When Jim walked back into the loft, he wasn't sure what to expect. What he found was Blair on his knees in the living room, in the same spot he'd been standing when Jim had left. Jim went to him instantly, and pulled Blair into an embrace. "Oh, Chief. I'm sorry. Geez, here I go, hurting you again." Words weren't what Blair really needed at the moment, though, so Jim just held his Guide for a long moment, until he trusted himself to speak and NOT say something monumentally stupid. "It's all right, Blair." He began to rub Blair's back gently, holding him as the sobs began to subside. It might have been a few hours or maybe just a few minutes; Jim lost track of time. "I am so sorry, Chief. I never wanted to hurt you. I... I need you."

Blair looked up, his eyes red, his expression one of wary hope. "Do you really mean that?"

Jim sighed. So many times, he'd rejected Blair. Could he really have ever made Blair doubt that fact? Apparently so. He looked into the other man's face, still wet with tears and said, "Of course I do. I've always needed you. Why would you think I didn't?"

Blair shook his head slowly. "I don't know. I think I'm just tired, and..."

And I've told you I didn't need anyone too many times. Jim patted Blair's shoulder. "I do need you. I guess I was just too focused on myself to realize it before."

"I'm sorry," Blair whispered. "I shouldn't try to change the way you are."

"Sandburg -- Blair," Jim paused, struggling for words. "You have NOTHING to be sorry for here. Aw, shit, there's just so much that I screwed up. And if I can change, and I can keep that from happening again, then I'm all for change."

"We both screwed up." Blair stood up with Jim as they moved to sit on the couch. "But I like you the way you are. I... I just... I shouldn't have said some of that stuff. A lot of it."

Jim let one hand rest lightly against his partner's shoulder. "We both said some things we shouldn't have -- but maybe we needed to clear the air." He leaned back a little, wanting to see Blair's face. "Maybe we can really put this stuff behind us, and move forward now."

Blair sighed heavily. "I hope so. I know you didn't mean that stuff on the beach with Alex. I was just surprised... confused."

Damn! How could he explain that to Sandburg when he didn't even understand it himself? Jim shifted, pulling Blair closer to him in a friendly hug. "Nothing I did -- for whatever reason I did it -- was done to hurt you. I would NEVER deliberately hurt you, Blair. You have to believe me."

"I... I do." Blair angled his head so that he could see Jim's face. "I know. I just... I've got a lot of stuff right now I need to work on."

"Your issues are my issues, Chief." Jim was feeling on somewhat firmer ground now. "We're a team, remember?"

Blair didn't respond right away; it seemed the Sentinel wasn't the only tactile-oriented one in the relationship. He was quiet for awhile, just running his hand over the arm around his shoulders. "I... I know. But, Jim, just a month ago, I used to wonder why I bothered to get out of bed. The meds help, but I'm definitely not over this, not yet... Maybe not for awhile. Everything's really messed up right now. I don't want you to have to deal with all this because of me."

"Oh, Chief," Jim sighed, his hand lightly rubbing Blair's upper arm, "don't you understand yet? This -- thing -- you're dealing with, this depression... It's partly because of me, what you gave up for me." He paused for a long moment. "How can I NOT help you deal with it?"

"It probably would have happened anyway, even if we'd never met -- kinda runs in my family." Blair shook his head. "Don't beat yourself up over it."

"I'm not," Jim said firmly, stilling Blair's hand by taking it in his own. "But you're not going to go through this alone. Not anymore." Jim looked down, then touched Blair's chin, turning Blair's head so he could look into Blair's eyes.

"Not ever again," Jim finished quietly.

Blair cracked a smile. "Isn't this the part where I'm supposed to tell you to take me away from all this?"

Jim laughed, but then his expression grew serious. "If that's what you want. Because, Chief, I gotta tell you, that works for me." He grinned devilishly. "I hear Aruba's nice this time of year."

Blair raised an eyebrow. "Might start a few rumors." He leaned against Jim casually. "This is so hard to explain to people..."

"It's nobody's business." Jim patted the younger man's back. "You -- WE -- have nothing to explain."

"I don't need your ears to hear what they say about us," Blair confided. "Stuff about how we're screwing around, literally. They all talk about partners being close, and then we are -- closer than I've ever felt to anyone -- and they have to make it sexual, because they think it's dirty..." He sighed. "It's stupid. I shouldn't let it bother me. But you deserve better than that from them."

Jim frowned as he wondered what exactly his partner had heard. Whatever it was, it hadn't been said in his earshot, so it was probably aimed deliberately at Blair. He made a note to listen around the station a little more closely. But for now, he needed words again. The right words. "There is nothing dirty or perverse about us, Blair," he said softly. "It's the best thing in my life, the closest relationship I've ever had. The closest one I'm sure I ever will have. It goes beyond the Sentinel/Guide thing, beyond the partner thing. It's a gift, and I regret everything I've done that's damaged it." He hardened his voice, his teeth clenching as he added, "And I'm not about to let anyone else sully it, or demean it, or..." His hands fisted. He was out of words. He just had to hope it had been enough.

Suddenly, though, he began to realize the real reason Blair was upset over it. 'You deserve better than that...' Blair was worried about him. Jim squeezed Blair's hand. "I'm not going to let those idiots win, all right? And even if we WERE having that kind of relationship, they'd just have to get over it, because it would be our business and no one else's."

Blair nodded. "There's nothing wrong with that, if two people feel that way, but I just DON'T have those feelings for you. I love you, but it's totally platonic and it scares me sometimes. A lot of times, actually." He gave a small smile. "I know why you push me away, and it comes down to years of crap that I can't undo. So many people have hurt you so many times, and you want to get away before you can get hurt again. But, Jim, I wouldn't ever try to hurt you; you've gotta know that."

"Yeah, Chief," Jim sighed and dropped his head to rest against his partner's for a brief moment. The night had been emotionally exhausting, and it wasn't finished yet. "I know. And I know I push people away. You're the only one won't let me -- who always stays no matter what shit I dish out." He lifted a hand and rubbed his face. For some reason, he felt like he was screwing this up, or -- something. He dropped his hand and let it rest on the other man's shoulder, steadying Blair -- steadying himself, too. "I love you, too, Blair. And that isn't going to change. Whatever else changes -- that's gonna be the same. You're my compass. You guide me, in more ways than one. And, Chief? I want to be your safe harbor -- the place you go when things get bad." He shifted position and added his free hand to Blair's other shoulder, holding Sandburg in place. "I want you to come to me when you need help. And I'll do everything I can to give you what you need."

"Compass, safe harbor... boat stuff... you missed your calling, man. You should have been in the Navy." A long pause followed, as if Blair didn't know what to say. "I... thanks. That means a lot -- but you know what? I want you to know the same thing, too. You pull away when something bugs you, and I can't help you like that...."

Jim stiffened. "It's just the way I am," he began, but then he shook his head violently. "No, dammit! It's the way I was. But, you're right, Sandburg, it doesn't work. So, when I pull away, you work a little of that Sandburg magic and make me come back, okay?" He smiled gently as he watched his friend take in the words.

"I'm an anthropologist, not a miracle worker." Blair chuckled, then grew serious. "Jim? You've gotta promise me something. You've got to promise me that you'd be okay if something happened to me. "

Jim sobered and he looked down into the earnest face that was staring up at him. This was where they always got bogged down. Sandburg didn't want to live without him, and Jim didn't think he could go on without Sandburg. It wasn't just the senses -- they were a small part of it. Blair had said it best. It was about friendship. And yet, the younger man could stand there and try an extract a promise from him as if...

Jim's eyes narrowed as a new thought crossed his mind. "Blair -- you're not trying to, uh, tell me something, are you? This depression -- how severe is it? There isn't any reason for me to think I might have to get along without you, is there?"

"No," Blair replied. "A few weeks ago... It was pretty bad for awhile. I'm doing better now. But I'm just thinking, it's not exactly a safe life we live."

"So we'll be careful. We'll eat right, and lock the doors and maybe -- just maybe -- you could stay out of harm's way every now and then?" Jim smiled as he spoke. "I don't like thinking about death, Sandburg," he said gruffly, "but I NEED you. As my friend, in my life. It's hard enough for me to accept. You've got to accept it, too."

"Jim, it's not some genetic bond thing we have. It's friendship, man, pure and simple -- well, not simple, but..." Blair sighed. "You're stronger than you think." His eyes shone brightly, from the tears and emotion.

Jim sighed again. He knew he could survive Blair's death physically -- what concerned him was if he would be able to cope emotionally. "Okay, Sandburg, okay. How's this? If something ever happens to you, I'll TRY to deal with it. That's the best I can promise, all right?"

"All right," Blair conceded. "Fair enough." He shook his head. "I don't plan on checking out soon, but I worry about you."

Frankly, Jim worried about himself, too. He could clearly remember how absolutely terrified he had been when he thought Blair was dead at the fountain. And how willing he was to do ANYTHING to get Blair back. No, what they had might not be physical, it might not be genetic, but it sure as hell was REAL. It was very real. And it went far deeper than any friendship he'd ever experienced. But Sandburg didn't need the pressure of that right now; he was dealing with enough issues as it was. So he pasted on a smile that quickly became real as he looked at his partner, watching him so earnestly and waiting for him to speak. "All right, Sandburg," he replied. "I'll definitely try. And in the meantime, if you can worry about me, then let me worry a little over you and this depression thing, okay?" He stretched his legs, then settled back onto the couch again. "What can I do? How can I help?"

