All standard disclaimers apply. Pet Fly Productions and UPN own the characters and the series. No copyright infringement intended. No money was made in writing or sharing this story.

Many thanks go out to the women of Senad. Their enthusiasm and encouragement for this story made it a joy to write.

Choices -- Part One

"Choices. How may I be of assistance?"

Blair Sandburg waited patiently for the person on the other end of the phone to speak. After several moments, a tenor voice asked quietly, "This is the suicide prevention hotline, correct?"

"Yes, sir. My name is Blair. What can I do for you tonight?"

More silence. "Choices sounds like the name of a yuppie restaurant."

Blair smiled, knowing the caller couldn't see him. "It does, doesn't it? I've never really thought of it that way before."

"So why Choices?"

"Because that's what we're here to offer - choices. Besides, the Powers That Be found that saying 'suicide prevention hotline' put callers off."

"Yeah, I can understand how it might. You certainly wouldn't want to offend a nut case."

Blair sighed inwardly. This was going to be a difficult call. He felt it in his bones. He actually preferred the hysterical callers, although the other volunteers thought he was nuts for saying so. Blair found that typically hysterical people just wanted someone else to take charge. They were desperately trying to find a reason to hang on and figured the easiest way to do it was to create a big enough scene until someone with more authority stepped up to the plate. Depressed people simply wanted to see if there was at least one person in the world that cared, one person willing to extend a hand and pull them out of the mire which was sucking them in to oblivion.

It was the calm ones who frightened him -- for they had almost always made up their minds before calling in to take the final step. The more intelligent they were, the harder it was to convince them to give life a chance. However, he had never lost a caller, and he wasn't about to start now.

"Are you required to record these calls?" the disembodied voice asked him.

"No. We don't record any of our calls."

"How do your supervisors evaluate your performance then?"

"They sit beside me and listen. And before you ask, there's no one in this room but me."

"So each counselor has their own room?"

"Yes, otherwise it's too easy to get distracted by other counselors and their calls."

"Makes sense."

There were several more moments of silence. The calm ones often had an agenda, simply looking for a reason or excuse to go ahead and execute their carefully laid out plans. Blair licked his lips nervously, knowing that pushing the caller for information could end the call abruptly, but also knowing that if he had any chance of being successful he was going to have to establish a trust fairly quickly. "Is there a name or handle you'd like for me to use when talking to you?"

Blair could hear the sharp intake of breath and crossed his fingers, willing the caller to stay on the line with him.

"Is Blair your real name?"

"Yes."

"I thought you weren't supposed to use real names in a situation like this."

"How can I ask you to discuss your decision with me if I won't tell you my real name? Trust has to start somewhere."

"Good point."

"You, on the other hand, don't have to give me your real name," Blair offered quietly as the silence stretched uncomfortably.

"No. A trust for a trust." The caller paused before saying, "My name is Jim."

"Hi, Jim."

"Hi, Blair."

More silence.

"I expected you to be more pushy," Jim said, then released a deep sigh.

"Would that make you more comfortable? Because, believe me, I can do pushy."

Jim chuckled. "No. I really rather you didn't do pushy."

"I sort of figured."

"How long have you been doing this, Chief?"

Blair grinned at the nickname, hoping that meant Jim was starting to feel comfortable with him. "For three years."

"That's a long time."

"Yes, it is."

"I bet you've seen a lot of turn over in volunteers."

"Yeah. There's a lot of burnout. Most people want to do the right thing, but since the position doesn't pay anything, most figure they can get their stress through old fashion means -- like spending time with their families over the holidays."

Blair could "feel" the amusement through the phone line, although when Jim spoke again, his voice was controlled. "So why do you do it?"

"Because I was once where you are now?"

"And someone on a hotline helped you?"

"No, actually not. Rainier didn't have a hotline at the time."

"So how did you cope?"

"Well, I'm a rather shallow guy."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Thanks, Jim."

"No problem. I just call 'em like I see 'em." Jim paused momentarily, but Blair could tell the other man's curiosity was getting the best of him. "So how did you get through it?"

"I got hooked on a television program."

A startled laugh reverberated over the phone line. "I beg your pardon?"

Blair smiled. "You heard me. It was a two-parter and I wanted to see how they resolved the problem -- which meant I had to wait a week. It gave me some time to think."

"And you volunteer on the hotline because..."

"Some people don't have a week."

"Good point."

"Do you have a week, Jim?"

"I don't know."

"Do me a favor, Jim?"

"If I can," the voice said warily.

"You're on a portable, right?"

"Yeah."

"Leave the gun on the table and go into the front room."

"Wh -- what the hell?"

"Please."

"How... how did --"

"Am I wrong?"

There was a long silence. "No."

Blair remained silent. It seemed like an eternity before he heard a chair scrape against a wooden floor and shoes echo as Jim stood and walked away from the table.

"I'm in front of the couch."

"So take a load off."

Blair heard a snort of quiet laughter. "Sure. Why not? It's my place after all."

"No reason for you not to be comfortable then."

"I guess not."

Again, several moments of silence passed.

"Are you married, Jim?"

"Divorced."

"Kids?"

"No."

"Can you tell me how you got to this point?" Blair dug his fingers into his palms, hoping he hadn't crossed the line too soon, but wanting to keep Jim talking.

"Everything's changing."

"In what way?"

"At first, I thought I had a tumor."

"Why a tumor?"

"Cause I could smell things I had never smelled before; taste things in a whole new way. I thought something had to be growing in my brain, putting pressure on it or something, causing my senses to whack out."

"Did you see a doctor?"

"Of course. Several of them." Jim paused for a moment, then added, "Vampires, all of them."

Blair chuckled. "I so hear that, man." Jim chuckled with him. When Jim was quiet again, Blair asked, "So what did the vampires have to say."

"They could find no physical reason for my symptoms; although they did offer to run more tests. Hell, they even recommended several good psychiatrists."

"That's harsh."

"Tell me about it." There was a pause. "But... they might have a point."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I'm hearing voices."

"What sort of voices?"

"What do you mean 'what sort of voices?'"

"I mean, Jim, are they telling you to do weird stuff like shave your neighbor's poodle or something?"

Jim's startled laughter made Blair relax a bit.

"No. Nothing like that. More like people talking."

"What people?"

"I don't know. It's like suddenly I have an inside track to someone's life and I don't even know who they are."

"Is it the same person each time?"

"No. It changes all the time."

"Can you hear the voices all the time?"

"No. Usually only when I'm overly tired."

"You're not crazy, Jim."

