Author's homepage: http://members.aol.com/MontageX/index.html

Author's disclaimer: This story was written purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of other fans. In no way do I make a profit off of it, and I recognize that the copyrights to the various characters belong to Paramount and Pet Fly Productions.

Rating & Warnings: [NC-17] For language and sexual content. This story contains graphic depictions of rape.

My wonderful betas patl and Kelly for all their hard work.

For Angie and MaDonna, with love. Thanks for the support.

Shattered Soul - part one
by Montage

It's been ten days.... Ten days since Sandburg disappeared. And as each day passed, Ellison's lost a little more of his already precarious grip on reality. I always knew that he loved Sandburg. The man demonstrated it in a thousand different ways. But it wasn't until the anthropologist disappeared without a trace that I finally understood the true depths and repercussions of that love.

I'm not even sure Ellison realized it himself until the other half of his soul was so callously wrenched from his life.

It hurts, to see my best detective and friend slowly self destructing before my very eyes. Knowing that the only thing that would stop the downward spiral was to find his missing partner healthy and unharmed. I had tried, hell, every detective in Major Crimes had been putting in forty-eight hour days searching for some clue as to the the missing consultant's whereabouts. But as each day passed, hope began to wane. You could see it in their eyes, in the exhausted slump of their shoulders. Yet no one was more devastated than the missing man's friend and partner.

Helplessly I watched as Ellison ran the gauntlet of emotions, from beside himself with worry to downright paralyzed by fear. Snapping at anyone and anything as day after day passed without word.

He looks like death warmed over. I doubt that he's slept more than a few hours since this whole nightmare began. He doesn't eat. Doesn't sleep. And whatever control he had over his senses disappeared with Sandburg .

I should relieve him from active duty. In his present state he's a danger, not only to himself, but to those around him. But I couldn't do that, not to Jim. He needs to be an active part of this investigation. And at least this way I can keep an eye on him. Force him to rest, to eat something.

But I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to do that. Because slowly, but surely, Jim Ellison is dying a little bit more with each passing hour that Sandburg remains missing.

Wearily I look up from the latest batch of Ellison's old case files and glancing at the clock, note that it's going on 6:00 p.m. My stomach growls, reminding me that once again I've missed lunch. But despite its protest, the thought of food makes me ill. Still, I glance out into the bullpen and seeing Jim, realize that I should at least make the effort, if for no other reason than to entice Ellison to eat something.

Stiffly I rise, already phrasing in my mind the argument that I know will ensue, when the phone rings, putting an abrupt halt to my mental deliberations.

"Banks," I reply none too civilly into the receiver and the next words I hear cause my legs to give way beneath me as I slump back into the chair. They've found Sandburg.

In a daze I listen, part of me overwhelmed with relief. The other part is scared. Scared shitless that the nightmare for my friends has just begun. With a shake to clear my head, I issue a few directives into the mouth piece and hang up the phone, my eyes once again straying to Ellison.

Releasing a pent up breath I rise, surprised to find my legs still a bit unsteady. But squaring my shoulders, I move around the desk, grab my coat from its rack and go to give Jim the news.

Making my way to Ellison's desk, it's not until my soft entreaty of "Jim" that he even realizes I'm there. Empty blue eyes slowly level towards me, blinking once, twice before recognition returns to the orbs. "They've found Sandburg," I tell him and watch as stark, naked fear overcomes his features. Hurriedly, I add. "He's alive but it's not good."

"I... I need to... see him." The words, disjointed, come tumbling out, frayed as if he's not yet firing on all cylinders. Snagging his jacket, I lay a hand on his elbow and gently guiding him to his feet, point him towards the doorway.

Behind me I notice the others intently watching. I know they overheard the announcement, the worry reflected in their expressions assures me of that. They too want to come, their pent up energies fairly vibrate, filling the room. But if the sketchy details provided by the officer are true, this is something better dealt with as privately as possible.

Slowly I shake my head, refusing permission for them to follow and ignoring their disappointed glares, lead Ellison to the elevator.

En route I relay what information I have, trying to prepare Jim for what lies ahead. Stoically he sits there, a slight tick of his tightly clenched jaw the only telltale sign that he's even listening. Still, some of what I'm saying must have penetrated because he shows no sign of surprise as we pull up outside the warehouse.

Climbing out of the car I note with relief that the paramedics have already arrived. Thank God! Because I know we're going to need them. Slamming the car door, I look up just in time to see Ellison's head shoot up, eyes searching. His nostrils flare and a expression of sheer horror drains what little remaining color he has. And with a guttural cry of "SANDBURG!", he's racing towards the building.

"JIM!" I bellow in warning, seconds before following.

With unfailing accuracy he makes his way through the labyrinth of crates and containers, heading directly for his partner. Abruptly he comes to a halt and it's all I can do to keep from careening into the back of him. "Jim, what the ... ?" I ask peering around him, only to have the question die on my lips. "Oh my God!" I whisper, "Sandburg."

Surrounded by the two patrol officers and paramedics, the kid has been backed into a corner. Eyes wide with fear, upper lip curled in a snarl, he brandishes a blood covered knife threateningly.

"Get away from him!" Ellison roars and I barely manage to grab onto him before he has a chance to rush forward.

"Damn it Simon." He protests, struggling to break free. "Look at him!"

Reluctantly I do, knowing it's an image that will haunt me for as long as I live. Hair in wild disarray, clad only in a pair of loose fitting, gray sweat pants that hang precariously low on his hips, Sandburg bears little resemblance to the man I have come to know and respect. Gone is the inquisitive, wide eyed innocence. In its stead stands an abused animal, cringing in fear, ready to strike out at anyone who dares to venture too close.

Slowly I take in his appearance, cataloging his visible injuries one by one until I know they will be indelibly imprinted on my mind's eye. The slight trail of blood leading to the small gash at his temple. A similar cut graces a bruised and battered cheekbone. His lower lip is split and swollen.

Moving downward I wince at the sight of a choker chain pulled so tight that it appears embedded in his neck and I feel my rage boil at the leather leash dangling from its clasp.

His upper torso and what I can see of his abdomen are peppered with a myriad of dark, vivid bruises and on his arm I can actually make out individual imprints of fingers where someone grabbed him. Brands of raw, exposed skin encircle his wrist and ankles and bloody footprints track the floor surrounding him. All clear, overt signs of the atrocities he had been forced to endure. But it's the wild gleam in his eyes, the uncontrollable shudders that speak so silently, yet eloquently of the injuries we can not see.

"Simon, please!" Ellison gasps, straining at my tenacious grip.

"Back off," I order the others, waiting until they comply before setting Jim free. "Be careful," I caution him as Ellison slowly approaches the feral creature before us.

Smiling gently, Jim holds his hands up in a non threatening manner. "Hey Chief," he croons softly. "Just take it easy. Everything's going to be all right. I'm here now, you're safe."

Trying to press himself even further back into the corner, Sandburg's eyes dart nervously about, seeking escape. Seeing none, they settle on the man slowly advancing towards him.

I realize his intent mere seconds before he strikes out. Thankfully Ellison sees it too, his lightening quick reflexes the only thing that keeps him from being skewered. Grabbing him by the back of his jacket, I yank him back even further. "Jim!" I yell to gain his attention. "He doesn't recognize you."

"Just let me try Simon," he pleads, trying to break free. "I know I can reach him."

"Not until we find a way to calm him down first." My tone brooks no argument and with obvious reluctance Ellison complies.

Once again my glance unwillingly strays to Sandburg. His trembling has become more pronounced. Dressed as he is, I know he has to be cold. Helplessly I watch as his chest heaves and contracts with each panting breath. My God, he's so thin. Beneath the colorful bruises dotting his sides I can actually count the individual ribs. Inspiration strikes. "He's bound to be hungry," I quietly suggest. "Probably thirsty too."

Jim catches on quickly. "We could drug it."

"I wouldn't recommend it, guys." One of the paramedics speaks up. "At least not until we've had a chance to check him out."

"At this rate you're not going to get a chance to examine him," I point out the obvious.

Mulling this over, reluctantly he nods. As he heads off to get the sedative, one of the patrol officers speaks up. "We stopped for burgers just before spotting the kid. They're still in the car." He tentatively suggests.

I can tell from his compassionate expression that he too has been horrified by what he has seen and is anxious to help. "Go get them," I say and he's off like a shot.

Finally I turn my attention to Ellison. Grabbing him by the shoulders I turn him to face me. "Jim, you have got to get yourself under control. Sandburg needs you."

"Damn it Simon," he growls. "Don't you think I know that!" Abruptly he stops and taking a calming breath, apologies. "I'm sorry Sir, it's just that..."

"I know," I say, forestalling the rest. "Don't you think it's killing me too, seeing him like this? But the kid is already frightened to death and you going off half cocked isn't helping matters any."

"I know, you're right," he replies, scrubbing a hand over his exhausted features.

Just then the paramedic returns handing me what appears to be an innocent looking bottle of water. The look in his eyes informs me otherwise and I nod, accepting it. Seconds later the uniformed officer hurries in carrying a plain brown paper bag. Even without Jim's enhanced senses I can smell the food within.

"I'll take that," Ellison says reaching for the bag.

"Let me," I say taking the bag before he can grab it. Confused, he looks at me, and keeping my voice low, I try to explain. "Look Jim, the kid is smart. Once he figures out he's been drugged, he's going to be royally pissed. And quite frankly, I think you'd rather have him angry at me instead of you." Seeing the wisdom behind my words, Ellison nods. If we are to ever stand a chance at reaching the man we once knew, getting him to trust us is paramount. And if anyone stands a chance of getting through to Blair, it's Jim.

