Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3281

Author's disclaimer: This is a work of fiction produced solely for the entertainment of fans. All characters having appeared in the UPN Series, "The Sentinel", belong to UPN and/or Pet Fly productions. The original characters belong to the author.

Author's notes: Due to cybergremlins and crabby internet browsers, this has not been beta read. It's been proof-read by yours truly. :-)

A MILLION PIECES - part one

by Candy Apple

Blair Sandburg smiled down at the sleeping baby in his arms. Amanda Blair Ellison had put her bedraggled parents through the paces the last few nights, crying almost non-stop as most colicky babies do. Her mother was finally taking a much-deserved nap in the master bedroom, having been delighted to see Blair show up and offer to take over coddling his favorite baby while she caught a few minutes of sleep.

It was a good thing Jim had caved in and taken that desk job. At first, Blair had resented Lindsay's insistence that Jim try for the promotion that would take him off the streets. Jim loved what he did, and Blair had watched a lot of the old Ellison fire and enthusiasm dwindle as he spent his days in meetings, filling out forms and supervising other people doing what he wanted to be doing himself. But in a situation like this, Jim would have been no good on the streets. Amanda's crying kept him awake most nights, and if she didn't cry, Jim tended to stay awake with his hearing on full alert to figure out why she was quiet, to monitor her breathing, or just to listen to her heartbeat. No matter how bored he was at the job, or how tired he got, just mention his "Mandy", and he lit up like Christmas.

Blair was on the merry-go-round now. He laughed at the memory of telling Jim that leaving police work to go back to academia would be like getting off the roller coaster to ride the merry-go-round. He had essentially done just that, because Jim didn't need constant guiding to get from the copy machine to his desk, or from the coffee machine to his next meeting. The two men still saw each other nearly every day, either for a quick lunch or breakfast, depending on Jim's shift and Blair's schedule. Blair had a standing invitation for dinner, but only accepted it a couple times per week. He didn't want to be the bane of Lindsay's existence, intruding on her every private moment with Jim. Today, however, the exhausted mother had been thrilled to hand her wailing daughter over to Blair when he arrived near four o'clock. She'd have at least a couple of hours to catch a nap before Jim got home.

Amanda grimaced and wriggled in his arms, and Blair started singing to her again in a hushed voice. //She looks like a little tiny Jim// Blair thought fondly, seeing the beginnings of his best friend's strong features, coloring and penetrating blue eyes in his daughter. Amanda was only four months old, but she had a personality all her own. //An Ellison all the way.//

The snow was falling again outside the window, and since Amanda was still restless, Blair carefully stood up from the rocker where he'd been sitting and moved to the window of the one-floor contemporary house Jim shared with his wife and daughter. Situated on a large, partially wooded lot, the snow made the trees look like a frosted fairyland. As the baby let out her first whimpers, and the blue eyes opened, Blair held her where she could see the snow falling through the window of the room that was nearly dark.

"Winter's coming, Mandy," he whispered, smiling. "Wanna know a secret?" He turned back from the window to look into those piercing blue eyes. He always had the uncanny feeling she somehow understood what he was saying. Even in her current fussy state, the two little eyes riveted on Blair as he spoke. "Your daddy's already Christmas shopping for you. Yes he is," Blair added, smiling at his little charge.

There was a noise, somewhere in the house. For some reason, all of Blair's instincts screamed that it wasn't Jim coming home, and his heart rate picked up pace. At that precise moment, Amanda began crying again, letting out the full-bodied wails that blotted out any other sound in the environment. In the split second Blair had to think about it, he realized that she was almost as attuned to him as her father was. She began crying at the precise moment Blair had become afraid.

The next sound was unmistakable: a gunshot shattered the silence, followed rapidly by another. Trapped at the end of the hall with a crying baby, Blair panicked, the horrible realization sweeping over him in a wave that those shots were probably for Lindsay. He didn't care what they did with him at that moment, if he could only figure a way to protect Jim's little girl. If only she hadn't begun to cry...

Time seemed to move in slow motion. There were footsteps in the hall, taking what seemed like an eternity and yet only moments to become a dark form in the doorway...

Lieutenant Ellison packed the last of the papers in his briefcase and straightened up the disarray on his desk. Lindsay was making homemade pizza tonight, and Blair would be there for dinner. That was worth hurrying to be home by seven. Since he'd won the promotion to Lieutenant and transferred back to Vice, it seemed like his days were longer and longer.

//No, it just feels that way, because you're working in one of the grittiest, most dangerous divisions and all you can do is stand back and watch.// Jim tried to swallow the little wave of resentment he felt about that, locking up his office and heading out the door. //Just like a goddamn executive, not a cop.// More bitterly than he missed street action, he missed having Blair bouncing along at his side all day. He was proud of Dr. Sandburg and the strong reputation he was building at Rainier, but it was a matter of time before one of the more prestigious universities snapped him up and he'd be gone permanently.

Jim hated the lump that always seemed to find its way to his throat when that thought crossed his mind. Their little moments over a fast-food breakfast or lunch were all Jim had left of his past life. That, and the loft. Blair had remained there, renting it from Jim, after Jim's marriage. Once he received his doctorate and Rainier took him on as faculty, he was able to afford a decent rent, covering the expenses of maintaining the loft.

Lindsay was a wonderful woman. She was kind, sensitive, and had finally accepted Blair's role in their lives. //Why shouldn't she? Whenever we get together, he takes over with Mandy. It's the only break Lindsay gets, being home all day with the baby.//

Jim smiled as he rode down in the elevator, thinking about Blair with his daughter. The younger man adored Jim's little girl, and he was wonderful with children. His patience knew no limits, even with a baby as perpetually fussy as Mandy. Not that Jim didn't treasure every sound that came out of that beautiful little girl. It had taken him awhile to accept life as a sleep-starved zombie, but a couple other guys in the department who had survived colicky babies had assured him he would live, as long as he stayed off the streets.

//So what's my problem?// Jim asked himself as he tossed his briefcase in the truck and got in to start it. //I've got a beautiful blonde wife who still turns heads everywhere we go, an angelic daughter who has my heart wrapped around her tiny little finger--even if she does scream her head off all night, a good friend who's always there for me, a successful career...//

Driving through the November snow, Jim looked forward to the evening. He couldn't wait to talk to Blair about all the details of the bust that had gone wrong that day. Thankfully, none of the cops involved had been killed, but one was hospitalized, still in serious condition. Blair could put it all in perspective again. He'd sit there, holding Mandy, and listen intently--no, hang, on Jim's every word, and then he'd say something that would make it all right. Just like always.

//Blair again.// Jim smiled a little. //It always comes back to Blair.// No matter how far he ran, or how many women he bedded, or even when he finally married one. It all came back to Blair, and the feelings that were between them. Feelings that went in all the wrong directions. Feelings that had propelled Jim to actively seek out an appropriate marriage partner and take his life in this different direction. He wasn't gay and neither was Sandburg. That being the case, he was just too damned dependent on the quirky little anthropologist who could be a thorn in his side and the light of his life at the same time. So when he'd met Lindsay Stanton, the daughter of a protected witness in a major investigation of a local crime boss, he pursued her. She took the bait, and after a six month courtship, they married.

