"Jim!"

The detective blinked, surprised to see Simon Banks standing next to him, a dark hand on his shoulder. "What?"

"You zoned," Simon stated flatly.

Jim lifted his gaze to the pale features of Blair lying on one of the emergency room's examination beds. He raised a hand and brushed a stray curl from Blair's smooth brow, frowning at the oxygen tube beneath his friend's nose. "Sorry, sir."

"What was it?" Simon asked, his voice less demanding.

Jim shrugged, fighting the new fear rising in his breast. "His heartbeat. I was trying to memorize it, make sure I wouldn't forget it."

Simon gave Jim's shoulder a reassuring squeeze then withdrew his hand. "Don't give up yet, Jim. We still have thirty-one hours."

Jim reached into his jacket pocket and held up the stopwatch. "Thirty hours and forty-one minutes."

Simon sighed and swung the other chair around to Jim's right side, near the foot of Blair's bed. "You ready to tell me what happened?"

Jim stiffened, his head turning toward his friend. "He's waking up." He kept a hand wrapped around Blair's wrist, feeling the faster-than-normal pulse beneath his sensitive fingers. Dark blue eyes opened, blinked and finally focused on him. "Welcome back, Chief."

Blair lifted his free hand and rubbed his forehead. "D-did you get... the license of the truck that hit me?"

Jim placed his elbows on the side of the bed and leaned forward, smiling. "I guess that answers my next question."

"What happened?"

"You didn't stay in the truck. Again."

Blair grimaced. "Shit. Brackett. The hotel." His eyes widened and his heartbeat shifted into overdrive. "I killed him."

Jim shook his head. "It wasn't Brackett."

Confusion filled Blair's expression and he started to push himself upright, but Jim's big hand in the center of his chest kept him flat.

"Stay still. The doctor put you on oxygen, and gave you something for the dizziness and nausea but it'll take about ten more minutes to kick into effect," Jim said.

Blair surrendered reluctantly. "Tell me what happened."

"You shot an FBI agent," Simon said without preamble.

Jim sent the captain a disapproving scowl. Simon didn't have to be so damn blunt about it. He erased the irritation from his face and met Blair's gaze. "The man who went into Brackett's room was an FBI agent by the name of Harold Sinclair. He was one of the agents at the meeting today -- yesterday."

"He was going to kill you," Blair said, his eyes wide and fear-filled.

"Shhh, take it easy, Chief. It was a righteous shooting. If you hadn't shot him, he would have killed me."

"So was he the inside man?" Simon demanded.

Jim shrugged. "Probably. Unless there's more than one."

Simon stood and moved to the other side of Blair's bed to gaze down at the young man. The gruff visage gave way to something akin to concern. "What do you remember Blair?" he asked.

Blair managed a weak smile. "Other than seeing who I thought was Brackett aiming a gun at Jim, not much."

"You killed him, thinking it was Brackett?" Jim asked slowly, his eyes narrowed.

Blair nodded, his confusion at Jim's apparent anger plain. "Yeah. So what about it?"

Jim pressed his lips together, forming a thin line.

"Come down to the station after you get some sleep and give your statement, Sandburg," Simon said after a long moment of awkward silence. "I'll see you later."

Jim's gaze didn't waver from Blair as he listened to Simon leave. His temper held by only a thread unraveled. "What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"What's your problem, Jim? I saved your life."

"You thought it was Brackett."

"We've already established that."

"He's the only one with the antidote," Jim said, his voice too controlled. "If it had been Brackett, you would have destroyed your only chance of surviving this thing."

Blair crossed his arms calmly. This wasn't a revelation to him. "So?"

Jim jumped to his feet, knocking his chair to the floor in his haste. "Damn it, Sandburg. You didn't have that right."

"What fucking right is that -- watch you die when I could've saved you?" Blair demanded, then wished he had restrained himself. Even though the oxygen helped, he still felt like he had just run a record mile.

Jim moved to his side in one swift motion and sat on the edge of the bed, slipping an arm around Blair's shoulders to help him sit upright. "Breathe, Chief. In and out, c'mon you can do it." Finally, he heard his friend's harsh breathing ease and laid him back against his pillow. He stood and began to pace, running a hand across his short hair. "You've already given me so much, Blair. You gave me my sanity and control of these crazy senses. You've been my back-up for three years, risking your life more times than I can remember just to make sure I hold it together." He paused and stood over his friend, gazing down into brilliant blue eyes. "If my dying would save your life, I'd make that choice without hesitation. I would've done it tonight."

Blair reached up and snagged Jim's wrist. "What about my choice? This is my life we're talking about and I think it's up to me who I risk it for." He gently tugged Jim down until he again perched on the narrow bed. "Let's say it had been Brackett and I didn't kill him. Instead, you died and Brackett escaped. I hate to tell you this, big guy, but that still would have left me without the antidote."

"We don't know that's what would have happened," Jim said stubbornly.

Blair shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. But it's a moot point. It wasn't Brackett and he still has the antidote."

"But--"

"No buts, man. We don't have time to look back," Blair said sternly.

Jim's granite expression remained unyielding for a few more moments, then a smile teased his lips. "I don't think I've ever seen this bossy side of you before, Chief."

"Hmmph. I'm surprised your animal spirit isn't a jackass."

Jim chuckled and ruffled Blair's curls. The younger man ducked, but he was grinning.

The doctor entered and paused momentarily, smiling as she watched their antics. "It looks like Mr. Sandburg is feeling better."

"I'm ready to blow this Popsicle joint," Blair said with a smile.

Her amusement faded as she approached him. "Are you sure? Detective Ellison told me about your... situation. As a doctor, I strongly recommend that you be admitted."

"No way, Doc. I'm feeling a lot better."

"That's because you've been on pure oxygen for the last hour and were given an injection to alleviate the nausea. Once you leave here, the symptoms will return fully."

Blair shook his head stubbornly. "I'm leaving, Doc, with or without your blessing."

The doctor looked to Jim who only raised his hands helplessly. "I've tried, but it's his decision."

She stared at Blair for a long considering moment, then finally nodded. "All right, but I don't agree with you."

She removed the oxygen tube and Blair felt the change immediately, but was determined to leave. "Thanks."

He maneuvered around until his legs hung from the bed. Jim took hold of his arm and helped him stand.

"Okay?" Jim asked.

"Yeah."

Jim could tell he was obfuscating again, but he allowed him to have the lie.

"You have his prescription, Detective Ellison?" the doctor asked.

Jim nodded, patting his jacket pocket. "Right here. And the other thing is in the truck."

"Good. He's going to need it." The doctor walked to the door and paused. "I pray you find the antidote in time."

"We will," Jim said in a steely voice even the devil wouldn't argue with.

She looked like she wanted to say more, but then let herself out, leaving the two men alone.

Blair pulled away from Jim to cross the floor by himself. Jim kept his pace slow as they walked side by side. His fingers wrapped around the door handle, but before he could pull it, Blair's hand settled on his. He met his friend's somber look.

"If I had known this would happen three years ago when we met, this still would've been my choice," Blair said, intensity echoing in his softly-spoken words. "Do you understand?"

I wish I didn't. His throat full and aching, Jim nodded. "I understand."

Then Blair gifted him with one of his dazzling smiles and Jim wondered what he'd done in his fucked-up life to deserve this man's friendship and loyalty.

PRESENT

The door opens and light sneaks in for a moment, illuminating the simple altar at the front of the chapel. I remain seated in the back corner, far away from the light and the new arrival doesn't notice me. The man walks to the front pew, his broad shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world rests upon them.

Or the weight of two men he cares for deeply.

I know how Simon feels. My own grief feels like a gunshot wound to the belly.

I was as confused as everyone else when Blair Sandburg became Jim's unofficial shadow. No one figured the student would last longer than a week with Major Crime's best but most obstinate detective. "His way or no way" used to be Jim's motto and heaven help the poor slobs who got in his way.

But Blair stuck with him and even made Jim a better detective -- a better man. Of course, Blair did that with everyone, including me. I had this problem with a bomb. In fact, it was one of Brackett's. I lost my nerve. Decided I couldn't handle the strain of not knowing if I'd go boom the next second or not. I talked to my wife, Simon, a department shrink, and even my barber. Everyone listened and sympathized, but nobody could figure it out. Nobody until Blair.

To this day I don't know how he did it. Maybe he talked me into losing the fear. Maybe he gave me back the faith I lost. I don't know. Whatever he did, he got me past the fear. He also got a lifelong friend in return.

My wife and I never had children. Oh, we tried, but God didn't see fit to give us any and we accepted that as part of His plan for us. Sometimes I think maybe He sent Blair Sandburg to give me a taste of what having a son would be like. I'm not afraid to admit it -- I love the kid.

Simon shifts on the cushioned pew thirty feet away. Just another miracle brought to you by Blair Sandburg. Simon -- in a house of worship? Never thought I'd see that happen again, but tragedies bound to change a person, make them want to believe that there's something out there greater than all of us.

Funny how things happen -- how one person can so profoundly change an entire department of cynical cops. If Blair's life changed us all so much, how will his death affect us? Will we all crawl back to our own desks, work our own cases, arrest the bad guys and go on to the next file? Or will Blair's compassion remain among us, make us look at each other as friends rather than co-workers; make us look at the victims rather than the criminals; make us look beyond the outer trappings to the person beneath?

