Chapter Thirteen

"Where are we headed, Edgar?" Cindy asked as they entered the airport.

"Back to Cascade."

She tugged on his arm until he stopped his headlong rush. "Are you crazy?"

"It's probably the last place they would look for us," he argued. "Besides, this Ellison, whatever he is, seems to be on the side of right. I can't see him condoning our murders. If we can get to him, he'll protect us."

"You really believe that?"

"I...we have to believe it, Cindy."

"Why?"

"Because he's the only hope in hell we have of getting out of this alive."

*****

"How many hostages are we talking about?" Simon asked as he left the SWAT commander and jogged to the blue and white pickup parked a block away-- which didn't seem so strange because the entire block was full of police cars. Booker Elementary was on the edge of the downtown area, one part facing the towering skyline of Cascade, the other nestled against deforested suburbia.

"Thirty-two. Twenty-six kids and six adults. What was it, a parent-teacher conference or something?" Jim asked.

"Practice for a Black History Program scheduled for the end of the month," the captain said distractedly, wondering how he could get the information to the SWAT team. They had no hard numbers. A couple of kids who had gone to the bathroom had managed to escape and call 911, but they were too upset to give any more detail, other than a man with a gun was in the auditorium. And they weren't too sure about that. "How many gunmen are there?"

"Just the one."

"Where is he?" He unfolded the blueprint of the school and spread it out on the hood of the truck.

Jim's fingers danced as he sent his senses in the direction of the school. "Center of the auditorium. He has all of them around him, as a barrier."

"Bright bastard, huh? Figured that much when he took out a cell phone and dialed 911 to inform the SWAT team that he had explosives on one door, or window, then dared them to make a choice. We can't rush in, or take a shot, even if he's in the clear." The auditorium had a row of windows along the top of the wall facing the parking lot. Two cherry-pickers, trucks with mechanized buckets that raised and lowered men to work on utility poles or pick fruit, had arrived to lift snipers into place. That was what had prompted the gunman to call 911 and warn them of the danger.

"Explosives?" Jim frowned. "I don't smell any."

Simon looked at him. "You know all of them by smell?"

Blair answered. "We've worked with samples of most of the common explosives in the lab-- dynamite, C4, plastique, nitro, a handful of ones a certain ATF acquaintance of Jim's let us borrow. We pretty much covered our bases."

"Even more importantly," Jim supplied, "is that I don't smell anything that could be used as a fuse. No chemicals of any kind. No electrical scents, either, other than the wires overhead."

He smelled the wires overhead? "Shit. So he's bluffing?" Simon asked angrily.

"Yes," Jim said with complete assurance.

"Great, fucking great. How the hell am I going to pass that information along? Maybe if I suggest they try to find out where he got the explosives from, maybe--"

"We don't have time for maybe's, captain," Jim said quietly.

"Why? What are you hearing?"

"This guy is close to snapping. I--" the SWAT leader called out a telephone number using a bull horn, "-- personally don't want him snapping with a room full of kids."

Blair looked at Jim carefully. What had just occurred? When the SWAT guy used the bull horn, both he and Simon had slightly jumped at the sudden noise. Jim hadn't even flinched-- even though his hearing was in enhanced mode. At least, he assumed that was how Jim was getting the information about the going ons in the auditorium. He hadn't gotten around to seeing through walls yet, had he?

"What am I supposed to do, Jim? Go up to Lt. Akers, and say I got a hunch the guy is bluffing? That I have it on good authority that there is no bomb, but I can't tell you where I got the information from? Oh, I'm sure that would go over well," Simon said sarcastically.

"Well, if you can't do something, I can," Jim replied, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"What happened to that Boy Scout's promise of yours?"

"That was before thirty-two lives were at stake." Blue eyes met brown ones steadily. "I suggest, captain, that you go on back up front with the lieutenant and you do what you have to do. I'll do the same."

Simon jerked his head once. "You be careful."

"We will. Oh, and can you unlock your trunk as you go by?"

Simon's eyes widened, and he refused to acknowledge the frisson which shook his body. "Sure, Jim."

Blair was intrigued by that last request. Simon's trunk was an interesting melange of modern-day police equipment. A foray into its contents could unearth bullet-proof vests, canisters of tear gas, a portable PA system, surveillance equipment of all kinds, and an assortment of weaponry. "And he talks about my backpack," he fussed as he bent over the trunk with Jim.

"I worry about you both," his partner replied.

"What's the plan, O Great Worrier?"

"That's Warrior, brat, but in this case, Great Sentinel. And bow when you say it," Jim replied flippantly as he found what he was looking for. Ah. The good ol' reliable M16. Just what he needed. Thanks to excellent military training, calculating trajectory for the rifle was as automatic as pulling its trigger.

"Think SWAT is just going to let you swagger in with your toy?" Blair asked, eyeing the rifle distastefully. Although he'd worked with cops for years, had once or twice thought favorably of Jim's gun and the handy dandy ankle piece as well, he still wasn't comfortable with armaments as a whole.

"Who says SWAT is going to see me?" He turned around and pointed at the tall buildings behind them. "The roof of one of those should give a clear view into the auditorium."

Blair nodded. Yeah, the roof and a mile long telescopic lens would work perfectly for the general population. Good thing, Jim wasn't in that group. "You can make the shot?"

"I can make the shot."

"But?" He heard the minute hesitation in the Sentinel's voice.

"I need him to stay in place long enough for the bullet to reach him. He's not moving around much, but I don't want the shot hitting him, say in the head, and the kids having to see that."

"So, you're not only trying for an impossible shot, but a precise one as well?" Blair shook his head. How the hell could you argue such compassion? "You need him like frozen for several seconds?" Jim nodded. Blair searched around until he found a case containing miniature comm units. He took one of the earpieces and a microphone, holding them out. "Here. Take this and go find your spot. Hopefully, by that time I will have thought of something."

"Okay," Jim said, perfectly confident that his Guide would come through for him once again.

Blair watched him leave, then turned back to the trunk. Hmm. Surely a lifetime of studying man, watching his behavior, predicting it at times, surely that could help him now. What would stop a man in his tracks other than a direct attack like a bullet? People froze in horror all the time when they saw something bad...or heard a particular sound.... Damn, would this work, he thought, as he pulled the portable PA system and its battery pack out of the trunk. He stopped by the truck and fumbled through a collection of tapes, relieved when he found the one he was looking for.

Having learned something about moving invisibly from his former Ranger roommate, he slithered into an alley near the school without anyone noticing. "You planning on scaring the gunman with what goes for music in your universe?" a voice asked in his ear. "Just might work."

"If I was planning on doing that, I would have grabbed your Santana tape, aka, music from the Dark Ages," he retorted automatically. Then his head flew up and he looked around, scanning the rooftops. He couldn't see a thing except street lights and night. "You can see me? Where are you?"

"Cascade Savings and Trust. You know, they should really do something about their security. Made it all the way to the roof without having to flash my badge once."

Blair squinted in the direction he knew the building to be, but could barely see the building, much less a figure on its roof. "What tape is this?" He held up the empty cassette cover.

"The Sounds of Nature Come Alive? You're going to serenade him?"

"Jim, you couldn't read the cover if you were using your infrared sight. Have you discovered a new level?"

"Changed to a premium channel, Chief."

"We're going to have a long talk when we get home," he warned, shivering at the thought of the magnification Jim's sight must be set on to see so clearly at such a long distance. Just what kind of channels have you been flipping through, my Sentinel, and when the hell were you going to tell me about them? "I knew my days as an AV assistant back in high school would come in handy. And everyone thought it was such a geek thing," he said as he forwarded the tape to the point he wanted it.

"It was."

"Up yours, Ellison."

"Nothing wrong with being a geek, Chief. My best friend is one."

"I'm not sure if I should feel proud or insulted." He checked his connections and turned up the volume as high as it would go. "You set?"

"I have him, Chief."

"Okay, at the count of three, I'm going to hit the play button. It's going to be loud."

"Not a problem."

Just wait until this Lilith stuff is over. I'm going to have your ass in the lab so fast, and so long.... "One...two...three!"

Simon had been on edge ever since he'd left Ellison and Sandburg. He had no idea of what the two would come up with, but knowing Sandburg's peculiar mind and Jim's peculiar talents, he had prepared himself for just about anything. Still, he froze like everyone else as the sound of a howling wolf cut through the night, the eerie call drowning out the crackle of radios and the soft chatter of the waiting policemen. For several long seconds, everyone paused, a visceral reaction of prey to a predatory call.

Then the reaction became typically human. What the hell was that? Where did it come from? There aren't in wolves in Cascade, are there? Before the questions could get sorted out, the doors of the auditorium were thrown open and the hostages started pouring out. Yells about the gunman's weapon shattering. No, no sign of explosives. No, no injuries except for the gunman's hand.