Blair had been best man at his wedding, a fact that hadn't set well with Stephen. Still, Jim couldn't picture anyone else standing up for him but his right hand...his other half. //Getting married solved a lot for you, didn't it Ellison? Lindsay is your other half, dammit. Not Sandburg.//

Jim noticed with some annoyance that the streetlight near their house was out again. The Ellison house was situated on a large, semi-wooded lot at the end of a cul-de-sac, and it was important to Jim that their home have the light in working order to keep the house from being a B&E target because of its slight seclusion in the middle of suburbia.

Blair's car was in the driveway, pulled into the drive-off at the side. Jim immediately knew something wasn't right. There was only one dim light in the living room. It was seven o'clock sharp. Lindsay would have dinner in the oven, and Blair would usually be in the living room by now, holding Amanda while her mother prepared the meal.

Jim got out of the truck and drew his gun. He tuned his hearing to the house, but picked up no sounds of the baby crying...and no heartbeats. That relieved him a little, actually. Maybe they had all gone out for some reason, using Lindsay's car.

He unlocked the side door into the garage. Lindsay's Honda Accord was still parked there. Now, with some effort, Jim could pick up on one sound...familiar, but...wrong somehow. It was Blair's heartbeat, but very slow and very labored.

Losing no more time on evaluating the situation, not even knowing how to process the fear he felt for his wife and daughter, let alone his best friend, he made his way stealthily into the house. One thing was sure: no one healthy and mobile was inside. He flipped on the hall light and hurried to the master bedroom, calling to Lindsay. When he stopped in the doorway, the shock of what he saw made his legs feel too weak to move.

Lindsay was lying on the bedspread, dressed in her jeans and her favorite blue sweater...and there was a horrible mass of blood that fanned out under her head and matted one side of her blonde hair. It spattered the wall behind the headboard in a horribly explosive pattern. Her heart was not beating.

"Blair!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. It was the only heartbeat he could hear, and if he ever needed his guide, it was at this moment. He couldn't make his legs move, couldn't take his eyes off the horror in front of him. There was no response from Blair.

He tore his stunned eyes away from Lindsay's lifeless form and dragged himself down the hall to the nursery, hearing the heartbeat grow louder. He refused to think of the possibility that Blair hadn't somehow protected Mandy. That his little girl wouldn't be safe in her crib. That her heartbeat was just being drowned out somehow by Blair's in his confused mind.

The first thing Jim saw was Blair's still form, face down on the pale pink carpeting, a spreading red patch under the upper portion of his torso. One bloody hand gripped the cell phone that Blair had somehow managed to pull out of the backpack on the floor by the white wicker rocker.

Dazed, Jim pulled the phone out of Blair's weakened grip and called for back-up and an ambulance. He was functioning purely on autopilot in that moment, the shock so great that his emotions couldn't begin to deal with it.

And then he saw the small bundle on the floor a few feet behind where Blair lay. Before he could think to check Blair's pulse or the seriousness of his injuries, all his senses focused on that little bundle, and the blood that stained the small, soft white blanket wrapped around the pink sleepers. Dropping to his knees next to his wounded friend, staring at the lifeless form of his daughter, Jim didn't understand where the horrible, agonized screams he heard were coming from. He didn't realize they were being torn from the pit of his own soul as he collapsed next to Blair, incoherently grabbing at the only warm, living thing in the cold, dark house.

Simon paced the hospital corridor anxiously. Sandburg had been in surgery for hours, having suffered multiple bullet wounds in his left shoulder, chest and abdomen. The bullet that had pierced his chest had ironically been slowed by the body of the baby girl he had been holding, trying so hard to protect. As it was, it had collapsed his lung and barely missed his heart. The doctor had hastily explained something about autotransfusion, or somehow adding coagulant to the blood gushing out of Blair's chest as it was caught in collection bottles and giving it back to him. Whatever it was all about, he knew Blair was not in good shape, and doctor wasn't holding out much hope.

Lindsay Ellison was dead at the scene, two bullet wounds to the head having taken her life instantly. She had most likely been sleeping, and probably didn't even know what happened.

Amanda Ellison was also dead at the scene, a single bullet having passed through her tiny body on its way to entering Blair's chest.

The forensics team had determined that the shooter had caught Blair holding the baby, and had shot him in the shoulder as he tried to turn away to shield her. Having weakened and unbalanced him with this first non-critical shot, the shooter played for keeps, aiming for both the baby and Sandburg, drilling two bullets into them.

Blair had obviously had a few conscious moments at some point, as he had laid the baby aside and dragged himself to his backpack and pulled the cell phone out before losing consciousness again.

That's where they had found Jim, silent, catatonic, holding onto Blair's bloody hand, slumped on the floor next to his friend. Simon assessed that the reality of Amanda's death had been the final straw that shocked him into the state he had not yet escaped. While Blair hovered between life and death, Jim was in a hospital bed down the hall, staring blankly at the wall. The hospital's staff psychiatrist was with him at the moment, so all Simon could do was pace.

Various cops from the precinct arrived and joined the vigil in the waiting room. Blair had become a fixture around the PD, even if he wasn't there as often as he used to be. Jim was well-liked and respected by most of his colleagues, so many came to show their support, even if he couldn't receive visitors at the moment.

"Captain Banks?" The doctor, a short man in his late fifties with receding hair and a pleasant expression, approached the area where Simon was wearing a path in the floor tile.

"How's Sandburg?"

"He survived surgery. We were able to re-inflate his lung, once we stopped the bleeding and repaired the damage. The abdominal wound, fortunately, missed the vital organs and only caused some tissue damage. His shoulder is going to be out of commission for a while, and he'll probably need considerable physical therapy to get full motion back, but I think in time, the muscle and tendon damage can be overcome."

"What's the prognosis?"

"I would say his chance for survival is slightly above 50-50. He's lost a lot of blood, and we lost him once in the emergency room. He isn't out of the woods yet. He's not breathing on his own--we have him on a ventilator, but he's strong, healthy...at this point, I'm optimistic."

"That's great news, doctor." Simon exhaled and smiled for the first time that night. "How long before he can have visitors?"

"He'll be in recovery for a few hours, and then moved to ICU. Then--"

"I know the drill. One visitor, five minutes every hour?"

"We could probably stretch it to ten for family, but essentially, yes," the doctor responded, smiling.

"Thanks, Doc." Simon watched the man retreat back down the hall, and went to share the news with his men in the waiting room.

Jim had listened to the woman in the white lab coat babble incessantly at him, talking about trauma and repression and the importance of him responding. //Fine, I'll fucking respond.//

"I want to see Blair," he said simply, startling her out of her monologue.

"Mr. Ellison, do you know where you are?" she asked, smiling slightly, obviously pleased with herself for convincing him to speak.

"I'm in the hospital. My family is...my wife is dead...my daugh-daughter is d-dead," he forced past the constriction of his throat. This woman needed a recitation of reality from him before she'd help him find Blair. "I-I have to see Sandburg. Now." Jim felt he was at a crossroads, on the edge of insanity at the non-stop barrage of bloody images that filled his memory. There was one light, one way out, one guide to lead him through this. He needed Blair.

"I'll check on Mr. Sandburg's condition."

"I have to see him," Jim blurted, hating the agitation in his voice. //Calm down, Ellison. Get hysterical and you'll be sedated. And add drugs to what you're feeling now, and the fun'll really begin.//

"Please try to relax." She laid a gentle hand on his arm as she rose from the chair next to his hospital bed.

