Archive of Our Own ^beta

Author's website: http://www.visionsofprettyboys.com
It all belongs to whoever the heck owns Sentinel. And that's not me. Except when I go off my meds, then I'm sure they belong to me. Don't they? I think they have more fun with me, that's for sure. By the way, all honor and praise to Danny and Paul for creating two characters that are so much fun to play with.
Thanks to the writers of this ep, as I am using a bit of it to get things rolling: Joseph J*hnson and Tom F*dge. And a special thanks to all my fab betas: Joolz, Trish, Hawthorn, Prentice, Morr, and Susan. What would I do without you????
Kind of a mystical/fantasy type story so if that's not your thing just move along.

The Wish

Blair stumbled up the stairs, keeping his balance with a firm hold on the banister. It had been a long day, and he couldn't wait to get home. He sincerely hoped Jim was in a better mood. Recalling all his repressed childhood memories about Bud and his murder had been rough on Jim. Despite the fact that it had helped them solve both the recent murder and one from the past, Jim had been grouchy, and more than happy to share his misery with anyone within glare range.

Blair sighed and unlocked the door, finding it dark within. "Jim?" He'd seen Jim's truck downstairs and assumed he'd be home.

A grunt came at him from the sofa.

Brows furrowed, Blair moved to the couch and stared down at his partner. "Jim?"

Bleary eyes slowly opened and a dopey grin appeared on Jim's face. A breath-stealing waft of alcohol made its way to Blair's nose.

"You're drunk," Blair stated, astonished. Jim never got drunk. Control was way too important to his friend to ever lose it like this. "What happened? Oh, God, did your dad...is your dad...?" He couldn't even ask the question. Mr. Ellison had seemed fine. The last time he'd seen him, as Blair had walked away with Simon, he'd been hugging Jim.

Jim let out an unhappy laugh. "My father." He shook his head, then took another long drink from his current beer bottle.

Blair sat down next to Jim. "Jim, talk to me."

"He knew. My father knew. All this time."

"Knew what?" What could be so bad as to knock Jim for such a loop? "What did he know?"

"About my senses. I knew stuff that could have helped them find Bud's killers, but my father..." Shaking his head again, Jim finished up the beer. "Want one?" he asked as he shakily got to his feet.

"No, and I think you've had enough, big guy. Sit down and talk to me." He tugged on Jim's arm. "Come on, sit."

Jim shook him off and veered toward the kitchen, listing to the right. He bounced off the end of the couch and made it to the structural beam by the kitchen and leaned against it, his eyes closed. "He knew."

"Yeah, I get that." One more thing to add to the list of what-suckedabout -Jim's-life. It was a long list. "How did you find out?"

"He told me. He told me it scared him, that it made me a freak, that people would notice."

"Okay. Not completely unreasonable from a dad's point of view. Maybe he was trying to protect you," Blair offered, hoping he wasn't taking his life in his hands.

Jim opened his eyes and glared at him. "He was trying to protect himself. Him and his precious perfect fucking family. His status in the community. His membership to the fucking Cascade Country Club. God forbid he have a son who was a freak."

Blair didn't know how to combat such anger between a child and his parent. While Naomi frequently drove him crazy, the communication between them had always been open. Too open, sometimes. But it had taught him that there was always an enormous number of sides to every situation and, most of the time, and criminals aside, no one was truly a bad guy. Just misinformed, angry, scared, or too caught up in their view of the world to see outside of it.

"What's really the problem here, Jim?" Blair asked. There had to be more.

Jim's head sagged. "I could have made a difference. I could have led them to Scott Jeffries, got him some help before he kept killing. Maybe kept his son from picking up where his father left off. Kept an innocent man out of jail. Maybe I could have learned how to use my senses when I was still young. Maybe they could have been something I was proud of instead of ashamed about."

Blair blinked at Jim. That had been the longest speech he'd heard Jim utter in a long time.

"And who knows how my life might have been different if he'd accepted me," Jim continued morosely. "How many people died because I suppressed my senses, Chief? Maybe my life wouldn't be so..." He gave up, his head sagging back against the post.

Getting the picture now, Blair stood to be nearer to Jim. Jim's protector instincts were ripping him asunder. As usual, he was taking the blame for everything. For Bud's death, for the sorrow of the victims of a family of serial killers, for every crime he didn't solve because his senses had been dormant. And Jim's usual coping method when he was being forced to feel crap he didn't want to was lashing out, and this time, his dad was getting the brunt of it.

Feeling petty, Blair was sort of glad it wasn't him Jim was mad at this time. Speaking cautiously, not wanting Jim's wrath to get directed towards him, Blair said, "How can I help?"

Jim let out another mirthless laugh. "Make it all happen differently, Chief. Fuck." He turned, headed to the kitchen, clipping himself against the counter. "Fuck," he said again, rubbing his hip.

"Where would it need to change?" Blair asked, wanting to keep Jim talking, to get this all out of his system. "Where was the main fork in the road for you, now that you're looking back?" Blair was curious and hurting for his friend. It wasn't often he was freely given insight into Jim or had the opportunity to hear of his past.

Jim shrugged as he opened the refrigerator door. He pulled out a beer. "Only one left, Chief, you care if I...?"

Blair waved him to it. "No, go ahead." One more beer wouldn't make a difference. "But answer the question. What would you change if you could?"

Jim struggled with the cap and finally won. He flicked it toward the sink but it missed by several inches, ending up on the floor. Jim scowled at it but left it where it was.

Blair bent over and picked it up, putting it in the garbage can under the sink. "Come on, I want to know."

"What?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "Jim. If you could pick one point in your past when you were still a kid, one thing you could change, one thing that might have made your whole life different, what would it be?"

Jim's brows furrowed as he stared at Blair.

Blair couldn't remember a time he'd been stared at so thoroughly, like Jim was trying to memorize him. It was disconcerting and sort of...arousing.

Jim sniffed. Then sniffed again. He put his beer down.

Shit. Blair tried to think of cold things, unarousing things, but his mind was drawing a complete blank. In fact, it was kind of a turn-on that Jim could smell him being turned on.

For a drunk guy, Jim could still move fast. He reached out and pulled Blair to him. In his drunken enthusiasm he overdid it a little, mashing Blair's face into his chest, holding him a little too tight. "I wish you'd been there," he muttered into Blair's hair.

"What?" Blair said against Jim's sweater, trying to draw in a breath. Not that he minded being this close, in fact, he'd have given his right arm to be this close to Jim any time in the past, but breathing was a good thing. He tried to push away a little, but Jim's hand pushed his head back down.

Going a new route, Blair totally relaxed, hoping he was communicating to Jim that he wasn't going anywhere. To his relief, Jim responded, and let off the manhandling enough for Blair to get his face free and spit out some sweater fuzz.

"What did you say?" Blair repeated.

"I wish you'd been there," Jim said again. "You would have believed me. If there'd been someone like you investigating Bud's death, you would have listened to what a twelve-year-old had to say."

Blair hoped that was true. "I wish I'd been there for you, too, Jim. I'm sorry that no one was. I'm sorry you had to go through that alone, losing someone that important to you, and then being forced to deny what you knew and what you were."

It was odd to think of how many strung together moments comprised a life. Moments where something so seemingly insignificant happened that caused you to go left instead of right, or to look that way instead of this way, or have that thought instead of this thought. Moments that added onto other moments and suddenly you were living this life instead of that life.

Jim's hands were rubbing Blair's back in a delightful way, and Blair couldn't stop snuggling closer and letting out a contented sigh. Too bad Jim was three sheets to the wind. If this were happening when Jim was sober, it would be the best thing ever. Not that Blair didn't intend to enjoy it, the hugging part anyway. He couldn't really allow anything else to happen. It wouldn't be fair.

"So is that what you'd change?" Blair encouraged. "Having someone there to believe you?"

One of Jim's hands buried itself in Blair's curls and Blair winced when it pulled a little. Then Jim used his handhold to force Blair's head back enough so they could look at each other. From this close up, Blair's neck had to really crane, not the most comfortable of positions. He tried to push away, to get a little space between them so they could talk more easily.

But then Jim was lowering his head, and his lips latched onto Blair's and his tongue swept into his mouth, and despite Blair's best intentions, he was swept along with it, his quiet hunger for Jim these past few months flaming up, testing his self-control.

Just one kiss, he begged his saner self. Just one kiss. Then one kiss turned into two and two into three, and he felt Jim's erection against his stomach, and Blair wanted to touch it. As his fingers crept down, he had to touch Jim's chest and feel a nipple pebble under his fingers. He felt the definition of Jim's pectoral muscles and his six-pack. His fingers were almost to Jim's cock when Jim sagged against him.

"Whoa, Jim." Blair widened his stance, holding Jim up. "Jim." Jim's head fell to his shoulder, his eyes closed. He was out. Out. Out. Out for the count. And going down. "Shit," Blair eeked out, as Jim grew heavier.

He might be strong enough to help Jim get from here to the couch, but he needed Jim to be mostly conscious to do it. His partner's dead weight was a bit too much for him. "Come on, Jim. Wake up." He patted Jim's face. "I can't hold you."

Jim let out a soft snore.

Blair rolled his eyes and lost his grip on Jim. Grabbing for him, he lost his balance, and the next few seconds were spent on trying to get to the floor without getting either of them concussed. When he was sprawled out on the floor, Jim on top of him, Blair snorted out a laugh. Not exactly how he'd fantasized this. "Jim," he said loudly.

Jim was dead to the world.

With a few well-placed shoves, Blair pushed Jim off him and then moved to a sitting position, next to his felled Sentinel. "Shit," he said. "How am I supposed to get you in there?" he asked, a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the living room. There was no way he could carry Jim, and even if he dragged him, getting him on the couch would be problematic.

Blair considered the situation for another minute and then got up, heading for his bedroom. He came back a minute later with his comforter and a pillow. Laying the comforter on the floor next to Jim, he shoved until he got Jim on the comforter. He flipped the other end of it over Jim, turning him into a human quesadilla. Next, he got the pillow under his head. "Best I can do, buddy."

Smiling down at his Sentinel, he squatted, kissed his cheek, letting the memory of those hot few seconds of kissing replay in his mind. Pulling away, Blair sighed for what would probably never actually happen for real and stood, heading for the remainder of Jim's beer. He needed it.

Stepping around the loudly snoring man on the floor, he brought all of Jim's empty bottles into the kitchen. Rinsing them out, he put them in the recycling bin. With a quick swallow, he finished the last beer and added it to the collection.

He sat on one of the stools for a while, staring at Jim, thinking about, and then instantly dismissing, the advisability of crawling into that quesadilla with his Sentinel. Deciding he better remove himself from temptation, he left the kitchen, crossed the living room, and opened the glass doors to the small balcony.

There was no moon tonight so the stars were out in full force. A falling star enchanted Blair, then another. He didn't remember reading about a meteor shower tonight, but he was delighted to be a witness. Two more shot across the sky.

He really wished he could lighten Jim's load. Jim wasn't just carrying the usual amount of baggage everyone ended up heaving around after a few decades of living. The man was carrying around steamer trunks. Several of them. Filled to the brim with stuff Jim couldn't seem to let go of. Blair wanted to help him, wanted to empty a couple of those trunks out and send them to a used luggage store where someone else could use them.

Another meteor caught his eye. It looked like it had a twin tail. Blair smiled, trying to think of what he'd read about a twin-tail. He couldn't recall the exact reference, but he knew it was often heralded as a portent of change.

Leaning over the balcony, Blair stared up at the twin-tailed meteor and, surrendering to his cosmic self, decided it was an omen. Feeling a little foolish, but also weirdly powerful, Blair called out to the meteor. "If you've come for Jim, here's my wish for him. Let someone believe in that twelve-year-old boy. Give him something to believe in."

The meteor continued its arc across the sky, and Blair let out a sigh. "Not tonight, huh?" He shrugged. Then he blinked. It looked like the meteor was slowing down.

He blinked again.

Now it looked like it was heading in his direction.

"Uh...," he said, trying to figure out if he was about to die in some fiery conflagration, or if this was some sort of vision. Not that both weren't good reasons to freak out. He thought he should probably run like hell but found himself frozen to the floor, wishing Jim was with him. Holding him. That they were facing this together.

Then the meteor was there, or the light of it was, and it engulfed Blair, seeming to throw him for miles, tossing him around like he was a rag doll. Then the light was gone, and he was on the ground, spitting out twigs and pieces of bark.

He sat back on his haunches wondering what the hell was going on. If this was some sort of vision, it was sure lifelike. And nastytasting, Blair thought, as he spat out another piece of forest detritus.