"Look like we picked a fine time to go for coffee," Simon heard a familiar voice say. He turned to see his detective and observer standing behind him with a tray of coffee cups. "So we missed it all, huh, captain?"

"Give me that coffee," Simon said brusquely.

"Nothing like coffee to soothe the savage beast, huh?" Blair said jokingly to the Major Crimes officers standing nearby. ""What happened?"

Rafe shivered. "There was this...wolf's howl or something--"

"Then everyone ran out of the school," Brown concluded.

"The guy let them go?" Jim asked in amazement.

"He had no choice. His gun blew up," Zack supplied.

"Guns just don't blow up," Joel said thoughtfully, having worked the Bomb Squad for most of his years on the force.

"Maybe he screwed up with the explosives he said he had," Zack argued.

"Forensics will figure it out," Simon told them. "Why don't you help get these people out of here in an orderly fashion? Then you're free to go. I'm sure there are enough witnesses that you won't be needed."

"Yes, sir," they chorused, taking a coffee and spreading out.

Simon looked at his remaining men. "What are you grinning about?"

Jim shrugged. "Just glad that things worked out. A little more time and it could have ended very badly."

"Yeah, they say timing is everything," his partner agreed.

Simon just rolled his eyes. "Well, I guess it's safe to assume you two won't be questioned. After all, you were gone for coffee when everything went down."

"That timing thing again," Blair pointed out. "By the way, captain, about that trunk of yours--"

"Go home," Simon said crisply. "And...thanks for the coffee. If it keeps me up tonight, " he added meaningfully, "it was worth it."

"To us too, captain," Jim said sincerely. "And, Simon, if you still need a lead investigator...."

"I think I already have one. I'll let you know the details of the press conference when they get sorted out. See you gentlemen in the morning."

Jim was whistling as they made their way to the truck. "You seem pretty jazzed, man," Blair said as he scrambled into the familiar passenger seat.

"Why not, Chief? Finally, I had a chance to do something. I wasn't just an onlooker, or even worse, a pawn, in somebody's fantasy. It felt good to be fighting a...mortal again. Kick his ass and he stays down. With demons, you're never really sure what will keep them down."

"Think Simon will have any trouble when forensics discovers the bullet that took out the gun?"

"Why should he, Chief? It wasn't his operation, and if some vigilante sniper took a big gamble right under the SWAT team's nose, that's not his fault. If anyone has to do any fast talking, it will be Lt. Akers. Did I ever tell you how pissed he was when I turned down his offer to join his precious SWAT team when I first came aboard? Nasty fellow, he was, just because I called them Neo-Nazis with a badge."

Blair laughed. "Remind me never to get on your bad side. Oops. Been there and done that, haven't I?"

"Same here, Chief. But with us, it's a family thing; with Akers, it's an enemy thing. That makes a big difference. By the way, nice move with the wolf's howl. Why am I not surprised?"

"The cry of the jaguar would have been just as petrifying, man. Just didn't have one on tape. When the predator calls, the prey freezes, then runs. You just didn't give the prey time to run."

"Didn't matter, Chief. He had a jaguar and a wolf on his tail. He was dinner from that moment on."

"And so will Lilith be, Jim."

Jim grinned at his partner. "You got that right."

Chapter Fourteen

"Are you sure we're doing the right thing?"

Edgar Masden looked at his companion and smiled. "For the first time since this quest of mine started, I'm sure, Cin. You'll be safer in New York than with me." His eyes flickered up to the Arrivals/Departures screen in Chicago's O'Hare Airport. Cindy's flight left in an hour and his to Cascade was a half an hour later.

"Then why don't you come to New York too?" she pleaded worriedly.

He shook his head. "I've been doing some heavy thinking." God knows, he'd had enough time to do it. It had taken them nearly four hours to get from New Orleans to Chicago. Of course, they hadn't exactly taken a direct route, hoping to lose any tail they may have picked up. "The signs that maybe I should let this one drop were there. No one talked. It's usually hard to get a consensus like that just by threatening people. And I didn't sense fear or even resentment when they refused me. It was as if they all agreed the secrecy was for the best. Then Larry Jordan tried to warn me and I brushed him off as competition. But he's had Ellison to himself all these years. Surely, he's noticed all the irregularities I have, yet he's been content to get crumbs from him-- crumbs which, I may add, have given him a shitload of awards. But I don't think it's for the awards that he's kept his silence. I just think he studied the same information a lot deeper than I did."

"Maybe he kept quiet because he didn't want to ruin his reputation with a story about aliens on Earth," Cindy pointed out, playing devil's advocate.

Masden laughed. "With Jordan's credentials, everyone would have taken it as gospel."

"With your reputation as well."

He shrugged. "Maybe. There's enough hard evidence that would be hard to dispute.... But that's beside the point. Jordan wouldn't, and I won't, be telling this story."

"Why?"

"In all the stuff we have on Ellison, he hasn't done one thing that is even remotely malevolent. Most of what he's done has been for children-- finding their killers and stopping them from killing again. After talking to Prescott in Maryland, I'm sure the man would have taken more lives eventually. It excited him, both the murdering and getting away with it. But Ellison stopped him, the old guy in Cascade, and the cult in New Orleans. Who would benefit if I 'outed' this man, not from the closet, but his spaceship or whatever? Me, the publishers, and all the freaks and perverts he could have possibly stopped. I think that's what Jordan figured out. It's what I would have figured out earlier if I hadn't fried my brain."

"You think that's why Ellison is here? To help mankind?" Cindy asked softly.

Masden shrugged. "Maybe he just crashed here and when someone helped him, he decided to help us."

"What about his birth certificate, the records of his childhood and youth?"

"Documents can be faked, but I'm partial to the theory that it was indeed Captain Jim Ellison who crashed in Peru. However, he died just like the others and this alien took over his body."

"With the government's blessings?"

"I'm not sure. Seems to me, if the Army knew about it, they would have kept him in service longer. No, I don't think they knew. He got himself discharged and went to Cascade, spending the next five years getting to know who he was supposed to be. Either he was lucky, or he'd done his homework, because Ellison had been estranged from his family for years so they were no risk. By the time the anthropologist showed up, and the weird stuff started happening, he had his identity as James Ellison down pat."

"And this Blair Sandburg?"

"Possibly he discovered him. He has a pretty full passport. Maybe he found this being and patched him up. Then they concocted this plan and agreed to meet x number of years later to divert suspicion."

"So now they've teamed up together to save the world." Cindy paused, rubbing her forehead wearily. "It sounds like something on television."

"Most fiction is based on fact." He smiled. Maybe he didn't have the story of the year but, perhaps, he had the bestseller of the year.

"When do you think the government figured it out?"

"I think the CIA caught onto it first. That's why they sent out that supposedly rogue agent to test him. When Ellison was able to bring him down, they backed off. The FBI handled it much better. When Ellison helped them, they decided to work with him. But, then again, he was already doing their job-- protecting us from domestic terrorism."

"Are the Feds killing for him?"

"No. Ellison wouldn't trust them if they did. I think a government faction, the infamous Men In Black, perhaps, is cleaning up behind the man, without his knowledge."

She looked at him wonderingly. "You have been thinking about this, haven't you?" He nodded solemnly. "So, what are you planning on doing when you get to Cascade?"

"Contacting Ellison and giving him his entire file. Then I'm going to tell him about my suspicions-- the MIBs. That should give me some protection."

"If you can reach him before they reach you," Cindy said hollowly.

Masden placed his hand on top of the one on the chair arm beside him and squeezed. "If something happens to me, Cindy, I want you to get to Ellison and beg for his protection. Just tell him what you know and if he laughs in your face, that'll be okay; I wouldn't admit to any of this either. But if he is what I think he is, he'll make sure you're safe. Promise me, Cindy. Promise me you'll go to Ellison."

"I promise, Eggie."

*****

"That went well," Simon said as he and Jim exited the elevator onto the sixth floor and headed toward Major Crimes.

"The press was more interested in the hostage situation last night than any murders. I guess live children play better than dead men," Jim said. "Maybe there's hope for this world after all."

Simon grunted. "I doubt it. Just wait until it hits them that we're talking about serial killings. Of course, here in Cascade that may not be big news. Hell of an interesting territory you have, Sentinel."

"It makes me feel so needed," Jim said, feigning a sniff and wiping an imaginary tear. "Don't you feel needed, captain?"

Simon flicked a glance his way. "I can tell someone got a good night's sleep for a change."

"It was a unique and thoroughly enjoyable experience, sir."

"The press conference?" Blair asked curiously, overhearing the last comment as he joined the two men. He was returning from the copy room, still warm duplicates of the diagram he'd made of Lilith's movements in his hand.

"Not bad, Chief. But I was referring to sleeping last night. We miss anything around here?"

