Author's website: http://www.templeofthesentinels.com



This story is a sequel to:

All my life I've been chasing rainbows. At least, that's what Naomi says. Naomi's my mom, but she's always thought of me as a friend first and a son second, and treated me accordingly. Maybe because she really isn't all that much older than me. Just fifteen years. I know, because I looked in her passport once. That's really young to be having a kid, right?

But she never seemed too young to me. Never felt old either. She was just Naomi; careful, protective and fun. She never put me down or treated me like my thoughts and feelings weren't important because I was smaller and younger than her.

She always spoke to me like I was an adult, you know? Took what I said seriously and listened. Even when I was just a very little kid. She gave me her attention, made sure I knew that what I said was every bit as interesting as the stuff the grown ups talked about.

Maybe that's why I was always a little ahead of the other kids. How I got to be in Rainier University at age sixteen. How I came to have my masters before I hit twenty one and working on my doctorate, well on my way to becoming a respected anthropologist at... at...

How old am I now? I think... I think I'm twenty eight. Maybe even twenty nine? My memory's crystal clear about everything up to and including getting my masters, but it all gets really hazy on the last few years. I know those years happened. I mean, I know I'm not twenty five anymore. But... this is how I know something terrible has happened to me because I should be able to remember, shouldn't I?

I don't know who I am anymore, or where I am or why I'm here, lost in this jungle with a chunk of my memory missing. I sometimes wonder if I was on some expedition. That makes sense, because I'm in the forest and there's a whole lot of ruins here, but if that's the case, the reason for said expedition escapes me, now, and doesn't explain all the other stuff...

Did I get lost? Wander off from my group and lose my way out here? Maybe I had an accident, and that's why my memory is gone? That would make some kind of sense.

I mean, it could be a whole lot worse. It's beautiful here, but so very, very cold. Maybe this jungle is high in the mountains, otherwise, how could it be cold? But there are lots of fruits and nuts and things to eat. I'm never hungry.

Sometimes, I wonder if I died? That would explain a lot of things. But if so, shouldn't something be happening? Some kind of karmic bardo type of thing? Being dead wouldn't explain why I'm all alone. And why I can't remember anything.

How did I come to be here?

I was probably off chasing rainbows. That's how I usually get into trouble. And, I really do think I am in some kind of big trouble here. If only I could remember...

"...So, Detective Conner was left open to attack when you, who were supposedly backing her up, were not in position and were, in fact, still sitting in your truck. Is that the matter in a nutshell, Detective Ellison? Detective Ellison? Are we keeping you up, Detective?" Sheila Irwin snapped angrily as Jim slipped deeper into the semi-zone that had hovered at the edges of his consciousness ever since he'd sat down in I.A .to hear how his mistake, his failure, had almost cost Megan her life.

"Is he gone again?" Sheila's half-worried voice was the last thing he heard as his thoughts slipped away completely, back to last Thursday and the Westerhouse stakeout...

The rain was falling hard, streetlights glinting off the black, shining pavement. The stakeout had been long and tedious; four days and five nights watching the warehouse where Jonathan Westerhouse, Cascade's number one drug lord, expected to seal a major deal with Vladimir Alexandrovich Goshin, his Moscow based counterpart who was looking to expand his operation to America's west coast by partnering with Westerhouse. Involving many thousands of hours of investigation and hundreds of thousands of dollars, the Westerhouse case had been a major undercover operation.

At three thirty am, when everyone was tired and at their lowest ebb, half an hour before the changeover, Jim had spotted Goshin, trench coat flapping against the wind and rain, heading over to the warehouse on foot. No one else but Jim would have seen the man dressed all in black - everyone else was watching for a car arriving. Megan reported it in and everyone prepared to move.

Everyone except Jim Ellison. The wind blown rain, flashing in the orange light from the streetlamp had all his attention; the spray, sparkling and glittering like golden rain... like golden...

Jim sat like a statue, totally zoned out while his partner went after a notorious gang leader and known cop killer without her backup. Megan survived, but in the confusion, Goshin and Westerhouse got away. Who knew when they would have such a chance again? Subsequently, Jim had been on suspension for the past five days with a compulsory medical pending, and lost his driving license while he underwent tests for epilepsy.

"Back among the living, Detective?" Sheila asked, trying for snippy, but unable to keep the concern out of her voice. Ellison was a good man, a great cop, everyone knew that. It wasn't his fault that his health was deteriorating so badly. He was, however, entirely to blame for not reporting the problem, for not getting help, for trying to keep working knowing he was increasingly susceptible to blackouts and petit mal attacks. He had put himself and his colleagues at serious risk, and Irwin was going to make damn sure he wasn't able to place good cops in danger again.

"I don't think there's anything more to be said here," she said, slapping the file down on the desk. "Pending a detailed medical examination, you are on permanent suspension, Detective. Captain Banks, you're responsible for making sure this man stays home until his fitness has been officially assessed. That's all."

Simon sighed, deeply worried about the man sitting opposite him. Pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed tight, pale as a wraith; Jim looked wholly and entirely, like shit. His skin was blotchy, his eyes red rimmed and sunken, his clothes hanging off - after the meeting, feeling as if his suit was strangling him, he'd ripped his shirt open to the third button and pulled it free of his pants, the tails hanging below his suit coat, his tie was loose and askew - he looked like a man coming apart at every seam, and none too slowly either. Simon stuck a mug of strong, black coffee under Jim's nose. "Drink it."

Jim nodded. Shifting himself up in the chair, he sipped gingerly, clutching the cup like drowning man holds on to a lifebelt.

Simon sat down, dreading the words that had to be said. "I'll need your badge and your gun." Jim carefully put his cup down, stood and gave up the requested items, staring at them as they lay on the desk. "Siddown, Jim. Finish your coffee," Simon said, kindly.

Jim did as he was told. So uncharacteristically submissive, so acquiescent, Simon hardly knew how to talk to the guy. This wasn't Jim Ellison sitting here, this was some pod-guy; had been for weeks now. Simon had hoped - prayed, it wouldn't come to this, but cursed himself now, for not putting Jim on medical leave months ago, when the whole thing first blew up.

"I've already made an appointment for your medical; nine thirty, Tuesday morning. Don't be late." He pushed the slip of paper across his desk. Jim stared at it, dazedly.

Clearing his throat, looking out of the window, Simon went on; "I've also booked you in with the PD's psychiatrist." His hand went up; automatically responding to what would be the Real Jim's immediate reaction. But this Jim just sat, staring vacantly at Simon's desk.

"Not my decision, Jim. You're booked in for Tuesday afternoon, one thirty, that way, you won't have to come in here, twice. I'll come over to the loft and pick you up in the morning. We can maybe grab some lunch... Jim?" Jim slowly drew his eyes up to his captain's sternum.

"You with me here?"

Jim nodded. "Medical, Tuesday morning," he said, his voice quiet and hoarse. "Shrink, Tuesday afternoon. You'll come get me. Got it, Simon."

"Jim..."

"It's OK," Jim put in quickly, meeting Simon's eyes for the first time. "I know I have a problem. Gotta get it dealt with. Megan could have died and it would have been my fault. I know. I know. I..." His eyes slipped back down to the floor.

"Jim, look. I know things've not been right since Sandburg..."

This time it was Jim's hand that went up. "All I ask is that I can still access the PD search files and database. I know... I have Sand... I have a laptop at home, I can log in from there, I don't need to set foot in the building, but please don't let IA cancel my log in. Simon, I need that access, I need to keep looking..."

"Jim!" Simon's sharp command instantly stopped the babbling and pleading. "Jim," he went on, his voice softer, kinder. "It's been eight months. I know you think that something is wrong..."

"I know something is wrong! Don't ask me to explain because you won't like what you hear, but I know he's in trouble and I won't... I won't give up on him. I have to keep looking."

Simon sighed. He'd worked through every permutation of the missing Sandburg conundrum, looking for answers. At first, he'd thought that the kid had simply had enough (and who could blame him?) and walked out on a difficult situation (as he'd doubtless done many times in his pre-Ellison past). But in his heart, Simon knew that could not be so. No one as sick as Sandburg was just walks out of a hospital bed. Sandburg wasn't that irresponsible. To just up and go without at least leaving a note for the man who'd been his closest companion for the past three years... OK, things had not been going well for either man at the time, but even so... Blair wouldn't just disappear without saying something. He would never be that cruel.

Then there was the University; they'd heard nothing, either. And he'd not been in touch with his mother, who'd reacted hysterically to the news that her son was missing and was currently in Big Sur with a psychic, trying to trace him.

No, there was no doubt that something sinister had happened to Blair Sandburg. But what? There were no clues. Ellison had used all his skills, as a Sentinel and first class detective to try to track his partner down, to no avail. All the evidence pointed to Sandburg having gotten out of his hospital bed, dressed himself in filthy, torn jeans and a thin cotton shirt and walked, barefoot, out of the hospital and into a cold, wet February night, voluntarily, under no perceivable duress - and completely vanished from the face of the earth.

And Jim Ellison had been going crazy ever since.

The madness began with a wild, hyper whirlwind of activity. Jim was a man possessed as he put every other thing in his life and his job on hold to search for Sandburg.

Then - as every trail proved fruitless, as every lead led to a cold, dead end, hope started to die in Ellison; a little piece of him perished every day, until there was practically nothing left. The man in front of him now was nothing but an empty shell; the fragile carapace of a once healthy human being, as breakable as fine china.

But not dead. Not yet, anyway. Though Simon felt sure the only thing keeping him alive was the flimsy thread of faith that he would, if he looked long and hard enough, find Blair alive, and Jim would never stop looking. Simon was not about to deny him that hope.

"It's OK, Jim," he said, softly. "There'll be no problem about logging onto the department computer. I'll see to it."

Jim slumped back, almost smiling. "Thanks," he breathed in relief.

"Look, you get out of here, go home, try and get some rest, you look like shit. You know, we're all here for you, right? Anything you need..."

Jim rose to his feet and moved to the door, looking back with a sad, grateful nod. "Thanks. Really. For everything."

"Till next Tuesday, Jim."

Jim nodded, and walked out of the door.

Go home, Simon'd said. Home! Jim grimaced as he let himself into the loft. This place was no longer home. It was cold, empty and dead. Colder, emptier and deader than it'd been when he'd cleaned the place out; when he'd cleaned Blair out with the couch and the bed and the pictures and the throws - like he was another piece of the furniture that had to be cleared away. And wasn't that just how he'd thought of his friend, back then, when the man was still his friend? Before her... the other sentinel - he couldn't bring himself to think of her by name, because that would humanise her and he didn't want to humanise the bitch. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked over to lean against the balcony windows and look out over his city.

`Where are you, Chief?' he thought to himself, quickly draining the beer. The first of many more to come before he dragged himself to bed - Sandburg's bed, not his own. He hadn't been able to sleep in his own since... Well, since. Too lonely up there.

The morning after Blair went missing, he'd spent three days straight searching the streets, and all the time, Simon kept trying to bring him back to the PD, trying to get him to do things `properly'; follow procedure! Jim knew he stood a much better chance out in the city, trying to pick up a scent - like a sniffer dog, Simon'd said, incredulously. But, yeah, that's just what he was, and a good one, too. He'd found Blair's scent, trailed it from the hospital for three blocks, `till it grew too faint to follow, but he kept going back to the spot where he'd lost the trail; right outside a carpet store, on a busy street, searching up every road, down each and every alley, in every direction, looking for something, some clue - anything; a hair, a fibre from his shirt - but there was nothing; the constant pouring rain that bitter February had washed everything away.

For those first three days, he didn't sleep; couldn't rest when he knew Blair was out there, somewhere. He kept searching, searching, searching, till he literally dropped, unconscious in the cold, wet street.

Exhausted, soaked and freezing, aching inside and out, he refused to check into the hospital, needing to come back here, to the Loft, to where his friend's presence was strongest. That night he slept in Blair's bed, with his Guide's scent around him.

And never left. Blair's room had become his haven, his Fortress of Solitude. The place he went when he needed to re-charge, recover from the toll the loss was taking on his system. Though the residual scent of his friend was long gone now, replaced by his own, he still took some comfort from being there, amongst his things, where there was such a strong sense of Blair, still. Where he could wallow in regret for things said and unsaid. Re-do everything in his own mind and make it right again. He would make it right again, if only Blair would come home...

Because the guilt had never gone away. Whatever soothing words Simon used to persuade him otherwise - and he'd used a lot these past eight months - Jim knew it was his fault Blair had walked out, injured and sick with a pair of infected, watery lungs and gone, dressed for the tropics, into a wet and freezing Cascade night, leaving no message, nothing at all to say why he'd gone or where he was heading. In eight months; thirty five weeks, two days, one hour and thirty seven minutes, there'd been not a word - nothing to say he was still alive.

Simon thought Blair was dead. All evidence pointed to that as the most likely scenario. Killed by the pneumonia that had put him in the hospital in the first place, or - corny as it might sound, of a broken heart. Jim didn't discount the possibility of his Guide lying in some ditch somewhere, dying in the rain, cold and alone...

Jim bent double with the pain of the sudden devastating thought. It wasn't so! Blair was alive! Jim knew he was. And he would never give up on him. Never. He owed him... loved him too much to let him go.

He walked to the balcony doors and looked out at the night. "I know you're out there somewhere, kid, I can still feel you. You're a long ways off, but you are still there, breathing some other city's air; I can feel it. I can feel you. God, I miss you. Come home, Chief. Please come home..."

Blair stood on his home made ladder, settling a fresh palm frond into the gap that had appeared in the roof of his shelter. He didn't really know why he'd built a shelter at all; it never rained here; the forest canopy shaded out the sun and the flimsy structure was no protection at all from the biting cold that assailed him constantly. It just seemed homier, somehow, to settle in for the night under a roof, even if that roof consisted of nothing more than a layer of palm leaves over a bamboo frame.

He was quite proud of the way he'd been able to make a home for himself here. Quite the Robinson Crusoe. The ladder was made of thick bamboo he'd cut himself with a self-napped stone knife. He'd tied the thing together with grasses and it held his weight just fine - not saying a whole lot, of course. He could tell from the way the light cotton garments he wore hung so loose on his frame that he'd lost a lot of weight.

Not sure why; he seemed to eat OK. Fruits and nuts were plentiful here, the trees bowed with the weight of them. He felt no need to carve himself a spear and go hunting, though game was abundant; all manner of animals came and went through the forest. They were mostly friendly; a few had tried to attack him, but he'd fended them off fiercely, and they showed him the respect of not trying again.

He had, on occasion, stepped into disputes between the animals, stopping fights, preventing the strong from hurting the weak. The creatures were all so beautiful; he could never have brought himself to harm any of them. Neither could he bear the thought of them hurting each other.

Sometimes, the animal he most yearned to meet, the great black jaguar, would appear on the edges of the forest. He knew the big cat was watching him all the time; always from afar. He lived for the moments when he'd catch a glimpse of the magnificent creature.

Sometimes he went chasing after the cat, but never got anywhere near reaching him. Like his memories, no matter how close he seemed to be, he was never close enough. Blair had given up trying to catch up to him now. It saddened him to think he could never befriend the big cat, as he had all the other creatures of the forest, but the jaguar seemed content just to watch him from a distance, and Blair had to be satisfied with the occasional happy sighting.

Blair knew he ought to be afraid of him; the animal was huge and strong and exuded a powerful sense of danger, but Blair always felt safe when he was around, liked having him around, keeping watch - protecting him.

There was peace in his jungle world. And he was happy - most of the time.

Sometimes, though, a terrible melancholy would come over him. This usually happened when he'd tried too hard to touch the memories he knew were there, hanging just out of reach. He knew, if he ever did manage to touch them, that they'd hurt him badly. And yet, sometimes, when the loneliness got too hard to bear, he still found himself trying. That's when the tears would come, relentless and unstoppable. His friends, the forest animals would gather round him then, to try to comfort and consol; though there was nothing for it but to let the feelings run their course and cry himself out.

The nights of heartbreak were horrendous, but they didn't happen often and he knew, in the morning, he'd wake happy and whole again. If only he didn't try to remember, he'd be safe from the sadness. But the need never really went away, and so he did keep trying, knowing all the time that if he ever did finally connect, the memories might be terrible enough to kill him.

Simon glanced up as he came to the end of his story about Rafe and Brown's latest Big Thing; attacks of escalating violence on three young men. It looked like someone was copy-catting Joe Miller. It was an old, long-closed case of Jim's. Miller himself was dead, knifed in a prison fight over three years ago, and Simon'd thought Jim might have some insight - it was a mystery why anyone would start copying Miller's horrific crimes after all this time. But Jim wasn't listening. He was hardly there at all.

Simon watched, disturbed and half afraid, as his old friend slowly ripped his Wonderburger into smaller and smaller pieces, dreamily fingering the oily fries, running his finger back and forth across his plate in a figure of eight, over and over, seemingly mesmerised...

Grains of salt. Just salt. Who could guess simple salt could be so very, very beautiful? Jim thought, running his finger over them, moving them around to catch the light. Perfect crystal cubes, glinting like diamonds against the pitted porcelain of this cheap plate - imperfect, but so white! Snowy whiteness showing to perfection, the tiny spectrums thrown out by those flawless little crystals...

"Jim. Jim."

Someone was shaking his arm. He raised sleepy eyes to the figure sitting opposite. Simon. That's right; he was having lunch with Simon...

With the awareness came a rush... Of noise, so deafening, so hideously sharp and shrill and loud! And the smell! Hot grease and carbonised meat invading his nose and sinuses, piercing all the way to his brain. Screwing up his face in agony, he gripped his heaving belly, cringing over his plate, gasping under the sensory onslaught. Feeling the strong grip, then, tight on his arm, feet dragging across the tile floor, hitting the sun drenched yet mercifully cool, fall air outside, where he retched, emptying scant, stringy bile onto the cracked pavement before being manhandled, exhausted and bewildered, into the familiarly comforting confines of Simon's car.

Simon got in beside him, wiping his face with the palm of his hand, distressed; at a loss - "Jesus, Jim. What am I gonna do with you? You ought to be in a hospital!"

"No," Jim croaked out, voice hoarse. "No hospital!"

"Jim, they have the internet at Cascade General, now. You can access the PDs computers from there..."

"No! Simon, I need... I have to be home. I can't... There's nothing a hospital can do for me, you know that."

"Jim, this can't go on! You're getting worse all the time. What's going to happen to you?"

"When I find Sandburg..."

"No, Jim, if. If you find Sandburg. If he's still alive. If he wants to come back to Cascade. If he still wants to work with you..."

"He will! He does..."

"You don't know that!"

"Yes! I do! Goddamn it, Simon! I know what I'm doing! Just let me... let me get on with things in my own way."

"Jim, I'm not joking, I'm scared for you! You're a very sick man. You're living all alone in that damn loft. What if you black out again, like you did in the bullpen? Pass out and hit your head and no one there to help or call an ambulance? What if you zone out, Jim? Sandburg once said you could zone so badly you might stop breathing. That's why he was there, wasn't it? To watch your back, to be with you if you zoned? Who's there to watch out for you now, Jim?"

Simon looked over at his friend, silently staring out of the window, that only half-there expression on his face again.

"You with me?" Simon asked, quietly.

Jim nodded.

"Look, Jim. Daryl's room is empty most of the time... Hear me out," he pleaded as Jim began to shake his head. "I'm your friend as well as your boss. I'm Sandburg's friend, too. I'm more than happy for you to go on looking for the kid. You think you can find him, then that's just great. You keep searching and I'll do anything I can to help you. I pray to God you can find him. Not just because of what this situation is doing to you. Hell, I miss the kid too. I want you to find him; I just don't want you killing yourself in the process. You hear me?"

"I hear you," Jim said, the slightest of smiles lighting his thin face.

"So...?"

"So?"

"You'll come and stay at my place?"

"No. Look, it's great of you to ask. I'm touched, really, that you'd make that offer. It's just... I need to be in the loft. I need my own space. Please don't ask me to explain."

"And what if you zone, or blackout or... whatever."

Jim shrugged. "I'll take my chances."

"Not good enough."

Jim sighed. "OK. Look. I`ll email. Twice a day. Nine in the morning to your PD address, nine at night to your home computer. That way, if I miss calling in..."

"Nine on the dot, twice a day?"

Jim nodded.

"You'll remember to do that?"

Jim shrugged.

"Well, I guess that'll have to do. But Jim, if you are zoned, what do I do?"

"I don't know. Sandburg tries to figure which sense I'm zoned on and stimulate another. Sometimes, he just talks."

"Talks, huh? Well, that I can do. Maybe not as good as Sandburg, but..." Simon checked his watch. "One o clock. You ready for this, Jim?"

"The shrink? Yeah, I guess. I don't know what I'm going to tell him. I'll come up with something."

"A little creative obfuscation, huh?" Simon's heart warmed to see Jim's face crack in a smile.

"Yeah. Know all about that."

"You had a great teacher."

"One of the best."

Blair stood between Tiger and a beautiful, slender Gazelle. The Gazelle was new to the forest. Blair knew Tiger was all roar and just trying to put the Gazelle in his place in the pecking order, he always acted this way whenever a new creature appeared here, but he was so strong. He had huge claws and sharp teeth and could really hurt the delicate Gazelle without even trying.

Blair shook his head emphatically at him - no point in using words to the animals; they didn't speak his language so he had to speak theirs; all gestures and faces and smells - yeah, smells! All a matter of mind control; thinking the right thoughts so you smelled right; smelled of strength and confidence and control - never fear or hate. He stood, hands on the Tiger's chest, pushing back the furious animal, thinking brave thoughts, thinking; `no!'

Eventually, the Tiger backed down. He sat back on his haunches, licked his paws and nonchalantly began to clean behind his ears without ever taking his eyes off the terrified Gazelle. Once Blair knew Tiger wouldn't attack, he turned to the frightened newcomer. Arms raised placatingly, he moved to the side of the panting animal, patting his smooth flanks, whispering soft words to gentle the terrified creature. `S'OK. OK,' he thought, sending what he hoped were waves of love, smiling when the Gazelle's breathing eased and he settled down into his embrace, bending his long, beautiful head to nuzzle Blair's hair.

`See?' Blair thought with a gentle smile for Gazelle, Tiger and all the other animals who stood around watching. `There's no need for pissing contests! We can all be happy here, together, right?'

The spectacle over, most of the animals began to disperse, to go about their regular business. Turtle, Parrot, Snake and Rabbit stayed to crowd round Blair, nudging and rubbing against him and his new friend, trying to get a share of the love.

Tiger also stayed to watch a while, growling to himself. `You know, you could be a part of this too,' Blair thought, smiling welcomes at the angry creature, lifting a beckoning arm, thinking; `come join us!'

But Tiger just roared; an ear splitting, rattling snarl that made the animals around Blair squeak and tremble and press closer to him, before Tiger turned and stalked away into the dark jungle.

Jim sat at Simon's dinner table, avoiding the wine, drinking copious amounts of sweet, black coffee - his usual strategy these days for avoiding a zone. The results of the psych evaluation had come in that morning; Simon drove to the loft to give Jim the good news that he was officially and certifiably Not Crazy. He was, however, still on indefinite suspension until the causes of his blackouts could be determined. But there was bad news too - even if the epilepsy tests came back negative, even if they failed to find (as Jim and Simon knew they would) medical reasons for his blackouts, the only position open to Jim on his return would be a desk job.

It was hardly a surprise, after three blackouts in four months; that's to say, three the PD officially knew about. Major Crime had done one heck of a lot of covering and obfuscating on Jim's behalf since Sandburg's disappearance, but things had come to a head with the shootout that almost cost Megan's life. Now everyone knew; Jim Ellison was not fit to be out on the streets.

"I guess the good news is," Simon said, pouring himself a fresh glass of Zinfandel, "When you do come back to work, it'll be to a promotion..."

"I'll be behind a desk. Permanently."

"You're highly respected at the PD. They could have made you redundant on health grounds. This is their way of saying how great a cop they know you are."

"I'm a Sentinel. I can't do my job from behind a desk."

"Jim, you're going to have to come to terms with this. There's no way they're going to let you out on the streets again after what's happened."

Jim gripped and twisted his napkin. "It's not me, Simon. It's not who I am."

Simon leaned back with a sigh. "I know. But it's all that's on offer, Jim. They won't consider you coming back at all until your health checks come back clean. They need an explanation for the zone outs before they'll let you set foot in the building."

"Then maybe I should start looking for another job?"

"You don't mean that?"

"Don't I?" Jim kept his eyes resolutely on the table top.

"You're a great cop, Jim. You can still be a great cop as a Lieutenant. Hell, you're two times Cop of the Year; you could put in for Captain in a couple of years..."

"It's. Not. Who. I. Am."

"Pay check's a whole lot better."

"I don't need the money."

"Well hooray for you, Detective," Simon got up to get more coffee for Jim, giving him something to do, other than wringing the Cop of the Year's ungracious neck. "Some of us had to fight our way up to where we are. Not everyone had the advantage of a rich daddy."

"Oh! That's low!" Jim said, still not meeting Simon's eyes.

"OK, that was uncalled for," Simon said, refilling Jim's empty cup, pushing the sugar bowl in his direction. "I apologise. But dammit all to hell, Jim, you're acting like a spoilt child. Not many cops would get this kind of an offer after the stunts you've been pulling, lately. This is a mark of respect and gratitude, and frankly, it's the best damn offer you're going to get. For God's sakes man, you're, how old now?"

"You know how old I am."

"Forty. You're forty, Jim."

That got him a glare from Jim. Simon met his eyes with a sarcastic smile. "You're going to be off the streets inside of five years, anyhow. This is a big advance in your career. Don't throw it all away out of misplaced pride."

"That's not the problem, Simon!"

"Isn't it? Accept you're getting older, Jim. Accept your health isn't what it should be and be damn grateful you've still got a job. A job you're good at. Don't throw it all away."

Jim took a swig if his coffee, and went back to playing with his napkin. "OK," he said. "Say my health checks come back clean. Say I can get the zones under control. If I did accept this offer...?"

Simon watched him hopefully.

"Where would Sandburg fit in?"

Simon blew out a deep, exasperated sigh. "Jim..."

"I mean, he was an observer, officially, but, eventually, he's going to have his doctorate, right? So, maybe, maybe there'd be a place for him, an official place, you know, with a pay check, in whatever department I end up in..." Jim looked up at Simon, eyes hopelessly pleading - like a little trailer park kid hoping his single mom is gonna somehow find the wherewithal to take him to Disneyland this year.

"Ah, Jim." Simon flopped down in his chair and met Jim's gaze, watched as the hope there faded and died. "Jim. You've got to stop..."

"Well I can't. I can't. I won't."

"OK. I've had three glasses of wine and I can't deal with this right now," Simon said, exasperated. "Jim, the offer's on the table. What happens next depends on you. You've got to get your life straightened out, get your health right, try to control the zones. You've got start thinking about the future. And you've got to start considering the possibility of a future without Sandburg."

Jim went back to damaging Simon's grandmother's fine damask napkin.

"I'm not saying, stop looking. I would never expect you to do that."

"You want me to stop hoping."

"I want you to start living, Jim. You're killing yourself over this and it's not... Do you think this is what Blair'd want? You think he'd want to see you destroying yourself over this?"

"Like I destroyed him?"

"Aw, Jim!" Simon threw his own napkin down in disgust. "Alex Barnes was the one that put him in that fountain! She was the one who tried to kill him."

"And it was me that finished the job."

"Oh, I am not going to listen to anymore of this! Trouble with you, Ellison is that you've painted yourself into such a dark corner you can't find anyway out again. There is light at the end of that tunnel, Detective, but you've got to get off this guilt trip you're on. You are not to blame for what happened! Sandburg was a sick man. He took the decision, for whatever fuddled reasons were in that incomprehensible head of his, to walk out of that hospital to who knows what end? Not your fault, Jim! You are not to blame. But until you accept that, you're not going to get better.

"Now, it's two am and I strongly suggest you stop here the night. You're exhausted, in no shape to be taking a cab across town and I'm in no fit state to drive you..." Simon stood and laid a kindly hand on Jim's shoulder. "Jim, get over it, for your sake and mine and everyone who knows you. We all care about you, you son of a bitch. No one wants to see you fall apart like this. Get over it and start living again." He gave Jim's back a sharp buddy slap. "Now get to bed. Go sleep on it, Jim. I don't wanna see your ugly mug again till morning."

That night, Jim dreamed of the jungle.

It was the first time since Blair had left. Last time he was here, he'd killed his partner. Then the dream came true, and he never dreamed of the blue jungle again.

And Blair was here! The real Blair, not the wolf - not his animal spirit. This was Blair the man; alive, thin - too thin, but healthy. His hair was a little shorter, but it shone, the curls bounced. His skin glowed, he positively vibrated with life. He was dressed in what looked like pajamas or hospital scrubs; the blue complementing his eyes which were laughing and joyous as he drew pictures in the sand on the far shore of a lagoon, the surrounding jungle and snow capped mountains reflected in its deep, blue waters. On one side, a waterfall crashed over high, steep rocks. The place had an ethereal beauty; a disturbing loveliness that seemed not of this world. That scared Jim. Was this a vision of some afterlife? Was Blair dead after all?

He needed to cross, to get to his friend on the other side! Jim dipped in a toe, quickly pulling it clear. The waters were freezing! How could water be so cold and not be solid ice?

Consumed with the desire to join his partner, he paced, trying to figure if there was some other way to cross. To swim would be impossible. Even if he could survive the fearsome cold, the water that stretched between them, he somehow knew, was deep and treacherous with deadly currents. He had to be content to watch, from a distance that seemed almost to stretch forever, yet at the same time, was so close he could feel the heat of his partner's skin, scent the familiar musk of his body.

The separation hurt so badly. He roared his distress, and was rewarded to see Blair look up, then stand, staring out across the water, his bright, blue gaze meeting his own, with equal pain.

He was sad to be so parted from his friend, but glad, too, that he could see and feel and scent and sense him. He couldn't touch, he couldn't talk, but he was grateful for that little bit of his partner the dream had gifted him. Even from the far distance of a vision, Blair was Guiding him. His senses were online and working just fine! When he woke, it was with renewed purpose and hope. Blair was alive. He was out there, waiting for him. Jim got up feeling better, stronger, happier - healthier by far than he had since the day Blair walked out of Cascade General.

Blair walked down to the blue lagoon that lay at the edge of his world. He liked to sit here and watch the animals that came to drink the water and lie in the sun.

It was a beautiful place. To his left, a high waterfall cascaded over blue rocks, fringed with the green and rust of plants that clung to the sheer cliff. Here, by the water, the jungle thinned to a few leafy palms and ferns, letting the sun through. Blair always found it comforting to bask on the beach after the bitter, frozen loneliness of the night.

He sat on his favorite low, flat rock, shed his warm forest clothes and dangled his feet a moment in the frigid waters, pulling them out again after a minute or so. The water was SO cold. Why was that? He wondered. The water must be melting off the snowy peaks over in the distance. He wondered how far the river flowed beyond this lovely pool. How far down the mountain before it joined other streams, became a great, warm and muddy river?

Was this lake near the source of the Amazon? Or somewhere in Africa? Maybe even Asia? He couldn't tell. The animals here were a strange, mixed bunch. He wasn't that hot on zoology and couldn't tell from the species what part of the world he was in.

Then a mighty roar rent the air. Blair looked up to see the big, black Panther at the other side of the pool. He stood to get a better view, shading his eyes against the sun glaring off the blue water.

Oh, but he was beautiful! Though - looking closely now, Blair could see that the once strong and powerful animal was not doing so well; he was too thin and the thick black fur was balding in places, the skin underneath scabbed and mangy. Blair wanted so badly to reach out and touch him, comfort him, but he knew it was hopeless. The waters were impassable. He'd tried, once, to cross, but the cold was so fearsome; in seconds, it'd driven him back to shore where he'd lain, gasping and trembling for many hours, too weak to move.

That was when Tiger had first come for him. Seeing him, weak and helpless on the ground, he'd attacked, tearing at Blair with vicious, shredding claws. But he'd somehow found the strength to fight back, helped by the other animals, especially the wise, white Owl who'd dived and pecked at the huge golden cat till they'd driven him off, back into the jungle. Owl had helped Blair back to his shelter, where he slept for many days before he recovered enough to rise again. Tiger'd never attacked him again, but Blair was scared of Tiger, and part of him was glad the big animal mostly kept his distance.

Panther was different altogether. Even though Blair knew that Panther was every bit as dangerous as Tiger, he felt no fear; no sense of danger emanated from him. He knew he was a protector; a defender.

He watched the animal pace in agitation on the distant shore. Panther wanted to be his friend every bit as much as the other animals; only the deep, cold water stopped him from coming to join him. If only Blair could find some way to help him cross, so that Panther could be with them. Poor Panther seemed so sick and so lonely. That made Blair very sad.

Blair cried that night; thinking of the poor Panther, all alone on the far side of the river. The other animals gathered, as they always did when Blair was unhappy. But nothing could console him as he wept for his friend, all alone on the other shore, with no one to hold him or comfort him in his misery.

Nurse Olwen Owen removed her big, round spectacles, letting them hang from the chain around her neck as she rubbed at the sore spot between her eyes. As usual, no one seemed to have seen or heard what it was that had upset Star so badly. The young man was usually so happy in his own, silent way, but he had occasional black days when he cried all day as though his heart would break. Today had been one of those days. According to Charlie, Star'd been out in the garden, in his usual place, under the old apple tree, when he'd suddenly begun to weep.

He liked to walk in the garden on sunny mornings. He'd sit on the rock under the tree and watch the world and smile, in that sweet, vacant way he had. If it was warm, he'd even take off some of the layers of thick, woollen knits he habitually wore, most of them made by herself. The poor boy seemed to be cold all the time, shivering and miserable as he shuffled around; the regulation issue blue towel bathrobe pulled tight around his body. Sometimes he'd sit with his blankets wrapped around him, like a little papoose.

And Olwen liked to knit. Now her grandchildren were getting too big, too fashion conscious to want her home made sweaters, she'd taken to dressing Star. OK, she'd be the first to admit she wasn't all that good at it. Her work tended to come out kinda large, a little misshapen maybe. She had a lot of odds and ends of wool sitting around doing nothing, so - the boy looked a little like an explosion in a paint factory, so what? He seemed to love color; on the TV, in magazines and in the world in general, staring at the rainbows from the dusty old chandelier dancing on the dayroom walls, for hours at a time.

She started out with socks, in warm, soft alpaca; bright red, to go under the big, warm slippers she'd bought for his feet. He'd shuffled so badly in those tatty issue towel mules he'd worn before. Now he had warm footwear that fit, he positively bounced down the hallways. The hat had come next; she'd knitted it in seven colors - every scrap of wool she had leftover went into it - a Peruvian pattern with hanging flaps to keep his ears cosy and made him cute as a lop eared rabbit. Next came the fingerless gloves, then a big sweater; a little too big some said, laughing at the way the sleeves hung so low. OK, it drowned him. She'd knitted it with big needles in a thick, soft lambswool and it made him look about five years old. She thought it was adorable.

Nurse Owen was in love with the boy. And not ashamed to admit it. He was an angel; made practically everyone around him happy. His calming effect on the other inmates made her job so much easier and way more pleasant than it had been this time last winter - before Star came.

His sad days broke her heart. They came on him so suddenly. One minute he'd be bopping around the garden or the corridors, or painting one of his pictures in the day room, when a deep melancholia would come over him; no reason at all. The first sign was the sudden closing off; his expressive eyes would cloud, he'd begin to tremble, then the tears would fall.

There was no dealing with it, and lord knows, she'd tried, but once the silent weeping started, the only thing left to do was to hold his hand and be with him as long as he wanted you. Some of the other patients; Jonas, Louis, Brad, the new boy, and poor old Charlie; some of the many who loved Star as much as she did, would try their best to comfort him, petting his hair and holding him as he wept and rocked himself.

Eventually, he would take himself off to his little room and curl on his bed with his knees up around his ears and shake all over with pain and misery; sobbing silently till he fell asleep. Then all that was left was for her to tuck him in with his `teddy'; a little black panther Sally Thomas, the night nurse, had bought for him, because he was always painting pictures of one. He loved it so; it never left his side. He'd curl up around Teddy, holding him tight as she kissed his curly head goodnight and left him to sleep it off. Next day, he'd be up, bright eyed and bushy tailed, all ready to start anew, the long sad day completely gone from his head.

No one could figure the boy out. The only reason he was still here, in this pleasant and expensive facility, was simply so the doctors could try. The University was picking up his medical bills; one of a small number of patients - psychiatric mysteries, human Rubik's cubes - for doctors and students alike to try to crack.

Little Star was a John Doe. He'd been picked up by the police after a crowd of student protesters got to drinking beer, then fighting with the opposition. He'd been caught up in the middle and got swept up with the rest and a good thing for him that he was. The police took one look at him and called the doctor in. Half starved, half dressed; the kid was only wearing a thin cotton shirt and torn jeans; he had no shoes, his feet were ripped and blistered, the doc said he looked like he'd walked a hundred miles in his bare feet. He was filthy, the long curly hair he wore, so matted and caked in dirt, they'd had to cut most of it off along with his heavy beard.

Dehydrated, soaked to the skin and hypothermic, they'd kept him in hospital for two days where they'd bathed him, patched him up and pumped him full of fluids, vitamins and antibiotics. And then they brought the psychiatrists in.

Because Star never spoke a word - was hardly there at all. The university medics took a shine to him as a subject, and when it came time for him to be put back out on the streets, they had him committed to the U's own psychiatric hospital. But since the day he was found, he'd not uttered a sound.

He gave little away to the doctors of whom he seemed somewhat afraid. Amongst his own, however, it was a different story. The nurses and the patients could always tell just exactly what little Star was thinking, what he wanted, how he felt. His eyes held all the emotion in the world, if you chose to look into them - something the doctors never did, and Nurse Owen was not about to explain it to them. They were obsessed with getting him to talk! There was no medical reason, they said, why the boy couldn't, or wouldn't speak. The reasons were all psychological. Some trauma, it had been determined, had caused the lad to retreat inside himself. He was living in his own world, so deep inside, no one could reach him. They saw it as their job to peel back his layers and get in there, find out what was broken and fix it.

Well, screw them. She knew, all the nurses knew, that Star wasn't a broken toy to be put back together. If he chose not to talk, it was because he had nothing to say to them. Whatever Star wanted to express, he did it in his own way. If he chose to live in his own world, it was because he was happy there. Her job, as she saw it, was simply to keep him happy, safe, warm and loved, until he felt it was OK to come out of whatever place it was he was hiding himself in. Until that day, she would keep on knitting him socks and feeding him the bananas he loved and making sure he knew he had someone to rely on. Someone to keep his body warm and safe in this world, until his mind felt ready to return too.

Saturday night, and Megan already had the coals glowing for her housewarming barbie. Since she'd accepted the offer to extend her stay in Cascade, courtesy of the officer exchange programme, she'd been looking for a house of her own. The place she'd settled on was a pretty green and white, old-fashioned weather boarded place out in the `burbs, with a garden full of azaleas and fruit trees.

The sudden snap of autumn had hit midweek, turning the trees to amber and gold almost overnight, settling sparkling frosts on the city at night and thick, woodsmoke scented fogs to vex early morning commuters. It'd turned way too cold for the garden party she'd had planned, so Megan got the charcoal lit on the porch, determined to cook steaks and shrimp out anyway; though everyone'd have to eat indoors.

She was surprised, but gratified to see Jim arrive, clutching a gift; a naked little shrub.

"It's a blueberry," he explained. "Lost its leaves, looks a little sad, I know. It's fall," he shrugged apologetically.

"No. Jim, thanks. It's wonderful. Thank you so much that's... lovely. Thank you!"

Jim smiled. "I'm glad you like it."

"I'm so glad to see you. I didn't expect you to come," Megan said, kissing him on the cheek, almost making him blush.

"Urm. OK. I'm glad. That you like it. The bush, I mean."

Megan touched the soft blue lambswool of Jim's sleeve. "Isn't that one of Sandy's old sweaters?"

"Oh, No," he chuffed out a soft laugh. "It's mine, but he used to borrow it all the time. I guess... I guess it kind of ended up his. Figured he wouldn't mind if I borrowed it back." - Blair's scent was almost gone now, but there was still enough of it clinging to the warm, soft wool to ground him for the couple of hours it'd take to do his duty here at Megan's.

"It's nice. It suits you," she said with a warm smile. "So, Jim - how are you feeling?" She asked, steering him into the fray.

"OK, thanks. Better. Much better. You know... Look, Megan."

"No. Jim," she interrupted. "I think... You're going to start apologising for what happened over the Westerhouse bust."

"Well. Yeah..."

"Well don't. I know what happened. I know it's not been easy for you. Let's just leave it there, OK? Least said, soonest mended?"

"OK," Jim smiled. "But I am sorry..."

"Apology accepted - So, who's for shrimp?" she asked loudly, turning to the crowd. Help yourself to beers, you know where they are. Come on you guys! Everybody's looking way too sober!"

Megan spent the next hour playing the good hostess, before going in search of Jim. She'd not seen him amongst the laughing crowds and was worried he might have slipped into a zone somewhere. Simon had filled her in on how things were - that he wasn't getting any better; seemed, in fact, to be growing sicker. Everyone was worried about him, but none more so than Simon and herself; after all, they were the only ones who came close to understanding what was really wrong with him.