Blair shook his head. "I... I don't know. I guess... THIS... Just us talking, it helps."

"So keep talking," Jim suggested. "Blair, how long as this been going on?"

"With me?" Blair asked. "The past few months. My aunt used to get really bad; I guess that's what finally drove me to get help."

Jim reached out and touched the other man's face. "I'm glad you did -- glad you got help before something happened. And," he grinned crookedly, "contrary to popular opinion, I will not implode with prolonged conversation. I can do talking. Some," he amended at Sandburg's doubtful look.

Blair sighed. Heavily. "All right, but don't say I didn't warn you."

"I'll keep that in mind. So, about your aunt?" Jim frowned as he heard Blair's heart rate suddenly increase. "Chief? What happened to your aunt?" He met Blair's eyes with his own. "I'm sure you don't want to talk about it -- and I might wish I hadn't heard it in the end -- but maybe getting it out in the open will help?"

Blair shook his head. "I haven't told anyone this yet. My aunt, Gail, she killed herself." He sighed. "I was maybe seven or eight? Yeah, I was eight...."

Ah, shit. Jim mentally smacked himself on the head. Sandburg had mentioned the aunt -- family -- with depression before, and Jim had neglected to follow up. How did these conversations always end up being about him? Because Blair always put him first, he answered his own question. But, now -- he needed to focus on Sandburg. It had to have been hard for the younger man to offer this information. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, not quite sure what was the appropriate thing to say. He really wanted to ask if Blair was afraid he was going to do the same thing. But instead, he said, "Were you close to her, Chief?" and hoped it would draw him out.

"Sorta," Blair answered. "Not as close as Naomi was. We moved in with Aunt Gail for awhile. I was seven then." Blair cuddled up next to Jim, seeking support, and Jim was happy to offer it. "She overdosed a couple of months after I turned eight, on some pills. Sleeping pills, I think..."

"And she was depressed? Like you?" Jim knew that depression could run in families, knew there was a genetic predisposition. It worried him even more to learn that it had fatal effects for Blair's aunt.

"I don't know if it was exactly like me," Blair said. "I mean, treatment wasn't as good then. But, yeah, she'd had issues with it." He looked reminiscent for a few seconds. "It wasn't bloody or anything -- she looked almost peaceful. Naomi kept trying to tell me she was somewhere better, but I didn't get it then. I mean, I knew Gail was dead, but I didn't get how whatever she was living with could have been worse than, you know, dying."

Jim breathed a silent sigh of relief. Just keep thinking that way, kid. "Must have been hard for you, eh?"

"Yeah. Especially when Mom took off."

Jim's head jerked up sharply. How could she? How could Naomi take off at a time like that, leaving her son to deal with something like that on his own? Sure, Blair had mentioned that Naomi had been close to her sister -- at least, Jim presumed it was her sister -- but, still...

Blair patted Jim's arm sort of idly, as though to calm Jim. "It's not what you think, Jim. I was pretty hurt then, too -- she left me with her friend Windsong for a couple of months that time -- but she had a pretty rough time with it. Gail was her little sister." Blair shook his head, leaning against Jim. "I found out later -- like last year -- that she had checked herself into a hospital. It was an old one that kind of specialized in treating mental issues. That's where she was for those couple months. I guess she'd been fighting it, too -- she still does now and then -- and it scared her when Gail died. That's how she got into meditation, to relax herself. You know, endorphins and all."

So Naomi had fought depression, too. Apparently it was all through Sandburg's family. And hadn't Blair been saying that before? Jim just hadn't wanted to hear it. No wonder Blair was having a hard time, especially with all the fallout from the last year. "How about you?" he asked. "Meditation help you at all?"

"Sometimes." Blair shrugged. "Not all the time. Naomi's a lot more relaxed; it's easier for her."

"So what does work for you? What can I do?" Jim asked. He hated to see Blair struggling with this and having only antidepressants to rely on.

Blair shrugged. "I'm still experimenting."

Jim frowned, but quickly covered it. Blair wasn't even that big on antibiotics -- what had made him decide to get himself on antidepressants, rather than something more natural? "Why'd you go for the drugs?" He tried to keep his tone casual; the last thing he wanted was to sound accusing right now. If those medications were helping Blair even one bit, Jim was all for them.

"I don't come from the most mentally stable of families," Blair explained, "and that's why I finally went to see someone." He sighed. "I used some herbs for awhile, but they weren't doing a whole lot except to get me out of bed in the morning. But... I thought about it, for a little while, one night, just getting it all over with...." He stopped at Jim's expression. "I didn't get as far as trying anything. I... I just thought about Gail, you know, and how confused I was over it when it happened and I called someone, got help."

Jim was silent. The enormity of what Blair had just said didn't want to sink in. '...getting it all over with...' Jim felt sick to his stomach. One part of him wanted to immediately buy a gun safe and make sure that temptation was never available. But then, he'd have to get rid of the razors and the knives, and scissors, and any drugs -- including the antidepressants; people overdosed on them all the time -- and, damn! Blair's hair dryer and the toaster... Because, you know, water and electrical appliances.

Jim sighed. There was just no way to make the loft completely safe. And even if he could, Blair would still be out in the world, where he could get whatever he wanted, to do whatever he wanted, if he wanted. Jim shook his head, his own train of thought dizzying, and settled for saying, "If you feel that way again, Chief -- EVER -- will you please come talk to me? Call me, come to me, wake me -- whatever you need, but promise me you won't do anything permanent without talking to me." His face was stricken as he thought of coming home and finding Blair...

God, he was going to be sick. "Blair," he breathed desperately, "promise me! Please."

Blair pulled Jim into a hug -- not hard, given Jim's state. "I promise, Jim. I couldn't do that to you. That's what stopped me." He sighed. "I didn't want to scare you; I just thought... I haven't told anyone that, either, and..."

Jim dropped his head to rest against the couch. "No, no, it's okay. I WANT you to talk to me. I just... Well, that's all. I want you to talk to me." He swallowed hard, then returned Blair's hug. "Just let me help."

Blair nodded. "You know, Jim, you were right in a way."

"About what?"

"What you said before you left," Blair replied. "'This isn't over.'"

"I didn't mean--" Jim began to protest, but Blair cut him off.

"No, Jim. I meant it; you're right. This is NOT over." Blair shook his head slowly. "We both screwed a lot of things up, big time. And we'd be kidding ourselves if we thought the problems were finished just because we managed to make up after one fight."

"It was a hell of a fight, Chief," Jim pointed out, teasing.

Blair almost smiled, but covered it in time. "Yeah, it was. But, maybe we got a lot of crap in the open, and we can heal now. We haven't fixed all our problems yet, but I think we've made a decent start."

"Yeah," Jim agreed, smiling -- a genuine smile now. It wasn't over. Blair was right; they hadn't solved everything. But they'd salvaged their friendship, and that was the important thing. The friendship wasn't over, either. Old habits died hard, though, and he was starting to feel uncomfortable with the sheer emotional energy hanging between them at the moment. So he changed the subject. "Hey, you think we could still catch the end of that Jags game? What'd you do with the remote?"

It had been a grueling night, emotionally, and Jim and Blair both fell asleep not much more than ten minutes into the basketball game's final quarter. They were still on the couch in the morning -- as Jim discovered when he awoke to find that he had a stiff neck and about 150 pounds of dead weight leaning against him. The television was still on, and Cascade's local news anchor was brightly reporting on the weather. Blearily, Jim searched for the remote, and -- upon discovering that it was under Blair -- used his free arm to throw a small pillow at the TV set. He didn't particularly care for Marissa Grimes on the best of mornings.

Footsteps approached, and a knock on the door soon followed. Jim looked at the door. "Yeah, who is it?" Judging from the scent of cigar smoke, it was probably Simon, but Jim figured he might as well ask.

"It's Simon."

Score another one for the Sentinel senses. Jim would later deal with the fact that his Guide's weight was cutting off most of the circulation to Jim's left arm. "Oh, yeah, c'mon in."

Simon looked amused as he opened the door and strode into the loft, then surveyed the scene in front of him. "Gee, hope I didn't wake you." His tone wasn't the least bit apologetic.

"No, I was awake," Jim replied. Okay, so only barely. "Don't tell me you have a case. It's our day off." They both really needed this day off.

Simon shook his head. "No, because it's my day off, too, remember? I actually came by to drop this off." He took the file folder he'd been holding under his arm and dropped it onto the kitchen island's countertop. "Now, dare I ask?"

Jim tried to shrug, but found it difficult. "We were tired -- can you turn the TV off while you're over there? It should be illegal for anyone to be that perky. Sandburg's not even that perky."

Simon chuckled, and turned the TV off, then looked Blair over. "I'd say not."

"Sandburg on pep pills wouldn't be that perky!"

"Okay, Jim," Simon said, holding up his hands, "I got the point. Why don't you just wake him up, anyway?"

"Because then the blood's going to come back to my arm," Jim answered, "and I like to delay that tingly feeling crap as long as possible. It's hell on my sense of touch. Besides, he can use the sleep."

"I'm guessing you were both up pretty late last night?" Simon asked, taking a seat on the smaller sofa.