"How can you be so certain?"

"Well, for one thing, most crazy people don't think they're crazy. It almost sounds like you have really good hearing and are just... oh my god..."

"Hold on a second, Chief."

Blair could hear a phone ringing in the background, and hear Jim talking. //Yeah. Where? Yes, sir. I'll be there in twenty minutes.//

"I got to go, Chief. Th-thanks for talking to me."

"Jim! Wait!"

"Yeah, Chief?"

"Do you have a pen handy?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I want you to write this number down. 555-2125."

"What is that?"

"It's my cell phone number."

There was a long silence and Blair was almost afraid that Jim had disconnected the call. But a voice whispered across the line, "Are you supposed to give that out?"

"No."

"Then why?"

"Because I might have a handle on what's happening with you. I'd like for you to call me back when you have a chance."

"You really don't have to do this, Chief."

"I want to, Jim. Honestly. But you have to keep in mind that I'm a grad student. Which means catching me is kind of hit and miss. I'm usually up late and have a tendency to sleep in a bit. If you want to leave a number, you can, and I'll call you back, but I'll understand if that makes you uncomfortable. Just don't give up on me if you decide to call. If you call during the day, you might try every hour and a half or so. I have to turn the cell off when I'm in the classroom, ya know."

Although Blair couldn't see the man on the other end, he could almost visualize him nodding. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Okay."

"Thanks, Blair."

"Call me, Jim. I mean it."

And with that, the phone went silent.

"Talk to me."

"Blair?"

"Jim, man, is that you?"

"Yes."

"Are you okay? It's been a couple of days."

"I know. I'm sorry. I just... got busy."

"Busy is good. I can live with busy."

Jim chuckled briefly. There was an awkward moment of silence, before Jim said quietly, "You told me last time you might have a handle on what's happening to me."

Blair sat on the couch in his warehouse apartment, nudging his drowsy roommate over slightly. "Yeah, Jim, I do. But before I get into that, I need you to promise not to hang up on me. The explanation I'm going to propose is guaranteed to sound pretty far fetched. But if you hang up, you're never going to figure out what's happening to you. Can you promise me?"

Jim remained silent for almost a full minute. "All right."

"Great, man. Thanks. Okay." Blair took a deep breath then released it slowly, trying to calm his dancing nerves. "Here's the deal. I'm working on my doctorate in Anthropology and you may just be the living embodiment of my field of study."

"In what way?"

"Let me see. What's the best way to explain this? Okay, let's start simple. You see, in all tribal cultures, every village has someone who patrols the border."

"You mean like a scout."

"Yeah, exactly, although it's a little more complicated than that. You see, this person has a variety of responsibilities from watching for movement in game, changes in weather, approaching enemies and the like. Tribal survival often depended on this person."

"So what's this got to do with me, Chief?"

"I'm getting there, Jim," Blair said, lightly scratching the stomach of the little Barbary ape sleeping beside him. "You see this scout was often chosen because of a genetic advantage. There's a monograph by Sir Richard Burton, the explorer, not the actor..."

"You mean the same Burton who exposed the world to the Karma Sutra?"

"The very same."

"The man had a wide variety of interests, it appears."

Blair chuckled. "Yes, he did. Anyway, Burton went to Paraguay and while he was there he studied these scouts, although he called them Sentinels. A sentinel was selected because he or she had a sensory awareness beyond normal humans. They could see farther, hear better, taste things other people couldn't and their sense of smell was more finely honed."

"Sort of like the Vietcong scouts."

"Exactly! Army long-range recon units had to change their diets to fish and rice because a Vietnamese scout could smell a Western by his waste. You see, Jim, I have hundreds of documented cases of people who have one or two hyperactive senses -- you know, like people who work for ice cream and perfume companies."

"How many people have all five?"

"None that I know of. You could be a sentinel in the truest form of the word."

"So why are my senses coming online now?"

"That's a good question. My research indicates that most sentinels are born with their abilities, but Burton did talk about one sentinel whose abilities had lain dormant. They were triggered, or switched on, if you prefer, after a prolonged period of isolation. Have you, by chance, been camping by yourself recently?"

"No, but I was on a stakeout by myself in the woods for several days."

"How long ago?

"About two weeks or so."

"And when did you start noticing the sensory spikes?"

"Almost immediately after that. A suspect got away from me because my image was reflected back at me off his helmet and I got lost in the multiple images. Sort of looking at your reflection with a mirror in front of you and behind you."

"You were concentrating, man, trying to figure out who the person was. It had to have kicked your sense of sight into overdrive. Oh, man..."

"What?"

"The zone-out factor. I completely forgot about it. It's suggested in Burton's research that sometimes a sentinel concentrates so much on one sense he becomes oblivious to the outside world, sort of like he's wearing blinders."

Jim groaned.

"Jim, what's wrong, man?"

"I can't be zoning out on the job, Chief. I could get an innocent killed."

"Well, Burton did mention that a sentinel usually had a partner along with him when he patrolled; you know, someone to watch his back when things got intense. Is there someone you can trust at work? Your partner perhaps?"

"Jack's dead."

"I'm sorry, man. I --"

"No apologies are needed, Blair. He died over two years ago."

Blair leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Surely you can trust someone with this? To help you develop your skills?"

"Chief, I want to get rid of this... this thing, not figure out how it works."

"Jim, while your abilities may have been latent or suppressed or whatever; something has happened and you are basically online, my man."

"So you can't turn them off?"

"I wouldn't even have a clue as to where to start. But look at it this way, you're a cop, right?"

"How did you know that?"

"Don't get upset, Jim." Blair stood and began to pace around his couch. "I'm an anthropologist, which means I basically walk into a place and try to find clues to figure out what's happening. In a way, it's a lot like detective work." He stopped and chuckled. "Of course, a lot of the places I walk into have been vacant for a few thousand years, but, hey, clues are clues, man." Blair began pacing again. "Look at it this way, you're a human crime lab with organic surveillance equipment. Think of all the good you can do! What more could you want?"

"Control."

"I hear that. I totally hear that. Well, if it's any comfort, Burton's monograph seems to indicate that control is not only possible, but probable. It just takes practice."

"Practice how?"

"It would really help if I could talk to someone you're comfortable with. Someone I could give suggestions to and explain in detail what's happening to you. Are you sure there's no one you can trust?"

"Well, there is Simon?"

"Simon?"

"My boss."

"Are you sure you want your boss to know? I wouldn't want to put your job in jeopardy or anything."

"It's going to be in jeopardy one way or the other, Chief. The question becomes do I control the situation or let it control me?"

