Not mine. Never will be. No copyright infringement intended either in the Sentinel universe or the universe from which I borrowed the movie.

This story originally appeared on MME's "Many Movies of the Sentinel." It's taken me a while to post it here because I can never stop tweaking a story. Anyway, my thanks to Lisa and her crew for allowing me to be a part of their group.

While it becomes obvious fairly quickly which story I've crossed over, please try to read the story with an open mind as I have bounced roles back and forth a bit.

LETHAL SENSES
By Dolimir

"Jim, my office please."

Jim Ellison, who had been heading for his desk, stopped in mid-step and turned to face Simon Banks, Captain of Cascade's Major Crime Division. "I was just--"

"Now, detective."

Jim hung his head and sighed in resignation before following his captain into his lair.

"Agent Taggert," Jim acknowledged politely as soon as he noticed the large FBI agent sitting in a chair across the conference table. "Which case of mine do you intend to steal this time?" Even though the question was asked in a harsh tone, the grin on Jim's face removed any sting his words might have caused.

"None, actually. Why? Do you have one you think I might be interested in?" the agent teased as he stood, leaning over the table to shake Jim's hand.

"Why, no. Not a thing." Jim chuckled with false innocence as he shook Taggert's hand, then took a seat at the table.

Joel Taggert waited until Jim got comfortable. "For a change, I'm coming to you for assistance."

Jim raised an eyebrow, curious.

"We've been hearing vague rumors of a new cartel moving into the Pacific Northwest," Joel started his explanation.

"Oh joy."

Simon growled. "Hear the man out, detective."

"So what makes this organization different from any of the other start-up enterprises trying to gain a toe-hold around here?" Jim asked.

Joel remained silent for a moment, exchanging a brief nod with Simon. "We think this one is being run by rogue CIA agents."

Jim straightened in his chair, leaning forward intently. "You think?" he asked, not unkindly.

Joel nodded. "When I say vague rumors, I'm not kidding. We've tried pursuing this investigation through official government channels, but so far--nothing. Given the amount of stonewalling we've encountered, I'm beginning to get a queasy feeling that this might even be a sanctioned operation on some level."

Jim's eyes widened in horror, understanding everything not being said in an instant. "Why come to me?" he asked, leaning slowly back into his chair.

Joel smiled warmly. "You have a reputation..." He stopped and chuckled. "For not only being a crazy son of a bitch, but for being above reproach. In other words, you can't be bought and you know more than the average bear about 'The Agency'."

"How much support can I expect from your agency?"

"You and your partner will have both departments' full cooperation."

Jim frowned. "I don't have a partner."

"You will for this operation," Simon said in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Who?"

"His name is Blair Sandburg. He's a profiler under my command," Joel answered.

Jim turned to Simon. "No disrespect, sir, but I don't need a glory-minded Fed screwing up my case. I'm more than capable of handling this on my own."

Joel leaned forward. "Blair is unlike any Fed you've ever met, detective. He was a certifiable child genius, going to college when he was 16. I met him when he was a grad student doing his doctorate on closed police societies and was assigned to my department. I wasn't happy about his presence at first, but before I realized it, he was an integral part of my operation. After he defended his thesis, I offered him a job. He's got a strong background in forensic anthropology, psychology and has an instinct that is downright haunting."

Jim looked out into the bullpen, unhappy at the thought of having to take on a partner, and spotted a young man dressed in blue jeans, a blue flannel shirt and a tan Henley casually leaning against his desk. "Why do I hear a 'but'?"

The big man sighed, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Within a span of nine months, Sandburg was kidnapped and almost drowned by a serial killer and played a deadly cat-and-mouse game with an international assassin. Shortly thereafter, Sandburg's wife, Maya, was killed in an automobile accident. He's been a little... wild since then. Wild may not be the right word. He simply has no fear of death. There are some people in my department who think he's on the edge; others think he's simply trying to pull comp time. While he carries a weapon, he rarely uses it, preferring martial arts to actually shooting someone."

"And I need him, why?" Jim asked distractedly, his eyes never leaving the man beyond the window. Jim noted how the intruder looked totally out of place in the police environment, and yet, no one else seemed to notice the kid but him.

"Because he's the best agent I have and because he went toe-to-toe with a rogue agent by the name of Lee Brackett about six months ago. We suspect Brackett of being the front man for the new cartel. Bracket is known for his elaborate scenarios and game playing. We suspect that if we find Brackett, we're going to discover who's behind this organization."

"Wait a minute. Sandburg? Sandburg? Wasn't he the one who blew up a building two months ago?" Jim asked, frowning, looking briefly back at Taggert.

Joel sighed. "Yes, but it's nothing like the media made it out to be."

The young man shifted, and moved his outer shirt slightly to scratch his stomach. Jim instantly spotted the gun tucked into his jeans. "Gun," he shouted, jumping up from the conference table and running out into the bullpen. "Gun," he yelled again.

The perp pulled his gun and looked warily around the bullpen. His eyes widened as Jim neared him.

A heartbeat later Jim found himself on the floor of the bullpen with the young man's foot planted squarely in the center of his chest, the gun pointed down at him.

Simon and Joel joined the curly headed man. The captain rubbed one hand over his face and sighed. Joel just grinned. "Jim, I'd like you to meet your partner, Blair Sandburg. Blair, Jim Ellison."

Jim groaned. "I'm too old for this shit."

"You washed your holster again, didn't you, Blair?" Joel teased, as the four men moved back into Simon's office.

Blair rolled his eyes, but said nothing.

"You don't look like a Fed," Jim said, with only a minor amount of petulance in his voice.

"Thank you," Blair responded back with a grin. "Hey, look, I'm sorry about the confusion out there.

Jim shook his head and raised his hands. "It's forgotten."

"Did you find out anything, Blair?," Joel asked, quietly bringing the group back to task.

"Yes and no."

"Care to explain that?" Jim asked, trying to keep the frustration out of his voice.

"I had a lead, a prostitute by the name of Amanda Holland."

"Had a lead?" Jim asked quietly.

"Yeah. It seems Ms. Holland thought she'd give flying a try last night. Unfortunately, she tried it by diving off the twenty-second floor of the Wilkinson Tower last night."

"Did you say Holland?" Jim asked again, frowning.

"Yes. Amanda Holland."

"You said she was a prostitute?"

"Yeah, works for an escort service up north. I thought I might check them out."

"You mean, you thought we'd check them out."

Blair laughed. "Works for me," the agent said, moving to the door.

"Keep us informed," Joel instructed quietly as he followed the young man out of the office.

"We will," Jim called after them, before turning to face Simon.

"How are your senses doing?" Simon asked, cutting Jim off before he could begin.

"They're fine. Actually, at the moment, they seem sharper than usual."

"You've been eating, right? And, getting plenty of sleep?"

"Yes, mother."

"Jim, this is some scary shit we're getting into here. I need to make sure you're going to be okay."

"I know the stakes, sir. I'll be fine. If I'm not, I'll let you know."

"Just be sure that you do. Now get out of here...and no torturing the Fed."

"Aww, Simon."

Jim and Blair walked in a comfortable silence through the parking garage toward Jim's truck.

"I hear you're a good Fed," Jim said casually.

"I try to be."

"What do you carry?"

Blair's brows knitted in confusion over the abrupt change of subject, but shrugged and handed Jim his automatic.

"That's some pretty serious shit you carry," Jim said as he returned the gun to his companion. "9 mm Baretta, wide ejection port, no feed jams. No stovepipes. What's it take?"

Blair shrugged. "Fifteen in the mag, one up the pipe, but I try not to use it too much. What about you? What do you have?"

Jim pulled his weapon from its holster and handed it to the younger man.

Blair turned it over twice before giving it back to Jim. "Standard issue. Lot of old timers carry them."

Jim frowned at him, annoyed. "I hear you're really into martial arts, don't like using a gun. I suppose we're going to have to register you as a lethal weapon," Jim said as he pointed to his truck.

"Look, let's just cut the shit." Blair sighed as he moved to the other side of the Ford. "I know what people are saying about me. They either think I'm suicidal, which means I'm fucked and no one wants to work with me. Or they think I'm faking to draw psycho pay, which basically means I'm fucked and no one wants to work with me. Basically, I'm just fucked."

Jim looked over the hood of the truck at him and said truthfully, "I don't want to work with you."

"So don't." Blair shrugged as he got into the Ford.

"I don't have any choice." Jim sighed, getting into the truck as well. Looking over at his companion, he groaned. "God hates me, that's what it is."

"Hate him back." Blair looked over at him and smirked. "Works for me."

"So where are we heading, Cochise?" Blair asked, as Jim drove the truck in the opposite direction to what he was expecting.

"You said that your lead was a prostitute named Amanda Holland."

"That's right."

"I think...I think I might know her father."

"Oh?"

"Buddy of mine from the service. We go way back. He tried contacting me last week, but I've been up to my ass in a double homicide. I solved it Monday and have been meaning to get back to him. I'm wondering now..."

"If he knew something about his daughter?"

Jim shrugged. "Worth checking out."

Jim greeted his old friend with an enthusiastic hug. Samuel Holland, while a few years older, had aged gracefully. His office at Cascade National Bank indicated he had done very well for himself after getting out of the service.

"My God, Jimmy. What's it been? Ten years?"

"At least," Jim agreed. "Look, Sam, I'm sorry I haven't gotten back to you before now. I was..."

"No apologies, Jimmy. I know you're a cop." Sam waved both men to have a seat as he walked around his desk and sat in his own plush leather chair.

"Thank you." Jim smiled at his friend. "Sam, you have two daughters, right?"

"Yes, Heather and Amanda."

"Do you know where Amanda is?"

The banker looked nervously over at Blair.

Blair stood, raising one hand. "Hey, I need to see if I can get change for a fifty I've been trying to break all morning." He stood and shook Sam's hand again, then quietly left the office.

Jim was grateful for the young man's quick understanding of the situation.