Jim shook his head. "Yeah, we wanted to catch the end of the Jags game."

"Jim, that game was over by nine-thirty."

"Oh, was it?" It must have just seemed later because of everything else that had happened.

"Yes," Simon confirmed, "and it's just past nine now. You slept on the couch?"

"Fell asleep," Jim clarified. He knew Simon would never listen to the rumors around the department, or likely even mention this incident except among friends, but he somehow felt the need to make the distinction. "It was... Let's just say it was a really long night."

"Everything okay?" Simon asked, frowning slightly.

"It's better now," Jim assured him. "We just had some issues."

"I'll say," Simon kidded.

Jim laughed softly. "I meant in addition to the normal issues." Isn't that kind of a contradiction in terms, normal issues? "There's been a lot of crap building up, and we finally started to deal with it."

Simon smiled. "It's about time."

That caught Jim off-guard. "What?"

"Nothing's been the same between you two since Sierra Verde, Jim," Simon explained. "Everyone noticed it. You're still closer friends than most people ever will be, but it was like something was missing, I guess."

Jim nodded thoughtfully. "I think we found that something last night."

"Well, I'm glad." Simon motioned to the folder he'd brought. "We managed to dig up a little more on Kurt Alexander."

"Good." Jim looked over to the folder, then to his partner, and finally pulled his arm free from underneath Blair so that he could stand up. Blair made a noise of protest, but then laid down on the couch, reaching out sleepily with one hand to pull the Navajo blanket on the couch around him. Within seconds, he was asleep again. Jim smiled affectionately and pulled the blanket the rest of the way over the sleeping man. He massaged his tingling arm with the other hand as he made his way to the counter to retrieve the folder. "Anything particularly interesting?"

"Just a little more information on his previous stalking victims." Simon shrugged. "He's continuing his trend with Carolyn... All of the others were professionals, too, about her age. He seems to like a science background... Heaven knows why. There's next to nothing on his past."

"Have you talked to Carolyn recently?" Jim asked. "I was going to last night, but then, nothing went like planned last night."

"Does life ever? Actually, I did talk to her yesterday. She's all right -- a little impatient, but we all are. How's Sandburg?"

"His shoulder?" Jim asked. At Simon's nod, he continued. "It's healing. Fortunately, this doesn't impair his function much; it just drives him crazy." Jim reached out to tousle Blair's dark curls playfully. "Not a far trip, eh, Chief?"

"Mmmf." Blair, waking up, groaned and opened one eye. He looked around cautiously before opening the other eye as well and sitting up. He winced and rubbed lightly at his sore shoulder, then glanced over to Jim. "What trip?"

"Well, good morning, Sunshine," Jim teased. "And never mind what trip. It's not important."

"'Kay." Blair rubbed his eyes, then frowned suddenly. "Simon?"

"You were expecting maybe Denzel Washington?" Simon asked dryly.

"We've got some more stuff on Alexander," Jim said, sitting down on the couch next to Blair. "His other victims were a lot like Carolyn -- but he never made any attempt to hurt any of them before; he was just a nuisance. Why change now?"

"Maybe he has a thing for redheads, too?" Blair joked.

Jim grinned. "I happen to know that Carolyn's a natural brunette. I don't know; it could be anything at this point. We've just got to make sure she's safe until we figure it out and catch him."

"Well, we've got the 'safe' part covered for now," Simon contributed, waving an unlit cigar as he spoke, "but as for catching him, I'm open to suggestions."

Blair looked contemplative for a little while, then looked up, inspiration written on his face. "I've got an idea."

Simon's eyebrows rose, his expression becoming curious. "What is it, Sandburg?"

Blair's grin grew almost devilish. "Live bait."

"What?"

"I mean a decoy." Blair nodded enthusiastically. "Like... I don't know. I'd do it."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "What are you going to do, put a red rinse in your hair and go in drag?"

"In a word? No." Blair looked around, and then picked up his jacket, which had been draped over the sofa. He pulled a copied photograph from the pocket. "Look at this."

Jim shrugged. "It's Laura Trouchesett."

"The first woman Alexander stalked?" Simon asked.

"Yeah." Blair nodded. "She was his science teacher his junior year in high school."

"And how's this relate?" Simon asked.

"Well, other than her having red hair? She left about halfway through that year, I found, to work for the local police department. As a forensic technician. Now, that doesn't mean anything alone, right? We already know he likes science types. But he had this huge crush on her, and he started stalking her AFTER she left." Blair grinned. "He also kept after her fiancee -- occasionally injuring him, though nothing that couldn't look accidental. Now, Alexander's seen both of us with Carolyn. With the exception of the shooting, he's followed the same plan exactly that he used with Laura Trouchesett and her fiancee. So, unless we found a woman who could distract him -- he's been easily distracted by random women, even when he was seriously stalking someone -- one of us could probably at least get his attention. Why not me?"

"Because I don't want you getting hurt," Jim insisted. "He's already taken a shot at you."

"Maybe he'll underestimate me."

"Maybe you'll underestimate him," Jim countered.

Simon held up his hands. "I don't want to put either of you in danger unless I absolutely have to. Right now, Alexander's just been watching the house from a few houses down. We don't have a positive ID for the shooting, or we'd have him. We're keeping an eye on him; the moment he makes one wrong move, we'll nail him. Right now, he hasn't made any threatening moves. We'll wait and see."

"Seems we're doing a lot of that lately," Blair mused. "The jewelry heist, this case."

Jim chuckled. "I think it's called waiting for the next explosion."

Jim and Simon were walking across the lobby of Jim's apartment building, when Jim's cell phone rang. He retrieved the phone from his pocket, and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Jim?" It was Carolyn. "He's back."

"What?" That wasn't what he wanted to hear. Alexander had disappeared, and they hadn't seen or heard anything from him for the past two days. They'd thought maybe he'd given up, but they hadn't gotten overly optimistic about that possibility yet. Good thing, too.

"Alexander," Carolyn answered. "He's back -- right outside. Not a ways down, like before. He's been there for about five minutes. This is really getting kind of unnerving, you know."

"For all of us," Jim assured her. "Are you and Connor all right?"

"Yeah, we're fine," she said. "He's just sitting there, looking through the window, I guess, with a pair of binoculars." There was a pause. "Wait, now he's leaving."

"Good." Jim sighed, wishing the elevator would hurry up and arrive. He noticed Simon's curious expression, and motioned to the captain that he would explain shortly.

"I don't know if that's such a good thing."

"Why not?" Jim and Simon stepped into the open elevator once it arrived, and Jim hit the button for the third floor.

"He was watching us. What if he knew I was calling you?"

"What about it?"

She took a little while to answer, as though she were debating revealing her reason to Jim. The elevator stopped at the third floor, and Jim stepped out, Simon following.

"He knows where you live. What if that's where he's going?"

Jim barked a little laugh, arriving in front of the door to the loft. "Try not to worry, Caro," he said. "I don't think he can take me." He closed the phone, sliding it into his pocket as he slid the key into the door. It pushed open as soon as he touched it, and he froze, extending his senses into the loft.

Blair was lying in the middle of the living room floor, unconscious, near the kitchen table.

"Simon, call an ambulance."

Simon nodded, but frowned at his cell phone. "I'm not getting a signal; I'm going down the hall."

Jim nodded -- hearing, but not really listening. A million thoughts assaulted him at once. Had someone been here? Had they hurt Blair? Or had Blair...? No. He'd promised. Jim reached out with his senses to assess his partner. He heard a steady heartbeat -- and thank God it was beating. Jim kicked the door shut as he raced across the room, dropping to his knees beside Blair.

Blair's breathing was muffled by his position, but he WAS breathing. He moaned softly, but didn't stir.

Jim mentally reviewed -- ABC's... Airway, Breathing... What was C? For a second, he blanked -- but then mentally slapped himself. Circulation, of course. Well, it didn't matter. Sandburg was breathing. He had a pulse. D was for Disability... Blair was unconscious, so that was the answer for the level of consciousness. The soft moans told Jim that Blair was, at least, responsive to pain. E -- Expose? It depended on how bad the injuries were. Jim would try his sense of touch first, and then decide. "Blair," he said quietly as he reached out and ran his hand, Sentinel-soft, over the man, looking for injuries. Satisfied that there were no injuries to Blair's back, Jim gently turned him over.

Once Blair was on his back, his breathing eased, but it also revealed a nasty bruise and small laceration on his forehead. The wound was too high-placed and at the wrong angle to be self-inflicted, except by accidental causes, and in the middle of the living room, there were no viable ones.

"C'mon, Chief," he urged, as he lightly slapped the other man's face. "You've gotta wake up and tell me what happened." He carefully straightened Blair's limbs, trying to make him as comfortable as possible, before he jumped up to get a rag to wipe the blood from the head wound.

Simon had returned by the time Jim got back to his partner's side. "Jim? Is he all right?"

Jim shrugged. "Looks like someone hit him pretty hard. I don't think he's too badly off, though."

"Well, that's good."

Blair slowly began to stir. "Jim?" he called softly, moaning again as he blinked against the light and pain.

"Shh -- I'm here." Jim touched Blair's arm. "Don't try to move yet." He reached out and gently sponged at the blood on his partner's face, wincing in concert with the other man.

"What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me, Chief," Jim replied with a smile. He reached out and brushed a stray piece of hair away from Blair's face. "I came home, the loft was unlocked and the door not quite shut, and you were lying unconscious in the living room."

