Author's webpage: http://www.geocities.com/SoHo/Cafe/3571/Orphan.htm

Author's disclaimer: All recognizable Sentinel characters are copyright of Pet Fly Productions and UPN. No infringement intended on my part...just doing some wishful thinking. :-) The lyrics to "I Will Be Your Friend" are copyright to Amy Grant and her record label.

Author's notes: This is Wanda's auction story from waaay back. She has the patience of a saint, waiting this long for it. I hope the wait was worth it. Enjoy! And thanks again for writing all those letters!

** This story does contain the death of a character, but NOT Jim or Blair and the death is mentioned as happening in the past **

Also, this story takes place after His Brother's Keeper and assumes no new episodes after that.

{ } indicate thoughts

This story is dedicated to my three TS buddies - one old and two new. Time to play "Where's Waldo?" ladies! You know what I mean.

Time Marches On - Part one
by Barbara Nice-Miller
AgtSpooky@aol.com

The warm summer breeze wafted gently through the open window, barely rustling the curtains in the room in which Jim Ellison sat at his friend's bedside. It was a night like any other. So much so Jim had almost lost track of how many there had been.

Almost.

As was his custom every evening, Jim read outloud to the still form lying in the hospital-issue bed. Tonight's book of choice was "To Kill a Mockingbird", yet another volume Jim had found on a dusty shelf in his friend's small room. There weren't many books left in that bookcase now.

Jim's deep, even voice filled the room as he read paragraph after paragraph, telling the story to a silent audience.

"Talk to him," the doctors had said so long ago. "Let him hear your voice. He may be able to hear you. We just don't know."

So Jim talked. About everything and nothing. And when he could think of nothing more to say he either turned on the radio or he read outloud from books found on that dusty bookshelf, hoping his voice would guide his friend back from wherever he was. Praying it would bring his friend back to him.

Then maybe this nightmare would finally be over.

Or maybe it would only be beginning. Only time would tell.

Jim sighed and let his voice fall silent, the only sound now in the room the steady beeping of the heart monitor. When the doctors said only the EEG monitor need stay attached, Jim had insisted the heart monitor also remain, as it was the only way he could hear his friend's heartbeat now.

So many things had changed... It had only taken an instant at a dark dockside warehouse to change his life, and that of his best friend's, forever.

And that moment played itself over and over in his mind every time he closed his eyes, even after all this time. He could still hear the gunshots and the explosions, smell the cordite, feel the pain, see his best friend crumple to the ground...

Jim shifted his left leg restlessly at the memory, feeling the familiar ache, a constant reminder of the past and how it led to the present. He rose stiffly from the chair, turning towards the open window, his back to the young man lying so still. He closed his eyes and breathed deep of the warm night air, giving in once again to his guilt and grief, letting himself relive that night...

Dawson Quinn had escaped. How, exactly, Jim still didn't know, and neither did the prison officials, but that didn't change the fact that a mere two months after his capture, Quinn and his cellmate were gone. And stalking Jim.

The arrogant bastard was determined to have the last word and was taunting Jim to catch him, pulling two daring bank heists and leaving behind notes for Jim. Then there were the phone calls, letters and emails. Instead of high-tailing it out of Cascade, Quinn was taunting the detective. Jim was going to make sure he paid dearly for that mistake.

Unfortunately, it was Blair that paid the price.

After almost a month of cat and mouse games, Jim finally thought he had Quinn cornered. But Blair argued that the information on Quinn's hideout had come too easily. That it was a trap, that Quinn was done playing and wanted to end the game. Permanently.

Though Blair's logic was sound, Jim had to investigate every lead. He couldn't ignore it, it may very well be the break he'd been looking for.

If he'd only listened to his Guide...

Simon put together the ten man tactical team to take down Quinn and his cellmate at the newly abandoned warehouse near the docks, their supposed hideout. There wasn't any way to know what they were walking in to, and Jim wanted Blair as far away as possible, but the young anthropologist was having none of it. Arguing that Jim would have all his senses on alert, trying to decipher if it was truly a set-up, the chance of a zone out was high. He needed to be at Jim's side.

"Besides," Blair had added in a hard voice, "It's that bastard's fault I ended up with a bullet in my leg."

Yes, this was personal for them both now, and in the end Jim decided it was best to keep Blair where he could see him, other than worrying about his partner sneaking off on his own, trying to help. Distraction was a great way to get yourself killed. Yet an uneasy feeling accompanied his decision and he had an irrational urge to lock his Guide in the truck instead.

If he'd only acted on that feeling...

The team waited until just after midnight that late spring night to begin the raid. The warehouse was at the farthest end of the dock, shrouded in darkness, crates and overturned boxes littering the area in front of it. Since the rear of the building faced the water, it couldn't be surrounded. This would have to be a frontal assault.

The team assembled quietly along the wall of the warehouse closest to Quinn's. While Simon gave them last minute instructions, Jim and Blair conferred quietly.

"Ok, let's take it one by one," Blair began, slipping effortlessly into Guide-mode for his Sentinel. "Start with sight. Can you pick up on anything?"

"Nothing unusual I can see outside..." Jim trailed off, concentrating harder. A moment later he felt Blair's warm hand settle at the small of his back, just below his Kevlar vest. He unconsciously leaned into Blair's touch, his Guide's way of anchoring him.

"And inside?" Blair inquired. "Can you see through the windows?"

A pause, then Jim shook his head. "The windows are filthy and it's pitch dark in there. I can't make out a thing."

Blair nodded. "Ok, go to hearing."

The young man felt his friend's body twitch under his hand an instant before he spoke. "Got 'em, Chief," the cop gave a grim smile. "Heartbeats."

Blair gave the Sentinel a small pat on his pack. "How many, Jim?"

The bigger man cocked his head, eyes closing slightly. "One...two... three...four..." his brow furrowed as he tried to differentiate between the many heartrates.

"Take it easy, Jim," Blair warned softly. "Don't push too hard."

Jim gave a sharp nod, then relaxed, looking over at his friend. "Six. There's six of 'em," he said confidently. "You were right, Blair. It's a trap. Quinn's got reinforcements."

Blair smiled at the complement and gave his partner one of his own. "Great job, Jim. Let's do smell, just to cover all the bases, Ok?"

"Down here? At the docks? Sandburg--"

"You've done it before," his Guide stated simply, cutting off the Sentinel's protest. "Just filter the smells one by one and see if there's anything out of the ordinary."

Jim sighed, knowing he could never deny his friend anything, wondering why he even tried to protest in the first place. His eyes slid half shut again as he turned up his sense of smell, grimacing almost immediately as his olfactory sense was assaulted by the numerous waterfront odors.

"Not so high, Jim," Blair cautioned. "Turn it down a bit."

Acknowledging Blair's directive with a nod, the Sentinel adjusted his internal dial and began separating the smells one by one, working outward: Blair, Simon, the tactical team, dead fish, seawater, motor oil, rotting wood...the scents went on and on, identified and cataloged until...what was that?

"Jim? Jim?" Blair was whispering to him.

The detective turned his mind from that last odor to look over at his friend. Simon was crouched next to them now.

"We're getting a bit antsy here, Jim," his captain informed him. "What have you got?"

"I can't see inside, Simon. There are six heartbeats, though. Blair was right. It's a set-up. We gotta be careful. But..." he trailed off.

"But what? What is it?" Blair prompted.

Jim shook his head. "I thought I smelled something. Something...out of place."

"Down here?" Simon asked. "Jim, this is the waterfront. Of course you smell something out of place. Do you know how much garbage washes up down here? Couldn't you just be picking up on that?"

"Yeah, maybe," Jim replied hesitantly. "There's so many smells down here. I just can't isolate it enough to place it." He shook his head. "Sorry, Chief."

"Sorry?" Blair was confused. "Sorry for what? Jim, we're still learning the limits of your senses. And there are limits," he assured the Sentinel.

"We need to move out, people," Simon interrupted. "I'm going to give the green." With that he crept back to the rest of his men to inform them of the possible set-up.

Jim faced his partner, handing him his cell phone. "You know the drill, Chief. You stay here and call for backup if things get hairy."

Blair nodded. "Got it."

Jim turned to leave, but a warm hand with a firm grip on his arm stopped him.

"Jim..."

Blue eyes locked with blue, the bond the two men shared never more apparent than at that moment, a myriad of emotions flashing across both their handsome features.

"I know," Jim whispered. Then he was gone, moving into the darkness.

Taking up his position at the rear of the team, the unidentified yet somehow familiar smell still nagged at Jim. Frustrated with himself, he was determined to figure it out. Something was telling him not to let it go. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, swiftly pinpointing the odor now that he knew what he was searching for. This time recognition slammed into him like a freight train, just as Simon and the team raced around the corner towards Quinn's hideout.

Oh god. C-4.

"NO! WAIT!" he cried out, scrambling from his position against the wall, racing around the far end, weapon drawn.

Too late.