"Amanda is why I called you, Jim. You see, she seems to have gotten herself into some trouble."

"What sort of trouble?"

Sam rubbed both hands over his face. Jim could hear the man's heartbeat start to quicken.

"Amanda always wanted to be an actress. She was in everything, school plays, community theater. She loved to act. However, her mother and I insisted she get a college education before she left to 'make it big' in Hollywood. We wanted her to have something to fall back on, you know?"

"Makes sense," Jim said sympathetically.

"I found out..." Sam's voice broke with grief. "I just found out that she's been acting in pornographic films here in town. I was...I was hoping you might talk to her...set her straight."

Jim moved to the edge of his seat. "Sam, I need to know if you know where Amanda is?"

Sam struggled to get his emotions under control. "She's been staying at the Wilkerson Tower."

"Oh, God, Sam." Jim groaned, closing his eyes briefly against the pain he was going to cause his old friend.

"What? What happened?"

"Amanda committed suicide this morning. She jumped off the twenty-second floor of the Wilkerson Tower."

Sam's face drained of all color. He very deliberately put his shaking hands on the desk, trying to steady them. "My baby," he moaned. "My sweet baby."

"Is there someone I can call, Sam? Your wife? Someone who can be with you?" Jim offered.

Sam shook his head. "No. Pam and I divorced about five years ago." The banker took several deep breaths then pierced Jim with his gaze. "I want you to find the people who got her into this lifestyle, Jimmy. I want you to find them and I want you to kill them."

"Sam, you're upset..."

"NO! I want you to kill them. Do you understand me? You owe me, Jimmy. You goddamn owe me. I want you to hunt them down and kill them all!"

"So what was all that about you owing him?" Blair asked casually, as they walked back to Jim's truck.

"We were in covert ops together. We had a mission go bad. Sam took a bayonet in the lungs for me."

"Rough about his daughter."

"Yeah." Jim shrugged. "Right now, I want to know what she had to do with this foundling drug cartel."

Blair climbed into the Ford and waited until Jim slid behind the steering wheel. "Well, my source said that Brackett seemed particularly fond of her company."

"I think it's time we pay the escort service a call," Jim said, putting his key in the ignition and starting the truck.

"Attention all units. Attention all units. We have a possible jumper at the corner of Elm and Fifth."

"Hey, that's near us and it sounds like fun. I think we need to check it out." Blair chuckled as he picked up the mic. "Ah, what are we?"

Jim sighed. "One-Zebra-One"

"One-Zebra-One responding."

Jim grumbled. "Why do I think this is a bad idea?"

"I don't know. Why do you think this is a bad idea?"

Jim stifled a groan as they pulled up to the address and got out of the car.

"Ellison," a young patrol officer greeted them.

"Davis? Where's the psychologist?"

"Stuck in traffic, of course."

"Do you think he'll go?" Jim asked, looking up at the man on the ledge high above them.

The officer shrugged. "Who knows? He seems serious enough."

"I can handle this," Blair said quietly.

"Are you even qualified to talk to a jumper?" Jim asked.

"I'm a Fed. We're qualified for everything." Blair grinned, then turned to the patrolman. "Can I bum a couple of cigarettes and a lighter off you?"

The cop frowned slightly until Blair flashed his badge at him. "Sure. Here you go."

"Be careful," Jim cautioned, which only made Blair chortle.

Once he reached the roof, Blair flashed his badge at the officer who was standing a good distance from the distraught man on the ledge.

"Accountant," the older cop said. "Annual reviews just came out. He didn't get the raise he was expecting. Wife's pregnant. He thinks she'll get the insurance money if he jumps."

Blair nodded his thanks and moved forward.

"Hey," he called out cheerfully when he reached the retention wall.

The jumper shouted and spun to face him. "Don't touch me. I'll jump. I swear I will."

"Don't go out on the ledge," Jim whispered in horror, as he watched his partner climb over the retention wall.

"Why are you here?" the jumper demanded. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"I know that," Blair said calmly, looking over the edge once to see the fireman setting up their giant air mattress. He gulped hard. God, he hated heights.

"So, go back. Leave me alone!"

"I would, honestly," Blair said, focusing his attention back on the sweating accountant. "But you see, my boss is down there and I have to at least look like I'm trying to help you. Okay?" Blair took one of the cigarettes out of his pocket and lit it, not liking how his hand trembled. He took a deep drag, inhaled the smoke and slowly exhaled it.

"Want a cigarette?" he asked, after he took his second puff.

The accountant looked at him as if he were crazy.

"Look, I won't try anything. What do you say we take a smoking break? Who knows maybe we can take our time and die of lung cancer."

The accountant smiled in spite of himself. Blair placed the cigarette on the wall halfway between them. The older man picked up the cigarette with hands that shook worse than Blair's. Blair turned and flicked the lighter until a small flame burned steadily. Unconsciously, the accountant leaned forward. Blair took the opportunity to slip one cuff of his handcuffs over the man's wrist. Before the jumper could blink, Blair snapped the other cuff around his own wrist, then showed the accountant the key and flung it off the side of the building.

"You're crazy, man!" the accountant shouted in stunned betrayal.

"You're only the latest to think so. Come on now, let's go in."

"And what if I just went ahead and jumped?" the older man asked, threateningly.

"Then you'd be taking me with you and that would make you a murderer. On top of that I'm a Fed, which essentially would make you a cop killer. Now come on." Blair turned back toward the retention wall.

"A crazy psychotic cop."

"Yeah? What's your point?" Blair asked as he ground his cigarette onto the wall.

"Fuck you, I'm jumping," the accountant yelled defiantly.

Something inside of Blair snapped. He yanked on the handcuffs until he was face to face with the man. "Fine. You want to jump? I'm game. Let's do it."

"What?"

"I wanna do it. Don't you want to do it?"

"No," the man shrieked. "I got a wife; she's pregnant."

"Then you shouldn't have climbed out onto the ledge," Blair growled. "Let's do it. Let's show her what you're made of." Without another word, Blair stepped off the ledge.

The accountant screamed all the way down.

Jim's heart plummeted into his stomach as he watched the federal agent step off the ledge. Time seemed to stand still, making him cognizant of the heartbeat above him slowing, as if Sandburg had found some sort of inner calm as he descended. For a moment, he was afraid he was going to zone on the falling bodies; however, the loud whoosh the air mattress made as the men landed sped things back up to normal. For a brief second, all was silent, then he could hear the accountant's hysterical cry.

"Help me! Oh God, he's crazy! Help me!"

Blair laughed. "Hey that was fun. Wanna do it again?"

"Someone help me! He tried to kill me."

Jim watched the rookie step forward and offer his key to Blair. The Fed quickly unlocked the cuffs and allowed the young cop to escort the accountant to the squad car.

Without thinking, Jim stormed forward and grabbed Blair's arm at the elbow. "What in the hell were you doing?"

Blair blinked, looking confused, and tried to take a step back. "I was controlling the jump."

Jim clenched his jaw so tight he was afraid he was going to bust a tooth. He dragged Blair into an empty storefront in the process of being renovated, and shoved a painter who was working on the door out onto the sidewalk so they could have some privacy.

He released the agent, took several steps forward, then spun to face him. "Okay. No bullshit. I want the truth. Do you want to die?"

Jim was shocked by the hurt in the younger man's eyes. "What? Look, I controlled the jump. What do you want from me?"

"Answer the goddamn question!"

"I don't understand why you're so upset," Blair shouted back. "I did my job. I got him down."

"Do you fucking want to die?" Jim yelled, moving forward, inches from Blair's face. "Just answer the question."

"I'm not afraid of dying."

"You're not answering the damn question! Do. You. Want. To. Die?"

For a moment, Blair remained silent. "What do you want to hear, man? You want to hear that I sometimes think about eating a bullet? Well, I do." Blair growled, trying to push Jim away, but Jim wouldn't move. "But you want to know why I don't? This is going to make you laugh. I don't because of the job. The goddamn job. I get up every morning and know the goddamn job needs to be done, so I don't."

Jim rubbed his face with both hands. "This is crazy. You just admitted you want to die. Well then just do it, goddamn it. Do it before you hurt someone other than yourself. Quit jumping off buildings. Just get a gun and do the job right." Jim pulled his pistol from its holster and handed it to the Fed.

"Don't tempt me, man," Blair growled, taking the gun and pointing it at his temple.

"Don't do it like that," Jim shouted, grabbing the pistol and sticking it under the younger man's jaw. "Do it right."

"Yeah, under the chin," Blair egged him on. "That way there's no chance of living with brain damage."

Again, time seemed to slow and Jim watched in horror as Blair cocked the gun. The Fed's blue eyes held his, almost begging Jim to make him stop, begging him for a reason not to go through with what he so obviously wanted.

Blair started to squeeze the trigger, and Jim realized the kid was actually going do it. Without thought, he put his thumb between the trigger and the locking mechanism, shouting in pain when the hammer hit the tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger.

"Shit! You aren't trying to draw psycho pay." Jim gasped. "You really are crazy."

Blair panted heavily. "So now you know."

"Now, I know," Jim whispered, stunned by the unexpected revelation.

Chest heaving, Blair fought to regain control of his emotions. Finally, he looked at Jim and said in a normal voice, "I'm hungry." He then turned and headed out of the store.

"I don't know what to do, Simon," Jim said quietly into his cell phone as he watched Blair leaning against his truck, munching on a salad.

"I don't know either, Jim." Simon sighed. "Look, his track record is impeccable. Hell, he really is one of the best agents in the Northwest. If what you say he said is true, we've got to believe he's going to hold it together to finish this job."

Jim sighed. "Okay."

"Call me if it gets worse."

"I will. Thank you, sir."

Jim closed his cell phone and headed back to the truck.

"So are we going to check out the escort service up north?" Blair asked as Jim approached the truck.

"Yeah. It appears to be our only lead at the moment."

"Can I drive?" Blair asked, mischievously.