My eyes fill with tears and silent sobs shake my shoulders.

Why Blair, God? Is this all part of your plan, too? If so, tell me so I can comfort my friends in the days ahead.

So I can comfort Jim Ellison who I'm afraid will retreat once more into the cold hard shell of the man he was before Blair....

ONE DAY PREVIOUS

"Okay. Thanks, Joel. We'll be down in a couple hours." Jim hung up the phone and glanced at his watch. Nine a.m. Exactly twenty-four hours before the poison killed his guide and best friend.

The french doors opened and Blair emerged, his curls nearly flat on one side of his head and wild on the other. He shuffled into the bathroom like he had aged fifty years overnight. The brief glimpse Jim had of his haggard face revealed his exhaustion and pain.

Jim's fingers tightened around his coffee cup. Should he push Blair to go into the hospital? The medication the doctor had prescribed for him only treated the nausea and dizziness, two symptoms which would continue to worsen. She had also given him a portable oxygen tank. As the poison progressed, the pure oxygen would help the damaged red blood cells work as efficiently as possible, but after the cell count dipped below a certain point, no amount of oxygen would help. Nothing but the antidote would in the last hour or two. And even that was iffy.

Jim heard Blair exit the bathroom and stumble back into his room. He forced himself to remain seated at the table when all he wanted to do was help his roommate. Ten minutes later Blair shambled into the kitchen and sank into a chair.

"Morning, Chief," Jim greeted, determined to keep his fear from showing in spite of the alarming heartbeat of his guide.

"Morning," Blair said huskily.

Jim reached over and poured Blair a cup of coffee which he handed to his roommate.

"Thanks," Blair murmured. After drinking nearly half of it, he smiled. "Never underestimate the power of caffeine."

Jim smiled back, but nearly lost his composure when he noticed the dark circles beneath Blair's eyes and the pallor of his skin. He opened his mouth to ask him how he felt, but abruptly clamped down. He turned his gaze back to the file laid out in front of him.

"What's that?" Blair asked.

"Harold Sinclair's file. I thought I'd see if I could find anything that linked him to Brackett."

"Anything?"

Jim shook his head in exasperation. "No. He's clean."

"How'd you get a hold of it?" Blair paused as he dragged air into his laboring lungs. "The feds aren't real keen on letting us peons see their personnel files."

"I called a marker in."

Blair shook his head, half in exasperation, part in fondness. "You eat breakfast yet?"

"Yeah, but I'll make whatever you'd like."

"To be perfectly honest, I'm not real hungry." Blair laughed weakly. "You'd think after losing everything I ate in the past two days--" he paused to regain his breath, "--I'd be able to eat a seven course meal, but the thought of food only makes my stomach queasy."

"How about a piece of toast so you can take one of those pills the doc gave you last night?" Jim asked, keeping his voice light.

Blair grimaced but surrendered. "Dry."

"No butter. Gotcha." Relieved to be able to do something, Jim undid the wire twisty and reached in the plastic bag to retrieve a slice of sourdough bread. He popped it in the toaster. "It'll be ready in a minute." He crossed the kitchen and retrieved the pill bottle from a drawer. He shook a single pill out and placed it on the table in front of Blair. "Don't take that until you eat some of the toast."

Blair's crooked smile made Jim turn away quickly. In less than a day, that beloved smile might be gone forever.

The bread popped up and Jim carried it to the table. He laid it on his own plate and pushed it over to Blair. "Eat up."

Jim picked up Sinclair's file and pretended to read while he kept his senses aimed at Blair.

"Give it up, man," Blair said.

"What?" Jim asked.

"I'm okay," Blair said, then added wryly, "For someone who has this manmade poison running around in his veins."

Jim gave up his pretense and closed the file. He shifted his chair so he faced Blair and leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. "How bad is it?"

For a moment, he thought Blair would fall back on one of his obfuscations again, but his friend lowered his mask and Jim was shocked by the distress in his ashen complexion. "I never knew a person could hurt in every square inch of his body," Blair whispered hoarsely. "I have bruises that I have no idea where they came from. My stomach feels like I just ate some of Simon's red rice and beans. And I could do a commercial for Excedrin with a headache this size." Blair held his hands out a foot on either side of his head. He smiled, but his eyes glistened. "But I won't slow you down, Jim. I'll stay right beside you as long as you need me."

"Jesus, Sandburg." Jim leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Blair gently, afraid to hold him too tightly, and held him close to his chest. He felt his friend's sweat-pearled forehead rest in the curve of his neck and the minute tremors skimming just under his too-warm skin.

"I'm scared, Jim. I don't want to die," Blair murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears.

Guilt assailed Jim as he gently rocked his best friend, unable to find the words to reassure him. Blair's body shuddered as his arms snaked around Jim's waist, clutching him tightly, but Jim didn't smell the salty tang of tears, only fear. The sentinel closed his eyes and fought to hold back his own tears. He listened to Blair's lungs struggle for air and the blood moving languidly through his veins, mocking Jim with his helplessness against the deadly invisible threat.

The fan's blades twirled lazily. Jim rubbed Blair's soft flannel shirt. The refrigerator motor hummed. Blair gripped Jim's denim shirt in his fists. A car horn honked on the street below.

Normalcy taunted them.

After several more minutes passed, Blair drew away from the sheltering arms and pushed himself upright. Jim's hand slid off his friend's shoulders reluctantly. Keeping his head bowed so his long hair curtained his face, Blair stood and shuffled into the bathroom. Jim heard the faucet come on and the sound of cupped water splashed across skin. A groan so quiet Jim's sentinel senses almost missed it reached inside him and twisted his entrails into a knot.

Swallowing hard, Jim cleaned off the table, wrapping up his emotions in the everyday task. When Blair rejoined him, Jim plucked his coat off a hook and held it while Blair painstakingly stuck one arm into a sleeve, then the other. Jim donned his own jacket and picked up Blair's backpack.

"Thanks," Blair said, his voice only a little more raspy than normal. "I have to enter the grades this morning."

"I can do it," Jim offered as he ushered Blair out the door.

"No way, man. With your typing skills, you'll be giving them Vs instead of Bs and Zs instead of As."

"You trying to tell me something here, Sandburg?" Jim bantered.

Blair smiled though it was a shadow of his usual one. "Me? Subtle? C'mon, Jim."

Chuckling, the two men took the elevator by unspoken pact. After ensuring Blair was belted into the passenger seat, Jim started the truck and drove south on Prospect.

"This isn't the way to the station," Blair said.

"I want to check out Brackett's motel room. We might find something," Jim said.

Blair nodded. "Good idea."

They went the remainder of the distance in silence, though to Jim's sensitive hearing, Blair's respiration and heartbeat resounded loudly within the truck cab. After they arrived, Jim crammed his hands into his jacket pockets, determined to allow Blair his independence for as long as possible. He matched his friend's slow pace, even slowing it a little further without Blair realizing.

A few minutes later, Jim raised the yellow police tape crisscrossing Brackett's motel room door and allowed Blair to duck beneath it. He followed and stood in the center of the small room for a moment.

"Let's start by the bed," Blair suggested.

With Blair using his low-modulated guide voice, he walked Jim around the room and through every sense. Jim's hypersenses picked up his own and Blair's scents from the night before, gunpowder, and the aftershave Sinclair had been wearing. He spent a long time by the bed, trying to find something which would clearly indicate Brackett had been there, but there was nothing.

"How can a man spend two days in a room and not leave some sign that he was here?" Jim demanded.

Blair's brow furrowed. "Maybe he wasn't here."

"What?"

"Maybe he rented the room, but didn't stay here."

"A smokescreen? Why?"

Blair shrugged. "I don't know."

Jim rubbed his chin. "You might have something there, Chief. Brackett's a loner, right?" Before Blair could answer, Jim forged ahead. "Maybe the only way he could get out of prison was to sign on with whoever was pulling the strings -- his puppetmaster. Knowing Brackett likes to work for himself and no one else, he's probably angry because he's not in control."

"Then why doesn't he disappear?"

"Because he can't. He knows his boss will use all of his resources to track him down and more than likely kill him for daring to get out of his contract. Maybe he used this room to set somebody up."

"You think Sinclair was his boss?"

Jim shook his head. "No, he was hired muscle. What if Brackett saw us staking out the motel and called Sinclair, asking him to meet him here? Brackett would know I'd go after him."

"But you might have figured out it wasn't Brackett," Blair interjected, puzzled.

"It was a risk Brackett was willing to take to get rid of one of his keepers." Jim went back to the door and flicked the light switch a few times. Nothing happened. "What do you want to bet Brackett did something to the wiring?"

"Brackett knows about your sentinel senses -- he would know the darkness wouldn't stop you from recognizing Sinclair."

Jim frowned and shrugged. "It's hard to tell how Brackett thinks."

Blair raked his long hair back. "Damn it, Jim, this is getting weirder and weirder."

"Yeah, it is. I'm beginning to wonder if he really wants me to assassinate Sahir, or if he's got some other agenda."

"If he does, I wish he'd let us know what it is," Blair groused.

Jim nodded. "Are you ready to head to the station?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Sighing, Blair trudged across the room and ducked under the yellow tape.

Jim caught an odd scent, so faint it was almost nonexistent. He stood motionless, sifting through his memory, but this odor was new.

"What is it?" Blair asked from the hallway.