"I'm not staying here," he stated firmly, taking command of the situation. //You've still got a shred or two of your sanity, Ellison. Hold onto it, go with it. Blair was hurt. He probably needs you as much as you need him. Just like always...//

"You've suffered a very bad shock--"

"Yes, I have. And I'm still suffering it, but I'm not injured and I'm not crazy, at least not yet. Now please tell me where my clothing is."

"I can't agree--"

"Look, I'll sign anything you want. Just go find out how Sandburg is and tell me where they put my clothes."

"Very well. Your clothes are in the bureau drawer," she nodded toward some built in drawers across the room. "I'll bring in the release forms, and inquire about Mr. Sandburg's condition."

"Thank you."

"Jim?" Simon passed the psychiatrist as she was leaving the room, and was more than a little relieved to see Jim pulling his clothes hastily out of the drawer and tossing them on the bed.

"How's Blair?" Jim blurted, not even bothering to acknowledge Simon.

"He survived surgery, but he's still on a ventilator. The doctor sounded pretty hopeful that he'll make it." Simon tried to smile, but Jim just searched his face a moment, and the captain knew the sentinel was giving him an on-the-spot lie detector test. Obviously satisfied Simon was being straight with him, Jim nodded.

"Good," he said tightly, dispensing with the hospital gown and pulling on his pants. "Where is he?"

"He's in recovery, Jim. It'll be a few hours before you can see him."

"Yeah, okay." Jim hastily pulled on his t-shirt and sweater, then sat on the bed to put on his shoes and socks. "What did forensics say?"

"Jim, you've just been through a--"

"God dammit, Simon, don't tell me what I've been through!!" Jim leapt to his feet and turned to face Simon. "Everybody keeps telling me what I've been through! Don't they think I know?! They're dead! Lindsay's head was half blown off!! Don't they think I saw that? Who in the fucking hell do they think found her?!" he shouted at Simon, hating the tears that were burning his eyes, and the constriction of his throat. "They killed my little girl, Simon." It was a breathless statement, choked by the threat of tears and the sudden impact of grief on a mind that was beginning to function again. Yet, in a manner typical of the stoic cop, Jim swallowed his emotions again. Running a hand over his face, he moved to stare out the window into the darkness of the night, his back to Simon.

Simon was at a loss for any words of comfort to offer Jim, and for a moment, felt as desperate as Jim himself to have Blair there, and conscious. Blair would say something now, something soothing or wise or well-thought-out. Even with a hole in his chest and tubes up his nose--if Sandburg were conscious, he'd do something for Jim. Anything. He'd know how to put the shattered wreck before him back together.

"We're all here for you, man. You've got a lot of friends to pull you though this, buddy. But you've got to hang in there. For Sandburg. He's alive, but he's got a long recovery ahead of him. He needs you." Bolstering Jim with the thought of taking care of Blair was the only strategy that presented itself in Simon's mind.

"Tell me what happened, Simon. I need to know." Jim sat on the foot of the bed, and Simon pulled the chair up so he was sitting across from Jim.

"It looks as though one shooter entered through the patio door off the deck. It was unlocked, and there's no sign of forced entry."

"That goddamned rabbit."

"What?" Simon looked at Jim, puzzled.

"Lindsay puts--Lindsay put food out for a jack rabbit that used to come up on the deck. Half the time, she forgot to lock the door afterwards. We were always bickering about that..." Jim's thoughts trailed off to Lindsay's wavy blonde hair, and the way she used to push it back into place after the wind had toyed with it while she placed the little bits of food outside for the rabbit...

"Lindsay was shot first, Jim. Given the layout of the house, there was nowhere for Sandburg to go with Amanda."

"And she was probably crying. She cries most of the night...does anybody really know why nobody can cure colic for babies? Seems like they should have figured that out by now, I mean they figured out everything else--"

"Jim?" Simon interrupted.

"Yeah, right. Go ahead." Jim pulled his other shoe on and tied it while Simon continued.

//Concentrate on routine, Ellison. Put on the shoes, tie them. Crazy men can't concentrate on anything. Keep a hold of your mind.//

"The shooter probably moved fast, and found Blair in the nursery with Amanda. He was still holding her when he was shot. Judging by the angle of the wound in his shoulder, he most likely tried to turn away and shield her, and was shot."

"How did the shooter...how did...how did he kill Mandy?" Jim forced out.

"The bullet that hit Sandburg in the chest is the one that killed Amanda. The kid was probably operating on instinct, holding her, trying to use himself as a shield. And when he was shot in the shoulder, he probably couldn't even manage that as well. It just didn't work," Simon concluded quietly.

"They didn't stand a chance." Jim stared straight ahead a moment, worrying Simon that he had slipped back into his catatonic state. As soon as the doctor came back in with the release forms, he snapped back to reality and scrawled his signature on the papers, listened as politely as he could manage to her objections to his release, and then dismissed her with a curt "Thank you."

"Jim, let's go downstairs to the cafeteria. It's getting late, and you should have something to eat--"

"Oh, God, no, Simon. I wouldn't hold it right now," Jim replied, making a face and covering his stomach briefly with his hand.

"Coffee, at least?"

"Okay, yeah, some coffee." Jim walked with Simon down the hall and then rode down in the elevator in silence, letting the captain fill in the void with various reassuring phrases about Blair's survival and his general good health and his fighting spirit. He held onto the voice like a lifeline, the only thing keeping him dangling over the abyss of blood-spattered nightmares swirling through his mind.

As Blair surfaced from the darkness, he felt a steady pressure on his hand. For some reason, the warm pressure was foremost in his mind, even over the pain that was assailing him from all sides. His mind went immediately to the baby he'd been holding, and the terror washed over him again.

"Hey, it's okay, Chief. I'm right here," a soft voice cut through the nightmare image that was flashing into Blair's foggy brain. He felt a warm hand on his cheek, a thumb brushing at wetness that must have been coming from his eyes.

"Mandy..." was all he could manage. "I couldn't...I...tried..."

"I know, Blair. It's not your fault, Chief. Try to relax. You don't have to talk." Jim squeezed Blair's hand carefully.

"Lin...Lindsay?" Blair managed in a quiet, strained voice. He had only recently been taken off the ventilator, and was breathing on his own.

"She's gone, Chief," Jim responded softly.

"How long...what is today?" Blair asked, still a bit groggy.

"It happened last night. It's four in the afternoon on Thursday."

"I have...to be...with you...the funeral..."

"You have to get better, buddy. That's your job right now." Jim looked at the pale face framed by the fan of soft curls on the pillow. "God, Blair, you're all I've got left. You've got to get better. I can't...I can't make it without you," Jim concluded, his voice breaking painfully on the last word as he dropped his head to the mattress at Blair's side, feeling the grief tearing through him again, and this time, not fighting it. He felt a gentle hand in his hair, stroking his head slowly.

"Just let it out, Jim. I'm not going to leave you," Blair stated, forcing a strength into his voice that his damaged body didn't really feel. "Everything'll be...okay," Blair managed, feeling exhausted even from this brief conversation. "Mandy's...always been...a little angel. Now, she...she's with God...and your mom...finally gets to...meet her... namesake," Blair continued in as soothing a tone as he could muster. Little Amanda Blair had been named for Jim's deceased mother and Blair himself. "Lindsay...was sleeping, Jim. She...probably...didn't feel a thing."