"My head hurts." Blair lifted his hands to touch his head, but Jim caught Blair's wrists and gently lowered them.

"You've got quite a bump." Jim shifted from his knees to his feet, squatting now. "Here," he said, reaching out, "do you think you could get up with my help? Maybe move to the couch?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah." He sat up slowly. "Oh, man. I don't know what happened. I just got a few things from that corner store. I brought them in, and I thought I heard someone behind me..."

"Did you see who it was?" Jim asked, easing Blair to his feet and helping him stagger to the couch.

Blair shook his head, wincing. "No. I turned around, and something hit me. Then you were here..."

The sirens outside were now audible to even normal hearing, and Blair groaned. "Not again. Tell them to go away. I don't need paramedics."

"Just let them look over you," Jim suggested. "I'd feel a lot better." Given Carolyn's phone call, Jim was starting to suspect who might have been behind this. But he didn't want to say anything until he was sure.

"They're probably hearing our address and going, 'Not them again!'" Blair moaned.

"I don't doubt it, Sandburg," Simon contributed, keeping his tone light. "Just let them check you out."

"I've had about enough of this shit," Blair insisted, sitting up despite Jim's attempts to ease him back against the couch. "I need to leave a memo. I'm NOT allowed to be used as the world's punching bag anymore!"

"I'm all for that, Chief," Jim agreed, patting Blair's good shoulder before he got up to let the medics in. They didn't know this pair, and Blair relaxed somewhat upon seeing that.

"What's the problem?" one of the medics, whose tag read Trisha Vincent, asked.

Blair grinned at her. "My roommate wants me checked out... I'd really appreciate this if you could make it quick. I don't think I have a concussion this time. I'd know."

"How would you know?" she asked, casting a doubtful look at her partner.

"I've had enough of them." Blair turned his head so that they could examine the laceration. "Actually, I hate to bring you out here for nothing, but I didn't have a choice. Um, maybe if you could just give me a couple of gauze pads for this?"

"Sandburg!" Jim protested. He turned to Trisha. "You'll have to ignore him; he just doesn't want to go to the hospital. I walked in, and I found him out cold. Could you please just look him over? If he needs to go, I'll take him -- the fight's probably not worth it for you."

The female paramedic looked no less weirded out by the situation, but she nodded, and held out a hand to her partner. "Jack, could you hand me a penlight? Thanks." She looked into Blair's eyes. "Well, both pupils are equal and reactive." With a gloved hand, she gently probed the forehead injury. "I don't feel anything broken." She continued with her assessment, turning to the partners when she was done. "Okay. Here's the way I see it. I can't tell in the field if he has a concussion or not. If he does, you probably don't want to completely ignore it -- especially if it's happened to him before. I would absolutely tell you to take him to the hospital. We'd be glad to do it, but--"

"I'll go with him," Blair sighed, obviously resigning himself to the fact that he was going to the hospital one way or another. "Thanks for everything. Where do I sign?"

Simon went out to check on Carolyn and Megan while Jim took Blair by Mercy General's emergency room. Amazingly, it only took them three hours to get in and out; the gauze pad taped to Blair's forehead might have helped, along with the fact that the blood was beginning to drain and give him a black eye. The doctors had declared that -- while Jim should keep an eye on Blair for any sudden changes -- they didn't see evidence of a concussion; any concussion he might have that they'd missed would have been a very mild one. He looked terrible. But, as long as Blair was okay, Jim didn't care how his partner looked.

Blair cared, however, and he was still fussing as he climbed into the truck after leaving the hospital. "This is not going to go over well with Sam."

"I thought you two were history," Jim said, surprised.

"History repeats itself, Jim." Blair sighed, leaning back against the truck's seat. "I haven't been seeing her as much since all the mess started with the depression stuff; I just wasn't motivated. But we're not exactly through. I sent her flowers a couple days ago. She seemed to like that."

"Do me a favor and don't marry this woman, Chief."

"Oh, no." Blair shook his head. "NOT a problem. I don't know; if we were married... That's just not a thought I want to entertain now. Or ever." He re-examined himself in the rearview mirror. "Do you think I could play this up for the sympathy factor?"

"You're hopeless." Jim chuckled. "If I were you, I'd just move on. There are plenty of fish in the sea. But, yeah, if you want to go for the sympathy angle, go ahead."

"You may have a point," Blair mused. "I'm getting tired of this off and on again game. I'd really like something more permanent, but that would actually require finding the right woman, which I haven't done yet. So I guess I take what I can, where I can, huh?"

"I suppose." Jim paused. "Something more permanent, huh? Are you saying you want to get married?"

"If I found the right woman, yeah." Blair nodded. "I think so."

Jim shrugged. "I suppose you've got to try it at least once."

"Jim, that's terrible. Marriage is a--"

"Concept I've tried," Jim finished. "And, frankly, I discovered -- as you well know -- that Carolyn and I would have been better just staying friends. I'm an avid supporter of the catch and release program now."

"Yeah, I've noticed." Blair gave him a look. "But, really, Jim. Let's suppose I did find someone, and I did want to marry her. What would you think of that?"

Jim didn't particularly want to think of it; that would mean he'd have to take a backseat in Blair's life to someone else. It was petty and jealous, but he didn't want to. On the other hand, Jim wanted Blair to be happy. He supposed they would cross that bridge when and if they came to it, but he still had to answer the question. "Well, I'm all for weddings, Chief, as long as they're not mine."

The pair met up with Simon, Carolyn, and Megan over at the safe house, and -- after assuring the women that Blair was really all right, despite appearances -- the group began to formulate a plan.

"If it's okay with you two, I'm going to give that jewelry heist case to Rafe and Brown," Simon told Jim and Blair. "I think you need to focus your energies on getting this guy, and soon."

"I'm all for that," Jim agreed. "That okay with you, Sandburg?"

"Fine." Blair nodded. "But the question is, what do we do about him?"

"Your 'live bait' scheme may work," Megan reflected. "And, no, I'm not suggesting any of you boys go undercover in drag."

"Then where do we get...?" Jim began.

"Hello?" Megan threw up her hands. "While I'm quite happy playing guardian over here, you could do that just as effectively. I, however, actually look like a woman -- and I have genuine female parts. Water balloons just don't cut it, boys."

Ignoring Carolyn's snickering, Jim nodded slowly. "It could work. If we could get him interested in you, only for a few minutes..."

"I daresay I could keep his attention longer than that."

"I'm sure you could," Simon replied. "But that's all we'd need." He looked over at Jim. "We could leave you here, and I'll take Sandburg with me, and Connor, but how do we get her into the picture without looking too obvious? If she's sitting in the car when we pull up..."

"Yeah," Blair said. "He'd probably know it was a trap, no matter how well she played it." He glanced at Megan. "How do we sneak you in?"

Megan grinned brightly at Simon. "Well, sir, how much room is there in the boot of your car?"

"You're kidding." Simon stared at her for a moment. "You're not kidding."

"Not that I was aware of," she said.

Blair laughed to himself. "Oh, this is gonna be interesting."

"There was blood and a single gunshot, but who shot who?" Blair almost murmured the question, leaning against the passenger-side window of Simon's sedan.

"Sandburg," Simon warned, "if you're going to spend the night quoting those damn Copacabana lyrics to me..."

"No, no." Blair shook his head. "I was just thinking. About Jim. I mean, say he were a block away or so, and someone shot someone else. I mean, granted, he wouldn't see who shot who until he got there, unless he had some psychic vision. I don't know the exact ranges on all of his senses. I really should find out."

"Yeah, I'd love to see how you'd talk him into letting you test that one." Simon chuckled softly. "But it might be helpful."

"Hey, I remember when you just wanted the senses to go away so everything would be normal."

Simon shrugged nonchalantly. "My dad was a cop in LA County in the sixties and seventies. He saw some of the strangest things. I moved to Washington so I could achieve some sense of normalcy -- and, instead, I get stuff that's even weirder. Why me?"

"Why not?"

Simon was about to protest, but then he considered that there really wasn't any good way to respond to that question, and he glanced at his watch instead. "Okay, it's almost time." He handed Blair the car's keys. "You'd probably better let Megan out of the trunk." Well, there was one more thing to add to the list of things he'd never thought he would hear himself say.

They were only parked about a block away from the safe house, so Megan decided to just walk from where the car was parked and see if she ran into Alexander. She had a carefully crafted story to tell him to explain her association with the police department, and Blair was staying close, but out of sight if she needed him. If all else failed, she had her cell phone clipped to her belt and her gun in her purse.

"Oh, hello." Finding their suspect in his car, returning to the house, she approached, waving at him.

Alexander stopped the car, eyeing her curiously. "Have we met?"

"Oh, I don't believe so, not formally." Megan hated playing a ditz, but she'd do what she had to. "See, I hang out with the police, and I know that you've been watching that one house we're kind of living in right now. So I guess you saw me."

At the mention of police, his eyes narrowed, but he didn't appear to perceive her as a threat. "How are you involved with them?"

"It's this witness protection thing," Megan explained smoothly. "See, I'm supposed to pretend I'm with them."

"I see." He shut off the engine of the car, and got out, then leaned against the vehicle. "So, why did you come out to talk to me?"

"I got curious. You left. Where'd you go?"

