Not mine. I've made no money in the writing and sharing of this story. No copyright enfringement was intended.

This story originally appeared in "The Sensual World 2" by MKASHEF Enterprises.
I'd also like to thank Lola and Romslinger for their wonderful beta work.

Captain Simon Banks handed a case file to his lead detective, James Ellison, then strode around his desk and sat down. "Her name was Lisa Hughes. Sixteen years old. High school honors student. Played cello in the school orchestra. Tox report came back positive, but no exact match with any known drug or combination of drugs.

"It's probably Golden." Jim looked at the picture of the happy high school student, still unable to block the image of her body falling down the side of the Cascade Reservoir from his brain.

"Golden?"

Jim rubbed one hand over his face and nodded. "Vice has heard rumors of a new designer drug. Very elitist as far as the drug world is concerned. You can't simply buy this stuff off the street, you apparently have to know someone in order to get it. Reports indicate that it appeared in the area about eight weeks ago. One of the known side effects people have experienced is a luminescent golden quality to their vision, which goes hand-in-hand with the golden bridge Lisa told me about before she jumped."

Simon steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "So, it's an hallucinogen?"

Jim closed the file in his left hand. "Yeah. Golden makes angel dust look like light beer. It affects each user differently. Three days ago an employee at Walkerville Steel decided to take a plunge into a vat of molten iron. He was stoned on the stuff."

Simon brought his hands down and leaned them on his desk. "Do you have any leads?"

"Not at the moment. Right now Vice can't even track the distribution movements or figure out who the players are. Either these guys are really smart or it's a small time operation."

"Small, but deadly."

"Yes, sir."

"Do you have any sort of game plan here, Jim?"

"Not really. Technically, it's Vice's ball. But Lisa..."

"Made it personal?" Simon said, knowingly.

"Yes, sir."

Simon sat quietly for a moment, then looked up at his friend. "Inter-departmental politics being what they are, I can't just assign you this case."

"I know, sir. I understand."

"However, I don't have a problem with your keeping an ear out either." Simon grinned at his detective, then tried to look stern. "As long as your other cases don't get neglected."

Jim smiled back. "Thank you, sir. They won't."

"Oh, did I mention that I shared your novel with David?" Eli Stoddard asked his protege as they walked from the restaurant to the car.

Blair Sandburg stopped in his tracks. "What do you mean you shared it with David? You mean Professor David Langlin, Dean of the English Department? Eli, please tell me you're joking."

The anthropology professor stopped when he realized his student was no longer keeping pace with him. He turned and frowned. "What are you doing way back there?"

"Please tell me you didn't really give the story to David."

"Of course I did, dear boy."

"Why?" Blair asked in exasperation. He turned and walked two steps away, before spinning and closing the distance between them. "I specifically asked you not to share the story with anyone else. I just wanted you to see the first draft, to show you how it's coming. It's nowhere near ready to be critiqued."

"You've always been your own worst critic, Blair. I thought it was brilliant. I swear I was on the edge of my seat the whole time."

Blair ran his hands through his hair and gripped the back of his head. He sighed into his elbows. "Eli--"

"Oh, come on, Blair. You sounded so worried, like it wasn't any good. I thought David's comments would give you a boost, maybe give you some advice so your second draft would be even better. But he loved it, dear boy, absolutely loved it. He thinks you should publish it. In fact, he has a publisher friend in New York...Syd someone...who's expressed some interest in it."

"ELI!" Blair shouted, forcing the older man into silence. "Jesus, you never listen to me."

"What?"

"I only wrote the damn thing to keep you happy. I should have been studying, working on finding my sent--"

"And that's why I wanted you to work on it, Blair. You've been working yourself to the bone. You needed to work on something aesthetic before Borneo. You know, let the creative juices flow for a while. Lord knows once we get over there all you're going to do is live and breathe anthropology," the older man said in exasperation, waving his hands in the air.

Blair laughed silently and dropped his hands to his side. "Isn't that a good thing, considering I am an anthropologist after all?"

Eli had the good grace to blush. "Well, yes. I do realize that, son, truly I do. But you need a life. There's more to living than anthropology. You should date, take a vacation, take a painting class, something, I don't know. Just get out of your rut for a while."

"What?" Blair shook his head in confusion.

Eli closed the distance between them and gently cupped Blair's cheeks. "Blair, I'm so proud of you in so many different ways, I can't even begin to name them all. You're everything an old doctor could want in a mentee. You're bright, witty, hard-working. You've already made a name for yourself in the field despite your lack of a doctorate. I look good just by standing by your side. But son, there's more to life than school, and the next paper or the next expedition."

"Are you saying you don't want me to go to Borneo?" Blair asked in a whisper.

"No, of course not," Eli said, gently slapping Blair's cheek twice before dropping his hands. "I'm counting on you. In fact, I was able to save some money by eliminating two positions because I knew you'd do the work."

"What? Eli!"

The professor chuckled. "Anyway, David liked it and I think you should let him send it to New York."

"Eli, I'm going to lose all credibility if I publish fiction, especially escapist action dreck," Blair said, raising his hands and looking to the night sky for strength.

"So, you'll publish under a pseudonym." Eli laughed as he walked toward his vehicle. He opened the car door and got behind the wheel. "It'll be good for you."

Blair whimpered under his breath, shook his head and prayed for strength.

"Come on, Blair. Get in the car," Eli said, rolling down his window. "It's almost ten o'clock and if I don't have my brandy soon I'm going to be cranky."

Blair chuckled. God help him, he loved this old man. While he knew Naomi would never have tied herself down to someone so much older than herself, he couldn't help but sometimes wish the eccentric professor really was his father. It certainly would have explained so many of his own quirky personality traits. Of course, Eli had been mentoring him since he was sixteen. No doubt he could still blame all of his bad habits on the professor.

Shaking his head, he stepped forward...just as the car exploded into flame.

"Eli," he whispered in shock, then as the reality of the situation hit him, he screamed his mentor's name again. "ELI!" Racing toward the car, he never felt the second explosion which threw him back across the parking lot and into oblivion.

A tap on the window drew him out of his gray fog, and he turned and focused on the knuckles pressing against the glass. The car door opened, and a middle-aged man in a dark blue suit squatted between him and the open door.

"My name is Tom Wilson, I'm an arson investigator with the Cascade Fire Department. Did you know the man in the car?"

Blair tried to focus on the man's words. He nodded briefly, trying very hard not to look over the man's shoulders to the burned out wreckage of Eli's car. Blair opened his mouth several times to speak, but couldn't seem to make the words form.

"That's okay," the investigator said kindly. "Take your time."

"Eli," Blair said softly. He raised a hand to his lower lip to stop it from trembling. "Stoddard. Dr. Eli Stoddard."

"And you are?" the man asked quietly.

"B--B--Blair."

A siren wailed loudly as yet another police car entered the already crowded parking lot. The investigator looked up and frowned. "I'll be right back, Blair. Just stay here."

Blair nodded, but couldn't take his eyes off the body bag that was being loaded into the back of the coroner's wagon. Eli was dead. It didn't make any sense. They had just been talking, arguing. A thought pierced his heart and he cried out softly. He had never told Eli how he felt, had never told him how much his time and attention meant to him, never told him that he looked up to him like a father.

Crossing his arms over his chest, he rocked back and forth, trying to keep the wail from escaping; knowing if he released it, it would destroy him.

"Hey, are you all right?" a feminine voice asked from his side.

Blair blinked at the dark-haired woman who materialized beside him.

"Hey. My name's Debra. Debra Reeves. I'm an arson investigator. Do you know what happened here?"

Blair was vaguely aware of other people sitting in the plastic scoop chairs beside him, but he was unable to focus on anything but the blue tiles just beyond his feet. He had a vague memory of the dark-haired woman telling him he was in shock and calling to someone behind her, but he had no memory of the trip to the hospital.

His own personal zone-out, only he couldn't blame the grayness of his world on stressed-out senses. He shook his head, then again, maybe he could.

Debra sat in the seat next to him. "Do you know whose car you were in?"

He shook his head.

"It's not tagged, but we have a VIN so we should be able to track it down."

Blair nodded because it seemed to be expected.

"Blair, I know you've been through a lot tonight. But are you sure that the man you first talked to said he was an arson investigator?"

Blair knitted his eyebrows together in confusion, but nodded.

"And he said his name was Tom Wilson?"

"Yes," Blair said softly. "Why?"

"Because we don't have anyone in the department by the name of Tom Wilson," Debra explained quietly.

"I...I don't understand."

"Neither do I." Debra shut her eyes for a moment, then opened them and focused on Blair. "Did Professor Stoddard have any enemies?"

Blair shook his head, leaning his body away from the woman and her inane questions. "No, he was well respected...loved."

"So you can't think of anyone who would want him dead?"

"No," Blair cried out.

Debra raised her hands as if to calm him, then turned toward the nurses' station. "What's taking so long?" She rose to her feet. "Let me see if I can find someone to take a look at you."

Blair watched her leave. This was all some sort of hideous nightmare, some sort of dream induced by bad fish. He stood. He needed to get home. Once he got home, he'd be able to wake from this vision, would call Eli and tell him that he was never going to Mario's again.

Slowly, he stumbled toward the exit and sanity.

Blair groaned as he rose through the layers of sleep. Why in God's name did he feel so horrible? He blinked his eyes open. Oh yeah, fish. Bad fish. He shuddered. It was enough to keep him from ever eating salmon again. He sat up in bed, fumbled for the remote control and turned on the television as he stumbled toward the bathroom.

//In another bizarre turn of events, Professor David Langlin was found shot to death in a park near his house this morning in an apparent early-morning mugging.//

Blair stopped, turning slowly toward the noisy box.

//Neighbors were alerted when Professor Langlin's three-year old sheltie, a normally quiet dog, began howling while standing guard over the professor's body. Rainier University, which suffered a blow last night with the violent death of Dr. Eli Stoddard, the head of their Anthropology Department, has been knocked to the mat again with the loss of its English Department dean.//

Blair staggered back to his bed and searched frantically for the television control and turned off the set.

