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2013-05-10
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2013-05-19
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Kaleidoscope by PJ

Summary:

Jim's world shatters.

Notes:

Grateful thanks to Connie, my beta reader; who, besides catching plot holes and missed words, also prevents me from performing sex-change operations on characters. An added warning, for those of you who like to know such things: Death of Minor Character within.

Chapter Text

This story has been split into two parts for easier loading.

Kaleidoscope

by PJ

Author's disclaimer: Nope, no lottery winnings, so they still belong to Pet Fly and Paramount. Sigh.


Part one

Trying to control his shaking hands, the young patrolman fought to keep the hordes of curious homeward bound office workers and the just plain morbid back far enough to let Forensics and the Major Crimes detectives do their jobs. Having been on the Force for eighteen months, the young man had already seen worse sights than this--murders so gruesome that seasoned detectives would disappear behind a bush to discreetly toss their lunch. This one was, in all brutal reality, not even that extraordinary. Mugging victims who were stabbed to death were distressingly commonplace in San Francisco. Only this time, the deceased was no ordinary victim. Hastily averting his eyes when they accidentally fell on the bloody sheet covering the crumpled figure just insider the park gates, Patrolman Ron Alvarez searched the milling crowd of scientists and high-ranking police officials for any sign of his elder sister, Carla. He was worried--worried how she was dealing with investigating the murder scene of her supervisor, Carolyn Plummer.


Biting back a wince as the overhead PA system clicked on just as he walked under a speaker, Jim Ellison turned his hearing down another couple of notches and continued making his way along the crowded airport concourse. Trust Sandburg to be arriving on a plane that landed at the last gate on the last concourse. On a Friday afternoon, to boot. A Friday when the whole city of Cascade seemed to be flying out to escape the cold, wet March weather.

Blair had been in San Francisco for the past two weeks attending the Pan American Anthropology Conference. He'd been asked by the head of the conference, Dr. Luis Hidalgo, to prepare and read a paper on the subject of the ancient lost Chacapoya tribe of the northern Peruvian Andes. Dr. Hidalgo had read an earlier published piece concerning the tribe that Blair had written in his undergraduate days, and was fascinated by Blair's theory that the tribe had practiced mummification of their dead long before assimilation by the Incas. Once he'd gotten over the shock of being personally invited to the prestigious seminar, Sandburg had been ecstatic.

Caught, as he always was, in the backlash of Sandburg's enthusiasm, Ellison had tried to make things a little easier on his partner by releasing the young man from his police observer duties. Not quite to his surprise, Blair had adamantly refused, citing Ellison's caseload of unusually complex crimes. A little ashamed of his relief, the detective had given in after only a token protest. Of course, as always, the grad student had sailed through the whole process, performing his habitual miraculous juggling act between work and school, and exhausting Ellison just by looking at him.

Arriving at the gate in time to see the plane taxiing into place, Ellison gave a private grin. God, but he'd missed that kid! Going home night after night to a dark and empty loft had been uncommonly depressing and, tired though he was, Ellison had found sleep to be strangely elusive. Due to the cop's hectic schedule, they'd only been able to talk to each other three or four times, though each had left numerous messages at hotel front desks and on answering machines. Grim thoughts vanishing as he caught sight of a familiar head of chestnut curls, Ellison straightened from his slouch against the wall. Azure eyes found his unerringly and Jim found himself reeling at the resulting blazing smile.

"Jim! It's so good to see you!" Wriggling through the throng of people, Blair popped up at his partner's side, beaming.

"Same here, Chief." Giving in to impulse, Ellison swept the smaller man close for a firm, albeit brief, hug. Pulling back, he kept one hand on a shoulder. "Should I ask how the conference went?"

Faint blush fading, Sandburg laughed. "Oh, you can ask, man. You can ask!"

"It went well, then." Chuckling, Ellison moved his hand to the small of Sandburg's back, giving a little push to get his Guide moving. He left it there as they wove through the crowds toward baggage claim. "So...the conference?" he prompted.

"You should've been there! Dr. Matheson read a paper on the impact of modern technology on the indigenous peoples along the Orinoco River basin," reported Blair happily. "It was so excellent, Jim. Of course, with that fool LeDoux present, he should have been expecting that fight."

"Fight?" echoed Jim bemusedly. These were scholars, leading men in their field--surely Blair didn't mean...?

"Yeah," confirmed Sandburg. Sneaking a glance at his stunned partner, he went on with a grin. "Took five security guards to break it up, and old Dr. Grinnell got sent to the hospital with heart palpitations from the excitement."

"I'll be damned," muttered Ellison, his illusions about staid academia fading rapidly. Shaking his head in dismissal, he looked over at the bright-eyed imp walking beside him. "I trust your paper didn't cause such a reaction?" To the cop's astonishment, the glow in those blue eyes switched off as the younger man flushed slightly.

"No, not that," murmured Sandburg, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"Chief?" Frowning, Ellison brought them both to a halt. Placing his hand back on Sandburg's shoulder, he tried to get the grad student to look at him, asking worriedly, "What happened, Chief? Didn't you get to read..." A sudden explanation for Blair's subdued behavior flashed across his mind and, to his horror, the shoulder beneath his hand started to shake. "Oh, Blair, I'm so sorry..." Trailing off awkwardly, Ellison silently cursed the narrow-minded pedants who had so obviously ridden rough-shod over his partner's hopes and dreams. Feeling Blair's shoulders beginning to quiver in earnest, he was casting about wildly for something comforting to say when a strangled noise reached his ears. 'What the hell?'

Stiffening in realization, Ellison growled, "Sandburg..." just as that irrepressible young man gave in and started snickering.

Face red from trying to control his laughter, eyes sparkling, Blair broke out in loud guffaws at the look of menace on Ellison's chiseled features. "Like taking candy from a baby!" he crowed. "I wish I'd had a camera!"

"You're gonna wish you were back in San Francisco if you don't stop that cackling," threatened the Sentinel, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his own smile from surfacing. Yeah, Blair was home...thank god. Waiting impatiently for the giggles to stop, he finally demanded, "Well?"

Laughter breaking off, Sandburg stared up at him, an unreadable expression on his face. "They applauded, Jim," he whispered, still slightly disbelieving. "Then they stood up and applauded some more!"

Whooping loudly, Ellison grabbed him and swung him around. Uncaring of the stares they were attracting, he set the laughing anthropologist back on his feet. "That's my partner," he said proudly, ruffling tousled curls. "I never doubted you could knock those dry, old fogies on their academic butts."