"Just to take care of some business." Alexander shrugged.

"Okay." Megan loved toying with him, though she highly suspected she knew what his business had been, and wanted to hurt him for that. Jim wasn't the only one protective of Blair Sandburg. "So why are you watching the house? My friend Carolyn says you're scaring her."

"I don't mean to. I know her from San Francisco." He smiled, obviously trying to charm her. It didn't work, but Megan didn't let on. "I want to ask her out, but I'm too shy. So I watch her."

"Oh, okay." Megan nodded. She shrugged. "Well, see you later."

"Yeah, see you."

The 'distraction' theory was apparently right; he hadn't paid the least bit of attention to the house in the time he and Megan had been talking. Megan also believed that his explanation of being too shy to ask Carolyn out was pretty much true. He just didn't realize how warped his way of approaching the matter was. She headed back to the house, a bit surprised when he actually followed her. "Where are you going?"

"I thought you could introduce me to your friend," Alexander said.

This was almost too good. Megan had to suppress a smile. If he made one move, they would have him. She saw Blair behind her in her peripheral vision, and motioned behind her back that he should go around to the back of the house like they'd planned should they need him there. Simon was still waiting in the parked car, with a radio; Blair carried one as well, and there was one in the house. "Sure, I guess so." She continued walking up the sidewalk to the front door, and opened it. "Wait here. I'll get her." Megan carefully closed the door behind her.

He nodded, and Carolyn walked into the front room, her expression hopeful but wary. Jim was leaning against the kitchen doorway, casually -- but ready to spring into action any moment.

But, in the next moment, all hell broke loose. Alexander threw open the front door in the next moment, which automatically triggered the alarm. Jim winced, his hands immediately going to his ears as his knees buckled. Megan gasped softly; he must have had his hearing up to listen to Alexander on the other side of the door, and been caught off-guard by the sudden, loud noise.

Carolyn ran over to Jim's side, so Megan reached into her purse for her gun -- but Alexander reached out and grabbed her wrist, twisting it until she involuntarily whimpered in pain.

"Witness protection program, huh?" he growled, pulling her close enough for her to feel his breath on her neck. "I'll teach you to screw with me." He pushed her away, and Megan stumbled backwards over the coffee table. She lay on the ground for a moment, the wind knocked out of her, wondering what they were going to do. Jim was still trying to shake off the effects of the alarm that hadn't yet shut off, and Alexander could likely snatch Carolyn from his side before Megan could get up. She struggled to her feet, fighting soreness that she knew would be bruises in the morning.

"Don't even think about it," another voice warned, as Alexander stepped toward Carolyn.

Megan smiled, instantly recognizing the voice. "Sandy," she said softly. Thank God she'd told him to go around.

Blair took a deep breath, training his gun on Alexander. "You touch her, and I'll take you down before you can even do anything. And, Megan, shut that damn alarm off, will you? It's giving ME a headache!"

Megan nodded, and went about doing so. Jim didn't seem to respond right away, but Megan had seen him take a few minutes to recover from an overload before, even after the source was removed. It took longer when he was doing it on his own, without guidance.

"I thought I took care of you," Alexander said, simply. He believed he had. Megan shook her head, going to the radio in the house. She turned it on, and tapped in the code that would signal Simon.

Blair shook his head. "I may look like hell, but it takes more to take care of me." He tightened his grip on the gun visibly. "Don't make me use this."

Megan knew the threat was more of a plea. He really didn't want to use it. She smiled as she saw Simon's sedan pulling up outside. The cavalry had arrived, and she knew that he would at least be cautious and not storm in with guns blazing. That might just spook Alexander -- who seemed held at bay for the moment by the threat of being shot.

Jim shook his head, and finally straightened up a little bit. Accepting Carolyn's help, he stood. Alexander was a few feet away from them, but Jim stepped between the stalker and Carolyn -- and also, in Blair's way. Megan smiled, recognizing the tactic. Blair wouldn't shoot if there was a remote chance of injuring Jim. Jim was sparing his partner having to make that decision and also making sure that Alexander would have to go through him to get to anyone else.

In short order, once Simon came in, with backup enroute, they had taken Alexander down. Simon came at him from behind and Jim from the front. The man never stood a chance.

Once Alexander was in cuffs and being taken care of by the arriving officers and Simon outside, Blair took a deep breath and collapsed onto the nearest couch. "It's over."

Carolyn nodded, sinking down beside him. "I'll say."

Blair looked at the weapon in his hand for a long moment before putting it back into the holster. "I... Thanks, Jim."

"Don't mention it." Jim smiled, likely guessing that Blair had been on to his plan. Well, Megan thought, it had only been obvious to anyone who knew the pair.

"How's your head?" Blair asked.

"A couple of aspirin and I'll be okay." Jim shook his head again, as though clearing it.

Carolyn frowned. "Does that happen often?"

Jim glanced at his partner. "Not nearly as often since he came around."

"You live and learn, Jim." Blair shrugged.

"Oh, come on, Sandy," Megan contributed. "You can take some credit."

"Yeah." Carolyn grinned. "He's sure a hell of a lot easier to live with since you two met."

A small smile crossed Sandburg's face. "Hey, I just...." He glanced over out the front window, as one of the officers put Alexander into the back of a squad car, and drove off. "He's gone."

Carolyn sighed deeply. "It's really over. Thank God."

"You can say that again," Blair agreed. But Megan saw something else in his eyes, something she'd seen for awhile now, that wasn't 'over'. And she frankly wished it were.

He'd thought he was past this. He should have known better; it never simply went away. This wasn't a problem that could be solved overnight. A hug wasn't going to make it all better. He couldn't simply take two pills and call someone in the morning. Living with this sort of depression meant getting it to manageable levels, getting a support system -- and using it -- and, well, the medication helped. Still, there were times when things just got overwhelming anyway.

The relief of knowing the stalker case was over, even the paperwork now, was tinged with the overwhelming sense of melancholy that seemed to permeate his existence. Why did he bother? Would things ever improve?

Blair had thought he was well on his way to recovery after that fight with Jim; they'd brought so many issues into the open. But there were more issues, personal issues that had been part and parcel of who Blair Sandburg was for years, before Jim had ever come into his life.

Jim was so much stronger than he gave himself credit for. He could survive without Blair if he had to. He'd survived much worse. And, Naomi... Blair knew she would feel the loss, but she didn't NEED him. She would go on with her life. And, as for the job, the city of Cascade had done just fine on its own for quite some time without him. So, really, there was nothing stopping him from just ending it all. This cycle was so tiring -- feeling okay one day and desperate the next.

He couldn't do it in the loft, though. Blair couldn't leave Jim with that guilt trip. Maybe Rainier would be the right place. After all, the symbolism was perfect -- his life had ended there once before. He'd committed academic suicide there only a few months ago; why not go for the whole package?

The more Blair thought about it, the more appealing the idea sounded. Now, what to do? Walking in front of vehicles was out -- with his luck, he'd survive and be paralyzed. Drugs? He'd been there and done that, and didn't want to take the chance that his brain might somehow connect any overdosed state with Golden Fire People and rehash those memories. Why make this any more difficult than it had to be?

He felt the weight of the weapon in the holster at the small of his back. Once, that gun had been the total antithesis of who he was. But, now? Well, there were supposedly a thousand ways to kill someone with one shot, and he'd learned most of them during his years with the police department. At least it would be quick.

Slowly, calculatingly, Blair pulled a notepad out of the desk drawer in his room. He smiled at it darkly. The top of each sheet read, 'Great Ideas That Will Probably Be Ignored'. How many times had he felt that way? Too many.

Now, what to say? He couldn't not leave something behind, but how did one say goodbye to their best friend? Perhaps he should let his confusion lead him.

Jim

Well, that was a start.

I know you're probably going to be angry as hell when you find this, and I don't blame you. I suppose I haven't done wonders for your abandonment issues; I've left you, too. But you've got to understand -- this is NOT your fault. This is my problem.

Blair paused, sighing as he looked over the note, and started to write again.

I mean that, Jim. Don't put this on yourself -- I swear, I'll come back to haunt you or something if you do. God, you're probably thinking that's a good thing at this point.

I don't know what to say, and I know nothing I can say will be likely to make you feel any better right away. I don't know how to say goodbye to you. You're my best friend, and I'm so grateful for everything. I know leaving a note is sort of cliche, but I just had to do this. I couldn't not say goodbye. And, now, I can't say it either. So, well... um, yeah. I'm sure we'll find each other again in some realm somewhere -- but it better NOT be too soon. I mean that, too. You have way too much to do in this life, and this city needs its Sentinel. You've got a greater destiny, Jim. I just hope you find someone who can help you see it -- I guess I haven't done much good in that regard.

Everything I have left from the Sentinel project is in that box under my bed. The key is in one of the books on the third shelf of my bookcase -- yeah, it's one of those hollow book things. There are a few files on my laptop, too. I'm sure you can guess the password. I think we at least know each other that well.

This was going much longer than he'd intended, but there was a lot that needed to be said.

Give the information to Simon, or Megan -- whichever you feel more comfortable with, I suppose. I know everyone else at the station knows now, but I figure they'd be best suited to guide you when you need it.

There's so much that I can't even put into words, and I'm going to have to trust that you can understand it the way I do. It's an unspoken thing I think we've always had between us. Maybe I'm just deluding myself. Hell, I don't know. There's so much I don't understand right now. I'm confusing myself, but that's not exactly a new state of affairs.