The first explosion lit up the night sky in a brilliant ball of orange and yellow fire and smoke, taking with it the crate the bomb was in and the first two officers, their bodies tossed into the air like feathers. The warehouse windows shattered from the inside, automatic gunfire spraying out, cutting down two more of Simon's men. Screams rang out from the injured officers, as the rest of the team returned fire and scrambled for cover, trying to reach their fallen comrades.

Jim ran full tilt into the battlefield the dock had now become, firing as he went, hearing Simon bellowing out orders to the remainder of his team. He reached the first wounded officer just as a second crate exploded, knocking another man off his feet, wounded as well.

The air was thick with smoke and angry gunfire as Jim pulled the unconscious officer at his feet to relative safety before racing back into the war zone, determined to end this. Fearing the remainder of the crates were also rigged with explosives, but seeing nothing else to use as cover, the detective holstered his weapon, unclipped the concussion grenade from his Kevlar vest, and began his dangerous one-man assault on the warehouse.

Counting on the darkness, the smoke and Simon and his men to keep Quinn and his men busy, Jim kept to the far side of the dock, trying not to draw attention to himself as he slipped from crate to crate, drawing ever closer to the windows of the warehouse.

He almost made it.

Crouched at the corner of one crate, preparing to slip to the next closest one, the flash from a rifle's muzzle inside the warehouse caught the Sentinel's eye as it illuminated the gunman, distracting Jim.

Quinn.

Their eyes locked and an evil, maniacal smile crossed the psychopath's face. Jim's cover had been blown. Sentinel hearing detected the ominous <CLICK> of the triggering mechanism inside the crate and Jim knew he had seconds to live.

Launching himself up and away from the crate, heedless of the gunfire surrounding him, Jim desperately tried to put as much distance between himself and the bomb as he could. Four frantic strides were all he could manage.

The force of the explosion threw him off his feet and hurled him forward, wave after wave of intense heat and debris at his back, before slamming down onto the dock. Excruciating pain like he'd never known raced through his battered body as he rolled across the wooden surface before coming to rest on his back. Dazed and winded, fighting unconsciousness, hearing Simon frantically calling his name, Jim's head lolled to the side, trying to answer but instead catching sight of the torn, bloody mass of flesh that was his left leg.

"NOO! JIM!"

Blair's cry of utter terror drew Jim's attention from his mangled body. He looked up to see his partner racing towards him, surrounded by a dozen more officers, weapons blazing. Backup had arrived. Uncaring of the extreme danger he was in, Blair charged forward, his only thought to save his best friend.

Horrified, Jim tried to call out, managing only a hoarse whisper. "no...get back..."

Two feet from Jim it happened.

Another crate exploded, sending huge pieces of debris through the air. Unable to slow down or change course, Blair plowed directly through the explosion, his head suddenly snapping violently to the side as a large piece of wood impacted it. Sentinel sight easily picked up on the fine spray of blood as it misted through the air.

"BLAIR!"

The scream was torn from Jim's throat as he watched his Guide's expression change from one of terrified concern to one of total confusion as the wood hit it's mark and his body crumpled like a rag doll.

The nightmare had begun.

The next thing Jim remembered was waking up in the hospital with a gasp, Blair's name on his lips. Disoriented, he turned his head from side to side, feeling strong hands settle on his shoulders, forcing him to lie still.

"Jim. Jim, take it easy."

Simon's low voice came from Jim's right and he turned his head, finding his captain standing at his bedside.

"S-Simon?" His throat felt like sandpaper and he swallowed gingerly.

"Wait. Don't try and talk." The tall man disappeared for a moment before returning with a cup filled with ice chips and a spoon. He scooped a few up and placed them in Jim's mouth.

Jim sighed and closed his eyes briefly as Simon returned the cup, feeling the ache in his throat ease and the muzziness in his head start to dissipate. But along with it came awareness of the battered state of his body.

"Simon? Where is he? What happened?" Jim demanded without preamble.

"Let me get your doctor, Jim. She needs to know you're awake -- " Simon began.

"Dammit, Simon," Jim ground out. "I don't care about me. Where's Blair?"

When Simon's answer wasn't immediately forthcoming, terror overwhelmed Jim, his heart seizing up in his chest. {No...please}

"Oh, god, Simon. Please don't tell me..." Desolation laced every word he spoke.

"No! No, Blair's not dead, Jim," Simon hastened to reassure his friend.

Jim sagged visibly, releasing a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Then what? I saw..." he swallowed thickly. "I saw him fall, Simon. Then I don't remember anything until now. What happened?"

Simon removed his glasses and ran a hand over his face before answering. "He's in a coma, Jim. When the crate blew he was hit in the left side of his head head with a large piece of wood from the dock itself. They don't...the doctors don't know if he'll recover. If he'll ever wake up," he finished softly.

Jim closed his eyes and turned his head away from Simon.

"There's more," Simon said quietly. "Are you up to hearing the rest?"

A pause, then Jim turned his head back around. "Go on," he said tightly, the muscle in his jaw jumping.

Simon nodded. "As you know, backup arrived shortly after you went down. I had no idea Sandburg had come out onto the dock and was down, too. With the additional men, we pushed forward and got both the concussion grenades and the tear gas canisters inside. We rushed the building and hauled out the four men still alive."

"Quinn?" asked Jim.

Simon's voice was grim. "Dead. I took him out myself inside the warehouse as he drew down on me. He wanted to die. I could see it in his eyes, Jim. He wasn't going to go back to prison so he forced me to kill him."

Jim shook his head slowly. "Don't beat yourself up over it, Simon. You had no choice and he had nothing to lose. He thought he'd gotten his revenge, that he'd killed me."

"Thanks, Jim." Simon cleared his throat and continued. "When I got out of the warehouse the paramedics were working on both you and Blair. Honestly, Jim, I've never been more scared in my life, seeing you both like that. The EMTs wouldn't tell me anything and I got to the hospital as fast as I could. I found almost all of Major Crime had beat me here and they've been camped out in the waiting room ever since," Simon said with a smile.

And got a small smile in return. "And how long's that been?"

"Almost four days."

"Four days? I've been unconscious for four days?"

"Jim...you're hurt bad. You might not be feeling it now, but you will soon enough. Have you looked at your leg?" he finished quietly.

For the first time since waking up, Jim looked down at his body, his concern for Blair overriding anything else up until this point. What he saw was an IV tube in his left arm, a thick, white bandage encircling his bicep, another bandage on his left brow and finally his left leg, completely swathed in white gauze and encased in a very large metal brace from just above his knee all the way down to his ankle.

He looked back at Simon. "How bad is it?"

"Want me to get Dr. Cohen? Have her explain it?"

"No. Give it to me straight."

Simon nodded. "Ok. You had a concussion from hitting the dock, which is what had you in and out of consciousness for these past few days, plus assorted cuts and bruises. Your vest probably saved your life by deflecting most of the debris, but your leg took the worst of it. We found out the crate that exploded next to you had some metal machinery parts in the bottom of it. The shrapnel almost took your leg clean off. It was touch and go on the operating table. They didn't think they could save it. Ultimately, after 12 hours of surgery, you can see they did. You have multiple metal rods in your leg, holding the bones of your lower leg together. Which is what the brace is for. Your kneecap was shattered and couldn't be repaired. You have a plastic one now. They did the best they could, but the damage was extensive and you'll most likely have some sort of nerve damage resulting in the loss of feeling in part of your leg."

Silence permeated the hospital room as Jim struggled to process what Simon had just told him. His voice was strained when he spoke.

"I'm through as a cop, aren't I?"

"I won't discuss this with you now, Jim."

"Simon -- "

"No. And that's final. You need to concentrate on getting better and that's it. Your partner needs you."

At the mention of Blair, Jim again put thoughts of himself at the back of his mind. "Can you tell me anymore about what's been happening with him? What does his doctor say?"

"He went into emergency surgery the same time you did to reduce the swelling of his brain and to remove a small blood clot. His doctor says it's a miracle the blunt force trauma of the wood hitting him didn't kill him instantly."

"What's his prognosis?"

Simon sighed. "They really don't know, Jim. He wasn't breathing when the paramedics got to him on the dock, and they started oxygen immediately, but he went into cardiac arrest on the operating table. It took them longer than they'd like to get him back. Then when they unhooked him from the respirator the day after the surgery he wasn't able to breathe on his own. The respirator is breathing for him again. So after all of that and the severity of his head injury, it's anyone's guess as to how long he'll remain in the coma and what the possibility of brain damage may be, if any. Though the EEG does show slightly diminished brain wave activity. But the brain's a funny thing, Jim. He may wake up tomorrow perfectly fine. No one knows."

"Brain damage...? Where is he, Simon?"

"Upstairs in ICU. And no you cannot go see him. You can't get out of this bed and you know it. I'll keep you updated on his condition until you're up and around, I promise."

"Thank you, Simon."

"I care about him, too."

