Part Four: A Numbing Pain

Blair Sandburg was not a drinker. He enjoyed the occasional beer and wine with friends, but the strong, heavy alcohol many of his buddies would get blasted on just made him sick. He had no desire usually to sit and consume large amounts of alcohol, but when he was desperate and needed the warmth to course through his body and offer him comfort, he was not beyond the commiseration a good bottle of liquor could offer. So having no particular objective in mind, no particular destination to travel to, he drove to the campus pub where he and Bobbi Rowland had drowned their sorrows and licked their wounds after Jim Ellison, "Cop," had ended their short, illegal career.

He sat at the back booth and ordered a beer and a double-shot of whiskey, a boiler maker or shot and beer or some such cultural moniker that every ethnic group seems to claim as their own invention. He finished off the glass of whiskey in one gulp, then the beer followed suit. His head spinned and the world seemed on tilt, his guts burned with a fire so intense, he found a momentary satisfaction in the discomfort. Yeah, this was just the tincture to his black and white world.

He thought long and hard about his experiences of the previous night. His inner eye focused in real close on the six women adorned only with their misery and the markings of their abuse. Women who on the streets offered love at a price. Someone's daughter, sister, mother, forced by social pressure into a life of cheap motels and imminent danger, had visited hell because a profession, older than time and supported through the ages by men of morals and money, had delivered them into the hands of the devil. As each image burned upon his brain, Blair wanted to cry. He wanted to feel pain and misery and know that he was once again human. However, there was nothing inside of him, only the guilt, the void, and the anger.

He ordered another two rounds. One boiler maker just wasn't doing the trick. Once again, whiskey then beer, then a repeat. This time he reeled a bit and thought for certain he would pass out. When he steadied himself, he thought again of the previous night's events. It was a Catch-22 situation. He resented the fact that he was there researching so childish and simplistic a thing as fan fiction, yet had he and Deedee not gone there, those women may never have been found. Then why couldn't he get past the guilt. Why could he feel this intense need to punish himself, yet, contrarily have so hard a time feeling anything. How deep would he have to cut next time, how long would he have to hold his hand over the flame to feel the burn, and when would the need to punish himself ever stop.

On that last despairing note, he paid his tab and headed for the Volvo, weaving his path and gently muttering encouragement to himself. Oh, Jim's going to kill me. I won't feel anything, but he's really going to lay into me this time. I wish I could be afraid, Jim, but I've held audience with the devil and you're looking pretty good right now.

Blair was conscious of the fact that he was drunk He was also conscious and totally aware that he was doing something illegal. Knowing both these things kept his speed under 30. He crawled along the country road just on the outskirts of the main highway back to the loft. Just then a rabbit skittered across the road and froze in his path, if Blair had been sober he would have been able to simply stop and wait until the rabbit crossed the road. Being under the influence caused him to swerve sharply to the right plunging off the narrow, soft shoulder and driving full force downward into the muddy marshland.

When Jim Ellison returned to the loft he was ready and willing to deal with Blair. He had collected the brochures and reading material Dr. Radkin had promised her secretary would be holding. Jim refreshed his memory on stress-related trauma and studied its side roads. He would do his best to set Blair Sandburg back on his feet. Monday Dr. Radkin would have Blair Sandburg sitting in her office, or Jim would be there sitting on top of him throughout the session, but the kid was damn well going to be there. He stopped at the market to make sure they had enough of Blair's favorite teas, cereals, juices, and meals.

As Jim focused his hearing, he knew Blair was not there. The loft was empty. He entered, took off his coat and hung it up. He smelled the coppery odor of blood. He trailed his sense to the hamper and when he pulled the bloody t-shirt from the depths he reached even further in and pulled another one. This was what Blair was covering up before going to the station and the other one was fresher. Blair had already progressed to direct, episodic, self-mutiliation. James Ellison slammed his hand flat against the bathroom tiles cursing Arthur Pogue with all the vehemence of a man at his wit's end.

Just then Jim heard the phone ringing, he ran to grab it. "Jim." it was Davis. "Jim, it's probably nothing, but I just thought you should know. I mean I owe you one for that time I didn't call when Blair was beaten up at the University."

"Davis, what is it?" Jim asked, getting a terrible knot in his stomach.

"Well, I gave Blair a ride home from the station this evening, and I asked him if he knew of some good restaurants. He suggested the Cozy Campus Pub, so I decided to take my wife and daughter here for dinner. We were just pulling into the parking lot and I saw Blair getting into his car. I yelled to him but he just took off. Jim, he looked like he was in no shape to drive. I just thought you should know."

"Thanks, Davis, I owe you. Did you happen to see which direction he went in."

"Yeah, he turned down the old highway. He was driving real slow and cautious, but you might want to keep an eye out for him. If he doesn't show, he might end up wrapped around a tree. I think you should talk to the kid about driving while under the influence."

"Davis, I'm going to do a little more than just talk to him. Thanks again."