"I'm not sure, Chief. I barely caught this scent with my smell dialed all the way up."

"What is it? Something you can recognize?"

Jim shook his head. "No."

"Brackett?"

"Maybe."

"File it away so if you run into it again, you'll recognize it."

"Gotcha." Jim joined his partner.

Half an hour later, they arrived at CPD headquarters. Jim watched Blair consciously draw his shoulders back before they stepped out of the elevator on the seventh floor. He even managed to put a fraction of his bounce back into his step.

"It's about time you two dragged your lazy butts in here," H called out from behind his desk

Blair smiled and Jim could see his relief.

"Very funny, H. You keep eating those doughnuts and your lazy butt's not going to fit in that chair," Blair retorted.

Jim frowned at the hitch in Blair's lungs and the increased respiration level. "Why don't you sit down by my desk and I'll go check in with Simon?"

Blair didn't have the strength to argue as he used every ounce of willpower to maintain his mask. After Jim disappeared into Simon's office, Megan joined the observer with a worried frown.

"Are you sick, Sandy?" she asked without preamble. "You look a little blue there."

Blair forced a smile. "Just a cold. Nothing to worry about."

"As long as it's not the flu," Rafe said as he paused beside Megan. "We don't need another bug running through the department. Remember the one last year, Blair? It got everyone except Jim -- until the end, and then he got it worse than anyone else." Rafe shuddered. "We all wondered if Blair would survive."

Megan smiled. "I can imagine Jim isn't the most agreeable patient."

Blair snorted. "You don't know the half of it." A pain shot through his chest and he clenched his teeth.

"Sandy?" Megan's concern was back.

He managed a little wave. "I'm fine. Really. Now if you two don't mind taking the coffee klatch someplace else, I have grades to post."

The door to Simon's office flew open and Jim strode unerringly toward Blair. Megan and Rafe took several steps back.

"Something going on here?" Jim asked casually, but Blair heard the intensity behind the question.

"We were just shooting the bull," Blair said. "You know, the morning ritual of every office in the country."

After some half-hearted waves, Rafe and Megan retreated to their desks to begin their work.

"Good job, big guy, scaring them off like that," Blair said huskily, but with a smile which told Jim he wasn't really angry.

Jim moved his chair a little closer to Blair's and sat down. "Your heart went off the chart there, buddy. Are you okay?"

Blair nodded tersely, feeling his neck muscles protest the everyday motion. "We're going into the home stretch so it's bound to get worse, but I can handle it."

Jim sighed as he continued to gaze at him. "Is there any way I can convince you to let me take you to the hospital?"

"Nope," came the immediate answer.

"I was afraid of that." Jim laid a hand on Blair's shoulder.

Although the touch was light, Blair cringed. It seemed the poison was even stealing the one thing which could soothe him -- Jim's touches.

As if sensing his distress, Jim withdrew his hand. He leaned over and plucked Blair's backpack from the floor. Opening it, he pulled out the laptop and proceeded to make a place for it on his desk, then booted it up. "Where are the grades?" he asked softly.

"In a file on top," Blair answered.

Jim found the file and set it down beside the computer. "Need anything else?"

"Coffee?"

"You got it. I'll be right back."

By the time Jim returned from Simon's office where he actually managed to convince the captain to give up some of the good stuff, Blair had connected with the university and was pulling up the first student on his list.

"Thanks," he said to Jim as he accepted the coffee mug.

"No problem, Chief. I'm going to do some paperwork. If you need anything--" Jim speared him with an intense gaze, "--anything at all, just let me know."

Blair nodded, using all his concentration to post the grades. His hands and fingers had begun to tingle at Brackett's motel room and were now prickling constantly. His neck and back protested his hunched-over position vehemently. A droplet of sweat slid down his spine, followed by another and another. He knew the low grade fever which had started overnight was slowly rising, but he wouldn't give in to it. Once all the grades were posted, he could take a break and wander into the restroom to splash cold water on his face.

He worked diligently, ignoring everyone around him except Jim. He was aware of the detective making some phone calls and Blair was fairly certain all of them involved Prince Sahir except for those where Jim bullied for information about Sinclair.

Shot. Dead. Took a gun in my hands and took a life.

To protect Jim, he argued with himself, but the defense didn't take away the actualization that a man was dead because of him. His stomach roiled and Blair swallowed, determined to ride out the nausea. A trail of sweat rolled down his cheek and dripped onto his keyboard.

The walls were closing in. Heat ripped through Blair's body. The room was suddenly without air and his lungs burned.

Familiar hands grasped his shoulders, helped him up, guided him out, away from the suffocating heat. A door was opened and closed and there was the snick of a lock. Then he was on his knees and a toilet lay before him. He vomited. Air shifted dizzily, hot then cold and back to hot. A cool palm rested against his forehead, holding his head up.

"That's it, Chief. It's okay. You're gonna be okay," Jim was saying.

The heaves stopped but then came the struggle to find air. He gasped raggedly, clutching Jim's arm tightly, knowing he was probably hurting him, but he couldn't stop. Arms cradled him tenderly, speaking soothing words which made sense at a level Blair couldn't quite grasp.

He fought for every precious molecule of oxygen, willing each one into his body. With his eyes closed, he visualized healthy red blood cells filling with oxygen and carrying it to his organs. Like a train -- a coal train -- making stops at various depots to drop off coal where it was utilized as energy.

Blair didn't know how long his battle lasted, but he finally became aware of Jim's hoarse voice close to his ear.

"C'mon Chief, you can fight this. You can do it. Damn it, you're the strongest man I've ever known," he was saying.

Blair raised his eyelids, blinked once, then again. He was sitting on the floor of a bathroom stall between Jim's outspread legs with his cheek resting against Jim's chest. He could hear his friend's heart beating, a strong reassuring sound.

"J-Jim?"

"Hey Chief, welcome back." Jim's attempt at lightness failed. "God, you scared me, Blair."

"S-Sorry, man."

Arms tightened around Blair. "No, don't be sorry, Chief. It's not your fault. It's--"

"It's Brackett's," Blair managed to say with enough force that he silenced Jim's verbal self-flagellation. He struggled to sit up and Jim helped him. "I'm okay."

Jim gritted his teeth and Blair was surprised he didn't hear enamel cracking. Jim climbed to his feet, then leaned over to help Blair up. He kept an arm around Blair's waist as he led him to a sink.

"I'm all right," Blair reiterated.

Jim stepped back reluctantly. Blair turned on the faucet, splashed cold water on his face, and rinsed his mouth. Gods, he hated the slime that filmed his mouth after puking. He lifted his head and came face-to-face with a stranger in the mirror. Sunken eyes with dark smudges beneath them, pallid complexion, chapped lips, limp hair.

"No more mirrors," he muttered, turning away as he wiped his face with some paper towels Jim handed him.

"How's the stomach?" Jim asked.

"Better, but still squeamish."

"When we get back to the bull pen, I'll dig out one of those anti-nausea pills for you."

Blair nodded and tossed the paper towels in the garbage. He glanced at the stall and grimaced. "Hope you had your smell dial turned down."

Jim shrugged. "I'm all right." He toed the floor like a child expecting to be scolded. "Don't you think it's time you call Naomi?"

"No!" Blair answered without thought.

"She's your mother, for Chrissakes."

"Drop it, Jim. I don't want her--" the younger man swallowed hard, "--watching me die. I don't want... t-to lay that on her." He raised his dull eyes. "It's bad enough knowing you'll... have to watch m-me die."

Jim's neck bowed and his shoulders shuddered. Finally he lifted his head, his face tight as he held his emotions under a tight rein. "Don't you think it's her decision?"

"It's mine." Blair broke off, alternately coughing and gasping. When Jim moved toward him, he held up his hand. "No."

"You want me to take you back to the loft?" Jim asked quietly after Blair managed to get his breathing under control.

Blair glared at him, giving his answer.

"Okay," Jim said with resignation. "But when we have the last security meeting this afternoon, I want you to take a nap in Simon's office." Blair opened his mouth to object, but Jim held up his hand. "You either rest there or I'll take you to the loft to sleep. Or the hospital."

"Damn it, Jim. You might need me at the meeting." Blair paused, panting to regain his breath again. "You're going to be listening to heart rates... t-to see who might be working with B-Brackett." He braced his hands on the sink and struggled to breathe.

"C'mon, Chief. Don't get yourself worked up here. Close your eyes and practice those deep-breathing exercises," Jim said.

Blair was glad for the excuse to close his eyes against the dizzying lights. As the hours progressed it was taking longer and longer to find his center and breathe in long even inhalations and exhalations. Jim remained close, but didn't touch him for which Blair was grateful. If he did, Blair was afraid he'd give in to his sentinel's strength and his own weakness.

Eventually the world stopped crashing down around him and Blair opened his eyes. He found Jim in the exact same place, watching him with concern etched in his face.

"Better?" Jim asked softly.

"Yeah."

"The doctor gave me a portable oxygen tank last night. It's down in the truck. I'll go get it," Jim said.

Blair grabbed Jim's arm. "Don't. If I start using it in the bull pen, everyone's going to start wondering."

Jim sighed in exasperation. "How long do you plan on pretending everything's okay?"

"I'm not pretending, man," Blair shot back. "Believe me, I know this is real. I... j-just don't want them to know yet."

