his futon in his room, Blair listened, letting his gaze rest on his Grateful Dead poster. He snickered. It was cool when Jim talked to him in a regular voice from other parts of the loft. He treated Blair so normally, as if everyone's roommate could hear a spider walk across the ceiling.

"So here's the deal: stop leaving your wet towels on the floor and I won't make you wash your clothes on a rock by the Cascade River."

Jim didn't really sound mad, but it was best to check. Tilting his head, Blair cranked his hearing high. Heart beating within acceptable range, breathing steady. Cool.

"Sorry, man!" Blair hollered loudly enough for Jim to hear.

They'd been roommates for weeks now and for the first time since his senses had turned his life upside down, he could relax. The small room under the stairs was perfect; private and roomy but not so large that he felt lost. If pressed to find any negativity with the situation, Blair would have to say it was Jim's copious rules. They were confusing and over half involved issues Blair hadn't even considered. It boggled the brain.

It was Friday morning. Blair felt good with the world. Ready to jump back into the college life and embrace a future he'd thought he'd lost for good. Thanks to Jim, he was back on track.

"So what are you doing in here?" Jim stood in the doorway.

"Checking my classes for the upcoming quarter." Blair waved a hand at the paperwork covering the futon. "I'll have plenty of time to do this ride-along thing during the week."

Jim nodded. "We'll continue to work on your senses whenever it's just the two of us." He looked around the room. "You get everything you need?"

Blair lovingly looked over his laptop and throw pillows. The old couple in charge of the dorm had kept his stuff safe for him while he'd been living on the streets, so to speak. Not his finest hour. "It's all here. Jim, I still say I should pay rent, man."

Straightening from his lazy lean against the door frame, Jim shrugged. "Whatever you want to do is fine with me, Chief. How about some breakfast?"

Unfolding his legs, Blair followed Jim into the kitchen. "I'll make you an algae shake. It'll really--"

"Curl my hair." Jim gave an exaggerated shudder of disgust. "No thank you. I watched you make one the other day. I'd rather slurp swamp water." He opened his old-fashioned refrigerator. "Omelet?"

"At your age you shouldn't be having more than two eggs a week."

"Hey, I'm as healthy as an ox."

Blair tried to squeeze in between the cop and his food. "I bought some Egg Beaters. I'll make you a mushroom and olive omelet."

Jim checked his reach. "I want the real deal, Sandburg. I need protein to keep up with you."

"It's made from real eggs."

"No yoke."

Blair ducked under his arm and snagged the small carton. He backed away and raised it like a trophy. "No yoke, man, I'm serious."

Jim groaned, reluctantly giving in. He opened the vegetable bin and set a small brown bag of mushrooms on the counter. "Fine, make the pretend omelet, but I'm putting real butter on my toast - with jelly."

Reaching for the mixing bowl, Blair worked as he absentmindedly took note of the ancient wheeze and scraping sound of the building's elevator. The car stopped on their floor. Footsteps neared the door. He set down his whisk, staring at the door, not sure why he was suddenly tense. "Someone's coming."

"Probably Simon." Jim poured a cup of coffee.

"No." Blair tilted his head. "There's more than one. Gun oil."

And suddenly Jim was all cop, reaching for the gun drawer. With a flex of his fingers, he had the special code entered and the weapon in hand. Snapping the fingers of his left hand, he signaled for Blair to get behind him.

The polite knock that followed seemed anticlimactic.

The view of the door blocked by broad shoulders, Blair closed his eyes and focused. "Expensive leather, wet, cigarettes, peppermint."

"How many?" Jim whispered.

Blair started to count when he realized he was hearing them from more than one direction. "Jim!" He grabbed a handful of Jim's shirt and twisted.

With a crash, the back door broke in, swinging hard and slammed against the wall.

Outgunned and out of options, Jim surrendered his automatic. Four thugs in a semi circle trapped them against the kitchen counter. Their leader, a short guy with a bad haircut and in need of a shave, ordered two of his men to search the loft. They reported no one else in the apartment.

"We're all going for a ride," the leader said, showing yellow-stained teeth.

"Leave him," Jim said, jerking a thumb at Blair and matching the man's glare with his own.

"No."

"Whatever this is about, I'm a cop. He's not. Leave him here. Tie him up if you need to." It was a hopeless gamble. These guys were professional and bold. They knew Blair could identify them, but he tried anyway. "He's just a kid."

The revolver pointed at his face was one of those big stainless mothers with an eight-inch barrel and its own zip code. The leader pulled back the hammer. "I said no."

Tensing, Blair squeezed Jim's arm. "Don't."

Jim shut up.

They were escorted through the ruined doorjamb, down the backstairs and into the deserted alley. Rain fell from a battleship-gray colored sky. A white Lincoln Towncar and a blue Mercedes SUV waited for them.

Blair yelped, head snapping back, as a goon jerked him by his hair toward the Lincoln.

Jim turned back. "No!"

A beefy arm circled Jim's throat. The leader pushed the gun into his stomach. "Shut up and get in the car." Jim was shoved forward. With peripheral vision, he saw Blair pushed into the back seat of the Towncar, then Jim's world went dark as a black hood was dropped over his head.

No one spoke during the drive. Jim judged the time to be thirty minutes. He lost track of the turns they took. Finally, the car stopped and they pulled him out of the SUV, leaving his hood in place.

"Walk."

Pushed forward, Jim baulked, reaching ahead blindly. "Where is he?"

The leader actually sighed in irritation, but gave in.

"Jim?" Blair whispered, stumbling into Jim. "I can't see."

"I got you," Jim answered, taking Blair's arm firmly. He wasn't getting pulled away again.

"Now can we please get this over with?" the leader said with mock politeness.

Pushed and poked, they walked until they were told to stand still. Snatching off his hood without warning, Jim blinked into overly bright lights surrounding them on three sides. He heard Blair gasp and felt the kid shield his face in Jim's arm.

"What do you know about the newcomer?" an electronically altered voice ordered over a loud speaker.

"I'm Detective James Ellison with the Casc--"

"We know who you are. Answer the question," came another altered voice.

Jim could tell more men had joined them, all looking like Darwin's missing links. With the lights blinding him, Jim could only guess as to the size of the room. The cool air and echoes made him think warehouse. A light smell of exhaust and the fact that they had not walked over any doorsills or stairs supported the theory.

"I can give you the number to our public information department," Jim deadpanned.

Without warning, a fist sank into Jim's gut. He doubled over. Blair was jerked from his side before he could recover. Two thugs, one on each side, grabbed Jim's arms. A third pressed a gun to the back of his head. Jim could only watch as Blair's arms were pulled behind his back. Grinning, a blond man with spiky hair hauled back and slapped Blair in the face with enough force to spin both prisoner and captor.

"Do you really want us to repeat ourselves?"

Jim forced himself to look back toward the voices, into the blinding lights. He struggled to stay calm. "He's not a cop. Leave him alone."

"You're investigating a new dealer in Cascade. He murdered Edward Renault last week," a third voice rasped.

Listening to Blair's ragged breaths, Jim licked his lips and pondered his position. He deemed it safe to answer. "We've got a vague description."

It wasn't clear whether they had some signal arranged or if the thugs had permission to act at will. The second slap was harder, echoing in the room. Blair took it silently and kicked out at his attacker.

"Touch him again, I'll kill you," Jim warned them, needing all his strength to keep his voice steady.

"His name is Farris Carter," the first voice informed dryly. "Canadian. We want him stopped."

"Okay," Jim answered, furious. "You've done your civic duty. Are we done here?"

"We want Carter dead, or in prison," the third voice answered smugly. "As long as he's out of operation, we don't care which choice you make."

Blair was dragged out of the floodlight's reach.

"What are you doing?" Jim demanded, unable to yank his arms free. He could hear Blair's struggles.

"We'll be watching, Detective."

"If you want my cooperation, let him go!" He smelled the chloroform seconds before the cloth flattened his nose. The last sound Jim heard was Blair's outraged scream.

The floor could use a wet mop.

Grit digging into his cheek, Jim sluggishly blinked back to awareness. His beetle-eye view of his loft baffled him. He rolled onto his back, unable to stand the pressure on his shoulder a second longer.

Much better.

How odd to wake up on the floor. His party days were gone. What had happened that he would ignore a perfectly good bed upstairs, expensive mattress and everything?

The memory of their kidnapping hit, bringing icy fear. Jim bolted upright. The room swayed. "Blair!"

Oh, god, they kept him!

Staggering to his feet, banishing the last chemical trace of chloroform from his brain, Jim lurched to the small bedroom, almost ripping down the curtain on entering.

Face down and drooling onto his pillow, Blair sprawled over the futon, one foot dragging on the floor. Filled with profound relief, Jim collapsed on the edge of the futon.

"Sandburg, wake up." He pressed fingers to a strong pulse, taking in the sight of the youth. Blair's face was still red from the slaps. Otherwise he looked fine. Jim shook a shoulder. "Come on, Chief. Wake up."

Groaning, Blair pushed Jim's hand away.

"Kid." Jim caught the hand and squeezed. "Blair."

Deep blue, unfocused eyes opened. Confusion was replaced by panic as hastily Blair covered his mouth.

Thinking fast, Jim snatched up a lined plastic trash can next to the bed. With less than a second to spare, Jim scooped Blair up by his shoulders and turned him toward the edge. Vile smelling vomit spewed. Blair would have toppled head-first into the container had Jim not steadied him.

The heaves slowed, but traveled relentlessly through the youth. Jim had his hands full, juggling Blair and trash can. Finally, only dry heaves were left and Blair panted with exhaustion, one hand digging into Jim's knee, the other palm flat on the floor. Moving slowly, so as not to trigger another bout, Jim eased him back onto the mattress.

"Easy."

Blair wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand and made a face. "Gaaawd..."

Jim looked into the trash can, relieved to see an absence of blood. "You're having a reaction to the chloroform. Stay put," he ordered, patting Blair's shoulder. There was no way Blair would be able to stomach the smell in his room. He pulled out the trash liner and stood.

Moving slowly, still recovering himself, Jim left the trash bag in the hallway by the front door. Next, he filled a glass of water and soaked a clean dish towel, then returned to the small bedroom. Blair hadn't moved. Jim wiped his mouth, folded the cloth and cooled down the sweaty neck and face, noting the greenish tinted complexion.

His eyes squeezed shut, Blair groaned and tried to curl into a fetal position, hugging his stomach. "Make it stop," he whispered weakly.

"Still sick to your stomach?" Jim asked.

Blair nodded, his face scrunched in misery.

"Do you hurt anywhere else?"

Blair answered with a faint shake of his head. He looked up at Jim, suddenly more alert. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." Jim reached for the water glass. "Here, sit up. Try some water."

Blair rolled over onto one elbow. Water dribbled down his chin as he swished and spat into the trash can. Then he took a careful sip and swallowed. The effort exhausted him and he let Jim take back the glass. With a groan, Blair flopped back on his pillow.

"I'll be right back. Don't sneak out on me, okay?" Jim patted his shoulder, satisfied Blair could manage a few minutes on his own.

Ducking into the bathroom, Jim scooped up a second trash can by the sink, thankful he used liners. He picked up the cordless phone and hit speed dial on the way back to Blair. Sitting on the futon again, Jim checked Blair's temperature by cupping his forehead. Blair didn't move or open his eyes at the contact.

Simon answered on the third ring. "Simon, I need a patrol car and a crime scene unit."

"Jim? Where are you?" Simon demanded instantly.

"At the loft," Jim answered. The clock on the desk showed it was nearly noon. They'd lost half the day. "Blair and I were kidnapped by four armed men early this morning."

"Is the kid okay?"

"He's sick. They chloroformed us. He's not reacting well."

"Shit," Simon said angrily. "Do you need an ambulance?"

Jim thought about it. "I... I don't know."

"Jim, look at him. Is he okay? Or is this a Sentinel thing?" Simon snapped.

It worked. Jim shook off the doubt. "He's fine. Breathing without difficulty. Swallowing. Talking in complete sentences... must be the drug messing up his senses, sir. This never happened with Jack. I'll have to do some research."

"I'm on my way."

Simon arrived with a team of technicians and took charge. Jim was more than happy to let him. He sat with Blair at the kitchen table and watched as the loft was forensically searched. Once more his loft was invaded by strangers as hair samples were catalogued, fingerprints lifted and the floor vacuumed. Through it all, Blair sipped room temperature Sprite and nibbled low salt crackers.

Finally, the technicians left. Simon took their statements next, using a miniature cassette player. When they were finished, he carefully wrote the date and the case number on the miniature tape. "Okay, before either of you forget their faces, let's go down to the station and look through the mug books," Simon ordered.

"I'm never going to forget their faces, man," Blair promised darkly.

Jim nodded. "Something tells me those guys aren't going to be in our books. I've got a better than average memory and I've never seen them before. Besides, sir, it's the guys behind the lights I want, not their lackeys."

Simon paced. "I can't believe they just waltz in and snatch my own personnel from their homes." The unlit cigar bobbed up and down as he chewed.

"Who were they?" Blair asked.

Jim refilled his coffee cup. "I'd guess Cascade's drug cartel."

"We could have a drug war in our near future." Simon glumly dropped into the third kitchen chair.

"Could you see them, Blair?" Jim asked the younger man. "We have some idea who they might be, but some confirmation would be useful."

Blair shook his head. "Lights were too bright to see their faces."

"I wonder if there's a way you could compensate for that," Jim said as he rubbed his chin.

Blair pursed his lips. "Toward the end, I did see a little of the room. They were sitting behind a curtain-like thing."

"What else?"

"Not much," Blair answered, shrugging self-consciously. His eyes glinted dangerously for a second. "Those assholes were drugging you. I was trying to get free, but they were too..." Blair took an angry breath. He straightened. "You gotta take me to your gym, man. I need to get stronger if I'm going to ride with you."

Casting a quick glance at Simon to make sure he wasn't going to laugh, for which Jim was thankful, Jim turned his chair to face his roommate. "That's not the deal. I'm the guide. My job is to watch your back so you can do your thing. Understand?"

But Blair was adamant. "I'll tear off their heads if they ever-"

Jim squeezed his forearm. "Hey, if you want to work with the weights, you got it. I can even get us some time in a boxing ring for a few tips from a buddy of mine. But, right now we need to stay on track."

Then Blair gave him That look. The one Jack did whenever he took inventory of Jim's health. When had that happened? The sentinel-like action and the memory of his first sentinel brought fresh pain to an old, unhealed wound, left behind by Jack's absence. Jim pushed it aside.

"What else did you see?" Jim pressed.

"We were in a warehouse," Blair reported dutifully. "I was trying to, uh, get away. They were holding that cloth over your..." He closed his eyes, his face pinched as he took a quick breath before continuing. "Anyway, there was a window. The glass was dirty but I could see a train, well, at least I saw the box cars."

"Any identifying marks?" Simon asked.

Blair shook his head.

"Simon, I have an idea." Jim stood up. "We'll look at those mug shots later, okay?"

Simon took the hint. "Okay, I'll get to work on what we do know. Find out where our buddies have been today. I'm sure they'll have an air-tight alibi all prepared." He picked up his coat and draped it over an arm. "Get that door fixed and give me the bill. I'll see what I can do."

After he was gone, Jim turned off the loft lights. The overcast sky darkened the room. Going to the CD player, he selected an acoustic album that Jack had always enjoyed.

God... he missed Jack.

"Why don't you take a shower? Change into something loose fitting." Jim got out his box of candles from below the sink.

"W-what are you going to do?" Blair hadn't moved from the table, watching Jim with wide eyes.

Quickly setting down the candles, Jim pulled the chair out from the table and sat. "It's just a meditation technique. It'll help you focus on your memory. The details are here." He tapped the crown of curly hair. "We just need to access it."

Blair visibly relaxed. "Oh."

Jim squeezed his shoulder, making sure he had Blair's full attention. "Listen to me, Sandburg. I'll never hurt you."

The kid's cheeks flushed pink.

Jim squeezed again. "Don't worry about it. Tells me you've got a good head on your shoulders. Look, if I ever do something that makes you uneasy, you tell me. Flat out. Don't hold back."

A tentative smile appeared. "Okay."

It was unbelievable.

Jim took a moment to gawk at the relaxed young man sitting on his sofa. Blair had slipped under with the ease of a gymnast training for the Olympics. His breathing was steady. Face muscles completely at ease and holding an innocence that should be illegal.

"Look out the window, Blair. Remember, no one can hurt us. We're safe in our home. What do you see?"

"Box cars."

"Describe them to me."

Blair's forehead wrinkled. "Dark red. Dirty. The doors are closed. "Burlington Northern' on the side."

"Any numbers?"

"Donno."

"Zoom in. You can do it."

Blair was really straining now, he grunted a little. "There's too much paint."

"Paint?"

"Graffiti, man. The whole side is covered with it." He squirmed unhappily.

"Relax, partner. Everything's good. Describe the graffiti."

And with just an order from Jim, Blair settled down again. "Air brush. Nice. Tropical island thing... palm trees and dolphins playing." Blair jerked. "No! Let him go!"

Jim snapped his fingers 3 times in rapid succession. "Wake up, Blair. You're here. You're safe now. Wake up." Rising half off the sofa, Blair looked ready for a fight. Jim caught his shoulders. "Easy, big guy."

"They were-" Blair blurted out in a rush.

"Safe!" Jim interjected. "It's over. We're both safe now."

The truth took hold. Once more Jim was in awe of the kid's ability to fall into and out of a trance. "You've done this before, haven't you?" He took the mug of tea he'd made a point of brewing before they had started and wrapped Blair's hands around it.

"Yeah... a few... times." Blair slurped the tea, eyes downcast. "Didn't help though, did it?"

"Don't be so sure," Jim replied, standing with a quick pat on Blair's knee. "I need to make a few phone calls. Relax a second."

Knowing the value of networking, Jim had snitches. Some were Cascade's less than stellar citizens; others were normal people with jobs in key positions.

Over the years Jim found carrying personal cards with his cell number, along with the formal cards from the department, worked to cultivate his network. He also maintained a log of phone numbers, carefully cross referenced by cases as well as the contact's line of work and other pertinent information.

Several years ago, he and Jack had investigated a check fraud. They'd met a likable guy who worked in a train switching yard. Jim found the entry and dialed the number. A few minutes later he had a meeting set. Hanging up, he turned back toward the living room.