"Hey, Sandburg, you takin' a friggin' nap or something?"

Blair blinked and looked down the path to see a uniformed officer glaring at him. "What?"

"I wanna get home sometime today. Could you move your ass?"

"Uh, sure." Blair stood up and walked toward the officer, feeling like Sam from the TV show Quantum Leap. At least his name seemed to be Sandburg. That was a plus. He glanced down at himself, saw he was in a cop's uniform as well. Everything looked so real. If this was a vision, it totally rocked. Even Jim's visions, when he'd reluctantly talked about them, never sounded this real. They were always filled with symbolism, not dried crunchy leaves and mosquitoes. Blair batted one away.

As he continued to walk toward the other cop, Blair began to think that maybe it wasn't a vision. It felt a little too real. If his subconscious was trying to tell him something why would it go to so much trouble? Jim's visions were always blue. Probably saved a lot of money on special effects, which was good because they'd clearly blown the wad on this place.

Scratching his head, he felt his scalp, and searched for the long hair he'd had only a minute ago. Damn. Whoever was doing this to him had cut his hair. With narrowed eyes he thought that this better not be a vision of the future.

He met his, well, his partner, Blair guessed, who scowled at him. Blair got a glimpse of his name badge before he turned. M. Andrews. Great. Now he'd have to figure out what his first name was. They continued walking around the bend in the path and came upon a crowd, including a very dead body and a young boy.

His partner moved to where two other cops were questioning the boy. "Now, tell me again what you saw."

The boy pointed a little to the right. "When I looked over there, I saw a man with a knife."

Blair glanced up and focused on the man standing behind the kid and he almost fell over. He'd bet money it was a younger William Ellison, maybe in his mid thirties. And that meant.... Holy shit. Holy shit. The two-tailed falling star. His wish. Holy shit.

Cop number one wasn't buying it. "The one with the mark on his neck? And you say he was over there by the edge of the woods?"

"Yes, sir," the boy, a young Jim Ellison said politely.

Cop number two wasn't buying it either. "Well, it's seventy-five yards away."

William smiled tightly. "If you guys don't mind, I think I'd like to take him home, okay? Thanks."

"I'm not lying. You believe me, don't you, Dad?" Jim followed his dad to the car, his face begging his father to trust him.

Blair hadn't got much past saying "Holy Shit" to himself every three seconds, but he decided he better get with the program soon or this was all going to play out just like last time. Blair still had no idea what the hell was going on, but he was willing to play along until it all got a little clearer. Besides, Jim was telling the truth, damn it.

He moved toward the car just in time to hear Jim's dad say, "Jimmy, just calm down. Stand here for a minute and ...I'm going to talk to the detectives."

He headed back to officer one and two and Blair's partner M. Andrews. "Guys, I'm sorry," Ellison said. "I want to apologize for my son's imagination."

"That's all right, Mr. Ellison," officer two said. "We understand. A thing like this is pretty tough on a kid. He wants to help, so he imagines that he saw the killer when it's obvious he couldn't."

"Yeah," Ellison said gratefully.

"The best thing to do is to reassure him that he didn't do anything wrong," officer two concluded, "and maybe get him some counseling."

Blair had to give officer two kudos for the suggestion, even if he was dead wrong about what Jim could and couldn't see. And Blair wanted to smack Jim's dad. The older Ellison fucking knew Jim had enhanced senses, and he still blew him off. Considering the look on young Jim's face, he'd heard every word.

Walking over to Jim, Blair hunkered down. "Hey. It's Jim, right?"

Jim nodded, bravely trying to act as if it wasn't ripping his heart out to hear his father call him a liar in front of the policemen.

"Well, I believe you. Want to show me where he was? Maybe there are some other clues there."

Jim stared at him. "You believe me?"

"Sure. I'm guessing you can see really well, right?"

Hesitantly, Jim nodded. "My dad doesn't like me to talk about it," he confided in a miserable voice.

Blair shrugged. "The way I see it, is that different people have different gifts. I'm pretty smart, and other people can play instruments, or do math equations in their heads. It's just a part of who we are, you know?"

Jim was looking at him so earnestly that it made Blair's heart clench in his chest. He wondered if Bud had been the first person to believe in Jim. And what did it say about fate that it was Jim who'd found his body? It said that it sucked, that's what. But this time, Blair was at least going to help Jim find his killer. "Come on. Show me." He started walking in the direction Jim had pointed, and Jim followed him.

"Where do you think you're taking my son, Officer?" Mr. Ellison snapped out.

"He thinks he saw something," Blair said reasonably. "I think we should check it out."

Officer two lost all his points when he shook his head. "He's just a kid, Sandburg."

Blair tried hard not to roll his eyes. "You don't think kids can see?"

"Not as far as he said he could."

"How do you know that? Maybe he's got great eyesight. Nothing wrong with that. And if he did see something, and we let it slide, maybe we'll be letting a murderer get away." He kept walking, and Jim kept following.

"Jim, come back to the car," his father demanded.

"Jim, show me where you saw the man," Blair encouraged.

"He didn't see anything," Ellison said belligerently. "My boy is prone to exaggeration."

Blair stopped and looked down at Jim. "Are you prone to exaggeration?"

Jim shook his head.

Blair smiled at him.

Jim smiled back.

Looking up at the older Ellison, Blair said, "I think your son is honest. I think he did see something."

"And I'm telling you he didn't." Ellison was starting to look a little panicky.

Blair narrowed his eyes at him. "Why are you so against this? Are you hiding something?"

His partner hissed at him. "Do you know who this is?"

Nodding, Blair said, "Yeah, I know who this is. It's a father who apparently thinks his son is a liar. But I don't think he's lying, and I've got a crime to investigate. So, I'm going to take Jim over to where he said he saw someone. And if something's there, we'll be one step closer to solving a crime, and we'll all know that Jim has really good eyesight, and that he used it to help find his friend's killer. And if there's nothing there, then at least Jim will know he did his best."

Blair raised his hands in a how-can-you-possibly-argue-with-that gesture. He gazed down at Jim only to find him staring back at him with a look of adoration on his face. It made Blair grin. Jeez, Jim as a kid was a cutie. Why Mr. Ellison wasn't just hugging the stuffing out of him was a complete mystery to Blair.

After hearing no further arguments, he turned around and started walking. "Lead the way, Jim."

Jim skipped ahead and then slowed down to walk with Blair. "Thanks," he said.

"For what?" Blair asked.

"For, you know, listening to me."

"You're welcome. Just keep in mind that there will always be people who will listen and people who won't. Just find the ones that listen and pay attention to them. Don't let the ones who don't listen tell you who you are. What do they know? Right?"

Jim grinned at him. "Right." They walked a few yards in companionable silence. Then softly, he said, "I can hear your heartbeat, you know."

Blair grinned at him again. "That is so cool. You can do a lot of good with these gifts, Jim. You could be a doctor, or a soldier, or a search and rescue person..."

"Or a cop, like you," Jim added.

"Yup, or a cop. No criminals would stand a chance with you around." He lowered his voice. "But keep in mind that some people might not be comfortable knowing you have these gifts, so be careful using them."

Jim nodded very seriously. "I am. But I had to say something."

"I know you did. And I'm proud of you." Blair hoped he wasn't laying it on too thick, but he had no idea what Jim's dad would say to his son later, and he wanted this young Jim to have a lot of good words in reserve to mull over if he needed them.

The look on Jim's face told Blair he was saying everything right.

"Maybe we could, you know, get together and talk or something," Jim asked hesitantly.

Blair hoped to God he could. He'd hate to disappoint that face. "I'd really like that, Jim, but I'm not sure how long I'll be here." Not to mention that the older Ellison wouldn't exactly be thrilled to have his son exposed to the upstart officer who blatantly disregarded his orders regarding his son.

Still looking hopeful, Jim said, "You could come watch me play. That way I could..." He cut off.

"You could what?"

"Listen to your heart beat. It makes me feel safe." The boy blushed. "That's really stupid, isn't it?"

Blair shook his head. "No, it's not stupid." He glanced behind and saw that no one was near them. He stopped. "Jim, what you are, these gifts you have, they make you absolutely extraordinary. Don't ever let anyone tell you different. Okay?" He waited for a nod from Jim, and then began walking again. A few seconds later, Jim snuck his hand in Blair's.

Blair squeezed it tightly and held it the rest of the way.

"It was here," Jim said, stopping them. "I saw him over here."

"Look around and tell me what you see," Blair guided. "Anything that doesn't belong. Twigs snapped, or leaves bent, footprints. And if it will help, just keep listening to my heart while you look. It might help you concentrate better."

His partner, the other two officers, and Mr. Ellison caught up to them. "See?" Ellison said. "There's nothing here."

Marshaling his control, Blair managed not to glare at him.

Then Jim said, "There. Do you see it?"

Officer two walked a few feet in the pointed direction. "Holy Toledo. Get me an evidence bag."

Officer one handed a bag over. "What is it?"

"It's a knife, and it's got blood on it." Officer two snapped gloves on and picking up the knife, slid it into the bag. "Jeez, kid, that's some eyesight you got there."

Blair patted Jim's shoulder and prepared to feed the older Ellison's ego. "You have an amazing son, Mr. Ellison. It's not everyone who has such keen powers of observation and the courage to speak up. You should be very proud of him."

Officer one held up the bag. "No kidding. I wish I had witnesses like this for every crime. Good going, kid. Sorry I didn't listen to you. You got eyes like an eagle."

Jim was smiling, and it almost hid the sadness in his eyes. Nothing was going to make his friend not be dead.

"Good job, son," Mr. Ellison said, patting Jim's shoulder awkwardly.

Blair turned away so he could roll his eyes without being seen. Mr. Ellison wasn't going to win any Father of the Year awards, but at least he was making an effort. When Ellison started talking to one of the officers, Blair pulled Jim to the side. "You all right? I know this doesn't really make up for losing a good friend."

"Yeah, I'm good," Jim said stiffly.

He sounded so much like the older Jim Blair knew. "I don't think I believe that, but that's okay. Just remember that there's nothing wrong with being sad in private."

"Okay," Jim said with a hint of relief.

Then Mr. Ellison was there and slinging a proprietary arm around Jim's shoulder. "I'll be taking my boy home now." His tone made it clear that Blair was done for the day.

"Yes, sir," Blair said. "And thanks for your cooperation. I know we'll all rest easier with the right man behind bars."

The older Ellison shot him a look that while not entirely lethal, was still fairly prickly. He headed back to his car with Jim in tow.

Jim craned his neck so he could keep his eye on Blair. "Bye." His eyes said a whole lot more, and Blair hoped he'd be able to stay in this wish-world long enough to see Jim again.

"Bye, Jim." Blair watched until Jim finally turned around to face front again.

"Hot diggity dog," his partner crowed. "There's prints all over that knife, and I'll bet you dollars to donuts the blood matches our vic. Good call on that kid, Sandburg."

Blair smiled at his partner, but watching Jim walk away from him had broken his damn heart.

Never had Blair's powers of obfuscation come in so handy as they did that afternoon. Fortunately his partner, M. Andrews--Blair still hadn't figured out his first name--drove, so Blair didn't have to explain why he had no idea what his car looked like.

When they got to the station, everyone seemed to know him, and every conversation was an exercise in bullshit and the art of keeping his panic at an acceptable level. How The Powers That Be had managed to create a slot for him in this life was beyond him. And Blair had no idea what he'd do if he was stuck here. Besides take care of Jim, that is.

He followed M. Andrews to their desks, glad to see his had a nameplate, making it easy to find. Fortunately, forms were forms everywhere and, after spying on a few cops, he figured out which ones he needed to fill out.

His partner seemed to be more than willing to hang around the station bullshitting. With a little bit of luck, Blair hoped he wouldn't have to go out on the street again today, where he might have to actually know how to be a cop and to shoot a gun.

The news trickled up as the afternoon marched on: the knife they'd brought in had a perfect set of prints on it which matched one Scott Jeffries. Jeffries' prints were easily on hand because he'd been brought in recently for a drunk and disorderly. He was rounded up and arrested within an hour. He caved in about five minutes under interrogation, confessed to that crime, as well as a crap-load of others, and that was all she wrote. Jim wouldn't even need to testify. And Wayne Hollow, wherever he was, would be able to live out his life as an innocent man.

Blair couldn't help grinning.

He got smacked on the arm. "What're you grinnin' at, Sandburg? You look like an idiot."

Shrugging, Blair waved his partner off. It looked like he was slated to have partners who gave him shit no matter what universe he was in.