Moving slowly I approach Sandburg, making sure to keep my voice calm and soothing. "You hungry? I've got some food. Water too." Stopping a few feet away I place the items on the floor and back away. "It's all right, no one is going to hurt you."

Anxiously his gaze darts from us to the food and back again. His nostrils flare slightly and I know the aroma's getting to him. In the stillness of the room his stomach growls loudly and his eyes widen in horror at its betrayal. With a cross between a groan and a whimper, he pushes himself even further back against the crates blocking his retreat.

"Come on Chief," Ellison mutters so softly that I can barely hear him. "Take the bait so we can help you."

I can see the kid is torn. The naked hunger in his eyes is palpable. The only question that remains is which will win out, his fear or hunger?

"Why isn't he going for it?" Jim anxiously asks.

"I don't know." I confess then offered up a possibility. "Maybe who ever did this to him drugged his food."

"Damn it!" Ellison growls. "We've got to do something."

"Well short of taking him by force," I snap and see Jim wince at my choice of words, "I don't see another alternative. Just give it some more time."

And so we wait. Having to watch Sandburg deliberate between trusting us and starving, ravages my soul. If it tears me up this much inside, I can't begin to imagine how Jim must be feeling. And in the meantime, the kid's trembling became more noticeable. Beside me Ellison's own body mirrored the tremors. Although his were not born of the cold, but of pent up emotions. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Jim strips off his jacket and moving forward, wordlessly places it beside the still untouched food and drink.

Confusion mars the younger man's brow as he looks at the jacket and then at Ellison who has resumed his former position. Silently Jim offers up a smile and a small nod of encouragement.

Just when I had decided he wasn't going to go for it, Sandburg moves. Slowly, his eyes never leaving us, he creeps forward and snatching up the coat, returns to his corner. With shaking hands, he inserts one arm into a sleeve, wincing slightly at the movement, then transferring the knife to his other hand, slips the jacket on. With a shuddering sigh of relief, he wraps the material tighter around himself.

This was good. Now if he would only accept the rest.

Once again his stomach rumbles, the smell of food, drawing his hungry gaze. Please, came my silent entreaty and moments later my prayer was answered. Moving faster than I thought possible considering his condition, Sandburg darts forward and seizes the bag of food. I feel my heart sink though when he leaves the bottle of water untouched.

"Don't worry," the officer whispers in my ear. "I made sure to put a lot of salt on it." Were the situation not so serious I would have smiled at his ingenuity. Instead all I can do is nod my approval. In the meantime, crouched down in his corner, Sandburg has ripped open the bag and is wolfing down one of the burgers. I don't think he even takes the time to chew and I am half afraid the kid is going to choke. Within minutes the first burger has disappeared and is soon followed by the second. It was only then that he started eying the water.

"That's it," I hear Jim mutter softly as Blair warily creeps forward and in a manner similar to the food, grabs the water and scurries back into his corner. Clawing off the cap with fingers that I just now notice have been scraped raw, he raises the bottle to his lips and begins to drink. Without pausing he drains the entire contents and with an expression of dismay, eyes the now empty bottle. With a frustrated whimper, he tosses it aside.

"Do you have any more?" Ellison turns pleading eyes to the paramedic.

The paramedic's commiseration was obvious, but his medical training won out. "Look, I know how you feel, but in his condition it's not a good idea."

With reluctance, Jim nods his acceptance. His own medical training had told him this much was true. But that didn't make it any easier to accept in the face of his partner's overwhelming suffering. "How long before...?"

I know he couldn't bring himself to say the rest. 'How long before he realizes we've betrayed him?'

"With the shape he's in, it shouldn't take long before the drug takes effect." The paramedic replies, softly.

And so, once again, we wait. Us watching Sandburg. The kid warily eying us, the knife still firmly clenched within his grasp, until the tension becomes unbearable.

Finally, some ten minutes later, Ellison grasps my arm and murmurs softly, "It's starting to work."

It was with a sense of trepidation that I watch as Sandburg's head slowly drops towards his chest, only to have it jerk upright seconds later, his eyes gone wide. With laser precision he turns those eyes on me, his brow creasing in an accusing frown. And from his throat a low, agonizing keening begins and grows in volume as Blair begins pacing, trying to keep awake.

"Oh God!" Ellison gasps beside me and I know that his heart is being wrenched in two at having to witness this display. My own gut feels as if someone has stuck a knife in it and it is all I can do to remind myself that this was for Sandburg's own good.

Without warning, the kid staggers and drops to his knees. Again his eyes rise to meet mine and in them I can see the unvoiced question of 'Why?"

"I'm sorry." The words and emotions behind them choke me as I watch him pitch forward, unconscious.

It was the sound of the knife slipping from nerveless fingers and clattering to the cement floor that finally released us from our paralysis. Within seconds, Ellison is beside the prostrate body. With infinite gentleness he carefully turns Sandburg over and onto his back. Then loosening the choker chain, slips it over Blair's head before tossing it and the leash away with a cry of rage.

"Let us take it from here, Detective." says the paramedic who had assisted us, kneeling beside Sandburg as his partner begins setting up their equipment.

"Jim, let them do their job," I order, hooking a hand beneath Ellison's elbow and pulling him away. He comes, with obvious reluctance, but his gaze refuses to leave the inert form.

One of the uniformed officers speaks up. "Is there anything we can do?"

Removing a handkerchief from my pocket, I bend and retrieve the bloody knife. Carefully handing it to the officer I tell him to bag it for evidence. "And take that obscenity too," I add, nodding in the general direction that Ellison hurled the collar and leash. Acknowledging my command, he hurries to comply.

"Could someone get the stretcher, please?" The dark haired paramedic calls back over his shoulder as he continues to assess Sandburg's condition.

"I'll do it." The remaining officer volunteers, quickly heading for the exit. Not that I could blame him. The pitiful sight that Sandburg presents tears at my own soul, dredging up all sorts of emotions that I never dreamt I'd have to deal with.

"How is he?" I hear Ellison inquire as I turn back to see him anxiously hovering nearby.

Setting back on his heels, his compassionate glance rising to meet our own worried gazes, the paramedic quickly gives us a rundown. "He doesn't appear to have a concussion. Nor does there appear to be any serious damage to the larynx. I don't think any of the ribs are broken, but we'll need x-rays to determine if there are any hairline fractures."

"What about internal injuries?" Ellison questions, brow wrinkling in concern.

The paramedic looks back down at his patient before replying. "There aren't any obvious ones. The best thing we can do now is to finish stabilizing him for transport and get him to the hospital."

As if on cue, the two officers return maneuvering the gurney between them. There is no shortage of hands or volunteers as we gather around and carefully lifting Sandburg, place him on the stretcher. Recognizing Ellison's need to do something, an IV bag is thrust into his hands. "Here, hang onto this." He is instructed as the paramedics quickly stow the rest of their gear.

I figure it is either going to take an act of God or a crowbar to pry Ellison loose from his partner and I'm right. The argument however, is brief. One look at Jim's 'You don't want to fuck with me' expression and the paramedics quickly relent, blatantly ignoring regulations by allowing Ellison to accompany his partner to the hospital.

"I'll meet you there." I call out as the rear doors to the ambulance are slammed shut. I doubt that Jim even hears me, so intent is his focus on Sandburg. Then, after instructions for them to get the evidence to forensics, I head for my car.

Not wanting to leave Jim alone for too long, I use the siren and lights the entire way. Afraid of what I might find, I rush into the ER. As usual the place is a hive of activity, but it doesn't take me long to spot Ellison slumped in a chair closest to the doors that lead to the examination cubicles. Wordlessly I take the seat beside him.

"They threw me out," he grumbles a moment later, shooting an angry glance towards the closed doors.

Now why doesn't that surprise me? I silently wonder. "Look, I know you want to be in there with the kid, but I'm sure they can do their job just as well without you hovering."

"I tried to listen," he comments absently and I wonder if he even heard me, "but there's too much noise. I couldn't block it out." A note of frustration and anger enters his voice, only to soften seconds later when he admits, "I can't do it without Blair."

"All we can do now is wait and be there when he needs us." I say, cringing at the triteness of my statement. Despite our training, it had never struck this close to home before and I wasn't sure if either of us were ready or equipped to deal with the repercussions. But somehow, we had to. Because this wasn't just some unknown name on a police blotter, this time it was Sandburg.

Several hours and two cups of coffee later, I've lost track of the number of times Ellison has paced the twelve foot expanse in front of me. And quite frankly, it's starting to bug me. My own anxiety regarding Sandburg has frayed my nerves to the breaking point and I feel as if I'm going to snap. Fortunately the doctor's timely arrival forestalls any inane, acerbic comments I was about to impart.

Short and somewhat stocky, he appears to be in his late thirties. His face is devoid of emotion, but his eyes can not hide the utter horror, the compassion he feels for the young man he has just come from examining.

"How is he?" Ellison demands before the doctor even has a chance to introduce himself.

More from habit, than conscious effort, I quickly proceed to introduce myself and Jim, thus confirming our rights to be privy to the information the doctor's about to divulge.

Glancing down at the chart in his hands, he begins reciting a detailed inventory of Sandburg's injuries. "I'm pleased to report that Mr. Sandburg's head injury is superficial and only required a few stitches. Just to make certain though, we ran a CAT scan and the results verified our diagnosis. His larynx however has been severely bruised and the x-rays show that he has sustained hairline fractures along two of his ribs. Add to that, the laceration to his cheek and multiple contusions to his upper torso and abdominal area. Thankfully there doesn't appear to be any internal injuries in spite of the severity of the beating. There will however be some permanent scarring around his neck, wrist and ankles..." The doctor's voice trails off and I know the worst is yet to come.