"That's the attitude, man."

"So when can you come down to the station?"

Blair stumbled in his pacing. "Pardon me?"

"You said you wanted to explain things to Simon."

"I... I... thought maybe I'd talk to him over the phone."

"What's wrong, Chief?"

"I'm not supposed to meet callers."

"Blair, I didn't call you today with a gun in my hand."

"I know, Jim," Blair said, trying to reassure the other man, even as he leaned his forehead against an ancient looking refrigerator and closed his eyes.

"After all, shouldn't I be like your Holy Grail or something? I mean, aren't I the, what did you call it, the 'living embodiment' of your thesis?"

"Yes, you would be... you... you are. But... I'm not supposed to get involved with test subjects. I'm just supposed to study them and make observations."

"Chief, this is my life we're talking about."

"I know, Jim. I know. It's just that --"

"You're being bashed on both sides by ethics, anthropological and psychological."

"Exactly." Blair pushed himself off the refrigerator and walked back to the couch.

"I don't want to put you in a bad place, Blair; but no one else understands what's going on with me." Jim paused for a moment as if trying to regroup. "Look, would you agree to, at least, meet with me in my boss' office to discuss things?"

Blair sat on the couch, considering the ramifications. "All right. I'll meet with you and Simon. I just... just... no promises, man. Okay?"

"I won't push you into anything you don't want to do. I promise."

Blair groaned, not believing Jim for a moment. "So where do I need to go?"

"Central Precinct. Downtown. Do you know where it is?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Go to the seventh floor. Major Crimes. Ask for Detective James Ellison."

"James Ellison, huh?"

"Yeah, Chief, that's me."

"Okay." Blair was touched by the level of trust Jim was showing him.

"My boss is Captain Simon Banks."

"Banks. Got it. Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"It's Sandburg."

"Excuse me?"

"Sandburg. Blair Sandburg."

"I look forward to meeting you, Blair Sandburg."

"Uh, Jim? What time should I come down?"

"When are you available?"

"I don't teach tomorrow, although I do have a seminar in the morning. I could come down afterward, probably be there around 12:30 or 1:00."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Okay. Seventh floor, Major Crimes. Do you have a cell phone number I can reach you at, in case something comes up?"

"Sure. It's 555-7733."

"Cool. Thanks."

"Sandburg?"

"Yeah, Jim?"

"Thank you... for giving me hope again."

"It's my pleasure, man."

"See you tomorrow."

"I'll be there."

Blair Sandburg squeezed his eyes shut and prayed silently. His seminar had gotten out a little early and he had gone to the precinct to invite Jim to lunch. He had never laid eyes on the man and wanted to get a feel for his personality before their meeting with Jim's boss. He had, apparently, just missed Jim who was taking a Lieutenant Plummer out to lunch.

A large Captain by the name of Taggert had directed him to the break room to wait for Jim's return. He had been going through his seminar notes when nature called loud and urgently. Gathering his backpack, he found the nearest men's restroom.

While washing his hands, he heard what sounded suspiciously like a gunshot. He moved cautiously to the door and peeked out, immediately noting several armed men herding hostages into the Major Crimes bullpen. He shut the door quietly, grabbed his backpack and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed the number Jim had given him the night before and squeezed his eyes shut, praying that the detective would answer it. Jim did, on the second ring.

"Ellison."

"Jim?"

"Sandburg?"

"Jim, we got big problems."

"What's wrong, Blair?"

"I got out of my seminar early today and came down to the station."

"I'm sorry, buddy, I didn't --"

"Jim," Blair interrupted, "there are men here with automatic weapons. They're forcing everyone into Major Crimes." Blair could hear the squealing of tires through his cell phone.

"Where are you?"

"In the john. Oh god, Jim, I so don't want to die in the men's bathroom."

"Calm down, Sandburg."

"Yeah, right."

"How many men did you see?"

"I only saw two. But there's has to be more, ya know? Otherwise wouldn't there be cops crawling everywhere?"

"Good point. Just stay put. Don't go anywhere. Keep this line open, okay?"

"Okay." He heard Jim talking to someone in the background. //Caro, I need you to call Simon. We have a hostage situation at the precinct. No, I'm not kidding.//

Blair slowly opened the door again. "Shit," he hissed and carefully put the door back in place. "Damn, damn, damn." He looked frantically for a place to hide and decided the stall. He could hear Jim's frantic, "Sandburg" on the other end of the phone. "Shhhhh," he said harshly as he maneuvered his feet off the floor.

His heart all but stopped as the door opened. He heard the man move to wash his hands and was hopeful that he might get out of the situation in one piece, when his foot slipped and hit the toilet knob. The water raced down the pipes with a loud flush.

"What the --"

Blair listened to the man approach. When he saw the shadow before the door, he lifted both feet and kicked the door outward, nailing the terrorist, sending him crashing to the floor. Blair tiptoed around the gunman, and thought briefly about picking up the gun but decided against it. If a cop saw him with a gun, they would assume he was a terrorist and he'd end up getting shot. If a terrorist saw him with a gun, they'd think he was a cop and he'd end up getting shot. Either way, he stood a good possibility of being shot. He snorted in amusement for a moment and wondered if anyone would buy his being a cop. Sure. Maybe Vice. Not.

"Sandburg!"

Blair looked dumbly down at the phone in his hands.

"Jim? Are you still with me?"

"Jesus, Sandburg, what in the hell happened?"

"I was discovered. I... I had to knock out one of the gunmen. I think I need to find a better place to hide."

"See if you can get up to the 8th floor. It's comprised mostly of individual offices. If they've done an initial sweep, chances are they won't waste time to re-check them. You should be able to find a quiet office and wait until the cavalry arrives."

"Okay. Just hurry, man. All right?"

"Try to stay on the line with me, Sandburg."

"kay."

Blair opened the door as another terrorist herded a small group of hostages toward the bullpen. Blair immediately recognized the big figure of Joel Taggert. As Joel walked past one of the gunman, he slammed his elbow into the terrorist's face. The captain turned and ran toward the stairwell, but not before the gunman regained his feet and fired at the fleeing man. Blair's limbs shook wildly, but as the gunmen's attention was focused on the opposite side of the hallway, he scrambled out of the bathroom and headed down the hall in the other direction, hoping to find a stairwell.

Voices from another hallway sent him skidding into the break room. He looked around frantically and hid behind a large candy machine. He whimpered slightly, trying to catch his breath. It was only as his heartbeat began to subside in his ears that he heard Jim's voice calling to him. He lifted the cell phone to his ear. "Jim?"