Damn the kid. Jim grabbed his coat and keys and headed for the truck. It was already dark. He should be half way home by now. Jim turned up the old highway and began his search checking the side of the road for skid marks and carefully checking each car that approached and passed by. He only hoped he found Blair before he killed himself and maybe someone else. The kid was going to learn from this experience.

Jim reasoned himself into a relatively calm state, Blair was suffering here, he needed to remember that, but after the lecture he got from Jim up at the cabin he should be coming to Jim with his problems and letting him help him with solutions. Dr. Radkin may not approve of Jim's methods of handling Blair, but Dr. Radkin didn't know him like Jim did. She didn't know what fire burned within him, how empty he was now and how much he needed to be refilled. Jim did and Jim's military experiences didn't often coddle and pamper the suffering. Sometimes you had to make them face reality and shock them back into the present. There was no way Jim Ellison was going to lose his Guide.

When Blair Sandburg regained consciousness, his head hurt and his stomach felt queasy. He had no idea where he was. It was dark. He looked like he was stuck in the middle of a mud pond. There was a full moon and he could see the reflection on the water just in front of the Volvo's hood. The deep mud was a godsend; if he hadn't of gotten bogged down he probably would have been 20 feet under in the lake. He opened the door and stepped out into the ankle deep mud. He lost his footing and hit his head on the sharp edge of the door, but felt nothing. The Volvo was buried for the night, stuck like a big green bug in chocolate fudge that came half way up the tires. He shut off the lights and carefully locked the doors taking the keys with him. A tow truck was the only thing that was going to get this baby back on track again.

He slowly moved forward sucking each foot noisely out of the mud as he proceeded toward the road high above him. He still felt lightheaded and started giggling at his predicament. Humor seemed to still be with him and he found minimal comfort in that thought. As he approached the embankment his foot fell in a particularly deep hole and he fell forward just bracing himself in time to keep his face from falling into the mud. "Grace, how was charm school?" he asked himself in a highly sophisticated voice, and laughed bitterly, "Fine, I danced with the devil and I know all the steps."

Just then he felt himself being hauled unceremoniously upward and out of the mud by the scruff of his neck and his belt. "Uh oh, oops!" he giggled at his short time in flight. Steadying himself by holding onto the rock solid mass before him, he looked up into the furious face of his Sentinel, and for the first time in 24 hours, Blair Sandburg felt an emotion...fear. "I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, Junior, because the rest of the weekend you're mine."

When Jim had gotten him up the gentle, but muddy slope, he propped the still swaying anthropologist up against the truck. He checked the head wound that was still bleeding, but decided no serious damage had been done. He ran his hands up and down and over the muddy body doing a cursory check for injuries. His face darkened, and for one brief moment he looked angrily into the frightened blue orbs. He saw many emotions vie for the forefront in those expressive blue eyes: fear, sadness, regret, but defiance finally won out.

He gently grabbed Blair's chin. "Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm fine, I just glided in for a landing," Blair said as he slid his hand expressively through the air in a mock simulation of an airplane floating onto a runway.

His comment was not appreciated by the older man. His shoulders were firmly grasped as he was turned to face the truck. He let out a shocked gasp as two, sharp stinging swats landed on his backside. He turned to furiously face his attacker and to protect the abused portion of his anatomy from further assault.

"What the hell was that for?" Blair said.

A cold, calm, fury heated the eyes of the man who pinned him against the side of the truck. This was a Jim Ellison Blair didn't quite know how to deal with. In his young life, Blair Sandburg had only dealt with this situation one other time, Sam Weatherman's rage at a very foolish ten-year-old boy. He was still ill-prepared in negotiating his way around an enraged and angry male parent; this species was totally new to him.

"Drunk driving," Jim said, calling upon all his resources to contain his fury. "If you ever get behind the wheel of a car drunk again, I'll give you enough nurturing you'll be standing for a week. Got it?"

"Who the hell do you think you are? Damn you!" Blair said still keeping his backside out of harm's way as he looked for possible avenues of escape.

"I'm your Blessed Protector...that's a job you gave me, but maybe who I am isn't what this is about, Chief. Maybe it's about who you are. Maybe it's about being my best friend, Guide, and roommate. Maybe it's about you being the one person in this whole world I can count on who always follows his heart and your heart is even bigger than that exceedingly large brain of yours. Maybe it's about not wanting to lose you...yeah, Chief, I don't think it has anything to do with who I am-----just who and what you are to me."

Jim then reached over into the holding boot in the back of the truck and wrapped the mud-soaked figure in a blanket. He wanted to keep Sandburg warm, but it also saved the interior of the old Ford truck. Sandburg was practically completely covered with the thick, dark goo.

His mind flashed with the possibilities of how this night could have ended. Sandburg may very well be wrapped in a body bag, his torn and mangled body burning an image into Jim's active imagination. His face hardened, creasing his brow into an angry scowl, as the foolishness of his young friend once again gripped the forefront of reality.