"Well, I had a few moments of serious insecurity." Smile clicking off, Blair said intensely, "God, Jim--I wish you could have been there."

"Me, too, Chief," Ellison said regretfully. "Me, too."

Gazes locked, the rest of the world faded out around them. The electric moment was quickly broken, however, when a running man, darting for his plane, knocked against Blair, sending him staggering. Reaching out a steadying hand, Ellison got them moving again, casting a glare over his shoulder.

Breaking the suddenly awkward silence several minutes later, Ellison asked, "Where were you last night? I left a message but you never did call me back." Thick crowds clustered around the baggage carousel, and with a squeeze of Blair's shoulder, Ellison indicated he should stay put. Fighting his way through the crush, he dialed down his senses even more to avoid being overwhelmed by the smells and noise. He spotted the new black bag he'd insisted on buying for Blair in honor of the occasion and quickly snagged it. Moments later, they were heading for the door.

"Sorry, man," apologized Blair, staying close even though they had left most of the jostling crowd behind. "But a couple of the professors invited me out for a drink, and since they'd been so nice about my paper, I didn't really feel I could refuse, y'know?" Stepping out into the cool, damp weather, he continued, "Only it wasn't a bar they took me to, but some stupid strip club. So I sat there through one of the most god-awful drinks you will ever taste, then I said I was expecting an important phone call and had to be heading back. But, of course, I couldn't find a cab." Hands waving disgustedly, he followed Ellison over to his parked truck. "I had to walk miles before I could find one, and by the time I got back to the hotel, I was so fed up with the whole thing, I didn't even check for messages. I tried to call this morning, but you'd already left for the station," he explained, climbing in and buckling his seat belt.

Dropping the truck into gear, Ellison backed out, tsking softly. "Only you, Chief, could turn a simple visit to a strip joint into a grand adventure."

"What can I say?" shrugged Blair. "It's my karma." He grinned at the snort that elicited.


Closing and locking the loft door behind them, Ellison grinned when he noticed that Blair had gone straight for the couch, flopping onto it with a contented sigh. "It's great to be home, Jim."

"Great to have you home, Chief." Leaving the heavy luggage by the door, Jim reached into the fridge and grabbed two beers. After giving one to his partner, he stood until Blair had opened it, then clinked the two bottles together. "Simon told me yesterday he was counting the hours until you got back."

"Oh?" said Sandburg warily, suspiciously eyeing the larger man.

"Yeah. It's been a hectic couple of weeks, and even he's behind on his paperwork."

"Oh, gee, thanks, Jim. Nice to know I'm good for something." The sour tone didn't quite match the continuing smile in the blue eyes.

"You're welcome." Ellison took a long swallow of his beer, then a flashing red light caught the corner of his eye. "Damn it, now who's leaving me messages!"

He had asked Simon three days ago if he could have the weekend off since Blair was coming home, telling his captain it would take a couple of days to get his roommate house-broken again. Banks, having some idea of just how much the brooding Sentinel had been missing his Guide, had just laughed and granted the time off. The cop's cell phone had not even chirped; therefore, grumbled Ellison silently, this intrusive message was not an emergency and he was strongly tempted to ignore it. Habit won out, though, and he hit the play switch, starting slightly at the first words.

"Jim? This is Frank Murphy. I'm sorry to bother you, but I need you to call me back as soon as possible. I tried you at the station, but they told me you had the weekend off. The number is still 555-7717." The automatic clock on the answering machine indicated the call had come in just moments after he'd left for the airport.

"Who's that, Jim?" asked Sandburg curiously, never having heard his partner mention that name.

"Carolyn's brother-in-law; he's married to her older sister, Terri," Ellison told him. "Wonder what he wants?" He regarded the phone with some surprise. "I haven't spoken to him in years."

"It sounded important; maybe you'd better call him back," suggested Blair. He was proud of himself, certain that Jim hadn't heard the slight edge in his voice. When he'd talked to Jim late Tuesday evening, the detective had told him of having taken the weekend off. That thought had sustained him through the last few intensely lonely days at the seminar. Maybe they wouldn't do anything important--share a few beers and watch some sports, perhaps rent a few movies--but the most vital thing was they would be doing it together. Now it seemed someone else had need of Jim, and Blair found himself resenting the intrusion and postponement of his daydreams.

"Yeah, guess I should." Decision made, Ellison picked up the handset, quickly punching in the numbers. As he waited for someone to pick up the other end of the ringing telephone, he wondered why Frank had chosen to call now. They'd never been close, even when he and Carolyn had been married. It was probably nothing major, yet his voice had sounded oddly tense.

Train of thought broken when his ex-brother-in-law picked up the phone, Jim said pleasantly, "Frank? Jim Ellison here."

Ensconced on the couch, Blair watched in stunning disbelief as every trace of color fled Ellison's face. Rising quickly, he reached the older man just as Jim grunted, "Where?" and slammed the phone back into its cradle, white-knuckled hand still gripping the handset.

"My god, Jim, what's wrong?" Blair asked urgently, hand going out to touch a muscular forearm.

Jaw muscle visibly clenching, Ellison barely glanced his way. "Not now, Sandburg." Running a hand over his face, he seemed to come to a decision. In three long strides, he was back at the door, grabbing his coat as he reached for the doorknob.

"Jim!" protested Sandburg. "Where are you going? Should I come, too? Is it a case?" He stared at the broad back as Ellison came to a halt in the doorway.

Taking a deep breath, the cop said quietly, "No, it's not a case."

"Then what?" Sandburg was completely bewildered.

"I said not now." Spine rigid, Ellison seemed to come to the end of his patience. "What part of that is so difficult to understand?" he retorted coldly. Halfway out the door, he added, "Expect me when you see me."

Eyes wide with hurt and astonishment, Sandburg stood there a moment, staring blankly at the closed door. Then, moving jerkily, he picked up his luggage and went into his room. "Welcome home, Blair," he muttered under his breath as he shut the door.


Hours later, still somewhat numb with shock, Ellison let himself into the dark loft. Bemusedly, he looked around, taking an experimental sniff. There was not a thing out of place in the pristine loft, no lights burned--not even in Blair's room--and no lingering odor of food drifted on the air. 'Where's Blair?' he thought in alarm and some guilt, having overheard the kid's comment on his way out of the building. He hadn't meant to take the news out on his roommate, it was just that Sandburg had been there and convenient. Finally, he caught the sound of the familiar heartbeat, and his brow furrowed, puzzled. 'Huh? What's he doing on the balcony in this weather? He hates the cold and wet!' Opening the glass doors, he let his eyes adjust before he spotted his partner, sitting in a chair where the deepest shadows lay.