"NO!" Jim growled. "You're the one who's suicidal, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, right." Blair shoved the last few bites of salad into his mouth and dumped the plastic carton in the trash can. "Of course that's like the pot calling the kettle black. I mean, anyone who drives this truck would have to have a few suicidal tendencies himself, now wouldn't he?"

Jim tried not to smile as he started the Ford. The kid might be crazy, but he was also funny.

"Is this the place?" Jim asked, as they drove up to the gated house.

"Yeah. I'm thinking we probably need a warrant though," Blair said, trying to peer at the house beyond the wrought iron fence.

The front gate shuddered open and a pretty blonde girl on a moped drove through and stopped by the truck. "Go on in, guys," she said in a bright, little girl voice before driving onto the street.

Jim smiled at the agent. "Don't need a warrant when we were invited onto the property."

"Man, take a look at this place. It looks like someplace out of Lifestyles of the Rich and Shameless."

Both men got out of the truck and looked around.

"Doesn't look like anyone's home," Blair said quietly.

They walked around the side of the house and looked into the open windows of the pool house. Two beautiful women were working diligently filling up tiny packets of white powder.

"Oh, man," Blair said in exasperation.

One of the women looked up as if she had heard him, smiling when she saw them. Jim flashed his badge and motioned for the women to come out of the building. Both women immediately raised their hands and moved toward the door.

The branch of a nearby tree exploded near Jim's head. Jim immediately pulled his gun and fired at a man near the pool. He then pulled a set of handcuffs out of his back pocket and shoved it toward Blair. "Take care of the girls."

"Got it."

The gunman fired twice more at Jim, but Jim sighted along his barrel and shot the man in the leg. The gunman cried out and fell to the cement deck.

His eyes never leaving the writhing man, Jim approached. Blair arrived seconds later.

"See how easy that was?" Jim asked smugly. "Boom. He's still alive. Now, we take his gun away." Jim bent over and picked up the automatic laying by their moaning perp. "And we question him. You know why we can question him? Because I got him in the leg. I didn't blow him up or jump off a building with him."

"Hey, no fair, the accountant lived. Besides my guy walked away. We're going to have to take this joker to the hospital."

"Whatever," Jim said, rolling his eyes. "The point is, no killing."

Blair smirked. "No killing."

"Exactly. Piece of cake. We can still question him while we wait for the ambulance. You read him his rights. I'm going to stand over here being happy."

"Come on," Blair said, turning his attention back to the perp. "Let's see your hands."

The man on the cement just moaned.

"I'm not fooling around. Let's see your hands." Blair stepped forward to help the perp to his feet. As he started to lift, Blair saw the gun in the man's hands, aimed at Jim. "Gun!" he yelled.

Jim spun, but Blair was faster, kicking the man backward into the plastic covered pool.

"Shit!" Blair yelled as the man sank slowly to the bottom of the pool. Without thought, he tore off his flannel shirt and dove into the water. Jim took off his shoes and jumped in after him.

The perp struggled, caught in the plastic as Jim and Blair fought desperately to free him. After several moments, it became apparent that the man was dead. Blair kicked his way to the surface and grabbed onto the side of the pool, laying his face on the concrete.

Jim joined him a moment later. "Have you ever met someone you didn't kill?" he gasped, looking back at the drowned man.

"Well, I haven't killed you yet," Blair growled, pulling himself out of the pool.

Jim stepped into the pool house with a pair of still-warm-from-the-dryer blue jeans and a flannel shirt. "Here," he said, thrusting the clothes at the Federal agent, who looked up distractedly from the basketball game.

"What? Oh, thanks." Blair immediately unwrapped himself from the blanket and started to put on the pants. "Are they done out there yet?"

"Yeah. Forensics is just wrapping up."

"Good." Blair turned his head back toward the television set and winced when Orvelle Wallace missed a three-point shot.

"You...uh...you saved my life today," Jim said quietly, nervously. "Thank you."

Blair looked up at him and smiled, warming Jim. "I bet that hurt."

"More than you'll ever know," Jim admitted.

Blair smirked then sat on the couch and pulled on his tennis shoes.

"Come on, Chief. Let's get out of here. I'm getting hungry and you haven't lived until you've tried my lasagna."

"Nice pad, man," Blair said quietly, when he entered Jim's loft apartment. "A little on the Spartan side, but nice."

"Want a beer?" Jim asked, heading into the kitchen.

"Sure."

Blair moved slowly around the perimeter of the loft, looking at the few knickknacks sitting on the various shelves and bookcases. "The Sentinels of Paraguay," he whispered in awe as he pulled out a white ancient-looking text.

Jim put the lasagna in the oven, then turned to face Blair as he picked up the cold bottles from the counter. "Hey, be careful with that. It's old."

"I know, man, I know. What I want to know is how you got a hold of a copy? There's only like six of these even in print."

"And how do you know that?" Jim asked as he approached the Fed, who had carried the book to his couch and sat down.

"Because I have one of them."

"Why would you have a copy of Burton's Sentinel studies?"

"Because that's what I wrote my master thesis on," Blair said, chuckling. "Man, what are the odds? So why do you have a copy?" he asked, looking earnestly at Jim.

Jim set one bottle of beer on a coaster on the table, then sank into a stuffed chair beside the couch.

"Jim?"

"Because I suspect I am one."

"Man, look at the time," Blair said, yawning, when he noted the clock in the kitchen said one a.m.

Jim looked up and frowned, not wanting the evening to end. Remnants of their now desiccated dinner lay scattered around the table. For four hours they had talked about Jim's time in Peru and his senses. Jim was thrilled to finally find someone who not only understood them, like Simon, but who had so many ideas on how to help control them. "So, have we resolved anything?"

Blair stood and slowly reached his arms over his head, stretching. "Well, we've resolved that you really do cook a mean lasagna. We've resolved that had I met you earlier, I probably would have done my doctoral thesis on you, instead of closed societies," he teased, picking up his plate and setting it in the sink, before heading for the front door. "And we've resolved that you still don't trust me."

Jim closed the distance between them. "I'll tell you what. You get through tomorrow without killing anyone, including you or me, and I'll think about trusting you."

"Fair enough." Blair grinned as he opened the door. He started to head out, but stopped. "You know, I'm really good at it."

"At what?" Jim asked in a whisper, sensing somehow that Blair was going to impart something important to him.

"At being a profiler. At losing myself in the mind of a killer. At catching those who don't realize that someone can follow them into hell."

Jim swallowed hard, but nodded.

"Night, Jim," Blair whispered, then disappeared through the door.

Jim moaned as he came to consciousness, aware of the deep aroma of coffee encircling him.

"Morning, Jim," a warm male voice said, brightly.

Jim cracked one eye open and noticed Blair sitting on the edge of his bed. "How in the hell did you get in here?" he grumped.

"That's what I want to know, oh great sentinel. I'm thinking that you've somehow imprinted me onto your subconscious as belonging to you and so thought nothing of my entering the loft."

"You're crazy. Shit, what time is it?"

"Six a.m."

"Did you sleep at all?"

"Sleep?" Blair laughed. "What's that?"

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"I had a thought."

"Christ," Jim grumbled. "Give me the fucking coffee."

Blair laughed as he handed Jim the Styrofoam cup. "Man, you're a cranky ass in the morning."

"So what's this brilliant thought that caused you to try a little B&E in the morning?"

"Well, it's a little thin," Blair hedged.

"You're already here, Sandburg. Go ahead and lay it on me."

"I just finished reading the report on Amanda Holland's suicide."

"Yeah?"

Blair hesitated for a moment. "It's looking more like murder."

"Murder?" Jim propped himself up on his elbows, his hand never releasing its grip on the coffee.

"According to Amanda's tox screens, she had done a couple lines of golden."

"Golden?"

"It's a new designer hallucinatory drug. It basically makes angel dust look like light beer. It affects each user differently, although some have reported that it creates a golden aura in a person's sight. Anyway, the tests show that Amanda's golden was cut with drain cleaner, and a lot of it. Chances are if she hadn't jumped, she would've been dead inside of a half hour."

"Oh, man. How am I going to tell Sam?" Jim moaned, sitting up and leaning against the rails behind him. He took a long swallow of coffee, then frowned at Blair. "So how is that thin?"

"Thin is a witness statement made at the scene."

"Go on."

"There was a prostitute named Dixie who said she saw the whole thing."

"Oh-kay."

Blair stood and walked nervously at the end of Jim's bed. "The police report shows the bed had some signs of use before Amanda jumped."

"Well, she was a prostitute, Chief."

"I know, but there aren't any traces of seminal fluids."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, what if Dixie was the one who doctored the golden?"

"What?"

"Let's say Dixie went over to Amanda's for a little clean wholesome fun."

Jim opened his mouth, then shut it. "Oh."

"Exactly."

"Let's say Dixie then doctored Amanda's golden with drain cleaner. While Dixie is cleaning up, Amanda decides she can fly. There's at least two other reports of golden users jumping. In fact, three days ago an employee at Walkerville Steel decided to take a plunge into a vat of molten iron. He was stoned on the stuff."

"So Dixie is stuck at the scene with the police showing up in droves?"

"Exactly," Blair said, whirling to face Jim. "She's not going to be able to avoid detection. So she runs up to the nearest flatfoot and says, 'Officer. Officer. I saw the whole thing.'"

Jim rubbed one hand over his mouth. "Man," he whispered, awed by the man in front of him, surprised, because he didn't have the slightest bit of trouble following the logic. "That's pretty fucking thin."

"Absolutely anorexic," Blair agreed.

"You got Dixie's address?"

"Yeah. It's right here in the file," Blair said, patting the brown folder at the end of Jim's bed. "And that's the other strange thing about this whole thing. What was a red light district girl, like Dixie, doing at Wilkerson Tower?"

"I need a shower, then we'll check it out." Jim threw off the covers, not caring that he was naked, got up and handed Blair his coffee. Thinking better of it, he turned and took the coffee back, barely registering the stunned look on his partner's face.