"What's going on, Sandburg?"

"Captain Taggert was shot. I don't know where or how bad. I went in the opposite direction. Oh, God, Jim, I left him behind."

"Sandburg."

"I'm such a coward."

"Chief."

"I should have --"

"Blair!"

"What?

"There's nothing you could have done. Unless you're sporting an Uzi I don't know about, you're seriously outgunned. We don't know what their intentions are. At this point, you'll do more good by staying out of the way."

Blair tried to keep the trembling out of his voice. "Staying out of the way?"

"Think you can do that?"

"I'm willing to give it a try."

"Good man."

Blair closed his eyes and prayed quietly. "God... god, please... Please, I promise.. If you get me out of this, I'll... I'll pay all my parking fines. I'll... quit dressing Professor Hiram's Hindu sculptures in Barbie clothes. Oh yeah, and I'll quit dyeing Veronica's lab rats pink and blue."

Blair might have gone on, but the sound of the break room door opening cut him off abruptly. He heard someone whistling tonelessly as they dropped coins into the machine in front of him.

"Exact change? Exact change? I've got some change."

Several bullets pierced the back of the machine around Blair. "No! Don't shoot! Please."

"What the --"

With a burst of adrenaline pumping through his system, Blair yelled and pushed against the vending machine. The machine fell forward, landing on the terrorist in front of it.

"I can't take police work, Jim," Blair muttered as he moved quickly to the door and peered out. With the coast clear, he moved out into the hallway and into the stairwell several feet beyond.

Pressing his back against the wall, Blair started to move silently down the stairs, but stopped as he heard two gunmen joking as they climbed upward. He turned and ran silently back up the stairs and opened the door to the 8th floor. Jogging down the hall, he checked several doorknobs, and finally glided around an open door, locking it behind him.

"Jim?" he whispered into the phone.

"Yeah, Chief?"

"What's going on?"

"I'm not going to lie to you, Blair. It's not looking too good. The terrorists have found the captain's son and they've used a missile to destroy a good portion of the building to the east of us."

"Who are they?"

"You ever hear of the Sunrise Patriots?"

"Yeah. So what do they want?"

"The release of their brothers in jail. I picked a hell of a day for you to come down to the station, Chief. I'm sorry about that."

"Hey, no one put a gun to my head and forced me down here." He paused momentarily. "Well, at least, not yet."

Jim chuckled. "You're okay, Sandburg."

"Thanks, Jim." Blair walked to the window and looked down at the ground. Leaning his head against the cool window, he closed his eyes momentarily, listening to the two soldiers who had been in the stairwell checking the doors to the various offices. //So much for Jim's theory that they wouldn't recheck the offices.// Opening his eyes, he noticed the window washers' platform hanging a floor beneath his position. "Jim," he said quietly.

"Yeah, Chief?"

"My time is running out, but I'm going to try something. I might have found a way out of here."

Several heartbeats of silence passed. "Are you in danger?"

Blair gulped. "Yeah. They're checking doorknobs."

"Okay. Don't be a hero. Just get the hell out of there if you can. Simon and I are going to try something on this end. Hopefully, we'll meet in a few."

"Stay safe, Jim."

"You too, Sandburg."

With that, Blair cut the connection and shoved the phone into the inside breast pocket of his jacket. He pushed himself off the glass and looked around the office. He had one shot at this. He looked at the office chair beside him. If he tried to break the glass and failed, he would have given his position away for naught. No, he needed something different -- a sure thing. He spotted a round marble stone sitting on a pedestal and smiled. Hefting the sphere like a shot put, he aimed and released it toward the window. The glass pane broke into a thousand pieces and Blair looked back toward the door, knowing there wasn't any way the goons in the hallway could have missed the noise. He just hoped they couldn't pinpoint it before he was safely on the ground.

"Oh, man. I can't believe I'm doing this," he whispered to himself as he brushed aside several glass shards and climbed out onto the ledge. He carefully found a good grip on the window's ledge, then looked down briefly at the platform, then back into the room. "This is so not the time for my acrophobia to kick in." He took a deep calming breath. "Okay, picture yourself there. Picture yourself there." With that, he released his grip and fell to the platform beneath him.

His body jarred hard on impact, but it was all he could do not to whoop in laughter. He rolled his head back on his shoulders in relief. "Yes." In time to see a gunman on the roof peer down at him. "No. God, no." The gunman took aim and released several rounds. Blair raised his arms over his head and tried to dodge the bullets in his enclosed space. His left arm suddenly burned as if molten lava had been poured over his skin. He gasped in pain.

Time to give up, he decided. But as he turned his face upward, he found the gunman prepared to fire again. "No," Blair shouted, raising his arms. The gunman fired another round and Blair closed his eyes against the inevitable, grateful, at least, to be out of the bathroom. He heard a bullet ricocheted beside him just before the platform fell. He yelled in panic, his hands desperately clutching at the lever, trying to slow his descent. Finally, the platform bounced to an abrupt stop. He closed his eyes in relief, but when he opened them again he found two gunmen smiling at him through a shattered window.

Blair was pushed and shoved into the Major Crimes bullpen and forced to sit on a desk while his hands were bound in front of him with duct tape. He looked around the room and noticed that Captain Taggert was still alive, though in quite a bit of pain. Beside him sat a teenage boy, probably around 15 years old -- the captain's son, no doubt. The boy looked scared, but was doing a good job of keeping it together. Blair looked into the faces of the men and women around him, giving a small smile of encouragement to several people who looked like they were on the brink of losing it emotionally.

Boot heels clicked on the floor outside the doors and grew louder. Blair knew he was about to meet the leader of the operation and realized his time was near the end, for he had no doubt the man was not going to look favorably on a wayward grad student. Looking at the gunmen in the room, Blair desperately tried to retrieve what he knew about paramilitary organizations. He knew these men lived by a strict set of rules. He also knew that they would look down upon anyone who wasn't a white, Christian, male. As a long-haired, Jewish anthropology student, he understood his chances of surviving the leader's wrath weren't going to be good. He gulped down his fear, wondering if Jesse Owens had felt this scared when he met Hitler after having defeated the tyrant's elite athletes in the last Olympics before World War II.

A surprisingly short, sandy-haired man moved swiftly across the room and grabbed Blair's coat, bringing their faces mere inches apart. "Are you the mole who took out two of my men?" The man brought a gun up and held it in Blair's face. " In this militia, that's a capital offense."