"It's not true," he whispered. "It's not true."

He ran into the bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He became aware of a low moan and pushed himself off the floor, trying to locate the source. Turning to face the mirror, he came face to face with his sooty, bruised reflection.

Dear God, it's me.

He spun once again for the bowl.

A car door slamming shut outside woke him for a second time.

"Why don't you slam it a little louder, numb nuts?" an annoyed voice hissed below his bathroom window. "Why don't you just sound a blow horn and announce to the world we're here."

Blair blinked and slowly pushed himself off the bathroom floor. Cautiously he looked out the window and noticed four men walking toward the side entrance of his warehouse. All four men wore dark suits, exactly what he'd expect stereotypical government men to wear. Blair blinked again as his eyes focused on the man from the night before.

Without even realizing he was moving, he ran into the main living area of his warehouse home. Scooping up his laptop, he shoved it into his backpack, along with his keys, his wallet, his digital camera, his jacket and his photo album. He started to head toward the kitchen, but turned back and quickly jammed an ancient-looking, white-covered book into his backpack.

Quietly, he ran to the far end of the warehouse and climbed a ladder up to the rafters, then scooted over to the far window, staying in the shadows.

He had no idea what he was waiting for, but he also couldn't make himself leave. The side door burst open, and the four men raced into the warehouse with their weapons drawn. Blair swallowed hard but remained silent as he watched the men fan out below.

"Ew," one of the intruders complained, stepping out of the bathroom. "Smells like the punk puked up his guts in here."

"So he was here," the tallest of the men said, scanning the corners of the warehouse.

"Hey, I found his computer," the fake arson investigator announced.

"And I found the manuscript," a smaller man called out, holding up a paper box.

"Anything else?" the tallest man asked.

"Lots of text books, papers, that sort of thing," the investigator reported.

The tall man nodded, apparently satisfied. "Burn it. I refuse to take any chances."

Shivering uncontrollably, Blair slid the magnetic room key in the door slot and pushed his way into the bedroom. He immediately turned and locked not only the deadbolt, but flipped the brass door latch over the round clasp as well. He threw his backpack on the bed and stripped out of his clothes as he headed to the bathroom.

Blair turned the water as hot as he could stand it and moved under the shower head, letting the water sluice over his aching body.

"What in the hell is going on?" he whispered to himself.

He let the water beat soothingly over his long curly hair. He couldn't believe he was still alive. The men at the warehouse had wasted no time in destroying his home. In fact, if he hadn't made the desperate jump to the nearby warehouse, he would have been caught on the roof as it burned to the ground. Unconsciously, he bent over and rubbed his knees, both still stung from landing on the gravel roof.

Why did they want his manuscript? It didn't make any sense?

Blair raised his face into the hot stream, and gasped as the reality of his situation hit him. He pushed himself backward, coughing, as he inhaled some of the water.

"Oh my God," he whispered. "It's true."

**

After the spring semester ended, Blair had been prepared to throw himself into the prep work of getting the Borneo expedition off the ground, so he'd been shocked when Eli told him his help wouldn't be needed.

Eli had chuckled at his stunned expression. "Blair, my boy, I have a special project for you."

"What could be more important than getting ready for Borneo?"

Eli had clasped his shoulder. "Son, how many of my expeditions have you prepped?"

"Four."

"Exactly. You could do it in your sleep."

"Yeah, so?"

Eli had gently tapped his cheek. "It's time to let some of the newer members learn the ropes."

"But they'll screw things up," Blair protested.

"True, and they'll have to learn how to fix their mistakes."

"But..."

Eli had silenced him with a finger to his lips. "We are a learning institution, son. They need the experience. Besides, I'll let you go over everything a week before we go."

"A week!"

Eli had rolled his head back on his shoulders and laughed. "What? Not challenging enough?"

"You have a weird sense of humor, old man," Blair had said affectionately.

Eli had laughed again. "You're really going to think so after I tell you what the special project is."

**

Blair rubbed his closed eyes, momentarily stopping the heated water from reaching his face. Eli had wanted a mystery. Something he could sink his teeth into while they were overseas. And no, a dime store novel wasn't going to cut it. He wanted an original piece of fiction. Not only that, he wanted a promise that Blair would write it while sitting outside, enjoying the first few weeks of summer, not locked away in the warehouse or in the bowels of the library.

And because he loved Eli, he'd complied. Over the years, Blair had come to realize that Eli's odd requests usually had some sort of significance to the anthropology field, although he still wasn't sure what writing fiction had to do with anything.

So, he had sat on the quad and typed on his laptop.

A mystery, Eli wanted, not anthropological in nature. Blair remembered rolling his eyes.

Summer session was in full swing, but Eli had demanded he give his full attention to the novel, which meant no teaching or taking seminars. Not understanding, he had complied anyway and picked an old elm tree in the middle of the quad as his base of operations.

He had to admit, it was fun. Using all of his anthropology skills, he had observed the students around him. He listened to the language they used, making him wonder if he was getting too old at the ripe age of twenty-five to be considered hip in this crowd.

While listening he heard rumors of a new designer drug called Golden. It was said to affect each user differently, but the upside was that it had no apparent side effects, other than giving the user a slightly golden hue to their vision.

He had watched the kids around him and realized there were more chemistry and psychology students than normal taking summer classes.

And thus, his plot was born. He had speculated that the suits on campus were not really recruiters looking for graduates but government men, who had gone to the Psychology Department of Rainier to test the effects of their new drug. A drug they hoped would make international terrorist suspects more susceptible to hallucinations in order to get confessions out of them. The Chemistry Department was being used to experiment with purity and strength of the drug. It was up to the protagonist Elliott Sandwell to bring the misguided students and evil government agents to justice.

Blair braced himself against the shower wall and let the water spray down his back. "It's a story, a stupid story."

But what if it wasn't? What if he had picked up on more than he realized?

He had given the manuscript to Eli, who had in turn given it to David. Now both Stoddard and Langlin were dead. Had David sent it to his friend Syd? Had he given it to anyone else?

The water started to turn cold and he turned it off. Pushing the shower curtain aside, he pulled two thick plush towels off the rack and wrapped his hair in one and his body in the other.

He couldn't remember ever being so tired.

Jim Ellison growled. "What do you mean you can't buy it on the streets?"

"I'm telling you, Jimmy, it's scarce, and there's a huge demand for it. Everyone wants a piece of this action."

"But it's not being sold on the streets?"

"Not that I can tell. Oh, and it's supposedly pricey, too."

"I need more, Sneaks."

"What? No sale?" came the disappointed voice over the line.

"Not yet. For this, I'll give you a pair of thongs...from K-Mart."

"Ooohhh, you're a harsh man, Jimmy."

Jim smiled and shook his head. "Make it worth my while to buy you a pair of Severes."

"With the defense-mesh tongue?"

"Yes, with the defense-mesh tongue."

"Deal. I'll see what I can sniff out."

"You be careful, Sneaks. I don't want you getting yourself into trouble."

"I'm sorry," the indignant voice said, coming through the phone loud and clear. "To whom do you think you're speaking?"

Jim raised his hands as if to calm the other man, even though he was across town. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. You're a good kid, Jimmy."

"Call me when you have something."

"I will, boss," the cheerful voice said before the phone went dead.

Moments later the phone rang and Jim answered it.

"Remember, I wear eight and a halfs."

"Sneaks!" Jim breathed out in frustration.

"Okay, okay, okay." The phone went dead again.

Not fifteen seconds later, it rang once more.

"Damn it, Sneaks. Yes, I'll even throw in cotton socks," he growled into the phone.

"Who's Sneaks?" a tired male voice asked from the phone.

Jim covered his eyes with one hand in embarrassment, while keeping the phone pressed to his ear.

"Is this Detective Ellison?"

Jim recover sufficiently to restart the conversation.

"Yes."

"Detective James Ellison, the one in charge of the murder investigations of Dr. Eli Stoddard and Dr. David Langlin?"

"Yes," Jim said in a slightly impatient tone. "What can I do for you?"

Jim heard the man on the other end of the phone release a deep breath.

"I think...I think it's more what I can do for you," the voice said softly, almost inaudibly.

"Oh, and what do you think you can do for me?" Jim asked, snapping his fingers quietly and pointing to his phone, watching Detective Henri Brown scramble to put a trace on the line.

"I think I know who killed the professors."

"Which one?"

"Both."

"And how did you come by this information, Mr...."

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Jim sensed he was going to lose the caller. "I don't feel...comfortable giving you my name just yet."

"Then how can you ask me to trust the information you want to give me?"

"You're right. I'm sorry."

Jim opened his mouth to speak, but the line went dead. "Brown did you get a fix?"

"Yeah, it's a pay phone on the outskirts of Rainier, corner of Plato and Frost. What's up, man?"

"I don't know just yet," Jim murmured, putting the phone back in its cradle, and feeling as if something important had just happened.

Blair hitched his backpack over his shoulder and stepped onto the crowded elevator only half-awake. He needed to get his car from the mechanic then figure out where in the hell Naomi was. Losing himself in meditation seemed like an extremely good idea at the moment.

The doors closed and he pushed the button for the lobby, looking disinterestedly at the distorted reflections of his companions. His heart nearly froze when he recognized the tall man from the warehouse standing near the back of the elevator.

How in God's name had the suits found him?

He closed his eyes.

The credit card.

How stupid could he be? Of course the government would have access to his paper trail.

He swallowed hard, biting his lower lip, trying to prevent the moan from escaping his throat. The elevator door slowly opened on the fourth floor and a business man shuffled on with his suitcase. Everyone in the elevator moved a little to the right. As the doors began to shut, Blair squeezed through them and raced down the hallway. He could hear the shouts of protest as the tall man in the back corner attempted to shove his way out of the elevator.