Jim stood by the open passenger door and levelled a steely look at Blair, "Get in."

Blair quickly did as he was told. Glancing furtively at Jim to make sure his intentions weren't still directed at his backside.

Blair tried to make idle conversation, but Jim would just cast a stern glare at him periodically. His knuckles were clenched firmly around the steering wheel. Well, better the wheel than my neck. Sandburg mused. Then he stared out the window into the moonlit night. Suddenly, he felt a wave of embarrassment and shame.

Here I am again acting rashly and impulsively. Jim doesn't deserve this added headache, he had been in that pit as well. Imagine what it must have been like for him with his heightened senses to focus in on that room and try to find those women. I remember the stench and fear, the repulsive odors of the brutality and neglect. Imagine those smells heightened, and I wasn't there to guide him. What am I good for? Blair thought, then covered his face with his hands and sighed.

He felt a firm hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Jim looking at him, concern dimming some of the anger in his eyes. "You all right, Chief? You want me to pull over?"

"Jim,....I....why do you put up with me?"

"Chief, I could ask you the same question, but we have other matters to settle right now. I'm not going to be easy on you, but I am going to be with you every inch of the way. It's going to be okay."

"It's not okay, Jim. Time to get a clue here. It's not okay. I'm not okay. The whole fucking world's not okay," Blair said bitterly.

"Like I said, Chief, it's not going to be easy."

When Blair Sandburg walked into the loft with Jim Ellison right behind him, his face was ashen and pale. He was still drunk, but his sense of humor had been drastically diminished. Now as Jim followed close behind him, he felt like a prisoner with his guard. Blair even turned to watch Jim lock the door, evaluating his chances of making a run for it. Jim had no right to treat him like a criminal. He was a victim here, maybe not like those poor women, but he was hurting, too. Maybe he didn't lose days, weeks, a month or his life, like they did, but he sacrificed his soul and he wished he could at least mourn the loss. Maybe his soul was worth it. God, he knew he would do it again...anything to help them, anything to stop their suffering. If only there weren't beasts walking upright like men, and with that thought Blair turned and grabbed the kitchen chair and threw it full force against the staircase.

Jim was next to him in minutes. He grabbed Blair firmly by the shoulders spinning him about and giving him a forceful, firm shake, conscious of Blair's head injuries and his distraught state. "Stop it, Sandburg."

"Why, Jim, why?" The blue eyes almost pooled, Jim could see the shimmering hint of a tear, but no tears came. This well was indeed dry. No, Jim thought to himself, not dry, merely blocked. Sandburg has barricaded himself in protecting himself from the dark forces. It's going to take a firm, but gentle hand to coax him out into the light and get him to trust again. Some Blessed Protector I turned out to be. James Ellison, Sentinel, cursed himself for having failed his Guide, while his Guide echoed the litany of self-recrimination in honor of April Barrett.

In the summer days of my childhood, I would lay upon the cool, green grass, knees pointed up towards the heavens, feet bare pressing down into the earth, hands buried deep within the velvet threads...securing to the earth is important when you fly high and solo...losing myself in the clouds. I would drift and float and travel in the blue sky, the shapes would shift and match the spectral images of my mind. No one could hurt me, I traveled in cool, clear, friendly skies and I was cushioned in the clouds.

Part Five: Cushioned in the Clouds

Blair suddenly pulled away from Jim and raced into the bathroom, Jim right on his heels. He suspected the worst intentions, but was quickly relieved to see Blair lift the toilet seat, genuflect in front, and start emptying his already barren insides. Jim knelt beside him after getting a cold washcloth from the sink, he held his hair back, and said gentle soothing words. Blair kept retching, his sweaty face red from the exertion of trying to vomit up the last of the liquor. "Oh God, Jim, why do I do this to myself? I swore after last time I would never get drunk again. I'm sorry, man, are you ever going to be able to forgive me?"

"Chief, I'll always forgive you, as long as you realize what you've done wrong. We'll talk about what needs to be settled, you can count on that. First, let's get you cleaned up and I think you need to take a nap. We've got time. We'll take it slow."

Jim helped Blair stand up giving him instructions to get out of the muddy clothes. He left for a few minutes to get clean boxers and a t-shirt from Blair's dresser and laid them on the bed. He helped his young friend step into the tub and he turned on the shower. He put the muddy clothes in a large plastic bag, he would need to shake them out later when the mud dried. Blair washed his hair and the head wound had started bleeding again. Jim made a mental note to tend to it when Blair was through. Jim winced when he saw the cuts along his belly hiding amid the hairy chest, but still visible in their red and angry state. They looked like razor cuts. As Blair continued soaping himself and rinsing, Jim collected all the razors and prescription drugs from the medicine chest. He took them out into the kitchen, wrapped them in a dish towel, and hid them someplace Blair would never look, in the bucket with the sponges and cleaning supplies under the sink way in back. Blair tended to avoid these tools unless Jim explained each and every use to him.