Blair decided to go with bravado. "You don't want to kill me, man. Believe me when I say I'm worth more to you as a live hostage than a dead body.

The man growled at him. "What makes you think that your sorry ass is worth anything to anybody?"

"Captain Banks sent me in," Blair lied smoothly, grateful he could even remember Jim's boss' name.

"You're a cop?" the man said in disbelief.

Blair nodded. "Lieutenant Sandburg, Narcotics. I've been teamed with Ellison."

The man stared at him, disbelief warring with a growing admiration.

Captain Taggert yelled, "He's telling the truth, Kincaid."

Kincaid turned and fired a shot at the desk next to Joel. "Shut up!"

Another man ran into the room, carrying a portable briefcase phone. "Commander! It's Walters."

Kincaid picked up the phone, although his eyes never left Blair's face. "Go, Walters." He listened intently to the man on the other end of the phone. "Good work. Sometimes all it takes is just a little persuasion." Kincaid hung up the phone and stepped again into Blair's space. "Looks like the execution's off, Lieutenant." He glanced at Blair and licked his lips. "I could use a man like you in my operation. The hair will have to go, but I like your resourcefulness."

Blair gulped, but didn't say a word. The look Kincaid was giving him was making his stomach sour. An explosion rocked the building and the gunmen looked around in surprise. Kincaid moved reluctantly away from Blair. "There's someone in my building. Hoskins, go down there and kill the intruders. No one gets into this party without a personal invitation from me."

Blair closed his eyes and attempted to find his center. He wondered how long it would take the news of his death to reach his mother. She was in Bangkok, wasn't she? Or had she already left for her retreat in Nepal? He couldn't remember. Did any of his friends even know he was at the police station? Had he told anyone? He couldn't remember. He worried briefly about who would cover his 9:00 o'clock 101 class and smiled at the thought of the reaction he'd get if he asked one of the gunmen if he could borrow a phone. Chances were pretty good that his students were going to get a free day after waiting the requisite fifteen minutes.

His eyes flew open as he was hauled off the desk.

"Where are you taking me?" Blair demanded of the sandy-haired leader.

Kincaid chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Serpico. You're one of the lucky ones. You're coming with me."

Blair was overwhelmed with the sudden memory of one of the few serious talks he had had with his mother when he was young. //"It's okay to talk to people, sweetie. So many people are afraid to talk to strangers, but how else are strangers going to become friends? But, honey, you must promise me NEVER to get into a vehicle with a stranger. If you get into a car with someone you don't know, you'll never come home. Do you hear what I'm saying? Never go anywhere with a stranger, unless you've talked with me first."//

Kincaid all but dragged Blair up the stairs. He could hear the rotating propellers of the helicopter as it grew closer. He almost chuckled to himself. 'Well, Naomi, you aren't here. Guess that means I really shouldn't go with this joker.'

He deliberately tripped on the steps, gritting his teeth against the pain as he fell onto his forearms. Kincaid snorted in disgust and bent over to grab the collar of his jacket. Blair forced himself to wait then jabbed his left elbow back with all his might. The gun in Kincaid's hand shot off a round before he dropped it. Blair pushed himself off the stairs and swung around, using his taped hands to slam his fists directly into Kincaid's face. The terrorist stumbled backward. Blair shoved him hard, then raced down the stairwell. Kincaid fumbled for his gun and took several shots at him, but Blair was moving too fast and he doubted the gunman could even focus his eyes yet.

"Shit." He could hear the madman scream in frustration and anger above him, but Blair never slowed his descent.

When he reached the ground level, he pushed hard against a door which would lead to the outside of the building and found himself suddenly staring at a half dozen pistols aimed at his face.

"Kincaid. Roof. Helicopter. Captain Taggert's been shot. Hostages on the 7th floor. Major Crimes," he gasped out before he fell to his knees.

"Shit," one of the policemen swore under his breath. "Everyone upstairs. Peters, take care of this man."

Blair looked up into the kind face of a young patrol officer and lifted his bound hands. The officer smiled and nodded, taking a pocketknife out of his pant pockets and quickly cutting through the tape.

"What were you doing here?" the cop asked.

"I was supposed to have a meeting with Captain Banks and Detective Ellison after lunch. Talk about being in the wrong place at the wrong time," Blair explained as he gingerly picked the tape off his hands, grimacing as the tape pulled hair off the back of his wrist.

"All available units to the parking garage. All available units to the parking garage." A disembodied voice said from the mike at the young cop's shoulder.

"Go on," Blair said quietly when he noticed the eager look on the other man's face. "I'll be okay."

"You sure?"

Blair nodded and the cop raced into the building.

Shakily, Blair pushed himself off the ground and felt his pants pocket. The jingle of keys almost made him cry in relief. He moved slowly toward his car, berating himself as he did so. He knew better than to get involved with a caller, even if that caller was a cop. He had no one to blame but himself. He opened his car door and slid in behind the wheel; his only thought to go home.

Blair's cell phone screamed shrilly from the pillow beside his head. "Hullo?" he said, trying to blink himself awake.

"Sandburg?"

"Jim?"

"Are you okay, Chief?"

"Yes. Ow. No."

"What's wrong?"

"I was shot, man," Blair said quietly, not entirely able to keep the whine out of his voice. He sat up and looked at the wound again. The bullet had not pierced him, merely slid along his forearm, burning a long groove into his forearm.

"Are you at the hospital?" Jim asked, concern very evident in his voice.

"No."

"Have you been to the hospital?"

"No."

"Where the hell are you then, Chief?" Jim shouted, exasperation evident in his voice.

"Don't yell at me, man. I've had a bad fucking day," Blair shouted back, then grabbed his pounding head. "I got to go, Jim. I don't feel so good." He cut the connection, throwing the phone on his bed as he stood. The phone immediately started ringing again, but he ignored it and stumbled toward the bathroom. He thought he had some Bactine in the cabinet, and was pretty sure he had some bandages as well.

By the time he came out of the bathroom, his cell phone had stopped ringing. He picked it up and quickly dialed a number. "Gwen? Hey sweetheart, I didn't think I was ever going to have to call in that favor, but I really need you to take over my 9 o'clock 101 class tomorrow? Can you do it? Thank you. You're really a lifesaver. No, I'm okay. I just need to take care of some things. Thanks again."

As soon as he hung up, the phone began ringing again.

He sighed in exasperation when he answered. "What, Jim?"

"I need you to come down to the precinct again."

"No."

"You don't understand, Blair. You're a material witness now in an investigation. You don't really have a choice in the matter."

"Oh yeah?"