"He's heading for the north stairwell. The north stairwell," he heard the man yell.

Blair flung himself down two flights of stairs then slammed into the second floor hallway and ran down the corridor toward the south stairwell.

`God, please don't let me die because of my own stupidity,' he begged silently as he ran down the final set of stairs.

His cell phone rang and Jim had to suppress a sigh. Turning the heat down under his spaghetti sauce, he unhooked the phone from his belt and leaned against the kitchen island.

"Ellison."

Silence was his only answer. He was about to snap the phone shut when he heard a stuttering breath on the other end.

"Talk to me," he said gently, hoping it was the caller from earlier in the day.

"I don't know who to trust," the tired voice whispered to him.

"You can trust me."

"Can I?"

"Why are you calling me if you can't?"

Jim clenched his fist in frustration as the seconds ticked by, hoping he hadn't chased the caller off again. Something in the pit of his stomach told him that this man truly knew the identities of the people responsible for murdering the two professors.

"Because you've been Cop of the Year two years in a row. That must mean you have some integrity, right?"

"Well, I'd like to think so."

The voice snorted in silent amusement.

"Look, Chief. You're scared. I can tell that. Let me help you. Tell me where you are and I'll come pick you up and we'll talk. I can keep you safe."

"No."

"How do you expect--"

"Not yet," the voice cut him off.

Jim closed his eyes, focusing on the thundering heartbeat during the silence.

"Do you have access to other jurisdictions?" the voice asked softly.

"What other jurisdictions?"

He could hear the man on the other end of the line swallow hard. "New York."

"It depends. What do you need?"

"I need to know if a man has died in the last three days."

Jim pulled a pen and paper from a drawer. "Go on."

"His name is Syd. He works at a publishing house."

"Does Syd have a last name?"

"Not that...I don't know it," the tenor voice answered apologetically.

"Chief, finding out something like this would be like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack. I need something more." Despite his words, Jim wrote down several notes.

"Pull Langlin's long distance telephone records. One of the calls he made in the last two weeks should have been to this Syd."

Jim nodded, despite the caller being unable to see him. "Okay. I'll see what I can do. And if he's alive?"

"Ask him about David's manuscript."

"Manuscript?"

"Yeah."

Jim put the pen down on the counter. "Okay."

"If he's alive and he has it, tell him to run, to seek protection, to get out of New York."

"Whoa, Chief. Based on what? I'm not going to scare some poor man to death with a crank call in the middle of the night based on no proof."

"Even if it'll save his life?"

Jim rubbed his free hand over his face. "How can I get a hold of you to tell you what I find?"

"I'll call you."

"Can I at least have your name?"

"You can call me Chief. I kind of like the way you say it."

Jim closed his eyes, realizing the call was about to end. "Are you at least safe, Chief?"

"For the moment."

"What happened?" Jim demanded, when he heard the hesitancy in the man's voice.

Several moments of silence passed. "I wasn't thinking and I made a mistake."

"And they almost caught you?"

"Yes," the voice said, near exhaustion.

"Do you know who they are?"

"Yes."

"Jesus, Chief."

"I'm so frightened," the words were barely breathed into the phone, but Jim heard them as if they'd been shouted.

"I'll get you out of this, Chief. I swear I will."

"'kay," came the quiet response.

"Do you have a safe place to sleep?"

"Yes."

"Call me around noon then, all right? For now, just stay where you are."

"'kay." A moment of silence passed. "Night, Jim."

"Night, Chief."

"Jim, my office please," Simon Banks said from his doorway.

Jim looked up from the file Debra Reeves had dropped off--a file of her latest investigation, a warehouse, home to one Blair Sandburg, protege to Dr. Eli Stoddard and witness to Dr. Stoddard's death, burned to the ground, the result of a supposed heater accident. Jim had no doubt that his mystery caller was Sandburg, trying to figure out a way to bring the men who had killed his mentor to justice. He shook his head as he stood, wondering how much more the kid would have to endure. He moved into his captain's office.

Simon pointed to a chair, then walked around his desk and sat to face his detective. "The fax you were waiting for just came in." Simon picked up a small stack of papers and handed them to his detective.

Jim accepted the pages and quickly scanned them. "Shit," he whispered.

"Bad news?"

Jim nodded. "Syd's dead."

"Who's Syd?"

"Syd Graham, a senior editor with Berkshire Publishers."

"What? You don't have enough on your plate so you thought you'd like a shot at solving a crime across the country?"

Jim looked up startled, then smiled.

Simon returned the smile, then sobered. "I just got off the phone with a Captain Berkowitz from the Manhattan PD who wants to know how you knew this Syd Graham was dead."

"I have a source who thinks the deaths of Professors Stoddard and Langlin might be related to this Graham character."

Simon nodded. "Go on."

Jim sighed in frustration. "I can't, sir. I don't know anything else...yet."

"Talk to me, Jim."

"I've been contacted by a man who claims he knows why the professors were killed."

"Why do I feel a `but' coming on here?" Simon said, leaning forward and putting his elbows on the desk.

"He's frightened, very frightened," Jim said softly. "I think his life may be in danger. He doesn't know who to trust or where to turn."

"Do we have an I.D. on this guy?"

Jim coughed softly. "Yeah, I think I do."

"And?" Simon demanded.

"If you don't mind, sir, I'd rather not say."

Simon frowned and leaned even further over his desk. "What's going on, Jim?"

"Anything I don't tell you, you can't tell the Feds."

"Jesus, you don't think--"

Jim shrugged.

Simon raised both hands and rubbed his face beneath his glasses. "So how do you want to play this?"

"Close to the vest. I talk to no one but you. I don't bring the guy in until I can be assured of his safety."

Simon nodded reluctantly. "As of this moment, I'm on call twenty-four hours a day. You need anything Ellison, you call me."

"Aye, sir."

"Now get out of here before you give me any more gray hairs."

"Twelve on the nose. I'm impressed, kid." Jim smiled when he heard the soft chuckle on the other end of the line.

"I don't want to waste your time, detective."

"Did you get any sleep, Chief?"

"Some." The voice paused for a moment. "So?"

"I'm sorry, Chief. They found Syd in his home yesterday afternoon. Apparent suicide, although the ME is calling it a homicide due to the bruises on the victim's neck.

Jim heard the quiet shuddering gasp on the other end of the line.

"Was he a friend?"

"No," was the soft response. "I never even heard of the man before last week."

"So what's going on?"

"I thought...I thought...maybe I was wrong. You know? That it was all some huge paradoxical coincidence. But now...now, they're all dead. All because of me."

Jim could hear the young man's heart race and his breathing increase until he was almost hyperventilating.

"I've caused three deaths. Dear God. Talk about seriously screwing with your karma. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit."

"Chief, you need to calm down."

"Calm down. Calm down! Three men are dead because of me. Three. All because Eli wanted a damn mystery. What am I going to do?"

"Sandburg," Jim yelled into the phone. "You've got to calm down."

The silence was practically deafening.

"What did you call me?"

"Fuck," Jim breathed, then in a louder voice, said, "Look..."

But the line was already dead.

The cell phone by his head rang, and Jim struggled to wake up and grab the phone at the same time. He blinked at the clock. It was a little after one a.m.

"How did you know?" the soft tenor voice asked without preamble.

"Debra's a friend of mine," Jim said, honestly. "She was worried when you disappeared from the hospital."

"So you--"

"Put two and two together and came up with Sandburg."

"I'm sorry for hanging up earlier, but--"

"You were scared. You had every right to be, Chief. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sprung it on you like that."

"No, it's okay," the warm voice said quietly. "You are a detective, after all. I wanted the best, so I shouldn't be surprised when I got him."

"You know, flattery will get you everywhere," Jim gently teased. Several moments of awkward silence passed. "Do you still trust me, Chief?"

"I want to."

"It's a start." Jim scooted back so that his bare back rested on the rails behind his bed. "This goes deep, doesn't it, Chief?"

"I...believe so."

The line was silent for another minute.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" the tenor voice asked quietly.

"Not if I can help it."

"You know, I never thought I'd mind really."

"What?"

"Dying."

"Chief--"

"It's okay, Jim. I mean, I'm an anthropologist, I study mankind. Death is just part of the cycle. I've never really feared death before. In fact, Eli used to..."

"Eli used to what, Chief?" Jim asked after the young man drifted into silence.

"He used to say I had no fear of death. It drove him crazy when we went on expeditions. I wasn't trying to be reckless, I just didn't see the need to be so damn cautious all the time."

"So did you go on a lot of expeditions together, Chief?"

"Yeah. Over the years we've been on four different ones. Borneo would have been our fifth."

"You seem sort of young to have been on so many. I thought expeditions took a little while to put together and fund."

"They do. But I've been at Rainier since I was sixteen. Eli...Eli took me under his wing. He told me he was going to show me the world, and he did."

"Sounds like you two were close."

"We were."

"How close, Chief?"

There was a moment of silence. "Not that close, Jim. He was like a father to me, the father I never had."

"So your dad's dead?"

There was a sigh on the other end of the line. "I don't know. Naomi never told me who he was."

"And Stoddard filled that gap?"

"Yeah." Another sigh. "Don't get me wrong, Naomi was a wonderful mother, but she wasn't quite sure what to do with me. I mean, I was a short, hyperactive, geeky science nerd who couldn't stop asking questions and taking things apart."

Jim smiled at the image. "So when did you meet Eli?"

"Before enrollment, during a tour. I literally ran into him. We've been...were inseparable after that."

"He sounds like he was a good man."

"He was. He taught me what it meant to be not only an anthropologist, but a man, to find focus, to go after what I wanted in life. I owe him so much."

Jim could hear a low, almost guttural moan from the other end of the line. "What's wrong, Chief?"

"I...I...I never told him...how I felt about him."

"Sandburg, I guarantee he knew."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you don't drag short, hyperactive, geeky science nerds around the world four times if you don't know."

A long, relieved sigh blew through the line. "Thanks, Jim."