"Boss said we could call it a day. Come on, I'll give you a ride home."

That would be great, seeing as Blair had no idea where he lived.

"How long's your car gonna be in the shop anyway? You need to get rid of that piece of shit and buy something that actually runs."

Blair made a yak-yak hand signal at him, which got him smacked again, but seemed to satisfy the conversation gods, as M. Andrews just laughed at him but then shut up.

Twenty minutes later, Blair was standing outside 852 Prospect and thinking that The Powers That Be had a twisted sense of humor. He checked his pockets, found some keys, and entered the building. The elevator was out of service, naturally, so he trudged up the two flights of stairs.

Blair hesitated outside the door wondering what he'd find inside. Would he be back in his own time with a drunken Jim quesadillaed in the kitchen? Or would it be his own place, conspicuously absent one Jim Ellison? An adult Jim Ellison.

Only a loud grumble from his stomach got him to turn the key.

One look told him he wouldn't find Jim here. This wasn't the loft they shared. It felt weird knowing it was his, as opposed to his and Jim's. Familiar but not. Comfortable but not.

He grinned when he saw a key basket, and he dropped his keys in it, shutting the door. His gun and other accoutrements went on the kitchen counter.

Weird. The loft was architecturally the same, but the furniture was different. The decorations were changed, but Blair could feel his stamp on them, as if The Powers That Be had rifled through his brain and then hired a mystical interior designer.

There was a global feel to the place. Art from around the world, tribal artifacts, colors and fabrics and textures representing several cultures. Blair liked it. He'd like it better if Jim was in it, even drunk and comatose, but this would do for the time being. Much better than being in some strange apartment somewhere without anything familiar.

Blair spent a few minutes trying to decide how panicked he should be, but couldn't come up with a good answer. Part of him thought he should be in a straitjacket. Part of him thought this was the coolest thing that had ever happened to him, maybe to anyone. After all, how many people got to go to the past and fix something that needed fixing?

Deciding to forgo panic for the time being, Blair moved to the refrigerator and scrounged around for dinner. While he ate, he spent more time mulling over ways to further help Jim. If he found himself stuck here, there'd be plenty of time for Blair to figure out his own life and to panic. But in the meantime, he was going to focus on Jim.

The first thing that had to happen was for Blair to come down with a bad case of flu or something so he wouldn't need to show up for work. He couldn't afford to put M. Andrews at risk because he didn't know what the hell he was doing.

Besides, he didn't want to waste any time. He needed to quickly do whatever else he was here to do because there was no telling when this mystical joyride would come to an end. Blair's wish that had set off this whole astonishing chain of events had been for someone to be there to believe in Jim after Bud had died. Check that puppy off the to-do list.

But Blair was still here. So, either he was stuck here, the loss of the life he'd had the price for helping Jim, or there was still stuff for him to do and all he needed to do was figure out what that stuff was.

He moved to the balcony, staring up at the stars, feeling the awe he always did when he thought about how the lights he was seeing left their sources eons in the past. It made Blair's twenty-five year trip seem trifling in comparison.

Weird to think that somewhere there was a four-year-old version of him traipsing the world with Naomi.

It was enough to totally fuck with your mind.

Jim was a good kid. Blair had seen that right away. All Jim had wanted to do was the right thing. Not that much different from the man he was today. Or twenty-five years from now. And maybe Blair being there today would make the difference. Would allow Jim to believe in himself, so by the time Blair met him, he wouldn't be as torn up inside, his faith in the universe still intact.

But Blair didn't buy it. Being believed in was a powerful thing, but Blair wasn't sure it would counteract the next few years having his self-esteem systematically destroyed by his dad. If Blair was stuck here, he could help, but if he was going to be sent back, Blair needed to find someone else who could mentor Jim. Help him use his gifts but not take advantage of him.

After giving it considerable thought, there was only one person Blair knew who was alive right now and in a position to help. The trick would be tracking him down. Blair knew where he ended up, but not where he started out. Unfortunately, personal computers weren't around yet so Googling was out.

Blair found a phone book and looked up the C.I.A. Nothing. Grabbing his phone he called the operator. The woman connected him to the C.I.A.'s main number. Blair settled in, making himself comfortable. This was going to take some time.

Blair called in sick the next morning, letting out a few convincing coughing hacks. He took a bus to the nearest rental agency and rented a Ford Mustang. His appointment with Jack was in two hours in Seattle. Apparently, there were C.I.A offices in most major cities. Who knew? Although, given that, Blair supposed it made sense that Jack would work out here. He loved the Pacific Northwest.

Blair hadn't actually spoken to Jack this morning. He'd been in a meeting, so Blair had made the appointment through Jack's secretary. He'd totally lied, telling his secretary that Jack had been trying to meet with him for some time, but he'd been out of the country until yesterday.

She appeared to swallow his lie and kindly set up the meeting, believing Blair's assertion that Jack really, really needed to hear his information. However, it was entirely possible that there would be armed men in dark suits waiting for him when he arrived. Maybe not. Jack was easily intrigued. Or at least he was twenty-five years from now.

Blair stopped for coffee. He wanted a croissant to go with it but settled for a plain donut. Fortified with breakfast, he got on the highway.

Blair blinked when he saw Jack. He had to bite his lips really hard to not say something dumb like: Wow, you can walk. Blair felt stupid that he hadn't thought it through that Jack wouldn't have been injured yet, was, in fact, a brand new agent, full of piss and vinegar, thinking the C.I.A. was the best thing going.

"So, Mr. Sandburg, apparently I know you," Jack said dryly.

Blair laughed a little, thinking how true that was, but not the way Jack meant it. "Um. Well, no. But, I do know you. I mean, I know I can trust you." That was definitely true. Jack was one of the best men Blair knew.

"I ran a search on you," Jack said. "I know you're a cop with the Cascade Police Department."

"Yeah, I am." For the time being, anyway.

"Why the lie?"

"I needed to see you." Before I turn into pixie dust, Blair finished to himself.

Jack sat back in his chair. "What can I do for you?"

Blair sincerely hoped he wasn't making a mistake. But he leaned forward, trusting that if this was a mistake The Powers That Be would wave their magic wand and keep him from making it. "First, and don't ask me why, in November of 1986, if you get asked to go to Costa Rica, don't go."

Jack stared at him. "What?"

That was when Jack got shot and became paralyzed. "Just make a note of it. November 1986, stick close to home. Okay?"

Jack continued to stare at him. "Is that why you came to see me? Someone make you play with a Ouija board?"

Blair snorted. "No. That actually had nothing to do with why I'm here. Just thought I'd do you a favor in exchange for the one I'm going to ask you."

"And you can tell the future?"

Almost sorry he'd said anything, Blair waved a hand through the air, wanting to start over. Now all he had to do was try to figure out where to start. How to explain Sentinels to Jack, explain about Jim. How to make sure Jack understood how remarkable he was. How to extract the right promises from Jack so he wouldn't take advantage of Jim, that he'd mentor him, help him find the best way to use his senses to serve his country, something that was hardwired into Jim's genes.

Finally he took a deep breath. "I need to tell you about Sentinels."

Blair pulled into the parking lot of Cascade Junior High School and parked in a visitor's spot. He glanced at his watch. Four o'clock. He had no idea if Jim was practicing today, but he thought it was worth a shot. He'd much rather see him here than brave the senior Ellison at his house.

The school looked exactly like it did twenty-five years in the future, except it was missing a couple of buildings, and the paint looked fresher. As he approached the football field he could hear the grunts indicative of painful athletics.

He climbed into the bleachers and sat down, searching for Jim. It didn't take long to find him. The young Jim was staring up into the bleachers, his eyes meeting Blair's. It made Blair long for his own Jim, even though he quickly pushed any thoughts of that amazing kiss out of his mind. That was too creepy to think about with a twelve year -old version staring at him.

Blair stood and began to make his way to the chain link fence.

"Hey, Coach," Jim called out to the heavy-set man with the whistle hanging around his neck.

"What?" the coach yelled back in an irascible tone.

"It's one of the cops from yesterday. I need to talk to him."

"Yeah, yeah, fine. Hobson, put some muscle into it, will ya? Jeez." The coach had bigger fish to fry than Jim.

Jim trotted to the gate and swung around to the other side, meeting Blair. "I could hear your heart the minute you got here," Jim said, looking dumbfounded. "It's different from everyone else's somehow."

Blair felt absurdly pleased. Maybe it meant that he really was Jim's Guide. Not in a pragmatic way, but in a cosmic way. Fated. Not that he'd ever mention it to the adult Jim; he'd get a noogie and an eye roll for sure. "How are you?"

Jim shrugged. "Okay."

"Was your dad mad last night?"

Jim shook his head, then shrugged again. "A little. He told me not to do it again. Said it would only get me in trouble." He scuffed at the dirt with his shoe.

"Do you believe him?"

"I don't know." He glanced at Blair. "What do you think?"

"I think if we're given special gifts that it's because we're supposed to use them. And that with the gift comes a responsibility to use them to take care of other people. The trick is figuring out how to do that."

"So how do I do that?" Jim asked, looking at Blair as if he had all the answers. It was humbling.

"Well..." Blair felt dizzy all of a sudden and suspected that his time here was coming to a close. "Jim, there might be a man coming to see you," he said quickly. "His name is Jack Kelso. He's a friend of mine."

"Why is he coming to see me?" Jim asked with a frown.

Blair got momentarily diverted by the fact that despite the young face, it was an adult-Jim frown through and through. Apparently, Jim learned that facial expression early in life. Blair pulled himself together to answer, "I think he can help you with your senses. Help you figure out how to use them."

"Why can't you do that?" Jim asked, still frowning. "I'd rather have you to do that."

"I know you would, and I wish I could help, but I have to go away for a while."

Jim's frown was fading to a look of anxiety. "What do you mean? Why do you have to go away?"

Blair had seen that look, too. Just about the time he'd told Jim about that trip to Borneo. Of course, in the next second Jim had totally shut down, practically offering to pack Blair's suitcase. Blair sincerely hoped he wasn't going to traumatize Jim by appearing and then suddenly disappearing.

With the limited time he had left, Blair went for reassuring. "Jim. I have to go. But it was nothing you did. This is my own thing. Something I have to do." Yeah, like go twenty-five years back to the future. He continued, "You are a wonderful kid, and I wish I could watch you grow up."

The anxiety was blossoming into panic. "You mean you won't be back at all? Why?" He reached out a hand as if to touch Blair's chest, to touch his heart, but then he pulled it back. "Why?" he asked plaintively.

"Oh, Jim," Blair said sadly. "Just tell me you'll talk to Jack."

Jim had a look of mutiny on his face. "Why?"

Sheesh. Jim had learned his dog-with-a-bone thing early on, too. "Because I can't be here, and I want you to have someone. Someone who understands. Someone you can talk to. Someone you can call."

"Can't I call you?"

For a crazy second, Blair thought about giving Jim his number in the future. For all he knew it would work for the kid. But then he imagined trying to explain it to the adult Jim. "Sometimes things just happen," he finally said, "even if we don't want them to. Just promise me you'll talk to Jack. If you don't like him, you can tell him to take a hike."

Jim's brow furrowed, not happy but not arguing any more.

Blair guessed that was all he was going to get. He hoped Jack was equal to the task of beguiling a hard-headed kid.

"Jim, I promise you that you'll see me again, but it might not be for a while." Like twenty-five years.

Jim grabbed on to that like a lifeline. "I'll see you again?"

Blair nodded. "I'll be like a bad penny. You won't be able to get rid of me. I promise."

"Soon?"

This time Blair shook his head. "No, it won't be for a while. Hopefully you'll have a full and busy life and you won't even think of me. And then, bam, I'll be there, driving you crazy."

Jim didn't look consoled at all.

Blair had one more thing to say and then he had to get out of there. He could feel the change coming, like the way you can smell a winter storm in the air. "Jim. I want you to believe that there's magic in the world. I know with these senses of yours that most everything will feel very black or white to you. But, while you don't understand it now, we're both living proof that miracles can happen, and I don't want you to ever forget it."

It was clear Jim had no idea what he was talking about, but that was okay. He just wanted Jim to hear the words, hoping they'd stay with him, percolating subconsciously. Suddenly alarmed, Jim said, "Your heart sounds funny."

Blair silently begged for help.

Just that second, the coach yelled, "Ellison, get your butt back here."

Blair put his hand on Jim's shoulder. "Go back to your practice. I'll be fine. And so will you. I believe in you. I believe you'll have an amazing life, and I'll see you again."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Jim clearly didn't want to go, but the coach yelled again and, reluctantly, the young man turned and headed back.