"I'm sorry, Chief. I really am, but we need to take your statement. You were pretty instrumental in helping us re-secure the station by taking out those two of the gunmen and delaying Kincaid long enough for me to catch him before he got to the helicopter."

"So you got the bastard?"

"Yes."

"Thank God." He paused for a moment. "How's Captain Taggert?"

"He's stable. Even though he's lost a lot of blood, the doctors believe there shouldn't be any permanent damage."

"Good." Blair then whispered, "He saved my life, you know?"

"How?" Jim asked kindly.

"Kincaid was angry about my taking out his men. I knew he was going to shoot me. I didn't want the boy to see me die. Something like that could really traumatize him, you know?" Blair couldn't stop the slightly hysterical tinge to his chuckle.

"I know, Chief."

The hysteria grew a little stronger. "Not like being held hostage by terrorists isn't going to screw with his head or anything."

Jim's voice cut through the madness which was slowly suffocating him. "So what did Taggert do?"

"I told Kincaid I was a Lieutenant in Narcotics. Captain Taggert backed my story. Kincaid shot at him, but didn't hit him. The Captain risked his life for me."

"It's the type of man Joel is. I think you'll really like him once you get to know him better."

"No offense, man, but I don't want to get to know any of you better. Okay?"

There was a slight pause. "I know, Chief. I know. But the fact remains, I still need you. I'm sorry. I know that's selfish, but I can't let you go just yet."

Blair closed his eyes against the need in the detective's voice. "I... I...need some time to think things through, Jim."

"I understand. But as a cop, I need you to come down to the station. As a friend, I need to make sure you're okay and that your wound is under control."

"Trust me, it's under control."

"Sandburg..."

"Look, Jim. Give me some time. I'll see... I'll see what I can do." With that he disconnected the call. A small furry mass leapt onto the bed and cuddled against him. "Hi Larry," he said softly, gently petting the little Barbary ape.

Blair looked up and down the hallway, took a deep breath and quietly pushed the hospital door open. His eyes scanned the room quickly and found it empty, except for the man sleeping in the bed. He moved silently into the room, carefully closing the door behind him. He tiptoed beside the bed and looked down at the large dark man who had saved his life with a few words. The older man's brows were knitted together in pain. No doubt his medication was starting to wear off.

Blair placed the card on the small rolling table beside the bed. It wasn't much, but he had to thank the man for speaking out, not sure if he would have been brave enough to speak out on behalf of another in a similar situation.

The captain's eyes blinked open, and Blair froze, willing the eyes to shut again. After a moment, they did and Blair breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped back into the shadows.

"Who's there?" the older man's eyes opened as he called out, looking frantically around the room.

"Please, don't be frightened."

"Who are you?"

Blair stepped forward hesitantly. "My name is Blair Sandburg. You saved my life on Monday."

"Sandburg?" Joel looked momentarily confused then his eyes widened in remembrance. "You're the kid who bluffed Kincaid and took the heat off the rest of us while they ran around the building looking for you."

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"Everyone and their brother is looking for you again, you know?"

"Yeah, I suspected."

"Why won't you go downtown, Blair?"

Blair looked sharply over at the captain. "Shouldn't you be a little more out of the loop being stuck here and all?"

The captain chuckled. "I've got spies everywhere."

"Apparently."

"Why won't you go downtown and give your statement? You don't have anything to hide, do you, Blair?"

Blair stood at the end of the bed and played with the bottom of Taggert's blanket. "No."

"Then why?"

"I don't mind giving my statement. I just... can't see Detective Ellison right now."

"Jim? Why not?"

Blair sat at the end of the bed, then looked up into the gentle face of the large captain. "Jim's a very special man. He's got an unusual gift. Apparently, I'm the only one who knows anything about his talent."

"Why is that a problem? Isn't that a good thing?"

"For Jim, yes."

"Talk to me, Blair."

"I'm afraid."

The silence stretched between the two men. Taggert finally asked quietly, "You aren't afraid of Jim, himself, are you? I know he can come off a bit gruff, but he would never deliberately hurt someone who was trying to help him."

"It's not that exactly."

"Then what?"

"I'm afraid of his need. I'm afraid I'll lose myself trying to help him."

"I'm sorry, Blair, but I don't understand."

"That's okay. You don't need to do." Blair stood. "I just... I just had to thank you for putting yourself on the line for me, man. No one has ever done anything like that for me before. It was an incredibly brave thing to do." Blair moved toward the door. "You take care of yourself, Captain Taggert."

"Joel."

"Pardon me?"

"My name's Joel."

Blair smiled at the wounded man. "Joel."

"I hope to see you around, kid."

Blair turned at the door. "No offense, Joel, but I hope you don't."

"It's your dime."

"Hello, Chief."

"Hi, Jim."

"I got your notarized witness statement by courier today."

"Is it what you needed?"

"Yes. I got to admit, it's probably the most thorough statement I've ever read."

"I had a friend explain what was needed and tried to do the report accordingly."

"Well, Simon was impressed."

"Si-- ahh, Captain Banks, that's right."

"There's still a chance you might need to testify, although I doubt it. We have them all six ways to Sunday."

"That's good to hear. He was crazy, man."

"You handled yourself well."

"Th --Thank you."

"There's talk of throwing a party in your honor."

"Wh--what? What are you talking about?"

"You don't know then?"

"Know what, Jim?"

"Kincaid's goons were harassing the hostages during the siege. Several of them were talking about how to split the 'spoils of war,' meaning the file clerks."

"None of them were --"

"No."

"Thank god."

"Actually, it's you they want to thank."

"What do you mean?"

"Once it was reported there was a bogie in the building, Kincaid had them searching high and low for you, which meant one gunman per each group of hostages. They couldn't do anything more than look menacing. Basically, Chief, you kept several people I care for from being raped."

"I had no idea."

"They would like to thank you in person. I... I could manage to be elsewhere if it would make you feel better."

Blair remained silent for a moment. "There's no need for that, Jim. Honestly. They shouldn't be thanking me in the first place. It's not like I was protecting them on purpose. I was just trying to save my own miserable hide and couldn't find a way out of the building."

"It doesn't detract from what you accomplished. Besides, you impressed a hell of a lot of cops by taking a perp out with a vending machine."

"Will he live?"

"He'll live, Chief. He's got several busted ribs, a concussion and he's going to be black and blue for months, but he'll survive."

"Thank God," Blair whispered in relief. "I couldn't... I wouldn't... have been able to live with myself otherwise."

The silence stretched awkwardly before Blair asked quietly, "Did you get the other packet, Jim?"