When he returned, Blair stepped out of the shower onto the mat. Jim handed him a towel. "Here, Chief, dry off, and keep the door open. I'd better not smell any blood."

"What the hell is that suppose to mean?" Blair asked angrily. When Jim turned back towards him he regretted his attitude.

"You want to run that innocent routine by me one more time and just hope my patience holds?" Jim asked with a cold calm that sent chills coursing down Blair's spine. He chose discretion with nary a thought of valor as he slowly shook his head and dropped his eyes.

"I'll make up the couch for you. I have some files to look over and I want you in my sight at all times. Maybe after your nap you won't be so cranky." Blair resented the way Jim was treating him, but he knew Jim was in no mood to argue with right now. Besides, he was tired...hell, he was exhausted, spent and completely wiped out. He had never felt so emotionally or physically exhausted in his life. If Jim was going to back him into a corner like he usually did....old Mr. Let's Cut to the Chase Ellison, Blair needed to have a little more stamina than he did right now. Hell, he needed a lot more stamina to dodge the bullets and keep one step ahead of Jim. He knew he would fail, though, he always did. Jim always knew what buttons to push, what lids to pry open, and where the secrets were stashed. Jim, Blair thought in a tired voice, Thank God there's always, Jim.

When Blair came out of the bathroom dressed only in a towel, he saw Jim waiting for him in his room with some antiseptic and bandages. He motioned for Blair to sit on the bed. Jim tended to the head wound first and bandaged it. Then he sat on the bed and told Blair to stand before him. He had a grim set to his mouth as he examined the razor cuts on Blair's midriff. Once he looked up angrily, but Blair continued to stare off into a far corner. He left the cuts open not wanting to pull the hairs on Blair's chest.

"Okay, Chief, put these on," Jim said motioning to the boxers and t-shirt.

"I'm cold," Blair said in a pouty voice. "I want to put on my sweats," he added trying to regain some level of footing in this whole situation.

"No deal, Sandburg, I don't relish chasing your butt around Cascade. You had your choice, Dr. Radkin or me, and now you have to live with your decision. You're not going anywhere this weekend so that's all you really need. You can wear my robe later to keep warm. Come on, I've got some reading to do."

Blair cautiously preceeded Jim out to the living room, making sure to keep several feet ahead of him, remembering the surprise attack by the truck. Jim didn't want the kid getting any ideas about running off. He felt if he let his guard slip for a few minutes, Blair would have to get dressed before he left the loft. It was a precaution Jim felt necessary. Blair grumbled as he settled himself on the couch, and Jim tucked enough quilts and comforters around him to make sure he was warm and that sleep would overtake him with the least resistance. His plan worked, because by the time Jim collected the folders, the reports with Simon's, Jim's and Blair's statements, the coroner's report, and the various other reports pertaining to the previous night's events, Blair lay snuggled and curled on his side, mouth slightly open, and resting in a deep and thankfully dreamless sleep.

For a few minutes, Jim Ellison, let his own guard down. He watched the youthful face lost in slumber. How fragile and innocent the kid could look when he was asleep. Blair was a gentle, unassuming, tender soul. He accepted people with a natural curiosity and forebearance that made him totally nonjudgmental. If Jim Ellison had ever had a son, he would want him to be just like Blair. However, he would want his son to understand danger a little better. Blair just didn't seem to be able to grasp the concept. Self-preservation was a last regard to one who constantly ran in where angels feared to thread simply to help someone else. He often heard Blair whine about how unfair a situation was, trying to talk his way out of a jam. Yet, when someone needed his help, he simply reacted, damning all torpedos, reason, and logic, and offered up his own safety to ensure another's. The kid could be a dichotomy at times, young, inexperienced, impetuous, and daring; yet, there were times he was old with wisdom, patient in his fortitude, and absolutely unselfish in his generosity. Jim felt an overwhelming need to protect him. He wanted to wrap him in some protective casing and shelter him from any more emotional upheavals, but he knew that was impossible.

There were no magic spells to cast over your loved ones, no protective cocoons to weave around the good and pure. Jim saw enough young souls mangled in the jungles of Peru; you either adapted to what life threw at you or you didn't. The kid would be all right. His track record showed not only stamina, but a special kind of resilience that made Blair seem to rise up from the murkiest ponds and shine with his own particular golden glow.

While Blair slept, Jim read the files. Something bothered him. If April Barrett died of cardiac arrest, Jim was certain when he heard the eight heartbeats while searching for Blair, he would have been able to detect some arythmia. If Blair were in better shape, he would be able to help Jim remember and focus in on those six other heartbeats. Jim knew that if he so much as suggested it to Blair right now. The kid would have jumped into full guide-mode, forgetting his own personal demons and concentrating completely on Jim, his Sentinel. Jim didn't want him doing that right now. Blair was in the early stages of trauma and self-mutilation, if he could pull the kid out quickly, Blair would be back on his feet all the sooner. The kid just needed to open up about why he was feeling so guilty.