Blair sprinted around the corner and hoped no one was watching as he was sucked into a rushing tunnel.

Blair opened his eyes to find himself in bed. His first thought was that he'd just woken up from the weirdest and realest dream he'd ever had.

His second thought was that this wasn't his room, and it wasn't his bed.

Blair stared at the ceiling, deciding that it looked vaguely familiar. He looked to his right and then to his left, saw unfamiliar furniture. Then he rolled over and realized he was in the loft. Upstairs. With different furniture.

It still had the same green paint, and many of the knick-knacks he could see adorning the surfaces and walls of the loft were familiar. So was the afghan on the back of the couch.

Weird.

He closed his eyes for a second.

Then they snapped open and he was out of bed and racing downstairs, looking for any trace of Jim. None of his books were in the bookshelf; none of his food was in the refrigerator.

He raced back upstairs. None of his clothes were in the closet.

He raced back downstairs to his old small room. It was an office. Filled with Blair's stuff. This loft was his. Only his. Jim wasn't here.

Shit. Blair looked up angrily, speaking to whatever gods were listening. "I didn't sign up for this. I didn't sign up for helping Jim only to lose him."

He grabbed at his hair, relieved it was long again. At least they'd fixed that.

Grabbing the phone, Blair called Jim's cell phone. Someone he didn't know answered it. He hung up and called the Cascade PD, asking for Major Crimes. When Rhonda answered he almost cried. "Rhonda, it's Blair. Is Jim around?"

There was a pause that made Blair's stomach hurt.

"I'm sorry, who is this?"

"Blair. Blair Sandburg."

Another pause. Blair had to swallow back the taste of bile in his throat.

"I'm sorry, but I think you might be thinking you're talking to someone else," she said kindly. "Who was it you wanted to speak with?"

"Jim Ellison," Blair said dully, knowing, with a churning in his gut, that there wasn't going to be a Jim Ellison who worked there.

"I'm sorry, but there's no one here by that name. What department does he work in?"

Blair pushed the off button, needing that conversation to be over immediately. "Crap." He stormed around the room. "Crap, crap, crap." He put his hands out as if to stem the tide of events. "Okay. Stay calm." Blair took in a deep breath and let it out. "Crap."

He took in an even deeper breath and blew it out. His brain felt paralyzed. One more deep breath. It wasn't helping. He needed Jim. Even a drunk-as-a-skunk, passed out on the kitchen floor Jim or a yelling, grumpy, rule-maker, hair-pulling Jim.

Slowly, he hung up the phone, afraid that if he held it much longer, he'd end up throwing it against a wall. The red light on the answering machine was blinking. A different answering machine. A different red light. He hated it. But he pushed it.

"You have two messages," the machine informed him. "Message one." There was a pause. "Hey Blair, it's Mike. Congratulations, Dr. Sandburg. I knew you could do it. Sorry I couldn't watch you cross the stage. Blair Sandburg, Ph.D. You rule, man. A few of us are going to Shanrahans tonight if you want to show up. The drinks are on us, Dr. Sandburg." There was a loud shout of approval, and then the machine said, "End of message one."

"Message two," the machine intoned. "Blair, it's Stephanie," a nervous voice said. "Sorry for the late notice, but I have to cancel our dinner plans tonight. I've got a big exam I'm studying for and, well, I just think I need to stay home. Okay. Bye." A pause. "End of message two. You have no more messages." The machine clicked off.

Okay, that sounded like he was getting completely blown off. Good thing he had no idea who she was or that one might have hurt. He sat down on the couch. Dr. Sandburg. He'd gotten his Ph.D. Too bad Blair didn't have a clue as to what it was about.

He made a short list in his mind. One: find Jim. Two: figure out his life. Blair stood, moved to the small room that now housed his office. He sat down in front of the computer and moved the mouse, hoping to God the computer was on and wasn't password protected.

The screen lit up and he put the mouse on the time in the lower righthand corner, waiting for the date to pop up. March 13th, 1998. The same date he saw that damn two-tailed meteor and made that stupid wish. The same wish that apparently had turned his life upside down and removed Jim from it with a surgical precision that made Blair want to throw up.

He went to the Google website and typed in Jim Ellison. Nothing. At least not about his Jim. There was a site dedicated to a musician named Jim Ellison, info about a Jim Ellison who was a CEO of some machinery company, another Jim Ellison who owned a cinema. But none of them was his Jim. His Sentinel.

Momentarily stymied, Blair moved to the second item on his two-item list. He opened up Word and started looking for his dissertation. Finding a huge document labeled "Tribal Watchmen: Past and Present", and letting out a mirthless laugh, he opened it up.

Blair scrolled down the document, glancing at chapter headings. There was nothing in there about Jim or any specific Sentinel. It was an historical paper about Sentinels and about their companions. It went on to look at current day counterparts. Policemen and women, security guards, search and rescue, how they fit into modern day society compared to tribal society.

He found himself getting sucked in. Blair had to admit it was a good piece of writing, even if it had a huge gaping hole in it named Jim Ellison. Time for another deep breath. He pushed away from the computer and wondered what the hell he was supposed to do now. The life he'd had and really liked was gone, and he knew nothing about the life he seemed to now be stuck with.

Which, now that he was thinking about, made absolutely no sense. Why didn't he remember this new life? After all, it was the life that technically he'd led. The memories in his head were of a life that didn't even happen. So why did he remember all of that life but none of this one?

He let his head sag back and sighed. Fuck. Deciding he needed to meditate badly, he got up and easily found candles and matches. It was nice to know that the brain of the Blair Sandburg who'd been living this life had a similar way of thinking. That would make things a little easier.

Candles lit, lights turned off, tribal drumming coming from the stereo, Blair closed his eyes and began to process. Think of it, he said to himself as he took several deep and cleansing breaths, as the ultimate anthropological assignment.

A week later, Blair was going silently insane. He hadn't realized the difference knowing Jim had made in his life. His new life, apparently, hadn't been that different than the life he'd known preJim. Classes, studying, reading, sexual conquests, friends who liked to talk philosophy and spirituality.

Nothing wrong with that, but after working with Jim for as long as he had, Blair had been exposed to so much more. He'd had no idea he'd changed so much. So much of what he'd loved about his life before seemed so insipid. Not that it wasn't fun, but it really didn't matter. Not like saving people's lives, catching the bad guys, making the streets a little safer, keeping his Sentinel functioning and whole to protect the tribe. Blair had been one of the lucky ones to find his ultimate purpose, his reason for living, and now it had been snatched away from him.

He'd looked all week for Jim but to no avail. After Jim graduated from college it was like he vanished into thin air.

Jim's father had died of a heart attack ten years ago. Blair felt guilty about that for a while, blaming his mucking about with the past for the man's death. But it wasn't like he made the wish come true. How was Blair supposed to know that this time he'd be given the Gepetto treatment? But instead of wishing Pinocchio was a real boy, Blair had wished for Jim to be a happier one.

In any case, William Ellison wasn't around to help find Jim. Stephen lived in Japan and wasn't returning Blair's phone calls. Not that Blair was sure he was getting his messages; it wasn't like Blair spoke Japanese. He thought about going to Japan to see him, but he'd leave that as a last resort.

Jack Kelso also seemed to have vanished. No one knew anything about him, or at least they weren't talking.

It all made Blair want to pull his hair out. He sat in the loft, feeling indescribably lonely and lost, having no idea what the hell he was supposed to do now with his life.

Jack Kelso closed the file and frowned at it. Despite his work with Sentinels, he wasn't fond of mysteries and this was a big one. He reopened the file jacket and drew out a photograph. He turned it over, checking the date again, noted that it said the picture was taken a little over a week ago.

It showed a young man in a doctoral gown receiving his Ph.D. at Rainier University. A student by the name of Blair Sandburg.

Granted, it had been twenty-five years ago, but Jack would swear it was the same guy who'd come into his office and told him about Sentinels. Same name, same blue eyes, same smile. The only difference was this man's hair was long, reaching his shoulders. The man he'd met had had short hair. Still curly, but short.

And not only had he told him about Sentinels, he'd also told him to avoid a mission to Costa Rica. Maybe it had been a coincidence, but the mission to Costa Rica in 1986 Blair had warned him about, and Jack had subsequently avoided, had been a disaster, all agents dead or so badly injured as to make little difference.

In Jack's book, that made Blair Sandburg his guardian angel, especially as Blair had, to all appearances, ceased to exist. Something that had been hard to explain to Jim, a bereft kid whose eyes, for a long time, continued to fill with hope every time a door opened, until finally he pretended to stop looking.

Jack knew he was only pretending, because Jim had told him one night, about five years ago, that Blair had promised Jim would see him again. Jim had never stopped believing it, even if there were now shadows in his eyes when Jim spoke of him.

Jack had looked for Blair for years to no avail. One day, on the Rainier campus, years later, while checking out a new potential Sentinel, Jack had passed by a teenager who'd reminded him sharply of Blair. But Jack had been in a hurry, and certainly hadn't seen a need to check out the young man.

Jack looked at the picture again and then shifted his eyes back to the dossier that had been created. Blair Sandburg. Born in 1969. That would have made him four years old when Jack had met him and a sixteen-year-old wunderkind at Rainier at the right time for Jack to have seen him as he rushed across campus.

This Blair Sandburg had to be the son of the Blair Sandburg he'd met. It was the only explanation. The only problem was there were no records of an older Blair Sandburg. Not even as a police officer, which made Jack crazy, because he was the one who'd called the CPD in the first place and been told that Sandburg worked there.

Jack had even gone to the Cascade PD to find him, sure they were playing him for a fool, and they'd stared at him as if he were insane. No one had ever worked there by that name.

Jack turned his attention to the dissertation. Amazingly well written. And about Sentinels. This Blair Sandburg knew more about Sentinels than Jack did after working with them for twenty-five years. It was embarrassing. More than that. Jack was ashamed he hadn't done more research.

The annotated bibliography Blair had assembled made it clear that there had been plenty of resources available if Jack had only taken the time. But he hadn't. He and Jim had figured it out between the two of them, mostly by trial and error. A little more error than Jack was comfortable with.

They'd lost a few Sentinels along the way. Not many, but even one was inexcusable, especially if there had been information out there that could have helped.

The most disturbing information in the dissertation had been about the Guides and how they could help prevent what Blair called zones. That was how they'd lost the Sentinels. They'd retreated so far inside themselves or, according to Blair, gotten lost in their senses so deeply that they hadn't been able to get back.

Maybe if he'd known to match them up with Guides, it wouldn't have happened. After they lost the first one, Jack had always sent the Sentinels out in pairs, but it didn't always help.

Another surge of shame surged through Jack. These Sentinels deserved better from him. He'd never met a group of people more willing to give their all to the protection of their charges, and it was his job to protect them.

They were the best agents, the best search and rescue, the best forensics experts, the best bodyguards, the best at anything they put their minds to. It was a privilege to work with them, and Jack thanked his lucky stars for that day when Blair Sandburg lied his way into an appointment with him and introduced him to Jim Ellison.

Not that Jim had been eager to spend time with him. He'd been angry that Blair had disappeared and perfectly willing to direct that anger at Jack. But eventually they'd formed an alliance which, as the years passed, had turned into a deep friendship.

Jim was the strongest Sentinel they'd found, and his skills at covert surveillance were stunning. Jack put the picture down and reached for the phone. Maybe he'd see if Jim would be willing to do a little surveillance on Blair Sandburg.

Blair wasn't sure why he was torturing himself. He'd gone to the Cascade PD and wandered around for a while, seen Simon and H and Rafe. There'd been no sign of Megan, but Blair wasn't sure if that was because she wasn't a part of Major Crimes in this iteration, or if she just wasn't around. There was no sign of Joel, either.

Carolyn Plummer was head of Forensics, Serena her assistant. Sam didn't seem to work there. Maybe she'd tried to blow up someone who had enough clout to get her fired.

Blair had only stayed for a while; he didn't want to arouse suspicion. Not to mention that it sucked to be there and know it all had nothing to do with him.

He picked up some dinner at his and Jim's favorite Thai place, and then came home and watched a Jags game, sitting where Jim always used to sit. That sucked, too.

All of it sucked.

Blair tried to meditate again, figuring it was accumulating bad karma to be chosen by The Powers That Be to do some work for them and then bitch non-stop about it. He wasn't very successful at achieving any inner peace. He couldn't get his mind to stop trying to figure out ways to track down Jim.

The problem was that over the last couple of years, he and Jim had sort of become each other's lives. They had acquaintances, but no really close friends. They hung out with each other, or with the Major Crimes gang.