"Just calling them like I see them."

A moment of silence passed. "You're very easy to talk to."

Jim laughed.

"What? What's so funny?"

"You may be the only person on the planet to think so."

"Why? Because you usually do the stoic thing?"

"Stoic thing?"

"The tall, silent protector, 'don't mess around with Jim' sort of thing?"

Jim huffed in amusement. "Yeah, I guess."

"So did you always want to be a cop?"

"No. I was actually an Army Ranger for a number of years."

"What made you get out?"

"I lost my team in Peru and was stranded in the jungle for eighteen months. When I got back, things weren't the same." Jim shook his head, not believing he was sharing this information with a perfect stranger.

"Peru. Peru," Sandburg said quietly, as if trying to remember something. "Oh my God. They did a feature on you in one of those news magazines when you got back."

"Yeah."

"You stayed with the Chopec, right?"

"Yes."

"Then you knew their shaman, Incacha, right?"

"Yes." Jim sucked in his breath. "How did you know that?"

"I met him once when Eli and I were heading to one of our dig sites."

"So you went to their village?"

"No. I woke up one morning to find him bending over me. Freaked the hell out me, let me tell you."

Jim leaned forward slightly. "What did he want?"

"According to our guide, he kept asking why was I there. When I told him, he told me my sentinel was in the great city and that I needed to go back and find him."

"Your sentinel?"

Jim smiled as the young man chuckled into the phone. "Don't get me started, Jim. We're talking about my dissertation now. I could talk for days about it."

"Well, try to keep it simple. What's a sentinel?"

"Simple. Yeah, simple, sure. Eli would laugh his ass off about now. Let's see, the easiest way to put it is that a sentinel is a person with five heightened senses. They see better, smell better, you get the idea."

Jim frowned in concentration. His senses had been bothering him for almost a month now, ever since he had been isolated during a stake out. Simon knew what was going on, but so far he'd been unable to find a doctor to explain his sensory spikes. He had repressed much of his time in Peru, but he did remember Incacha, did remember the shaman telling him that he needed a guide, did remember him tapping Jim's chest and whispering 'sen-ti-nel.'

"Jim. Yo, Jim," the voice over the line called to him.

"I'm sorry, Chief. I drifted there for a moment."

"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called so late."

Jim leaned back against the rail. "I'm glad you did."

"I...I should probably be going."

"Let me come get you."

"I can't. Not just yet." There was another moment of silence. "Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief?"

"Do you mind staying on line with me?"

"I don't know. Do you snore?"

A soft chuckle reverberated through the line. "Not too loud."

Jim could hear the grad student settle down to rest. "Good night, Chief."

"Night, Jim."

Blair woke with a start, heart pounding in his throat.

"Chief? Chief, are you okay?"

Blair blinked and looked dumbly down at the phone handset lying on the pillow beside him.

"Goddamn it, Sandburg. Answer me."

Blair fumbled for phone. "Jim?"

"Are you okay?" the voice demanded.

"Yeah. It was just a nightmare."

"About--"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

"Wasn't your fault, man." Blair took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Does it ever get any easier, Jim?"

"Over time," was the whispered response. "Although you never truly get over this sort of loss. You just learn to move on."

Blair closed his eyes, ignoring the tear that dropped onto his hand. "Thank you," he whispered, suspecting what it'd cost Jim to share that bit of information with him.

"So what time should we meet today?" Jim finally asked, after a moment of silence.

"This evening. I want to get you more evidence."

"What?"

"I have pictures of most of the players, but they're moving the lab today. I want to be able to give you the new address as well."

"Moving the lab? What are you talking about?"

"The Golden lab." Blair frowned, trying to remember if he'd told Jim about the lab before, then realized he hadn't.

"Golden? Jesus, Chief."

"I'll call you tonight. Thanks for spending the night with me, Jim."

"Sandburg, don't you dare hang up."

"Bye, Jim," he said softly, putting the phone back on its cradle. He closed his eyes briefly, knowing the detective was going to be furious, but was beyond caring. These people had killed Eli and David, and probably even Syd. They were going down, even if it was the last thing he ever did.

Simon Banks approached his friend in the park and took note of the stooped shoulders and pale features. Silently, he sat next to his detective, and enjoyed the sunlight, even as his eyes scanned the park for any sign of danger.

"How are your senses?"

"They're okay."

"No spikes or black-outs."

"No, sir."

"What's going on?"

"It appears that Golden is the reason behind the professors' deaths."

Simon sucked in his breath. "Are you sure?"

"No. It's just something my informant told me in passing."

"Are you going to bring him in?"

Jim scrubbed his face with his palms, then lowered his elbows to his knees. "I don't know if that's the wisest course of action or not, sir."

Simon briefly laid his hands on his detective's back. "Talk to me, Jim."

Jim sat back and turned to face his captain. "I think the government may be involved."

"Good lord in heaven."

"He's convinced he's going to die; and at the moment, I'm not sure I can disagree with that assessment."

"So, he's legit?"

Jim nodded. "Even as we speak he's gathering more evidence to give us."

"What? He's a civilian!"

"I know." Jim raised his hands. "I've already done my raging."

"Shit. He's going to get himself killed." Simon took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "What do you want me to do, Jim?"

"We need people we can trust." Jim swallowed hard. "If I can bring him in with the evidence, we're going to have to move quick. I have no doubt we can catch the locals, but I'm afraid the feds might be able to escape if we aren't prepared. If they do, they're going to bury him."

"I know some people," Simon said quietly, trying to reassure his friend.

"Well enough to place his life in their hands?"

Simon sat back against the park bench and seriously contemplated his question. "Yes, I believe so."

"And locally?"

"Beverly Sanchez. Judge Leibrecht."

Jim nodded his approval.

"You're going to the mat with this one, aren't you?" Simon asked, knowing the answer before the detective spoke.

"Yes, sir."

"Why?" Simon knew that Jim would realize he was looking for an answer beyond that it was his job.

"These people have taken everything away from this kid, sir. Everything. And he's still fighting, still trying to do the right thing. God knows it would be easier for him just to run away, but he's not. How can I do any less?"

"You can't." Simon smiled. "At least and not be the Jim Ellison I've come to know and admire."

"Simon, compared to this kid, there's nothing to admire about me."

The captain patted his friend on the back, wondering if the bad guys even stood a chance between these two.

"Ellison."

"Jim?"

"Where in the hell have you been, Sandburg? I've been worried sick. It's after ten."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Where are you? No more fooling around. I want a damn address. I'm coming to get you right now."

"You don't need to do that, Jim."

Jim pulled on his jacket and moved to the table by the door and picked up his keys. "Don't even start with me, Sandburg. I'm not in the friggin mood. Just tell me where you--" He opened the front door, only to practically stumble over a man standing in front of him. "--are. Sandburg?" he asked, taking in the shorter man's compact body, his wild curly hair and large blue eyes.

The figure lowered the cell phone from his ear and smiled tentatively at him. "Hello, Jim."

Without another word, Jim looked up and down the hall, then pulled him into the loft and all but threw him against the now closed door. "Jesus, do you have any idea how worried I've been about you? What were you thinking, just going off half-cocked like that? What if you'd been caught?"

Blair blinked up at him, misery written all over his face. He seemed to shrink back, away from Jim's anger.

Jim closed his eyes briefly, then stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the younger man and pulled him close, tucking Blair's head under his chin. At first, Blair stood stiffly, but after a moment slowly brought his arms around Jim's waist and returned the hug, holding Jim tightly as if he would drown otherwise.

They stood for several minutes, neither of them saying a word nor moving. When he felt the kid begin to relax, he guided him to the couch, removed his backpack and gently pushed him back onto the couch. "You strike me as a tea person, Chief."

Blair smiled tiredly up at him. "Tea would be wonderful."

Jim took off his jacket and made the tea then moved back into the living room, not surprised to find the kid asleep. Quietly, he removed the student's shoes and laid him out on the couch, covering him with an old afghan.

Picking up the newspaper, he moved to the stuffed chair and waited.

"EEEELLLLLLIIIIIIII!"

Gentle hands pressed him against a wall of warm strength.

"You're okay. I've got you, Chief. You're okay," a voice murmured softly by his ear.

Jim.

"Oh, man," he whispered, trying desperately to ignore the quaver in his voice. "Sorry. I didn't mean to freak out like that." Blair opened his eyes and realized the side of his face was pressed into Jim's chest, his hands clutched at the back of Jim's shirt. He quickly released the shirt and pulled back, briefly noting that Ellison seemed reluctant to let him go.

"Don't beat yourself up, kid. I've been there and done that myself."

"What time is it?"

"About six."

"Oh, man, I'm sorry."

"Would you quit apologizing already? You definitely needed the sleep and I wasn't looking forward to jumping into things last night anyway. At least now we can look at things with a fresh eye."

Blair searched the face just a few inches away but couldn't detect any sign of insincerity. He nodded, which seemed to please Jim. "So what do we need to do first?" he asked.

The detective got off the edge of the couch. "Why don't you go take a shower and I'll get breakfast going."

Blair noted the playfulness in the older man's eyes and knew that Jim had forgone the opportunity to tease him.

"I hope that's not a comment about how I smell, Ellison."

Jim's eyes got big as he tried for innocent. "Now, Chief, I wasn't implying anything."

"Uh-huh."

Jim smirked, and Blair decided he really did like Detective James Ellison. There was just something very real about the man. He was also aware of a tentative connection between them, an ease he felt with very few people.

Maybe, just maybe, this would turn out okay after all.

Jim paced back and forth across the loft in front of the balcony window. He'd just gotten off the phone with Simon after having taken Sandburg's statement. A statement he would have laughed off if not for five bodies.

"I know it sounds insane," Blair said quietly from the stuffed chair, "but it's the truth."

Jim stopped and noted that the grad student had pulled his legs up and was laying his head on his knees, making himself as small as possible.

"I know it is, Chief. It's just...my God..."

