The two policemen were appalled by the sight that greeted them. Blood covered the floor and one wall of the small room that was lit only by a small lantern sitting in the corner. A decapitated corpse lay sprawled across the floor, covered in blood. The corpse's head lay on the floor a short distance from the body. The coppery smell of blood was horrific even to Simon's unenhanced senses; he could only imagine what Jim must be dealing with.

But Jim hardly noticed the condition of the room. His attention was captured solely by his partner, tied to a chair, staring wide-eyed at the severed head of his friend. Blair's heartbeat was off the scale, his breathing was fast and shallow, and he hadn't even acknowledged their arrival. Shock, Jim surmised, quickly moving to his friend's side. "Blair? Chief?" Blair continued to stare at the head, seemingly spellbound by the lifeless eyes. Jim moved to block Blair's view of the grisly sight and covered one of Blair's bound hands with his own. "Blair?" he tried again to gain his Guide's attention.

Tortured eyes raised to meet concerned ones. "Jim?" Blair whispered weakly.

"Yeah, Chief, I'm here." Jim reached out to lay a reassuring hand on Blair's knee, his eyes never leaving his Guide's. "It's going to be okay."

With one huge, wracking sob Blair passed out.

Unshed tears stung Jim's eyes as he reached out to gently stroke Blair's bowed head. "I promise it's going to be okay, Chief," he whispered fiercely. With shaking fingers, he worked to untie the ropes that bound his partner and best friend.

Simon knelt next to Jim and reached to free Blair's feet. "How is he, Jim?"

"Hard to tell, Simon. He doesn't appear to be hurt, but he's obviously in shock." Jim paused to throw a glance over his shoulder at the horrific scene behind him. "God, Simon, he saw that happen."

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose, then pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes in an attempt to relieve the stress. "I know. The poor kid can barely tolerate seeing a dead body at all, much less having to witness something like this. I thought I'd seen it all, Jim, but I can't even imagine."

Having successfully freed Blair, Jim reached out and tenderly pulled his limp form to rest against his shoulder. "I've got to get him out of here before he wakes up and sees it again." He slid one arm under Blair's legs and the other around his back, lifting him gently into his arms. Blair's head lolled back, dropping from Jim's shoulder. His eyes reflecting the pain he shared with the gentle young man, Simon reached out to lift Blair's head back onto Jim's shoulder, relieving the strain on the anthropologist's neck. Jim smiled his gratitude and maneuvered through the doorway and into the corridor. Taking care not to jostle his precious burden, Jim made his way slowly up the steps back into the cabin.

Scouting out the only bed in the small cabin, Jim laid Blair gently on the narrow mattress. His Guide's face was still white with shock, but his breathing had eased and his heartbeat had settled back to normal. Jim drew a light blanket over Blair and tucked it closely around his body. He rested his hand on Blair's forehead and smoothed a few errant curls away from the pale face.

Simon, meanwhile, was using the walkie-talkie to contact the ranger station, making arrangements for a forensics and investigative team and cautioning them to approach carefully to avoid obliterating any tracks that might indicate which way the kidnappers had gone. He knew Jim would want to lead the investigation, but there was no way the police captain was going to let that happen. It was clear Blair would need Jim's support dealing with the harrowing experience, and Jim was too close to the problem to be considered objective. Simon figured it would be a battle keeping Ellison out of the investigation, but it was a battle he was prepared to fight. Simon turned his attention to his best detective, who hadn't moved from his partner's side. Then again, maybe it wouldn't be such a battle after all. So far the only thing that could take Jim away from any investigation was the thought that Blair needed him. Perhaps Jim already realized how hard Blair's recovery was likely to be. Turning his attention back to the ranger who waited at the other end of the connection, Simon added, "And send an ambulance. We have an injured victim."

"No," Jim said so softly that Simon wasn't sure he'd actually heard him.

"What?"

"No ambulance."

"Hold on a second," Simon spat into the walkie-talkie. "Jim, what do you mean 'no ambulance'?"

"Blair doesn't want to go to the hospital, Simon."

Thinking Blair had regained consciousness, Simon quickly crossed to the bed. But he could see no change in the young man's condition. Concerned now about Jim's state of mind, Simon asked softly, "Jim, Blair's still unconscious. How do you know he doesn't want to go to the hospital?"

Jim threw Simon a look that intimated he'd grown an extra head. "Does he ever want to go to the hospital, Simon?"

"Well, no..."

"This time is no different."

"But, Jim..."

"No, Simon. I've checked him over and he doesn't seem to be hurt at all. I think he's just in shock. After all he's been through emotionally, I don't want him waking up in a hospital. I'm taking him home."

"Jim, I don't think this is wise."

"Doesn't matter whether it's wise or not, Simon, it's what I'm doing. In this situation, I can do more for Blair than any hospital." Jim continued stroking his partner's hair. "I'm taking him home," he reiterated softly.

Simon closed his eyes in consternation. He weighed his options, trying to assess Blair's condition. He seemed to be breathing all right and Jim obviously was in a better position to determine his needs than Simon was, so Simon mentally threw his hands up in the air and spoke into the walkie-talkie again. "Cancel the, just send the Coroner's wagon. Yes, I'm sure." No, I'm not, he added silently.

"Thanks, Simon," Jim said softly. A crack of thunder startled them both and Simon's walkie-talkie crackled to life.

"Yes?" Simon responded to the call. Jim ignored the conversation going on behind him, needing to focus on his stricken Guide.

"Jim." Simon touched him softly on the shoulder. Jim tore his gaze away from Blair and met his captain's eyes. "It's almost dark, there's a storm moving in, and the rangers are concerned about getting vehicles up the trail after dark. They don't want to accidentally wipe out any tracks our perps might have made in their escape, although the rain will likely accomplish that for them. Despite the fact that this is a crime scene, they're asking if we'll be okay up here."

"We'll be fine," Jim nodded, turning back to Blair. He knew he should be using his senses to track the scum who'd murdered Blair's friend, but a deeper need took precedence. He'd get them, of that he had no doubt. But right now Blair needed him more.

Simon bit his lip, then made his decision. Speaking into the walkie-talkie, he assured Ranger Abernathy that they would be fine in the cabin; they could close the trapdoor and leave the crime scene undisturbed. Or at least as undisturbed as it could be following Blair's rescue. Abernathy promised to have a crew at the cabin by first light and Simon ended the conversation.

"They'll be here first thing in the morning," he unnecessarily informed Jim, who simply nodded.

Simon prowled the small cabin, assessing their surroundings. There wasn't much to assess. It was a one room, spartan cabin with no electricity and few provisions. Clearly the kidnappers hadn't been living in the cabin prior to the kidnapping. Simon shivered as he finally registered the dropping temperature. Briskly rubbing his arms, he drew Jim's attention. "It's cold in here. I'm going to destroy a crime scene enough to make a fire. If Blair's in shock, he needs to be kept warm."

"Thanks, Simon," Jim nodded, finally rising to his feet, obviously loath to leave Blair's side. Another crack of thunder rumbled through the cabin, followed immediately by another sort of rumble. Jim grinned wryly at Simon. "Guess I ought to scrounge us up something to eat."

Between the two of them, Simon and Jim managed to bring a measure of warmth to the cabin and prepared a meager, but filling, meal. As they ate the canned stew Jim had heated over the fire, the men quietly discussed the day's events as the storm raged around them outside. Both men frequently found their eyes drawn to the comatose figure on the bed.

In one of his frequent checks, Jim realized that Blair had awakened. How could you not know he was awake? What were you thinking about? Jim admonished himself as he moved swiftly to Blair's side. Blair lay on his left side, facing into the room, eyes staring into the fire. "Blair?" Jim called softly, crouching on the floor next to the small bed. Blair continued to stare into the fire. "Chief?" Jim called again, reaching out to touch Blair's arm. His heart leapt as Blair's eyes shifted from the fire to Jim's face, but fell as he detected no recognition in the familiar blue orbs. "Hey, Chief, you with me?" Jim's fingers brushed Blair's forehead.

Blair stared for a moment, then smiled. Jim's heart leapt again. "You had me worried there for a bit, fella," he smiled in return.

Blair continued to smile and stare at Jim, but no recognition lit his eyes. Jim turned helplessly to Simon, "What's wrong with him, Simon?"

I thought you were the one who could take care of him better than anyone else! Simon thought uncharitably, then shook himself in irritation. "He's in shock, Jim. It must be some sort of post traumatic shock syndrome."

Jim nodded his agreement and turned back to Blair, who continued to wordlessly watch him, a small smile lighting his face. "It's okay, Chief. We'll get through this, too." Jim stroked a hand down the side of Blair's face and smiled as Blair turned his head into his hand. There was still a thread of the bond there and Jim was determined to make things right. A few minutes later, Blair was once again asleep, this time a more natural one.

Jim straightened and returned to his chair by the fire, placing himself in a position to monitor his partner as he slept. "Why don't you get some sleep, Simon? I'll watch him."

"You need the sleep more than I do, Jim. How much sleep have you gotten over the last couple of days?"

"Enough," Ellison responded curtly, then regretting the tone, "Sorry, Simon. You're right, I haven't gotten much sleep and I'm tired. But I don't think I can sleep. You get some rest, then I'll try later. I want to be awake in case he wakes up again."

But Jim had dozed off sometime in the early morning. When he awoke, he saw Blair standing by the window, apparently mesmerized. Smiling at the sight of his friend up and around, Jim roused and gave a great stretch.

"Hey, Chief," he called softly, taking care not to awaken their still-slumbering captain.

Blair showed no signs of having heard his partner's call, and Jim's heart began to pound. "Blair?"

There was no reaction. Jim reached out and lightly gripped his partner's shoulder. Blair turned and Jim was once again disheartened to find no recognition in his best friend's eyes. "Blair, what's going on?"

Blair simply turned to look out the window again, seemingly engrossed in the trees and rocks. His normally active hands hung slack at his sides, one absently playing with the hem of his long shirt. In fact, 'absently' aptly described Blair's entire demeanor. It was as if he were there, but not really there.

Jim turned as he heard Simon stirring behind him. Sliding his glasses back on his face, Simon noticed Blair standing by the window. "Hey, Sandburg, welcome back," he tossed over his shoulder as he bent to put on his shoes. He stopped and raised his head when silence met his greeting. He cocked his head and looked questioningly at Jim.

Jim shrugged in frustration. "Same as last night, Simon. He doesn't respond to anything but touch. It's like he doesn't hear anything and he hasn't spoken a word. He's been staring out the window like that since before I woke up. I got his attention, but he doesn't recognize me." Jim ran his hands across his short hair. "I've got to figure out some way to get though to him."

"Well, first we've got to try to get some food into him. Heaven only knows when he ate last," Simon declared, pulling himself to his feet with a grunt. "What do you have in that magic pack of yours?"