Jim continued to sob into the side of the bed, and Blair finally fell silent, just stroking his hair, then resting his hand on the back of Jim's neck when the motion became to tiring.

"You...you come back and live...with me," Blair continued. "You're not ever...gonna be alone, okay?"

"You should rest," Jim choked out, making the first attempts to pull himself together.

"You too. Where're you...sleeping?"

"The waiting room," Jim answered honestly, finally straightening up and pulling out a handkerchief to mop off his face.

"No...go home with...Simon. Go to bed. Sleep."

"Blair, I...I can't do that. I can't...I can't close my eyes without seeing her...Lindsay...there on our bed. Oh, God, Chief, she deserved so much better than what I ever gave her," Jim said sadly, shaking his head. He knew that his heart had never fully belonged to the beautiful woman who had lived with him as his wife and had borne his child. "And...and Mandy...how could anybody...kill a baby? I don't...I know I should know because I'm a cop...but how does anybody do that?"

"Some people are truly evil. They're sociopaths in the textbooks, but I think it's something more. It's a void where their souls should be." Blair swallowed and worked at maintaining his strength to talk. Jim needed him, badly. The devastated man by his bedside was frighteningly dependent on him emotionally, and Blair knew only too well the feeling that only Jim could make what was wrong, better. "You were good to Lindsay and Mandy. They...loved you."

"I don't want to leave here, Chief. I can sleep on the couch in the waiting room. I just can't...go in and turn out the lights and get into bed and not...see her...and Mandy on that floor."

"I know. I see...the guy in the room...every time I close my eyes."

"Did you see him?" Jim's head snapped up, but Blair shook his head slowly.

"It got dark while I was rocking Mandy, and I...she was asleep a while, and I didn't want the light...to wake her," Blair continued, a tear sliding out of his eye again. "I was showing her the snow out the window, and I heard something, and she started crying, and then I heard the shots. I didn't know where to go, Jim. I couldn't get out of the house without running into whoever it was." Blair was out of breath and crying himself now, faster than Jim could catch the tears. "I wish he'd just killed me instead, left Mandy alone..."

"Shhh," Jim soothed his agitated friend, drying his tears. "You did the best you could, buddy. It was a no-win situation. I'm just so damned glad that you survived."

"Detective Ellison?" The nurse's soft voice startled Jim as he tended to Blair's tears. "He needs to get some rest now. You can come back in next hour," she added, smiling slightly. The nursing staff were aware of the tragedy surrounding Blair's injuries, and they had been very sensitive in their treatment of both the patient and the grief-ravaged man who spent every possible moment at his side.

"I'll be back soon, Chief. Get some rest. If you're asleep next time, I'll just sit with you a while." He stroked Blair's forehead, and then leaned forward and planted a little kiss there.

"Jim--" Blair caught the larger man's hand with surprising firmness. "We'll...be okay, somehow. We'll...tackle it together, huh?"

"Like always, partner." Jim squeezed his hand, and Blair saw the first trace of what could have been interpreted as a smile as Jim gently laid the tired hand back on the bed, then patted it and walked away slowly.

Jim had always prided himself on being able to function surprisingly well under pressure. He did so now, keeping his composure and trying to provide support for Lindsay's grief-stricken mother as arrangements were made and family notified. The witness who had brought Jim and Lindsay together in the first place, Lindsay's father, had died of a heart attack six months earlier, just a couple months before the birth of his granddaughter. He pitied his mother-in-law, who had lost her husband, daughter and granddaughter within the span of six months' time, yet he had the uncanny feeling she held him accountable for all her losses.

The double funeral for Lindsay and Amanda Ellison were well-attended to say the least. The 35-year-old Lindsay had held a top position in a local graphic design firm before quitting to have and care for her daughter. She was popular with her co-workers, as well as a considerable circle of friends. The pretty blonde with the quiet but pleasant personality had made her mark in her short life, leaving behind a number of close friends and grieving family members.

Jim listened numbly as the minister eulogized his late wife. His thoughts were back to the time when he first met Lindsay, and again, he was trying to overcome the feelings of guilt he had. Just before he met her, Jim had acknowledged to himself that his feelings for Blair had changed direction. It was a direction he wasn't prepared to follow, and given Blair's track record with women, it certainly wasn't one he'd care to pursue either. Jim had decided he needed to "get a life." Then along came Lindsay.

He couldn't remember meeting a girl before who had blonde hair and brown eyes. But you could lose yourself in the warm depths of those dark amber eyes of Lindsay's. She was creative, sensitive, and her quiet personality meshed well with Jim's. An independent thinker who liked time to herself and the chance to paint undisturbed when she was working on one of the many canvasses that ended up decorating their home, she was the ideal mate for a cop with an erratic schedule. All she'd asked of Jim was that he pursue a promotion that would take him out of the line of fire. Lindsay had said she didn't want to be a widow raising an orphan.

So Jim changed jobs. Jim bought a house. Jim ate Sunday dinner with his in-laws. Jim mowed the lawn and helped the neighbor put up his fence and joined the neighborhood watch, because Lindsay wanted to be involved in their community. In short, Jim tried to fashion himself into the perfect husband. And now that his wife was dead, he felt immense guilt at the irritation and displeasure each of those activities had brought with them. He hated his new job, he bought a house Lindsay loved that he personally didn't care for, and dinner at the in-laws only bored him slightly less than talking to the neighbors about how many kids were toilet-papering trees and had to be stopped. All in all, Jim Ellison had loved Lindsay and Amanda, but truly loathed every minute of his married life.

Lindsay seemed to know she didn't have first place in Jim's heart, which would result in the little outbursts she would occasionally have in which she suggested that perhaps Jim should have married Blair instead of her. It had been on the tip of his tongue to retort that if they had been living in Hawaii, he probably would have, but he'd held it back each time. And each time the wall between himself and his wife grew a little stronger. The wall named Blair Sandburg.

Blair was innocent in all of it. He tried to keep his nose out of Jim's married life. After he'd overheard Lindsay make a sharp remark to Jim one time when he dropped in shortly after Amanda was born, it had taken Jim weeks to talk Blair into ever coming over again. The younger man hadn't gone away angry, but he had gone away determined not to screw up his friend's marriage.

But the more Lindsay railed against Blair's importance to her husband, the farther apart the couple grew, until she seemed to realize this pattern, and did an about-face. Furthermore, she had come to appreciate having someone who loved Amanda like his own to call on when she needed someone to watch the baby. Blair had volunteered to babysit any time he possibly could, and when Lindsay gave in and accepted his help on a few occasions, she began to like Blair and consider him a friend in her own right. Ironically, in the weeks just before the murders, Lindsay and Blair had finally made their peace with their roles in Jim's life, and were becoming good friends.

Mandy had been a joy from the first moment she was born. She was a fussy baby from the start, but she was Jim's little angel no matter how many times he had to drag himself out of bed to respond to her nearly incessant crying at night. He often got up to take care of the baby since Lindsay occasionally slept through the start of the crying. Jim was awake most of the time whether Amanda was crying or just sleeping. He monitored that child like a human nursery monitor, only tolerating the presence of that device to soothe Lindsay's mind. He heard every sigh, intake of breath, burp and gurgle with his own sentinel hearing.