It wasn't until the next morning Jim realized that his Sentinel abilities were gone. He made the mistake of trying to shift on the bed, resulting in an intense jolt of pain from his injured leg that he couldn't turn down the dial on. Preoccupied with his own medical condition and worried about his partner's as well, Jim took the discovery as a blessing. One less thing to worry about, what with Blair unable to help if something went haywire on him. And it wasn't like this hadn't happened before. His senses would come back just like they always did. Right?

Jim's doctor, Dr. Cheryl Cohen, had been in to see him again this morning, to see if he had any questions on his condition and treatment. What was there to question? His leg was a complete mess, the brace would come off in a few weeks and then he would begin the long, painful process of physical therapy. Open and shut. He was curt with Dr. Cohen and he knew it, but he didn't care. He felt completely helpless lying here. All he wanted was to be out of this bed and upstairs next to his friend. He needed to be up there with Blair, to see with his own eyes...

Instead, he could only lie and wait for Simon's daily visit, and with it news of his partner. And the news was always the same: no change.

Naomi arrived like a whirlwind the following afternoon, having finally been located by Simon in whatever exotic land she'd been in. Dozing from the pain medication, Jim was startled when a small, cool hand settled on his shoulder. He blinked and the hand's owner swam into focus.

"Naomi," he said resignedly, dreading this moment, this inevitable confrontation with Blair's mother about her son and how he was to blame. And now it was upon him. He struggled to sit up, grimacing with the effort.

"It's Ok, Jim. Lie back down," Naomi insisted.

Jim settled himself back against the pillows, looking everywhere but at the pretty red-haired woman at his bedside.

"I'm sorry, Naomi. I'm so sorry," he began, voice tight with restrained emotion, feeling the prick of tears at the back of his eyes that he refused to let fall. "I told him to stay back...he was trying to help me. I couldn't --"

"Stop," came the firm but quiet command, halting Jim's words. "Look at me, Jim."

Reluctantly, Jim turned his head to gaze at the woman that had given life to his best friend. "I wouldn't blame you if you hated me," he began again. "I deserve it for what I've put your son through."

Naomi slowly shook her head, Jim noticing for the first time how tired and pale she looked, so unlike the happy, energetic woman he'd seen just a few months ago. "Don't do this to yourself," she told him. "I'm not here to lay blame. You know my feelings toward the police. But Blair made quite clear his decision to stay with you. I wasn't happy about it then and I'm certainly not happy about it now. But it's not my life. It's his. And I've had to accept his decision. After two years, he knew how dangerous it was, but it's still where he wants to be. There's no one to blame, Jim. It was his choice," she finished softly, reaching out to take Jim's hand. He squeezed it in silent acknowledgment and thanks, amazed at her strength and calmness at a time like this, when all he wanted to do was lash out in anger. At himself. Naomi may not blame him, but he sure as hell blamed himself.

"You've seen him? Talked with his doctors?" Jim questioned.

Naomi nodded. "I just came down. They explained everything to me. The EEG still shows below normal brain wave activity and the respirator is still breathing for him. His other vital signs are good, and there's been no additional brain swelling." She took a breath. "He just won't wake up."

"Dammit. Dammit!" Jim pounded the bed in frustration. "I can't take this anymore, Naomi, lying here like this. It's been a week. I need to see him."

She gave a small smile. "He needs to see you, too. I don't pretend to understand the relationship you have with Blair, because I've never seen him so...attached to anyone in his whole life. Even to me," she admitted.

"I care for your son a great deal, Naomi."

"Did you know that his letters to me are filled with things about you? The cases you've worked on, the places you've been, the things you've done? He's very proud of you."

Jim felt the prick of tears once again and swallowed thickly to keep them at bay. "I'm the one who's proud. Does he tell you about the things he's done? How much he helps not only me but his students and others at the department? I've never...he means..." Jim trailed off, unable to find the words.

"I don't think either of you has ever had a friend like the other," Naomi observed. "Am I right?"

Jim nodded, not trusting his voice.

"Then that's going to make this even harder," she continued. At Jim's questioning look she explained. "Jim, you have to consider the possibility that Blair won't --"

"NO. NO," Jim shook his head angrily at her words. "I won't consider the possibility that he may die. I refuse to accept that. And so should you. Blair's strong. He's a fighter, Naomi. He's got his whole life ahead of him, too much to live for. He won't give up. I know it."

Naomi didn't reply. Simply gave Jim a sad smile, squeezed his hand and left the room.

Three weeks crawled slowly by.

Jim's visitors were his only break from the mind-numbing boredom of staring at four white walls, the concern as to why his Sentinel abilities had still not returned, and the constant worry about his partner still upstairs in ICU. True to his word, Simon came by every day with news from around the station and a report on Blair's condition. Jim could have recited it word for word now: "He's stable, Jim, but still in a coma. No change." And three weeks later Simon still adamantly refused to discuss Jim's position within the department. Adding yet another disquieting topic to Jim's already overwrought brain.

Naomi was a constant presence as well, always stopping in Jim's room after her visit with Blair, looking more tired with each passing day and week. There was no more talk between them of the possibility of Blair's death.

Simon and Naomi weren't Jim's only visitors, of course. The cards and balloons scattered around could testify that nearly every member of Major Crime had been here, along with a scattered few from Vice and the patrol division, along with Daryl and even his no longer estranged brother, Stephen. Jim was always glad to see a familiar face in the doorway, not because they were here to see him, but because he'd found out from Simon that each of his visitors was either on their way up, or had just come down from looking in on Blair. Jim had been stunned by the news. This was proof that Blair had finally made a place for himself within the department. After two years of tagging along at Jim's side, enduring the endless teasing and snide remarks, but proving time and again he could pull his own weight and more, they had accepted him as one of their own. That it took a tragedy like this to make his fellow officers finally realize how much Blair had come to mean to them stung, but at least the acceptance was there. And he'd see to it that Blair would benefit from it when his partner awoke.

Just when he thought he'd go mad from counting the ceiling tiles one more time, his hospital room door opened to admit a pretty, petite woman with reddish blond hair. Jim smiled. Ah, his favorite nurse.

"Hi, Kim."

"Hi yourself, Jim. How's my favorite patient today?" she asked as she moved to his bedside, checking his chart. Before Jim could answer she continued. "Wait, don't answer that. I know you want out of this bed and want to be upstairs with your friend, right?"

"Sorry," Jim apologized. "You must get sick of hearing me say that."

Kim smiled. "No, it tells me you care. Your friend's a lucky person." She gave him a little punch to his shoulder. "Want some good news? Dr. Cohen is taking the brace off today. You'll be up to see Blair in no time."

Jim's breath caught in his chest at the news. His smile lit up the room. God, finally...

An hour later Jim was transferred to a gurney and wheeled downstairs to an exam room where Dr. Cohen was waiting. He was given a local anesthetic to reduce the pain as the rods holding the brace to his leg were disengaged.

"Now remember, Mr. Ellison," Dr. Cohen said. "This doesn't mean that you'll be running a marathon tomorrow, as much as you might want to. I don't even want you bending your leg until your physical therapist stops by to see you in your room a bit later. Understood?"

Jim just nodded, not really hearing what she was saying, instead watching as first the metal contraption and then the bandages were removed and he got his first, unimpeded look at his leg.

Frankenstein.

That was the first thought that popped into Jim's mind. He knew he was overreacting, knew that the doctors had done a miraculous job and had saved his leg, knew that the scars wouldn't be as noticeable with time. It was just a shock to see what kind of damage had been done.

Fine rows of stitches crisscrossed his leg, showcasing the areas where the shrapnel had done the most damage. He knew underneath the skin metal rods held together his shattered lower leg. His knee was by far the worst, as he'd known it would be. Still a bit swollen, with a much larger, wider set of stitches that ran almost clear around his kneecap, Jim tried to wrap his mind around the fact that there was plastic under his skin now, where bone used to be. He lay back against the pillows, tiredly running a hand over his face. Now that he'd seen with his own eyes he no longer needed confirmation from Simon.

His days as a cop were over.

After Dr. Cohen's examination was finished, complete with a new set of x-rays, a look at the stitches and confirmation that there was some loss of feeling around the kneecap, Jim was transferred back to his own room, where his physical therapist would meet him.

But meeting the man was the last thing on Jim's mind. Once again squashing down his concerns for his future, Jim focused on one thing instead: commandeering a wheelchair and getting upstairs to ICU. To Blair. Right now.

Only Kim was having none of it. Jim had no more been transferred back into his bed and he was trying to get out of it.

"Listen to me, Jim," Kim said. "Just because you got the brace off doesn't mean you can go gallivanting around the hospital! You heard what Dr. Cohen told you. You need to keep that leg straight until your therapist checks you out."

"Forget it, Kim. I am not waiting any longer," Jim stated forcefully, trying to swing his uninjured leg over the side of the bed.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a male voice warned from the doorway. "I want you to lay back down and stop giving your nurse an attitude."