"I'm sorry there's no supper made, but I didn't expect you back tonight." Sandburg's voice was level and distant. "I thought you might be busy making the arrangements."

Ellison asked gingerly, "How did you...?"

"Joel stopped by to ask if you needed anything. He seemed a little confused when I told him I had no idea what he was talking about." There was no condemnation in the flat voice. Standing suddenly, Sandburg made to push past the bigger man. "I'll fix you something to eat."

"Look, Chief, I..." Ellison said awkwardly. He reached out, but stopped short of actually touching Blair.

"You don't owe me any explanations, Jim." Sandburg again made to retreat into the loft. "I understand totally; Carolyn was your ex-wife. I'm the one who should apologize. I forgot and overstepped the boundaries. It won't happen again, I promise."

Boundaries!? Feeling as though the world was tilting dangerously beneath him, Ellison abruptly reached out, grabbing a tense forearm. "Don't say that!" he hissed vehemently, becoming more than a little unnerved at Sandburg's uncharacteristic coolness. "I'm sorry, Chief; honestly. It's just been a rough couple of weeks, that's all. You were gone, then, Dad, and now this..."

Resentment eased at the slightly incoherent explanation. 'You were gone...' Sandburg sighed. 'Let it go--just let it go.' It was obvious that Jim was hurting, and that was something Blair could never ignore. "It's okay," he said softly, giving the hand on his forearm a pat. "C'mon, Jim, let's go in and I'll get you something to eat." Waiting until he heard the tired "okay", the grad student led his partner into the dark loft and eased him onto one of the dining table chairs. Purposefully keeping the stimulation low, Blair only turned on the light above the stove as he began a quick stir-fry. Hoping the quiet atmosphere would help Jim talk, he said softly, "I'm really sorry about Carolyn, Jim. Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Just tired, y'know." Running a hand over his face, Ellison sagged against the back of the chair. "It just seems so senseless...a random mugging, for god's sake!"

"Do the police have any suspects? I mean, it's been over twenty-four hours, right?"

"They got a pretty good description from a group of kids playing football, so they think they know who they're looking for. They just haven't been able to locate him, yet." Gaze fixed on his clenched hands, the cop said hesitantly, "The funeral is Monday morning here in Cascade..."

Having no difficulty reading his partner at the moment, Blair replied, "Sure, man; no problem. I can get Dennis to take my class." He slid a plate full of hot food in front of the seated man.

The smile was small, but genuine. "Thanks, Chief." He frowned suddenly. "How come you're not eating?"

"It's okay, Jim. I went over and checked my mail at the university earlier. On the way back, I stopped at Lazlo's and picked up a sandwich. Now, eat your supper before it gets cold."

Obediently, Ellison picked up the fork and started his meal.

Retrieving the beer from the fridge, Sandburg handed one over; sliding into a chair, he opened his as he watched Ellison eat. The question he wanted to ask was about a sensitive subject, but Jim had mentioned it first. "Uh, Jim," he queried tentatively, "did you say you heard from your dad?"

To Sandburg's relief, Ellison seemed largely unperturbed by the question, though he grimaced. Taking a swallow of beer, the cop said laconically, "Heard from his lawyer."

"His lawyer?"

"Yeah. A nice legal letter arrived by registered mail this past Monday--made my whole day, let me tell you." Biting his lower lip, Ellison glanced quickly at the younger man, then returned his gaze to his plate. "Dad died a week ago Thursday; I went to his memorial service on Tuesday."

"What!?" Regaining his breath, Blair stared at his partner. "Jim, that's just... I mean..." He floundered helplessly, aghast that his friend had had to attend such a stressful event without support.

"No shit." A small grin lit the grim face for a brief moment, then was gone. Taking a deep breath, he met the concerned eyes. "I'm not that surprised he didn't tell me he had cancer; that would have meant acknowledging his own mortality. Poor Stephen was out of the country when it happened. I found out from Katherine that he'd received a letter at home with the news the same day I did."

"Is Stephen all right?" He'd gotten to know the younger Ellison fairly well since the brothers had decided to bury the hatchet. Unfortunately, he wasn't Jim and would never be, and Blair couldn't seem to make himself see past that biased judgment.

"He's coping." Ellison finished his meal and took a swallow of beer. "I called again yesterday and talked with Katherine. Stephen wasn't able to get a flight back to Cascade until tomorrow morning."

"Jenny's okay?" Sandburg admitted to a giant soft spot for the six year old. A lot of it was due to the fact that she was Jim's niece and had big, cornflower blue eyes like her uncle.

Ellison nodded. "Thank god she's too young to really understand, and she's never met Dad. Katherine was telling me she'd only met him twice herself in the nine years she and Stephen have been married."

"So what did the lawyer want? Besides telling you about the memorial service, I mean."

Giving another grimace, Jim stood up and carried his plate over to the sink. "He's going to read the Will on Monday afternoon. Great timing, huh? The lawyer wants me and Stephen to be there."

"Are you going?"

"Depends. If you go with me, yeah." Ellison gave another small grin at the surprised look on the expressive face. "I am not going to sit through a tedious afternoon with a snooty lawyer on my own, Sandburg."

Making a grimace himself, Blair got up to put his beer bottle in the recycling bin. "That means I'll be stuck in a suit for most of the day," he said gloomily. Over the last year, he had--somewhat reluctantly--added a couple of good suits to his wardrobe.

"You bet," answered Ellison, sinking onto the couch and reaching for the TV remote. "Cheer up, Chief. I thought you would be used to ties now, after that booze-up with your pal Hidalgo last week." He gave an inward chuckle, remembering the disgust in his Guide's voice when he'd told Jim about the occasion.

"It wasn't a booze-up, Jim; I told you that," denied Sandburg automatically. "We went to dinner with several other professors and discussed the commonalities among the ritual blood sacrifices of the Epi-Olmecs."

"I see." Ellison nodded, keeping his face grave and interested.

Sandburg snorted and he landed a light slap on the strong shoulder. "You want another beer?"

"Yeah." A smile lighting his tired eyes, Ellison stared after his partner. "You might want to make some popcorn, too, Chief."