Jim pulled the keys from the ignition and looked at the little tract house across the street. "Is this the right place?"

Blair nodded, before getting out of the truck.

"You realize, this is pretty thin?"

"Yeah, but think of this as an excellent opportunity to check out your sense of hearing. Maybe you could track her heartbeat, see if she sweats, that sort of thing."

"You make me sound like a human lie detector."

Blair started across the street. "Man, with your abilities, you probably could be."

Jim jogged after the Fed. "Sandburg, wait up," he growled, then frowned as he heard a soft click come from the house before them. "Shit! Blair get down!" he yelled, tackling the younger man before the house exploded in front of them."

"Jim, you got to come back to me. Jim, the fire trucks are almost here."

Jim groaned, his head aching, but the warm hands on his face seemed to dissipate the pain.

"Open those beautiful baby blues for me, man."

"Beautiful?" he moaned.

Blair laughed. "You would wake up to hear that, wouldn't you? Come on, let's get you up. The trucks are practically here."

Jim's body protested as he tried to sit up. Blair's face was quickly back in his line of sight. "I don't understand why I'm hurting so much," Jim complained good-naturedly as he sat up.

"We were talking about your senses. My guess is you had them on full alert. Basically, your body was an open receptor for whatever stimuli came across it. Unfortunately, in this case, it was an explosion."

"Do you think you can make it stop?"

"You should be able to control the intensity. You know, be able to turn it up and down at will."

"And just how am I supposed to do that, oh mighty Creskin?"

Blair closed his eyes in concentration for several moments, then opened them with something akin to surprise. "I want you to breathe deeply. Close your eyes. Concentrate... that's right. Just let all the tension flow out of your body. Yeah. You're doing a good job."

"It still hurts," Jim said petulantly.

Blair laughed. "You've got the attention span of a gerbil, you know that? Now, close your eyes again and relax. Journey to that part of your brain where your senses converge."

"What is this, Fantastic Voyage?"

"Look, Jim, if you don't want to cooperate..."

Jim raised a hand to silence the agitated Fed. "I'm converging. I'm converging."

"Now, picture something you can control...like a stereo dial."

"Got it," Jim whispered.

"Now, imagine yourself turning it down, sort of like the volume control. Only you determine how much you feel."

Jim did as he was instructed. "Wow. Hey, it worked."

"It did?"

"Yeah. That's pretty amazing, Chief," Jim said, trying to stand.

"Well, yeah, of course," Blair said, obviously trying not to let his surprise color his tone too much as he helped support Jim's weight. "I'm a Fed after all. We're trained for this sort of thing."

"So what did you find?" Blair asked as Jim walked toward him with a device in his hand.

"It's a goddamn piece of artwork," the sentinel said in quiet awe. "Look at this mercury switch."

Blair leaned forward to look where Jim pointed. "Yeah?"

"This is real pro stuff. I haven't seen anything like this since Peru. In fact, I used to know a colonel who was really into this sort of shit."

"One from covert ops?"

"Yes."

Blair rubbed his face and looked around at the crowd beyond the police tape. "Shit. I guess it wasn't so thin after all."

"It wasn't thin at all."

"So was Dixie..."

Jim nodded at the body bag being carefully removed from the house. "Yeah, Chief, she was."

"Was she already--"

"I think so."

"But why blow up the house? It's not unusual for prostitutes to die a violent death."

Jim handed the device to a nearby fireman, then turned back to Blair. "I know. But I heard something, like a click, just before we stepped into the yard."

"Shit! Are you saying someone saw us here?"

"I think so," Jim said, looking back at the destruction. "I wonder if the Cascade Fire Department has any openings?"

"Do you think that would save us?" Blair asked, grinning openly.

"No." Jim shook his head. "Come on. I'm thinking we need to talk to Sam again. I think he knows more about his daughter's dealings than he's letting on."

Jim looked out one of the windows of Sam Holland's mansion and briefly watched Blair observe the preparations for Amanda's memorial service. He turned slowly back toward one of his oldest friends. "Amanda wasn't killed because of something she saw or did, Sam, but because of something you've done. Stop me if I'm wrong."

"What? That's crazy," the banker tried to bluster.

"No, it's not. They were using Amanda to control you. Why is that?"

Sam poured himself a glass of milk and reached inside his jacket.

"Keep your hands in front of you, Sam!" Jim shouted.

Sam slowly withdrew his hand, his fingers clenching a medicine bottle. "Take it easy, Jimmy."

"Fuck easy. When you called me the other day, you were going to blow the whistle, weren't you?"

"Blow the whistle on what?"

"You tell me. You were going to spill your guts, so they killed your daughter. Tell me I'm wrong," Jim said, stepping closer.

"I can't, Jim. I can't," the banker said, tapping two pills out of the bottle into his hand and swallowing them quickly with his milk.

"Can't or won't?" Jim asked intently. "They killed your daughter, Sam. They paid off a hooker to poison your little girl."

"You don't understand. I still have Heather. I couldn't protect Amanda, but I've been able to protect Heather, Jim. She's all I have left. You just don't understand what you're up against."

"Then make me understand, Sam."

Sam walked to a nearby window and looked down at the preparations being made for his daughter. "This goes all the way back to Peru. Colonel Norman Oliver was running a CIA front. He was killing the smaller drug lords and taking over their business. He formed a plan, got pushers, and started the biggest distribution ring in California. But then one of his science geeks designed golden and now he's trying to go nationwide. You wouldn't believe how many of the old teams he's got involved."

"Why didn't he come to Panther squad?" Jim asked, horrified by the ramifications of what he was being told.

"He did. He went to Sarris, but Ben turned him down and threatened to tell you everything. Oliver sent your team on that mission in Peru. He was the one who had you all shot down."

Jim blinked, stunned by the revelation.

"A couple of years ago, we got the old group together again. Most of us were out of the service, but Oliver still had a list of sources."

"And?" Jim prompted.

"We've been bringing in six shipments of heroin every year since and have been manufacturing Golden by the ton."

"You son of a bitch," Jim hissed, but Sam didn't appear to hear him. "If you were getting cold feet, why didn't they just kill you? Why did they kill Amanda?"

Sam dropped his head. "Oliver can't kill me. He needs me."

"And why's that?"

"He needs my bank. It's basically a front. You know, makes everything look good on the tax report."

"Tax report?"

"This is big business, Jimmy."

"Not anymore," Jim said in an ice-cold voice. "I'm going to burn it down."

"You can't. It's too big. I wish to God you could, but Oliver has everyone in his back pocket. Soldiers. Agents. Judges. Mercenaries. You name it. Don't you see, Jimmy? You can't stand against him. He'll simply take you out like he has everyone else."

Jim ignored the banker's rant. "I'm going to need names..."

"Jimmy, be reasonable."

"...sources, shipments..."

"Jim, you can't--" The rest of Sam's statement was cut off as the window behind him exploded and his body was riddled with bullets. Sam slowly crumpled to the floor.

Jim scrambled to him, even as he heard Blair return fire outside, checking to see if his friend had any sign of a pulse. "You got off easy, you son of a bitch."

Jim pushed himself off the floor and ran out of the mansion. He saw Blair eject a magazine, slap a new one in and fire again and again at the fleeing chopper. "You about done?" he asked quietly.

Blair bent over and picked up his empty clip. "I haven't even started yet."

"Ah, Cascade in autumn." Jim sighed facetiously as he pulled the collar of his coat up and looked across the street toward his partner. Blair had surmised that while Amanda was something of a high priced call girl, probably only servicing Oliver and his men, Dixie was more of a street prostitute. They were hoping that by canvassing the red light district, they might be able to find Dixie's pimp and see if they could shake him down.

Jim found a small oriental girl shivering under her umbrella several feet in front of him. Putting on his most charming smile, he asked, "So what's a nice Irish girl like you doing out on a night like this?"

The hooker looked up at him, startled, then giggled over the absurdity of the question.

"I was wondering," Jim said as he pulled one of Dixie's mug shots from his coat pocket, "if you've seen this girl working around here."

"Why, are you a cop?" the girl asked nervously.

"Yeah, actually I am. But don't worry, I'm not looking to run you in. I'm just trying to find the man who pimped her out to -" Jim stopped as he heard a motor rev. He spun to face the street and saw a suped-up hotrod barreling toward him. He turned and shoved the hooker into the alleyway. "Run!" he yelled, before turning back toward the car, trying to pull his gun out at the same time.

Two shots rang out in the night, picking him up and slamming him through the plate glass window of the storefront behind him.

He was vaguely aware of Blair shouting, and more shots being fired at the fleeing car, before he landed on the floor and let the darkness engulf him.

Blair heard the back window of the hotrod blow out, but knew he hadn't hit the driver. "Fuck," he whispered as soon as he realized he recognized the shooter's face. He could still hear the tinkle of glass falling from the storefront. Without another thought, he raced across the street.

He stopped short when he saw Jim laying flat on the floor. Blair moaned in the back of his throat as he stepped into the store and knelt beside the fallen man. He put his fingers on Jim's neck, and was surprised to find a strong heartbeat.

Quickly, he scrabbled at Jim's coat, opened it, then popped the buttons on the shirt below to reveal two bullets stuck in the kevlar vest beneath.

"Shit!" Blair sighed in relief. "You scared me, sentinel."

Jim suddenly gasped, his body arching upward and back at the same time.

"Jim! Jim, it's me. Dial it down! Dial it down!" Blair shouted, grabbing at the older man's face.

Jim whimpered, but quickly calmed down, laying his hands over Blair's. "What happened?" he asked in a rough voice.

"Brackett's what happened. He's the one who shot you. I think we're definitely on the right track, Cochise," Blair said, pulling Jim to his feet.

Jim winced, but followed Blair outside. "You know, I have a little nest egg saved up. I'm thinking we should head to Florida, you know? Maybe the Keys, some place warm. We could hang out for a bit, or retire and open a little cantina."