"It does seem a little fantastical."

Jim moved to the couch and plopped down. "We couldn't even turn this into a movie of the week. No one would be willing to go that far out on a limb to suspend disbelief."

Blair sighed but didn't move.

"And you think Eli wanted you to write the novel to --"

"Bone up on my observation skills."

"Shit, Chief, if you bone up anymore on your observation skills, people are going to go running for the hills. You know, you'd make one hell of a detective."

Blair grinned brilliantly at him. "Well, our jobs aren't really that different, Jim. We both get paid to walk into a place and try to figure out what happened there." Blair shrugged. "It's just that the places I usually walk into are a few thousand years vacant or stuck in the middle of a jungle somewhere."

"But to make these connections."

"I didn't realize I was," Blair said, almost apologetically. "I mean, I've always been accused of having an overactive imagination. I think maybe Eli was wanting me to play with it for a bit instead of suppressing it. He's always telling me that I need to trust myself more." Blair paused sadly. "Was always telling me."

Jim closed his eyes, hearing a voice echo the same words back to him. Although he couldn't place the voice, he knew it wasn't his father's voice.

The aroma of cigar smoke tickled his nose, breaking him out of his reverie. "Simon's here."

"What? I didn't hear anything."

Jim pushed himself off the couch and walked to the front door. "Don't worry, Chief. We'll get through this. I trust Simon with my life." Jim waited until the student nodded before he opened the door.

Simon Banks and Beverly Sanchez leaned back in their wooden chairs and blinked as Blair finished his explanation for a second time. Beverly was ashamed to admit it, but if it hadn't been for the pictures Sandburg had gathered she would have been hard pressed to accept his story.

But the digital pictures left no doubt to the validity of his claims, at least the claims regarding the manufacturing of golden.

Letting out a deep sigh, she said, "I'll have the warrants ready before noon."

"I want to be there when it goes down," Sandburg said quietly.

"What?" Captain Banks shouted. "No way."

"It's my right," the young man said with firm determination, staring directly into the captain's face. "What else are you going to do with me? Put me in a safe house? And how safe will that be from the Feds?"

"He's got a point, Captain," Jim said, laying both hands on the kitchen table. "The safest place for him is going to be by my side."

"I don't like it," the captain protested.

Beverly noted that the detective was able to cut off the graduate student's protest by gently laying his hand over Sandburg's.

The captain looked at both men. "You'll accept responsibility for him?" he asked Ellison.

"Yes, sir."

"All right, but he stays in the truck."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Simon."

Beverly couldn't help but smile at the aggravated look the student gave Ellison. She looked once again at the pictures lying in front of her. God help her, she recognized two of the agents, had always thought of them as good men. She looked back at the men across the table. Who would have thought that an anthropology grad student would be responsible for taking down one of the most insidious drug cartels the Northwest had seen in the past decade? She shook her head and wondered what it would take to convince him to become a cop.

Well, technically, he was touching the truck, Blair thought semi-guiltily as he stood beside Jim's teal Ford F-150 and watched the detectives of Major Crimes and Vice storm the house which now housed the Golden lab. He could hear the police shout for everyone to get down, and jumped as two shots were fired from inside. The yelling increased, but he couldn't tell if anyone had been harmed or not.

He bounced nervously on the balls of his feet but matched the people being marched out of the house in handcuffs with his spreadsheet. All of the psychology and chemistry students had been accounted for, along with their professors.

Blair bit the inside of his cheek and gave silent thanks that Eli hadn't had a dishonest bone in his body. He knew, if he was honest with himself, that when he was younger he would have done anything that Eli had asked of him. A part of him almost felt sorry for the students.

Almost.

But he had lost everything he held dear in his life because of these students.

For the loss of Eli he would see to it that each and every one of them spent the rest of their lives rotting in jail.

A few minutes later, two of the FBI agents were also led out in cuffs.

Jim came out of the house in deep conversation with Simon .

"You only got two agents, Jim," Blair murmured to himself; however, Jim's head turned toward him. "Where are the other two?"

"Sandburg, get down!" Jim shouted frantically from across the street.

Blair instantly dropped to his hands and knees, just as the truck pinged where he had been standing. Flattening himself out, he rolled under the truck as Jim raced toward him with his weapon drawn.

He watched as Jim's feet stopped several yards away, and heard him fire three consecutive shots. One of the chemistry girls screamed, and Blair heard a heavy thud several feet away. Apparently, Jim had hit his target. There were more shouts as people converged on the area.

Jim knelt beside the Ford and looked under the truck. "Are you hit?"

"No," he whispered.

"Come on, buddy, let's get you out of there."

Blair nodded but was unable to move.

"Chief?"

Blair closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip, embarrassed by how badly he was shaking.

"It's okay, Blair," Jim said non-judgmentally.

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for, especially if you consider the week you've been having."

Blair's chest heaved once in a silent laugh. "It has been a little rougher than usual."

Jim chuckled. "A gross understatement if I ever heard one. "

Blair turned his head and looked into the detective's understanding face.

"We're in no hurry, Sandburg. We can stay here as long as you need."

"Are you going to think less of me if I actually take you up on that offer?"

Jim shrugged and Blair noted the teasing look in the blue eyes. "I'll probably think of you as some self-serving, spineless goober."

Blair smiled. "I can probably live with that." He took several deep breaths and let them out slowly, until his heart quit trying to escape through his chest. "Okay," he whispered finally, and scooted toward Jim, letting the detective help him to his feet.

Jim drew him close and held him tight for a moment before letting go. "It's almost over, Chief."

Blair closed his eyes. Once again, he had cheated death. A small part of him wondered why he was fighting it so hard. His mother's face flashed in front of him. He almost snorted in laughter. Naomi had only been on the peripheral edge of his life for several years now. She would be sad if something happened to him, but then again it would give her an opportunity to go back to Nepal and meditate. He shook himself, willing himself to stop his morbid thoughts. "I just want to go..."

"Home?"

Blair nodded his head in despair as he realized he no longer had a home.

Simon walked up to them. "That was a damn fine shot, Ellison," he grumbled.

"Thank you, sir."

Blair tried to focus back on the situation at hand. "There's still one fed missing."

"Wilson," Jim supplied. "Your fake arson investigator."

Simon nodded. "We'll put out an APB on him. I'll send Brown and Taylor to his house and I think it's time we had a talk with Claggett."

"Who?" Blair asked, confused.

"The FBI's Head of Operations in Cascade," Jim explained quietly.

Simon looked down at Blair and frowned, though not unkindly. "Jim, why don't you take the kid back to the station and get a head start on the paperwork."

"Will do, sir."

Blair sighed as Jim gently guided him into the truck. Looking into the detective's face he got the impression that Jim was treating him like glass. He focused on his reflection in the passenger window as the door closed and noted that he really did look like hell. He felt stronger than he looked, didn't he? Was he really that close to the edge?

Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead to the glass, wondering what he would do when this was all over.

Police work, Blair decided, was nowhere near as glamorous as it appeared on television. He chuckled quietly to himself. He always thought he had a lot of paperwork to fill out when he applied for a grant, but police work could easily take second place. Jim had sat him at the end of his desk, cleared a space for his laptop, and told him to type down everything he knew -- the more details the better, he'd said.

Blair had almost laughed. If Jim wanted details, he would give him details. He was an anthropologist after all.

"Is this Major Crimes?" a voice interrupted his reverie.

Blair blinked, looking around the deserted bullpen. He glanced at the clock and was startled to realize that it was after nine. When had everyone gone home?

"Yeah, it is." Blair stretched his neck to one side and sighed when he heard the bones pop. "Everyone seems to be out at the minute though."

"No problem." The teenager put several pizza boxes on the corner of Jim's desk. "I can leave them here."

"Who ordered? I'll see if they have the money ready."

The teenager grinned. "It's already been paid for. There's a card on top."

Curiosity got to him and Blair opened the card. 'To the hard-working officers of Major Crime -- Continued success. Chief of Police Warren.' Wow, that's pretty cool." Blair grinned, then sobered when he saw the kid shift nervously back and forth on his feet.

The tip. Of course. Blair reached into his pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill. "I'm sorry, it's all I have."

"Don't worry about it," the kid said, accepting the money. "Have a good evening."

Blair sat down for a moment. He really shouldn't take a piece, after all it wasn't for him. He wasn't a cop. But it smelled so good, and he hadn't eaten since breakfast. He took a deep breath.

One piece.

One piece couldn't hurt.

Jim opened Simon's office door and looked out into the bullpen and frowned. Where was Sandburg? He immediately noticed the stack of pizza boxes on the corner of his desk.

"What's this?" Simon asked from behind him. "Pizza? All right. I'm starving."

Jim's frown intensified as he neared his desk. He gave Simon a little shove as they neared the food. "What's that smell?"

"Pizza, you idiot." Simon laughed as he reached for the stack.

Jim pushed his hand away. "Don't touch those, sir."

"And why the hell not?"

"They smell strange." He sniffed again, then straightened in horror. "They smell like that Golden sample we got from Sneaks."

"What?" Simon immediately pulled a pen from the pocket of his sports jacket and lifted the lid of the top box. "Jim, someone's eaten a piece."

Jim felt his heart slide down into his stomach. "Where's Sandburg?"

Simon punched several numbers into a nearby phone. "This is Captain Banks, Major Crimes! I need a HazMat disposal team up here. Stat!"

Henri Brown came barreling into the bullpen. "Jim!"

"Brown, have you seen Sandburg?"

"Yeah, we just got a call about a jumper on our roof. It's Sandburg!"

Jim scrambled toward the stairwell, even as he heard Simon advise Brown about the pizza.

Jim's legs went weak as he burst through the roof's door and noticed Sandburg standing on the corner ledge of the building. Despite the overwhelming urge to shout, he moved quietly toward the graduate student, and whispered, "Hey, Chief."

Blair gasped and spun around, wobbling precariously on the ledge. "Jim."