"Why?" Blair was already reaching for the low-fat canola oil as he put the popcorn pan on the stove and turned on the heat. No irradiated, microwave cardboard garbage for him and his Sentinel--they only ate the real thing.

"We'll need it to go with this."

Finishing measuring the kernels into the smoking vessel, Blair put the lid on the pan before he turned to see what Jim was holding up. His eyes widened. "Oh, man--'Mountains of the Moon'!" he enthused. "This is great, Jim!"

"I thought you'd say that," chuckled Ellison, inserting the movie into the VCR. He waited to start it as Blair was busy tending to the delicious smelling snack. "Seemed like a good way to welcome you back home; and one about Sir Richard Burton seemed even more appropriate."

"This is so cool," declared Sandburg, coming back laden with two beers and a big bowl of steaming popcorn. Sinking onto the couch beside his partner, he handed Ellison his beer and put the bowl between them. "When did you pick this up?"

"On the way home..." The pause was slight, but noticeable. "...this evening." Twisting to face the younger man, Ellison said regretfully, "I really am sorry, Chief. Please believe me."

"I know." Blair held his gaze steadily. "Carolyn was a fine person."

It seemed like eons before Ellison was able to tear his gaze away from the depthless azure eyes. "Let's get this show on the road," he laughed somewhat shakily and hit the play button on the remote.

"Sure, man." Sandburg's voice was a little subdued, but he turned to the TV readily enough.


Attention ostensibly on the road, Sandburg flicked a glance at the rigid figure sitting in the Volvo's passenger seat and gave an inward sigh. Carolyn's funeral that morning had been just as hard on his partner as he'd anticipated; the forthcoming visit with William Ellison's attorney was only going to make a bad day worse. Braking for a red light, his eyes once again found Jim's too-controlled face, noting the tightly clenched jaw and hooded eyes, gaze lingering on the purple, swollen lump just above the cop's left eye. 'A couple of inches--oh, god, the doctor said if it had been only a couple more inches to the left...' Shuddering away from that thought, Blair forced his mind back to the present, pulling away from the light with a small lurch.

Thoughts broken by the sudden jerk of the car, Ellison looked over at the younger man and gave a sigh. As hard as that morning had been for him, it had been doubly so for Sandburg. When he'd made that hesitant request for Blair to accompany him to Carolyn's funeral, Ellison had not been thinking past his own need for the anthropologist's comforting presence. Consequently, he'd been startled by the icy politeness at the funeral and again at the graveside. Anger had surged through him as he'd belatedly realized that the looks of contemptuous disdain were aimed at the quiet figure at his shoulder. Though Blair had said nothing, Ellison knew the grad student had been aware of the atmosphere. Yet, Sandburg refused to leave Ellison's side, his elevated heart rate and respiration the only sign of his discomfort. Carolyn had never made any secret of her dislike of Sandburg, unable or unwilling to look beyond the long hair and frenetic energy. Obviously, her conservative, upper middle class family shared the same opinion and were not shy about letting their disapproval of the unconventional young man show.

The situation had almost turned ugly after the graveside service as, on their way back to the Volvo, Ellison and Sandburg had passed right by Paul Plummer, Carolyn's father. Fighting back his anger, Ellison had been ready to offer the expected social consolation when he noticed the scornful sneer on the older man's face as he'd glanced dismissively at Blair. At that point, protective instincts took over and, uncaring if he made a scene, Ellison had opened his mouth to verbally shred his ex-father-in-law. The messy confrontation had only been avoided by the pressure of a hand on his forearm and a soft, "Jim." Reining in his temper, Ellison had settled for glaring and was gratified when Plummer actually fell back a step, his brown eyes full of wary shock. His point obviously taken, Ellison had turned away and, placing an arm around Sandburg's shoulders, gently urged his partner toward the car, smiling when Blair automatically slung his own arm around Jim's waist. Getting into the car, the cop had glanced back, stone-faced, at the disapproving stares from Plummer and the other attendees.

Brought back to the present by the Volvo stopping at another light, Ellison asked quietly, "You okay there, Chief?"

Not pretending to misunderstand, Sandburg assured him, "I'm fine, man." He looked over at the other man, a wry smile lifting one end of the lush mouth. "Really," he insisted, seeing the doubtful look in the sky blue eyes watching him. "You can turn down the Blessed Protector dial any time. It's not like I haven't gotten that reaction from people before. I'm used to it."

His own voice...'neo-hippie, witch-doctor punk'...echoing in his head, Ellison shifted uncomfortably in the seat. "It's stupid," he mumbled, eyes apparently on the passing scenery as they started moving again.

"I know. It's just people, man. Don't let it get to you." His own protective genes thoroughly engaged, Sandburg said diffidently, "You sure you're up to this, Jim? You know you can call the lawyer and re-schedule this meeting. I mean...what with that knock on the head and then the funeral this morning, maybe you should rest some first."

Suddenly clued in to the source of the younger man's unease, Ellison said levelly, "I'm fine, Chief. It's only a bump." A faint smile in his eyes, he teased, "Now who needs to turn down the dial?"

"Very funny, man." Taking a deep breath, Sandburg consciously tried to relax his over-tense muscles. Yesterday evening had scared him badly and he wasn't shy about admitting that to himself.

After Jim had left Sunday evening to collect supper from their favorite Chinese restaurant, Blair had seized the opportunity for a quick shower. Dressed again in a clean pair of faded jeans and an old CPD sweatshirt of Jim's he'd appropriated, Blair had set about getting out plates, glasses and silverware. That task finished, he'd started picking up the living room, only becoming aware of the passage of time when he'd happened to glance at the kitchen clock. He'd stood there, newspaper in hand, frowning a little. 'The Emperor's Palace' was not that far away; Jim should have been back twenty minutes ago. Telling himself that his partner must've encountered unexpected traffic, Blair hadn't started to seriously worry until another fifteen minutes had gone by. He spent the next fifteen minutes pacing frantically, pulse increasing with each tick of the clock's second hand, visions of Jim walking unknowingly into an armed robbery fueling his fear. Finally deciding to call Simon--by this time, Blair didn't care if he was over-reacting or not--he had just reached the phone when its shrill ring pierced the quiet loft. Aware of a sense of dread tightening his chest, he'd picked up the receiver with a shaky hand. A minute later, he was running down the hallway, the echo of the slamming loft door ringing through the building.