She finally spotted him outside on the porch, sitting, all alone, a half drunk beer in his hand, staring out into the dark, frosty garden, seemingly oblivious to the cold misting his breath. She grabbed her jacket and slipped out to join him. He didn't hear her approach - that was all wrong for a start, and he was altogether too quiet for her liking, but his breathing was normal; he wasn't zoned - she'd become very proficient in spotting an imminent zone ever since Simon'd assigned her as Jim's partner after Sandy disappeared.

"So, how's it going, Jim?" she asked, sliding on to the porch swing next to him.

"OK, I guess. You know..." he said quietly.

"You never got around to telling me when you're coming back to work."

He glanced at her; shrugged, looked away again. "I don't know. Not yet. Maybe never."

"I heard they offered you a promotion."

"A damn desk job." He took a swig of his beer.

"You'd do it well. You have a tidy mind. You'd make a good organizer. And you have a great air of command."

He snorted. "Yeah. So everyone keeps telling me."

"But...?"

"But."

Megan examined her beer closely. "Do you really think he's ever coming back?" she asked quietly.

Jim finished his beer. "He's in a hospital."

"You've found him?!"

Jim shook his head, looked down at the empty bottle clutched in both hands. "I don't know where it is, but he's in some kind of medical facility. I saw him, in a dream."

"A dream? You mean like, a vision thing? Like you were having with Alex?"

Jim visibly cringed. He hated to hear that name. Hated to be reminded. "Kind of, yeah. But, this is just Blair. He's in a jungle. He's wearing pajamas."

"Pajamas? And you think he's - what...?"

"I think he's somewhere he'd be wearing pyjamas. The jungle's metaphorical."

Megan nodded, not fully understanding, but knowing Sandy always took Jim's dreams very seriously. "You have that much faith in your visions?"

"I didn't use to. But ignoring them got Blair killed. I won't make that mistake again."

"Have you told anyone else?"

"Who else am I gonna tell, Megan? Simon's the only other person who knows about the Sentinel thing and believe me, he doesn't wanna hear about my visions!"

"So, what will you do?"

"Keep up the search."

"Didn't you already check out the hospitals?"

"Local ones, yeah. I need to go further afield. He's not in Cascade, I know that for sure."

"That's quite a task, Jim."

Jim shook his head before turning a bright smile on Megan. "I know, but... that dream! It was so real, I was there, you know. And... I feel good, Megan! I found him! OK, it was a dream, but he was there, you know? It was him. He's alive and I know I can find him if I try hard enough!"

Megan glanced at Jim, unsure of how to take all this. She knew about the Sentinel business, knew Jim did, indeed, see things that most of the rest of humanity couldn't; had visions, saw spirit animals. But the man had been teetering on the edge of a breakdown for months now. He spent every waking moment in the search for Blair, sitting in that empty loft, obsessing. It was way beyond what could be called unhealthy. It was almost psychotic. And they needed him back in Major Crimes.

"So, will you come and help out with the serial attacks, Jim? Even if you decide not to come back to work, we still really need your advice on this one."

"The Miller case?"

Megan nodded.

Jim shook his head emphatically. "Miller's dead. It's a copy cat."

"It was your case, Jim. You busted Miller..."

"Joe Miller's dead!"

"Maybe so, but your assistance, your inside knowledge would be invaluable..."

Jim was still shaking his head. "Conner, I don't have the time!"

She laughed bitterly. "Oh, come on! You don't have the time to find a serial rapist? A man who's already attacked three teenagers, each one worse than the last. You know, if he truly is a copy-cat, that the next victim's going to be found beaten to death, and you don't have the time because you're home chasing rainbows?"

"Now wait a minute, Conner..."

"Have you ever stopped to think that the reason Sandy can't be found is because he doesn't want to be? You treated him pretty shittily, Jim. Ever think that maybe he just had enough and walked out on you?"

"Blair wouldn't do that."

"Are you sure? He was hurt, Jim. The way you went chasing after that Barnes bitch after what she'd done to him..."

"Do you think I don't know?" Jim's voice was quietly deadly as he locked eyes with Conner. "What, you think I'm angry with him for leaving? That I still think he somehow betrayed me by running off? Is that what you think?"

"Isn't it?"

"No! Absolutely not. Look, I'm not going to get into this with you, Conner. I'm sure Simon's told you I'm out of my mind..."

"Of course not!"

"Well I`m not! I've never been so clear headed in all my life. I've got a lead now and I'm going to follow it up. You guys don't need me to track down a copy-cat killer. Everything I know is already in the file. And you know how I am; I won't be able to keep my mind on anything. Simon told me to stay out of the PD for good reason. Well, I`m being a good boy, for once. I'm staying away. Look," he said, standing. "I ought to be getting home."

"Oh Jim, don't go. I didn't invite you here to row with you. I just... it seems like such a waste to me, to see such a brilliant cop, sitting at home..."

"Chasing rainbows?"

"That's not what I was going to say."

"It's what you all think, though, even Simon. He's not dead, Megan. If he left of his own accord, if he doesn't want to come back, well, he'll have to tell it to my face. `Cos I won't give up until I find him. And as for being such a great cop. I think I'm finally starting to understand that there's more to life than that."

"It's an important job and you do it well."

"Yeah, well, thanks for the testimonial, Conner. But I really do have to be going..."

"Won't you at least come down and brief Henri and Rafe before they go and talk to Charlie Miller?"

"Miller's dad?"

Megan nodded. "We think he can help us narrow the field of suspects. We're pretty sure the person doing this was connected to Miller somehow. These rapes, they're pretty much exactly, case by case, the same as the original attacks. This perp knows too much, Jim. He knows way more details on each and every crime than was ever made public. We think he knew Miller..."

"We always suspected there was a second person at each scene."

"You couldn't tell, using your, you know..."

"I wasn't a Sentinel then. At least... Sandburg had this `thing' he did. He'd put me in a light trance and take me back. He said I always had the sentinel abilities, even though I didn't know about them."

"Well, couldn't we do that now? See a hypnotist or something...?"

Jim was shaking his head. "No. Only Blair can do that."

"How do you know?"

"I just do. I just..."

"Jim?"

Jim was actually backing away from her, a look of near panic in his eyes. "I can't. I couldn't let anyone else do that to me."

"Jim?"

"No! I mean it, Conner. No."

"Well look," Conner was utterly perplexed by Jim's reaction. "Jim, hold up. If you can't help as a Sentinel, can't you just help out in a regular policeman-like way? Just, give us some low down on Charlie Miller? You interviewed him three times. You maybe have some insight into the guy, something that might help Henri and Rafe when they go to see him?"

Jim's breathing had returned to something like normal. Surprised, himself, by the violence of the feelings the idea of letting someone other than Blair inside his head had sparked. Talk about fear responses! That was one for your book, Sandburg. Maybe I'll even tell you about that some day.

"OK. I don't know what I can tell them about old Charlie that'll help, but... they'll have to come to the loft. I can't come to the PD."

"OK, I'm sure they'll be alright with that. Any particular day or time? It has to be soon. They're going down to Seattle, Wednesday."

"Charlie's in Seattle?"

"At the University's psychiatric hospital. Had a serious breakdown after Joe died in prison."

"OK. Well, I've nothing planned. Just, the usual, you know."

"Monday morning, then?"

"Monday'll be fine."

"Another picture, Star, honey?"

Nurse Owen leaned over her favorite patient's shoulder to see the latest painting; another black panther, peering from the edge of a blue tinted jungle. Star loved to paint; but always on the same theme; various brightly colored creatures in a lush jungle setting - parrots, tigers, monkeys, rabbits, a turtle, an owl, lots of different animals, and the panther. He was the one most often portrayed. Star was no Rembrandt, but his pictures had a bright naivet that was utterly charming. Many adorned the dayroom or brightened up the corridors. His little room was practically papered ceiling to floor in them.

Star smiled up at her, his eyes warming in greeting, brightening as he pointed to the big snowy owl, sitting in the branches of the tree. Olwen pushed a lock of her thick white hair out of her eyes to slip her glasses on so she could look more closely. Star's eyes held that bright, questioning intelligence; he was trying to say something.

"My, what a beautiful owl, honey! Keeping watch?" she asked. His smile brightened in response. "Keeping watch over the panther...? No, not the panther. He's too far away, isn't he hon'? Must be over all of these critters here by the water. He must be a brave bird to be watching over so many at once."

Star's smile warmed and his eyes gentled as he fixed his gaze on Nurse Owen, picked up the painting and handed it to her.

"For me?"

Star took her hand and placed it over the owl, then locked eyes with her again.

"I can't help feeling this old owl has something to do with me. Is that what you're telling me, sugar?" Olwen bent lower to kiss his curly head. "Can I put it up in my room?"

Star stood to lean against the strong-boned woman and put his arms around her, laying his head against hers.

"Ah, baby," she said, returning the hug. When it looked like the embrace would go on forever, she pulled away a little and tilted his chin so she could look him in the eye. "Thank you, sweetheart," she said warmly, planting a kiss on his forehead, "but I have to go to the kitchen now, gotta go make sure that the bedtime snacks are all ready. You up for a little cocoa? Maybe a banana? Yeah, I thought so," she smiled at the eager look in his eyes. "And I want to see you eat every mouthful. You're much too skinny to be giving your rations to Charlie. Now, don't you give me that," she said as a mischievous glint rose in his eyes, "cause I've seen you. I know everything that goes on in this here ward. You don't get anything past me."

Star grinned, and pointed again to the snowy old owl keeping watch over all the animals of the forest.

She gave him a big smile. "Stay warm, honey," she said, kissing him again before leaving.

When she'd gone, Star sank back down to sit cross legged on the floor, tucked Panther safely between his legs, opened the pad on a fresh sheet of paper and began to draw again.

Blair sketched out picture stories in the sand, looking out, hopefully, across the lake - but there was no sign of Panther. He'd sometimes heard his distant roar, especially in the lonely dark of night, but he'd not seen him since that time he'd appeared to watch him from the other shore.

He glanced back over his shoulder to where his animal friends had gathered, as they did every evening, to eat and catch the last rays of the sun before bedtime. Tiger was pacing and snarling. He was really angry with Gazelle again. Blair couldn't figure why Tiger seemed to dislike Gazelle so much, he was a beautiful creature, with his delicate horns and big brown eyes and so shy and timid. He couldn't possibly hurt Tiger, even if he wanted to, and would never ever challenge him and rile him up the way Gorilla used to, before he disappeared from the forest. Truth was, Tiger was mean and angry with all the forest creatures, but he really seemed to hate Gazelle.

Blair walked over to Tiger who was growling out his displeasure at the delicate, trembling creature. Turtle was trying to cool things down in his slow, steady way, but Tiger just got angrier and angrier, his snarling quickly turning to terrifying roars of rage...

"Goddamn faggot! Miserable little fag was watchin' me! Checkin' me out!"

"Don't be an even bigger moron than usual, Norm," Charlie drawled, not the least bit afraid of the heavy-set man. "Why on God's green Earth would a good lookin' kid like him wanna hit on a fat, bald, ugly old warthog like you?"

"I'm telling you, he was watchin' me!"

Norman Morse spun to fix Star with a glare as he tiptoed up to try to calm things between the three warring parties "You keep out of this, you little queer!" he screamed. "Lookin' out for your own kind? You're just another goddamn faggot aincha?!" - And pushed Star hard, so that he fell back against Brad; a tall, slender boy with a bad case of nerves; the current object of Morse's ire.

"Hey! Hey!" Charlie stepped in, holding a warning hand up to Morse. "Don't you go pushin' Star around, he don't mean no harm."

"He's a goddamn, fuckin' fag! Why are you defending him, y'old coot? You a fag too, huh, Charlie?"

Charlie laughed. "You want me to flatten ya, Norm? Cos It'd be a real pleasure to do it. And I'll tell ya this, I'd rather be a fag any day than a class A loony tune, lard tub like you."

"You wanna piece of me, Charlie? Huh? Cause you sure are going the right way to getting some, you stupid old coot! Say I'm nuts, huh? You sayin' I'm nuts?"

"Of course you're nuts, Morse. This is the loony bin, you wouldn't be in here if you weren't crazy, or maybe you're just too damn thick to know that, ya big dope."

"What did you say? What did you say to me, huh?"

Star couldn't bear the anger pouring out of Norm. He knew, if he could just get close enough to calm him down...

The big man turned on him, spitting furiously, "I thought I told you to stay out of this you fuckin' little shit!"

Norm grabbed Star by the front of his enormous sweater and shook him, hard. Whereupon, half the other patients in the dayroom fell on him, pulling his hair, scratching, slapping, biting, striking out with whatever weapon came to hand; cushions, a tin tray, Star's drawing pad - nothing that could be used as a bona fide weapon ever got within reach of the patients; no sharp or heavy objects. Actual damage to Morse was minimal, until Charlie started laying in with his fists.

Charlie was an old man; but he was tough, and thirty years in the Merchant Marine had taught him a thing or two about fighting dirty.

"You leave that kid alone," Charlie yelled as he pummelled the cringing man, who fell, kneeling to the floor, trying desperately to protect his head and genitals from the merciless attack.

"You're all talk, Norm!" Charlie yelled down at the man as he cowered on the floor. "You remind me of my eldest, Joe. He was a big pansy, just like you, and he was scared of it, just like you. And just like you, he took it out on them that was smaller and weakern' him. And you'll come to the same sorry end, Norm. Weak, pathetic little maggots like you always get what's due ya; it's how come I know there's a God. But you ever lay a hand on Star again; I swear I'll make sure you never walk straight for the rest of your life. And while you're at it, you lay off Brad, and all the others too, you just lay off, y'hear me?" He roared, lashing out with his feet.

Star rushed in, pulling at Charlie's terry cotton robe, trying to stop the attack. Charlie looked mad enough to kill. In the end, it took two orderlies plus Bruce, a large, muscular male nurse, to pull the weather beaten old man off the cowed and battered Norman Morse.

"Keep him offa me! Keep him off, he's nuts! He's nuts! You saw him, he tried to kill me!" Morse screamed as Bruce kept a tight hold on Charlie.

"What in the name of God is going on here?" Doctor Mainey yelled over the mle, rushing into the room just ahead of Nurse Owen. "Nurse, you're in charge here. What in blazes is happening?"

"I'm sorry, Doctor; I was supervising the bedtime snacks. Everything was quiet when I left..."

Blair didn't know what to do. Tiger was in a bad way. His mighty roars reduced to sad whimpers of pain. The old Turtle'd really done a number on him after he'd attacked Gazelle and himself. Heaven knows, they'd needed Turtle's help. Tiger was big and very fierce and when he'd grabbed a hold of him, he'd been pretty scared. But who would've guessed the quiet old Turtle would have so much fight in him?

Poor Tiger, he was so unhappy, always roaring and snapping at anyone who tried to help him, but Blair could see the fear in his eyes. He was scared. He needed help. He needed love, but Parrot had a tight hold of Blair, chattering at him to `leave alone, leave alone!' He wouldn't let him free to help poor Tiger...

The lagoon was alive with a cacophony of screeching, chattering, over-excited animals, jumping up and down, banging on the ground. The noise was appalling, the atmosphere electric.

But Owl was here at last! Thank goodness. Owl always made things right. The Cockatoo was here too, chattering at her, telling her off for something. He often did that. Owl took no notice of the silly bird who seemed to think he was in charge when everyone knew it was Owl who kept everything in the jungle quiet and safe and made sure everyone got their bedtime banana...

"Star, baby. Leave him be. Leave him be, honey," Nurse Owen soothed, nodding her thanks to nervous little Ronnie, who was holding on to Star, stopping him from getting to Norm. The boy was very upset, his face streaked with tears; sad that there'd been fighting and folks had been hurt. Even the despicable Norman Morse was worthy of pity in Star's eyes.

"Come on sweetheart, it's OK. Everything's OK now," she said as Norm and Charlie were subdued and taken off to be locked in their rooms for the night. There'd be an inquest in the morning; Doctor Mainey would want a full report. As if she didn't have enough on her plate already, what with two policemen from Cascade coming down to interview Charlie tomorrow. What a mess! But she couldn't find it in her heart to blame the old man for knocking seven bells out of that scumbag Morse after he tried to hurt Star. She'd have done it herself, if she could.

Star seemed a little calmer now that everyone else had been sent to their rooms. "You've got to stop stepping in on fights like that, baby," she said, watching as he collected up his pad and paints from the floor where they'd been used as weapons, handing him his little panther toy, which he clutched to himself.

"You stay away from Norman Morse, Sugar," she said, taking Star by the hand, leading him to down the corridor to his room "He's a bad seed, hon. He's unpredictable. I don't think he's ever really hurt anyone, but he's got a violent temper. He really shouldn't be in here with the rest of you. Most of them here wouldn't hurt a fly. `Specially you, huh?"

He looked at her with those big blue eyes.

"I know, I know. You don't like to see men fight, sugar. But it's not your place to step in there..."

His eyes watered.

"I don't care! Let the orderlies and the doctor's deal with Norm. He's dangerous, and no one wants to see you get hurt. That would make everyone very sad, babe. Especially me."

She sat him down on his bed and handed him a couple of bananas. He took them, inspecting them carefully.

"I want you to promise me you'll eat those all up. Nurse Sally'll be along in a while with your cocoa. You're to drink that up too, you hear?"

Again with the big blue eyes.

She kissed him on the forehead. "Sugar. I promise you, he's OK. His ego's bruised more than his body. Norman's got a lot of problems, is all, that's why he's here. Everyone here's got a lot of problems, but his are worse than most. I don't want you worrying about him. You think he's worrying about you?"

Star hung his head and squeezed Panther.

"Well, maybe that's not the point, but he wanted to hurt you; Brad too. I don't want you going near him again. I'm hoping we can get him transferred out of here. I don't know why he's here at all; you ask me, he belongs in a prison facility. Now," she said, tilting his sad little face up to hers as Sally Thomas came through the door with the sedated cocoa he got each night. "I want you to drink up your chocolate for me, like a good boy. That's it. Every last drop. OK, sunshine, that's my boy," she cooed, watching as his blue eyes hooded over with sleep and his limbs fell limp as the mild sedative worked it's rapid way through his exhausted body.

Eyeing the still uneaten bananas, she placed them on his bedside table in the hope he'd eat them in the morning. The boy needed every calorie she could coax down him. Then she and Nurse Thomas had him rapidly and efficiently stripped down to his cotton pyjamas, lifted his bare feet up into the bed and, with a brief peck to the cheek, tucked Panther under his arm and slipped quietly out of the door.

Blair lay safe in his shelter, looking up at the palm roof, wondering about the events of the day, thinking about poor Tiger. He'd brought it on himself, there was no doubt about that, but still, Blair couldn't help feeling sorry for him. His fierce nature had driven all the other animals away. No one wanted to be with him. Blair couldn't imagine how it must be to be so friendless, so alone.

Blair could feel the presence of all the other animals around him. They were his friends. They looked out for each other, kept each other safe. It was good to have friends. If only he could make Tiger see that. Friends would help him get well. Blair knew that under all his bluster, Tiger was just sad. He made all that noise and pretended to hate everybody because he thought that no one liked him. And Turtle! Where on earth did old Turtle learn to fight like that? That was amazing! Who'd have thought the leathery old guy had all that in him? And where was Panther? Did he have friends to look out for him, over there on the other side of the water? The thought of Panther all alone, lonely and sad, was more than he could bear. Blair sent out his love to him, in the hope he would feel it, wherever he was.

It was night time in the jungle. A huge yellow moon hung low in the sky, sending golden lights skittering across the inky lagoon. Jim's sentinel vision enabled him to see Blair clearly, standing alone at the lake's edge, looking out across the water, his face streaked with tears, watching for him, but Jim's distant shore was too far for him to see in the dark of night, and eventually, he hung his head sadly and shuffled off back into the forest.

Woken in the early hours by the shock of the vivid dream, Jim couldn't get back to sleep. Endlessly cycling thoughts in his head wouldn't let him be.

Throwing the mask off to check out the time - two forty seven am - he fell back on his pillow with a sigh, and stared at the light flooding in through the French windows. Full moon, he thought with a wry grin, thinking about Henri and Rafe's trip to Seattle tomorrow. Not the best of times to be visiting lunatics.

Giving up on sleep, he swung out of bed, threw on his old gray robe and went out to make tea. Blair would laugh, Jim Ellison making chamomile-honey tea. It was one of the things he'd started doing after Blair left - making Blair's tea, cooking his favorite dishes, washing his hair with Blair's Karma shampoo, using his soap, his herbal toothpaste... he'd've worn his shirts if they'd fit; did wear his biggest, sloppiest sweaters. Some days he wondered if he was trying to become his missing partner.

It had started as a way to cope; to cosset himself with Blair smells. But now he found he liked the food, liked the tea; especially this one with vanilla and honey. He wondered if he should grow his hair out a little, start wearing an earring again? He smiled to himself at the picture that would make for Blair when he came home. And with that happy thought, took himself over to the laptop, powered up and waited for the modem to dial in, letting chamomile steam waft over him, soothing and comforting.

Somehow, having even these tiny shards of Blair in his life helped. Even at the worst of times, when he was zoning out on everything, from the colors in the bubbles of his shaving soap to the sound of the neighbors lovemaking - Blair smells and Blair tastes helped him focus, helped him ward off the yearning he felt, almost constantly, to lose himself in the zone.

It was why he'd refused Simon's offer of a berth at his place. The same reason he felt no desire right now, to go back to work. Away from the loft, everything was harder, brighter, louder - toxic. Here, in his sanctuary, he was safe. So long as he was home, he could hold it together. And he really needed to hold on to himself right now, when the end of his long search for Blair was so close he could taste it.

He'd covered most of the hospitals in Washington State now; just waiting for clearance on a couple of places out in Tacoma and one somewhere between Chinouk and Skamokawa. He was about to make a start on Oregon, and musing on whether to cross the border to check out southern British Columbia too.

He sipped his tea as he waited for his emails to come down, thinking, again, about the Blair-dream. It was so real! He'd felt exactly as if he'd been there, watching him, scenting him. Maybe he had? Isn't that what Blair'd said, that they had a link to the mysterious? - `We are definitely there my brother.'

He'd invited him into the water that time, too, but Jim'd blown him off. He wouldn't make that mistake again. At least this time, he'd tried the water, but it was far from fine - way too damn cold! He obviously wasn't meant to reach him through a dream or a vision. He had to find him in the real world.

Jim finished his tea and logged into the PD database of hospitals in Northern Oregon. Trouble was, of course, that Blair might not be using his real name. On the other hand, if he really was sick, he couldn't use an alias - they'd need his insurance details. A search on John Does in public hospitals had come up with so many it would take months to go through them all, but go through them he would. Many could be eliminated by age and sex of course, but it was astonishing how many young men between 24 and 35 were listed as JDs in northern Washington State alone. And what if he'd misread the vision? What if they weren't hospital clothes he was wearing and he was barking totally up the wrong tree?

Aw hell. He sat back in his chair and ran his hands over his face, thinking, `stop that. Stop it now. Let's just calm down and start using some deductive reasoning on this.

What did the jungle mean? He'd told Megan it was metaphorical, and it more or less was. He didn't think Blair was in the actual rainforest, though, of course, he might be...

No. Blair was somewhere in the US, he was sure of it. But why the jungle? Why their shared dream world?

First thing he'd done after the vision was to check for coma victims, but (thank God!) there were none in Washington or Oregon fitting Blair's description. Of course, that didn't discount other States and he would begin on those as soon as he'd exhausted all other possibilities in the Pacific North West. But he didn't feel Blair was comatose, or even really sick. He looked pretty healthy in the dream, not at all like a man in a coma, trapped between worlds.

It seemed to Jim that the most likely probability was they'd shared a conscious vision. He hoped so, anyway. He didn't want to think of Blair lying sick, unconscious, maybe even close to death somewhere. But then, why would he be in a hospital?

The emails had all come down and he went through them all; replies to his enquiries - hospital after hospital, all negative. He sighed. It was hard to take coming up empty time after time. Worst were the near misses, the men who kinda fit the description, but had, every time, turned out to be Not Blair. He'd had his hopes raised and dashed so many times these past months; he now knew how to roll with the punches. He anticipated failure and didn't get excited on the few occasions when a possibility popped into his inbox. If nothing else, he'd learned equanimity and patience on this journey, and told himself that maybe this was something he had to go through; that he'd emerge the other side a better man.

Dammit, he was even beginning to sound like Blair. He closed up the email and went back to the PD database. Hospitals in Northern Oregon, A to Z. Okay. Hospitals, hospitals, hospitals...

Why would Blair be in a hospital anyway? OK, he'd walked out of one, but that was eight months ago. His condition then was serious, but if it was that serious, how could he have gotten so far away from Cascade? He'd checked practically every hospital in the state. Blair had been so sick, and he wasn't dressed for a Cascade winter. He wasn't even wearing shoes, for God's sake! How far could he have got?

Jim rubbed at his face in frustration again. His thoughts just kept going around and around. None of it made any sense! How could Blair even have gotten out of bed in the state he was in?

He cast his mind back to the start of it all...

The flight back from Sierra Verde'd taken more than a day, with long delays and changes in Mexico City and LA. They'd all been exhausted. And he'd been so wrapped up in himself, he'd hardly even registered Blair was there, let alone how ill he was.

The kid had left his hospital bed, the one they'd put him in after he died. Just back from the dead, with lungs still full of filthy pond water, he signed himself out of the hospital to follow him into the Mexican jungle; a world of heat and humidity, mosquitoes, microbes and bad water. And kept on following after this sorry excuse for a Sentinel, who'd abandoned him at every turn while he went chasing after his Guide's murderer like a dog sniffing after a bitch on heat.

And Blair'd never said a word, never complained, never criticised. Just took it. And like a good little punching bag, kept bouncing back for more of the same.

On their journey home, he'd sat beside Sandburg in planes, cabs and airport lounges for twenty seven hours; so consumed with all that had happened to him, he'd never even once looked at Blair, let alone monitored his breathing, his heart rate, his temperature... any of the things that might have clued him in that his friend was having a hard time staying alive.

When Blair finally collapsed, waiting while others picked up their luggage (because all he'd brought with him was that damn little backpack), Jim hadn't realized, even then, that there was anything wrong. It was only when he heard the scream, the shout for a doctor, the general buzz of the crowd behind him that he'd turned, to see Blair lying on the ground. Only then did he see how pale he was, heard the racing heart, the laboured breathing - heard the breathing stop...

Jim got up and paced a little. He'd been known to zone at this stage of the replay and he couldn't let that happen. So he clenched his fists, drove his fingernails hard into the heels of his thumbs until the beckoning zone faded, then swung over to the kitchen and started coffee brewing. Hell, it was five am, it'd be dawn in an hour or so, and he needed coffee. He braced himself against the kitchen counter and let the memory play by play resume.

The breathing stopped. Blair's breathing stopped.

Jim fell to his knees beside him, taking Blair's head in his hands - "Come on Chief, don't ask me to work another miracle. I don't know what I did first time around; I don't know if I can do a repeat performance. Please don't. Don't..."

He could hear Blair's waterlogged lungs trying to work, but there was no room in them for air. Blair began to convulse weakly. Something had gone out of Blair as he lay on the cold airport floor. Jim felt it leave.

But, somehow, the EMTs got him breathing again; his heart rate fast, but steady. Jim went with him in the ambulance. Megan and Simon followed, must have followed, because they were at the hospital with him, but he never once registered their presence. Every sense he had was riveted on Blair - now - when it was too late.

Jim stayed by his bedside, hour after hour, watching Blair's chest rise and fall as the machines pumped oxygen into those abused lungs. Acute Respiratory Stress Syndrome is what the doctor'd called it. His damaged lungs had become badly infected and he'd literally drowned - again - this time, in his own body fluids. He was alive, but, they warned Jim, quite possibly brain damaged from oxygen deprivation; he'd stopped breathing four times altogether and the damage, they said, could be too great.

Jim stayed by his side, holding his hand, willing him back, but Simon and Megan were crying and everyone was giving him those sympathetic looks. Everyone was waiting for Blair Sandburg to die. No one expected another miracle.

But Sandburg didn't die. He woke up, three days layer. He didn't say anything; he didn't do much at all other than sleep, but he did register what was said to him. He seemed alert, if easily exhausted. He was recovering. There had been another miracle. All Jim wanted was to get the kid home.

Then, at the start of his second week in the hospital, when Jim was back at the loft catching a shower, a shave and a couple hours sleep, he got the phone call to say Blair had gone. And Jim's nightmare began all over again.

No matter how many times he played the dreadful scenario over in his head, he still could not work out what had actually happened. How had a dangerously sick man gotten away so far, so fast, that Jim couldn't track him? Where would he go? Why would he go? What was his state of mind?

Though Blair had come back to life, whatever was gone from him stayed gone. In all the time Jim'd spent at his partner's bedside, he'd never felt it return. Maybe that's where he was now? Searching for that part of himself that was still lost on the Other Side, somewhere in that blue jungle?

Star looked thoughtfully at the colors in his little box of paints. The blue was too blue, the green too green, but if he added just a little of night-sky blue to mown-lawn green he got the exact hue of the big leaves of the vast and ancient tree where Turtle lived, in a hole under the roots, where he liked to sit and watch the world. Star had got the other animals sketched out already; watching the terrible confrontation between Turtle and Tiger - a whirlwind of color; all teeth and claws, as they fought under the big old tree.

He was washing his brush in a jam jar of water when he heard voices and quickly poked his head out to look - new animals! A cuddlesome Brown Bear and a sleek, handsome Stag coming into the forest!

Star sat snug in his habitual hiding place behind the big armchair. He liked it here, sitting, cross-legged on the thick, warm rug, his pad and paints in front of him; he could see out into the dayroom, and through the window into the garden, but if he leaned back into the side of the chair, no one could see him...

He hadn't heard Tiger's roar all morning. The word was, Tiger might have to leave the jungle because he was always snarling at the other animals and had tried to hurt him. He didn't quite know how he felt about that. On the one hand, Tiger was mean and noisy and upset everyone, especially poor Gazelle who trembled if Tiger so much as sneezed. On the other, it was sad to see Tiger go. He was one of the pack, even if he was angry all the time.

Maybe these new animals had been afraid to come while Tiger was here? Maybe Panther would come now, too? Only, Panther didn't seem the sort to be scared of a mangy old cat like Tiger. He was more inclined to think that it was the deep, cold water of the big lagoon that kept Panther from joining him. But it was a happy notion, nonetheless, and he smiled to himself at the thought.

"Man, that was one horrible night," Henri complained to his partner, slumping down in a big, over stuffed armchair and helping himself to a chocolate-nut cookie the white haired nurse had thoughtfully provided while she went to rustle up coffee and have Charlie Miller brought along for his interview. "That had to be the lumpiest mattress in the Pacific North West!"

"Quit grouching!" Rafe said. If more people laid off the choc chip cookies, they wouldn't wear out the mattresses so darn quickly."

Henri chuckled, before ostentatiously popping a second cookie into his happy mouth.

"Oh, that's attractive," Rafe snarked, shaking his head with a smile.

"Man, you gotta loosen up some. Don't be a slave to fashion! Have a cookie. Let those buttons pop."

"No thank you," his partner said in mock horror. I like my buttons fine just where they are..."

"Gentlemen...?" Nurse Owen said, coming into the room with mugs of coffee. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting. Charlie was involved in a little incident here last night. One of the patients was being very aggressive towards some of the others and Charlie decided to take the law into his own hands, so to speak and... well, he's had to see his therapist this morning to discuss what happened, and he's not back yet, I'm so sorry." She checked her watch, concerned that the policemen who'd come so far, were being kept waiting.

"That's no problem, Ma'am," Rafe smiled. "We can wait a while longer. We've got nothing else ahead of us today except a long drive back to Cascade."

"These are great cookies," Henri grinned. "You bake them yourself?"

Olwen preened slightly under Brown's warm, admiring gaze. "Oh. Well, actually, yes," she said, blushing slightly. "I'm glad you're enjoying them so much."

"They're delicious," Henri grinned, helping himself to another.

"Well, if you really like them, you know I have..." Olwen suddenly noticed the top of a curly head poking out over the arm of the big chair in the corner. "Oh my! Star? Honey," she said, leaning over the back of the chair to see her favorite patient staring up at her, all innocence - a new painting in front of him. "Sweetheart, didn't Nurse Sally tell you, you're not to be in here this morning? These two nice gentlemen have come a long way to talk to Charlie and they need to have the room very quiet. Now, why don't you come with me - don't forget Panther, there's a good boy." She took him by the hand and led him to the dayroom door. "Now, you can go for a walk with Bruce in the garden. It's a beautiful day. The big tree is full of apples. Wouldn't you like to help Bruce pick the apples, honey? Brad is there, and Ronnie too. Or you could..."

"Blair?" Rafe gasped, his gaze taking him to the little curly headed patient, wrapped head to toe in a blaze of colored knitwear.

"I'm sorry, Detective?" Olwen said, looking up at him.

"My God! God! Henri! Henri!" Rafe nudged his partner to look up to where Nurse Owen was leading Ellison's long lost partner by his gloved hand, like a little child. "Blair?" Rafe walked over, crouching down to look Star in the eye...

The tall, beautiful Stag had come over to sniff at him, check him out no doubt. Owl seemed to know Stag, and wasn't afraid, so Blair trustingly held out his hand for him to sniff, the better to learn his scent and get acquainted. Blair couldn't help but feel he'd met this animal before. He certainly was awfully friendly...

Rafe grabbed Star around the upper arms, looking hard at him, disturbed by the placid emptiness of those big blue eyes. "Blair? It's me, Rafe. C'mon kid, say something."

Nurse Owen laid her hand over Rafe's, gently pushing off the Detective's insistent grip. "Star doesn't speak, hon," she said quietly. "Are you saying you know who he is?" She was wary. How could a policeman from Cascade know her gentle Star? Maybe Star hadn't always been so gentle? Oh lord, no, please don't let her beautiful boy turn out to be something despicable and commonplace after all.

"Good God! Good God almighty!" Henri yelled, laughing with astonishment. "Hairboy? Is that really you! Oh man! Oh MAN! Old stone face Ellison is gonna be out of his mind when he lays those baby blues on you, kid!" Henri shot Star a sharp tap to the upper arm. Star looked at the spot in confusion. Why was the big brown Bear hitting him, when he seemed so friendly? The Bear seemed familiar too. Maybe hitting people was just Bear-speak for, `be my friend?'

Star wedged Panther safely under his arm, then popped Henri a good one on his own ample bicep. The big Bear laughed. He seemed happy Star'd hit him, so he did it again, and smiled his brightest smile, to emphasise he meant no harm.

Bear laughed again, took Star's face in his paws and smacked a big kiss right on his forehead, right where Owl always kissed him. Star smiled some more. He liked Bear. He could see they were going to have lots of fun. He was glad Tiger'd gone, now. It was a shame, because he'd wanted to help Tiger be friends, but these new animals that'd come in his place were so much nicer than him!

"Shall we sit down Gentlemen?" Olwen said, relieved that, whoever little Star was, he surely wasn't a common criminal, these men were far too pleased to see him. She smiled sadly, glad Star wasn't, after all, what she'd begun to fear; happy that the darling boy was about to be reclaimed by his own, but sad too, because she knew she was about to lose him.

The four of them sat down together on the old, sagging sofa.

"OK, this man is Blair Sandburg," Rafe explained as Henri sat grinning in irrepressible glee, unable to stop staring at Blair. "Blair is, was, a grad student at Rainier University in Cascade. He was working on his doctorate in anthropology, something about life in the police force..."

"The thin blue line," Henri grinned.

"Yeah," Rafe smiled. "That was it. Anyhow, Blair was spending a lot of hours with us in Major Crime..."

"Working with a guy named Ellison."

"Detective Jim Ellison. Blair was kinda Jim's unofficial partner..."

"Everyone loves Blair," Henri added, squeezing the kid's knee, laughing as he got a smiling squeeze back in return. "Everyone was devastated when he disappeared."

Rafe nodded. "Cutting a long and kind of weird story short, Blair, here, was in Cascade General. He was sick..."

"Very sick."

"Yeah. Then he just disappeared from the hospital..."

"Just got up in the middle of the night and walked off."

"No one knew where he'd gone, or why. Oh boy! Blair!" Rafe grinned at Major Crime's long lost anthropologist. "I can't believe it. I just can't believe it!"

"Who gets to call Jimbo and give him the good news?" Brown asked, waving a dime. "Heads or tails, oh handsome one?"

Rafe shook his head, smiling. "Heads?"

Henri tossed the coin.

"Ellison!" The gruff, slightly irritable voice answered on the third ring.

"Jimbo!"

Jim sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, too busy for Henri's games. "This had better be good, Brown," he growled.

"Oh it is, my friend, it is. It is so much more than good. If good was chocolate cake, this would be a chocolate cherry cheesecake with vanilla fudge ripples and extra heavy cream on top."

Jim sighed, hard. Rafe heard it too and grinned. "Tell the man. Put him out of his misery."

"OK, Jimbo. Are you sitting down, babe?"

"Brown..."

"You ready for this? Cos this is just the best news you are gonna hear this century, sweetheart."

"Brown, I'm losing the will to live, here."

"We found Blair."

Silence.

"Jim, you there? You ain't gone blacking out on me now, have you? Jim...?"

"Brown, this had better not be one of your jokes, because I swear to God..."

"What? Are you nuts?! Would I joke about a thing like that? I'm hurt you would even think that, man..."

Rafe took the phone impatiently. "Jim? Rafe. Yeah, I know, he's an idiot, but it's true, Jim. We found him. In Seattle, at Harborview; same place as Charlie Miller... Jim?"

Jim sat like a stone, staring out of his windows at the Cascade skyline. Oh God. Oh God... Could it be true? It was... it was...

"Jim? You still with me?"

"Yeah..." the voice came back, hoarse with repressed emotion. "Yeah. I'm here. Rafe, are you sure? Really sure, because..."

Rafe shook his head, couldn't keep the grin out of his voice. "Jim, he's sitting on the sofa next to me. I'm looking at him right now."

"Well put him on, for God's sake. Let me talk to him!"

"Urm, Jim. I can't. I mean..."

"What? What do you mean? Rafe? Rafe?"

"Hello? Detective Ellison?"

"Who is this? Put Rafe back on. No, put Blair on!"

"Detective, my name is Nurse Olwen Owen, I'm Star... Mr Sandburg's nurse here at Harborview."

There was a pause as the fact that Blair was indeed in a hospital, a psychiatric hospital, sunk in for Jim. "Go on," he said, subdued.

"Detective, Mr. Sandburg doesn't speak. He's living in what we call an autistic state. That is, he doesn't interact properly with his environment, or the people in it. He doesn't talk, Detective. He's never talked or made any sound at all, not in all the time he's been here with us. He's, well, you could say, living in his own little world. Some would say he's lost in his own mind."

"Lost in the jungle," Jim sighed, his blood pounding in his ears, heart tripping, unsure whether to rejoice or weep at this lightening bolt that had struck him out of a clear and cloudless sky. "OK. I'm on my way," he said, phone crooked under his jaw, stripping off the towel robe he habitually wore around the loft these days. "Your name's Owen?"

"That's right, Detective..."

"Please, call me Jim," he said, running up the stairs, heading for the closet.

"Alright, Jim. I'm in charge of Green Ward. I'll leave a message with Security that they're to expect you sometime later today and have Bruce escort you over here."

Security? Escort? Good grief, what sort of a place had they got his Guide in? "Alright, Nurse Owen..."

"Olwen."

"Olwen," Jim almost-smiled. "I'll be there just as soon as I possibly can."

And with that, he cut the call and turned to pull on clothes and get out on the road in the fastest possible time.

"Detective Ellison?"

Jim looked up from his fingers, drumming impatiently on the counter at reception, to see a huge, fresh faced, clean-cut, all-American boy smiling benignly at him. "Yeah?" he replied.

"Hi," the enormous Jock-type said, holding out his hand, smiling broadly; perfect white teeth shining in the perfect tanned face. "My name's Bruce Erikson, I'm a nurse on Green Ward. Nurse Owen asked me to bring you up. You'll need to put this somewhere it can be clearly seen," he said, holding out an id with Jim's name and `Visitor' in large, red letters. "Just procedure," Bruce shrugged.

Jim nodded as he fixed the badge to his lapel, strangely nervous now the time had come for him to see the man they were all saying was his long-lost partner. He watched as Bruce used a card and keypad to open the heavy door that led to Green Ward, the hospital's mental facility.

"Pretty secure set-up you've got here," Jim broached.

Bruce smiled. "This isn't a designated secure facility. None of our inmates are really dangerous, but many of them are criminal, referred here by the courts, hence the lock-down. But not all of them. This is actually a research unit. The men in here are all studies; nuts that proved impossible for other institutions to crack. No pun intended, by the way," he grinned. "And, no offence."

"So, what did my partner do to get himself put in a place like this?"

"He's one of Doc Mainey's. He's a specialist in acquired autistic behaviours in adults. You know he doesn't talk, right?"

"I heard..." Jim stopped in front of a large, brightly colored painting of a glossy black jaguar with ice blue eyes, peering out from a lush blue-green jungle.

Bruce smiled and nodded. "That's one of Star's - your Partner. I'm sorry; I don't know his real name."

Jim smiled. "Blair," he said softly, reaching out, wanting to touch the vibrant picture. "Star," he smiled. "It suits him."

"Doesn't it too?" Bruce nodded in agreement. "Nurse Owen had that one framed and put up. It's always been her favorite."

"There's more?"

Bruce laughed. "Oh yeah! Star loves to paint. So, Detective, you wanna go meet the artist?"

Jim nodded. Mouth dry, heart pounding, he followed Bruce to a green door.

"Your colleagues sent their apologies; they had to go interview Charlie Miller," Bruce shrugged. "Star's waiting with Olwen; Nurse Owen. Go right in, they're expecting you," he said, pushing the green door open.

Jim stepped inside.

The biggest sofa in the room, a huge, balding red velvet affair that had seen better days, was set with its back to the door so that it faced the huge windows with their views of the gardens; manicured green lawns spotted with stately trees and ringed with well-tended shrubberies turned red and gold by autumn frosts. A large, bony, prematurely white-haired woman with a handsome, tanned face glanced at him across the back of the sofa with a broad smile. "Detective Ellison? Jim?" she asked, as he stood, uncertainly, on the threshold of the big yellow room that seemed flooded with sunlight. Jim nodded, unable to speak.

The nurse bent, talking softly to someone sitting on the sofa that Jim couldn't see. "Come on, Star, honey. Leave that now. There's a friend come to meet you. Don't you want to say hello?" The woman stood, holding Star by the hand.

Jim's chest clenched tight. He could barely breathe, wouldn't even attempt to try to speak. Tears prickled in his eyes. It was taking an extraordinary amount of energy to keep them at bay. It was Blair, looking... Pretty much exactly as he had in his visions. He was tan and thin - too thin, what were these people feeding him? But he looked... fine. Healthy. Way healthier than he had for a very long time. He was wearing pale blue cotton pyjamas, hospital issue, over which he'd layered what seemed to be multiple hand knitted garments in the most extraordinary colors. And underneath a little knitted cap with long ear flaps, was the familiar, beloved face of his friend and partner.

"Blair!" he managed to gasp as Olwen walked the kid towards him. He got down on one knee, so he could look his best friend in the eye. "Blair?"

...Blair couldn't believe it. He was here! At last, Panther was here, right in front of him and looking so happy to be here. Blair wanted to weep with sheer joy. Panther had such a look of naked yearning in his eyes - a need to connect. Blair reached out and rubbed the silky head. Panther purred.

`You like that, huh?' Blair thought. Then, overwhelmed to see the lonely old cat here in his jungle at last, he pulled him into an embrace, squeezing the big, hard-muscled body tight, projecting as much love as his heart was capable of giving. Panther responded by purring wildly, rubbing his head against Blair's - and crying. Blair kept both arms held tight around the big animal, one hand rubbing comfortingly against his soft head, thinking; `it's OK. It's OK. You're here now. I'm here. Everyone's together. You'll never be lonely and sad again, ever.'

Nurse Owen let go of her baby's hand so he could walk towards Jim, a soft, shy smile on his face that grew wider, his eyes bigger and brighter, the closer he got. He lifted a tentative hand and rubbed Jim's head. Jim grinned at the strangeness of the gesture, the affection in it. Then Blair took him in a tight embrace, squeezing tight. Jim returned it, holding as tight as he dare, and lay his head against Blair's.

Holding tight, he rubbed his head back and forth against his partner's, revelling in the warm, soft Blair smell; different - touched with unscented soap, baby powder, warm milk and the slight chemical taint of medication - but his heart swelled and almost burst with joy as it took in the welcome, unchanged Blair-smell underneath.

Then tears began to fall. Jim knew he should be ashamed, but he wasn't. He held Blair close, smoothing his hands across the soft warmth of Blair's multi-colored sweater, as his friend lay his head on Jim's shoulder, one hand likewise drawing soothing circles on Jim's back, the other rubbing comfortingly against his head.

Eventually, Jim pulled back so he could look at Blair's face. Blair looked him right in the eye and smiled; a look of happy wonder in his big eyes. Then he glanced about him, spotting Panther lying on the floor between them, where he'd dropped him, forgotten when he'd set eyes on Jim. He bent to pick him up and passed him to his friend, eyes sparkling with love.

"For me?" Jim asked.

Blair pressed the little toy against Jim's chest, an insistent look in his eyes.

Swallowing hard, Jim took Panther, seeing everything the child's toy meant to Blair. He didn't know how he came by him, but this soft little representation of his own animal spirit had been cuddled and squeezed, cherished and loved all out of shape. Jim took the little toy and kissed it. Blair's face split in the biggest smile Jim had ever seen on his face, and found himself gripped once more in the tightest squeeze the little guy could manage.

"Yeah, Chief. I know," he whispered into the curls falling from the dislodged cap. "I love you too."

Blair was busy, as always, with one of his pictures. This time, Gazelle, Monkey and Parrot were being watched over by Bear, Stag and Panther - the big cat no longer hidden away, deep in the undergrowth, but lolling in the branches of Turtle's big tree, watching over everyone. Remembering Panther wasn't the only protector, he'd also sketched in Owl, who still watched over everyone from another tree. Owl wasn't as big and strong as Panther, but she was very wise and loved all the animals, not just Blair.

Jim spent the rest of the evening with his partner, watching as he sketched, and wondering what would happen now? He wanted desperately to get Blair back to the loft, back in his environment. He'd already started negotiations to take him home and was getting the distinct impression Doctor Mainey didn't want to give up his pet research project. Then Rafe and Henri arrived, bouncing like a pair of puppies who'd found a lost ball in the park.

"So, when's he coming home, Jim?" Brown asked, chucking Blair a fist to his cheek. Blair smilingly touched him one back, making the big man laugh.

"Just as soon as I can make the arrangements," Jim replied, "but he's a committed patient here, I can't just tuck him under my arm and up and leave, much as I'd like to." Jim took a moment to ruffle Blair's curls and got a beaming smile in return.

"So, what's going to happen now, Jim?" Rafe asked quietly. "I mean, assuming they let him go, you've not been so good yourself lately. Are you gonna cope with him, as he is?"

Jim shrugged. "He's no trouble."

"What if he doesn't get better?"

"He will."

"You sound pretty sure of that."

"I am. I just need to get him home. He needs to be back home."

Rafe's cell went off, causing all the patients to look round in wonder. "Simon," he said, smiling sheepishly at the staring crowd and slid out of the room to take the call.

"Simon!" Jim gasped, realising he'd not called him.

"You haven't told the big guy?" Henri asked.

Jim shook his head. "With everything that's happened... I've only been here five hours. It slipped my mind, OK?"

"Simon's not gonna like being kept out of the loop, man," Brown grinned, shaking his head.

Rafe returned, slapping his hand down on his partner's shoulder. "OK," he said, "we're all set. Simon's faxing the paperwork over now, so we should think about hitting the road, we've got a long drive ahead."

"Paperwork?" Jim asked.

"Charlie's comin' with us," Henri nodded. "Harborview's agreed to transfer him up to the psych ward at Engelman General so he can go on helping with the investigation. He's been more than cooperative - really wants us to nail this schmuck before he can attack some other poor guy."

"You get the feeling he didn't get on too well with young Joe," Rafe said.

"Oh yeah," Henri laughed.

"Did you tell Simon about Blair?" Jim asked.

Rafe shook his head. "Uh uh. I figured you hadn't got around to telling him yet from the way he was talking. Didn't wanna steal your thunder, man," Rafe smiled.

Jim nodded. Suddenly nervous, wondering how to break the momentous news.

"I take it you're staying here in Seattle, Jim?" Rafe asked.

Jim paused a moment. He hadn't given the matter any thought at all, naturally assuming he'd be with his Guide.

"Might have to find a motel," Rafe added. "I doubt if they'll let you bunk up here. They lock everything down at night." He turned to his partner. "You ready?"

Brown nodded, turning to pop Jim on the shoulder. "OK, you take care, Jim. Send Simon our love, man."

"Yeaaah." Jim drawled. "I might just do that, Brown."

Henri looked at Blair again, still apparently busy on his picture, but all the time keeping half an eye on the three men beside him. Brown was practically bouncing on his heels, unable to suppress his joy at having found Blair at last. "Watch out for yourself, short stuff," he said, ruffling Blair's curls. "And you watch out for him, Big Guy," Henri said, locking a serious gaze on Jim. "I mean it, man."

Jim nodded gravely. "You got it."

When Rafe and Brown had gone, Jim settled back down next to Blair who looked up at him with sad, teary eyes. He pointed to the Turtle in his picture with a questioning look.

"What is it, kid?"

Blair just kept pointing with that look on his face. Jim was lost; he didn't know what he was trying to tell him, if anything. God! Maybe Rafe had a point? How was he going to cope with this? He gripped his friend's shoulder, rubbing soothingly, with his thumb. "I don't know, Chief. I'm trying. I don't know what you're trying to say to me. I wish you'd try to talk."

After a minute or so, the questing eyes dulled in disappointed realisation. Blair smiled sadly; as if to say; `it's OK. I understand,' and went back to working on his picture.

"Everything OK, honey?" Nurse Owen's soft voice cut across Jim's frustrated musings. She was bending, one arm on Blair's, talking gently to him. Blair's face immediately bent to hers, like a sunflower seeking the sun. "What's the matter, sweetheart? You seem sad tonight."

Blair looked down for a moment, then lifted teary eyes to the kindly nurse. Once again, he pointed to Turtle.

Nurse Owen shook her head. "I'm sorry, honey, I don't understand."

Blair stared around the room, as if looking for someone.

"Are you missing Charlie?" she asked. "Charlie's gone with the two detectives, hon. It's OK, they're Jim's friends, Charlie'll be safe with them. He'll come back when he's finished helping the police in Cascade." She squeezed his arm reassuringly, but Blair still looked lost and stricken. "Hey," she said, cheerily. "You know what? I think it's cocoa time. Think you could manage a banana before bed?" He smiled. She gave his arm a parting squeeze and got to her feet.

"How do you do that?" Jim asked, suppressing an irrational stab of jealousy.

Nurse Owen looked down at him, distracted, her head full of hot chocolate and cookies. "Do what, hon?" she asked.

"How do you know what he's thinking?"

She smiled. "Well, I don't, sugar! That is, I don't know what he's thinking, but I can usually make a pretty good guess, and I think I'm more or less right much of the time." She bent to give Blair's shoulder another companionable squeeze. He beamed a happy smile back at her.

"Just look at him, Jim. It's all there, in his face. This kid's got the most expressive eyes I've ever seen. They go right through to his soul. He's just an open book, aren't you, babe? You've just got to take a moment to really look, Detective." She gave Blair a friendly pat on the head. "But I," she said, looking right into the up tilted face, "have got to go and get some snacks organized. Why don't you two..." she put an arm around each of the partners, drawing them together - "reacquaint yourselves with each other while I go rustle up a nice, ripe banana for young Star here, and some choc nut cookies for the good Detective?"

When she'd gone, Jim took a moment to think about what the nurse had said. She'd got Blair down to a T. Jim'd always thought the kid would make the worst poker player because every thought that passed through his brain first lit up his eyes, then shot out of his mouth. Jim smiled, remembering Blair; hands waving, mouth moving a mile a minute, as he struggled to explain some new concept or other that'd popped into head. Then looked down at the silent, childlike figure sitting beside him in his baggy knitted layers and wanted to weep.

Would he ever get his friend back? These doctors were some of the best and they hadn't made it. Nurse Owen had come closest to reaching inside him; she was at least communicating with him in some way. How was he, the most closed and taciturn of companions, going to find his way to his friend's soul and bring it home? He touched a gentle hand to the curly head and got a bright smile in return.

Nurse Owen returned in double-quick time with everyone's favorite bedtime snacks and cocoa for all. Jim instantly registered the bitter chemical taint in the hot drink the white haired nurse handed to his partner. He fixed a gimlet stare on her. She smiled sadly, immediately recognizing the question in his eyes.

"We always put a mild sedative in his cocoa," she said, rubbing gently at Blair's back till he'd downed the whole cup. "Just enough to ease him into sleep... "Finished hon? Good boy! Two bananas and a whole mug of chocolate. You must be feeling more cheerful!" She planted a kiss on the top of his head. "OK, now, time for bed, sunshine." She eased the drawing pad from his fingers so she could take his hand and pull him to his feet. "Could you bring Panther, Detective? You seem to have been honoured with the task of keeper?"

Jim nodded, bringing up the rear, thinking what an odd picture they made; Blair being led by the hand, all sleepy eyes and shuffling feet, while Jim followed behind, clutching his teddy. He stood at the door, the hollow ache of jealousy alive again in his chest as he watched Nurse Owen strip the warm layers from his silent, compliant partner and lift his bare feet into the bed, tucking him in with his little Panther and kissing his head like he was six years old.

"You want to say goodnight, Jim?" she asked, understanding in her eyes, knowing how hard it must be for the man, to see his friend like this.

Jim swallowed the tight lump in his throat and nodded, walking over and laying a hand on Blair's head. He was dead asleep, but the touch seemed to register all the same as Blair shifted his head on the pillow so Jim's palm rested not on his crown, but against the side of his face. "You sleep tight, huh," he whispered to the sleeping man; his heavy whiskers sitting incongruously with the picture of childlike innocence. "And only good dreams, you hear? That's an order, Chief."

"What happened to him?" Jim asked softly, his throat aching with suppressed emotion.

Olwen poured out two mugs of strong coffee, passing one to the big detective. With all the patients locked down and sleeping sound, she'd retired to the nurses break room with Ellison, the weight of his unasked questions pressing on her all the way. She sat down opposite him, in another of the old-fashioned, well worn, but comfortable armchairs the facility seemed to be entirely furnished with. "I was hoping you could tell us," she said, blowing on the drink she held in her chilled hands, warming them. "This is how he's been since he arrived. The doctors have performed every test, tried every technique they know and a few they've invented since, to get inside him, but..." she shrugged.

"Is he... physically damaged?"

She shook her head. "Absolutely not. If he were, he'd have been shipped off to some state-run hospital long before now."

"I was going to ask how he came to be here. This is a nice place, it must cost a lot..."

"All being picked up by the U," she said, sipping gingerly at her still too-hot coffee. "He's one of Doc Mainey's research subjects," she explained. "He's supervising his tests - and treatment, such as it is. They're obsessed with getting him to talk, to make any kind of sound at all, because he doesn't, you know. Not so much as a sniff or a sigh. Not even when he's crying."

Jim, who'd had his eyes pinned to his cup, looked up sharply. "He cries?"

Olwen nodded sadly. "Sometimes. Not often, but when he does..." she shrugged and looked down at her cup. "It's heartbreaking. So heartfelt and sorrowful and he goes on and on, like he'll never stop. It's just awful." She paused to blow on her drink. "It's why we doctor his cocoa. It's routine procedure anyway, we have a lot of `over-excitable' patients here," she smiled. "But with Star, sorry, Blair, we started sedating him just to get him through the night. When he first arrived, he'd wake every night with these desperate crying jags. That doesn't happen anymore, but he still has occasional mournful days. He gets up happy enough but, sometime, during the course of the day, something sets him off, and..." she shrugged. "That's it. He'll weep solidly till he falls asleep. He's always fine again the next day. No one knows what starts him off. It's one of those little Star mysteries. He's full of them," she smiled.

"Why `Star'?"

Olwen grinned. "Since the moment he got here, Star loved the garden. Every chance he'd get, he'd stand out there, just staring, this look of wonder on his face. His eyes would move around, like he was watching something out there. Something only he could see, in his head, you know? Then, one night, around Easter time, there was the most tremendous frost with biting cold for days on end and the clearest nights; beautiful skies, full of stars. And one of those nights, he went missing. Just got up out of his bed and disappeared..."

Jim swallowed at the sudden pain in his chest her words brought on, remembering...

"We found him out on the lawn, in his bare feet, staring up at the sky. No one had thought to check outside because it was so bitter, and Star does feel the cold so. His mouth was open, those big eyes standing out in his head and he was bouncing up and down, like he'd never seen anything so wonderful in his whole life. He had his hand raised, like he was trying to touch the stars, so..." she shrugged. "Ever after, we called him Star. It seemed to suit him. He is a star. He shines, you know?"

Jim smiled. Star. Another nickname to add to the pantheon. He liked it. "But, even if you don't now what got him into this state, you must know more than me about what happened after he disappeared from Cascade General..." Jim had already explained to Olwen and Doctor Mainey how Sandburg had come to be missing, but no one had explained to him how he came to be here, in a hospital in Seattle.

Nurse Olwen looked at him sadly, wondering how the big man was going to take this. He was so protective; clearly so very fond of little Star. "Well, he was very sick, but you already know that. The police picked him up downtown, near the University. He was wandering the streets and, from his condition, had been for some time. He was dressed in thin cottons, he had no shoes on - his feet were blistered and bleeding and the wounds were infected. He was limping along, hardly able to walk at all. He was soaked and hypothermic. His skin was covered in infected sores, he had a belly full of worms and lice in his hair..." she paused a moment. "He was in a very bad way, Detective. I'm honestly surprised he was still alive at all. We have no idea where he'd been sleeping, but he must have found shelter somewhere, because, with what he was wearing, in those temperatures, he would have died very quickly otherwise. He'd not been eating much. Just a little garbage, one supposes, from the parasites he'd picked up. Mentally, he was just as you see him now, in a deeply autistic state, not speaking, not showing much awareness of anything at all.

"The police brought him to the ER here at Harborview. They cleaned him up and treated the worst of his physical wounds. He was fortunate that one of Doctor Mainey's students was doing a shift down there. We'd just gotten a vacancy here - one of our elderly patients had died, and the student recognised in Star, someone the Doctor might have an interest in, as a study. Luckily for Star, he was and... the rest you know."

She looked up at Jim, who'd stayed eerily silent throughout her story. She put a hand over his wrist, he was clutching his coffee mug hard enough to snap the handle clean off.

"Detective? Jim...?" Was he OK? He looked like he was in a sort of fugue state; one of his colleagues, the good looking one with the nice raincoat, had told her that Ellison had been off work a while, that he was undergoing tests for blackouts - was possibly epileptic. She shook his wrist, suddenly fearful he was having some kind of seizure. Then Jim took a deep, gasping breath and awareness returned to his blue eyes. "Well, my Lord!" she gasped. "You took about five years off me there! Whatever was that all about?"

"Sorry," he muttered, noticing his coffee had gone cold. Oh no. "How long was I out?"

"I don't know," she said, checking him out with a nurse's eyes. "I just looked up and you were gone. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Eating garbage... something about the ER...?"

"OK," she breathed, relieved. "Not too long, then. My, Detective! You are getting treatment, right?"

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine, will be fine, just as soon as I get my friend home."

Olwen looked down at the coffee table. "You're absolutely determined to go ahead with that, then? Taking him back to Cascade?"

"Well, yeah. Of course! He needs to go home."

"He's safe here. He has friends around him. He gets the best medical attention. A quality of medical aid that I doubt... begging your pardon, Detective, but I know what a policeman's pay is like and I doubt very much if your means would be up to the level of care Star gets here..."

"Money's not a problem. He'll get the best possible attention and begging your pardon, Nurse, I'm not sure that more medical intervention is what he needs right now. I mean, he's been getting the `best possible care' here for, what? Eight months? And, sorry if I've got this wrong, but he's shown no sign of improvement at all since he arrived? I think he'll do better in his own environment, in his own room, with his stuff, his memories, all around him. I think I can help him. I think I'm the only one who can."

She nodded sadly. "You could be right, Jim. Maybe it's time to take a different tack with the boy. The doctors here are obsessed with getting him to verbalise. But you see, he does communicate. There's nothing wrong with his circuits. The information's all there and it is getting out of him, just not in words, or sounds. I think, it's only when he feels safe enough to come out from wherever it is he's hiding, that he'll start expressing himself differently. Maybe you are the one to do that? You clearly love him very much."

Jim broke eye contact. He couldn't begin to tell this person, this virtual stranger, what he and Blair had shared and, hopefully, would share again. "Yes." He said. "Yes I do. Very much."

She gave his knee a friendly squeeze. He looked up to see her smiling warmly at him. "I know. You think you hide it, but it's written all over your face. I can see it in Star's eyes, too. Come on, Detective. I think we're both ready for some sleep. We'll deal with whatever else needs to be dealt with in the morning."

Jim paused. He'd forgotten all about booking into a motel. He'd have to drive around, find someplace...

Nurse Owen stood to rinse out the cups. "If you don't mind roughing it a little, there are cots here where the night staff sometimes go to rest up during a long shift," she said.

Jim smiled in happy relief. He could stay right here, in Green ward. He'd be able to hear his guide sleep. "That would be wonderful, thank you."

"Good. They're right through that door there, in the back of the break room. The staff bathroom is just down the hall, there's a shower, if you want to freshen up. No food till the breakfast muffins arrive, I'm afraid..."

"That's OK, I'm not hungry. Thank you," he said, as she made to leave, "for everything. For looking after Blair so well."

She smiled. "Oh, please don't thank me for that, Detective. Believe me, it's been a joy."

Freshly showered, shaved and lying in a clean bed, his Guide's heartbeat pounding strong and steady a few doors away, Jim felt healthier and stronger than he had in a long time. He breathed deeply, luxuriating in Blair's strong scent on the soft sweater he'd laid over his pillow - the sweater he'd purloined when Nurse Owen put Blair to bed.

Putting him to bed. His brave, resilient, brilliant partner undressed and put to bed with his toy like a little child. What on earth could have happened? How could he put it right?

Jim leaned up on one elbow and took his cellphone from the bedside locker, pressing speed dial for Simon, before checking his watch - 1.30am. Damn! Simon was going to be...

"Captain!"

"Make it fast and make it good, Ellison. I just filed fifty pages of paperwork relating to the Miller case. I got into bed exactly seven minutes ago and am in no mood..."

"We found Blair."

"We found Blair?"

"Rafe and Brown spotted him here at Harborview. I came right here."

"He's in Seattle? In a hospital?"

"Yeah. Well, a mental facility, actually"

There was a brief pause while Simon took in that piece of news. "How? I mean, what's the story, Jim?"

"Kinda long, as you might expect. The head nurse here says he was wandering the streets, in a real bad way last winter. Cut a very long story short, a chain of happy chances brought him here..."

"How is Sandburg in a mental institution any kind of a happy chance, Jim?"

"Well, if he hadn't chanced to be of interest to the doctors here, he might have ended up in some public hospital where he'd have been at best forgotten, at worst... well, you can imagine that one for yourself. And if he hadn't been found by the police in the first place, he would have died on the streets. That's a pretty good turn of events as far as I'm concerned."

"But, how'd he end up in Seattle?"

"That I don't know."

"What does Sandburg say?"

Jim sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "He doesn't say anything, Simon. That's almost the worst of it. He's totally silent. The doc says he's kind of... retreated inside himself."

"God... Jim. Will he get better?"

"They don't know."

"Have you thought about what you're going to do?"

"I want to bring him home. I'm convinced that's what he needs, but, it may not be so easy. This is a secure kind of a place; it's locked down every night. Blair's not actually being held here, as such, he's committed no crime, but this is a research facility and he's the senior doctor's pet guinea pig. I think I may have to fight to get him out."

"Is he fit to come out, Jim? If he's as bad as you say..."

"He's fine, Simon. Really. He's just, quiet, is all."

"Quiet?" Simon cut back sarcastically. "Jim, they don't lock you away in a mental institution because you're a little taciturn."

"He's fine. He'll be fine. He'll get better, I know, if I can just get him home."

Simon's sigh was followed by a heavily pregnant pause. "Look, Jim. I appreciate, I really do, how much you want the kid back under your wing. I know how much he means to you and how much he helps you. I want him home too, but not at the cost of his health - or yours..."

"Simon!"

"Jim, I need to take professional advice on this. I'll see if I can't get him seen by an independent psychiatrist, someone outside that facility. There's a guy works for the Seattle PD who has a great reputation. Their captain of Homicide's an old buddy, we were at the academy together and he owes me a favor. I'll try and work it for the guy to see the kid, give us an honest assessment of how he really is. If, and I do mean, if he gives the go ahead, I'll push every button I can to get Sandburg home with you. But I need to know, first, if he'll cope back out in the world, and if you'll be able to cope with him."

"Simon!"

"No, Jim! You've been sick for a long while. You can barely take care of yourself..."

"Because I don't have Sandburg! If he were back here..."

"And I repeat! You can barely take care of yourself. I need to know how bad he actually is before I let you put both yourself, and him, at risk. Do I make myself clear, Ellison?"

"Yes, sir."

"Alrighty. Now, it's almost two am. I'm tired, you sound beat. Get some sleep and we'll see where we are with this in the morning."

"OK, Simon..."

"Oh, and Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Good job."

Jim grinned. "Thank Rafe and Brown. They're the ones who found him."

"I'll make sure there's a fresh chocolate Danish on Brown's desk for the next month."

Jim barked out a laugh. "Send me the bill."

"That goes without saying. I'm glad the kid's safe."

"Yeah..." Jim sighed. "Let's just get him home, Simon. That's all I want now."

Jim's eyes snapped open. Awake, alert, reaching under the pillow for his gun, and, after a brief moment of panic at finding his weapon missing, he remembered where he was. He cast his senses out, searching for Blair and realised why he'd woken. His Guide was awake, on the move and looking for his sweater.

"Sorry," Jim said, passing the missing item to Nurse Sally with an apologetic smile. "I just wanted something that was his..." he shrugged. How could he explain? He couldn't. He shrugged again. "Sorry."

Nurse Sally took the sweater, giving Jim a strange look, turning to pull the warm woolly over Blair's head. His Guide was sitting on the bed. He'd been watching the door for Jim, his face splitting in a happy grin when the Sentinel appeared.

"Hey there, Chief," Jim said, returning the smile, waiting for the nurse to finish dressing him so he could rub a hand over the soft curls, needing to make contact. He saw the look the young nurse shot at him, knew what she was thinking, the assumptions she was making about the nature of his relationship with Blair. He didn't care. He needed to reconnect; they'd been so long apart. Even now, he couldn't take his eyes from his partner; had to keep reminding himself he was really here; alive and well, in body, if not in mind.

Jim loved the way his senses were back on form. He felt healthy and strong; everything had clicked into place again, like he'd never been sick at all. If he'd ever needed actual evidence for the fact that there was something way beyond the norm in their relationship, the strange bond they shared, this was it. Even with Blair only half there, the connection was in place and working.

But it was not something he could discuss with another - not even Simon. Certainly not with the doctors here. And he was going to have to come up with something good if he was going to persuade them to release Blair into his care.

"Jim...?" Simon laid a hand on his friend's shoulder to get his attention. Jim was sitting so still, watching out of the big dayroom window, that Simon thought he was zoned again.

"Hi, Simon," Jim said, turning sleepy eyes on his boss.

"You OK, Jim?"

Jim nodded, gave a slow, lazy smile.

Simon frowned. Jim didn't seem OK. He had a strange, languid look to him. "You sure?" Simon asked. "You seem a little... out of it?"

Jim took a deep breath and closed his eyes, smiled again, and nodded. "Really, I'm fine, Simon. Never better, in fact."

Truth was, Jim was finding it hard to give Simon his full attention, all his senses were fixed on his Guide, out playing in the garden. It was a glorious, cold autumn day. The sun was shining in a clear blue sky, the trees a blaze of fall colored glory. His Guide, a bright bundle of warm layers, was running around out there, heart pounding healthily, blood rushing strongly through his veins.

Jim was enjoying letting his senses roam free again, scenting the clean cold air, faintly touched with the tang of burning leaves from some distant bonfire, grounding himself on the sight and sound of his Guide as he chased dancing leaves across the green lawn.

Simon watched Jim as he continued to stare out of the window with that same, sleepy, distant expression; a goofy smile on his face. He found the whole display vaguely disturbing, wondering if this was some new kind of zone he'd not come across before. "Jim, I've got Sam Katz with me. Doctor Sam Katz; Psychiatrist I was telling you about, with the Seattle PD? I'm assuming you'll be joining us for lunch? We'll be discussing Sandburg, Jim. It'll be your best chance to pitch your case, persuade them to let Blair go home with you." Jim didn't respond. He'd closed his eyes again, leaning his head back on the sofa. "Jim...?"

"Go ahead. I'm listening, Simon."

"Sam's out there, talking to Sandburg's Doctor about taking Blair out of here. Like you said, Mainey's not too keen on the idea. His nurse is pushing for you to take him though."

Jim smiled. "Nurse Olwen Owen. Great name, great woman. She says he seems better since I got here," Jim drawled, opening his eyes, fixing them on the distant figure of his Guide - "Sleeping better, eating better, livelier, happier, you know?"

Simon frowned at Jim. The man was not behaving normally. It was worrying. Simon seriously questioned if Jim was fit to care for Sandburg in this condition. He was acting more like he belonged in here with Blair. Jim was staring out of the window again. Simon followed his gaze to a colorful distant spec dancing about on the lawn. "Sandburg?" he asked.

Jim nodded. "He's chasing the leaves," he said, then lapsed into silence again, the better to watch his partner running, leaping, laughing. "They're coming back in now," Jim said, shifting up on the sofa and turning to give Simon his attention.

"Good. I'm looking forward to meeting him."

"You know how he is?" Jim asked.

"I had it all from the Doctor when we met with him. He made it sound pretty bad, Jim."

Jim shook his head and turned to Simon with a smile. "He's still in there, Simon. I've just got to find some way to fetch him back, again."

"Jim, do you honestly believe you can do that? These people are professionals. It's their job. Don't you think he'd be better off here, under their care?"

"They've had him for eight months. It's time he came home."

Simon sighed, wondering how Jim was going to cope with caring for a man suffering from a serious mental illness when he was so clearly far from well himself. "Well, we'll see what Sam Katz has to say," he said eventually. "Jim, I won't push Mainey for you to bring him to Cascade unless Sam gives the go ahead."

"I understand," Jim said, switching his attention from the window to the door.

"I hope you do, Jim. From what I've heard, he's happy here."

"Happy in his way, huh? I want more than that. I want him to get better. He's not getting better here. I think I can reach him. I..." Jim stood suddenly and moved to the door, just as Blair bounced through ahead of a group of other patients, holding tight to Bruce's hand, his flushed, happy face splitting in a grin when he saw Jim waiting for him. He rushed to clasp Jim in a crushing bear-hug.

"Whoah!" Jim pretended to gasp. "You miss me, Chief?" He turned an incandescent smile on Simon who'd also stood to greet his long lost observer.

"Hey, Blair. Buddy?" Jim put a finger under his friend's chin to make eye contact. "Simon's here. You remember Simon, right?" He cocked his head in his boss's direction. Blair took a long, hard look...

He'd had a wonderful morning with his friends, watched over by Elephant. Owl was off somewhere - Blair didn't know where - but Elephant often came when Owl was busy. He was big and strong and made everyone feel safe. But then, things in general had been so much better for everyone since Tiger left and Panther came. Blair grinned to himself. That was the best. He loved Panther and Panther loved him. The sun was shining. Life was good.

Blair could see Panther was sick, though better than he'd been when Blair'd seen him watching from the other side of the lake - then he'd seemed so weak and lonely... Panther was getting healthier, but Blair needed Panther to get all-the-way well; to be strong again.

But even though he was sick, Blair knew, Panther had astonishing powers. Even when he was far, far away, Panther could see him. Panther had eyes that could see for miles and miles, but it was more, even, than that. Panther watched over Blair with spirit eyes - Blair could feel him. Feel his constant presence, keeping him safe. And how he loved that feeling! Having Panther in his mind! It meant his friend was always near, in every way that really mattered, and that, somehow, he always had been.

But now, there was a new animal in the room. A huge Lion. Blair was afraid of him; he looked fierce and kinda hungry. Panther was trying to nudge Blair over to say `hi' to the Lion, but Blair resisted...

"Hey, what's wrong, kid?" Jim asked as Blair pulled back in his grasp. He hugged his little Panther to him and looked away. "Maybe if you talk to him?" Jim suggested to Simon.

"Hey Sandburg, good to see you looking so well, kid," Simon said with a fixed and nervy smile that came out all wrong to Blair. All he could see was an enormous, angry Lion glaring at him, baring his sharp teeth and snarling. He pushed his face against Jim's chest and trembled.

Panther nuzzled his head, purring, and pawing at the great Lion. He was showing Blair there was nothing to fear. He looked again at the big animal who looked concerned and slightly sad. If Panther trusted him, he must be safe, and Blair liked to be friends with everyone. He didn't want Lion to be sad. So he forced down his fear, went over to the big cat and embraced him.

Blair shuffled over to Simon, smiled up at him and wrapped his arms around the big man's waist, squeezing hard. Taken aback, Simon tentatively laid his hands on the observer's shoulders. "Affectionate little thing, isn't he?" he said nervously.

"Why don't you hug him back?" Jim asked. Simon almost grimaced. "Simon, he doesn't speak. Body language is about his only means of communication. If you don't return his hug, he'll think you don't care."

Simon put his arms around the kid. Blair tightened his grip as the Captain's arms went around him and laid his head against the big man's chest. Simon felt an unexpected wave of affection for the little guy wash through him. He returned the squeeze.

Sam Katz chose that moment to put his head around the door.

"Sam!" Simon called, gratefully, easing his grip on the anthropologist, encouraging him to loosen his own.

"Simon," the psychiatrist nodded in greeting. "And you must be Detective Ellison, Mr Sandburg's former partner?"

"Partner," Jim replied. "He's still my partner; he's not my former partner."

"Oh Kay," Katz said, uncertainly, unsure how to deal with the animosity he could feel pouring off Ellison. "So, maybe I could sit down with your partner and talk awhile?"

"He can't talk," Jim stated, quickly adding - "But that doesn't mean he's stupid, or brain damaged or whatever. He's still all there. He just doesn't talk, is all."

"Well, that's kind of why I'm here, isn't it, Detective?" Katz said, refusing to be intimidated by the muscular cop; realising he'd better take control of the situation fast. "To determine whether or not Mr Sandburg is in a fit state to leave this institution?" He held up a hand to forestall Jim's impending tirade. "I'll have Mr Sandburg - Blair - over on the sofa beside me. I'd like you, Detective Ellison, and Captain Banks, to sit on the sofa over there, by the window if you wouldn't mind..." Without waiting for a response, Katz took Blair firmly by the hand and sat him down beside him on the big red sofa.

Simon grabbed a hold of Jim's upper arm, manoeuvring him over to the other side of the coffee table, as directed. "Let the man do his job, Jim," Simon whispered. "Stop fighting him. It's not helping."

"There's no need for him to be here at all," Jim hissed at Simon.

"I beg to differ, Detective," Simon snapped back. "I need to know we're acting in the kid's best interests. I need more than your opinion on that, so sit..." he pushed Jim down on to the shabby green velvet cushions - "and shut up."

Rain spattered against the windshield; little crystals of silver-amber light momentarily throwing back the headlights of fellow travellers, before being swept away by the wipers swishing rhythmically, hypnotically, across the glass, as three weary men made the long drive through the night, back home to Cascade.

Jim leaned back over his seat to check on his Guide, sleeping soundly, well wrapped in soft blankets on the back seat. Simon sat beside Jim, his attention fixed, his expression set and grim as he negotiated the rain slicked freeway, made treacherous by the heavy downpour and the trucks that threw up a constant mist from their tires that fogged the road and brought the visibility down to that of a pea souper.

It'd been a day of mixed fortunes, Jim thought, letting his mind run back over the `lunch' he'd shared with Simon, Sam, Olwen and Mainey. Doc Mainey, as expected, didn't want to let go. Blair was sick; mentally incapable - he needed the help, protection and high quality care only an institution like Harborview could provide. He pitched the anticipated case that Blair's treatment was free. That, should Jim choose to check, he would find treatment like theirs, in a facility like Green Ward, was prohibitively expensive. They had a waiting list a mile long and, should Jim find Blair too hard to handle after all, he would most likely not be able to return his friend there. That Blair could wind up somewhere like, say, Conover...

Jim refused to be cowed by such heavy-handed threats, pointing out how Blair had been `benefiting' from the treatment at Harborview for thirty seven weeks, now, without any sign of improvement at all. And while Jim was very grateful for the loving care his friend had received, he thought it was time to try something new.

Nurse Owen agreed, to the Doctor's obvious displeasure. Star hadn't progressed under their care. They had tried everything, and he'd not improved to any discernable degree. There was no doubting Detective Ellison's devotion to his friend. And no doubting either, that Star - Blair as she had to remember to call him now - had been noticeably more alert since Detective Ellison arrived.

She conceded that Blair had been very happy at Harborview. He would miss his friends and the happy little family they had built here. In the short term, there was no doubt, the change would confuse and disorient him. But she wanted him to get better and she thought Blair's best chance of recovery was to go where his memories were; where he'd lived a full and active life with his partner and friend. Nurse Owen recommended that Blair go home with Jim.

Sam Katz had spent just two hours alone with Blair. He'd tried conducting his interview with Jim and Simon's present, but the atmosphere was not conducive to really getting to know Sandburg - that is, Jim had constantly interrupted, consistently tried to communicate for Blair, continuously butted in whenever he thought Katz was getting a less than wholly favorable view of Blair's state of mind and, after just fifteen minutes, Sam had insisted Simon remove his detective or he would declare him unfit to care for the kid.

But, to Jim's surprise and gratification, Katz put all that behind him and agreed that a new approach to Blair's treatment would be unlikely to do harm, and might do a whole lot of good. Katz was a good psychiatrist. He understood Jim's apparent aggression was just a misplaced protective instinct; his antagonism, simply a reaction against a man he thought was trying to stop him helping a beloved friend, and was big enough not to let his irritation with Ellison get in the way of what was best for the patient.

Because Katz could see what Olwen could also see - that Blair was `all there', he was just keeping part of himself hidden, deep inside, too scared to come out, and it was fascinating! He understood why Mainey was keen to keep a hold of his patient. He would have loved to have Blair Sandburg as a study himself, but, short of Sandburg suddenly rushing out and committing crime on the streets of Seattle, that wasn't about to happen. He did, however, know a darn good doctor who just might be able to do what Mainey couldn't; his former protg, Constance McCartney - a psychiatry professional with experience in adult-onset autism, who just happened to be based in Cascade, at Conover, and would likely share thoughts and conclusions with him, even, maybe, let him visit occasionally... There was definitely a paper in this.

The consensus was clear, and Mainey conceded with a bad grace. Blair would leave Green Ward, and return to Cascade with Doctor McCartney overseeing his care. But, as a concession to Jim, who expressed his strong objection to Blair going anywhere near Conover, sessions with Doctor McCartney would be undertaken at home - wherever `home' would be. It had to be secure - another of Doc Mainey's conditions - for the boy's own safety. And Mainey would not relinquish ultimate control. He remained Blair's principal physician with the power to call a halt to the `experiment' at any time, and have Blair re-committed to a hospital.

A little deft negotiating by Jim and Simon bought them one further concession; Doc Mainey's power over Blair would have to be counter-signed by McCartney, and Nurse Owen. Blair could not be re-committed to a mental institution unless both women were consulted. Jim was deeply relieved that Nurse Owen would remain involved. He had total faith in her judgement and instincts; trusted her to keep Doc Mainey in check and make sure that any decisions made about his partner were done solely on the basis of what was best for Blair.

Jim found an unlikely ally in Sam Katz. Katz hadn't been long at Harborview, but had seen enough to persuade him that the bulk of the care Blair'd received had come not from the medical staff, but from the nurses and orderlies, principally Olwen Owen. He'd seen her comfortable rapport with Ellison's partner, the easy way she was able to get inside the kid's head and communicate with him in a way no one else could. He had more than a few reservations about taking Blair Sandburg out of Harborview, and number one on the list was taking Blair away from Olwen. It was only Nurse Owen's own argument - that Ellison was the one most likely to succeed where the doctors had failed - that had finally persuaded Katz to back Ellison's demands for Sandburg's release - but he could not, in the end, be persuaded to sign off on Ellison caring for Blair. The man was, after all, a probable epileptic, off work on extended leave, undergoing serious medical tests. Sam couldn't possibly ask for the hospital to approve Ellison as Blair's guardian! He recommended, instead, that Blair be signed into Simon's protection. Jim, of course, would have objected vehemently, except that Simon warned him that that wouldn't help Sandburg one bit. "Let's get the kid home," he advised. "We can take the rest from there."

And so Jim found himself in Simon's car; his partner, friend and Guide sleeping soundly in the back as they drove through the night, home to Cascade and ... what? Jim suppressed a rising flutter of panic. He was not Blair's Guardian, Simon was. How could he be expected to keep his Guide safe when he wasn't being allowed to watch over him?

The traffic on the road thinned as they left Seattle far behind. The dark of night closed in around the warm, comfortable, leather scented interior. Only the pattering of the rain and the soft swishing of the wipers disturbed the silence.

"OK, Jim. I guess we have to talk," Simon said, shifting in his seat, relaxing some now he wasn't battling the heavy trucks for survival. He cast his eyes briefly over the haggard, unshaven man sitting next to him, before turning his eyes back to the road.