"What's going on, buddy?" Jim asked calmly, although his entire body was screaming at him to act.

"Eli," the younger man said in a broken, hoarse voice.

"What about Eli?"

"He's l-leaving m-me again."

"What do you mean again, Chief?"

"He b-blames me for his d-death," Blair gasped in a choking cry. "I tried to explain, t-tried to tell him, but he and D-David keep w-walking. I need to m-make him understand."

"Where are they going?" Jim asked as he inched forward, the memory of Lisa Hughes' face rearing up in his mind, threatening to paralyze him.

Blair threw his arm and pointed toward the ocean, and Jim started forward, but slowed when Blair straightened.

"JESUS!" Simon bellowed as soon as he came through the door. Jim waved his hand behind him, indicating that he needed to stay put and quiet.

"He says he'll give m-me a chance to explain, but that I need to g-go to him. B-But I can't, Jim. I can't. I'm afraid."

"Well, why don't you come down here, Chief, and I'll drive you to him."

Blair's body shook with silent laughter. "It d-doesn't work that way, Jim. I just need to have faith. He k-keeps telling me to have f-faith." Blair turned and looked back toward the city and the ocean in the distance.

"What about your expedition, Sandburg? Your doctorate. Surely Eli wants you to finish those things before you join him."

"They d-don't mean anything, Jim. I was only d-doing them for him, to make him p-proud of me, to make my f-father proud," Blair cried softly.

Jim was desperate. "What about your sentinel? The one Incacha told you about."

"The one w-who lives in the G-Great City?"

"Yeah."

Blair wiped the tears from his eyes. "Yeah, but which G-Great City? Los Angeles? New-New York? Hell, c-compared to the j-jungles of P-Peru, Twisp l-looks like a thriving m-metropolis. Besides w-what do I k-know about being a g-guide."

"You just need to have faith in yourself, Chief."

"That's w-what Eli keeps t-telling me. So, you t-think I should go?"

"NO!" Jim shouted. "I mean, you need to stay here and find your sentinel."

"One m-man with heightened s-senses in the United S-States, if Incacha w-was even t-talking about the S-States. I can't do it, Jim. I c-can't find him."

Jim swallowed hard. "What if you already have?"

Blair turned slowly and looked down at him. "W-What are you s-saying, Jim?"

"I have heightened senses, Chief."

Blair's laugh was a touch on the hysterical side. "S-Sure you do."

Jim rubbed both hands over his face, then clasped his fingers and rested them against his forehead. After a moment, he said, "Test me."

"H-How?" Blair cried out in frustration, his eyes turning back toward the horizon, as if trying to judge how far away Eli was.

"Turn toward Eli and whisper something," Jim said with sudden inspiration.

Blair shrugged, but complied. "I'm t-tired of b-being afraid."

Jim closed the distance between them and put one hand on Blair's leg. "I know you are, Chief, but death isn't the answer."

"Eli says I have to have f-faith," Blair mumbled quietly, holding out one hand entreatingly, as if reaching toward his deceased mentor.

"Have faith in me, Chief. Have faith in us. We can get through this...together."

Blair wobbled a bit. "I d-don't feel so g-good, Jim."

Jim reached up and wrapped his hands around the grad student's waist and lowered him to the ground.

"I d-don't feel g-good at all," Blair whispered, and collapsed onto the gravel roof.

Jim hugged the unconscious man close to his chest. "Simon, we need a medic!!"

"How's he doing, Jim?" Simon asked as he stepped into the private hospital room.

"He's been fading in and out, sir. More out, than in. The doctor says it's going to take a while for the drug to work completely through his system."

Simon looked into the weary face of his friend. "Has it been rough?"

Jim rubbed one hand over his face and straightened in his chair. "He keeps begging Eli to forgive him, like he's actually done something wrong. His voice..."

Simon sat in the chair beside his detective. "If it's any consolation, we got Wilson."

"What? How?"

"He turned himself into his director, apparently hoping for sanctuary, trying to pretend it had all been some sort of huge misunderstanding. He apparently forgot that Claggett's sister works in our file room, during the night shift, and would've probably eaten a piece of pizza. He's going down so long, he may never see the light of day again."

"Why'd he do it?"

"He was hoping to take out all the witnesses, trying to hit us where it hurt. We're very lucky on this one. We barely dodged the bullet. When I think of how many people could have been killed..."

Jim looked over at the sleeping figure, and Simon noted the oxygen tube was still affixed to the student's face.

"I don't think Sandburg will find any comfort in that," Jim said quietly.

"Actually, Jim, Sandburg strikes me as the type of person who would find extreme comfort in the fact that no one else was injured." Simon took a deep breath and released it slowly. "I've already spoken to Social Services. They're going to help get the kid back on his feet. Being a college student, he didn't have renter's insurance, of course; but I've talked with the Chief and he agrees that we can take a chunk out of the victim's fund to help get him resettled." Simon laid one hand on his detective's arm, trying to give some measure of comfort.

"All he has, literally, are the clothes on his back, his cell phone, his laptop, six discs, an old book, a photo album and a digital camera."

"Praise God he had that camera," Simon said with a small smile. "The kid's a wonder, that's for sure."

"That he is, sir."

"So, do you think there's any chance we can talk him into being a cop?"

Blair finished buttoning the rest of his shirt as Debbie, his day nurse, entered the room.

"Hey, Sugar, you ready to get out of here?" she asked, handing him a small stack of papers to sign.

Blair grinned. "Yes. Not that I didn't enjoy the company, but..." He accepted the pen and started signing his name in all the appropriate places.

"It's the food, isn't it? I keep telling Helen if we improved the food people might stay a tad longer."

Blair laughed at the small joke, then handed the stack of papers back to her and picked up his backpack. "Well, if you guys would only lower your nightly rates a bit..."

Debbie smiled back. "So who's coming to pick you up?"

Blair shook his head. "No one."

"What? Not even that detective of yours?"

Blair frowned. "Jim?"

"Why do you sound so surprised, Sugar? He was here the entire time you were unconscious. He rarely left your side."

Blair smiled self-consciously at her. "That's because I was under police protection."

"And you're not now?" Debbie asked, confused.

"No. They caught all the bad guys or at least that's what Captain Banks told me yesterday." Blair hiked his backpack over his shoulder. "Who do I need to talk to about making some sort of payment arrangement for my stay?"

Debbie blinked. "Sugar, the Cascade PD is picking up your entire bill."

"Oh?" Blair let that thought sink in for a moment. "Wow. Okay. That's...that's really nice." He shook his head, trying to absorb the generous action. "Well, I guess I should be going. Thank you for everything, Debbie."

"And just where do you think you're going, young man?" Debbie asked, hands on her hips.

"Out?" Blair asked confused.

"Not without a wheelchair you aren't."

"Debbie, it doesn't make any sense to push me to the curb only for me to walk a block to the bus station."

"But it's against hospital..."

"Please," Blair asked quietly.

"Would you take a look at those puppy dog eyes," she said, admiringly.

Blair turned the intensity up a bit.

"Oh, all right. Get out of here." She shooed him with her hands. "I'd feel better if you'd call your detective though."

"Call him what?" he asked innocently.

"Oh, you!" Debbie laughed as she opened the door and escorted him out of the room.

Ellison jumped back into his truck. "Damn that kid," he whispered to himself.

The nurse had told him that Blair had a fifteen minute head start on him. She seemed relieved to know that someone was actually planning on looking after her 'special' patient.

He breathed out in frustration when he saw the bus pull away from the curb, but relaxed when he saw the dejected figure sitting under the bus kiosk. Slowing the truck, he lowered the passenger side window and stopped.

"Hey, Chief, need a lift?"

Blair blinked up at him. "Hey, Jim."

"Need a lift, kid?" he repeated.

The student seemed to hesitate.

"I have the afternoon off," Jim offered, letting the grad student know he wasn't imposing upon his time.

"Well, I could use a ride to my bank," Blair said hesitantly.

"Hop in then."

Blair's smile was brilliant. "Okay, thanks, man." He opened the door and climbed into the truck.

"Where to?"

"Rainier Credit Union. Do you know where it is?"

Jim nodded. They rode in silence for several minutes. Jim covertly looked over at Blair, who seemed to be lost in thought. "So where are you going to be staying, Chief?"

"I...uh...I don't know yet. Most of my friends are out of town. I was supposed to be out of town myself."

"So the expedition is canceled?"

Blair nodded. "Yes. I'm not surprised though. Not really. While I can second an expedition, we really can't do it without Eli. He's the one who got the funding, the one who was doing the primary research. Without him..."

"Do you have any family in town?" Jim asked, after they had lapsed into silence again.

"No."

Jim pulled the truck into the credit union's parking lot and turned off the ignition. "You could always stay with me until you got on your feet."

Blair smiled warmly at him. "That's not necessary, Jim. We Sandburgs always land on our feet." He got out of the truck and Jim joined him as they walked into the credit union.

Blair ran his hands back through his hair. "So, the foundation took the money back out last week?"

"I'm sorry, Blair," the bank officer said quietly.

He shook his head slightly. "Don't be. I was sort of expecting it actually. I mean, if there isn't an expedition, they shouldn't have to pay, right?" When Sarah reluctantly nodded, he asked again in a quieter voice, "How much do I have in the account now?"

"Three hundred fifty-four dollars and seventy-three cents."

Blair swallowed hard. "Okay," he whispered. "Let's withdraw three hundred."

"How do you want that?"

"Twenties will be fine."

Blair let his eyes drift to the lobby where Jim was reading a magazine and let out a long slow breath. Three hundred dollars. Of course, he owed one-fifty for the repairs on the Corvair. He looked at his watch. There was no way he was going to make it to the mechanic's before they closed, which meant picking it up tomorrow, which meant he'd have to get a hotel room instead of sleeping in his car.

Hopefully, he could track Naomi down tonight with only a few calls.

`Well, Blair Sandburg,' he thought to himself, `you may have officially hit rock bottom.'