"Nah. Still no body this morning. Maybe Lilith is so hot for you, Jim, that she just can't picture herself with another man," he teased, delighted to see the flush spread across his partner's face. It was just so...delicious that this big, experienced man still could blush.

"What you got, Chief?" Jim asked quickly, hoping to change the topic.

"Oh, I overlaid Lilith's strikes over a map of Cascade County." He passed them each a copy as they neared Jim's desk. Movement caught his eye, and he looked toward Simon's office to see Daryl opening the door. He started to smile, then saw the gun. Without hesitation, he moved, putting himself between the bullet and Jim. The shot hit him in the shoulder, slamming him back into his partner. The Sentinel automatically caught his partner, then whirled to shield the Guide from further danger.

Simon had his gun drawn as soon as he heard the shot, but blinked in horror as he aimed toward the shooter, and found himself looking at his son-- a son who was once again aiming at his friends. "Daryl, no!" he yelled, taking one step over to block the teen's view of Jim and Blair.

"Move, Dad," Daryl said calmly. "Gotta kill Jim."

"No!" Simon repeated, and he wasn't sure whether it was to his son, or to the officers now surrounding them with their guns drawn. God, Daryl, don't you know how dangerous it is to shoot in a police station? Do you know how hard it's going to be for me to keep you alive? "Put the gun down, Daryl."

"Can't. Jim's not dead yet."

The words made it through Blair's pain. He opened his eyes and found himself sitting on the floor, slumped back against a familiar solid surface. Hands were fumbling at his shoulder. "Jim," he said, knowing the chest supporting him.

"I'm here, Chief," Jim murmured as he pressed his balled up T-shirt against the heavily bleeding wound. He didn't remember easing his burden to the floor, or tugging off his sweater and shirt to start first aid on his friend. His total focus was on Blair. Whatever else was happening in the room, he'd let the others take care of.

"Help, Daryl."

"Simon--"

"Help, Daryl," the Guide commanded.

"I'll keep up the pressure," Taggert offered, kneeling beside the two of them. He had been stepping out of the break room when the incident occurred. "Medics are already rolling."

Jim nodded tersely and surrendered his charge. When he stood, the Warrior faced Daryl. "Simon, move aside."

"Jim, no," Simon moaned.

"Let me take care of him."

Simon turned. "He's just a child."

"I know, Simon. I won't harm him and I won't let him be harmed. Trust me."

The Watcher nodded. "I do." He dropped back behind Jim.

Daryl tensed as his target came into view. He raised his gun and Jim held his hands out. "You want to shoot me, Daryl?" The teen nodded. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Surely, she told you why I should die."

"She...she said you should die." Until now, he thought that was enough. The gun bobbed in his hand.

Jim took a step forward. "Look at me, Daryl. Look at me!" he demanded. The brown eyes snapped to attention, locking with the blue ones. All around the room, officers, their weapons out and aimed, stood as frozen as Daryl, their eyes following Jim as he approached the captain's son. He reached for the gun, and Daryl let go without protest. Then Jim touched his shoulder, and he crumpled without a sound.

For the second time in minutes, Jim caught a friend in his arms and lowered him to the floor. "It's all right now, son. I got you," he crooned to the unconscious teen. "I want all weapons holstered now!" At the order, officers blinked as if they had been in a trance, and the weapons disappeared, even as the tableau in front of them registered. "Someone let them know we're going to need another ambulance," Jim continued, taking charge because Simon couldn't...which he understood perfectly.

"I'm on it, Ellison," Brown called, picking up the phone.

"Jim?" Simon questioned tentatively.

"He's in shock." The captain kneeled beside them. "You can take him, Simon. He needs his father."

"He needed you."

"And now my partner does." He laid Daryl's head in Simon's lap. "They will both be fine."

Simon dropped a kiss on his son's warm forehead, gathering him closer. "Thank you," he said softly to the only man who would be able to hear him.

A head nodded in acknowledgment.

Chapter Fifteen

How did we get here, Chief? Last night we were sure we could tackle the world, and less than twenty-four hours later, you're here in the hospital. Shot by a kid we both consider a friend. How? Why? It's my fault...okay, our fault. We forgot to keep watch. We were careless. We became arrogant after last night's victory and we failed Daryl. He got into this to help us, and now his future hangs in the balance because we didn't protect him. *I* didn't protect him. I know what you're going to say, that we're all in this together, and I know that. But ultimately, protection is my job. As a cop, as the Sentinel, as the Warrior. I failed.

Jim's eyes searched the silent figure lying in the bed. A normal person may have commented that the room was too quiet. The machinery had been carefully disconnected and rolled back as Blair gradually became capable of taking over his bodily functions. But the room wasn't quiet to Jim, and for that he was thankful. His Guide's heartbeat filled the small area, singing a familiar tune, a lullaby that he never wanted to end. They had gotten lucky this day. Daryl had aimed for Jim's heart and ended up hitting Blair's shoulder instead. Only soft tissue damage. By tomorrow, his roommate would be back home where he belonged.

A fine, gold thread wove through his being and Jim smiled. "Decided to wake up, did you?"

Blair blinked and focused on his partner. "Someone had to teach you how to sleep in, Jim. Now, when am I getting out of here?"

"Whoa, Chief. You just got out of surgery a few hours ago."

"I'm aware of that, Jim. Remember, I woke up from the anesthesia and you said, 'You're gonna live, go back to sleep' and like a good little Guide, I obeyed. So, when am I getting out of here?"

Jim grinned. "In the morning, Chief."

"No sooner?"

"'Fraid not. It was the best deal I could get you."

"I guess I'll take it, then. Thank you."

Jim reached out for the arm that wasn't taped in place to limit movement, and folded his hand around the wrist. Automatically, his senses did a quick scan. Pulse, blood pressure, temperature-- all within normal range. "Thank you, Blair. You saved my life today."

"And you saved Daryl's. How is he?"

Jim closed his eyes and a silver filament began interweaving with the gold one. "Simon's on his way. We'll ask him."

"Well, then, how am I?" Blair indicated the hand on his wrist.

"Good, Chief."

"Then I'm doing better than you. You look like shit, man. Please don't tell me you've been sitting in that chair since I was moved from the recovery room." He didn't even wait for Jim to conform or deny it. "And I hate to be the one to tell you this, Jim, but pink is not your color."

He looked down at the medical scrub top he was wearing. Just his luck that this floor wore pink. "Next time you bleed, we'll use your shirt to plug the hole, okay?"

"What? And deprive the female population of the view of your pecs and abs, man? I wouldn't be that cruel...." He looked up eagerly as someone tapped on the door. "Come on in, Simon."

"Since you're up to your old tricks, I guess everything is okay," the captain said, not letting on that he was getting used to them knowing when he arrived.

"Jim says they're going to spring me in the morning," Blair informed him happily.

"That's good, Sandburg. I'm glad that...that Daryl didn't do anything more...permanent," the tall captain said unevenly.

"Hey," Blair reached out with his good arm, touching Simon lightly on the sleeve. "It wasn't Daryl who did this, man. We know who was behind this attack. Don't forget that, Simon." The dark head nodded reluctantly. "How is Daryl?"

"Still ten million miles away. He's been tested for drugs and had brain scans, but so far they doctors have found nothing." Simon rubbed his hand across his face, weary in body and spirit. "It's like Jim in one of his zone outs. They still scare the shit out of me, but at least I know he'll come out of it eventually. With Daryl...."

"He'll come out of it too," Blair promised. "Jim can make it better, can't you, Jim?"

Jim made it worse, Chief. Jim's carelessness is the cause of all of this. Why do you still have such faith in me? Blue and brown eyes made their silent appeals. "I reached him in the bullpen. Maybe I can again."

"No maybe about it, Jim. You are stronger than Lilith. Her powers are no match for yours, especially where Daryl is concerned. Love and friendship outweigh sex and mesmerism any day," Blair stated confidently.

Jim nodded. "Stay here with him, Simon?"

"Of course. Uh, Joan's with Daryl at the moment. I know she's not too happy with me, so she may show some resentment of your presence," Simon warned.

"I can handle it, captain." He left the room, feeling the delicate connection to the two men following obediently. It strengthened him, even as he struggled with doubts.

"Hey, man. You look like you just lost your best friend," Brown said as he intercepted him near the elevators. "You didn't, did you?" he added, slightly panicking.

"No, H, Blair is going to be fine. I'm on my way to see Daryl," Jim explained.

"Oh. You think that's wise, man? Rumor has it that he's still wigged out. He was pretty adamant earlier about killing you," the Black detective reminded him gently.

"It'll be fine, Henri. Daryl won't hurt me. Joan Banks, on the other hand...." Jim dredged up a smile from somewhere to flash at his friend. "If anyone else from the station is hanging around here, tell them to go home. I have...I have everything under control here." The elevator arrived and he stepped on.

"Hey, Jimbo?" Brown called just before the doors closed.