I love you, Jim. Take that for what it's worth, however you may want to interpret it. I know how I feel, at least. You've meant so much to me, more than you'll ever know. I'm really gonna miss you. But, if there's some way -- and I have to believe there is -- you can bet that I'll be keeping an eye on you.

Take care of yourself.

--Blair

This was as good as it was going to get. Blair took the note, and folded it in half. He dropped it onto the table, and headed for the door, grabbing his jacket on the way out. This wasn't the best way to solve things, but it was the only plan he had.

In the hall outside the loft, Carolyn gave Jim a quick hug. "I guess I'll be seeing you."

"Don't be a stranger." Jim rested a hand on her shoulder. There were times -- like now -- that it was obvious to him why he'd fallen in love with this woman, but he realized that they were better off as friends. He liked that, too; he actually liked it better than marriage, because now he was free to screw up and be human. And she had the same freedom. They'd expected too much perfection from their marriage, and it had failed as a result. There seemed to be a reason two perfectionists should never be allowed to marry.

"Yeah, back to sunny California." Carolyn laughed softly. "I hear it's in the 70's there today."

Jim grinned. "Sandburg would love it. Watch out; he might go with you."

"Yeah, like you'd let him," Carolyn replied, returning the grin. "Take care of yourself, Jimmy. And if you're ever in Frisco, look me up."

"All right." He nodded. "You be careful, too."

After a final hug, she was gone. Jim didn't feel nearly as unsettled by this goodbye as he had over her previous departure to San Francisco. He'd felt at the time that she was trying to escape him, or possibly get away from having to see his developing relationship with Blair. That had taken everyone a lot of time to accept -- Jim included. They had dealt with a lot of old issues, and fixed some of the problems. He chuckled to himself as he unlocked the door, and let himself into the loft. "Chief? You home?" He listened. No response and no heartbeat. Jim didn't recall seeing Blair's Volvo in the lot, so he shrugged, wondering where Blair had gotten off to, and tossed his keys on the table. A folded piece of paper fluttered to the floor. "What's this?"

Jim bent down to pick the paper up, and unfolded it, curious. He could almost feel his world beginning to crumble as he read the letter; each word practically screamed with Blair's anguish. It took Jim a long moment to process everything, and understand what he'd just seen. He was holding a suicide note in his hands. Blair was going to kill himself. "Oh, shit."

But how old was the note? What if he'd already done it?

He promised me! Jim thought desperately, trying to make sense of something he might never understand. Sure, he'd been at that point once in his own life, after returning from Peru -- confused, feeling alone in the world, just wanting it all to be over -- but Blair had people there for him! He promised me he wouldn't do this!

And, slowly, the shock began to wear off and real emotion set in. Panic was the first among them. Blair's bedroom was across the way from the kitchen table, and Jim raced over to the door, flinging it open. He scanned the room quickly -- no Blair. Blair wasn't in the living room. The bathroom door was open, and he wasn't there either. Jim raced upstairs to his bedroom, and glanced around. Well, it was certain now that Blair wasn't actually in the loft -- the missing coat and car pretty much confirmed it. That just left... the rest... of... Cascade. Shit.

Jim rushed down the two flights of stairs to the lobby, and practically leapt into his truck. Once there, he realized that he had no clue where he was actually going to go.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to calm himself enough to think. He'd be no use to Blair like this. Get a grip, Ellison! Try to think like Blair, dammit. Where would he go?

Rainier? It was the obvious first choice, but Jim had to figure that Blair wouldn't go for the obvious. He'd probably go someplace Jim wouldn't think to find him. So where would that be?

Maybe the reservoir, where they'd lost Lisa Hughes at the start of the Golden case. Jim tended to go there as infrequently as possible, not wanting to bring up old memories. That case had been hell on both him and Blair. Especially Blair.

But would Blair really go there? Maybe, if he'd thought it would be the last place Jim would look. It was the only idea Jim had, and he was going to act on it. But he couldn't search the whole city at once. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed.

"Hello?"

"Simon, I think Blair's going to do something stupid." Jim had no time for pleasantries.

"Huh? What makes you say that?" Simon asked.

"He left me a suicide note."

"He WHAT?"

"You heard me." Jim was getting slightly impatient. "He left me a suicide note!"

"Do you know where he went?" Simon asked, concern in his tone.

Jim rolled his eyes, frustrated. "If I knew that, would I be calling you?! I'd be there with him! God, I don't know where he is! I don't even know how old that note was!"

"Well, where do you think he'd go? Maybe the university?"

Jim shook his head. "No, it's too obvious. He'd know I'd look there..."

"Are you sure? Maybe he wanted you to find him."

Wanted. Past tense. "Don't talk like that! He's still alive. I'd know if he were dead." At least he hoped he would. "Simon, we've got to find him."

"Yeah, Jim, that would be a good idea. Listen, I'm still at the station. I'll head over to the school. I'm probably closer than you are."

"Okay." Jim nodded. The more he thought about it, the more likely Rainier seemed. "I'll meet you there."

The flower garden on Rainier's campus was actually very pretty in the late evening hours -- many of the night-blooming flowers were out. Even in the winter, there was always something growing; the groundskeeper was quite particular about that.

Blair sighed, pulling the gun from its holster. He used a sleeve to brush the snow from one of the benches, and sat down, examining the weapon in his hands for a long moment. This was it.

It was cold, but not unbearably so, and Blair looked around at the garden surrounding him. The flowers were beautiful, and in the late evening, the campus seemed almost peaceful. The fountain was nearby, half frozen over from the cold, and Blair shook his head. He'd considered doing this there, simply because it was closer to the parking lot he'd come in from, but he wanted someplace to sit and think for a few minutes, and the garden had never let him down in that regard before. In fact, it had been there that he'd been sitting -- on a much nicer day, in terms of weather -- when he'd considered his options regarding the dissertation mess.

Blair reached out to touch one of the flowers, but pricked his finger on a hidden thorn. A drop of blood fell from his fingertip, staining the pure white snow below.

Nobody came to this garden much in this sort of weather. But he had come, and he supposed it was time to get on with things.

But his eyes remained fixated on the ruby red droplet against the white of the snow. His finger had stopped bleeding; the puncture had been tiny. But that wasn't going to be the only blood on the snow by the night's end.

"I'm sorry, Jim." It was now or never. Blair took the gun's safety off, and readied it. He raised the weapon, but then stopped, a memory halting him. Jim. He had promised Jim he wouldn't do this; he'd even told himself before that he couldn't do this to Jim. This was not about him. If he did this, there wasn't going to be a second chance. There wasn't any hope of a better day. Perhaps... if he held on for one more day... It might get better. There was always that chance.

Closing his eyes to fight the threatening tears, Blair set the gun down beside him and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He hit one of the speed dial buttons, praying it would ring.

Jim snatched his phone up as soon as it started to ring, and flipped it open with one wrist. He kept the other hand firmly on the steering wheel. "Simon?! Did you find him?"

"No. It's me."

"Blair!" Jim nearly drove off the road, but recovered in time. Blair was alive. That was all that mattered at the moment. "Are you all right? Where are you?!"

"Rainier. The garden..." Blair replied slowly, his voice shaky -- and Jim had a feeling it wasn't just from the cold. "Jim, please..."

"Just hang on, Chief," Jim instructed, desperately wishing he were closer to the campus than he already was. "I'm on my way. Don't go anywhere; don't do anything. I'm coming."

"Okay." He sounded defeated. "Just get here."

Simon spotted Blair's car in the parking lot, and pulled up beside it. He had come in through Rainier's main entrance, but now where was Blair? There were a lot of footprints in the snow, so that was nothing to go on. He shrugged, and followed the main pathway, hoping he'd come across... something.

Simon was just passing the flower garden when he took a few steps back, suddenly noticing the huddled figure shivering on one of the benches. If the jacket wasn't a clue, the mass of dark curls would have been. The captain sighed. He'd been trained to handle suicidal people before, but none of them had ever been a personal friend of his. What the hell was he supposed to do?

Well, doing something was certainly better than doing nothing. Simon took a cautious step down the path leading to the garden. "Blair?" Surprising the kid would probably not be a good thing at this point.

There was no verbal response, just a shuddering sigh, and Simon closed the gap between them, relieved to see that Blair's service revolver was lying next to him and not in his hand. Simon carefully set a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Blair? You with me, here?"

"Yeah." It was barely more than a whisper. He was still visibly shaking, and Simon reached up to touch Blair's forehead.

Simon frowned. "Jeez, you're cold as ice. How long have you been out here, kid?"

"Long enough."

"Well, let's go inside," Simon suggested. "You need to warm up."

"No place here for me to go," Blair sighed, pulling his coat tighter around him -- as though he were finally noticing the ambient temperature.

Simon was about to point out that they could surely duck inside one of the buildings for a few minutes, but thought better of it. That was only bound to churn up old memories, and upset Blair even further. "How about my car? I just got the heater fixed."

Blair shook his head. "Can't. I called Jim. He's coming. He'll look here."