The people Blair knew who used to know Jim, wouldn't now, because Jim had never worked at the Cascade PD, either in Vice or Major Crimes. He hadn't gone into the military, at least not from what Blair could glean from the databases he hacked into.

Blair knew he needed to start accepting this and move on, but he didn't want to. He wanted Jim back. Even an angry, drunk, quesadillaed Jim. Even a surly, close-mouthed, repressive Jim. If he could have a Jim who thought kissing Blair was a good idea, Blair was behind that idea one hundred percent, but he'd take Jim any way he could get him.

But this no Jim at all stuff sucked.

Jim turned over the last page of the dissertation. "Who wrote this? It's great. How does he or she know so much about Sentinels?"

Jack let out a snort, knowing that was going to be the least of Jim's questions. He handed over the dossier.

Jim stared at the paper. "Blair Sandburg?" He glanced down. "Born 1969?"

Jack handed over the picture.

Jim stared again. "This is him."

"If it wasn't impossible," Jack said, "I'd agree with you. This Blair Sandburg was four years old when you met the Blair Sandburg you remember."

"This is him," Jim swore. "His hair is longer, but it's him."

"How?" Jack asked. "It must be his son, or his nephew."

"It isn't. This is him. I know it." He continued to stare at the picture. "When was this taken?"

"A week ago."

Jim sat back in his chair. "I don't get it."

"That makes two of us. I thought you might like to go check him out."

Looking back at the dossier, Jim frowned. "I'll leave tonight." He tapped the paper. "Weird he's living in Cascade."

"I know."

"You didn't find anything on him that would link him to another Blair Sandburg?"

Jack shook his head. "Nope. He's lived in Cascade since he was sixteen, when he started attending Rainier. Only lists one parent, mother, Naomi Sandburg. And you know I never found any records on the other Blair Sandburg, and I looked for years."

"Weird." Jim flipped the picture over, then looked back at the familiar face again. "It looks just like him."

"Let me know what you find out," Jack said. "In the meantime, based on his research, I think we need to make some changes to our program."

"Based on his research, I think we need to bring him into the program," Jim countered. "He knows more about Sentinels than I do."

Jack blew out a breath. "We might not have lost anyone if I'd thought to do some research on the subject. I feel badly about that."

"I could have gone to a library, Jack. You're not the only one who thought we knew it all." Jim opened the back of the dissertation, flipped through page after page of resources. "It's like he's spent his whole life studying them."

"He could be a nut," Jack warned.

Jim looked at his picture once more. "Or he could be magic," he said softly.

"What?" Jack asked.

Jim shook his head. "I'll call you tomorrow." He glanced at his watch. "If I leave right now, I should get there in time to catch some sleep before tracking him down in the morning."

Jack considered San Francisco traffic. Of course, Jim had a Sentinel's sense of what roads to avoid, so if anyone could do it, it would be him. "Try not to break too many laws driving up there."

Jim grinned at him, picked up his copy of the dissertation, dossier and picture, and left the office.

Jack was tempted to drive up with him, but he had other pressing duties. He'd be waiting eagerly for Jim's call.

Blair sat out on the small balcony, pondering the night sky. He kept thinking about all the conversations he and Jim had had out here. For some reason, nighttime made it easier for Jim to talk. Maybe the cover of darkness helped, thinking Blair couldn't see his face. Maybe darkness was just naturally the time for confessions.

Blair was never completely sure, but he took advantage of it. Anytime Jim was struggling with something, Blair would wait until it was dark and then finesse his ass out to the deck. Sooner or later it would all spill out.

He took a swallow of his beer. He'd gotten three job offers today. Apparently his dissertation was making a bit of a splash. One was from Rainier. The other two were from Berkeley and Winnipeg, Canada. All three were teaching positions, and all three had great Anthropology departments.

Despite the fact that only a, well, a few days and a whole other life ago, a teaching job at Rainier would have thrilled him, he wasn't interested anymore. Blair didn't want to stay in Cascade without Jim.

He wasn't even sure he wanted to stay in anthropology. It didn't seem enough anymore. The idea of some post graduate work in forensics was tempting. Maybe he could find his way back into police work.

Blair sighed. While that sounded more interesting than anthropology on its own, the problem was that he wanted to do police work with Jim. He wanted his Sentinel back.

What he needed to do was give it some time. It was like Jim had died. Blair needed to let it sink in, do some serious grieving, and then decide what to do. Making a life-changing decision now would not be the wisest choice, because Blair had no idea what would be motivating him.

Even if he couldn't imagine how, he'd get past this and find some passion for something. And there was a remote possibility that his dissertation would flush out another Sentinel. Blair winced. He didn't want another Sentinel. He wanted Jim.

He forced himself not to curse at the night sky. All he could do was hope his wish had made things better for Jim, because all he felt was betrayed.

Jim passed the Cascade City Limit sign at a little past one in the morning. He knew he should go find a hotel, but the sensible part of him wasn't really in control.

He needed to know who this man was. Needed to know what his connection was to the Blair Sandburg Jim had met for such a short time twenty-five years ago. Needed to see if Blair had been telling him the truth when he'd spoken of magic as he promised a twelve-year-old Jim that they'd see each other again.

He allowed the GPS system to lead him to Blair's address, even though Jim was sure he could have found it on his own. He could feel a tug, like the way a fishing line felt when the fish were nibbling. Not truly hooked, but letting you know they were there.

Jim blew out a breath, not wanting to get his hopes up for something that couldn't possibly be true. But despite his best efforts, his heart was racing and his palms were damp. He wiped them off, one at a time, on his pants.

Even if this was somehow the same Blair he'd known, there was no guarantee he'd even remember Jim. Where had he been all this time? Why hadn't he aged? And why hadn't he gotten in touch? Jim had lived in Cascade for years before he'd left for college.

Too many questions. Years had passed since Jim had seen him, but he could still feel the rhythm of Blair's heart when he focused. For the past twenty-five years it was the remembered beat of Blair's heart that had been Jim's focus as he'd learned how to use his senses. It was like the sound was locked in his cells.

He saw building 852 and parked. Getting out of the car, Jim found himself reluctant to let out his senses. He was afraid he wouldn't hear the syncopated beat he'd grown so dependant on. Castigating himself for being a fool, Jim slowly let his senses loose.

Blair took a last swallow of his beer and sighed again. He looked out over the ocean. "Where the hell are you, Jim?" he whispered. "If you're out there, you need to find me, because I don't know how to find you."

Jim heard the whisper and his pulse started to jackhammer. He jogged to the back of the building, carefully increasing his hearing, being careful not to get lost in the noises. He mentally pushed aside the crash of the waves, the occasional cry of a bird, the sound of traffic and people's conversations.

Then he heard it. The sound he'd been listening for. The heartbeat. He came to a complete stop, the rhythm surrounding him, gently pressing in on him, comforting him. Jim could have stood there all night, drinking it in. He was like one of those compressed sponges finally having access to water, coming to life.

His own heart started to beat in time. The tug on his fishing line grew stronger. Jim glanced up and saw him. "Blair," he called.

The man's eyes grew wide as he looked down. "Jim? Holy shit, is that you?" Then he put his hand over his mouth, as if realizing he was making a lot of noise for the middle of the night.

Jim nodded, grinning.

Blair looked as thrilled to see him as Jim was to see Blair. They stared at each other for the longest time, saying nothing, content to simply know the other was there.

Finally Blair whispered down, "I don't want to walk away. I'm afraid you'll disappear."

"I'm not the one who disappears, Blair." It still hurt, after all this time.

"Tell it to Google," Blair said in response. "You don't seem to exist."

Jim touched his chest and opened his arms wide. "Here I am."

"Come up. It's apartment 307."

Jim nodded, but didn't move, just stood there and stared some more. Finally, he started walking around front, but he kept his eyes on Blair as long as he could. Once Blair was out of sight, Jim kept listening to him, childishly afraid that if he let his hearing falter for a second, Blair would disappear again.

He ran for the front door and up the stairs.

Blair was standing at the door and Jim grabbed him, hugging him for all he was worth.

Blair hugged him back, saying, "I can't believe it's you. Jesus. I can't believe it's you. I've missed you so fucking much."

Jim pressed his cheek on the top of Blair's head, breathing in the smell of him, the feel of his body, the reassuring beat of his heart, and for the first time in twenty-five years, felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Minutes later, they were both sitting on the couch, staring at each other. "I don't understand," Jim said.

"I don't know what to tell you," Blair responded. "Did you ever see that movie Somewhere in Time?"

"With Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour?" Jim asked.

Blair nodded. "I'm afraid I'm going to pull a penny out of my pocket and disappear and that would totally suck."

"Is that what happened before?" Jim asked apprehensively. "All of a sudden you weren't there anymore. I thought someone had killed you. I almost got thrown off the team because I left practice to look for you."

Blair reached out and touched Jim's hand. "I'm sorry. I never meant to worry you. I could just tell my time was running out, and I wasn't sure how I'd get taken away, and I didn't want to do it in front of you."

Jim stared at him. "It really is you, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it really is." Blair gazed at Jim, studying him closely. He looked even better than the adult Jim he'd known. Maybe because he was looser, freer, smiling more, less pain etched on his face.

This Jim hadn't spent a large part of his childhood afraid he was a freak. He hadn't lost his crew in Peru after being betrayed by his commanding officer. He hadn't...Blair stopped. Actually, he knew nothing about this Jim's life. All he could do was assume it had been better, because he just looked happier.

"I never forgot your heartbeat," Jim told him.

Blair's eyebrows went up. "Really?" He smiled. "You look good. Has your life been good?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah. Except for the part where I couldn't find you." He took Blair's hand, laced his fingers through his. "But you promised me we'd see each other again, and you were right."

Blair closed his eyes, feeling Jim's fingers in his. Everything was all right now. He had Jim back. The Powers That Be hadn't abandoned him.

"Will you tell me what happened?" Jim asked. "Will you tell me how you were there twenty-five years ago and now you're here? And I read your dissertation. Jack and I both did. It's good."

"You're with Jack?" Blair asked. "So he did contact you?"

"I've been working with him for years now. We have a whole Sentinel program."

Blair felt the sting of tears. "I'm really glad." His fingers found Jim's ring finger, unconsciously searching for a ring. When he realized what he was doing, Blair wasn't sure what he would have done if there had been a ring there. Not that the absence of a ring necessarily meant Jim wasn't with someone.

He probably was. He was gorgeous and happy, and anyone would want him. And there was no guarantee that one sloppy drunken kiss meant anything at all, especially as this wasn't that Jim.

"What's the matter?" Jim asked. He tucked a curl behind Blair's hair. "What are you thinking about?"

Blair didn't want to talk about it. He didn't want to find out that Jim was madly in love with someone. That maybe he had another Guide, that he was happy and well-adjusted and living a perfectly good life without Blair. He leaned forward and rested his head against Jim's chest, just wanting the two of them to be together for a moment, to be alone, with nothing else intruding.

Jim seemed content for the moment to hold Blair, after shifting them both so they were more comfortable. "This seems familiar," he mused, staring around.

"Me?" Blair asked.

"Well, yes, you, but I meant this place."

"You used to live here," Blair muttered against his chest. "With me."

Jim pulled back and stared at Blair. "I wouldn't have forgotten that. What do you mean we lived together? And were we lovers?"

Blair told himself he was only imagining the look of hope in Jim's eyes. He also grinned at the fact that Jim seemed willing to suspend his disbelief as long as he was getting sex. "No. Friends. We were friends."

"That's it? Friends?"

Now Jim looked disappointed. Maybe Blair wasn't imagining it. He touched his own lips. "You kissed me once."

Taken aback, Jim asked, "I kissed you once?" He emphasized the once emphatically. "Am I nuts?"

Blair grinned. "You were completely drunk at the time." He was suddenly enjoying himself.

"That's no excuse," Jim said firmly. Then again, he asked, unbelieving, "I kissed you once?"

"You passed out right after it," Blair explained.

"And when I woke up?" Jim asked.

Blair scrunched his face up. "That's when things got complicated."

"What do you mean?" Jim cocked his head a little to the side. "Things are feeling complicated now. This is the oddest conversation I've ever had. I don't remember doing any of these things. But I also know you're telling the truth." He touched Blair's chest, over his heart, indicating that Blair's vitals were backing up his story. "Why don't I remember?" He reached out and touched a curl of Blair's hair. "I know I wouldn't forget kissing you."

Blair bit his bottom lip. "I'm afraid if I tell you, that it will all be undone. You seem so happy with your life. I don't want to mess with that."