Jim pulled his truck into his normal parking space. "We're here, Chief." He watched the groggy grad student take in his surroundings and frown.

"Jim, we're at your place."

"Correctomundo, my young friend. While Chez Ellison is known for it's cramped quarters, it is also known for its exquisite dining," he said with a really bad French accent.

He watched the emotions flit over Blair's face; relief, stubbornness, sadness, pride, and finally, acceptance.

"I don't want to put you out."

"I wouldn't have offered if it would have."

"I can't pay you much at the moment, but--"

"Not another word, Chief. This one is on me. Ah Ah," he cut off the student's protest before it could fully form. "You'll stay with me until you're on your feet. I insist."

Blair nervously licked his lips. "Okay, but I refuse to impose on you longer than a week."

"Deal."

Blair couldn't remember the last time he was warm and had a full stomach. Jim had cleared out the spare room which he said he used primarily for storage. They had worked in companionable silence moving things down into the basement. Blair had protested, stating he was only going to be there for a week, but Jim was having none of it. When they were done, they made some stir-fry and were now sitting in front of Jim's fireplace.

A memory kept teasing the edges of his mind. He was loathe to break the comfortable silence, but he hated mysteries.

"Jim?"

The detective hummed at him, indicating he'd been heard even if Jim hadn't opened his eyes.

"When we were on the roof...at the station..." he drifted off, not sure how to approach his topic.

Jim smiled but still didn't open his eyes. "I was wondering how long it would take you to remember."

"So it's true?"

"Yes."

"All five?"

"Yeah."

"Wow."

"Wow?" Jim straightened a little and finally opened his eyes. "I figured you'd be champing at the bit to run me through a series of tests."

Blair grinned. "Well, the thought had crossed my mind."

"But?" Jim asked when he remained quiet.

The smile faded from Blair's face.

"Chief?"

"What's the point?"

"Pardon me?"

Blair took a small sip of beer. "I couldn't do my thesis on you."

Jim sat up on the couch. "Why not? Aren't I the living embodiment of your studies?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah, but you're a cop."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning, I couldn't publish my findings; at least, and not compromise your safety. What would happen if the city's criminals knew you were a sentinel? While your senses are your strength, man, they can also be used against you. Plus, think of what a good lawyer could do with that sort of evidence."

"Maybe you could write it so no one would know it was me."

"Get real, Jim. In order to do this right, I'd have to get a ride-along pass to observe you on the job. I mean, it wouldn't take a genius to put two and two together and come up with you. I've already lost two friends because of my writing, do I really have to lose a third?"

Jim took a sip of his beer. "I see your point."

Blair smiled. "I sort of figured you would."

"Would you, at least, help me get control of them?"

Blair sat up, twisting on the couch to face his friend. "Get control of them? You mean you don't have control?"

Jim shook his head. "I get spikes all the time, which are practically debilitating. That's not to mention the almost fugue-like states I sometimes fall into. Those seem to be getting worse lately or they were before you came along."

"Oh, man. That's probably because you're concentrating too hard on one sense at a time. We need to figure out a way to teach you to tap your other senses to balance you out. Plus, we'll probably need to find you a guide."

"A guide?"

Blair nodded, starting to feel a little excitement burn in his stomach. "You see, Burton--"

"Burton?"

"Richard Burton, the explorer, not the actor, was the one who coined the phrase sentinel in western terms. He said in his book... Hey, hold on a second." Blair put his beer bottle on the coaster, jumped up from the sofa, ran into his room and grabbed his backpack. He moved quickly back into the living room and gently removed the ancient book, then handed it to Jim. "This is a monograph Burton did about sentinels in Paraguay. It's about a hundred years old. Anyway, Burton says that each sentinel had someone who watched his back, kept him from having zone outs, that's what he calls your fugue states. You need someone you can trust, a partner on the job who understands what you're going through."

Jim paged carefully through the book, skimming and looking at the pictures. "Why couldn't you be my partner?"

"Because I'm not a cop."

"You could become one."

Blair shook his head. "Jim, let me lay my cards on the table. After tomorrow morning, I will have exactly one hundred and fifty dollars to my name after I pick up my car, a laptop, my cell phone and this book, along with my research which is in my office, if the members of the Golden ring didn't trash it as well. And quite frankly, I'm not holding my breath on that front. I have no job prospects until school starts and the money I was counting on to pay for my school was wrapped up in the expedition which, as you know, has been pulled. Not only that, but I have a shit load of student loans coming due if I can't somehow get my act together. And even if I could somehow pass the police department requirements, I refuse to cut my hair and I hate guns."

"Most detectives go their whole careers without firing their service revolvers," Jim countered.

"But you aren't most detectives, are you, Jim? You're a protector. You're genetically designed to put yourself on the line. How many times have you fired your weapon?" When Jim remained silent, he continued, "You need someone you can trust to watch your back in dangerous situations."

Blair watched as Jim swallowed hard and put the monograph down on the coffee table. "What I need, Chief," he said quietly, "is you."

Blair opened his mouth to protest, but Jim raised a hand to cut him off. "I understand what you're saying, Sandburg. I do. And while Simon knows about my senses, I haven't come across anyone besides you with whom I feel comfortable sharing this information. Ever since we spoke on the phone for the first time, I've felt a connection to you, a bond I couldn't understand." Jim stood and began pacing beside the coffee table. "You told me yourself that Incacha told you to find your sentinel. Somehow he knew, he knew, we were destined to meet."

"Jim--"

The sentinel turned and stared at him.

Blair took in a shuddering breath. "I have nothing to offer you."

"Except your knowledge, your companionship, your..." Jim turned away and walked toward the balcony windows.

Blair stood and hesitantly closed the distance between them, placing one hand on Jim's back. "My what?" Blair asked quietly, afraid that Jim wouldn't answer, afraid that he would.

The sentinel turned slowly and Blair was aware he hadn't dropped his hand, which now covered Jim's heart. "My what?" he repeated.

Jim's blue eyes searched his face. Blair was unable to move, hypnotized by the intense emotions in Jim's gaze.

"Am I wrong?" the sentinel asked in a whisper.

Blair shook his head. Jim leaned down and tenderly brushed his mouth over Blair's. Blair closed his eyes and swayed closer, surprised by the softness of Jim's lips.

When they parted, Blair looked up at him and said softly, "You know, statistically speaking, relationships based on intense emotional experiences rarely last."

Jim smiled. "So we'll take it slow and let the emotions mellow out."

"I'll drive you crazy."

Jim took his hand and led him to the stairs. "I think I can cope."

Blair rose through the layers of sleep cognizant of the fact he was surrounded by warmth.

Jim, he thought with a smile.

Jim's chest was plastered to his back, Jim's right leg draped over both of his, his left leg pressed tightly against the back of Blair's legs, Jim's right arm laid in the center of Blair's chest, his fingers resting on Blair's collarbone.

Cocooned in safety.

Blair couldn't remember the last time he had felt so safe or loved.

He'd been surprised when they hadn't made love the night before, but also relieved. How does one tell your blessed protector that while the spirit is willing the body was quite a different matter?

As gently as he could, he turned and faced his sentinel.

His sentinel.

If only he could tell Eli. Eli had been the only person who had encouraged him in his quest to find a sentinel; he suspected in large part because of Incacha's impromptu visit in Peru. While other professors suggested he find another thesis subject, Eli had spoken just as passionately about sticking to his guns.

He now had his sentinel, but he didn't have Eli.

He felt the tears burn tracks down his face.

The arms around him tightened, and Jim's lips softly brushed over his hair.

"It's okay, babe. Let it all out. Don't worry, I'll catch you."

And for the first time, Blair Sandburg truly gave himself over to his grief.

Just as Jim and Blair stepped off the elevator onto the seventh floor, Jim became aware of a man in a dark suit reaching out to grab Sandburg. Instinctively, he moved, throwing the man against the wall, pressing his forearm to the attacker's throat. The man paled significantly, gasping for breath, ineffectually clawing at Jim's arm.

"Jim. You need to let him go, man. You need to calm down." Jim became aware of Sandburg's soft voice whispering to him, a hand stroking his back, trying to pacify him.

Jim loosened his arm, allowing the graduate student to pull him back a step.

"What in the HELL is going on out here?" Banks roared from the doorway of Major Crimes.

"This person," Jim snarled at the trembling man against the wall, "tried to grab Sandburg as we got off the elevator."

When all eyes turned to the man in question, the dark haired man nervously pushed himself off the wall and straightened his suit. "My name is Peter Goodwin. I'm an attorney with Thomson, Mag and Steiner. I'm here on behalf of the estate of Eli Stoddard. I've been trying to get a hold of Mr. Sandburg for a couple of days now. I apologize for my abrupt movements, but once I had him in my sights, I didn't want to lose him again." Turning to Blair, he asked, "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

Blair looked questioningly at Jim, who in turn looked at Simon.

"Take this into Interrogation Room One. And Jim, no more violence today, okay?" With that, Simon turned and moved back to his office.

Jim led the men to the appropriate room. He opened the door and stood to one side, glaring at the attorney as he squeezed by. Blair grinned up at him, laying a reassuring hand on his chest.

"I'll be at my desk," Jim said quietly, but Blair's hand clenched in the front of his shirt. "Or I could stay."

Blair only nodded.

The young lawyer had already seated himself at the table when Jim shut the door behind him. Goodwin blanched when he noted Jim's presence, but continued to play with the papers in front of him.

"Mr. Sandburg, again, I wish to extend my apologies for the way I approached you."

"No harm," Blair whispered, taking a seat.

Jim leaned against the door and crossed his arms.

Goodwin cleared his throat once. "As you know, Dr. Stoddard's wife and child died in an automobile accident a number of years ago." Blair nodded. "Dr. Stoddard had no other living relatives. As such, when you reached the age of majority, he made the decision to make you his sole heir."

"What?" Blair whispered. Jim moved up behind him and gently laid his hand on his shoulder.