"Thank God," Simon whispered. If Blair had actually called Jim, it was a definite sign that he was rethinking the whole situation. But, still, the less hypothermic Jim found his partner, the better. Simon thought for a moment; his coat had a thin fleecy inner lining that snapped out to become its own jacket and make the outer coat lighter. He shrugged off his coat, removing the lining, and wrapped the outer coat around Blair before putting the inner layer back on. "There, at least you'll be a little warmer."

"Thanks," Blair murmured, his eyes meeting Simon's for a brief moment.

Simon patted Blair's back lightly. "Sure, Blair." He sighed, hoping Jim would get there soon.

Jim jumped out of his truck almost before it had stopped, and rushed across the university campus. He had to find Blair.

Jim stopped a few feet away from the garden, not wanting to startle Blair. Simon was there, though... that was a good sign. He approached slowly. "Chief? It's me..."

Blair raised his head slowly, and Jim took that as a sign that it was safe to come closer. He knelt down as he came up next to Blair, and found himself quickly pulled into a crushing hug.

"I'm sorry, Jim..." Blair was hanging on for dear life. "I'm so sorry..."

Jim held him tightly. "It's okay, Blair. I'm just glad you're all right. Don't ever scare me like that again, okay?"

Simon touched Jim's shoulder lightly. "You two gonna be okay here?" he asked softly.

Jim nodded. "Yeah, I think so. Thanks, Simon."

Simon nodded as well, and slipped off, leaving Jim and Blair alone.

Silent tears streaked down Blair's cheeks, and he gripped Jim's jacket desperately as he fought to pull himself together. "Jim... I... I almost..."

Jim hugged him again, and rested his chin against Blair's head. One of Jim's arms was wrapped around Blair's back, supporting him, and the other hand rubbed the back of Blair's neck soothingly. "I know, Chief. But you didn't. That's the important thing." It was getting even colder, and Jim lifted Blair's chin to look into his eyes. "Come on. We'll go to the truck, okay? It's cold out here." He picked up the gun from the bench, replaced the safety, and tucked it inside his jacket pocket for the moment.

"Okay," Blair agreed. He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, still keeping close to Jim as they rose.

Jim kept an arm over Blair's shoulders as they walked to the truck. "C'mon, Blair, let's get you home."

Once back at the loft, Jim wrapped Blair in a blanket to help warm him up, and left him sitting on the couch while he went to retrieve a towel to dry Blair's hair, which was damp because of the wet snow that still fell. When he returned, Blair had fallen asleep.

Jim hated to do it, but his partner was going to be awfully stiff in the morning if he slept like that. He reached out and shook Blair's uninjured shoulder gently. "Hey, Chief? Come on, wake up... we'll get you into bed."

"Mmmkay," Blair murmured.

Jim smiled affectionately, and eased Blair to his feet. He was going to take Blair into the downstairs bedroom, but then had a thought. What if Blair needed him in the middle of the night? What if Blair woke up, and rethought...? No, Jim didn't think that would happen. Still, the nagging concern was enough for him to guide Blair towards the stairs. "You think you can make it upstairs?"

Blair nodded, and Jim helped him to the loft bedroom. In a few minutes, Jim had settled Blair in bed. "Hey, don't get too used to this, Sandburg, all right?" He tried to lighten the moment, but it didn't matter; Blair was already asleep again.

Jim retreated to the chair in his room, and relaxed into it, thinking about his options. Downstairs, a prescription bottle was lying on the counter of the kitchen island. Struck with sudden inspiration, Jim dialed up his sight and read the label. The senses were really quite handy sometimes. As he'd suspected, it was the Prozac, and the doctor's name and number were on the label, too. Jim picked up the pen and sticky pad that were on his bedside table, and wrote down the information. He turned to get the cordless phone, then realized he'd left it downstairs. Not wanting to leave Blair alone, Jim pulled his cell phone from his pocket, and dialed the phone number he'd jotted down.

"Hello, you have reached Dr. Warner's office. Our normal hours are 8:00 AM to 6:30 PM."

"That's nice," Jim sighed. "Care to tell me what I'm supposed to do NOW?"

"If this is a medical emergency, please hang up and dial 911. If you are a new patient, press 1. If you are calling for directions to the office, press 2. If you would like to know more about our specialties, press 3."

Jim raised an eyebrow. What did one do if calling about one's roommate, who had been suicidal, only an hour before? He pressed three for the hell of it.

"Thank you for your interest in our office. For Pediatrics, press 1."

Well, as much as they might have referred to Blair as a kid, that wasn't exactly an option.

"For Family Practice, Press 2. For Internal Medicine, press 3."

Jim felt his frustration growing, as there were no more options. Technically, Blair could have counted as a Family Practice patient; it was an all-inclusive category. However, shouldn't he have been getting Prozac from a psychiatrist? Or, at least, seeing a psychologist. Jim rolled his eyes, and hung up. Suddenly inspired, he dialed a number he had once known quite well. Those first few months after returning from Peru hadn't been easy; returning to society was harder than he'd thought it would be. Captain Ellison had been happy to get home, but Enqueri -- even with the senses suppressed -- hadn't been so sure about the abrupt change of scenery. Now, Jim could be comfortable at most times with his multi-faceted nature, but it had nearly driven him crazy then.

"Hello, and thank you for calling the Woodburn Center. We're closed right now, but if you need to speak with one of our professionals, please stay on the line."

Jim still found himself amazed by the tact of it all. The Woodburn Center was more-or-less a psychological emergency room. It ran as a mental health clinic from seven in the morning until eight at night, but kept a skeleton crew for the remaining hours to handle any crisis that might come up. They also had a 24-hour phone line staffed and open. A friend had urged Jim to seek out their help, especially since it was totally confidential. Plus, saying you were going to the Woodburn Center sounded so much more pleasant than telling someone you were going to visit a psychologist.

"Hello, my name's Pam. What can I do for you tonight?"

Jim smiled. It was nice talking to a real person without having to wait or push a lot of buttons. "I need to know what to do with my roommate."

"Oh, have you two been arguing?"

"No... Actually, yes, but we've been working on that. My real problem is, he's depressed," Jim explained.

"Has he seen someone about this?"

"Yeah," Jim replied, "but I'm thinking it was a family practice doc, because that's the name on his prescription."

"So what's the problem, other than this depression?" Pam asked.

"He nearly tried to kill himself tonight," Jim said.

"Oh, dear." All those staffing the phone lines, Jim knew, were licensed psychologists, but that didn't mean that they were immune to being surprised. He heard it in her voice -- and, typically, he supposed, the roommate of a suicidal patient was not the one on the line. "Have you talked to him?"

"Yes." Jim nodded. "I took him home, but I'd really like to know what I'm supposed to do. Or get him to do."

"What's he doing right now?"

Jim shrugged. "He's sleeping." He anticipated the next question. "And, no, he didn't take any pills that I'm aware of. He was going to use a gun."

"Do you know where he got the gun?"

"He's a police detective." Jim sighed. "Standard issue. And I have it right now. What do I do with him? Should I bring him there? The ER? Somewhere?"

"Well, I'd check his responsiveness level, and see if he took any pills. He'll probably be pretty honest about it at this point. Then I suppose just let him sleep, and bring him here or to see someone in the morning."

"The morning?!"

"If he's asleep, he's not a danger to himself or anyone else. It's probably best to let him sleep. If he wakes up, and he's still planning to hurt himself, absolutely bring him in. But, other than that, he can probably wait to be seen in the morning. He probably isn't going to change his 'plan' too drastically, so if you've got the gun, that's likely going to be the best thing you can do to protect him right now. It's good that you called, though. And, yes, he does need to be seen."

"You just don't think it's an emergency," Jim finished for her.

"I'd say it's urgent, but if he's calm right now and not still planning to attempt anything -- as best as you can guess -- he can wait a little while. But it's not something you should take lightly, by any means."

"Okay. Thanks." Jim looked over at his sleeping friend. He knew where they'd be first thing in the morning. Jim would pay for it if he had to, but the Center was state-funded, so they based their fees on the patient's income and financial situation; he was sure that it wouldn't be anything Blair couldn't afford.

"Sure; that's what we're here for."

After hanging up from Pam, Jim shook Blair again to wake him. He hadn't really thought about pills; at least there was something he could do to feel that he was helping. Besides, it wouldn't be a good idea to let Blair sleep if he'd taken anything. "Blair?"

"Yeah?" Blair asked sleepily. "Huh?"

"Listen to me; this is important, Chief. Did you take anything? Any pills?"

Blair shook his head, then snuggled deeper under the blankets. "Nah. Nothing. Just the one..."

"The Prozac?" Jim guessed.

"Yup. G'nite, Jim."

"Goodnight," Jim replied, relieved. Blair's heart rate was strong and steady, and it had remained even, which was a sign that Blair was telling him the truth. Besides, if Blair HAD taken anything, it would have probably shown its effects before then; it had been over an hour since Jim had found Blair at Rainier. He settled back into the chair, content for the moment to watch Sandburg sleep.

Jim snatched up his cell phone as soon as it rang, not wanting the noise to wake Blair. "Ellison."

"Jim, it's Simon. How's the kid?"

Jim smiled. "Asleep." His voice was at a stage-whisper volume; he figured Simon would understand. "I called someone; they said to let him sleep and get him checked out in the morning."

"Good." A long pause followed. "I knew he was having problems, but I never guessed it was that bad. I thought he was getting better."

"I think he did, too." Jim sighed. "But I don't think he's seeing anyone professionally. I think he's just getting antidepressants from his regular doctor..."