As testament to his exhaustion, Jim merely sighed at the obnoxious nickname. "Yeah, Brown?"

"Whatever it is you're planning to spread around, don't forget to hang onto some of it for yourself, man. You're hurting too."

Jim felt something tickle the back of his eyes. "Thanks for caring, Henri."

"We all care, Jim. We always have."

*****

Jim eyed what should have been a heart-warming picture of a mother and her son. Instead, it was a mockery of such a scene. The mother was distraught, silent tears running down her face; the son was there in body only, his eyes staring vacantly at the walls. What had he told Daryl earlier? Some things that have been done, can't be undone.... I sure as hell hope this isn't one of them.

"Mrs. Banks?"

Joan stiffened and wiped her face before turning. "Detective Ellison. I should have known you'd be lurking around somewhere. How is your partner?"

"He's resting comfortably. Simon, I mean the captain, is keeping an eye on him for me at the moment."

"I see. I have often wondered when push came to shove, which he would choose-- his men or his son," Joan said bitterly.

Jim took a deep breath, conscious of the misery surrounding this woman. She deserved to be angry, but had no right questioning Simon's love for his son. "It's not a question of choice, Mrs. Banks. Simon feels I may be able to help Daryl. I got through to him at the station. I may be able to reach him now."

"And what do you feel, detective? Do you feel you can help my son?"

"I would appreciate the time to try."

Joan gave a final sniff, before turning to Daryl and patting one of his clenched hands. "I'm going to be right out in the hall, baby. If you need me, all you need to do is let me know." Without looking at Jim, she left the room.

"I don't think your mother approves of me, Daryl," Jim said as he perched on the bed, scanning the teen's vitals. A moment later he relaxed. He had indeed broken Lilith's influence over Daryl at the station. What was controlling the kid now was fear, something Jim knew intimately. "What is it, Daryl? Are you afraid that you're going to be in trouble? You shouldn't worry. Your dad and mom wouldn't let anything happen to you. You know that. You won't be held responsible for what Lilith...." Daryl's heart began racing. "Lilith. You're scared of her, aren't you? You're scared that she's going to come back and hurt you, or make you hurt someone else. Like you hurt Blair."

Jim bowed his head, figuring Daryl didn't need to see the tears in his eyes. Hell, the kid was already frightened enough; adding his own weakness to the mix would be too much. "Listen to me, my friend. I'm going to ask you to do something and I know it's going to be hard. You feel betrayed, and rightly so. You trusted us...you trusted the Sentinel to protect you and I failed. I doubt if you'll ever begin to understand how sorry I am about that. But, son, I need you to trust me one more time, okay? I can make you safe." He raised his head and reached out both hands, palms up. "Give me your trust, Daryl, and I promise Lilith will never harm you again."

He waited patiently as the fists uncurled, then hesitantly moved outward. When the cold, dark hands settled against his, Jim wrapped his warm ones around them and murmured a quiet thank you. Then he began to recite the words that appeared in his head. Unknown to him, his voice took on a deeper, resonant quality as he snagged energy from the air and molded it for his own use:

In this appointed hour,
I place the Universe with all its power,
And the Sun with its brightness,
And the Snow with its whiteness,
And the Fire with all the strength it hath,
And the Lightning with its rapid wrath,
And the Winds with their swiftness,
And the Sea with its deepness,
And the Rocks with their steepness,
And the Earth with its starkness,
All these I place,
With my own Presence and Faith,
Between thee and the Powers of Darkness.

The hands within the Sentinel's twitched and awareness flooded Daryl's eyes. "Jim!" he cried, launching himself into the detective's welcoming embrace. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean to kill Blair. You have to believe he was my friend!"

"Whoa, Daryl! Blair isn't dead," Jim said quickly and compassionately.

Daryl pulled back. "But I shot him."

"Yes, you shot him. But he's alive." The teen looked at him suspiciously. "Daryl, Blair's death is nothing I could ever lie about."

"Oh, God. I didn't kill him?"

"No, you didn't kill him. Lilith didn't kill him," Jim emphasized.

The relief caused a trembling to wrack through Daryl, and Jim once again gathered him in his arms. The teen cried, sobbing out the story of how Lilith had appeared while his dad was busy with the hostage situation. She had seduced him, bound him to her with sex. Then she had asked one thing of him, and he had agreed without hesitation: she had asked him to kill Jim Ellison.

"It didn't sound like such a big deal, Jim. Take your father's spare gun and shoot him, she said, and I just said okay," he admitted, confused by his actions. ""It was like she was asking me to do my homework, man. I didn't have a clue as to how wrong it was until you spoke to me at the station after...after I'd shot Blair. Even when Dad was standing in front of me, all I could think of was that he was blocking my shot. I wanted you dead, Jim."

"I know, Daryl." Jim released him and gently thumbed away the tears rolling down the brown cheeks. "Do you still want that, son? Do you still feel the need to kill me?"

"No, man. No."

"Good. I'm going to leave now and let your mother come back in, all right?" Daryl nodded. "You know you are safe, even though I'm leaving, right?"

"I see it, Jim. I know I'm protected."

Blue eyes regarded him sharply. "You see what, Daryl?"

"The protective bubble." The boy looked at him, panicking. "You...you can't see it?"

"Hold on, son. I don't know whether I can see it or not until you tell me what it is you see," Jim said reasonably. Maybe he hadn't helped the kid after all.

"It's like a thin mesh made up of silver and gold strands, wrapped around light gray, faintly metallic bars. It's all around me. Isn't it?"

Jim's responsive eyes narrowed their focus until the mesh came into view. It was as Daryl described; enclosing him in a protective sphere. Thank you, Alicia. It's exactly what Daryl needs. "It's there. And no darkness can breach its perimeter. Do you believe that?" The dark head nodded vigorously. "Rest, then. I'll send your parents in."

"Jim?" the teen called out as he reached the threshold.

"Yes, Daryl?"

"Trusting you was never the problem. It never will be."

Jim had to clear his throat before he approached Joan who was in conversation with a nurse. "Mrs. Banks, Daryl wishes to speak with you."

"Speak?" she repeated hopefully. Jim nodded and the nurse picked up the phone to page the doctor.

"I'll send Simon up as soon as I take care of one more thing."

Joan reached out a hand to his arm. "Thank you, detective."

He smiled and asked the nurse which room Myron Whittaker was in.

Chapter Sixteen

Edgar Masden, standing in the middle of Cascade International, scanned the evening edition of the Cascadian with dismay. Ellison's partner had been shot in the police station...by their captain's son? Shit. That meant there was no way he was going to be able to contact the man tonight.

His best bet would be to check into a hotel, get a good night's sleep, then try Ellison tomorrow. Maybe he could even catch him at the hospital. The less "official" people who saw them together, the better. But he didn't want to go to a hotel, not when he had an apartment he would reach before he got to any of the good hotels in the city. Why couldn't he just crash at his place? So far, he hadn't picked up a tail and if he were careful, he wouldn't. It should be safe.

He hailed a cab and gave his home address. He checked the dark streets and saw nothing amiss, so he let himself inside. Bypassing everything else he head straight to the bedroom. Tired, he dragged his overnight bag to the bed and dropped it, along with the stuffed attache. Then he dropped, sagging onto the mattress wearily. It had taken forever to get to Cascade and the nervous energy which had carried him so far, was just about used up.

A shower would be good. But I have to get up to take a shower. How about I just take off my shoes instead? Don't have to get up to do that. Just toe into heel...good and then the second one...yes! Guess I should check in with Cindy, make sure she reached New York okay. Where's the phone?

He reached up and cut on the light beside the bed. That was when he realized he'd made a fatal mistake.

*****

"Jim?"

"He's not back yet," Simon told the awakening Sandburg.

Blair yawned and raised the head of his hospital bed. "Sorry for nodding off on you, captain."

"My son shot you, Sandburg. I don't think you have anything to apologize for."

"Neither do you."

"That's debatable."

Blair frowned and glared at his friend "Don't start the guilt thing, Simon. Because if you start it, then I'm going to have to follow along, and we all know that Jim is way ahead of both of us. Lilith is the one to blame for everything. We have to remember that."

"But we were the ones who let her get to Daryl. I don't understand how it happened, when it happened."

"I do," Jim said as he entered the room. "Daryl told me."

"Told you told you?" Simon asked excitedly.

"Opened his lips and waggled his tongue," Jim assured him. "He's going to be all right, Simon. He wasn't under Lilith's spell this time. He was just scared and decided retreat was the best option."

"He...he wasn't scared of me, was he?" the captain asked worriedly.

"He thought he had killed Sandburg, so yeah, he was scared of you, me, the whole criminal justice system. But what he was truly frightened of, was Lilith coming back and making him do something else."

"You told him I wasn't dead, didn't you, Jim?" Blair questioned.