Apprehension still tearing at him, he'd arrived at Cascade General ER a scant ten minutes later. Bursting through the glass doors, he'd headed straight for the receptionist, sliding into the wooden desk, demanding his partner's whereabouts and condition. New to the job and rattled by the abrupt appearance of the long-haired, wild-eyed young man before her, the clerk had attempted to stonewall. Giving up in mounting fear and frustration, Blair had turned to storm the examination rooms when he felt a hand on his shoulder and had looked up into the face of Tom Warne, an uniformed officer he and Jim had worked with many times. Once he'd seen he had the younger man's attention, Warne had said clearly, "He's all right, Sandburg." Breath leaving him in a rush, Blair had offered no resistance when Warne had gently steered him over to a chair in a corner of the waiting room and urged him to sit.

It hadn't been an armed robbery, after all--just someone running a red light, driving what turned out to be a stolen car. Luckily, Jim had seen the car coming and had managed to react quickly enough or the accident could have been much worse. While the Ford was going to need extensive bodywork from having plowed into a street lamp avoiding the other car, Jim had come away with only a bump on his head. If he'd lost consciousness, it had only been for a moment or so, for he had been climbing out of the truck when the EMT's and police had arrived. Warne and his partner, McIlvey, had put out an APB on the other car after getting a description from witnesses, and then had set about the enormous task of helping the paramedics convince Ellison to go to the hospital for a check-up. Deadpan, Warne reported that what had decided the whole matter was McIlvey's quiet statement "Do I need to call Sandburg?" Glaring at the officer, Ellison had then ungraciously crawled into the back of the ambulance.

Giving a snort of laughter, Blair had relaxed, letting his head fall back against the wall. Warne had then gone on to apologize; Ellison had asked him or McIlvey to call Blair, knowing the officers would tell him in such a way Sandburg wouldn't get too upset. Unfortunately, McIlvey had been side-tracked by a drunk causing a disturbance in one of the exam rooms, and Warne had decided to fill in Dispatch first. That accomplished, he was about to call Sandburg when McIlvey appeared, wearing a long face, and reporting that the ER receptionist had already notified Ellison's partner. Squaring their shoulders, both officers had gone back into the ER to tell Ellison. Well into his tirade about hospitals and their irresponsible staff, Ellison had suddenly stopped dead then, cursing fluently, he'd started to climb off the gurney. McIlvey grabbed him as he swayed, and demanded to know what the hell Ellison thought he was doing. The detective answered tersely that Sandburg had just arrived and that he was going out there before the kid worked himself into a heart attack. Marveling that Ellison had heard his partner's arrival while all he heard was the noise and confusion of a busy ER, Warne had offered to go reassure Sandburg.

A horn honk brought him out of his reverie; Blair turned to give his partner a searching glance. Clearly able to see the thoughts going on behind the worried eyes, Ellison said soothingly, "Chief, I'm fine--really. Yeah, I have a headache, but it's only tension. Let's just get through the next few hours, all right? Then we can go home and relax."

"If you say so, Jim." Clearly Sandburg was not convinced, but was willing to drop the subject for now. He asked, "We've got an hour before your appointment. Wanna stop and get something to eat?"

"Sure." At the mention of food, Ellison's growling stomach reminded him that he'd been too tense to eat breakfast. "How about Itla..." he started to say, only to have his jaw drop when Sandburg swung into the parking lot of Wonderburger.

Sandburg parked and turned off the car, giving a rueful grin when he saw the stunned look on his partner's face. "You tend to get cranky when the grease level in your blood gets low," he joked. "You really don't need that today."

"Gee, thanks, Sandburg," shot back Ellison, climbing out of the car. It was a struggle to keep the grin off his face. "Can I help it if I like meat once in a while? Pre-civilized man didn't live on tofu alone, y'know."

Ignoring him, the grad student led the way across the parking lot and into the fast food joint. Upon entering, he commented, "It's filling up fast. You go grab a booth and I'll get us something to eat." Silencing the incipient protest with a stern look, Sandburg stated, "Your headache won't like standing in a crowded line and you know it. Go sit down, man; this one's on me." Not giving the other man time to argue, he strode off toward the packed counter.

Shrugging, Ellison did as he was told, easing into a vacant booth in a corner. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on turning down the pain dial just as Sandburg had taught him. In a few minutes, he sighed as the throbbing in his temples slowly died away. He opened his eyes to see Blair approaching with a laden tray. Giving a reassuring wink at the poorly-disguised worry on his Guide's face, Ellison reached for the tray. "Thanks, Chief. My poor stomach thinks my throat's been cut."

Bemusedly watching the cop eagerly sinking his teeth into the burger, Sandburg wrinkled his nose in disgust and pulled his meal toward him. He really didn't care for the so-called 'salads'--a pile of limp lettuce, one piece of unripe tomato, and some sort of mystery greenery--served here, but Jim loved this place and it was the least he could do for his friend on this very stressful day. Hoping to keep Ellison's mind off the forthcoming interview with his father's attorney, and to hide the fact he wasn't eating, Blair launched into a series of anecdotes concerning the seminar.

Forty-five minutes later, they were on their way again. The nearer they got to the swanky mid-town office, the more tense Ellison became. After pulling into the building's parking complex and into a slot, Sandburg quietly turned off the engine. Hiding a sigh at the sight of the tightly clenched jaw muscle, Sandburg climbed out of the car and turned to his partner. 'Jim's definitely gonna need dentures before he's forty if he keeps this up', he thought wryly. 'It's a wonder he doesn't already have TMJ.'

Still silent, he trailed the larger man across the garage to the bank of elevators. Once inside, he sidled close to the cop's shoulder, flinching slightly when the apparatus moved upward with a jerk.

"Hang in there, buddy," came a low voice as a reassuring hand pressed against the small of his back. "We're only going up two stories, here. You've fallen farther than that."

"Ha ha. Don't give up your day job, man; you're no comedian," Sandburg said blackly. Grimacing, he looked up at the man beside him. "Sorry, Jim."

"No need to apologize, Sandburg. That was a pretty rough experience; give yourself time to get over it." Just then, the elevator dinged and the door slid open. Keeping his hand on Sandburg's back--'For your comfort or his, Jimmy?'--Ellison got them moving down the carpeted hall. He paused outside the door to the attorney's office, then glanced down into the concerned eyes watching him intently. "Here we go," he said softly. "I can hear Stephen."