He could see Jim consciously tamping down his impatience. "All right, Chief. But later, sometime before the prince's speech, I'm going to tell Joel, Megan, H, and Rafe. I need them to know what's going on and why." He took a deep breath. "And you should think about calling Naomi."

Blair gritted his teeth, but nodded reluctantly.

"Let's get back," Jim said. He unlocked the bathroom door and was grateful no one was standing in the hallway. It wouldn't have surprised him if one of their fellow Major Crime detectives had guarded the door. He ushered Blair back to the bull pen with a light hand against his back.

When they returned, heads lifted, but no one commented. Hopefully, they all thought it was merely the flu. Blair sat down carefully by his computer to finish inputting the grades.

At two o'clock, Jim stood and reached for his and Blair's jackets. "We should get going to the auditorium."

"Isn't the meeting at three?" Blair asked.

Jim nodded, holding Blair's coat out for him. "I want to get there before everyone else and have a look around to make sure no one has come in who's not supposed to be there."

Blair allowed Jim to help him into his jacket. "I thought... you weren't going to let me come."

Jim didn't meet his gaze. "I still don't want you to go, but I know you'll only argue and make yourself sicker."

Blair's throat tightened. He didn't want Jim mad at him, but he wasn't going to back down on this either. He knew Jim was going to be stretching his senses, trying to discover if there was someone else working with Brackett -- someone who was part of the federal security contingent.

The two men made the trip to the truck in awkward silence, broken only by Blair's ragged breathing. He walked hunched over and knew he resembled an old man, but the position made it marginally easier to breathe, and at this point any relief was welcome.

Jim's phone rang just as he parked behind the auditorium beside an employee entrance.

"Ellison," he answered curtly. His granite expression eased. "What did you find?" He listened for a full minute. "Nothing at all?" A load of frustration was packed into the short question. "If you find out anything, call me. I don't care what time it is. Thanks, Jack." He snapped his cell phone closed.

"Jack Kelso?" Blair asked.

Jim nodded as he gritted his teeth. "He heard back from a friend of his. The poison is a brand new one. Jack couldn't find a single person who knew anything about it. He said he'll keep trying, but he thinks it's so high up, he won't be able to find out anymore."

"Damn," Blair said hoarsely as he pressed his clenched hands into his thighs. "I was hoping Jack would come up with a miracle."

"Don't give up yet, buddy."

Blair laughed bitterly. "You don't kill Sahir, Brackett won't give us the antidote. We're screwed."

Jim reached over to rest a hand on Blair's shoulder. "Come on, Chief, don't you dare give up yet. We still have over eighteen hours for a miracle to happen."

Hadn't he already exhausted his cache of miracles -- Lash, Peru, Quinn, and Golden, just to name a few? Not to mention his death by drowning. He smiled wryly. "Sure, what's one more miracle?"

Jim looked away. "Let's go on in and make sure everything's okay."

The two men slipped out of the truck and Jim opened the auditorium employee door. He went in first, followed closely by Blair. A bare lightbulb lit the narrow corridor.

"Is this going to be guarded tonight?" Blair asked.

Jim nodded. "Definitely. In fact, I'm surprised it was unlocked now."

"You don't think anyone dropped off a bomb, do you?"

"I'm going to filter out the smells as we go to make sure there aren't any explosives."

"Ground yourself with my heartbeat so you don't zone," Blair said.

Jim tipped his head slightly and Blair knew he was doing as he'd suggested. They walked down the hallway slowly, partly for Jim to do his bloodhound routine and partly to ensure Blair's body wouldn't be overtaxed. Jim stopped by a freight elevator and the two men rode it up to the main floor.

Blair had been puzzled as to why Jim had parked by the back door this time, but now he understood. Jim was sparing him the endless stairs at the main entrance.

For the next half hour, Blair sat in a front seat of the auditorium while he watched Jim move around the stage, extending his senses to make sure there would be no surprises tonight. He would have preferred to keep close to the sentinel, but the short walk from the truck had wiped him out. It took all of his strength to remain seated upright and follow Jim's movements.

Before he could see or hear the first arrival, Blair knew someone had shown up when he spotted Jim tilt his head. For the next five minutes, federal agents and local police joined them. Blair was aware of the hostile gazes aimed his way from the feds and knew it stemmed from his shooting of Sinclair. Even though the agent had been planning to murder Jim in cold blood, the feds didn't like it. Simon started the meeting and began with an explanation of what had happened the night before. Some of the hostility faded, but most didn't. Blair sighed. It was part of the code law enforcement lived by -- take care of your own.

After Simon was done Marvin Leonard, the local head FBI agent, divided everyone into small groups and assigned them their tasks. Blair's head buzzed, but he managed to follow the main gist. Jim moved from group to group, double-checking with each one to make sure they knew their assignment. The frozen glares from the feds didn't faze him, and Jim matched them ice for ice.

The last team Jim spoke to was Joel, H, Rafe and Megan who were gathered only a few feet from Blair.

"I especially want you all to keep an eye open for Brackett," Jim said.

Joel frowned. "What's been going on, Jim?"

Blair caught Jim's gaze and he read the unspoken question in his eyes. With his heart thudding painfully, Blair nodded. It was time his friends knew the score.

Jim explained the situation and Blair endured the sympathetic looks directed his way. But beneath the sympathy was anger.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Megan demanded, concern making her voice sharp.

"It was my decision," Blair answered for Jim. "I-I didn't want anyone to know."

Joel stepped over to the student and placed a meaty hand on his shoulder. "How are you doing, Blair?" he asked softly.

Blair blinked back tears at the gentle tone. "Hanging in there, Joel."

"What's the plan?" H asked, his gaze hovering between Blair and Jim.

Jim squeezed the bridge of his nose. "There isn't one," he replied in a low voice.

"What?" Megan demanded.

"You heard him, Megan," Blair said. "He can't kill Sahir."

"Can't you stage an assassination?" Rafe asked.

Simon joined them in time to hear Rafe's question. "Too many unknown variables -- mainly the suits." The captain glanced at Blair. "You look like hell, Sandburg. You should be in the hospital."

Blair held up a hand, palm out. "Gee thanks, Simon. Jim and I have already had this discussion. He lost."

Simon grunted. "What else is new?" He turned to Jim. "Everything set?"

Jim nodded. "I handed out pictures of Brackett to everyone."

"You think he'll show?"

"I don't think he'll miss it. Son-of-a-bitch wants to see me fail."

"You still think he has someone in his pocket? Or was Sinclair it?" Simon asked.

Jim shrugged. "When I passed out the pictures of Brackett, I watched the feds' reactions. No one seemed to recognize him."

Blair knew he meant he'd used his senses as a lie detector to monitor their vitals, but couldn't admit it in front of Joel, Rafe, and H who didn't know about his sentinel senses. That would probably change after tomorrow -- everyone would have to be told about Jim's senses so they could watch for zone-outs.

Blair's breath hitched in his throat. Tomorrow at this time, Jim would be alone. The companionable evenings where sentinel and guide argued good-naturedly about whose turn it was to cook, then watched a Jags game, or worked on reports or homework would be over. It wasn't like he and Jim spent every spare moment together -- hell, every once in a while, each of them even managed to go on a date outside their busy work and school schedules. But it was the time they'd spent together which Blair grieved for. Finding a sentinel had been a dream come true, but finding a best friend in Jim had been even more extraordinary.

"Are the doors all secured?" Jim asked.

Simon nodded. "Our uniforms are checking them now. They'll all be checked again at six this evening and guarded from then until the prince leaves."

"Good. What about the feds?

"They'll be at their posts at six thirty, half an hour before the doors open." Simon turned to his gathered Major Crime detectives. "Why don't we all go get something to eat? We're going to have a busy evening." He glanced at Blair, his expression softening. "Probably a long night."

Blair swallowed hard, trying not to notice how much energy the single action required.

"Good idea. We could head over to the Thai place Hairboy likes so well," H suggested, smiling too widely.

"No thanks, guys. I think I'm going to get some rest before the performance starts," Blair said, forcing a casual grin.

A long moment of awkward silence sprang up between the detectives. Simon clapped his hands together. "Come on, people. We don't have all day. Let's go."

Megan slipped to Blair's side. "We'll see you this evening?"

"No place else I'd rather be," Blair replied.

She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "We'll get him, Sandy," she whispered.

Blair watched everyone but Jim leave. "You can drop me off at the loft and go with them."

"Like hell," Jim growled. He took a deep breath to gather his composure. "You're right about the loft, but we're both going there. I'll make you some milk toast."

"Ugh," Blair gagged. "You can't be serious."

Jim shrugged, though his eyes twinkled. "Any time Stephen or I was sick, Sally would make us milk toast."

Blair grunted. "That explains a lot."

Jim came over to Blair's side and grasped his arm to help him stand. "What does that mean, Sandburg?"

Though Blair hated to admit it, he was grateful for Jim's support. His muscles felt like... milk toast. "You figure it out, man," Blair bantered.

Leaning heavily on his partner, Blair made it to the truck then collapsed. He was aware of Jim pulling his seatbelt across him, but it was taking all of his energy to breathe. Jim reached behind the seat, then Blair felt a mask being held over his nose and mouth. The cool energizing stream of air brought reality back into focus.

Jim reached for his hand and placed it against the clear mask. "Hold it there, Chief."

Blair nodded, not wanting to deplete the precious oxygen by talking.