"Of course I did, Chief. Couldn't keep news like that to myself, could I?" His hand reached out to touch one of the brown ringlets framing his partner's face.

Something in the touch felt wrong, but Blair ignored it for the moment. "Is that what brought him around?"

Jim shook his head. "I made him feel safe, so he started talking. Go on up, Simon. He's expecting you."

"Thanks, Jim." The big man was out the door.

Blair watched Jim slump tiredly into the chair Simon had vacated. "You okay, partner?"

"I'm not the one who had a bullet removed from his shoulder."

He remembered Jim's touch and shivered. "Obfuscations will not be accepted. Answer the question."

Jim raised an eyebrow and eyed the IV. "What are they feeding you? Tyranny-In-A-Tube?"

"Obfuscation #2. Keep pushing it, Jim. I already have a battery of tests set up for you after this is all over. Should take two weeks. Wanna make it an even month?" Blair threatened. Frustration flared. Once again, he was in a hospital bed, something he desperately tried to avoid since he hated needles and actively despised the meds constantly being force-fed to him. But mainly he hated the guilt that was on Jim's face every time he awakened in the familiar setting. And this time, there was an odd exhaustion accompanying it. Daryl was not the only one who was scared.

"I'm tired, Chief. Just tired."

"Why?"

"You have to ask me that?"

"Yes. I've seen you go for days without sleep and not be this wasted. But you slept last night."

"Yes, I did. And look what happened."

"Jim?" He motioned to his partner and obediently, Jim moved the chair closer to the bed. "I'm going to tell you what I told Simon. Lilith is the responsible party here. Not you."

"I hear you, Chief, but you know me," Jim replied with a grim smile.

"Which is why I'm not wasting any more energy battling your guilt," Blair agreed. Jim leaned forward, resting his head on the edge of the bed. Blair reached out and traced the white bandage at his temple. Damn. He'd forgotten about the fire and the concussion. One night of sleep wouldn't make his Sentinel one hundred percent. Still.... His finger strayed from the bandage, touching the bare skin of the side of his face. Blair jerked back from what he sensed. "What have you done?" he asked in a shocked whisper.

"What do you mean?"

"Your energy levels are way low, man." He was as close to "E" as Blair had ever sensed.

Jim blinked and sat up. "You can feel my energy levels?"

"I'm your shaman, you idiot. The title may not come with all the neat talents you possess, but it does allow me to monitor you. Did breaking Daryl free of Lilith do this?"

"Some. I also stopped by a few minutes ago to see Myron Whittaker."

"The man who hit you?" he inquired bitterly.

"Another one of Lilith's victims," Jim reminded him.

"And you broke him free too." The man was sometimes just too giving for his own good.

"Yes. Thankfully, he only remembers us stepping out onto the eighth floor. After that, everything's a blank. He doesn't remember a thing about Lilith and her shape-shifting," he added with relief. He had wondered how he would explain his way out of that one.

Okay. Maybe two Get-Out-Of-Hell Free cards had depleted him. But why do I feel there's something else? "You said you made Daryl feel safe. How?"

Jim sighed and wondered why Blair's medicine wasn't dragging him back to sleep like it always did. "I put him under protection."

"Meaning?"

"I said some words."

"You said some words," Blair repeated with a frown. Then his eyes widened. "You performed magick? The kind with a 'k'?"

"I don't understand."

Blair desperately wished he had both hands, but waving one in the air sufficed. "Magick with a 'k' is not the slight-of-hand, abracadabra stuff. It's more supernatural, elemental. If I follow you, you said a spell, right?" A jerky nod. "And?"

"A sphere of protection formed around Daryl."

"Cool! I didn't know you could do something like that," he said excitedly.

"Alicia directed me."

"She still watches over you?"

"She always will, Chief."

Blair smiled. For a girl he'd never met, he was starting to consider her a close friend. "I'm thankful for the friends you have beyond this world, Jim."

"Me too. But no more thankful than I am for the ones I have here." Jim wiggled, trying to find a comfortable position in the chair. "Enough talk. You need to rest."

"So do you. Go home."

Jim sighed. "Make up your mind, Sandburg. Do you want me to rest, or do you want me to go home?"

Understanding flared between their eyes. "So, it's like that, huh?"

"Yeah, Chief. It is."

"Rest then, my friend."

*****

Jim and Blair were both zoned, but in a good, relaxing way. Idle chatter and concerned glances had eventually faded away. Content to be together, alive and reasonably well, they had fallen into the companionable silence that reigned many a night at the loft. The only thing missing was a stack of books for Blair and a magazine for Jim, but tonight their thoughts were sufficient.

Jim suddenly stiffened and Blair looked at him curiously. "Simon's returning. I wonder if anything is wrong?" He turned an anxious face towards the door.

The captain peeked in, probably expecting to find both sleeping. When he saw they were awake, he entered. "Any room down here? Daryl kicked me out."

"Why?"

"He kicked Joan out too. Said we needed to go home and rest, that he was okay, that he was protected. Then he winked at me. What the hell did that mean?"

"Jim put him in a protective orb."

"What the hell does that.... No, I don't want to know," he said abruptly. "Guess I'm out of here. Joan and I are meeting with a lawyer in the morning."

"You can't go home alone, Simon," Blair reminded him. "Jim, Daryl had a point. You need to go home too. And take Simon with you."

"All right." Blair eyed him suspiciously. Jim never simply caved in. "But I'm putting you under protection first."

"No. You're already weakened. Besides, this is a hospital. Lilith can't come in because of the flyer."

"Don't count on that," Simon warned. "I know there were newspapers in my house."

Jim shook his head. "Daryl thought he was doing you a favor by cleaning up, captain. He piled up the papers and put them on the curb to be recycled. Nevertheless, I don't want to worry about you all night, Chief. Protection, or I stay. Your choice."

"And you called me a tyrant," Blair muttered. "Fine. But use some of my strength in the mix, okay?"

"I did before, Chief. Daryl was able to see the bubble thingie and finally I did too. There were gold and silver strands reinforcing it."

"So?"

Jim smiled sheepishly at his companions. "In my mind, Simon becomes a silver thread and you become a gold one, Blair."

"About that month of testing, Jim? Let's add a month of talking too."

"I hear you, Chief."

Blair adjusted his bed. "Okay, let's get this show on the road. What do I have to do?"

"Just give me your trust."

"Done."Jim took one hand in his and carefully maneuvered the other one into position. "Simon, stand behind Jim, and put your hands on his shoulders."

"I don't need protection, Sandburg," the captain informed him.

"I know-- because you're going home with Jim."

"Why can't Jim go home with me?"

Jim looked at him apologetically. "Because Daryl had sex there with Lilith, Simon. The smell would probably drive me crazy."

"I just had to ask, didn't I?" Simon muttered.

"I want you to lend your strength to Jim, captain. You heard him-- you are the silver strand. He needs you," Blair pronounced and Simon put his hands on Jim's shoulders.

The Sentinel recited the spell and maybe because he was with the Guide and Watcher, this time he actually saw the sphere form. The gold and silver strands were thicker, the light gray bars slimmer. "Do you see it, Chief?" he asked when he finished.

"It's beautiful, man. So, I'm gold and Simon is silver and you're...." He smiled as his mind touched the metallic substance. "Titanium is so you, Jim."

"Is that what that is?" he asked in amusement.

"The strongest substance known to man. He's right, Jim. It is fitting," Simon agreed.

"You can see it too?"

Simon glanced at him in surprise. "If Daryl could see it, why would you think I couldn't?"

"Because Daryl needed to believe...." That was the only reason Jim could come up with when he thought about the teen actually seeing his "magick".

"Maybe I need to believe too, Jim," the captain replied quietly.

They all knew what it took for Simon to admit that. Of all of them, Simon was the biggest skeptic. Blair, of course, avidly adjusted to the changes in their lives. Thrilled and excited described what he experienced every time the Sentinel learned a new skill, and the whole Warrior aspect had him bouncing off the ceiling for weeks. Whatever benefits he gained from being the Guide and a shaman, he fully embraced, eager to help those he could. Jim, who dearly wanted to be a skeptic, but found it foolish to deny what he himself was actually doing, quietly accepted his growing accumulation of talents, sometimes holding back more than he should, but never at the expense of another's life or well-being. Simon, however, preferred the ostrich approach. He didn't exactly bury his head in the sand, but he was really good at looking away. He maintained the attitude of "it happened, but I don't want to think about it." When his Watcher alarms went off, he responded, but with as little actual involvement as he could get away with. Now, he was confessing, without any pushing, to seeing a sphere created by mere words.

Blair touched the Watcher's arm. "Then believe, Simon. You can go back to unbelieving tomorrow or the next day."

"Or never again," Simon said softly.

"That's acceptable too." Jim placed his arm on the captain's without breaking contact with Blair. The sphere around them danced, the colors brightening, the lines broadening.