"What about... Was he?" Ellison begins, then pauses unable to voice the question uppermost in our minds.

"I'm sorry," the doctor replies sincerely, crushing what little remaining hope we had been so desperately clinging to. "The evidence indicates that Mr. Sandburg has been..."

"Raped," Jim solemnly supplies when the doctor seemed incapable of saying the word.

Gravely, the doctor nods.

"Oh God," Ellison groans softly, looking away. Personally, I feel as if I've been sucker punched.

"There was some tearing, which we've managed to repair," the doctor continues. "The good news gentlemen, is that initial test show no traces of semen, so my guess is that his assailant or assailants, wore protection."

"Thank God," I exclaim, unable to help myself and see a similar sentiment in Ellison's eyes.

"Just to be on the safe side though, we're running further analysis checking for any sexually transmitted diseases," the doctor concludes.

However, something had been nagging at me and I voice my concerns. "Doctor, you indicated that Sandburg didn't have a concussion and that his larynx was only bruised." Listening, he nods with my assessment, urging me to continue. "Sandburg, he didn't..." I stammer, "well, he didn't seem to recognize us. And about the only sounds he's uttered were more like those of an animal rather than a human being." There, I'd finally said it and immediately felt Ellison stiffen beside me.

Looking thoughtful, the doctor finally replies. "While speaking could prove painful until the swelling goes down there isn't any physical reason for Mr. Sandburg not to be able to talk. It's not my area of expertise, but my guess is that his unwillingness or inability to talk or recognize you is a psychological manifestation of his recent trauma."

"When can I see him?" Ellison abruptly questions, his intense gaze pinning the doctor, daring him to protest.

"Well, at the moment he's still sleeping off the sedative," the doctor replies, shifting nervously beneath Ellison's penetrating glare. "Since we'd like to keep him under observation for the next twenty four hours, we'll be moving him into a room, then you can..."

"I want to see him now." Ellison demands shortly.

"Jim." I warn.

"Look Detective, I know how you feel..."

"You don't know shit about what I'm feeling..." The tirade began.

"JIM. That's enough!" I bark, my tone final.

"You've waited this long," the doctor continues pacifyingly, "surely a few more minutes while we get him settled...."

"We'll be in the cafeteria," I interrupt, clamping a hand on Ellison's shoulder.

Jim's burger sits uneaten as does my own tuna on whole wheat. Which is probably just as well since the mayonnaise looks a little suspect. Apparently we're the last two customers of the night as around us the clean up crew is turning chairs upright on the tables as they mop the floor. With a disgusted sigh I push the plate away, leaving the food untouched.

"I want the bastard." Ellison's comment comes out of nowhere, but I know how he feels. I too want the son of a bitch responsible. "You'll have to stand in line," I tell him never meaning anything more in my life. "But unless Sandburg can identity his assailant..."

"Yeah, right." Ellison snorts sarcastically. "You saw him Simon. Saw the condition he was in." Wearily he scrubs a hand over his exhausted features.

"Jim, the kid's a fighter." I remind him. "He'll..."

"He'll what?" Ellison snaps, his eyes blazing. "Recover? Bounce back? Christ Simon, how's he suppose to get over something like this?"

"With time and the help of good friends," I state with more conviction than I feel.

"We done here?" He asks abruptly, signaling an end to the discussion.

"Yeah, we're done," I reply, rising from the table and silently vowing to myself to provide whatever support both my friends will need in the coming months.

Ellison sets a brisk pace through the hospital corridors retracing our previous route back to the ER. Were it not for my own expansive stride, I would have had difficulty keeping up.

Not even halfway there Jim suddenly stops, a look of fear flooding his features. "What is it?" I ask, concerned. The words barely out of my mouth before I realize that it must have something to do with Sandburg.

"It's Blair," Ellison stammered, confirming my supposition. "He's awake. He's... scared." And with that, Jim takes off running.

"JIM!" I yell a useless warning, then throwing my hands up in defeat, quickly follow.

Approaching the ER, even without Sentinel senses I can now hear Sandburg.

His cries, a mingled conglomeration of fear and rage, echoes along the bustling halls.

"Hey! You can't go in there," the receptionist on duty protests as first Jim, then I, barrel past her heading for the commotion.

Shoving the door open Ellison storms into the room. "Get away from him!" I hear him roar and arrive just in time to see an orderly flung against the wall and another backing away, hands raised in submission.

"Jim, what...?" I question, confused and then I see what has Ellison in such a rage. The fools, in their infinite stupidity, have used physical restraints on Sandburg. "Have you lost your minds?" I bellow, unleashing my own ire.

"He woke up and was freaking out on us. We had to..." The man backed against the wall began babbling inane justification.

Frankly, I don't want to hear it. "This man has been severely traumatized and your solution is to tie him up?" I growl. "Now I suggest you get your buddy and get the hell out of here before I forget I'm a police captain."

Then without waiting to see if he complies, I turn my attention to Ellison and Sandburg. The heart wrenching wails are still emanating from the kid as Jim struggles to free Blair. Unfortunately, Sandburg's thrashing attempts to break free are impeding his efforts. "Give me a hand here," Jim requests without looking up from his task, and quickly moving to the other side of the bed, I begin tackling that restraint.

"Shhh," Jim croons softly, trying to calm the terror stricken man. "We're not going to hurt you." His assurances however have little effect on Sandburg whose continued exertions chaff the already damaged wrists. "Damn it!" Ellison explodes, frustrated by his inability to undo the restraints buckles. Suddenly abandoning it, he captures Sandburg's face in his hands and with a firm grip, stills its thrashing side to side motion. "Chief!" He addresses Blair in a voice loud enough to be heard above the constant keening. "We're trying to get you loose, but you're going to have to calm down first."

Abruptly, as if flicking a switch, Sandburg went rigid and silence filled the room. My first thought was that the kid had passed out, but looking up I discover his horror filled gaze firmly locked on Ellison's face.

"That's it buddy," Jim encouraged, releasing one side of Sandburg's face to gently brush back his tangled locks. "We'll have you out of these in a minute."

I get my side undone first with Ellison's following seconds later. Set free Sandburg wastes little time scooting backwards until he is firmly pressed against the bed's headboard. Nervously his glance darts between us, then towards the open door. Were it not for the crowd of people lining its entrance, I have do doubt he would have bolted right then and there.

"I'm so sorry, Chief," Ellison apologizes softly, drawing Sandburg's gaze. "If I'd had any idea that they were going to... I never would have left you."

"What's going on in here?" The doctor demands as he pushes through the people gathered watching in the doorway.

"I'll tell you what's going on," Ellison turns on the man with a snarl. "I'm taking my partner and we're getting the hell out of here."

"You can't. Mr. Sandburg needs..."

"He's coming with me!" Jim roars so vehemently that even I am impressed. Summarily dismissing the doctor's presence I watch amazed as he turns back to his partner, all traces of anger instantly replaced by a protective countenance. "Whadda say Chief, you ready to leave?"

Uncertain, I ask. "Jim, do you think that's a good idea?" But even I can't deny the faint flicker of hope suddenly evident in Sandburg's eyes.

"Yeah, I do," he responds, his gaze never leaving Blair's face.

"Really Detective, I must protest." The doctor tries one last attempt.

"You can protest all you want," Ellison replies, lowering the bed's guardrail. "We're out of here."

Warily Sandburg eyes Ellison. I can tell the kid is torn between trusting Jim and his desire to leave. Kid! I silently snort. Going on thirty, Sandburg was anything but. Right now though he looked so fragile... so vulnerable that somehow the reference seemed appropriate. I have to hand it to him though. Despite everything he's been through. The atrocities he has been forced to endure, Sandburg still has enough moxie left in him to fight.

Having reached the conclusion that this was one argument he wasn't going to win, the doctor finally acquiesces. "Very well," he says with a hint of disapproval. There will be several prescriptions that you can have filled at the pharmacy before you leave. In the meantime I'll have the front desk prepare the appropriate forms."

"You do that," Ellison replies shortly. "And take those damn gawkers with you."

Sighing, I shake my head. Jim really does need to work on his communication skills. At least he'd achieved his objective. With a huff the doctor departs, clearing out the crowd as he goes.

"Simon, could you..." Ellison begins, glancing up at me.

"I'll take care of it," I reply before he even has a chance to finish asking. Still, I'm concerned about leaving him on his own with Sandburg. "You gonna be all right here?"

Looking back down at his partner, Ellison's gaze softens. "Yeah," he says. "We're going to be just fine."

Being a captain with the Cascade PD does have some benefits and I feel no remorse at having used it to my advantage. In record time I've filled Sandburg's prescriptions. God only knows how we're going to convince the kid to actually take them. And without even blinking at the obscenely expensive final tally, head back to collect the release forms.

Entering Sandburg's room I am surprised to see him sitting quietly on the side of the bed. Still dressed in the hospital gown, he was once again wearing the gray tattered sweat pants, a pair of paper slippers adorning his feet. Granted, they weren't much but unfortunately they were all we had to work with at the moment.

"I'm not even going to ask how you accomplished that," I tell Ellison, nodding towards Sandburg's attire and relatively calm facade.

"Don't let appearances deceive you," he commented softly. "His heart's still pounding like a jackhammer." Shooting the kid a reassuring smile, he glances at me. "You get everything taken care of?"

"Got the prescriptions right here," I say, patting my coat pocket as I hand him the clipboard holding the release papers. "All you have to do is sign these and we can leave."

Taking the proffered forms, Jim hastily scribbles his signature and tossing the clipboard down onto the nearest counter top, turns back to Sandburg. "That's it Chief. You ready to get out of here?" He asks, keeping his tone casual.