"Maybe you should give me a hint, here, Blair. Tell me what's going on. Tell me why there're two of me."

"Okay," Blair said, taking a deep breath. "Essentially, it's sort of your basic wish package. You lived a life where you were pretty unhappy, and I wished for you to be happy, so somehow, maybe because you've been really good this year, you got your wish. And here you are, a whole new Jim."

Jim considered Blair's words for a minute. Then, "I wasn't happy? How could I be unhappy if I had you?"

Enjoying Jim's sentiments, Blair shrugged, not knowing what to say. He didn't want to be disloyal to his first Jim, even if he was pleased for this new version. "It's not that you were really unhappy, but life was hard for you."

Jim snorted. "I bet. Living with you and never kissing you? It must have been torture."

Blair grinned quickly, but then asked, "Are you..." Blair hesitated but then continued. "Are you gay? I mean, you weren't before. I don't think. At least I never saw you with anyone but these beautiful tall leggy women. And doesn't it seem a little weird that the last time I saw you, you were, what, twelve, and now you're talking about kissing me?"

"It's been twenty-five years, Blair."

"Not for me. You were twelve a little over a week for me."

Jim's eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "A week?"

Blair nodded. "It's been a really weird week for me." He smiled wryly. "And my life's always been pretty weird, so we're talking mammoth amounts of weird here." He gave Jim a searching look. "Why are you believing any of this? Why aren't you assuming I'm nuts? Why are you even listening to me?"

"My senses don't lie," Jim said with conviction. "Like I said, not only can I sense that you're telling the truth, I also know your heartbeat. I'll know it until the day I die even if I never see you again. I know you're the same Blair who believed me that day when no one else would. The Blair who hooked me up with Jack. And yet here you are, looking exactly the same, twenty-five years later. Is there a rational explanation for all of this, other than the sparse basic wish package spiel?"

Blair shook his head. "Not really."

"I didn't think so. So it doesn't make much sense to expect one."

"Man, you have really changed. Jim never would have..." Blair shook his head. "It's like I have two Jim's in my head, and he's the way he is, and you're the way you are. It hasn't quite sunk in that the other Jim, the one I knew, the one I've lived with for three years, doesn't exist anymore." Blair felt a wash of sorrow. "I don't know how to let that one go, yet. He was important to me."

"And me?" Jim asked quietly. "Am I important?"

Blair nodded. "Absolutely, man, I don't mean to sound like you're not. Because you're still Jim. Better adjusted and a lot more trusting and a lot happier about your senses, but I know it's still you. It's just..."

"You miss the other Jim?" Jim didn't sound too happy about that.

Sighing, Blair nodded, then shook his head, feeling like there wasn't a clear yes or no answer to Jim's question. "I guess I miss the history I have with the other Jim, but the important element to this whole thing is you. The problem is that most of what I conceive of you is in my mind and in my past with the other Jim. But here you are, and you're real, and he's not anymore, and I can touch you and talk to you. It's got me a little confused."

The look on Jim's face told Blair he was failing spectacularly at being reassuring. Blair wasn't sure what to say. It's not like there was a lot of precedence to call on here to help explain.

Jim looked dubious. "Am I the only Jim Ellison now?"

Another nod. "Yeah, you were kind of rewritten."

"I've gotta say that I like my life the way it is," Jim said apprehensively. "I mean, everything except you not being there. I don't really want to give it up to let the old Jim come back."

"No, no, Jim," Blair said quickly. "That's why this all happened, to make things better for you. I guess I just didn't realize how much things would change for me. Somehow I foolishly guessed we'd end up right where we left off, but he'd have a happier memory about being a kid." Blair shrugged helplessly. "It all happened so fast that I didn't have any time to think it through. One minute I was making a wish and the next...poof. Out with the old Jim and in with the new, and he, or you, weren't even a part of my life anymore. And let me tell you, that totally sucked. Big time." He eyed Jim. "I'm still finding it hard to believe you haven't decided I'm some sort of babbling idiot and stormed out of here."

Jim snorted. "I have no intention of leaving unless you come with me. Now that I've found you again, I'm not letting you go." Then he asked nervously, "Are you seeing anyone?"

Blair shook his head. "No. I think maybe I was, but she blew me off." He smiled crookedly. "I don't even know who she is." He frowned. "Which still doesn't make any sense. Why don't I have memories for this life?" Blair gazed at Jim, thinking. "On the other hand, you only have one set of memories, so maybe it's only one set per customer." In which case, as far as Blair was concerned, he was glad he was getting to keep the old set. Otherwise he wouldn't have even known who Jim was.

Jim blinked at him, frowned, and asked, "She?"

Blair grinned at what Jim had chosen to focus on. Taking a stab in the dark, Blair said, "Gender's never mattered to me. It's all good, you know? As long as it's legal and consensual, that's all I cared about."

"Did he..." Jim paused but then asked, "Did I know that?"

"We never talked about it," Blair admitted. "I was pretty careful most of the time because of his...your senses. Never came home smelling like anyone if I could help it." He paused. "Are you seeing someone?" He tried not to look too nervous as he waited for Jim's answer.

Jim smiled. "No."

Blair smiled back. He thought of that one drunken kiss with the old Jim. It felt like it had happened a thousand years ago. Somehow Blair had no doubt that kissing this Jim would be even better. Not that kissing the old Jim had been bad, but it hadn't exactly been Jim's finest hour. And it was just as likely Jim wouldn't have remembered the next morning due to his drunken state. And if he had remembered, Blair wouldn't put it past Jim to pretend that he hadn't. That Jim hadn't exactly been best friends with intimacy.

"Tell me what happened. Please," Jim requested. "From the beginning."

Blair blew out a long breath. "Okay." He had to believe that The Powers That Be wouldn't have gone to all this effort just to let it all get undone because Blair told the truth. "Short version. Later, if you want, I can bore you with all the details."

Jim nodded.

"When Bud died the first time, no one believed you when you said you'd seen the murderer. He got away with it; they arrested the wrong guy; the guy who did it went on to kill other people, passed the trade to his son, who then started killing people to taunt you."

Jim grimaced. "Ow. You weren't there, were you? For that Jim, I mean."

Blair shook his head. "No. I was only four years old. But I was here when you started to remember it all, and remembered how your dad had treated you. You were drunk, and you were really angry."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Jim asked suddenly.

Blair's eyes widened. "No. No, you never hurt me, you couldn't. You always took care of me. You were a jerk sometimes, but you took my safety pretty seriously."

Jim leaned back with a satisfied nod. "Go on."

"You said you wished I'd been there, that I would have believed you."

Jim waited. When Blair didn't say anything, Jim said, "Still doesn't explain how you ended up there."

"I know," Blair said with a wince. "That's the kind of hard-tobelieve part."

Jim snorted. "Right, like it's all been so believable so far." He tapped Blair's chest again. "You don't need to convince me, Chief. I know it was you."

Blair's mouth fell open. "You called me Chief."

Jim's brow furrowed. "I did. I called you Chief. Why would I call you Chief?"

"He called me Chief." Blair winced again. "You called me Chief. I need to keep remembering you're only one person."

"Why did I call you Chief?"

Blair shrugged. "I don't know. You called me by a lot of nicknames."

"Sublimating my sexual attraction for you," Jim guessed with a grin.

Blair grinned back. "You used to touch me a lot. You know, pats on the cheek, my stomach, you messed with my hair."

"Definitely sublimating my sexual attraction for you," Jim said firmly. "Idiot."

The twelve-year-old version of Jim was starting to fade in Blair's mind, to be replaced by a gorgeous, hard-bodied, sexually secure Jim Ellison, who, by some amazing twist of fate, was attracted to Blair. If Blair wasn't in the middle of a miracle, and therefore a staunch believer in them, he'd be thanking his lucky stars. He frowned. Even if that was sort of how this whole thing began. "It was a meteor," he said.

Jim looked understandably confused. "What?"

"A meteor. I was standing on the balcony, having wrapped a comforter around you after you passed out in the kitchen..."

"After kissing you," Jim interrupted.

Blair grinned. "After kissing me."

"Was it a good kiss?"

"It was a great kiss. I was afraid you wouldn't remember it when you woke up, or if you did remember it, that you'd shove the memory so deep inside that you might as well have forgotten. Or worse, you'd start packing my bags."

Jim shook his head sadly, as if he couldn't believe there was a Jim Ellison out there who could be so stupid. "Meteor?" he prompted.

"Right. Actually there was a meteor shower. Unexpected, and I was watching it, feeling sad for you, and sort of helpless, and then I saw it. A meteor with a twin tail."

Jim shot Blair a look that looked so much like so many other looks Jim had shot Blair whenever he'd thought Blair had stopped making sense, Blair had to grin, even as his heart clenched in his chest. "Is that supposed to make sense?" Jim asked.

"Only if you're into omens," Blair said. He waved it off. "The point is that I made a wish. You know, like a twinkle-twinkle-little-star moment. I wished I'd been there to help you."

"But you meant it?"

"With all my heart. I wanted you to have someone who'd believe in you, who'd be able to show you how special you are, how these senses were a part of you, a good part. I wanted you to be proud of what you had, and see them for the gift they were. And believe that they'd been given to you because you deserved them, because you'd do something amazing with them." Blair stopped talking, feeling unaccountably shy at saying so much.

Jim gazed at him, lifted a hand and touched his cheek, then dropped his fingers until they rested on his shoulder. "You loved me."

"So much, Jim. You can't imagine."

Jim's eyes searched his face. "I think I can."

For some stupid reason, the song 'The Look of Love' started going through Blair's mind. Maybe because he was seeing it all over Jim's face. Blair stared speechless, his heart thumping as he found himself falling in love right back.

"And your wish came true," Jim said softly.

Blair nodded. "My wish came true."

"And you were there; and you believed in me."

"You deserved to be believed."

"My father didn't think so. Those other cops didn't think so," Jim argued softly.

"They were wrong," Blair said, just as softly. "I'm sorry I had to leave so quickly. I wanted to stay and make sure you were taken care of. It's why I went and found Jack."

"You knew him, then?"

"For several years. He taught at Rainier."

"He wasn't with the CIA?"

"No. He'd gotten hurt on a mission due to bad intel, and he was paralyzed, a paraplegic. He left the CIA, wrote a scathing expose, and started teaching."

"Wow," Jim said. "He didn't go on that mission. He never forgot what you said. It was bad intel and almost everyone died."

"So he didn't get hurt?" Blair was glad. Jack had been one of the few men Blair had completely trusted. He was thankful he'd been able to keep Jack from getting injured, even if he had been able to forge a good life for himself in Blair's first life. Blair silenced a maniacal giggle. He sounded insane.

"No. He's fine. Happily married to a Sentinel, in fact," Jim added with a grin.

"Really?" Blair let out a laugh. "That's so cool. How many of you are there?"

"About a hundred," Jim said.

"A hundred?" Blair repeated in a squeak. "Wow." He shook his head. "I looked for you for years," he confessed. "I first read about Sentinels when I was thirteen and I've been hooked ever since."

"In your dissertation, you talked about Guides," Jim said. "Were you my Guide?"

Blair nodded.

Jim smiled in relief. "I knew it," he said cheerfully. "I knew the minute I read your dissertation that you were my Guide. Or that the Blair I'd met when I was a kid was my Guide." He leaned forward. "We need you, Blair. We need you to come work with us. I need you to come work with me. To be my Guide."

It was everything Blair wanted. To be with Jim, to work with him, for Sentinels to have credibility, an organization to protect them, support them. And yet, Blair felt a pang.

"You don't want to?" Jim asked sadly, reading Blair's ambivalence.

"I do, Jim, I do. It's just..." He shook his head. "I think I just need to grieve for the life I had, the life we had for three years. We had a job, great friends, and a good man as a boss. We made a difference. It's hard to think it was never mine this time around. That it won't be mine. Ours. That I'll never know Simon Banks, or Joel or Rafe, or H and Megan, and Rhonda."

Jim pulled him in close, giving him a few minutes. Then, he said, "You'll like them, Blair. You talked about us in your dissertation, even though you'd never met us. Protectors. Protecting our tribes."

Blair closed his eyes, letting Jim's voice wash over him. "Tell me more."

"It's a relatively unknown program of the CIA, although we cross disciplines frequently. We've made a difference, too, Blair. And that's because of you."

"Because of you," Blair argued.

"Because you cared about me. Because you cared about Sentinels. You put the whole thing in action." Jim's hand brushed down Blair's hair.

Blair moaned in contentment. It had been so long since someone had just held him. "Tell me more."