At Midnight, Blair stretched, making a soft purring sound, accidentally kicking Jim. When he realized someone was sitting at the other end of the couch, he quickly sat up startled and afraid. "Whoa, Chief, take it easy, it's me," Jim said smiling over at his sleepy-eyed friend. "Feeling any better?"

"Yeah, Jim," Blair said and then he yawned, "I'm really wiped."

"I know, Chief, some people can't sleep after a trauma, other's want to do nothing else. How about some eggs and toast, you haven't eaten since the night before and you tossed everything in your stomach with the liquor?"

"From previous experience, Jim, I'd say I really don't have a choice, do I?" Blair asked sheepishly, but seemingly returning to his normal good humor.

"Oh, Sandburg, you know me so well. Come on, I'll get you some socks and my robe. I'll make a fresh pot of coffee and I think I'll light the fireplace. We've got a lot of work to do."

Jim fixed scrambled eggs, toast, and coffee. Blair didn't give him any trouble about coming to the table and eating. Jim had a feeling that Blair was still reeling from the indignation of the swats on his bottom. If that kept Blair from becoming truculent and uncooperative, Jim had no regrets. Although the spanking was delivered in a furious rage at Blair's foolishness for driving while under the influence. He could have killed himself, or just as heartwrenchingly, killed someone else and had to live with that for the rest of his life. Jim still wasn't sure that that particular matter was settled to his liking, but right now he had other things on his and Blair's plate to deal with.

"Chief, why didn't you keep your appointment with Dr. Radkin?" Jim asked just as Blair was finishing up the last of his toast. The kid had eaten three eggs and two slices of toast and Jim was pleased to see that he was genuinely hungry. It was so like Blair to bounce back, but he still needed to be sure Blair bounced back on the positive side of normalcy, not the distant planet of regret, despair, and guilt.

"Jim, I....I....was going to. I had every intention, but I saw the report. Why didn't anyone tell me about April Barrett?" Blair asked as he put his fork down.

"So that's why you took off? Come on, Chief, let's go get comfortable. I'll bring you a fresh cup of coffee," Jim said as he cleared the dishes away. Blair slowly raised himself from the table not really wanting to go the route he knew Jim was taking him on. Jim was going to start prying open all the secrets of his soul and Jim could be relentless in his pursuit for the truth. Blair simply had no defences to put up. His soul was diminished by this bad experience, and his armies of defiance were long gone. There were no defence mechanisms, no obfuscations, no evasive routes...just straight ahead on into the darkness and, hopefully, eventually the light.

The only consolation he could gleen from this thought was that he knew with the certainty of his heart that Jim would be there to catch him if he stumbled. Maybe when he was running through those catacombs he thought there would no Jims in hell to rescue him, but in this world, in this loft, in this bonding of Sentinel and Guide, there would always be Jim. Never in Blair's total 28 years had he ever met a force more potent, more determined, and more abiding than James Ellison, his friend.

When Blair was securely tucked in on the couch, sitting upright with his hands wrapped around the hot mug of coffee for warmth and stability, Jim took the chair across from him. All the files and reports were laid out on the square coffee table. Like an attorney attempting to find the truth, Jim had his strategy set up, all supporting documentation at his fingertips. The witness and victim sat across from him, warily waiting for the hammer to fall. Jim could see the consternation in his friend's soft blue orbs, and the only reassurance he could offer was a warm, tender smile.

"Chief, what's going on with you?"

"What do you mean, Jim? I don't understand the question."

"What do you feel right now, Blair?"

"Tired, really tired. I'd like to cuddle up and go back to sleep."

"No, not possible right now. What else do you feel?"

"What the hell is this, Jim, an encounter session with my inner spirit. You want to call Naomi, she's really into that kind of thing, Jim. Maybe we all can..."

"CUT THE SHIT OUT RIGHT NOW!" Jim yelled at him.

Blair almost spilled his coffee. Instead he reached over and placed his cup on the coffee table. He got up pulling the huge robe tightly around himself, sheltering himself from the storm that was Jim Ellison.

"Okay. You want to know what I feel? Nothing! Not one fucking emotion. I saw hell, Jim. I looked it up and down, naked and personal, and I don't feel a thing afterwards. Six women, Jim, six innocent, helpless women...did you see what he did to them, Jim? Did you see? DID YOU FUCKING SEE?" Jim just sat there watching his young friend pace back and forth, up and down, around the coffee table, in back of the couch, and finally position himself in front of the windows overlooking the quiet city.

"You want to know what Deedee and I were doing there? Two grad students, fucking degrees and research papers up our asses...we're both going to be thirty in a few years. My God! What children we really are. We were writing fan fiction, Jim. We were so absorbed in a fucking television show we were writing fiction for it. Big shots on the Internet. Telling tales about murder, mayhem, torture, ritual killings, oh man, the whole criminal menagerie raced across our pages...we're entertainers, tale spinners, real mages of the mind. We were all sitting back and reading and pretending we were safe, it wasn't real...well, it was, Jim, it was real for April Barrett." Blair didn't say anything further, he just stood staring out the window lost in the night, somewhere with the stars feeling safe with the darkness.