Blair had tilted sidewise onto the sofa. Soft snores floated out from under the damp mop of curly hair. Frowning, Jim leaned over the sofa back. Yeah, he was okay, just sleeping. Jim considered his options. The back door had been firmly wedged shut. A battering ram would be needed to break it down. Simon had a patrol unit sweeping the block every fifteen minutes. It was unlikely they would try anything twice in the same day.

He'd slip out and check on the lead. Blair wouldn't even miss him. Moving around to the end, Jim lifted his roommate's sock-covered feet onto the sofa and covering him with a blanket from off his futon. He scratched a quick note, palmed his cell phone and locked the loft up behind him.

Blair woke to the sound of knocking. Rising stiffly to his feet, he shuffled toward the door with half closed eyes and a wide yawn. Then the last twelve hours sprang to his mind and he froze. It had started with someone at the door. Blair paused, realizing Jim wasn't in the loft.

"Jim?" he whispered. He tuned all his senses at the person in the hall.

"Yeah, I'm sure it's the right address. No one's answering, Naomi."

"Mom?" Blair ran to open the door, fingers fumbling on the deadbolt cylinder.

A man, just turning away, looked back in surprise. He was an older guy, as old as the police captain that Jim worked for. About Blair's height, fifty pounds heavier but still muscular, the stranger had a cell phone pressed against his ear. "No, wait. He's here."

Blair eagerly took the phone. "Mom? Is that you?"

"Hi, Baby."

He slid down the doorframe to sit on the floor. "Mom."

"How are you? Honey I'm so sorry I've been unable to reach you. It wasn't safe. I wanted to come to Cascade personally to check on you, but that didn't workout. How's school?"

Oh, God, he had tried and tried to reach her when he first got sick. No, not sick - Blair could almost hear Jim correcting him. When his senses first acted up, Blair had burned up all his phone cards to find his mother. No one had seen her or knew where she could be reached.

"Blair?"

"I'm f-fine. I just really, really missed you, Naomi."

"I know," she answered, her tone becoming as close to apologetic as he'd ever heard. Which led to her next speech, like clockwork. "You know my work is important. I'm going to make a difference. You're going to make a difference. Our time on this wonderful planet is short. We need to protect our mother earth."

Blair nodded. He sat on the floor, blocking the loft's entrance, his back pressed against the door jamb, holding the first link to his mother he'd had in nearly a year. "I know, mom."

"Of course you do. You're a good son." Her voice became business-like. "I need you to take a letter to Charlie for me."

"Mom, I can't find Charlie. I was, ah, looking for him a while back and he wasn't there."

"Why?" Naomi asked sharply.

Blair cringed at the reproof. "I was s-sick and I just--"

"Are you still sick?"

"No," Blair answered. He closed his eyes, thinking of Jim. Hell, he might have been dead by now if not for Jim. "No, I'm good now. I've got a new roommate."

"I figured. The school said you moved out of the dorm." She didn't sound happy at all now. "Listen, I'm sorry you weren't feeling good. You have enough in the bank to afford a clinic. Don't go to my contacts unless I tell you to. It's too dangerous."

Blair felt his stomach churn. He'd been so desperate for help. He knew the rule. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well, it's over and done. Don't worry about it," she said. "Listen, perhaps you can do this one for us. Could you deliver a letter?"

Blair glanced up at the man, unsure. "A letter?"

A brief look of shock appeared on the man's face, but he schooled it back.

"All you have to do is take it down to Pike and Third. Leave it on the receptionist desk for Phillips Lumber and Mill. Make sure you wear gloves, Baby. And a hat or something. They'll have security cameras."

"Mom, I'm not sure if I can."

"You can, Blair," she insisted. "You can do this. I know we talked about you being the brains in our outfit, not a field agent, but this is important. And it's only a letter. There's nothing inside it."

"Just a letter?"

"That's right. Will you do it?"

He pressed his free hand to his eyes. "Okay."

"Wonderful! Give the phone back."

"Wait!" Blair held the phone tightly. "When can you come? When can I see you again?"

"I don't know, Baby," she told him. She sounded sad.

Shoulders slumping with disappointment, Blair nodded. "Okay, well. I'll talk to you then?"

"You're always with me, Blair. You're in my heart."

Blair nodded, recognizing her standard way of saying good-by. "Bye, mom. I love you." He handed the phone up.

The man took it. "Yeah?"

A few seconds later, a plastic wrapped envelope was placed in his hand and the man briskly walked away toward the stairwell. With a weary sigh, Blair struggled to his feet and re-entered the loft. He locked the door and stood looking at the letter. He had a bad feeling about this.

By the time Jim returned to the loft, the sun had set. He parked his truck and hurried across the street. After meeting with his train yard contact, he had swung in to the bull pen and looked at the mug books. As expected, none of the pictures matched his memory of the men who had kidnapped them that morning. Most likely, the drug lords had brought in out of town help.

While driving back from the station, Jim had called home to check on Blair, but the answering machine had picked up. His worry was alleviated when he opened the door and the security chain snapped taut. He could hear music on his CD player.

"Sandburg?"

Sounds of running told him the kid had been in his room. "Hold on, Jim." The chain was released and the door swung in. "Hi."

Jim had expected a pissed off roommate, but Blair didn't appear angry about being left behind. "Hi, yourself. I called earlier."

"Oh." Blair went to the kitchen. A large pot of water bubbled on the stove. Blair poured in a box of pasta. "I had the headphones on."

"Did you see my note?"

Blair nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah. Any luck?"

"Got some help looking for your boxcar." Jim locked away his gun and closed the drawer. He peered over Blair's shoulder to check the second pan on the stove. A rich looking white sauce bubbled. He inhaled the fragrant fumes. "What's all this?"

"Thought we could eat something other than takeout."

"I didn't know you could cook." Jim stole the end piece from a fresh, sliced loaf of French bread. He dipped it into the white sauce and tasted. "Not bad. Not bad." A plastic bag holding large prawns waited to be added. The kid had walked down the street to the market.

"Of course I cook. You think I can afford to eat in restaurants all the time? I'm in college." Blair elbowed him away from the stove. "Give a genius room to work."

"Okay, okay." Jim backed away. "I'll give you some money to cover my cost of the groceries for this."

Blair frowned, dumping the prawns into a hot skillet. "It's handled."

Jim noted the kid's white knuckles as he gripped the wooden spoon pushing the prawns about. "You okay?"

Not looking up from his work, Blair nodded. "I'm fine."

"Senses okay?"

The spoon was slammed down. "Not everything is about my damn senses."

Jim pulled back. "I'm not saying it is, Chief. But I can't help but start with them."

Blair jerked a nod. "Sorry, man," he mumbled.

A little space was what the doctor, or guide in this case, recommended and Jim took the stairs to his bedroom, promising to get to the bottom of Blair's problems after dinner. Right now he wanted to change clothes. The railroad yard had been a dirty search. Jim wasn't sure he liked the fact Blair had been outside the loft. What if the drug cartel's men had been watching? On the other hand, why would they return Blair only to kidnap him again? Besides, everything was fine.

In honor of the fine home cooked meal, Jim set the table, complete with cloth napkins and silverware placement. After months of eating on the run and out of boxes, sitting down to a real meal made him smile. The food was top quality and Blair blushed when Jim complimented him. Halfway through the meal, Blair drained his goblet of white grape juice and reached for Jim's wine bottle.

"Don't even," Jim warned without looking up from his plate.

"Jim, I drink wine sometimes."

"Not in this house, buster. You're under twenty-one. I'm a cop. End of discussion." Jim stood up and retrieved the grape juice from the ice box. He refilled Blair's glass. "And I'd better not hear about you consuming alcohol anywhere else, either."

In typical teenage fashion, Blair rolled his eyes. He showed maturity, however, and remained silent, even allowing Jim to switch the subject to baseball. The meal continued in peace.

Afterwards, Jim cleaned the kitchen and joined his roommate in the living room. Blair had a documentary on. Jim couldn't hear the sound, but the TV footage of the rainforest looked interesting. "Turn it up.'

Blair looked confused. "Why?"

Jim reached for the remote with a sigh. "Because not all of us have superman hearing." He pushed a throw pillow behind the small of his back to get comfortable.

Blair snickered.

"What are we watching?" Jim asked.

"It's a report on the suspected attacks by Indonesian soldiers in the highlands of New Guinea," Blair answered, chewing his thumbnail, his gaze on the television.

Jim frowned. "What channel is this?"

"It's not. It's a video tape. I borrowed it from a professor at Rainier."

That would explain the grainy quality and the lack of narration. Jim checked his watch. "Will this take long? There's a game on tonight."

The phone rang right as the tape ended. Jim heaved out of the sofa. "If it's another telemarketer..."

It was Simon. "Jim, sorry to bother you at home. I just got a call from the Chief. A case's been pushed up to major crime level."

"I'm working on the drug case with--"

"I know. I'm taking you off it. This is priority."

Jim lowered his voice, forgetting for a second Blair was a sentinel. "You can't do that! I want this case, those bastards kidnapped us!"

Simon's sharp response cut like a scalpel. "Maybe I failed to make myself clear. This is not a request. I am still your supervisor. You are still my subordinate. I follow my orders. I expect you to follow yours."

Blair stood by the TV, video in hand and gawked, mouth open in amazement. The sight was enough to pull Jim's temper in and give him strength to draw a deep breath. "I'm sorry, sir."

Simon's tone warmed. "Yeah, well... hell, me too, Jim. For what it's worth I fought the Chief on this. But he was adamant. Something's got his panties in a wad. There's a briefing tomorrow at nine. I was hoping you could come in. I'll move your schedule around."

"I have Sandburg."

"His ride-along is intact. He's signed the proper forms to allow him to listen in," Simon answered. "Thanks, Jim."

Jim hung up.

"What are those guys going to do when they find out you're not working on the drug dealer case anymore?" Blair asked. "You heard them, man. They said they'd be watching."

Jim scrubbed his face as he pondered that question. "Then they'll know that some other detective is working it, I guess. Let that poor bastard meet them next time." Jim caught the way Blair's eyes widened. "I'm just kidding, Blair. I'm sure it will work out. They wanted to give us the information. They did. The department will follow the leads. Meanwhile, we follow orders."

"Okay, everyone's here." Simon waved a hand to the shorter, older man standing at his side. "This is FBI Agent Battlefield. He'll be briefing us." Simon nodded to Jim. "Detective Ellison will be lead. Officer Santos will act as our liaison with the Department of Interior."

A voice in the back of the room could be heard. "What, we're using Feds to save picnic baskets from Yogi the Bear now?"

Most of the group, including Simon chuckled. Battlefield shook his head sadly, managing a smile. He lacked the spit and polish Jim associated with other agents he had met in the past. Battlefield had an old dog look about him, a little heavy around the middle with soft bags under his brown eyes.

"I know this seems like a screwed up marriage of departments, gentlemen. But this has the potential to pull us around by our short hairs," the Fed explained, holding a small remote. He pointed it at the machine on the table and a powerful projector came to life. The image of a burned-out building showed up on a screen.

"This used to be a fish hatchery."

The screen was replaced by another. This time a larger building had been reduced to rubble.

"And this was the US Forest Service Institute of Forest Genetics facility. An employee died in the explosion." He paused. "I could go on. Cell phone towers, lumber mills, gas pipe line operations - these folks make the Earth Liberation Front look like Greenpeace. And the good new is: they've arrived at your front door."

"What's the target?" Jim asked. He knew at this point the case involved threats, but that was all he knew.

"A lumber company called Philips. It's part of a larger corporation involved in international harvesting, including a bit of nasty business in Indonesia. They received a threatening letter yesterday, we're still analyzing it. They've targeted several overseas operations as well as Philips' headquarters here in Cascade."

Blair shifted in his seat, causing Jim to glance over at him. The kid settled down. The last thing Jim needed right now, was for Blair to draw attention to himself with this group. He'd heard a few comments already from fellow detectives, including someone asking him if it was `bring your kid to work' day. Thankfully, Blair had been in the men's room at the time.

"Who are these clowns?" another detective asked.

"Their MO fits a group we've been after for years," Battlefield answered, clicking the remote again. A very fuzzy picture depicting a group of people dressed in hiking clothes standing on a bluff overlooking a forested valley appeared. The picture quality was so bad, the faces were meaningless blurs.

Battlefield apologized, "This is an obvious copy of a copy. This is the best our lab could do. It's our only picture of the leaders of the United Mother Earth Soldiers. We're guessing the clothing and backpacks to be anywhere from 15 to 20 years old. We have four males and a woman, obviously in her 3rd trimester. I'd like to tell you we had names to go with this, but we don't."

"Any idea where it was taken?" Jim asked.

"No. If you'll turn to the files I've handed out, we'll go over the information we do have. This is based on previous terrorist-like attacks we suspect this group of committing." Battlefield perched on the edge of the conference table and flipped open a file. He opened a pair of reading glasses and read from the reports as he continued.

Jim followed along, scratching some personal notes and ideas in the margins. He would follow up on them later. Half an hour into the briefing, he noticed Blair's shaking hands.

"You okay?" Jim whispered, sentinel-quiet.

Blair shook his head.

Jim caught Simon's eye and made a discreet `time-out' sign with his hands. Just as Battlefield turned a page to start a new point, the police captain smoothly cut in, requesting a short break.

Jim took Blair into the break room. "What's wrong?"

Blair's face was pale. He licked his lips. "I'm not, ah, feeling so hot, man." He didn't bat away Jim's hand from his forehead.

"You're not running a fever," Jim muttered. They had ridden in together. He pondered his options. "I could ask Simon if it's okay for you to rest on the sofa in his office."

But Blair shook his head at the idea. "I'll catch a bus back to the loft."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Probably just a twenty-four hour thing." Blair backed toward the door.

"Okay, then. Call me when you get home!" he called out to the retreating figure.

The bus ride back to the loft didn't exist. Blair couldn't recall a single fellow passenger or remember the route. He walked into the loft in a daze. His head hurt. He wanted to puke. What had he done? The FBI was still analyzing the letter he had delivered? He'd been careful. Had he been careful enough?

Naomi.

Blair knew she did stuff that the government didn't like. But she'd always said it was important and no one got hurt. Blair had a good memory for data. The date of the Forest Service explosion matched his seventeenth birthday. His mom hadn't joined him like she normally did. She had called to explain that something had come up. It was the last time Blair had heard her voice.

Until yesterday.

Blair paced repeated loops between the kitchen and living room. He felt caged. He went out onto the balcony and leaned against the railing and let the breeze cool his face.

The phone rang. Blair ran for it when the message machine picked up and he heard Jim's voice asking for him.

"I'm here."

"You okay?"

Blair closed his eyes. For once he wished he had someone he could just unload on. He wanted to blurt out everything and be finished with all the secrets and lies. As much as he liked Jim and all the help the guy had given him, Blair hated the fact he was a cop. He hated his stupid senses and that he needed someone like Jim to keep him sane.

"I'm fine."

The strained silence on the other end made Blair realize his folly. He was totally screwing this up, letting Jim become suspicious. The next part rushed out. "It's just that I'm tired. I didn't sleep very well, two cats fighting in the alley and someone on the block has a newborn with colic or something."

To Blair's relief, Jim chuckled. "I understand. Jack used to bitch about the same thing. Tell you what. Get the white noise generator out. Take a nap. I'll be home in a few hours. I'll treat you to dinner out. We'll run some tests. It'll be fun."

The guy sounded so concerned that Blair felt crappy for lying. He slumped sideways onto the sofa. "You call that fun?"

"You never know, Short Stuff. You'll have to wait and see. See you after work." Jim signed off.

Blair cradled the cordless back in the charger and stared at the ceiling pipes. "How come I didn't meet you ten years ago, Jim?"

Blair went in search of the white noise generator and carried it to his room. He considered taking a forbidden glass of Jim's wine, but didn't. Switching the machine on, he relaxed and stretched out on top of the blankets He doubted he'd get any real sleep. But the white noise did its magic and suddenly there was a gentle touch on his arm waking him.

"Hey, ready to go out?" Jim asked.

The clock next to his bed told him it was nearly six.

Blair got to choose dinner and he picked fish tacos. Taco Del Mar served them wrapped in foil. Jim ordered his with extra salsa and they sat at the high counter, peeling and chewing.

"Where are we going?" Blair asked as they carried the red, plastic baskets and stacked them with the others.

Jim dug into his jean pocket for the truck keys. "Train yards."

What? Blair watched Jim walk around the Ford and unlock the door. "You said Simon gave that case to another guy."

Smug faced, Jim started the engine. "You didn't know about my amateur status as a train buff? I like to go train spotting."

Blair sniggered and buckled his seatbelt.

They did end up counting the box cars. Jim created tests for his vision. At one point Blair tracked a high soaring seagull. The gull's pure white wings against a crystal blue sky pulled Blair into a zone. When he returned to feel Jim's light cheek pats, he was sitting on coarse grade gravel, legs sprawled. Jim squatted at his side, one hand on his back to keep him up.

"Welcome back. What was it?"

Cheeks warming to hot, Blair avoided Jim's eyes. Why was he such a failure with this stuff? Enhanced senses belong to a guy like Jim, not a geek.

Jim helped him stand and patted Blair's shoulder. "It gets easier with practice, Sandburg. Trust me."

And the thing was, Blair really, really wished he could.

They went into the station early the next day. Jim set Blair up at the corner of his desk and gave him a stack of reports to sort through. Blair couldn't believe the circumstances. Did fate really expect him to help these pigs catch his mother and put her in prison for the rest of her life?

If only Jim hadn't been a cop.

The reports were minor low end threats to miscellaneous government entities. This was just busy work, Jim keeping him out of the way and that was fine by Blair. He really didn't know the details of his mother's involvement, but he was pretty sure she wasn't responsible for mailing letters to city courts because a Judge refused to drop a stupid speeding ticket.

Later in the morning, Battlefield called and announced they had a print on the letter. Had he been standing when Jim announced the news, he would have sucked carpet. Offering to run some of Rhonda's files to the storage room in the basement, Blair spent a long ten minutes gasping for air in the supply closet until he felt calm enough to return to the bull pen. Thankfully, Jim didn't seem to notice.

Lunch was delivered, sub sandwiches from a local deli. Work didn't stop. People ate at their desks among constantly ringing phones and paper spewing faxes. Emails were sent and received. By quitting time the Feds still hadn't matched the print and Blair felt ready to explode. Surely they'd check it against all the cop and FBI prints to make sure someone hadn't accidentally touched it. Would they include the set Blair had been forced to give for his ride-along pass?

They drove home in silence. That night promised to be another sleepless one. Blair wished he had classes again. At least he'd have homework to help keep him busy.

"Damn." Jim tapped the brakes.