"Wow," Blair said, at a loss for more descriptive words.

"I agree, Sandburg."

Jim smiled. "We do good work, Chief. I think for once I can leave you in the hospital without feeling like I'm doing something wrong."

"That's great, Jim, as long as you don't forget to come get me in the morning," Blair said sternly.

"I won't forget, Chief. Come on, Simon. There are a couple of beers at the loft with our names on them. Oh, and the best part, sir, is that you came over here in the ambulance with Daryl, which means you get to ride in my truck."

"Whoohoo, your lucky day, captain," Blair exclaimed, laughing as Simon stomped out to the hall. "Hey, Jim," he said, his voice dropping to Sentinel softness. "Take care of him, okay?"

"I will, Chief."

Chapter Seventeen

"Can't sleep?"

Simon shook his head, realized it was dark and was going to make a verbal reply, then remembered who was asking the question. "Told you not to give up your bed, Ellison. Then I wouldn't be disturbing you."

Jim flicked on a lamp so Simon could navigate down the stairs. "You also said when you were at the loft, I never slept. That was true too. What's got you walking the floor?"

"Thoughts. Too many of them."

"Daryl."

Simon shrugged. "Got any of that pizza left?" he asked brusquely. On the way from the hospital, they had stopped for take out.

"In the fridge."

Simon grabbed a napkin and slapped a piece onto it before keying in the microwave for thirty seconds. Just enough time to take the chill off. "He's fine, Jim. Just like Sandburg. What's keeping you from sleeping?"

"You want that list alphabetized or random?" Jim asked dryly, not stirring from his position on the sofa.

"Beer?"

"Sure."

"How do you stand this, Jim?" Simon asked as he handed him the cold bottle and plopped onto the loveseat.

"Stand what?"

"The guilt, the maybe's, the waiting, the wondering, the would have's and could have's...."

"Ah. So you did want them alphabetized," Jim replied with a dry chuckle. "I have two good friends I can unload on, Simon. That how I stand it."

Simon stared at the pizza, knowing there was no way he could eat it. "Sandburg's turned you into a damn Chatty Cathy," he snapped, recalling a popular talking doll.

"Maybe. But you have to admit, I'm a lot easier to take these days." He knew what he was like before Blair. Sometimes he looked back at that life and wondered why he had any friends left. Blair had made the loft a home, a place where he could be himself...whether ranting and raving or merely letting the occasional tear fall. In honor of that gesture, he would pass it on. "You know you can talk to me, Simon, and what goes on here, goes no further."

"You think I don't know that? You think I didn't recognize this 'you need to be protected' ruse for what it was? I was, am, a detective, you know. I know when I'm being played, even by the great Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg. I don't know which of you scares me more. You're both too damn slick for your own good. Sandburg has you wrapped around his finger. Hell, he's got everyone in the unit under his thumb. Then there's you. You do some of the wildest shit and we don't even blink any more. Like standing up in front of Daryl. The boy says that he wants to kill you, and you stand dead in front of him and ask him why. Damn foolish stunt. Then you look at him and he collapses...." Simon's voice broke and he reached for the beer.

"From the moment Joan told me she was pregnant, I wanted that baby, Jim," he continued. "I didn't care whether it was a boy or a girl. The guys at the station were always patting me on the back, saying they knew I was secretly hoping for a son, but I really didn't care. I just wanted it, him or her. I would talk to Joan's stomach. Boy, how she used to laugh at that. 'Your daddy's being silly', she would say and I would counter with, 'No, your daddy's just letting you he loves you.' Babies. They grab you that early, wrapping your heart around little fingers that don't even resemble fingers yet," he said with a fond smile. Jim nodded, grateful the captain was finally talking.

"In her seventh month, Joan's blood pressure skyrocketed. Pre-eclampsia, the doctors called it. She had to stop working and stay in bed. That helped for a while, but in her eighth month, they finally had to do a caesarian to save both her and the baby." He shuddered as the vivid memories came back to him. "You have a son, the doctor's told me. Everyone assumed he was going to be named Simon, Jr., but I absolutely refused to do that. I wanted my son to be an individual. I wasn't looking for a clone or someone to follow in my footsteps. I looked at that tiny being and I told myself that he could be whoever he wanted to be. That's why when he got the dreadlocks, I held my temper. I wanted him to be an individual and hell, that's just what I was getting.

"I was up-front with him about the divorce. Told him straight out that it had nothing to do with him, that his mother and I had just decided that it just wasn't working anymore. He took the news quietly and every so often, he would do something just to let me know he was still pissed at me for leaving. But all and all, he's been a good kid, Jim, a good son. We had to work for our relationship, but that's what you have to do when something's worth it, right? I think it was here in the loft that I realized what kind of man I had raised. When the demons came that night and they tried to get him to betray us...Daryl spoke and there was such conviction in his voice. He was standing by his dad and his friends, no matter what. Even when the secret of the Sentinel was revealed, he didn't consider it a betrayal. He knew why it was kept from him, why it's been kept from most people.

"I was also proud of the way he kept your Flip busy, the way he responded when he heard what that cult had wanted to do to her. I think taking responsibility for her, made him understand me better. I think he finally realized what my job was, how important it was for me to take care of the rest of the world, even though he wanted me all to himself. For the past few months, when we've been together, it's been as two men, two adults who care for each other and are not ashamed to admit it.

"That's a good thing, Jim. A lot of parents and kids never reach that stage. The parent will either baby the kid his whole life, or the kid never gets over that teen rebellion stage. We see it all the time in our line of work, don't we? Kids killing parents for their money or possessions, beating them up for past sins and slights, or the parents berating their grown children, meddling in their lives, telling them everything they do is wrong.... So much needless violence...."

Simon stood and ambled over to the balcony doors, peeking through the shades covering them. "You wanna go out?" Jim asked.

"Nah. It's too cold, isn't it?" Simon replied, even as he unlocked the doors.

Jim stood and grabbed a couple of jackets. Both men were dressed only in sweatpants. "Sometimes even a wide-open loft becomes confining," he commented in complete understanding as he followed his friend outside.

Simon nodded as he shrugged into one of Jim's jackets. He didn't care much for Jim's sense of style in everyday clothes, but the man had good taste in outerwear. "Stars!" he exclaimed. "Someone told me Cascade had them, but all I ever see is clouds."

"They come out every so often," Jim explained. "Just so we won't forget they're up there." The Sentinel adjusted his temperature dial, having given his heavier jacket to the captain.

"Were they up there today, Jim, when I did something I thought I would never do? Were they watching when I pulled a gun and aimed it at my son? I didn't even know it was Daryl. Sandburg moved, then he was down, and I just reacted. I'm a cop, damn it. I hear a gunshot, I draw my weapon. It's automatic. The whole room did it. The whole fucking room, Jim. Just think of what could have happened if it had been in the main squadroom instead of the Major Crimes bullpen-- a place where everyone wouldn't have seen the captain's son, but just one more drugged up Black teen...."

He turned and in the starlight, Jim could see the tears glistening on his face. "I could have lost him today, Jim. He could have been bleeding from a hundred holes before I knew it. I could be making funeral arrangements this very minute, wondering who to get as pall bearers for my son, my Daryl. I could have...." The sobs he'd been holding back, exploded in a hail of strangled cries and a wash of tears.

For half a second, Jim considered leaving Simon to give into his grief privately. For all of his talk about Jim being a lone wolf, the captain was one as well. His position made him so. He could only get so close to his men because when push came to shove, he had to be a captain first and a friend second. The fine line he walked got narrower every day where a certain team was concerned, but it hadn't been crossed yet, and Jim wasn't certain whether he should, or even had the right to, push Simon over it.

If Simon had been like the rest of the paper pushers and had a home life to turn to for comfort, this wouldn't be an issue. He would have sent him home for some good old-fashioned spoiling. But Simon was divorced, with an unsympathetic ex, and a son he saw only during planned visits and outings. So, if the captain had cried in the past few years, he had cried alone. Jim knew how that felt...and couldn't condemn his friend to that fate.

He didn't say anything, didn't even croon a soft assurance. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the larger man and gave him something to clutch as the world he knew crumbled around him. When the storm was over, and Simon padded softly into the loft, climbing docilely into the bed he'd been given, Jim stayed on the balcony and watched the stars.

*****

Mrs. Krebbs had told the nice man next door that she would pick up the paper, which was delivered each morning, and keep it for him while he was away. He always greeted her when they passed in the hall, and never complained about the number of cats that sometimes escaped into the hallway, so she thought picking up his paper was the least she could do.

At 8:00, she looked out into corridor and saw the paper laying where it should be. She took a few steps and bent to pick it up. That's when she noticed his door wasn't completely closed. Had he arrived in the middle of the night?

"Mr. Masden?" she called, tapping lightly on the ajar door. At her slight touch, it swung open.