//It was as if I thought something was going to happen right from the start// Jim thought to himself.

Jerking himself back to the present, Jim noticed that even Simon was sliding a handkerchief under his glasses. //The minister must be doing his job,// Jim concluded, feeling that he had cheated Lindsay once again by letting his attention drift during her eulogy.

The segment of the sermon about Amanda was a lot of talk of the innocence of children and angels and eternal paradise. Jim swallowed hard on not only his grief, but the inclination to stand up and shout: "She was shot in her own nursery! This isn't a fucking fairy tale! It's a homicide!" But he refrained from any outbursts, turning eyes that filled easily with tears to the little white casket at the front of the church.

Soon, he could go back to Blair, and soak up some of the solace that would heal him. Blair was still very weak, and Jim knew the emotional strain wasn't good for his friend. Still, there was nothing that soothed Jim now but the sound of that familiar, soft voice, or the gentle touch of Blair's hand, and the feeling of being loved and cared for, even if the caregiver was flat on his back and weak as a kitten.

"What time is it?" Blair asked the nurse as she came in to check his IV.

"It's about three o'clock. Would you like to watch some TV?" she offered. Blair was getting adjusted to his new private room, no longer in the ICU unit. He hadn't told Jim he was being moved, because he wanted to surprise his friend with one upbeat event in the middle of all this misery.

"No, thanks." He forced a little smile. "The funeral was today."

"Must be hard to not go in person, huh?" she asked gently, adjusting his pillows a bit. Sally had been Blair's nurse during a previous hospital stay, and it was good to see a familiar face. She had been more than sympathetic when he'd told her how he ended up there.

"I just...I wanna get out of here so I can be there for Jim, you know? Laid up like this, I'm not good for much."

"If the number of hours he spends here are any indicator, you must be good for something, even laid up. Why don't you relax and take a nap? I've poked you for the last time for a while." She smiled knowingly and pulled the drapes to obscure the sunlight that was pouring into the room. "The move this morning must have tired you out."

"Oh, yeah. Being wheeled down the hall was real strenuous."

"Don't knock the service. Word is you're going to be up and on your feet tomorrow."

"At least it's progress." Blair sighed, thinking of what an effort pulling his battered body up on its feet would actually be.

"So enjoy the star treatment while you're still getting it. Ring if you need anything," she concluded, heading out the door.

"Thanks, Sally."

Blair closed his eyes, much better able to sleep peacefully without the help of sedatives when it was still daylight. When the darkness of night came, it was only the heavy sedation and Jim's constant presence that allowed him to slip off into sleep. Visions of the dimly lit hall in the Ellison house, the dark silhouette in the door of Mandy's nursery, the realization that the worst thing he feared happening was really going to happen...

His eyes snapped open again to the shadowy hospital room. Maybe he was beyond the point of being gravely ill enough to drop into a dead sleep unassisted at any time.

He recalled coming to, lying on his back on the floor of the nursery, and seeing the mobile over the crib moving lazily. Not knowing if the man who'd shot him was still in the house, Blair had utilized his last moments of consciousness to think about getting help. He couldn't remember acknowledging then that Mandy was dead. She was hurt, he knew that, so he'd carefully rolled to his good side and released her a little less gracefully than he wanted to onto the soft carpeting. //It's my blood on her blanket// Blair remembered telling himself. //She's asleep, because I've been unconscious a long time and she's done crying...//

Then he'd made a determination that the pain was not going to stop him from getting to his cell phone. Lindsay had to be at least gravely injured from the two shots he'd heard before. Someone had to get help. So he'd made the excruciating and agonizingly slow crawl to his back pack, and the last thing he remembered was getting a hold of the phone.

//Mandy was already dead in my arms.//

The thought tore through Blair's heart like a razor. In the horror of Jim's grief, and the first stages of his own struggle to cling to life, let alone recover, Blair hadn't given any real vent to his own feelings of loss about Jim's family. Lindsay was a good person, and he was starting to get to know her, and to appreciate her creativity, her kindness, her humor...and she had somehow decided that if she couldn't beat Blair, she might as well join him, and they were becoming friends. Friends who had Jim in common, and beautiful, perfect little Amanda in common.

But Mandy had been pure, undistilled joy from the moment of her birth. Blair had been moved beyond words that she had his name as her middle name, and he treasured her as a precious little piece of Jim. Somehow, with Jim as her father and Blair sharing her middle name, he felt the three of them were all linked somehow...it was like the best version of an old fantasy that had died when Jim came home that night and announced he had asked Lindsay to marry him. Up until then, Blair had entertained thoughts of the two of them someday discovering each other...or rather, Jim discovering him. He had discovered Jim shortly after they met, and he knew how he felt about his male roommate. But Jim was hopelessly straight, and when he'd finally become engaged to Lindsay, Blair had felt his heart would break. He knew it would end that way eventually, but he hadn't wanted it to happen so soon.

When he'd sit in the nursery and rock Mandy, or sing to her, he could fantasize silly, impossible things. That somehow she was his and Jim's. She was a miracle that could never happen.

Even in her own right, without any embellishments of romantic fantasy, Blair deeply loved that little girl. He'd have happily died to protect her, and in the end, he'd failed miserably when called upon to do that.

Lying alone in the dim hospital room, Blair finally let go of the grief he didn't want to add to Jim's. Wrenching sobs jarred his pained body as he finally let out the anguish he felt over the loss of Jim's family and the trauma of his own ordeal.

Having dispensed with his suitcoat and tie in the truck, Jim slipped into his topcoat and headed into the hospital to see Blair. The funeral dinner had been a long, drawn out, draining experience. Lindsay's family were all in town, and blessedly, staying with her mother and not him. Of course, the nature of what happened prevented him from hosting too many house guests. He hadn't been back to the house himself, and it was still sealed as a crime scene.

Blair hadn't been much help to the investigation. What little light had been in the hall was behind the shooter, and Blair had done his utmost to turn away to shield Amanda. He hadn't seen the perp's face at all. He did say the silhouette was fairly large, about Simon's height and build. Blair recalled him being left-handed, after Jim spent considerable time calmly walking him through his first glimpse of the man in the hall he knew was going to shoot him and Amanda. Blair had some serious gaps in his memory, which Jim had to sadly accept and work with what they did have.

There was no need for Jim to crusade to make the murder of his family top priority. Community outrage at the brutal slaying of a family in a relatively "safe" suburban neighborhood at dinner time had been sufficient to make the mayor snap at Simon's heels. That was also unnecessary as the entire Major Crimes Unit was lining up to help with the case, both on-duty and on their own time.

Needless to say, Jim would not be a direct member of the investigation. He was personally involved in the most intimate way. Simon had overridden his objections by reminding him that they had one living witness that not only needed protection but also needed care. Blair would not be able to be left on his own once he was released from the hospital, and the logical person to take care of him was Jim.

Simon's orders that Jim "look after Sandburg" were unnecessary, but Simon had turned it into an order to make Jim feel as if he were acting in some official capacity in the investigation.

As he rode the elevator to the ICU, Jim leaned against the wall and tried to pull the pieces of his mind together sufficiently to even form a theory about why anyone would want to kill his family. In his line of work, there were countless seedy characters who could come back for revenge, and that was phase one of the investigation: sorting his old arrests and run-ins to find any tall, well-built, left-handed men.

He made his way wearily down the corridor to Blair's room, and froze in the doorway when he encountered only a freshly made bed. Backing out of the room with shaky steps, he fell into a chair in the hallway and just sat there, staring into space. //Oh, God, no, don't do this to me!! He's all I have left. God forgive me, he's always been the one that mattered the most... You've got everything else I had...why him too?//

"Jim?" A woman's voice startled him. He realized as he brushed at his eyes that the agony he'd felt had manifested itself as tears already.

"When?" was all he could manage.

"Blair was moved to a private room on the fourth floor about three hours ago," Sally responded. "I came up to make sure the nurse at the desk sent you downstairs. He wanted to surprise you."

"Oh, God." Jim's head dropped back against the wall with a dull thud. "Thank God," he murmured.

"You thought he was-- Oh, Jim, I'm sorry. He thought it would be a nice surprise for you that he was off the critical list and out of ICU."

"It is," Jim responded, finally finding a slight smile for the distressed young woman standing in front of him. Sally had been a wonderful bright spot during Blair's hospital stay a year earlier following a car accident he'd been in with Jim during a high speed chase. Fortunately, Blair's injuries had been more annoying that life-threatening, and the friendly brunette had kept his spirits up during his stay.

"Come on, I'll show you were he is," she offered, sensing that Jim was about at the end of his rope after the funeral and the shock of thinking he'd lost Blair too.

Jim eased the door open and looked in on Blair as Sally left him to his visit. Slipping inside the room and moving stealthily toward the bed, Jim didn't want to wake his sleeping friend. He noticed the moisture of drying tears on Blair's face as he drew closer, realizing that his sentinel sight hadn't picked up on it until he was close enough that anyone could have seen it. That didn't surprise him, given his present state of exhaustion and emotional turmoil.

Blair had gone through a pretty good cry from the looks of his pillow case and the wetness on his face. //Poor little guy,// Jim thought protectively, sitting in a chair close to the bed. //Spent four days on the critical list, and as soon as he opened his eyes the first time, he had to pull me back together. Gather up a million pieces and try to put them back into a reasonable facsimile of Jim Ellison.//

The unnerving thing was, even barely able to speak, Blair had done just that. His soft words and the gentle hand caressing Jim's hair as he let out his pain and his grief more than once on Blair's bedside had pulled him back from the edge of insanity. He lived for the time he spent with Blair, and as he always had, Blair turned all his attentions to Jim's well-being.

Jim eyed the overstuffed chair in the corner of the room and hoped he could use his status as a cop, claiming to be "protecting" Blair, to sleep there until his friend was released.

"Jim?" Blair's sleepy voice jarred him back to reality.

"Hey, there, Chief. How're you doin'?"

"I got upgraded," Blair responded, still groggy.

"Man, that's the best news I've had all day." Jim pulled his chair closer and took Blair's hand. "You've got a little more color today. You're looking healthier by the minute, buddy."

"Wish I could've been with you today." Blair returned the light pressure on his hand. "Damn it, they should've buried me today, not Mandy," Blair blurted out as fresh tears came. "I'm so sorry, man. I fucked everything up. I tried so hard not to let you down...to take care of her, but I couldn't do it!" Blair lost what little control he'd had and cried openly as he held onto Jim's hand.

"You listen to me, Chief." Jim lowered the side rail on the bed and sat on the edge of it, next to Blair's uninjured side. He laced their fingers together and pulled Blair's hand and forearm into the embrace he wanted to give Blair himself, had his injuries permitted. "There was no one in that house that night that was dispensable to me. I loved Lindsay and Amanda, and I love you. Losing my wife is one kind of pain, and losing Mandy...God, there just aren't words...but, Blair, losing you would have been a different pain, not a lesser one. You were stuck in a no-win situation, buddy. I know the layout of that house. You didn't have any choices, or anywhere to go, and with a crying baby, you couldn't even try hiding. The son of a bitch was going to shoot both of you no matter what you did. You didn't fail, do you hear me?"

"She was...your...daugh-daughter...and Lindsay...t-trusted me...with her...and I...I let her...die!" Blair choked out, still sobbing as he clutched Jim's hand.

"Dammit, Blair, you didn't let anything happen! Maybe you think then I should blame Lindsay because she forgot to lock the patio door again, or I could blame Mandy because she cried, and I could blame you because you had the bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. The only bastard to blame for this is the one who did the shooting. Oh, come on, Chief, listen to what I'm trying to tell you here," Jim pleaded with his inconsolable friend, who still hadn't quieted despite his reassurances. He reached up and stroked the side of Blair's head, threading his fingers through the soft hair there. "You know how much I loved Mandy. If I can look at this situation and tell you that you're not to blame, why can't you believe me?"

"She...was...just a...baby. I should've...done something!"

"Like what? You held her, you tried to use your body as a shield. What more could you do?" Jim was crying himself now, not certain if it was talking about the circumstances of Amanda's death or Blair's heart-wrenching grief and feelings of guilt that were causing it. Or maybe it was just fatigue.

"I loved her, Jim," Blair managed, trying to stop the flow of tears that seemed to know no end. "I don't have...any right...to lay this...on you...but...I loved her...too," Blair concluded before tears took over again and stole his voice.

"I know, Chief. I know you did. You have a right to your grief. And you have a right to your nightmares and your fear and your pain. You were that bastard's victim too."

"I'm...sorry...I'm the one...who made it, Jim. I wish it...had been Mandy...or Lindsay."

"You haven't listened to a word I said, have you? Huh?" Jim let go of Blair's hand and arm, though Blair was quick to fasten his hand to the lapel of Jim's coat to keep the contact. Both of Jim's hands went to either side of Blair's tear-dampened face. "You are not a consolation prize of some sort here, buddy. You're a gift, Blair. Out of all this horror, your life is the one miracle that was given to me to get me through this. I'm so damned glad you're going to be okay," Jim stated, giving in to his own tears a moment. "I need you, partner. I always did, I always will." He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Blair's.

"I'm sorry...to do this...today," Blair said, getting his composure back slowly. Jim straightened up and grabbed a couple of tissues from the box near the bed and set about the task of blotting the tears off Blair's face.

"This is the day for it, Chief. Just because you couldn't be there doesn't mean you aren't allowed to cry or grieve."

"Was everything nice?"

"Yeah. Lindsay's aunts did a great job with the arrangements. Her sister sang...she has a really beautiful voice. Lindsay did too, when she used to sing to Mandy all the time." Jim paused. "It was a nice service, I guess. All I know is it hurt," Jim said honestly, still holding onto Blair's hand.

"Any leads?" Blair asked. Jim smiled at him, knowing that Blair realized Jim had had as much as he could take of talking about the deaths and the funeral.

"Nothing concrete. I've busted a few lefties in my time, and only about three of them fit the profile that might come back to take revenge. I hope it isn't the beginning of a pattern."

"A serial killer you mean?"

"Right. Mandy and Lindsay are gone. I can't change that. I just hope that they weren't the first of many families."

"That would be horrible."

"I don't want to think they died because of me. That you almost died because of me. Again."

"Now who's taking blame they don't have coming?"

"Touche." Jim squeezed Blair's hand and held it in both of his. "How do you feel, really?"

"Everything hurts, but they tell me I can get up tomorrow."

"That's great! Hey, pretty soon, you can get out of here."