"Jim, you can't let him leave dressed like that!" I chastise as Sandburg climbs unsteadily to his feet. "It's thirty-two degrees outside."

Immediately Ellison begins to peel off his jacket. "Here, let him have mine." I say, forestalling the motion as I shrug off my own knee length coat. "It'll cover more of him." Wordlessly I hold it out towards Sandburg, yet despite his constant tremors, he seems reluctant to take it. Confused, I look to Ellison for help.

"It's okay buddy, go ahead and take it." He gently encourages. Brows crinkled in a slight frown, Blair's gaze slides from Jim and then back to me.

"Please." I entreat, knowing the kid has no reason to trust me after my participation in drugging him. Yet something in my tone must have reached him because I see a brief spark of emotion and then he's timorously taking the coat from my outstretched hand.

Unable to help myself, I'm practically beaming as Sandburg begins struggling into the coat. However, as I'm standing there grinning like a jackass, one of kid's arms becomes ensnared within the folds of the material. Automatically Ellison reaches out to help, only to have Sandburg flinch away from the touch. The pain reflected in Jim's eyes at that moment mirrors my own and just as quickly as it had appeared, my smile falters.

Unaided, Sandburg finally untangles himself and within moments stands entrenched in my coat. Several size too large for him, he looks like a kid trying on his father's clothes. Despite Sandburg's earlier reticence, I nod approvingly as Ellison's protective nature drives him to ask, "Can I give you a hand with those buttons, Chief?"

Blinking as if confused, Sandburg slowly glances downward and then back up at Ellison. Then, moving carefully, so as not to startle him, I watch as Jim reaches out and begins doing up the buttons. "There you go," he comments with a smile as he finishes fastening the last one. Looking up from the completed task, he asks, "Simon, would you mind getting the car? Blair and I will be out in a minute."

Readily agreeing, and with a final glance at Sandburg, I head out the door.

By the time I return with the car Ellison and Sandburg are waiting just inside the sliding glass doors that lead to the ER. Spotting me as soon as I pull up, I see Jim lean over and say something to Sandburg. Then placing a guiding hand on Blair's back, directs him towards the car. The kid looks terrified as he approaches the vehicle and I find myself wondering if perhaps we aren't making a mistake.

Stopping just short of the car, Jim reaches around Sandburg and opens the door. "In you go, Chief," I hear him comment and look up to discover Sandburg frozen in place, his face devoid of all color. Between slightly parted lips, his breath escapes to create wisps of smoke in the cold night. Within seconds those wisps are coming more frequently and I realize the kid is beginning to hyperventilate.

"Jim." I barely have time to call out before Sandburg abruptly begins backing away, shaking his head in refusal. Immediately Jim blocks his retreat, his arms coming up to surround the younger man. Holding on tight as Blair begins to struggle, lamenting his distress. Above the din I hear Ellison trying to calm him.

"I know you're scared Chief, but I swear I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I just need you to... Son of a...." Jim suddenly blurts as Sandburg's teeth latch onto his forearm and I know the exclamation was more one of surprise than actual pain, considering the thickness of Ellison's jacket.

With concern, I observe as Jim wrenches his arm free and reestablishes his grip further down, holding on tight to the bucking figure as Sandburg continues to cry out in fear. It was a sight I never thought I'd see and one I know will remain with me forever.

Despite Ellison's constant calming litany of uttered reassurances, it seems to take forever, but eventually Sandburg's struggles begin to lessen until finally they subside altogether and he slumps, lax in Ellison's arms. Maintaining his grip, Jim quickly bundles Blair into the car. Normally I wouldn't have approved of such strong arm tactics, especially considering Sandburg's present condition. But short of drugging him again, I can't see any other alternative. Releasing his hold on the kid only long enough to pull the door closed after him, Jim nods for me to drive.

"I'm sorry, Chief. Did I hurt you?" I hear Ellison ask. Glancing over I see his anxious gaze searching his partner's features.

"Jim?" I ask, raising an eyebrow question.

"He's still a little spooked." Ellison confirms. "But other than that he appears to be all right."

Firmly situated between Ellison and myself, I can feel the kid's tremors. Although whether they are from fear, the cold or a combination of both, I can't say. Not knowing what else to do, I reach out and turn the heater's blower up another notch.

It is with a sigh of relief that I finally pull up in front of 852 Prospect, although part of me is dreading another scene like the one at the hospital. "He going to be all right?" I inquire, shutting off the engine.

It's apparent that Ellison has been monitoring the kid's vitals, for he wastes little time in replying. "He seems okay now, but you might want to..."

Even without him having to finish the sentence I understand what Jim is requesting. Swinging open the door, I climb out and wait. "Out you go, buddy." I hear Ellison's voice drift out from inside the car and a few seconds later, Sandburg appears, with Jim following right behind.

Consciously taking up positions on either side of the kid just in case he should try to bolt, we start towards the building, our pace matching that of the man between us. Shoulders slumped, bowed face hidden by tangled locks, Sandburg walks as if resigned, or perhaps more aptly, like a man condemned.

Inwardly I fume, my anger keeping me warm despite the frigid temperature. Yet outwardly I strive to maintain a calm facade. One that radiates trust, understanding and compassion.

Stepping into the lift I glance towards Ellison and, with no great surprise, find his focus fully intent on his partner. His face too bears an unreadable expression, at least until one peers closely into his eyes. It is only within their depths that one can see all the reined in emotions. Hate towards whoever was responsible, guilt and anger at himself for not having been there to prevent it from happening in the first place. Lord knows he has no reason to feel guilty. But I know that there will be no way of convincing Jim of that. Not now, maybe never. For while Sandburg may have been the one who had been beaten and raped, there was no doubt that his attack would have far reaching consequences, not only for him, but for us as well.

Lost in thought its with some surprise that I find myself and the others outside the loft door with no conscious memory of how we got there. Beside me I can feel the nervous energy pouring off Sandburg in waves. Shooting Ellison an apprehensive glance above the kid's head, I silently plead with him to hurry up and open the damn door.

Seconds later it springs open and he ushers Sandburg into the apartment. I follow the kid in with Jim bringing up the rear. Silently I watch as Sandburg takes several hesitant steps into the room, only to see him whirl around, eyes wide with fear as he hears the door's lock click home. "It's all right, Blair," I hurry to assure him. "Jim's not locking you in, he's locking the bad guys out."

"That's right, Chief." Ellison adds, quickly picking up on my intent. "See, the lock is on this side." Then, as if coming to a decision, Jim undoes the lock and opens the door. "I'm not going to keep you here against your will, Blair. You're free to leave any time you want to. I could stop you, but I...we," he quickly amends, "won't."

"We won't?" I question, mouth agape, eyebrows rising in surprise, thinking for certain that Ellison has lost his mind.

"No, we won't." He responds, his eye trying to convey some unspoken message that I obviously have yet to pick up on.

Grimacing in my direction, he turns back to Sandburg. "But I'm hoping that you'll stay. That you'll trust us enough to let us help you."

Not even daring to breathe, I hover anxiously waiting for Sandburg's decision. Pale brows knitted in a confused frown, his glance travels from Jim towards the open door, before dropping to study the floor in front of him. My nerves are strung tight, like finely tuned piano wire when he finally looks up and gives a slight nod. Releasing the pent up breath, my relieved gaze lights on Ellison. His relief is almost palpable and it's then that I fully realize the extent of the gamble Jim took. Quickly turning away before I could decipher any more, he closes and latches the door. Shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack he heads into the kitchen. "I'm going to make a pot of coffee. Simon?" he questions.

"Sounds good," I reply.

"Chief," he asks Sandburg in turn.

A vague shake of his head is the kid's response. Well, at least he's starting to communicate a little more. Although I find myself longing for the times when he would talk on end about any given subject.

"Are you hungry?" Ellison tries another approach. "I could fix you something to eat."

Another negative response. Jim's panicked gaze seeks me out and I realize that he's at a loss as to what to do next. "Why don't I start a fire," I suggest. "It's a bit chilly in here."

My comment spurs Sandburg into action. Immediately he begins fumbling with the buttons to his coat, well my coat actually, apparently with the intention of returning it.

Reaching out, I lay my hand on his, stilling the motion. "It's all right Blair, you can keep the coat." I tell him and the hands fall away from the buttons and my touch.

"Good idea," Jim readily replies and I catch a glimpse of approval? Appreciation? Or is it something else? Before he swiftly turns away to deal with the coffee.

Kneeling before the fireplace, I surreptitiously observe Sandburg as he begins to slowly wander through the room. His gaze languidly sliding from one object to the next. There should have been some spark of recognition or perhaps emotion, yet there was nothing. Just a dull, lifeless gaze. I had to wonder just how sever the physiological damage was. Does he realize where he is? Does he know who Jim and I are? Hell, for that matter, does he even know who he is? All valid questions and buried somewhere deep inside, lurk the answers.

Within minutes, the fire's burning brightly and I rise, wincing as my joints protest the motion. However, the minor ache reminds me of Blair's injuries and I'm just about to remind Jim of Sandburg's medication when I see him stop before the bookcase. Finally, something has captured his attention.

Angling for a better view I discover that it's a picture of the three of us taken on one of our numerous fishing expeditions. Mesmerized I watch as he reaches out and with his index finger, traces each of the figures in the photograph. Intently I search his face for any sign of recognition and am overjoyed to see a ghost of a smile appear. Encouraged I dare a quick look towards Ellison to find that he too is carefully observing the proceedings. His expression of hope, mingled with desperation surpasses even my own.

"That was taken last summer." I blurt out in my excitement. "You were using some ancient tribal fishing bait and swore that you were going to catch the largest fish. Damned if you didn't do it too." I finish with a chuckle.