"You can do this, Jim," Sandburg assured him quietly. "I know things still weren't right between your dad and you, even after finding Bud Heydash's killer. But if you don't do this, you'll end up hating yourself later. I won't let you do that to yourself, man. Not if I can help it."

"My conscience now, are you, Jiminy Cricket?" asked Ellison, his clear blue eyes shining with amusement and affection.

"You betcha," agreed the younger man. Blair nodded his head at the door. "Now, get in there so we can get this over with. This tie is damn near strangling me."

"Poor Chief," crooned Ellison, barely hiding his laughter. Opening the door, he ushered his partner in ahead of him.

Going up to the impressive desk situated in the center of the room, Jim addressed the middle-aged, neatly attired woman sitting there. "My name is James Ellison; I have a 1:00 appointment with Mr. Carstens."

"Of course, Mr. Ellison." A brief, professional smile flashed across the heavily made-up face. "Mr. Carstens asks that you go in immediately. Your brother is already here."

"Thanks."

As they entered the expensively furnished office, Ellison felt Blair move a little closer to him. Uncertain if the gesture was intended as a show of silent support, or if the younger man was feeling intimidated by the ostentatious display of conspicuous consumption, Jim put his hand on the grad student's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze.

"What the hell happened to you?" demanded Stephen, staring at his brother with wide eyes. "You look like you hit a brick wall with your head!"

"No, just a windshield," quipped Jim. Reaching out to shake Carstens' hand, he glanced back to see a frown settled on Stephen's face. "I'm all right, Steve," he added hastily. "I just had a small accident with the truck, that's all."

"If you say so." There was still a doubtful look on the younger Ellison's face.

"I do." Jim looked around. "Where's Katherine?"

"Jenny has a dance recital this afternoon. I had planned on being there myself, but... School or no school, when I'm done here, we're taking a trip up to the cabin. We all could use the down time." Stephen gave a quick grin as he gestured at the silent anthropologist. "I see you brought back-up."

"Always." Nudging the smaller man forward, Jim introduced him to the attorney. "Mr. Carstens, this is my partner, Blair Sandburg."

Feeling slightly nettled by the faint patronizing undertone to Stephen's voice, Blair was not particularly pleased to see the speculative gleam in the lawyer's eyes. He said nothing, however, vowing not to add to Jim's already high stress level. Seating himself in the leather chair next to his partner's, Sandburg kept his mouth shut and attempted to become background. His years in college not having been wasted, he was soon busily planning a class lecture while maintaining an alert, attentive expression. So engrossed was he in his mental exercise, that he was considerably startled when Jim suddenly swore loudly and shot to his feet.

"I can't believe he did that!" shouted the cop before Blair could get his mouth open. "Shit, I can't believe he would do that to me; he knew how I felt. I didn't want any of his money when he was alive, what the hell made the old bastard think I'd want half of it now that he's dead?"

"Half!?" squeaked Sandburg, eyes going round. Fortunately, no one was paying any attention to him and he was able to pick up his jaw in privacy. "Jim..." he started softly.

"I don't have to take it and he can't make me!" growled Ellison stubbornly. "You tell 'em, Chief!" With that, he banged out the office door.

Pasting a sincere smile on his face, Sandburg turned back to the shell-shocked lawyer. 'Probably never had anybody turn down that much money before', he thought charitably. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carstens," he began. "Jim has had a very trying morning. Also, he and his dad haven't exactly seen eye to eye on most things for quite some years now. Your announcement just caught him off guard."

"What happened, Blair?" asked Stephen when Carstens remained silent. "I know he and Dad had their differences, but this is a little out of proportion, isn't it?" He threw his hands up in the air, sighing in exasperation. "Shit, I told Dad he was going to make this difficult!"

Biting back the surge of annoyance that always flared when he was around Stephen too long, Blair answered quietly, "Jim's ex-wife, Carolyn Plummer was killed Thursday afternoon. Her funeral was this morning."

"My god."

"That's all right, you didn't know. As for your dad's legacy, you have to remember, Stephen, that Jim doesn't view money and material possessions in quite the same way as your father did." 'He doesn't worship at the shrine of the all-mighty dollar, you tight-assed capitalist!'

"But..." Before Stephen could protest further, the office door opened again to admit Jim.

Somewhat shame-faced, the big detective walked up to Carstens' desk and apologized, "I'm very sorry for my outburst, Mr. Carstens. All I can say in my defense is that you took me by surprise."

"I-If you feel that strongly about it, Mr. Ellison," stammered the still-nonplused attorney, "we could always..."

"No, that's all right." A strange glint in his eye, Jim glanced over to see his partner staring at him suspiciously. Keeping his face straight with an effort, Jim asked, "How much was that again?" He was rewarded with a look of pure astonishment from Blair.

"Jim?"

Peripherally talking in the rest of the room, Ellison was puzzled by the shocked look that crossed his brother's face. Filing that thought away for later, he returned his full attention to his bewildered Guide. "I don't know, Chief," he drawled slowly, "that's an awful lot of money." Taking in the speechless Sandburg in satisfaction, he added, "Just think of the expeditions that money could support. Or do you think scholarships would be better?"

Sandburg goggled for a moment, then a blinding smile lit his face. "Oh, wow, that would be so cool, man!" Belatedly, Sandburg tried to get a grip on his enthusiasm. "Are you sure, Jim? I mean, this is your money; your dad left it to you."

"I'm sure, Chief. I want no part of that money; I already have all that I need." Ellison's grin was wide and unfeigned. "We'll discuss it later. You can set these things up now, or you can do it after I'm gone. It really doesn't matter."

"Excuse me?" Carstens had gone back to being flabbergasted. "I'm afraid I don't quite follow you, Mr. Ellison. After you've gone where?"

Eyes never leaving his partner's beaming face, Jim answered quietly, "Everything of mine--money, loft, the works--is Blair's when I die. I've already taken care of the legalities. If he wants, he can wait until after I've died to set those things up. The decision on what to do with the money, and when, is his."

"Oh, Jim," whispered Blair, refusing to let the sudden tears spill over. There really didn't seem to be anything else to say.


Jim glanced over at his silent partner as the Jags game faded to a commercial. Curled up at the other end of the couch with a textbook open on his lap, Sandburg was ostensibly studying, but the faraway look in his eyes betrayed him. The younger man had been uncharacteristically subdued since they had left Carstens' office the previous afternoon. Knowing that Blair was still trying to come to terms with Jim's shocking statement, the cop had set about ignoring the long, speculative looks cast his way, followed by lip-biting concentration. Stifling his inner worry, Ellison turned back to the TV as the game resumed. Jim hadn't planned on ever revealing the contents of his Will but, suddenly, it had just seemed like the right thing to do; to let Blair know exactly how much he meant to Jim, even if the cop couldn't ever say it out loud.