"Dr. Stoddard's entire estate is yours. It includes his home, his vehicles, his research, basically everything. With his various life insurance policies, it comes to roughly two point one million dollars."

"What? I can't...I can't..."

"He wrote you a letter. Every year, he would revise it. Ironically, he had revised it only two weeks before his death." Goodwin slid a cream colored envelope across the table. "I can see I've clearly overwhelmed you. I think we can work on the rest of the probate after you've had some time to digest everything. Here's my card and the keys to his house. I know your warehouse was destroyed during the recent unpleasantness. There's no reason not to move in right away." Goodwin slid the various items across the table. "Please give me a call at your convenience. Again, my apologies for the misunderstanding." With that, the attorney stood up, put his papers back into his briefcase and left.

Jim was aware of his departure, but never took his eyes off the shaking student. Blair looked at the envelope containing Stoddard's letter as if it were a serpent prepared to strike.

Jim sat in the chair beside Blair. "You don't have to read it now, Chief."

The student looked over at him, his eyes silently begging for that which he couldn't verbalize.

"Would you like me to read it to you?"

Blair nodded.

Jim slid the envelope in front of himself and carefully opened it, then pulled out the letter and unfolded it.

"My dear boy," Jim read. "No one likes to think about their own mortality, but if I've learned anything from Diedra and Caitlin's passing, it's that death can happen at any time and it's best to be prepared. You will never know what a godsend you were to me, son. I had only lost my girls six months before you came barreling into my life. I had been determined to find my way to hell through the bottom of an alcohol bottle. Then suddenly, there you were, talking and jabbering and never quite letting me out of your sight. You forced me to live, to take an interest in anthropology again. You were a giant sponge hungry for knowledge, not only for anthropology, but life as well. Your eagerness and enthusiasm and belief in the goodness of people never failed to amaze me. You were, quite literally, the son Diedra and I never had."

Jim swallowed and looked at Blair, knowing what these words meant to the student. "By now some attorney has told you that I'm leaving everything to you. I hope you aren't too shocked. I know you, Blair. You're probably making a hundred excuses why you can't accept this last bequest. Well, knock it off."

Jim grinned at Blair briefly before returning to the letter. "You and I have talked about various things over the years. You know what my wishes are, not only for my personal effects but for you as well. Blair, my dear boy, my sweet son, your love has sustained me through the years. I am who I am, have achieved what I have achieved because of your unwavering faith in me. Take my love and my faith in you and find your sentinel, fulfill your destiny, grab the brass ring with both hands and never let go. Eli."

Jim carefully refolded the letter and put it back in the envelope and handed it to the trembling student.

After several moments of silence, Blair whispered, "He knew."

"He knew," Jim confirmed. "Come on, Chief. Let's see what reports Simon needs us to sign then go take a look at your new home."

Blair knew what to expect as he opened the door to Eli's home. Hell, he'd lived in the beautiful, rambling house on and off for the past nine years. In fact, he had been getting ready to move his stuff back in, in preparation for the expedition and the six months they were going to be out of the country. However, he found himself anxious to see Jim's reaction.

Eli loved high ceilings and plants. The whole house had a light airy feeling to it, giving the impression of stumbling into a professor's paradise. Built in-bookcases lined wall after wall of the old house. The kitchen was huge and had all the modern conveniences. Blair remembered parties with friends and faculty which never left the cooking area.

He watched expectantly as Jim took in the greenhouse which was attached to the house. He could practically see the muscles in Jim's back and shoulders relax. It was the perfect place for a sentinel to unwind at the end of a long day.

"This is spectacular," Jim said quietly, walking toward Blair from the back of the greenhouse.

"Move in with me," Blair blurted out.

Jim stopped, shock registering on his face.

A part of Blair was horrified that he had made such a request, while another part of him wanted to launch into all the reasons why Jim should move in with him, wanted to talk so fast that Jim couldn't possibly reject him; but instead, he simply whispered, "Please."

Jim moved silently toward him, stopping when they were mere inches apart, and bringing his hands up underneath Blair's hair, massaging the back of his neck. But instead of speaking, like Blair was expecting, Jim lowered his head and brushed his lips over Blair's, tenderly at first, but the kiss slowly turned hungry, powerful.

Blair frantically tugged Jim's shirt out of his pants and skimmed his hands up the broad chest, tweaking the nubs he found. Jim growled approvingly and gently pushed Blair back through the house, never releasing his lips.

Blair felt the back of his legs hit the large sofa and turned, maneuvering so Jim had to sit on the couch, then gently pushed until the sentinel was completely on his back. Blair toed off his shoes, but never stopped his exploration of the sweet mouth beneath him.

He lowered his body over Jim's until he completely covered him. Jim pulled back for a moment and looked up at him, his eyelids half closed in passion.

"Is that a yes?" Blair whispered, desperately needing to hear the sentinel's answer.

Jim's face started to show signs of playfulness; but halted, his eyes growing serious. "I think...I think I'd like that."

"Well, okay, then. Maybe we should..."

"Shut up, Chief," Jim murmured, raising up on his elbows and ravaging Blair's mouth. Blair wiggled to get into a better position and moaned when he realized their bodies were in alignment.

Blair swallowed hard, and thrust downward ever so slowly. Jim shuddered beneath him, arching upward. Blair leaned down and gently bit the exposed throat. Jim gasped and Blair scraped his teeth along Jim's neck and sucked tenderly on the sentinel's Adam's apple, even as he scraped his fingers down Jim's cloth-covered side.

The sentinel growled but parted his legs, and Blair backed off slightly to look at Jim's face, his hair surrounding them, providing them a safe haven where only they existed. Jim brought his knees up carefully and planted his feet flat on the couch, then pushed upward, daring Blair to push him back down again. Blair thrust downward, answering the challenge. They slowly found a rhythm of moving against each other, then separating, only to be drawn together. They moved with such incredible slowness that Blair lost all rational thought. His whole world became about sensation, about touch, about his connection with Jim.

He could hear the friction of their jeans, could feel the heat between them intensify, the need to release slowly growing. He grunted softly with each thrust, frustrated by his inability to crawl inside Jim. He began to move faster.

"Come on, babe, come on," Jim encouraged, scratching Blair's back, biting at his chest. Blair thrust harder, racing toward the edge of control.

"Jim," he cried out.

"I'll catch you. Let it go."

And he did, thrusting against the sentinel, crying out with his release, hearing Jim's voice join his, losing himself in the colors of the world as they melded together. He collapsed on top of Jim, then slid to one side, nuzzling the older man's chest as Jim turned and cocooned him against the back of the couch.

Wrapped in the warmth and safety of his sentinel, he drifted to sleep.

Jim hummed softly as he watched his beautiful lover nap. He smiled to himself. Blair would probably scoff at the very idea that Jim considered him beautiful; but what amazed Jim was that the graduate student was not only beautiful of body, but of mind and spirit as well. There was a definite calming aura about the man, despite the fact that Jim suspected he wasn't normally as calm in nature as he'd been since Jim knew him. There was something in Blair that suggested high energy, someone who burned the candle at both ends, someone whose mind was constantly on the go. While many people considered Jim fairly stoic, he personally couldn't wait to see what Blair's true nature was and to discover whether or not he could keep up.

He finally gave in to his need to touch the mouth beneath him. His fingers skimmed just over the surface to begin with, but when that didn't get a reaction, he finally traced the full lips. Blair moaned and Jim felt a heat race to his groin.

"Hey," he whispered, when Blair's eyes finally fluttered open.

Blair's hands twitched on Jim's hips and the student drew their bodies closer, until they could feel their need for each other again. "Hey," Blair finally responded, his voice husky with passion.

"As much as I enjoyed this, I'm thinking I'd like to be a little more --"

"Bare?"

"Yeah, bare, for round two."

"Works for me." Blair leaned up and kissed Jim's chin, then gently pushed Jim, indicating he needed to get off the couch.

Jim wavered slightly as he stood, trying to get his bearings, then helped Blair off the couch. Once on his feet, Blair lifted Jim's hand, turned it, and kissed the inner wrist. Jim felt his breath catch. Dear lord, thank you for blessing me with this sensual creature, he prayed quietly.

Never releasing his hand, Blair headed toward the stairs. "I've been thinking."

"Oh, oh. Should I be worried?"

Blair stopped on the bottom stair and turned to face Jim. "Yeah, I think you should." The grad student gently kissed his forehead, then turned to walk up the stairs, but Jim stopped him, tugging lightly on his hand. Blair looked over his shoulder. "What?"

"What were you thinking?"

Blair smiled tenderly at him as he turned around to face him. "I was thinking I'd like to go ahead and finish my doctorate...on closed police societies. You know, maybe find a detective who'd let me ride along for a while to observe him in the field."

Jim grinned in response. "That's not a bad idea? Do you know any cops?"

"One or two."

"Better only be one."

"But if I only talk to one cop it might make it hard for me to write about the concept of the thin blue line," the student said with serious eyes.

"You're kidding me, right? Tell me you're kidding."

Blair blinked innocently at him.

"Sandburg," he growled.

Blair's laughter wrapped around Jim's heart.

"That wasn't funny."

"It was hysterical. You should have seen your face."

Jim stepped up onto the same stair as his lover. "It wasn't exactly my face I was hoping you wanted to see at the moment."

"Your face is exactly what I want to be seeing when we're together."

Jim moaned, leaning forward and resting his forehead on Blair's shoulder. Blair took his hand again and led him up the stairs.

"Come on, lover," Blair whispered. "I sense this is just the beginning of a beautiful partnership."

Jim groaned over the pun.

"What? Oh, come on. Not only was that funny but topical as well. Sense. Get it? I should get points for that, at least."

Jim followed his partner up the stairs, smiling. This was, indeed, the beginning of a beautiful partnership.

End A Golden Opportunity by Dolimir: Dolimir@aol.com

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Disclaimer: The Sentinel is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount.