Archive of Our Own ^beta

Author's website: http://snycock.livejournal.com
Not mine, unfortunately. I just do it all for love.
Written for the spook_me ficathon on LJ. My prompts were snake, mutant, and trapped.
Many thanks to Skye for her excellent and very helpful beta. All mistakes, consequently, are mine.
Spoilers for SenToo
This is a horror story. Shocks, surprises, and angst abound. Also, it's got a very unsettled, angsty ending, so consider yourself warned. There will be at least one sequel, though, I promise.

This story is a sequel to:

He was in the blue jungle again, running. Not as a wolf, but as himself. The heat of the jungle enveloped him; naked, he raced along the ground, leaping nimbly over tree limbs and other obstacles until he reached the edge of a small clearing. He stopped, sensing danger. He caught sight of Jim, across the clearing, painted in jungle camouflage and carrying a crossbow. He started across the clearing towards him, then froze, hands raised, as Jim raised the crossbow and drew a bead on him. He heard the jaguar scream a challenge, far in the distance, and then nearby the wolf howled in pain and fear. Jim pulled the trigger on the crossbow and he had no time to react as the quarrel flew towards his chest...

Blair sat bolt upright, gasping, hands clutching at his chest. He was faintly surprised to find that there wasn't an arrow coming out of his torso; the dream had been that realistic. He fought to calm himself, taking deep breaths and trying to slow his pounding heart. He was briefly successful, but then felt a new rush of panic as he looked around and realized that he had no idea where he was.

Late afternoon sun filtered in through a tall, narrow window to his left. The window had neither curtains nor blinds, but was covered with a heavy wire mesh. He was sitting up in a narrow bed - well, more like a cot, really. Little more than a thin, plastic-encased mattress on a bare metal frame, covered with threadbare cotton sheets and a thin wool blanket. The room had high ceilings and flat, white walls. There was a wooden chair to his left and a cheap, particle-board armoire facing him from beyond the foot of the bed. Otherwise the room was bare. The door had a small, square window at just about head height - well, maybe head height for someone who was six feet tall, Blair amended.

Where the hell am I? he wondered. He looked down at himself and saw that he was dressed in loose, blue cotton pants and a loose, short-sleeved V-neck shirt in the same material. His feet were bare. There was some kind of writing on the hem of the shirt. He fumbled at the V of the shirt for his glasses, but they weren't there. Nor were they on top of his head. But he could read the writing if he brought the shirt close to his face. It was in block letters and looked like it had been stamped in black ink, and it read "Property of Western State Hospital". Blair looked around the room, startled. What is going on? he thought, Where's Jim? What am I doing here?

He heard the sound of a key turning in a lock. The door opened and a tall, middle-aged man entered. He was dressed casually in khaki pants and a green, open-necked, button-down shirt, and had an open, friendly face. He had dark, short hair. Blair thought that he looked slightly familiar. The man grabbed the chair and carried it close to the bed, then swung it around and sat down on it backwards, resting his arms along the wooden back. He smiled at Blair.

"Hello, Mr. Sandburg, how are you feeling?"

"I'm...uh, I'm a little confused," Blair replied carefully. "I'm...I'm not too sure where I am, to be honest, or what I'm doing here." He took a guess, based on the weak feeling of familiarity he had had when he looked at the man. "I'm really sorry, I know we've met before, but I don't remember your name."

The man's smile softened and became more sympathetic. "I'm not surprised," he said, compassion suffusing his voice. "First of all, Blair - you still don't mind if I call you Blair, do you?"

Blair couldn't remember giving him permission before, but since he had done it once, it seemed rude not to let him continue. He shook his head.

"Thank you. First of all, Blair, I'm Dr. Cassidy. And I'm not surprised that you're a little confused. We had to give you a course of ECT, because you developed a very dangerous medication reaction called Neuroleptic Malignant Syndrome. You had your last ECT treatment this morning, and it's not at all unusual for people to experience temporary confusion and short-term memory loss while they're undergoing ECT."

Blair stared at him, then raised his hands and shook his head. "No, wait, man, I'm sorry, but I think there must be some mistake. I'm a police officer with the Cascade PD, and I came here this morning with my partner, Jim Ellison, to....to..." He trailed off as he realized that he couldn't remember why they'd come here. He frowned and rubbed his head, which was starting to ache. He had a dim memory of being in the truck, stopping at a rest stop for coffee, and spreading out the map and arguing with Jim about which route to take. "I came here with my partner," he repeated, sure of that in spite of the headache. "He can tell you why we came down. Where is he, by the way?"

Cassidy's expression became a little more solemn, although the smile remained. "I understand," he said soothingly. "You've been through a very stressful experience. Just relax, take it easy - I assure you that your memory will return, given time."

"My memory is fine, man," Blair said sharply, rubbing his temple. He didn't mean to snap at the guy, but his head hurt - it was starting to hurt a lot - and he just wanted to find Jim and get the hell out of here. "Look, just let me see Jim, he can explain everything, he can tell you why we came down here. Can I just talk to him? Where is he?"

"Blair, there's no one here by that name."

Blair glared at him. He was starting to feel a little exasperated with Cassidy. It was like he wasn't listening to what Blair was saying. "I know that. He doesn't work here. He's my partner, we're from the police department in Cascade, Washington. We drove down this morning to...to see...because...." But no matter how hard he tried, that information stayed just out of reach. He seemed to remember getting up early this morning, leaving Cascade, bits and pieces of the drive down, but it was all a little blurred and distant, as if he was looking at it through the wrong end of a telescope. And then, after that stop for coffee...nothing.

Cassidy's smile was gone now, and his look was serious. "Blair, I'm sorry to tell you this, but you've been here for almost a month."

"What? No, no way, man, there's been some kind of mistake. You've got me confused with someone else."

"What's the date today?"

"What?" Was this guy nuts? What kind of question was that?

"What's the date today, Blair?"

"Uh...it's October...I'm not too sure about the actual day, maybe the 14th...." God, his head hurt.

Cassidy looked at him solemnly, then turned his head and looked at the wall over Blair's bed. Blair hadn't noticed it before, but there was a calendar pinned up there. It read `November.' "It's the 10th of November, Blair," Cassidy said softly.

Blair stared at the calendar in shock, his heart thumping erratically in his chest. What had happened to him? The last thing he could remember was that it was early October, and he and Jim had had to come down here for some reason, some police-related business...and then...then they were going...yeah, that was it, they were going to go fishing! Now he could remember loading the gear in the back of Jim's truck. What had happened to him? And where was Jim? Jim would never have just left him here...

"Where's Jim?" he asked Cassidy.

"Blair," Cassidy started, then stopped and shook his head, a sad look on his face.

Blair felt his guts ice over. "Oh, God," he whispered. "Was there an accident or something? Is that why I'm here?" Cassidy just shook his head again, sadly, and Blair reached forward and grabbed his arm where it lay along the back of the chair. "What happened to Jim? Is he okay? Where is he?" he demanded, voice rising in panic.

"Blair, calm down!" Cassidy said, pulling his arm away from Blair's hand and grasping both his shoulders gently. "Just relax. Take a few deep breaths."

Blair did his best to do as Cassidy requested, sitting back on the bed and taking deep, measured breaths. He rubbed his hands along his thighs nervously. When he felt a little more in control, he said, apprehensively, "Look, just tell me what happened, please."

"Blair, look, I don't know exactly how to say this," Cassidy began, looking unhappy, "but...Jim Ellison is not your partner." Blair stared at him, nonplussed. "I'm sorry, but that's a delusion, a symptom of your illness. You don't have a partner, and you're not a police officer in Cascade. In fact, you've never been to Cascade in your life."

Blair's mouth went dry and his heart started pounding. It wasn't possible, couldn't be possible. He remembered his life in Cascade.

"You're lying," he whispered hoarsely, pushing back on the bed until his back pressed against the wall. It had to be a trick, some kind of ruse. And then it hit him. Maybe the government had finally found out about them. Maybe they were trying to force him to reveal information about Jim's senses. "Who are you, huh?" he asked, licking dry lips. "FBI? CIA? NSA? It won't work, you know. I'm not telling you anything. Not that there's anything to tell."

"Look, you've been under a lot of stress, and I know things aren't making much sense now. I want you to take some medication. It'll help you sleep, and in the morning, I promise, things will be much clearer," Cassidy said, placatingly.

"Nuh-uh, man. No meds for me, thank you," Blair said. "Things are becoming clearer by the minute." He knew, now, what he had to do. He gathered himself, then bolted off the bed and past Cassidy to the door. "I am going to get out of here right now, if you don't mind." He reached for the door, but Cassidy was right behind him and grabbed his arm. Blair yanked his arm away sharply, making Cassidy stumble backwards slightly and fall against the wall.

Suddenly the speakers set in the high ceilings were shrieking something about "help is needed". The door banged inward, and Blair saw two huge guys fill the opening. Before he could react, one of the guys had grabbed him and spun him, crossing Blair's arms over his chest and using them to hold him tightly. Blair twisted and fought, but the guy had him pinned securely. He started walking backwards, pulling Blair with him out of the room. Cassidy followed. "Let's use the first seclusion room," he said to the big guy holding Blair.

Blair kicked out viciously, but the second guy, the other one he'd seen in the doorway, swooped in from nowhere and grabbed Blair's legs, tucked them under his massive arms and held them tight. "Jim!" Blair screamed, at the top of his lungs, "Jim! Help! Help me!" He struggled, but it was like being held in a vise. "Jim!" he screamed again, panting with exertion.

"Get me five of Haldol, IM," he heard Cassidy say to someone. The two guys carried him down the hall and into a room identical to his, except that there was no chair and no armoire. They stopped by the bed.

"Doc, back or front?" The guy holding Blair's arms turned his head and shouted his question out into the hallway.

"Front," Cassidy replied, coming into the room. "We'll use the gluteal site for the injection. I'm gonna need you to draw some blood, as well."

Blair had fallen still, trying to catch his breath and conserve some energy, but when Cassidy came back into the room, he renewed his efforts to get loose. "Let go of me, you fucking assholes," he snarled, struggling mightily.

"This one's turning out to be quite a fighter, eh, Doc?" the guy on Blair's legs said, chuckling.

Despite Blair's best efforts, the two guys got him face down and spread-eagled on the bed almost easily, fastening a leather, fleece-lined cuff tightly around each of his wrists and ankles. He had enough leeway to raise his head, but little more than that.

"Hold him still," Cassidy ordered, and Blair felt the orderlies grab his legs. Cassidy pulled the cotton pants and his boxers down, exposing his rear; Blair howled as he felt the sting of the needle in his right buttock.

"You sons of bitches," he gasped, then clenched his jaw shut as a wave of dizziness rolled over him. Cassidy pulled his pants back up and the three men left the room. "Jim," Blair gasped once, weakly, then it was as if he had been hit by a warm wall of water. The room spun and he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Mr. Sandburg." The soft, patient voice wormed its way into his awareness. "Mr. Sandburg. Are you awake? Mr. Sandburg." A small hand rested on his shoulder, shaking him gently. "Mr. Sandburg."

Blair opened his eyes slowly, blinking. He was still in restraints, pinned face down to the bed. A young woman crouched at his side. She gave him an encouraging smile as she saw his eyes open. "Mr. Sandburg, I can let you up out of the restraints if you promise me you're not going to hurt anybody."

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His throat was dry as bone. He swallowed, painfully, and tried to wet his lips. His tongue felt twice as thick as usual, and there was a harsh, metallic taste in his mouth. He tried again to speak. "...'kay," he managed to rasp, "won't hurt `nyone, prom...promise."

She smiled at him. "Okay, I'm going to unlock the restraints now. Just relax, and I'll help you up in a moment." She unlocked the cuffs around his wrists and ankles, then helped him to sit up on the bed. "Want some water?" she asked. Blair nodded.

As she left the room he glanced over at the window and saw that it was dark outside. The woman came back into the room and handed him a paper cup. His hands were shaking, but he managed to take the cup from her. He drank the water down in one gulp and looked at her pleadingly. She smiled and brought him a second cup, which he downed as quickly as the first. "Wh...what time is it?" he asked, his voice slightly less raspy now, thanks to the water.

She looked at him soberly. "It's about two in the morning. You were in restraints for quite a while." He noticed a bandage on the inside crook of his arm and looked up at her, eyebrows raised. "We had to draw some blood from you while you were out," she said. Blair nodded.

"You...are?" he whispered.

"I'm Mary Bonner," she said. "I'm the charge nurse on the floor tonight."

Blair stuck his hand out, trying to ignore the tremor. "Blair Sandburg," he said, his voice still a little hoarse. "You can call me Blair." She smiled, took his hand and shook it firmly.

"Pleased to meet you," she said. She let go of his hand and they sat quietly for a few mintues. Then Mary put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's see about getting you into bed. First, though, do you want to use the bathroom?" Blair nodded, and she got up and unlocked a large door to the right of the entrance to the room. "Go ahead," she said. "I can't let you close the door, but you don't have to keep it all the way open."

He stood up shakily, clutching onto the door frame, and made his way slowly into the bathroom. It was a relief to empty his bladder. As he washed his hands, he noticed that the mirror over the sink was nothing more than a piece of polished metal. It was hard to see his reflection in it; the metal distorted it so.

He walked carefully out of the bathroom and into the hallway, where Mary was waiting for him. She was about four inches shorter than he was, but she held onto him with surprising strength as they walked down the hallway towards his room. He was glad for the support; his legs were shaking and his knees felt like rubber. "Mary, how long have I been here?" he asked her, with no little trepidation.

"I'm kinda new to this unit," she said, "but according to your chart, you've been here about a month." They had reached his room, and he felt a sudden, overwhelming wave of hopelessness as he collapsed onto the bed. What had happened to him? It seemed like just this morning he had been at home, in Cascade; now it was a month later, and he didn't know why he couldn't remember anything, and he didn't know where Jim was. He was just so confused, and so tired...

He knew Jim wasn't a delusion. He couldn't be. All the memories he had of Jim, of his senses, of their work together, of their relationship...it couldn't all be false. He couldn't have made all that up. He became aware that Mary was standing in front of him, holding a small paper cup in one hand and a larger cup of water in the other.

"Here's something to help you sleep," she said.

"No, I...I don't want it," Blair said. "I don't need it."

She made a solemn face at him. "Dr. Cassidy prescribed it. He knows what's best for you." When Blair made no move to take the pills from her, she frowned. "Blair, if you don't take these, I'm going to get into trouble. Dr. Cassidy prescribed them, and I have to make sure you take them. That's my job."

Blair sighed, unable to combat the beseeching look she gave him, and took the pills without further argument. She smiled at him. "Good boy."

He lay down and covered himself with the thin blanket as she left the room. He heard her key rattle in the keyhole as she locked the door. He reached out and scratched a line in the wall underneath the calendar with his fingernail. He had to do something to help him mark the days in here, especially since his sense of time seemed to be going haywire.

He could see the moon shining through the high window. The cold, silvery light lit up the room and played across the floor. He pulled his knees to his chest, hunched his shoulders and pulled the blanket up around his ears, then watched the moon as it sailed through the sky. He could feel the sedative starting to take effect, making his limbs and eyelids heavy. "Jim," he whispered, "I hope you're all right, man, wherever you are." A tear slid down his cheek. "Please come find me soon, okay?"

Blair was woken abruptly by the rasp of a key in the lock of his door. Jesus, he thought, don't these guys ever knock?

The orderly stuck his head in. "Sandburg," he barked. "The doctor wants to see you."

Blair pushed himself up to a sitting position slowly. His eyes felt sore and grainy, and his tongue was still thick. His mouth tasted awful. He glanced over at the calendar and was shocked to see four neat lines in the wall below. Three days? It had been three days? His last memory was of making that first line, the night after he'd been put in restraints. He'd thought it was just last night, but here he was, looking at the proof that he'd lost days of his life. Again. He stared at the wall, mouth slightly open, struggling to reconcile what his brain told him with what his eyes could see.

"Sandburg!" the orderly bellowed.

"I'm coming," Blair said. He tore his eyes away from the wall with difficulty, and stumbled into the bathroom. He took a piss, then was relieved to find a toothbrush and toothpaste on the metal shelf next to the sink. He brushed his teeth, looking longingly at the shower. Maybe after he talked to Cassidy. He searched for a hairbrush; he couldn't find one, but he did find one of his hair ties on the metal shelf next to the toothpaste. He picked it up, throat suddenly tight, hot tears stinging his eyes. One of his hair ties, lying on the shelf, just as if...just as if he lived here, had lived here for a while. Oh, God. What if it was all true?

He took a deep breath, forced down the lump in his throat. It couldn't all be true, because he knew he wasn't delusional, but it seemed that he'd have to accept that something had happened to him. He finger-combed his hair and pulled it back ruthlessly into a ponytail. It was time to get some answers.

He made his way carefully out of the bathroom and out into the hallway. His legs felt stiff and uncomfortable and he had difficulty walking normally.

The orderly was waiting for him in the hallway. Without a word to Blair, he escorted him down to a small room on the left, immediately before the hallway ended in a large, open room. The orderly unlocked the door and motioned for Blair to precede him, then followed him in.

The room was furnished with a long table, a half-dozen chairs placed around it. Cassidy and a young woman in a long white coat were sitting in two of the chairs; the ones nearest the door. A blue plastic medical chart sat on the table between them. Blair moved around the table and sat in one of the chairs facing Cassidy. The orderly headed around Cassidy the other way and sat on Blair's other side.

"Hello, Blair, how are you doing today?" Cassidy asked.

"I've been better," Blair responded shortly, and his eyes flicked to the young woman sitting next to Cassidy. She was petite, with green eyes and short dark hair cut in a stylish bob.

Cassidy caught the movement and motioned to the woman. "This is my medical student, Ms. Mattox," he said.

"Pleased to meet you," Blair said coolly, extending his hand across the table. "Blair Sandburg." She smiled and shook his hand with a soft, faint grip, her hand warm against his.

"I'm sorry we had to put you in restraints the other day, Blair," Cassidy started solemnly, "but you were becoming very agitated and we were concerned for your safety and the safety of the other patients."

Blair didn't know what to say to that, so he just nodded slowly. "I want to know what happened, why I'm here," he said quietly.

Cassidy pulled a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from his shirt pocket and put them on. He flipped open the chart and turned the pages until he found the one he wanted. "On October 15th, you were found wandering around downtown Seattle by the local police. When they approached you, you told them that you were a detective with the Cascade Police, working undercover with Vice to bust a smuggling ring that was running drugs up to Cascade. You weren't making much sense, and you kept rambling about needing to find your partner. They took you to Harborview for evaluation. The doctors there ran some tests and found that you were dehydrated and undernourished. According to the staff at the group home where you were living, you had stopped taking your medication about two weeks previously. About a week after that, you disappeared."

Blair had been looking down at the table during Cassidy's recitation, listening carefully. The joint operation with Vice from Seattle sounded faintly familiar, but he didn't remember any details. And he didn't remember getting separated from Jim, or talking to any officers. "I don't remember that," he said in a low murmur.

"I'm not surprised," Cassidy said. He flipped through some more pages in the chart. "When you got here, we started treating you with Prolixin, because you'd had a good response to that in the past. But after about two weeks you developed Neuroleptic Malignant Syndrome - a reaction to antipsychotic medication characterized by muscle stiffness and high fever. We had to take you off the Prolixin, and we had to give you a course of ECT - Electroconvulsive Therapy. As I mentioned before, one of the side effects of ECT is disruption of short-term memory." He looked up at Blair with a reassuring smile. "Now that we've finished the ECT, your memory should eventually return."

He didn't share Cassidy's sentiment. "None of what you're telling me sounds familiar," he said flatly. I still think you've gotten me mixed up with someone else."

Cassidy sighed, closed the chart, and took off his glasses. "Blair, you've been coming here for years. You had your first psychotic break when you were a freshman at the University of Washington. Since that time, you've been shuttling between here, Harborview, and various group homes in Seattle."

"No, you're wrong," Blair said heatedly. "I never went to the University of Washington. I went to Rainier. I was a graduate student in anthropology there, until..." He hesitated, feeling slightly reluctant to tell Cassidy the circumstances around his leaving Rainier.

But Cassidy was nodding. "Yes, I know, it's all a part of this systematized delusion you have. I don't mean to sound harsh, Blair, but none of it is true. You weren't a graduate student at Rainier. You're not a police officer with the Cascade PD. Jim Ellison is not your partner. And he doesn't have heightened senses."

Blair started as a bolt of fear ran through him. "Wh...what do you mean? I didn't say anything about heightened senses..."

"You didn't have to," Cassidy replied calmly, "you've told us many times before. Plus, you told the police officers who brought you in all about it. You kept asking them to go back to the building where they found you and look for Detective Ellison. You told them you were afraid that he'd `zoned'."

Blair froze, suddenly feeling like he had swallowed a ball of lead. How could they know? He was sure he hadn't said anything. He was always very careful when talking about Jim's senses with other people around. He chewed his lip as a small tendril of panic started to unfold in his gut. Could...could Cassidy be telling him the truth? Was this all in his head?

No, he thought stubbornly, squelching the feeling. Cassidy's wrong. I know who I am, and I know who Jim is, and I know he's not a figment of my imagination. "I don't believe you," he told Cassidy flatly. "I don't know why you're telling me this stuff, but it's not true. There's absolutely nothing you could say or do that would make me believe it."

Cassidy sighed and shook his head, looking over at Mattox. "Maybe things will be better once the medication starts to work," he said under his breath, raising his eyebrows at her meaningfully. She nodded. Turning back to Blair, he said, "I'm going to prescribe you some Zyprexa. It's a newer antipsychotic that doesn't have as many side effects as Prolixin or Haldol, and there's less chance of developing Neuroleptic Malignant Syndrome."

Blair didn't reply. He had no intention of taking any medication, but he wasn't going to tell Cassidy that. He watched Cassidy write an order in his chart. "So, are we done here, man?" he asked shortly.

"Yes," Cassidy replied, "thanks for talking with us." Blair left the room, the orderly behind him. Once out in the hallway, he paused and looked up at the orderly.

"Can I take a shower?" he asked.

The orderly - his nametag identified him as Lewis - shook his head. "Rooms are locked until after lunch. Showers in the morning and evening only," he said. He walked off towards the nurses' station.

"Seems like morning to me," Blair grumbled, under his breath. He turned and headed for the large dayroom. A thin, young woman with shoulder-length, dirty-blond hair was sitting outside the entrance talking to herself.

"Snake pit, tight fit, don't let your sanity crossfertilize," she said, in a singsong voice. "Our hands are true, everlasting, we hold and don't let go until the end of the world, end of the sentence, the breakfall of the dawn, down, down, only the blind ones know about it." She smiled at Blair as he drew near and said, "Hail, prophet. I'm purpled until Wednesday, but they all know about it, they'll blow the place up when they come, and we'll all sing."

He crouched down in front of her and held out his hand. "Hi, I'm Blair."

She put her hand out and shook his gravely. "Imani El-Haruchai Bedazzled, seventh scion of the Supreme Order. Pleased to meet you."

"Who are you talking to?"

"I am communing with the spirits," she said. "They send me messages and promise that they will rid all those in here from the demons that possess them if I will tosslocate the ramparts." She went back to muttering under her breath. Blair watched her for a little bit, then stood up and walked into the dayroom. He had found her manner of speaking kind of intriguing, at first, but now that he had actually talked to her, he just felt sad. She was so young to be in a place like this, and to be so sick.

Is that me? Am I like that? The thought rose unbidden to his mind, accompanied by a distinct feeling of alarm. He pushed it away and looked around the dayroom. A few tables and chairs were scattered around the room. Several long couches, with patients sleeping on them, lined the walls. A large console television set, its image slightly grainy, sat in the corner, a long couch in front of it. A man was sitting on the couch, watching the screen. Blair walked over and sat on the couch next to him. "Hey, man," he said, extending his hand, "I'm Blair. What's your name?"

The man turned towards him, his face distorted by fury. "I'm Lucifer, motherfucker!" he shouted. Blair, startled, scrambled off the couch and backed away hurriedly.

"Okay, man, no problem," he said, his hands out in front of him placatingly. The guy didn't seem inclined to come after him though; he glared at Blair, then settled back on the couch and turned his attention back to the television. Heart still hammering, Blair found a vacant chair in a quiet corner of the room and sat down.

Now that he'd settled, the feeling of panic that he'd been pushing away rose up and threatened to overwhelm him. What was going on? He didn't believe Cassidy's version of events, couldn't believe it...and yet...the calendar, the marks on the wall, his hair tie on the shelf, Cassidy's calm and compassionate manner...it all seemed to make sense. It was just that he couldn't remember any of it. It sounded like something that had happened to somebody else, something that wasn't a part of the life he knew. But what if the life he knew was a lie? What if it really was a delusion? Isn't that part of what makes it a delusion? he thought. That you don't believe that it's a delusion? That you think it's real?

His head was starting to hurt again and the panic was threatening to choke him. He took a deep breath, trying to focus and clear his mind. He tucked his feet up into a half lotus and rested his hands on his knees, closing his eyes and taking several more deep breaths. I am...relaxed, he thought to himself, timing the phrase to his inhale and exhale. After several minutes he felt calmer, and both the headache and the panic had started to recede.

Unbidden, an image of Jim came to his mind, drinking coffee and grinning at him. It was the morning they'd left Cascade to drive to Seattle. He smiled faintly, remembering. They had the map spread out on the table, arguing about what route to take. He'd wanted Jim to try some of the back roads, make it a more scenic drive. Jim had just wanted to get to Seattle as fast as possible, get their business done, and get on with their vacation. Their business...it was something unpleasant, but not dangerous...Jim hadn't wanted him to come...but there was no way he would let Jim go alone to...to do.... He frowned with the effort to remember, frustrated, the headache returning, but whatever their purpose had been, it stayed just out of reach of his conscious mind.

He heard the word "cascade" and his eyes snapped open. The television was tuned to a news station, and the announcer was talking about some kind of party. "...Governor Nichols was in town to congratulate the Cascade Commissioner of Police on having the highest clearance rate in the state of Washington," the announcer was saying. "According to Commissioner Wallace, much of that success is due to the men and women of the Major Crimes division, who received a commendation from the Governor. Captain Simon Banks accepted the commendation on behalf of his people." On the screen was an image of a tall Black man, wearing glasses and a tuxedo, accepting something in a frame from the governor and shaking her hand. Blair sat up and unfolded his legs. Simon! Of course! Why hadn't he thought of him? If they'd just call Simon, he'd corroborate everything Blair had said.

In fact, as he thought about it, he realized what had probably happened. When he had gone undercover to help catch Warren Chapel, Simon had arranged things so he could get admitted as a patient to Conover. He was willing to bet that his current problem was related to that - maybe Simon hadn't been able to erase Blair's tracks completely. Maybe some kind of paper trail had remained in the system somehow, and now these guys thought that he had a psychiatric history because of it. Relief washed through him. He wasn't crazy, after all.

He hurried over to the nurses' station. Cassidy was in the back, writing in one of the charts. "Hey," Blair said. Cassidy looked up. "I think I know what's happened, man. I think there's been a mix-up because I went undercover once in a psychiatric hospital, and I bet what you think is my psych history is really just left over from that. If you call Simon Banks - he's my captain in the Cascade PD - he'll be able to vouch for me. He'll explain it all."

Cassidy and the nurse exchanged a meaningful glance. Blair started to feel slightly annoyed. "Look, I'm telling you, if you give him a call, he'll back up everything I've told you. I just saw him on TV. Simon Banks, Major Crime division, Cascade PD. I can even give you his number."

Cassidy shot him a skeptical look, but seemed to be considering it. He turned to the nurse and said softly, "Maybe we'd better give him that first dose of Zyprexa now."

"Oh, no way, man," Blair said, backing away from the nurses' station. "Like I told you before, no meds for me."

Cassidy came out from behind the counter. "You have to take it, Blair; if you don't, we'll just give you another injection of Haldol."

"No way, man, I know my rights," Blair said, panic starting to rise again. "I have the right to refuse medication."

"That would be true if you were a voluntary patient here," Cassidy said, walking towards Blair, his voice low and soothing, "but you're not. You've been committed by the court, and that means we can force medication on you if we feel that it's necessary. We don't want to, we'd rather you took it on your own, but if you leave us no choice..."

Blair continued to back up, but found his progress suddenly halted when he ran into something large and hard. He looked up and saw that he'd backed into Lewis, the orderly. Lewis grabbed his biceps and Blair spun, using a move he'd learned at the academy to break Lewis' hold. His fist brushed lightly across Lewis' chin.

All hell broke loose. The speakers started blaring again, and footsteps thundered down the hallway. Someone grabbed Blair from behind and bent his arm up behind his back, forcing him to his knees. He howled in pain and anger. Within what felt like seconds, he was held tightly in the grasp of a half-dozen men, unable to move a muscle. "Let GO of me, you assholes!" he screamed, struggling futilely.

They carried him to the seclusion room again, this time keeping him on his back as they cuffed his wrists and ankles. Someone dropped a towel over his face; panic flooded him as he realized he couldn't see what they were doing to him. He fought against the restraints with renewed energy, but he felt a prick in his shoulder, and then pressure as something was injected. One by one the hands released him, and his body went limp as the medication took effect and the all-too-familiar feeling of being underwater swept over him and carried him away.

Jim swam slowly back up to consciousness, his head pounding. He tried to touch the back of his head, where he was sure he had a goosegg-sized lump, but the movement of his hand was brought up short by something over his wrist. He opened his eyes and raised his head, trying to get a good look at his surroundings, but his stomach lurched and the pounding in his head intensified. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back down, took a deep breath, and found the dial for pain and wrenched it down. Once he felt he had the pain under control, he opened his eyes and looked around.

He was in what looked like a medieval dungeon cell. It had gray, featureless walls; a high, barred window; and a narrow wooden door with a small, square window. The room was cold, damp, and dim; the only light came from the window high above. A bare, dark light bulb hung from the ceiling. When he adjusted his vision to compensate for the lack of light, he could see iron rings set into the wall at intervals. Where the hell am I? he thought.

He was lying on a narrow bed, naked except for his boxers, arms at his sides, wrists and ankles encased in leather, fleece-lined cuffs. Testing each restraint in turn, he discovered that they were attached snugly to the metal frame of the bed; the bed frame, in turn, seemed to be bolted to the floor, as he couldn't make it budge an inch, even when he pulled on the restraints with all his strength.

The sight of the restraints had triggered his memory, though. Now he remembered where he was and why...

"Jim." Jim looked up. Simon was standing in his office door, his voice pitched lower than the usual bellow he used to summon his detectives to his office. As he made eye contact with Simon, Simon tilted his head towards his office, a surreptitious signal for Jim to enter. Intrigued, Jim got up from his desk and went into his captain's office.

"What's up, Simon?"

"Where's your partner?"

Jim suppressed a smile. When Blair had been an observer, Simon had referred to him as "the kid", "your shadow", and once, when he was in a really bad mood, "that damned know-it-all." But he had noticed that ever since Blair had graduated from the police academy and joined the force, Simon had always referred to him as "your partner". He supposed it was Simon's way of making up for the number of times he had reminded Blair that he was not a cop, now that he actually was.

"He's gone out to get sandwiches from the deli," Jim said. "We figured we'd work through lunch so we can get our part of the drug bust report done before we leave on vacation." They had been working with the Vice division of the Seattle PD to shut down a large smuggling ring that had been responsible for nearly a fourth of the drug traffic between Seattle and Cascade.

"You still planning on going fishing down south?"

"Yeah, why?"

Simon walked around behind his desk and poured two cups of coffee; he handed one to Jim and motioned him to sit. "I got a call today from a Dr. Neal Cassidy, a psychiatrist at Western State Hospital. It's in Steilacoom, halfway between Seattle and Tacoma." Jim sipped his coffee, not saying anything, waiting for Simon to make his point. "It seems that he's convinced the Feds to transfer Alex Barnes to Western State. He thinks he has some new treatment regimen that might get her out of the coma she's been in since Sierra Verde."

Jim leapt to his feet, nearly spilling his coffee. "A state psychiatric hospital - Simon, that doesn't have nearly enough security for someone like Alex!"

Simon put his hand up between them. "I understand, Jim, but it's not our call. It's a done deal."

"So why did he call you?"

"He's got questions about what happened in Sierra Verde, what happened to her in the temple. He thinks it might be important, might help him with the treatment." Simon paused, and took a deep breath. "He wants you to come down to Steilacoom so he can ask you about it."

"He can't ask me over the phone?"

"He said a face-to-face interview would be better. Said it was because you were the one in the temple with her, you had the most information about what happened."

Jim put his coffee down, crossed his arms over his chest. "And I should care about helping her, why?" he growled. "She nearly killed all of us. Hell, she did kill Sandburg."

"Look, I don't blame you, Jim. I wouldn't be thrilled about it either, if I were in your shoes. But if she comes out of that coma, then maybe she can be prosecuted for stealing that nerve gas, for smuggling it out of the country. For trying to kill Blair."

"She didn't try, Simon. She did."

Simon wearily massaged the bridge of his nose between his thumb and finger. "I know, Jim, but you know as well as I do you'll have a difficult time convincing a jury to return a murder verdict when the purported victim is alive and well and sitting in the courtroom."

Jim didn't reply. He walked to the window and stared out over Cascade, struggling between wanting to see Alex put away for good and wanting to never have to think about those days again. His senses had been so screwed up, his reactions so confusing. First, paranoid as hell, turning on everyone, Blair included. Then, feeling drawn to her, like he had to protect her, take care of her, to the exclusion of everything else in his life. He'd known how much it had to hurt Blair, seeing him act like an infatuated idiot around the woman who had killed him, but he hadn't been able to stop himself.

It had taken them a long time to get past it, and there'd been more than a few disasters along the way - the press conference, for one - but, finally, they'd found their way back to the friendship they'd had before Alex Barnes had come into their lives. Only by that time, he had come to realize that what he felt for Blair was a lot more than just friendship. Coward that he was, it had taken him six more months and Blair sustaining a serious concussion while chasing a suspect before he'd worked up the nerve to tell him about it.

But he had, and now they were lovers as well as friends and partners. He wasn't eager to revisit those memories, though. It wasn't that he doubted the strength of their bond; he didn't, not at all. He just felt that nothing good ever came from dredging up the past. On the other hand, if it would eventually put Alex behind bars...

Sighing, he turned from the window and looked at Simon. "So, your thought was that we could stop by the hospital on our way to the campsite tomorrow?"

Simon nodded. "Cassidy said he'd be around. He said it would only take an hour or two, at most. Here's his number." He handed Jim a piece of paper and gave him a sympathetic look. "I'd come with you, but I've got this thing with the governor on Sunday. Seems Major Crimes is getting a commendation for its closure rate."

"Good for us," Jim responded dryly, knowing how much Simon hated public events. "No, it's okay, Simon, we'll do it." He exhaled heavily. "I just gotta figure out how to break the news to Blair."

"Look, the kid doesn't have to come with you to see Cassidy," Simon said, and Jim saw it as a measure of his concern for Blair that he had reverted to the old nickname. "Send him off to a coffee shop or something to wait for you. Must be plenty of those around Seattle."

He gave Simon a rueful grin. "Right. Like I'll be able to talk him out of it." He heard Blair's voice as he came up in the elevator, chatting animatedly with Serena. "Gotta go, Simon, he's back."

Simon clapped him on the shoulder. "Have a good vacation, both of you. Catch some fish for me."

Jim cut off the engine and turned to look at Blair. "I'll make the offer again, Chief. You can stay in the truck if you want."

Blair shot him a sideways look. "Oh, yeah, right, and do what? Twiddle my thumbs? Whack off? Play solitaire? That'll be entertaining."

Jim rolled his eyes. "You're not fooling me for a second, Darwin. I know you've got a book somewhere in that pack of yours. You can stay here and read if you want. Or take the truck, go find a nice coffee shop, hang out for a while, and come back and get me in a couple of hours."

"Nice try, but forget about it," Blair replied, opening the door and getting out of the truck. "Like I already told you, there's no way I'm letting you go in there alone. I'm your partner and your back up, so just drop it, okay?" He grinned at Jim, which took the sting out of his words.

Jim sighed and got out of the truck as well. "All right, all right, I just figured one of us could avoid having to deal with this."

"It's not that I don't appreciate the thought. I do," Blair said, as he came around to Jim's side. "And I know that you're really worried, `cause otherwise you'd never offer to let me drive the truck." He grinned at Jim again. "But I'll be fine, man, really."

They were parked in a small lot that was nearly deserted, which was not all that surprising, Jim thought, given that it was early on a Saturday morning. A path led across a wide expanse of lawn towards an imposing white building, classical in structure. A large marble fountain sat in the middle of the lawn, water still flowing through it despite the winter-like chill in the air. According to the directions Jim had been given, this was the admissions unit for the hospital. Cassidy was going to meet them in the lobby here and take them to his office.

Jim slung his arm around Blair's shoulders as they headed up the path. He could feel him shivering. "You want your coat?" he asked, realizing that his partner had left it in the car.

"Nah," Blair replied, "we'll be inside most of the time. I'm just surprised it's so cold. It's only October."

"Yeah, it's a bit early," Jim agreed. "It'll be cold up in the mountains tonight. Chance of snow tomorrow, actually. Hope you brought your thermal sleeping bag." He felt Blair's arm slip around his waist.

"What do I need that for?" Blair said, grinning. "I've got you."

They had nearly reached the building, and Jim felt his chest start to tighten in apprehension. Pulling Blair to a stop, he scanned the immediate area around them for signs of human activity. Finding none, he bent his head and kissed Blair soundly. "You know I love you, right?" he asked in a low voice.

"Yeah, same here," Blair said, looking confused. "What's up?"

"I've just got a bad feeling about this."

"Jim." Blair had turned to face him. He put his hand on Jim's chest, the way he did when he was very serious and wanted to make sure he had Jim's attention. "It'll be fine. We've been through this a million times. It's old hat. Yesterday's news. Water under the bridge." His voice dropped lower. "You know nothing you say today is going to change the way I feel about you."

Jim exhaled heavily. "Yeah, I know." He grinned at Blair, cocking one eyebrow. "And you know how much I love rehashing the past."

Blair turned and headed up towards the building again, tugging Jim along with him. "Well, then, let's get going. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we are terrorizing fish in a mountain stream, man."

They entered the big white building. The lobby was spacious, two stories high, paved with marble. The place was deserted, though. No one was seated at the information desk or the visitor check-in counter. Jim checked his watch. Just a few minutes after nine. He was about to say something to Blair when he heard footsteps.

A tall man with short, dark hair, casually dressed in khakis and a green button-down shirt, came out of a doorway at the far end of the lobby. "Detective Ellison?" he called out. Jim turned, and the man made his way over to them. "Neal Cassidy," he said, putting his hand out as he approached.

Jim shook his hand. "Jim Ellison." He motioned to Blair, at his side. "My partner, Blair Sandburg."

"Nice to meet you," Blair said, as he put his hand out and received a handshake in return. "You can call me Blair."

"Let me just say again how much I appreciate your willingness to come down here," Cassidy said. "I'm very hopeful that the information you're going to provide will help us in our treatment of Ms. Barnes."

"How, exactly, is our information going to be helpful to you, Doc?" Jim asked.

Cassidy beamed. "Well, it's fascinating, really. For one thing, it will help me pinpoint where there was likely to have been significant damage so I can adjust..." He stopped and looked at the two men, smiling self-consciously. "Tell you what, let's go to my office. We'll be more comfortable there, and I can explain things in greater detail. Just follow me." Jim had to suppress a smile. Cassidy's enthusiasm reminded him a lot of Blair. He fell into step behind Cassidy, Blair at his side, as Cassidy turned and headed back towards the door from which he had come.

"This place looks deserted," Blair said, as they followed Cassidy.

"Well, it is a Saturday morning," Cassidy replied. "Visiting hours don't start until after noon, so we don't usually have staff working in the lobby until then. And most administrative staff only work Monday through Friday."

Jim followed Cassidy through the door, Blair trailing behind him. They followed Cassidy down a long hallway, through a set of locked doors, then down another long hallway. Finally they reached a large, spacious area that looked like some kind of dormitory. "Originally one of our patient areas, but changed over to office space, now that there's been so much downsizing of the state hospital population," Cassidy said waving a hand around.

"This looks pretty new," Blair commented. "I thought this hospital had been around for a long time...I thought it was gonna be more like the places you see in movies like `The Snake Pit' or `One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest'."

"Oh, it was," Cassidy replied. "But we had significant renovations done about five years ago, brought everything up to code, modernized, put in Ethernet for the computer equipment. The old hospital's still there, though, if you know where to look." He stopped in front of a large wooden door, smiled at them, and motioned them in. "Right in here, gentlemen."

Jim was first through the door, Blair following him. Cassidy's office was open and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows along one wall. The morning light was streaming in, making the room bright. Jim winced slightly at the sudden sensory overload and concentrated on reducing his light sensitivity, feeling Blair's hand, reassuring, on his back. He was so focused on dealing with the light that he failed to notice that there was someone waiting for them in the room.

Alex Barnes stood up from behind the desk. "Hello, Jim," she said.

He froze, rooted to the floor in shock. He heard Blair's sudden intake of breath, next to him. She came around the desk and walked across the room towards them, smiling. But after a few steps, her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed. She halted, scenting the air between them again, as her expression swiftly changed to one of anger. "You...and him?" she hissed, her face a mask of fury. "Oh, I don't think so. You're mine."

The hair stood up on the back of his neck, and he put his arm out and pushed Blair behind him, driven by some primal instinct that screamed protect! Blair wasn't cooperating, though; he pulled his cuffs out of his pocket, stepped out from behind Jim, and said, in a clear, calm voice, "Alex Barnes, you're under arrest for attempted murder, grand larceny, possession of weapons of mass destruction..."

She moved towards Blair, features suffused with rage. Jim reached for his gun, in the holster at his back, but his hand closed on empty air. Shit, I forgot about Cassidy, he thought, as something hard connected with the back of his head and everything went black.

Which explained the throbbing pain in his skull, as well as the accommodations, to a certain extent. This must be one of those `parts of the old hospital that you can find if you know where to look' that Cassidy had been talking about. His frustration mounting, he renewed his efforts to find a weak point in the restraints. He had to get out of here and find Blair.

Moments later, he became aware of muffled voices and stopped what he was doing to focus in on them. It was Cassidy and Alex, and they sounded as if they weren't too far away.

"...ECT was a stroke of genius," Cassidy was saying. "It's disrupted his short-term memory enough that he can't remember why they came here. The calendar was a nice touch, too. He doesn't believe me yet, but the Haldol I just gave him should soften him up. I've told the staff that he's been over on the research ward for the past month, and I managed to put together a chart that looks convincing."

"Good," Alex replied, her voice icy.

"I don't understand why you just don't get rid of him - both of them. It's too dangerous to keep them here. What if someone notices something?"

"I will. When I've gotten what I need." Cassidy started to reply, but Alex interrupted him. "Quiet. He's awake." Jim cursed under his breath.

He heard a single set of footsteps approaching; they stopped outside the door to his cell. The door swung open and Alex stood there, leaning against the frame. "You forget, I can hear you as well as you can hear me. Probably better, in fact. I wasn't the one who was too scared to go back into the grotto."

The restraints were attached to the bed frame with enough leeway that he could push himself up on his elbows and meet her gaze. "Where's Blair?"

"Oh, he's...resting," she said, her voice bitter and sharp. "Not really in any condition to have visitors right now. Maybe later."

"Leave him alone. He's got nothing to do with this. This is between you and me."

She strode across the cell to the bed, eyes flashing with anger. "Oh, you are so right about that." Bracing her hands on either side of the bed, she pushed her face close to his and hissed, "You said you wanted to be together. You said you were willing to unite our vision."

He held her gaze. "I changed my mind. Turns out I don't like the view."

"Well, maybe I can do something about that." She stood and started pacing around the cell. "Aren't you the least bit curious to know how I made this miraculous recovery?" she asked.

"Not really," he said dryly.

"You should be. And you should be grateful to Neal. He wants to study us, help us, make us more powerful, not brainwash us with that `protector' crap like Sandburg, make us slaves to the rest of humanity, or whatever." She came over and sat on the edge of the bed, her voice suddenly soft and earnest. "Neal believes that people like you and me, we're programmed mutations, the next step in evolution. Kind of like Cro-Magnon man was to the Neanderthals. He wants to understand that, learn how to maximize it."

"If I'm not mistaken, Cro-Magnon man took over and the Neanderthals eventually became extinct," he noted.

"Exactly! And why? Because they were superior. Why shouldn't we take advantage of that? We're the superior species on this planet now. Why shouldn't we be treated like it?" She stood and started pacing again. "Neal believed that the brain damage I suffered in the temple ought to be reversible. He figured there had to be some kind of genetic contingency, some built-in mechanism for repairing sentinel brains that got damaged by sensory overload. And he was right. With stem-cell therapy, augmented by low-frequency radiation, my brain was able to heal itself, rebuild the parts that were short-circuited at the temple." She stopped and smiled at him. "And now, now I'm even stronger than I was before. I can hear farther, see farther. I can locate the faintest scent and follow it for miles." She came and sat on the edge of the bed again. "Don't you want that, too? Think of what you could do. Think of the power you could have."

Power can lead to truth or corruption, he remembered Incacha saying. "No, thanks," he said. "I like my senses the way they are."

She stood abruptly. "Then you're a fool," she hissed, "and you deserve to go down with the rest of the human race." She strode out of the cell quickly, and returned a few moments later with a syringe in her hand. He tried to pull away from her, but to no avail. She swiftly jammed the needle in his shoulder and depressed the plunger.

"Sorry to disappoint you," he said, through gritted teeth, "but sedatives don't tend to have much of an effect on me."

She gave him a feral smile. "Oh, it's not a sedative. It's Tianeptine, a selective serotonin reuptake enhancer. It accelerates the depletion of serotonin from your brain. Makes it temporarily impossible for you to use your enhanced senses." She sauntered out of the cell, stopping at the doorway to look back at him. "Can't have you listening in while we plan what to do with your partner, now, can we?" She left, closing and locking the door behind her.

He collapsed back down on to the bed. Shit. The sun was going down, and the room was already darkening as his ability to enhance his sensitivity to light was fading. Frustration and worry for Blair gnawed at him. What the hell was he going to do?

That was the problem with these damned senses. You learned to rely on them, and then they cut out just when you needed them the most. C'mon, Ellison, he chided himself, you were a Ranger and a cop before your senses came online. You know the drill. Methodically he began to test the restraints again. There had to be a weak spot somewhere...