"Jim."

The soft voice breaking into his thoughts, Ellison turned back to his partner. "Yeah, Chief?"

"About yesterday afternoon..." Blair watched as the older man's jaw muscle clenched, but he forged on. "I just wanted to say thank you, man. For everything." The stunned disbelief on the handsome face caused a small grin.

It had been difficult, incredibly so, to get past his instinctive reaction to the news that he was Jim's heir--the sheer, overwhelming emotional denial that Jim could die and leave him alone had been almost impossible to overcome. Once he had forced his way through that obstacle, Blair had had to fight the urge to flatly refuse to accept any or all of the intended gifts. Luckily, the thinking part of his brain had managed to convince the emotional portion that to refuse would be tantamount to grossly insulting Ellison. Jim would take it as a betrayal and rejection, of him and his friendship. Sighing, Sandburg had forced himself to accept that Jim was just doing what came naturally; he was trying to take care of Blair, even after his death. Once again cursing the fact that Ellison had taken the Blessed Protector gig a bit too literally, Blair had acknowledged he was beaten.

"You're welcome, Chief." More relieved than he could express, even to himself, that Sandburg had chosen not to fight him on this all-important issue, Ellison asked curiously, "Decided yet what you're going to do with all that money from Dad?"

"Yeah." Putting aside his book, Blair gave a huge grin. "I spoke with Mr. Carstens this morning. Soon as I sign on the dotted line, the William Ellison Anthropology Scholarship will take effect. Its target group is minorities and kids from underprivileged areas."

Jim bit down on a choke of laughter, well knowing what his father would have thought of that idea. Looking at his partner's dancing eyes, he knew Blair was perfectly aware of what he had done. "You use the whole thing on the scholarship?"

"Nah, just about half." Sandburg abruptly sobered. He looked down at his hands, then taking a deep breath, said, "The other half went into the creation of another scholarship fund at the university."

"Oh?"

"It's...it's for something other than anthropology, though." Grabbing his courage in both hands, Blair looked Jim in the eye. "Mr. Carstens told me the Carolyn Plummer Scholarship in Forensic Sciences can be in effect soon."

"Chief...why?" Jim was amazed he could talk over the boulder lodged in his throat.

"You still cared about her, and regardless of how she felt about me, she still cared about you, too. I thought this was a good way to make sure that a bit of Carolyn lived on." Eyes dropping once more, Blair went on in a small voice, "And...I wanted to make you proud of the way I used your dad's money."

Ellison couldn't have stopped himself if he had tried. Reaching out, he pulled the smaller man into a close hug. Kissing the top of the curl-covered head, he admitted in a raw voice, "You make me proud every day, just by being you. But, thank you, Chief; what you did means more than you can ever know."

Judging by the tight grip Sandburg had around his waist, Jim decided Blair wasn't going anywhere soon. Sighing contentedly, he settled back against the couch, his armful tucked tightly against him. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew he would soon have to deal with what this act had revealed about Blair's feelings. Not to mention, come to terms with his own turbulent emotions, but not now. This moment, right now, was perfect, just as it was.

Unnoticed, the TV set blared with sound as the Jags won the game.


Hurrying into the Major Crimes bullpen Wednesday afternoon, Sandburg bit back a smile when he caught sight of his partner. A ferocious scowl in place, Ellison was muttering darkly at his computer.

Drawing closer, Blair heard, "Come on, you misbegotten son of a toaster oven! I know the file is in there; cough it up!"

Sliding his backpack off his shoulder, Blair commented, "You keep swearing at that computer, man, and it's just going to get more stubborn. Now what has it supposedly eaten?"

Ellison transferred the scowl to his partner. "I finished the report on the Manfred case this morning before I had to go to court, but I didn't have time to print it out. Now, the damn thing says the file doesn't exist!"

Airily motioning the larger man out of the chair, the grad student slid behind the desk and punched a few keys. Ellison stood behind, arms crossed defiantly across his chest, watching as a puzzled frown crossed the mobile face. "What, Sandburg?"

"Umm, Jim... You did remember to hit 'save' when you were done, didn't you?" The doubtful tone was perfectly done.

The sound of Simon's door opening broke into the cop's defensive protests.

"My office, Jim; you, too, Sandburg." The captain's deep voice held an odd undertone.

Jim shrugged in response to the confused glance Blair gave him, then waved his partner in ahead of him. Once he was through the door, he closed it and asked, "What's going on, Simon?"

Leaning against his desk, Banks waved them into the chairs in front of his desk. "I just had a phone call from Sheriff Lansing of Beech County. He was looking for you, Jim, but I told him I wanted to speak with you first."

Frowning slightly, Jim prompted, "What about, sir?"

"Jim, I'm sorry, but..." Drawing a deep breath, Simon went on softly, "Late last evening, a couple hiking along the Saber River up near Alnisha Point, found an overturned Jeep Cherokee in the river. Lansing said it looks as if the driver lost control on the tight bend in the highway and rolled down the slope."

A sudden chill iced through Ellison, and he stiffened. Peripherally aware of Sandburg's hand on his forearm, he asked harshly, "Was it Stephen's?"

"I'm afraid so." Gently, Banks continued, "Katherine and the little girl were found in the car...both appeared to have died from massive head injuries."

Ashen, jaw muscle jumping furiously, Jim managed to ask, "What about Stephen?" Beside him, pale and shaking, eyes huge with shock, Blair maintained his death grip on his partner's arm.

Banks swallowed a couple of times, then said grimly, "It looks like he was ejected from the jeep and went into the river. They sent out recovery parties at first light this morning."

"Oh, dear god," breathed Sandburg, gasping with the suddenness of it all. 'Dear lord, not Stephen, not him, too. Not now. Oh, god, Katherine and little Jenny... My poor Jim...' Fiercely blinking away the tears, Blair had just opened his mouth when Ellison abruptly jerked his arm free and came to rigid attention in front of Banks.

"Captain Banks," he ground out, jaw muscle clenched so tightly he could barely speak, "I'm requesting leave time so I may find my brother's body. The report on the Manfred Case is only lacking my signature, and I finished in court this morning on the Wiznoscki murders."