Blair opened his cell phone, but stopped and smiled brilliantly at Jim. "You'd take me with you?"

"Sure. We're partners, aren't we?"

"Yeah. Of course, we are. But I don't think we want to skip town just yet."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because we got the edge, Cochise. They think you're dead."

Blair's cell phone rang just as they stepped into Jim's loft.

"Sandburg."

"Blair, it's Joel."

"Yeah, Joel?"

"You were right, kid. We had a bogus call from KCDE asking for confirmation of Jim's death."

"Good, then they took the bait."

"You're good. I gotta give you that."

"Remember that when my annual review comes up," Blair teased.

"I'm sorry, Blair, but your signal's breaking up," Joel teased back, then cut the connection.

Blair grinned, shutting the cell phone. "Sit down and take off your shirt and kevlar, Ellison," Blair said, pulling out a kitchen chair and pushing the older man onto it, then headed for Jim's bathroom.

"Hey, wounded man, here," Jim complained as he gingerly complied.

"Oh quit your whining, old man," Blair said, trying not to smile as he turned on the light in the bathroom and started going through the medicine cabinet. "Jesus, James, you could put most small hospitals to shame with your supplies in here."

Jim snorted in amusement. "Life can be rough for a growing boy."

With his arms loaded with supplies, Blair came back into the main room. "Growing boy? I think we have a difference in semantics going on here." He raised an eyebrow and dropped his medical collection on the table.

Jim waggled his eyebrows. "I'm always up for some antics."

"You're awfully frisky for someone who's just been shot."

"Pain dials are a wonderful invention. Ow," Jim complained. "Watch it. What are you doing? Trying to excavate the Grand Canyon there."

"What? This little scratch?" Blair laughed. "Don't be such a baby."

Jim hissed in pain again as the Fed dabbed some alcohol on the wound, but then closed his eyes as Blair gently massaged his skull looking for broken glass and other wounds.

Blair's hands moved slowly down his neck and onto his right shoulder. "This isn't exactly virgin territory here, is it? What is it, a knife wound?"

"Nope. Machete," Jim said smugly.

"Machete. Impressive." Blair moved around Jim's side, took off his outer flannel shirt, lifted his Henly, and pointed to a scar on his back. "Axe."

"Axe?"

"Axe."

"Wow. Hey, look at this," Jim said, pointing to the right side of his stomach. "Concrete burn. Got it being thrown from a semi going forty-five on the highway."

Blair ran his hand over the healed skin. "Nice texture." Grinning, he turned and showed Jim a scar on his other shoulder. "Bullet. Went all the way through."

Jim tenderly touched the small indentation on Blair's upper chest. "What was it? A .22?"

Blair stepped back with an offended look and smacked Jim's hand. "It was a .38, thank you very much."

Jim turned and showed his chest. His fingers dancing over several scars. "Whole family of .44s."

"That had to hurt," Blair said, smiling.

"Burned like a son of a bitch. I thought I would never not be itchy again."

Blair took off his Henley and turned to show Jim his back. "Pump action twelve gauge."

"Shit. Did it go all the way through?"

"Hell, Ellison, I'd be dead if it had," Blair said in disgust.

"That's nothing," Jim said, caught up in the moment as he stood up and started to unbuckle his pants.

"Hey, hey, that's okay," Blair said, blushing slightly as he stepped backward.

"No. No. You gotta see this knife wound. It's a beauty."

"That's okay. I...I don't need to see it."

"Oh come on. What are you? A poor loser?"

Blair shook his head. "No. I just concede."

"Concede or conceited?" Jim baited him.

"Look, let me just get a Band-Aid for that spot on your shoulder and I'll get out of your hair."

Jim closed the distance between them and murmured quietly, "Tell me you lost."

"I didn't lose. I conceded. There's a difference."

Jim moved closer and bent to capture the full lips in front of him. He deepened the kiss when Blair opened his mouth to protest, and brought his hands up into the long curly hair, holding the Fed tightly against him. When the need to breathe became overwhelming, he stepped back and looked into Blair's face, only to see a look he couldn't describe pass through the agent's eyes.

"You're going to smack the shit out of me, aren't you?" he taunted the younger man.

"I can do better than that," Blair murmured, sweeping Jim's legs out from beneath him and controlling his fall to the floor.

Before Jim could register that he was lying on his back, Blair was on top of him, covering Jim's body with his own. Using his arms as support, Blair pushed up and looked down into Jim's face, his long hair curtaining the older man, shutting out the world around them.

Blair leaned down and tenderly brushed his lips over Jim's. Jim shivered in anticipation, his hands dancing over the agent's ribs. Blair inhaled sharply, and Jim chuckled low in his throat.

A look crossed the younger man's face and Jim realized that Blair was about to stop. He quickly wrapped his legs around Blair's waist, thrusting upward as he felt their bodies align. Blair groaned, closing his eyes in pleasure, his arms trembling slightly.

"J-J-J-"

Jim grinned mischievously and thrust up again. Blair's mouth opened as pleasure rolled through him. Jim raised up and lightly teased the younger man's collarbone with his tongue, even as his hips drove upward again. Blair whimpered. Jim slowly laid back down again, forcing the younger man to lower himself onto his elbows and forearms to get to him. Jim pumped upward, glorying in the responses he was getting, slowing down, then speeding up again whenever it looked like Blair was gaining some control over his emotions. Jim's hands roamed over the younger man's back and chest, teasing him, comforting him.

They moved as one in their silent dance, pushing and retreating, then seeking each other out again and again. Jim began to pant, realizing he had teased himself as well as his partner, but he was determined to keep the dance going a little longer. But Blair was having none of it. He grabbed the sentinel's hands and moved them on the floor over his head, holding them with one hand while he used the other hand to brace himself.

The younger man leaned down and bit the juncture of Jim's neck and shoulder. Jim arched beneath him, crying out, barely holding on to his control.

"Come on, babe. C'mon," Blair demanded, thrusting again and again, harder and harder, until Jim bellowed in release, writhing beneath the younger man.

Blair pushed out an explosive gust of air as his back arched and he silently exploded, then collapsed onto Jim's chest, panting hard.

Jim brought his arms down around his lover as Blair sobbed tearlessly against his chest.

"Where are you going?" Jim asked quietly from the couch, watching Blair pull on his jeans and search for his shirts.

"I need to go home and clean up before I go into the office and report to Joel."

"Wait up and I'll go with you."

"No," Blair said firmly, pulling on his shoes. "You're dead, remember?"

"When I agreed to be dead, it wasn't for you to go it alone."

"I know. But it's the hand we've been dealt. I promise I'll let you know if I find out anything."

"I don't like it," Jim said petulantly.

"I know that, too." Blair grinned and leaned over to brush a kiss over Jim's lips. He stood with a bemused expression on his face, then pulled on his Henley and flannel shirt as he walked toward the front door. Once he reached it, he turned and looked back at Jim. "I'll tell you a little secret."

"What's that?" Jim smiled at him encouragingly.

"I'm not really crazy."

"I know."

"I'll call you." And with that, he was out the door.

"Hey, Larry," Blair greeted as he caught the Barbary ape in mid-flight. "Did you miss me? I'm sorry I didn't come home last night. Are you hungry?" He moved quickly to the refrigerator, pulled out a baby bottle of apple juice and a small bowl of grapes and set his charge on the counter.

As soon as the little ape made noises of satisfaction, Blair moved to the bathroom, stripped out of his clothes and turned on the shower.

He let the warm water sluice over him, trying to keep his mind clear, trying desperately not to think about what he had done with Jim. When the water started to turn cold, he stepped out of the tub and wrapped his hair in a towel and wrapped a larger towel around his waist.

His cell phone rang and he sprinted into the main room. "Sandburg."

"Blair, it's Joel. Are you coming in today?"

"Yes. I should be there in forty-five minutes."

"Good, we have a possible lead."

"I'll be there as soon as I can." Blair snapped the cell phone closed and turned--only to come face-to-face with the picture of his dead wife. Maya's beautiful face smiled sweetly at him and he closed his eyes against the pain. He opened them again, as his chest heaved in a shuddering gasp. "I love you, Maya Carasco," he whispered as his fingers traced the nose on the picture. He coughed. "That's silly, isn't it? Blair Sandburg, neo-hippie flower child, loving anyone. God, Maya, what am I going to do about Jim?" Gritting his teeth, he pulled the towel holding his hair over his face and moaned in pain.

"What's up, Joel?" Blair asked with more cheer than he felt as he bounced into Captain Simon Banks' office, where his boss was waiting.

"We've got a lead on Dixie's pimp. Thought you might want to be in on the bust," Joel said, with a smile.

"I'm all over that. What about Jim?"

"I think it best if he stays hidden for now," Simon interjected. "Let's not show our hand just yet."

"Do we have a warrant?" Blair asked.

Joel slapped it into his hand.

"Have I ever mentioned how much I love working for you?" Blair said with overly bright enthusiasm as he fluttered his eyelashes at the bigger man.

"Come on, Sandburg," Joel laughed as he pushed the younger agent out of the office. "Let's go roust us a pimp."

Blair walked casually down the sloping driveway of the house which faced the ocean. A gorgeous house, a house bought, no doubt, with the sweat of drugged out women who would open their legs for any man who had a fifty.

Blair looked at the men waiting for his signal, impressed with the firepower surrounding him. When the FBI and the Cascade PD teamed up, they didn't fool around.

Warrant in hand, he knocked on the door. A scantily clad woman, who Blair suspected wasn't even eighteen, opened the door. "Yes?" she asked, leering up and down Blair's body.

Blair suddenly felt as if wasn't dressed enough, even though he was wearing his Henley, his flannel shirt and a jacket. "We're here to see Jerome Addlewood."

"Jerry's not here at the moment," the girl informed him, her eyes darkening.

"Mind if we check it out for ourselves?" Blair asked pleasantly.

"You got a warrant?"