Jim smiled at the teasing tone, grateful for Simon's presence and support. "Well, nothing you'd really call 'breakfast food', but I brought some granola bars and instant coffee."

"Sounds like a feast right about now," Simon said, rolling up the sleeping bag. "Did the weather break?"

"Yeah, it looks pretty good. I think we can make it down the mountain okay."

"The rangers and forensics team should be here shortly then. They said they'd be here at first light."

While Simon stowed their camping gear, Jim fished the granola bars and coffee from the supplies duffel bag. He kept watch on Blair from the corner of his eye, but the young man never stirred from his vigil at the window.

"What are you looking at, Chief?" he asked softly, standing next to Blair. Blair turned innocent eyes to Jim and smiled and Jim wondered whether he'd heard him talking or simply sensed his presence.

"The forest is always so clean and fresh after it rains, isn't it?" Jim continued conversationally, opening a granola bar and handing it to Blair. "Why don't you have a little breakfast while you look?" Blair took the granola bar, regarded it with interest for a moment, then began to slowly munch, turning back to the window. "Well, that's one hurdle crossed," Jim sighed, moving to poke the fire back into life to heat some water for coffee -- thank goodness the cabin's owner had installed indoor plumbing! "At least I'm not going to have to force feed you."

When the water was hot, Jim made each of them a cup of coffee, making sure to cool Blair's before touching him on the shoulder and placing the cup in his hands. Blair took the cup and sipped the warm drink cautiously, his eyes never leaving Jim's face. Jim schooled his face to show none of the concern he felt, managing a pleased look instead. Blair responded with a smile of his own, then began to wander aimlessly around the tiny cabin. Jim surreptitiously monitored his progress, grinning in relief when Blair carefully shut the bathroom door. Okay, there's the second hurdle crossed, Chief. You can take care of your own business. Now, if we could just figure out how to take care of the other problems.

Jim heard the toilet flush and then Blair emerged from the bathroom, returning to the window. On a hunch, Jim took Blair by the arm and gently pulled him outside. Blair trustingly allowed himself to be led by the larger man.

"Watch the mud, here, Chief," Jim cautioned, carefully leading Blair around the slippery mess. He was fairly certain Blair wasn't hearing a word that he said, but he felt like he had to say something. Blair's silence was disconcerting enough without him feeling like he had to be quiet as well. As they neared the edge of the woods surrounding the cabin, Jim scanned the ground for signs of the white van's escape direction, but could find nothing. He sighed in frustration; the rain had obviously washed the tracks away.

When they reached the edge of the trees surrounding the cabin, Jim released Blair's arm and stood aside to watch his response. A huge smile lit Blair's face and he happily moved forward to pat the trees, rubbing his hands delightedly up and down the rough bark. He examined every leaf and twig, marveling at the water that still dripped from their tips, catching and reflecting the filtered sunlight. Had the situation been different, Jim might have enjoyed the joyous scene, but he could only stand and wonder if -- no when -- his partner and best friend would return to him. "Please tell me you're still in there, Chief," he whispered, closing his eyes in sudden pain. He opened his eyes to realize that Blair had moved deeper into the trees, almost beyond his normal sight. "Blair!" he called out, hoping to startle the young man into stopping. But Blair continued to wander, following a rivulet of water the night's storm had left behind. Jim zoomed his sight ahead of Blair, scanning for potential danger, then quickly followed the explorer into the forest. Reaching him, Jim grasped his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. At Blair's inquiring glance, Jim explained, "I hear the rangers and forensics team coming up the pass. We should go meet them." Blair allowed Jim to tug him back toward the cabin, but almost immediately stooped to pick up an unusual rock. Jim patiently waited until Blair seemed ready to continue, then guided him back to the quickly growing crowd of police officers and park rangers. He kept a close check on the young man's vital signs, unsure whether the new faces would concern Blair. But Blair seemed oblivious to their presence, preferring to examine his rock. A chill had sharpened the air overnight, so Jim pulled the flannel shirt Blair habitually wore over his T-shirt closer about him and buttoned the buttons. Another sign that this just wasn't "his" Blair--he seemed oblivious to the cold. Normally Blair would be griping about how cold and wet 'was his world', but he seemed unaffected by the drop in temperature.

"What was that about?" Simon asked, coming to stand next to Jim and Blair.

"What was what about?"

"That little trek in the woods."

"I was just trying to see if anything would make a difference. He seemed fascinated by the forest, but he's still so withdrawn. It's almost like he's pulled into his own little world where nothing can reach him. "

"Or hurt him," Simon added, his eyes resting sadly on the normally vivacious and loquacious young anthropologist, now distressingly subdued and silent. "I really think he needs to be in a hospital, Jim. How are you going to take care of him? How will you know what he needs?"

"I don't know, Simon. I'm just afraid that if I put him in a hospital, it'll scare him half to death. I can't do that to him, Simon. He's been through too much already. Unless he shows me he's a danger to himself or others, he stays with me."

Simon knew it was a battle he couldn't hope to win, so he gave up. "I took the forensics team and the rangers down to the room and showed them the body."

"How'd they do?"

"Abernathy threw up, but he made it outside the door before he did. Samantha's crew is all a little green around the gills, but they're hanging in there." Simon tossed a look at Blair. "And to think the kid actually saw it happen. No wonder he's hiding in himself."

"Yeah." Jim impulsively reached out, wrapped an arm around Blair's shoulders and pulled him close to him. Blair briefly turned curious eyes up to the older man, smiled a bit, and returned to his rock. "Do we need to hang around here, Simon? I can give my statement at the station and Blair's not going to be able to give us anything for a while. I want to get him out of here before they bring the body up."

"Too late," Simon breathed as the body bag was carried out the cabin door. Jim started to turn Blair away from the sight, but it was unnecessary. Blair raised his eyes briefly at the flurry of activity in front of them, then obviously dismissed it. The lack of reaction frightened Jim as much as Blair's not recognizing him. He'd unconsciously tuned into his partner's heart rate and found it disturbingly calm. Not that I want you to panic, Chief, Jim thought, but a little reaction would have been encouraging.

Simon shook his head. "That was fast. I guess I'd be wanting out of that place pretty damn quick, too, though. I think we may just have set a forensics team examination record." Shaking his head again, Simon headed for the Jeep. "Why don't you get Sandburg settled in the car, Jim, while I check in with the team. I'll be right there."

Nodding his assent, Jim took Blair's elbow and directed him toward the Jeep, helping him slide into the back seat. As an afterthought, Jim leaned back in and securely fastened Blair's seatbelt about his hips. Blair took great interest in the process and immediately began playing with the release mechanism, grinning as the buckle popped apart. He clicked it back into place, imitating Jim's actions, and immediately pressed the catch to release it again. Jim sighed, reached out and took Blair's hands to still them. Blair looked up questioningly. "Don't do that, Chief," he admonished softly, shaking his head.

Blair's face fell and Jim's heart clenched. He forced a smile to his face and reached out to cup Blair's cheek. "I wouldn't want to lose you again." As he had the night before, Blair leaned into Jim's hand, a sigh of contentment crossing his lips. Jim's heart lifted once again, and he was certain he was doing the right thing by not placing Blair in a hospital. Their bond was the healing balm Blair needed, not a bunch of shrinks trying to analyze his innermost thoughts. Satisfied that Blair wouldn't play with the seatbelt anymore, Jim patted him on the cheek and withdrew from the backseat. He did still keep an eye on him peripherally, though, and was glad to see that this Blair apparently obeyed better than the other one. But I'd take that one back in a heartbeat, Chief, hard head and all.

Having completed his business with the forensics team, Simon returned to the Jeep. "You driving?" he asked, knowing how Jim hated not being in the driver's seat.

"Why don't you drive, Simon? I want my hands free in case Blair needs me."

Hoping to someday understand the bond the two men shared, Simon nodded his assent and slid behind the steering wheel. Casting a glance at Blair in the rearview mirror, Simon was amused to see him attempting to surreptitiously determine the inner workings of the seat belt that held him firmly in place. Even after everything that's happened, your curiosity remains intact, he thought in wonder.

As they approached the store where their search for Blair had begun, Jim suddenly said, "Stop in here, Simon. I'd like to try to get some more information from this guy."

Simon pulled into the now-muddy parking lot and cruised to a stop in front of the store. "I'll stay in the car with Blair," he offered.

"Thanks, Simon." But when Jim stepped from the car, Blair gave his first reaction since passing out at the murder scene. He whimpered loudly and began fumbling with the seat belt buckle he'd delighted in playing with so recently. Jim turned in surprise, quickly moving back to the car to open the back door. "What's the matter, Buddy?" he asked softly, pulling Blair to him. Blair wrapped his arms around Jim and sighed.

"Well, he may be in his own world, Jim, but he's obviously included you in it to some degree."

Jim pondered for a moment, then reached in to finish unbuckling Blair's seatbelt. "Okay, buddy, why don't you come in with me?" He helped Blair slide from the car and kept a protective arm around his shoulders as they made their way into the store.

Feeling slightly guilty about treating Blair like a child, Jim gave him a gentle shove toward the meager stock of toys that lined one shelf. He wanted to ask Tom Simmons some more questions, but he didn't want to risk Blair overhearing, if indeed he even was hearing. But Jim wouldn't take the chance.

As he spoke with the owner, Jim caught Blair sending small glances his way, as if making sure Jim was still close by. That's progress, I think. He may not openly respond to me, but he sure knows when I'm there and when I'm not.

Simmons watched Blair curiously as he slowly wandered up and down the toy aisle, occasionally lifting items to examine them closer. He relaxed a bit when he realized that Blair's examination was almost reverent and he was obviously not going to damage the goods.

"So," Jim continued, recapturing the owner's wandering attention, "you didn't notice anything else unusual about the pair?"

"Nothing beyond what I've already told you and your captain."

Jim rubbed his eyes in frustration. Now that he had Blair back, safe and semi-sound, he was determined to track down the bastards who'd put his friend through so much. And to Andy, he reminded himself. Blair had liked Andy, had even looked up to him as an anthropologist and a friend, and he'd been forced to watch him brutally murdered. So Jim decided he owed the pair one for Andy, too.

Jim realized that Blair had become mesmerized again and wondered what had so completely captured his attention. "Excuse me for a moment," he said to Simmons, drifting to Blair's side. "What's that, Chief?" he asked, looking over the younger man's shoulder. He was startled to see that Blair was engrossed in a children's book depicting what appeared to be a South American tribe of some sort and a variety of jungle animals. Blair was running the fingers of his right hand almost lovingly across a picture of a black panther, an enigmatic smile lighting his features. The eyes he turned to Jim were filled with wonder and joy.

Squeezing Blair's shoulder and smiling, Jim returned to the counter. "How much for the book?"