"What is it?" Blair asked, then realized they were about to join a long line of cars waiting to turn onto the freeway on-ramp. "Oh."

"Probably an accident." Jim cranked the wheel, turning onto a side street. "We'll take the long way. Beats sitting in traffic."

Jim's long way skirted the seedier part of the city. Blair watched the neighborhoods change like a season, with broken windows and vacant storefronts becoming the norm. The low sun cast menacing shadows. Memories of his time on the street returned and Blair shivered, remembering being hungry, wandering around similar streets. He wondered what was worse, being homeless or in prison.

The Ford crossed a bridge, giving a wide view of the commercial docks and adjacent warehouses.

"There it is!" Blair pressed his hands against his window, startled out of his mood.

"What?"

Their movement tucked the view away behind a tall building. As they passed it, Blair searched the cars below frantically. "The boxcar we were looking for. The graffiti, man. I saw it!"

Jim nodded. "There's an off ramp coming up, we'll double back." Taking the first right turn after the bridge, they navigated through the side streets. Jim parked against the curb and caught Blair by the shoulder before the younger man could get out.

"What?" Blair asked.

"Stay close," Jim ordered as they got out.

Standing on the edge of a train switching yard, Blair was momentarily overcome by the task before them. Three parallel tracks held bits and pieces of train, all waiting to be used. Boxcars were tucked up next to warehouses, still loaded with scrap iron. It would take all night to search.

"I've never thought of a boxcar as a needle before," Blair said. "And this is a weird-ass haystack."

Jim nodded. "How about we make sure this is the right place?"

Blair frowned. "I did see it, Jim."

"I'm not arguing. Close your eyes and think back to yesterday. What did you smell? Compare them to now."

Oh, right. Blair closed his eyes. The gritty, slightly rancid smell of old city along with traces of salt air washed over him. It seemed this part of the city was forgotten and stagnant, overlooked by fresh air currents. "Yeah, yeah, man. This is it."

"Okay, no, keep your eyes closed," Jim said. "How about the hearing?"

That was harder. Blair only remembered being desperate to hear Jim when they were in the warehouse. "I don't - wait, yeah. Okay. Traffic moving up high." Blair opened his eyes and pointed at the elevated road they had been on moments before.

Jim smiled approvingly "Good. Let's go. We keep on the fringes first. Hopefully they haven't moved a lot around."

Systematically, Jim led the search as they trekked over coarse rock gravel and tracks. Beer cans and whisky bottles littered the area. The edge of the city looked on like an aging starlet without her makeup. Run down tenement buildings and empty cinder brick warehouses rimmed the train yard. This was not the Cascade featured on the tourist brochures.

Just as Blair was starting to doubt, they turned the corner of a round-sided container with the words `corn syrup' stamped on the side and he looked to his right. "There!" Blair broke into a jog.

"Question is, has it been moved?" Jim asked, walking over to join him.

Blair squatted down by one of the wheels. "Nah, I'd say it's been here a long time. Look at the rust buildup."

"Good." Jim did a slow three-sixty turn, scanning the surrounding neighborhood.

Blair had already drawn a visual trajectory. A saw-tooth roofed warehouse between a break in the next line of boxcars had the same sized window he remembered. Its paint job faded and half the windows covered with plywood, the building looked ready for the bulldozer. Excited, he ran toward it.

"How far away did you say this was from the place we were being held? Hey! Sandburg, get back here."

Blair tossed a grin over his shoulder. "Keep up, old man." He pointed toward the warehouse. Slowing as he neared, Blair cast out his hearing.

No people inside. Rats, however, were another matter.

Jim caught up with him, clamping a hand on his shoulder and giving a firm shake, his expression part pissed off and part proud. "You're not a cop, Junior. You stay behind me."

They entered through a side door. The place where the lock should have been was missing. Someone had stuffed the hole with newspaper to keep the cold out. Surprisingly, the spacious inside was clean. Light filtered in from dingy panels of plastic fixed into the vertical sections of the roof.

Blair sniffed ozone-like odors. "I can still smell the vapor lights."

They stayed to the edge of the large room. The floor was concrete and oil stained. At the far end, where Blair figured their interrogation had to have taken place, he could see scuffs in the dust. He looked out the nearest window and zoomed in on the boxcar across the long, empty parking lot, then a street and finally the old train yard. The palm trees shaded the leaping dolphins.

"This is it, Jim."

"I agree." Jim's mouth curved into a smile. "I'll get a forensic team in here."

Jim ushered his younger roommate into the loft. He flipped on the lights. His watch told him it was five past midnight and his stomach wanted food.

"Hungry?" Jim asked.

Blair answered before closing the bathroom door. "Whatever, man."

Jim reached for the takeout menus alphabetically stored by the phone, but changed his mind. He didn't want to wait. Soup wasn't going to cut it. He decided upon tuna fish sandwiches. Washing his hands first, he worked quickly, adding diced pickles and onion. Halfway through the meal preparation, Blair returned, yawning widely as he sat at the table.

Adding chips to the simple meal, Jim diagonally cut the sandwiches in half as his housekeeper used to do when he was a kid. He turned and set the two plates on the table. Drinks and they were ready. He caught sight of his roommate and grinned. Softly beginning to snore, Blair held his face cupped in one hand, stretching his cheek as he listed to one side with his elbow on the table. Jim nudged Blair's foot with his own.

"Wake up and eat, Sandburg."

Muttering incomprehensively as he straightened, the younger man blinked with confusion. "Uh?"

"Dinner," Jim elaborated, setting the bottled waters down.

"Oh, thanks, man." Blair reached for a potato chip.

Halfway into his sandwich, Jim spoke. "You did good tonight, Sandburg."

"Thanks," Blair answered with a mouthful, chewing with slow, dutiful movements.

Jim smiled. The kid was exhausted and on autopilot. There wouldn't be much dinner conversation tonight.

Sure enough, half way through his sandwich, Blair wearily pushed back from the table. "I'm gonna crash."

Jim nodded, pulling the other plate closer to his. "I'll finish your food. See you in the morning."

"Night, Jim," Blair mumbled, then zombie-walked to his room. The curtains swished closed behind him. A few seconds later the light cut off and all sounds of movement ended.

Jim finished his dinner. They had made a good team at the warehouse, finding hair samples and even a button wedged into the floor plank where Blair had fought with his captors. There had even been cigarette butts - that had been encouraging - located in the area where their panel of interviewers had sat. Jim held the most promise there, hoping for a DNA sample.

Brushing his hands together to knock any crumbs onto his plate, Jim carried both dishes to the sink. After washing up, he checked the doors to make sure they were locked. The repair job on the back door could only be seen if you knew where to look. Jim was pleased. He'd order sturdier hardware installed this time. Hopefully it would never have to be tested again.

Making his way to the stairs, Jim spotted Blair's backpack on the floor by the sofa. Rolling his eyes in silent exasperation, he picked it up and took it into Blair's room.

By the light from the kitchen, Jim could differentiate the youth from the bedding. Blair slept on his back, both arms over his head. When Jim quietly set the pack on the chair by the desk, the sleeping teenager snorted and rolled to his side.

"Mom?" Blair muttered, not sounding fully awake.

"Go back to sleep, Chief," Jim whispered.

"Jim?" More awake now.

"Yeah, I'm putting your pack in your room. You left it by the sofa."

Shimmying down further into his blankets, Blair make agreeable noises and stilled.

Jim left, turned off the lights to the loft and climbed the stairs to his room, all the time thinking about Blair's first question.

Was the kid's mother still alive?

He methodically undressed and checked the alarm setting on his bedside clock.

He'd found Blair on the streets. The background search hadn't located any family. Jim hadn't asked, but had assumed Blair was on his own.

Slipping into his sheets, Jim laid back and got his bedding just the way he liked it.

If she was alive, where the hell was she?

Jim worked nonstop at his desk the next morning. Battlefield had transferred the bulk of the FBI files to the Major Crime personnel and just seeing them had made Jim groan. There was nothing to do but start reading, hoping new eyes plowing through the information might turn over a clue previously overlooked.

All Jim found was a headache.

And he couldn't help but worry about Blair. He wished the kid was sitting at his side, but Jim had watched him board a city bus heading to Rainier earlier. Blair had a meeting with his advisor. With a capitulating sigh, Jim set down the report, picked up his empty coffee cup and wandered into Simon's office.

"Sir?" Jim hovered in the doorway, requesting permission to enter and to raid the good brew.

Glancing up from reading a report, Simon nodded. His collar was unbuttoned and tie pulled out. He rubbed his eyes, and pointed to the empty, gold rimmed cup next to the coffee pot. "Fill mine too, would you?"

Doing the honors, Jim settled into a chair. "Still working on those stats?" Towering files piled in stacks occupied the captain's desk and floor.

"Cutbacks be damned. We need another detective. If I have to read every case in this building to prove it to those commissioners, I will," Simon answered wearily. He leaned back and cradled his mug in one large hand. "You and Jack carried more than your workload."

The comment wasn't meant to hurt, but Jim felt the pain nevertheless.

"Oh, hell, Ellison." Simon rubbed his eyes. "I didn't mean it like that. You still do more than your share. It's just that, as a team, the two of you were amazing." Simon sighed, slumping in his chair. "I'll just shut up now."

Jim's weak laugh sounded strangled in his own ears. "Forget about it, sir. I appreciate what you're saying."

"You still miss him."

"Like you'd miss your left arm, Simon," Jim admitted. It would never get better. Part of the blame rested on his shoulders, Jim knew that, no matter what the department shrink said.

"So, how's the kid working out?" Simon sipped his coffee.

"Great," Jim answered, glad to move on. "Did you see the report from last night?"

"I did, good work. But tell me how you ended up in a train yard on your time off."

Jim held up a hand. "A fluke. Blair spotted the boxcar from the viaduct. We weren't cruising for it." This time. Jim smiled, for once innocently.

Simon harrumphed. He picked up a new report. "Well, seems we got a few prints. Serena said she'd give this priority."

"Appreciate it." Jim turned to another issue that had been on his mind since last night. "I found out Blair's mother might still be alive."

"Really? How?"

"He was pretty tired last night, half asleep. He said `mom.'"

Simon frowned. "Jim, that doesn't mean anything. He could have been dreaming. I dream about my grandmother all the time. She's been gone for twenty years."

"It wasn't like that. I was putting something away in his room. He thought I was her." Jim leaned forward. "What kind of mother lets a kid live on the street? Blair was seriously hurting when I found him."

"If you're right - and that's a big if, because the background check didn't bring up any current information on his family - then what makes you think he told her? Kids don't tell their parents everything." Simon pulled a face before diving back into his coffee.

Jim's answer was cut off by an urgent knock on the door by a task force detective. "Sorry, sir. Jim! We've got a print match on the letter. The FBI wants a meet. They're inviting us in for the arrest."

Rolling his eyes, Jim stood. "Typical Fed task force, share info at the last minute when they need our manpower. Later, Simon."

"Hi, Jim." Blair hitched his backpack higher as he hurried to catch up with Jim walking down the corridor.

"Hey, how you doing?" Jim dropped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Glad you're here. We've got a break in the case."

"Really? From the warehouse?" Blair asked, falling easily into stride next to the taller man. The fact he could roam the inner workings of a police station just because he wore an ID around his neck seemed so strange. Would he ever get used to it?

"Not that case, the eco-terrorist case. We have the guy that delivered the letter."

Blair's left tennis shoe caught the seamless floor and he stumbled. "W-what?"

Jim absentmindedly steadied him, catching his elbow. "I said we caught the guy that walked the letter into the business. He's denying it of course. We're taking a break from interrogating him, letting him stew. Poor shmuck doesn't even have the brains to ask for counsel."

In a daze, Blair followed Jim into a closet-sized room. Battlefield and another man greeted Jim with sharkish smiles.

"Ready for round two?" the boss-FBI guy asked.

"Let's do it. I think this guy's ready to fold." Jim patted Blair's arm. "Wait here, Sandburg."

A large glass window revealed the adjacent, sparsely furnished room. An older, pudgy man with a receding hairline and bloodshot eyes sat at a square, scar-topped table. Blair watched Jim and Battlefield enter and begin to interrogate their suspect.

It was a nightmare. Sweat beaded on Blair's forehead. He wiped it with his sleeve. The room was too small, the air stale and dead. Jim's mouth moved, but Blair couldn't hear the words. He found his dial and adjusted, then flinched when the suspect's words blasted out.

"I swear to god, I didn't. I never walked into that place. I don't know."

Jim pushed a paper across the table. "This forensic report says different. Your thumb print is on the paper. You folded it. You slipped it into the envelope. Now tell us why you want to blow up that building. Tell us about your past jobs. Did you know there's no statute of limitations on murder?"

The guy showed signs of `big time' panic. Blair could hear his heart pounding. Hell, he could smell it through the glass. He was going to pop a brain vessel if this kept up. Why had Naomi framed him?

"Where does he work?" Blair whispered to his silent companion.

The Fed answered, "He's a bookkeeper for a rival company. We figure the boss got him to deliver the letter." The man looked at Blair curiously. "You're kind of young to be a cop. You on loan from vice or something?"

Muttering a lame excuse about needing the bathroom, Blair ducked out. Damn his mother anyway. Damn himself for getting involved.

Some poor bean-counter was going to go to jail because of him. Blair wandered the hallways until he found an empty men's room. Leaning over the nearest sink, he splashed water on his face, then ripped a paper towel from the dispenser. It was like drying your skin with a two-by-four. He balled up the paper and shoved it into the waste can.

He studied the idiot in the mirror.

What was he going to do? Let some guy take the fall? If he told Jim the truth would their partnership be over? Blair could truthfully say he had no knowledge of the envelope's contents. But this was a federal case. He'd be going to jail and there was nothing Jim could do to help him.

And what about his mom? They had a blurry photo of her taken twenty years ago. Was that all they had? Was she going to be arrested next? Should he try and get word to her?

Blair leaned over the sink, arms straight as he gripped the cool porcelain. He closed his eyes. Jim would so freak if he knew he was having these thoughts. Another realization hit.

Jim would get into trouble just because Blair was his roommate.

Shit.

Blair ran back to Jim's desk and scratched a quick note. He used the back stairwell to get out of the building. A bus going in the general direction of the loft pulled up to the corner. Blair ran hard and reached it just as the last person boarded. He made his way unsteadily to the rear seat as the bus drove away from the police station. Curling into a miserable ball, Blair leaned against the window and made plans.

If packing were an Olympic game, Blair would win the gold. He had nearly twenty years of practice. Okay, sixteen. Naomi had done all the packing the first four years of Blair's life. And to be fair, he'd never really had much to take with him.

This time, he'd be taking even less. A change of clothes and a few small items would make living on the road easier. He wished he could shrink Jim and carry him in his pack. It would be better had he not met Jim, not learned the word `sentinel.' Because now he knew a sentinel needed a guide, and as far as Blair was concerned, he'd met his.

Blair dropped down on the edge of the futon, overwhelmed with loss.

Jim.

A lump formed in his throat. The last few weeks living with Jim had been amazing. Better than he'd ever remembered, even better than when he'd been with his mom.

Damn, he didn't want to go. The loft was sanctuary.

Blair picked up the white generator and held it. Turning it in his hands, he switched it on. The quiet was like a balm to a bruised soul. Drawing in a breath, he drifted in the peaceful void.

Enough.

Resolved to get it over with, Blair set the machine aside and put on his coat. He shouldered his pack and took one last look at his room. He could do this. He had done harder things in his life. Back straight, he walked toward the door.

Maybe, someday...

The door swung open and Jim walked in, his sharp gaze taking everything in.

Blair tensed to run.

"Don't," Jim commanded, slamming the door behind him.

Everything stopped.

Blair forced his body to relax, his face to dissolve into blankness. He shoved his hands deep into his jean pocket. "What's up, man?"

"You tell me," Jim answered coolly, looking over Blair's stuffed pack, heavy coat and hiking boots. "Your note said you weren't feeling well."

"I wasn't."

"This doesn't look like a guy taking it easy." Jim extended his hand. "Let me see your pack."

"Jim..." Blair edged away.

"Blair," Jim said, stalking forward. "Give or talk. Either way, I want the truth."

Bumping up against the back of the sofa, Blair shot a desperate look at the door. Why had he turned on the damn white noise generator? Had he heard Jim coming, he might have slipped out the back. Lifting his chin, Blair crossed his arms. "There's nothing happening. I just remembered I had an appointment at Rainier."

"You just spend the entire morning there," Jim answered, hands on his hips.

"So? Like I can't go back? And why are you home in the middle of the day, anyway?" Blair asked.

"I was worried about you." Jim leaned forward, finger dipping quotation marks in the air. "I'm glad I did. Now, tell me the truth. Cut the crap, Sandburg."

"Nothing to tell," Blair replied, speaking slowly, pronouncing each syllable clearly and pausing in between as if speaking to someone developmentally challenged.

The effect was instantaneous. Jim threw up his hands and backed away. The extra space was welcomed and Blair felt his own tense shoulder muscles relax. Dragging fingers through his short hair, Jim looked about the room, holding a private war counsel of one before giving a sigh of surrender.

"Okay, how about we try it this way? Please have a seat." Jim pointed at the living room. "Take off your coat. We'll talk about this." He backed away, even turning for the kitchen. "You want some water? Or tea?"

"Yeah, I could drink some tea," Blair answered, relieved.

When Jim's position was as far away as possible, in the corner of the kitchen by the sink, Blair bolted for the unlocked door.

"Sandburg!"

Blair ran as fast as he knew how. He made the stairwell. Slamming the door hard behind him, he hit the first landing barely under control. With a hand on the rail, he spun in a three-sixty to race down the next flight. The door above him slammed open. Blair got his feet to move even faster.

"Damn it! Stop!" Jim hollered.

The second floor landing drew close. Footsteps. Someone was entering the stairwell! Blair mentally crowed seeing the knob turn as he flew by. The landing was narrow, part of the charm of the old building. As he jumped the final five steps to the ground floor he heard Jim smash into the door above and the startled sound of another man hitting the wall with a curse. Jim's apology coming over the top of the man's outrage.

Blair crashed through the front lobby door, hit the sidewalk, turned left and ran.

Reaching downtown, Blair hiked down sidewalks, mingling with the lunch crowd. When the crowds thinned, he zoomed through a third story window of the CPA's office to check the time: ten minutes after one. The lunch hour was gone.

Seconds before a squad car turned the corner, he ducked into an alley.