The smile widens just a fraction, then falters as Sandburg suddenly closes his eyes and sways on his feet. Even though I'm closer, Ellison is there before I can even react. At the last second he pauses, making certain to keep a respectable distance, yet remaining close enough should the kid collapse. "Are you all right?" He inquires with a concerned gaze. Slowly Blair's eyes open and he offers a small nod. "Maybe you should sit down." Jim suggests, indicating the nearest sofa. He proceeds to hover anxiously, ready to assist as Sandburg make his way over to the couch and gingerly lowers himself onto the cushions.

Wearily he closes his eyes and I can tell from the finely etched lines surrounding them that he's bordering on exhaustion. Apparently Jim sees it too because he arranges a couple of the sofa pillows and giving them a pat, urges the kid to lie down.

After what appears to be a brief internal debate, Sandburg decides to comply and laying down, automatically begins to curl up on his side. However, his prescriptions, still hidden within the coat's pocket, provide a lumpy mattress. Sitting back up he reaches into the pocket and pulls out the white pharmacy bag. With fine tuned precision his eyes accusingly lock onto mine and I stand there, uncertain how to explain, when thankfully Ellison comes to my rescue.

"They're just some painkillers and antibiotics that the doctor prescribed, Chief. Remember, while we were at the hospital?"

I can tell Sandburg is searching his memory, when finally he nods and I once again remember how to breathe. God, it's like walking a tightrope with this kid. One false move and any trust you might have established could be irrevocably destroyed.

It was then that Jim, admittedly a braver man than I, dares to venture out onto that tightrope. Crouching down beside the couch, patiently waiting until Sandburg's gaze turned in his direction he carefully suggests. "I know you have to be hurting by now. Maybe you should take something..."

With more animation than I had seen all night, the kid grunts in protest and vehemently shakes his head. Holding up his hands in acquiescence, Jim immediately begins soothing him. "Shhh, it's all right. We aren't going to force you to take them." Gently prying the bag loose from clenched fingers, Ellison deposits it on the coffee table. "We'll just sit them here in case you change your mind later, okay?" Another, softer grunt. But this time accompanied by an affirmative nod.

"Okay." Jim smiles softly in agreement before urging Sandburg to lie down again. "That's it." He encourages as the kid once again makes himself comfortable. Yet Blair's eyes remain open and fixed on Ellison.

"It helps if you close your eyes, Chief." Jim says with a small chuckle. "Don't worry," he adds, suddenly sobering. "You're safe here."

Slowly Sandburg's eyelids flutter closed, open, then shut once more. "That's good," Ellison croons softly, then reaching out he tenderly brushes an errant lock of hair away from the kid's face. A strangely intimate gesture, I think as Jim rises and grabbing an afghan off the back of the couch, places it over the sleeping man. But then between these two it somehow seems appropriate.

"He should sleep for a while," Ellison comments turning to me. "There's no need for you to stay."

"Trying to kick me out before I even get my coffee, Jim?" I ask, crossing my arms and giving him my best intimidating glare.

"No, of course not!" He quickly denies and I smile, knowing I haven't lost the touch. "Look Jim," I gruffly tell him. "If you think I'm leaving either of you alone tonight, well you can just think again."

His relief is obvious. "Thanks Simon."

"So, are you going to pour me a cup or do I have to do it myself?" I question with a raised brow.

"One coffee coming right up," he replies smartly and turns to the task.

The coffee is hot, yet despite its enticing aroma, it's tasteless and fails to banish the chill that seems to have taken up permanent residence in my bones. Quite a contrast to the heat I felt earlier. Logic tells me that it's not the coffee's fault, that the culprit is my concern for Sandburg. But that doesn't stop me from lamenting the loss of comfort I usually derive from the aromatic brew.

We sit in silence, Ellison watching the kid, me watching him, and I find myself wondering what he's thinking behind the austere mask he's currently wearing. A master of repression, Jim never has felt comfortable discussing his emotions. But this isn't something that he could just bury and pretend never happened. Not with Sandburg's presence as a constant reminder. Usually I could count on the kid to get Jim to open up and discuss whatever was bothering him. Unfortunately this time Sandburg was at the root of Ellison's problems and in even worse shape than Jim. Well someone had to try, and while sorely lacking Blair's compassion and tenacity, I knew it had to be me. "Jim," I begin, only to have him cut me off before I even get started.

"Not now Simon," he interrupts, holding up a silencing hand. "I can't... I just can't deal with it right now."

"You're gonna have to talk about it sometime, Jim." I insist.

Eyes fueled with anger turn on me. "The only thing I have to do," he spits out in calmly measured words, "is get the son of a bitch that did this to him."

"You just worry about your partner," I snap. "And leave the rest to me."

"Damn it Simon," he growls, rising and beginning to pace. "You can't expect me to just sit on the sidelines and do nothing."

"I can and I do. I mean it, Jim." I warn, deadly serious. "When we find those responsible, if you go anywhere near them, I'll pull your badge so fast your head will spin. I won't have you jeopardizing this case because of a personal vendetta."

"I want your word on this," I demand, vainly trying to extract a promise. Instead he just glares at me.

"I'm taking a shower," he announces suddenly before stalking off to the bathroom and closing the door none too gently.

Immediately my glance travels to Sandburg and while he stirs slightly, I'm grateful to see that the noise hasn't woke him. It's not like I don't understand how Jim feels. Hell, I want to castrate the bastard responsible, myself. But someone has to uphold the law and protect Ellison from himself. And since Sandburg isn't up to the task, the responsibility has fallen to me. Of course if we can't get any information out of the kid, it's all a moot point anyway. Because without him, we have no leads. Reaching up to massage the tension from my neck muscles, I dread the thought of questioning Sandburg. Not because he isn't talking, there are ways around that, but because of the additional trauma that recalling the incident might invoke. That is if he even remembers at all. I've seen too many cases of trauma where the memories were buried so deep that they never resurfaced.

Frustrated, I turn away from my thoughts. This was getting me nowhere. Until the kid woke up and I had a chance to question him, all the supposition in the world wasn't going to make a difference. I hate this feeling of helplessness. At the moment though there isn't a whole hell of a lot I can do about it, except wait. Anticipating a long night, I refill my mug and put on a new pot of coffee to brew. That task done, I return to the living room and resume my vigil over the sleeping Sandburg.

Blair rubbed at the throbbing pain in his temple then, slipping on his glasses, started the Volvo. It had been a rough week and he was more than ready for some down time. Pulling out of the faculty parking lot he headed towards home, thoughts of a hot shower, light meal and about ten hours of uninterrupted sleep uppermost on his mind. He really hadn't planned on running this late but the meeting had gone longer than anticipated and then he had to get the final grades posted. It hadn't helped any that the university' s computer system had gone down for over an hour.

Anxious to be in the warmth and comfort of his own home, Blair drove carefully nonetheless. It had rained earlier and the plummeting temperatures had resulted in patches of black ice. Suppressing another shudder and figuring the car's motor had had ample time to warm up, Blair turned on the heater. "Oh man," he groaned in disbelief when only cold air burst forth. "What else can go wrong?"

Already feeling frozen to the core, he decided to take the shortcut home along Narrows Road. The dark, two lane highway was deserted and Blair felt an uneasiness steal over him. Silently berating himself for such foolish notions, he determinedly pressed down on the accelerator.

Several miles down the road he spotted what appeared to be emergency flashers. As the Volvo moved closer he was able to make out a car sitting haphazardly on the side of the road.

Thinking that the car's occupants might be in need of assistance, Blair carefully maneuvered the Volvo in behind the vehicle and shut off his engine.

Zipping up his coat, Blair stepped out of the car and approached the other vehicle. "Hello!" He called out to the figure sitting behind the wheel of the car. "Do you need any help?" It was then that everything took on the surrealistic feel of moving in slow motion.

Slowly the driver's side window lowered and the man behind the wheel turned to look at him. Only the man's features were distorted and somewhere in the back of Blair's mind it registered that the man was wearing a rubber mask. The kind that costume shops sold for Halloween and New Year's Eve. Immediately an overwhelming urge to flee engulfed him, yet he couldn't move. It was as if some invisible force was effectively pinning him in place. Helpless, Blair watched as the nightmarish figure climbed out of the car.

"Well, look what we have here." Came the comment from behind the grotesque mask. Riveted in place, unable to even move his head to look, Blair suddenly sensed the presence of others behind him. He opened his mouth to scream only to have the urgent cry cut off as a surge of electricity shot through his spine. The stunning effect filtering outward to paralyze the rest of his extremities.

Blair felt himself falling, yet unable to move, could not cushion the impact. He hit the ground hard, his glasses tumbling off in the process. Powerless, he lay there, his body twitching with minute spasms. And while conscious thought no longer seemed possible, some part of his mind noted the numerous sets of feet surrounding him before his vision congealed and stole away to darkness.

The coffee sits untouched as my concerned gaze remains fixed on Sandburg. The kid, who only moments before had been sleeping peacefully, has grown restless. The slight tremors and twitches of his facial features tell me he's dreaming and while I pray it's not related to his abduction, his increasing agitation warns me it is.

Silently I debate waking him, yet hesitate, uncertain in case it might do more harm than good. But his distress is increasing and I feel this overwhelming need to hold and comfort him. Even as I watch, his face scrunches up in apparent pain and a small whimper escapes. The most hardened of hearts would be hard pressed to ignore the pitiful cry and I find myself rising, drawn to him almost as if against my will. Managing a few meager steps before the bathroom door crashes open and Ellison, clad only in a towel wrapped hastily around his hips, charges into the room halting my progress.

"How long has he been like this?" Jim glares in my direction before dropping to kneel beside the couch.