It was close to dawn, according to his internal clock, when he finally got free of the restraints. Once the light had gone he'd given up trying to find a way to break or cut through the straps binding the leather cuffs to the bed and had instead focused his energies on trying to slide his hands out of the cuffs. It hadn't been easy, but he'd worked them free. The cuffs on his ankles were more difficult; he couldn't compress his feet the way he had his hands in order to slide them out of the restraints. He'd searched the bed frame for some kind of metal shard to use to jimmy the restraint lock open, cursing the loss of his enhanced sense of touch. It took several passes, but he'd finally found a loose screw in a corner of the frame. Thankfully, the restraint lock proved to be easy to pry open, even in the dark, and before long, he had both legs free. Trying to make as little noise as possible, he paced around the cell, alternately shaking and flexing his hands, stifling a hiss as the increased blood flow caused an uncomfortable prickling sensation in his arms and legs.

Looking up, he could just make out the window, a light patch of gray against the darkness of the wall. He tried to focus in on it, but it seemed that the drug was still affecting him, because he couldn't use his senses at all. The cell was lightening slowly, though, as the sun rose; he prowled around the perimeter restlessly until there was enough light for him to be able to examine the door.

There wasn't much help there, though. The door was wooden but heavy and thick. The hinges were on the outside, and the bars in the small window were set in deep, not that removing them would have given him any advantage. With a guttural growl, he slammed his hands against the door in frustration. Alex's parting words played over and over in his head, driving him nearly frantic with worry. Can't have you listening in while we plan what to do with your partner, now, can we? He needed to get out of here, needed to find Blair.

Okay, Ellison, just settle down, he told himself. This isn't helping any. He backed away from the door, fighting for control. He took a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm down, trying to think through his options. If he couldn't get out of the cell, then he'd have to wait until someone came to check on him and then ambush him or her. Which meant he needed some kind of weapon. He went back to the bed. Now that daylight was illuminating the cell, he could see how the restraints were attached to the bed frame. He started to work on removing one. It took him a while, but when he was finished he had a wide strip of leather, about a foot long. The cuff on the end provided a good counterweight when locked. He swung it a few times, experimenting with its reach and impact. Then he slid back on to the bed, arranging himself among the remaining restraints to make it look as if he was still confined, and settled in to wait.

It wasn't long before he heard the key turn in the lock. He gathered himself, gripping the leather strap tightly. The door swung open, but before he could make his move he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking.

"Get up," Alex said, her voice cold and tight. "And drop whatever it is you've got in your hand."

He did as she commanded, rising slowly off the bed, hands in the air by his head. She was standing in the doorway to the cell, gun trained on him. Cassidy was standing behind her.

"You think I didn't know what you were planning?" she sneered at him. "I figured those restraints wouldn't hold you for long. And I could practically hear you getting ready to jump me." She walked into the cell, motioning him over to the wall with the gun. Cassidy followed her in, and now he could see that Cassidy was carrying a pair of dark metal shackles, along with a length of thick chain.

Ironic, he thought, as Cassidy locked the shackles on his wrists. Now I know how it feels to go up against someone with hyper senses. Cassidy ran the length of chain through one of the iron rings set into the wall, and then attached the ends of the chain to the shackles.

"Convenient, huh?" Cassidy said, as he fastened the chain. "They used to put drunks in here to dry out, or extremely agitated patients, before they had the drugs to subdue them."

"Nice," Jim said coldly. "Very humane."

Cassidy tested the chain. "For the time, yes. Compared to what we have today, no. And in the future, no doubt today's methods will be seen as barbaric." He left the cell and returned a few minutes later with a tray with a bowl of soup and a bottle of water on it. He put the tray on the ground, just within Jim's reach, then took a syringe off the tray and injected its contents into Jim's shoulder. "Some more Tianeptine for you. Keep those senses under wraps." He gave Alex a meaningful look. "Don't be long," he said, then left the cell.

Jim turned to Alex, who was still holding the gun on him. "Look, you wanted me, you've got me. Whatever your plan is, I'll go along with it. I'll do anything you want. Just let Blair go."

Alex gave him a measuring look, then stepped in close to him, taking up the slack on the chain and pinning his hands between them. She slid the hand holding the gun behind her back and turned her face up to his. "Anything I want, hmmm?" she purred.

Jim steeled himself. He could do this. He had kissed her before; more than once, in fact. It hadn't been unpleasant, although he hadn't actually enjoyed it. He remembered that it had had a weird, compulsion-like quality to it. The feeling that he couldn't control what was happening had taken all the pleasure out of it for him. And even though he wasn't feeling similarly compelled now, he still didn't think he was going to like it much. But if it would convince her to release Blair...he bent his head towards hers.

He couldn't stop thinking about Blair, though. He remembered the shocked, wounded look on his face when he'd seen them on the beach. Now he understood where that look had come from. At the time, he'd been too confused and too in denial to understand, and Blair had covered quickly, hiding his feelings under a torrent of anthropological theory and hypotheses. But the hurt had still been there. They'd had to deal with it once they'd finally got on the same page.

He pulled his head away just as his lips were about to touch Alex's. He couldn't do it. He couldn't betray Blair that way, not again, not even to save Blair's life. Not even if Blair would never find out. He would know, and that would be enough.

Alex's face twisted in fury and she shoved him away. "You see, it's not just between you and me," she spat. "It won't be, not until he's out of the picture for good."

He started towards her at the implied threat, but froze when she brought the gun up. "Touch him," he said, in a cold, implacable voice, "and I'll track you to the ends of the earth and kill you with my bare hands."

She gave him a fierce grin. "Oh, I'm not going to lay a hand on him. I won't have to, with what I've got planned." She quickly backed out of the cell, closing and locking the door behind her.

He slumped to the ground, face in his hands, despair threatening to overwhelm him. He wished, now, that he'd gone with the impulse he'd had to refuse...

Jim followed his partner into the loft, tossing his keys into the basket and closing the door. He hung up his coat, and followed with his shoulder holster. He turned, intending to head into the kitchen and start dinner, but found his way blocked by Blair, feet firmly planted, hands on hips.

"All right," Blair said, in a tone that brooked no attempts at obfuscation, "you going to tell me what the hell is going on?"

Jim hesitated for a moment and then capitulated. "Yeah," he said, "I was just waiting for...for a good moment." He gently moved Blair aside, headed into the kitchen, and started pulling pans out of the cabinet under the stove. "Simon asked us to do something tomorrow, on the way to the campsite." He turned and started taking things out of the refrigerator.

Blair's eyes widened as he saw the ingredients Jim was assembling on the cutting board. "And exactly what does this task involve? `Cause the only time you make almond chicken for dinner is when you're either really trying to butter me up, or you're feeling guilty about something." Jim glared at him, pulled two beers out of the fridge, opened them, and handed one to Blair, who took it and grinned. "Seriously, man. So Simon asked us to do something. It's no big deal. Why are you so bent out of shape about it?" He came around to Jim's side of the island and snagged a piece of the carrot he was chopping.

"It's not because Simon asked," Jim replied. He told Blair about Cassidy's request. He was tracking his partner carefully, and caught the sudden increase in heart rate when he mentioned Alex's name, as well as the flash of apprehension in the quick glance Blair gave him. "You know, we don't have to do this," he said abruptly, scooping chopped vegetables into the wok and stirring. "I'll tell Simon I changed my mind. Cassidy can call me, when I'm not on vacation, if he's got any questions." He wiped his hands off on a towel and turned to grab the phone, but Blair's hand on his arm stopped him.

"No," Blair said quietly, "I think we should do it."

Jim raised an eyebrow at him. "You sure, Chief? You didn't seem too thrilled about it a second ago."

"Yeah, I know," Blair said, "I just needed a moment to process it." He turned, leaning back against the stove, and met Jim's gaze squarely. "The more we talk about it, the less important it gets, man."

"I don't know about that," Jim grumbled, but he understood Blair's point. Keeping secrets from each other, keeping things locked inside, had never done anything but tear them apart. It was one of the hard-earned lessons they'd learned when they were rebuilding their relationship, but was also the one that Jim still had the most difficulty with.

Blair smiled at him, and patted him on the arm. "Yeah, I know how much you love talking about the past." His expression became serious. "Think I'll pass on the tour, though, if there is one," he said quietly, eyes shadowed, and Jim knew he was thinking about that day at the fountain. "I don't really need to see the evidence."

"I'm with you there," Jim said, adding soy sauce to the wok. He shot a sidelong glance at Blair as he stirred. He didn't think it would work, but he figured he'd try anyway. "You could stay in the truck, you know," he said, lightly.

Blair snorted, and gave him a gentle cuff to the back of the head. "You said, when I graduated from the academy, that you'd never tell me to stay in the truck again."

Jim grinned and spread his hands wide. "I wasn't telling, Chief, just offering."

Blair chuckled, but then grew solemn again. "I appreciate it, man, but in all seriousness, there is no way I would let you go through something like that alone. I'm your partner, and I've got your back," he said, sincerely.

Jim turned, bracing a hip against the island, and pulled Blair close, one hand on the back of his neck. "You're sure?" he asked softly, searching Blair's face. Blair nodded, his hands resting lightly on Jim's waist. Jim bent his head and kissed him gently. "Okay, then," he said, releasing him.

"So, what can I do to help?" Blair asked.

"You can put on some rice," Jim said, "and then start getting your stuff packed. We should turn in early if we want to get an early start."

Jim woke the next morning at 6:00 am, as was his usual habit ever since he had been in the Army, regardless of when he had actually gone to sleep the night before. He yawned, stretched silently, and then rolled up on one side to watch Blair sleep. He was rarely content with just watching his partner, though, and after a short time was teasing Blair awake so they could make love. Afterwards, a sleepy, sated Blair insisted that he take the first shower. By the time Blair got out of the shower he had made coffee and was poring over the road atlas from the truck.

Blair came to stand next to him, one towel wrapped around his hips and another around his hair, the heat from the shower coming off him, smelling pleasantly of shaving cream and the organic shampoo he used. "So, what do you think about taking some of the back routes, instead of going I-5 the whole way?" he said. "It looks like it's going to be a nice day."

Jim tugged experimentally on the towel around Blair's hips, to see if he could get it to fall, and then grinned at Blair when he stuck an elbow in his ribs. Blair grinned back and went upstairs to dress. "Well, what do you think?" floated down from the bedroom.

"I don't know, Chief," Jim replied. "Sure, scenic is nice, but I don't want to drag this out any longer than necessary. I just want to get down there, talk to Cassidy, and then get on with our vacation as soon as possible."

"Well, we're on vacation already, we might as well enjoy ourselves," Blair replied.

"I'll tell you what," Jim said, looking at the map, "we'll take I-40 to this last truck stop, here, and then we'll decide whether we want to take the back route into Steilacoom." He glanced up at the bedroom. "Sound okay?"

"Sounds good to me," Blair replied.

Jim exhaled, his head falling back against the cell wall. It's no use beating yourself up, he told himself firmly, you're here now and you've got to figure out a way to get yourself and Blair out of this mess. Rising to his feet, he examined the shackles and the chain; unlike the restraints, they were solid and looked well-maintained. It was going to be a lot harder to free himself from these. He grabbed the chain in two hands and pulled. The ring set into the wall didn't budge, but on closer examination, Jim could see that there was some rust where the ring was attached to the wall. It looked like the concrete was breaking down, right where the ring was. If he could fashion some kind of tool, he might be able to dig the ring out of the wall. He glanced around the cell; his eyes lit on the tray Cassidy had brought in and he grinned. The idiots had left him a spoon. He was about to reach for it when he heard the lock turn. The door opened and someone quietly slipped into the cell, closing the door behind them. "Jim?" he heard the person say softly, and his heart leapt in recognition.