"Yes." There was another long pause before Jim added, "I must say I'm impressed, Sandburg. I mean, I knew it was your field of study, but the amount of information you provided is staggering."

"But are you finding any of it useful?"

"Yes. It's quite a relief to know I'm not completely losing my mind."

"Are you implementing any of my suggestions?"

"Yes. Several of them have been quite helpful."

"Cool. Which ones?"

There was another pause before Jim said in a quiet, but intense voice, "It doesn't work like that, Sandburg."

"What doesn't work what way?"

"If you want information, you're going to have to meet with me face-to-face."

"Jim, I can't help you unless I know what works and what doesn't."

"I understand that."

"I thought... I thought... you wanted control."

"I do."

"Then why are you being stubborn?"

"Why are you afraid of me?"

"I'm not --"

"Yes, you are."

Several moments of silence passed between them, although neither man disconnected the call.

"Yes, I am," Blair finally admitted in a whisper.

"Why?"

Blair leaned forward and rested both of his elbows on the desk and rubbed his forehead. "I'm afraid of losing myself in your need."

"My need?"

"I sent you the packet two days ago, Jim. Have you taken it to your doctor yet?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I... I don't know."

Blair sighed. "I do."

"Okay, so why haven't I taken it to my doctor?"

"Because you're waiting for me. You figure if you have me then you won't need a doctor. Am I right?"

"Damn, you're a perceptive little shit."

Blair chuckled. "I've been told that before."

"And have you also been told that you're a master at misdirection? Don't think for a second I've forgotten the original question."

"What question?"

Blair could hear Jim sigh in frustration. "Why are you afraid of me, Sandburg?"

"Because you need control."

"What?"

"You don't want your senses, Jim. You don't view them as a gift like I do. So, you'll bundle them to one side and use them only when there are no other options. You'll argue constantly about tests I want to conduct in order to help you improve your talents because they'll make you feel like some sort of lab rat. You'll give me a hard time because I'll become the living embodiment of your lack of control ... because you'll come to need me to control them ... and eventually ... you'll need to control me as a result."

"Jesus, Chief."

"I'm not done, Jim. You were the one who wanted to know why I was scared, so let me finish." Blair paused and when Jim remained silent, he continued. "All my life I've lived outside the village. I've always come and gone as I please. I answer to no one. I'm a world traveler. I've been places no white man has ever been before. I've explored the Amazon, I've traipsed through the jungles and deserts. Hell, I've been to Everest. Well, at least the base."

"And you're afraid you won't get to travel anymore if you help me?"

"No. I'm afraid I won't want to travel anymore."

"You're losing me here."

"I... I want..." Blair stopped, wiping the tears which leaked from the corner of his eyes with the palm of his right hand.

"What do you want, Blair?" Jim whispered over the phone line.

"I want to be needed."

"I don't see the problem, Chief."

"Everyone leaves, man. I... I'm," Blair swallowed hard against the hurt, "the kind of guy everyone likes to have at a party, but I'm sort of hard to live with, you know? I talk all the time. I study too hard. I set an alarm clock to go to bed. I eat weird food. People... people can't handle that... can't handle me."

"So you're afraid, you'll come to need me and I'll let you go."

Blair sniffed. "Yeah."

"Never gonna happen, Chief."

"Sure it will, Jim. Get real. You'll eventually gain reasonable control over your senses. You'll start to resent having me around, resent what I symbolize, then I'll be back where I always am... by myself."

"It might not happen that way."

"Don't patronize me, Jim." Blair hissed in pain as his elbow connected with the edge of his desk.

"Are you okay, Sandburg?"

"Yeah. My left arm hurts just a bit."

"Which arm were you shot in, Chief?"

"Left. Pretty ironic, huh?" Blair's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"It's been five days. You might have an infection. You should let me take you to the doctor."

Blair laughed. "Nice try, Jim. Besides, it's just a scratch."

"Seriously, Chief. You shouldn't ignore it."

"I'm not ignoring it. I'm just not panicking over something I can take care of with Bactine and bandages."

"Bactine? Christ, are you trying to die of an infection?"

Blair laughed. "You sound like my mom. Actually, scratch that. My mom was never that bad."

"Oh for... look, just let me come by and take you to the Emergency Room."

"I can't afford a trip to the ER, Jim."

"What?"

"I'm a grad student. While I have health insurance, I have incredibly high deductibles and I simply can't afford to go to the hospital this month."

"And when your arms falls off?"

Blair laughed again. "Man, you are too much."

"Look, I used to be a medic. At least, let me come by and take a look at the wound and we can decide how to proceed from there. Besides, I need to return your backpack."

"Oh, thank God. I couldn't even begin to imagine where I'd left it. Where was it?"

"Behind the vending machine."

"Figures." There was another awkward moment of silence. "So did you go through my backpack, Jim?"

"I had to, Chief. Once we determined it wasn't a bomb, we had to make sure it didn't belong to one of Kincaid's goons."

"So what did you think of my paper? Which, by the way, is due on Monday."

"Pretty interesting stuff, actually. Did you really spend time with the Kambai Tree people of Irian Jaya?"

"Yes. Last summer. I went with Dr. Sto... I went with my advisor."

"Your paper made it seem pretty amazing."

"It was. Their houses are hundreds of feet up in the sky at the top of the jungle trees so they can see the mountains and the birds and keep the sorcerers away. It was like living in the sky."

"Sounds beautiful."

"It was totally... transcendent."

"How did you arrange to spend time with them?"

"Well... ummm..."

"It sounds like there's a story here," Jim teased and Blair actually smiled. When he hesitated, Jim added with amusement, "Don't tell me. You got lost, right?"

"Now wait a minute. You don't know me well enough to tease me about my sense of direction."

"You have a problem with directions, Chief?"

"I'm so not having this conversation," Blair huffed, though he was grinning. Jim's chuckle drifted through his cell phone. "It really wasn't that bad; well, not as bad as... no... there's no way I'm going there. Let's just say that I was actually there to study another village, but I sort of got separated from my group."

"Sort of?"

"Yeah."

"You, the world traveler?"

"Oh, bite me, Jim."

Jim chuckle grew louder. "So spill.

With a much put upon sigh, which didn't go with his wide grin, Blair launched into the story. "Well, there I was, traipsing around the jungle looking for my group when I accidentally stumbled across one of the Kambai's foraging parties who had come down to the surface looking for herbs and roots. I practically stumbled right into the middle of their group. And as luck would have it, I was the first westerner they had ever seen."