And then Mrs. Krebbs screamed.

*****

"About time you arrived, man," Blair said eagerly as his partner's face appeared in the door. "You got my clothes?"

"Right here, Chief," Jim answered, holding up a small duffle bag. "What's with the hurry? You afraid the hospital is going to change its mind about letting you go?"

"No, man, I'm fine, fit as a fiddle. See for yourself." He held out his arm. Although the Sentinel could monitor him without touch, Jim always seemed to need that reassurance when Blair was in the hospital. "I just want to see Daryl before I go. He's still here, isn't he?"

Jim nodded at the results of his scan and allowed Blair to get dressed. "I dropped Simon by the station earlier, so he could get his car, go home, and get dressed for the meeting with the lawyer. Daryl won't be released until after a battery of psych tests-- which will be for his benefit."

"How is Simon?"

"He's hanging in there, Chief." Jim guided Blair's sore arm through a sleeve.

"Hanging as in barely grasping, or hanging as in secure grip?"

"He'll go the distance."

"Good. I knew you could get through to him." He adjusted his sling while Jim tied his shoes. "Now, lets get upstairs and see how his son is."

"What about your discharge papers?"

"The doctor has already checked me out. I told Marilyn, my nurse, where I was heading. She'll either page me or bring the final copies to me. Get the lead out, big guy," he called as he nearly galloped out the door.

Jim merely shook his head and gathered all the personal items Blair had left behind. When he was satisfied the room was clear, he zipped up the duffle and followed his partner who was still waiting on an elevator. "I was going to ask you to remove the sphere when you arrived," Blair said as if Jim had been standing beside him all the time. "But then, I thought it would be a good idea to let Daryl see it, let him know someone else needed it too."

"Especially someone like his personal role model?"

"I'm not a role model, per se, Jim. I'm more like...a friend paddling the same river. We've had similar experiences and I always seem to have them first or at the same time, so he looks to me for advice," Blair reasoned. "I mean, look at this right now. Just a few months ago, I was in his exact position; something had invaded my body and tried to make me kill you.... Gee, Jim, if it wasn't for your friends, who'd be left to off you?" he teased.

"Just the rest of the world, Chief," Jim replied as the elevator finally arrived. The car was crowded due to the early hour, and they remained quiet until they got to their requested floor.

"He's listening to cartoons," Jim said as they approached the room.

"Great! I haven't seen a morning cartoon since--"

"Since you decided morning was the enemy?" Jim interrupted wryly. He'd fought with Blair many a morning, threatening all sorts of bodily harm just to get his partner out of bed. The fact that once he was up, he hit the ground running, just made the exercise more difficult.

"So I'm a little grumpy in the mornings. Maybe if you let me watch cartoons--"

"No way, Chief. One tinny laugh track and I'd probably shoot the television. And if an officer discharges his weapon, he has about sixteen forms to fill out. Now, if you feel like doing that much paperwork--"

"Me? You would be the one who shot the TV!"

"But you would be the one who watched the cartoon."

Blair sighed. "We'll just stick with you screaming at me as usual in the mornings, Jim."

"It does get my day off to a good start," he said with a sly grin. He put out his arm to stop his partner outside Daryl's room. "Let me go in first." He pushed through the door. "Morning."

"Jim!" Daryl called.

"How you doing, buddy?"

"How do you think?" He waved his arms to indicate the bubble still around him. "How's Blair?"

"Ask him yourself." He opened the door wider.

"Hey, Daryl!" He bounded over to the bed.

"Watch the shoulder," Jim warned.

Blair scowled at him, then hugged the teen one-armed. "You had me worried, my friend."

"I had you...I shot you, Blair."

"No, Lilith did," Blair replied firmly. "And we don't have to worry about her, do we?"

Daryl's eyes widened as he glimpsed the shield around Blair. "You got one too! Oh, man. If only I'd had this before that night."

Jim figured he'd leave the two alone. If anyone could get Daryl through the guilt, it was Blair. "I'll be out in the hall, looking for your paperwork, Sandburg."

Blair nodded and concentrated on his young friend. "Bet you're feeling pretty crappy."

"The doctors say I'm physically healthy."

Blair shrugged. "So, your body's feeling great, but what about the rest of you?"

Brown eyes skidded to the side. "I shot you, Blair. How should I feel?"

"That's what I'm asking you."

"I'm sorry. You know that, don't you?"

Blair waved away the unnecessary apology. "I'm going to be fine. But I need you to talk to me, Daryl, before I can go home and rest like I should. I need to know you're going to be okay."

Fingers kneaded the thin blanket covering him. "Dad taught me how to use a gun a couple of years ago. Made me go to the shooting range and everything. Bet he hates he did that now."

"Bet he hates he took you to the range, or bet he hates you?" Blair questioned gently.

Shoulders slumped. "I remembered all his instructions when I pointed that gun at Jim. If you hadn't stepped in the way, the bullet would have gone straight into his heart. I knew that. It's what I wanted to happen. I did my damnedest to kill my dad's best friend. I shot another of his friends. In the police station. In front of everyone he works with. How can he not hate me?"

"Because he loves you."

Daryl made a sound which was halfway between a laugh and a sob. "Love can only forgive so much."

"Wrong! Love can forgive anything. I should know." Blair sighed and pushed back his hair. Should have let Jim pin it back for me. "Remember that evening at the loft, Daryl, when Jim's face was all scratched up and he'd busted a few ribs? You said, 'I guess I should see the other guy, right?' Well, I was the other guy, Daryl. If you had checked my fingernails that night, Jim's flesh would have been under them."

Shock marred the young features. "Why, man? You two are like brothers."

Blair swallowed. When he'd began, he hadn't realized the incident would still be so hard to talk about. "I wasn't myself, Daryl. You see, Lilith got into your head and made you go after Jim. Well...a demon got into more than my head. It possessed me, man, my entire body. And it didn't just want to kill Jim, it wanted to hurt him first."

"Jim's bigger than you are--"

Blair nodded. "If he'd wanted to, he could have crushed me like a bug in the first minute. But the big idiot was worried more about me being harmed, than himself. When he should have been defending himself, he was watching out for me, making sure I didn't get damaged.... When the demon saw it couldn't kill Jim, it tried to kill me. Most of the injuries Jim received were from saving my life."

"Shit."

A weak laugh. "Couldn't have said it better myself." Silence as both relived their nightmares. "I didn't tell you that story for sympathy, man. I told you to show you the power of love. Jim forgave me, fully and completely. If he can do that, then you know you have no reason to fear losing your dad's love or respect."

"You ever wonder why they put up with us?" Daryl questioned, finally accepting the fact that his dad would always love him. He'd known it; he just needed confirmation from an outside source.

"I wonder all the time. But just remember when you're feeling down that we are the chosen, Daryl. Some people can go a whole lifetime and never be loved like we are. Biology gave you your father and fate gave me Jim." Actually, biology played a big part in our relationship too.

"I guess that means we're pretty special."

"And lucky as hell."

"That too," Daryl agreed and smiled a real smile for the first time since hearing the name Lilith.

Chapter Eighteen

After Jim left the two younger people alone, he took a seat in the floor's waiting area. Fifteen minutes later, he felt Simon's presence approaching. "Captain, Mrs. Banks," he greeted as the couple got off the elevator with another man.

"You here to see Daryl?" Simon asked.

"Sandburg's with him. I thought the two of them should talk alone."

"Sandburg?" the other man questioned. "Is that the young man my client shot?"

"Yes," Simon said. "Jim, this is Paul Brickman, Daryl's attorney. Mr. Brickman, this is Detective Jim Ellison."

"The intended target?"

"Yeah," Jim answered. "But neither I nor my partner hold Daryl responsible. He was influenced by outside forces."

"So I've been told. According to the captain, Daryl was brainwashed by a murderer you're after?"

"That's right."

"Would you be willing to testify on Daryl's behalf?"

"Of course. Sandburg too. Did Captain Banks mention Officer Myron Whittaker?"

"The other person this woman also tried to get to murder you? Yes. I plan to see him immediately after meeting Daryl. Tell me. Do you have proof of the existence of this woman?"

Simon noticed Jim focusing on the elevator so he wasn't surprised when it opened and two of his detectives stepped out. "Captain, Ellison, we got something," Brown said as he as his partner approached.

"New body?" Simon asked.

"I'm going to go talk to the nurse," Joan said quickly. "Why don't you join me, Mr. Brickman?"

As if I wasn't in enough hot water with her. "What do you have, gentlemen?"

Rafe held up a note encased in plastic. "This was found on the door of a room at the Hilton."

Simon took the package, knowing Jim could see it from his position. "Det. Jim Ellison: Couldn't think of a better way to say I'm sorry. This was found on a door? Anybody check the room?"