Jim wouldn't turn him in... would he? What did they call it? APB? Blair couldn't be sure. Jim had to be pissed. Maybe he even figured it out. No. He couldn't know about Naomi.

Leaning against the brick wall, hidden behind the dumpster, Blair waited for the sound of the police radio to fade. This alley was similar to the one Jim had originally found him in. Blair sighed. The extent of what he had known, what he had now lost, nearly crippled him. Blair wanted to curl into a tight, miserable ball and die.

Instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and bit down on his lower lip. He'd had no choice. This was the best for everyone.

He'd get somewhere safe, then call Jim and confess. They'd have to let the guy go, wouldn't they? Blair wasn't sure. How did it work? His word against the fingerprint? It wasn't like he could explain why he'd done it. He couldn't give Naomi up.

Shit. Maybe this was all for nothing.

Blair didn't know what to do.

A throaty growl from a dark corner of the alley made Blair jump. He froze as an enormous black panther walked through a solid brick wall and stalked toward him. The whiskers on its face vibrated with danger. Yellow feline eyes glowed. Its tail twitched angrily.

"G-get back," Blair whispered, trying to press into the narrow space between the dumpster and the wall.

A piercing panther scream nearly emptied his bladder. Blair shoved the dumpster hard, managing an extra inch and wedging into the space it provided. "Not real, not real," he whispered, closing his eyes. "Just an animal spirit. Not real."

The animal spirit butted his thigh and Blair jumped, giving a startled yell. He glared at the big cat and was head butted again. "Hey, stop it!"

The panther backed away and began to pace. Long, ivory teeth caught the light as it snarled. Urgency tingled in Blair's chest. Hadn't Jim told him to pay attention when the cat showed up?

Timidly, Blair stepped out of the corner. "What do you want?"

With a single contemptuous look over a muscle-rippling shoulder, it loped toward the alley mouth.

Blair followed.

The Ford slowly cruised the deserted streets. Driver window down, Jim searched the vacant buildings for his roommate. Why had Blair run? Had his senses been acting up? Had he reached the end of his rope? Jim shook his head. No. Blair was beginning to embrace his sentinel abilities. He was sure of it.

Not fully watching the road ahead, Jim missed the dark blue sedan until it was directly in front, cutting him off. He stomped the brakes with a curse, averting a crash by less than an inch. He didn't see the three men approach from a shadowy building alcove until they yanked his door open. Rough hands dragged him out of the truck, took his gun from its holster and pulled him into a deserted loading area behind an old dairy. No one heard Jim's shouts, his demands to be released.

Jim recognized he was in for some pain, getting two good hits and a solid kick in before the two largest thugs had his arms pinned behind his back. The third man stood arrogantly, buffing his right fist with his left palm.

"Our bosses aren't too happy with you right now, Ellison. You were supposed to bring down this new guy, not walk around train yards."

"Yeah? Like I told them, asshole," Jim answered, knowing the talking wasn't going to last much longer. He knew this look. The guy enjoyed his work. "I don't work for your bosses. Unless you want to serve some serious prison time, you'll let me go and walk away."

"Tough talk for a cop in your situation."

One of the goons twisted Jim's arm higher. Jim grunted. "Listen, Shit-for-Brains. I've been reassigned to another case. Tell your bosses to file a witness statement."

The first punch felt like it passed through his body and out the small of his back. Jim groaned. He tried to kick, but failed. The next fist connected with his face and he saw hundreds of pretty stars, twinkling with white lights of agony. His ribs were the next target, but the punch was weak, deflected. Jim managed to clear his head as he realized only one thug had him now.

Someone was screaming with fury.

Knowing he had a chance, Jim pushed the pain back and spun. He twisted free and let his police training take over. The fight lasted longer than he expected. The beating had taken him down several notches. Still, he finished off his captor quickly. Breathing hard, he looked for his rescuer.

Blair.

The kid was taking on the other two and losing.

With an outraged bellow, Jim grabbed one handful of clothing and one handful of hair. He lifted the man who was methodically working Blair over and swung. The criminal lifted off the ground with a squeal of pain. Seeing a convenient wall, Jim enjoyed the sound of head bouncing on brick. Staggering, the thug didn't resist as Jim slammed him a second time, turned him around and dropped him with a pile driver punch to the jaw.

Jim turned to find Blair and the last guy rolling on the asphalt, with Blair getting pulverized under a ham-fisted assault. Yet, the kid never turned his opponent loose, seemingly determined to keep him from going after Jim.

Jim swung his foot and kicked Blair's assailant in the ribs. Grunting in pain, the man broke his hold and rolled away. Jim followed; anger growing as he caught a good look at Blair's bruised and bloodied face. He reached down and snatched the guy by the shirt front and pulled him to his knees.

"You have..."

PUNCH.

"... The right to remain..."

SOCK.

"... Silent. Anything you say..."

PUNCH.

"... Can be used against you."

"Detective?"

The criminal hung limply from his left fist. Jim's right hand ached, but in a good way.

Two uniformed cops stood by the entrance of the loading dock. Their squad car, its lights flashing, was parked in the street behind them. "I think we should take over now, sir."

Jim let the man fall and went to Blair's side. "Call an ambulance!"

Kneeling, Jim gently cupped Blair's bloody cheek. The kid was breathing, but not comfortably. Swelling around his left cheekbone, split lips, a gash over his left eye appeared to be the worst visible damage. Jim slipped a hand under the unbuttoned outer shirt and ran light fingers over his ribs. Blair jolted, gasping as Jim touched.

"Auughhh!" A single, unswollen eye opened and blinked in confusion.

"Hold on, Sandburg," Jim whispered. "Just breathe, kid. We'll get you fixed up."

Blair seemed to recognize him. "You `kay?" Blood sprayed as he spoke.

"I'm fine," Jim assured him. "Thanks to you, Chief. You made with the rescue."

Blair coughed. The movement caused a strangled cry as he tried to curl into a ball.

Jim looked up. More cops had arrived. The street was a blue and red light show. "Where's that ambulance!"

Three aid crew personnel log-rolled Blair while the forth slipped a long spine board underneath his back. Jim waited and watched for a chance to sneak back in. He lightly touched Blair's cheek. "You're doing great, Sandburg."

Blair didn't answer. With his neck trapped in a high, stiff, plastic collar, he wasn't able to look around. A complicated web of straps was unrolled over his body and hooked to the board's edges. Jim had to pull back to get out of the way again. He reached back in to take Blair's hand and felt Blair hungrily catch his fingers and squeeze.

Someone tapped Jim's shoulder. Detectives from the Gang Unit had arrived. "Can we ask you some questions, Jim?"

"In a minute, guys," Jim answered.

Blair gasped as a strap was cinched over his chest.

"Hey, not so tight," Jim ordered, reaching in to take off the pressure. "His ribs might be busted."

The senior detective tried once more to draw Jim away. "Come on, Jim. Let them do their job. The kid's just beat up. He'll be fine."

Jim withered him with an acid look. "This kid took on three fully grown men to save my life, Rollins. I'm staying. You got a problem with that?"

Rollins shook his head and sighed. He flipped his notebook closed and clicked his pen once before tucking it into his pocket. "Of course not. Listen. We'll catch up with you at Cascade General, okay? Do you want me to give a message to Banks?"

"Yeah," Jim answered, suddenly weary. "Tell him I'll call, okay? I won't be back in today."

"Right." The detective stood. He clapped Jim's shoulder briefly. "Glad you're okay."

Blair's eyes scrunched in pain as they lifted him to the gurney. Tossing his truck keys to the uniformed cop, Jim followed and climbed into the back of the ambulance. When the doors banged closed, Blair's eye flew open.

"Jim?"

"I'm here." Jim leaned as far out as the lap belt allowed to get into Blair's line of vision.

"Whazz'app'nen?"

"You're going to the hospital," Jim answered.

Blair's unfocused gaze didn't seem to stay long on any one subject as he looked at Jim, the ceiling and back at Jim. He frowned. "Why?"

"Because you had the snot beat out of you, Darwin." Jim ignored the soft chuckle from the firefighter with them. "We'll get you patched up," Jim further clarified, straightening Blair's nasal canula.

"You're good?"

"We've already gone over this. I'm fine."

Blair closed eyes. "They... were hittin' ya."

"I know. And you came out of nowhere and pulled them off." Jim squeezed a good shoulder. "You did good." The ambulance turned a corner and Jim held on to the cool metal frame of the gurney.

"No'me... Panther..." Blair whispered.

"Panther?" Simon Banks crossed his arms and glared down his nose at Jim. They were back at the loft. Jim sat next to the futon, watching a drugged and bandaged Blair Sandburg sleep.

"A sentinel has a spirit animal," Jim answered around a yawn. He stood up and stretched. It had been a long night.

"Jack had one?"

"Yep."

"You sure you're okay?"

Raising his hand to carefully touch his own black eye, Jim nodded. "Doctor's checked me out. I'm bruised, but I'll live. Blair didn't make out so lucky: cracked ribs, concussion, and two loose teeth."

"I still can't believe he took on those hired thugs," Simon muttered. He glanced at his watch. "Kids' got some big ones, for sure. Look, I've got to get going. I'll explain your absence at today's briefing. I'll call with an update. Our suspect still swears he never delivered that letter."

Jim's attention switched to Blair, who started to show signs of waking. "Okay, thanks Simon."

Blair opened one eye as the front door closed behind Simon. "Jim?"

"Right here." Taking a glass of water from the desk, he steadied the straw for Blair. "Drink."

Taking two pulls before turning away, Blair cringed as he took too deep a breath.

"Easy, Chief."

"Hospital?"

It had been all Blair had begged for through the night as the doctors had patched him up. Jim had tried to talk him into staying, but failed. "No, you're not at the hospital. You're home. How do you feel?"

"F-fine."

Jim snorted. The kid's face was a mess. Swollen and dark with bruising, he looked like an extra in a Rocky film. A fresh bowl of antiseptic laced water sat on the floor. Jim took a clean washrag and soaked it thoroughly. He wrung it out and folded it into quarters. "I'm going to fix you something for your stomach or you'll never keep down your morning pain pills. Hold this here." Jim laid the washrag over Blair battered left face.

He stood up with a groan, body stiff from sitting. "Scrambled eggs okay?"

"Fine... thanks, man."

Jim fixed eggs and brought in a plate with a side of dry toast. He took the washcloth back and helped Blair sit up against the wall, arranging the pillows for best support. Blair moved slowly, in pain, guarding his taped ribs with his left arm. He looked warily at the eggs and swallowed. "I don't think..."

"Try a few bites. You have to eat." Jim sank back into the chair with a soft groan.

Blair heard it. "You should be resting."

"I am."

"No, you're taking care of me." Blair waved a bruised and knuckle-scraped hand at the chair. "You were there every time I woke up."

"So I'll take a nap later. Eat."

Blair managed four bites before speaking again. "What `bout work?"

"What about it?" Jim got Blair's pain pill out of the dispenser.

"Are you in trouble for missing it?"

"No. Here, swallow."

Blair swallowed the pills with sips of apple juice.

"So, let's talk about yesterday," Jim said gently. "Why'd you run?" When Blair didn't look up from his eggs, Jim continued, "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful you came back, Blair. You found me, you saved my life, but I have to know what's going on with you if this partnership is going to work."

"You don't want me as a partner, man," Blair mumbled. "I'm a shitty sentinel."

"This self-pity isn't a good look on you, buddy."

Blair poked eggs with his fork.

"Blair, tell me what's wrong."

"If I do, you're not going to want to be my guide anymore."

"I doubt it," Jim answered. "I doubt there is anything you could say that would make me not want to watch your back."

Blair dropped the fork. It hit the plate with a clatter. One battered eye met Jim's gaze balefully. "That guy didn't deliver the letter to that lumber company. I did."

"I'm going in there." Jim bounded off his sofa.

Simon caught one arm and shoved him back down. "Sit. They're only talking to him."

"Damn it, Simon. He's too hurt to be raked over the coals like this." Jim tried to get up again, only to have his boss's hands be two solid anchors on his shoulders.

Simon sat on the coffee table, getting down eye to eye. "No one is raking anyone over any coals. They're talking to him. They've been in there for a whole thirty minutes."

"Blair should have legal counsel."

"He waived it."

"I don't care," Jim snapped. "I want to be in there."

"Detective? We're done," Battlefield called from Blair's open doorway. "Did you want to join us?"

Jim didn't wait to be asked twice. He shot off the sofa and pushed past the Fed. Entering the room, he found Blair sitting on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He looked up as Jim entered, his damaged face pale, eyes red from crying.

"Hey, you okay?" Jim asked, sitting on the futon at Blair's side.

Blair nodded, gaze dropping to his hands.

The second FBI agent patted Blair's shoulder. "We'll type up your statement and have you look it over, son. We'll talk again soon."

Blair looked surprised. "I'm not going to jail?"

Battlefield shook his head. "No, technically, our report will show you in Detective Ellison's custody. Is that okay with you? Just for now?"

Blair looked at Jim. "Is it?"

"It's fine." Jim stood and shook the agent's hand. "Thanks for understanding."

"Hell of a thing," the agent whispered as they walked out of the room together. "A mother using her own kid like that."

Jim didn't have a reply to that. The agent was right; it was a hell of a thing.

After the two agents left, Blair emerged from his room, one arm wrapped around his ribs. He shuffled toward the bathroom, making soft grunts that made Jim wince and move in to help.

"Chief?"

"Gotta pee."

Ignoring Simon's snort, Jim shadowed him to the bathroom, ready to catch should Blair fall. Blair leaned against the doorframe and panted.

"Tell me if you piss blood. The doctors said--"

"I know," Blair snapped, then softened. "I know, man. Thanks." Without looking back, he rolled off the doorjamb and gently closed the door in Jim's face.

"For god's sake, Jim. Give him room to breathe." Simon tugged him away from the door. "Make coffee, do something."

Retreating to the kitchen, Jim measured the coffee grounds. The bathroom door opened with a creak a few minutes later. Jim forced himself still. Simon was right. Don't smother the kid. But the desire to turn and check on Blair was strong. Expecting the injured youth to return to his room, Jim was surprised to hear the scrape of a kitchen chair. He turned.

"I suppose you guys... want an explanation," Blair said between gasps as he lowered his body to the chair with effort.

Simon had already been at the table, waiting for coffee. "If you're ready to talk, kid, we're listening."

Using the chair back as a brace, Blair sucked in a breath, waiting to see if he could bear this new position. Holding his pose a second, he relaxed a little and rubbed his eyes.

Jim joined them at the table.

"Naomi and I only have each other," Blair started. His swollen upper lip gave him a lisp. "I never knew my dad and that was okay. I never needed anyone else. When I was little, she was... everything."

The coffee pot gurgled and belched.

Blair probed his loose tooth a second before continuing, avoiding Jim's gaze, "When I started school, it was harder to move around like she wanted. Mom was all about being wherever the earth was being abused, you know? She called it... never mind. Anyway, I liked school, a lot. I didn't want to move around, so I'd stay with friends. During the summer we'd meet up again and I'd help with whatever she was working on." He made eye contact with Jim. "Protests, man. Only peaceful protests when I was with her. I swear to god."

"Its okay, Blair." Jim reached out and patted his shoulder. "We believe you."

"It's just that those guys said..." His face crumpled a bit. "Shit, man. She can't be what they say. She wouldn't." His whisper died, his eyes shiny. A tear tracked down his bruised check.

Simon cleared his throat. "Listen to me, son. No matter what Naomi Sandburg has done, it does not diminish in any way her love for you. You have to believe that."

"Sandburg..." Blair whispered brokenly. "I don't even know if that's her real name."

Banished from Blair's side, Jim watched Battlefield conduct the follow-up interrogation from the observation room. Three days after the attack and Blair's face still showed it. Blair had insisted, just that morning, he could handle the questions - alone and without counsel. Jim had tried to talk him out of it, tried to call in his father's attorney, but Blair had refused.

Now they sat in the small room, Battlefield asking the questions, ticking them off from a printout and Blair answering, his hands folded carefully on the table top, his voice steady and even.

"They're still at it?" Simon asked as he entered the darkened observation room and looked through the one-way mirror.

"Yeah." Jim crossed his arms to hide his worry.

"They treating him okay?" Simon mimicked Jim's pose.

"Battlefield's playing nice."

They fell silent and listened.

Most of the questions had been routine: where Blair went to grade school; who they stayed with; the men she dated, when he last saw his mother. The agent had always moved on after each of Blair's answers, no matter what he said. Now, Jim noticed, the man was returning to a few of the earlier ones.

"Let's go over the people you and your mother stayed with. What were their names?" Battlefield asked.

Blair shook his head, showing the first sign of irritation. "No, man. I know what you're thinking and it's not going to work. She never goes back to the same place twice," Blair snapped. "I should know, okay?"

"Maybe you don't want us to catch her. Maybe you've known all along your mom was blowing up government buildings. Don't you care that she killed an innocent man?"

"Son of a bitch!" Jim snapped, heading for the door.

Simon caught his arm. "No."

"Simon, he doesn't deserve that!"

"Stow your personal feelings and just watch," Simon ordered in a quiet, but firm tone.

Face pale, Blair straightened his spine and took a deep breath. "You don't know for sure my mom was responsible. I'm just saying you're wasting your damn time. I looked for them myself when..." His eyes flicked to the mirror. "When I was sick and on the streets. I couldn't find them. Nether will you, okay?"

The agent scrubbed his face. "I'm sorry kid. I was out of line. How about you give us the names anyway? We'll try."

"Fine." Blair shrugged and started reciting the cities and names of people his mother had left him with after starting school.

The list was long. When it was finished, Simon muttered, "My god, Jim. What type of childhood did he have?"

Unable to answer, knowing Blair could hear, Jim just shook his head. He hoped, for Naomi Sandburg's sake, the Feds found her before he did.

"Okay, I think we're done here." Battlefield stood and shook Blair's hand.

Jim stood in the hallway, waiting for the interview door to open.

Battlefield came out first. He tilted his head toward Simon. "Captain Banks, could I speak with you in your office?"

Simon led the man away. Blair came through the door next. "Hey, Jim," he said. He offered a weak smile. "That wasn't too bad."

"You did all right. So, how about lunch? I'm starving." Jim fell in beside his young friend. When Blair didn't answer right away, Jim gently elbowed him. "My treat."

"I suppose, but I really need to go to Rainier. I need to check in with my advisor. I'm supposed to be starting classes soon." Blair stuffed his hands into his pockets, his shoulders slumped. "Unless I'm still under house arrest."