"So what did they make of you?"

"They thought I was a laleo -- an evil spirit disguised as a white man."

"So, what did you do to change their minds?"

Blair cleared his throat, not believing he was really going to tell Jim about this adventure. "Well, see... I... was a little freaked out because they all had these bows and barbed arrows, which I just knew were poisonous, and they were, of course, all pointed at me. I, uh... well, I panicked. I turned, tripped and fell flat on my face in the mud."

"You didn't?"

"I did. They basically laughed themselves sick at that point and figured if I was that uncoordinated, I couldn't be much of a threat, you know? Laleos are know for their grace, which I obviously didn't have."

"I think you underestimate yourself, Blair."

"Well, you'd have to know me better to realize I really don't."

"I'd love to."

"Love to what?"

"Know you better."

Blair whimpered.

"C'mon, Chief. Let me return your backpack. We can talk, and you can see for yourself that I'm not really a bad guy."

Blair shook his head, although he said nothing for almost a full minute. "Okay," he finally whispered.

"Where can I meet you?" Jim asked in a quiet, respectful tone as if trying not to spook him, yet not quite being able to keep the excitement out of his voice either.

"I'm in Hargrove Hall at Rainier University. My office is in the basement. The door actually says Artifact Storage, Room 3, but there's a piece of paper with my name written on it under the sign."

"I'll be there in 20."

"Okay, that'll give me time to run a few errands." With that, Blair disconnected the call.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid," Blair muttered to himself as he paced back and forth in front of his desk. Meeting Jim was a phenomenally bad idea. He shook himself out of his daze and decided his only recourse was to leave before Jim arrived. Grabbing his keys, he opened the door, and walked squarely into a solid wall of flesh.

"I beg your pardon. I'm looking for Blair Sandburg."

It was all Blair could do to keep his jaw from hitting the floor. Surely, this man was not James Ellison. Not the Jim who had called him while standing on the brink between life and death. Everything about the man in front of him screamed 'strength' even though he had incredibly expressive blue eyes which seemed somehow at odds with his militaristic bearing. Almost without thought, Blair pointed down the hallway. Jim nodded his thanks and turned to leave. Blair reached out and tugged lightly on the backpack and pointed back to his office. Jim seemed to understand and released the pack, then proceeded down the hall.

Blair stumbled back into his office, his body trembling, almost uncontrollably. He had suspected, once he had put two and two together about Jim's condition, that he was somehow destined to be Jim's guide. Burton hadn't used that term exactly, but it seemed to encapsulate all that the companion was to the sentinel. He had always assumed there would be some sort of bond between the two; he just never expected it to be so vibrant, so alive.

He set the backpack on his desk and crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling cold. He panted, trying to get his emotions under control. He always knew the world was a bitterly cold place. It had never really bothered him before. But after feeling the heat of the bond slide away from him, he didn't know if he would ever be warm again.

He tried, and failed, to get his trembling under control. He had to get out of the office before Jim returned. He turned and walked again into the wall of muscle.

Two strong hands gripped his forearms tightly. "I don't know what sort of game you're up to, Sandburg, but..." Jim trailed off as Blair hissed in pain.

Jim looked down into his face, the sternness slowly melting into concern as he guided Blair back onto his desk. Without another word, Jim methodically unbuttoned Blair's shirt and slid it off his shoulders. Blair bit the inside of his lip, knowing he would never allow a stranger this sort of intimacy, but somehow Jim didn't feel like a stranger. He felt more like... home. The heat of the sentinel's hands almost burned him in the coolness of his office. Jim expertly took the bandages off his arm and frowned.

"I can't afford to go to the hospital, Jim," Blair whispered, amazed by his voice's steadiness.

"Doesn't Rainier have a health clinic?"

"Yes, but I haven't had time to go. Monday's little adventure has put me severely behind."

Jim nodded briefly. "Stay here," he commanded quietly, then turned and left the office. Blair contemplated the idea of leaving, but didn't relish the idea of Jim tracking him down, so he waited.

Jim returned a few minutes later, and smiled as he walked through the door. Blair could tell by the look on the detective's face that Jim hadn't really expected him to stay.

With no commentary, the detective proceeded to clean the wound with hydrogen peroxide and re-bandaged his arm. "I'll come by and take a look at this again tomorrow. If there hasn't been any improvement, we'll go to the clinic."

"You don't need to do that."

"Never-the-less, I will."

Blair nervously chewed on his lower lip, but nodded his compliance.

"How old are you, Chief?"

"I'm 25."

"Kind of young to be a grad student, aren't you?"

"I started when I was 16."

"So you're some kind of a whiz kid, huh?

"I guess you could say that."

Jim just grinned at him.

"I'm not quite what you expected, am I? Blair asked nervously when Jim remained silent.

"No. I can honestly say you're not anything like I expected." The tone in Jim's silky warm voice made Blair shiver.

Unable to think of a response to that comment, Blair stuck out his hand. "Blair Sandburg."

"James Ellison." Jim took his hand in a firm handshake.

"We meet at last."

"About damn time, if you ask me. There's a part of me that feels like we should have met weeks ago."

Blair squirmed slightly under the sentinel's gaze. To break the growing tension he was feeling, he picked up his flannel shirt and slipped an arm into the sleeve. Wordlessly, Jim helped him ease the shirt over his bandages.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

"And thanks for returning my backpack. I was beginning to seriously panic about the report."

"It was no trouble at all. Honest."

Blair hopped down from his desk. "Well..."

"Simon would still like to meet you."

"Your boss?"

"And friend."

"Well, I..."

"I figured you could come home with me now and I'll start dinner. Simon will swing by after work."

"I don't know, Jim, I..."

"When was the last time you ate, Chief?"

"I had a bagel for breakfast."

Jim frowned as he looked at his watch. "It's 4:30 now."

"I've been busy."

"And the last time before that?"

"Last time before what?"

"Track with me here, Darwin. When was the last time you ate before the bagel?"

Blair frowned. "Now you're beginning to sound like Naomi."

"Answer the question."

"You're not my mother."

"Blair."

"I had lunch yesterday, late in the afternoon. About this time, actually. Okay? You satisfied?"

"Hardly. You're way too thin for my liking."

"For your liking? Look, I'm a grad student. Thin is a way of life. Besides ..."

"Come on, grab your jacket and let's get out of here."

"See this is why I didn't want to do a face-to-face. I just knew..."

"Get your backpack."

Blair sighed and rolled his gaze heavenward. It was already starting. And God help him, he didn't know if he was strong enough to resist.

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