"$6.95," Simmons said, never taking his eyes off the odd young man.

"I'll take it," Jim decided impulsively, pulling a ten out of his wallet and handing it to the shopkeeper.

Counting out Jim's change, Simmons leaned close and whispered conspiratorially, "A bit slow, is he?"

Ice blue eyes flashing angrily, Jim impaled the store owner with his gaze. "He's smarter than you and me put together."

Greater men had wilted under that glare. The store owner blanched noticeably and stammered, "Sorry, I didn't mean..." He trailed off, realizing it was exactly what he did mean. "Sorry," he muttered in embarrassment.

Jim pocketed his change and turned, ignoring the man while he regained control of his temper. He took Blair's arm and led him, still clutching the book, back to the door. "Thanks for your help," he threw over his shoulder, reminding himself that this man's information had led directly to Blair's return. He paused in the doorway and partially turned back into the store, still holding Blair's arm. "You saved this young man's life yesterday."

Simmons' jaw dropped and he flushed, whether with pride or embarrassment, Jim wasn't certain. "Glad I could help," he replied sincerely. "I hope he's okay."

"He'll be fine," Jim stated firmly, pushing Blair toward the Jeep.

Interpreting the look on Jim's face, Simon demanded an explanation the moment Jim opened the back door to help Blair into the backseat.

"Just a little misunderstanding, Simon. No big deal. Simmons decided Blair was mentally challenged." Jim smiled and nodded approvingly when Blair buckled his seat belt. "I set him straight."

"I'll bet you did," Simon muttered as Jim shut Blair's door and dropped into the passenger seat.

"I heard that. I'm a Sentinel, you know."

"Believe me, I know, Jim. I know. So, what's the kid got?"

"A book about South American tribes. He's absolutely mesmerized by it."

"Softie," Simon grinned.

"Yeah, well, I thought maybe it would help him somehow, remind him of something...I don't know," Jim sighed. "It's worth a shot."

"Of course it is, Jim. We've got to try everything we can."

The two men agreed that they would rather drive to Cascade than catch the helicopter back to town. When they stopped at the ranger station, they arranged to keep the Jeep and have an off-duty officer return it the next time one was headed their direction. Both were uncertain how Blair would react to being stuffed into a small helicopter, although he seemed docile enough as long as Jim remained in eyesight, and felt that the long ride to Cascade offered Blair more time to perhaps return to himself.

As the sun settled behind the Cascade mountain range, Jim once more checked on Blair, who rode silently in the backseat. Other than the heart-wrenching whimper when he had thought Jim was leaving him, Blair hadn't made a sound. Jim saw he was sleeping deeply, his head supported by the juncture of the seat back and window, his hand spread lovingly on the same page he'd been gazing at in the store -- the page with the picture of the black panther.

Pulling into a parking space outside the loft, Simon quietly opened his door and helped Jim unload the camping supplies. Had their mad dash to save Blair really been only yesterday? His weary body tried to convince him it had been longer than that. Sleeping on the cabin floor (sleeping bag or not), and spending the entire day in the car driving back to Cascade was just about all his poor old back could stand.

"Give me your keys, Jim, and I'll haul this stuff up to the loft." As Jim began to protest, Simon held up a hand. "If Sandburg wakes up and can't find you, he's likely to freak. I don't think either of us wants that to happen, do we?"

Peering at his partner through the back window, Jim had to agree that Simon's thinking was sound. So, he waited while Simon dragged his bone-tired body, laden with duffel bags full of camping gear and supplies, into the creaky old elevator and began the ascent to the loft.

When he returned to the car, Simon waited patiently while Jim gently woke Blair and helped him climb sleepily from the vehicle. Simon then slid back into the driver's seat, started the engine, and prepared to leave. "Oh, and Jim," he called, rolling down the window and sticking his head out, "don't worry about coming in tomorrow to make your statement. I'll come over sometime during the day and take it myself. I don't think Blair's ready to come to the station and you sure don't want to leave him alone."

With a wave, Jim acknowledged the order, "Thanks, Simon. See you tomorrow."

Steering his groggy partner into the elevator, Jim was careful to keep a hand on Blair's shoulder at all times. Whether it was for Blair's benefit or his own, he couldn't tell, and it didn't really matter. Maybe it made both of them feel better.

Unlocking the door to the loft, Jim held his breath. Would coming home jog Blair's memory? Would he suddenly return to normal at the sight of his home and belongings? Would he feel safe and no longer need to retreat into himself?

But Blair simply wandered through the apartment, checking into everything with great interest. Jim finally had to wearily direct him to a couch and coax him to sit down. Sitting on the coffee table and taking Blair's hands in his own, Jim tried to explain the night's plan. "I gotta get some sleep now, Blair, and I need to know you're okay. So, how about you just stretch out here on the couch and try to go back to sleep? I'll be right here on the other couch where you can see me. I'm not going anywhere. How's that sound?"

Blair just stared, giving no indication that he understood a word Jim said. Taking another approach, Jim gently pressed Blair down to lie on the couch, removed the young man's shoes, and pulled the afghan across the slight figure. Blair acquiesced, pulling his book close to his chest. "Yeah, you can keep the book with you," Jim smiled. Blair settled more comfortably and opened the book to the same page he'd been on all night.

Jim snickered softly. "You're gonna wear that page out, Chief." He tousled his friend's hair, then impulsively leaned down and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. "And if you tell Simon I did that I'll deny it," he said with a grin. Reacting to Jim's smile, Blair grinned back.

Slipping his own shoes off, Jim stretched out on the couch closest to the balcony where Blair could see him, and watched as his friend continued to stare at the dog-eared page in the book. Finally Blair's eyes drifted closed and Jim heard the deep, regular breathing pattern that indicated the younger man was asleep. Satisfied that Blair was fine for the night, Jim allowed himself to drift to sleep as well.

The next morning Jim woke stiff and cramped from sleeping on the short sofa. If he'd had any doubts about the events of the previous day, his body reminded him otherwise. His eyes immediately flickered to the other couch and his heart skipped a beat when he realized it was unoccupied. Jim quickly sat up and swung his feet to the floor, calling, "Blair?"

Silence greeted his call. Jim opened his hearing to locate his partner. The balcony! For the second time in less than a minute, the Sentinel's heart stopped. Jim flung himself off the couch toward the balcony doors, which he now realized were open. He paused to collect himself, not wanting to frighten Blair, then stepped onto the balcony. Blair sat on the cold concrete, facing the loft where, Jim realized, he would still be able to see at least the top of Jim's head. Blair was deeply engrossed in studying the rock he'd picked up the day before, his book nestled carefully in his lap, still open to the panther page.

"Hey, Chief," Jim said softly, crouching in front of his partner and Guide. Blair didn't appear to notice him, so Jim reached out and touched his knee.

As he expected, Blair looked up curiously and smiled broadly at the sight of his Sentinel. Although certain that Blair couldn't or wouldn't hear him, Jim spoke, feeling the need for conversation. "How are you feeling today? Aren't you getting cold out here?" Blair simply continued to smile at Jim, then returned to his contemplation of the rock.

"I don't know about you, Chief, but I'm hungry. What say we rustle up some breakfast?" He gently took Blair's hand and gave a small tug. "C'mon inside with me, Blair. I'm not comfortable leaving you out here on your own."

Blair wordlessly complied, making sure he had a firm grip on his rock with his free hand and his book pressed snugly against his chest with the same fist. Obeying a gentle nudge from Jim, Blair sat at the table and began flipping through his book, the pages already worn from his numerous previous perusals.

In the kitchen, Jim began scrambling eggs, his thoughts wandering as he watched his partner. Are you in there, Chief? What's going on in that head of yours?

As if hearing Jim's thoughts, Blair looked up at him and smiled. "Sentinel!" he proudly announced.

In shock, Jim dropped his spoon in the eggs. "What did you say?" He quickly moved the eggs off the heat and hurried over to Blair's side. "What did you say, Blair?" he asked again, trying to keep his voice calm.

Blair pointed at the panther on the page and said again, "Sentinel." Then he reached out to touch Jim's chest. "Sentinel."

Overcome with hope, Jim gathered Blair into his arms. "Yes! Yes, Blair, I'm a Sentinel!" He released Blair and looked him deep in the eyes. "And you're my Guide. Do you understand, Blair?" Blair simply smiled and returned to his book. After a moment, Jim sighed and returned to the stove. "It's okay, Chief. It's a step in the right direction. You're going to be fine." Using a dishtowel to wipe at a suspicious moisture in the corner of his eyes, Jim wrinkled his nose in distaste as his senses detected a familiar odor. He crossed to the loft door and opened it to admit Simon, who tried not to look startled as he entered the loft.

"Jim," he greeted. "Do I smell eggs?"

"I don't see how you could with all that cigar smoke hanging around you," Jim muttered, reaching for extra slices of bread to put in the toaster.

"I didn't have to be a Sentinel to hear that, Jim," Simon admonished with a smile. He stood next to Blair and reached out to grip his shoulder. "How's the kid this morning?" Blair flashed Simon one of his beatific smiles, then got up to wander aimlessly around the loft, re-examining many of the items he had investigated the night before.

"He spoke this morning, Simon," Jim said excitedly. "He said 'Sentinel'. He pointed at the panther in the book and said it as clear as day. Then he pointed at me and said it again. He's in there, Simon. I know he is. It's just going to take some time for him to realize it's safe to come back."

Simon's smile was large and genuine. "That's great news, Jim! It does sound good, doesn't it?" Then his smile faded a bit. "I hope it really is safe for him to come back."

"What? What are you saying, Simon?"

"Forensics is moving fast on this one, Jim." Simon's gaze fell on the restless anthropologist. "Seems they're taking it personally and pushing hard for answers. They worked all night to match the prints they pulled from the cabin."

"Who was it, Simon?" Jim literally ground his teeth in an effort to keep his anger in check. There was no need for Blair to witness the kind of scene he could unleash, given half a chance. "Who murdered Blair's friend and left him like that?" Jim gestured vaguely in Blair's direction.

"An Englishman name of Marcus Lebredo."

"Never head of him."

"Well, Interpol certainly has. Seems they've been keeping an eye on him for quite some time trying to nail him for smuggling, treason, and murder. Runs a highly successful -- and suspect -- import/export business, based in Venice, Italy." Simon took the plate of eggs Jim handed him and carried it to the table. "Lebredo doesn't take kindly to competition, it appears. No one's been able to pin anything on him, but it's apparently common knowledge among the unsavory set in Venice that Lebredo took a competitor's henchmen out of the picture..." Simon hesitated. "...by hacking them to pieces and throwing them into the canal."

"Damn," Jim breathed, placing plates of bacon and toast on the table. "Blair," he called. "Breakfast." Then, shaking his head at his lapse, Jim walked over to place a hand on Blair's shoulder and direct him to the table. He fixed a plate of food and set it in front of his partner, who immediately dug in with relish.