"We get asked for all the time because of our phenomenal records. For bodyguard jobs, for search and rescue, for surveillance. But we could do so much more if we had the right kind of help. We've lost some Sentinels to...what was the word you used?"

"A zone?" Blair guessed.

"Yeah, a zone. We didn't know what was going on, and we didn't know how to get them back. There're still a couple of them in a long term care facility. Maybe you could go see them, see if you could bring them out."

"You must have tried working with their senses to pull them out," Blair protested as he pulled back.

"We did. We tried everything."

"So why do you think I'll have a chance?"

"Because you're a Guide. Your heartbeat's stayed with me for twentyfive years. You're important."

"To you, maybe," Blair said, not sure how he felt about having a hundred Sentinels looking to him for assistance. "I think it's a sort of one Guide to one Sentinel thing." At least he hoped so.

Jim laughed softly. "Damn straight. I'm not sharing you with anyone, except on an emergency basis." He pulled Blair back down against his chest.

Okay then. He listened to Jim's heart, letting it lub-dub in his ear, feeling exhausted. "I need to get some sleep," he tiredly announced.

Jim pulled away. "I know it's late. I should have waited until the morning to come by, but I couldn't stand not knowing. Is there a hotel nearby?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "Right, like I'm letting you out of my sight. Get real. You can sleep on the couch, or you can sleep upstairs with me." At the hopeful look on Jim's face, he added with a grin, "And I mean sleep."

"I'll still choose upstairs, Chief. I want you as close as possible." He stood and stretched. "I'll just go and get my bag."

"I'll come with you," Blair said, superstitiously afraid to let Jim out of the apartment. He hoped he got over this at some point or their life could be awkward. But it was hard to firmly believe that things were going to stay this way when it had been made so clear to Blair that things could be changed.

For all he knew, The Powers That Be were fulfilling someone else's wish right now, and maybe Blair wouldn't be born at all, or Jim would end up running his father's business or one of those Sentinels zoned out in a nursing home somewhere. Blair shuddered.

"You all right?" Jim asked, enfolding Blair in his arms.

This made all the fears fade. It might take a while for Blair to trust in the constancy of life again, but he could trust in this.

Blair woke up alone in bed the next morning and, for one never-ending horrible moment, thought that yesterday had all been a dream. But then he heard someone downstairs softly humming and he smiled. Not a dream. Jim was here.

"You awake?" Jim called.

Blair smiled again. Can't hide anything from a Sentinel. Not that he cared. He was so glad to have his Sentinel back Jim could sense him to his heart's content. And Jim was his Sentinel. Regardless of the fact that he was a new iteration, Blair could feel the connection between them. In fact, he felt it even more strongly with this Jim. Maybe because he wasn't fighting the fact that he was a Sentinel.

"Yeah," he called back down, stretching, enjoying the fact that he had nowhere to go and nothing to do. "When do you need to be back?" he asked Jim.

"I'm where I'm supposed to be," Jim answered. "You're my assignment."

Blair grinned into the pillow. He liked being Jim's assignment. There hadn't been any sex last night, but there had been cuddling, and a stolen kiss or two, and it had been wonderful. The only thing marring it, for Blair, was that they had no shared memories, except two days when Jim was twelve years old. It made Blair feel a little lonely.

That thought made Blair decide to get downstairs so he could start making new memories with this new Jim as soon as possible. He rolled out of bed, pulled on some sweatpants and a t-shirt, and padded down the stairs. He made a detour by the bathroom, took care of business, and then headed for the kitchen.

Jim reached out and yanked him close, kissing his forehead. "Good morning."

Blair leaned against Jim, soaking up his warmth. The man was like an oven. "Good morning to you, too." He smiled up at Jim. "So I'm your assignment?"

"Yeah," Jim grinned. "I'm supposed to be doing covert surveillance on you."

Blair smirked at him. "Not so covert from where I'm standing."

A phone rang and Blair looked around. "I don't think that's me," he offered.

"It's me," Jim said, retrieving his phone from his jacket. "Ellison."

Blair took over kitchen duties, turning down the burner to cook the eggs more slowly, listening in on Jim's conversation, at least this side of it.

"It's him." There was a pause. "I don't know how, but I know it's him. I mean I know what happened from Blair's side, and neither of us know how it happened." A pause. "No, I'm standing in his apartment staring at him right now. I've been here since a little after one last night." Pause. "Jack, trust me. My senses don't lie." Pause. "Yeah, I asked him. He hasn't given me an answer yet."

Blair came over to join him, his eyebrows up.

Jim mouthed the words, "Working with us."

Blair nodded. "You know I will," he whispered.

"He says yes," Jim said to Jack, smiling. To Blair he said, "What do you need to get wrapped up in order to leave?"

Blair laughed a little. "Not much, I'm sort of between lives, you know?" It was weird to have that be so true.

Jim let out a short laugh and said to Jack, "I'm gonna try to bring him with me when I come back."

"Where is home?" Blair asked softly.

"San Francisco."

Blair bounced on his toes. He loved San Francisco. "Cool." He turned back to the stove. The toast popped up, and Blair pulled the butter and jam out of the refrigerator.

Hanging up after a few more closing remarks, Jim began buttering toast, while Blair finished the scrambling. It felt exactly like the thousands of breakfasts they'd had together. The whole thing was a little disorienting. Jim but not-Jim but definitely Jim. Oy.

They sat down for breakfast in a companionable silence. Once they were done eating, they moved easily around each other clearing the table, putting away condiments, washing the dishes. Blair stared up at him. "It's like we've done a million times."

"I know," Jim said. "We just fit together." His head cocked to the side in a listening pose. "Someone's coming up the stairs." He sniffed. "Smells like Simon's cigars."

Blair stared at Jim. "How do you know that? You don't even know Simon."

Jim stared back at him, his expression confused. "I don't know."

The footsteps went by their door, and they heard a rapping on Blair's neighbor's door.

Blair's heart was racing. "Jim, how did you know that? What's going on?" As much as he was waffling about this Jim-not-Jim stuff, he didn't want his wish to be undone. He liked this new Jim, and he liked that Jim liked his life. The other Jim had had his moments, but Blair wasn't sure he'd ever heard Jim say he was pleased with the way his life had worked out. In fact, if anything, he was usually saying the opposite. Jim wasn't a joyful kind of guy. At least he didn't used to be.

Jim was frowning; more than that, his forehead was creased, a sure indicator of a headache. He stumbled a bit, leaning hard against the counter.

Blair was at his side in a second, holding him. "Jim, talk to me." He glanced wildly at the apartment, checking if anything was changing, if his original life was superimposing itself on his new one. He wondered if he'd wake up to find himself sleeping in his little room downstairs, Jim tossing and turning alone upstairs. But everything stayed the same.

Jim's knees started to buckle, and Blair did his best to hold him up, realizing how similar this was to his attempts at keeping a drunken Jim vertical. He'd lost that fight; he'd probably lose this one, too.

Jim tore out of his hold and lurched for the bathroom. He landed on his knees in front of the toilet and threw up everything he'd just eaten for breakfast.

Blair grimaced as he followed his friend into the bathroom and flushed the toilet as soon as it looked like Jim was through the worst of it. He wet a washcloth and wiped Jim's face. "I need some help here, Jim. Are you sick? Is something weird happening with the wish? What is it?"

Jim inched back until he was leaning against the tub. "Something's going on with the wish, I think," he finally said. "I'm remembering all this stuff that never happened to me." He grabbed his head and let out a low moan. "Jesus, it hurts."

And suddenly Blair felt it, too--memories rushing into his head. It felt like his head was in a vice, as if those memories were actually trying to take up physical space where there was none to be had. He felt nauseous, and swallowed hard so he wouldn't follow Jim's example and puke up his own breakfast.

His thinking compromised by all the painful pressure, it took a while for Blair to figure out it was the memories from his new life taking up residence in his brain. Much of it was the same, almost exactly the same, up to a point. But in this life his nurse friend had never called him, and Blair had never met Jim. And from then on, his life had been entirely different.

Parts of it were cool. He'd gone to Borneo, and a couple other trips. He'd published a lot, which had helped his dissertation go down a little easier with his committee.

He'd rented this place after his apartment had blown up. Blair thought it was really weird that he'd ended up in the same place in both lives.

The pain started up again, like there was an ice hockey game going on in his brain and they'd just thrown off their gloves and started letting the fists fly. He slumped to the floor, could feel Jim next to him, letting out agonized gasps, twins of his own.

The memories continued. Blair had fallen in and out of lust a hundred times, including with the Stephanie who'd blown him off. Blair was glad that he hadn't had particularly strong feelings for her. Just one more table leg, as the old Jim would have said.

In many ways it had been a gentler life. No being kidnapped by serial killers, or being shot at or poisoned. But the absence of Jim made it a much emptier one. His mind might have been happily occupied as he'd lived this life, enjoying it to the max as had always been his way, but his heart had been full of yearning that no pretty body in his bed had ever satisfied.

He heard Jim throwing up again, and Blair opened his eyes, immediately wishing he hadn't. The light was way too bright. He tried to cover his eyes but his body felt too lethargic to even lift a hand. Blair sincerely hoped that this road trip down memory lane wouldn't last too much longer.

As Jim made it back down to the bathroom floor, Blair managed to grab Jim's hand and he held on tight. Jim squeezed back just as hard. Then Blair was deluged with another set of memories.

Blair had no idea how much time had gone by when the pain finally stopped. Instead he had this weird sense of his life being a double exposure. It wasn't much of an improvement over the pain as it left him feeling dizzy and disoriented.

But he managed to sit up, stretching out muscles that weren't happy with having been sprawled over cold linoleum for so long. "Jim," he asked, forcing his eyes open, "you okay?"

Jim groaned but he sat up as well, the base of his hands tight against his eyes. "No."

Blair could swear he saw two Jims sitting on the bathroom floor and he rubbed his own eyes. "No?" Blair guessed he could understand that. He wasn't feeling his best either.

"No," Jim confirmed. He glanced over at Blair. "Did you get slammed with memories, too?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah, but I don't think mine were as bad as yours."

Jim winced. "Jesus, Blair, how did I live this way?" Shaking his head, he said, "What a sick fuck. Jesus."

Blair frowned. "He was my best friend, Jim. I mean you were. Sure he had problems but he did the best he could."

It was like there were four of them in the bathroom. Two Jims and two Blairs.

Covering his face with his hands, Jim said despairingly, "How did that one thing change so much?"

Blair sat down next to Jim as close as he could. "What do you mean?"

"You. You coming back to see me. It changed everything. My whole life." Jim put an arm around Blair and hugged him closely. "Jesus, Blair. If you hadn't come to see me, this is what my life would have been. Jesus." He hugged Blair hard enough to almost hurt.

Blair was aching for Jim. Both of them. "I'm sorry," he said, but he wasn't sure who he was saying it to.

"You were the best thing in his life," Jim said. "Even if he didn't tell you enough."

Blair held Jim tightly. "Why are you getting these memories back? Is the wish going away?" Blair shook his head, answering his own question. "Wait. I still have both sets of memories. Do you?"

Jim nodded. "Yes."

"Why?" Blair wondered out loud. Were things about to go back the way they were? Would the old Jim come back, but maybe with the new Jim's memories, so he could see how his life could have been different? That seemed a bit taunting of The Powers That Be.

Jim gasped. "Jesus, he lost everybody. Everyone but you."

"Jim, I know it looks bad," Blair said as calmly as he could, "but that life happened to him over a lot of years. You're getting slammed with it all at one time. He still had good things in his life. He had Simon, and Major Crimes. He was starting to put things back together with Stephen. He was Cop of the Year two years running. Not everything was bad."

"I don't want it," Jim gasped. "I don't want that life. I want my life."

"Whatever you want, man," Blair assured him honestly. "I'm behind you one hundred percent." As weird as it sounded, Blair could go either way seeing as he got Jim in both of them. But, if he had to pick a life, he'd pick the one where Jim was happier. The fact that he'd finished his dissertation was gravy. And because of it, Blair knew a shit load about Sentinels that the old Blair had never had time to discover. None of it practical, but still, it was good stuff.

Granted, there'd been some good stuff in that old life. The cop stuff had been cool. Scary as shit, but cool. And of course he'd had Jim. But in this new life he still had Jim.

Jim stared at him with haunted eyes. "You don't want that other Jim back?"

"I want you to be happy," Blair said. "That's why all this shit is going on. I wished for you to be happy."

"He loved you, you know. Not that the poor sucker would have ever told you, but he did."