"It's just a formality, Sandburg. You know that." Jim checked his watch. "If we hit a drive through and your meeting isn't too long, we can get back in time for afternoon briefing."

"I'm sorry I got you in trouble," Blair muttered.

Jim sighed as he punched the call button for the elevator. "Once more from the top, Junior. I'm not in trouble. I'm not demoted. I'm reassigned. That's all. It's not a big deal."

The elevator arrived with a ding and the doors slid open to an empty car. Blair shuffled in and leaned on the railing. "Some reassignment. Suspect babysitting."

"How about witness protecting?" Jim countered, pushing the button for the garage. "I'm okay with it. Stop apologizing. The whole thing is out of our control." Jim dropped an arm around his shoulder. "We'll get it squared away."

Blair fingered his observer pass. "I hope so, man."

Amazing how the passing of a few hours could give a new spin on his future. Blair sat in the Ford by Jim's side and watched the scenery slide by, thinking about the meeting they had just had. His advisor, Dr. Shorett, was totally cool with him missing the first few days of the new quarter's classes. Not at first, though. The man's thin lipped smile and judgmental eyes had caused Blair a moment of panic.

Then, Jim had stepped in.

Blair shook his head in disbelief. After Jim had briefly stated why Blair couldn't attend classes, Shorett asked if he was the Ellison who had written the article on cultural diversity among the coastal mountain Peruvian tribes. Jim had shrugged and said `yes'. The two had launched into a happy exchange on South American history. Now Shorett was totally down with Blair reading his lessons and working on his assignments from home. He even provided web addresses for background information he'd need. Yeah, it wasn't the same as sitting through a lecture, but Jim had pointed out Blair's status as a protected witness and Shorett was hooked. Apparently the guy was a closet spy-thriller fan.

"What did Shorett mean about the university's loss?" Blair asked, suddenly curious.

"Nothing," Jim answered, then looked over, meeting Blair's scrutiny. He sighed. "It's no big deal. I used to teach at night. I was on a few boards."

Blair made a note to look into Jim's role at the university, still curious. "Why'd you leave?"

"Jack wanted to be a cop."

"So you became a cop?"

Jim shrugged.

Blair chewed on that fact a while, curiosity taking a backseat to fear. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Jim," Blair said in exasperation.

"Sandburg, I explained this to you already. I'm a guide. I go where my sentinel goes. Don't make a big deal out of this."

What? What? Jim just tossed out his life for this Jack guy? And now... And now Blair was the new sentinel? What did that mean? Shitohshit. Jim had to be kidding here. There was no way someone like Jim should throw away his plans for someone like...

"What if... what if I wanted to be the guy that sells ice cream cones at the park or something?" Blair asked, waving his hands. God, he didn't want to think about what Jim was saying. He couldn't. There was no way he could be responsible for another person like that. "Or sell dog licenses, for crying out loud!"

Jim chuckled. "I doubt it, Sandburg."

Now Blair was getting pissed, his voice growing louder. "Why not? I could, you know. You don't know what you're getting into, man."

"Relax. No one is telling you to plan your entire life in the next thirty minutes."

But Blair wasn't relaxing, he wasn't even close. "Don't you get it, man? You can't count on stuff like that from me. I'm not this Jack guy. I'm a freaking bastard. My mom's a crim--" The truck swerved, throwing Blair into the door as Jim pulled onto a side street and parked against the curb. "Hey, man! Watch it."

Jim killed the engine with an angry twist of the key, unsnapped his seatbelt and turned in the seat to face Blair. "You listen to me," he snapped angrily. "I hear you call yourself that again and I'll kick your ass from one end of this state to the other."

Blair tried to interject but Jim cut him off. "No, shut up and just hear me out. We all come into this world with the same parts more or less in working order. The most important being our brain. Yeah, you have five enhanced senses to make your life more complicated, but it's your brain that will take you places in this world, kid. Not your senses. Not the fact you never met your dad. Not the fact your mother has made some stupid choices for herself."

Jim leaned forward, reached out with his fist and rapped a knuckle against Blair's head. "This part right here is all I want you to work on. You'll finish your classes. You'll get whatever degree you want. You'll live with me while you do. I'll stay a cop. That's it. What we do after you're finished with college does not need to be decided right here, right now. Get it?"

Sometime during that speech, Blair's face grew hot. "Why are you doing this for me?" He sagged against the door, totally at a loss to understand.

Jim smiled. "Can't I just want to?"

Cars passed them. Commercial airplanes flew high in the stratosphere leaving jet trails in the blue sky. A V-formation of geese dipped into the tree line two blocks over. Seconds later Blair heard the splash as they landed, webbed footed into a small pond.

All of that made sense. What Jim was telling him didn't.

Blair shook his head. "No, Jim. I mean... why do you care?"

Jim faced the steering wheel. Blair couldn't read the emotion in his profile as he started up the engine. Not thinking he was going to get an answer, Blair was surprised when, as they pulled away from the curb, Jim spoke, "Because caring beats dying. That's what I was doing before I found you, Sandburg. Dying a little each day."

Blair didn't know how to respond. He didn't even want to try. He'd just mess it up, say something asinine, like he always did.

Jim's cell phone rang before they reached downtown Cascade.

"Ellison... yeah? Where?" Jim cupped the phone with his shoulder as he drove. "We're on our way."

Blair caught the cell phone as Jim tossed it. "What's happening?"

"Bomb threat at the docks. A Phillips cargo freighter loaded with lumber is rigged to blow," Jim answered tersely as he slapped a blue light on the dash and flipped a lever.

Using feet and hands, Blair braced against the corner of the cab as the Ford completed a one-hundred and eighty degree bat-turn, propelled through a cluster of moving cars and shot down a side street. An apparent afterthought, Jim flipped another switch on the dash and a piecing siren cleaved Blair's skull. He slapped his hands over his ears.

"Dial it down!" Jim yelled.

"Trying! Trying!" God, it hurt. How could Jim drive with that noise?

Jim reached over and grabbed Blair's arm, shouting over the noise, "Picture a bubble. It's clear. You're protected inside. The noise is outside. You can hear it, but it doesn't hurt. Do you have it?"

And just like that, Blair could see it. The curved surface of the protection let the shrill darts of noise harmlessly bounce off. Blair lowered his hands and sat up straight. "Hey, that's cool."

Jim nodded sharply, gripped the wheel with both hands again and passed three cars on the right side. They missed a fruit stand and a parked moving truck with inches to spare.

Blair scrambled to brace himself again. "Holy SHIT! You need a bubble for this Ford!"

Ten minutes later, they turned into a parking lot and Jim stomped the accelerator. The Ford shot forward. They flew over the lot and slid to a stop next to a black and white patrol unit. Not hearing the word `stay,' Blair bailed out with Jim.

"What do we have?" Jim demanded.

The taller of the two cops answered. "Caller ID was blocked. The foreman wrote everything down. The ship is called the Coastal Star. It's half loaded and we're evacuating now.

Blair looked up. The ship's deck towered several stories above the dock. Huge cranes with long erector-set arms still held bundles of lumber suspended halfway between land and deck. The ship was like the others moored up and down the industrial shoreline, except this one carried dead trees.

Blair concentrated on what the cop was telling Jim.

"...and the bomb squad is on the way."

"Okay, good work," Jim said, obviously taking over. "Coordinate a complete barricade with arriving units. No one gets in without police ID. And get license plates of everyone leaving the lot."

"Yessir."

Jim took out his cell phone and jogged over to a man wearing a white hard hat. Blair followed.

"Elision, Cascade PD. You took the call?"

"Yeah, some guy went on about how we rape `mother earth' and told me a bomb was somewhere on board." The guy was putting on a good show of looking bored, but Blair could hear his pounding heart and smell his fear.

"Did he say when it was set to blow?"

The foreman shook his head. No change in the heart rate. "He's telling the truth, man," Blair whispered.

"Everyone off?" Jim asked.

"Just about," he answered unhappily as he looked over a clipboard in his hands. "I'm expecting two more crews and she's empty. How long before we can get back to work?"

"You probably should call it a day. Send everyone home." Jim turned when a sedan neared. "Here's my boss, he can explain it to you. We're going to need a complete shipping manifest and a list of what's been loaded. I want a list of employees who showed up for work today, and those who didn't."

Simon Banks unfolded from his car and took a minute to tightly wrap his overcoat around himself before slamming his door and striding toward them. Blair thought he saw a disapproving grimace when the tall man looked his way.

"What do you have, Jim?"

And Jim repeated everything he knew. Simon nodded, just as Jim had when the cop had reported before taking charge.

A chain of command, Blair realized, like the military. He looked back to see the uniformed cops talking with two new arriving pairs of traffic cops. They're breaking down the jobs, keeping the span of control small. Heck, maybe he could do some research on this, write a paper--

"Sandburg!"

Blair jumped with a start, horrified to see Simon glaring at him. "W-what?"

"Did you hear me?"

"Sir, he'll stay out of the way," Jim defended. Nodding his head toward the Ford, he spoke to Blair. "Wait for me in the truck."

And just like that, Blair got benched.

Simon turned away and Jim laid a gentle hand on Blair's shoulder, whispering, "Go on. I'll come get you when I can."

Feeling like he'd been told Christmas had been canceled for the year, Blair nodded and walked back to the Ford. He opened the door and climbed in, letting his legs hang out. At least he could still hear everything that was going on. Experimenting with the dials, he listened to everything, even able to pick up the cops across the lot setting up roadblocks.

Everyone with a job but him. He widened his range. More voices registered. Blair saw the foreman standing by an outside phone next to a shack. He was telling someone they would never make their deadline and sounded pissed as hell.

A new voice checked in, someone Blair had heard before. Blair's sentinel sense paused and focused to sharp clarity when he heard, "He's right here. Naomi. I swear it's your kid. No, it's still got more than an hour until it blows."

Oh my god! Blair jumped out of the truck and hastily climbed into the open bed to get some height.

"What the hell?" Simon muttered, looking back at Jim's truck. "Ellison, what's he doing?"

Jim looked. Blair had climbed into the back of the truck. "I guess I should have clarified myself," Jim answered. "Wait, he hears something."

Just then, Blair scrambled down from the truck bed, one arm bracing his ribs. He ran up to Jim and caught his arm. "He's here! He's here, man," Blair whispered, pointing out across the lot, past the shack where the foreman talked on the phone.

"Who?" Jim demanded.

Blair blurted out, "The guy mom sent to the loft. He's RIGHT there. He sees me. He's talking to her now!"

Jim looked and saw a short, heavyset man in a black baseball cap standing by a small Toyota half a parking lot away. "He's going to rabbit." He looked back at Blair. "Stay!"

"Take the vehicles," Simon answered. "Cut him off."

Jim raced for the truck, his attention on the man. Sure enough, the suspect jumped back into his car. The Toyota must have already been running, because in seconds it was spinning around in a tight arc.

Jim ached to use his radio, to tell the uniforms to stop him, but radio communication at a site where a bomb was planted ranked up in the top ten stupid last things a cop could do. Instead, he laid on his horn, hoping they'd figure it out.

They did.

Before the Toyota could reach the street, the black and white was pulled forward to completely block access.

The Toyota veered right and Jim, with Simon's sedan behind him, followed.

The lot was fenced on three sides, with the fourth open to the docks. The Toyota slid to a sloppy stop and the suspect jumped out. For a heavy man, he ran like an Olympic contender. Jim was out and in pursuit. Apparently, the suspect had a plan. Heading for the barbed wire topped fence, he scrambled up a stack of sturdy pallets. The man lifted a pallet, lay on it, used the wire as a fulcrum and rolled over the barbed wire to drop heavily on the other side.

"Police officer, stop or I'll shoot!" Jim shouted as he climbed up the same pallet stack.

The man ran.

Stripping out of his coat, Jim covered the barbs and went over, ignoring the damage to his leg and arm. Landing lightly, he bolted after his suspect. For a while the distance remained the same, then Jim's superior conditioning came into play. He closed in. As he got into range, Jim leapt and the man went down.

By the time Jim had his cuffs out and his prisoner secure, Simon arrived, smiling broadly as he climbed out of his car. "Good work, Jim."

Jim lifted prisoner off the ground. "Where's the bomb?" Jim demanded after reciting the Miranda warning.

"What are you talking about?" the cuffed man gasped between pants. "I want my lawyer."

"I ought to handcuff you to the deck of that ship and let you think about it for a few hours, pal." Jim shoved the man toward the back of Simon's car.

After collecting Jim's truck, they drove their vehicles back to the dock. The bomb unit van had arrived and was in the process of setting up. Joel Taggert stood in his heavy vest and helmet. He nodded to Jim.

"I hear you caught the bomber," Joel said.

Jim pointed to where the prisoner was cuffed and sitting in the back of the patrol car. "Doesn't look like we'll get much out of him. Any luck?"

"Just getting started," Joel answered. He looked over Jim's shoulder. "They made good time."

Jim turned. A black Chevy Caprice bearing a rental sticker on the front bumper parked next to his truck. He recognized Battlefield with his FBI team and lifted his hand in greeting.

Simon brought the Feds up to speed. They nearly drooled over the prospect of getting their collective hands on the new prisoner.

"Great work, detective," Battlefield praised, slapping Jim's shoulder in a rare sign of camaraderie.

Another Fed looked puzzled, pointing upward. "If the ship is evacuated, what's your sidekick doing up there?"

Jim twisted, his neck making a sharp popping noise as he craned to look up. "Sandburg!" he yelled, spotting the familiar shape walking near the edge of the immense deck and then moving out of sight. His stomach dropped to his toes.

Blair was on the ship with the bomb.

Jim bolted for the gangplank.

"What? Jim! Wait!" Simon shouted.

Jim ignored his boss. The bridge swayed under his feet. He caught the side chains, forced to slow or fall. Reaching a lower deck, he found a set of stairs to take him above, immerging on the top deck, out of breath and in full panic mode.

"Blair! BLAIR!" He shouted, running for the approximate location he'd last seen him. "I'm going to KILL that kid!" he muttered.

The towering piles of lumber created a virtual maze. Jim kept to the edge, calling repeatedly, his fear growing. Would he feel the bomb before it ripped him apart? Would Blair be standing next to it? Was it right next to Jim?

"Goddamit, Blair! Answer me!"

"Jim!"

The answer was faint and Jim ran for the source. He spotted Blair scaling a towering stack of two-by-fours with a two foot high red letter `p' painted on the side.

"Get the hell down right now!" Jim leapt for Blair's foot and missed.

"I found it, Jim. It's right in here." Blair reached the top and scampered over, his voice gaining pitch as he disappeared. "Oh, wow. I found it. I was right!"

"Get back here!" Jim started up after him. Work shoes were fine for court and fit the bill as dress casual, but sucked at climbing the smooth-sided stack. Blair's tennis shoes held a clear advantage.

Blair's head popped over the edge, long curls framing his frowning face. "Hey, man. If this timer is right, we've only got twenty-six minutes. Should I pull out the wires?"

"NO! Don't touch it. Get off right now! Do you hear me?" Jim bellowed, giving up on climbing up. He'll kill his partner later. Right now he needed Joel. He ran to the deck's edge and waved his hands, getting the attention of the men below. Jim waved them up.

Blair unexpectedly appeared at Jim's side, dusting his palms together and smiling broadly. The smile slipped when Jim roughly grabbed his collar and shook.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"

"Hey! Hey, Jim. Hey!" Blair captured Jim's arms and held on.

Jim's fear wanted release, screamed for physical action. With strength rivaling superman, Jim forced down the urge and held Blair still, not letting go. "Blair," Jim said, not shouting but not quite in control yet. "Why did you get on this ship?"

"I heard him say the bomb still had an hour before it blew up," Blair answered softly, eyes wide in the face of Jim's anger. "I knew I could hear it if I tried. I wanted to help."

Jim closed his eyes and shuddered, then dragged his partner toward the stairs. He could hear the bomb squad coming. Releasing him, he pointed down. "Get off - do not stop to talk, look or touch. Wait in the truck. Do NOT get out for any reason. Understand?"

Blair nodded. He scrambled down the stairs, not looking back.

Seconds later Joel was huffing up the stairs. "He found it?"

Jim nodded. "This way." He led the team of men back to the bomb.

With help from his team, they hoisted Joel up. He crawled into the middle of the stack and whistled. "Shit, there's enough plastic to blow the ship and the dock into space. Hand me up my kit."

"Jim, we're lucky the Feds haven't asked how the kid found the bomb," Simon divulged.

Jim rubbed his brow. His head ached and he was hungry. It was late, nearly midnight, and they'd skipped dinner. "I know. Hopefully they won't."

Simon surveyed his selection before stabbing a button. The break room's snack machine dropped a small bag of chips into the retrieval tray and he pulled it out. "Right now they're so damn excited to have a solid arrest, they're squealing like junior high girls at their first prom."

Jim dropped his quarters and selected a larger bag of pretzels and a granola bar. "Sandburg can truthfully say he recognized him. We'll leave out the overheard conversation."

"From that distance, they'll never buy it."

"Maybe the phone records will give us another break, lead us to Naomi."

They reached the bull pen and entered. The room was empty; the night shift out on a call and the rest of the task force had gone home. Jim munched pretzels and followed his boss into the captain's office. He tossed the granola bar to his quiet roommate sitting obediently on the sofa. Blair caught it with two hands.

Simon lifted his coat from the coat rack. "Take the morning off. I'll expect you at the one o'clock briefing." He leveled a stern look at Jim and nodded toward the sofa. "I don't ever want a repeat of today, Jim. Good night."

After his boss left, Jim sighed and pulled over a chair to face his young partner. "We have to talk."

Blair didn't meet his gaze, but stared at the unopened bar in his hands. "I screwed up. The deal's off, huh?"

"No, the deal's not off." Jim set the pretzels aside and folded his hands together, leaning forward with his elbows braced on his knees. "But we have to talk about this."

Swallowing, Blair tilted his head and sniffed. "I knew it was safe. I heard him."

Give me strength, Jim thought, closing his eyes for a second. "Blair, there are all types of bombs. All types of devices used to trigger them. We were lucky and the bad guys thought they needed a timer with a nice LED readout. They probably watch too many movies, okay? But what if that had been a chemical trigger? The salty air could have messed up their calculations. Or a mercury trigger? You scrambling around the bomb, knocking into a loose board could have triggered it. You could have been killed."

Blair met Jim's gaze, expression firm. "My mom is involved. I'm the one who delivered the letter. I have a duty to fix this."

"That's crap and you know it," Jim answered. "Your mom didn't tell you what she was getting you involved in. You're not at fault."

"I can't help how I feel, Jim."