Jim turned to his boss and friend, waiting to hear his fate.

"I'm taking you and the kid back to the loft," he said. "Harborview's signed him into my guardianship and I'm taking that seriously; I mean, I've gotta watch over you, too, Jim, and short of having the both of you living at my house, invading my space, which, believe me, is not about to happen, I figure my job will be a lot easier if I've got you both nailed down in the same place. The Loft seems as good a place as any."

Jim breathed out air he didn't know he was holding. His face eased into a slow smile of quiet relief. "Thanks, Simon."

"I know - everyone in the department knows, that you and Sandburg have some special thing going. I don't want to know any more about it than that. I'm just going to leave it with you to do whatever it is you do. Work your magic, Jim, get the kid back."

Jim nodded. "Gonna do my best, Simon. It won't be easy." He leaned back over the seat to check on his still sleeping partner.

"I'll be over regularly. Your place is on the way to my house from the PD, so I'll call in most days. I'm his legal guardian, Jim; I have to know what's going on."

"Understood."

The two men lapsed into silence again, each lost in his own thoughts.

"You know, Jim," Simon said eventually. "We never did talk about what happened at that fountain. I only know I saw something... something way outside of my box. What actually happened there? Was he dead? I mean, he was, wasn't he? The EMT's declared it. I put my ear to his chest, his heart had stopped, he was turning blue, he was gone. I just don't know what to think. I've been through every rational explanation I can think of and the only rational explanation I can come up with is that I saw a miracle that morning."

"What? I look like the second coming to you, Simon?" Jim grinned.

Simon snorted. "I'm just asking, because I'm hoping you have that `rational explanation' I couldn't think up."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Jim said with a smile. "I'm no clearer than you on what went down that day. I didn't want to believe what happened, either. I wanted to push it all away. Not Sandburg. He wanted to talk about it, get to the bottom of what had actually happened, wanted us to `touch the mysterious' together, you know..."

"And?" Simon cast him a curious glance.

"And I blew him off. What else would you expect the old me to do?"

"The old me?"

Jim looked away from Simon, staring out of the window. "I've changed. This whole experience, losing him to the fountain, then again to a damn stupid chest infection, then again, when he walked out that night... It's changed me."

There was a long silence as both men stared out into the rainy night.

"Are you ever coming back to work?" Simon asked eventually.

"I don't know."

"That job offer won't stay open forever, Jim."

"I know."

"There's practically zero chance of them ever letting you back out on the street, you know that too, right?"

Jim nodded, and went back to staring out of the window.

"What will you do, if you don't come back to Major Crimes?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know an awful lot, do you, Jim?"

"I know I let Sandburg down. I pushed him away and sent him down the road, alone and unprotected, right into the hands of a murderer..." Abandoning him again, and again, and again - until the last time. The one time he didn't bounce back for more.

"Jim. It wasn't your fault..."

"Yes. It was. When you get right down close and look at it, that whole chain of events that led to Alex Barnes and the fountain, and that damn fiasco at the Temple was all my fault!" I didn't trust him, Jim thought. He could never bring himself to discuss the matter with Simon, but Jim had had a long time to think lately, and had spent long, lonely nights doing little else. He knew, now, why he'd failed to trust Sandburg, why he'd assumed his friend's foolish naivet had been a conscious betrayal. And that was because life had taught him that people can't be trusted. The one person who could, the one person who did, was the one he'd betrayed. I am to blame, he thought. My life, my experiences, made me the mess that I am. Sandburg tried to fix me and got broken himself. Maybe, if I can put him back together, I can fix myself at the same time...

"I guess there's no point in arguing with you, you've made up your mind to blame yourself, but..." Simon left his thoughts unvoiced in a sigh. Jim was in a poor mental state himself. What were the chances he could pull off another miracle and bring the kid back when so many excellent doctors had failed? And what would happen to Jim if he did fail? Simon felt his heart sinking down to his stomach. He knew now, Jim wasn't ever coming back to work, and his heavy heart went out to this quiet, strong, wounded man - his friend.

He turned to look at Jim Ellison and wondered again how it was that the long haired hippie bundle lying in the back of his car had got so deeply under the ex-ranger's skin? Wondered how it was that these two strange individuals; at once polar opposites and brothers of the soul, had come to mean so much to one another? Had become so closely entwined, so linked, that injury to one could have such a profoundly wounding effect on the other?

Jim was sitting silently, head back against the headrest of the car, apparently asleep, but Simon could see he was not. He was concentrating his senses on Sandburg. Listening, breathing deep - and smiling.

Home. Home at last. Jim squeezed the shoulder of the sleepy figure leaning up against him, happy in the thought that his home would soon be filled with the scents and sounds of his Guide.

Simon kept his jacket on, refusing Jim's offer of coffee, anxious to get back to his own place. He was ready to drop; he had work in the morning. He really needed to get home and get some rest.

"You gonna be OK?" Simon asked, dropping his gaze to Sandburg who was clinging to Jim like a lifebelt in a stormy sea. Jim nodded; a dazed, dizzy sort of expression on his face. He was smiling that same goofy smile he'd had fixed to his face for the past three days and he was looking at Sandburg like he'd found the Holy Grail, or something. "OK, well, I'm gonna call it a night, I'm beat. But you call me the minute there's any trouble, you hear?"

Jim just nodded.

"You sure? What if you zone? The kid's in no fit state to help you out..."

"I won't zone. Not with Blair here. Now he's back, I'm going to be just great. Simon, go home, everything's fine."

Simon nodded, concern etched in every line of his face. He didn't really like leaving these two alone together. Talk about he blind leading the blind! But what else could he do? Short of bedding down on the sofa, which he really did not want to do. So he shrugged, picked up his jacket, bid a final goodnight and walked out the door, determined to call back first thing in the morning.

Jim locked the door after him and turned to take another look at his Guide and friend. All Jim had wanted, from the day Blair collapsed on to the floor of Cascade Airport, was to have the kid home and safe in his space once again. Now, with Simon gone and Blair actually here - in the anti-climactic aftermath, he felt suddenly unsure, and more than a little depressed; overwhelmed, suddenly, by what lay ahead.

He watched his partner wandering disconsolately around the room, occasionally glancing back at Jim, a confused, unhappy look on his face. Watching him shuffling about, touching the walls, examining objects on the shelves with those big, empty eyes, Jim felt immeasurably sad. All he'd wanted was to bring his friend home; was he thinking of Blair at all when he'd made the decision to fetch him back? He'd taken him away from an environment where he was happy, where he had a family - people around him who loved and cared for him. Who knows what Blair was making of the loft in his current state of mind? He must be missing his friends, his routines, Nurse Owen...

Jim pulled a notebook out of his pocket where Olwen had written down everything Blair liked to do and when he liked to do it and his medication... Cocoa! Yeah. Maybe he should make him cocoa? That would signal `bedtime', maybe help him to sleep? He read the directions written in Olwen's neat, careful script, but, suddenly, the idea of putting drops in his friend's drink, of secretly drugging him, was repugnant to Jim. He couldn't do that. He put some milk on to boil and pulled a banana out of the bowl, offering it to Blair. The kid turned a mournful gaze on him, looking about him with soulful eyes.

"I guess you're wondering what's going on here, huh, Chief?" Jim said, ruffling his friend's hair. Blair laid his head against Jim's shoulder. "I know. I'm sorry. I just..." he turned Blair to face him and put his hands on his shoulders. "What can I say? I want you to get well, Chief. I want what's best for you and... No, that's not entirely true, is it? Let's start as we mean to go on, huh? Let's start being honest and truthful." he walked Blair over to the sofa and sat him down beside him. "I wanted you home for me. I missed you so bad, Chief, like you wouldn't believe. I went half crazy. They put me on sick leave. I need you, Chief, and I'm hoping that bringing you home will jog something in that noggin of yours so you can get well."

Jim patted Blair on his face and went to the kitchen to make the cocoa. When he got back, Blair had found his pad and was lethargically sketching. Jim sat down on the coffee table, so he could make eye contact, gently took the pencil from Blair's fingers and held out the mug of cocoa to him. Blair took it, and drank it, obediently. Jim held out the banana again. This time Blair took it, but made no move to eat. He gave the fruit his full attention, turning it over and over in his hands.

"OK, Kid," Jim sighed, sadly. "I think it's time for bed. Think you can sleep without that muck inside you?"

Blair kept on looking at his banana. Jim eased it back from his fingers, took him by the hand and walked him over to his old room under the stairs. Sitting him down, he stripped him of his warm woollens, socks and boots and lifted his feet up into the bed. Drawing up the thick comforter, he tucked Panther under the covers with him. "Night, Chief," he said, laying a hand on Blair's head as he snuffled and shifted his head under the covers. "Sweet dreams, kid. Maybe thing's'll look better for both of us in the morning?"

Blair opened his eyes. He was alone. All alone. This place... where was he? It looked kinda familiar, but... Another of those elusive memories he was too scared to reach for plucked at him, before receding back into the night. He could hear rain falling, hard and heavy, somewhere in the distance, and it was so, so dark. Why was he alone? He couldn't hear his friends! Or Owl! Where was Owl?

Panther was here. He could feel him, but... Where was he? Maybe he was in Panther's world, now, on the other side of the lake? What did it mean? Why had Panther brought him here? Would he ever see his friends again? Why didn't he remember?

Blair got up and wandered about a bit, catching his shins twice in the unfamiliar landscape, reaching his hands out in front of him, trying to feel his way through the gloomy shadows of this strange place.

A grunt! He heard... coming from above! Above? A tree maybe? Panthers slept in trees! He found a ladder... staircase? Something that led up - up towards his protector, sleeping above, but paused as he reached the top. Panther was awake and looking at him. Maybe Panther would be mad that he'd climbed into his tree and woken him...?

"Chief? You OK?"

Blair was standing at the top of the stairs, looking lost and afraid. "It's OK," Jim whispered softly, reaching out a hand as he slowly rose from the bed. "S'OK, buddy."

Blair looked scared enough to bolt. He was balanced right at the top of the steps, glancing round myopically, clearly unable to see a thing in the cloud darkened night. Jim was terrified he'd stumble and fall. He moved swiftly and smoothly to where Blair stood and gripped him firmly by the hand. To his relief, Blair didn't startle, or pull away; he squeezed Jim's hand back in return and stepped towards him, laying his head against the bigger man's chest.

"OK. OK, Chief. I've got you, you're safe now." Jim pulled his friend into a hug. He could feel the slight trembling in his thin body, the snuffles, hitches and wetness against his skin that spoke of recent tears. "It's OK, buddy. No need for that," he said, wiping at Blair's face with the palm of his hand, sitting him down on the bed, reaching to the nightstand for a tissue. "Here," he said, wiping the tear stained face again, holding the damp tissue out like an offering. "Blow," he ordered. Instead, Blair took the tissue and examined it carefully, like a strange new plant he was trying to name.

"OK, then, Chief," Jim sighed, easing his friend down into the bed, pulling him across to the far side, away from the stairs, and pulling up the comforter. "I guess we're sharing quarters tonight."

He got in beside Blair, and, turning to check on him one more time, lay down with his back to him; shuffling a little to get comfortable. Blair lay still a while, pondering this sudden turn of events, before rolling to snuggle close to Jim, nuzzling his back with his damp cheek and throwing an arm across his friend, the better to pull himself closer. Jim stiffened at the first touch. Years spent in the army had taught him a certain etiquette of sharing a bunk with a buddy - you turned your back, you did not look at each other and you most assuredly did not touch. Jim smiled. Turning his head, he muttered, "Sweet dreams, Chief," gripped the hand that lay across his chest, and pulled it up, close to his heart.

Light flooded the space where Blair lay. He'd opened his eyes moments before, expecting to see Owl or Fawn. Instead, he was alone, and high up in a light, airy, strange place. Panther's tree, he remembered.

He heard voices, and rolled over to peer down into the forest below. Panther was greeting Lion! So Lion lived here, too, on this side of the jungle. Blair felt the familiar pang of sadness as he remembered the other animals were not here with him, but it felt so good to know that Panther was close by, watching over him. Blair didn't know what it was that drew him to Panther, or why he felt so happy and safe around him. Sometimes it was best to just enjoy the feelings and be glad when they were good ones. Oftentimes, it was the reaching for reasons that made him so very unhappy, even when he didn't know why.

"So... everything OK?" Simon asked, blowing on his coffee as Jim puttered around the kitchen in his robe; sleep mask pushed up on his head.

"Yeah," Jim shrugged smiling as he popped a piece of toast in his mouth, pushing the plate over towards Simon.

"Yeah? What, he just went to sleep, no problems, nothing?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Pretty much," Simon drawled, with a sarcastic smile. "So how come you put a chain and padlock on the balcony doors?"

Jim took the untouched plate of toast and his mug and moved to the table. "I don't know what he's making of all this, the loft, the move, you know? I have no idea how deep his perceptions go. He's used to being able to wander in that big garden..." he shrugged. "I didn't want to take any chances."

Simon nodded, wandering over to look at the gallery of Blair/Star's pictures that Jim had stuck to the wall by the kitchen.

"Thought they'd help him feel more at home," Jim explained as he woofed down the last slice of toast.

Simon looked the strange, colorful paintings over; the odd combination of animals in their lush jungle setting. Some had the animals by a pool and waterfall, others, a dense green forest. All of them had the black panther in them, somewhere. "Isn't that...?"

"My spirit animal," Jim said. "Yeah."

"You think that's why he carries that little toy cat around with him? He thinks it's somehow connected to you?"

"I'm sure of it..."

"So, what are all these other animals about?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know, but I'm sure they have meaning for him. The fact that the Panther is in every picture, has been ever since he started painting them, shows he's been feeling that connection to me for months, probably from the start of his time out on the streets. The pictures... who knows what they represent, but they're important to him. I'm sure they're the key to what's going on in his mind. I just haven't cracked the code yet, but I will."

Simon turned to watch Jim as he moved back to the kitchen to put more bread in the toaster. "You still hungry?"

"Starving," Jim said. "You sure you won't have some?"

Simon shook his head. Well, this was an improvement, he thought, watching Jim, appetite back, acting normal - well, almost. The stuff about spirit animals and psychic connections and whatever made him sound more like the kid's ditzy mother than the Jim Ellison he knew, but he was getting there. Definitely getting there. Maybe Jim was right all along about the connection thing, the need for Sandburg to keep him healthy. Who would have thought it?

Simon looked up to see the object of his thoughts coming carefully down the stairs, one step at a time, Panther in one hand, holding tight to the rail with the other - like a child negotiating stairs on his own for the first time. Jim rushed to his side, leading him down carefully, so he couldn't slip and fall, and Simon suddenly realised Blair must have slept in Jim's bed. He glanced over with raised eyebrows, and a questioning expression. "He slept upstairs?"

"Uh huh... Oh, come on! He couldn't sleep..."

"Thought you said he went to sleep, no problems?"

"He did, after he came upstairs and got in my bed."

Simon smirked.

"What?" Jim asked.

Simon shook his head. "Just picturing the two of you snuggled up all cosy together," he sniggered, lifting his coffee mug in a toast.

With barely a glance for his grinning Captain Jim busied himself sitting Blair at the table, placing a glass of juice and a ginger muffin in front of him. Blair's eyes lit up at the sight of the muffin and he began to eat, very slowly, pulling off small pieces and popping them into his mouth with occasional sips of his juice. Simon sat down opposite and watched him eat, but Blair rarely looked at the Captain, devoting all his attention to demolishing the muffin.

All the time, Jim bustled about the apartment, fetching Blair's pad, pencils and paints from the coffee table, waiting till he finished his breakfast before putting them down in front of him. Blair looked up at Jim with delight in his eyes and a grateful smile on his face, then opened his pad on a clean page and began to draw.

"He seems happy enough," Simon said as Jim re-filled his coffee cup.

"I told you," Jim said, sitting down next to Blair, watching him with a fond, warm gaze, practically feasting his eyes on the kid, it seemed to Simon.

"I thought last night, you might have problems," Simon went on. "He seemed a little confused."

"He was, a little," Jim confessed. I was worried I'd made a mistake bringing him away from Harborview. He was happy there."

Simon nodded.

"But he was sick," Jim said. "Is sick. I want him to get well. I want him happy but not like... this," Jim waved a hand at his vacant friend, sketching away happily, stopping only to pick carefully through his pencils to find the right colors.

Jim leaned over the back of Blair's chair to look at his picture - the Panther was lolling in the branches of a tall tree, watching a stately Lion sitting below. Jim patted Blair's head before laying his hand on his shoulder. Blair threw a happy grin up at him, pointing proudly to the Panther he was just starting to color in bands of blue and black. Jim nodded. "He's me, right? So, who's this?" he asked, pointing to the Lion. Blair just went on smiling, that silly, happy smile, before turning back to his task of coloring in his picture.

"You're not coming back to work, are you?" Simon asked as Jim sat back down.

Jim sighed, took a swig of his coffee, then shook his head.

"Why?"

Jim shrugged. "I need a new direction."

"Jim, you're a good cop, one of the best. Take some time. Think about it a little more."

"I have thought about it. Thought of very little else, lately."

"You're on sick leave. We're still waiting for the results of those tests..."

"You know they're going to come up negative!"

"So we can buy you more time! Take more tests, wait till the kid gets well, and then you'll be able to come back to work."

"How long d'you think that's going to take? I know what I'm doing. I've thought about it and I've made my decision."

"You love your job!"

"Do I?"

"Don't you?"

Jim took another long swig of his coffee. "I don't know. I thought I did, but now... I think I did a good job and I took pride and satisfaction in that, but love...? Policing wasn't my first career; it doesn't have to be my last, either."

"This is all about what happened to Sandburg? How many times do I have to say it, it wasn't your fault!"

Jim shook his head. "It's not just that, not just because of what happened with Barnes. I think... we've both been moving in a direction that's taken us away from who we are. We got in a rut. I was in a terrible place; angry at the world, but especially Sandburg, blaming him for these damn senses when all he'd done is give me an explanation for what was wrong and try to help me. Talk about shooting the messenger..." Jim shuddered as a vision, of shooting a wolf that was really Blair, flashed through his mind. He tightened the hand on his Guide's shoulder, to reassure himself he really was alive and well, and sitting here beside him. "Now, I think, we need to move on. The way things were heading, Blair was going to have to go to the damn Academy and actually join the force if he was going to keep on being my partner."

"And?"

Jim snorted. "That would be unacceptable."

"To you or to him? It might be what he wants! `Kid might make a good cop."

"It's not who he is!"

"But it's who you are..."

"No, it's who I used to be. Things have changed, Simon, I've changed in ways I can't even begin to comprehend. I need Sandburg to come back so he can start to tell me who I am now, because I sure as hell am not the same man I was a few months ago."

"Well I'm sure I don't know who you are. Right now you sound more like Blair's mother than the Jim Ellison I know, throwing away your career to chase after some pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Jim, you're sick. Very sick. You're on medication; you're not wholly in your right mind..." Simon threw up a hand to forestall Jim's angry response. "I refuse to accept your resignation until your test results come in and I've had a full, clean, bill of health from you. I mean it, Jim, so don't even try to argue it. Now, I'm going to leave you two to get properly reacquainted. I have to go, some of us still have a job to do, you know. And I want you to think about this some more, Jim. I won't take a resignation from you under these circumstances. "

"I won't change my mind."

"Whatever, Jim. I've gotta go," Simon said, reaching for his coat, "but I'll be over again tomorrow."

"There's no need for that."

"I think there is. I'm Blair's legal guardian, I'm responsible for his welfare and I'm getting increasingly worried about your state of mind, Detective. When's his first appointment with this Doctor McCartney?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. Two o clock."

"Right. Can't be there for that, meeting with the Mayor. I'll be here as soon after as I can. We need to get Sandburg well, so you can stop talking like some New Age, born-again flowerchild who hasn't had his meds today."

Jim shook his head, determinedly. "My mind's made up. Making me wait won't change anything."

"We'll see. In the meantime, you take care of the kid, play nice with the good lady doctor and I'll see you again tomorrow."

Three Weeks Later...

Jim stood up and began to pace the small waiting room. Conover! He hated this place. The very feel of it. If you could believe a building had an aura, this had one that was black as Hades. He hated everything about it; the harsh, flickering lights, the dreary, gray rooms full of battered furniture screwed to the floor; the smells! - disinfectant and sickness and institutional cooking all whomped up together with the stench of fear and misery to make one sickly, stomach turning stink. Add all that to the memory of Blair, eyes wide with panic, stuttering with terror, after having been chased through the corridors of this hell-hole by the psychopathic Warren Chapel... Jim found the mix a little too rich to take.

He was very unhappy bringing Blair back here; worried what buried memories the place might bring to the surface - the damage those memories could do to his already fragile psyche; but Charlie Miller was being transferred back to Harborview tomorrow. The man had done his utmost to help the police but his memory was fading and Rafe and Brown wanted to give it one last chance. So -they'd brought him here, to Conover, in the hope the specialists here could dig that little bit deeper into the old man's clouded mind.

Doctor Mainey had told McCartney and she had told Charlie Miller's doctors, that Charlie and Blair had a unique rapport - that Charlie used to talk to Blair for hours at a time about the `old days'. The two detectives wanted one last talk with the old man, this time with Blair in attendance, in the hope that the familiar and friendly sight of Charlie's favorite fellow inmate might somehow aid his failing memory. They'd worked hard on Jim, eventually persuading him to bring Blair back to this God-awful place - and now he was sincerely regretting it.

Jim fidgeted in the uncomfortable chair, envying Blair his flexible limbs as he squatted on the floor, sketching his animals. He never lost interest in his drawing and Jim was working hard to understand. He knew Blair's pictures were a way of communicating, and that the panther was some reference to himself, but he still didn't really get it. The animals were always somewhere in a lush jungle - was it the jungle of their shared visions that Blair was remembering? And if so, what were all the other animals doing there? Such an incongruous mix; a turtle, an owl, a bear, a stag... lots of creatures that had no place in a rainforest. Then there were the water pictures; a blue pool in the midst of the forest, with a waterfall tumbling over a high cliff. It looked a little like the table mountains of Rondonia. Maybe Blair had been there on one of his many expeditions? It also looked a lot like the pool in the vivid dream he'd had of Blair, not long before he'd been found. That fit with the notion that the jungle pictures represented the jungle of visions. Whatever the meaning - and Jim was certain there was one - Blair still sketched and painted all the time; on average, he finished a picture a day. Jim wished he knew what it all meant, he wanted so badly to communicate with Blair.

Fact was, three weeks since he'd brought his Guide home to Cascade and the loft, Jim was no nearer getting inside Blair's head than he had been in the hospital. Whatever'd made him think that reaching Blair would be easy? He'd been arrogant to believe he had some kind of magic key to his partner's mind. Twenty days since he'd taken him out of Harborview with not the slightest sign that Blair understood anything said to him and Jim was getting scared. He'd thought their link would somehow make it all just `happen'; that he and Blair would connect and all would be well. But it hadn't, and now... He felt so helpless! He wanted his Blair back and he just didn't know what he was going to do to bring that about.

"Watcha got there, buddy?" Jim asked, leaning down out of his chair to peer at the latest picture. Blair looked up at him, smiling sweetly, all trust and innocence, then went back to his drawing.

"There's Panther again. Owl's there too, haven't seen Owl for a while, sitting on the old Panther's back this time. What's that all about, huh? Wanna throw me a line here, kid?" Jim rubbed a hand over his partner's soft curls.

Blair looked back up at Jim, his eyes full of sad understanding. He put his pencil down, and, never once breaking eye contact, took Jim's hand and squeezed it.

"You feeling sorry for me, huh?" Jim asked. Blair offered a small, sad smile in return. "Sorry for the poor old Sentinel who's lost his Guide?" Blair turned to his picture, and laid the palm of his hand over the panther.

"Old Panther," Jim said, smiling at his friend. "He's always there, isn't he, kid? Watching over you, keeping you safe. He always will be, I can promise you that." Blair's eyes warmed then, the edges of his mouth lifting slightly. "How about Owl? Is he Panther's friend? Or is he going to carry Panther off to his nest and eat him up for dinner?"

Blair's smile deepened, his eyes dancing with mirth. He bent his head back to the picture, pointing, two fingered, at both Panther and Owl, then, linking his gaze with Jim's again, he lay Jim's palm against his own heart.

Jim swallowed down the lump in his throat. Blair's eyes had grown solemn again, questing, looking for a sign from Jim that he understood. Jim locked eyes with him, lifted his arm so their linked hands hung between them and squeezed hard, then bent his head and placed a gentle little kiss on Blair's forehead. "That answer your question?" He asked.

Blair smiled up at him, kind eyes full of concern. He reached up, laying his other hand on Jim's stubbled cheek and rested his forehead against Jim's chest.

Jim was saved from his emotions by Rafe bursting through the door. "Hey, Jim...! Everything OK?" he asked uncertainly, taking in the odd little scene.

"Yeah. Sure," Jim managed to get out, gently lifting Blair's hand from his face, locking eyes with him. "Rafe's here for you, Chief," Jim said softly. "You ready to go talk with Charlie?"

"Ah, kid. Whad' they wanna bring you in here for, huh?" Charlie sighed, shaking his head as Blair's face split in a joyful grin on spotting his old friend. He rushed to hug the old man and settled on to the chair beside him, gripping Charlie's hand tight.

"You know they're sending me back to Harborview tomorrow?" Charlie smiled, rocking their linked hands. "I can't wait. I sure am glad it was Seattle I got sent down in and not Cascade. Wouldn'ta wanted to be locked away in here. This is an awful place, son, full of lost souls - real nuts, kid, I'm tellin' ya." The old man glanced suspiciously at Rafe, Henri and Jim, leaning on the wall, in front of him, watching and listening. He leaned down to whisper in Blair's ear. Henri moved as if to stop him, but Jim held him back with a gesture and a glance.

"You make sure an' get better, you hear? You stay sick in this town and they'll send you to this place. Don't you let em, you hear? Place like this'd kill a sweet kid like you." Charlie looked up, fixing an angry stare on the three cops as Blair stared benignly at the old man with a look of vaguely worried concern.

Charlie fixed his attention back on Blair. "Star, you remember Norm?" he asked. "Course you do. Course you do. Damn idiot crazy-man didn't know when he was well off. Got sent to some high security nut farm, just like this one. You know he tried to kill some kid in the last place they sent him? Said the boy was `lookin' at him funny' in the men's room!" Charlie barked a loud laugh. "If that place is anything like this place, he won't last a year. I remember how he tried to hurt ya, Star. Somethin' about you really pushed his buttons. Who'd wanna hurt a sweet kid like you, huh?" Charlie squeezed Blair's shoulder hard. Blair smiled sadly back at him. "Good riddance to bad trash, I say. I hope they give him what he deserves, the big shit.

"He reminded me of my boy Joe..." Blair squeezed Charlie's hand a little tighter. "Yeah, I know kid, talkin' `bout Joe always makes me blubbery, old fool that I am." Blair laid his other hand on Charlie's shoulder, his eyes watery and sad.

"Not like his brother Davey. You remember Davey, doncha son? Used to visit me every month. Snuck me cigarettes and whiskey," he barked again; a throaty, tobacco stained chuckle. "Brought you candy too, remember? He was a good kid, worked hard in school. He's a dentist now, over in Tacoma. Can you believe that?" The old man shook his head in wonder. Blair squeezed his hand again as his smile brightened and his eyes warmed.

"I wonder, sometimes, if I did something wrong when Joe was a kid. He got in a bad crowd - I coulda done something about that, but I didn't. I was drunk most of the time and half crazy the rest. Bi-polar they called me at Harborview. Just plumb loco's what I call me, but hey... I wonder if I'd'a been there for him, if maybe Joe didn't have to turn out the way he did, or if he was just a bad seed who woulda gone down that road no matter what I said or done." Charlie rocked Blair's hand in his awhile, staring off into the void, deep in thought, the three detectives completely forgotten.

"He used to hang out with this gang of kids he'd known in school, not that none of them ever went to school. They'd spend all their time in pool halls, wheelin and dealin. Runnin' fer bookie's, fencing, protection, small time griftin... whatever bad stuff was goin' on in the neighborhood, one or other or all of `em was usually involved. And when they'd finished a hard day of crime, just for fun of an evening, they liked to beat up on guys... You know," Charlie waved a limp hand, "guys a little that way. Geez! I mean, I knew plenty fellas with them inclinations. Hell, I was in the navy thirty years. So long as they left me alone, kept to their own kind... ain't no harm in em. But Joe and his friends, they'd pick out some fellah in a bar, beat him up, beat him up bad sometimes. Four of `em on one. They was big guys too, jocks, you know? Went too far one time and killed a guy. Anyways, this one friend o' Joe's - can't remember his name; big guy, black hair - he went down for that one, though I don't doubt they all took a hand in it.

"That scared the shit out of li'l Joe. Scared him straight, I'd hoped. But no - that's when he went solo. Beat up a heap o' fellas. Ended up offing two guys fore they caught him. He was rapin' em too, you know. Rapin guys," Charlie shook his head in horror. "See, thing was kid, my boy was a faggot himself. He thought he covered his tracks pretty well, but - I knew it all along. I'd catch him checkin' out boys at the gym and on the football field. He thought I didn't know, but I'd known since he was knee high. You can just tell sometimes. I don't know what drove him to off those guys. Maybe he was so ashamed, it was his way of dealing with it, telling himself he wasn't like them. I don't know. I guess these doctors here would have an explanation for it. Maybe he just wanted to fit in with that gang of murderin' little shits he called his friends?"

"What were the others called, Charlie?" Rafe put in. "You remember their names? A description, anything?"

"Be a big help to us, man," Henri added. "We really wanna catch this guy `fore he kills again."

Charlie looked back at Blair, watching his old friend with unhappy eyes. "I'm sorry, Star, babe," he said, squeezing Blair's hand again. "What was I thinkin', tellin' you all o' that stuff? You shouldn't have to listen to things like that." Blair smiled, shook Charlie's hand and locked eyes with the old man, such a depth of empathy and understanding in his gaze, Jim felt a shiver run up and down his spine.

"Noel Harrison was one," Charlie announced, not looking at the policemen; keeping his gaze on Blair. "Richie Zaminsky was another; he was a slimy little shit; real weasel that one, but I did hear tell he was dead. Was doin' time in Starkeville; got stuck in the gut with a screwdriver in the metal shop. The third was Louis someone or other. Can't remember his other name, it was funny soundin' - foreign; French or something, I think. `Kid's pa was from Louisiana, he had Cajun blood in him. That's all I can tell ya, `cept that he was a real quiet type, studious lookin', with glasses and all. To see him alone, you never woulda figured him for one o' Joe's cronies. Different altogether when he got with the gang. Vicious! Worshipped the ground Joe stood on. That's all I can tell you boys. I'm real sorry, I don't remember no more."

"That's OK, Charlie," Rafe said. "You've been a real help. I'm sure we can go somewhere with what you've given us. If we find a potential, we can send a picture over to Harborview. Think you'd recognise if he was one of Joe's old gang?"

"Hell, I don't know, boys. It's hard to say. It's been fifteen years and I'm such a senile old coot these days. One day fine, the next, you know? "

"Whatever you can do, you've been a real big help, Charlie."

"Yeah, well, I hope so, you know? You catch that guy, `fore he hurts anyone else." Charlie gripped both Blair's hands tight, shaking them fondly, looking him in the eye. "You take care now, Star, you hear me?

Jim had been watching Blair throughout the exchange with Charlie, watching how Charlie did the same thing Olwen did; watching his friend's eyes, picking up on Blair's - vibe? He couldn't think of a better word for it - on an almost subliminal level. And Jim suddenly realised that he'd been doing it too. He was communicating with Blair, it just hadn't registered until he saw it happening with Charlie. The realisation struck Jim like a blow. For the first time in three weeks, he began to think that maybe he was getting somewhere.

"You Ellison?" Charlie's question catapulted Jim back into the moment. Charlie and Blair were both looking at him attentively. "These two guys, these cops here, say the kid works with you. That right?"

Jim nodded. "He used to... before..."

Charlie barked his thick, throaty laugh. "S'kinda hard to imagine, you know? They say the kid's some kinda genius professor or somethin'."

"He was a student at the U, studying for his doctorate," Jim said, his attention still fixed on his partner who was likewise watching Jim; a look of starry eyed admiration on his expressive face.

"Hey, son," Charlie said, grinning, his stained and crooked teeth all on show. He touched Blair gently on the cheek, bringing the young man's smiling attention back to him, "Star, ain't even your proper name is it, now? What's he called?" Charlie snapped at Jim, keeping his eyes fixed on Blair.

"Blair. Blair Sandburg," Jim answered.

"Blair Sandburg huh? What kind of crazy name is that?" He patted Blair fondly on the head. Blair turned a sparkling smile on the old man. "Blair Sandburg... Well, you'll always be Star to me, kid. Is that how he got hurt - up here?" Charlie asked Jim, drumming his fingers lightly on the crown of Blair's head. "From working with cops? Something happen to him to make him the way he is?"

"We don't know. Maybe. He did get hurt just before, but he seemed to be getting better..." Jim said quietly.

Charlie nodded, thoughtfully, then turned his attention back on Blair. "He's a good kid. The Chinese'd say he was an Old Soul, you can see it in his eyes. And there ain't many of `em in this sorry old world, so, you look after him, you hear me cop? Don't you let him get hurt. He don't need any more hurt. He's a good kid."

"Nothing'll happen to him. Not if I can possibly help it," Jim said, taking Blair by the hand and leading him away. Now the interview with Charlie was over, he couldn't wait to take his friend out of this terrible place. But as Jim was walking his friend over to the door, Blair suddenly pulled his hand from Jim's grasp, turned back to Charlie and threw his arms around him, burying his head against the old man's shoulder.

"Hey! Hey!" Charlie gasped, tears plainly shaking his voice. "I'm gonna miss you, too, kid. We're all gonna miss you over in Green Ward. But you're OK now. This big guy here says he'll take good care of you and, know what? I believe him. You're gonna be alright, kid. You've found your safe harbor. And right glad I am to know that."

Jim leaned against the wall of the waiting room, watching as Blair sat on the floor, sketching - idly, sadly - like his heart really wasn't in it. Maybe the atmosphere in here was getting to him too? Maybe having seen Charlie again had made him unhappy, reminding him of what he'd left behind at Harborview? The thought that Blair might be happier at the hospital than the loft flooded Jim's heart with a sorrow so intense, his whole body hurt with it. He pushed off the wall, squatting down beside his friend, reaching out to lay a hand against his back, desperate for contact. Blair's gaze softened in sympathy when he saw the need in Jim's eyes. He reached up and laid his hand on Jim's.

Then Henri walked into the room. Jim reluctantly rose to meet him.

"Hey, Jim, here's the record of the meeting with Miller," Henri said, passing a cassette to him. "Rafe and I've gotta escort old Charlie back down to Seattle. They're drugging him up for the trip. The Doc says the poor old coot gets scared and confused on journeys. Rafe'll drop you and Blair off home first, so, it'd be a big help if you could pass this on to the Cap so's the department can get a head start on a search on these guys while we're on the road? I'm thinking we should get a hold of Miller's old school yearbooks; see if we can't track these bozos down. There's nothing here that would stand up as evidence, but it gives us a starting point; names to watch, kinda thing."

Jim nodded, slipping the tape in his pocket.

"And Jim? Thanks a lot for bringing Hairboy down here with you. I know you didn't wanna, I know it can't've been easy for either one of you, but the kid did good. Got the man talking, just like his doc down in Seattle said he would."

"Blair seems to have the knack of making friends and getting people chatting even when he's not talking himself," Jim smiled. Blair had stopped drawing to sit and watch the two detectives - his friends - chatting together.

"Hey there, Blair, babe," Henri smiled, getting down on his haunches to talk to him. "How you doin' kid? You're lookin' good. When you gonna start talking to us again? You know, we all miss that mile a minute thing you do." Brown reached over and ruffled his hair. Blair grinned, reaching across to rub the top of Henri's head in return. The big detective chuckled. "You keep happy and get well again real soon, `cause we all miss you, kid."

Brown had just left to gee his partner up, when Doctor Constance McCartney, Blair's psychiatrist, walked into the room. Jim felt himself bristle. Another useless doctor! None of them were any use to Blair and this one in particular made Jim mad. She had none of the quiet intelligence of Nurse Owen; she patronised his friend; talked to him like an imbecilic five year old.

"Well hi there, Blair," she squeaked, as Jim fought the strong inclination to punch her lights out. "Doctor Mahoney told me you were here. How you doin'? And how's Panther today?" she asked, grabbing the little toy up to wave him about in Blair's face. Blair dropped his pencil, snatching Panther back from the woman with panic in his eyes.

Laughing gleefully, she popped him on the head in parting, making Blair grab at the spot in alarm, eyes wide and fearful. Jim stepped forward, his hackles rising. Couldn't the woman see she was confusing and frightening Blair? He didn't understand her clumsy attempts to get through to him. Of course, she wasn't really trying to communicate; she didn't believe it was possible. Was she blind, Jim wondered, or just dense? She wasn't getting anywhere with him, never trying to commune with his partner on his terms, always expecting him to communicate on hers.

Jim wouldn't have cared, but for the fact that she was one third of the vote that could get Blair sent back to the hospital. If she and Mainey decided he should be re-committed, Nurse Owen would be outvoted. The wretched woman even had the power to have him sent here to Conover...

Wouldn't happen, Jim decided. If anyone tried, he'd run. Take Blair and disappear someplace. He had the wherewithal to do it, and special ops training to boot. It could be done - but he'd rather not have to. Best to just smile and humor the woman and pretend Blair was responding to her pointless tests, throw the medication she prescribed down the toilet - let Blair heal in his own time, in his own way. Lost in these dark thoughts, Jim suddenly realised the damn woman was speaking to him. "I'm sorry?" he said. "I was miles away."

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked, a look of suspicion on her waspish features. "I heard your epilepsy tests came back clear, but they never did find out what was causing your blackouts, did they?"

"I'm fine now," Jim said, staying calm, resisting the urge to give way to his temper, certain she and Mainey were just itching for the chance to snatch Blair away from him again. "I haven't had a blackout in weeks," he said, forcing a tight smile on to his lips.

"Well, that is good news," she gushed. Jim was glad his irritation dial was made by Marshall and went up to eleven; otherwise he was sure he'd have blown more than one circuit by now.

"So, to answer my previous question, is he still sleeping with you?"

Jim didn't see that it was any of the wretched woman's business, but he guessed he'd better answer. He nodded a curt, `yes'.

She pursed her lips disapprovingly. "Well, that's not so good, now is it?"

"It isn't?"

"No. It's not! You really should be discouraging him in that. He needs to sleep in his own bed..."

"Why? Who's it harming? I don't mind..."

"It's not a matter of your convenience, Detective Ellison," she lectured with an air of over-strained patience. "He needs to learn independence of spirit. He's becoming excessively reliant on you. He won't attempt to communicate if he thinks he can just bat those baby blues and you'll come a running. This extraordinary dependence has to be broken if he's to start behaving as the adult he is. Really, Detective, I thought you understood all this when we discussed the problem at Blair's last session. You know if he doesn't change this behaviour, we really will have to look into having him returned to Harborview."

Screw you, lady, Jim thought. He wasn't the one treating his partner like a child. But he fixed what he hoped was a suitably contrite expression on his face and nodded his acquiescence. "Of course. I don't like to see him unhappy, is all. But I'll start breaking him of the habit tonight."

"Good," she scowled. "You might want to think about hiding that teddy bear too. Try encouraging him to look at books instead of all this drawing. He needs to start re-acquainting himself with the written word; children's books will do, age three to four or so - the cat sat on the mat, you know the kind of thing. And then next week, we'll start some intensive speech therapy."

Jim wished with all his heart and soul that the damn woman would burst into flames right there and then and save Blair and himself the agony of another of her `sessions'. They upset Blair; left him distressed and withdrawn for the rest of the day and on into the night. The first time he'd had one of those terrible nights of endless weeping Olwen had warned him about, was after McCartney's first visit to the loft. Jim was up for most of the night, trying to calm him, eventually resorting to Nurse Owen's tried and true method of putting sleeping drops in a cup of cocoa, which he drank, and then slept - in Jim's bed. Jim despised himself for being so underhand, so weak, as to give in to drugging his partner. He'd vowed he wouldn't, but to see his friend crying; weeping like a heartbroken child was more than he could bear.

Thankfully, McCartney left them alone then, having dealt Jim his weekly lecture, and he was finally able to take Blair by the hand and lead him out of that dreadful place; into the fresh, fall air where they could both breathe again.

The sun was setting. It was cold and getting colder, the autumnal mists of the day giving way to a clear and bitter night. As he and Blair sat together, hand in hand on an icy concrete step, waiting for Rafe to catch up to them and take them home, he knew he had to try harder, work longer, to find a way into Blair's psyche, so his friend could get well and they could finally be rid of the wretched Doctor McCartney and the threat that she and her cronies held over him; that they could take Blair away from him again.

Jim glanced down at his silent friend. He was wrapped, as always, in a mixed bag of well worn layers in all colors. Jim held his friend's old rucksack, which he'd taken to carrying around with them. He reached in for a banana, holding it out to his partner.