"Blair?" he gasped. Blair sprinted across the cell and wrapped his arms around him. Jim hugged him tightly but somewhat awkwardly, his movements limited by the shackles. He burrowed his face into Blair's hair and took a deep breath, trying to scent him, but got nothing. Then he remembered that his senses were being suppressed by the Tianeptine. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" He pulled away slightly, pushing the hair back from Blair's face and trying to get a good look at him. He was barefoot, dressed in blue hospital scrubs that were slightly too large for him.

"Yeah, no, I don't think so, I don't know," Blair said, his voice shaking. "Oh, man, they've been strapping me down and shooting me up with some kind of drug, completely knocks me out, and trying to tell me that you're not real, that you're some kind of delusion, and that I've been here for a month...." He tightened his hold on Jim, burying his face in Jim's shoulder.

He realized Blair was trembling. He hugged him again, rubbing his back clumsily because of the shackles. "It's okay, it's okay," he murmured soothingly, "they're just trying to fuck with your head. I'm not a delusion, I'm real, and I'm not sure exactly how long we've been here, but it's only been a few days, three at the most, not a month." But there was something at the back of his mind, something that had been bothering him since Blair had come in. "Blair, how did you find me?"

"I...I don't know," Blair replied, unsteadily. "They were taking a group of patients off the ward, and everyone was milling around and it was kinda chaotic, so I took the opportunity and slipped out the door with the group that was leaving. I wasn't sure where you were; I figured I'd try down here first because I remembered Cassidy saying something about the old parts of the hospital still being around if you knew where to look, and I figured they might keep you down here. I was looking around when I thought I heard someone coming, and I was looking for a place to hide, and the key was in the door..." He trailed off and Jim frowned, continuing to rub his back absentmindedly. It had the feel of some kind of trap. What were the odds that Blair would just happen to find him?

But his train of thought was cut short when Blair reached up and pulled his head down into a fervent kiss. The familiar feel of Blair's mouth on his was so good, so reassuring, even with his senses blunted, that he felt almost helpless to do anything but kiss him back. He'd been so worried about him, after Alex's threats, and he was relieved to find that he was whole and uninjured. But that concern at the back of his mind just wouldn't go away. With a tremendous effort of will, he pulled away slightly. "Babe," he said, hoarsely, "not that I'm not enjoying this, but this isn't the time or the place. We have got to get out of here." His sense that there was a trap closing around them was growing stronger.

"Want you...need you..." Blair moaned softly, his mouth against Jim's neck. "...so scared...didn't know where you were, what was going on...thought I was going crazy..." He pressed closer to Jim, pushing him back against the cell wall. Jim felt the cold scrape of the concrete on his back, and then that was lost in a whirl of sensation as Blair kissed him again, sliding his tongue inside Jim's mouth. Jim resisted for a moment longer, then succumbed, still worried but wanting to give his partner whatever he needed to recover from his ordeal. He cupped Blair's head in his hands and returned the kiss passionately, feeling himself harden. Blair slid a hand down inside Jim's boxers and grasped his dick, stroking him with strong, sure movements. It didn't take long before Jim shuddered and came, pulling Blair roughly against him and burying his face in the juncture between Blair's neck and his shoulder.

He leaned back against the wall, dizzy, and closed his eyes, dimly aware that Blair had pulled away, slipped out from underneath the circle of his arms. He heard a strange sound, and opened his eyes to see Blair scraping something off of his hand into a small brown bottle. He frowned, confused, and Blair looked at him, giving him a wide, wild grin.

The familiar features shifted, melting like wax. The effect spread, covering his entire body; as Jim watched, Blair's form began to lengthen, become taller, more slender. The hair changed from brown and curly to straight and blond, and slowly the features began to rearrange and resolidify. In a matter of moments Alex stood in front of him.

Jim's guts twisted in horror, and he was nearly overcome by a wave of nausea. "Wh...what the hell?..." he whispered weakly.

"Amazing, isn't it?" she said, grinning triumphantly. "A fortunate - and wholly unexpected - byproduct of the stem cell therapy. A higher-order mutation. The perfect camouflage, really. I can look like anybody - man, woman, child, it doesn't matter. All I need is their DNA." She held up the bottle suggestively. "Any source - blood, hair, skin - will do, really, but I wanted to prove a point." She stepped closer to him, although still out of his reach. Her expression became serious. "I told you that you were mine, and I meant it. But it doesn't have to be unpleasant. I can be anyone you want." Her eyes glowed with a feverish light. "If you're very good, maybe I'll bring him out and let you play with him again sometime."

Jim felt goose bumps prickle across his skin at her words. "You're insane," he hissed, fighting down another surge of nausea.

She smiled menacingly. "Once I'm through with your partner, we'll get out of here." She turned and left the cell, locking the door behind her.

In a sudden surge of fury, he picked the bowl of soup up and hurled it after her, cursing. Despair threatened to overwhelm him again, but then he caught sight of the spoon, still on the tray. He grabbed it and grimly started scraping at the wall around the iron ring.

Blair stood at the window in his room, fingers hooked into the wire mesh, looking out over the lawn. There was a light blanket of snow covering the ground, and the sky was overcast and grey. He kept hearing Jim's voice in his head - Chance of snow tomorrow, actually - but he couldn't remember from where, couldn't recall the context of the comment. He smiled ruefully to himself. He'd better not tell Cassidy that he was hearing Jim's voice, or he'd just try harder to get Blair to take the medication that he had prescribed. Which he had no intention of taking.

His eyes slid sideways to the calendar on the wall and the marks underneath. When they'd finally let him out of the restraints, he'd stumbled back to his room and slept, and now there were another three neat lines in the wall, along with a fourth one that cut diagonally across the first group. Another four days lost. Eight days since he'd woken up here, but it only felt like three to him. He rested his forehead on the wire mesh, the coolness soothing against his skin. He guessed there should be snow; it was mid-November, after all. Nearly Thanksgiving. He closed his eyes and struggled to swallow the sudden lump in his throat, fighting back the questions that he'd tried to but couldn't answer, that circled around him like vultures. Why was he in this place? What was going on? Where was Jim? And was he okay?

He heard the door open and someone enter, and he fought down a surge of irritation. You know, it wouldn't hurt to give a guy just a little privacy, he thought. No one around here ever knocked. He turned and saw Cassidy standing in the doorway, looking apprehensive. "What do you want?" he asked dully.

"Uh...Blair, we...we'd thought we'd try something a little unorthodox. We don't usually do things like this, they don't usually tend to work, but we thought, in your case...." He trailed off, and Blair stared at him uncomprehendingly. Was this some new ruse to get him to take the medication? Cassidy looked out into the hallway, fidgeting nervously, and then stepped back, out of the doorway, and Jim walked in.

"Jim!" he shouted. Joy flooded him, and he couldn't stop the wide smile that spread across his face. Finally, Jim had found him, was going to get him out of this place, and everything was going to go back to normal. He started across the room, but stopped, confused, as Jim raised his hand.

"Uh..." Jim looked back at Cassidy, who was back in the doorway. Cassidy nodded, and Jim turned back to face Blair, lowering his hand. "Look, kid, uh...I'm not exactly sure how to say this...I've never done anything like this before...but the doc says that he thinks this is going to help you...so here goes." He cleared his throat. "I'm Detective James Ellison, from the police department in Cascade, Washington. The doc says that you think you and I are partners, but I'm here to tell you that that's not true. I don't know you, kid...never seen you before in my life."

Blair stared at him in shock. He heard the words, but they floated around aimlessly in his brain, making no sense. Never seen him before? That couldn't be true. "But...I...you...we're roommates, we work together...we just did a drug bust with the Seattle PD..."

Jim gave him a small, apologetic smile. "Yeah, the doc said you were fixated on that. You must have read about it in the paper. It was a good bust, kid, but you weren't involved. Trust me, I was there, I know."

Blair felt his chest tighten in panic, heart thumping heavily. A wave of cold washed through him. The floor seemed to lurch underneath him; his knees gave way and he staggered, but Jim was there, grasping his arms, guiding him to sit down in the chair.

"Hey, kid, it's okay, take a deep breath," Jim was saying. He turned his head and called out over his shoulder, "Hey, Doc! I think he's having an attack or something."

When he turned back, Blair grabbed the front of his shirt. "What's going on?" he hissed. "Are they blackmailing you? Threatening you? Who have they got? Naomi? Simon? Just give me a sign, I'll play along, man, I promise." He searched Jim's face desperately for some sign of recognition, any indication that this was some kind of ploy, but all he saw was pity, with some concern and a slight wariness mixed in. His fingers lost their strength and fell from Jim's shirt as a new wave of panic threatened to overtake him.

"Doc," Jim shouted over his shoulder again, nervously, "I really think you should come in here." He stood and backed away from Blair slightly, looking out into the hallway.

Blair fought his panic back and made a last-ditch effort. Pitching his voice so only sentinel senses could hear it, he murmured, "Please, Jim, if you love me, don't do this to me. Give me some kind of sign that this isn't true, that you know who I am."

Jim didn't turn, didn't move, didn't blink, didn't flinch, didn't give any indication at all that he had heard what Blair had said.

Blair grabbed the seat of the chair, trying to find something solid to hang on to in the face of the wave of terror and panic that crawled up his spine. Everything he had believed was a lie. None of it was true. He gasped, fighting to draw breath, fighting to get oxygen, panic shutting off his lungs. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, fast and erratic.

Cassidy was in the doorway again. "Ativan, stat!" he shouted down the hallway. He strode into the room and grasped Blair's arms firmly, coaxing him up from the chair and over to the bed. "C'mon, Blair, try to calm down, take some deep breaths for me. Just lie down, try to relax, we'll get you some medication in a second, it'll help you feel better."

Blair turned his back to the room, curled up on his side, shudders racking his body. All a lie. None of it true. He was crazy, delusional, out of touch with reality. Every memory, every thought was like quicksand, now. How could he know what was true and what wasn't? He felt a wave of nausea, felt his stomach churn. He felt the prick of the needle in his shoulder, heard Cassidy say, "Yeah, Haldol, good idea," and felt another jab in his rear.

"Jesus, Doc, I'm sorry," he heard Jim say. He had forgotten that he was still in the room.

"Don't be," he heard Cassidy reply. "I know that looked a little extreme, but I think it's going to end up being all for the good. Now that he can accept that these are delusions, that they aren't true, he can start to work towards getting better." The voices became fainter as they walked towards the door. "Thanks again for coming down here, I really appreciate it. Come on, I'll show you out." He heard the two men leave, heard the door close and lock. He rocked back and forth as the sedative took effect, grabbing a fistful of the thin cotton sheet, searching desperately for an anchor in the sudden void his life had become.

Jim gathered the chain in both hands and pulled, muscles straining, throwing all his weight into it. There was a slight cracking noise and some fragments of concrete fell to the ground. The iron ring shifted slightly. He moved to the other side of the cell and repeated the process. It took several more tries, but finally the ring popped free of the wall and fell to the ground with a muted clang.

Jim froze, breathing heavily, listening carefully. His senses had been fading in and out erratically for the last twenty minutes; he figured the Tianeptine was wearing off. He didn't hear any footsteps, but he waited several minutes to make sure that no one had heard him and raised the alarm. When no one came to the cell, he blessed his luck and went back to work.

Gathering up the slack on the chain, he picked the iron ring up off the floor. It had a long, straight piece attached; that was the part that had been embedded in the wall. He brushed it off and gripped it experimentally. If he held the straight part, the ring would make a good weapon. He gathered the shards and fragments of concrete on the floor together as best he could, using his feet, and pushed them into the corner behind the cell door. His fingers were scraped and bloody; when the spoon had broken he had resorted to using his hands to dig at the wall. He was also covered with concrete dust. He opened the bottle of water and used it to clean himself off. He would have liked to have had a drink, his throat was rough and dry, but with his senses acting up he had no way to be sure they hadn't spiked it with some kind of drug. He replaced the ring in the hole and settled down to wait, praying that Alex would be busy and that the person to come check on him would be Cassidy.