Blair felt the sting of tears. "Thanks. Thanks for telling me that. I know it sounds stupid, but that means a lot to me."

"Tell me what to do here, Chief," Jim begged him. "I don't know what to do. There are too many memories in my head. I can't even think."

Wishing he had an answer, Blair just kept holding Jim. "Maybe we need to choose. Together. Maybe we both need to want this new life."

"Do you?" Jim asked worriedly. "Do you want your old life back? You never asked to have it taken away from you."

Blair thought about it for a minute. But then he realized that he was already hanging on to the only thing he truly couldn't live without. "I choose you, Jim. I always have. And even though I know I sound like a broken record, I want you to be happy. So I choose your new life, with Jack, and the Sentinel program, and me coming to work with you. That's what I choose."

Jim let out a deep breath that ended on something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. "God, me too, Chief. If it's what you want. I want you to be happy, too. This isn't just about me."

"You make me happy," Blair said. "Even if that sounds like a Hallmark card, it's the truth. It's you, Jim, it's always been you. Pick your life, man, and I'm so there with you." He tugged at Jim. "But maybe we could go pick in the living room. My butt's getting cold."

Jim smiled at him and got up, reaching down a hand to help Blair up. "Can I borrow your toothbrush?"

Blair waved expansively at all his toiletries. "Mi bano es your bano," he said graciously. "Help yourself."

Jim looked around. "Actually, I remember it being my bathroom, Chief. Weird it's so clean. You never kept it like this when you lived with me."

Blair flashed him a disgruntled look. "No one could live up to your anal standards, Mr. Clean."

Snorting, Jim looked around the bathroom some more. "It's so strange. I know everything about this place, where the floor squeaks, what weather makes the pipes knock, how the door sticks when it's cold, but I also know that until last night, I'd never set foot in this place."

Blair could relate. Everywhere he looked it was like he was seeing two sets of decorations--the memory of the old ones when he lived here with Jim and the ones currently gracing the walls. Actually...he looked around some more, then moved out to the living room and let out a snicker. He hadn't realized how much he'd taken over the loft when he'd lived here with Jim.

It was decorated a lot like it had been before. Same stuff on the walls, on the shelves, even the carpets on the floor. It gave him a warm fuzzy feeling to see how much Jim had allowed him to make his mark here, despite all his whining about Blair making a mess.

Walking into the kitchen, Blair poured two glasses of orange juice and met Jim in the living room. They both sat on the couch.

"So what do we do now?" Jim asked. "I feel dizzy and confused with all this junk in my head. I don't think I'll be able to function too well with all that stuff in there."

Wishing he knew, Blair drew his feet up and tucked them under Jim's thighs; they were cold. "I don't know. I mean, look around you," he said, waving a hand that took in the living room, "this is my new place, as opposed to our old place, so this new life of mine and yours is still dominant."

Jim put his hands on Blair's ankles. "And what do I do with this whole other life I have in my head?"

Blair shook his head. "I have no idea." He closed his eyes. It didn't make the memories any less, but it was easier on his eyes which was confused by two sets of visual memories.

"You really don't mind losing your life this way?" Jim asked.

Opening his eyes, Blair smiled at Jim. "You, Jim, are my life. My life, both of them, was all about Sentinels. The only thing that sucked about this life, life number two, was that I hadn't found one. But now I have. And not only you, but a hundred of you, and a world where you guys are known about and accepted, and used according to your gifts."

Blair reached over and tapped Jim's temple. "I'm not sure if you remember this, but the other Jim used to freak at the idea of being used by the government to do questionable tasks, or treated like some experimental rat in an underground lab somewhere." He smiled grimly. "It used to freak me out, too."

Jim closed his eyes. "I spent a lot of time hiding."

"The Jim I used to know?" Blair asked.

Jim nodded. "Everything scared him." He opened his eyes and turned to look at Blair. "Not the cop stuff. He was good at that. It was the other stuff. The not being normal stuff. And the emotional stuff. Getting close, caring, having people care about him. Every time you got hurt was hard for him. He dreamt about it a lot." He winced. "Bad dreams."

"Man, I wished he'd told me some of this. Getting him to talk was like getting blood out a stone," Blair admitted with a huff.

"He felt like you knew him pretty well, Chief." Jim suddenly scowled.

"What?" Blair asked, not sure he really wanted to know what memory was surfacing.

"While it might have helped him with the police work, he really hated being a Sentinel." He sent a confused look Blair's way. "How could he have hated it?"

Blair had always sort of hoped that all those times Jim griped about being a Sentinel was just Jim being a drama queen. Apparently not. "Did you ever go to Peru?"

Jim shook his head. "No. I never met Incacha. Jack and I figured it out on our own." His eyebrows went up. "But I can see that you and the other Jim figured out some stuff we never thought of." He smiled at Blair. "After I read your dissertation, I told Jack you knew more about Sentinels than I did, and I was right. You taught him a lot of great things on how to use his senses."

Blair beamed at Jim, thrilled. "Can you use it? The stuff I taught him?"

"You bet," Jim assured him. "I like the piggybacking idea. And the dials." He snorted. "I can't believe we didn't figure that one out."

"What have you been doing when things get too loud or too bright?"

"Oh, I can turn them up and down when I need to, but I like the imagery of a dial. It would have helped me learn to do it easier." He squeezed Blair's ankles. "I'll use them from now on."

They sat there in silence for a while. Then Blair said, "I'm sorry your dad is dead."

Jim shrugged. "We weren't close. Once I left for college I hardly ever saw him." He scrubbed at his face with his hand. "He had a rough life."

"Your dad?"

"No, that other Jim. It was rough." He reached for Blair and got him turned around so Jim could hold him close. "You really mattered to him." He kissed the top of Blair's head. "I'm glad I have these memories even though they suck. I'm glad I get to see how you helped him, worked with him, made him feel like a human being again. You were amazing with him."

Blair could feel his face redden. "He was the one..." Blair stopped himself as he realized they were talking of the other Jim as someone else, almost as someone who had died. Blair felt a moment's guilt, but then understood this was the way it would have to be. "He was amazing. Despite how rough his life was, he still wanted to help. He could have worked for his dad, gone the rich pampered route, but he didn't. He cared." As long as his face was right there, Blair nuzzled Jim's neck. "I'm guessing he's a lot like you in that."

"I'd like to think so," Jim said. "But I haven't been tested like him. Until Simon, every authority figure in his life fucked him over or was killed. Other than a fairly dysfunctional family, which is almost par for the course these days, I've had a pretty good life." He hugged Blair even closer. "Thanks to you and your magic."

"I wish it was my magic," Blair demurred. "Trust me, I've made a lot of wishes that haven't come true. I have no idea why this one did. A part of me still can't believe it. Thinks I'm gonna wake up and hear you yelling at me for leaving my backpack somewhere you could trip over." He grimaced. "And five classes to teach, and a thousand thankless students, and a dissertation that was probably never going to get written." He wasn't going to miss any of that.

"That's right," Jim said. "Congratulations, by the way, Dr. Sandburg."

"I feel bad about getting all the credit when I don't feel like I wrote it at all. I mean I have the memories, but they're not as strong as the ones where I didn't write it."

Jim pulled away so he could see Blair better. "So your memories are stronger of your first life?" he asked nervously.

"A lot stronger." Blair put a hand on Jim's arm to reassure him. "But it doesn't matter, Jim. Those memories are pretty transportable. Most of what's different is you. In one life I met you, and in one life I didn't. I'm kind of glad I get to keep the old set with all my memories of the old you, but get to be with the new you. Sort of like getting my cake and eating it, too."

Jim laughed softly. They sat there for a while, and then Jim reached for the remote control. Blair thought a little TV would be perfect. They both needed some time to digest what had happened. Jim found a game, and Blair, after Jim lay down on his side facing the TV, lay in front of him, his head resting on Jim's arm, his back to Jim's chest. He smiled as he remembered countless games he and the other Jim had watched. Good times, yes, but Blair had never been quite as comfortable as he was now.

Right before halftime, Jim buried his nose in Blair's hair and drew a deep breath. Then his hand started caressing Blair.

Blair felt tingly all over, and he sagged against Jim, especially when Jim's hand moved to cover his crotch, his fingers molding the soft fabric to Blair's cock.

Letting out a groan, pushing himself into Jim's hand, Blair's back support suddenly abandoned him. Blair complained as he fell to his back on the couch. But then Jim was climbing on top of him, and his sweatpants were being tugged down.

Despite the suddenness of it, Blair got right with the program, especially when Jim's furnace of a mouth ended up around his cock. He groaned, the rush of his cock growing hard so fast making him dizzy. Good thing he was already lying down.

Jim sucked him hard, as if everything he needed was to be found there. One of his hands rolled Blair's balls, pressing directly behind, stimulating him further.

Not that Blair needed it. He had dreamed about Jim touching him this way for so long, the fact that it was actually happening was such a turn on he knew he wouldn't last long. "Let me touch you," Blair moaned. He'd dreamt of touching Jim, too, and the memories of those dreams were tantalizing him now that he had Jim within reach.

Jim whipped off his boxers and spun around, nearly taking Blair's eye out with his beautiful cock. Blair reached for it eagerly, working his lips around it, his hand fisting the velvet length of it. They both just fit on the couch, although if they got too carried away Jim was going to end up on the floor.

Neither of them lasted long. Blair came first, letting Jim go so he didn't bite him accidentally. But then he was back on the job, wanting to taste Jim's essence. In less than a minute, Jim was spurting in his mouth, letting out a yell as he thrust his hips.

They both sagged back, using each other's thighs as pillows, Blair keeping one hand on Jim's butt to keep him from falling. At least that was the story he was sticking to. He grinned at Jim. "Not that I'm complaining, but what brought that on?"

Jim grinned back at him. "I decided I wanted the life where I can do that anytime I want."

Blair snickered. "Then I think we better move to San Francisco."

Jim smiled. "Should I have asked first?"

Shaking his head on Jim's thigh, Blair said, "Consider this blanket permission to give me a blow job any time you want."

Jim's smile grew broader, the corners of his eyes crinkled.

Blair loved that smile in any version of Jim. "How's your head?" Blair asked. "All the memories still there?"

Jim thought about it. "Yeah, but it's like the new set, or the other Jim's memories are sort of fading. Still there, but like a dream."

"But they are still there?"

Jim nodded.

Blair was sorry Jim had to deal with those memories, but he was glad they were there. It was nice to know that the memories of the three years he'd spent with Jim weren't his alone. It meant those three years were still real. Not to mention that some of the work the old Jim had done on his senses might come in handy.

"How about you," Jim asked. "You still have both sets?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah. But I'm okay with it. I mean, like you, one set is stronger, and even though it's my other life with the other Jim, which is weird, it's also the life where I have the most practical knowledge of working with a Sentinel. That should come in handy. If the second set of memories starts to fade, I have the dissertation to refer to, and I can find all those sources and read them for myself."

Jim turned around carefully and kissed Blair. "No matter what life I lead, you seem to be the best part of it." He kissed the top of Blair's head.

"That is like the best thing anyone has ever said to me," Blair said, smiling. "And that works both ways. And I'm glad you have some memories of our life before. It makes it easier to let it all go." Most of it, anyway. There were people he was going to miss, even if none of them knew him.

Jim yawned. "I think I'm ready for a nap."

"That works for me," Blair said, yawning himself. "Let's go upstairs."

In less than a minute, they were both upstairs, under the blankets, holding each other closely.

"You and me, Chief," Jim said drowsily.

Blair watched him as he struggled to stay awake. "Go to sleep, Jim."

Jim nodded. Then he reached for Blair's hand. "Maybe we can go meet with Simon, let him in on the Sentinel Project, tell him if he needs us for anything, we can help. What do you think?"

Blair kissed Jim soundly. "I think I love you. And I think that's a wonderful idea. Now go to sleep."

Still struggling, Jim cracked his eyes open. "You'll be here?"

Chuckling, Blair stroked Jim's face. "Apparently, you're stuck with me. Like a bad penny."

Almost asleep, Jim said, "Bad penny." He laughed drowsily. "That's what you said to me, twenty-five years ago. And you told me to believe in magic." He tugged Blair in close. "It's you, Chief, you're the magic."

"We're the magic, Jim. You and me." Blair watched as Jim finally succumbed to his tiredness. He stared out the window; saw it was a beautiful sunny day. Then he could have sworn he saw a twinned-tail falling star cross the sky.

Blair shut his eyes firmly. He'd had all the wishes he could stand. Besides, right now, as he nestled into Jim's body and as Jim's arm tightened around him, he couldn't think of a thing to wish for.

The End