"Hungry, Chief?" he asked. Blair cast a solemn gaze up at the fat, ripe fruit, considering the matter, then looked down at his hands. Both were fully occupied, the right clutching his latest drawing, the left holding tight to Jim's hand. Panther was tucked securely under his arm, compounding the problem. "Nowhere to hold it, huh?" Jim smiled. "OK. How about, I take care of him..." He gently eased Panther out from under Blair's elbow and placed him on his own lap. "She took him away from you without asking, didn't she, huh?" Blair switched his searching gaze to Jim. "She had no right, did she, Chief? No damn right at all." He reached over and took the painting too, laying it beside him on the step, then peeled the banana and placed it in Blair's hand. His partner fixed that sombre look back on Jim, and began eating the banana.

"Good," Jim breathed, his face breaking in a glad smile. "I like to see you eat. You don't eat enough, Chief. You gotta eat more; put some meat on those bones. Listen to me. I sound more like a Jewish mother than Naomi ever did, huh?" Jim grinned. Blair kept his attention resolutely on his snack.

"So," Jim said, studying the picture while Blair ate, "what have you been painting this time, Chief?" It was a black and white pencil sketch - Blair would probably paint or pencil in the colors when they got home tonight.

It was a jungle picture, but different from any of the others he'd seen so far. This one was dominated by a skeletal lightening tree, its twisted branches, like arthritic fingers; stark and black against the lush vegetation of the jungle. It was around the great gnarled roots of this tree that the animals had gathered. The Panther was there, as always, together with a big, grinning bear, sitting with his back against the tree, jovial and smiling - almost cartoon like, compared to the strong, stately stag beside him. The three big animals were watching a wizened old turtle, who huddled, fearfully, against the gnarled roots of the dead tree. Jim looked carefully at the picture. Something about it tore at him. It seemed almost familiar. A fleeting memory - the dayroom at Harborview; Nurse Owen... "I'm sorry honey. I don't understand..."

And suddenly, in a moment of pure epiphany, Jim did understand. He understood it all!

Blair was examining the banana peel that hung from his fingers, unsure where to put it. Jim took it from him and tucked it into the pocket of the old leather knapsack - did it all on auto pilot, his gaze still drawn to the picture, where...

"My God!" he gasped quietly to himself. "It's..."He gripped Blair by his arm. His friend turned to him, quizzically. "This old turtle, he looks kind of sad, doesn't he, Chief? He's scared too, hunkered down there, like he's trying to hide. It's Charlie, isn't it? Charlie's the Turtle. I remember now, back at Harborview. You were painting a picture of the turtle, right after Charlie left. You wanted to know where the old man was, didn't you? And I didn't understand... Charlie's the turtle!" Jim said again, hardly able to believe what he was now seeing. "And this is me!" he said, pointing to the panther. "OK, I already knew that, but... this bear, he seems a lot like Henri Brown. Brown's the bear, I'm the Panther and Rafe - Rafe must be the Stag! How did I not see this before? I don't believe it!

"But, if we're all there, where are you Chief? Why aren't you in the picture?" He looked down into his partner's huge blue eyes and smiled. "Aw, Blair! You realise what this means?" Blair just kept staring up at him, his default face on, benignly smiling- no emotion registering at all. "If I'm right, then - this is a major step, Chief!" Jim grinned down at him, but Blair's face was just as empty as before.

OK... He thought back to the times when Blair had seemingly tried to get through to him. He took Blair's hand in his and laid it over the Panther. Keeping his right palm pressed down against Blair's hand, he laid the fingers of his left against his own heart. "He's me, right Chief? And... Rafe?" He spotted the dapper detective making his way towards them across the car park. Touching Blair lightly on the chin, turning his head to see who was coming, then tilting his head round to the picture again, Jim laid his finger against Stag. "Rafe. Is this Rafe, Chief?" He locked questing eyes with his friend and there, finally, the light he'd been looking for was sparking in those big blue orbs. "Rafe is Stag? Right? Jim asked expectantly. Keeping his eyes on Jim, Blair laid his hand against Jim's hand, pressed it to the big man's heart, and smiled.

It was a crisp, bitterly cold November night; all frost and stars. Jim sat in the back of Rafe's Lexus, his hand locked with his partner's, answering Rafe's attempts at conversation with monosyllabic responses as they drove home to the loft - too busy thinking over the evening's remarkable revelation to care much for talk of the Jags and Rafe's last date. Blair was watching out of the window at the city speeding by. Jim wondered what was going on in his partner's mind, just how he perceived the world; busy thinking up ways he could use this latest breakthrough to help his friend when Rafe's radio crackled into life - it was Simon.

There'd been another murder...

"Sorry about this, Jim," Rafe said, leaning over the back of the seat to talk to the former detective. "I'm probably going to be here half the night, you know how it goes. I'll get a squad car to drop you and Blair off home. I'm going to have to call Brown, tell him he's on his own with the old man... And, here comes our favorite Aussie," Rafe said. Jim looked out the window to see Megan, striding purposefully towards them, open coat flapping. Rafe stepped out of the car and with a quick `hi' to Megan, headed off to join the rest. Megan bent to peer in at Jim and Blair, sitting in the back seat.

"Jim," she said, in surprise. "Fancy meeting you here! Hi Blair," she smiled at Jim's unresponsive partner, still staring out the window. "You itching to get back home?" she asked Jim.

Jim shrugged. "I want to get Blair settled, it's been a tough day for him."

Connor gave a quick nod, throwing a glance at Jim's partner. "You think he'd be OK if we borrowed you awhile? I'd really appreciate your... `special skills' on this one. Might be a big help, Jim?"

Jim glanced across at his partner who was now peering out at the hubbub of cops, paramedics and journalists who had gathered around the victim. Jim could feel the buzz already, the hairs rising on his arms; the electric frisson that always ran through his body at a crime scene. Despite his decision to leave the PD, he couldn't help the feeling coursing through him - of wanting to help; wanting to help catch this maniac who was targeting his tribe.

"I don't like to leave him," Jim said, hesitantly,

"Bring him with you."

"No!" Jim said, quickly. "No, I don't want him out there,"

Then leave him in the car. He'll be safe enough, there's at least a dozen cops out here. Come on, Jim. Twenty minutes. No more, I promise. I can have a uniform watch over Blair, if it'll make you feel better. We really could do with your help on this."

"This some plan to lure me back to the PD, Connor?" Jim smiled.

"Whatever works, Jim," she grinned back.

"OK," he said, after a pause. "I think he'll be alright, if I'm not gone too long."

"Shouldn't take forever for you to do your... you know, your... whatever it is you `Sentinels' do."

"Blair? Chief?" Jim squeezed his partner's shoulder, waiting till Blair turned to look at him. "I've got to go and do my thing, Chief. I'm hoping your vibe's going to go with me, `cause I don't want you with me out there. You're to stay in the car, you hear? I'll be as quick as I can, no more than twenty minutes tops. Think you can do that for me, huh? Sit here, be good, and don't leave the car, Chief, please." He tucked Panther in tight under his friend's arm, hoping to distract him with his toy. Blair looked down at the little stuffed cat, and hugged him close. "Good. You sit tight, I'll be right back." He gave his partner a quick squeeze on the knee and trotted over to join the team already at the scene.

Panther was loping off to join the others, gathering in the distance, where the flickering colored fires were burning so bright, they hid the stars that had shone so beautifully in the sky all the way here. Blair knew something was badly wrong; the air was full of foreboding - an aura of evil that crackled like static in the frosty air. If nothing else, this nocturnal gathering meant something portentous was afoot. He knew Panther didn't want him to follow - knew Panther was protecting him from something; knew he shouldn't follow. But Blair also knew, somehow, that if he flipped this little button on his left, here, he would be free to join with panther, out in the night with the rest of the creatures of the forest.

As he stepped out into the bitter cold - he knew he had to get to Panther. Panther needed him; the big cat got sick when Blair left him alone. He mustn't allow Panther to get sick. He had to follow; make sure he was alright...

The animals had gathered around a beautiful Zebra; strong, sleek and clearly dead. Blair stopped in his tracks. Standing alone in the dark at the edge of the gathering, he lifted his thumb to his mouth, chewing at the side of the nail, nervous, sad and scared. Who had killed Zebra? Who would do such a thing? Who would want to do that to such a beautiful creature? And so young! Just starting out in life. The cruelty of the act, the senselessness of it, hit Blair like a hammer to his chest. He felt tears building, wanted to run. What to do? Run - back to safety, back to where Panther had told him to stay? Or on, to his friend's side? The friend who needed him.

Blair steeled himself and started to walk towards the big group looking down on the still, cold body of poor Zebra, when he saw the Leopard, standing in the dark at the edge of the gathering; strong, lithe; a sleek and powerful killing machine. Blair froze, stricken; paralysed with terror.

He knew he ought to run, ought to find Panther, ought to get to safety - but he couldn't - couldn't move. Why couldn't he move?! Too late to run, now, Leopard had seen him, was growling; spitting and snarling in rage. Blair could sense the heat of the kill was on him, the taste of Zebra's blood still on his teeth and now Leopard was coming towards him, hungry for more blood, stalking him, picking up speed, moving in for the kill...!

*`The little shit! Look at that look on his face - He knows! God, he...! How could he know? But he does. And God is surely on my side because the only one who's guessed is a mindless little cabbage with no more sense than a tree stump! Look at him, standing there. He knows alright. Knows what's coming to him, too, but doesn't even have the sense to run from his own death.*

Because he couldn't take any chances. God's work had to go on. No one could stand in the way, not even stumps like Ellison's little vegetable - another homo, wasn't that what everyone outside Major Crimes said, before Ellison's pet got himself drowned and everyone started to feel so sorry for him? Well, now it was the little hippie queer's turn to feel the wrath of God.

He glanced around. It was dark; no one was looking this way, everyone's attention fixed on the dead faggot. He could grab the little moron; get him into the shadows over there, and... Dammit! What the hell? Where did he come from...?'

"What in the name of God did I say to you?!"

Jim had been distracted from his examination of the crime scene by the sound of Blair's heart practically hammering it's way out through his ribs, looking up to see his friend, already at the edge of the roped off murder scene, staring, horrified, at the body of Johnny Richardson, laid out on the football field. The sight of the stiffening corpse, lying so still on the frosty grass, had obviously been too much for his partner. The kid was standing, transfixed, his thumb in his mouth, looking lost, tearful and terrified.

Hearing his partner's heart beating fit to bust just yards from the dead man had catapulted Jim's brain into Blessed Protector overdrive as he rushed to grab Blair by the elbow and escort him away from the horrible scene. Jim shook his partner to get his attention, yelling at him in impotent anger born of fear. But as Blair's huge blue eyes fixed back on Jim's, watering with tears, Jim's gaze softened. He slackened his grip and took him gently by the shoulders.

"Blair. I asked you to stay in the car. I did that for a very good reason. This is a bad place, a dangerous place. I don't want you wandering around without me there to protect you, you hear? I'm afraid for you, Chief! Please, promise me you'll do what I say...?"

Blair's frightened gaze drifted from Jim to where Lew Powell was standing, looking at them with concern.

"He OK, Detective?" Powell asked. "I saw him standing out here, on his own; figured that couldn't be right. Thought you had to be working the crime scene. D'you want me to take care of him till you're done...?"

"No!" Jim yelled, causing Powell to step back. "No," he said again, a little more calmly, forcing down his panic. "I'll look after him. There's not much I can do at the moment anyway, I'm just getting in Forensic's way, I'll... I'll take him back to the car; he's freezing to death out here. You OK, Chief?" He asked, absurdly worried; his partner'd only gotten out of the car for a couple of minutes, and wandered around a sports field full of police officers - what could have happened to him? - But he saw things he shouldn't have! He could have gotten lost! He could have been killed!!! - No, that was ridiculous! What the hell...?

Jim didn't know what was going on with himself. He knew it was idiotic, illogical - bizarre! But he felt such a powerful sense of threat towards his partner that he grabbed his friend under the armpits and marched him - practically ran with him, to Rafe's car, the violent sense of being pursued by someone or something only starting to abate when they were both safely locked inside the warm, leather interior of Rafe's big, black car.

Blair was dead on his feet by the time they made it back to the loft. Jim was wiped himself, exhausted by the events and emotions of the day. He settled his partner down on the couch, where he curled up like a little cat, one hand fisted up near his chin, the other holding tight to Panther. Jim pulled off his friend's shoes, lifted his head and settled a couple of cushions under him before draping the afghan across his body.

Resisting the temptation to lay down himself, Jim went to the kitchen to put a pan of milk on the stove for cocoa. So sleepy, he slipped into a soothing semi-zone; watching the milk moving in the pan, the bubbles starting to form, the scent of the warm liquid subtly changing as the heat began to caramelise its sugars - so his sense of smell was wide open as his nose was suddenly assaulted by the powerful combo of coffee, cigars and expensive cologne; Simon, just getting off the elevator. He checked his watch. Was it really only nine forty five? It felt like one or two am - at the earliest. Jim ran a hand over his face. He really could do without the showdown now.

He moved to the door, opening it before his Captain had a chance to knock. Simon swayed slightly, unbalanced as the door suddenly disappeared from under his raised fist. Jim stood in the doorway, a finger pressed to his lips. Simon frowned, questioning, as Jim ushered him inside and gestured to the couch where Blair was rolled up in the afghan, fast asleep. "He's flat out," Jim whispered, gazing down fondly. "But, I'll have to wake him in a little while and get him to bed."

"Whose bed?" Simon asked as Jim crept into the kitchen to turn the heat off from under the simmering milk.

"Simon, it wasn't my choice to take him. Rafe..."

"You should have stayed in the car. You're on suspension, Detective, you had no place at a crime scene and as for Blair..."

"I told him to stay in the car. I thought..."

"You told him? Told a man who hasn't uttered a word in almost nine months, who shows practically no awareness of the world, no measurable intelligence at all, to stay in the car?"

"Oh now, wait a minute!" Jim said, wanting to yell, but keeping his voice low. "He does understand! He listens and he follows and he comprehends pretty much everything I say."

"Aw, Jim! That's wishful thinking! I've seen him every day since he came back to Cascade; I've heard what his doctors are saying..."

"Doctors!" Jim hissed, whisking the cocoa, pouring the mix into two mugs. "What the hell do doctors know?"

"About psychiatry? A damn sight more than you!"

"Maybe so, but they don't know Blair! Do you want cocoa? I'm sorry, I didn't think to..."

"No, I don't want cocoa!" Simon snapped, the argument getting as heated as two men whispering can.

Jim grabbed the two mugs and walked over to where his partner lay, sleeping quietly throughout their exchange. He sat on the coffee table and looked down at his friend. Simon had every reason to chew him out, he knew that. He was still on medical leave and shouldn't have been interfering at a crime scene; he certainly shouldn't have had Blair along with him. Simon was, after all, Blair's official guardian. He was risking a lot letting him stay with Jim. It was his Captain's ass that would be on the line if anything happened to his partner.

"Look, Simon. I understand that you're mad," he gestured for Simon to sit down. "And I'm sorry - not for going out there myself, I may be on suspension but I want to catch this monster, too. My senses are doing just fine since Blair came home, and I thought I might be able to help. I am sorry I left Blair alone..." Again. After all that had happened, had he still not learned his lesson?

He reached down and pulled the afghan closer around the sleeping figure; let his hand trail across the stubbled cheek. Jim's face gentled in a warm, caring smile as he left his anger behind, letting only loving emotions flow to his friend. "Chief?" He said, softly, stroking his partner's arm. "Hey, Chief. You gonna wake up and drink your cocoa?"

Simon watched the tender little display, dreading what he had to say. "Jim," he said softly. "I've got to tell you, the letters I'm getting from Doctor McCartney... it's not looking good. She doesn't like what's going on here..."

"Going on here?!"

"She's threatening to take him back to the hospital."

"Simon. No...! God...!"

"Jim, I rely on you to care for that kid. If I can't trust you to look after him, who can I trust? And have you ever stopped to think what's best for Blair? Maybe the hospital's the best place for him to be?"

"Simon, I'm making progress here! You send him back now and he may never get better. That's if Harborview will take him back; you heard what Mainey said at that meeting. You ask for him to be recommitted, chances are McCartney will get him transferred to Engelman, maybe even Conover! Is that what you want?"

"That's a low blow, Ellison."

"Things are going well, here! I'm starting to understand him. I can still do this..."

"You said that a month ago! Look," Simon sighed, running a hand across his exhausted eyes. "I'm pretty sure, from what I've seen of the woman, that Doctor McCartney wouldn't do him any good at all. So... I guess, I'm telling her, he's staying here with you. I do trust you, despite everything that's happened, and I know you have only the kid's best interests at heart. But Jim, this is your last chance. What happened tonight cannot happen again, you hear me? I'm running out of options. Next time, I'll have no choice but to take the kid into my direct care, and that means sending him back to a hospital. Do you understand?"

A wave of depression swept over Jim. Suddenly overwhelmed, he laid his head in his hands. What if he couldn't do this? If Blair didn't get better, what were the chances the court would grant him permanent custody? Practically none. What would happen to Blair then? And what would happen to him, if they took Blair away? He put one hand on his forehead and lay the other over his belly. He could feel himself breaking apart inside. If they took his Guide away...

He looked at Blair again and the painful truth struck him like a blow. In the eyes of the world, his partner was a child. He needed twenty four hour care. There was no way on Earth that would be granted to a middle aged cop with health problems, unable even to drive a car because of his `blackouts'. God, they'd send Blair to some awful mental institution... He should never have taken him away from Harborview. He was safe there, he was happy! Maybe he could get them to take him back? Doc Mainey had wanted him badly enough before, but - if they had a new pet monkey to play with and run their little tests on, Blair could end up in some zoo, lost forever in the system... He could lose him! He was going to lose him! Oh God! What was he going to do...?!

"Jim. Jim?" Simon had him by the arm, was shaking him. Blair was awake, too, his hand on Jim's knee, staring up at him in fear and alarm.

"I wasn't zoned!" Jim snapped.

"Really?" Simon asked sarcastically. "I don't know what you'd call it then, you sure weren't responding to anything I said for the last ten minutes."

"I was thinking!" Jim said, fear tainting his voice with anger - God, this was just what he didn't need! If Simon thought he was blanking out again..."I wasn't zoned!"

"Whatever you say, Jim," Simon said, standing and gathering up his coat. "I'm too tired to argue with you, tonight. But I need you to think hard about what I've said. I know you're trying, but you're not well. I'm doing my best here, but... if you can't show yourself competent to care for Sandburg, I will have to have him taken away somewhere he can get professional care. I'm sorry, Jim, but I'm just not convinced that this situation is helping either of you."

"Simon. Blair's happy. I'm happy. I'm not sick, I'm just tired, we're both tired. It's been a hell of a day. Please, just let it be. Leave things as they are. I swear to you, I won't let him out of my sight again. God, I don't know what you want me to say! Anything, I'll do anything, just - don't take him away, please? It won't help either of us if you do."

Simon sighed deeply. "Look me in the eye and give me your solemn promise that you really are healthy..."

"I swear to God!"

"That you're coping. That you can look after the kid and yourself."

"Yes! Come on, Simon..."

Simon sighed again. "Alright, Jim, here's what we'll do. Show me that you can do this. I want to see real progress, and I'll be over every day to make sure things are OK. I need to see that he's being properly looked after. No more wandering around murder scenes, no more arguing and obstructing Doctor McCartney. Just... play their games, Jim. Don't give them the excuses they're looking for to take Blair away, OK?"

"OK, Simon," Jim nodded, half smiling, recognising his boss's attempts to help. "I appreciate the warning."

Simon paused in the doorway to give a thoughtful nod. "See that you heed it. I'll be by again after work tomorrow."

Jim closed the door on Simon and walked back over to the sofa, deep in thought. He sat back down on the coffee table, picking up the cocoa, holding his hand to the mug to gauge its temperature. "Just right," he smiled at his friend. "Come on Chief, time to drink your chocolate and settle down to sleep." Blair barely acknowledged him. He was working on another picture, trembling with nerves and anxiety as he sketched frantically, like he needed to get this painting out of his system, and fast.

"Another picture, Chief?" Jim asked, softly. Putting his mug down, Jim sat beside his friend, laying an arm around his thin shoulders. "OK! A new animal," Jim said, looking over at the drawing. Blair followed Jim's line of sight to his new picture. "Who's the leopard, anyone I know?" Jim asked with a gentle smile that faded to a frown as Blair looked back up with fear in his eyes. "What's up, Chief?"

Blair continued to search Jim's eyes for understanding, as he laid two fingers against the Leopard. Jim looked at the picture again, searching for the meaning hidden there. This was important to Blair, he needed to understand.

The Leopard didn't look like any of the other animals Blair'd ever painted - he looked mean. He stood over the body of a freshly slaughtered Zebra, roaring at the onlooker, blood pooling around his feet from his kill, blood on his teeth and claws and murder in his eyes. The Panther stood before the leopard, his coat gleaming, white teeth bared, poised and ready to pounce, roaring back as if defending the observer - watching from outside the picture - from the murderous cat.

It was a powerful image and, slowly, understanding began to seep into Jim's consciousness. The panther - that was himself, he already knew that. But - the dead animal? The killer cat? Could this be a representation of the murder? Could the leopard be the killer? Did Blair know who that was? That strange sense of danger that'd seized him; blind, pointless panic with no clear cause that made him rush to protect his partner - was that some sixth sense warning him that Blair had, indeed, been in deadly danger tonight?

Jim wiped a hand over his face, leaned back into the cushions and turned his head to look at Blair. His friend was watching him with alert expectation, waiting to see if he understood.

"This... is this him?" Jim pointed to the leopard. "Is this the killer? Do you know who he is?" He fixed questioning eyes on Blair.

Blair met his gaze, then turned to look down at the pointing finger. He laid his hand over Jim's and locked fear filled eyes with his friend.

"Aw hell, Blair!" Jim felt himself shiver. He pulled his partner towards him. Wrapping both arms around him and tightening his hold, he buried his face in his hair, flooding his senses with Blair-scent, using that to centre himself; draw strength for the fight that was to come, because, if Blair somehow knew who the killer was, and had recognised him on the football field tonight - then there was a more than even chance the killer also knew Blair, had recognised him, and might be looking to silence his partner, permanently.

Like a whining toddler, the phone's insistent call roused Jim from the deepest, dream-free slumber. He pushed the sleep-mask away from his eyes, blinked and winced against the light pouring down through the skylight. Pulling himself together, he grabbed at the phone, knocking his book and clock to the floor.

"Hmmm. Yeah. Who's't? he mumbled, trying to get his brain together. He picked up the clock; 9.07. Shit! He'd been asleep ten hours? So why did he still feel so muddle-headed and sleepy?

"Ellison? What's up? Are you alright? You're not sick again, are you?"

"Hmmm? No. Simon. I'm just... you woke me is all." Jim looked over to the other side of the bed where Blair lay curled around Panther, still sound asleep.

"Ah, what it must be to live a life of leisure," Simon purred sarcastically.

"Yeah, must be good," Jim countered. "You'll have to tell me about it one day. Look, Simon. I was going to call you anyway. Is there any chance of you making it over here this morning?"

"None whatsoever. Why?"

Jim winced in disappointment. "It's just... I think Blair knows who the murderer is."

"What?! He told you this?"

"Not exactly, I mean, not in words..."

"What? He used Sign language? Semaphore?"

"I told you I thought I was on to something. Well, now I'm convinced of it. But there's no point me telling you on the phone, you've got to see what I mean. I promise, you'll understand once you see for yourself, but I need you to come as soon as you can, maybe send some protection in the meantime. I think Blair may be in danger... Simon?"

"Yeah, Jim. I'm still here. Just thinking is all. What exactly are you saying? How is Blair communicating all this to you? And I swear if you say `it's a Sentinel thing', I'll kill you."

"It's a Blair thing. It's in his pictures. You remember how I said I thought they were a code to his subconscious? Well, I know, now, that's exactly what they are, and I'm pretty sure I've cracked the code."

Jim heard Simon's sigh as clear as if his boss was here, in bed with him. Blair was awake, now, too, and staring at Jim with fixed concentration, a solemn, earnest expression on his whiskered face.

"Jim, this is all a little, wild, don't you think?"

"The whole Sentinel thing is a little wild, Simon."

Simon sighed. "Look, Jim, I can't make it over there till early evening. I'm up to my eyes in it all day. But - the reason I'm calling is that Rafe and Brown got a hold of copies of Joe Miller's school yearbooks, but they're real busy with forensics this morning over last night's murder. I was going to ask you to come down... Just a second, Jim." Though Simon'd placed his hand over the mouthpiece, Jim clearly heard him calling into the bullpen. "Jim, I've got Detective Lew Powell from Homicide here. We're working with them on the Miller murders. He's offering to drive over there with the yearbooks."

"Yeah, OK, Simon, I know Powell. He helped out with Blair last night." Jim listened as Simon gave Powell directions to the loft.

"OK, Jim. Look. I'm prepared to believe there might be something in what you say, if only because I've witnessed enough weird stuff from the two of you to last me twenty lifetimes, but Powell's not going to know about any of that. I want you to go through the books with him in the usual way. Let Blair look too, but for God's sake, be discreet. I don't want it getting around the station that we're trading regular detective work for the psychic visions of autistic, mute police observers, you hear?"

"I'll see if I can't get Powell to leave them with me, then Blair and I can go over them in peace, see if he recognises this guy from last night."

"You've no idea how this notion got into Blair's head? You didn't see him with anyone last night?"

"The only people I saw last night were fellow officers. I didn't see anyone with Blair. He couldn't have been out of the car more than a few minutes when I spotted him so, I just don't know..."

"And yet you're convinced Blair knows who killed Johnny Richardson?"

"Absolutely."

"Alright, Jim. Watch over him while he does his thing, and I'll have some uniforms over there just as soon as I can arrange it."

Jim put down the phone, then glanced over at his friend who was sitting up in bed, hair all on end and sleep rumpled, looking at him with those huge, questing eyes. He seemed worried - Jim realised he was probably projecting a `concerned' vibe. He smiled at his friend, but he felt the worry and the weakness in it. It must have showed, because Blair laid a hand protectively on Jim's bicep, as if he were guiding him in the use of his senses. The sensation was so reminiscent; Jim felt tears start to sting in his eyes. God, he wanted Blair - the real Blair - back so badly!

He felt his partner shift in the bed, pulling himself closer, then Blair wrapped an arm about his waist, laid his head against Jim's back, as if listening to his heart, and rocked him, gently, as if Jim were an unhappy child needing comfort after a nightmare. Jim grabbed hold of his partner's hand and held it tight. "Gonna be alright, Chief," he whispered hoarsely. "We're gonna get this bastard - you and me, together. Then we're going to get inside that head of yours and figure out what's wrong and put it all right, you hear?"

Jim was going through the usual morning routine - getting first Blair, then himself, showered, shaved and dressed, then making sure Blair ate - he was on a coconut granola kick right now - before cooking his own breakfast while Blair painted at the kitchen table.

Jim had just gotten his coffee brewing when a mighty roar caused him to spin around, looking for the cause. He locked eyes with his partner - Blair was staring right at him, alarmed; terrified. "You heard it too, huh?" Jim breathed, as Blair stood, switching his attention to the front door.

Jim took his revolver from the kitchen drawer, and, flipping off the safety, glanced back at Blair, standing stock-still in the middle of the room, eyes wide, watching the door. Moving silently, cat-like, to the door, Jim threw it open to a startled-looking Lew Powell.

"Oh, hey! I was just gonna knock," he said, "Urm, I got those yearbooks Banks said you needed... Can I come in?"

Jim stood aside to let Powell into the Loft, glaring out into the hall, searching for the source of that roar. Then Jim heard it again; the terrifying snarl of a big cat, and the scared whimper of a dog - or a wolf...

He whipped around to see Powell, his left arm across Blair's throat, his right hand holding a gun on Jim. Blair's eyes were round and scared, his paintbrush still clutched tight in his hand.

"Put the gun down, Ellison, and shut the door. Easy now, unless you want to see your little boy toy's lights put out right here in front of you. He gestured to the floor with his gun. "Put the gun down there. Now kick it towards me. Good boy," he grinned as Jim did as he was told, all the while keeping his eyes locked on Powell and his partner.

"OK, now," Powell lowered the gun for a second to reach behind him and pull out his handcuffs. He dropped them and kicked them over to Jim, returning the gun to its previous position, right between Jim's eyes. "You're gonna snap those on over your right wrist, then handcuff yourself to the table there."

"No way," Jim said, knowing, as soon as he was immobilised, Powell would kill them both.

"You do it now or I'll shoot you in the knees, right before I kill your pretty little vegetable here, very, very slowly, while you watch," Powell said, bringing the barrel of the gun round to Blair's temple. "Believe me; nothing would give me more pleasure than to do your little cabbage, Ellison, so get those cuffs on now."

Jim grinned. "Isn't that what you're going to do anyway? Just as soon as I cuff myself to that table?"

Powell leered back at him and chuckled, pulling tighter on Blair's windpipe. Jim heard Blair's breath rasping, saw the terror building in his eyes. He clenched his fists in impotent rage, keeping his face as impassive, his demeanour as calm as he could.

"Why? Why'd you wanna hurt Blair? What'd he ever do to you?"

Powell's face twisted. "I hate him. I hate you; I hate all your filthy kind."

"What? You mean gays? Homosexuals?"

"Queers! Faggots! I hate y'all. You go against nature and God hates you for it."

"And you've declared yourself God's avenging angel, right?"

"Ellison, handcuff yourself to that there table, or your little fag friend gets what's coming to him, you hear me?!"

Jim stared him out. Powell was deranged, manic - high on something if Jim was any judge. Jim wanted to keep this going for as long as he could; playing for time, hoping to throw him off his game and give him an opening; hoping Simon'd organized some protection. Hoping they'd be here very, very soon. "Just one thing wrong with your reasoning here, Powell. I'm not gay, neither is Sandburg."

"Don't give me that!" the crazed detective spat. "Everyone knows what's going on here, the way you two act together. It's been the talk of the locker room since Sandburg started working with you! It's disgusting! Filthy perverts! You deserve to die. You will, die!" He levelled the gun at Jim, bending Blair's head back, exposing his throat, Blair began to claw at the arm pinning him, he couldn't breathe - his rasping, panicked breaths, the rapid, pattering of his terrified heart filled Jim's ears, were all he could hear, consuming his senses with a red-rage madness; this monster was hurting Blair! Hurting his Guide! This had to stop, now!

Suddenly Blair raised his fist and thrust backwards with his paintbrush, stabbing Powell in the balls. The man howled with the sudden, unexpected agony, bending double, momentarily loosening his hold on Blair who pulled free, but Powell was too quick, snatching at his long hair, snapping his head back, almost pulling him over.

Jim moved like lightening to grab Powell by the waist, taking him down, knocking Blair out of the way as the man had to let go his hair to break his fall. Powell kicked out at Ellison, catching him a crunching, disabling blow to the knee. Grunting in pain, Jim fell away, rising on his good leg just as quickly to grab Powell again, when a shot rang out. Eyes wide with shock, Jim slid to the ground and lay still, blood pooling around his head.

Sirens could be heard wailing over the sudden silence in the room as Powell dragged himself, unsteadily, to his feet, wiping at the blood that poured from his mouth and nose. Blair was standing, transfixed, staring at Jim, lying, bleeding, so still on the ground - till Powell gripped him by the hair again, dragging him across the loft, flailing arms, dragging heels, resisting all the way. The detective turned in fury, grabbed him by the shoulders and rammed his head hard against the brick wall. Blair moaned - the first sound he'd made in more than nine months, and no one to hear it but his would-be killer. Hearing the sirens growing ever nearer, Powell held the gun to Blair's head, hand trembling, eyes ablaze. He could take the little shit out now, send him straight to Hell, but where would be the fun in that? He needed to be punished, needed to feel his soul leaving his body, molecule by molecule. It was a damn shame he'd had to kill Ellison. Now he'd never feel God's vengeance, never get to watch God's judgement meted out on his little fuck toy, here.

The sirens were loud now, the cars screeching to a halt outside. He'd run out of time. Powell pinned Blair hard against the wall; leaning into his face he hissed, "This is not over," and ran for the fire escape.

When Simon burst into the loft, minutes later, Rafe, Henri and five uniforms bringing up the rear - they found Jim lying cold and still, bleeding his life out on the floor, and Blair, curled around him, rocking his partner and wailing; "Jiiiiiiim!"

From the moment Henri Brown burst into his office with the news that Louis Pouelle, aka Detective Lew Powell of Homicide, was the half-Cajun classmate of Joe Miller, perfectly fitting the description given by old Charlie, Simon had quickly pulled together a team and raced to the loft; only to find Jim lying unconscious in a pool of blood, with a bullet wound to the head, and his formerly mute best friend and sidekick, keening his name and refusing to let go of his wounded partner.

In the end, to Simon's distress and dismay, they'd had to physically prize the kid from Jim's side and drag him, literally kicking and screaming, away from the man so the EMTs could get to him.

For a while, Simon'd stayed with Jim as the ER doctors patched him up as best they could and sent him off for X rays and ultimately, surgery. It seemed the bullet had bounced off Ellison's thick head; there'd been no penetration, but the blow had fractured the skull and Jim's brain was haemorrhaging; there was a blood clot and swelling - surgery had to be performed quickly. Since Jim's only named emergency contact was Sandburg, who was in no condition to make life or death decisions on Jim's behalf, Simon - as Blair's guardian - Okeyd the surgery.

As for Sandburg...

Simon was alarmed to realise he'd not seen him since Jim left the ER. Blair had travelled in the ambulance with his partner, where he'd made a thorough nuisance of himself, gripping tight to Jim, weeping, refusing to move or let go so that vital checks and procedures could be performed. Blair'd been pulled off the wounded detective again when they reached the hospital - had had to be physically restrained from going with him into the ER, and was now lost.

Two hours of cigar- chewing anxiety later, Henri Brown found the kid in a waiting room two floors below.

"Found him wandering about down there. He seems a little lost and frightened," Henri said gently, handing Blair back to Simon. As always, Blair acted nervous around the big Captain, but warmed some, when a cup of saccharine tainted vending-machine cocoa was produced. He sipped at the too-hot, too-sweet, watery brew, watching and listening to all that was going on around him with apparent interest. He'd not spoken again since his outburst of grief at the loft, reverting to the silent, wide-eyed, child-like figure everyone had grown used to; had started to think of as `Blair', something Jim deplored.

After what felt like an age, Jim's Surgeon arrived to update them. Seemingly aware of the importance of this man to his partner, Blair watched him with great interest, slipping his hand into Simon's and holding tight. Simon smiled at the gesture, squeezing back.

"Well," the man smiled. "Detective Ellison's surgery went off without a hitch. There was some swelling of the brain at the point of impact. There's always a danger in these cases of dislodging blood clots and triggering a stroke, but, all appears to have gone well. Detective Ellison will, of course, need bed rest for a good few days, and won't be able to work or do much of anything for many weeks to come. Only time will tell what his long term prognosis might be, but, at the moment, it all looks good," he smiled at the happy relief evident on the faces all around him. So, do you have any questions?"

There was silence in the room. Only Blair moved forward to stand, staring at the doctor, an expression of intense longing in his eyes, pulling Simon to his feet by the hand he still clasped.

"Can we see him?" Simon asked on behalf of Jim's silent partner.

"For a short while, yes," the doctor replied, looking strangely at Blair. "Ten minutes, max. Then I'll have to ask you all to leave. He's in an induced coma to help him heal. Please don't expect him to acknowledge your presence, or be upset when he doesn't respond."

Blair walked right to Jim's room, ahead of the doctor, knowing the way, seemingly, by instinct. When he saw Jim laying in a tangle of wires; electrodes attached to his head and body and a tube up his nose - he rushed to his side, clambering on to the bed to lay his head on Jim's wired-up heart.

A nurse rushed to remove him, but Blair wouldn't budge. He gripped Jim tightly about the waist, head on his chest and rocked him, humming, almost sub-vocally - a low vibration that Simon felt more than heard; wondering what was going on and whether this strange sound from the formerly silent Guide, was yet another weird form of communication, hitherto unknown to him. Simon was loathe to interfere, despite the embarrassment of knowing how peculiar it all looked to `outside' eyes.

Eventually, two orderlies arrived, wrenching the Guide away from his Sentinel. Blair screamed and fought, eyes popping in terror. Simon felt sick as he watched the flailing, frothing, incandescent little spitfire being dragged further and further away from his beloved friend and partner, stepping in to take charge of the hysterical man.

"Sandburg! Blair!" Simon yelled, shaking the frenzied observer till his teeth rattled, needing to get his attention. And Blair did calm some, staring at Simon with pained, furious eyes; his teeth gritted in an angry leer as he met the Captain's stare and returned it, unblinking.

"Blair, listen to me. Calm down before the doctors here have you sedated! I think I know what's going on. You think you can reach Jim, right? That you can do that Sentinel-Guide voodoo thing, and fetch him back to the land of the living. But you can't! Jim's very sick. The doctors have knocked him out so he can heal, do you hear? Now they don't want you getting inside the man's head with all that mumbo-jumbo. He has to rest, you hear? The Doctors aren't going to tolerate anthropologists climbing all over their patients. If you don't behave like a regular human being, they won't let you back in here, and you won't get to see Jim at all. Do you understand me, Sandburg?"

Blair looked back at Simon, quiet now; a look of unutterable, unbearable sadness on his features.

"OK kid, I understand, I really do. But you know Jim knows you're here for him, right?"

Blair's eyes filled with tears that pooled in his blue eyes and spilled down cheeks flushed with emotion and effort.

"You have to come home with me tonight, kid. I know it's not what you want, but we neither of us have any choice in the matter. I'll bring you back tomorrow, and we'll hear what the doctors have to say and then, maybe if you behave, you can sit awhile with Jim. And I do mean sit, Sandburg. No more crawling all over the man, you hear? We OK on this? We have an agreement, huh?"

Blair stood stock still, the tears now pouring freely down his face. He stood awhile, looking down the corridor in the direction of Jim's room, then turned and lay his head against Simon's chest, sobbing silently.

"Hello?" The sleepy voice answered on the eleventh or twelfth ring.

"Nurse Owen?" Simon asked.

"Yes. Who is this?"

"I'm truly sorry to wake you like this, but I have something of a situation on my hands. I'm Simon Banks; Captain Simon Banks of the Cascade Police Department, Major Crimes division. We met briefly a few weeks ago..."

"I remember you Captain," the nurse replied, foraging for her glasses and slipping them on her nose. "Is this about Star. I'm sorry... Blair," she remembered her boy's `real' name after a brief pause. Of course to her, to everyone at Green Ward, `Blair' was and always would be, Star.

"Yes. I really am sorry to be calling at such an hour..."

"Oh please, Captain! This isn't the first time I've been woken in the night and for things a whole lot more trivial than a problem with Star, so spill, Captain, what's happening to my boy up there in Cascade?"

Simon smiled in relief - he liked Nurse Owen and respected her ability as a healer. "He won't stop crying," Simon said. "I mean, crying, I could just about cope with. This is sobbing, like you've never heard. The kid's grief stricken. It just goes on and on...."

"Oh my. He's having one of those nights, is he?"

"This has happened before?"

"Pretty often. I'm surprised Detective Ellison didn't say something, if he's handed the boy into your care. He's been on the phone to me many a time during one of Star's bad nights. He tried to calm him and get into his head, you know, the way he does," she chuckled. She liked the big detective. She especially warmed to the way he never treated Star as less just because he was the way he was, but always treated him as an equal. He seemed to think he was communicating in some way with her boy, and she wanted to believe him - did believe him. There was something about that man that made you trust him. Star clearly worshipped the ground on which he trod, and that was good enough for Olwen. But even Jim Ellison had no answer to the bad nights.

"I'm so sorry, but there's nothing to be done, Captain. If he's really bad, there's only one recourse, and that's to put a soporific in a hot drink and see that he takes it all."

"Drug him?"

"Yes.

"Jim did that?"

"On at least two occasions I know of. We did it here too, as a matter of routine. It's the only way to deal with him when he gets like this. Where is he now? Can you see him?"

"Yeah, he's here in the room, on the sofa, sobbing his eyes out. No noise, though. Silent as a little mouse. That's what makes it so eerie."

Olwen nodded sadly to herself, seeing the terrible little scene play out in her head as it had so many times here in the hospital. "The solution in the amber glass bottle. Put two drops in a cup of warm cocoa and he'll be out like a light in fifteen, twenty minutes, depending on how tired he is. He'll be fine in the morning. At least, he generally is."

"Yeah. Well, I don't know. Ellison's in Cascade General. He's been shot. They were both attacked in their home today."

"My Lord! Star too?"

"Yeah..." Simon sighed. The kid's more or less OK. We don't know what the attacker actually intended, but we know who he is. He shot Ellison in the head..."

"Oh my God!"

"He'll live. He's one tough bastard. But he's out cold. Blair's not coping well with the situation."

"I don't know what to say..."

"I think Jim had a feeling something like this would happen. He asked me to organize protection. We were investigating a serial killer. Jim was sure Blair knew who the murderer was, and that the man might know Blair. Looks like his instincts were right on the nose."