Before long, he heard footsteps coming along the corridor outside the cell. They faded in and out with his senses, but he shook his head and tried to focus. It sounded like just one person. He sniffed the air. The brief tendrils of scent he could catch smelled like Cassidy, not Alex. Looked like his luck was holding.

He heard the key rasp in the lock, and he leaned against the wall, using his body to block the view of the wall, trying to look as if he was asleep. He heard footsteps, and a strong wave of scent hit him. Definitely Cassidy. He sent a quiet prayer of thanks to whomever or whatever was looking out for him up there, and gathered himself. Cracking one eye open, he watched Cassidy approach. He had a syringe in his hand; as he approached Jim his gaze shifted to the needle. That was all the break Jim needed.

He exploded out from the wall, pulling the ring out with one hand and grabbing the shaft with the other. He planted his feet, swung, and struck Cassidy on the side of the head with the ring. Cassidy dropped like a stone. Jim waited a few seconds, warily, but heard no sign that anyone else had heard him attack. He dropped to his knees next to Cassidy and searched his pockets, grinning triumphantly as he found a bunch of keys.

It took a little maneuvering on his part, but he got the shackles unlocked. He fastened one to Cassidy's wrist, looped the chain around the leg of the bed, which was bolted to the floor, and then fastened the other shackle around Cassidy's other wrist. "That should hold you for a while," he muttered.

As he closed the cell door and locked it, he noticed light coming from a small room to his left. He hesitated, torn between wanting to find Blair right away and needing to pay attention to practical considerations like finding some clothes and calling for backup. His better judgment won out and he headed for the room.

His senses seemed to be working more predictably now, although they were still cutting out at erratic intervals. He paused outside the room, found no sign that it was anything other than deserted, and went inside. It was a small guardroom, bare except for a table and chairs, and a tall wardrobe. Inside the wardrobe he found their clothes and belongings, including his gun and phone. He dressed quickly and quietly. He considered bringing Blair's clothes with him, but decided he needed to travel light. He wasn't sure who - or what - he might meet along the way.

He paused to listen for anyone approaching; hearing nothing, he cut the lights and closed the door. Moving to the back of the room, he grabbed his phone and dialed Simon's number.

"Banks."

"Simon, it's Jim," he whispered.

"Jim? I thought you and Sandburg were camping?"

"Uh, yeah...slight change of plans. We're still at the hospital. Simon, I don't have time to explain, but I need you to get someone down here ASAP. Feds, Seattle PD, it doesn't matter. Alex came out of the coma and she's planning to escape."

"What?! Are you and Sandburg all right?"

Jim tried to ignore the spike of fear in his belly. "I'm fine. I don't know about Blair, I have to go find him. I'll explain everything later, Simon, I gotta run." He hung up the phone and slipped quietly to the door of the guardroom. No one was coming, so he silently made his way down the corridor to the stairs.

Things got easier once he was on the ground floor. For one thing, it was night and the hospital was nearly deserted. The Tianeptine seemed to have almost worn completely off, but he still had occasional moments where his senses cut out on him, so it was fortunate that he didn't have to worry too much about running into people in the corridors.

He followed Blair's scent through the hospital until he came to one of the patient wards. Fumbling with the key ring he'd taken off Cassidy, he found the key and opened the door. The ward was quiet; the staff were all in the large dayroom, watching television, and he was able to creep silently past the nurses' station and down the hallway, following Blair's scent. He located Blair's room and quietly unlocked the door.

He slipped into the small room silently, and gave a sigh of relief when he saw the figure lying on the bed. He took a deep breath, scenting Blair fully; he'd been so focused on finding him that he hadn't really stopped to analyze if he was okay. He smelled normal, except for a bitter chemical overlay.

He moved to Blair's side and put his hand over Blair's mouth, intending to wake him quietly. Blair's eyes opened slowly, and Jim noticed that his pupils were dilated; they must have given him some kind of sedative. He was unprepared for the sheer panic that filled Blair's eyes at the sight of him.

Blair lurched away from him, scrambling back across the bed until he'd wedged himself into the far corner, knees drawn to chest. "Oh, God, now I'm hallucinating," he gasped, eyes wide with terror.

Jim frowned in confusion. "Blair," he started, but Blair moaned and put his hands over his ears, burying his face in his knees.

"No, no, no, no, not real, not real," he chanted raggedly, voice muffled. "You don't know me, I'm not your partner, never lived in Cascade. Not real. Have to accept the truth. All a lie. None of it true. I want to get better, I really do..." He rocked back and forth, his litany deteriorating into a string of sobs.

Jim stared at him, bewildered and alarmed. What the hell had they done to him? Then, with a sudden flash of insight, he understood. Alex, in his cell, waving the brown bottle at him suggestively. His DNA. Oh, I'm not going to lay a hand on him. I won't have to, she had said. Of course not. Because, if she could look like Blair, she could look like him, and if she could look like him, she could tell Blair anything, could do anything, and Blair would think it was him....a cold ball of ice settled in his stomach.

He shook his head sharply, pushing the thoughts away for now. He had to get Blair out of here, get them both somewhere safe, and then they could try and work through all the ramifications of this. "Blair, that wasn't me, that was Alex," he said. "Look, I'll explain it later, I promise, but there's no time now. We've got to get out of here." He reached out and grasped Blair's arms.

"No! Get away from me!" Blair shrieked, and he bolted off the bed, crashing into Jim with surprising strength and knocking him backwards on to the floor. He raced out the door; Jim hesitated for a moment, stunned, and then picked himself up off the floor and went after him.

Blair lunged for the door, panic infusing every cell in his body. He couldn't think clearly, didn't know where he was going, didn't really care, he just knew he had to get out of that room. He took off blindly, pushing through a door and racing down a flight of stairs. Jim's voice floated through his head... I don't know you, kid...never seen you before in my life... Blair, that wasn't me, that was Alex. Which was true? Which was the lie? He couldn't tell anymore, didn't know what was real, didn't know what to do. He slowed, confused, but then heard footsteps pounding behind him. Terror coursed through him, giving his feet wings, and he took off again.

He could hear alarms going off throughout the building. He lurched through a door and found himself outside. He sprinted for the front of the building. Get to the parking lot, maybe get a car, at least find the road, find someone, get out of here.

As he rounded the corner, Alex came out of the front of the building at a dead run. He froze, shock flooding him. What was she doing here? Wasn't she part of his delusion, his false life? Was she another hallucination? A dim memory stirred in his mind...a brightly lit office...his voice saying, Alex Barnes, you're under arrest...

She saw him and skidded to a stop, a few feet in front of him. "Well, well, well," she said, "I guess you caught me." But she wasn't looking at him, she was looking at something behind him.

He whirled to see Jim a few feet behind him, gun raised and trained on Alex. "That's what I was trying to tell you before," he said. "They've been trying to confuse you, brainwash you. Whatever you've been told, it's not true. She's behind it all."

He stared at Jim in utter confusion. "But...but you said you didn't know me."

Jim's eyes met his for a moment. "That wasn't me, Chief." Then his attention snapped back to Alex and he grimaced.

Blair turned to see Alex aiming a gun at him. "Drop it, Ellison," she said harshly. "You can't shoot me before I shoot him." He watched as Jim slowly lowered his gun to the ground, kicked it towards her. "Well, this certainly screws up my nice little plan," she snarled. "Guess I'll have to improvise. But no reason I can't have a little fun before I go."

She turned back to Blair, aiming the gun at him. "Here's an image you can take to your grave," she sneered. As he watched, she shifted, her body thickening, her facial features moving, until it wasn't Alex who stood in front of him, it was Jim. He glanced back and forth between them rapidly, horror prickling up his spine and raising the hair on the back of his neck. The Jim in front of him, the one who, a minute ago, had been Alex, gave him a wide, feral smile and raised the gun.

It was just like his dream. Jim...no, Alex...fired, and he was frozen in place, rooted by terror, powerless to move. He braced himself for the impact of the bullet in his chest, but the next thing he knew, he was crashing to the ground, Jim on top of him. He twisted around; there was blood on Jim's shirt and he was struggling for breath. "Oh, my God, Jim! Jim, are you okay?" he gasped.

Jim nodded, squeezing his shoulder. "Okay...just wind...knocked out...of me," he gasped.

A wave of fury flooded him, giving him sudden strength. He looked up; Alex had shoved the gun in the waistband of her pants and had turned, heading for the parking lot. He scooped Jim's gun up off the ground and headed after her. "Freeze!" he snarled, "Cascade PD!"

She stopped and turned slowly towards him, hands in the air. She was still wearing Jim's face, his body. She grinned at him. "What are you going to do, shoot me?" she said. "I don't think so."

He stopped, the muzzle of the gun inches from Jim's...from her chest. It isn't Jim, he told himself, it's Alex. "You're under arrest..." he started.

Her grin widened. "You tried that before. It didn't work. You'll have to shoot me. And I don't think you can."

He heard sirens in the distance. He steeled himself, finger taut on the trigger, but his hands were shaking. It's not Jim, he told himself fiercely. It's Alex. Shoot her!

She stepped closer, until the muzzle of the gun was resting on her...Jim's...chest. "You know," she said, in a conversational tone, "I wanted to get rid of you, but this...actually, this is so much better. Because you're going to let me go. And now you'll never know if it's me or him. He'll be gone, out of your sight, just for a few minutes...maybe he'll go down to the store...or out for a walk...or to the bathroom, even. And then he'll come back...and you won't be able to tell...it is him...or is it me?" She leaned in close, the voice Jim's, the familiar features spread in an almost manic grin. "And I promise you, I will come back."

His stomach twisted, terror building in his chest, clawing up his throat. He grabbed the gun in both hands, tried to stop himself from shaking, willed his finger to tighten. But his body wouldn't obey him. Defeated, his arms went limp, the gun falling to his side. She was right. He couldn't do it.

He heard the sirens screaming up the driveway as she headed for the woods. The world spun and his knees buckled, but Jim - his Jim - was suddenly there, his arms wrapped around him. He leaned into the broad, hard chest and burrowed his face into Jim's collarbone. "I'm sorry," he sobbed, his free hand knotted in Jim's shirt, "I just...I couldn't...I couldn't do it...I couldn't shoot her...I'm sorry..."

He felt Jim slide the gun from his nerveless fingers and replace it in its holster. "Shhh, Chief, it's okay," Jim said reassuringly, holding him close.

He heard the squeal of brakes, car doors slamming closed, the sounds of people milling around. "Simon!" he heard Jim call, and then footsteps came pounding towards them.

"Where is she?" he heard Simon ask.

"She went into the woods," he heard Jim reply. "And Simon," Jim added, in a flat, grim voice, "she might look like me." There was a pause, and then he heard Simon barking orders, deploying men into the woods. He realized that he was shivering, his bare feet cold in the snow, the thin hospital pajamas providing little protection from the cold. "C'mon, babe," Jim said, shepherding him towards the parking lot, "let's get you someplace warm and get you checked out." He looked up at Jim. Jim's face was grim, but his voice was soft. "Don't worry, Blair," he said, "it'll be all right."

But it won't be, he thought miserably. How can it be?

He lay quietly in the hospital bed, watching the nurse clean and bandage Jim's wound. The bullet meant for him had clipped Jim, tracing a deep groove along his side and back. It had bled a lot, but, fortunately, didn't look like it would cause any lasting damage. Jim had shot him a funny look when he'd insisted on their staying in the room, but the nurse hadn't blinked. I guess the nurses in Seattle are more used to weirdness than the nurses in Cascade, he thought.

He had an IV in his arm, pumping fluids into his body. With the exception of mild dehydration and a toxicology screen that was positive for benzodiazepines - not surprising, since they had given him Ativan - everything had checked out normal.

He saw Jim's head turn towards the door, and he tensed. A moment later Simon strode into the room. "You two okay?" he asked.

Jim nodded, and he heard himself say, "Physically, anyway."