Jim's rope finally snapped and he turned on the man. "The hell with what you want! What about what I want?!" he yelled at the stranger. "For four weeks, four weeks I've lain in this bed while my partner, my friend, lies upstairs in a coma because he tried to save my life! I'm through with waiting! Either help me go see him or get out of my way," Jim finished with a snarl, blue eyes flashing anger.

Unruffled at Jim's outburst, the man simply crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb, stroking his short moustache, seeming to size Jim up.

"I'll make you a deal," the man offered. "You get back in bed, let me examine you and then rest for the remainder of the evening, and I'll personally take you up to your friend in the morning."

"Who --" Jim began, studying this stranger who was nearly as tall as he was, with the same blue eyes, but staring at him from behind thin, gold framed glasses.

"I'm sorry," the man cut Jim off, pushing away from the doorjamb and walking towards the bed, right hand extended. "Allow me to introduce myself. Dr. Steven Wagner. Your physical therapist." Jim pointedly ignored the outstretched hand, still glowering. Dr. Wagner chuckled and ran his hand through his short, salt and pepper hair. "And you are Detective James Ellison of the Cascade PD. Nice to meet you, Jim. So. Do we have a deal? You'd best take it because I guarantee you if you try and take one step on either of your legs you're going to end up flat on your face. Not very dignified for a cop is it?

Jim knew he was beaten, but he refused to give the man the satisfaction of hearing him say it outloud. He settled for simply swinging his leg back onto the bed.

Steve smiled and nodded his head. "Good. Let's get to work, shall we?"

The next morning, Steve proved himself an honorable man and stuck to the deal from the previous evening. First he helped Jim into a pair of gray sweatpants, now that the brace was off, then helped him into a modified wheelchair that kept Jim's left leg straight out in front of him and took him upstairs to ICU, Jim's heart pounding a wild, staccato beat the entire way. After four weeks of wanting nothing more than to see Blair, now that the moment was upon him, he was scared. Scared to see his friend and have to finally admit to himself that Blair's condition was indeed very serious.

Steve stopped the wheelchair outside Blair's open door and Jim twisted around to look at him. "Thanks. I need...to be alone with him."

"I understand. I'll be back in an hour and we'll get started on your therapy."

Taking a deep breath, Jim rolled himself into Blair's room, pushing the door closed behind him. His intense blue eyes bypassed the overflowing amount of cards, balloons, flowers and machinery surrounding the bed and focused immediately on the still form lying in it.

Blair.

Jim swallowed and rolled swiftly to the anthropologist's bedside, overcome with a desperate need to touch the young man, to reestablish the link between them that had been broken for four long weeks.

Taking Blair's limp, left hand in both of his, Jim rested his forehead on their clasped hands, exhaling shakily before finally really looking at Blair for the first time.

His friend lay absolutely still, eyes closed, dark lashes in sharp relief against the pale face that blended in with the bedsheets and the thick, white bandage that encircled his head. Jim knew some of Blair's hair had been shaved prior to the surgery to relieve the swelling of his brain, so he was thankful that the bandage covered the shaved patches.

Thin wires appeared from underneath the bandage on either side of Blair's head, running to the EEG monitor next to the bed. More wires were visible under Blair's hospital-issue gown, attached to his chest and the steadily beeping heart monitor on the other end of them. IV solution dripped slowly into the tube attached to his right hand. And above all else was the respirator, with its mechanical hiss and tube snaking down Blair's throat, forcing his lungs to expand and contract, his chest to rise and fall in a carefully timed rhythm that was more than likely keeping him alive.

Jim squeezed the unresponsive hand held tightly between his own, whispering through a tightly closed throat, "I'm here, Chief. You can wake up now, buddy."

No response, as he knew deep down there would be, but there was still a part of him that had been hoping for a miracle. That his voice would bring Blair back, instead of the other way around. He needed to be the Guide now. And how did Blair always bring Jim back? By talking to him, and touching him.

Jim silently cursed his injured body. Because of his awkward position in the wheelchair, he could barely reach out and brush his fingertips against Blair's smooth cheek. But the limited contact would have to do for now. Keeping up the gentle stroking motion, Jim struggled to put his thoughts into words. Where should he start? He had so much to say, so much to apologize for.

"Why?" came the anguished whisper. "Why did you do it? You should have left me!" Jim swallowed. "I'm sorry...oh god, Blair...I'm so sorry. You should never have been there. I knew how dangerous it could have been, yet I let you stay. Christ, this is all my fault..." he let his head hang for a moment. "It should be me in the coma, not you. Never you... You were only trying to help, like you always do. I signed on willingly to do this job, to be a cop. I knew the risks. But you...you had no idea what you were getting into that day you finagled your way into my hospital room." Jim shook his head sharply. "Some Blessed Protector I am. Dammit, Blair, you don't deserve this! And I'm the one to blame." He gave a short, sharp bark of laughter that was anything but funny. "That's the first time I've said that outloud, you know. That it's my fault, that I'm the one to blame. I couldn't take hearing false platitudes from Naomi or Simon or anyone else, telling me that no, it wasn't my fault and no, I shouldn't blame myself when I'd know they were lying the entire time. Actually," he paused. "Maybe I wouldn't know. Not now anyway. Chief, my Sentinel abilities are gone. I woke up after the explosion and they were gone. It's been four weeks and they haven't come back. I know this has happened before, but never for this long. I need you back, buddy. I need you to give me a swift kick in the ass and tell me, like always, you know what the problem and the solution is." Jim let himself smile. "You just wake up now and you can run any damn tests you want on me and I won't make a peep. I swear it. Hey, I'll even get rid of the house rules. Permanently. Come on, how can you pass up a deal like that? Just open your eyes, Chief."

But Jim's only answer to his bribes was the hiss of the respirator and the beeping of the heart monitor. His tentative smile faltered and faded, and he sobered.

"The doctors told me there's a chance you might have brain damage. That you might not be the same, might not be able to do a lot of things or not remember a lot of things when you wake up. I refuse to believe that. You're much too strong to let that happen to you. But...even if it is true, I swear to you I'll never leave you," he vowed. "There's only one thing that scares me, though," Jim admitted, bringing Blair's lax hand up to his lips. "Will you remember how much we love each other?" he whispered.

When Blair's doctor told Jim that Blair may not remember days, weeks or months leading up to his injury, or even suffer permanent amnesia and/or brain damage, Jim's ultimate fear was that his new lover would not be able to recall their feelings for one another. He could handle anything but that. Anything but knowing that their love for one another had been wiped from Blair's memory. Their love was so new, their pent up emotions and desire for one another had finally exploded in a night of passion a mere two weeks before the raid on Quinn's hideout. They'd wasted so much time tip-toeing around each other before finally opening up their hearts and learning what love was really all about. To have to suddenly face the fact that a psychopath's twisted desire for revenge may have possibly ripped it all away from them was cruel beyond belief. To finally find everything you've been looking for, only to lose it in the next heartbeat...

And Jim had no one to turn to. No one knew that he and Blair had become lovers. Not Simon, not Naomi, no one. They had just started their relationship and didn't want to shout it from the rooftops quite yet. No one knew the true depths of his feelings for the young man. To them they were friends, close friends, but to Jim they were the other half of each other's soul.

Jim brought his hand back up to Blair's face. "We've got so much to do together. I can't go on alone. Not anymore. I need you, always." He took a shaky breath. "I love you, Blair. Don't you quit on me..."

For the next week, Jim's life at the hospital became routine. Mornings were spent in agonizing, excruciating physical therapy with Steve, on the mat or in the pool, finally on his way to regaining mobility in his battered leg. After a month of non-use, with metal rods holding his bones together and an artificial kneecap, he had no strength in it and bending it was pure agony. Without the ability to dial down the pain, the end of each session found Jim shaky and exhausted, desperately wishing Blair could be there with him, missing his constant presence at his side. His young Guide had the uncanny ability to be able to calm and center the older man with just a touch, a focus Jim would need to get him down the long road of rehabilitation ahead of him.

After each round of physical therapy, Jim received a rubdown on his healing leg to try and ease the painful cramps and muscle spasms that the sessions left him with; a side effect of partially atrophied muscles rebelling against use after so long. Drained after therapy and relaxed after the rubdown, Jim dozed off and on throughout the afternoons before getting himself into his wheelchair to take his dinners upstairs with Blair every evening.

It was what he looked forward to each day, of course. The chance to see his lover and tell him how his day went, what he did in therapy, news from the station that Simon had brought, hospital gossip...hoping each evening that this would be the night Blair's eyes would open. But seven nights later Blair's eyes still remained closed.

It was on the eighth night Naomi dropped the bombshell that threatened to destroy Jim's entire world.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed getting ready to lever himself into his wheelchair for his nightly visit with Blair when the red head appeared in his doorway. Jim looked up with a smile.

"Hi, Naomi. I'm just on my way up --" he cut himself off at the haunted expression on her face. Panic squeezed his heart and he struggled to draw his next breath. "What? What is it? What's happened to him?" he demanded in a rush, terrified at what her answer may be. Blair had been stable all this time...what could have gone wrong?