"Well, it's good to see that some things haven't changed," Simon chuckled.

"Thank goodness. So, what else have you got on Lebredo?" Jim asked, waving Simon to a chair and placing an empty plate in front of him. As he said the name, he watched for a reaction from Blair, not sure whether he wanted one or not. Blair seemed oblivious to the conversation. It's strange what catches your attention and what doesn't, Jim mused. You're 'here' enough to know when to eat and go to the bathroom. You recognize Simon and me, but you don't seem to hear anything. Nothing really reaches you, other than me, that rock and that book. The book makes sense, I guess, maybe kind of a link to your interest in anthropology. Not to mention the panther. Me, well I'm your Sentinel and I guess our connection is so deeply ingrained in our beings that nothing can break it. Thank God. And the rock? Well, you've got me there, Chief. I guess the rock is a rock...

Ellison was startled by the gentle touch of a hand on his arm. "Jim?" Simon queried softly, his concern reflected in his eyes. "You okay?"

Jim shook his head. "Yeah, Simon, I'm fine, thanks. I was just thinking how odd it is what parts of Blair have shut down and what he chooses to let through. But I'm convinced I can get through to him, Simon. He's already made some progress today by talking. I'm doing the right thing."

"You don't need to convince me, Jim. Hell, I'd have had him in a hospital last night, but this connection thing you've got going on between you is way beyond my meager powers of understanding, so I trust you to know what's best. But what if he doesn't come back, Jim? What are you going to do?"

"What do you mean, 'what am I going to do'?"

"Jim, the kid won't let you out of his sight...I'm assuming that didn't change between last night and this morning?"

Jim thought back to Blair's balcony excursion and shook his head. "No."

"So, speaking as your captain for a moment, what are you going to do about going back to work?" He held up his hand to stall his detective's protest. "I'm not saying you have to go back to work tomorrow, Jim, but it's got to happen sometime. I'm just asking you to think about how you'll care for Blair when that time comes. For now, you've got some unused vacation time you need to take, so take it. Have you called the university yet?"

Jim cringed. He'd completely forgotten about the university! "No, not yet, Simon. I really hate to make that call. Blair's missed so much time lately I'm afraid they're going to pull his grants."

"Well, I'll do some pulling of my own to see that that doesn't happen, Jim," Simon assured him. "Now, I'm hungry, and it's bad manners to eat before your host, so eat!"

Jim smiled his appreciation at his captain and friend and dished up his own plate as Simon outlined the limited additional information they had on Lebredo. Having finished his own breakfast, Blair rose from the table and moved to once again sit on the floor near the still-open balcony doors, making sure Jim was always in his line of sight.

Like a caged animal, Marcus paced the small hotel room he and Vincent had taken just outside of Cascade.

"Uh, Marcus, this doesn't seem like such a good idea to me, us being this close to Cascade," Vincent ventured, nervously watching his boss traverse the limited expanse of floor. Marcus was good to him, very good, but Vincent had seen enough of Marcus's rages to know that he didn't want to be on the receiving end of one.

Marcus paused and pinned Vincent with his glare. "I don't recall asking you to assess the worthiness of my ideas, Vincent," he said with deceptive calm. "Never forget that you're the hired help here, no matter how close we might be in other areas of our relationship."

Vincent felt lucky to have gotten off with only the harsh look and reprimand. "Sorry, Marcus, I-I guess I was just, well, jealous of your interest in that kid."

"As well you should be. I admit I am quite fascinated with him, so like Patrick in many ways." He resumed his pacing. "Besides, Blair has seen us both, Vincent, and he knows my name."

"But not your last name."

"True, and if that were all of it, I'd be more willing to let it go. However, I want what's mine."

"What's that?"

"The dot, you dolt! I want that microdot!"

"But Jennings said he destroyed it," Vincent protested.

"I know what he said, Vincent, but I don't believe him. Patrick was impetuous, yes, but I trained him too well to believe he would destroy something as valuable as that microdot."

"But I've searched his place from top to bottom, Marcus. It's not there."

"He has it," Marcus spoke quietly.

"Who has it?"

"Blair. Patrick gave Blair the microdot. I'm sure of it. I want that dot and I want Blair." A smile touched his lips. "And I always get what I want."

"And I got a report early this morning that Jennings' apartment was ransacked last night," Simon said, pouring another cup of coffee. "It's too much of a coincidence in my books, Jim. I think Lebredo's in Cascade and he's looking for something he thinks Jennings had." He held the pot up in a silent question to Ellison.

"And if he didn't find it, then he might think Blair has it..." Jim completed Simon's thought. He shook his head at the coffee offer. "So, you got anything more on this Vincent Manoa that Lebredo's got working for him?"

"Petty thug with a record as long as your arm. Not long on brains, but big on brawn, most of his offenses were assault-related. Spent some time in jail a couple years ago on a manslaughter charge, but he got out on a technicality. Best we can figure, he hooked up with Lebredo somewhere around that time."

Rubbing at the building pain between his eyes, Jim cast a glance at his partner contentedly sitting on the floor gazing out the balcony doors. "Damn it, Simon, hasn't Blair been through enough already?"

"I know, Jim. But until we find Lebredo, we'll do everything we can to keep the kid safe. I've got a black and white posted outside to keep an eye on the loft. Someone will be there 24 hours a day. I've assigned Brown and Rafe to the case while you stay with Blair. You know them, they won't leave any stone unturned or any lead unfollowed. We'll find him, Jim. Just hang in there and help the kid get back."

"Thanks, Simon, for everything. Blair'd be touched at your concern."

"Hell," Simon said gruffly, pulling on his jacket and opening the loft door, "with everything he's done to my computer, he's the only one who can keep it running now. I'm just covering my bases, here. Later, Jim."

Jim smiled at the retreating form of his captain as he closed the door behind him. "Yeah, right."

Two days and nothing new. No sign of Marcus Lebredo, and no sign of the old Blair. He hadn't spoken at all, not even to repeat his Sentinel pronouncement, and Jim was beginning to despair of ever getting his Guide back intact. He also despaired of ever sleeping alone in his own bed again. Their second night in the loft, they had sat companionably watching a Jag's game on television. Or rather, Jim had watched the game and Blair had watched Jim, grinning widely at the older man's antics as he responded to events in the game. If you were you, Jim had mused, I'd say you were studying me as part of your dissertation. 'Sentinel reactions to structured warfare', or something. The peace had ended, however, at bedtime. Having settled Blair into his own bed, Jim had backed slowly out of the room to seek the comfort of his bed. But Blair's eyes had opened in terror and he had sprung out of bed to stand, trembling, in the middle of his room, his eyes locked on Jim's frozen form, his breath coming in short gasps. "Okay, so that was a bad idea," Jim had said softly, quickly crossing the room to place an arm around his partner's shoulders. That night Blair and Jim had slept upstairs in Jim's bed, and Jim sported the bruises to show just how restless a sleeper Blair could be. But it was either suffer the occasional kick or spend every night on the sofa, neither of which appealed overwhelmingly to the Sentinel.

Jim began to seriously ponder what he was going to do if Blair never regained his full faculties.

It was their third day stuck in the loft, and even the placid Blair was getting restless, having investigated every nook and cranny as well as every item the loft had to offer. While his book and his rock still held the same fascination for him, he seemed to be feeling claustrophobic. Jim was unable to interest him in television or the movies he had asked Simon to rent, and Blair spent more and more time aimlessly wandering the loft. It was driving Jim crazy.

Finally, he could stand it no longer and, truth be told, he was feeling more than a little claustrophobic himself. Grabbing Blair's coat from the rack, Jim caught his partner's arm as he crossed by the door on one of his many passes. "C'mon, Chief, we're out of here," he muttered, motioning for Blair to put the coat on and sliding his arms through the sleeves of his own jacket. Then he grabbed the phone and dialed a familiar number.

"Banks!" Simon barked, irritated at once again being interrupted during yet another round of budget slashing

"Simon, Jim."

Oh no. "Jim, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Simon, it's just that Blair and I both have an almost terminal case of cabin fever. I'm going to take him to Cascade Park for a while to see if we can't work off some of this nervous energy."

"Do you think that's wise, Jim?"

"Maybe not, Simon, but we can't stay cooped up in here for the rest of our lives. Cascade Park should be public enough to be safe."

Simon still wasn't convinced. "I don't know, Jim."

"I realize it's a risk, sir, but we need some air, some space."

"Okay, Jim, but be sure to take one of the officers with you. Not that I don't think you can take care of yourself, but I know that Blair can sometimes be a bit of a...distraction...in his current condition," he added hastily, anticipating his detective's reaction.

Recognizing the truth in Banks' words, Jim capitulated. "Okay, Simon, I'll take one of the watchdogs. Check ya later."

He took a moment to extend his senses beyond the loft door, then clapped his partner on the shoulder and directed him out into the hallway. "Let's go play in the park, Chief." He was momentarily disconcerted when Blair pivoted beneath his hand and darted back into the loft. "Wha..?" Then he chuckled softly when Blair returned clutching his book and rock. "Nope, can't forget those now, can we, Chief?"

Yes, the park had been a good idea, Jim decided, turning his face to catch the mid-day sun and stretching his long legs in front of him. The weather was almost perfect, brisk enough to warrant jackets, but crisp and sunny enough to clear the cobwebs from his brain; a perfect Cascade Spring day. And it apparently agrees with Blair, too, he thought fondly as he studied his friend over the top of his newspaper. Blair sat on the grass near the lake, his book open in his lap, his inquisitive gaze wandering over the numerous park visitors. As Jim had expected, their first hour in the park had been spent investigating its myriad mysteries. Then, following a hot dog lunch, the two friends had parked themselves at a bench near the lake, Jim to read his newspaper, Blair to ruminate on the mysteries of the world he now inhabited. Using techniques Blair had taught him (in another life, Jim had thought a touch morosely), Jim divided his attention between monitoring his Guide's vital signs to make sure he was safe and close; doing the occasional sensory sweep of the park to ensure that nothing threatened their safety; and reading his newspaper.

"Hi!" Jim shifted his gaze to a small, blonde-haired boy who stood in front of Blair, looking down at him expectantly. Unsure what to do, Jim waited, gauging his Guide's reaction. The boy dropped to the grass in front of Blair, capturing his attention. "What cha doing?"

Blair smiled, his usual response, and returned to his book. "I got a book like that at home, but I can't read it cuz I'm only five. But Momma reads it to me sometimes, so I know what it says. It's got monkeys and bears in it. My name's Billy. What's your name?"

Feeling a little sorry for the child, Jim called out, "His name is Blair. He doesn't talk much."