"Who assumes he's seeking therapy elsewhere..." Simon guessed. "I've heard that happens a lot."

"Doesn't fix the problem now," Jim sighed. "But it's going to get taken care of. He scared a few years off my life..."

"You're not the only one."

"I think he scared himself, too," Jim mused. "I mean, normally, he'd have babbled all the way home about nothing, just trying to keep occupied or whatever -- but he was so quiet. It was unnerving."

"I can imagine," Simon sympathized. "Try to hang in there. Call me if you need anything."

"Sure. Thanks again, Simon."

"No problem."

Jim hung up, setting the phone to vibrate before he slid it back into his pocket. He was close enough to Blair to rest a hand lightly on his friend's shoulder, allowing the touch to tell the Sentinel in him that the Guide was safe and to reassure man that his friend was still there. Jim leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, knowing his senses would wake him if he was needed.

"Blair, what are you reading?"

Blair held up the magazine he was browsing as they waited in the lobby of Dr. Murphy's office to get his prescription. Jim had seen the man a couple of times, and genuinely liked him; Murphy was one of the few psychiatrists Jim knew that he would trust Blair with. "Psychology Today. I don't feel so crazy anymore, even if I do have a therapy date twice a month. Actually, when I look at some of these cases, I almost feel normal."

"Most people just watch Jerry Springer to get that effect, Chief," Jim answered dryly.

Blair nodded. "Yeah, well, I'm not most people." He paused. "Jim. Thanks for coming."

"No problem," Jim assured him, meaning it. "I just want to see you get better."

"Yeah, well, the med change should help," Blair said. "He said sometimes, you really have to experiment and see what works. Guess it's not an exact science."

"No, it isn't," Jim agreed. "This guy's good, though. Did you like him?"

Blair nodded again. "Yeah, he's great. I don't know what I worried about. I mean, I saw a psychiatrist before, when I still used to have panic attacks. That was ages ago, geez. I hadn't even been at Rainier for two years. I feel old now. Anyway, I guess I just felt like a lab rat, like I was just gonna be another case study in anxiety disorders. Murphy's more... human."

"I always liked that about him." Jim glanced over at his friend. "So, what'd he put you on now?"

"He said he wanted to try Paxil," Blair responded. "Hopefully, this will work a little better. I mean, the other stuff worked a little bit. I WAS actually functional for longer periods of time, but..."

"I want you to be functional all the time." Jim reached out to ruffle Sandburg's hair playfully. "After all, you're my partner."

Blair chuckled, patting Jim's hand. "Always, man. Always."

"I'm standing sentinel, like a guardian for the tribe." Jim had heard the line in a song somewhere, a few years before, and it had amused Blair at the time. Once, "the kid" had been that easily amused. Now, they were both changed. And not just due to "adapting" to changing times. They were changed people.

Blair had settled down considerably since their first meeting. He was still hyperactive -- at least, he had been before he'd started battling this depression -- but nowhere near the level he'd been at first. He'd grown a bit less impulsive and a bit more world-wise. Blair had never been exactly naive, but he'd always looked to the best in human nature. Now, there was a hint of cynicism in his make-up. Jim hated to see it, but knew it also afforded Blair some protection. At the heart of it all, Blair was still Blair. But he was a slightly different Blair Sandburg than the one that had bounced around a cluttered storage room, rambling on about heightened senses and something called a 'Sentinel'.

Jim was different, too, and he knew it. He had been somewhat bitter over everything that had happened to him in his life. That resentment had bled over into his personality; he'd been able to make a few friends, but he hadn't been extremely close to any of them. He had been a lone wolf by choice, having decided that getting close to anyone only seemed to be inviting trouble. After losing Jack, he hadn't wanted another partner. He had tried to resist Carolyn's attempts at deepening their friendship; keeping it casual was, in his opinion, the best way to keep them from repeating their mistakes. Time -- and Blair -- had led Jim to see the error of his ways. Jim had loosened up considerably, even by his own admission. He still feared abandonment, but not to the degree he had before. Contrary to what some thought, Jim was not totally unfeeling before Blair -- he was just afraid to let those feelings show. The friendships he had managed to keep back then, he had strengthened. He had renewed his relationships with his father and his brother, something that might never have happened without Blair's gentle urging. And, perhaps most importantly, Jim had come to accept himself for who he was.

Their relationship had changed, too. At the start, it had been a friendship born of mutual need. Blair needed a research subject; Jim needed help. Then, it had been more of a hero-worshipping younger brother, and an affectionate older one. Things had grown almost adversarial for a brief, troubled time. And, then, things began to change dramatically. After Sierra Verde, Blair began to realize that the great man could stumble. His 'Holy Grail' lost some of its shine. As far as Jim was concerned, he hadn't changed any -- and, really, he hadn't; Blair had just realized how fallible 'his Sentinel' really was. There had been a lot of tension during the following months, as Jim wondered what the hell was up with Sandburg, and Blair had tried to accept his new discovery. Everything had come together and blown up quite royally with The Great Sentinel Fiasco. After Blair's graduation from the Academy, it had become what Jim liked to consider a partnership of equals. They needed each other, and while they still called Blair 'the kid' affectionately, it wasn't meant to demean. It was simply a nickname he and Simon had come to like. There was still residual anxiety from issues they had never resolved, but they were working on that. Ultimately, the huge fight they'd had the week before might have been the best thing that could have happened to either of them. Everything was out in the open; it could be dealt with.

In a way, Jim missed the hyperactive hippie he'd met in 1996. But he knew that aspect of Blair's personality might resurface for brief periods of time now and then, just to annoy him. It might not be such an annoyance. Of course, it was only fair that he drag his knuckles on the ground a bit occasionally -- if only to see THAT look on Blair's face, the 'I-can't-believe-you're-doing-this-to-me' look he did so well.

Jim shook his head as he powered up his computer. It was a lot to think about. He needed something lighter. He needed to check his email.

A message from one his father's lawyers caught Jim's attention, so he opened it.

Jim

I'm still researching angles to go at this suit. Copyright issues are one thing, since your friend's paper was exploited without his permission. However, he never turned the paper in as an actual presentation, so we could possibly use a wrongful termination suit. It would be the equivalent of a student writing a novel in their spare time, someone taking it from their dorm room, and then the student having to leave because the school insisted that it was intended to be their term paper. It's pretty much the same thing, actually -- wasn't this a novel? Or some sort of pseudo-research papers, like they do on those websites intended to catch students who are honestly trying to rip someone off? The press conference can be easily explained; there was no other option at the time for your friend. Discuss the options with Sandburg, and see what angle you want to come at it from. Either way, the publisher and Rainier's administration don't have a leg to stand on. It's looking good. If this all works out as I think it may, he'll get a chance to turn in his real thesis (on law enforcement, you said?) and quite possibly get a little money for his trouble. I'll talk to you later. Let me know what you decide. And, if you want to be really nasty, YOU might have some legitimate invasion of privacy suits against some of those reporters, but that's another story.

Jeff Durkheim

Jim chuckled. "Hey, Chief."

"Yeah?" Blair answered, coming upstairs, where Jim was sitting on the bed with his laptop.

"I just heard from Durkheim... we're in business now."

"Durkheim?" Blair asked, making a face. "He was an anthropologist... They call him the Father of Structuralism sometimes. He did this really great comparative study with Australian aborigines..."

Jim held up a hand to cut off the flow of information. "No, Darwin, JEFF Durkheim. One of my dad's lawyers? Head shark, actually."

"Oh." Blair brightened, and sat on the edge of the bed. "What'd he have to say?"

"We've got a hell of a case." Jim grinned. "Now, we just have to decide how to come at it. Either way, I'm pretty damn sure we can't lose."

"Wow." Blair's eyes lit up. "That's great, Jim!"

"We'll be calling you Dr. Sandburg before you know it, buddy."

Blair's smile was the most genuinely happy one Jim had seen from him in a long time. It was long overdue, but Jim felt a sense of calm settling over him. Despite the odds stacked against them, they had come this far. They were going to be all right.

The End

Author's Notes: The title -- and parts of the story -- were inspired by the song, Crash and Burn... no song lyrics in the story, but the lyrics are below for those interested.

When you feel all alone
And the world has turned its back on you
Give me a moment, please,
To tame your wild, wild heart

I know you feel like the walls are closing in on you
It's hard to find relief
And people can be so cold

When darkness is upon your door
And you feel like you can't take anymore...

Let me be the one you call
If you jump, I'll break your fall
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night
If you need to fall apart
I can mend your broken heart
If you need to crash, then crash and burn
You're not alone

When you feel all alone
And a loyal friend is hard to find
You're caught on a one-way street
With the monsters in your head

When hopes and dreams are far away
And you feel like you can't face the day...

Let me be the one you call
If you jump, I'll break your fall
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night
If you need to fall apart
I can mend your broken heart
If you need to crash, then crash and burn
You're not alone

Cause there has always been heartache and pain
And when it's over, you'll breathe again.
You'll breathe again.

When you feel all alone and the world has turned its back on you...
Give me a moment, please, to tame your wild, wild heart...

Let me be the one you call
If you jump, I'll break your fall
Lift you up and fly away with you into the night
If you need to fall apart
I can mend your broken heart
If you need to crash, then crash and burn
You're not alone

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