"No, Jim, nothing's happened," Naomi said quickly.

Jim was confused. "Then what? You look --"

"Can we talk?" she asked softly, closing his door.

"Of course. Sit down. What's on your mind?" he asked as she settled herself in the chair next to his bed.

"I don't...I don't know how to tell you this, Jim," she began.

"Is it about Blair?" At her nod a tendril of fear took hold in his stomach. "Then just give it to me straight."

She nodded again and took a deep breath. "Jim, Blair has a living will. He had it drawn up when he was 21 after something that affected him profoundly when he was only 12."

The tendril of fear grew till Jim's stomach was clenched in knots. "A living will?" He slowly shook his head. "Blair never told me. Whatwhat does it say? What happened to make him write one?"

"When Blair was 10 we were living in Forth Worth with my brother, Charles, his wife, Maggie, and their teenage son, Robert. Blair was very attached to his aunt. She doted on him, encouraged him in his voracious reading appetite and generally spoiled him rotten." Naomi smiled, the first one Jim had seen since Blair had been in the hospital. "Blair went everywhere with her, soaking up the things she did and said like a sponge." She let her smile fade. "You know I wasn't supermom, and I was so grateful to Maggie for helping to raise my son. For two years, we were so happy. Then the accident happened. Maggie and Charles were on their way home from dinner one night." Naomi paused and cleared her throat. "The drunk driver crossed the double yellow, hit Charles head on. It happened so fast..."

Jim closed his eyes in sympathy and laid his hand on Naomi's shoulder.

"Charles received a broken arm and leg, but Maggie suffered a severe head injury. She slipped into a coma and never woke up. She died a year later." Naomi clasped her hands in her lap. "Blair was devastated, and horrified that Charles would let Maggie linger like that for so long before finally agreeing with the doctors to turn off the respirator. He never forgot her or that experience and he told me he never wanted that to happen to him. He was upset and was only 13 years old when Maggie finally passed and I really didn't understand how serious he was until he showed me the living will he'd had drawn up after his 21st birthday."

Naomi looked up at Jim with anguish, desolation and a profound sense of loss in her wide eyes. "You don't have to guess what his will says."

No...this couldn't be happening. Jim began shaking his head in denial before stopping the motion abruptly and pinning Naomi with an intense, furious gaze.

"You knew," he accused, his voice low and threatening. "You knew about his will the entire time! My god, Naomi, why didn't you tell me?! You let me go on thinking that --" He cut himself off, realization dawning on him. "That's why you told me I needed to accept the possibility of Blair's death, because you knew. Damn you! How could you do this?!"

Jim's tirade had Naomi close to tears. "Don't you see?" she demanded of the angry, disbelieving man, rising swiftly from the chair. "I didn't say anything because I was thinking of you."

"How?" he challenged. "By giving me false hope, by --"

"Jim. What would have happened if I would have come to you that first night I arrived and told you of Blair's wishes? You couldn't leave this bed! You couldn't see him!" She quieted. "You wouldn't have been able to say goodbye," she whispered, wiping at the solitary tear moving slowly down her cheek. "I know how much he means to you. I wanted to wait till you were healed enough to go upstairs and see him. I wanted to wait and see if you could bring him back when no one else could..." Her voice broke and her shoulders shook with a silent sob. Jim gathered her into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder.

"Please, Naomi, don't do this to him," Jim pleaded. "Don't let him go yet. There's still a chance."

Naomi pulled back from the larger man. "He's my son, Jim. Do you think I want to walk upstairs, have the respirator turned off and watch him die?!"

"Then don't --" Jim tried again, refusing to accept this horrifying scenario.

"I have to. And you know it," she stated firmly. "It's what he wants, to not be hooked up to a machine, and he's already been, for a month now. I know you don't want this, and neither do I, but what if it were reversed? What if it were you or I lying in a coma, hooked up to a machine that we'd asked not to be and Blair were in one of our positions? Wouldn't you want him to respect your wishes? As much as it hurt to do so? I know I would."

Naomi was right and he knew it. As much as it was tearing him up inside, he knew he had no right to deny what Blair wanted and had no right to try and force Naomi to do so, either. But it didn't mean he accepted it.

"You know Blair's not brain dead, Naomi," Jim reminded her, desperately trying to find hope in a hopeless situation. "Turning it off doesn't necessarily mean...he may have just been too weak after the surgery last time..." he trailed off, knowing he was grasping at straws after what happened the first time Blair had been unhooked from the respirator, but trying to find something, anything, to cling to, to help him get through this, to finally face the imminent possibility that the man he loved was going to die.

"I know," she quietly agreed. "And I'm holding on to that hope. That, and his love of life and deep connection to you. I don't believe he wants to let either one go just quite yet." With that she kissed Jim on his cheek and left the room, tears once again streaming silently from her eyes.

It would be a long, long time before Jim's tears finally fell.

"No, Simon. I won't do it. And that's the end of it."

"Jim, please..."

It was the day after Naomi's revelation of Blair's living will and it's conditions. She had conferred with Blair's doctors after leaving Jim's room the night before, and now, within an hour or so, the respirator would be turned off. Possibly taking a life with it with the push of a button.

Naomi had contacted Blair's closest friends last evening as well, and now they were gathered here in ICU to say their words of goodbye to someone they cared deeply about, in case the worse case scenario played itself out. Only Jim was refusing.

"Jim, listen to me," Simon tried again, hoping to get his distraught, grieving friend to see reason. "If you don't go in there and talk to him for what may be the last time, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. I guarantee it."

Jim looked up at the tall black man from his position in his wheelchair, the determined expression on his face not quite hiding the pain in his blue eyes. "I won't go in there, Simon. I refuse to accept the possibility of his death. I will not tell him goodbye. Because that would mean I've given up on him. And I haven't. He'll beat this, Simon. Blair's a fighter."

Simon sighed deeply, knowing he'd lost the argument and knowing he'd be at Jim's side to pick up the pieces in the aftermath. He clasped Jim's shoulder briefly and nodded his head, then turned and moved off toward Blair's room. Jim saw Naomi meet him at the doorway with a question in her eyes. Simon shook his head and Naomi made a move towards Jim before Simon stopped her with a hand on her arm and another shake of his head. Naomi sagged, pinning Jim with a pleading look before finally turning and walking inside her son's room. Jim ran a hand over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dammit, he knew what he was doing. He wouldn't give up on Blair.

One by one they came and went from Blair's room - Rafe, Joel, Henri, Serena, Daryl, Simon - as Jim watched from his wheelchair across the hall in the open area of the ICU wing, perfectly still. No one approached him as they arrived or departed, warned off by Simon probably, but each looked at him with tears and sympathy in their eyes and an unspoken offer of support for their friend.

Eventually, only Naomi remained. The time had come. Jim watched her approach him, noting her pale complexion and too bright eyes. She crouched next to Jim's wheelchair, eye level with him now and placed a hand on his forearm.

"Jim," she spoke softly, gently. "The doctors are ready. Please...come inside. I know how you feel about this, but I'd like it if you were there with me, and I believe Blair would, too."

Jim remained staring straight ahead, the muscle in his jaw jumping. "I won't tell him goodbye," he replied, voice rough with restrained emotion.

Naomi gave him a sad smile and stood as Jim's chair began to roll forward. "I won't ask you to."

Once inside Blair's room, Jim stayed at the foot of his lover's bed, off to the right side, his back ramrod straight, looking every bit the ex-military man he was on the outside, while on the inside he was coming apart at the seams. But he refused to let it show as Naomi leaned over the pale, still form of her only child and kissed Blair tenderly on his cheek, whispering tremulously, "I love you," before stepping back and nodding once at the doctor.

With a grim, returned nod, the man turned the respirator switch to Off, as the nurse carefully but swiftly removed the tube from Blair's throat, affording the young man every chance at spontaneous respiration. The end of the tube slipped past Blair's lips just as the respirator gave its final hiss and fell silent.

No one moved.

Blair's chest did not rise.

Naomi's eyes slid closed, her hand covering her mouth.

"NO! NO!" Jim lurched from his wheelchair, his sudden movement and desperate cry startling everyone in the room. His left leg crumpled beneath him with his first step, hurling him towards the floor. He caught the edge of Blair's bed as he went down, halting his fall as Naomi rushed to his side. Jim put all his weight on his good leg and pushed himself up, grappling for Blair's hand at the same time.

"Don't you do this!" he commanded his friend. "Come on, fight! Don't leave me! Do you hear me? I love you! Don't you go! Breathe, damn you!"

And Blair did.

One, small, shallow, spontaneous rattling breath. Followed by another. And another.

Pure, sweet music to Jim's ears.

There was quickly a flurry of activity as the doctor began taking Blair's vitals while the nurse hooked the young man up to oxygen and Naomi looked on in wonder at the tall, handsome man holding on so tightly to her son's hand.