Serious blue eyes regarded the long-haired young man for a moment, then Billy held out his hand. "See what I got?" He clutched a GI Joe doll that had obviously seen a great deal of 'action'. "His name's Joe and he's a soldier. I'm gonna be a soldier someday. What are you gonna be?" Seemingly undaunted by Blair's lack of response beyond smiling, Billy pushed on with his one-sided conversation. Jim relaxed when he determined that Blair did not feel threatened by the child or bothered by his conversation, so he returned to his paper and sensory sweeps.

Billy, meanwhile, was doggedly trying to engage Blair in conversation. "Wanna play with my GI Joe?" he offered. "He's real fun," he added as incentive, moving closer to his potential playmate when Blair smiled invitingly. "Wanna see something funny?" As Blair watched intently, Billy wrapped his small hand around the doll's head and promptly separated it from the doll's body, giggling happily. He lost his grip on the small piece of toy and it dropped to the ground less than a foot away from the stunned anthropologist.

Jim's first indication of trouble was the spike in Blair's heart rate. He immediately dropped the paper and was horrified to see his Guide, in obvious terror, scuttling away from the giggling child who was holding...Oh, God!...a headless doll. Blair's breath came in sharp gasps as he scrambled to his feet, his eyes never leaving the tiny doll head laying in the grass. Then he looked around wildly and bolted.

"Blair!" Jim shouted, leaping from the bench to follow his partner's dash across the park. "Blair, wait!"

Blair's pounding heart threatened to burst from his chest as he ran through the park and his mind chanted a silent, panicked mantra. Oh God, oh God, oh God... Memories flooded his mind and threatened to overwhelm him again. Andy. Marcus. Vincent. Andy...oh God! He was vaguely aware of someone calling his name, but nothing registered but the horrifying realization that he'd watched his friend's beheading. Oh God.

Blair stumbled when his foot slid into an unseen low spot and he fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself and clutching his sides in an effort to hold himself together. He rocked himself gently, trying to catch his breath, and hung his head in misery. He was dimly aware of someone kneeling beside him and raised his head fractionally. "J-Jim?" he gasped.

"Yeah, buddy, it's me." Jim reached out to clutch his Guide's shoulder, his own emotions swirling. He was so selfishly grateful that Blair had regained his grasp on reality, but his heart broke as he witnessed the anguish it caused his friend.

"Oh God, Jim."

"I know, Blair. I know. I'm sorry." The attempt at consolation was lame, Jim knew that, but how could he offer platitudes and assurances that everything would be all right? The only tangible comfort he had to offer was his friendship.

Blair grabbed Jim's forearms in a crushing grip that almost made the Sentinel wince. "Andy!" Blair choked out the words. "His head...his head, man...he..he..." Unable to finish, Blair hung his head again.

Aware that they were quickly becoming the center of attention in the small park, and wanting to spare his partner the humiliation of becoming a spectacle, Jim reached out and pulled Blair's chin up, his sympathetic eyes seeking his Guide's tortured ones. "I'm so sorry about Andy, Blair. I'm sorry I didn't find you sooner, in time to save him." But Jim saw no recrimination in Blair's eyes, only pain. "C'mon, let's go home." He rose, gently pulling his Guide to his feet, and draped an arm protectively across the smaller man's shoulders. He turned toward the street where he'd parked the truck and carefully directed his stricken friend across the lawn.

"Detective Ellison!"

Jim paused and turned his head, careful not to lose contact with his partner. His 'watchdog' officer, a young man named Burns, jogged up to him and self-consciously held out Blair's book and rock, dropped and forgotten in his panic. "I...well, I thought you might not want to forget these, sir."

Jim smiled his thanks and nodded his head to the young officer, slipping the rock into his pocket and tucking the book under his free arm. Then he and Blair resumed their silent trek to the truck. Blair's heart continued to pound and his breath occasionally caught in his throat, disturbingly heartening signs to Jim that his partner hadn't slipped back into the world into which he'd previously retreated. He helped Blair into the truck, then slid into the driver's side and turned the truck in the direction of home.

From the trees at the edge of the park, two pairs of eyes observed the proceedings with great interest. "Well, well," Marcus mused, "I'd say our Blair's having a hard time dealing with Patrick's death, wouldn't you? And he's obviously close to his roommate. Very close. I'm sure we can use both pieces of information to our advantage."

"How'd I get home?" Blair asked quietly as they made their way along Cascade's crowded streets. "And why don't I remember it?"

Jim shifted uncomfortably on the pickup's long seat. "Why don't we wait until we get home to talk about this, Chief?"

"I need to talk about it now, Jim. Please. What happened?" Blair turned his gaze out the passenger window, his body tense, heart pounding.

"We got lucky, Chief, that's all I can call it." Blair flinched at the word 'lucky' and Jim mentally kicked himself. Andy hadn't been so lucky. But having done the damage, Jim pressed on. "There was a witness to the kidnapping, she saw you and Andy carried to a white van. We put out an APB and got a tip from a guy who owned a small store in the Cascades that two men in his store had been driving a van matching that description. Simon and I were able to follow the trail through a distinctive tire tread pattern that led to a cabin pretty far off the beaten path. I, uh, I heard your heartbeat…" Blair's posture shifted a bit at that, "and I heard voices coming from inside the cabin. We found a trap door inside that led into some sort of bomb shelter or something. We were running down the corridor when it…happened. I'm so sorry, Blair, if I'd been there a few seconds earlier I could have saved Andy. I'm sorry," he repeated, tightening his grip on the steering wheel.

"And if you'd been a few seconds later, I might be dead too, Jim," Blair said softly, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He blinked them away in irritation and Jim winced at the blunt comment. "Don't blame yourself, Jim, please. There was nothing you could have done." To emphasize the sincerity of his words, Blair reached across the seat to lay a light hand on Jim's shoulder. "What happened after that? Did you get Marcus and Vincent?"

Jim clenched his jaw at the hopeful tone in Blair's voice. He hated having to tell his partner of his second failure. "No."

Blair stiffened. "No? Why not?" His voice took on a slightly hysterical quality and Jim glanced quickly at his friend's face. Blair raised a hand in apology. "Sorry, Jim, sorry. It's just, well…"

"I know, Blair, believe me. But when I realized what was happening, I had to throw caution to the wind and just get to you as fast as I could. They must have heard us coming and took off. There was no one in the shelter when we found you. The forensics team found a back way out. They must have used that. We found…Andy, then got you out of that damn prison."

Blair was quiet as Jim pulled the truck into his usual parking space at the loft. Someone had brought his car home, Blair noted distantly. He'd have to remember to find out who it was and thank them. He waved his hand at Jim as he made to help Blair out of the truck. "I'm okay, Jim."

Inside the loft, Blair made a beeline to the couch and dropped into it as if his legs had carried him as far as they were able. "So what about the rest of it?"

"The rest of what?" Jim asked, grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge. He'd hoped Blair would drop the rest of the conversation, but since it was obvious he wouldn't, Jim felt they'd need the fortification.

"The rest of the story, Jim," Blair snapped. "Like why don't I remember being rescued? How did I get home? How come I suddenly found myself playing with some kid I've never seen before in a park I don't remember going to and how come I can still taste a hot dog I have absolutely no memory of eating? That story, Jim!" Blair ran his hands through his hair in agitation, then accepted the beer Jim held out to him, his expression a combination of anger and confusion.

Jim settled on the other couch and faced Blair, desperately wishing he didn't have to tell the 'rest of the story.' "When we found you, you were in shock, Blair. You'd just seen a horrendous thing. You, um, were staring at Andy's…head and wouldn't respond to us at all. When I blocked your view of Andy's body, you passed out…" Jim paused as Blair closed his eyes, remembering the horrific scene. "Later, after we'd gotten you out of that shelter and you came to, you were…well…" Jim struggled to describe Blair's condition.

"I was what, Jim?" Blair pressed, gripping his beer bottle more tightly and intently focusing on its label.

Jim drew a deep breath. "You were withdrawn, Blair. You wouldn't talk, you didn't appear to hear anything or recognize anyone or remember anything. It was like you had pulled back into yourself."

"I freaked," Blair stated flatly, self-loathing obvious in this tone. "I fell apart."

"Damn it, Chief!" Jim quickly moved to his friend's side and squeezed his knee. "You didn't fall apart. You did what you had to do to deal with the situation. Let me tell you, the seasoned veterans in forensics didn't handle that crime scene much better than you did!"

"Did any of them head off into their own little lah-lah land, Jim? Did any of them just shut down?" he asked bitterly.

"No, but…"

"Then I'd say they dealt with it quite a bit better than I did, wouldn't you, Jim?" Unable to contain himself any longer, Blair leapt to his feet and began pacing the length of the living room. "And the stuff that officer brought to you after I freaked again in the park?"

"Just some stuff that seemed important to you for a while. Blair, please, lighten up on yourself. So maybe you had a bigger problem dealing with what happened to Andy than the forensics team did, big deal. You saw it happen. My God, Blair, you saw it happen!" he repeated, taking the younger man by the shoulders and gently shaking him. "I don't think anyone in Forensics would have dealt with it any better than you did. You did what you had to do, Blair, to keep from going completely out of your mind!"

"So I just went a little out of it, right?" At least Blair attempted a smile to support the lame joke.

Jim reached out to swat his best friend's cheek. "Yeah, you just went a little out of it. But you're back now, that's what important. And we're gonna get these guys, Blair, I promise you."

Blair looked Jim in the eye and his hardened gaze startled the older man. "Yeah, we are."

"Then tell me everything that happened and start from the beginning -- at Rainier."

Blair sat down again, took a long swig of beer and a deep breath, and began relating his nightmare.

As his story progressed, Blair's heartbeat increased and Jim's anger burned hotter and hotter. I'll kill that son of a bitch, he vowed, his eyes resting on Blair's bowed head. I'll kill him.

Blair tried to lighten the mood by rising from the couch and moving toward the kitchen to dispose of his beer bottle. He paused by the kitchen table, where Jim had hastily dropped the book and rock. "So, are these my talismans?"

"Talismans?"

"Yeah, many tribal cultures employ talismans to keep evil spirits at bay. They believe certain carvings, which have been blessed by holy men, protect the bearer from the evil forces in the world."

"Well, then I guess you could call those talismans, Chief, because they were certainly very important to you. In fact, the book prompted the only words you'd said since…that day."

"Really?" Blair dropped into clinical mode in an effort to distract himself from the embarrassment he still felt about his reaction to Andy's death. "What did I say?" he asked as he idly flipped through the worn pages of the book. Fascinating, it's a book about South American tribes.

Jim came to stand next to Blair and, when Blair reached the page with the black panther, stopped him. "This was your favorite page. You looked at it until I was sure you had every nuance memorized. Then, one day you pointed to the panther and said 'Sentinel'. Then you touched me and said it again."