"I feel so useless in here. I want to do something...help you somehow."

"You did that just by surviving this, Chief."

"I mean with the case, and with...you know...you'll have to eventually...well, take care of stuff."

"You mean the house." Jim watched as Blair nodded. "It's still sealed as a crime scene for now. Simon got in and grabbed me some clothes and shoes and my shaving gear. Plus stuff for Lindsay and Mandy to wear." He sighed and then continued. "As soon as we get the all-clear, a cleaning crew that...know how to deal with situations like these...are going to clean up the place, and then it's going up for sale." Jim rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Lindsay's mother and sister and her aunts said they'd take care of her things, but I want to do some of that myself. Get that hen party going and they kind of forget that I'm still here."

"You look exhausted, buddy. Are you sleeping at all?"

"I told you--"

"Yeah, you sleep on the couches. I heard. Bet your neck and back are killin' you right about now."

"I've felt better. I just can't...every time I try to sleep...I see them."

"So do I, Jim. It's going to take a long time for that to go away, I think. Now that they're taking me off some of the pain meds, sleep is harder and harder. I keep remembering..."

"I'm going to ask to stay in here. I'll tell them I'm guarding you."

"Are you?"

"Simon's had a 24-hour guard on you from the beginning until we figure out what this is about. But I'd rather do it myself, officially, and I'd probably get some real sleep in that chair. I could pull it up next to the bed here in case you needed me...oh, hell, who am I kidding? In case we needed each other."

"Yeah," Blair responded, smiling slightly. "I'd like that."

Jim did doze off fairly quickly in his new sleeping spot next to Blair's bed. It seemed surreal to slide into sleep without listening for Amanda's breathing and heartbeat, knowing he wouldn't hear her cry or get up to go hold her sometime during the night.

He was startled out of sleep by Blair's voice. The younger man was talking agitatedly in his sleep, whining and getting more and more vocal. Jim leaned over the bed and started stroking Blair's hair, murmuring reassurances to him. The other man soon woke with a start, staring at Jim in wide-eyed fear until he processed where he was and who he was seeing.

"It's just me, buddy. Bad dream?" Blair just nodded. "I've been pretty fitful too."

"I know it's not real comfortable or easy, but would you...do you think you could...if I moved over...could you hold me a while?"

"I'll give it a shot, Chief. Be careful now," Jim admonished as Blair eased himself over in the bed to clear a narrow strip, where Jim carefully stretched out beside him. Since the other side of Blair's body was marred with the shoulder and chest injury, and his midsection had been ravaged by yet another bullet, the most contact Jim could risk was just the closeness of his body to his friend. Blair grasped his hand and laced their fingers, pulling Jim's arm up to rest on the unmarred side of his chest. Jim found his face resting against a few soft, stray curls.

"Are you as uncomfortable as you look?" Blair finally asked, drawing a little chuckle out of Jim.

"Actually, buddy, it feels pretty good to be here. Go back to sleep. I'm right here."

"So'm I--I mean, if you want to talk or can't sleep or anything," Blair added.

"Gotcha. Now sleep, Chief. You need the rest."

Blair settled down easily and slept, and within moments, Jim was right behind him. When morning dawned and the nurses were making their early rounds, Blair had to rouse Jim from the only truly deep sleep the man had gotten since the death of his family.

Blair was to be released from the hospital on a cold but sunny day in late November. The two men had passed Thanksgiving together, purposely dining on pizza and other non-traditional foods, hoping to ignore the holiday altogether. Now, with the festivity of the Christmas season approaching, Jim was relieved that he would at least have Blair out of the sterile confines of the hospital.

It seemed a bit surreal letting himself into the loft as if he'd never left. He had been surprised when Blair never moved out of the little bedroom downstairs to utilize the larger upstairs room. In this case, it was just as well, since Blair really wasn't supposed to be taking on steps just yet.

Blair hadn't changed anything in the time since Jim had left. What items Jim had chosen for the loft's decor were still in place, and the big bedroom upstairs was essentially untouched, looking as neat and sterile as it did when he'd packed up the last of his things to move into the new house.

Jim felt that wave of guilt again when he realized that he felt as if he were "coming home" at last. His home was with his wife and daughter, in their new house. But yet, whenever he walked in the door of the loft, whether to visit Blair or now, standing in his friend's room, gathering up his clothes, it was like coming home again.

He headed back for the hospital and found a very anxious Blair sitting in the chair, looking out the window of his room.

"Watching the parking lot for me, Chief?" Jim quipped, tossing the duffle bag of clothes on the bed.

"I am just so ready to get out of this place, man. I hate hospitals."

"Okay, pal, let's get you ready to make your big exit then."

Jim carefully helped Blair out of his pajamas and into regular street clothes for the first time in two weeks. The damaged shoulder still meant his arm was to be kept in a sling, but it could be carefully slipped out of its protection long enough for Jim to ease a sweater sleeve over it.

A short time later, Blair was dressed in his jeans, a bulky sweater and one of Jim's leather coats. The larger coat allowed them to cover the immobilized arm in its sling and still give some decent coverage in front. Over his objections, Blair was made to take the obligatory wheelchair ride out to the truck. Since his right side was essentially undamaged, he flopped his good arm around Jim's shoulders while the larger man lifted him up into the passenger seat.

"How's it feel to be sprung?" Jim almost sounded cheerful as he put the truck in gear and pulled out into the mid-day traffic.

"Great. I was really starting to bounce off the walls in that place." Blair was silent a moment, watching the familiar sights of Cascade pass his window. "Simon came by yesterday while you were at the station. He said there were no new leads--nothing panned out from your old arrests."

"Not so far." Jim sighed. "I don't want you to worry about the case. You've got your plate full getting well."

"How's Lindsay's mom doing?"

"I'm supposed to have lunch with her tomorrow. The house is all...cleaned up now, and she wants to start going through Lindsay's things."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Not ready," Jim shot back, immediately.

"Then she should back off, man. Lindsay was your wife."

"I never did get along with Marge," Jim said, referring to his mother-in-law. "She figures this is my fault somehow--that someone was trying to get at me, or that I didn't protect Lindsay and Mandy." He shook his head. "Plus every time we had a fight, Lin went to her and told her what an SOB I was."

"Isn't that par for the course with mothers and daughters? I mean, they were real close, and you know, when you fight with somebody and get mad enough, you can really hate them for a little while, anyway."

"She thinks I'm not grieving enough."

"What?" Blair's head snapped around to look at Jim. Anyone with eyes could see the pallor of his complexion, the fatigue in his eyes, and the overall slump of his posture.

"I haven't been to the cemetery since the funeral."

"That's what she said?"

"No, that's what I'm saying. Dammit, Blair, maybe she's right."

"Man, you were overloaded--barraged. You had not one, but two, huge losses, me laid up on the critical list, not to mention the fact it was a violent crime--which is another whole trauma by itself that's different from an accident or natural causes. As for going to the cemetery, when would you have time? You've been with me just about 24 hours a day since I was taken to the hospital. Besides, we all grieve in our own ways. For some people, it's visiting a grave every day. For others, that doesn't hold any lure or consolation."

"I can't stand to see Mandy's headstone." Jim's hands tightened on the wheel. "I don't know if I can handle this, Chief. I can't accept it. I can't face the fact she's gone. And when I go there, and see that stone, with the little lamb carved on it, and her name...Dammit!" Jim slapped the steering wheel and leaned his forehead on his hand, as his elbow rested on the driver's door. The tears were back. "I don't want to do this anymore!"