"Just a couple of minutes," I reply, finding myself slightly miffed by Ellison's attitude.

"You should have called me as soon as it started." He accuses and I feel my annoyance rise another notch.

"With your hearing, I didn't think I'd have to," I grind out between clenched teeth, regretting the cheap shot as soon as the words leave my mouth. Attributing exhaustion as the underlying factor for my short temper, I realize an apology is in order. However the words die on my lips as I'm captivated by the scene taking place before me. And any doubts that I might have been harboring that there was some sort of connection between Ellison and Sandburg were forever irrevocably erased.

Mesmerized, I watch as Jim cups the side of Sandburg's head and with his thumb, gently begins stroking Blair's forehead. Almost instantaneously Sandburg's trashing stills and the whimpers subside. "That's it," I hear Ellison softly murmur to the still sleeping form. He continues his ministrations a few minutes more before rising and tucking the displaced afghan back around his partner.

Wordlessly Ellison turns, his feral gaze burning into me and I actually feel pity towards whoever has done this to Sandburg. Then Jim blinks and slowly I see the man I know return. "I'd better get dressed." He calmly announces and heads for the stairs.

I nod, incapable of doing anything more and feeling my legs begin to tremble beneath me, sink back down into my chair.

By the time Jim returns a few minutes later, I've achieved some semblance of control and have half convinced myself that the untamed, proprietary glare that I saw reflected in Ellison's eyes, was all in my head.

Almost hesitantly Ellison pauses beside me, waiting until I look up to stammer. "Simon, about before, I'm..."

"It's all right, Jim," I reply, holding up a hand to stay the proffered apology. "We're both tired and a little on edge."

"You're welcome to use my bed if you want to get some rest." He suggests.

"I don't think I'd be able to sleep," I admit, waving off the offer. "What about you?"

"I want to keep an eye on Blair," he replies. His gaze straying to the sleeping anthropologist.

"I could..." I begin, but one look from Ellison tells me exactly what he thinks of that idea and I clamp my mouth shut. For the next few seconds the tension increases until finally the growing discomfort urges us both to look away.

"Would you like something to eat?" Jim asks feigning a casual tone as he heads for the kitchen.

No, not really. But what the hell. At least it will give us something to do besides snipe at each other. "I could eat something," I lie, rising to follow Ellison into the kitchen.

Swinging open the refrigerator door, Jim peers inside. His rummaging produces a blue Tupperware container. Prying open the top, the odor is enough to brings tears even to my eyes.

"WHOA!" Ellison exclaims, his face a mask of distaste as he quickly reseals the dish and sets it aside. Pausing only long enough to toss me a sheepish grin, he plunges back inside the refrigerator, this time reappearing with a red bowl.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" I inquire as he prepares to look inside.

My question halts the motion. "Not a good idea, huh?" He asks, his mouth set in a grimace.

"No," I reply with an exaggerated shudder.

Wisely he sets the container down unopened. "Sorry about that. I haven't been to the store in a while," he ruefully admits and we both know why. Clearing his throat he makes a final foray into the refrigerator. "There are some eggs in here," he calls out a moment later. "I'm not sure how old they are though."

"Only a couple of days," I unwittingly supply.

Ellison's head pops back out of the refrigerator. "And you know this, because?" he asks, brow rising in a question mark.

Sighing, I pull the door farther ajar and reaching past Ellison pull out the eggs, a loaf of bread and some mushrooms from the vegetable drawer. "Because I put them in there, along with a few other things," I gruffly admit while balancing my precarious load.

Refusing to meet his questioning gaze, I deposit the items onto the counter. Carefully arranging them, I can feel Jim's eyes silently boring into me. "What?" I demand, turning to find a disconcerted frown.

"Simon, I... I don't know what to say..."

Without thinking I reply. "Well someone had to look after you while..." And there it was again, that invisible barrier between us, Sandburg. Abruptly turning away, I busy myself rearranging the food. "So, how good are you at making omelettes?"

"Haven't killed anyone, yet." Jim dead pans, coming to stand beside me.

"There's always a first time," I reply with an amused snort. Unbuttoning a cuff, I begin rolling up my sleeve. "Better let a real expert show you how it's done. Now, make yourself useful and get me a frying pan."

"Aye, aye, Sir." Ellison snaps a salute. "Oh and Simon," he calls, waiting until I look up before adding, "Thanks."

The omelettes are light, fluffy and seasoned to perfection as I slide them onto the twin plates. Moments later adding a couple slices of buttered toast.

"Here, you take these" I tell Jim, handing him the plates, "and I'll get the coffee."

Maybe it's the aroma. Perhaps the fact that I haven't eaten since breakfast, but suddenly I'm ravenous and dive in with abandon. Several minutes later I look up to find Ellison merely pushing the food around on his plate. His gaze straying from the plate to Sandburg and then back again.

"Something wrong with my cooking?" I ask, trying my best to look and sound annoyed.

"No, of course not!" He quickly denies.

"Jim," I interrupt, knowing the root cause of Ellison's problem. "He's not going anywhere."

"I know," he admits, rubbing a hand over his tired features. "I just..." At a loss for words, Jim shrugs.

Setting down my fork I wait until Ellison's eyes rise to meet mine. "Look Jim, I understand how you feel. But Sandburg is going to need you, now more than ever."

"Don't you think I know that!" Ellison's voice rises in volume. Aghast, his gaze darts towards the living room and I know he is afraid of waking Sandburg. Apparently the kid was still sleeping though because Jim lets out a audible sigh of relief and turns back to me.

Having his attention, once again I press my advantage. "How do you expect to be there for Blair," I continue, as if the outburst hadn't occurred, "if you don't take care of you own self? You forget Jim, I was here. I've seen how these last ten days have affected you."

"I'm fine," he denies, as I knew he would. But at least he picks up his fork and begins eating.

Awareness returned slowly, bringing with it a multitude of aches and pains. Even his hair hurt, if such a thing were possible. Pushing past the discomfort, he sought to unscramble the disjointed montage of images spiraling across his mind's eye. Even this small effort left him nauseous and looking to quell the disturbing sensation, he inhaled deeply.

It was only as he breathed out that he discovered his mouth was blocked. Immediately fear rose up from within him to cut off his breathing and further add to his distress. Automatically his hands attempted to rise to clear the obstruction, it was only then that Blair discovered his wrists were cuffed behind him.

Deluged by instantaneous clarity, the images, along with his memories, fell into place.

Fighting the natural urge to struggle, he strove to overcome the crippling fear. Finally remembering how to breathe, he forced the trapped breath out through his nostrils, repeating the exercise of inhaling and exhaling until the urgency subsided and his breath came naturally once again.

By this time he had come to the realization that not only were his wrists bound, but that he was gagged and blindfolded as well. "Okay," he thinks. "I can deal with this. After all, it's not like this is the first time this has happened." And although the impromptu pep talk did little to reassure him, Blair mentally began assessing his situation.

The floor beneath him was hard, yet smooth. It's cold, slightly damp texture leading Blair to believe he was lying on concrete. The total absence of light from beyond his makeshift blindfold indicated that it was dark, perhaps still nighttime.

Recalling his abduction, Blair reflexively shuddered at the memory of being tazored. He had seen them used once or twice while working with Jim, but had never expected to be on the receiving end.

JIM! His mind latched onto the name and the image of his partner that accompanied it. Did Ellison realize he was missing? Was Jim searching for him even now? Fervently the grad student prayed it was so. In the meantime though, Blair was on his own.

Trussed up as he was, there was very little Blair could do at the moment, except wait and wonder. Who had kidnapped him and why? And what were they going to do with him? Well, at least there was one bright spot of his current dilemma. He was still alive. It was the sound of a bolt being thrown back and the squeak of rusty hinges, that informed him things were about to change.

It was with smug satisfaction that I watched Ellison swallow the last bite of his omelet. "Not half bad." He grudgingly admitted, then spoiled the effect by smiling.

I'd missed that smile these past ten days. It is good to see it again, however brief the moment. As I suspected, it doesn't last long. Within seconds the smile falters, disappearing altogether as Jim's brows crinkle in a worried frown.

"What is it?" I question, instantly alert.

Immediately Ellison's eyes seek out the figure on the sofa. "It's Sandburg," he replies, tossing down his napkin and rising. "His pulse and respiration just shot through the roof."

Concerned, I follow, arriving just in time to witness Sandburg's eyes shoot open, a panicked, disoriented gleam within their depths. At the sight of us his terror increases and with an inarticulate cry, he pushes himself further back against the couch.

Waving me back, Ellison kneels down near the sofa and begins murmuring a soft litany of reassurances. "It's all right, Chief. You're safe." As he tells this to the younger man I find myself wondering how many times Blair will need to hear it before he will finally believe it to be true. I don't know whether it is the soothing tone of Jim's voice or the invisible bond they share, but within minutes the kid's gasping breaths subside and recognition returns to his panic stricken blue orbs.

"You going to be okay now?" Ellison asks, his worried gaze searching his partner's face.

Despite the tentative nod, there is no mistaking the adverted gaze or the fine tremors that shake Sandburg's hand as he brushes back the hair from his face.

Considering Blair's reaction I am surprised when Ellison suggests, "Why don't you lay back down and try to get some more sleep?" As I expect the suggestion is met with a negative response.

"Bad dream, huh?" Ellison comments softly and I see the fear return to Sandburg's eyes.

"Do you remember what it was about?" I gently inquire.

Immediately Sandburg's head shoots up, his shaggy mane fanning outward as Blair vehemently shakes his head, no. Yet the sheer look of terror reflected in his eyes, belies the very motion.

"Shhh, settle down, Chief." Ellison croons soothingly to the agitated young man.