"I did? Really? Cool!" At Jim's flinch, Blair quickly continued, "Don't you see, Jim? This shows there's a subconscious connection between us. I mean, here I am in my own private world and yet, on an almost primitive level, I still recognized your spirit guide and knew you were a Sentinel! That is so cool!"

Jim smiled. After all, it was the most animated he'd seen his Guide since before he'd been kidnapped. But he wasn't going to tell Blair just yet how he had known Blair was in trouble before Simon had even called. Fessing up to that was only going to prompt more tests and he'd had enough of those for a while, thank you very much. For now it was just enough to have "his" Blair back. "What's really cool is getting to sleep in my own bed by myself," he wisecracked.

Blair's eyes widened in shock. "I slept with you?!" he groaned. He leaned on the kitchen counter top and buried his face in his hands. "Oh, man! So what else did I do that you're going to be able to hold over my head for the rest of my life?"

Jim just grinned and began rummaging in the refrigerator for something else to eat. Yes, it was definitely good to have his Guide back.

Blair insisted on cooking dinner that night, well aware that Jim would not have eaten a decent meal while he was missing. As they relaxed at the table, keeping conversation within "safe" bounds (Jim had had quite enough of Blair's accelerated heartbeat for one day), Blair asked about his university duties.

"Nothing to worry about there, Chief. You're off the hook for at least the next several days. Simon took care of it."

"Simon took care of it? Simon?" Blair chuckled and Jim's heart lightened at the sound. It seemed like forever since he'd last heard it.

"Yeah Simon, Chief. He was really worried about you." Jim wagged his fork at Blair. "And if you tell him I told you that, I'll deny it. He's unnaturally attached to that gruff reputation of his, you know."

Still smiling, Blair held up a placating hand. "Mum's the word, Jim." Then he said softly, "But it's nice to know I do more than irritate him."

Jim mentally shook his head. How a mind that brilliant could be so fraught with insecurities was beyond him.

The next morning Blair got another affirmation of how well liked he was when he and Jim entered the bullpen at the station. There was an immediate crowd surrounding the young anthropologist, clapping him on the back, shaking his hand, all expressing with words and smiles how glad they were to see him back safe and sound. Extremely moved, Blair could only smile self-consciously. Then Joel Taggart pushed his way through the crowd and enveloped the smaller man in a great bear hug. "Sandburg, it's great to see you! We were so worried."

"Thanks, Joel," Blair smiled, gently extracting himself from the smothering hug. "Believe me, it's great to be here."

Jim simply stood to the side, content to let his partner be the center of attention. Was it only a few short days ago he'd been so afraid he'd never see Blair again? He caught a glimpse of Simon from the corner of his eye, standing in his doorway grinning at the sight in front of him. So who's the softie now, Simon? Jim thought happily. Then, Simon rearranged his face and startled everyone in the bullpen by thundering, "Sandburg!"

Blair jumped and turned to face the captain. "Yessir?" he squeaked, and Banks had to stifle a grin at the involuntary tone of respect.

"Welcome back," Simon said brusquely. Then, turning back to his office, he barked, "Ellison, Sandburg, my office."

Blair rolled his eyes at Jim as they followed Simon into his office.

"Yes, sir?" Jim asked, waving off Simon's offer of coffee and sliding into his usual chair. Blair perched on the conference table.

"How are you feeling, Blair?" Sandburg had to fight a wince at Simon's use of his first name. He really was worried! His face reddened as he remembered that the captain had witnessed virtually everything Jim had told him he'd done.

"Uh…I'm fine, sir, thanks," he managed after a moment's hesitation. For a second Blair looked as if he would say more, then he waved his hand as if to dismiss the thought and repeated simply, "Thanks."

The amenities having been taken care of, Simon leaned back in his chair and demanded point-blank, "What are you two doing here? I thought I told you to stay in the loft until we got a line on Lebredo." Banks' eyes darted to Sandburg's face, silently judging his reaction to the name. Blair returned his gaze stoically. Jim, naturally, didn't miss the exchange and was relieved to note Sandburg's reaction. Looked like the kid really was going to be okay.

"We can't stay cooped up in the loft forever, Captain," he asserted, changing his mind about the coffee and rising to his feet to pour himself a cup. He waved the pot at Blair who shook his head in denial. "Besides, Blair's ready to make his statement."

"I told you I'd take his statement at the loft," Simon growled.

"Simon, I'm okay," Blair said quietly.

Simon's tone softened as he turned to look the anthropologist in the eye. "I know you are, Blair. I can see it in your eyes."

"So, let me get back to work. Please. We've got to find this guy. For Andy."

"Are you sure you aren't too close to it, Blair?"

"Hell, yes, I'm too close to it!" Sandburg slid off the table and paced the office in obvious agitation. "He…he murdered Andy…my friend, right before my eyes, damn it, and there was nothing I could do!" He turned to meet Banks' eye. "Well, there's something I can do now. I have to help find him, Simon. I need to." Although his face was cast in stone, Sandburg's eyes pleaded with the police captain.

After only a moment's hesitation, Banks relented. "Okay, Sandburg. But if I see any signs that you're losing your objectivity on this case, I'll yank you off so fast it'll make your head swim!"

"Then pull me now, Simon," but please don't "because I haven't got an objective bone in my body right now. But if you pull me officially, I'll just keep working on it unofficially." Sensing his Sentinel was about to protest, Blair held up a staying hand. "Don't even start with me, Jim. This isn't open for discussion." Jim swallowed whatever he was going to say with a swig of coffee.

Blair failed to squirm under Banks' diamond-hard glare and the captain knew he'd lost the battle. "Okay." He dismissed the team with a scowl and a wave of his hand. "Get out of here and do some police work. Jim," he called softly as Blair left the office. Ellison turned slightly. "Watch out for him."

"Always," the detective assured his captain and meant it.

Staring at the computer screen that sat on his desk-- his desk!-- Blair rubbed his temples in exhaustion. He'd finished giving his statement a while ago and Jim hadn't reacted any better the second time than the first. Truth be told, though, he really hadn't handled it any better himself. He'd felt his heart rate skyrocket early in the statement and had only just started to settle down. The story didn't lose any of its horror in the retelling, and now he was sporting a killer headache, one bad enough that Jim had trotted off to get Blair some aspirin and a glass of water when he refused to let Jim drive him home.

His phone rang and he stared at it for a moment in amusement. It was still hard to imagine that he actually had his own phone at his own desk in the bullpen! But Simon had finally decided that Blair's contributions to the department had earned him his own desk, so he no longer had to share Jim's.  He smiled as he lifted the receiver from the cradle, "Blair Sandburg."

"Hello, Blair. How are you feeling?" asked a terrifyingly familiar voice. Blair's heart resumed its jackhammer pace and, for once, he hoped Jim would pick up on it. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out of his fear-constricted throat. "Sorry I had to dash out on you like that, but you know how it is…" Marcus continued conversationally. "Places to go and all that."

"Why?" Blair managed to whisper.

"Why what, Blair? Really, you must learn to be more specific with your questions."

"Why did you have to kill Andy?" Resurfacing memories made Blair's voice hoarse.

"He defied me, Blair. No one defies me and lives."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want the dot, Blair."

"I told you, I don't have it!"

"Ah, but I think you do. I think Andy entrusted that dot to you for safekeeping, and I want it."

"Marcus, you've got to believe me! I don't have the dot. I didn't even know about it!" Blair looked frantically around the bullpen. Where the hell was Jim? For that matter, where the hell was anybody? The bullpen was empty, except for Blair. There was no one he could motion to to initiate a wiretap. Even Simon was gone, off to yet another meeting with the mayor.

"Don't lie to me, Blair."

Blair started as he recognized the phrase Marcus had used with Andy. "I'm not lying," he insisted.

"So, how's Detective Ellison?" Marcus asked abruptly, as if Blair hadn't spoken.

"What?" Blair had been frightened before; he became terrified at the mention of his partner's name.

Marcus sighed in feigned frustration. "I said, how's Detective Ellison? You know, the man I saw you with in the park? The man you live with and who knows what else with?"

The park! Marcus had been at the park the day he'd freaked. He'd been that close to him, to Jim, and they hadn't known! Blair felt his breathing quicken and his chest seemed too small to contain his pounding heart. He caught a movement to his left and frantically waved at Henri Brown to catch his attention. Brown turned, a question in his eyes, as a nearly distraught Blair pointed to the receiver in his hand and then to another phone. After a second, Brown realized Blair wanted the call traced and he jumped to comply.

"Leave Ellison out of this," Blair responded, fighting down his panic and attempting to keep Marcus on the phone long enough for Brown to complete the trace. "He doesn't know anything about your damn dot, either."

"Oh, I'm sure he doesn't, Blair, but I think you do and I think you'd hate to see anything happen to your friend, now wouldn't you? I mean, it's so easy for one to lose one's head over you, isn't it?"

Blair's heart kicked into overdrive and he heard the blood rushing in his ears. "Don't you go near him, you son of a bitch!" he rasped.

"Then meet me tonight at Cascade Park -- midnight. How about at the same bench you and Ellison played at the other day in such a sweet, touching scene?" Marcus' voice hardened. "Bring the dot. And come alone, Blair. If I see any sign of the police or your partner, I promise you Ellison will suffer the same fate as Patrick, only much, much slower and more painful. Midnight, Blair. And don't worry about packing a bag. I'll provide everything you'll need." The phone line went dead.

"Marcus! Wait!" Blair exclaimed, although he knew that Marcus had hung up. He slowly replaced the receiver and turned pleading eyes to Brown, who shook his head sadly.

"I'm sorry, Sandburg, it wasn't long enough."

Blair buried his face in his hands. "Oh, God, this is never going to end," he groaned.

"Blair?" Blair raised his head to find Jim crossing the room, concern etched in his face. "What's wrong, Blair?" Wow, 'Blair' twice in one breath. How scared are you, Jim? Well, trust me, you got nothing on me in the fear department! Blair almost laughed, but he was certain it would come out sounding more than just a little hysterical. And Jim had been pretty much handling him with kid gloves lately anyway, afraid he'd retreat back into his little world. Doesn't sound like such a bad idea right now. Jim crouched next to Blair's chair and placed a hand on Blair's knee, whether to steady himself or Blair, the anthropologist wasn't sure. "Chief?"

Blair took a deep breath and, although his heart still pounded uncomfortably in his chest and his throat felt tight, he managed to keep his voice calm as he explained, "Marcus just called."

"Here?!" Jim exploded, causing Blair to flinch. "You get a trace?" he snapped at Brown.

Brown shook his head. "Not enough time, Jim, sorry." Then he sighed, "I've got to get to court. You gonna be okay, Hairboy?"

Blair mustered a wan smile for the concerned detective. "Yeah, H, I'll be fine. Thanks."

After Brown had left, Ellison turned back to his roommate, "What did he say, Blair?"