"I told you," the blue eyed man whispered to her, his body trembling.

She could only nod in response, not trusting her voice, believing in miracles for the first time.

Once again, for the next month, Jim's life fell back into the same routine: physical therapy in the mornings, rubdown, rest in the afternoons, evenings at Blair's bedside.

Jim pushed himself hard at therapy, under Steve's watchful eye and guidance, determined to be back on his feet as quickly as possible. It was a long, painful process, regaining strength and mobility in his battered leg, especially with the permanent nerve damage around his kneecap, and he frequently became frustrated when his body wouldn't obey his commands. His outbursts were just as frequent, taking out his anger on Steve, knowing his doctor wasn't to blame, but needing an outlet to channel his emotions that not all had to do with his leg anymore.

After one such incident of facing Jim's misplaced wrath after the big man stumbled while climbing the training steps and reaching out to help him regain his balance, Steve, unflappable as always, decided to get to the bottom of things. There was something else fueling Jim's recent anger. And if he didn't talk about it, keeping it locked up inside instead, it was going to start hampering his progress. Not to mention it just wasn't healthy.

After his patient had calmed down, Steve calmly asked, "So, you wanna talk about it?"

Jim wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. "Talk about what?" he growled.

"Whatever's eating at you."

"Nothing's eating at me, Doc," Jim denied.

"Bullshit," Steve replied frankly. "A few weeks ago you were making great strides. Why all the setbacks all of a sudden? You told me you were going to work your ass off, but you've lost your focus. Why? Let me help, Jim," he offered.

"I can handle it on my own."

"No, I don't think you can." At the man's silence, Steve decided to take a shot in the dark at the source of Jim's problem. "Did something happen with Blair?" Jim's head jerked at the question. Bingo.

"No," Jim replied. "Nothing happened." The towel in his hand suddenly went flying across the room. "Dammit! Nothing's happening!" he repeated. "He just lies there, in a coma that I should be in instead." He dropped his forehead down to rest in his hands. "I thought...I thought that when he started breathing on his own it was a good sign, that he'd be waking up soon." He raised his head. "But nothing's changed. And I wish to god I could take his place. I feel so helpless," Jim sighed. "I miss him. He's my partner. I'm so used to him being right there next to me, I can't concentrate when he's not. And he hasn't been next to me for a long time now. I miss talking to him, hearing his voice...just being with him. I know he's not dead, but every day he doesn't wake up I feel him slipping away from me..."

Steve was surprised and pleased that Jim had finally opened up to him, realizing that took a lot from the normally quiet man, and he wanted to keep him talking.

"Tell me about Blair."

Jim looked questioningly at his doctor. "Why?"

"Because it'll be good for you. Talking about him will keep him at the forefront of your mind. It'll remind you that he's here, he's not slipping away from you, and that you need to keep helping him fight this. And I admit I'm curious how two guys who look so totally opposite can be such good friends," Steve finished with a smile, blue eyes teasing from behind his glasses.

He received a small smile in return. "Yeah, you could say we're opposites."

And so Jim talked. About the kind of person Blair was, what he liked and disliked, the places he'd been and the things he'd seen, the cases they'd worked on and the things they enjoyed doing together. The stories came one right after another.

And while Jim talked, Jim worked. His focus back and his anger and frustration restrained, he threw himself back into his physical therapy. Whether it was on the mat, in the pool, working with weights or on the treadmill or stationary bike, he gave it his all.

In the weeks to follow, he graduated from wheelchair to crutches to a walker to a cane, to his first unaided steps between the parallel bars. At the end of the bars were Simon and Naomi, their faces beaming with pride at Jim's accomplishment. But as he accepted their congratulatory hugs, his arms ached for the one person, the only person, that he wished were there to see him finally walk.

But that person slept on, oblivious to Jim's wish.

He was going home.

Two months after this ordeal began, Jim was going back to the loft. Steve was thrilled with the progress Jim had made and pronounced him fit to be released. He would still have to return to the hospital once a week for the next month for follow-ups with Steve and continue his exercises on his own, but he was going home. Alone.

"Hi, Chief," Jim called out the familiar greeting to the still form of his partner as he slowly entered his hospital room, walking with a pronounced limp, but refusing to use the cane in his hand. He gently ran his hand through the peach-fuzz hair on the side of Blair's head, visible now that the bandage had been removed last week. It would take a while, but the familiar curls would soon grow back. He placed a kiss on his lover's forehead before settling himself in his usual chair at Blair's bedside.

"They're cutting me loose tomorrow. I know I should be happy to be getting out of this place, but I'd rather stay and put up with the terrible food, Steve's slavedriver attitude and Kim's nursing orders, so that I could be just downstairs from you instead of halfway across town." He sighed and held Blair's hand in his own. "I don't want to go back to the loft by myself. Do you realize that tomorrow night will be the first night I've been alone since you moved in? That big bed of ours is going to feel so lonely, Chief," he told his lover, placing a small kiss on Blair's hand. "I miss you," he whispered.

He let silence permeate the room for the span of a few heartbeats, watching his friend's chest rise and fall on it's own, listening to the steady beep of the heart monitor. "We all miss you, you know. You've still got visitors every day and you should see what this place looks like; balloons, cards and flowers everywhere. Even more than before, after everyone found out how tough you were and that you wouldn't let go of this life without a fight." He smiled. "You showed 'em, didn't you, Chief? I never doubted you for a second." He paused again, his smile fading. "Simon and I are going to finally have that talk about work." Jim looked down at his leg. "I'm not going to kid myself. I'm through as a cop. With the nerve damage, Steve said I'll only regain 70-80% full use of my leg. What the hell good's a cop who can only function at 80%?" he asked angrily, before gripping Blair's hand tighter. "First you and now my job...everything I love is being taken away from me. What am I gonna do...?" he whispered brokenly, his only answer silence.

Jim looked at his favorite nurse, shaking his head. "Forget it, Kim. I just got out of that thing. I can walk downstairs just fine."

Undaunted, Kim pushed the wheelchair closer to her patient. "Jim, I've seen your medical records. You've been in and out of here more times than I have fingers. You know the rules. The faster you get in this chair the faster you get out of here. Now shut up and sit down," she smiled.

Jim chuckled, turning and sitting down, his duffel bag and cane in his lap. "Yes, Nurse Cratchett."

"Don't you forget it," Kim replied with a grin, pushing the chair out the door and downstairs to the lobby, where Simon was waiting to drive him home.

"Thanks for the ride," he told Kim, rising from the chair.

"You take care of yourself, Ok?" she said.

"I will," he promised. "You guys just take care of my partner." He leaned over and kissed her on her cheek. "Thanks for everything, Kim."

She smiled up at him, green eyes sparkling. "You're welcome. Just don't let me see that handsome mug of yours on my floor again. You're a terrible patient," she joked. With a wink and a grin, she turned and was gone, moving down the hallway, while Jim walked outside with Simon.

"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?" Simon asked, dropping Jim's duffel bag on the loft's couch.

"I'm sure, Simon. I'll be fine," Jim reassured his friend, lying through his teeth.

The last thing he wanted was to be alone in the loft, but he refused to become dependent on his friend's company. He had to get used to being by himself.

Simon nodded, not looking convinced. "Ok. Can I get you anything from upstairs before I go?"

Jim shook his head. "I can handle the stairs. Go on, Simon. Get outta here."

"You'll call if you need anything, right?" the police captain asked, opening the door.

"I will. And Simon? Thanks again for taking care of the place for me and for having Naomi stay with you." Like Jim, Naomi hadn't wanted to be by herself when she arrived, and Simon had graciously offered his spare bedroom to Blair's mother, grateful for the company as well. After two months, it appeared that Blair's stay at the hospital would be an extensive one, and Naomi had repeatedly offered to move into the loft on Jim's suggestion or to rent an apartment, but Simon was having none of it. For as much as they were as opposite as Jim and Blair, Simon and Naomi had become friends.

"No problem," Simon smiled, closing the door behind him.

The silence left in his wake was deafening.

Jim stood absolutely still in the center of the loft, sunlight and warm spring air streaming in through the open balcony doors. The quiet should have been pleasant to him, after the constant noise and commotion at the hospital for the past months, but it was anything but pleasant. It was unnatural.

No Blair sitting at the kitchen table, typing away at his laptop, glasses perched on his nose.

No Blair in front of the TV, cheering along with the Jags latest win.

No Blair in the bathroom, splashing under the shower's spray, leaving wet towels in his wake on his way out.

No Blair in the kitchen, puttering around, banging pots and pans.

No Blair upstairs in the big bed, his passionate cries filling the air as they slowly made love.

No Blair...anywhere. No laughter or dirty clothes or smelly food or tribal music or textbooks.

There was no life here now, for that was what the bouncy, intelligent, energetic, curly haired young anthropologist had brought with him the day he moved into the little room under the stairs. And now he wasn't here, may never be here again, and he had taken the life with him. Now the loft felt as cold and sterile as the day Jim moved in.