Blair slapped the paper into her hand and gave the hand signal which would bring the teams to the house. He could hear the team to the side of the house kick in the back door and heard the shouting begin as they instructed someone down below to drop their weapons.

Blair pushed past the girl, drawing his weapon as he did so and raced down the stairs toward the commotion.

"Drop your weapons! Drop your weapons!" he could hear Simon shouting.

"Drop your weapons," he added himself as he entered the room and pointed the gun at a blond haired man.

"Diplomatic immunity," the man said calmly, as he laid his pistol on the table and slowly stood up.

"Well. Well. Well. Well. Well. Colonel Norman Oliver. And just how do you expect to claim diplomatic immunity?" Joel asked as he stepped into the room around Blair.

"Oliver?" Blair said in surprise.

The colonel looked at him briefly, dismissed him, then focused his attention on Captain Taggert.

"Taggert," the colonel nodded. "I see you're still enjoying your wife's cooking."

"Yes, as a matter of fact I am. Now, tell me, how a good American boy like you, one of our nations leading military minds," Joel's voice dripped with sarcasm, "can claim diplomatic immunity?"

"Well, it's like this, Captain. While on an operation in Peru, I was approached by their new regime and asked to help set up their new military. After several years of working closely with their government, they gave me diplomatic privileges, to help out in their negotiations with our country."

"Is that a fact?" Blair growled angrily. "And how do you repay their kindness? By hanging out with known felons and pimps. I'm sure they'll be thrilled by that news."

"I'm sure you're mistaken, Mr. -"

"Agent. Federal Agent Sandburg."

"Sandburg? Blair Sandburg?"

"That's right. What's it to you?"

"Nothing at all. But I'm sure you're mistaken, Mr. Sandburg."

Blair grinned wolfishly at the older man. "Don't tell me Mr. Addlewood failed to inform you of his pimp status in our fair city?"

"I fail to see -"

"That's enough. We'll sort this out down at the station," Joel interjected. "You don't mind accompanying us downtown, do you, Colonel Oliver?"

"Of course not. Anything I can do to help the boys in blue." Oliver grinned saucily at Blair as he climbed the stairs, surrounded by agents and officers alike.

Blair sighed as he entered his warehouse apartment and leaned heavily against the door. He barely had control over the anger which coursed through his system.

Larry waddled over happily and Blair gently picked the little ape up and walked into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator door, he pulled out a bottle of juice, a small bowl of grapes and an apple. He fluffed the linens in Larry's cage and tenderly set the little ape inside it. Once Larry was settled, he carried the cage into the bathroom, set it in the tub, turned on the radio and closed the door.

By the time he was in the kitchen again, his hands shook with uncontrollable rage. He pulled a glass from his cupboard and set it down with a hard thunk when he noticed how badly his hands were shaking.

Blair knew from his conversations with Jim who Oliver was; worse yet, knew who he was to Jim. He laid both hands flat on the counter and leaned forward, hoping that by putting pressure on them they would stop trembling. Oliver's papers had panned out. He really did have diplomatic immunity. Not that it mattered much; they didn't have any solid evidence against Oliver, so they couldn't even use his immunity against him by deporting him.

Blair grasped the glass and threw it with all his might into the darkness which surrounded him, but found no comfort in the squeal a small rodent made when the glass shattered. He took another glass out of his cabinet and threw it even harder. Pulling a plate out of the dish rack he sent it twirling into the darkness as well. He picked up a heavy ceramic bowl, but set it down when the phone rang.

"What?" he growled into the phone.

"Hard day at the office, honey?" Jim's amused voice responded through the wire.

"You could say that."

"I know," came the quiet response. "Simon called."

"I had him, Jim. I had the man who caused you so much pain in my grasp and I let him go." Blair threw the bowl and immediately turned to find something else in his cabinet, even before the pottery exploded in the distance.

"Listen to me, Sandburg. You didn't let him go. We don't have enough proof against him--yet. You finding him at Addlewood's was just an amazing coincidence. We're going to get him, buddy. I swear it."

"You swear it, Jim?" he asked in a voice with hardly any sound behind it.

"I swear it, love."

Blair closed his eyes and squatted beside the cabinet, letting his back slide down the wood until his rear came in contact with the floor.

"Why don't you come over, Blair? I'll fix you a hot meal, give you a massage, let you work off some of your anger."

Despite the anger and despair warring within him, Blair smiled. "I can't," he said reluctantly. "I have to clean up this mess. I can't let Larry out until I do."

"Larry? Who's Larry?"

Blair chuckled. "Not jealous are you, Jim?"

The sentinel growled, which made Blair laugh.

"Why don't I come over there?" Jim said, finally.

"No, don't risk it. I have a feeling I just came up on Oliver's radar."

"All the more reason for me to be there."

"No, Jim. Right now, you need to check your sources. See if you can find out when Oliver's shipment is coming in. I'll swing by tomorrow at seven and pick you up."

Jim's sigh came through the line loud and clear. "Bring doughnuts."

"Why don't I just bring a needle full of lard and we can just shoot it directly into your veins?"

"I've tried that, you don't get the taste satisfaction that way," Jim deadpanned, making Blair laugh.

"I'll be there at seven."

"Don't forget the coffee you brought the last time."

"Jesus, Cochise. Anything else?"

"Just you."

Blair smiled. "Night, Jim."

"Night, Blair."

"Mr. Sandburg," a voice sing-songed in his unconscious. "Mis-ter Sand-burg," the voice called out to him again.

"Wh-what?" he mumbled, blinking his eyes open and trying to focus on the piece of paper hanging above him.

"I wouldn't move around too much if I were you," the voice cautioned.

Blair blinked again, the letters on the paper suddenly clear. "BOOM!"

"Oh, shit," he mouthed.

"Now that I have your attention, I think we should talk."

"Talk? Fuck you, Brackett."

"Ah, so you recognize my voice, do you, Mr. Sandburg?"

Blair growled in frustration, knowing there was very little chance of him surviving this encounter, but deciding to go down swinging. Hell, if Brackett was here, he'd be tempted to get off the bed, just to take the CIA operative with him. "If you and Oliver get out of my city now, I might let you live. If you stay, I'm going to fuck you all over until each and every one of your descendants bleed."

"Ah, Mr. Sandburg. Or should I say Federal Agent Sandburg?" another voice asked pleasantly.

"Who the fuck are you?" Blair demanded angrily.

"Let's just say I'm the man who changed the course of your life," the voice answered pleasantly.

"Oh, and how in the hell did you manage that?" Blair sneered in contempt, finally spotting the tiny microphone sitting on the table by his bed.

"You know, you've been a thorn in my side for a long time. You definitely ruined the plans I had for the Ebola virus. My buyer wasn't at all happy that I lost it to you. I almost didn't forgive Mr. Brackett that transgression."

Blair chuckled. "Aw, Lee, I'm so sorry to get you in trouble with your boss."

"Well, he made up for it quite adequately I must say. I had originally decided to take you out of the game permanently. Mr. Brackett waited for you to get off work one icy January night. It was no problem whatsoever to push your car over an embankment."

Blair gasped, his chest heaving in shallow breaths, desperate not to hear the next words.

"Imagine my surprise when I pulled back the mop of curly hair to find that I hadn't gotten you at all, but your lovely wife instead," Bracket cut in with an amused chuckle. "You know, she didn't die right away. It took a bit of time. She kept moaning your name over and over again. In the end, I think it was the blood loss and hypothermia that got her. She might have actually been saved if someone had found her in time."

Blair screamed in rage, his neck arching against the pillow. "I'll kill you, Brackett! I swear to God, I'll kill you with my bare hands!"

"I don't think so," the other voice said calmly. "You see, we've planted a bomb under your bed. You try to get off of it and it blows. You move too much and it blows. Say a twenty pound monkey jumps on the bed and it blows."

Blair quieted and looked toward the bathroom door, only to find Larry's empty cage in the door frame.

"You see, Mr. Sandburg," Brackett said in a taunting voice. "I've done far worse than kill you. As Khan Noonian Singh said in the 'Wrath of Khan', I've hurt you; and I, too, wish to keep hurting you."

"You'd better start running, Brackett, because when I find you, I'm going to tear you limb from limb. I swear it by all I hold dear."

"Ah," the other voice said with amusement. "But I've taken everything you hold dear, Mr. Sandburg. So that's not much of a threat, is it?"

"Oliver, you're a dead man," Blair shouted.

"Ah. Ah. Ah. Diplomatic immunity, you know."

"Fuck you."

"Ah, Mr. Sandburg. I would've liked to have had the opportunity to play chess with you. Something tells me you would be brilliant at the game. But alas, we must leave you now. Oh, Larry! Larry! Come here, boy!"

Blair looked quickly over at the mic and watched as it imploded in a little flame which died quickly. He looked frantically around and spotted the Barbary ape on the dresser on the other side of the bed. The ape looked distressed and sat on the edge, preparing to jump.

"No, Larry! No!"

Jim looked at his watch again as he pulled his Ford next to Blair's Corvair. Nine o'clock. A part of him had been furious, but the anger quickly died when he spotted the young man's car. Something was wrong.

Was Blair avoiding him? Had he pushed too hard the other night? He knew the agent was still grieving the death of his wife. Had he stepped over a line he shouldn't have? He shook his head in denial. No, Blair had been the one in charge. Was he having second thoughts?

He got out of the truck and quickly jogged up the metal steps. He knocked on the door, surprised when it opened under his hand.

"Sandburg?" he called out in dread, fearing the worse. "Sandburg?"

He stepped into the warehouse and was immediately assaulted by a furry missile. Before he could even blink, a small monkey had attached itself to the front of his shirt. "You must be Larry," he crooned softly to the distressed animal.

"Is that you, Joel?" a soft voice came quietly from the darkness.

Jim fumbled for a light switch and took several steps into the warehouse. "No, it's--"

"I'm sorry, Rafe. I thought you might be Joel."