"How would Blair know who the killer was?"

"I don't know!" Simon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Jim asked me to go over to his place that morning so he could demonstrate. I couldn't make time." Simon wiped a hand across his face. If only he had `made time', would Jim be OK tonight, instead of lying in a hospital bed with a fractured skull? No way of knowing, but... If only he'd heeded Jim's warning. If only he'd found it in himself to take the mystic mumbo-jumbo seriously. "I only know it had something to do with Jim believing Blair was communicating with him, somehow."

"He's said that to me, too. Do you think it's true?"

"I don't know. I put it all down to wishful thinking but, maybe. Jim and Blair do seem to share some weird kind of bond. It's hard to say... He'd hate to see Blair upsetting himself this way..."

"Two drops, Captain."

"Simon. Please."

"Simon," she smiled.

"And he'll be better in the morning?" he asked so hopefully, Olwen's heart went out to him. He sounded so tired.

"He usually is."

"OK," Simon sighed in relief. "I'll do that then. I'm wiped. It's been a hell of a day."

"I'm sure. Look, I have next Friday through Monday free. I was thinking of maybe taking a little trip up that way... Can you believe, I've never seen Cascade, and I'd like to see Star - Blair - again, very much."

"You'd be more than welcome. And I just know Blair would be happy to see you, too. He's really not too happy with his current doctor."

"The notorious Doctor McCartney? Detective Ellison told me all about her."

"Nothing good, I hope?" Simon asked.

Olwen smiled. "No."

Simon laughed. "Please do come. I know Blair would be thrilled to see you. I have a guest suite here at my house. You'd be more than welcome to stay."

"Well... thank you kindly, Simon. I would like that. Very much."

He was alone. So alone! Lion was here, and doing his best, Blair knew that; trying so hard to be kind and to help, but he was keeping Blair from being with Panther, and that was bad. Very bad. It was breaking his heart. He couldn't bear it.

He tried so hard not to cry - he was a grown man, after all. But, oh God, it hurt!!! It was unbearable to be separated. And he was so lost here, on Panther's side of the water, so far from his friends. Just he, himself, all alone, and Lion and the terrible, all-embracing pain. And he just couldn't stand it...

Blair drank his cocoa, the tears running down his face in an unstoppable stream, and Simon wondered how he didn't become dried-out as a raisin. He took the proffered mug of hot chocolate and drank it obediently while Simon sat beside him and rubbed tentative circles on his back, hoping he was soothing and comforting the little fella. He wasn't good with the touchy feely stuff, and this Blair, the way he was now, made him very uncomfortable. He really didn't know how to react, what to say - what to do with him. But Blair drank the cocoa, which was a real relief, and, shortly after, when his eyes began to droop, Simon took him by the hand and led him to Daryl's old room, where he sat him on the bed and laid him under the big soft comforter. "Sleep tight, kid," Simon said as Blair's eyes finally closed. "It'll all look better in the morning," and switched out the light, leaving Blair to his drug induced dreams.

Blair opened his eyes to the blue jungle of visions. How did he get here, he wondered? He'd been so long in that other jungle; the jungle of his animal friends, the ice-cold lake, of Panther and Lion, and lately, the Leopard who'd attacked him and hurt Panther...

Oh! No! Now he remembered! Panther was injured - he'd been trying to protect him from the leopard and been wounded! Was he dead? No, not dead... not dead, thank God. But he was hurt, badly hurt. Blair'd wanted to stay with him, but the other animals, and Lion - especially Lion - had made him walk away, leave poor Panther alone when he was wounded and needed his help and protection! Why had Lion done that? He'd thought Lion was Panther's friend? And now, he was back here? Oh my God! Maybe he was dead? Maybe Leopard had killed him after all? The last time he came here was when he died, after the fountain...

It was all coming back to him, now. Those memories that had hung out of reach for so long. Alex - his death in the fountain - the jungle - Sierra Verde and the Temple - Jim. Jim most of all; hating him, mistrusting him, rejecting him. The memories were just as awful as he'd feared they'd be.

He'd... died! Yeah. He'd actually died. He'd been here, in this jungle, and he'd been a wolf - an animal, like all the other forest creatures. He wasn't a wolf now, though - was that significant? Then the panther came and brought him back... and the panther... Was Jim. Oh my God. Of course. The Panther was Jim!

Blair sat down heavily on the ground. The memories were flooding in and he needed to process. He was confused. For a long, long time, he'd been in the jungle with the other animals; Turtle, Owl, Parrot, Gazelle, Tiger, Bear, Stag... But, that couldn't be right, could it? Those animals couldn't all be together in a jungle! Could he have been hit on the head or something? Could it all have been a dream? It was all a little bit Bobby Ewing, and the very thought of it left him feeling bereft. Could his animal friends really just be inventions of his subconscious?

And Panther...?

Well, he knew he wasn't a dream. He was Jim's animal spirit, the one who'd come to bring him home from the underworld, or wherever the hell this place was. Maybe this time, he was here to bring Jim back, help him, the way Jim had helped him. Blair leapt to his feet. He had to find Jim. Find him, help him, and bring him home again...

But where was home? Did he have a home? For as far back as he could remember, home had been his little shack in the jungle, near the cold lagoon, beneath Turtle's tree. He knew now, though, that that wasn't his true home. That was somewhere else, altogether. But where? He didn't know.

But none of this was helping him find Jim. He set off through the trees, looking, listening until the Panther sensed his presence and let out a great roar; so loud, so pained, so hurt and lonely...

Blair set off running towards him, until the forest cleared, and he was back in his jungle, by the pool with its tall waterfall cascading down - everything was flooded with that strange blue light, but it was most definitely his pool, his jungle.

Lying on his side, on the little muddy beach by the icy water, the tips of his huge, black paws lapped by the soft waves from the lake, was Panther. He was sick, his whiskers down, the gloss gone from his coat.

Panther looked up, watching attentively as Blair approached, lowering himself to a cross-legged position beside the big, black cat, reaching out a hand to tentatively stroke the powerful, muscular body. He could feel the panting breaths, the pounding heart, the heat of his fever. Then Blair got down, planting a kiss between the big cat's Topaz eyes. And, just like in all good fairy tales, the Panther morphed into a buff, blue eyed detective... OK. Not like most fairy tales, but where'd you go to meet princes these days?

Jim looked around, a little confused, holding his head.

"Headache?" Blair asked.

"Yeah..." Jim sighed, glancing about him in wonder.

"Sorry. I don't have anything to give you, man," Blair smiled, softly, eyes warming to see his friend again after so long. "It's good to see you, though."

Jim glared at Blair with a look of shocked surprise, followed by a slow dawning... It was so familiar, so normal to be talking to Blair, that he'd forgotten, for a moment, that Blair didn't talk, wasn't `all there?' "What happened?" he asked in wonder, reaching out to touch Blair's face, afraid he was dreaming that Blair wasn't real.

"I'm not altogether sure what's happening, man," Blair said, smiling uncertainly. "I was kinda hoping you could fill in some of the details for me."

Jim took a deep breath, thought a while. "I'm not sure. Are we..." he gestured at the familiar blue landscape. Blair nodded.

"Yeah. Getting kind of old, isn't it?" he laughed.

"Are we...?" Jim gestured at the two of them.

"Nope. Don't think so, anyway," Blair said, glancing around him and up at the tree tops, as if in hope of an answer presenting itself. "You got hurt - somehow, not really sure how, but I'm pretty sure neither of us is dead. The way I remember it, you got attacked by a leopard, but - that doesn't really seem logical, likely or even possible, now that I think about it. So, I'm kind of in the dark here, Jim. What do you remember?"

"You, sick. Very sick. You collapsed at the airport, then went missing - for months."

"OK. That I can buy. I was in the jungle..."

"The jungle?! You were in Seattle, at Harborview - in a mental hospital. Blair, you were totally out of your mind!"

"What...?"

"I only just got you back. You were like a child, you didn't speak, you... God, it's so good to have you back, buddy...!" He put his hand out to Blair, laid it on his shoulder.

"Jim, I don't know what you're talking about! I've not been in any hospital. I have been lost, that much, I know. I've been living in the rainforest. Not sure where. I assumed I'd gotten lost, maybe got a crack on the head or something `cause I couldn't remember anything. I still can't remember a whole lot, but I think I'd remember being in a mental institution, Jim!"

"Well, we can't both be right," Jim sighed, rubbing at his head. God, it hurt! Maybe he'd had a blow to the head and invented the whole baby-Blair episode? Maybe it was some kind of coping mechanism? - an escape from the reality of losing his friend? But somehow, he didn't think so. He shook his head as memories filled his aching skull, tormenting him with horrible clarity.

"I remember you being in the hospital," he said, softly. "You collapsed. You were... bad, Chief. Respiratory failure. We'd just gotten back from Sierra Verde, were at the airport, when you just... keeled over. You stopped breathing, Chief. I tried to do whatever it was I'd done before, you know, at the fountain? Only this time there was no Incacha to guide me and, you just lay there, turning blue... God!" Jim wiped a hand across his face and laid his head in his palms, shaking his head back and forth. "I never, ever want to see anything like that again." He turned to face Blair, sitting cross-legged beside him, watching him - intent, confused; trying to square Jim's account with his own strange memories.

"The EMTs got you breathing, but in the ambulance, you stopped, again and again. Four times in all. You slipped into a coma. The doctors said you might be brain damaged. God, Chief. You can't imagine what those days were like! Then, when I was home, taking a shower, you got up and left. Just got up from a coma and walked out of the hospital in your Sierra Verde clothes. And that was the last anyone saw of you, until you turned up in the hospital in Seattle just a few weeks ago. To say the least, you weren't yourself, not really there at all. Olwen, your nurse at Harborview; she said you were lost in your mind and we had to find a way to fetch you home..."

"Home," Blair sighed. "Where is home, Jim?"

"The loft's your home, Chief. You know that..."

"Till you threw me out." Oh, yeah. Those memories were returning big time, now. Jim packed his bags and threw him out of the loft. Then, after Alex killed him, he went after her; not to bring her to justice. No! He went rutting after her like a horny ram. Man, oh man...! Yeah, he was remembering alright now! "Why'd you go after Alex the way you did, Jim?"

Jim hung his head. Oh hell. "I don't know."

"Or rather, I guess I should be asking, why'd you come after me?"

Jim looked up in confusion. Blair was looking at the ground, drawing circles in the gritty mud.

"I was dead. I was here, in this blue jungle and... you called me back. Why'd you do that Jim?"

"You have to ask? You know! You're... You're..."

"What? What am I to you? Friend? Roommate? Observer? Sidekick? Nuisance? Irritation? Pain in the ass?"

"Chief..."

"No. Let me finish. I really need to, you know? I need to tell you how I feel so you can explain to me what was going on back... whenever that was. Geez!" Blair ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Oh man! This is... This is so hard. You see, I thought we were friends..."

"We are!"

"Will you let me finish?! I knew... I know I'm an annoying little shit. I know I irritate the hell out of you and Simon sometimes - especially Simon, but I thought... I thought we were friends, you know? I thought we had feelings that went... I just... I guess... I never realised, how disposable I was. And that hurt, Jim. You thought that I'd betray you, that I'd consciously planned to betray you. Then, after everything else that'd happened... You consistently put her first, Jim. You left Megan and me alone..."

"Incacha told me to!"

"Incacha?"

"He came to me in a vision," Jim blustered, desperately. God, this was bad! This was way worse than he'd imagined! "I had no intention at all of leaving you. He told me you'd be in danger, that I should go alone. I left you to keep you safe. Like when I need you to stay in the truck. It's for your protection. It's because I care!"

Blair had gone very quiet. He was staring at his own fingers as they trailed figures of eight in the mud.

"Sandburg? Blair...?"

Blair kept his eyes on his doodling finger. "Incacha came to you in a vision, and told you to leave us behind while you went off to... What, Jim? Save the world, or make Sentinel babies?"

"I went after her to stop her. To get that damn gas off her..."

"Why Incacha, Jim?"

"He was my Guide, my Shaman, Blair. You know that! He guided me to bring you back from the dead."

"Why? Why'd you want to bring me back?"

"What?! You know why! Goddamit why'd you keep asking that!"

"Because I want to understand, Jim. I was dead! I was gone. I was... at peace."

"You were dead! No one wanted you dead, Sandburg! I brought you back. I thought you'd be happy about that, you know?"

"And yet you were ready to run off with Alex, in Mexico. You didn't seem too concerned about her having killed me when you were with her on that beach." He held up a hand to forestall Jim's anxious protests before going on, sadly. "Jim. When Incacha died, what were his last words, do you remember?"

"How could I forget? It's etched on my mind forever."

"OK. Well, then, you'll remember that he passed the `Way of the Shaman' on to me. He put you in my care, Jim. He said he was relinquishing the job of guiding you, and passing the baton on to me, right?"

"That was my understanding, yeah."

"So why'd he tell you to leave me behind, and go after Alex alone?"

"Because of the danger!"

"My place was at your side! Your Shaman. Your Guide. I should have been there for you. Incacha said so, himself."

"So...what are you saying here, Chief?"

"I'm saying I failed. I don't know where I went wrong, Jim. I don't remember a specific time or place. Maybe it was when I kept Alex a secret from you? Maybe... maybe it was sometime during that night shift? Remember? That wild night, when you read my opening chapter. Everything seemed to start falling apart round about then. It felt like... like a stack of dishes that you can see is about to topple, and you're moving fast as you can to get there, but you know you wont be able to get there in time, and even if you could, you know you wont be able to stop them falling. I knew, I could see it all starting to unravel, but I couldn't stop it and everytime I tried, I made things worse.

"Jim I don't know what happened! That's the worst part of it; I don't know what I did that was so wrong! I wish I did, so I could put it all right, but I can't! It's over. I ruined everything...!"

"Sandburg, you've lost me completely. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Incacha knew I was no good as a Guide. That I had, and would continue, to fail you. That's why he guided you that night, and why he told you to leave me behind. He knew I'd screw up."

"No! It wasn't like that at all..."

Blair just kept shaking his head. "Incacha knew. You too, Jim. You knew I'd mess up."

"No...!"

"Subconsciously, actually, I think you did. That's why you threw me out of the loft, why you instinctively mistrusted me, why you followed Incacha and Alex and ignored me. Because you knew I'd failed you and that I couldn't be trusted..."

"Would you rather be dead?" Jim spat, angry - Angry at Blair's self doubt. Angry at himself for not really knowing why, himself; for not having a ready answer.

"Honestly? I really don't know."

"How can you say such a thing?"

Blair shrugged. "Because it's the truth. I don't know why I'm here! If you brought me back from the dead to guide you, then I failed miserably!"

"Maybe I wanted you back because you're my friend. Because I couldn't bear the thought of a world without Blair Sandburg in it?"

"You left me behind! Time and again, you left me to go after her! Then, when you finally woke up, smelled those damn roses and decided to get with the picture, you let Incacha guide you! Jim, if you won't listen to me, then listen to him. He didn't want me with you. He specifically told you to leave me behind. He sure knew enough not to help you bring me back when I was dying at the Airport. He knew you'd be better off if I wasn't around, so you'd have to find yourself a new guide, one who could do the job and not keep screwing up so badly."

"God, will you listen to yourself?" Jim yelled. "You're so full of self pity, you're just not thinking. You do a great job as my Guide. When you left, I was all over the place. I was a basket case. My senses were killing me, I was zoning out. I was on suspension! All I could think about was finding you..."

Blair stood up, dusting the mud off the seat of his pants. "Where are you going?" Jim asked, anxiously. "We're not done here yet, buddy!"

Blair looked back, towards the forest, then turned and stared out over the lake. "I think you're gonna be alright, Jim. I thought, maybe, I'd been brought here to help you back, but..." he shrugged. "I'm pretty sure now, that it was just a last chance to say goodbye."

Jim shook his head, helplessly.

"I'm going to try and get back there," Blair said, pointing to the other side of the water. "I know I can't swim, I tried it, before. I tried to reach you, but I couldn't. In the end, you had to come to me. Again."

"I always will," Jim said, earnestly.

Blair smiled, sadly - a tight, half-hearted little attempt at a smile. "There has to be a way around. I think, if I follow the shoreline, if I just keep going, eventually, I'll find my way back."

"What's back there that's better than what we have here, together, Chief?"

Blair shook his head, hopelessly.

"Blair, why do you paint?"

"Huh?" Blair turned with a frown at the sudden non-sequeteur.

"All those pictures. Painting all the time, Chief. Why?"

"I don't know what you mean..."

"Sure you do. Think, Chief. Remember. You know you can, if you try...."

And Blair did remember. Remembered his pencils, his notebooks, his brushes and paintboxes. Remembered his pictures - the jungle, the animals. "Oh my God!" he gasped. "It is real! It is! All of it!" He spun to face Jim again, still sitting by the lake, looking confused.

"What is, Chief?"

"The animals! My friends! Who attacked you, Jim?"

"Lew Powell, Chief. Don't you remember? He came after you. He was going to kill you. Rape, torture, mutilate and murder you. He wanted me to find you like that, like the others. He thinks we're lovers..."

"No. No, Jim. The leopard attacked you!"

"The leopard. Yeah. The one from your picture. I think it must be Powell's spirit animal. We both heard him, that morning. Failed to heed the warning, though. We never learn, do we, Chief?

"I saw him, Leopard, I mean, the night of the murder. We were at the edge of the jungle. The other animals were there. Stag brought us, me and Panther, to the edge of the forest... and Leopard was there! Oh, he was a mean old cat, Jim. I was so scared. He'd killed a beautiful Zebra, not because he needed to, but just for fun. Oh man! It was horrible..."

Jim watched Blair as he told his tale. His eyes were wide, unfocussed, far away - seeing the scene he was describing, the scene he'd painted in the loft the night before Powell made his move. "You saw the leopard, Chief." Blair nodded, vacantly, his eyes still fixed on some far, distant point, his mind a million miles away. "You drew him for me. You were trying to tell me that Powell is the leopard, right? I'm the panther. And the others? Are they spirit animals too...?"

Blair shrugged, the empty, vacant look starting to return to his eyes. "I don't know, Jim. I... I'm having trouble remembering stuff. I think I have to go, now."

"Blair? What's happening?"

"I don't know... I just feel it... something. I really think I have to go, Jim."

Jim's heart was pounding in his chest. He didn't understand what was happening here. It was as if Blair - his Blair, his chatty, confident, intelligent friend - was fading away, slowly being replaced by the silent, child-like version. "Where to, Chief? Where are you going? Not back to the other side of the water? Please, tell me you won't go there?"

"I promise I won't go without telling you first."

"Will you come back and talk with me again?"

"If that's what you want."

"Give me time. Let me prove to you that you are wanted."

"And trusted?"

"Yes."

"Needed?"

"Yes."

Blair smiled dreamily, wistfully. "OK. I can do that. I can wait a little while longer."

Jim breathed in relief. "Blair, come home. Please. I need you..."

"Jim, even if I really believed that, I honestly don't know how."

And with that, he walked away, back into the deep, dark forest, to the only world he'd known for what felt like forever. Away from the sunlight and the shimmering blue waters. Away from Jim.

Jim stayed a while by the cold blue lake, extending his vision into the dark forest, hoping he could find Blair. When he couldn't, he turned his attention inside. He felt more depressed than at any time since Blair's collapse. All this time, he'd been consumed by the burning need to find Blair, wherever he'd gone - thought all he had to do was take him by the metaphorical hand and lead him home. He'd had no idea - no idea at all that Blair had harbored such feelings inside him. Well, it was clear enough now why he'd gone. All that stuff going on in his head before... when Jim had felt him slip away. And Jim had to think carefully, now, about how he was going to put things right.

Lying in his little bed, Blair continued to dream. He'd had to get out of that blue dream jungle - away from Jim. He needed to go back, back to where all this started. He needed to think...

He knew, now, that his jungle `home' was really just a dream, and had been all along. Never real. He didn't know how he knew, exactly, he just did. And the memories that had plagued his mind before; hanging, temptingly, like fat, ripe fruits, just out of reach, were with him constantly now, playing through his mind like a movie...

He looked back over their last weeks together before Alex came along, saw Jim's continuous and growing irritation with him and realised that this thing going wrong between them wasn't just about Alex; it went deeper than that. It was something that wouldn't be put right anytime soon, possibly, not ever.

He re-lived the sinking realisation that it was probably all over; his friendship, his home with Jim, the life they'd shared - no more ride along, no more happy, friendly days, joshing over paperwork and mugs of bitter break-room coffee, snug in the warmth of their friendship as the rain lashed the windows on the cold world outside. The knowledge of that loss had killed something within him.

Then, he was out in that cold, wet world, feeling empty inside. He looked at his life back then - like taking a last look around the echoing emptiness of a well-beloved home on moving day, when all the things that made it a home had been packed away and moved out, and all that was left was plain old bricks and mortar, where once there'd been warmth and life and happiness.

He'd known the day was coming, of course. This day always came around for Blair Sandburg. He'd loved and lost so many times in his short life. The bum's rush came in many forms; sometimes fast - the sudden kick in the pants, don't let the door hit you in the ass as you go. Sometimes slow; a trickling away of the love; like a leaky bottle left on a shelf and forgotten about, until you reached for it, and found it empty.

But the ending of his life with Jim hadn't been either of these. It'd been totally unexpected - like a deep, dark hole had suddenly opened beneath his feet and sucked him down as he'd stood, stunned, staring at his life, carelessly packed into a few cardboard boxes, on the night Jim threw him out of the loft.

He remembered the miserable night he'd spent, curled on the lumpy little sofa in his office, wondering - why? And - when the shock wore off and he started to think about all the changes this would bring, he realised he'd have to change the topic of his dis. Five years of study - not to mention a lifelong obsession; his life's work - all down the toilet. It'd be a relief to his committee, anyhow. None of them had ever truly taken his field of study seriously. He still had Alex, of course, but he didn't wanna work with her. He had no feelings for her at all, beyond the fascination a real-live living Sentinel would always have for him.

And that was the thing in a nutshell. His research had been invalid from the start because he was too close to his subject. It wasn't just Jim, suddenly throwing him out of his home, severing their carefully constructed link as Sentinel and Guide -that kept him awake all that night. It was the knowledge that he'd have to choose between his work and his friendship, because the infamous Dis - the elephant that'd been living in the loft for the past three years - was now waking up, demanding supper and making an unholy mess all over Jim's fine timber floors.

He could see, too, that the dis. problems went back way before Alex had sashayed into their lives. He remembered when Incacha was still alive and running around Cascade, and Jim's Sentinel abilities had cut out. Jim told him then that he didn't want the senses - he'd never wanted them. And that was when realisation struck, like a bolt of lightning, that someday soon, someone at the PD would turn around and ask why this student had been `observing' Jim Ellison for over three years on a ninety day pass.

He realised their time together was finite. And that scared him, because he couldn't see any way to hold on to what had become his life; a life he loved. And - watching the sand slip through his fingers, he panicked; in an almost Ellisonesque way, he covered his fear with a half-assed remark about academia being the merry go round, and the only light in his tunnel that night, was, that he could see Jim felt it too. He hadn't thought it through, either. Did he share Blair's fears? Or was he glad the Sentinel thing was finally over?

Had that fear subconsciously contributed to him getting his senses back? Or was that all about Incacha? The Shaman. Jim's mentor in a way, it seemed, Blair had never been, could never be.

When Incacha passed that responsibility to him, he'd been so happy! Here it was, the answer he'd been looking for - A reason to stay beyond the need to `observe' Jim. That happy feeling lasted all of three hours.

Because Jim didn't want him as his Guide. He didn't take him seriously - made that pretty clear that same day, rolling his eyes when Blair had made that remark about being the Shaman of the Great City, like it was a joke, and it wasn't a joke, not to him! And Blair waited, hoping that Jim would wrap an arm around his shoulders and smile and let him know in that doofus way of his, that he was only joshing and reassure him in his new role as Jim's True Guide. But he didn't; he wandered off to grouch to Simon about his wrecked truck, leaving Blair alone with his disappointment. Jim's reaction was exactly what Blair should have expected - but it still stung a little. More than just a little.

Jim had never taken Blair's place as Shaman and Guide seriously. And when challenged by another Sentinel in his territory; he'd seen Blair's actions in befriending her, not as a mistake anyone might have made, but as a betrayal. Truth was, he'd thrown him out of his life very easily. Would he have done the same for Incacha? Of course not. He would have listened to his explanations; they would have worked it out. Would Incacha have kept Alex's existence from his Sentinel in the first place? No, but then, Incacha was not working on his dis...

He remembered the flight back from Mexico. Jim was distant, never said a word. All the way home to Cascade, Jim stayed apart from Simon, Megan and himself. Sitting up front, staring at the clouds, lost in thought.

As did Blair. He'd sat, curled in his seat, pretending to sleep as he tried to digest all that had happened. He was trying so hard to be logical, to look on the situation with a cold, analytical, scientific eye. He knew he was pitiful; full of wounded pride and hurt feelings and was trying to push it all down, look forward, not back - keep from wallowing in his misery. But the wounded feelings, the hurt emotions, kept getting in the way of logic; fogging his rational mind, till emotions were all he had and all he was; nothing but a tightly coiled bundle of betrayal and resentment and hurt.

It didn't help that he was sick, and feeling so vulnerable; so tired - incapable of dealing with it all. He'd left a hospital bed; signed himself out AMA, to go chasing through the jungle after Jim, and for what? So he could see for himself how worthless he truly was. He'd tried so hard. He loved Jim and had done his best to help him, but his best had not been good enough. He hadn't just failed; it was a whole lot worse than that. He'd never been what he thought he was. He was not a Shaman. He was not a Guide. It seemed, he wasn't even a good and trustworthy friend.

He remembered watching Jim, Simon and Megan retrieving their bags. Blair had no bag; all he had were his pack and the clothes he was wearing, so he stood apart from the others, watching Jim, watching the cold indifference on his face whenever their glances had happened to cross.

All his self-pity converged then, in a moment. Jim didn't want him around any more; probably hated him for what he'd done, and who could blame him? The Sentinel had known instinctively what to do. He'd cleared the false Guide out of his life - excised him cleanly and efficiently. And when Blair had failed to get the message and had come running after him, he'd done it again, leaving him behind as he went in pursuit of his prey.

As the universe unravelled around him like an old sweater caught on a nail, Blair felt himself falling, found himself, suddenly, on the floor at Cascade International, opening his eyes, looking into that concerned face, hearing that soft, frightened voice... "Come on, Chief. Breathe for me, buddy. You can do this. Don't leave me, Blair."

But he had left. His final betrayal.

He'd felt his lungs filling with fluid, just as they had done that fateful morning, such a short time ago, when Alex had held his head down in the water. The water that rushed into his body then, was icy and cold. This water was warm; stealing his life so gently, he hardly even noticed until his heart begin to falter, tripping unpleasantly in his chest as darkness fell.

He drifted, then; floating, detached - somewhere - no idea where. He was blind, deaf and dumb; senses all gone.

But even as he floated in that ethereal soup, he couldn't escape from the question that kept rising, like flotsam, in his wounded heart. `Why? Why'd you bring me back, Jim?' He'd been dead; already on the other side and Jim could have left him there. But he didn't. He kept on trying to bring him back - invoked Incacha to do it. If he was such a bad Guide, why hadn't Incacha let him go, so Jim could find someone new?

It was the one part of the puzzle that didn't seem to fit. And yet it had to, somehow. Maybe... maybe when he found out how that piece fit, the rest of the picture would start to make a whole lot more sense.

He couldn't bear to think about it any more, it would have to wait until he was stronger. He couldn't deal with it now.

He turned, and walked out of the blue, back to his jungle home, where he was safe. Where he didn't have to think; where he couldn't be hurt.

"OK, kid," Simon said, leaning down to talk face to face with Blair, who was gripping tight to Simon's hand as he bounced on his heels, eyes wide with excitement. "Now listen to me. We're going in to see Jim. He's awake now, but still very sick, you understand? I know you're excited to be seeing him at last, but you can't stay long. The man needs his rest. You sit quiet and talk with him, or, at least, do that thing you and he do - but no using the man for a trampoline. He's very ill. Do you understand?" Nothing. Not a flicker. Simon sighed. However had Ellison managed to convince himself that Sandburg somehow `talked' to him? "Come on, Sandburg. Let's go see the man."

"Good to see you Chief," Jim said, smiling, as his friend ran over, beaming his happiest smile, bouncing on to the bed; wrapping his arms around Jim, squeezing tight.

"Hey, goddamit, I said... God, Jim, I told him not to do that," Simon blustered. "Sandburg, hey, Sandburg! Jim's sick. Come off of there."

"You told him?" Jim raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well." Simon slammed his unlit cigar into his mouth and pulled a chair over to the bed.

"How's he doing?" Jim asked, as Blair finally let him loose, but stayed sitting on the bed, beaming at the Sentinel with a pleased, proud expression.

"Been crying a lot," Simon said, not quite meeting Jim's eyes.

"Uh huh. Is that why Olwen's staying with you? Nice of her to give up leave time to come baby-sit Blair."

"Yeah, well, she said she's always wanted to take a boat trip up the Sound. And she did want to see Blair."

"Has he been any better since she arrived?"

"He was real pleased to see her, but he still cries at night."

"That's how it is sometimes." Jim looked away. "I've been out a good while, they tell me."

"Almost a week. We were worried about you. Shoulda guessed you had a thicker skull than even I gave you credit for. The kid misses you," Simon said, softly. "Olwen's been putting knock out drops in his cocoa to make him sleep. I don't know how I feel about that."

Jim lay back on his pillow with a sigh. "I don't like doing it, either," Jim said, "but she's right. When he gets those crying fits like he does, the only way to deal with them is to send him to sleep. I know, I tried everything. It's like a wall goes up, nothing gets through," he sighed.

The disappointment of seeing his partner still the same as ever was killing him. He knew how it would be, of course. Blair'd told him he didn't want to return yet - had also told him, he didn't know how. Jim would have to find the way and the means of persuasion too. He took a good, long look at his partner. He'd brought Panther with him, was hugging him tight as he stared in wonderment at Jim. Jim reached over and rubbed Blair's hair.

"Did you bring the stuff?" Jim asked his Captain.

"Oh, yeah," Simon popped open his briefcase and brought out Blair's pad and pencils, handing those to Blair, plus a folder of photos and a wad of Blair's pictures, which he gave to Jim.

"What're you planning?"

"Just a little experiment. An attempt to get inside and guide the Guide," Jim smiled, taking Blair by the arm to still his sketching fingers. "Hey Chief," he murmured softly. "Hold up there, just a moment. I have something I want you to see." He handed Blair one of his old paintings; the one of leopard and the zebra, with panther standing guard, snarling at the big cat. Blair blanched, flinched away from the picture, then looked up at Jim, big eyes full of pain.

"OK. That's OK, Chief. I know that brings back some bad memories, but I need you to remember. Take a look at this," and Jim handed Blair a relatively recent picture of Detective Lew Powell, at a PD leaving party. The man was draped in pink streamers, grinning at the camera. Jim laid his forefinger on the photograph. Blair stared at it, then up at Jim; locking frightened eyes with his partner, then laid a gentle hand on Jim's thickly bandaged head, on the place where the bullet had struck and fractured his skull.

Jim nodded. "Yeah. He's the leopard alright, isn't he Chief?" Blair lowered his hand, and his head, staring at the bed, looking sad. Jim gripped him by the shoulder. "Not your fault, Chief. Powell's fault. Leopard's fault..."

"Jim?" Simon interrupted gently. "What's this all about?"

"Just give us a moment or two, Sir," Jim said, his gaze never leaving Blair's. "We're communicating, here. Remember our dream, Blair? The vision we shared?"

"What?" Simon snapped.

"Simon, I have to talk to Blair, if you can't deal with what I have to say..."

Simon threw up his hands in surrender.

"OK," Jim murmured. "So, Chief, you remember our talk? You were yourself, then. You are yourself, aren't you, in your head? Running around in that jungle, free as a bird."

Blair continued to look at Jim blankly.

"I asked you to come home, remember? And you told me why you wouldn't. But I really need you, Blair, more than ever. What do I have to do to convince you of that, huh? Come home, Chief, show me how to reach you! Throw me a bone here!"

But Blair had gone back to his sketching. Nothing Jim said appearing to register with him at all.

"What's happened with Powell?" Jim asked, leaning back on his pillows, exhausted, disappointed. "Rafe told me you lost the trail?"

Simon shook his head. "We think he's skipped over to Canada."

"He'll come back, Simon. He'll come after Blair."

"We'll find him, Jim, don't you worry." Simon bit down on his cigar. The thought that one of their own had been the murderer they sought - head of the investigation, no less - and had gone after Jim and Blair had raised hackles across the city.

Since his return from Seattle, Blair had achieved serious Mascot status at the PD. Men and women who'd previously had no time for the `little, long-haired, hippie freak,' liked the smiling, bouncing, child-like version that had returned from Harborview. The new, silent Blair was loved by one and all. Jim and Blair's infrequent visits to the bullpen could stretch into hours as word got around the building as folks were practically lining up to say `hi' to Sandburg, present him with a candy bar or a banana - anything to light his eyes with joy. People loved to pat him on the head, maybe they thought it would bring them good luck or something? The thought that one of their own had attempted to turn the kid into mutilation-murder number five had sent a wave of horror rippling through every department. Never in all his years as a cop, had Simon seen such determination to bring a perp to justice.

That Jim Ellison had so very nearly been killed trying to protect Sandburg, had made him more than a hero. Jim's room filled with flowers till it looked like a Hollywood starlet languished there - till Simon'd had them all sent away to other wards, knowing the Sentinel would be sneezing from here till Easter if he'd woken with all those blooms in his room.

Jim picked up the wad of Blair's pictures, sorting through till he found the one of Bear and Stag, then flipped through the photos till he found the one of Rhonda's engagement party from last September - there were Rafe and Brown, arms around each other, drunk as skunks and laughing like clowns. "How about this pair, Chief?" Jim asked, handing Blair the photo. Blair trailed fingers over the two grinning men, smiling happily up at Jim. Jim handed Blair the painting of the two animals watching the turtle. Blair looked at it for a long time. Jim touched the big brown bear, then touched a finger to lift Blair's chin and look him in the eye. To his surprise, there were tears there. Jim frowned. "Hey. Hey. What is it?"

Blair touched the picture of Turtle, cowering in the roots of the dead tree, then looked up at Jim, his eyes questioning, yearning...

"Charlie. Old Charlie. Are you missing him, Chief? Is that what it is? I`m sorry," and Jim reached over to squeeze Blair's arm, comfortingly. "Look, you get well and we'll go see him..." [
"Could be seeing him a whole lot sooner than that," Simon added, giving Jim a wary look.

"Meaning...?"

Simon sighed and leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. "Olwen wants to take him back to Seattle with her when she leaves at the end of the week."

"No!"

"Just till you get better, Jim. I can't take care of him; I have to be at work. I couldn't have taken him in at all beyond that first couple of days if Olwen hadn't offered to come up here."

"No! Simon, he goes back there, he'll stay there. I'll never get him back and all the work we've done together will be undone..."

"Jim, I don't see what choice we have here."

Jim threw back the blankets and began ease himself out of bed as Blair watched, attentively.

"What the hell are you doing?" Simon spluttered.

"I'm checking myself out."

"Are you nuts?!" Simon yelled. "Get back into bed, right now, you idiot!"

But Jim was already up and bent over, rooting around in his bedside locker for his clothes, his bare ass on show to the world.

"Jim, for God's sake, get back in bed. And cover yourself up, man!"

Jim leaned against the bed and began pulling on boxers. "I'm fine," he said, reaching for his socks.

You are not fine! I think you've maybe got a little brain damage there, Ellison," Simon said, walking over to the door.

"Where are you going?" Jim gasped, clutching at his locker - the effort of pulling his socks on having caused a major head rush.

"To get the nurse, see what she can do about getting you committed."

"Good," Jim said. "Tell her to bring whatever paperwork I have to sign to get myself out of here."

"Jim, you have a serious head injury. There is no way I'm letting you walk out of here in your condition. You're sick. Who's going to care for you? Sandburg?"

"Yeah. Why not?"

"Ellison!"

"Simon! I'm leaving this hospital today. Now, either you help me out here and give me and my partner a ride back to the loft, or I can call a cab. Really doesn't matter that much to me, but a ride'd be a whole lot easier."

Simon pushed his hands down into the pockets of his cashmere coat and `humphed'.

"Look..." Jim sat down on the bed to pull his pants on. "It's not that I don't trust Nurse Owen to care for Blair. There's practically no one I'd trust more. It's just... we've come so far. He's made so much progress. I let him go now and he'll forget. If he goes back to Harborview, I don't think he'll ever come out again. I won't let that happen, Simon. I won't..."

"I think that bang on the head did way more damage than the doctors are letting on if you think signing yourself out of a hospital bed will solve anything."

"It'll keep Blair out of Harborview."

"For how long?"

"As long as I can stay upright."

"Not too long, then."

"I'll take my chances," Jim said, looking up at Simon's unhappy face, his big frame filling the doorway.

"So, you gonna go get the nurse and the paperwork? Or do I have to go down there and get it for myself?"

Jim closed his ears against the angry condemnation of his surgeon, his nurse, and his Captain, too. He knew he was more or less OK, that what was wrong was mere physical damage - his head was reparable, his heart was not. If they took Blair away... He couldn't go through that again, that hideous sickness of the soul. He knew the only way to stop `them' taking Sandburg away from him was to physically prevent it. That meant he had to be home, with Blair, not lying in some damn hospital bed.

Thinking back on their years together, it was still mostly a mystery, how this noisy, irritating student had become such a fixture in his sterile life. Blair had become a close friend, as well as a clever Guide, who he increasingly relied upon to sort out problems with his senses. He had no idea when their relationship had moved beyond friendship into symbiosis; a mutual need that clearly damaged both when they were separated. He wondered if Alex had instinctively recognised their link, and if that was why she'd killed Sandburg? Two birds with one stone?

Simon yelled at him all the way back to his place - refusing point blank to abandon the pair of them, alone together, in the loft. He was still yelling as they unlocked the front door and moved into the house; about how he knew Jim thought he was helping but Blair was not improving, how, now that Jim was rendered physically incapable of caring for his partner due to a hole in his head, Blair would be better off with Olwen at Harborview, getting proper medical care.

But it was at Simon's house, that same morning, as Jim sat gingerly down on the sofa, leaning his head back, eyes closed against the spinning room and the nausea that threatened to humiliate him with the re-appearance of his breakfast, that Blair proved Simon and all the doctors wrong. He sat down beside Jim and laid a hand on the Sentinel's forehead. As Olwen and Simon stood in the corner of the room, quietly discussing Jim's condition and mule headedness and what to do for the best, Blair got up, and, tugging at Olwen's sleeve, led her to the kitchen where he handed her a box of ginger-lemon tea. Jim's ginger-lemon tea. The same brand that Blair had bought for him from his favorite health food store, where a girl he really liked worked...

`Except she has this dumb ass boyfriend who is so not in her league, and eventually, eventually, she has to wake up and smell the coffee on that, am I right? Of course I am! And then, I'm gonna be there, man. The ever present sympathetic shoulder to cry on who could be so much more, if you get my drift...?'

Jim smiled happily to himself, hearing Blair's voice rambling away in his head, his eyes still closed as the scent of that same tea laced with honey brought the memories flooding back; the mundane-everydayness of a silly little moment becoming golden in the poignancy of his loss. Then someone was touching his shoulder - he slitted his eyes open, just a little, just enough to see Olwen's kindly face, holding out a steaming mug...

Ginger. Blair had told him it was good for nausea. He'd bought the tea when Jim had had a bad attack of the dry heaves after a time on the night shift had brought him into contact with the janitor wielding a peculiarly noxious floor cleaner. The tea had really hit the spot and Blair always kept some in from then on, and had left some here for Simon, too, when he'd been ill with stomach flu.

Jim sniffed at the tea with a questioning glance at Olwen who beamed at him, tilting her head in Blair's direction. His partner sat back down at his side, curling his stockinged feet under him, watching his friend with tender concern.

"He gave me this," she smiled, rubbing Blair's head with fond admiration. "Pushed the box into my hand with one of those urgent, `go on and do it right now looks', he gets on him..."

"Oh, I know that look," Jim smiled, casting his worried partner a smile, making a show of lifting the still-too-hot tea to his lips. "This is what he used to give me whenever I was feeling nauseous..."

"Oh my Lord, he knew," Olwen breathed in amazement. "Knew just how you were feeling and what to give you to make it all better. He knew, Jim," she said, looking up at Simon with a glad smile.

Jim looked from his partner to Nurse Owen, to Simon, who was watching in confusion, wondering what the kid had done to elicit such excitement - and back to Blair. "Yeah," Jim said, ruffling Blair's hair to garner a much needed smile. "I keep telling you, Simon, Blair's in there. And he needs me to help him find his way home."

The next morning, Olwen's last in Cascade, Jim rose early to find the capable nurse already up and fixing coffee.

"You're an early riser too, Detective?" she said, smiling.