Jim slammed his door shut and climbed in behind the wheel, but the motor wasn't started. Blair turned his head to look at Jim, only to find anguished blue eyes on him. With his free hand, Blair clumsily reached across the seat to lay his palm on Jim's arm. "It's okay, Jim," he rasped out.

Anger leapt into the detective's face, but Blair knew it wasn't directed at him. "No, it's not okay, but there's not a damn thing I can do about it." Jim struck the steering wheel with a fist and Blair flinched. "I feel so fucking helpless, Blair. It's tearing me apart to see you like this and to know if you hadn't gotten involved with me, you'd be in some safe college classroom."

"And b-bored as hell," Blair said with a little smile.

Jim's breath hitched in his throat. "Better to be bored, than dead."

"Haven't you... heard the s-saying... bored to death?"

Jim laughed, but it sounded more like a strangled sob. "Shut up, Sandburg."

The guide obeyed his sentinel.

PRESENT

I will not cry, damn it. I fight the tears which fill my eyes and curse my weakness. Rafe and H aren't sitting here blubbering like a couple of sheilas. But looking at their eyes, they do seem to glisten a little....

I force myself to remain seated in the uncomfortable chair and glance up at the clock on the wall -- 6:05 a.m. A little less than three hours left...

I wonder when I allowed myself to get so close to these people... to Sandy. I was only supposed to be here a month, maybe two, on the officer exchange program, but somehow it kept getting extended. I even finally broke into the tight circle of Major Crime. I have to admit much of my acceptance came from the man who has brought us all to this hospital -- to his death watch.

A tear trickles down my cheek and I brush it away impatiently. If Lee Brackett ever crosses my path, I will shoot the bastard whether he has a gun or not.

I've only hated one other person this badly and he's serving time in prison. Sometimes I imagine killing him -- slowly and painfully. I'm doing the same with this Brackett person right now. I know I'm an inspector, duly appointed to uphold the law, and I know what I'm thinking is wrong, but it's only a fantasy. We all have them and we all hide them from the rest of the world.

Take the undercover assignment where Sandy posed as my artist lover. Most of what we were doing in the bedroom was acting, but there was a small part of me which enjoyed it. Not that I would ever admit it to anyone...

Fantasies -- we all have them.

My fantasy now involves seeing Sandy bouncing along behind Jim, talking about some ancient civilization as they enter the Major Crime bull pen. It's funny. I can't imagine one without the other -- Blair without Jim; Jim without Blair.

Sentinel without Guide; Guide without Sentinel.

Damn. The tears refuse to listen to my threats and roll down my cheeks. A white handkerchief is pressed into my hand and I manage a slight smile of gratitude for Rafe.

I haven't seen Captain Banks or Joel, but I suspect they're not far away. Rhonda would be here, but she doesn't know. Maybe we should have told her. Maybe I should call her.

A nurse strides down the corridor, her soft-soled shoes almost soundless on the shiny floor. She stops in the waiting room and looks at us. "There's a phone call for a Detective Ellison at the desk."

I stand before Rafe or H have time to move. "I'll get him."

Grateful for something to do, I walk toward the ICU area. My stomach is twisted into a knot -- it feels a bit like one of those pretzels the Yanks are so fond of.

I press my hand to the door, but pause. I'm certain Jim's extraordinary senses have told him I'm out here, but suddenly I feel like an intruder. I haven't felt this way since I first arrived in Cascade.

I'm not sure I can do this. Jim won't want to leave Sandy's side for even a minute. Maybe I should have questioned the nurse about the phone call. But then maybe it's good news -- maybe one of Jim's sources have found a miracle.

Steeling my backbone, I push open the door and enter.

TWELVE HOURS PREVIOUS

Jim crossed his arms and gazed down at his best friend, who slept soundly on the couch beneath a pile of blankets. Blair's cheeks were flushed, but the rest of his face was pale. The fever he had been tolerating had risen to over a hundred degrees and continued upward with each passing hour. A faint blue tinge ringed his lips, but Jim was certain only he could see it because of his sentinel vision. He suspected it would become visible to everyone in a few hours.

He clamped down hard on his emotions, afraid to give in even for a moment -- afraid he would lose the edge he needed tonight. There would be no second chances -- no three strikes and you're out. If Brackett was there tonight, Jim had to find him. He was Blair's one and only chance at survival.

Jim had taken advantage of the time to make some calls and come up with something resembling a plan. It was by no means foolproof and could barely be called a plan, but it was more than they had three hours ago.

Though he wished he didn't have to wake him, Jim squatted down beside the couch and gently shook Blair's shoulder. "Come on, buddy. It's show time."

Blair groaned and his bleary eyes flickered open. "Jim?"

"Yep. Think you can manage to get up?"

The younger man didn't waste energy on words but pressed back his covers. Jim helped, pulling the blankets off Blair's curled-up body and hating himself for having to do it. Blair maneuvered around in slow motion and planted his feet on the floor. He propped his elbows on his knees and scrubbed his hands through his unruly hair. "I shoulda tied it back," he murmured. "Don't think I have... the s-strength to do it now."

"No problem," Jim said. He hurried into Blair's room and grabbed a hair tie from his desktop. Returning to the living room, he sat on the couch beside his friend and gathered the frizzed hair into a ponytail. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks, man." He wrapped his arms around himself and doubled over. "Ah geez, Jim, I feel... like shit."

"Let me take you to the hospital, Blair. They can make you more comfortable."

"No." The single word left no doubt Blair wouldn't even consider it.

Sighing, Jim reached for Blair's shoes. He knelt before his guide and fixed the Nikes on his feet, then tied the laces snugly.

"Thanks." Blair raised an arm. "Help me up."

Jim stood and took hold of his arm firmly but gently and tugged him to his feet. He wove a bit, but managed to stay upright with Jim's help.

"I can do it," Blair said in a raspy voice, shaking off Jim's assistance.

The older man stepped back, but didn't stray far from his side. "Can you eat anything?"

"No," came the short reply.

"Not even milk toast?" Jim teased, hoping to get a smile from his friend.

He did, though it was only a mere fraction of Blair's usual amused grin. By the door, Blair stopped, braced a hand against the Red Heron Hooks poster. After Jim assisted him into his coat, Blair straightened and turned to gaze at the loft, his eyes filled with a mixture of happiness and melancholy.

Jim could feel the emotions emanating from his guide, but didn't know if it was because they harbored a weird sentinel/guide bond or because his sentinel senses could actually detect his best friend's feelings. He moved closer, wrapped an arm around Blair's waist -- supporting him both physically and emotionally. "What is it?" he asked softly.

"This is... the f-first place I ever called... home," Blair stammered. "Thanks to you, I... understand."

"Understand what, Chief?"

Blair turned so he could gaze up into Jim's face. "A home is... m-more than four walls. It's--" His voice broke, but he struggled valiantly ahead, "--It's who you share it with."

Jim blinked to counter the stinging in his eyes. "Yeah, it is, Chief."

The afternoon was shifting to dusk as Jim drove to the auditorium. Blair watched the familiar lights of Cascade come to life, heralding the end of another day -- his last day. He accepted his fate, but knew his destiny was linked with Jim's. If Jim couldn't accept his death, the sentinel wouldn't survive. He alone knew how stubborn the detective was and how his emotions could banish his hypersenses. His accidental shooting of a security guard and Danny Choi's death had proven Jim's control of his senses depended on his mental well-being.

"How're you doing, Chief?" Jim asked.

"Fine."

"I can get the oxygen for you."

Blair shook his head. "Save for later."

He started to abbreviate his sentences to conserve his strength. Shifting on the seat, Blair stifled a groan. He was one big aching muscle and felt about a hundred years old. His stomach made a few half-hearted attempts toward nausea, but didn't succeed. He placed two fingers across his wrist and counted the beats for ten seconds, then multiplied the number by six. One hundred and fifty beats per minute. He grinned to himself -- only about eighty above his normal pulse.

Jim glanced at him, but didn't say anything. It was clear he knew what Blair was doing, but let him have his distraction. And Blair definitely needed some diversion from the self-pity party which was rallying inside him.

Jim parked the truck by the door they had used that afternoon. Only one other vehicle was nearby -- a dark sedan.

"Stay," Jim ordered. "I'll come around to help you."

"Woof," Blair said, a slight twinkle in his sunken eyes.

Jim smiled. "Good boy."

Five minutes later, Blair leaned heavily on Jim as they rode the freight elevator up to the main floor. They had surprised the uniformed cop who had been on duty at the back door, but he had let them in after Jim had shown proper identification. His arms crossed tightly against his chest, Blair moved away from Jim as they stepped off the elevator.

"I have to," Blair said huskily.

Jim nodded, understanding his friend had to do this on his own. He had to be allowed to hold on to his pride.

Each step was agony and Blair's lungs burned like lava had been poured straight into them. Sweat trickled down his cheeks and he kept wiping it away so no one would see the fever-induced moisture. His body begged him to lie down and curl up into a ball, but Blair didn't have that option and he stubbornly shuffled into the auditorium.

Big hands settled on his shoulders and he looked up to see Simon's eyes peering down at him. "Shouldn't you be in bed?" the captain asked, concern shading his tone.

"Not until... this is... over," Blair managed to say. "S-Sit down."

Jim took Simon's place and steered him to a nearby seat. He patted Blair's knee. "Relax, Chief. We're just going to go over some last minute stuff."