"Let me guess, you feel guilty because of all the fun you were having? Blair Sandburg, always serious grad student, started feeling really passionately about something other than Sentinels, police work, and anthropology. Isn't that right, Chief? Here you were, finally relaxing and enjoying yourself, completely wrapped up in something fun and frivolous and you get slapped right in the face with reality. You think some unknown force is punishing you for your trivial, self-indulgent pursuits? Well, Chief, it doesn't work that way. Nothing is really frivolous or trivial. You need to have fun at some senseless project just like everyone else. It helps us all cope with the important, overwhelming aspects of our existence."

"But, Jim, these women were suffering for weeks. I was typing stories late into the night, while they were slowly dying." Blair sounded lost and distant, like he were leaving via the stars.

"Blair, listen to me. When I was in Special Forces we would do things that would turn our stomachs. When an operation was done, we would sometimes go on a week binge of drinking, gambling, golf, baseball...whatever...hell, we would try to fill our hours burying ourselves in insignificant pastimes. It's the souls way of replenishing itself in the light. One week later, we would be back at what we were good at, what we were trained to do. We didn't spend our downtime honing our skills, target practicing, or hand-to-hand combat...hell, we were good at that. Work alone taught us and kept us seasoned, but we needed to relax and have some fun. Don't knock yourself for it, Blair, and don't stop." Jim turned to watch his young friend merging into the night through the glass, silent, still, deep in thought like a poster child for night terrors.

Jim continued trying to pull the chains that would flush away the guilt and replenish this young and empty vessel, "I'll tell you, Chief, seeing you smile and lose yourself the way you had this past month was a joy to watch. I want to see that little boy again at play....you're young, Blair, you have that right. It's all right to be angry, but be angry at Arthur Pogue....don't be angry at yourself...you didn't do anything wrong."

Jim reached over and pulled six photographs from the files. He laid them evenly out on the coffee table facing the couch. Then he got up and he gently grabbed Blair by the shoulders and guided the unresisting figure back to his safe zone. Blair looked at the six faces before him and gasped and tried to look away. Jim sat next to him on the couch and anchored him in position with a firm arm across his shoulders.

"Blair, these are the photos we had to work with when these women were reported missing, the last one we got from the family of the most recent victim. Some were supplied by family, some are mug shots from their arrests. Look at them. There they are, Chief, look at them. Five of these women owe you their lives. If you and Deedee hadn't been so adventurous, they may never have been found. This is April Barrett, Chief," Jim said pointing to the mug shot of a worn out woman with too much makeup and crows feet around her eyes. "She didn't make it, but that wasn't your fault. If anyone should blame themselves, it should be me. I was working on the case, Chief, and I failed April, but I know, Chief, I can't do my job if I start thinking like that. Arthur Pogue is the guilty one, not you, not me. Arthur Pogue is the killer's name. But there are five against the one, Chief. Five women who won't starve or be burned or go through whatever hell they would have been suffering right now, if it wasn't for you."

"Then why don't I feel anything? Man, why can I look at these pictures...why can I look at her, Jim?" Blair asked pointing accusingly at April's picture, "Why can I look at her and not feel anything? Why do I feel so dead inside?"

"I don't know, Chief, you tell me."

"When I was a kid, and Mom used to pull up roots every time she didn't like a situation, or she just felt it was time to move on, I would be cut off from newly made friends or maybe end up in a new environment where the kids weren't so tolerant of a Jewish bastard...I know, Jim," Blair said, waving his hand to brush Jim's objections off, "but that's what they called me sometime. I would go off by myself somewhere to the park or an empty field, anywhere I could lay in the grass and watch the clouds. I was always safe in the clouds. I would imagine myself drifting, floating, so untouchable up there and I would feel numb. Nothing could hurt me when I rode the clouds. It was a good place for a kid to hide, but when I grew up and started college I wanted to feel. I wanted to have that passion born of self-awareness and humanity. I wanted to feel for other people and other creatures, I wanted to rage against the brutality. That's why when Lash killed Susan Frasier, I didn't want to check my feelings at the door, Jim. I didn't want to be in the clouds again. That was just too easy, and I was afraid I wouldn't come out."

Blair rubbed a tired hand down his face. "Jim, I'm lost. I'm truly lost this time, man. No fucking map, no exit signs, nothing! Help me! Please, help me, Jim!" Jim grabbed the trembling figure beside him and pulled Blair against his chest in a tight, comforting embrace. "It's okay, Blair, and it's okay not to cry."

With that one simple statement, that benediction for his omission, Blair Sandburg relaxed and began to cry. Slowly at first, Jim could feel his shirt getting wet, then he sobbed with a trembling heave of shoulders. Finally he clung to Jim in an outpouring of turmoil, frustration, compassion, and desolation. He held on to the anchor that pulled him gently towards the earth. Blair Sandburg had fallen from the clouds and Jim Ellison was there to catch him.