"Mostly, yeah," Jim said, rubbing at his head. Tell the truth, he hadn't much felt like getting up this morning, but after the too-deep sleep induced by a toxic combo of sleeping pills and pain meds had worn off, leaving him with an industrial strength hangover, he found it impossible to stay in bed a minute longer and - drawn by the delicious scent of Simon's best shade-grown Colombian, threw on a robe and followed the intoxicating perfume down the hall to the kitchen.

"How's our favorite patient this morning?" Olwen asked, far too cheerily for this hour of the day.

"Still sleeping," Jim muttered, pulling the sleep mask from his forehead, squinting against the winter sunlight pouring in through Simon's big picture windows.

"How long has he been sleeping in your bed?" Olwen asked as she poured out two mugs of strong coffee. "You look like a black coffee man to me," she smiled, passing him a mug.

"I am, thank you," Jim said, taking it. "And he's been sleeping with me since his first night back at our apartment. It's not what you think..." he said.

"What do I think?" she said, looking at him over her coffee mug.

Jim shrugged. "He's my friend, my very good friend - is all."

Olwen smiled and put down her cup. "I think that's plain for anyone to see," she said. "You're his security. His comfort and joy," she smiled. "I see he doesn't take Panther to bed anymore," she pointed to the little toy, left on the sofa all night. It was the first time Jim had realised that Blair'd stopped bringing `teddy' to bed with him. "He doesn't need Panther at night anymore, does he, Jim?" Olwen went on. "He's no need of substitutes when he has the real thing right there beside him. You're Panther, you know that, right?"

"Yeah," Jim said, failing to meet her eyes.

"You knew all along?"

From long before, he thought, but didn't want to get into discussions of spirit animals, lost Temples and the whole `Sentinel Thing', with Olwen. So he just nodded, lifted his coffee to his lips and changed the subject.

"He thinks I don't care about him."

"I find that very hard to believe. He worships the ground you walk on," Olwen smiled, her smile fading when she saw that Jim was deadly serious. He stood, hands on the kitchen counter, eyes down, shaking his head over and over. She placed a hand on his arm to still the nervous movement. "Why would you think a thing like that? She asked, gently.

"He told me," Jim said, lifting pain-filled eyes to hers.

"He told...? You wanna explain that?"

"Not really", Jim smiled. "But I think I'm going to have to. I need someone I can trust."

Olwen gaped at him for a moment. "Haven't you talked to Simon?"

"Simon knows some - a lot - of it, but not all. Simon doesn't like all the... mystic stuff. So I don't tell him everything, on account of his delicate feelings and nervous disposition," Jim said, shooting her a wan smile.

Olwen barked a sharp laugh, but quickly sobered, seeing the look in his eyes. "So - tell me, Detective."

"Blair and I have this - link."

"Does this pre-date his condition?"

Jim nodded. "But I didn't like it. I fought it. When I was forced to confront all the... stuff - that happened between us, I panicked. I thought I was normal; just wanted to be like everyone else. I wasn't normal. When he showed up in my life, I was a mess. All he ever did was try to help, and I blamed him for it. I pushed him away when I should have held him close, and, as a result, he died."

"You mean, metaphorically?" Olwen asked, trying hard to follow, to make sense of what Jim was clearly trying so hard to tell her.

"God, I wish! No, he died. His heart stopped beating, he stopped breathing."

"For how long?"

"We don't really know. A long time, at least twenty minutes, maybe longer..."

"Jim that's not possible!"

"I know. But it's true. Ask Simon, he was there. He was dead. I asked him to come back, and he did. He came back for me. And now, he regrets it."

"And you know this...?"

A pause. Jim took a breath, then another. "I traveled to..." he stared at the ceiling a moment, then shrugged. "I don't really know where it is, what you'd call it. I think it's some place between this world and the next. A portal...? In the form of a blue jungle. It's the place where we share visions."

"A jungle? You mean, like in his pictures?"

Jim nodded. Olwen sat back with a sigh. "And he - Blair's - trapped there? Is that what you think?"

"I know he is. I've been there and talked with him. When I was in the hospital..."

"The coma?"

"He came to find me. He was normal, talking a mile a minute, his old self. It was... nice. But he was so angry, and so bitter! Angry with me for having mistrusted him, but mostly angry with himself, because he thinks he's failed me... Don't ask me to explain it all, Olwen, it's complicated. But... if I can't persuade him that he hasn't failed, that he means everything... he gave me back my life for God's sake! But unless I can get that through to him, unless he believes what I'm saying, he's going to leave, I know it."

"Leave? You mean - die?"

Jim shrugged. "I don't know. He talked about making a journey to the other side of the water. Does that mean he's going to die? Does it mean he'll stay lost in his mind? I just don't know."

"What will you do?"

"Go back, if I can, try to persuade him to stay. I just have to find a way to get back inside his head, so I can tell him."

"Well honey, the answer's staring you right in the face." Olwen pointed to the kitchen wall where Simon had pinned one of Blair's pictures, so he'd feel more at home. "Jim, I'm sure you're right about him trying to communicate with us, and from what you've been telling me, he's been doing it all along through these pictures of his. We look at those pictures, we see what he sees - we're looking through that boy's eyes."

Jim smiled. This brilliant woman had Blair all figured out, without the need for visions and spirit guides. Trouble was, they both knew where the door was, but neither knew how to find the key.

Three weeks later...

Jim opened the door, stepping out carefully, so as not to trigger another attack of the dreadful vertigo that he'd suffered on and off since leaving Cascade General. He was still plagued by occasional fits of dizziness and nausea, but the crisp cold air did wonders for his head. He stood, breathing deeply, looking up at the stars, Blair holding tight to his hand at his side, together, simultaneously misting the frigid night air with their breath. The leaves were long gone from the trees now, and a heavy frost greeted them most mornings after a long stretch of unusually clear, bright days and starry nights.

Jim watched his partner fondly, thinking how the past three weeks, here in Seattle, had been strange and wonderful - amongst the happiest days Jim Ellison had spent in his mostly unhappy life.

It was Olwen who came up with the idea of contacting Doctor Mainey with a view to having Blair admitted to Green Ward as an outpatient. As anticipated, the Doc was only too eager to get little `Star' back into the program again and readily agreed. Olwen and Simon had both backed Jim's claim of Guardianship, allowing Blair to stay with him outside the hospital.

Blair seemed to love the apartment Jim had rented in Seattle. He was perpetually happy there, which made Jim happy too. Their place made up half the ground floor of an old Victorian villa in a tree lined street near the university.

Blair still loved to stand and stare at the stars; Jim would wrap him up warm in so many layers the kid looked as round as a bowling ball, then they would walk out into their big, beautiful garden and stand and just stare at the sky. Jim smiled down at his friend as he bounced with irrepressible joy beside him, pointing upwards, eyes wide and grinning fit to burst.

After forty minutes or so, when they were both thoroughly chilled to their bones, Jim led Blair back to the cosy kitchen to mix up big mugs of steaming hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows for them both, adding a generous glop of rum to his own. There was no more need to add the dread drops to Blair's bedtime cocoa; their days were so full, the kid's eyes were drooping by nine and he was generally tucked up and fast asleep by half past, giving Jim ample time to muse on their day and think up new tricks and schemes to bond with his friend - ways to express his true regard for his Guide. That was the plan - the reason they were here.

Their mornings were cosily routine; Jim woke Blair, saw him bathed and shaved, dressed and fed, before the two of them took a taxi over to Harborview. The cab ride was a daily excitement that never seemed to pall for Blair as he investigated the ashtrays, the windows, the differing upholsteries. His curiosity and delight in the world around him never flagged - one aspect of the `old Blair' that had never changed. Consistently fascinated by the many and varied ways each driver chose to individualise his cab, he had to investigate every swinging beaded, mirrored contraption, dream-catcher, furry scented dice, statues of saints or Hindu gods. Blair's smiling eyes twinkled as they met those of each driver in the mirror - clapping his hands with glee the morning they got Gupta for a second time. Gupta liked Blair too; the `little happy guy'. "Very good friend, this little happy guy. I wish all my passengers were so gracious, kind and happy as he."

And Jim would smile in agreement, ruffling the soft curls with affection and wonder, what was Blair seeing? What special take did his damaged mind have that made this mundane, workaday life into a magical world where everything was marvellous and new?

Their day at the hospital began with Blair's obligatory nine o clock session with Doc Mainey. Jim sat in while the doc did his best with wooden puzzles, colored lights and tuning forks. Then, at ten thirty, Jim would take Blair down the corridor to the sunny day room where the real work would begin - painting pictures, eating cookies and `communing'. Everyone in Green Ward, old friends and new, were excited to see the little guy back again, and he was so happy to see them, throwing his arms around each of them in turn. Familiar animals - owl, Gazelle, Turtle and others - began to appear again in his pictures.

Jim began introducing Blair to familiar scents and tastes - his teas, spices, exotic fruits and candies; his favorite Tasmanian leatherwood honey... One day Jim handed him his old backpack with its familiar mix of smells, and his beloved tome, The Sentinels of Paraguay. Blair stroked his fingers reverently across the faded leather cover - no more than that. But it was after Jim presented his friend with these new-old stimuli that a strange thing started happening; Blair began mixing Bear, Stag and Lion into the same drawings as old, familiar creatures like Turtle and Owl, melding the two worlds together. Were these memories, attempting to surface?

In a reversal of their customary roles, Jim talked to Blair constantly; always asking questions, which Blair answered, in his way, with his eyes and his paint-brush. And Jim would draw too, with surprisingly skilful penmanship, pointing out places and things in Blair's sketches and paintings, sometimes drawing himself into Blair's pictures, trying to get through. And all the while, whether in drawings, or looks, actions or deeds, Jim told Blair that he was loved. That he was Jim's Guide, the one, the only, accept no imitations. That, should Blair leave him, Jim would fall apart. And constantly, continuously asking Blair to come back home.

And if anyone understood love, it was this Blair. This silent, gentle creature - so unlike his noisy, animated, feisty, sometimes bad tempered Guide - who gave and received love so easily. He'd already sought out all the new faces and made life-long buddies of them all, especially the quiet young man - another John Doe - who now slept in Blair's old bed. He was a fellow lost soul that Blair quickly took to his heart, quietly holding his hand as they sat, side by side, on the sofa facing the big window. Sometimes, the thin young man would lay his head on Blair's shoulder and tremble, and Blair would quietly pat his head and rub soothing circles on his back till he quietened.

"He's got a magic touch, that one, huh, Ellison?" Charlie growled in Jim's ear, watching the little scene.

Jim nodded.

"I hear you lost that cop that was doin' the murders."

"Yeah, but we'll get him," Jim said, turning to talk to the old man. "Everyone wants him for what he did to Blair."

Charlie nodded. "I hear he got you too," Charlie motioned to the raw-looking scar that adorned Jim's right temple.

"I'm OK."

"You sure?" Charlie laughed. "You ask me, you look about ready to fall down, Detective. You don't look so good."

"You looked in the mirror yourself, lately?" Jim cut back, getting a sharp, rasping laugh from Charlie.

"I walked right into that one, didn't I?" he laughed. "I mean it though. You oughta take the weight off, cop. You look mighty pale."

"If a man's gonna get sick, might as well be in a hospital," Jim smiled.

"Look, don't let worryin' over the kid make you neglect yourself. That's a nasty wound you got there, and don't argue cos I heard all about it from the nurses. You caused a bit of a stir here, Ellison. Them nurses ain't talked about nothing else since you was here," Charlie winked at Jim, who couldn't help smiling.

The nurses, huh?"

"All orn em."

"What, Bruce too?" Jim grinned.

"Especially Bruce. He's got his eye on you, Ellison..."

Charlie walked away, laughing, and Jim sneaked glances at Bruce for the rest of the day.

After the morning's hard work, afternoons, Jim decided, were for fun. Beginning with a late lunch - one day hot dogs, another ice cream, another, weird vegetarian specialities from one of the funky, bohemian cafes near the university, a short walk from home. Then, if there was time before it got dark, they'd wrap up warm and take a walk across the park-like campus, watching students hurrying to class, some rollerblading or cycling through the winding pathways.

When it got too cold to be out, Jim would take Blair through musty, dusty corridors, along tile floors painted in rainbows from stained glass windows, to the big university library where Blair's normally buoyant mood quietened, and he would walk thoughtfully along the long lines of books, old and new; sometimes reaching out to reverently touch the spines, pause, and think awhile. Jim let him be - go where he wanted and do what he pleased, hoping the charged, academic atmosphere would waken something in his sleeping mind, maybe open a niche that Jim could crawl through to reach his friend again.

One afternoon, they'd ended up in the Anthropology department, and Jim took Blair down to the museum. They were examining a series of anthropomorphic blackware pots from the Chimu culture, when a stern looking woman in tweeds and wire rimmed glasses marched over; "Excuse me! Excuse me!" she snipped, pulling her glasses up on to her head, revealing a surprisingly youthful face beneath the caricature academic exterior. "Excuse me, Mr...?"

"Detective James Ellison," Jim said, holding his hand out with a disarming smile.

"Oh!" The woman blushed slightly, as women often did when Jim turned that smile on them. "Detective? Is something wrong...?" she glanced nervously around the room, as if looking for a man in a striped sweater and black mask with a bag labelled `swag'. "Only, nobody told me the police..."

"I'm not here on business, Ms...?"

"Louise," she smiled, swaying towards him with a smile. "Louise McFaddyn. I'm the senior curator here; only, the museum's not open to the public, Detective. Entry to non faculty members is strictly by appointment or invitation only and... Blair?!" she glanced behind Jim for a moment, watching at the small figure whose eyes were glued to a fragment of Incan weaving in a glass case. "Blair Sandburg?" She asked again, smiling. Blair continued to ignore her. She glanced at Jim, puzzled and was about to go over when Jim placed a hand on her arm. "You know Blair?"

"Of course I know him! He interned at the Anthro museum at Rainier when he was still an undergrad. I was curator there for three years. I know him well. I..."

Jim held up a hand. "He's not well," he said.

"He's with you?" She asked puzzled, looking Jim up and down with open curiosity.

Jim nodded. "He's a good friend."

"What's wrong with him?"

"He had, an... accident." No need to go into details. "He's not talking."

"Does he hear? Is he deaf?"

"Sort of. Look, it's kind of hard to explain but... Maybe, could you go say `hi' to him? An old friend, it might help...?"

She cast Jim a curious look, clearly after more information, but realising she wasn't going to get it, nodded and walked over to Blair like a hunter approaching a potentially dangerous wild animal.

"Hi, Blair?" she said, nervously. "How are you doing? Blair looked up, regarded her a moment, like he might a table or a chair, beamed at Jim and walked over to rejoin his partner.

Jim took Blair by the hand, and gestured over to the confused young woman, who was watching his partner with a vaguely frightened expression.

"Blair, this is Louise, Louise McFaddyn. She used to work with you in the museum at Rainier. Don't you wanna say hi, Chief?"

Blair continued to stare up at Jim with his usual happy smile.

"What's wrong with him?" Louise asked, in an irritated tone.

Jim bit back the retort that there was nothing wrong with Blair. There was, of course there was. He just didn't like the way she said it, like it was Blair's fault. "He's having a problem connecting with the world, is all. It's why I brought him here. I thought it might help. Familiar surroundings and all, you know," Jim shrugged. The woman's expression was set. She glanced at Blair with something like distaste, as if his - sickness, for want of a better word - was something dirty, and possibly catching. Blair looked back at her with those big, vacant eyes. He squeezed Jims hand and pressed a little tighter against his friend.

"Yeah, Chief. I know," Jim muttered, pulling Blair even closer and laying a hand on his shoulder.

Louise's expression cooled to something nearer disgust. "Well, it doesn't seem to be helping, does it?" she said. "And, you know, you're really not supposed to be in here. If you go to the bursar's office, down the corridor, third door on your right, he might be able to issue you a ticket to visit in a day or two."

Jim threw a tight smile at her and tightened his grip on his friend. "Don't worry, that won't be necessary. Come on Chief," he smiled, getting a bright-eyed grin in return. "It's getting late. Let's get back home." He threw a `goodbye' nod at Louise and steered his partner out of the thick, bevelled-glass doors; he would have loved to let them slam, if only they hadn't been on a heavy brass spring.

`Damn her!' he thought, storming off back down the corridor. How dare she?! How dare she look at you; judge us like that!! Jim muttered, striding off, running down the steps to the Anthro building, suddenly realising he no longer had a hold of his partner's hand. With a jolt of guilt so strong it stung, he rushed back the way he'd come, finding Blair standing outside an office, staring up at the wall, trailing his fingers across something pinned to a board there.

Blair turned to him with a tentative smile, pointing up at a photograph, a portrait of some old guy in a tweed jacket; big mop of white hair, moustache, kindly, laughing eyes; very professorial, yet mischievous, in an Einsteinish way. Jim smiled, thinking Blair would look something like this in thirty or forty years time. Blair locked eyes with him; he had that open, questing look - he was asking something. It was important. Jim put his hand on Blair's shoulder and leaned in to take a closer look. His friend was looking up at him, intensely, waiting to see his reaction.

"Lecture, this Thursday at nine, guest speaker Doctor Eli... Stoddard! Chief!" Jim looked down at his friend. "This," he pointed to the picture. "This is that guy, your mentor, right? Eli Stoddard!" Jim grinned, nodding his head. "You recognised him, huh? Yeah!" He grinned back down at Blair who was beaming; eyes alight with joy, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet.

"OK! You wanna go to this lecture? I can't see anywhere where it says we can't. No special invitations needed, no permission from the bursar," he smiled, squeezing Blair's hand for emphasis. "Alright! OK!" Jim laughed lightly. "You recognised him. That's... That's pretty damn good, Chief. Pretty damn good. Thursday at nine it is. And now," he leaned down to look his friend in the eye. "It's getting pretty dark and cold out there. I think it's time we got ourselves home and got cosy n' warm with some toasted cheese and hot chocolate with marshmallows. What do you think? Uh huh!" Jim grinned. "A man after my own heart. C'mon Chief, let's get home."

Evenings were always spent quietly. Blair would usually nap while Jim cooked supper - always one of Blair's favorites; anything to remind him, to spark memories. After supper, Jim would light scented candles and they'd watch a game, or an old movie with the sound turned low, or Jim would put Blair's `Earth music' on the deck and they would simply sit and `be', side by side, lost in their thoughts.

Blair didn't draw all the time anymore. The continual, frenetic outpouring of art had given way to a more leisurely sketching, as and when the mood took him. He had stopped drawing in the evenings altogether. At first, Jim thought it was just tiredness, their days were so full, but now... he was inclined to think, Blair was just absorbing the days differently, communicating differently; not in pictures so much, anymore, but in the hand he held so tightly all the time, the head on the shoulder, the comfort he took in Jim's presence.

Most nights, they'd sit quietly together till it was time to look at the stars. Then Jim'd fix cocoa for them both, talking quietly about their day, till Blair's eyes began to droop. Then he'd lead his friend to bed, and watch over him till his breathing deepened and his heartbeat slowed into sleep. Then Jim would pop open a beer, stand by the big bay windows, and look out into the night, musing quietly to himself till well after midnight.

The lecture theater was filing fast and Jim was glad he'd thought ahead and got here early, so Blair would have time to absorb the atmosphere; anything to help Blair remember.

"This Eli Stoddard's a popular character, huh, Chief? All these people, young people, coming out here on a cold winter's night to hear him talk," he mused, rubbing Blair's head to get a smile. "I guess you'd have to be pretty hot stuff to have this guy take such an interest in you - inviting you to go to Borneo with him, and all. You're something special aren't you, Chief? Not just to me, that's a given. Everyone who meets you sees it." Jim looked over his shoulder at the room - full to bursting, now, and people still arriving, leaning against the walls, sitting on the steps. "And this guy was your mentor," Jim said, almost to himself. He squeezed Blair's hand, which was, as always, holding tight to his own, as if Blair was afraid that, if he let go, Jim might slip away from him.

Applause broke out as a small, slight, white haired man in a baggy gray suit, walked over to the podium. Jim couldn't clap, his hand still captured in Blair's, but he squeezed and shook the warm hand in his, taking in the bright eyes, the wondering smile as his partner looked around curiously at the noisy assembly of people around them. He looked up at Jim with a happy, stunned look, like a child on Christmas morning.

As the lecture got underway, Blair sat rapt, his attention on Doctor Stoddard. The Doc was a great speaker, passionate about his subject, lecturing with a cool intensity that was both compelling and funny. Blair sat, apparently rapt; never once lifting his eyes from the man at the podium; was he following any of this? Did he recognise Stoddard? Or was it just the strangeness, the novelty of the situation that had captured his interest, so?

Jim's attention was suddenly dragged from his partner and all on Doc. Stoddard; the word, `Sentinel', making him start...

"The legend of the Sentinel is pervasive, almost universal, panning the pre-Columbian American cultures, from the Amazon to the Mississippi, the Pacific to the Atlantic. The concept of the Shaman-Sentinel or Were-Jaguar, found depicted in ceramics from cultures as disparate as the Peruvian Moche and the Aztec, is our most recognisable, most frequent representation of this legendary figure. Rarely do we find his depiction in language. But here..." The Professor lifted a hand. The lights dimmed and a slide appeared on screen; a picture of a large, mossy, carved stone, leaning in the soft rainforest soil. "...we see a Mayan glyph. Our expedition came across this during our recent expedition to the region of the lost city of Naachtun. It's a little hard to see, but if you look closely..."

Another slide, this time a detailed drawing of the glyph, showing, to Jim's untrained eye, a meaningless stylised squiggle. Until Stoddard began to point, to describe...

"You'll see the pointed teeth of the jaguar, the jaw, the whiskers, and beyond the jaguar head, the body of a man. He's a shape shifter, a man becoming a jaguar, a Were-Jaguar. Whether one was intended to believe that this actually happened, or whether it is merely the depiction of a state current tribal shamans still say occurs during certain rituals, is hard to determine. But the glyph, as translated by myself and Blair Sandburg..."

Jim gripped his partner's hand, watching him, hoping for some reaction - but there was none.

"...is much less vague. It clearly says..." Stoddard changed the slide to a close-up on the glyph in question. "Sentinel. We've seen this particular hieroglyph only in a couple of locations, but the translation is established and clear. This discovery, exciting enough on its own, was as nothing, compared to what we found as we continued to explore the site." Stoddard pressed the hand-held button again. Another slide appeared - more rock carvings; this time, three fragments of what must once have been a much larger frieze.

"Here we see fourteen figures, seven pairs; eleven males and, fascinatingly for such a male-dominated society, three females, moving, two by two, hand in hand, walking, sometimes running. See these figures here, the smaller trying so hard to keep pace with his bigger companion. It's quite wonderful in its reality, don't you think? Look at the outstretched arm of the smaller figure, his hand held tight by his larger companion. This little man is having a real problem, running to keep up as he's dragged along by this big guy. Remarkable artistry, don't you think? You can see these people, as real today as they were to the artists who carved and painted them twelve hundred years ago. Why are they running, this pair? Perhaps they're late for the ceremony? Who can say? But I never tire of looking at them.

"Anyone see anything unusual about these figures?" He waited expectantly, hoping someone would answer his question. Jim glanced down at Blair, half expecting his friend to reply to the Professor, but he stayed exactly as before, clutching Jim's hand, all attention fixed on Eli.

"Well, look at them. Their clothes, the collars and jewels..."

"They're all different!" A voice piped up from the back of the hall.

Eli snapped his fingers in delight. "Exactly!" he grinned. "They're all in different dress. They're from different places, different cities in the Maya world - very unusual! The Maya world was much like the Greek; unified by language, religion, custom, history, but consisting of competitive city states. They didn't interact much at all, except to wage war on each other. And yet, we have pairs from distinct Mayan cities, all shown together on the same frieze, heading... somewhere. But where? Well," Stoddard paused to take a breath, reminding Jim again of Sandburg. "We're pretty certain these glyphs and friezes lined a path. This path..."

Another slide, this time depicting apparently unbroken rainforest - except that Jim's Sentinel eyes could see quite clearly, what the Professor was pointing out; pathways, cutting through the forest. A disjointed star, converging in a central point...

"Can't see anything, huh?" The professor smiled. Well, let's take a look under infra red light..."

The slide changed to one of reds, yellows, browns. The paths Jim had seen before were now visible to all.

"Paths converging on... what? We don't know. Unfortunately, the terrain here is very difficult and we haven't yet been able to get permission from the Mexican authorities to go in, but we're working on that," he smiled. "And when we do manage to mount an expedition, I'm almost certain we'll find something very unique - a temple that was shared across the Maya world, the very place that these pairs were heading towards. I think that place was some kind of temple dedicated to Sentinels and their helpers' their companions, their guides..."

Jim's eyes zoomed in on the central point in that forest; focussed on the overgrown mound only he could see at its centre. Memories, like subliminal images merely glimpsed; gone before his conscious brain could fully comprehend them, flashed in his brain; an explosion flared in his skull and he groaned with the sudden, unexpected pain. A sensation, like falling - he put out a hand to break his fall, and stood - thought he stood. The world had taken on a dream-like quality; nothing felt real - The air had thickened; he had to move slowly, as if through molasses, to the doors at the back of the lecture theatre and all the time, falling... falling... falling...

...Finding himself back at the Temple, in the pool, floating; getting a repeat run of his horrifying visions of death. But amongst all the scenes of horror, there was Blair. Always Blair. Constant, steadfast, loyal. Shot, beaten, gassed, attacked and terrorised a dozen times, but always at his side.

He saw Alex go down, destroyed by her own senses, her own lack of control and Blair, there at the Temple, waiting for him. His faithful friend, who'd climbed out of a hospital bed to chase after him, into the jungle... and, finally! In one, bright, crystal-clear moment; he understood. He knew why Incacha had insisted he leave Blair behind, and it had nothing to do with any failure on his Guide's part. He knew why part of Blair's soul had left him to hide in this jungle world between worlds. He knew and knew he had to find Blair and tell him, so he could come home again...

He opened his eyes to see the desperate blue orbs of his partner, friend and Guide, staring down on his, one hand on his shoulder, another on his forehead, his face a stiff, scared mask of silent terror.

"Chief?"

Blair's face softened, the fear abating, but lines of worry remained. Jim looked up at the sea of faces gathered there, gabbling and offering advice.

"I've called for the doctor." Stoddard's low, pleasing voice cut through the excited babble like a warm knife through butter. "Come along, now, come along," he sighed, pressing the crowds away, "let the young man breathe. There, now, are you alright?"

Jim smiled at the notion of himself as a `young man' - and found he was sitting on the steps of the Anthro building, surrounded by an excited crowd of students. His face was cold; a sheen of sweat drying in the freezing air. He pushed himself up to sit; reaching for Blair's proffered hand, his friend watching him with concern. Jim squeezed the hand, offering a shy smile of thanks. "Always there, aren't you, Chief?" he muttered for Blair's ears only. "Right by my side."

"Blair Sandburg! Blair Sandburg! Well, my goodness gracious..." Professor Stoddard cut into Jim's musings, taking his spectacles off for a closer look at his one-time protg. "Well, my, my! So, I imagine that would make you the famous Detective Ellison, am I right?"

Jim smiled, slightly bashful that the man knew him; that Blair had talked about him with the Professor. He smiled in greeting, then clutched at his head as an attempt to get up caused a serious wave of dizziness to sweep through his head.

"No, no, no. You stay there, Detective. A doctor is on his way, you must stay still. You passed out, you know? I mean, I've seen many an attempt to get out of listening to my lectures, but this seems a little extreme."

Jim smiled at the weak joke. He really did feel appallingly sick and dizzy and his head hurt like hell. "I'm sorry to've interrupted your lecture, Doctor Stoddard," he murmured, clutching his forehead. "I had a bit of a head injury, seems it's still giving me trouble. But please, for Blair's sake," he clutched at his frightened partner's cold hand, "go ahead and finish."

"Well..." The doctor switched his gaze from Jim to Blair, then back again. "But you will come and take coffee with me afterwards? I need to catch up with my favorite pupil, and hear what he has to say about my discoveries in his world," he grinned, shaking Blair by the shoulder, his smile slipping as he realised that Blair was still staring at him as vacantly as before. "Detective Ellison, you have to come, if only to explain this..." he nodded towards Blair.

Jim cut a glance between his friend and Eli Stoddard. He nodded, sadly. "Yeah. I get you, Professor. Look, please go finish your talk, it was fascinating." He locked eyes with his friend, rocking the hand he held, comfortingly. Stoddard was watching them both curiously, casting worried glances at Blair. "I'm still a little dizzy, but you can call off the doc. Just let me catch my breath here a while, and we'll re-join you soon as we can."

"And...?"

"And after the lecture, yeah. We'll come and talk to you. I'll come talk to you."

"And explain?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah."

Jim and Blair made it to the back of the hall in time for the end of the lecture, on the meaning of the Sentinel-myth in Meso-American society - all stuff Jim already knew from Blair's frequent `lectures' on the subject.

As the talk came to an end to prolonged applause, Jim felt a tap on his shoulder; a young girl with shoulder-length blonde hair, beckoning for them to follow. "Doctor Stoddard asked me to come get you," she explained with a smile as she led them along a passageway and down a short flight of stairs. "Isn't Eli wonderful?" she gushed as they walked. "I've wanted to hear him talk for, like, forever! I'm so hoping I can get on his expedition team this spring. I mean, I'm getting good grades, but it takes so much more than that. You know, it's like..." she crossed both sets of fingers and jumped up and down a little for emphasis. "You've gotta be the best, the very best to get invited on one of Eli's expeditions, and I'm doing all I can to catch his eye, so..." she shrugged, and grinned at them again. "I'm really hoping Blair Sandburg will be going along too, this time..."

"Blair?" Jim asked.

"...What with it being his field and all. He's the leading authority on Sentinel mythology. He's published some, like, really amazing papers on the subject. I find the whole subject totally fascinating. I'd just love to really get in there with a bona-fide expert and get to know all I can. And everyone who's met him says he is so totally cute."

"Blair's very sick," Jim said. "I really don't know if he'd be able to make an expedition in the spring."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that! Is he... do you know him? Is he going to be OK?"

"Yes, I know him. Yes, he's going to be OK," Jim said, sparing a glance for the man in question as they stopped before a blue door.

"Well, that's a shame, that he's sick, obviously, not that he's going to be alright. Well, here we are," she gestured at the closed door. "I`ll leave you in Eli's capable hands. Please -"she laid a hand lightly on Jim's arm. "Please put in a good word for me, if you get the chance because I so wanna be in on this trip!"

Jim smiled and nodded, "I'll do my best." The girl flashed him a bright smile, and, with a curious glance for his partner, danced off down the long corridor. Jim rapped on the Professor's door.

Jim's vision zeroed on the dust motes; flashing, twisting, floating - microscopic particles of wool from Turkish rugs and aged upholstery, tiny fragments of old books, spores from the ferns in majolica pots - flashing in the light pooling under the Tiffany lamp on the professor's desk.

A skull rattling sneeze saved Jim from zoning. Dust always made him sneeze and this room reeked of it; of dust and the thousands of books, old and new, that lined the walls and stood in piles on the floor, desk and tables; artefacts too; masks, ceramics, objects sacred and profane, representing several dozens of cultures. The net result of all this age and confusion reminded Jim of Blair's old office - the tiny windowless room in the basement that he'd called his office when Jim first knew him. Eli's room was like Blair's old office blown up to Technicolor-Cinemascope proportions. If Blair's office was Plan 9 from Outer Space, Stoddard's room was Gone with the Wind.

Jim sneezed again - and again; found his partner's hand on his arm, looking at him with worried eyes; he smiled in reassurance.

"Are you alright?" Jim broke his gaze from Blair to find Professor Stoddard standing in front of him, holding out a tissue.

"Oh, urm. Thank you." Jim took the proffered handkerchief and dabbed at his nose and watering eyes. "Allergies," he shrugged.

"I'm sorry," the Prof said. "Anything I can remove...?"

"No, it'll settle down when I..." he shrugged.

"Acclimatise?"

Jim shrugged, smiled.

Stoddard gestured for them to sit on the deep feather sofa by a two bar electric fire that barely cut through the deep chill of the dusty old room. Jim ushered Blair over, sitting him down beside him. Blair curled in on himself, leaning up against Jim - he could see their breath misting the air. No wonder the professor wore such heavy tweeds.

"I'm sorry about the cold," Stoddard said, placing a tea tray on the coffee table; sitting in the big leather armchair beside the fire. "The heating's off. I'm not usually in college this close to Christmas, but I wanted to come in and give this lecture before everyone departed for the holidays. Important results from our aerial surveys, you see," he said, reaching across to pour three cups of tea. "I have a paper coming out in the next issue of Anthropology Today. I really needed to announce our new theories, pump up interest. Kind of like trailing a TV show or movie, you understand. Milk or lemon?" he asked Jim. "You look like a coffee man to me - I'm sorry to say, I don't have any; the cupboards are rather bare. I haven't had a chance to get to the store since I got back from Mexico. Is tea alright? It's Earl Grey..."

"Tea's just fine," Jim smiled.

"And, our young friend, is he...? Does he...?" Stoddard shook his head. "I'm sorry. Am I being awfully rude not asking him directly? Only, it seems to me he doesn't... Couldn't...?"

Jim put the Professor out of his misery. "It's OK. No, he can't answer you. Yes, he would like tea, I think. As for whether he understands you, or recognises you... I just don't know. I'm pretty sure he hears us, but how much he understands...?" Jim smiled grimly, turned to Blair and ruffled his curls. "Oh, and black is just fine for me, two sugars, please. No sugar for Blair, but plenty of milk, so it's not too hot."

"Of course," Stoddard said, softly, handing the two cups for Jim, watching as Jim tapped Blair on the arm to get his attention, and holding out the cup to him. Blair smiled his big smile, taking the tea and holding it in both chilled hands to warm them as he sipped.

"So, what happened to my brightest student?"

"When did you last hear from him?" Jim asked, needing to know where in the story he had to start.

Stoddard looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "That would have been almost two years ago, when he turned down a place on my Borneo expedition. Of course, there've been a multitude of emails and what have you. I am on his dissertation committee, after all, but the last time we had any personal communication was when he called me to say he wouldn't be coming with me to the South Seas."

"I see," Jim said, sipping at his tea. Right from the start, then. Shit. This was going to be tricky.

Jim took a deep breath, sighing it out again. "We had a problem. A criminal, a woman, a deeply disturbed character, latched on to Blair. He thought he'd befriended her, she was helping with his..." Jim swallowed - "research. And she killed him..." Stoddard raised his eyebrows. "Drowned him, in the fountain, at Rainier."

"I heard a very garbled version of the tale. I was in Borneo then, I never really got to the bottom of what happened. So, it's brain damage...?"

"No," Jim interrupted. "No, he's fine, physically. The problem seems to be psychological."

"Go on," Stoddard said, over the rim of his cup.

"He recovered. We thought he was OK, and then he collapsed. He was very sick, apparently in a coma. Then he disappeared..." Stoddard said nothing, just waited for Jim to finish. "Just got up out of his bed, walked out of the hospital and... disappeared. A long time later, we found him, here in Seattle, at Harborview, in the state you see him now."

Stoddard put his cup on the table and leaned across to look Blair in the eye, inspecting him closely. "Blair?" He took Blair's chin between his thumb and forefinger, drawing his former student's eyes to his. "Blaiiiiir my boy," he crooned. "It's me, Eli. What's going on in there, hmmm, son?" Blair looked Eli in the eye, smiled, reached out and drew his fingers across the professor's face. Eli gave Blair a soft smile, letting go his chin and turning his attention back to Jim. "So, what's the rest of this tale, hmmm, Detective Ellison?"

"The rest?"

"Whatever part you're not telling me. I don't understand the time line here. He was... dead, you said?" Jim nodded. "But, you said he was alright?"

Jim shrugged. "More or less. Conscious, not... damaged, in any way we could see."

"So... His collapse came later?"

"We; myself and another cop - chased his attacker to Mexico. Blair followed us..."

"To Mexico?" Stoddard asked. Jim nodded. "After the famous incident, when he almost died in the fountain?"

Jim let the `almost' go, and nodded. "He seemed fine!" Jim was aware how defensive he sounded. He took a breath, tried to stay calm. "It was at Cascade Airport, after we got back. He collapsed. He stopped breathing. They revived him, took him off in an ambulance, but he never really regained consciousness..."

"Until he got up out of bed and disappeared? Do I have this right?" Jim nodded again. "So...? It seems, it was complications exacerbated by his chasing around Mexico with you, Detective Ellison, after this heinous attack on him, which caused his subsequent collapse? Why would such an intelligent young man do such a stupid thing?"

"I don't know," Jim sighed. "I wasn't there to stop him. But, in Mexico, he seemed OK. Then, afterwards, when he was in the hospital again - he was so sick... I never imagined... I mean, I was scared, I thought he wouldn't pull through, you know? I never thought he'd get up, walk out - disappear. It was - unimaginable." Blair laid a hand on his shoulder. Jim glanced around to see his partner's worried eyes watching him. He laid a hand over his partner's and smiled in reassurance. "S'OK Chief. Everything's OK."

Stoddard was frowning at them, still deeply puzzled. "So, he stopped breathing on two occasions? And yet, you say, he has no brain damage?"

Jim wiped his hands over his face and sighed hard. "Everyone's trying to tell me it's `understandable', you know? That he'd be broken. But he's not! Really, I know! He's just - lost. And I have to find him. I will find him."

Stoddard nodded, a knowing frown knitting his bushy gray brows. "It's a Sentinel thing?"

Jim stopped breathing. "I'm sorry?"

"That you know about Blair's health, his state of mind. You have some sort of special insight - is it somehow connected to your being a Sentinel?"

Luckily Jim had already finished his tea so he had nothing to choke on or spill. He contented himself with gaping, goofily.

Stoddard smiled. "I'm sorry. I know it's supposed to be this great secret, Detective, but, did you think I wouldn't know? I'm Blair's mentor. I've read his thesis, or at least, what little of it he's produced so far and that's precious little for such a dedicated student. Blair was never inclined to laziness, so one can only assume his tardiness in producing work is due to all the time he spends down at your police department, Detective. His thesis is, that the Sentinels of old still walk amongst us, and his work is mostly based on observations of one such Sentinel he claims to have found in Cascade. Since he has spent practically every moment of his recent life with you, Detective Ellison, I really don't think it takes a great deal of intelligence to work out just who Blair's Sentinel is. So, please, Jim, cut the crap and tell me what's really going on here."

"We were in Mexico, chasing the woman who killed him," Jim said.

Stoddard nodded gravely.

"...To the Temple of the Sentinels."

Stoddard's face split in a slow smile. "You've been there?"

Jim nodded.

"You are the Sentinel? Blair's Sentinel?"

"Yes."

Stoddard's grin grew till it seemed to fill his entire face. "Blair's been there too?"

Jim nodded.

"Can you tell me...? I mean..." Stoddard sat back, shaking his head with a huge grin. "This is just - unbelievable! You can describe what you saw, what was there? I mean..." He began laughing. "Here I am, in the midst of planning an expedition of discovery and you've already been there! My God, Jim! Have you any idea...?" Stoddard switched his attention to Sandburg, squeezing his knee. "Ah, my boy, my boy!" The Professor breathed. "All that knowledge! This remarkable discovery, all hidden away, up there!" He knocked his knuckles lightly against Blair's forehead with a fond smile. "Oh my, my," he sighed. "What's happened to you, my brave boy? The things you could tell me." He shook his head. "But you, Jim, you've been there, too. What did you see, what did you feel?"

Jim shook his head. "I can't... I mean... Don't get me wrong, Doctor Stoddard, I'm not being difficult, but this is Blair's discovery. This should be his big moment. He's missed out on so much, gave up so much to work with me..."

"You want his to be the glory?"

"Is that wrong?"

Stoddard smiled, shook his head. "Not at all."

Jim rubbed Blair's head again. "He deserves it so much, you know?"

Stoddard nodded, watching the pair fondly. "I'm beginning to see why Blair turned down Borneo for you, young man," he grinned. "Is this one of those Sentinel and Guide things he's told me about?"

Jim was thrown for a second, by how much Blair had told the professor. "I don't know," he said, eventually. "Maybe. Maybe it's just a Jim and Blair thing. Look, I'll tell you all I can, be happy to, but you have to promise me not to publish any of it. This is Blair's discovery!"

"I couldn't have done half of what I've done without him."

"Promise me."

"Gladly. You said before, you can help him. Can you, really?"

Jim nodded. "Yes."

Eli nodded decisively, as if he'd made a decision. "If you can get him well, I'd like him - like you both - to come with me to Mexico. You're right, this is his discovery. I'll hold off as long as I can, if you can get him well in time..."

"I can."

"Good."

Eli poured tea into the thoughtful silence. "You know, he's insisted it's all kept secret - his dissertation, your `Sentinel' status."

Jim nodded. "He promised no one would ever know."

"You realise that's impossible, don't you? I mean, a modern Sentinel! That's a major discovery in our world! It will - has to - come out, eventually. If you want him to have the credit for this discovery, I really don't see how you can possibly hope to keep it a secret. I mean, I figured you out in about five seconds."

Jim stared into his cup. "I want what's best for him," he said. "I want... I need him to have the success he deserves." Jim looked up to find Stoddard scrutinising him kindly.