"Do what, buddy?" Blair asked softly.

"I don't want to...I want her to be okay. I want my daughter back. It isn't fair, dammit."

"No, it's not fair, man. It sucks."

"And I want to be able to feel what Marge wants me to feel. But I can't. I loved Lindsay, but things weren't right between us. I could feel that almost from the start. God dammit, Blair, I feel so fucking guilty," Jim shouted out through tears that were falling now, blurring his vision as he tried to drive. "She was a good wife, she was the mother of my child--and God help me, I wasn't happy with her!"

"Jim, come on, man, pull over up here." Blair pointed at the parking lot of a vacant appliance store. Jim followed the instructions like a robot, stopping the truck in one of the many empty spaces.

"I didn't give her what she deserved. I feel so fucking guilty because she's dead and her mother's right...when I cry at night it's for my little girl...dammit to hell, Blair, I tried so hard to feel what I was supposed to feel, but I hated my life! I hated that goddamn house, and I hate my job...and I--I--I--"

"Jim, come on, buddy. It's okay. You don't have to explain it. Just let it go." Blair unfastened his seatbelt and slid carefully over to Jim, pulling the other man's head down against his chest.

"I'll hurt you," Jim objected weakly.

"I'm not made out of china. Come here." Blair ignored the twinges of pain in his shoulder and incision as he found a safe spot for Jim's head to rest on his chest. With his good hand, he stroked Jim's hair back while the other man poured out his grief.

"I feel...like I'm...losing it..."

"You are, buddy. You're losing the pain. You're letting it out right now. You need to do that." Blair kept up his gentle caresses of Jim's head. "It's so natural to go back and think about all the things you did or didn't do that you want to change when someone dies suddenly. And you think of all the nasty thoughts you had about them and it tears you up. But, Jim, everybody has those thoughts. How many times did you get pissed off at me for putting you through some inane test and just wanted me to get out of your face?"

"But I never wanted--"

"Shhhh. I know. I know, buddy. You didn't want me gone, or dead. You were angry. Like any normal human being. I got pissed at your house rules and you ordering me around sometimes, and there were times I stormed off, mad as hell, thinking nasty thoughts. But I never, ever wanted to lose you. I never stopped loving you because I was mad at you. But I have been angry at you. Just like you were angry at Lindsay for pressuring you into changing so many things about your life in ways you didn't like." Blair rested his cheek against Jim's hair. "If all this had been reversed, and you had died, she'd be sobbing now and beating herself up for making you do so many things you weren't happy about."

"I didn't...love her...enough. God, she deserved...more..."

"Shhhh. It's okay, buddy. You gave her a beautiful home, you did everything she asked you to do, you were a wonderful father to Mandy--what else were you supposed to do?"

"I was supposed to love her more!!" Jim shouted through his tears.

"More than what? More than enough to give up the job you loved to make her happy? More than enough to move into a house you didn't like? More than enough to join that retarded neighborhood watch?" Blair was relieved to feel a watery chuckle against his chest. "Shit, Jim, you jumped through every hoop she held up and a few she didn't even think of. You treated her like a princess. How many men do you know who take care of almost all the nighttime baby duties, huh?"

"But...deep inside...I didn't...she wasn't...I didn't love her enough, Blair."

"Because you're grieving harder for Mandy? Is that it? Jim, she was your little girl--actually a physical part of you. The loss of a child is one of the most horrible, difficult things to go through. Many people take that harder than the loss of a spouse."

"Because...I was...glad...you were...the one...who lived. God help me, Blair, if I could have chosen I'd have wanted you to live!" Jim blurted out, followed by another wave of tears. Blair was temporarily dumbfounded by that statement. All along, he'd felt guilty for being the survivor. He had felt that if fate had just shifted events slightly, Jim could have at least maybe had his wife instead of his friend. He frantically searched the dark recesses of his mind for something to console the sobbing man huddled against him.

"Jim, our relationship is different from a normal friendship. Because of the whole Sentinel thing, you depend on me more than you normally would. It's natural that you would feel kind of frantic if you couldn't talk to me or turn to me at all. Our friendship and connection would be hard to fit in with any marriage, and that's why you're feeling like you've somehow 'cheated' Lindsay. I know I was a source of conflict between you two. I know she felt like your attention was divided, even though she knew why. It's not your fault that you have heightened senses or that you need help with them."

"But it's my fault...that I...that I was more...worried about you...when I got...to the house...than I was...about Lin," he choked out in little gasps.

"You're my Blessed Protector. It's in the Sentinel contract, remember? Instinct, man." Blair tried to lighten the mood a little, but Jim was having none of it.

"Marge is right. I'm not...grieving enough for...Lindsay."

"Marge is way out of line, Jim. She's hurting and upset and she's lashing out. But she's still way out of line. She can't judge your grief." Blair ignored the ache in his injured shoulder. He knew he was the only person Jim would let down with this way, and there was no way he was going to staunch the flow now. "Listen to me. You gave Lindsay everything she asked you for, and you were a great dad. You don't have anything to apologize for. Not to her, not to Mandy--and sure as fucking hell not to her overbearing mother. And that house is your business. If she wants to help you on your terms in your good time to sort Lindsay's things, fine. If not, you have a right to say no. It's your house, man, and she was your wife. Don't let her mother push you around." Blair took a deep breath, immediately regretting it, but worked hard at swallowing the pain. Jim was more important. "I won't be laid up that much longer. I'll help you with anything you have to do, you know that. I'm right here."

"I know that." Jim had quieted considerably, and finally moved away from Blair. "Is your shoulder okay?"

"Fine," Blair lied, smiling at his friend.

"Liar."

"Okay, so it hurts. So what? No harm done. It hurts anyway."

"I'm sorry."

"For what? Hurting? Grieving? My God, Jim, you've handled this...I don't know how you've gotten through it all so well."

"I'm not doing so great right now, Chief," Jim retorted, sniffling and blinking, trying to get his composure back.

"Jim, do you think I'm weak because my arm's in a sling and you had to lift me into the truck?"

"Hell no. You're recovering from multiple gunshot wounds--"

"Exactly. I'm recovering. And while I'm doing that, I'm weak. I'm vulnerable. You had two really big wounds of your own, only they weren't physical. You're recovering, man. So you're a little weak sometimes. You have the physical strength to haul me around and take care of me, and even though I feel pretty torn up over all this too, if I have a little emotional strength you can draw on, take it. Do it. Holding back, not letting your grief out with somebody you trust, who loves you, is just silly. It'd be as dumb as me refusing your help while I'm recuperating. We're both pretty fucked up right now. Maybe between the two of us, we can patch each other up."

"If you had died, I--"

"I didn't. Don't even go back over that in your mind anymore, buddy. I'm here, I'm going to be fine. Yeah, I could have died, but I didn't. You're not alone."

"Guess I'm pretty lucky." Jim smiled slightly and took a hold of Blair's good hand.

"You're not to blame for any of this, man. And you were a damn good husband and father. Don't forget that."

"If you say so." Jim slumped back in the seat.

"I say so."

"Let's go home, huh?" Jim started up the truck again and managed a little smile for Blair, who returned it.

Continued in part two.