"Good," Simon replied gruffly. "I'd hate to think my officers are subsidizing the medical community in both Cascade and Seattle."

The nurse finished bandaging Jim, gathered up her supplies, and left. Jim pulled his shirt on and started buttoning it. "So, any luck?" he asked. Blair could hear the tension in his voice.

"No," Simon replied. "We didn't find any trace of her. She must have made it to the road and hitched a ride or something." He took a cigar out of his breast pocket and ran it through his fingers. "We did find something, though." He looked up at Jim. "Cassidy. Dead."

"What?" Jim stared at Simon in astonishment. "I left him chained up in a cell in the basement. I'd knocked him out, but he was breathing when I left him. He wasn't dead."

Simon raised his eyebrows. "Well, it looks like he ran afoul of somebody, then. He was found in his office. The body was seated in the chair behind his desk. His neck was snapped."

"Alex," Jim said grimly.

"We also found another body, stashed in the fridge in the hospital kitchen. A young woman; short, dark hair; green eyes. Neck also snapped."

"Mattox," he said, and both Simon and Jim turned to look at him. "Cassidy's medical student. I met with them...I'm not sure, maybe two days ago? I've kinda lost track of time."

Simon's gaze was piercing. "Coroner's gross examination suggested she'd been dead about a week."

He looked over at Jim. "Then that must have been Alex," he said, dismayed.

Simon turned back to Jim. In a level tone, he said, "So, detective, care to explain that to me? How can Alex Barnes look like someone else?"

He listened dully while Jim explained. Ultimately the mechanism didn't really matter, it was the implications of it that screwed everything up.

"Okay," Simon said, "we'll alert the Feds with both of your names, and Mattox and Cassidy as well, in case she tries to leave the country using one of those identities. We'll get the highway patrol to post notices at all the rest stops and truck stops on I-5 and the other major highways, and we'll put out a notice statewide, in case someone picked her up and can give us information. And we can get the Feds to help us set up some kind of notification system. If she tries to get a driver's license, social security card, credit card, anything like that, they'll let us know."

"Good," Jim replied. "I can contact the Army and make sure they notify me of any attempt to access my service record. And it couldn't hurt to contact Rainier; make sure she won't be able to get Sandburg's school records. Sooner or later she'll screw up, do something to give herself away, and we'll have her." He looked at Simon. "We'll need a black-and-white posted at the loft, in case she tries to come back there. Plus, we'd better get some surveillance on Steven and my dad, and Naomi as well." He looked over at Blair. "Chief, you have any idea where she is?"

He wasn't convinced that finding Alex was the real problem, but he held his tongue. Maybe they would catch her soon. Maybe it wouldn't become an issue. "I can probably get a message to her," he said. "And I'll contact Rainier tomorrow, when I get back to work."

Simon cleared his throat awkwardly. "Blair, I'm sorry, but you're on administrative leave, effective immediately. The Feds are furious about Alex's escape and they're demanding that Cascade IA open an investigation."

"What the hell, Simon?" Jim snapped. "Blair wasn't the one responsible for bringing Alex here in the first place, it was Cassidy's idea."

"Unfortunately, Cassidy's dead, and the Feds want a scapegoat."

"Well, that doesn't mean that we should give them Blair!" Jim snarled.

"Detective," Simon's tone was icy, "I have no intention of doing that, and I have every confidence that Officer Sandburg will be cleared. But my hands are tied for now."

"I don't like it, Simon," Jim growled. "This isn't right."

"Hey!" Blair shouted, and both men turned to look at him again. He focused on Jim, trying to make his voice reassuring. "It's okay, Jim. I could use the time off, actually. Since our vacation got cut short." He turned to Simon. "I can still call Rainer, ask that they notify me if anyone tries to access my school records."

He didn't want to have to explain it to Jim, but, in a way, it was a relief to be suspended. It meant he'd only have to find a way to reassure himself of Jim's identity once or twice a day. And it would also give him time to develop a contingency plan.

Two weeks later

He heard the key turn in the loft door and reached automatically for the gun that they kept in the junk drawer. He flipped the safety off and pulled the slide back. Jim stuck his head in the door warily; when he saw Blair he smiled slightly. "Hi, lambchop," he said.

Blair sighed and snapped the safety back on. "Hi, beefstick," he replied. Not as cool as the passwords in spy movies he thought, but they work. He put the gun back in the drawer.

Jim hung up his coat and came over to kiss him, looking with interest at the pots on the stove. "What's for dinner?"

"Chicken Marsala."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Are we celebrating something?"

He shrugged in what he hoped was an offhand manner. "Nope. Just felt like cooking." Glancing apprehensively up at Jim, he asked, "So...anything new?"

"No." Jim gave him a regretful look. He couldn't stop the sigh that escaped him. "We'll get her, babe," Jim said, squeezing his shoulder gently. "Sooner or later she'll make a mistake, give herself away."

That's becoming less and less likely as time goes on, though, he thought. But it didn't really matter. He'd made up his mind. He'd given himself a deadline, and then waited three days past that. He couldn't wait any longer for the other shoe to drop.

"What'd you do today?" Jim asked, getting a beer out of the fridge.

"Woke up late, ran some errands, took a nap," he replied grumpily, running a hand through his hair. "I feel like I've done nothing but sleep for the last two weeks."

"Cut yourself some slack, Chief," Jim said, handing him a beer. "They pumped you full of god-knows-what for three days. That's going to take a while to work out of your system. At least you get to spend that at home, instead of in the hospital."

"Yeah," he said. "Jim, can we put dinner on hold for a sec? I need to talk to you."

"Sure," Jim replied, and Blair could hear the sudden wariness in his tone. He swallowed, trying to force down the lump in his throat, crossed the room, and sat nervously on the loveseat. Jim came over and sat on the couch. "What's up, Chief?" he said quietly.

"I've been thinking, and...uh, well, there's no easy way to say this, and I know you're not going to like it, but..." He looked up and met Jim's eyes. "I have to leave."

Jim's jaw tensed, but he nodded. "Okay. We can go wherever you want. Just give me a few days to get ready."

His heart sank. This was going to be a lot rougher than he'd thought. "No, I mean I have to leave...just me." This wasn't coming out well, but he couldn't bring himself to actually say `I'm leaving you' to Jim.

He saw Jim pale at that, and give him a look of incredulity that bordered on anger. "What!? Don't be stupid, Sandburg. I can't protect you if you're not here."

"You can't protect me if I am here," he replied sharply. He saw Jim's lips whiten and he jumped up from the loveseat and started to pace. "Oh, come on, you know that's not a criticism, man. Christ, you took a bullet for me back there. It's just..." He rubbed his hand across his forehead again. "She fooled both of us, once."

"Next time I'll know." Jim's voice was steel. "I'll smell her."

"You think you will," he reminded Jim. "I'll grant you it's likely that you didn't smell her because the Tianeptine was suppressing your senses, but you can't be sure. And you can't be sure she won't smell like me."

"I'm sure," Jim growled. "I'll know."

"Okay, well, that's fine for you, but not for me. Smell doesn't work for me. I won't be able to tell."

"Then we'll stick with the password thing. It's been working okay so far."

He sat down heavily on the couch next to Jim, running a hand through his hair again. "But it's not going to work if - once I go back to the station. Jesus, Jim, think about it. We work together, we live together, but how many times a day are we out of each other's sight, even just for a few minutes? You want to do a password thing? Fine. So, once in the morning when I get up; have to be the one from the night before, and then we choose a new one. Then again when I get out of the shower. Maybe you run downstairs to get the paper - that's another one. Once we get to work, you go downstairs to talk to Serena, then I need to go see Dan, then you go to the break room to get coffee. The morning's not half over and we've had to use it half a dozen times. That's not even including every time one of us goes to the bathroom." He sighed. "Besides the fact that it's impossible, people are going to start thinking we're nuts if we're muttering code words to each other all the time."

"We'll find a way to make it work," Jim said, mulishly. "We have to." His voice thickened and grew hoarse. "Blair, I can't lose you."

He reached out and took Jim's hand, holding it tightly, blinking hard. "You're not losing me. I'm not leaving you, I just...I just can't be around you for a while. It's not safe, not until we find Alex." He squeezed Jim's hand gently. "It won't be forever. It'll be like having a long-distance relationship. And it's not like we can't talk to each other, it's just that you can't be around me. That way, if I see you, I'll know it's Alex and not you."

Jim exhaled and lay back against the couch, loosening his hand from Blair's grasp and scrubbing both hands over his face. He turned his head and looked out the window, jaw muscle clenched, blinking furiously.

"You know I'm right," Blair said quietly. "I've been thinking about it for two weeks, Jim, trying to find another way. I can't come up with any other solution." He looked up and met Jim's eyes, seeing a sorrow and apprehension that he'd never seen before in their ice-blue depths. He held Jim's gaze, trying to show him that he understood, that he felt the same way. Finally Jim nodded, looked down, and Blair knew he had won. It didn't feel like much of a victory, though.

"So, when?" Jim asked, his voice rough.

"Tomorrow morning," he said, his breath hitching in his throat. He'd been packed for the last three days, trying to work up the courage to say something. "I was hoping you'd drive me to I-5, so I can hitch a ride into Seattle."

Jim sat quietly for a moment, looking down at his hands resting on his thighs, then nodded. "Okay," he said. He got up and slowly went into the kitchen.

Blair served up the chicken, although he didn't feel much like eating, and he didn't imagine Jim did either. But there was something comforting about following the routine, and he tried to just go with it, tried to ignore the little voice in his head telling him that this might be the last time he ate at this table, the last time he helped Jim do the dishes, the last time he sat on the couch and watched TV.

They ended up going to bed early, because he wanted to get out on the freeway in time to take advantage of the early morning rush hour. They didn't make love; instead Jim simply folded himself around Blair and held him close. Blair was absurdly grateful; he didn't think he'd have been able to handle the little voice in his head telling him this might be the last time he had sex with Jim. It would have destroyed any hope he'd had of maintaining any kind of composure. As it was, he didn't sleep at all, and he was pretty sure Jim was awake all night as well. When dawn broke, they both got up, and Jim made coffee while Blair showered and dressed.

They drove out to I-5 in silence. Jim's face was like stone, his jaw iron. He hadn't said a word since they had gotten up this morning. Blair, for the first time that he could remember, couldn't actually think of a single thing to say. His throat felt dry and sore. Finally, they approached a likely spot, and he cleared his throat.

"Pull over here. This is a good spot, and you can exit here and turn around and head back to Cascade pretty easily." Jim pulled the truck over and shut the ignition off. He got out and walked over to Blair's side, lifting Blair's pack out of the truck bed as he did so and handing it to him. Blair took it and leaned it against the guard rail. He turned back to Jim and found himself wrapped in a tight, fierce embrace. He stifled a sob against Jim's shoulder. Jim's warm hand cupped the back of his head, stroking his hair gently. "I love you," he whispered roughly in Blair's ear.

"I love you, too," he replied, his voice hoarse, his throat painfully tight. He tilted his head up and Jim kissed him, deeply and passionately, his hands framing Blair's face, his thumbs stroking Blair's cheekbones. Blair wrapped his hands around Jim's, trying to commit every sensation, every ounce of the kiss to memory. When they broke apart, Jim pulled him close, resting his forehead against Blair's. "I'll call you tonight," Blair promised, voice breaking. Jim nodded. With a final caress to the back of Blair's head, he got in the truck and drove off.

Blair watched as he took the exit, turned and went underneath the underpass, and then emerged on the northbound side across from him. He saw Jim's hand lift as he passed, and then he stood and watched the blue and white truck drive away until it was a tiny speck on the horizon and his vision was completely blurred with tears. He dragged his sleeve savagely across his eyes, took a deep breath, hoisted his pack, and started walking into the cold, grey morning light.

End

The Devil You Know by PsychGirl: [email protected]
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