"He wants his fuckin' microdot, Jim! A dot I don't have and don't have a clue where to find! I'm supposed to give it to him in Cascade Park tonight at midnight!" Blair leapt to his feet and began pacing the small bullpen, his hands alternating between nervously pushing the hair away from his face and waving expressively in the air. "Oh, and just as a side note, he wants me to go away with him! He likes me!" He stopped, faced his partner, and said softly, "He was in the park the other day, Jim, watching us. Watching me." Blair squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the edge of a desk. "He…he threatened you, man, said if I didn't come alone he'd make sure you ended up like Andy, only slower and more painful. Oh, man." Blair's knees gave out and he dropped into a chair, slumping forward to hide his face in his hands once again. "What am I gonna do?" he moaned.

"You're gonna meet him in the park, that's what you're gonna do," Jim said flatly.

"What?! Jim, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying this ends tonight, Chief, if you can handle it."

Blair stared at Jim in astonishment. "How? How does it end tonight, Jim? Have you been listening to a single word I've said? I don't have the damn dot to give him and he said he'll kill anyone who even looks like a cop!"

"Well, he may be looking for cops, and he may be looking for me, but he's not going to be looking for a Sentinel, Sandburg. He won't even see me. It's risky, Chief, I won't lie to you. And if I thought there was any other way, I wouldn't even suggest this. For him not to see me, I've got to be farther away from you than I'd like. But I'll be there, watching for him, and monitoring you. I'll get him before he can get near you, Blair."

"But what about the gorilla that works for him, Jim? Vincent. He's bigger than you are, man! There's no way you can handle them both! Marcus'll kill you, Jim! We can't do this!"

"Do what?" a voice boomed from the doorway.

Both Sandburg and Ellison jumped, startled by the appearance of their captain. "I asked a question, gentlemen. What's going on?"

"Uh, your office, sir?" Jim ventured, noting that several other detectives had begun wandering back into the bullpen.

"My office," Banks acknowledged, striding past his best team. Blair rose to his feet and Jim placed a steadying hand on his back, directing him through the door to Simon's office, then closing it behind them.

"Now, what's going on here, Jim? Sandburg looks like he's seen a ghost and you're ready to eat nails."

"Lebredo called Sandburg at the station," Ellison explained, running a hand across his short hair. "He wants Sandburg to meet him at Cascade Park tonight to give him back the dot."

"But I thought Sandburg didn't have the dot."

Blair waved his arms in irritation as the conversation was conducted around him. "Hello? Over here, Simon. I came back from lah-lah land, remember? You can talk to me!"

Banks and Ellison stared at the young man in surprise. Taking a deep breath, Blair apologized. "Sorry, sorry. It just got to me there for a minute, guys. Sorry."

"It's okay, Sandburg. You're right, I should have been asking you." Simon leaned back in his chair and regarded the anthropologist. "So, do you have the dot?"

"No." Sandburg slumped dejectedly in his chair. "But if I don't give it to him, he says he'll kill Jim."

"So I assume I walked in on the tail end of a plan that Sandburg disagrees with?"

"Yeah, well, it's not one of my better ones, sir, but it's about all I can come up with right now," Jim admitted with a shrug. "I told Blair he should meet Marcus while I watched from a safe distance. Before Marcus can get close, we'll grab him. But Blair's worried about Manoa."

"You haven't seen this guy, Jim," Blair insisted. "He's huge, he's mean, and he'd just as soon kill you as look at you, man!"

"Yeah, well, I feel the same way about him," Jim growled.

"I'm not kidding here, Jim."

"Neither am I, Chief."

"Oh." Blair didn't know whether to be comforted or concerned.

"So, Jim," Simon interrupted. "Does this plan of yours have any details or are you planning to just wing it?"

Blair felt incredibly vulnerable sitting on the bench by the pond in Cascade Park. The bench, positioned close to the shoreline, sat out in the open, and the water, so cool and inviting by day, seemed dark and foreboding at night. The moon had achieved only a crescent and a thin blanket of clouds obscured the evening stars, making the blackness of night almost palpable. A street lamp intended to illuminate the pathway behind him served only to bathe the bench and its uneasy occupant in an eerie gray glow. He shivered and pulled his coat closer about him, though he knew the chill was attributable to more than just the dropping evening temperatures and the fog snaking in from the nearby bay. "I gotta tell you, Jim," he muttered softly, hunching into himself, "this plan really sucks."

From his vantage in the trees a quarter mile away, Jim shook his head and smiled grimly. "Yeah, it does," he agreed softly. He turned his touch dial down a notch to dispel the chill and his hearing up to cast a sensory net around his partner. Simon, who had refused to allow the plan to go forward without his participation, nudged his detective's elbow.

"What's going on?" he whispered in Ellison's ear.

Correctly interpreting his captain's question, Jim supplied, "Blair's making sure I know he thinks this plan sucks."

"It does suck, Jim. I just can't think of anything better." Seeing Jim's posture stiffen, he whispered hoarsely, "What is it?"

"Somebody's coming from the south end of the park. I'm picking up two new heartbeats."

Simon brought the walkie-talkie to his lips and spoke as loudly as he dared, "Heads up, people, we've got activity from the south. Hold your positions, but stay alert." He hoped he wouldn't have to explain to anyone how they had detected the intruders from their protected position. Receiving quiet acknowledgement, Simon turned back to Ellison. "Can you see them yet?"

Jim strained to pierce the thickening fog, then shook his head in frustration. "No, the fog's getting too thick. It's tough just keeping Blair in sight. I've got to extend my hearing out farther, sir, but I'm going to need your help."

Simon grimaced. He hated it when Jim dragged him into his Sentinel business. He felt so inadequate. "What do I do?" he asked, shaking off the feeling.

"Put your hand on my back. It gives me something else to focus on while I'm concentrating on one of my senses." He didn't add that Sandburg's touch grounded him in a thousand other ways as well, and that he doubted that Simon's touch would provide much of a distraction, but it was worth a try. Taking a deep breath and shifting a portion of his focus on the hand that lay tentatively on his back, Jim directed his hearing beyond his young partner's position on the park bench. Yes, there were the heartbeats, growing closer. He caught snatches of a terse, whispered conversation. "I still think this is too risky, Marcus," a deep, angry voice rasped, slightly winded at what was apparently a rapid pace through the park. Apparently this Vincent was more muscular than agile. Jim cataloged the information, thinking it might provide an advantage over the large man. "That dot still contains valuable information, Vincent. While much of the information is outdated, much of it can still be important. I want that dot." The voice paused, then continued, "And I want Blair." Jim's heart froze at the predatory tone of Lebredo's voice. No wonder the kid had been terrified. And now he sat, alone, out in the open, with help no closer than a quarter mile away, waiting to confront the man who haunted his dreams.

"We've got to get closer, Simon," he said urgently, turning slightly toward his captain. "The fog should…"

The foghorn's blare from the bay point of Cascade Park split the night and ripped through the Sentinel's head like a knife. His hearing still at maximum, Jim instinctively clapped his hands over his overloaded ears and gasped.

Simon was at a loss at how to help the agonized Sentinel. "Jim?" he called softly, not certain that the man even heard him. He shook Ellison's shoulder, wondering if Jim had suffered some sort of zone out. "Jim!"

Ellison was certain his head had exploded, the pain was so great. But, if his head had exploded, then it couldn't still hurt this badly, could it? He was dimly aware of someone shaking him, and he tried to focus his vision on the concerned face in front of him. He saw Simon's lips moving, but no sound permeated the pain in his head. Hearing Sandburg's soft voice in his mind, he attempted to turn down the dials on his hearing, reaching out to grasp Simon's arm for support. Once his hearing had returned to normal, he realized he was no longer monitoring his partner's well-being and had lost touch with his Guide. Ignoring Simon's protests, Ellison pulled his weapon and crashed through the brush to sprint across the deserted park.

Blair's right leg pumped nervously as he vainly tried to scan his surroundings through the fog. "This really sucks," he reiterated quietly, running a hand through his wayward curls.

"Such a colorful assessment."

Blair leapt to his feet in surprise, spinning to face the man he'd hoped he'd never see again. "M-Marcus!" he gasped, hoping to communicate to Jim the appearance of the murderer. As if that was necessary, he reminded himself. All he has to do is listen to your heart try to jump out of your chest and, besides, he's been following these two since they entered the park. I hope.

Marcus scanned the surrounding landscape as if he could see through the quickly gathering fog. "I see you took my advice and left your roommate at home."

"I didn't have much choice."

"Not if you wanted him to live." Blair shuddered at the callous comment. "So, how did you manage it, if I might ask?"

Blair shrugged -- expressively, he hoped. "I told him I had a date and I wouldn't be home till late."

"Ah, but you won't be home at all, Blair. Didn't I make that clear?" Marcus leaned in close to Blair's face and the anthropologist involuntarily flinched away. "You're coming with me."

"No." Blair surprised himself at the venom he injected into that one word.

"Defiance, Blair? Be careful, defiance cost Patrick his head, as I recall, and while I'll admit you interest me, I won't hesitate to kill you." He reached out to caress Blair's cheek and Blair forced himself to stare defiantly into his tormenter's eyes. Oh, God, please let this be over soon! He prayed silently willing his knees to support his body. "Did you bring the dot?" Blair almost missed the abrupt change of subject in his effort to appear calm.

"Yes."

"Ah, you see, Vincent, I knew he'd listen to reason. We simply had to find the right motivation. Now, Blair, it's not that I don't trust you or anything, but might I please see the dot that's caused me so much difficulty?"

Playing for time, Blair stepped back slightly. "How do I know you won't just sic your gorilla there on me and take the dot?" Vincent growled at the slight and Blair fought the urge to take the path to the better part of valor.

"Oh, Blair," Marcus sighed. "Do show some modicum of sense, would you please? If that had been my intent, we certainly wouldn't be standing here speaking so civilly, now would we?"

Well, so much for that diversion. "Yeah, right. Sorry, I'm kind of new to this espionage game, you know?" he stammered, wondering where in the hell Jim and Simon were. As good as his obfuscation skills might be, he was pretty much running on empty. "Look, you promised if I gave you the dot that you'd leave Jim alone…"

"Yes, I did."

"You were lying," Blair stated flatly, realizing the situation was quickly getting out of hand.

"Well, of course I was, dear boy." Marcus' smile was almost feral. "But after I saw the two of you together in the park, I knew there was nothing you wouldn't risk to ensure your friend's safety. So, here you are, and here we are, and now I think it's time you gave me the dot and we were on our way."

Blair's blood ran cold -- things were going all wrong! Marcus would soon discover that Blair didn't have the dot and kill him…if he was lucky. And then he would surely kill Jim as a final act of revenge. Still stalling for time, Blair tried another tact. "I'd rather give it to you after we leave Cascade. And only if you guarantee Jim's safety. I've hidden the dot and you won't find it without my help."