"Already done, Jim," Banks replied compassionately. "You've got five days. Just sign off on the Manfred file and you're out of here."

"Thank you, sir." Nodding stiffly, Ellison was halfway out the door when he noticed his ever-present shadow. Turning back, he put a hand on Sandburg's shoulder. "Not this time, Chief. You've got mid-terms this week, remember?"

"I'll work something out." Just what, Blair had no idea, but he plowed on anyway. "You're going to need some help with this one, Jim. You know you will."

Forcibly biting back the harsh words which wanted to escape, Jim took a deep breath and met his partner's determined gaze. He was not going to verbally flay Blair again, he was not. Sandburg only wanted to help; Jim knew that. Unfortunately, missing mid-terms was not something to contemplate lightly. "Look, Chief, I appreciate the thought. I really do. But, you and I both know it's impossible."

"I'm coming along," insisted Sandburg. "Look, man--you're mentally exhausted from the heavy load this last month; it's obvious you haven't been sleeping all that well, plus that knock on the head is still bothering you, I can tell; and emotionally, well, your dad, then Carolyn, and now...this. Face it, Jim; you are a walking time bomb for a massive zone out, and you know it. You need me."

"No, Sandburg--you need to stay here and take your damn tests!" Seeing the stubbornness in every taut line of the compact body facing him, Ellison bit out, "I said no, Sandburg, and I mean it. Now, will you please just go retrieve that damn Manfred file from the computer so I can sign it and get out of here!"

Spine stiffened in outrage, face flushed, and eyes blazing with anger, Sandburg stalked past Ellison. Throwing open the office door, he vanished into the bullpen, slamming the glass door behind him.

Giving a long, weary sigh, Ellison sank down onto a chair, digging the heels of both hands into his burning eyes. "Go ahead and say it, Simon." He dropped his hands, looking up at his friend and boss out of reddened eyes. "You think I was too hard on him."

"Yeah, I do," said Banks neutrally. He poured out a mug of coffee and handed it to the other man. "He only wanted to help. To be there for you."

"God, Simon, do you think I don't know that?" shot back Ellison. "But these tests--they're just too important for Sandburg to blow off." The tired voice trailed away as the cop sipped at the bitter liquid.

"Why do I sense that's not the whole reason?" commented Simon.

Ellison didn't bother to deny it. "I know the terrain up there. It's rocky and the soil is crumbly and unstable at the best of times, and it's not been the best of times...it hasn't stopped raining in over a week. You know how much Blair hates being cold and wet. It'll be just his luck that he'll trip over a rock and break his neck or something, or the ground will give way and he'll fall into the river, or he'll get soaked and end up with pneumonia as a souvenir. I couldn't handle that, Simon; not now." Ellison's voice shook a bit before he could regain control. He gave a weak chuckle. "In fact, I think I could pretty much guarantee that I would majorly lose it if he gets so much as a paper cut at this time." Looking up pleadingly, he went on, "Blair's all the family I've got left, Simon. I can't--I won't--risk him."

Throat tightening at the haunted look in the other man's eyes, Banks nodded. "I understand, Jim; I really do. But," he pointed out gruffly, "don't you think Blair's the one who deserves to hear these reasons? Don't let him think he's just in the way--that isn't fair to either of you."

A faint grin lit the tired face. "Yes, sir. I hear and obey." Standing, he sat his coffee mug down on Banks' desk and left.

Unabashedly watching through the open blinds, Banks saw Ellison hesitantly approach his partner at the detective's desk. Not being a sentinel, he was unable to hear the conversation, but he observed Sandburg nod once, then get up to follow his partner out of the bullpen, anger still clearly evident in his posture and gait. The phone on his desk rang at that time and he answered it with a sigh.

Finally convincing the city councilman on the other end of the line that the toilet-papering of his favorite aspen did not constitute a Major Crime, Banks hung up as the door to his office opened. He took the file Sandburg handed him, but did not open it immediately. "The Manfred file?" he questioned. At the younger man's nod, he offered, "Jim's gone, then?"

"Yeah, just now." Blair nodded again, then gave a half-grin. "You can quit looking so apprehensive, Simon. We had a nice, long talk in the break room."

"Good." Tension melting noticeably, Banks fixed shrewd eyes on the anthropologist. "What did you do--make him promise not to use his senses since you won't be there?"

"Know us too well, don't you?" quipped Sandburg, then he sobered. "He apologized, said he really wanted me with him, but that he couldn't be selfish like that, not at mid-terms. I still think I should've gone with him, Simon. Senses or no, Jim shouldn't be alone right now. Not when he's just lost the last family he's ever had. I mean, losing Stephen is bad enough, but he just doted on little Jenny..." Voice wobbling, Blair swallowed audibly. "You know what I mean."

'Lost the last of his family... Damn it, Ellison, I thought you were going to tell this kid how you feel!' Inwardly cursing, Simon, nonetheless, said only, "Yeah, I do." Banks gave him a sapient look. "And I know he wasn't the only one who spoiled that little girl."

When Sandburg just shrugged, Banks stated, "You know Joel or one of the others would be happy to stay at the loft with you while Jim's gone. Just in case you need somebody."

Blair shook his head. "Thanks, but it's okay, Simon. I'm just going to be busy with taking tests and giving them this week. No need to bother anyone." Valiantly attempting to shake off the soul-deep malaise which had settled on him like a shroud, he gave a pale shadow of his usual megawatt grin. "I noticed you didn't volunteer to come over, Simon. Captain, sir."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Sandburg, but I'm already booked," answered Banks, reaching for his coat.

"Oh. Daryl coming over?"

"No." Shooing the grad student out in front of him, Banks closed his office door once they were through. Stopping by Ellison's desk long enough for Sandburg to grab his backpack, he said briskly, "I'm going to be out of town for a few days. I'm taking part in a search and rescue up near Alnisha Point."

Hiding his grin, Banks reveled in the stunned silence which lasted all the way down to the parking garage. He had unlocked his car door, and was about to slide into the driver's seat when a hand on his arm made him pause. "Yeah, Sandburg?"

"Thanks, Simon. I mean it."

"No problem, kid." Giving a small smile at the earnest eyes staring up at him, Banks added, "I'll watch out for him, Sandburg. I promise."

"See that you do."

Getting into his car, Simon didn't make the mistake of taking the admonition lightly.


Concluded in Chapter Two