'You don't know what you've got till it's gone' - the phrase sprang unbidden into Jim's mind, taunting him.

Once again he took it as a blessing that his Sentinel abilities were gone. To be able to pick up Blair's scent that so permeated everything in the loft would have been his undoing. Not to mention trying to find his lover's heartbeat as he slept that night.

Jim turned his head to look upstairs. At their room. It has ceased to be his room the night he told Blair he loved him. The night they crossed the line from friends to lovers and never looked back. The night they swore, wrapped in each other's arms under the blankets, that neither would ever be alone again.

Jim's eyes slid slowly closed as he stood there, alone, letting two weeks of memories, all the time they'd had together as lovers, race through his mind. Sleeping in that bed by himself would be unthinkable now. As was sleeping in Blair's old room. The memories were just too fresh, too powerful. He knew soon he'd be able to deal with being alone and be able to sleep upstairs. Just not right now.

But one month later found the heartsick man still making his bed on the couch every evening, as Blair was moved from the hospital to a long-term care facility on the outskirts of Cascade, condition unchanged.

And time marched on.

Jim ran a hand over his face with a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes tiredly, dragging his thoughts back to the present day. He'd done his penance again, reliving the past with startling clarity, even after all this time. He turned from the window and the warm summer air to move back to Blair's bedside. He stood for a moment, simply staring down at the man he loved, who still slept on, an overwhelming sense of sadness overcoming him once again, as it always did when he let himself turn his thoughts to the past. Or to the future, for that matter. He'd long ago started taking one day at a time. Thinking ahead or behind was simply too painful.

Jim reached out and caressed Blair's face before leaning over to kiss him gently. "Good night, Chief. I love you."

Turning out the light next to the bed, Jim made his way to the door and closed it softly behind him, putting an end to a night like so many others.

A pretty blond woman was at Blair's bedside when Jim walked in.

"Hi, Beth," he smiled in greeting.

The young woman turned around at his voice and gave him a smile of her own. "Morning, Jim." She gestured at Blair. "Just finishing up Blair's bath. I'll be done in a minute."

Jim nodded. "No problem. Here, let me help." He moved to stand on the opposite side of the bed from the younger woman.

Beth had been Blair's nurse from the day he was brought here to Cascade House. Jim had never met a more compassionate, caring, competent, professional individual, and he always felt safe leaving his friend in her care when he couldn't be here. Jim and Beth had become good friends during the time Blair had been a resident at Cascade House. Beth knew what a traumatic experience it was to have a loved one in a coma, and Jim found she was an excellent listener, in fact encouraging him to talk about his feelings, offering advice when she could. In the process, Beth had learned more about the young man in her care, and about the man who cared so deeply for him. It was an excellent trade off for both of them.

Jim reached out and gently caressed the top of Blair's head as he came around to the other side of the bed. "Morning, Chief," he said to the sleeping man before accepting the towel Beth offered him.

"You're here early," the young nurse observed, continuing Blair's sponge bath as Jim dried his partner's lax limbs.

Jim nodded. He had woken up suddenly this morning, plagued by an intense feeling of uneasiness centering around his comatose partner that he'd never experienced before, and had gotten to Cascade House as quickly as he could, only to find everything as normal as always, leaving him confused.

"Yeah, I...have a meeting with a client later today, so I thought I'd stop by this morning instead," Jim lied, feeling suddenly foolish now that he was here and could see that Blair was fine.

Sponge bath completed a short time later, Beth accepted the towel back from Jim and then removed the waterproof sheet from under her patient as Jim lifted Blair up slightly off the bed. While Jim redressed and settled his unresponsive partner back against the pillows, Beth commented, "If you won't be by this afternoon, you could do Blair's exercises now if you'd like."

"Yeah, I think I'll do that," Jim agreed, moving out of the nurse's way as Beth reattached the leads from the EEG machine and the heart monitor to Blair's head and chest.

"Great. Be sure to leave him on his left side when you're through," reminded the nurse, gathering up her things and heading for the door.

Jim nodded, well aware of the danger of bedsores to a comatose person left lying in one position for too long.

"If I don't see you on my return trip down the wing, have fun at your meeting," Beth teased, knowing how much Jim hated the suit and tie aspect of his business. "You'll be back for dinner?"

"Like clockwork," Jim smiled.

"You may want to reset your clock then. It's meatloaf surprise," she winked, scooting out the door.

With a chuckle and a mental note to bring back Wonderburger for himself, Jim focused his attention back on his friend, still puzzled over his earlier uneasy feeling. For the first time in a very long time, Jim wished he still had his Sentinel abilities. If he could monitor Blair's vitals himself, instead of relying on the machines, it would put his mind at ease. He sighed. If wishes were fishes...

Giving himself a mental shake he addressed the sleeping man. "Ready to get to work, Chief?"

Another danger comatose patients faced was atrophied muscles. If left unused, the muscles in the arms and legs would contract, leaving the patient curled in a fetal ball. So to keep that threat at bay, every afternoon or evening, Jim would exercise Blair's limbs; bending, stretching, flexing, massaging and just generally moving his limbs around to keep the muscles loose and the blood flowing.

As always, Jim started with his young friend's shoulders and arms, again taking note on how thin the body was beneath his fingers. With only the feeding tube to supply much needed nourishment to a man who could no longer eat, Blair's body had soon lost it's compact, muscular form that Jim so dearly loved.

Upper body finished, Jim moved to Blair's leg, placing one hand under the foot and the other on the knee, pushing upwards on the foot till the leg bent, holding it in place for a moment before straightening it out and repeating the movement.

Lost in thought, counting out the repetitions in his head, Jim was completely unprepared when his world once again tilted on its axis.

The ear-piercing snarl of a panther suddenly filled Jim's head, practically deafening him with it's intensity. He jumped backwards from Blair as if he'd been burned, hands clapping over his ears, squeezing against his head, breaths coming in short, panicked pants, eyes wide, flicking madly around the room as the howling continued, finally coming to rest on the sleek, black form in the corner. Jim stared, uncomprehending, into the blue eyes of a very large panther. His panther. {No...it couldn't be...}

Before he could continue the thought, the snarling in his mind abruptly cut off, to be replaced by a more ominous sound: Blair's heart monitor was beeping erratically.

Terrified, all thoughts of his animal spirit fled, replaced by fear for his partner. What was happening? What was wrong with Blair's heart?

Dazed by events happening too fast, Jim staggered back to Blair's bedside, fumbling with the call button, looking at the heart monitor, trying to discern the cause of Blair's sudden, erratic heartbeat. He found his answer when he looked down at his friend, finding a very familiar pair of blue eyes staring back up at him.

Blair was awake.

For Jim, time stopped at that moment. He didn't breathe, he didn't move, he didn't even blink for fear he was imagining this. And if he was dreaming, he didn't ever want to wake up. Things started to gray out as his body demanded oxygen and he gasped, trying to comprehend that Blair's eyes were open. Could this really be happening? After all this time?

He forced leadened muscles to move, placing a trembling hand reverently on his friend's chest. "Blair...?" he breathed, barely able to speak.

On the extremely rare occasion in the past that Jim let himself dream about this moment, it always played itself out in the same way: Blair's eyes opened, a smile lit up his young face and he spoke Jim's name, reaching out to be caught in a fierce embrace by the older man. And they lived happily ever after.

Only the reality wasn't the storybook ending Jim had dreamed about. Instead of a smile and a hug, there was absolutely no movement or recognition on Blair's part. Just a blank, vacant stare. The body was awake, but was the mind?

Like an ice pick to the gut, the warnings about brain damage came flooding back and Jim began to slowly shake his head as his friend remained staring straight ahead. {Oh god...oh no...oh please...}

This nightmare truly was just beginning.

Then there were hands on Jim, moving him away from the bed as Beth and another nurse rushed into the room, summoned by the call button. As the medical staff took stock of the situation, Jim found himself slowly backing away from the bed, stopping only when he collided with the doorjamb, attracting Beth's attention.

"Jim?"

"...no..." he whispered, again shaking his head before turning and fleeing the room.

He moved quickly through the hallways of Cascade House, needing to get outside, away from here, slamming through the doors of the back entrance out into the bright summer morning. His steps became faster and faster with each stride as he spotted his destination, the woods adjacent to the long term care facility. His thoughts a chaotic whirlwind spinning out of control, he pushed his body even faster, knowing his knee could never withstand a full out run and not caring in the least the damage he was inflicting upon himself.

Barely inside the treeline his leg gave out, crumpling beneath him and hurling him to the ground with a frustrated cry, skidding face first into the dirt and rocks, scraping his palms and forearms. With his breath hitching inside his chest, he turned himself onto his back, closing his eyes, ignoring the dull pain radiating from his body.

"Oh Blair...this isn't fair..." he panted, his tight rein on his emotions finally slipping. "You fought so hard...this isn't the way it's supposed to be!" He slammed his fists into the dirt. "You're supposed to be Ok now! You're supposed to be -- " his voice cracked and a heartwrenching sob tore its way out of his chest, his heart and his soul.