"Okay, let's take a step back here." Jim sat up, rubbing his hands on his thighs as he considered a new strategy. "I am one hundred percent supportive of your help to stop your mom and her friends. And you are assisting us in a big way. But I'm not letting you endanger your life. If I feel you're going to again, I'll drop your ass in a holding cell."

Blair looked indignant. "You wouldn't!"

"You're a critical witness to a federal investigation. I can. I will. And the brass will back me up."

Blair's lips whitened as he tossed aside his dinner and crossed his arms over his chest, slumping peevishly into the sofa cushions.

Briefly glancing toward the ceiling, Jim tried once more to approach from a gentler side, knowing his bullheaded partner would meet force with force. "You're important to me, Blair. I'm your guide. I'm supposed to protect your back, not watch it get blown up."

Now Blair was doing the `heaven help me' eye roll. He dropped his arms and sighed. "Jim, nothing is going to happen to me. I'm fine. I'm here. I have the spidey senses, remember? I can take care of myself."

Jim shook his head, his heart heavy. "Oh, hell, kid. I've already buried one sentinel because he thought he could leap over tall buildings. I'm not going to survive if I have to do it again."

Dropping his `closed off' pose, Blair rubbed his palms on his thighs. "I hear what you're saying, Jim."

"Do you?" Jim pressed.

Blair nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah."

Jim stood. "Come on, let's go home."

Twenty hours after catching the bomber, Jim looked up from his computer. Blair was still engrossed in his studies, the evidence of his beating starting to fade. The student sat at an empty desk next to Jim's, hunched over his textbook, left hand playing with his lower lip. Every once in a while he made a tiny noise of discovery, oblivious of the fact he sat amid a multi-agency task force.

Jim smiled. It would seem Blair could study in the middle of a nine point two earthquake and still pull down a four point average.

Jim reread the reports. They hadn't gleaned much from the bomber. The guy was a professional. That much was obvious. Lawrence Washington Drake, age forty-six, owner of a small computer repair business, single, with a mother living in a nursing home where she sucked down Ensures and talked to her footboard like it was a close friend.

Lawrence, Larry to his customers, wasn't talking. He denied ever going to the loft and giving Blair that letter. The Feds had used Blair's statement to get a judge to set high bail. Now Larry was a guest of the federal wing of the county jail.

Still reassigned to keep Blair safe and close at all times, Jim was happy to obey orders. The alternative wasn't acceptable: the Feds would take Blair away from him.

"Jim," Simon called from his office, waving him in. "A word?"

Jim went, noting Blair didn't look up.

"What's up?" Jim didn't sit down.

"I just got a call from Lanier." Simon took a look a Jim's puzzled expression and explained further, "He's one of the officers first on the scene at the alley, when you were attacked."

"Oh, right."

Simon picked up a small notepad from his desk. "He's at Rainier. There's been an assault. Only he thinks it was an aborted kidnapping." Simon met Jim's eyes. "Lanier says, from a distance, the vic could be Sandburg's twin brother."

"Crap." Jim paced the room. "She's trying to get him back."

Simon nodded. "Without Sandburg to testify, Drake will get off. We don't have a case."

Jim hadn't been thinking about the case. He was more worried about this mysterious Naomi getting her claws into her son. If she found out he was a sentinel, what would she do? Force Blair to work for them? Could she talk him into joining her? Jim knew enough about the young man now to know he wouldn't willingly commit a crime.

"Did you hear what I just said?" Simon asked, sitting on the corner of his desk. He crossed his arms.

Oops. Jim had the presence of mind to look guilty. He stopped and faced his boss. "Sir?"

"I said the Feds are going to want your partner in--"

"Absolutely not, Simon!" Jim slashed his arm through the air. "I'm not letting them--"

The door opened and Blair rushed in. "What's wrong, Jim? You okay?"

"Don't you knock, Sandburg?" Simon snapped.

Without pausing, Blair rapped the shut door behind him with his knuckles, but his focus never left Jim. "Your heart's pounding, man. What's wrong?"

Simon stood up with a mutter, "Oh, what's the use?" He walked around the desk and dropped into his chair, giving up any semblance of authority. "It's like Pendergrast and Ellison all over again. Just tell me when I can talk." He waved a hand above his head and pulled out an unlit cigar.

"I'm fine, Chief." Jim pointed to the guest chair Simon kept in front of his desk. "Sit down before you fall down."

"What's going on?" Blair looked back and forth at the two men as he sat. "I figured it's about my mom."

"Were you listening?" Jim tested.

"No. Well, a little." Blair shrugged. "All I heard was Simon saying mom was around." He pinned Simon with his twilight-blue gaze. "Is she? Is she in town?"

Simon twirled his cigar and tilted his head. "I don't know for sure, kid. We think her group tried to grab you from Rainier today. Only they got a kid that looked like you."

"What?" Blair said, surging out of his chair

"Easy, Sandburg." Jim held up a hand.

"No way." Blair smacked Simon's desktop with a fist. "No WAY, man! She wouldn't do something like that!"

"Lower your voice," Simon ordered.

It worked. Blair seemed to fold in on himself, returning to his seat. He kept quiet, but the anger hummed beneath his skin.

Jim perched on the edge of Simon's desk. "Blair, we're not saying she'd hurt you. But if you're not available to testify against Drake, our case is tanked."

His eyes narrowed with suspicion, Blair didn't answer.

Simon took over. "It's only supposition. The fact is - there's been an attempted kidnapping. The abductors reportedly said the words, `It's not him' and let their victim go."

Blair flicked a cool look at the captain. "Who?"

Simon looked at his notes. "Seth Jacobson."

Shoulders sagging, his anger dissipated. "He okay?"

"He's fine."

Rubbing a shaky hand over his face, Blair leaned sideways onto the chair's arm. "I know Seth. We get mistaken for each other all the time. I just can't believe..."

"Like we explained, we're just putting together the worst possible scenario," Jim said.

"Which is why I was telling Jim that the Feds will want to move you to a federal safe house." Simon ignored Jim's glower as he talked.

Blair looked confused. "Why? The loft is safe."

"Safe means no one will know where you are," Simon explained patiently. "Sometimes not even the cops."

Blair's furrowed brow smoothed as his eyes widened and he looked fearfully at Jim. "They're going to separate us?"

"No," Jim answered.

"Jim," Simon warned.

Jim started pacing. "No, Simon. NO! You have to figure out a way to talk them out of it. I don't care what you promise. We'll do it. Take me off the task force. Volunteer me to them for free manpower to watch his back twenty-four, seven if you have to. I'll take leave without pay. I'll--"

Simon held up a hand. "Okay, Jim. OKAY! I get it already." He rubbed his temple and sighed loudly. "Shit. I'd almost forgotten this part of the whole sentinel-guide thing."

But the Feds never found out about the aborted kidnapping at Rainer. Without the proper dots to connect, they were happy to let Blair stay at the loft under Jim's protection. Simon placed a patrol car in the Prospect neighborhood each night, just in case.

Drake was arraigned and entered a plea of not guilty. The Federal prosecutors moved him to Seattle to be held pending trial. The task force disbanded under the assumption the main threat against Phillips Lumber was diverted. Cascade returned to normal within the span of four days after the bomb was found on the ship.

Blair's bruises faded to a light pea green color with yellow edges. It wasn't a good look at all and Blair avoided the mirror as much as he could. According to Jim, his ribs would take longer to heal and he believed it. Sitting on the sofa with his stocking feet on the coffee table, he shifted for the hundredth time to find a more comfortable slouch. He balanced a text book on one knee, wrote in a notebook resting on the cushion next to his right thigh and watched a rerun of `Friends' on television, while cradling the cordless phone with his good shoulder.

Jim descended the stairs from his bedroom carrying an empty cardboard box. Starting with the stack of notebooks on the TV, he began to fill it.

Alarmed, Blair dropped his pen and grabbed the cordless. "Gotta go, Steve. Call back when you find the rest of the notes." He thumbed the off switch. "Jim! What are you doing?"

"I've had it. This crap is going back into your room." Jim moved to the coffee table and added a stack of magazines, three videos, a handful of mail with Blair's name on it and a mini pile of CDs.

"Not those!" Blair pushed his books aside and dropped his feet to the floor. "I'm gonna listen to them." He held up his walkman and pointed to his small earphones dangling off the sofa.

Jim picked up the earphones by the cord and added them to the box. "No you're not, you're watching TV."

"I can do both."

"You're studying." Jim moved a newspaper and found a half eaten burrito still in the wrapper. He raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't that last night's dinner?"

Blair looked thoughtful. "I think so. But it tasted off, so I didn't finish it."

Shaking his head, Jim set the box down and carried the remains to the sink. He opened the cabinet and dropped it into the garbage. "No one lives like this, junior."

"I do. I'm trying to study here." Blair pulled the box close and rooted through it for his headphones."

"You have a room, study in there." Jim rescued the box and carried it into the small bedroom.

With a twinge of pain, Blair levered off the sofa. "It's boring. I'm under house arrest. At least let me work in the living room so I can watch TV. Even prisoners get TV, man."

"Stop exaggerating." Jim came out of the room, nearly colliding with his roommate. "You're still recovering."

Blair huffed. "Shouldn't you be going back to work or something?"

Jim smiled. "I'm burning my comp time. Simon's ecstatic."

"He wouldn't be if he had to live with you," Blair grumbled. "Moses only got ten rules, man. You carry it to the fourth power."

The cordless phone rang. Blair turned around. "Steve probably has more lecture notes for me. We need a fax machine." He headed back to the sofa and dug it out of the cushions. "Hello?"

"Blair."

Blair looked over his shoulder. Jim had moved into the kitchen and had his head in the refrigerator.

"Hi, Steve," Blair said heading for the balcony and closing the door behind him once he reached a place where Jim couldn't hear. "Mom?"

If his mother was curious about the strange name, she didn't pursue it. "I have to see you, Blair."

"Are you here?"

"They'll bring you to me."

Filled with dread, Blair wrapped his arm around his healing ribs and leaned against the railing. "Mom, I can't."

"I'm your mother. You will."

"Naomi, I'm an adult now."

"Living with a pig," she spat.

Blair straightened. The sun was low, tucking in behind the bay. Blair's vision wanted to get lost in the reds and oranges bleeding through the dusk. Jim's endless lessons pulled him out. "He's not a pig. He's my friend, Naomi. He saved my life."

"You're young. You're impressionable. You don't see he's keeping you prisoner. Get out. They're waiting. They'll pick you up. You'll be with me by midnight."

"No. I'm not going. I'm staying here. I'm t-testifying..." Emotions choked him. When a warm hand squeezed his shoulder, he looked up at Jim's understanding face and didn't resist as Jim took the phone.

"Naomi Sandburg. This is Jim Ellison. Turn yourself in and we'll make sure you get good counsel."

Blair heard her gasp. "You bastard," she said.

"We have your name now. It's just a matter of time until you're caught. Turn yourself in and the DA will cut you a better deal."

Blair knew she'd hung up and Jim's offer met a dead connection. Jim circled Blair's shoulders and guided him back into the loft. Jim set the phone down and turned to face him, hands on his shoulders. "You okay?"

"How'd you know?"

"I could tell by your body language. What did she say?"

Blair wondered if chewing broken glass would be this painful. He doubted it. To Jim's credit, the cop didn't push. He just waited, patient and understanding. "She told me... she said someone was waiting to p-pick me up. That I could be with her by midnight."

Later that night, lying in his bed and staring out the skylight, Jim pondered his options. It was late. Blair had been reluctant to fall asleep and his restlessness, night wanderings and endless trips to the refrigerator had kept Jim up. Finally Blair's room had become silent. Jim glanced at the LED readout of his alarm clock: three in the morning.

And he had work in the morning.

Jim sighed and went back to contemplating his problem. After calling Simon and telling him about Naomi's call, Simon had personally come down and searched the neighborhood. He didn't find any suspicious vehicles. Either Naomi had lied about having a car close by to pick up Blair or she called them off.

They'd placed a trace on her call, only to find she had bounced it through several locations before it landed in Canada. He wouldn't hold his breath.

It was obvious Naomi wasn't going to give up. Drake's counsel had already filed an extension and the judge had granted it. A trial like this could drag out for years. How could he keep a hyper-active, young sentinel safe that long? Just the little time he'd been sequestered in the loft was making both of them stir-crazy.

Jim could ask for an extended leave of absence, shut down the loft and take Blair on a trip. Maybe return to Peru.

Jim smiled at the thought of seeing his friends again, getting back into his field of study, watching Blair go native.

No, he couldn't. Blair had his studies. He had a scholarship. It wouldn't be right to derail them right now.

Rolling over onto his side, Jim curled his arm under his head and closed his eyes.

Sleep now, he'd take one day at a time.

The next morning, Blair was more than ready to get out of the house. Jim led him down to the lobby, stopping the younger man from walking through the door until he had a chance to look out and make sure the squad car was in position.

Jim wasn't taking any chances.

"Okay, let's go." Jim opened the door and they stepped out into a crisp and bright spring morning.

Blair drew a deep breath and bounced on his toes. "Yes! Road trip!" He hitched his pack higher on his shoulder and beamed at the passing pedestrians.

Jim hustled him into the Ford and locked the door.

With Blair chatting all the way, Jim drove with care. He stayed under the speed limits and slowed for yellow lights. The squad car followed. As they pulled into the underground parking garage, he waved them off and found a spot close to the elevator. Blair scrambled out of the passenger seat.

"Wait for me," Jim cautioned.

"We're in a police station."

"Sandburg, don't start." Jim locked the truck, checked the garage over for suspicious activity and guided Blair toward the elevator.

"Hey, I need to go to the bank today."

Jim nodded, still in high alert-mode. "We can go at lunch."

They reached the bullpen without incident and Jim finally relaxed.

One morning down, a little over three hundred and sixty-four to go.

"What are you talking about?" Blair demanded, his voice high and loud in the stoic bank lobby. "I had over two thousand in there last week!"

"I'm sorry, sir," the manager told him, her manner suggesting she was just as confused as Blair. "Our records show the account is closed. All the money has been withdrawn. The signatures look valid. It was done out of state. That's all I can tell you."

"But..." Blair raked a hand through his hair and looked around, bewildered.

"Sir, you're not the primary. We really can't tell you anything else."

Jim pulled Blair back from the counter. The line behind them was long and more than one bank customer looked impatient. It was their lunch hour and they wanted to get a turn at the busy windows. "Come on, Sandburg."

Blair's silence lasted until they were sitting in the Ford. Jim made sure the patrol car was there as he pulled out into traffic.

"Jim, why would she do this? How does she expect me to eat? How am I going to buy school supplies? What--"

"Everything's going to work out," Jim said.

"Like hell it is! You don't understand, man. She's going back on our deal. She set up that account and makes the deposits, but that's my money. I worked my ass off last summer up in Alaska!" Blair flung his arms out.

Jim waited, knowing Blair would wind down after getting this out of his system.

"Now she's just going to shut me down? Like she thinks that's going to bring me running back? Like I'm going to drop and beg her for it? No! I'll get another job! I'll -"

Jim turned into a fast food drive up and took his place in the line of cars. "What do you want for lunch?'

All the bluster seemed to leech out and Blair wilted against the door. "Something off the dollar menu," he muttered.

Pulling up to the speaker, Jim ordered him a chicken club and large fries, and a bacon cheeseburger for himself. He half expected a comment about the saturated fat, but Blair was quiet. That told Jim more than anything else how deeply his mother's actions had cut.

"Blair, you will get through this. We'll figure out something together. Don't let this take you out of the game, okay?"

Phones rang. Suspects were interviewed in the interrogation rooms down the hall. Rhonda typed on her computer. Somewhere a baby was crying.

Blair sat back and let the chorus of mismatched sounds wash over him. Lunch sat like a river stone in his stomach. He had his school work to do. He had Jim's reports to proof. He even had his walkman and CDs in his pack. Plenty of stuff to keep busy.

He didn't want any of it.

What he wanted was his life back.

"Okay, thanks. No, everything looks good. I'll let you know what we find out." Jim replaced the hand set and turned to address Blair. "They made progress on the drug case. They had an address for him, but he was gone by the time they got there. Still, they're getting closer."

Blair frowned. "Are you back on that case again?"

Jim gathered up some files. "That and other stuff. Right now we have an appointment."

"With?"

Jim stood. "Simon, come on."

Blair followed.

"It's a go, Jim," Simon said cryptically, looking smug.

Jim sat down and turned to Blair. "Here's the deal, Sandburg. We've been looking for a file clerk assistant for Rhonda for a few weeks now. It's not a full time job, only twenty hours a week. You can have it if you want. Minimum wage for now, but there should be plenty of time to study and you can catch a ride with me each day."

The suddenness of the job offer made Blair blink with bewilderment. "A job?"

"If you want it," Simon added. "You've already passed our background check. Of course, back then we didn't know..." Simon's blush was kind of funny and Blair's unexpected snicker made Jim laugh. Simon scowled. "What the hell, do you want it or not?"

"I want it," Blair answered. "I so want it, man." He turned to Jim. "Thanks, Jim."

Jim shrugged. "I figure a guy should have a bank account in his own name."

"Did you already finish?" Rhonda asked, looking up from her typing in surprise.

Blair flashed her a grin. "Yes, ma'am."

She shook her head in wonder. "I can't remember a time my finished case sheets have been up to date. I could kiss you." She lifted a file from the corner of her desk. "I expected to scan this next week, but if you'd like to start now, I'll show you how to index when you're done. Scan everything in here just like you did before."

Taking the file and offering a bouncy salute, Blair headed for the copy room that held the scanning machine.

It felt good to move without pain. His face was back to normal and his ribs only hurt when he twisted them just so. He was still going stir crazy at night because Jim was insistent they not go out, but during the day he was keeping busy and having a good time.

"Hey."

Blair looked to his left to see Jim leaving an interview room. "Hey, man."

"I've got to go out for a bit," Jim explained. "I'll have my cell."

Sighing, Blair didn't even ask to go along. He'd tried that before and Jim had been firm. No leaving the station. "Okay, and don't start with the list, okay? I've got it memorized: No latte trips; no quick runs to the library; no going with Brown to the deli; stay on the seventh floor; no--"

"Okay, wise acre." Jim gently bopped the side of Blair's head, pausing to tangle the strands. "You get it. I get it. Call if you need anything. I'll be near Ferndale Hill, if I get time I'll see if they have any tongue at that yuppie grocery store you like."

"Hey, cool!" Blair ducked out of Jim's reach. "We need more algae for my shakes. Oh and get some wheat germ. I'll pay you back."