Blair wondered if they had come up with some plan of attack while he'd been sleeping. Jim didn't mention it, but then he wouldn't. Sometimes the sentinel thought his shoulders were wide enough to shoulder the world. Someone ought to tell the man his name wasn't Atlas.

Jim cast Blair a worried glance, but he seemed to be breathing a little easier now that he was seated and still.

"You shouldn't have brought him, Jim," Simon said in a low voice.

"You think I had a choice?" Jim demanded, his hair-trigger temper aroused.

Simon planted a beefy hand on his arm. "Take it easy, Jim. I know how stubborn he can be." His expression eased and a slight smile lifted his lips. "That stubbornness has saved him in the past."

"Without the antidote, stubbornness can only do so much." He raked a shaking hand over his short hair. "Everything set?"

Simon nodded. "I've put Joel, Rafe, H and Megan in the highest observation posts. You'll be up in the lighting booth. You'll have a birds-eye view of the entire auditorium without the lights bothering your eyes."

Jim nodded. "What about the sniper rifle?"

"It's up there already. The six of us will be on a separate channel from the rest of the security contingent. If anyone sees Brackett, they'll contact you so you can track him." Simon pursed his lips. "I know you can't be planning to kill him since he's the only one with the antidote."

"That's right, but if he tries to take out Sahir, I'll have to shoot and I have the best chance of only wounding him."

Simon reached into his pocket and withdrew a cigar. He removed the cellophane wrap and placed the unlit stogie between his lips. "Where do I fit in your scheme?"

"You have the most important assignment -- take care of Sandburg. I won't risk having him climb all the stairs to the lighting booth, but I need to know he's safe."

Simon's eyes glistened suspiciously. "Give me the easy job," he said, hiding his worry behind gruff sarcasm. He sobered. "Don't zone trying to listen for his heartbeat. You need to be at one hundred percent."

Jim smiled wryly. "I don't have to try. If he's within a thousand foot radius, I'll hear him."

Simon's eyes widened, but he held up a hand before Jim could say more. "Too much information." He took a deep breath as he rolled the cigar between his fingers. "I'll put him in a chair beside me backstage."

"Thanks, Simon."

"Don't thank me. He's one of us and we take care of our own." Simon gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "Why don't you let your partner in on the plan?"

"Gee, thanks, Simon. I was hoping you might do it."

"You have more experience dealing with Sandburg than I do." Simon grinned. "Go get 'em, Tiger."

Jim sent him a feigned glare, then joined his guide. He sat down beside him, registering the fast heartbeat and ragged respiration, not to mention the fever's heat which came off him in waves. "Hanging in there, Chief?"

"Am I?" Blair arched an eyebrow.

Jim laughed. "You know me too damn well, buddy." He leaned toward Blair and rested his forearms on his thighs. The moment of light-heartedness faded. "We've got every exit and entrance covered. If Brackett shows, we'll get him."

Blair smiled sadly. "You'll try."

"No! We will get the bastard and the antidote, too."

"Whatever you say, Jim." Blair studied him closely.

"What? I have some spinach between my teeth?" Jim teased.

"No."

Jim expected him to say more, but the student remained mute. "I'll be up in the lighting booth watching everybody."

Blair's eyes flashed with something akin to panic. "What about me?"

"You're going to be backstage with Simon."

"No. The guide stays... with his s-sentinel."

Jim gripped his shoulders, careful not to hurt him. "Not this time, Chief. There's nearly fifty stairs leading to the booth. I can't risk you exerting yourself too much. It could make the poison move through your system faster and we might need every minute we can get."

Blair scowled, his displeasure evident. "All right, but no... zoning."

Jim drew an imaginary X on his chest. "Cross my heart."

Movement on the stage caught Jim's attention. "It looks like the main attraction has arrived."

Simon and Marvin Leonard were shaking hands with Prince Sahir and his official attendants when Jim joined them. The prince was younger than Jim expected, probably near Sandburg's age.

Simon introduced Jim to the six men gathered around the prince. Two of them were official escorts from the prince's native country. One was a congressman from Washington state and the other three were federal agents.

Dale Rankin, one of the FBI agents from DC who was with the prince, looked around with narrowed eyes. "You've done a good job with security."

"Thank you," Simon said. "We would hate to have something happen to the prince while visiting our city."

Rankin smiled. "I understand. This is the first city on the prince's tour."

Jim divided his attention between the conversation and checking out the six members of the prince's entourage. Their heartbeats were all a bit elevated, but that was normal under the circumstances. He examined them with his other senses, pausing when he caught the faint whiff of something familiar, but it was too fleeting to nail down.

"Prince Sahir would like to go prepare in his dressing room," one of the prince's countrymen said.

Jim watched the group leave the stage.

"I'm surprised to see Director Rankin," Marvin Leonard commented. "He doesn't normally accompany dignitaries."

"What does he usually do?" Jim asked.

"He coordinates security with all the cities the diplomat is traveling through." Leonard scratched his jaw. "I guess he got tired of sitting behind a desk." The local fed wandered off to check on his own men.

A hand on his arm startled Jim out of his thoughts and he glanced down to see Blair's pain-filled eyes staring at him.

"You okay?" Blair managed to ask.

"I'm fine, but you need to sit down."

Simon found a chair and set it just inside the edge of the curtain. "He can stay here for the entire speech."

"That wasn't a... suggestion, was it?" Blair asked as Jim led him to the chair.

"Nope," Simon replied.

"What were you doing coming up those stairs by yourself?" Jim demanded.

"There were... only three," Blair answered.

"Three too many. Geezus, Chief, what am I supposed to do with you?"

In spite of Blair's illness, he managed to give Jim a wide-eyed innocent look.

"Uh-uh, that's not going to work," Jim said.

"Come on, Jim, lay off the kid," Simon interjected.

Blair waggled his eyebrows at his partner. "Worked."

Jim rolled his eyes, but smiled gently. "That's because he's a kitty cat."

"Don't you have someplace to be?" Simon asked Jim with feigned irritation.

"Yeah, I guess." Jim frowned, looking back to where the prince had disappeared. There was something he wasn't putting together.

"What?" Blair asked with uncanny perception.

Jim blinked. "It's nothing, Chief. Now you are going to stay here and listen to Simon, right?"

Blair rolled his eyes heavenward. "Yes, Jim."

"Good." Jim shook a finger at him. "And don't overdo it. If you need something, let Simon know. He'll let me know."

"Yes, Jim," Blair repeated dutifully.

Jim gave Blair's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Hang on, Chief."

"I'm not... g-going anywhere."

For a moment, Jim merely stared at his guide. His slight frame was racked by tremors which were barely visible to the normal eye, but were all too-evident to Jim. Fatigue created dark circles beneath his eyes and fever flushed his face. He wished he could do something to help, but all he could do was hope.

"Good luck," Blair whispered sentinel-soft.

Jim sent him a quick nod then hurried up to his post. The auditorium's doors would open up in less than five minutes.

Blair tried to focus on the crowd, but his vision kept blurring from either the sweat or the poison's effect. He wasn't certain which. All he knew was he was spiraling downward faster and faster. Although he remained motionless, he still found himself working overtime to draw in enough air to keep his body upright. His hands and arms shook and he was alternately hot and cold, dependent on the fever's whims.

If only he could slink away into a corner and disappear. How much agony could a person tolerate? More than Blair had ever thought possible.

He glanced up toward the lighting booth, but his vision was cutting in and out, and the spotlights were on, making it even more difficult to focus. He curled his arms into his belly and hung his head down.

"Are you all right, Blair?" Simon asked anxiously.

He nodded, but didn't raise his head. "Makes it easier."

He felt Simon's hand come to rest lightly on his bowed back. "Hold on, kid."

Blair smiled. Kid. Maybe Simon had paternal feelings toward him. Now that thought was too weird to contemplate.

He rocked gently, easing enough of the pain to make it bearable for a few more minutes. Whatever poison was racing through him, it had a hell of a punch.

Mom. The thought came unbidden and caused a moment of panic. He should have called her when Jim suggested it. Naomi was not going to be happy hearing about his death from Jim and knowing her own son could have called.

Could he fuck anything else up? He shouldn't have let himself be injected in the first place. It would have spared everyone -- including himself -- a load of pain and grief. He wouldn't be dying and leaving Jim alone if he'd been more alert, more careful. No wonder Jim had checked on him so often. He couldn't be trusted to do anything right, not even take care of himself.

And now he was too weak to be at his sentinel's side when he needed him. What the hell good was he anyhow, besides being something else for Jim to worry about?

From far away, Blair heard applause and lifted his head. He forced himself to concentrate on the prince who stood at the lectern to begin his speech.

Jim scanned the crowd, hunting for one face among the hundreds. He allowed his sentinel vision to do a methodical search of the audience, moving back and forth across the rows. The sniper rifle sat propped against the wall beside him, loaded and ready to be used in a moment's notice. The Major Crime detectives checked in every five minutes, but so far there had been no confirmed -- or unconfirmed -- sighting of the rogue agent.

As he continued his search, Jim's thoughts took him back to the six men who escorted the prince. One of the six had triggered a memory, but of what Jim couldn't recall. It had been an ephemeral scent, but where had he smelled it before? Someplace not too long ago...

This morning. At Brackett's hotel room. The unknown odor.