And for the first time since Blair's injury, for the first time in two years, Jim Ellison cried.

Emotions held in check for too long - fear, anger, denial, hope, love, desire, anguish - released themselves in a torrent of cleansing tears, finally freeing Jim from the past and allowing him for the first time in two years to look towards the future.

It was nearly an hour later when Jim emerged from the trees, emotionally drained, dirty from head to toe with a throbbing knee and a tear stained face, but back in control. He had made Blair a vow when this whole ordeal began that no matter what happened, even if Blair awoke from this a different person, he'd never leave him.

It was time to keep that vow.

After returning to the loft to shower, change clothes and put on his soft knee brace, Jim arrived back at Cascade House two hours later. This should have given Blair's doctor enough time to examine his friend and let him know what was going on and how to proceed. Sure enough, Dr. Jason Tyler ushered Jim into his office right away.

"Jim, Beth said you left rather abruptly. Is everything all right?" inquired the short, brown haired, middle aged man with sharp, hazel eyes.

"I'm fine, Jason," Jim assured the doctor. "I was just...overwhelmed."

Dr. Tyler nodded. "Perfectly understandable, given the length of time Blair's been comatose. Must have been quite a shock."

"It was. What can you tell me?" Jim asked, mentally preparing himself for the worst.

"Well, he's still unresponsive. No voluntary movement or speech yet, but that comes as no surprise. His autonomic functions simply haven't come back on line yet. Think of it this way: when you first wake up in the morning you're still a bit groggy and disorientated, right? Well, that's what Blair is experiencing, to the extreme. He's still...waking up. Which is a miracle in and of itself, Jim. Patients comatose for as long as Blair rarely, if ever, wake." Jason smiled. "He's a remarkable young man."

"That he is, Doc," Jim agreed. "So where do we go from here?"

"I expect by tomorrow morning we'll see him start to move around a bit and try and talk. We'll be able to better gauge his condition then."

"And brain damage?" Jim asked quietly.

"Too soon to tell. Again, tomorrow morning should give us a clearer picture." He paused. "I know we spoke hypothetically about the possibility when Blair first arrived here, and now it may be a reality. Even if there is no brain damage, he may have other physical problems stemming from his head injury and prolonged coma. Two years ago you were adamant about taking care of Blair no matter what the outcome was when he woke. I need to know if you still feel that way. Blair may have a long rehabilitation period ahead of him and he's going to need constant support and encouragement. Will you be there for him?"

Jim spoke without hesitation. "Everyday for the rest of my life. I won't leave him, Jason. No matter what happens now."

Jason smiled. "Good. I knew I could count on you. Knew Blair could count on you, too." He sobered a bit. "Jim, I know we talked about this, too, but if you'd rather I told him instead, when he's ready..."

Jim shook his head. "No. I'll do it. I'd rather it come from me."

"Ok, but if you change your mind just let me know. That's going to be a difficult conversation to have."

Difficult wasn't the word for it. More like heartbreaking. How do you explain to your best friend that he closed his eyes and woke up two years later?

Jim made his way slowly downstairs from Jason's office to Blair's room, his usually small, permanent limp exaggerated by the pain from injured muscles sustained during his run and subsequent fall this morning. The brace under his pants was helping, but he knew he needed to get off his feet and give his knee a chance to rest. As he'd long since discovered, plastic was no match for bone.

Blair's door was open when he arrived and he found Beth just finishing removing the EEG and heart monitor wires and raising the head of his friend's bed so that he was in more of a sitting position. She turned to look at him as he entered the room.

"Jim? Are you Ok?" she asked, concerned. "You ran out of here so fast this morning, you had me worried."

"I'm all right, Beth. Really. It was just...a lot to take in," he explained, looking over at Blair.

His partner's eyes were still open, unblinking and unfocused, his head tipped a bit to the side.

"Can I be alone with him for a while?"

"Of course," the young nurse answered, then smiled. "Keep talking to him, touch him. He's almost out of the woods, Jim. A little more help from you is all he needs." She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. "He certainly is a fighter, isn't he?"

"Yeah," he smiled softly as Beth left the room, closing the door gently behind her.

Jim swallowed and closed the distance between himself and Blair. He held one of Blair's hands in his own, while the other raised up to lay against the side of the young man's face. He dipped his head and closed his eyes, placing a kiss on Blair's forehead, before straightening up again.

He looked deep into blue eyes that stared back unseeingly, whispering fiercely through a tightly closed throat. "Don't you dare give up now, Chief. Not when you're this close. You keep fighting, you hear me? I know you're in there, Blair."

At the sound of his name, the anthropologist made his first voluntary movement in two years: he furrowed his brow.

Jim gave a little gasp and squeezed his friend's hand, hope beginning to blossom deep inside. "Yeah, that's it, buddy...come back to me, Blair..."

Dawn was barely breaking the next morning when Jim returned to Cascade House. He had left late the previous evening, only after Blair had slipped into a natural sleep pattern, and tossed and turned all night, unable to shut his mind off from speculating what the morning may bring. If Dr. Tyler was right, today would indicate in what capacity Blair would live out the rest of his life. But Jim had reason to be optimistic. Blair had responded more and more to his voice and touches last night, actually turning his head toward Jim and his eyes seemed to be tracking movement.

With his heart pounding and his hands sweating, Jim rounded the corner towards Blair's room, nearly running into Beth, coming around the other side.

"Jim! Perfect timing!" The blond nurse took his arm and led him into his friend's room, smiling. "Someone wants to say something to you."

That someone had long, curly hair and bright blue alert eyes, who's face lit up the moment Jim walked in the room, then screwed up in intense concentration before uttering one whispered word.

"...jim..."

With that single word, two years of pain and heartache dissipated like smoke in the wind, rooting Jim in place, heart lurching in his chest.

Blair was back.

Emotions too numerous to identify raced through Jim as he broke through his initial shock to pull his partner into a fierce embrace. He felt Blair's left arm wrap around his neck, holding on tightly as he buried his face in Jim's broad chest. Even with Jim's eyes squeezed almost painfully shut, a single tear managed to escape and fall silently onto the top of Blair's head.

"Blair..." he breathed, before loosening his hold and setting his friend back against the pillows.

Blair was shaking his head. "Jim...I d-don't..."

"Shh, it's all right," Jim reassured the young man. "Listen to me, Ok, Chief? I know you're confused and have a million questions and I promise to explain everything, but not right now. You were hurt and I know the doctors are going to run countless tests on you today, so we'll talk tomorrow, Ok?"

Blair nodded and Jim felt a hand settle on his shoulder. He glanced sideways and saw Jason standing next to him. The doctor made a motion with his head, indicating he wanted to speak to Jim alone.

"I need to talk with your doctor, Chief. I'll be right back."

Blair nodded and once more concentrated hard before speaking, his voice rough and deep from unuse. "S-sure, Jim."

Jim squeezed Blair's hand then joined Jason in the hallway.

"I've got good news and bad," Dr. Tyler began. "Good news is that the brain damage, from a mental standpoint, seems to be minimal. But I won't know for sure without additional tests. He knew his name and where he lived when he came around this morning, and he knew you as well. But his speech is slow. He needs to think about what he wants to say before he says it."

"Will that be permanent?" inquired Jim.

"No, I don't think so. His brain is still coming back on line, still reconnecting. I expect it should clear up in the next day or so. But if not we'll start him on speech therapy."

"What about his memory, Jason?"

"Too soon to tell. He remembers the basics about his life, but he's still pretty disorientated, so I haven't probed about the injury yet."

Jim nodded, digesting everything. "And the bad news?"

"As we discussed, brain damage was not the only possible side effect of the head injury and coma." Jason sighed. "The right side of Blair's body seems to be partially paralyzed. Not surprising, seeing as the injury occurred on the left side of his head. The blunt force trauma, with the subsequent brain swelling and blood clot cut off the oxygen long enough so it's as though Blair had had a stroke. Which could be another factor why his speech is being affected, and possibly his memory."

A stroke? Partially paralyzed? Jim's mind was reeling and he sagged back against the wall.

"So where do we go from here, Doc?"

"We're transporting him back to Cascade General for today," Jason replied. "We need a full work up on him, especially a CAT scan and MRI. We need to find out the extent of the paralysis and the state of his memory, also. And we'll slowly reintroduce him to solid food, get his weight back up, along with his strength. He's gonna need it." Jason paused for a moment. "I won't kid you, Jim. Blair's recovery is nothing short of miraculous, but he's got a long road ahead of him. I've seen stroke patients completely recover, both mentally and physically, and so can Blair, if he works hard and keeps a positive attitude."

Beth poked her head around the doorframe. "Jim, Blair's asking for you."

As Jim re-entered the room, he looked at his confused, but very much awake friend, realizing that he may finally be waking from his own nightmare as well.

Concluded in part two.