Mocking a groan and holding a hand over his stomach, Jim feigned sickness as he walked backwards toward the elevator.

Blair snorted. "Funny, man. You're a living riot."

"Call in about two hours. Give me the list then. I should be finished with my interview by then," Jim told him as he stabbed the elevator button.

Blair watched his friend board and traced his heartbeat as the car descended. He leaned against the wall.

He was so sick of this, sick of staying indoors. The only fresh air he got was through the window of Jim's truck on the drives to and from the loft. In his head, he knew it was smart to stay out of sight, but in his heart, he just felt like running down the beach or riding his skates through the park.

Holding up Rhonda's file, he headed for the copy room. The faster he got this done, the faster he could work on his studies. Maybe this weekend he could talk Jim into slipping out of town for a day.

In the empty copy room, Blair checked the settings on the fancy looking scanning machine. Rainier didn't have anything this nice. It acted like a normal copy machine, but when you hit a few buttons, it became a scanner, automatically sending an electronic image into the network main frame where the department kept its files.

Blair checked the first batch of papers, making sure they were dated and had the police case number on the first page, like Rhonda had shown him. Blair looked over the paperwork, recognizing the file. It was the drug dealer case, the one Jim was working on. This was the information that the other detective team had gleaned while Jim had been working on the Phillips lumber case.

Curious and bored, Blair read as he scanned.

Traffic was heavier than expected. A major arterial Jim used whenever he found himself in the northeast part of town had been ripped up and barricaded off, something to do with a new gas line. Inching his way forward, surrounded by other frustrated drivers, Jim's thoughts stayed with his sentinel.

Any other time Blair would be at his side. Jim hated having to leave him behind. But the risk was too great. Jim had to face facts, even though the task force was disbanded and Drake was in custody, they had not removed the danger. Naomi had to be dealt with.

An opening appeared in the lane to his right and Jim hit his signal and dove before the cars cut him off. Minutes later, Jim turned a corner and left the mess behind. He'd circle back through the warehouse district and through a parking lot owned by the Boeing Corporation. The new route led to the coastal freeway. He'd make his interview close to the correct time.

"Holy Shit!" Blair exclaimed as he slapped down the papers he'd been reading. "I gotta call Jim!"

Picking up the half-scanned file and stuffing loose papers back into the folder, Blair raced out of the room and down the hall. Two detectives were turning the corner and Blair nearly took them out. Apologizing when they showered him with scornful looks, Blair ran on, reaching the bullpen seconds later.

Brown's desk was empty. Blair forgot the names of the two men working at their desks, although he knew their faces. Rhonda was just coming out of Simon's office.

"What's up?" she asked, going around her desk and opening a drawer. "Finished?"

Blair shook his head, pouncing on Jim's phone and tossing the file down. "Not yet, almost. Got to tell Jim something."

"Okay." She pulled out her purse and slipped the straps over her arm. "Just put it in my basket when you're done. I'm leaving for an eye appointment. I'll see you tomorrow."

Calling Jim's cell, Blair bounced impatiently on the balls of his feet as he waited for the connection. Deep down, he knew he shouldn't feel this elated, but he couldn't help it. He had figured something out, something missed by all the trained police detectives that had been working the case. It was so cool!

Smugly, Blair launched into his news when he heard the telltale click and someone breathing on the other end. "Jim, oh man, I have this totally wrapped up! Wait `till you--"

"Blair."

It was like smashing to an unforgiving earth after a long freefall. Blair fell into Jim's chair, shattered at the blinding implications. "No," he whispered.

Naomi continued, oblivious to her son's pain," I'm not going to tolerate anymore of this foolishness, do you hear me? If you want to see this pig again, come alone to our place. You've got thirty minutes."

"Wait!" Blair squeezed the phone in both hands, leaning forward as if trying to reach out and pull the connection back. It was no use; the call was over. Blair returned the handset with trembling fingers.

She had Jim.

His mom had kidnapped a freaking cop. Not just a cop, his roommate, partner.

His guide.

Ignored by the detectives in the room, Blair pulled the chair closer to Jim's desk. His eyes narrowed. Jim's computer was still on. He reached for the keyboard. He knew the cop had recently changed passwords, but he thought he knew it, watching Jim type it in almost without realizing it.

Not a lot of time. Blair glanced at the wall clock. He could do this.

Yes, he was in. Blair searched for the file he wanted and brought up Jim's notes. Great. It was there. He scratched down the information he needed and picked up the partially scanned file. Face grim, he stalked toward Simon's empty office.

Blair didn't have a lot of time, but he had some phone calls to make and a woman to meet.

Waves of nausea flowed through his gut. Jim woke to degrees of discomfort, something hard against his shoulder and hip, his limbs bound and throbbing. He tried to roll over, but the complete darkness wrecked his coordination and he flopped like a tideless fish. He could smell rotting wood, salty air and the type of briny stench found when dead kelp decomposed during low tide. Wetness soaked through his slacks. Pulled behind his back, his fingers touched rotting wet leaves.

A woman laughed.

Jim stilled, recognizing the danger in that sound. His memories returned and Jim knew he was in some deep shit.

He had arrived at his interview destination and had parked on a side street. He had been jogging along, cutting through an alley to save time, not being careful, when a group of men had jumped him. Just before being knocked out, Jim had briefly seen a woman with red hair.

"So, you're the pig that has my son."

"What do you want, Naomi?" Jim answered carefully, keeping all emotion from his voice.

She was quiet a moment. "I want a lot of things, pig. But mostly I want you to leave my son the hell alone."

Jim jumped at the close proximity of her fury. She'd crossed the distance soundlessly. He tilted his head. No light was getting under the blindfold. "I found your son in an alley, undernourished and scared out of his mind," Jim snapped back. "Where the hell were you when he needed help?"

The slap stung, and Jim used the action to roll away from her, hitting a rough, planked wall with his shoulder and hip. Jim shook his head. "How's adding kidnapping to your list of crimes going to help you?"

"We'll trade you for Drake," she answered.

Jim gave a brief, condescending laugh. "I'm just a cop, not the freaking vice-president, lady. Drake is a federal prisoner. They don't give a crap what happens to me."

She kicked him low in the back, right above his belt. Jim grunted.

"Doesn't matter, Blair's on his way. Without him to testify, they'll let Drake go."

Jim's stomached tightened. "He's not coming. He'll tell my captain. You're only tightening your own noose."

Her anger rose another notch. She nearly shrieked, "He's my son! He's not a pig-in-training! I'm taking him away from Cascade, from all you cops, from all the poison you're putting in his head."

Knowing he was risking another kick, Jim couldn't let one last observation go without saying, "Blair's an adult. He makes his own choices. You might be surprised what he wants."

"I'm sorry, Sir. I'll look into this right away. It's not like Detective Ellison to miss an appointment." Simon Banks returned the handset and stood up from his desk. He went to his door. "Is Ellison back?"

Brown looked up. "No, I think he's still out."

Simon saw his secretary was gone and belatedly remembered her appointment. He looked to the temporary desk of her new office assistant. "Where's Sandburg?"

Brown scratched his head. "I'm not sure, actually. I had some filing saved for him. Was waiting for him to come out of your office. He must've taken your side door."

"He was in my office?" Internal warning bells clanged. Had he made a serious miscalculation with that kid?

"On your phone," Brown answered. "I figured it was okay."

Simon nodded, not wanting to say anything more. He withdrew to his office and called Jim's cell. No answer. He placed another call to the loft, on the off chance the kid broke the rules and slipped away to ride the bus back to Jim's loft. No answer. Taking his jacket and making sure he had his own cell phone, he quickly donned it, ready to tell Brown he'd be out for a while.

Simon froze, his hand frantically searching for what should have been in his pocket with his cell phone. Empty. Desperately patting all his pockets, he jumped back to his desk and checked his top drawer. No, not there.

"Damn!"

His car keys were missing.

Blair sat in the stolen police captain's car. Parked in sight of the dilapidated canning factory, he studied the site his mom had ordered him to meet her. This had been their get away from the city place. The view was amazing, the property remote. Low slung, green islands lined the watery horizon. The Puget Sound was calm today, glittering in the afternoon sun, stirred lightly by an onshore breeze.

Taking a deep breath, Blair rested his forehead on the steering wheel. This was it. Had he done the right thing? It was too late to second guess his plan now, he needed to get Jim back.

Blair climbed out and locked the door. As an afterthought, he left the keys on top of the front left wheel. If this plan didn't work, there was no point in Simon Banks having to make a new set of keys.

Taking another deep breath, he started across the field.

It had been a while since he'd seen the place. The building was even more ramshackle than before. Over three quarters of the structure was built on piers over the water, which hastened its own destruction. Moisture had soaked into the old wood. Half the roof had collapsed. The walls leaned. Inside, he remembered spots where the floor was bad, like walking on a huge kitchen sponge.

Picking his way through overgrown weeds of thistle and vine maple saplings, Blair wasn't surprised when three men with guns stepped out from the corner of the building. Silently, they escorted him up to the doorway. The first room they entered was an office of sorts, separating them from the main, large room in the back.

Blair sneezed as the mold spores attacked his senses. For a second, his eyes watered, blurring his vision. Wonderful, just when he needed them the most, his senses turned on him.

"Blair."

Blair turned toward her voice. He blinked his eyes clear. "Mom."

Naomi smiled, coming forward to wrap him in a warm embrace. She was just as he remembered, willowy and graceful. Her bobbed red hair swung like silk tassels as she moved. Blair enjoyed her touch, pretending for a moment everything was normal. Their hug was quiet, until he had to admit, "I've missed you."

"I know. I'm sorry, baby," she murmured into his ear before pulling back. She frowned. "You're too skinny."

Blair rolled his eyes. "Mom, where's Jim?"

Like flipping a switch, the motherly affection shut down. Her expression cold, she crossed her arms and stepped back. She gave him a judgmental gaze, which had a `this is for your own good' feeling about it. Blair prepared for battle.

"What have you been thinking? Frankly, I couldn't believe the reports I was getting," she began.

"Mom," Blair started, stepping forward. "Listen to me for a second, okay?"

"Make it good," she ordered.

One of the big men by the door shifted, a guard dog waiting for his signal. Blair ignored him. "They're telling me stuff ... They even have a picture--" Naomi's face hardened into an angry mask and Blair hurried to explain, "It's old and fuzzy. It's hard to see who's who. They didn't know, honest. B-but I couldn't let an innocent man go to jail. And then that Drake guy was talking to you at the docks. I still can't believe you're involved with a bomb--"

Cursing under her breath, she cut him off, "First of all, that man wasn't an innocent. He's part of a company that burns hundreds of acres of rainforest a year! And we gave them plenty of time to get everyone off the ship before the bomb was set to go off." She stopped her pacing and whirled on him, her voice rising. "Do you know how much you've cost us? It took a year to get the resources and knowledge in place. I'm told you found the bomb!"

"Naomi, this isn't the way, you taught me to--"

"You're still just a child!" she shouted. "You're supposed to get your degree so you can be a useful part of our group. Only then would you be brought in on all our operations!"

The shock of her statement temporarily stole Blair's power of speech. He finally managed to sputter, "Y-you're kidding me! You can't plan my life out like that."

"I'm your mother!" she snapped back. "You have no idea what I've sacrificed to raise you. You owe me!"

Her fierce anger caused Blair to step back, bumping into one of her men. His arms were grabbed. "Hey!" Blair protested, trying to break free. "Mom, what's going on?"

"Tell me what the police know," Naomi snapped, looking at her watch.

"Where's Jim!" Blair demanded. He needed to find Jim. He dialed up his hearing, searching beyond those in the room.

"He's fine," she answered. "Tell me, Blair."

"I'm not talking until I see him."

Her mouth set in a thin, straight line, she strode toward the far door. Blair was half-dragged along in her wake. Naomi entered a larger room where, during the fish harvest glory days, the actual canning process took place. Blair saw Jim on the floor against the far wall. He was bound hand and foot, blind-folded and gagged.

Blair brought his foot down hard on his captor's instep and wrenched free. He ran, using the sounds of his own footfalls to circumvent the bad spots on the floor. He reached Jim's side and dropped to his knees. "Jim, it's me. Are you okay?" Blair eased the gag out.

"Wah--" Jim coughed as Blair manhandled him into a sitting position. "What are you doing here?" he croaked dryly.

Blair whispered, "Trust me, man. Stand up."

"We don't have time for this," Naomi told him, having taken a slower, more careful trip across the room with her henchmen. "Get away from him. You can see he's all right."

"Stand up," Blair insisted, hauling Jim to his feet. Finally Jim was leaning half on Blair and half against the wall. Blair held him in place with a hand as he turned to address his mom. "Naomi, just take your people and get out of Cascade."

Naomi didn't take the order well. "You're coming with me."

"No I'm not. Listen, Jim hasn't seen you and I won't testify against you. So just go." Blair could feel Jim tense.

"Sandburg," Jim whispered. "What are you doing?"

"I won't stand for this," Naomi shot back at him. "You're leaving this place and coming with me."

Blair stood firm. "No. Not this time. I'm not going to listen to you anymore. And you know what, mom? I don't need that money you took from me either. I've got a good job. I have my scholarship. I'm finishing my degree here. I'm going to live my life the way I want."

"Why are you saying this?" Naomi asked and Blair could see she was truly puzzled. "I'm making a difference. We're causing a change. You wanted to be part of that."

"You killed a man!" Blair accused, starting to shake with anger.

"Easy, partner," Jim whispered.

She shook her head. "That was a mistake. He shouldn't have been there," Naomi answered. "Anyway, one life in forfeit for all the good we do. It's more than a fair trade."

Becoming aware of a new heartbeat, Blair had a good idea who had joined them. "And all the lives you ruin? All the people who die, overdosed by that shit you're selling on the streets?"

Rearing back in surprise, Naomi narrowed her eyes. "Tell me what the pigs know," she ordered slowly, threateningly.

"Sandburg," Jim muttered, shifting on his bound feet.

God, it was true. Blair wanted to be wrong; he prayed he was wrong. He steadied Jim with a hand on his chest, but kept his attention on his mother. "You always hated drugs. I can't believe you're part of this."

And for a second she was Naomi again, reaching for him in a way that left an ache in Blair's heart.

"You don't understand," she whispered. "It's all about the money now. Protests and marches don't mean anything today. We get real money this way. Our earth is more precious than a few street people."

"Kill them both." The statement was firm. The newcomer Blair had heard entered the room.

Blair closed his eyes, recognizing Farris Carter from the van in the parking lot. Had Naomi been part of the group in the back of the truck?

"What the hell is happening?" Jim whispered. "Who's here?"

"Shhhh," Blair answered, patting him. "Shut up, man."

"Blair's my son, Farris. He's coming with us," Naomi answered, sounding like the person still in charge. Blair wondered how long that would last. Her men were looking at the newcomer like he was someone they were used to taking orders from.

"He'll never join us," Carter answered as he slipped an arm around Naomi's waist and pressed her tightly against him. "Kill them."

It was like watching the snake tempt Eve in the garden. Then Blair heard the telltale sounds of others moving in from the field and he knew he was out of time. It didn't matter anymore. This was going to get ugly fast.

"Naomi, the police know everything," Blair lied. "They know about your liaison with him. They know who you are now. They're looking for you. It's just a matter of time before they find you. Give it up. I'll help you."

She gave him a sad, resigned look that said it all and Blair knew that he'd never again have the Naomi Sandburg he had loved. Yeah, she was unconventional and unorthodox as hell, but she had always been beautiful, free spirited and fun to be around, and he'd been proud that she was his.

Naomi laid her head down on Carter's shoulder and Blair dialed up his hearing enough to hear her pained whisper to her obvious lover. "Kill the cop, not my son."

Outside, the sounds of the hidden men drew closer. Blair heard their whispered orders, smelt the gun oil, felt the old building rock ever so slightly as they moved onto the old floor. Inside, the power dynamics had changed. Carter was giving the orders now. Naomi was begging.

He was out of time.

"Mom." Blair took two steps toward her, one hand reaching out. Then, when she closed her eyes as if in pain, he spun and dropped to pose like a runner out of the blocks. Sprinting, Blair drove with his strongest muscles, his legs, powering with all his might. He hit Jim midsection and slammed them both into the wall.

Jim grunted in surprise.

Wood splintered around them.

Naomi screamed.

Armed drug dealers charged into the room.

Gunfire erupted.

Blair locked his arms around Jim as and they fell through the rotten wall.

And dropped.

Wind whistling. Roosting birds took flight with a startled squawk from under the cannery.

Falling, falling...

They hit the water in a brutal, full-body slap that crushed his breath. Cold water sealed Blair's face, cut off his air and sucked him down. Dialing his touch down to compensate, Blair realized his arms were empty. He'd lost Jim in the landing. Blair opened his eyes, ignoring the saltwater sting as he tracked a trail of air bubbles.

There! Jim sank beneath him in the green murk, dropping fast. Blair kicked hard, desperate to reach Jim before he became entangled in kelp. He snagged the billowing shirt at Jim's shoulder, made a handle out of the collar and pulled. Jim stopped falling. Fighting gravity, Blair scissor kicked and one-arm power stroked, tugging the larger man back to the surface.

"Move in already!" Simon Banks demanded, beyond furious that Battlefield still hadn't given any orders to go, even after hearing gunfire from inside the old building.

Ignoring the imposing form of the police captain hanging over the back of his seat, the agent-in-charge calmly spoke into his headset. "First wave, move in. Repeat. First wave, move in."

Simon flew back as the car lurched forward, its powerful engine revving. He hated being sidelined, not being in charge, not knowing what was happening to his men.

But mostly he despised being played. It was now obvious that the Feds had purposefully kept him out of the loop. When Simon had reported Jim and Blair missing, the feds had seemed delighted. Incredibly, they had placed a tail on Blair for days. Simon had then demanded to be part of their operation. That's when he had learned the kid had led them to a rundown cannery twenty miles north of Cascade.

The car Simon rode in screeched to a crooked stop, blocking the street. Guns drawn, the three men spilled out and took cover behind the hood as the firefight continued between two seemingly rival fractions. A bullet fractured their windshield. Simon, who had been peering eagerly over the top to catch sight of Jim, dropped back down.

A few feet away, one suspect cried out as a round caught him high in the back and he fell, face first, disappearing into the high grass.

Simon grabbed a handful of Fed suit and growled into Battlefield's face. "Get all the back-up in now! I have men in there!"

"Wave two and three, move in." The Fed nodded to the driver, who lifted a bull horn and thumbed it on.