Rage rises from the inner depths and turns the surface dark
Igniting space with currents strong from just a little spark
It takes its time to swell and burst and out comes all the ire
It is a burning desperate thing that dances like the fire

Part Six: Remember Me With Rage

Jim Ellison held Blair Sandburg in a protective, brotherly embrace. Once the emotional well was not encumbered with guilt and self-recrimination, it flowed freely and generously. Blair openly cried out all the pent-up emotions he had held hostage within himself for the last 24 hours. Jim sat there rocking him gently to the murmurs of reassurance and soft promises of better days to come. When all emotions vented themselves, he simply lay in Jim's arms. The Blessed Protector then decided it was time they both went to bed. It was 3 a.m. Saturday morning, and although they didn't have to go to the station, they still had a full day ahead of them.

Jim gently pushed the fragile form from his chest and stood up. He pulled Blair up by the shoulders, "Come on, Chief, let's get to bed. You're sleeping with me tonight." Jim reached over and grabbed Blair's pillow off the couch and stuffed it into the arms of the dejected young man by his side. He turned him by the shoulders, stopping shortly to turn off the lights, leaving the fireplace lit, the warm glow attesting to home and hearth, and he steered his Guide up the stairs to his bed. Blair normally would have protested with everything in his arsenal of reason, logic, and good appearances, but in his present state Jim could have directed him to the roof ledge and Blair would have gone.

When he settled his Guide on the side farthest from the stairs, Jim Ellison stripped to his boxers and t-shirt and climbed beneath the covers. He turned to look at his young friend and smiled softly to himself as he noted the deep sleep his friend had already succumbed to. Blair's mouth softly opened and faint snores escaped, giving not so solemn testimony to complete exhaustion. Jim Ellison, of Covert-Op and Special Forces, protected the one thing he valued most and lost himself for the few remaining hours before dawn in the steady, simple rhythm of that other's heart.

When Jim Ellison woke the sun had long warmed the loft from the skylight above. He glanced at the clock; it was 9 a.m. He felt a warm body snuggled next to him and trying not to move he raised his head and glanced down at the curly head resting on his chest. Sometime during the night, the frightened fugitive had sought the shelter of Jim's nearness. Refuge must have been found, because Jim didn't remember him stirring, groaning, or experiencing any night terrors. From the even breathing and steady heartbeat, it sounded like Blair had rested trouble-free and had been sweetly embraced by the slumber.

Jim gently raised Blair's shoulders and quickly slid the pillow beneath his head. He quietly disengaged the remaining arms and legs and softly left the warmth of the bed. He grabbed his clothes and quietly padded down the stairs. After showering, he collected the shaving supplies he and Blair would need for their morning ablutions. Blair would be supervised in the use of any sharp objects, then they would be safely stored out of reach until Dr. Radkin deemed it safe. Jim felt certain that after last night's revelations, Blair had more than half the distance covered on his way to recovery. The eager spirit would make an appearance sometime today, especially when Jim discussed his reservations about the catacombs and April Barrett. Once called upon as a Guide, Blair Sandburg would change his costume and the victim would become the protector, the guide, and the strong one. Jim had seen it many times before and it still amazed him. You could never second guess Blair, he had always been full of surprises.

When he had finished his morning sartorial, he started the coffee and took out eggs, bread, orange juice, and Texas hash browns, a favorite of Blair's. He would make the kid a huge breakfast which would help get his strength back. Then they would work on the folders, but Jim would take it easy, letting Blair determine how much he wanted to help. As Jim began to set the table, he heard a moan of utter terror. "Jim! JIM!"

Jim raced up the stairs two at a time, realizing half way up he didn't have his gun. His cop mind racing ahead to plan strategy, maneuvers, and counter-attack...pure instinct from his Special Forces days. In a crisis, Jim always thought in the defensive mode. When he reached the top, he saw Blair sitting up, wide-eyed, pale, and frightened.

"Easy, Chief, it's okay. You're all right," he said gently as he sat on the edge of the bed near Blair. He didn't want to touch him and spook him any more. The kid looked like he had just seen a ghost.

"Jim, I remember. There was someone else." Blair said finally focusing on Jim's face. Then he smiled in an odd, self-satisfactory way, like he had just solved some clever puzzle and nobody thought he could do it. Then his face hardened and Jim could see the anger streaking the pale lines, returning color to the ashen features. "Another monster, Jim. I remember him coming up behind me, grabbing me, and he must have hit me on the head. We've got to get him. He could have other victims, Jim, other hiding places. He could start all over."

"It's okay, Blair, just take it easy. I have my own ideas on this, and I want you to work with me, but first let's get you some breakfast. How about a shower and shave?" Jim said as he rose from the bed.