Jim looked at his partner, playing with his empty tea cup, peering into its depths like a telescope. He gently prized it from him, laying it on the table. "Let's just get him well," he said. "That comes first. We can deal with all the rest of it, later."

Christmas Eve...

Jim opened the back door of Nurse Owen's little Skoda, releasing Blair from his seatbelt as his partner watched him with a warm, happy smile. `I hope you still smile at me like that after all this is over,' Jim thought, throwing a nervous look back at Olwen. The nurse leaned over the roof of her car, watching as Jim took Blair by the hand and led his bouncing, cheery partner, across the Rainier car park and over to the fountain, the place where it all began.

After long days of gray skies and snow, today had dawned cold and clear, the sun shining out of an ice blue sky, diamond lights glinting off the drifted snow laying thick and white over the paths and lawns. Few people were about; just a couple of cars in the car park. How unlike that spring morning - the day Blair died. Today, the trees were bare and frosted ice stilled the edges of the pool. But the sound was the same, the same vile splashing of that damned fountain, the sound that had haunted his dreams and visions ever since.

Jim brought them both down to the water's edge. He could feel the spray from the fountain prickling against his face as he and Blair sat together on the cold stone wall, listening to the crashing of the water at their back as Jim began to talk softly...

"You remember this place, Chief? This is where it all began, right?" He took Blair's gloved hand in his and looked over at his friend, who was watching him intently. "You ready?" Jim squeezed his friend's hand hard - his lifeline - as he relaxed, closed his eyes and let his hearing settle on the splashing, tinkling, gurgling sound of the detestable fountain, leaving his mind free to slip into a deep, deep zone...

Last night, Jim had talked to Blair - explained what he was going to try and do. As usual, his partner seemed to listen closely, eyes shining with intelligence, though how much he understood, Jim had no idea. He'd spent a sleepless last night in Seattle, watching Blair dream, thinking about the revelations sparked by Stoddard's images of the temple. Were they visions? Or simply hallucinations brought on by his injuries?

And as he thought about his partner, he grew scared. Afraid of what might happen if Blair didn't get better, afraid of what might happen if he did. He was afraid of Blair's dissertation, and the future of their partnership. He was deeply afraid of letting go. What if Blair came back, but chose to leave anyway?

He was comfortable with this sweet, silent Blair - with Star. This version of his friend was almost perpetually cheerful, so easily pleased, and Jim knew how to make him happy. That was a lot more than he could say of the old Blair. But...

He loved Star, and would miss him when he left - miss their easy relationship, especially these last three weeks spent together in such peace and happiness. When Blair returned, there would be hard times ahead, he knew that. But he loved Blair more than he feared his return. He wanted him back, and he knew what to do - now.

Jim concentrated on the sound of the fountain, splashing down into the hated pool. Listening, letting himself drift, falling into a zone... drifting on a wave of nothingness; senses filled only with the rippling, tinkling of the fountain as it deepened and filled, becoming a much bigger sound... becoming the waterfall, cascading down into a deep, cold pool in the jungle of Blair's mind.

Blair was sitting on his rock, looking out across the water to the far distant shore. "You're back," he said, without turning around.

"I've come to bring you home," Jim replied.

Blair shook his head. "I can never go back."

"Blair," Jim laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Let me try to explain. I know I didn't make a very good job of that last time I was here, but I have it all figured out now." Blair kept on shaking his head. "You didn't fail," Jim said. "You never failed me, never betrayed me."

"I know I never meant to, but I screwed up..."

"I failed you."

"...Made too many mistakes..."

"No."

"Incacha..."

"Protected you! He needed you to stay alive, Blair! You were sick and weak. Alex was mad, bad, dangerous as hell. She brought me down as soon as I reached the Temple; shot me with a drugged dart. If you'd been there, she would have killed you. And I couldn't have stopped her, Blair. I couldn't have protected you. Incacha knew that, that's why he didn't want you along. He knew you had to be kept safe, so you'd still be here for me, when it was all over."

Blair sat on his rock - still looking out across the lake, but not interrupting, not shaking his head. He was listening. Encouraged, Jim went on...

"When Alex drugged me, I saw a lot of terrible things, visions of death and destruction and I was a part of it all. It drove Alex insane..."

"She went too far. You were lucky. You had enough self control to know when to stop."

"No. I had no self control. All I wanted was to get back in those pools, just like Alex. And I would have gone the same way, except I had a Guide..."

"Incacha."

"Incacha was there, yes, and was guiding me to the truth. In all the visions, those glimpses into the nature of my life, there was a presence that kept me grounded, and that was you." Jim laid his hand on Blair's arm, prompting him to turn and look at him.

"Me?"

"You were with me through it all. Not in body, thank God, but in spirit. For every terrible thing I was forced to witness, there was a vision of you; helping me, saving me, guiding me, being my friend. You remember how, after Lash, you called me your Blessed Protector?"

Blair smiled. "You saved my life."

"Then you're my Blessed Protector, too, because you saved me first! When you pushed me under the garbage truck that day we met at your office at Rainier. When you Guided me to find Veronica Sarris' bomb on the bus, and you saved my sanity, just by being there. I didn't lose my mind in those pools with Alex because I had a Guide. You Blair! You were there with me, through it all."

Blair turned away; looked out over the lake in thought. "So, why didn't you say all this at the time?" he asked, quietly. "I mean, you were cold man. It was like; you didn't want me around, like you hated me."

Jim hung his head. "I thought about that too. I think - I was scared. After the pools, I saw that death follows me everywhere. The times! The number of times you've come close to getting killed..." Jim ran his fingers through his hair. "I realised... I was putting you in constant danger and you are not a cop! You're not trained to deal with that stuff and I kept throwing you in the path of such deadly, deadly danger..."

"Jim..."

"I was afraid! So afraid! It was all my fault! None of this was your doing. I pushed you away for fear of losing you and I'm sorrier than I can say. But...Losing you... the thought of losing you...

"When you were gone all those months, I fell apart. I couldn't do my job. I couldn't be a Sentinel. A Sentinel needs his Guide, right? And I need you, Blair. When I was almost lost, with Alex, in the Temple, you were there for me. Be there for me again. Please, Blair, please come home."

Blair paused in thought. "I think," he said, "that the Temple was a place for Sentinels and Guides to come together. Maybe the pools and all, was a way to a vision quest that the Sentinels and their guides undertook together. But with another Sentinel there..."

"A so-called Sentinel who kills guides."

"...There was no place for me," Blair said, an air of wonder in his voice. He looked up at Jim, the spark of life returning as understanding dawned in his eyes.

"Incacha knew," Jim said. "He said it was too dangerous. He knew I couldn't save you from her, so he made me leave you behind and go on alone to my vision quest. And you were there, Chief."

"In your visions."

Jim nodded. "You protected me, guided me, kept me safe even though you couldn't be there for me physically."

"But Jim, how can I guide you if you're going to push me away for fear of my getting hurt?"

Jim sighed. "You're not a cop," he said softly.

"Do you want me to be?"

"It's not who you are!"

"Do you want me to be a cop, Jim?"

Jim shook his head. "No."

"Well, then we're in kind of a bind, aren't we? You want me to come back and be your Guide, but how can I watch your back if I've gotta stay in the truck, Jim? See, I'm looking at the future, and all I can see is dead ends and impassable obstacles. Things can't go on like they were forever! Eventually, I've gotta write my dis. Gotta publish, gotta move on. The thing is, where to?" He chuckled humorlessly. "You see what I'm saying, here?"

Jim got to his feet and began to pace about.

"See?" Blair said. "See how that scares you?! And it scares me too, Jim, because, I don't know where we're going! I only know there's no future in standing still. I meant it when I said; Simon Banks is not going to let me stay your student ride-along sidekick, indefinitely. If I come back with you, things have got to change. The way I see it, it's my dis or your job - can't have both. One of us has to give up our present life if we're to keep this partnership alive. And you're a Sentinel. You protect the tribe. You're doing what you're genetically pre-destined to do."

"So...?"

"So, I guess... I guess I'm saying, I have to leave the U."

"And do what?"

Blair shrugged. "Go the Academy? Train to be a cop. That way I can back you up, be your Guide full-time, know how to protect you and defend myself, so that you don't have to be afraid for me all the time."

"You'd do all that for me?" Jim asked.

"In a heartbeat," Blair replied.

And that's what Jim heard - loud and strong, beating out a beloved tattoo - just like last time; the time Blair died. He heard his Guide's heart beating, and the sound of water falling, splashing against the stones of the fountain...

And they were back, hand in hand, together on the snowy Rainier lawns. Blair was looking up at him, and Jim knew, by the look in his eyes and the wry smile on his face, that this time, Blair was all the way home.

Ten days later...

Jim sneezed hard. And again. And again; Blair watching him with amused concern, as they stepped into Dr Stoddard's office.

"Oh dear, dear me, Detective," Stoddard said, handing him a tissue, which Jim took, with a grateful nod. "As you can probably feel, the heating is on now," he gestured to the huge, old cast-iron radiators which knocked and banged mercilessly. "Can't do anything about the dust, though," he apologised, smiling, laying one hand between Jim's shoulder blades, the other on Blair's arm, ushering the two men into the room.

"My boy, my boy," Stoddard cooed, rubbing his hand gently against Blair's sweater-clad sleeve. "Jim here called and told me how you were back with us. The old man turned Blair so he could look him in the face, noting the intelligent, conscious look in the eyes that met his. "And how are you feeling, son? I hear you're having some problems with your speech?" Blair nodded with the slightest of smiles, glancing over to Jim for reassurance.

Jim smiled back, warmly. "Talk to the Professor. Tell him how you feel."

A dozen emotions seemed to flit across Blair's expression before he sighed, holding his hands away from his body in a shrug, a helpless look on his face. Stoddard switched his attention to Jim, eyebrows raised questioningly. Jim walked over to take Blair's arm in his firm grasp, squeezing in support. "Go on, Chief," he said softly. "It's just me and the Professor, here. Take as long as you need."

"S...s...s...s' ha...ha...a'rrddd." Blair managed, wincing.

Stoddard nodded, kindly. "Bit of a stutter, huh? Is that all? Your friend Jim is right, Blair; gotta keep trying - practice all you can. It'll come back. Coma's do strange things to the faculties, even a waking coma. But I have every belief you'll overcome it, as you always did. Always will. You're a fighter, Blair," he grinned. "Now, come and take some tea with me. You still drink tea, I take it?"

Blair nodded, grinning. "Th...th...th... th...th...th..." He threw up his hands in frustration, then made a quick hand gesture. Jim sighed.

"American sign," Stoddard nodded with a beaming smile. "Thank you," he translated, returning a similar gesture. "So, you're learning ASL, huh? Well, that's a sensible measure, when you're having such problems talking..."

"But he has to talk," Jim interrupted, fixing Blair with a glare. "The doc told him, if he doesn't practice his speech, it won't get better. He's supposed to talk, not sign."

Blair shrugged, sadly. He lifted a hand, dropped it, and said; "Bu... bu...bu...tttt J...J...J...J...J...J'iii'm...m...m... it...it...t...ssssss......" Blair hung his head, raising his hands in a helpless gesture.

"Alright. Alright now," Eli said quietly, grasping Blair's wrist, shaking it, tossing a warning glance at Ellison. "It's OK, Blair. It'll come, son, it'll come. The thing is, to keep on trying, not to be impatient. It'll take time. You were gone a long while, but I can see, just by looking at you, that there's nothing really wrong," he tapped two fingers against the side of Blair's head. "That wonderful brain is still ticking away two hundred percent. And," he grinned in excitement. "I asked you to come here for a reason. I have something wonderful to show you both. Sit. Sit down, please," he gestured.

Jim threw his hands over his ears in distress as a shrill whistle rent the air. "Oh my, the kettle, I am so sorry Jim," Stoddard said, as he moved to a small table where a kettle was singing on a small electric ring, pouring the boiling water into a huge, brown tea pot.

"S'OK, Chief. Just caught me by surprise, that's all," Jim gasped, as Blair laid a calming hand on his arm, drawing a ring in the air beside his right ear. "Dialling it down as we speak," Jim smiled. "Come on. Let's go sit down. I'm fine, really."

The two men sat, side by side, on Eli's sofa, Stoddard in his same chair, pouring tea - all in the exact same places they'd been a few short weeks ago, Jim noted. The same, yet so, so different, because, this time, Blair was back...

Mostly back. Jim still had occasion to worry. The stutter, of course - Blair's inability to express himself was frustrating and exhausting to the normally loquacious student. More worrying than that, were the long silent - zones? Jim had come to think of them that way, though he was sure they weren't like any zones he experienced. Blair seemed to drift sometimes, becoming totally unresponsive for anything from a few seconds, to ten minutes or more. During these 'zones', his eyes took on that blank, faraway look he'd had `before'. When he was off on these trips to - wherever - Jim couldn't break through to him at all. It scared him. He'd be worrying about brain damage, if Blair wasn't so normal, so `himself' - speech aside - when he was `there', which was ninety-five percent of the time.

Blair was already absorbed in Eli's magazines. He'd instantly seized on the latest Anthropology journals stacked on the doctor's coffee table, scanning the contents, flipping to specific pages, glancing quickly through the papers that interested him before picking up a new one, repeating the procedure.

Eli handed Jim a big mug of strong tea, fragrant with bergamot. "Black, two sugars, right?" he asked. Jim nodded, taking the steaming mug. "Please, accept my sincere apologies, Jim," Stoddard said. "I had no idea. Your hearing's that acute? My goodness. I am sorry. You must have to be so careful."

"Blair takes care of all that stuff for me," Jim said, with a wry smile.

"Ah yes. Your Guide. Of course." Jim and Blair looked up with identical expressions of shocked surprise. Stoddard sat in the big armchair, legs crossed, a sly smile on his rosy face. "The Guide, yes," he smiled, reaching to a plain buff file beside his chair, handing it to Blair.

Blair opened it, a look of excitement and anticipation on his face as he scanned the pages, looked at the pictures. After a minute or so, he shot a stunned look at Eli. Stoddard smiled, nodding, a slightly smug look on his face. Blair pointed to an 8x10 picture. Stoddard nodded some more. Blair passed the picture to Jim.

It was a little hard, at first, to make out anything in the picture other than a broken jumble of color and line. The image was chipped down to bare rock in places, and everything stained with moss and algae. But, after a minute or two of concentration, Jim found he was able to look `through' the clutter of color to see distinct shapes, making up a portrait of two figures, one looking out, huge eyes fixed on some distant point, head cocked... the unmistakeable stance of a Sentinel, listening; his hearing dialled up. Beside him stood another man. Looking up at The Sentinel, this other's head was in profile, showing the large, hook nose and elegant sloping forehead of a Mayan. His right arm was raised and resting on The Sentinel's upper arm, his left clutched the Sentinel's hand. Above the two, drawn in fine, black lines on a pale yellow ground, were two and a half glyphs - the third partially lost; the carving broken at that point.

Jim looked up; the two anthropologists sat starting at him, awaiting his reaction. Jim waved at the picture. "What is it?"

Blair looked at Eli for guidance. Eli sat back, steepling his fingers together against his lips. "What do you think it is, Jim?" he asked with that sly smile.

"A Sentinel and Guide. Is this from the Temple?"

Eli and Blair shot identical grins at him. Blair again looked at Eli, waiting for the professor to explain. Jim had to suppress a grin of his own - Blair was practically bouncing in his seat with excitement. This was the old Blair back in force.

"Well, Blair?" Stoddard prompted.

Blair grimaced, looking warily at Jim, he began to sign. Eli lifted a hand to forestall Jim's protests. "Let him tell it his own way, Jim," he said, softly. "Go on, Blair.

Blair gestured wildly, murmuring slightly - the words he couldn't say, trying to slip out. Even his hands barely able to keep up with the speed of the words.

"Whoa, whoa, Blair, son! Slow down!" Eli laughed. "I'm a little out of practice. You're going way too fast for me." Blair bit his lip and shrugged with a smile. He gave a one handed gesture. "You want me to explain?" Blair nodded. "You'll stop me if I go wrong? This is your field, you know, not mine." Blair grinned, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"It's not from the Temple itself. We're a little behind you two, we haven't found that yet," Eli smiled. "But it is from the general vicinity. Robert and Lisa, you remember Rob and Lisa Johansson, don't you, Blair? Of course you do, you were with them on the Palenque mapping project. But... I'm sorry, where was I?"

"This picture, the dig..."Jim said as Blair hung his head to cover his grin.

"Of course, of course. Well, it was found here..." Eli took the file from the table, fishing out a map, pointing to one of the many colored dots and numbers. "About thirty yards off one of the paths; the same path where we found the glyphs you saw at the lecture. This fragment was way off in the jungle, though, found entirely by accident when one of the team was... well, you know what amoebic dysentery does to a man - or a woman," he grinned. "Lisa was spending a lot of time heading off the path with her little spade, and she came across that," he pointed to the picture. "Now, that has not spent a lot of time exposed in a rainforest. It arrived where it was found relatively recently, and it's come from inside a building..."

"Tomb robbers?" Jim asked.

Eli and Blair shook their heads gravely, in almost identical gestures. "Very unlikely," Stoddard said. "No, it's almost certainly been catapulted there from our Temple..." Blair was nodding wildly, bouncing his knees, tapping his feet, clearly desperate to interrupt, to join in, but unable. "You see, trees grow up through the ruins, and often, they fall. When they do, they hurl great slabs of masonry about. A shame that part of our Temple's been spoiled this way, yet, serendipitous that this has survived.

"This glyph," he pointed to the first of the Mayan words, "you might also recognise from my lecture. Blair certainly knows, as he was the first to translate it. Blair?"

Blair nodded. "Ssssss...seh...eh...ehntinel," he grinned.

"Indeed. Sentinel. This guy, I'd surmise, wouldn't you agree?" Eli smiled, pointing out the figure on the left. "But this fellow, his companion. Rather reminds me of someone we both know, wouldn't you say, Detective? See how he's holding on to his Sentinel, looking up at him..."

"Grounding him, keeping him safe, so he can open up his senses." Jim said.

Eli smiled. "I watched our young friend do exactly this, everytime you sneezed, and when the kettle's whistle cut through your hearing as it did," he smiled across at Blair, whose attention was all on Jim, warily gauging his reaction to it all. "We haven't translated this glyph yet. It's new to us. Rob asked me to pass it on to some of the leading figures; Tedlock, or Coe, but... I really want Blair to take a good look first. You'll see, Blair, how it has elements of the glyph for `healer', and some, like this point, like a claw or blade here, that are found in The Sentinel glyph, but I would be very surprised, very surprised indeed, if it did not translate to mean something like `Guide'," he grinned. "More tea, gentlemen?"

It was the first of many evenings Jim and Blair were to spend with Doctor Stoddard. The pair had decided to stay in Seattle for a while after Blair's recovery - since he was still officially an outpatient of Doctor Mainey's, it made sense for him to stay with Green Ward, where he knew everyone; where he was happy.

It made it easier, too, for their frequent trips to Eli's house, to work on the planned expedition to the Temple, now that Jim and Blair were committed participants. Eli found Jim's input priceless, his help communicating with Blair, invaluable. Because Blair's stutter was not improving, despite intensive work at the hospital. It was starting to worry Jim. Unable to express himself as he needed, Blair was increasingly relying on sign language when he was with Eli, which irritated him. It was something he was trying hard to discourage. Blair was never going to regain the power of speech if he never said anything.

Aside from these worries, Jim was thoroughly enjoying his foray into his friend's world. Much of what Stoddard had discovered made sense to him, and he was feeling increasingly comfortable with himself, as he realised, for the first time, that being a Sentinel could be a matter for pride, rather than shame. The more he found out about the Sentinels of old, through the ancient glyphs and pictures and Blair and Eli's odd `discussions', the more he was beginning to understand his place in his world.

Blair was in a state of almost constant excitement, which pleased Jim more than he could say. Blair was happy, Jim was happy - happier, in fact, than he could ever remember being in his life before. It made the tough decision he'd had to make about their future, much easier than he would have thought possible.

As Jim trained his Sentinel vision on countless photos and rubbings, for details that regular eyes would never see; checking endless maps, field sketches and aerial photos against each other for the exact location of the Temple, Blair and Eli debated and mused on the fascinating material that seemed to be pouring out of the expedition site. Jim tried, for the sake of courtesy, to keep his hearing dialled down during these `conversations' - which for Blair consisted of pigeon sign, frantic scribbling, wild gestures, and - very occasionally - stilted, stuttered speech. But one evening, when the talk turned to the infamous Dissertation, Jim couldn't help but listen in. And Blair knew he was listening, as his constant nervous glances in his Sentinel's direction confirmed, which was when Eli, with unashamed guile, asked Jim to please go out to the 7 - 11 and fetch more coffee.

It was dark; the headlights from oncoming cars casting the truck alternately into bright, stark light and deepest shadow. Heavy traffic and heavier rain combined to make driving treacherous. Jim had to keep his eyes on the road and his eyesight dialled down to normal against the glare of the oncoming lights, so only able to cast the occasional glance at his partner. And Blair was so quiet, it was making Jim nervous. He cleared his throat. "Blair...?"

"S... OK. S...s...st..t..till here," Blair said, with a smile in his voice.

"OK," Jim said. So Blair knew how worried he was and why. He wanted to ask - what's going on, Blair? Why do you keep doing that... thing. Drifting off - wherever. But he wasn't sure he really wanted to know. Not sure he was ready to hear the answer. So instead, he asked, "What happened this afternoon? I mean, when Eli sent me off for coffee."

Blair glanced at him, his surprised expression caught in a beam of light, disappearing back into the dark a moment later. "N...n...n...n...ott... L...l...l...l...?"

"Not listening? No," Jim lied.

A pause. "S...s...s...so'o...or...r...ry. J...u...u...sttt Th...th..thought..." The voice tailed off into the dark as Blair gave up. Jim felt, more than saw his shrug.

"It's OK, Chief. We'll talk about it later."

Blair just played with the hem of his jacket.

They pulled into the drive of their little downtown apartment, a place they were both growing to love, would be sorry to leave. Spring was almost here; Jim could literally smell the sap rising. Soon these trees would be snowy with sweet scented blossom, the grass peppered with brightly colored crocus, daffodils and scilla, the rhododendron bushes full of blowsy pink blooms. For the time being, it was cold, dank and dark, and Jim just wanted to get his Guide undercover and warming by the fire. He placed a hand on Blair's back, urging him inside.

Jim lit the wood stove while Blair showered some heat back into his chilled body. Keeping the lights down low, he lit a couple of candles so the room was glowing with welcome warmth and flickering flame by the time Blair returned, in flannel pyjamas and a thick sweater, rubbing at his damp hair with a towel.

Your turn, he signed, pointing back to the bathroom.

"I'm OK," Jim smiled. "Got nice and dry here by the fire".

Blair pulled a disbelieving face, rolling his eyes, hand on hip.

"Really, I'm OK. Come sit down, I've got milk heating for cocoa."

Blair smiled, rolled his eyes again.

"You don't want your cocoa anymore?" Jim grinned, teasingly.

Blair sighed and looked away, then cast a glance back at his friend.

"Thought so," Jim said. Come sit down."

Blair did, still rubbing his hair, leaning close to the stove. Still feeling the cold so, Jim thought, as he sprinkled chocolate powder on to the bubbling milk in the pan, frothing it up with a balloon whisk. "So..." he said, pouring the mixture into a pair of big, colorful, heavy mugs Blair had picked out from one of the little craft stores on x "You gonna tell me what Eli needed to talk to you about that meant I had to be out of the room?"

Blair took his mug of hot chocolate from Jim, curling into the corner of the sofa, Jim beside him; his elbows on his knees. They both sat, staring ahead, watching the fire. Blair shifted, keeping his gaze resolutely on the flames.

"It's OK. If you don't want to tell me," Jim said. Blair laid a warm hand on his knee. Jim looked round to see his friend watching him, a concerned look on his face.

Blair shook his head, shrugged, looked away again. "S...s...s...s... n...n...n...no'ott. Nnnn...o'o'tt..." he shook his head again, violently, banging a fist against his knee in frustration, splashing hot cocoa on his pajamas.

"Hey, hey," Jim reached across to take the mug from his friend. "It's OK, Chief. Use your hands, if it makes you feel better. Just - take it slow, OK? I'm not too good at this signing thing, yet."

Blair smiled, shook his head, flashing a mischievous glance at his friend.

"OK, so, if I practiced more...? OK, I get it, Chief. I get it," he smiled.

He wants... Blair shook his hand. want - ted he re-signed, to talk about my... His clenched a fist, thought a moment, shook his head, then mimed writing, then pointed at Jim.

"About your diss?"

Blair nodded, smiling weakly.

OK, Jim thought, smiling back, for appearance sake. Of course it was about the diss, he already knew that. He'd been listening all the way to the store and back. He didn't want Blair to know - embarrassed that he'd pried into what Eli clearly thought was a private conversation. But he wanted to know what Blair thought about it, free of preconceptions, or worries about what Jim would say, what he'd think.

He told me... Told me... Blair's signing was slow and hesitant; he was having to think hard, and he knew Jim's prowess in this new language was much worse than his own. Jim decided to put Blair out of his pain.

"He told you to change the subject of your diss, right?" he said, taking a mouthful of his rapidly cooling chocolate.

Blair stopped mid gesture, surprised.

Jim nodded. "He said the same thing to me when we first met, back when you... when you, you know...?"

When I was... Blair twirled `loony' circles at his temple. Jim grabbed his hand out of the air, fixing a glare on his friend.

"No!" he snapped. "Don't you ever... Don't you say that! You are not, were not ever crazy, Chief. Don't... Just don't. Alright?"

Blair laid a hand on Jim's arm, concern clouding his features. "S..s...s....s...O..O...KKKKKK..." Blair stuttered. "Ssss...s..s..O..Kay. J..J..Ji..i..m." *Just a joke! * he signed.

"No joke to me, Chief. Really. I mean it. Don't say that again."

I won't. Promise

Jim nodded. "So, what are you going to do. About your diss, I mean?"

Change it.

Jim nodded. "So, what will you write about instead? The Thin Blue Line?"

You were listening! Blair signed, mouth open in mock outrage.

Jim barked a laugh. "The Thin Blue Line? Really? Oh, man, Simon's gonna love this!"

Blair returned his laugh, slapping Jim's thigh."Hhhhhh...h..hey, J..J...J...Ji'immm...?"

"Uh huh?"

Want my cocoa back, he signed.

Jim passed him his mug with a grin. "The Thin Blue Line! Well, I guess you've gotta have enough info there, right?"

For ten... He resorted to miming scribbling again.

"What? You've been stalling?!" Jim asked.

Blair laughed. Out loud. A deep, happy, rolling chuckle, full of the joy of life. Jim grinned in delight. I was a good sound to hear. It made his soul glad. And Blair was changing his diss - wasn't going to write about him, after all. Did life get any better? He hoped the things he was about to say wouldn't spoil everything.

Jim took a deep breath. "Blair, buddy. We need to talk..."

Blair lay in his bed, toying with Panther, feeling foolish at how the little toy still had the power to soothe and comfort when he was stressed and unable to sleep. He was tired, but couldn't relax for the thousand and one thoughts hammering in his brain - trying to resist the urge that constantly tugged at him to escape; let himself drift back into his Otherworld. He had to re-learn to live in this one, hard though it was, sometimes - especially now, when everything had changed, or was about to. It was a pity. He'd always loved the new, anticipated change with excitement, not fear. But now, the future scared him. Things were different. He was different. His experiences had changed him.

Because now, he remembered everything; Alex. Dying. Jim, calling him back, and how good that'd felt; those few days when it seemed the tear in their fragile friendship had been fixed. Then Sierra Verde; Jim and Alex on that beach, Jim putting the other Sentinel - the woman who had killed him - first, at each and every turn. He and Megan, waking to find Jim gone. Jim's aloofness, his coldness towards him on the long flight home. He remembered keeping it all inside, not wanting to be a whiny wuss, yet feeling so useless, unwanted - a failure. And all the while, so weak, so tired, so very ill. Unsure, even now, if it had been a sickness of the body, or of the soul that led to him dying a second time, on the floor at Cascade International.

He remembered how he'd seemed to leave his body - waking in that blue jungle; the same place he'd been when Jim came to fetch him the first time he died. Then... then - a long period of disorientation. Being in the jungle, yet not. Being in his body, yet not. He guessed this was the time when he'd been in the waking coma he'd heard so much about, but really couldn't fit enough of the pieces together to tell.

All he knew was, he'd been lost in the jungle, by the lake, with his friends, the animals, who he now knew were Spirit beings. He still saw them, sometimes, when he was tired - as if his soul displaced itself when he was weak or sick, as he so often was these days, enabling him to step, for a moment, into a parallel dimension where he was healthy and strong. For him, it was just a little break from sickness, a place to rest and recover. Jim didn't see it that way. It terrified him, so Blair was trying to break the habit, despite the comfort he got from his little sojourns in the jungle. He didn't want Jim to worry - he'd already been worried enough.

Jim lay, unsleeping, thinking about the decision he and Blair had made tonight - together. His old life, his job - everything he'd believed about himself and his place in the world had been changed by the bizarre, distressing, serendipitous, miraculous events of the past year.

The meetings with Professor Stoddard - and Blair - finally, really talking about `The Sentinel Thing' with a pair of experts, had taught him how important Sentinel and Guide were, and how they still had a place in the world. They were a force for good.

It was so much a part of what he'd strived for all his life... the jobs he'd done, the paths he'd followed; always on the quest for that pot of gold, as elusive as the rainbows' end. His job at the PD felt like a cork in his soul, now; a cork that had to be pulled so he - and his partner - could move on. And, wonder of wonders, he found that he wanted to move on! It wasn't just that he couldn't bear the thought of promotion, being stuck behind a desk, dealing with all the crap Simon had to cope with, day in, day out, year after year after year. Blair had said, that accepting who and what he was would free him, and - to his utter amazement - it had. His eyes had been opened to the seemingly endless opportunities out there, in the big, wide world. He wanted to be a Sentinel, working with his Guide, on a far larger canvas than he had ever imagined was possible.

Jim tuned his hearing to the soothing, steady beat of his Guide's heart in the bed next door. Fact was, after so long sleeping together, being in separate beds felt unnatural. He missed having his buddy here beside him, but now that Blair had returned to the land of the living - it really wasn't on for two grown men to share a bed anymore.

But it was hard to sleep alone, now. Was Blair having the same trouble? Jim wondered again, how this strange symbiosis, this total dependence on each other, had begun, and where it would lead. The one and only thing he did know about the uncertain future, was that they had to be in it together.

Three weeks later...

"Hey Megan, `bout time you got here!" Henri Brown yelled across the noise and smoke of Flannagan's bar. "C'mon babe," he grinned, throwing an arm across her shoulder as she eased out of her pink fur coat, "Simon's about to open the champagne!"

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she yelled over the hubbub. "Got stuck at a late deposition on the Docherty case, couldn't get out of it. I didn't miss anything, I hope?" she grinned, reaching over the table to plant a kiss on Jim's cheek.

The smoke was thick as a fall fog; everyone - Megan included - puffing on enormous Churchill cigars provided by Simon. The music and chatter and laughter got louder and louder as the drinks went down. Jim gripped the bridge of his nose, and felt a gentle squeeze of his arm.

Dial it down!

"Speak to me."

Blair pulled a frustrated face, covered his ears with his hands and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, it's noisy, but I want you to try. You won't get better unless you try."

Blair glanced helplessly around the room. For a fraction of a moment, an expression of pure desolation flashed across his face. Jim's heart went out to him. For a man who's whole life was about communication, to be robbed of the power of speech was frustrating, exhausting.

Blair took a couple of breaths, swallowed a few times, looked down at his hands, then lifted his gaze to Jim, and shook his head. He lifted his hands. Jim caught them in his and forced them down on to the seat between them, pinning them there.

"No hands," he yelled over the pounding music that made normal conversation impossible. "Talk to me!"

Blair shrugged - a helpless, despairing little gesture. A few seconds of eye rolling, nostril flaring and head shaking later, he opened his mouth, managing - "C... c... c... c... c..." - before shaking his head one last time and fixing watery eyes on his shoes. Jim let go his hands, squeezed and patted his shoulder and leaned to speak into his Guide's ear.

"OK, Chief. It's OK. I know you're trying. I'm sorry." Blair nodded, but kept his eyes on the floor.

The sudden pop of a Champagne cork, followed by an upsurge in the roaring and laughter snapped Jim back into his own world of pain, throwing his hands over his ringing ears. God knows, he was trying, but this damn party was unbearable for him, stressful for Blair, and he couldn't wait for it to end so they could get back to the quiet sanctuary of the loft where they could both drop their guards and just be.

Jim had forgotten just how noisily ebullient his bullpen friends could be. He'd been away so long, he felt a virtual stranger. The quiet days spent in silent, comfortable companionship - just he and Blair - seemed a dim and distant memory here, in the smelly racket of this damn bar.

As soon as the rumour of a party had reached Jim's ears (hard to keep a secret from a Sentinel), he'd let it be known that he was hoping for a low key `do', at a quiet restaurant, or even in the bullpen - but Major Crimes was having none of that, opting instead for the `works' at the Cascade PD's favorite downtown bar. After all, as Henri Brown - who'd done most of the organising - said, it's not every day the department lost a Cop of the Year - and this wasn't only Jim's leaving party, but Blair's too.

Since Blair had been returned to them on Christmas Eve - the questions on everyone's lips had been, when was Jim returning to work, and when was Blair coming back?

Jim'd shocked everyone when he handed Simon his letter of resignation and announced to the bullpen that neither he nor Blair would be returning to work in Major Crime. That, with Blair expecting to complete his thesis in the spring, he and Doctor Sandburg would be setting up in business together.

Of course, Simon did his best to talk him out of it, but this was no snap decision. He and Blair had, together, come to the conclusion that this was the best, the only decision that allowed them both a future. Jim'd refused to let Blair fall on his sword for him and abandon his beloved academic life for a career in the police - something Jim knew was not right for him.

That March night, back in Seattle, when they'd `talked' - when Jim declared he was leaving the PD... It had seemed such an obvious and natural conclusion to him, that Blair's horrified reaction threw him for a loop. But, as Jim explained how he'd reached the decision, that they could do more good in the wider world, using their knowledge, eclectic skills and `unusual' partnership as consultants to law enforcement bodies across the nation, maybe, even, across the world, Blair had come to agree that it was the perfect solution to their dilemma.

Blair had, with Eli's help and support, switched his dissertation topic to the closed society that is the modern police force; the slender thread that separates the lawful and the criminal elements in contemporary society - in essence, the Thin Blue Line. Blair already had enough data for half a dozen theses on that subject and expected to present his completed dissertation by April; ready to accompany Dr Stoddard on his expedition to Mexico come Easter time.

Assuming Blair was fit to go. Three months now, since his return, and Blair was still so very far from well.

To the world at large, stutter aside, Blair appeared much the same as he always did. He'd lost weight, was often tired and prone to colds and viruses, but that was only to be expected, after what he'd been through. Essentially, he was the old Sandburg; laughing, joshing in his silent way; making up for his lack of speech with expansive expressions and wild gestures, but, otherwise, he seemed healthy enough for a guy who'd spent ten months in a waking coma. No one doubted that, with a little therapy, he'd soon be on the road to wellville and business as usual. Jim wasn't nearly so sure.

Because Jim could see beyond the merely physical and it was plain that his friend was still not all the way back. It showed in the long silences, the strange vacant state Blair fell into whenever Jim left him alone, even just to shower or make a quick run to the bakery, returning to find Blair staring into space with that `no-one home' look from `before'. He came back easily enough; a gentle hand on the arm, a softly-spoken word - and awareness would return. But then Blair would turn to him with that slow, gentle smile - there was an other-worldliness in those smiles that was almost as disturbing to Jim as the frequent fugues themselves.

He'd tackled Blair about it, but his partner just shrugged and smiled and shook his head like it was nothing. But Jim knew, when Blair fell so uncharacteristically still, it was because he wasn't there. He was still taking time out, slipping away to the Other Side and Jim didn't understand why.

"J...J...Ji'im."

Jim's thoughts snapped back to the present, where Blair had his hand on his arm, squeezing gently. After long weeks without ever hearing his Guide's voice, his other senses had become so attuned to him so that the softest of touches could fetch him back. "It's OK. I wasn't zoned," he said.

Blair smiled, shaking his head fondly. He waved a circle around his ear - Dial it down.

"Talk to me."

Blair rolled his eyes, but still smiled. Too loud!

"You mean too hard."

Blair shrugged and nodded with a small smile.

"Blair, you've gotta try. You won't get better if you don't try!"

Blair tugged on Jim's sleeve, pointing to Simon, who was pouring champagne for everyone. Henri Brown placed a glass in Jim's hand and passed another to Blair.

"To our best detective, our favorite team," Simon smiled and raised his glass. "We're gonna miss you guys." There were murmurs of agreement as everyone raised their glasses in a toast.

"How about a speech?" Megan said, grinning.

Jim shook his head. "No speeches! Hell, we're not going anywhere; you're all coming over to the loft on Thursday for Poker. There's no need for speeches."

"But it won't be the same," she said sadly. "I mean, without you two cutting up in the bullpen..."

"Provoking the Captain," Rafe said with a grin.

"Yeah!" Henri laughed. "The Cap might be a little sweeter tempered without ole Hairboy around to spoil his day."

Blair covered a grin by lifting his glass.

"It sure wasn't the same when Blair was gone," Joel said, sadly. Everyone murmured in agreement.

"And now he`s back, you're taking him away again," Megan sighed.

"We'll be right in the Loft!" Jim said. "Our first job is going to be with the Cascade PD..."

"Yeah, Vice," Rafe laughed. "Hope you're gonna enjoy working with Dawson again..."

"Cos he sure never enjoyed working with you way back when, Jimbo," Henri laughed.

"Yeah, but this time, he ain't going to be a lowly po-lice detective," Joel added.

"He's gonna be a big shot Pr-y-vate consultant," Henri said to a chorus of whoops, catcalls and laughter.

"We're so not worthy!" Rafe laughed, bowing down.

"And my little Star's going to be Doctor Sandburg," Olwen said with a happy smile, lifting her glass to Blair, who blushed. She and Jim exchanged a grin. Olwen was here for this little party - staying at Simon's again - she was spending a lot of time at Simon's lately, and he was spending a lot of time in Seattle. There seemed to be a li'l romance brewing there. Jim was pleased for them both and Blair loved it. He found her steady presence comforting and familiar, and Jim liked having her so near at hand - in some ways, she still understood his partner better than anyone.

Blair sat silently, nursing half a glass of warm, flat Champagne, watching his friends joshing and laughing and thought how it was that such very small things made life so good. It was great to see everyone happy. He wanted to join in the teasing, but knew the words forming so beautifully in his head would turn to broken glass in his mouth - as broken as he was. He wished he wasn't always so exhausted...

When he got this tired, he liked to lay in the warm sun by the cold lake. He loved to watch the animals play and today, they were having a great time. Blair smiled softly to himself as he sat on his rock, watching Bear trying to flirt with the pretty Antelope; Stag laughing at him, knowing he stood no chance.

He knew he shouldn't come here, knew Jim didn't like it. Jim was afraid he'd want to stay. He wished he could convince him that he had no desire to remain. It was just that, sometimes, the `real' world was so hard, too much to take, and it was good to just slip away back here for awhile, to rest his mind and escape the pressures heaped on him on the other side of the water.

Sometimes he wondered why he was still able to come back here. Sometimes, he'd ask out loud, but the answer that came back was always the same - it is The Way of the Shaman, young one, and you still have so much to learn...

"Hey. You in there, Chief...?"

Blair turned to see worried blue eyes watching him, a firm hand holding tight to his wrist. "Hhh... hey J...Jim." Relief colored Jim's eyes as Blair's soul flooded back. Blair smiled that disconcerting smile.

"You were gone again," Jim said.

"S... S...So' orry," Blair said softly, laying his hand over Jim's - still squeezing hard. "Ssss OK, J... J'm. `M' OK."

"I don't like it. When you do that. You look like - like you used to. It's... disturbing."

Blair grinned. "S..s..sorry." He said again, laughter in his voice.

"It's not funny, Sandburg," Jim countered.

"Nnno?" Blair giggled.

"No," Jim said, trying to ward off a smile. "Your eyes are watering," he said, reaching up to touch the leaking tears.

"Ssssssmoke. S...s...s'bad." He waved at his ears; put his hands over them, throwing a worried look at Jim.

Jim nodded. "Way too loud," he agreed.

They both looked back at the party, in full swing now. After two hours, Henri had finally persuaded Megan on to the dance floor, soon to be joined by Rafe and his latest girl, and Simon and Olwen - cutting a pretty fine swathe, Jim noted with a surprised smile. These people would always be their friends, that would never change. But this was just a last farewell for a life they'd already left behind. He'd expected to feel something more - regret? Nostalgia? Something... But all he felt was a burning desire to get away, back to the loft, for a quiet evening in the company of his Guide, his Friend. He looked deep inside, and found he had no regrets, not a one. All that was left for them to do was to say their goodbyes, and move on. He tapped Blair on the shoulder.

"Time to go, Chief," he said. "Let's go home."

End

Chasing Rainbows by Panik: maya.paneka@gmail.com
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