"Federal Officers! Put down your weapons and exit with your hands above your heads." The man paused and repeated. "Federal Officers. You are surrounded. Surrender now. Put down your weapons!"

Simon waited, listening to the continuing gunfire and cursing his lack of control.

Jim's world was dark and wet and his head hurt. He floated, his body gently rising and dipping. It was cold and he shivered. He wondered if this was what it felt after drowning. Then something solid and warm brushed his ear and he realized someone had an arm around his shoulders.

"Blair," he wheezed.

"Hold on a sec," Blair answered, his mouth mere inches from his left ear.

Light.

Jim blinked as the blindfold was swept off. He was surrounded by waves. The closest one broke with a whitecap of foam and dropped, filling his nose and mouth. Jim sputtered. His old and deeply entrenched fear of open water caused him to mindlessly thrash about, which resulted in Blair's arm slipping off. Jim sank back into the water.

Blair pulled him up again by his collar and shook it a few times to get his attention. "Jim! Jim, calm down. I've got you. I've GOT you, man."

And Jim realized he did. The kid was really keeping him up. He relaxed, forced to trust this scrawny nineteen-year-old with his life. They floated into the shadows of an elevated building. Old wooden piling rose on all sides. The lapping of water echoed up and down between the sharp spats of...

Gunfire! Jim could hear it clearly now that his ears were above the water.

"Sandburg!"

"Shhhh, quiet, man," Blair answered, his voice tight with pain. "Or they'll start aiming down."

They heard the bullhorn next and Blair's arm tightened around Jim. "Where'd they come from?" he whispered.

The cannery was high above their heads. People moved overhead, the noise echoing wetly under the building. Then Jim realized they weren't bobbing anymore. In fact, Blair was rock steady and holding his face and shoulders out of the water. Tentatively, Jim lowered his bound feet and found the muddy bottom.

"Can you stand?" Blair whispered, pushing him upright.

Jim nodded. Seconds later something sharp was sawing on the ropes and his wrists were free. Jim shook his arms and flexed his fingers. Just as the kid was preparing to pearl-dive to cut the ankle ropes, Jim stopped him.

"Give me the knife and help hold me up," Jim suggested, taking the small, red pocket knife. He squatted down in the water and quickly cut through the ropes while Blair held his shoulders.

Jim stood and took Blair by the shoulders. Even in the deep shadows he could count the scratches on his face and see the pain in his eyes. "You okay, Chief?"

Nodding, Blair didn't look up. "I'm fine. Just ... glad you're okay." He flinched at a particularly loud and rapid series of overhead gunfire.

"Let's find a dry place to hide until the Feds wrap this up."

"I can do dry."

Lying quietly in the tall weeds, they watched the good guys surround the place. The local drug lord gang, caught with enemies on each side, chose the agents over Naomi's gang and surrendered. That done, the Feds moved in on the cannery to find those still alive in Naomi's small group out of ammunition. Jim waited till he was positive all the suspects were in custody before he revealed their position.

Waiting until a familiar figure was within range of his shout, Jim rose to his knees, lifted an arm and called out, "Simon!"

Swiveling his head, Simon spotted them immediately and broke into a run. "Jim! God, Jim you had me completely panicked there!" Simon thumped Jim's back. He turned to Blair. "And you!"

Blair cringed. Jim prepared to intercede. Neither man expected Simon's next move.

Long arms engulfed Blair and hugged, wet clothes ignored. "If you ever pull a stunt like this again, I'll personally lock you up and forget to tell Jim where the key is!" Simon squeezed until Blair squawked. The captain held him at arm's length. "Are you okay?"

Blair nodded, red faced. "I'm sorry I stole your car. I had to get Jim back," he admitted.

"Oh, hell, kid!" Simon slapped Jim's back again. "I can't tell you how many times I threatened Jack." He switched from happy to stern boss mode. "But I'm serious. Don't get any ideas I'm a push-over here," Simon barked. "I could charge you with grand theft auto for starters. I could..."

Blair had stopped listening. His attention captured by something happening at the cannery. Jim looked. A red-headed woman was being led out of the building by Feds.

"Mom." Blair tried to push by the older men.

Jim caught Blair's arm. "Not a good idea, Blair."

Unable to tug free, Blair gave Jim a bewildered look. "She was going to let him kill you."

"Hey, we're alive. You did everything right." Jim said. "We'll sort out the rest later."

"Right," Simon weighed in, a hand on each shoulder as he let his large frame block Blair's view. "Hospital. I want you two checked out."

In unison, the Sentinel and guide defiantly straightened and answered, "We're fine."

Simon growled fiercely. "No backtalk." When they didn't argue, Simon preened. "Hell, I've still got it."

Hours later, sitting on adjacent hospital exam tables, dressed in white gowns with pale blue flowers, Jim and Blair were alone for the first time since swimming ashore. They'd been checked over, cleaned and the worst of the scrapes bandaged. The doctor had examined Jim, where a blow to his head during his kidnapping had raised a goose egg-sized lump. Jim had suffered a slight concussion.

"Let me get this straight, our new drug dealer was working with Naomi's group?" Jim quizzed.

Blair nodded.

"So how'd you figure that out?" Jim asked.

Idly playing with the hem of his gown, Blair answered, "I saw some names when I was scanning for Rhonda. They were supposed to be known associates to the new drug guy." Blair looked pained, "I couldn't believe it, man. Two had worked with Mom from before. I figured, what's the odds of that?" Blair shook his head. "Then I remembered Joel talking about how much money it takes to buy stuff to make bombs on the black market. I knew Naomi's group didn't have a lot of money." Blair chewed his lip a second, then looked up at Jim. "I so wanted to be wrong."

"Not bad detective work, Junior," Jim commented. "Then what did you do?"

"Went to tell you. But when I called your cell phone..." Blair sighed. "Mom answered and I knew you were in serious trouble."

Jim leaned forward, hands gripping the table's edge. "Why didn't you tell Simon?"

"I couldn't find him," Blair said, ducking his head. "I know it's stupid. I freaked, okay? I only had minutes to get to her or she said she'd hurt you."

Jim sighed, trying to remember Blair was new to the concept of police procedures and teamwork. "So you took Simon's car?"

Blair nodded. "I called the drug guys first, told them they could have a chance of catching the guy they wanted. I figured they could keep Naomi busy while I got you away."

Jaw dropping in shock, Jim nearly fell off the table. "You did what?"

Blair shrugged. "I called the guys that kidnapped us before. I had to hack into your computer to find your notes."

"We weren't even sure those were the guys, Sandburg!"

Blair screwed up his face. "But the odds were strong they were, right?"

Jim shook his head, thinking of the risk. "Shit."

"I didn't expect the Feds though." Blair frowned. "Is it okay for them to follow me around? Don't I have a right to know? I mean they basically used me for bait without permission. If I had known, I would have let them be the distraction. I wouldn't have called the drug dealers."

Instead, Jim realized, Blair had ended up having all the players there at the same time so they could swoop in and arrest the whole lot. "Damn, Sandburg. Your brain scares me sometimes."

Simon picked that moment to return, carrying a black gym bag, which he set on a chair and unzipped. "I've got one pair of sweatpants and two T-shirts that should fit. Maybe we can borrow a pair of scrub pants for the kid to wear home." He pulled out clothes and tossed them over. "I'll check. Be right back."

He returned with the pants and they dressed quickly, slipping into their wet shoes. The nurse arrived with their paperwork, which Simon accepted for the official report. Gathering up their damp personal belongings, they were free to go.

Jim took an appreciative breath once they were outside the hospital. Night had arrived and he was hungry. Taking a detour though a Wonder Burger, Simon paid. They drove back to the station. The night shift was in full swing when they arrived. News of the arrests had circulated and more than one officer congratulated them as they stepped off the elevator and made their way toward the bull pen.

Blair followed quietly, his eyes searching the hallways. As they neared the doors to Major Crime, the younger man suddenly stopped and looked down the hallway branching off toward the interview rooms.

Jim turned to Simon. "She's here, isn't she?"

Simon nodded. "Yeah, the Feds are interviewing her. She gets moved out to a federal holding center in a few hours."

"Jim..." Blair looked longingly down the hallway. "Can we?"

Jim didn't want to, but Blair would want to see for himself that his mother was whole, not injured. There had been too many bodies in that field. "Just for a second."

Simon frowned. "Are you sure?"

Jim nodded.

Eyebrows raised, Simon shrugged. "Okay."

"Thanks, sir." He squeezed Blair's shoulder. "Come on, Chief."

Slipping into the empty observation room, Jim stood at Blair's side. Through the one way mirror they could see Naomi sitting with a man who was obviously acting as her legal counsel. The lead federal agent sat across the table, another agent leaned against the wall by the door.

"My client does not wish to answer your questions at this time, gentlemen," the attorney said, his posture stiff and disapproving.

The agent leading the interview ignored him, his focus on Naomi. "We have your fingerprints now, Ms. Sandburg. How many matches do you think we'll make? Just think for a minute, set aside all the time you're going to do for kidnapping a police officer and attempted murder..."

Naomi's eyes hardened. She lifted her chin, her composure solid under his threats.

"... think about the old cases we'll tie you to now that we have you in custody, think about all the extra jail time. Do you want to spend the rest of your life behind bars? Tell us the names and we'll make a deal. Maybe you can get out before your son's children grow up and have their own children."

Naomi folded her hands together on the tabletop and answered in a clear, concise voice, devoid of all emotion. "I have no son."

Jim watched Blair's devastated reflection as her declaration sliced through him.

Nine o'clock the next morning, exhausted and punch-drunk from lack of sleep, Jim unlocked the loft and let Blair precede him into their home.

They had given their statements. By the time they had put the finishing touches on the reports, the day crew had arrived. It had made sense to sit in on the final briefing of the drug case.

Then Simon had sent them home.

Jim locked the door and lobbed his keys into the basket, watching them miss and land on the table. Screw it. He carried two days of mail to the kitchen table to sort. He made neat stacks while watching Blair aimlessly wander through the kitchen, pour and drink a glass of water, then drift to the balcony window to stare over the bay. The kid looked as bad as Jim felt. Still, they needed to eat before crashing

"Scrambled eggs and toast? I'll even use the egg beaters," Jim offered.

Not turning around, Blair shook his head. "No thanks."

"You want the first shower?" Jim asked, knowing a sentinel would still be feeling the saltwater like a coating of brine.

Blair turned away from the window, his arms crossed over his chest. He headed for his room and flicked Jim a quick glance. "Maybe later."

Blair was too quiet. Instinctively, Jim blocked his roommate's path. "Hey."

Jerking back out of reach, Blair crossed his arms tighter about his ribs and frowned at the floor. "I'm tired."

Jim held his ground. "Blair," he whispered.

Blair shook his head. His hair, untamed and frizzy, splayed out. "Don't," he demanded tightly, skirting a hasty detour.

Jim cut him off a second time.

"J-jim!" Blair snapped, his voice breaking on the single syllable. "Stop it."

Jim saw the pre-tears swimming. He bent down and was rewarded with tentative eye contact. "Don't shut me out, Sandburg. Not now, okay?"

Blair groaned and bit his lower lip, working hard to keep his emotions bottled.

The bottle broke.

The first sob hit hard, crumpling Blair's face. Knees folding, he went down. Jim caught him by the upper arms and pulled him close, keeping him off the floor. "I've got you," Jim promised.

In Jim's life, he had witnessed plenty of emotional releases, from mothers losing children to soldiers losing squad brothers. Some were deafeningly loud, others as silent as a snowfall.

Blair's breaking shudders rocked them both, the sobs escalating into bitter sounding wails. When Blair began to head-butt Jim's chest, he was forced to press a palm into the thick curls to still him. Blair cried into Jim's shoulder, bringing up both arms to hold on tight enough to make taking a deep breath impossible. Blair's pain caused Jim's gut to twist in anger. He visualized driving back to the station and putting a bullet between Naomi Sandburg's eyes.

"Take your time, kid." Jim half-guided, half-carried Blair to the living room.

Easing them both down onto the closest couch, Jim leaned back against the pillowed arm. Using his right leg, he hooked Blair's ankles, one at a time, and brought his legs up to the sofa. The afghan draped over the back cushions was in a perfect spot to snag and drop. Jim tucked it in and patted Blair's back before wrapping him in a hug. Somewhat comfortable, he closed his eyes and let Blair's tears soak his shirt and feel the soft, progressing sobs vibrate through his heart.

After some time, Blair's cries stopped. He turned his head, wet cheek to Jim's chest, and closed his eyes. Spiky eyelashes contrasted darkly on pale skin. Ragged, congested breathing slowed. Little by little, with a series of deep shudders, Blair grew lax. Seconds later, he was snoring.

Jim stayed still, holding his young, newly orphaned sentinel and watched the morning clouds drift in the light topaz sky until he too fell asleep.

"Five."

"Three."

"No, Jim. I'm telling you. The guy said five doors down." Blair crossed his arms.

Jim threw a look heavenward and sighed. "The report said three doors down, Chief. It's in black and white." He held up the rolled paper.

"Yeah, well, I'm the sentinel and I'm here to tell you that I heard him whisper five doors down." Blair stuck out his chin and met Jim's gaze. "Who you gonna believe?"

"Fine! Okay, then." Jim crumpled the paper and tossed it through the open window to land on the passenger seat of his Ford. "If you're wrong, you pay this time."

"I'm not wrong."

"Don't be so damn smug." Jim gave him a little push down the sidewalk and followed.

They walked by the row of open diners, restaurants and deli's to enter a dark Thai place with gold table cloths and carved wooden screens.

"Two for lunch?" a petite woman asked, picking up the menus and leading them to a small table by the window.

Half an hour later, Blair patted his stomach and burped. "Told ya."

"Yeah, yeah," Jim answered, cracking a grin. "So you were right. What kind of lunch plan is this anyway? Based on a half heard conversation between two gourmet chefs that you shouldn't have been listening to anyway."

"I only use my powers for good, man." Blair snickered. "'Sides, newspapers never print the truth." He wiped his mouth and sighed. "No wonder folks want to keep this place a secret. Best peanut sauce I ever had."

Jim pushed back from the table and sipped his chai tea. He studied his partner carefully. A month had passed since the afternoon in the cannery. Blair had returned to school, continued his work at the station and helped him on several cases. There were still days he fell into a funk and the upcoming Mother's Day weekend was sure to be hell, but Jim felt the kid was on the road to healing.

"What?" Blair looked down at his shirt. "Did I slop?"

Jim shook his head, turning away. "How'd your test go? The one you've been griping about the last two days?"

"It's good," Blair answered, using his finger to wipe up the last of the golden sauce. He licked happily. "Don't know why I freaked. Piece of cake." He shrugged and continued in a more serious tone. "I wanted to... kinda talk to you about something."

Ah oh. Jim tried not to panic. After all, just because Blair's sentinel abilities were getting better and the kid hadn't zoned in a while didn't mean he was leaving. On the other hand, he was an adult and probably wanted his own place, not live under the stairs in an old cop's apartment. "What?"

Nervously scratching his head, Blair turned his chair sideways and tried to look casual as he talked. "I've been thinking about making some changes."

"Yeah, what kind?" Damn, lunch had been too good to have it turn into lead in his stomach.

Blair hesitated.

"Just tell me, Sandburg." Jim hated to wait for bad news.

"Iwannachangemymajor," Blair blurted out. "Iwannagetadegreeinlawenforcement."

"What?" Jim leaned his elbows on the table, thinking he recognized the last few syllables in that incomprehensible string. "Did you say something about law enforcement?"

Blushing, Blair squirmed. "I... ah, I want to be a cop, man. I know I'd probably make a lousy one because I'm short and not very strong, but, I really--"

"Sandburg," Jim butted in, delighted he'd misread the situation. "Shut up. You're going to make a great cop." He could feel his face stretch as his smile grew.

Blair beamed back. "Yeah?"

Jim laughed out loud. "Oh, god, yeah. You're a freaking-walking crime lab, dude!"

Blair snorted, holding up both hands and grinning with delight. "Okay, okay. That so does not work coming out of your mouth. Old dudes are not allowed to even use the word dude! It breaks the `cool law!'" He threw one twenty and a ten down on the table and stood, ignoring Jim's laughter. "I mean it. If you're gonna hang with me, you have to behave."

Jim followed him to the door, waving goodbye to the smiling waitress. "I have to behave? ME? Listen, Junior. You're a walking disruption, you know that?"

"I am not." Blair strutted down the sidewalk. "Rhonda said I'm an asset to the bullpen. She can find your files now that you aren't putting them away anymore."

"You sure she said asset and not smartass, Darwin?"

"Rhonda does not talk trash, Jim," Blair said primly. "And I'm gonna tell her you said that."

Jim mocked a look of horror. "No, no, you win. You're an asset."

Blair laughed. "An old dude like you trying to take on the master."

"Get over yourself." Jim cuffed the back of his head.

Alone, Jim parked his Ford under a tall cedar. He walked across an immaculately groomed lawn to pause before the dark stone rising from the ground.

"Hey," Jim whispered, not even noticing the stinging in his eyes and slight burn to his nose. There was a time he couldn't even drive into the cemetery without tears falling. "I've got a lot to tell you this time, Jack. But, then again, you probably already know."

Jim slumped down, laying an open palm on the grass and judging it dry enough to sit. He crossed his legs, got comfortable and pulled out a few blades of grass to strip while he talked.

"You know what I think, old man? I think it was you that I felt in the alley when I first found the kid. I think you knew I needed a sentinel again."

Jim swallowed. It was getting hard to talk. He cleared his throat, his vision blurry. "I just wanted to say, thanks."

He silently waited for a moment and listened to the birds chat back and forth in the surrounding trees.

Jim cautiously added, "I still miss you, Jack." He smiled, pleased that he could after saying those five words without his voice breaking.

"Hell, you knew, didn't you?" Jim continued. "You knew he would take away the pain." Jim chuckled roughly and swiped the tear that slipped out.

He sniffed and watched a squirrel run across the lawn. "Okay, so here it is. He wants to be a cop and I'm okay with that. But he gets his degree first. After that, I figure we take an expedition. I want to show him the temple. He'll go ape shit in Peru, I know it. Then, if he still wants it, we'll come back and he can enroll in the academy. How's that for a plan?"

Jim sat for a long time and let the peace wash through him. Finally, he nodded his head. "Thanks, Jack. I knew I could count on you."

Jim stood up and walked back to his truck.

Two sentinels in a single lifetime.

Jim was a damn lucky guide.

end

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