Marcus sighed theatrically and waved nonchalantly to his assistant. "Vincent," the single word, brimming with meaning, evoked a myriad of emotions in Blair -- anger at being kidnapped, at being forced to watch his friend's grisly murder, at being used as a pawn in a deadly game of cat and mouse, and terror at the thought of being a boy toy for the cruel man who regarded the loss of life so casually. The emotions swept through him almost instantly. Vincent lunged and Blair darted out of the larger man's grasp, swinging his fist in a roundhouse punch that caught the burly man on the cheek and completely by surprise. Vincent fell to his knees with a grunt, but quickly struggled to regain his footing. Blair knew he should run, should try to get away, but the same feelings that had caused him to lose touch with reality following Andy's murder spurred him to recklessness. He swung again at the behemoth, but Vincent was prepared this time and caught Blair's fist in one great paw, twisting it violently. With a gasp of pain, and thrown off balance by the awkward angle his arm now assumed, Blair dropped to one knee. Vincent slid a beefy arm around Blair's throat and began exerting a steady pressure that effectively restricted his breathing. Gray spots danced before Blair's eyes and darkness licked at the edges of his vision and he knew he was going to die.

"Cascade P.D.! Freeze!"

Had he had any breath left, Blair would have shouted his relief. As it was, Vincent's hold loosened fractionally, allowing Blair to suck in precious oxygen. His relief was short lived, however, as Vincent dragged Blair to his feet and turned to face Ellison. Vincent shifted his grip from Blair's throat to place one hand on his chin and the other on the back of his head. Blair struggled briefly, but quickly realized he was too weak to break free and that Vincent's hold could easily break his neck.

It was a Mexican standoff in Washington state, a scene frozen in time. Jim Ellison stood, stone-faced, his gun trained unwaveringly on Vincent Manoa, his eyes icy pools of anger. Simon Banks formed the rearguard pinning Lebredo with both his furious glare and his weapon.

"Let him go," Jim growled, his eyes never leaving Manoa's face.

"Ah, but Detective Ellison," Marcus replied patiently, "it appears we have the upper hand here, doesn't it? My associate has your associate in a very precarious position, and I assure you he will kill him if you so much as twitch."

As if to emphasize Marcus' words, Vincent twisted his hands slightly, eliciting a groan from Blair as pain radiated from his neck down his spine. Blair tried to turn with Vincent's motion, but the man's forearm on his chest prevented him from moving much.

"I said let him go." If possible, Jim's eyes hardened even more. That's a look I never want directed at me, Blair thought irrationally, then decided he'd probably never see another look of any kind directed at him. The thought saddened, then angered him. I refuse to be used as a pawn anymore! he vowed. As if attempting to relieve some of the pressure on his neck, Blair raised his right foot off the ground and turned his body slightly, praying that Vincent was too distracted to notice. Then, with all the force he could muster, he brought the heel of his hiking boot down on the tender, vulnerable tissue at the top of Manoa's sneaker-clad foot. Vincent howled in pain and released Blair, but not before delivering a sharp wrench to his neck. Blair fell to the ground, pain streaking up and down his spine, stars whirling before his eyes in a frenetic dance. He heard shouts, then gunshots. Concerned for his partner's safety, Blair forced his eyes open and rolled onto his side. Chaos greeted his unfocused sight. No one would ever be able to provide an accurate account of the proceedings but, if possible, things had seemingly gone from bad to worse. Simon was on the ground, clutching his left leg and writhing in pain. Jim had his arms full of Vincent Manoa, wrestling with him in a deadly dance punctuated with grunts and punches. Marcus had a gun in his hand and was attempting to find a clear shot at Jim. Blair had apparently been forgotten in the melee. With a huge grunt of exertion, Jim delivered a two-fisted blow to Vincent's jaw, dropping him like a rock. Then he bent at the waist, stunned, hands on his knees, trying gain control of his ragged breathing. Blair saw Marcus' finger tightening on the trigger and realized Jim's movements were too sluggish to be able to avoid Marcus' shots.

There was only one chance and Blair hoped he was in time.

Jim was convinced there wasn't enough oxygen in the entire world to satisfy his starved lungs. No matter how much air he sucked into them, his lungs demanded more. His head spun from the punishing blows Vincent had managed to deliver during their battle and he knew there was something he should be doing, should be taking care of. But, for the life of him, he just couldn't make his addled brain focus.

However, a quick glance to his right provided all the information he needed. Simon was on the ground, his hands wrapped around a bloody leg, yelling something at him - what was he saying? Wait, if Simon was down, where was Lebredo? He shifted his gaze to the left and nearly froze when he realized that Lebredo had a gun and had it trained unwaveringly on him.

"Good try, detective, but not good enough, I'm afraid," Marcus intoned as he squeezed the trigger on the automatic handgun. Jim flung himself to the ground, knowing he wasn't fast enough to avoid the bullet, and braced himself for the blinding pain he knew would follow. He heard the anguished shout of his Guide a fraction before he heard the gun's loud report and never felt the expected agony. He immediately rolled to his feet in a desperate attempt to overpower Lebredo and stumbled in surprise. Lebredo was on his knees, obviously dazed, his hands pressed against his right temple. Blood seeped between his fingers and the gun lay forgotten on the ground next to him. Gathering his wits, Jim scooped up the gun and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans with one hand while grabbing his handcuffs with the other. He quickly and efficiently handcuffed Lebredo around the leg of the park bench, which was bolted to a concrete slab, then used Simon's handcuffs to similarly bind Manoa. Once that was accomplished, Jim seemed uncertain whom to tend next. His Sentinel genes warred with his medic training, until Blair waved him toward Simon with a soft "I'm okay, Jim."

Jim retrieved Simon's fallen walkie-talkie, apprised the waiting backup of the situation, and requested an ambulance. He then used his shirt to apply pressure to the bleeding wound, all the while casting anxious and curious glances at his partner. Mindful of his still hurting neck, Blair slowly moved to kneel next to the two policemen. "Is he gonna be okay, Jim?" he asked.

"Yeah, he's gonna be fine, Chief," Jim smiled reassuringly. "It's a little more than 'just a flesh wound', but it's not serious."

Blair started to nod, then thought better of it as his neck protested. "Good."

"Now I know how you feel when we talk around you, Sandburg," Simon grumbled through his gritted teeth, trying to shift to a more comfortable position on the ground. "Remind me of that next time we do it."

"No problem," Blair grinned, then backed away as the paramedics and backup officers swarmed over the area.

Relinquishing his medic duties, Jim moved to stand next to his Guide. "You okay, Chief?" he asked, gently probing Blair's stiff neck.

Blair winced. "Yeah, just hurts when I move, man," he joked lamely.

"You were right, Sandburg. This plan really sucked."

Blair chuckled softly, "I knew you'd hear that. No, it wasn't one of our better ones…but it worked, and that's all that matters."

"No it isn't, Chief. I screwed up. I never even thought about the fog. I got blind-sided by a fog horn and lost track of you for a few minutes."

"I wondered," Blair admitted quietly. "I was running out of delaying tactics. But you got here and we're all fine…well, most of us, anyway," he added, watching the paramedics lift the police captain onto a waiting gurney. "And it's over." His gaze rested on Marcus and Vincent, now being tended to by Rafe and Brown.

"It's not completely over," Jim reminded him, slipping an arm around Blair's shoulders and gently leading him after the departing paramedics. "You'll still have to testify, you know."

Blair's eyes hardened as he turned to regard one of the most evil men he'd ever come across in his young life. "I can do that," he said firmly.

Simon impatiently flipped through the limited selection of television channels, then turned off the set and tossed the remote back onto the tray table that spanned the width of his hospital bed. As he shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position for his leg, the door to his room opened and Sandburg bounced in, followed by his more sedate partner. "Hey, Simon!" Blair called out cheerily, dropping into the chair beside Banks' bed. "How you feeling?"

"I'll live," Banks admitted grudgingly. He peered at Blair. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, this?" Blair touched the cervical collar that surrounded his neck. "Yeah, just wrenched my neck is all. Doctor says I gotta wear this thing for a day or so."

"For three days," Jim supplied sternly. "And I intend to make sure it stays on all three days."

Blair waved off Jim's mother-hen mode with a casual, "Whatever, man," that warned the Sentinel that the collar would be an ongoing battle.

"I've always said you needed to put a collar on him, Jim," Simon laughed, glad to see his friends back to normal. "Doesn't seem to affect his ability to talk, though, does it?"

"No, I'm thinking a muzzle might be next," Jim grinned, reaching over to tousle his friend's long hair.

Blair slapped Jim's hand away. "Oh, ha, ha," he frowned playfully. "So, Simon, when are they gonna spring ya?"

"With good behavior, maybe tomorrow. Not soon enough to suit me."

"I hear that," Blair sympathized, sounding very much like his mother.

"So, Sandburg, how'd you manage to save Jim's tail last night? Things happened sort of fast after you stepped on Manoa's foot. I still can't figure out how Lebredo managed to pull a gun on me so fast! And Manoa was obviously quicker than either Jim or I gave him credit for."

"Yeah, Chief, I've been meaning to ask you what you did. Lebredo had a clear shot at me," Jim chimed in. "I was sure I'd bought it, but you saved my life."

Blair blushed. "Well, I just got pissed all of a sudden. That's why I stomped on Vincent's foot -- to make him let me go. Obviously it worked, but, man, I thought he'd ripped my head off in the process! Anyway, when I could see straight again, I saw Simon on the ground and Marcus getting ready to shoot you. I could tell you were woozy and I knew there was no way you could get out of the way fast enough. I just sort of went on autopilot at that point, I think. I reached in my pocket and found that rock -- my talisman -- and I just sort of let fly at Marcus with it."

"That was some shot you made, Chief," Jim smiled proudly. "Nailed him right on the side of the head."

Blair coughed self-consciously and ducked his head. "Well, uh, I wouldn't be so quick to congratulate me, Jim," he said with a slight smile.

"Why not?"

"I was aiming at his hand, not his head."

Jim blanched at the admission and the realization of how close a call it had been. "Oh."

"Well, hey," Blair laughed, "you're the one that came up with the plan that sucked. I had to improvise to get us out of it!"

Unable to dispute the truth of his Guide's words, Jim only shook his head and muttered, "Aiming for his hand. My God!"

"Hey," Blair continued, "John Wayne always shot the gun out of the bad guy's hand! I figured I could do the same with my rock!" Feeling that he'd fully justified his actions, Blair turned to Simon. "So, did you catch the score of the Jag's game last night? Man, they kicked some serious butt!"

Jim and Simon stared at each other for a moment, communicating a single thought. It was good to have Sandburg back.

THE END

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