Jim turned his attention from the crowd to the six men on the stage. Which one did the scent belong to? Jim focused in on the congressman, but didn't see or hear anything out of the ordinary. Damn it, this wasn't going to work. He had to smell each man.

Yeah, right Ellison. Ask the nice men nice if you can sniff them. That would go over well.

"Piggyback your sight with you hearing, Jim." Blair's words from a case long ago returned to him.

Okay, if it worked for sight and hearing, maybe it would work for sight and smell. He might zone, but he had to take the chance. Concentrating, he first consciously sought Blair's heartbeat and was distracted momentarily by the rapid beat. Allowing the sound to ground him, he extended his sight then imagined himself being on stage beside the officials. The smells inundated him immediately and he managed to filter out the common ones: the prince's expensive cologne, the congressman's perspiration, one of the agent's coffee breath, and finally, the elusive scent. Jim pushed himself, trying to discover who the faint odor belonged to -- Rankin.

Jim mentally reached for Blair's heartbeat and drew himself back, like a rope thrown to a man drowning in quicksand.

It was Director Dale Rankin. The conclusion didn't surprise Jim -- he'd already suspected something when Leonard had told him Rankin didn't usually go out into the field.

The prince's speech was coming to a close. Jim kept his steady gaze on Rankin, who seemed almost too cool and calm, though his gaze darted about quickly. But the man's heartbeat remained slow and steady, his breathing deep and regular. If Rankin had been at Brackett's apartment, either Brackett worked for him or Rankin worked for Brackett. The former seemed more feasible.

If Jim hadn't been listening so closely, he wouldn't have noticed the sudden surge in Rankin's heartbeat.

"Gun," Rankin hollered as he shot into the crowd.

Panicked pandemonium took over as people screamed and tried to escape. Jim grabbed the sniper rifle and jammed the stock against his shoulder. He'd removed the sights so he could use his own enhanced vision to find his target. He zeroed in on Rankin and found the agent on top of the prince's body as if to shield him, but Rankin's weapon was aimed at the prince's forehead.

Jim took a deep breath, sighted his target and squeezed the trigger. Rankin's gun flew in one direction as the agent was flung back in the opposite direction. Simon appeared like magic, flipping Rankin onto his stomach and dropping a knee into the agent's back to hold him down. The captain handcuffed him in record time.

Jim remained in the booth, watching the audience scatter like stampeding cattle. When he deemed it was safe, he trotted down the steps, his legs and arms shaking from the post-adrenaline rush. As he neared the stage, he saw Joel shaking his head as he knelt beside the man Rankin had shot.

"He's dead," Joel said. "No gun."

Jim gritted his teeth. Rankin had used the innocent bystander as an excuse to create chaos and planned to kill the prince himself, making it appear the deed had been done by some unknown assassin in the crowd. An assassin who would unfortunately escape in the ensuing melee -- and the dead person would have been considered an unfortunate mistake.

Son-of-a-bitch.

Jim jumped onto the stage and sent Simon only a cursory glance. His attention was already riveted to his pale, wraith-like guide.

"Did you catch B-Brackett?" Blair asked breathlessly.

"I'm sorry, Chief, but he never showed. We did get the guy we believe was pulling Brackett's strings, though. I'm betting we can get the antidote from him," Jim said with more confidence than he felt.

Blair's face fell, the last vestiges of hope erased. "Brackett wouldn't share."

"He had to have gotten the poison from someone and it seems to me this Rankin would have access to the newest weapons in the damned arsenal."

"Jim?" Blair's voice was barely audible, even to Jim's hearing.

He knelt beside his guide. "What is it, buddy?"

"I think I... should g-go to the... hospital now."

Jim's heart skipped a beat and panic robbed him of his voice for a moment. "Okay, Chief." He fought back terror. "Simon, we're going to the hospital."

The captain's eyes widened and he left Rankin in Joel's capable hands as he hurried over to the two men. "I'll leave word that if anyone sees Brackett, they're to get a hold of you or myself immediately."

"Thanks," Jim said. "Will you interrogate Rankin personally? I would, but--"

"I'll do it just as soon as I can get him down to headquarters. Take care of your partner."

Jim nodded once, then said close to Blair's ear, "Pretty soon you'll feel better, Chief."

He couldn't tell if Blair had heard him or not. It was a chore to get the younger man to his feet and when it was obvious he was incapable of walking any distance, Jim scooped him into his arms.

Blair's face rested against Jim's chest but a small smile graced his lips. "What'll the... n-neighbors think?"

"I don't give a damn what anyone thinks," Jim said, unable to camouflage his fear. If Blair said he needed to get to the hospital, he was in bad shape.

Keeping his guide's fevered body cradled in his arms, Jim carried him to his truck.

"Do you think you can stand? I have to get my keys," Jim asked gently.

Blair nodded faintly. Jim eased his feet to the ground first and leaned him against the truck beside the passenger door. Keeping one hand near his friend, Jim dug the keys out of his jacket pocket.

"It's not... s-so bad, Jim," Blair wheezed. "I remember... the fountain. Quiet. P-Peaceful."

The keys slipped out of Jim's suddenly nerveless hands. He stared at his hands, willing the feeling back into them but they remained numb.

"Goddammit," Jim swore.

"What is... it?"

"My hands. They're numb just like when Danny--" Jim couldn't finish. He dropped to his knees to pick up the keys but his fingers were useless.

Blair slid down the truck, landing on his butt on the ground. "Shit. You... can't do this, Jim." He fought for air. "D-Don't let it... happen again."

Jim sat back on his heels, his numb hands balanced on his thighs. Blair's face blurred in the darkness. "What am I going to do without you, Chief?" he asked hoarsely.

With strength Jim didn't think Blair still possessed, his guide reached for him and Jim allowed the arms to enfold him and draw him close. He laid his ear against Blair's chest and listened to his rapid heartbeat. Blair hugged him tight and rested his chin on Jim's head.

"L-Listen, Jim. I'm s-still here," Blair intoned huskily. "I'll always b-be... here for you."

Jim closed his eyes and just let his senses drink in Blair's presence -- from his unique scent mixed with fever sweat to the sound of his heart beating too quickly and too weakly.

Blair spoke again, his voice low and emotion-laden. "A sentinel will always... be a sentinel if he--" he caught his breath. "--if he chooses."

For a moment, Jim couldn't breathe. He wrapped his arms around Blair's waist snugly, drawing them even closer. "Damn it, Sandburg. You better not be giving up."

"Your hands?"

Jim blinked and realized the feeling had returned. "They're back." He reluctantly unwound himself from his guide and helped him to his feet. "Time to get you to the hospital."

"I'm hoping... for s-some good drugs," Blair said with a half-smile.

"I'm hoping for an antidote," Jim said grimly. "Up you go, Chief."

Two hours later, Blair had been admitted to the intensive care unit. His room had a large window where he could be watched and there were machines and beeps and IVs to keep him company.

Jim stood over him, gazing down at his friend's face which had lost some of its bluish hue, but it was only temporary. The oxygen helped now but would lose its effectiveness as the seventy-two hour deadline neared. Blair seemed to be sleeping and Jim hated to wake him.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the stopwatch. They had passed the sixty-two hour mark and were climbing to sixty-three -- less than ten hours remained.

The door opened and a nurse stuck her head in. "You have a phone call, Detective Ellison. It's a Captain Banks," she said quietly.

He nodded at her and she backed out, leaving them alone again. Jim pressed his palm to the side of Blair's fever-flushed face. "I'll be back in a minute," he whispered.

Jim slipped out of the room and strode down the hallway to the nurse's station. He picked up the phone. "Ellison."

"Jim, it's Simon. We've got Rankin but he won't tell us where Brackett is. He wants to cut a deal."

"Then do it. We need the antidote, Simon."

"Rankin will plead guilty to accidental manslaughter for Brackett's location."

"What? He shot an innocent man in cold blood and was getting ready to murder another. And God knows how many other assassinations he's engineered."

"The DA doesn't like it at all, but that's Rankin's deal."

Jim rubbed his brow, wishing his headache would ease. "We don't have a choice."

There was a long moment of silence at the other end, then finally, "Is Blair conscious?"

"He's resting." Jim scowled. "Why?"

A long sigh filled with anguish came through the receiver. "It should be his choice."

"What?"

"You heard me, Jim. If we make this deal, Rankin gets away with murder, literally." Simon paused. "The victim had a wife, a little girl and another child on the way. What do you think Sandburg would say about his murderer getting off?"

Hot anger pulsed through Jim. "I don't give a damn what he would say. If we don't make this deal, Blair is as good as dead."

"Talk to Sandburg. It's Blair's choice."

Jim wanted to throw the phone against the wall, but it wouldn't rid him of the acid in his belly or the horrible fear in his heart. He knew Simon was right, but he was almost certain he knew what Blair's decision would be. He took a deep steadying breath. "I'll call you back."

"All right."

Jim placed the receiver back in its cradle and closed his eyes. His instincts screamed to do something -- anything -- to save his guide, but the decision had been taken from him.

Steeling his spine, Jim opened his eyes and returned to Blair's room. The lights had been dimmed, but with his sentinel vision, it could have been noon. He forced himself to walk over to the bed and gently shook Blair's shoulder.

"Chief, are you awake?" Jim asked softly.

Blair muttered something unintelligible, but a moment later his familiar blue eyes were aimed at Jim. "Hey."