I hate the thought of further upsetting the kid, but the sooner we get some answers, the sooner the bastard responsible for this will be behind bars. "Jim, we need..."

"NOT NOW!" He growls in my direction, abruptly cutting me off. Jim Ellison in protective mode is an awesome sight to behold. Having the anger that accompanied it directed at me is another matter entirely. Raising my hands in acquiescence, I decide to back off, but only for now.

Satisfied, Jim turns back to his distraught partner. Eyes wide as saucers, the kid's gaze is fixed on Ellison's face. "I'm sorry, Chief." He quickly apologizes. "I didn't mean to startle you. It's not you that I'm upset with." He adds with a pointed glare in my direction.

Never let it be said that I don't know when I'm not wanted. Leaving Jim to deal with Sandburg I head towards the kitchen and begin clearing away the remnants of our meal. Depositing the dirty dishes on the counter beside the sink, I find myself shamelessly listening to the one sided conversation from the living room.

"Would you like something to eat?"

"How about something to drink?"

Apparently both inquiries were met with a negative reply because I detect a note of desperation in Jim's voice as he asks, "Is there anything that I can do for you? Anything that you need?"

The muffled sob that followed nearly breaks my heart.

"Oh God, Chief. Please... don't." Comes Ellison's impassioned plea as I hurry into the living room. Sitting up now, arms wrapped tightly around his middle, Sandburg is rocking back and forth, his eyes, luminescent with tears that over flow their banks to glide silently down the ashen planes of his face.

Still sitting beside the couch, Jim's ravaged expression speaks of his inner turmoil. I can tell how much he wants, needs to reach out and comfort Sandburg. But at the same time, he's terrified to do so.

I understand his fear. I even want to wrap my arms around this pathetic creature. Assure him that everything is going to be all right. Take away the pain and humiliation he must have suffered. Wrap him in wool and protect him so that nothing bad can ever hurt him again. But as much as I desperately want to, it is not within my rights. Besides, Sandburg had already demonstrated that he can't stand to be touched by a man. Hell, it was a man that did this to him. No, not a man, I angrily correct, an animal. A sick, sadistic son of a bitch...

Taking a deep breath, I rein in my emotions. This wasn't going to help Sandburg.

But what would? Arms still wrapped tightly around himself, Blair looked as if one false move could shatter him into a thousand tiny pieces. His lower lip trembles uncontrollably and I watch with horror as he bites down on it to prevent another sob from escaping. The resulting blood that dribbles down onto Blair's chin spurs a response. With an anguished cry, Jim lunges forward and gathering the startled anthropologist into his arms, holds on tight.

With a keening wail combined of fright, hate and rage, Sandburg lashes out. Mortified, I stand rooted to the spot as he bucks, flails and laments his distress. And though it all Jim holds Blair firmly, yet tenderly as one would handle a new born child. Oblivious to the tears trickling unheeded down his own face, Ellison maintains a constant monologue of comforting reassurances until finally the thrashing subsides and burying his face against Jim's chest, Sandburg cries.

Suddenly feeling like an interloper, I silently withdraw to the kitchen and pausing momentarily to wipe away my own unabashed tears, begin filling the sink with water.

I've washed, dried and put away the last dish. Cleaned the kitchen until it met with Ellison's rigid standards, and even made use of the facilities to wash away the day's grime. I just wish I could rid myself as easily of the images and memories this day has wrought. It has been some time since I've heard any sounds from the living room and though I am still hesitant to intrude, I can't put it off any longer. With a weary sigh, I switch off the bathroom light and return to the living room.

They sit there, much as I had left them. Sandburg's head resting against Jim's chest, one hand tenaciously clutching the front of Ellison's tear stained shirt. The poor kid's eyelids are puffy from crying and closed, as if swollen shut. Slow, even breaths escape through slightly parted lips, the lower one slightly red and swollen from the earlier abuse. The tip of his nose is bright as a cherry, the mounds of discarded tissues littering the coffee table, a silent monument to the volatility of Sandburg's cathartic release.

He appears to be asleep, no doubt worn out from the emotional upheaval. Ellison does too, for that matter. As if to belie my words, Jim opens his eyes and smiles wearily.

"How's he doing?" I inquire, resuming the chair I'd vacated earlier.

"Better," Ellison replies, looking down with fondness, or was it something more? At the man in his arms. "I think he needed to do that."

"It certainly appears to have helped." I pointedly agree. A short time ago I couldn't even begin to imagine Sandburg letting anyone touch him, let alone see him resting comfortably within Ellison's arms.

Swiftly, his eyes rise to meet mine. Had Jim read something untoward in my tone? The inscrutable expression on his face leaves me no clue. Suddenly uncomfortable, I flounder for something to say. "Surely you can't be comfortable like that?" I suddenly blurt out.

As I watch his eyes glaze over with heated anger. "You got a problem with this?"

"No, of course not!" I vehemently deny. Truth to be told I envy the depth of the trust and compassion they share. "I'm just worried about you, Jim. You need to get some rest."

"I'm fine... Besides," He chuckles softly, a sense of pride overcoming his previous anger. "I don't think he'll let me go."

At my raised eyebrow, he demonstrates. Carefully shifting the bundle in his arms, Jim begins to move. Despite having been sound asleep, Sandburg's eyes pop open instantly. Muttering an incoherent protest, the fist clutching the front of Ellison's shirt grabs it tighter. Immediately Jim settles back into place and Blair's eyes close, once again asleep within seconds.

"Well if that don't beat all," I snort with an amazed shake of my head. "Jim Ellison, a security blanket."

"Whatever it takes, Simon." He whispers, suddenly somber. "Whatever Blair needs."

It is apparent, to me at least, that Sandburg has what he needs. "What he needs" I say instead, "is sleep. As do you, my friend."

"I'm..."

"Fine," I finish Ellison's lame protest. "Look Jim, there's nothing more you can do tonight. So why don't you get some rest while you can. I have a feeling you're going to need it." And on that ominous note, Ellison nods and somewhat reluctantly closes his eyes. A few minutes later I am rewarded by a soft snore coming from the exhausted man. It is only then that I permit my own fatigue to allow me to join them.

I should have taken Jim up on his offer when I had the chance. Sleeping sitting upright in a chair is not conducive to getting a good night's rest. Shifting yet again to try and find a more comfortable position, with a resigned sigh I finally admit defeat and stifling a groan, open my eyes.

I am astonished to see sunlight filtering into the loft. Even more surprised to realize that I'd not been awakened as a result of Sandburg's nightmares. Inadvertently my eyes stray to the still sleeping figure, then travel upwards to discover Ellison looking back at me. An amused smile playing at the corner of his lips. "Rough night?" He, not so innocently, inquires.

Shooting him my best sarcastic glare, I rise, trying valiantly to ignore the grievance heralded by my aching joints. "I'll live," I grumble, pleasant person that I am before my first cup of coffee. "What about you? Did you get any sleep at all?"

"Enough." He replies with a dismissive shrug.

Stretching, I reach up to rub at the persistent stiffness in my neck. "How about the kid?" I ask with a nod in Sandburg's direction. "Any more bad dreams?"

"Not a peep." Jim says, smiling down with relief at his partner.

"Jim..." I begin, then falter. No, I couldn't be the one to squelch the tiny ray of hope I'd glimpsed in his features. "Coffee?" I offer.

"I'd love some." His petition is almost tangible. And while I realize that coffee is the least of what Ellison needs, at the moment it's all I have to offer.

After a quick detour to freshen up, I remove the dregs from the coffee maker and, rinsing out the pot, brew a fresh one. My need is dire. Quickly filling two mugs, I return to the living room.

"Thanks," Jim sighs with gratitude as I hand him a cup and the next few minutes are filled with silence as we allow the fragrant blend to work its magic.

Ellison senses it before I do, but the change in his expression alerts me to the fact that Sandburg is waking up. Apparently the coffee's aroma is the culprit, for even as I watch, his nose twitches. Amused, I glance up at Jim only to discover his attention focused solely on the man in his arms.

"Good morning, sleepyhead." Jim comments as Sandburg's eyelids flutter open, a gentle smile softening the gibe.

I tense immediately, subconsciously waiting for the kid to lose it. He surprises me though. Instead of the stark, naked fear I have come to expect, a slight answering smile plays at his lips. Still, I can tell that he's not fully awake by the slightly drooping eyelids. The hand that was previously encased within the folds of Ellison's shirt comes up to wipe away the last remnants of sleep.

"Coffee?" Ellison offers his cup to the younger man and my own hopes plummet as I witness a reticence return to Sandburg's eyes. "It's pretty good," Jim continues unabated, adding teasingly at my expense, "Even if Simon did make it." Purposely ignoring the glare I send in his direction, Jim continues to entice the kid to drink. "It's just coffee, Chief. Nothing else." He demonstrates by taking a sip.

Blair glances from the cup to Jim, his concerns apparently appeased by whatever he sees reflected in Ellison's face. Brushing the afghan aside, a shaky hand appears so that both can grasp the proffered mug. Eyes shuddering closed in appreciation of the heady brew, Sandburg takes a tentative sip. Presumably he likes what he tastes, for he opens his eyes and offering me a tiny smile, begins gulping the remaining contents.

"Whoa! Slow down, Chief," Ellison admonishes with a chuckle. "There's plenty more where that came from."

Immediately Sandburg complies, his pensive gaze straying to Ellison.

Smile crumpling, Jim reaches out to gently brush the younger man's cheek. "The coffee's hot. I just didn't want you burning yourself." He carefully explains and I find it promising that Blair hadn't shirked from Ellison's touch. Instead a look of astonishment comes over his features as he looks up at Jim in total adoration. Like Sandburg can't believe someone actually cares about him. His odd response sets off warning bells.