Jim frowned as he moved forward. He immediately spotted Blair on his back in the middle of the bed, blankets covering the lower half of his body. His first thought was of a lascivious nature, but then he spotted the beads of sweat on Blair's forehead.

He moved quietly toward the bed, holding Larry tight against his chest. As he got closer, he watched Blair mouth silently, "Check for bugs."

At first, he frowned. God knew there were bugs in this pit, then his eyes widened in understanding.

"Use your hearing," Blair mouthed again.

Jim closed his eyes and listened. He could hear the scurrying of little feet in the darkness. He could hear the frantically pounding beat of his partner's heart and of the little monkey in his arms. He could hear the creak of the rafters above him and of water dripping from the various faucets. He catalogued each sound, then dismissed them, until he came up with three very distinct, very high pitched hums.

Moving with purpose, he took a glass out of Blair's cupboard then methodically found each listening device, placed them in the glass and poured a can of beer over them.

He gently placed Larry back in his cage, shut the metal door, then moved swiftly to the edge of the bed.

"What's going on?" he asked, trying to ignore the dried tear stains on the younger man's face.

Blair looked pointedly up at the sheet of paper taped to the lamp hanging over his bed.

Jim pulled it off and paled as he read it.

"I've had days start off bad before," Blair grinned grimly, "But nothing like this."

Jim nodded, then knelt beside the bed and looked beneath it. He released the breath he'd been holding.

"That bad or that good?" Blair asked quietly.

"We're going to need help."

"Joel used to be a bomb squad Captain. He's number one on my speed dial."

Jim nodded and headed for the phone.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Blair, this doesn't look good," Joel Taggert said amidst a flurry of activity. "But it's not insurmountable."

"Give it to me straight, Joel," Blair whispered, idly watching as agents and officers packed his personal belongings and took them outside.

"Well, the good news is that we found a cast iron tub in the corner over there. It's a sturdy piece of equipment and lined with proper bomb blankets it should provide you with adequate protection if you can get into it. We've got it on the opposite side of the bed to where the bomb is, hoping that might give you a tiny bit more protection. As it stands now, we're going to use hydrogen to freeze the bomb. That should delay the trigger for a couple of seconds. Hopefully enough to allow you to throw yourself into the tub and under one of the blankets."

"That's absurd," Jim interjected. "He's been lying there for hours. His whole body is numb."

"Don't worry, Jim. I can handle it okay," Blair whispered.

"Do you have all of his belongings out?" Taggert turned and yelled to the people behind him.

"Yes, sir," several people responded.

"Then I want this place cleared out now."

"Hey, Joel?"

"Yeah, Blair."

"No matter how this turns out, I want you to take Larry."

"Now, Blair -"

"No, it's not fair to him to be stuck here by himself all day. Your wife likes him. So do your kids. Please. I need to know that he's going to be safe, loved." Blair's voice cracked.

"Sure, Blair. I'll take him home," the big Captain said softly. "Jim, you need to get out of here."

"No."

"Ellison," Simon growled.

"No."

Blair watched the two captains look at each other, then shrug. Joel turned to Blair. "Okay, son. As soon as Marc here is done, we're going to head out. Remember, you're only going to have about five seconds."

"Okay."

As soon as the bomb squad technician got off the floor, both Simon and Joel patted Jim on the back and headed for the door.

"Alone, at last," Jim smiled warmly down at him.

Blair closed his eyes briefly. "I'm going to die in bed, aren't I?"

"Guys like you don't die in bed. Besides, I'm here and I don't plan on dying just yet. Not until we get the other night right."

Blair grinned. "Oh, did we do something wrong?"

"No, I'm just thinking we could probably refine our technique a bit."

"That'll probably take a lot of practice."

"I'm counting on it." Jim waggled his eyebrows. "You ready?"

"I suppose."

Jim took each of Blair's hands in his own and stepped back into the tub. "Okay, on three."

"On three?"

"On three. One. Two."

"Wait."

"What?"

"Is it: one, two, three, then go; or one, two, then go?"

"Well, it's your ass on the line here, Chief. I think it's up to you."

Blair closed his eyes briefly. "Okay. I'm thinking, one, two, then go."

"Works for me," Jim smiled, taking a deep breath.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

Blair couldn't bring himself to say the words, but he looked at Jim, trying to convey everything he felt for the man in his eyes.

"I know." Jim nodded, then turned Blair's left wrist upward and gently kissed it. "We're not going to die," Jim said with conviction.

"I hear you." Blair smiled back. "Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"Turn your hearing down to zero, okay?"

"Gotcha, Chief."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

Jim laughed. "Together."

Together they whispered, "One. Two. Go!"

Jim had barely pulled the cover over them when the bomb exploded, rocking the tub.

"Are you okay?" the detective asked quietly, his hands quickly roaming over Blair's body.

"Yes, because of you."

"They're coming," Jim said softly.

"I guess we better get out of here then."

"First things first," Jim whispered, brushing his lips over Blair's and holding him tight.

"Thanks, Sneaks. I owe you. Yes, I owe you two pair. Yes. Two pair of Nike Severes, with defense tongue mesh, size eight and a half. I'll have it to you by Friday, I swear." Jim snapped his cell phone closed. "We got it. The Amante Hermosa pulled into dock this afternoon and is headed to Peru via Los Angeles and Panama. It leaves tonight at midnight. Blair?"

The Federal agent was pacing back and forth in a very agitated manner.

"Blair, what's wrong?"

"Are you going to call it in?"

"Of course--" Jim started, but stopped as the haunted eyes pierced him. "What's going on, Sandburg?"

Blair turned and paced away from Jim, then turned and paced back. Jim grabbed him gently by the shoulders. Blair tried to speak several times but couldn't. Blair's pained gasps made Jim's heart ache.

"He killed her."

"Who killed whom?" Jim asked in confusion.

"Brackett. Oliver told Brackett to take me out. The fucker ran my car off the road, but I wasn't inside. It was Maya. God, they killed Maya," Blair moaned, arching against Jim, trying to escape the protective grasp.

"Shh, Sandburg. Shh," Jim crooned, adjusting his hold on the gasping younger man, holding him tighter.

"She didn't die, Jim. She didn't die right away. She died calling my name and I wasn't there to protect her."

Jim closed his eyes, his own heart breaking for a woman he knew only by name. He held Blair's head to his chest and shushed him softly. "You didn't know, babe. You couldn't have known."

"I got too close and didn't even realize it."

Jim gently rocked him back and forth, waiting for the shudders wracking the thin frame to calm down.

"I'm going to kill them, Jim. I'm going to kill both the fuckers." Blair shoved back from Jim's chest. "I'm not a Fed tonight, Jim. I'm going in and I'm taking them down, once and for all. No more children are going to die because of their poison. No more girls are going to be used against their fathers."

Jim nodded and slowly pulled his badge from his pants pocket, showed it to Blair and laid it on the table.

"Jim, I can't let you--"

But the detective stepped forward and kissed the younger man, effectively silencing him.

Jim turned off his headlights and pulled his Ford behind several cargo containers. The Amante Hermosa sat with an almost majestic beauty beside the cement wharf. "There she is."

Blair nodded in the darkness, knowing the sentinel could see him. "Looks like they still have a couple more containers to load."

"Want to check them out?" Jim asked, grinning.

"Well, since we're in the area. Sure, why not?"

Blair reached forward in the darkness and felt the plastic. He ran one hand over the smooth, but slightly tacky surface, while the other hand maintained a firm grip on the machine gun he had taken off one of the guards he and Jim had knocked unconscious. He found an opening and followed it inward. "Can you see anything?" he called out quietly to the sentinel, who was deeper in the container.

"No, not yet. Wait a minute. Close your eyes for a second."

Blair did as he was instructed and heard a soft click. Even with his eyes closed he could tell a light had been turned on. He immediately looked around. "Dear Lord," he whispered as he saw what was hidden behind the plastic shrink wrap--bundles of hundred dollar bills. "There must be millions here." He moved quickly into an open area and found the light source--a very sporty Lexus.

"We're obviously in the wrong line of--" Jim fell silent as the container door squeaked shut behind them.

Both men pulled their weapons, but reholstered them as they felt the box lift from the ground.

"This is not good," Blair whispered. "Any idea how long it's going to take the Amante Hermosa to reach Peru?"

"My guess, at least, a couple of weeks," Jim said shrugging.

Blair shook his head. "That doesn't work for me, Jim."

"Me either."

"Got any ideas?"

Jim turned and looked at the sports car and smiled impishly. "One, actually."

Jim looked down into the water and grinned as he watched the tail end of the Lexus sink slowly into the bay. Oliver's money fluttered after it. Jim could hear the former colonel scream in anger as machine guns shot wildly into the water.

"Now that's stupid." Jim chuckled. "Every cop in the area is going to be sent out here to investigate."

"Cool; then we don't have to worry about back up," Blair said, looking over the edge himself. "Oh, boy," he gasped.

"What's wrong?" Jim asked in concern, turning to face his partner.

"I have a thing about heights," the Fed said, leaning against the container wall.

"You're kidding me, right? I mean the first day I met you, you jumped off a building."

Blair snorted in laughter. "Yeah, well I didn't have anything to live for at the time."

Jim looked intently at the younger man. "You mean that?"

Blair nodded.

"I'm holding you to that, Chief. Don't do anything stupid down there."

"You mean other than take on a boatload of armed gunmen. Sure, no problem." The Fed laughed, then using one of the rope holding the container jumped over the side and repelled downward.

"Smart ass," Jim muttered as he followed him down.

Jim moved stealthily down a passage made of containers. He heard the heavy breathing of a man around the corner and waited patiently. As soon as the gun appeared, he yanked on it and slammed it back into the guard's face. The man fell like a rock. Shouldering the extra weapon, Jim moved forward.

Blair stepped into the cargo hold, barely skirting the faint light from above. There were more of Oliver's containers in the hold. He knew that if backup arrived in time they'd essentially be crippling the West Coast drug trade for years to come. He just hoped he lived long enough to enjoy it.