"Yep. Inside was Jerry West, in town to attend a dental conference," Brown answered.

"Dead?"

"Very much alive," Rafe said. "Hell of a way to apologize-- not killing someone. Guess she didn't mean it when she sent to kid to take you out, Jim."

"Yeah, well, it seemed like she meant it at the time. Who found this?"

"Bellboy. He was bringing up the cart to pick up a guest's luggage, saw the note-- nosy bugger that he was-- and called the cops. Seems he saw a clip of your press conference yesterday and remembered your name," Rafe explained.

"You mean I have to thank the press for something?"

Brown exchanged a glance with his partner. "There's something else, Jim. That reporter you had us looking into? A neighbor found him OD'ed in his apartment this morning."

Jim frowned. "I didn't even know he was back in the city. Overdosed on what?"

"He was shooting heroin. Still had his arm tied off. Apparently, he had a history of drug use. One of the reasons he was here in Washington instead of his usual haunt of New York."

"Any files about Ellison with him?" Simon asked quickly.

Another furtive glance. "Uh, after we drop off this note to forensics, we were going to head over to the crime scene and check around."

"Crime scene?" Simon asked.

"Have to keep all our options open until we hear from the M.E., captain," Rafe said professionally.

"You do that, detectives. I'll see you back at the station."

Jim looked at the captain. "Wasn't Brickman saying something about proof, sir?"

"That he was, my friend. Let's go tell him we just got it."

*****

"Chief?" Jim called as he came down the stairs from his room. Both he and Blair had napped for part of the afternoon. An hour ago, Simon had called and awakened them, telling them the good news that Daryl had "passed" all his psych exams and was being released from the hospital.

"Yeah, Jim?" his roommate replied from where he sat at the table, pecking one-handed on his laptop. Thanks to getting shot, he was one day behind in his daily journal. Of course, this wasn't the first time he'd been behind and he was lucky it was only one day.

"I'm going to ask you something that I've never asked you before, and I don't want you to freak. Just close your mouth and give yourself time to consider my request, okay?"

"O...Okay," Blair agreed anxiously.

Jim walked to the center of the living room. "Why is your heart racing?"

"Because you're scaring me, man," Blair replied honestly.

"Don't worry, Sandburg. I'm not going to ask you for your soul or something."

"Wouldn't be a problem; you already have it." Jim just stared at him. Oops. Forgot the big guy doesn't like hearing stuff like that. Gonna have to work on that. "What's your request, Jim?"

"I want to borrow those candles you use to meditate."

Blair was the one staring this time. "Why?"

"To meditate."

Duh, Blair. The man wants meditation candles because he wants to meditate. Nothing to frazzle yourself over. Just because it took two years just for him not to mumble something nasty when *you* meditated and another year for him to join you when you *insisted* it had to be done, doesn't mean he's not entitled to meditate at his leisure, without any prompting or arm-twisting from you, without there being anything wrong with his senses.... "Everything working properly, big guy? Senses doing okay? Concussion isn't causing any problems, is it?"

Jim sighed. "Didn't I tell you not to freak? I'm fine. This is just something I have to do."

Have to do? "Oh, you're going to contact Michael?" So that's how you communicate with an archangel. Makes sense.

"No, I'm going to contact myself."

"Uh, that sounds like something I would say," Blair mumbled as he went to his room and got the requested materials.

"Does that mean I have to grow hair down to my shoulders and listen to tom-toms go bump in the night?"

"Only if you're fortunate," Blair quipped. He could tell Jim was serious about this, so he didn't make any more comments, just merely arranged the candles in a circle and got the matches. "Grab a pillow. The floor can get pretty hard if you're under a while."

Jim looked at the preparations and smiled. "Thanks, Chief. Have you ever had the feeling that the answers you're looking for, you already know?" Blair nodded as his partner folded his long legs, and got comfortable on the pillow. "So, I don't have to chant or anything, do I?"

"No, man, just relax." Blair kneeled down behind him and massaged his shoulders. His voice dropped to Guide mode, lower, smoother. "This should be easy for you, Jim. You know your body. Push out the negative energy and breath in clear. Take that jumble of thoughts and move them to one side. Now, take one at a time and examine it. If it's not the right one, go to the next. Filter them as you do your senses."

When Jim had reached the correct level of relaxation, Blair backed away. He stared at Jim, completely at ease in the circle of candles and for a moment, he flashed onto a picture of Jim in a jungle by a campfire, dressed in camouflage, a black jaguar curled at his feet. He blinked and the image disappeared. Cool.

Two hours later, when a knock came on the door, Jim was still searching for his answers. Blair checked to see if the sound had disturbed him but the Sentinel remained in his relaxed state. "Hi, Simon," he said softly as he opened the door.

"Why the whispers? Jim asle--" He stopped as he saw his detective and the candles. "What's going on?"

"He said the answers he needed were inside him."

"And so you...?"

Blair threw up his hands. "I didn't suggest anything. He asked me for the candles."

Simon shuddered. "Do you have any idea of what's going on with him?"

"In a word? No. On the surface, he appears more open, more..." He searched for the correct word.

"User friendly?" Simon supplied.

"Exactly. He's more tolerant of mistakes. He manages his stress better. He's less demanding of others. He encourages talking and sharing."

"But?"

"But it's bogus, man. Sure, he wants everyone else to talk and share, but he's clammed up more than ever," Blair admitted in a burst of frustration. "In less than a year, he's gone from being a mere Sentinel-- and the word mere doesn't mean what it usually does-- with five heightened senses, to an enhanced Sentinel with senses that are beyond the realm of the imagination. That's got to be mind-blowing, Simon. He saw into that gymnasium from the roof of the Cascade Savings and Trust building."

"You're kidding?" Simon said breathlessly. "That's where he took the shot from? Forensics is so boggled by where a shot could have come from that they're just saying the fragments they found came from the gun itself. Bad manufacturing is the official ruling."

"Count the ammo for the M16 in your trunk, man. You will find one-- and only one-- missing."

"Shit. How?"

Blair shrugged. "There was no discussion about it. I asked him if he could make the shot and he said sure. No hesitation. No doubt. Pure self-confidence. I asked him how he was seeing, and all he told me was that he'd discovered other channels. But he'd never mentioned these channels before. How the hell am I supposed to be his Guide when he doesn't talk to me?" He turned away from the captain. "Maybe he doesn't even need a Guide anymore."

"Then be his shaman," Simon suggested quietly.

"A confidant in whom he doesn't confide?" Blair snorted. "He's buddies with an archangel, Simon. What does he need me for?"

"I didn't see Michael at his side when he woke up in the hospital. And it wasn't Michael who made him go home last night or noticed how much energy he used to make the protection thingamajigs," Simon argued. "Maybe the Sentinel doesn't need a Guide anymore. I doubt it, but for argument's sake, let's say it's true. And maybe the Warrior doesn't need the shaman. But what I do know, Sandburg, and what I would swear to in a court of justice, if necessary, is that Jim needs Blair."

Blair slumped into his chair at the dining table, amazed at the comfort those simple words gave him. But then, maybe they weren't that simple after all. "Thank you for that, Simon." He clicked off the computer and motioned for the captain to join him. "How are things with Daryl?"

"He's home with Joan. I figured he was safe there since he still has that orb thing around him. I see yours is gone."

"I had Jim remove it when we got home. No use expending energy that could be used elsewhere. Daryl's holding up okay?"

"Solid. It amused him that I could see it too. He called me his New Age Dad."

"Hmm. That's what they call my mom. Maybe the two of you...." Blair looked at Simon and Simon at Blair.

"Nahhhh," they said in perfect unison.

"Mind if I add a third 'nah'," Jim asked as he returned from his 'journey'. "The thought of Simon and Naomi makes my skin crawl."

"Everything makes your skin crawl, Jim," Blair pointed out. "Now, what would be wrong with my mom meeting a nice guy like the captain here?"

"Other than the fact she thinks all cops are fascists, that Simon is a stay-at-home kind of guy and your mother runs all over the globe, and that you would have to call Simon, dad? Why nothing at all is wrong with that, Sandburg," Jim said patiently.

"He makes sense," Blair whispered to Simon.

"He makes a lot of sense. That's why we had both said nah to begin with. Remember that, Sandburg?" Simon reminded him.

"Sorry. It's kind of an automatic thing to come to Naomi's defense. So, Jim, find any answers?"

"'For every ailment under the sun, there is a remedy or there is none; if there be one, try to find it; if there be none, never mind it,'" Jim quoted.

"He's scaring me again," Simon protested.

"I resemble that emotion," Blair declared.

Jim laughed. "Sorry, maybe I dug too deep. That's a Mother Goose rhyme I remembered, that's all. There was indeed a remedy to our ailment. Thanks to your guidance, Chief, I found it."

"And?"

"And tomorrow, Lilith goes back to where she belongs."

Part 4