The older man smiled and leaned over the bed, resting his arm on the pillow above Blair's head. "Hey, yourself. How do you feel?"

"You're beginning t-to... sound like a broken record," Blair teased. "Better."

"They put you on oxygen right away and gave you some of those good drugs."

Blair managed a shaky grin which quickly disappeared. "You l-look like hell."

"Simon just called. Do you remember what happened at the auditorium?"

The student's brow furrowed. "One of the agents b-by Sahir... yelled gun. He shot someone."

"The agent was an FBI director and there was no gun. He faked the alarm, shot an innocent man in the front row and was going to shoot Sahir. I shot his gun out of his hand. Simon's been interrogating him."

Blair studied him. "There's s-something... you're not telling me."

"We think this director, Rankin, was the one pulling Brackett's strings." Jim swallowed hard. "He'll make a deal -- he'll tell us where Brackett is in exchange for the DA accepting a guilty plea for accidental manslaughter."

Blair appeared to be processing the information. "It was first degree m-murder."

Jim nodded. "And attempted murder of the prince."

Blair closed his eyes, fatigue awash in his pale complexion. "Will the DA accept?"

"He doesn't want to, but it's your life we're talking about."

"Who was... the man?"

Jim wished he hadn't asked, but had known he would. "Someone with a wife, daughter and another child on the way."

"Shit."

"My thoughts exactly." He paused, moving his hand to the top of Blair's head. "What do you want to do?"

"If I s-say... accept the d-deal, Rankin only g-gets a... slap on the wrist."

Jim wished he could lie. "Yes."

"He's probably... killed more."

Jim closed his eyes against his pain. "Probably, but whatever you decide won't bring back any of them. But if you decide to accept the deal, you can live."

"Will I?" Blair gathered his strength. "What if he's lying? What... if Brackett is already... g-gone? The deal happens. I die. Rankin wins."

"I-I can't give you any guarantees, Chief. I wish to God I could, but I can't."

Blair's head moved minutely from side to side. "No deal."

"Damn it, Sandburg. This is your only chance. Our last chance."

"My life... for all the others who... would be k-killed by Rankin in the... future."

"Please, Chief -- Blair. What if he's found innocent and gets off anyhow?"

"No. My choice, Jim."

Tears burned in the detective's eyes but he trapped them with sheer force of will. "That's what Simon said -- he said it was 'Blair's choice.'"

"Smart m-man," Blair said weakly. "Call Naomi?"

Jim blinked, then nodded. "I left a message for her while they were getting you set up here."

"Good." Blair closed his eyes, exhausted. "I think... I'll sleep now."

Jim listened to Blair breathe for a few minutes, then walked to the door. He would have to call Simon and give him Blair's answer. What if he lied -- said Blair told him to accept the deal?

He shook his head. He couldn't betray his best friend, even if it meant his death. Jim sucked in a lungful of air, but couldn't displace the overwhelming sorrow which permeated every single cell in his body.

It was Blair's choice -- just as it had been from the moment the overeager anthropology student had entered Jim's life.

PRESENT

"You have a phone call."

Connor's voice surprises me. I didn't even hear her enter, but then my senses are totally focused on my guide, as they have been since he made his choice and fell asleep, then descended into a coma without waking again. The doctor said it was his body preparing for the final decline to death.

"Who is it?" I ask, keeping my gaze on Sandburg's pale features and my hand on his arm.

"I don't know. Do you want me to find out?"

For the first time since I met her, Connor sounds unsure of herself.

I shake my head, thinking maybe Jack Kelso has come up with a miracle.

"I'll be back in a minute, Chief," I whisper to my friend.

Reluctantly, I draw away from him. The moment my hand leaves his arm, I feel a sense of loss which nearly drops me to my knees. If I'm this bad already, what will happen when Blair takes his last breath and I can no longer touch him?

Connor takes a hold of my arm and escorts me down the hall. I must really be in bad shape, but her support is welcome even though I don't have the strength to thank her. At the nurse's desk, I'm handed the phone and I put myself on automatic pilot. "Ellison."

"Detective Ellison, this is Sergeant Larson from lock-up. I was told to contact you if anything strange happened with Rankin."

I straighten, suddenly wide awake. "What is it?"

"Rankin hanged himself in his cell. There was an envelope pinned to his jacket with your name on it."

My world tips on its axis. "Has it been opened?"

"Not yet. We thought you'd like to do it."

"Open it, Sergeant. Now." I know I sound a little crazy but something weird is going on here.

There's the sound of an envelope being sliced open, and paper and something else being drawn out of it.

"Uh, the note's addressed to you."

"Read it."

"You gave me my keeper so I could be freed. Your payment is enclosed -- let it be your guide until we meet again."

"Is it signed?"

"No, but there's also a small bottle in the envelope. It says Blair Sandburg on the label."

"Get it down to Cascade General immediately, Sergeant! Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I'll bring it myself."

"Sirens and lights, Sergeant. Move it!"

I slam the phone down and grab the nearest living object which happens to be Connor. I spin her around and around until I'm sure she's going to have me carted off to the eighth floor to study ink blots. I finally set her down and kiss her cheek. "He's going to live!"

Before she can slap me or take her turn at kissing me, I'm racing back to Blair's room, bursting to tell him the good news. I know he can't hear me, but it doesn't matter.

I try to calm myself, take a few deep breaths -- Blair would be proud of me -- and enter the room. I lean over my guide and have to touch him so I frame his precious face between my palms. "Hang on, Chief. The antidote is on its way." I need more contact so I bring my forehead down to meet his. "You're going to live, Blair. You're going to be my guide until we're both old and gray and we'll still be arguing about the hot water and the Discovery channel and hair in the bathroom." I laugh even as two tears roll down my cheeks and drip onto Blair's face. "And those damned tests. But I swear to you, Chief, I will never ever argue about your choices again."

I take a deep shuddering breath and raise my head, only to see Simon, Joel, Connor, H and Rafe standing by the window gazing at us. I would have been embarrassed as hell to have them see me like this three years ago -- even a year ago. Now all I can do is smile like the village idiot and watch as they, too, refuse to hide their tears.

EPILOGUE

Jim trotted down the steps from his bedroom and tossed his duffle bag onto the pile of camping gear gathered on the floor. He knew Blair was standing in front of the balcony windows even before he saw him. Puzzled, he joined him and stood slightly to the left and behind his friend.

"What's so exciting out there?" Jim asked quietly.

Blair grinned. "The sun. The clouds. The sky. Buildings. Even an occasional airplane."

"But no bodies coming out of them, right?" Jim teased.

"Not a one."

The two men stood in companionable silence, enjoying the camaraderie which had only grown deeper in the two weeks since Blair had been poisoned. It had been touch-and-go for a few hours after the antidote was administered, but the student had pulled through. Recuperation had taken longer than expected, but after yesterday's check-up, Blair had been given a clean bill of health which was the reason for the celebratory camping trip.

"Brackett killed him, didn't he?" Blair asked quietly.

They hadn't really discussed Rankin's death, preferring to simply be grateful for Blair's life.

"Yes," Jim said, equally as quiet. "Remember when we were wondering if Brackett had another agenda -- we guessed it right. From what Simon was able to piece together from his 'friends in high places', Rankin had engineered Brackett's release, but Brackett never knew it was him. Rankin always used an underling as his go-between."

"Like Sinclair?"

Jim nodded. "That's right. For this assignment, Sinclair had been given the honor of being the messenger. Nobody knew Brackett was making his own plans. Brackett knew I wouldn't be able to assassinate the prince and he also knew I would do everything in my power to save your life." Jim rubbed his chin. "He knew exactly what buttons to push, just like he did three years ago, and I jumped through every hoop he held out."

Blair turned to face his sentinel. "You did what you had to... and it worked."

"But it could've gone the other way, too. We were damned lucky Rankin had checked out Brackett's motel room himself after Sinclair was killed. If he hadn't, I wouldn't have been able to pinpoint him."

"Do you think Brackett would have given us the antidote if you hadn't ID'ed Rankin as his boss?"

"I don't know how Brackett thinks, Chief. All I know is he's out there somewhere working freelance, and if he needs a sentinel and guide to do some of his dirty work again, he'll return."

Blair shivered. "Oh, man, if I ever see him again, it'll be too soon."

"If I ever see him again, it'll be the last time," Jim promised. He glanced down into Blair's brilliant blue eyes and caught his breath as he realized what he had almost lost -- a best friend, a guide, a partner. A brother. He reached out and hugged Blair close as the younger man's arms wound around his waist. "I came so close to losing you again, Chief," he whispered, his cheek resting on Blair's curly head.

"I'm right here, big guy. Right where I choose to be."

"Another one of Blair's choices?"

Blair eased out of Jim's embrace and stepped back to gaze up into his sentinel's eyes. "The most important choice of my life. No regrets."

Jim arched an eyebrow. "None?"

Blair's eyes danced mischievously and Jim knew he was in trouble. "Maybe one. I wish I could've seen Megan's face when you kissed her."

Jim grabbed his guide, this time in a playful headlock. "Jealous, Romeo?"

"Of a man who told a woman her perfume reminded him of his grandmother? I don't think so."

Blair slipped out of his grasp and dashed away with Jim close on his heels and the loft rang with laughter of the sentinel and his guide.

~finis~

Comments?

Back to The Loft