Jim closed his eyes, concentrating on the voices of several people muttering and cocking back the hammers of their automatic weapons. Taking a deep breath, he stepped around the corner and shouted, "Cascade PD. Drop your weapons and put your hands in the air!"

He jumped back to safety as bullets flew where he'd just been standing. It always looked so cool on television when cops did that, he thought. Too bad it rarely worked in real life.

Kneeling, he swung around the corner and shot several controlled bursts, taking out two of Oliver's thugs.

"Mercs aren't what they used to be," he whispered to himself as he took several steps back toward the set of stairs leading upward.

Blair spun around at the sound of machine gun fire.

"Jim," he whispered, racing toward the stairs he had just come down. However, a sharp pain in his thigh threw him forward and he fell, dropping his gun in an attempt to catch himself.

"Ah, Mr. Sandburg, you really are a hard man to kill."

"Fuck you, Brackett," Blair gritted out, trying to stand, knowing if he was caught on the ground he'd never survive.

"Hmm. A tempting offer, surely, but I don't think the Colonel would appreciate my indulging with the police so close at hand."

Blair pulled himself to his feet and looked down at his thigh. The tip of a serrated hunting knife stuck out through his jeans. He snorted in amusement. Well, now, at least, he had a wound to match Jim's.

"Show yourself, Brackett. I know you've been dying to try out your skills on this lowly grad student. Isn't that what you called me last time?"

Brackett stepped out of the shadows. "I underestimated you last time. A bad habit I seem to have fallen into where you're concerned. Who would have thought that a neo-hippie bastard could keep up with the big boys?"

"Bring it on, asshole," Blair taunted, wiggling his fingers toward the ex-operative, daring him to come closer.

Jim spun around and shot a merc who popped up from one of the hatches. He took several steps forward, but froze when he heard a click; his heart only restarting when he heard his attacker swear. He spun, ready to fire, but the gunman dropped his gun in surrender.

"I give up!" the man shouted.

Jim growled, although the relief flooding through him was almost overwhelming. If the gun hadn't jammed--

Pulling a pair of handcuffs out of his back pocket, Jim quickly secured the merc to a series of one-inch pipes running along the corridor.

His heart stopped again as he heard Blair scream in pain. Without thought, he took off running toward the source.

Blair screamed as he and Brackett fought over the knife in his leg. The ex-operative tried to turn it, while Blair was used both hands to keep it still. In desperation, he used the last of his waning strength to slam his elbow back into Brackett's face. The CIA agent staggered backward and Blair spun on his good leg, delivering several blows to the agent's body.

Brackett fell.

Blair knew he had to get out of the cargo hold if he was going to survive. After fighting Brackett for what seemed like an eternity, he didn't have any strength left. If Brackett got up again...

Swallowing hard, he moved forward, dragging his bad leg behind him.

Blair could hear Brackett scrambling, knew the agent was going after the gun he had dropped earlier.

Blair was almost at the control box.

"SANDBURG!" Brackett yelled in triumph.

Blair took another step forward and punched the button, not turning as the container fell with a deafening crash.

"Heh heh heh," he chortled, although it hurt to do so. Every bone and muscle in his body screamed in pain, and yet, he'd never felt so alive.

"Sandburg," his named was called again.

Hand still on the box, he turned around and looked up; noticing Jim standing at the top edge of the cargo hold.

"Hey, Jim," he said quietly, knowing the sentinel had heard him.

"Is this what you call taking it easy?" the older man yelled down at him.

"You say potato, I say tuber." Blair grinned triumphantly at Jim. The smile turned to shock as his body jerked twice, then slowly fell to the ground; making him look like a child's broken doll suddenly discarded by its owner.

Jim spun around and quickly targeted Colonel Norman Oliver in his sights.

"Jim," Blair whimpered.

Oliver shot at the fallen man again, then raised a leather wallet and shouted in triumph, "Diplomatic immunity."

Jim didn't even blink. He simply raised his gun and shot the man between the eyes. He was moving toward the staircase before the colonel's body ever hit the ground.

Jim raced downward, unable to think, barely able to breathe; his only thought was to reach his partner. He raced into the cargo hold and stopped. He could see the blood starting to pool beneath the Federal agent.

He swayed slightly. Had Blair finally found what he'd been seeking for so long? No! He shook his head violently. Blair had told him that he had a reason to live now, and by all that was holy, he was going to make sure the kid kept that promise.

He ran forward and dropped to his knees, picking up Blair's upper body and cradling the Fed in his arms. "Breathe, damn it. Don't you dare die on me." He tried to focus his hearing, but couldn't. He gently shook the body in his arms. "Blair, you promised!"

"So I did," came the whispered reply.

"You, son of a bitch. I thought you were dying in my arms," Jim growled.

"As," Blair coughed, making Jim wince in sympathy pain, "romantic as that sounds..." He coughed again. "I thought...I thought I'd give living a try for a change."

"You won't regret it. I swear to you, Sandburg. You won't regret it. After all, didn't Burton say that every sentinel needed a companion, someone to watch his back?"

"A guide?"

"Yeah, that's it. A guide. You want the job?"

"Well...I must say...I like the benefits... so far... sure, why not?" Blair's smile was brilliant, despite the pain. "Did we get them all?" he asked, finally opening his eyes, although Jim could tell they weren't really focusing.

"Yes. We got them all."

"Is backup...almost here?"

"Yes. Can't you hear the sirens?"

Blair hummed indifferently.

"Sandburg!" Jim shouted, trying to keep the younger man present.

"Did anyone... ever tell you... that you are a...truly beautiful man?" Blair tried to laugh, but coughs wracked his body whenever he tried, not that that stopped him from trying.

"You bastard," Jim laughed.

"I am, you know?"

"What?"

"A bastard. Never knew...my father."

"Christ, Sandburg."

"Hurry up...and give me a kiss...before our captains get here." Blair chuckled, but stopped as Jim pressed his lips gently to the younger man's.

"Don't die on me," Jim whispered harshly.

"As long... as you hold on...to me... I won't."

"Never letting you go...ever," Jim vowed quietly.

A bruised and battered young man leaned, not very steadily, on a cane as he stood in the misty rain and looked down at a grave marker.

"Hey, Sweetheart. I'm sorry I haven't been around for a while. They only just let me out of the hospital the other day; and today was the first day Jim actually left the loft."

The young man fell silent for a moment. "I think...I think you would've liked Jim. He doesn't cook as well as you do, but he makes me laugh just like you used to do.

"When...after you died...I thought I was going insane. All I could think about was being with you again. I did...I did some crazy things...because...because I simply didn't care anymore. I know that would have made you crazy, but I wasn't thinking too straight back then."

The man knelt awkwardly by the grave. "I think I found a reason to live again, Maya. I love Jim. Even though I haven't told him that yet, I think he knows. He'll never replace you in my heart, Corazon, but he does fill all the empty places.

"I...I think I'm going to give him a chance, you know? If he'll have me."

The young man sniffed and placed a large smooth stone on the marker. "Good-bye, Sweetheart."

Time passed, and the young man eventually struggled to his feet, then headed slowly toward his car.

Several minutes elapsed before another figure, an older man, stopped by the grave marker.

"Hello, Maya. My name's Jim. I just wanted to let you know that I love Blair with all my heart. I don't want him to forget you, but I do want him to live again. I think you do too. I know you've been keeping watch over him. I swear to you, I'll do the same. I know he loves me; and I can wait until he's strong enough to tell me."

Jim bent over and put another smooth stone on the marker. "Sleep well, dear lady. Rest. I'll keep the watch."

Nine Months Later

"Sandburg, we're going to be late!" Jim yelled up at the bedroom.

"No, we're not."

"We're carpooling today, remember?"

"I remember," Blair said, rolling his gaze heavenward as he buttoned his shirt and descended the stairs at the same time. "I also know we've got an hour and my office is only ten minutes away and yours is five minutes past that."

"Yeah, well..."

"Hey, I heard Brown last night, so don't even try to pull the wool over my eyes. He's finally paying off his debt in Krispy Kremes and you just want to get there before everyone takes the buttermilk ones."

"Bl-air," Jim whined, feeling like a little kid, but not being able to help himself.

"Oh, all right." Blair laughed as he moved toward the door, stopping to give the sentinel a light kiss. "You can work it off tonight."

"All night?" Jim asked happily, pulling the smaller man to him.

"You better not be eating that many doughnuts," Blair growled at him, swatting his chest playfully. "Come on, Cochise, there are bad guys to catch."

Jim grabbed one more kiss before he let his guide go. "So you want to get together for lunch?"

"Sure." Blair grinned at him before heading down the stairs. "I'm all for promoting inter-department cooperation."

Jim shook his head and headed down the stairs after his guide.

"Attention all units. Attention all units. Possible bomb in the Barker Building. Repeat, possible bomb at the Barker Building."

"Hey, that's just over a block," Blair said enthusiastically, as he grabbed for the mic. "One Zebra One, responding."

"No, Chief, I'm begging you," Jim pleaded, even as he turned the truck in the right direction.

"Oh, come on. It'll be fun."

"Sandburg the last time you said that a ferry blew up. A ferry we were on, I might add," Jim said, stopping the truck behind the barricade, beside all the other official vehicles.

"Fine you can stay in the truck," Blair said as he slid out of the vehicle. "I'll go in and take a look. I'll be right back. I promise."

Jim scrabbled at his seat belt, damned if he was going to let his partner go in alone.

"I'm too old for this shit!"

THE END

Acknowledgments: Many, many, many thanks go to Lola, Galina and Kikki for betaing this story for me. It's embarrassing the amount of things they caught <g>. However, as I often do, I tinker after I send a story out to be beta'd; so any mistake herein are more own (cause I can't keep my hands off of things!).

No copyright infringement was intended. This story is strictly for entertainment purposes only.

End Lethal Senses by Dolimir: Dolimir@aol.com

Author and story notes above.

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