"Blair," I call softly. Granted, his eyes turn to me, but I still have my suspicions. "Do you know who we are?" I ask, point blank. Ellison looks at me like I have lost my mind, but even he can't help but notice the hesitation in the kid's response.

"Chief?" He questions, studying Sandburg with concern. "You do know who we are, right?"

What begins as a tentative nod ends with a slight shake of the kid's head. Eyes downcast, as if expecting some sort of reprisal for disappointing us, Sandburg clutches the coffee cup with a white knuckled grip.

I don't think anything else can surprise me and the devastation written on Ellison's face, is so poignant, it's tangible. Yet, even as I watch, the shutters come down until no trace of emotional upheaval remains.

"Hey, it's okay." Jim tells Blair with a casualness I didn't deem possible. "You're just a little confused right now. It'll come back to you, you'll see."

I have no idea if Jim actually believes that or if he is just trying to make the kid feel better. Whichever, his words have the desired effect and I see the tension drain from Sandburg's body. Almost shyly, he glances up at Ellison. The faith exhibited in his expression is humbling. Therefore I'm astonished to hear Jim ask the kid, "I'd like to clean up a bit. Will you be okay with Simon for a few minutes?"

The apprehension is back. Whether it's due to the thought of Jim leaving the room or fear of being left alone with me, I'm not certain. I pray it's not the later. Obviously unhappy about it, Blair nonetheless nods.

I can see that it causes him pain, but not a sound of complaint passes his lips as Sandburg struggles to sit up.

Considering how finely attuned Ellison normally is to the kid, I'm bewildered by the fact that he doesn't notice it too. Instead he seems eager to escape as he swiftly rises from the couch and heads for the bathroom.

"Jim!" I call in my confusion, causing him to pull up short. It's the pain filled eyes looking back at me that silently answer my question. Wordlessly I nod, allowing him to continue. Knowing that behind the now closed bathroom door, Ellison needs time to come to grips with the latest revelation.

Carefully setting the coffee cup aside, Sandburg's uneasy gaze lights everywhere, except on me. "Would you like some more?" I ask, with a gesture towards the now empty mug. With a shake of his head, the kid nervously tucks his hair behind one ear and once again his gaze is off and wandering.

"Blair," I call and wait until I have his attention. "Are you afraid of me? His shrug is noncommittal, but the fact that he won't look me in the eye speaks volumes. After the way I tricked him back at the warehouse I understand his reticence. But I have to admit that knowledge doesn't make it hurt any less. "Look, I realize you don't have any reason to trust me," I admit. "But I hope you know that I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you."

He's looking at me now, but doubt still lingers. Frustrated, I seek a solution. For reasons I can't begin to fathom, it is imperative to me that the kid trust me. If only he remembered..... My gaze falls on the photograph.

Rising, I retrieve the picture from the bookcase and going over to the sofa, gesture to the spot beside Sandburg. "May I?"

Immediately he scoots over as if to make room, but his wariness is still very much in evidence. Biting back my sense of disappointment, I sit on the couch and hold the photograph out towards Blair. "You seemed fascinated by this picture," I tell him. "Do you remember?" Considering how screwed up the kid was last night, it doesn't surprise me when he shakes his head no.

"It was taken during one of our fishing trips last year. Jim," I say, pointing out Ellison. "Is a detective with the Major Crimes division of the Cascade, P.D." Ignoring the quiet gasp, I hasten to add, "He's also your best friend and roommate. You live here with him at the loft. Now, this handsome fellow," I continue, pleased to see a tiny smile appear in response to my comment, "is me. Not only am I Jim's captain, but I'm also his friend." Solemnly I look down at the man sitting beside me. "I'd like to think that I'm your friend as well."

Teeth worrying his lower lip, I can tell Sandburg is mulling over his decision. Finally, he nods and I feel as if a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Unable to suppress my ear to ear grin, I go to set the picture on the coffee table, only to be stopped as Blair places his hand on my arm.

"What is it?" I ask, concerned by the confusion evident in the furrowed brow.

Slowly the kid reaches out and carefully outlining the image of himself, looks up questioningly, almost pleadingly, at me.

Oh God, how could I have been so stupid! I'd been so concerned about whether or not he remembers Jim and me, that it never even occurred to me that Sandburg might be confused about his own identity.

Although I know you're suppose to let amnesiacs remember things on their own, there is no way I can deny the beseeching entreaty of those soulful blue eye peering expectantly up at me. "Your name is Blair." I softly reply. "Blair Sandburg. You're a teaching fellow and grad student at Rainier University working on your doctorate in anthropology. You also act as a consultant to the police department and as Jim's partner in an unofficial capacity." The last revelation has surprised him and he looks up at me with uncertainty. "You've been a major asset to the department over the past three years, Blair, and I consider it a privilege to count you as one of my own."

The cerulean blue eyes became misty with unshed tears as the kid's emotions are laid bare before me. It was then and there that I silently vowed to protect that which had been so innocently entrusted to me.

Swallowing past the lump that mysteriously manifested itself in my throat, I look away, unable to admit how deeply all of this has affected me. The kid though, obviously has other ideas. I sit rooted, powerless to stop him as his hand gently cups the side of my face, turning it until I look at him. It is with careful scrutiny that he searches my features, apparently approving what he sees instilled in them. Amazingly, he smiles and it is then that I fully understand what a truly remarkable man Sandburg really is.

Clearing my throat, "So," I rumble, more gruffly than intended. "You ready for that refill?" I ask, preparing to rise. Once again his hand on my arm stays the motion, his expression telling me what he can not say with words.

"You're welcome," I reply, patting the hand.

With a nod, he releases me. Retrieving our empty cups, I head to the kitchen dazed and exhausted, feeling as if I've overcome a huge obstacle, yet pleased, because the kid has followed me.

His movements are slow and precise. I can see that he is in pain, that his ribs are hurting, by the arm clutched around his middle. The other, more visible injuries he seems to ignore, almost as if they don't exist. I'm not surprised though, considering the way he's blocked out everything else pertaining to his abduction and assault. And as much as I'd like to allow him to hide, remain encased within the gentle folds of that shroud of fog, I know that I can't. A crime has been committed and everything that makes me who I am demands justice. And yes, retribution for the atrocities committed against my friend. Unfortunately that means making him remember. A thought I abhor, but one that is necessary if we are to apprehend those responsible.

Feeling his gaze on me, I refill our mugs and turning, hand him one. What I see rocks me to the core. Dear Lord! Despite the day old stubble, he seems so young and fragile, standing there in my coat, several sizes too large for him. Perhaps the questions can wait. At least for a little while.

"Are you hungry? I could fix you something," I offer. Normally I can read Sandburg like a book, but his odd expression baffles me. Disconcerted, I yank open the refrigerator door and peer inside. "Let's see what we have in here..."

"He likes French Toast," Ellison comments in passing as he reappears and heads for his bedroom.

"French Toast it is," I cheerfully agree and begin gathering the necessary staples. "You're going to love this." I proudly promise the kid as I begin whipping up the ingredients. "Daryl always insists that I make it for him when he spends the weekends with me."

"Daryl," I explain at Sandburg's confused frown, "is my son. He's with his mother this weekend."

"Any coffee left?" Jim inquires as he enters the kitchen buttoning up a clean shirt.

Immediately Sandburg offers his cup.

"Thanks, Chief," Ellison smiles, accepting the proffered mug and taking a drink. Looking up at Jim, the kid beams. There's no other word for it.

"You two, out." I order gruffly. "Go set the table or something."

Muttering something about temperamental cooks under his breath, Jim settles Sandburg at the table and with a gentle admonishment to stay put, begins setting the table.

With a flourish I set my masterpiece on the table and stand back, waiting for the proper show of appreciation.

"We're out of the preserves you like, Chief." Ellison informs the younger man. "Will syrup do instead?"

Humph! So much for the expected accolades.

Unable to suppress a glare while Jim drowns my creation with the maple concoction, I slide a couple of slices onto my own plate and wait, unlike Ellison who digs right in. Two bites later he pauses, looking up at Sandburg who, while wistfully watching him, has yet to begin eating. "Something wrong?" Jim asks, and after some mysterious, non-verbal exchange between the two men, Ellison switches plates with Blair. I should feel insulted, but I don't. God only knows what the kid's been through. If it makes him feel better, safer, to change food with Jim, who am I to complain. Yet, Blair still hesitates. "Go on." Ellison gently encourages. "It's gonna get cold."

A tiny smile of gratitude emerges and actually manages to reach Sandburg's eyes. From beneath the table, his hand appears, reaching for the fork. "Hang on a second, buddy." Jim says, reaching out to take the kid's hand. With meticulous precision he folds back the too long sleeve, then nods for Blair to continue.

His first bite is tentative, cautious. Then his eyes widen with surprise and I add with some pride, pleasure. Within seconds he's diving in and eating like there's no tomorrow. Silently I watch him, my own food forgotten until Jim nudges me, urging me to eat.

Between the three of us we make short work of the food and finally sit back, thoroughly sated. Refilling our mugs, I resume my seat at the table and knowing I can't put it off any longer, abruptly ask, "Blair, do you remember who did this to you?"

"NOT NOW DAMN IT!" Ellison protests, as I knew he would.

"Look Jim," I say, turning to the distraught man. "We can't keep putting this off forever and the kid's the only one that can help us."

"I realize that Simon, but look at him..."

And I do. So does Jim for that matter, and we're both shocked speechless. All the color has drained from Sandburg's face and he seems on the verge of passing out. The fact that the kid appears to have stopped breathing could have something to do with it.

"Sandburg, Chief!" Ellison roars, lunging for Blair as he topples from the chair, unconscious.