"You don't believe me, do you? Crazy Blair Sandburg first can't remember shit, comes out of that hell hole like a raving lunatic, and now you can't believe he saw someone else. That's it isn't it, Jim? You don't fucking believe me?" Blair said, his face reddening in frustration and anger.

"Chief, I believe you, I've had my own suspicions after reading the reports. We'll work on this together. Just stick with me on this, okay?" Jim said gently, reasonably.

"Don't patronize me, damn it!" Blair said in a furious display of temper.

"Hold it right there, Junior. I always believe you. You are one of the most level-headed, intelligent, observant, and determined persons I know. I respect you and your opinions...always...always, Chief," Jim said in a strong, firm voice. "I won't tolerate that persistently petulant attitude you feel the need to display. Maybe I don't often tell you, and I apologize for that, but you mean a lot to me, Chief, I trust you with my life and my sanity every day and I'm proud to call you friend. If you feel the need for more attention, and that's the cause of these outbursts, I can supply it, but I don't think you're going to necessarily like it."

Blair didn't make an effort to get out of bed, but kept his head down and his eyes averted from Jim's. He started playing with the comforter, folding the edges back and forth, trying to bury some hidden shame amid the folds.

Jim took a deep sigh. God, why does the kid do this to me? Jim Ellison could feel guilt with the best of them.

"Chief, what's wrong?" Jim asked him gently.

"I'm sorry, Jim. I guess I've been really giving you a hard time."

"No more than usual," Jim said as he reached over to tossel the dishevelled head of hair.

"Jim, I'm really sorry about the drunk driving. I knew that was wrong. Thanks for coming for me."

"Chief, I'll always come for you. You may not like it when I find you, but I'll always come. The drunk driving issue isn't settled to my satisfaction, yet. I don't ever want that happening again, and I'm going to make damn, good and sure it doesn't. But right now we've got police work. This Sentinel needs his Guide. You think you're up to it?" Jim asked him with a smile forming at his lips as he saw Blair finally lift his downcast eyes and therein the spark flickered, took hold and blazed. Blair Sandburg was coming home.

After Blair showered, shaved, and they ate their breakfast, Jim cleared away the dishes and brought two cups of coffee to the living room table. Blair sat curled up on one end of the sofa reading through some files. Jim had let him dress in sweats this morning. It pleased him that Jim could once again trust him. He didn't want to do anything to disappoint the man whose opinion mattered the most to him. The drunk driving incident was going to be hard to amend, but he would work hard in earning Jim's complete trust.

"Are you sure you're up to this, Chief?" Jim asked warily gauging Blair's heartbeat, facial expression, and demeanor.

"Jim, I can't stay cushioned forever. I just needed some time to heal. I want this guy. I want him so badly I hurt with it."

"Sandburg, just stay focused. We're working on this together. Stay with me and we'll be fine. Is that a deal?" Jim asked, wanting some reassurance that Blair wouldn't go off half-cocked now with a vengeance fueled by the trauma. He remembered in his reading material that many times Post Traumatic Stress sufferers wanted vengeance on the one who victimized them.

"Yeah, it's a deal. I think it's time I started pulling my weight again."

"Sandburg, you always do your share," Jim said, levelling his gaze at Blair as though daring him to voice any more objections.

The young anthropologist finally nodded, then smiled. Jim Ellison never realized how much another's smile could give incentive, spur you to action, and clear away all doubts, until he got used to that one particular one.

"Okay, I was reading the file last night. April Barrett died of cardiac arrest. They can only estimate her time of death to be between 10 and midnight. When I was searching for you, I focused in on eight heartbeats. I could tell yours from experience, and I heard Pogue's racing as he pursued you. I need to focus in and remember the state of the other six heartbeats."

"Sure, Jim, that should be easy for you. We've done this before." Blair said as he stood up eagerly motioning for Jim to sit in the chair.

"Okay, you know the drill. Close your eyes. Relax. Clear your mind. All right, now think back to Thursday night. You hear my heartbeat, you hear Pogues, now focus on the other six. Categorize, filter, hear each one individually." Blair stood by eagerly watching his Sentinel's face closely, ready to spring into action should Jim start to zone.

"I hear six racing heartbeats, but they're strong, no murmurs, no arythmia, no erratic pulses. April Barrett was dead already. Your mystery man was still there." Jim opened his eyes and looked up at Blair. "Now your turn, Chief."

"What do you mean?" Blair asked totally confused.

"Look, these memory exercises work with me, why not you? Let's see how much we can get you to remember about this guy." Jim stood up and gently guided Blair into the chair he had just vacated. Blair looked up confused, scared, and unsure of himself.

"Jim, I'm not a Sentinel. I don't retain sensory input like you do."

"That's bullshit, everyone remembers in their minds, they just need to go in there and find it."

Jim knelt beside Blair. He grabbed his right arm. Blair was momentarily startled and tried to draw it back. "Easy, Chief, close your eyes, I'm just going to help you relax." Jim began making small circular patterns on Blair's inside wrist, he could feel him start to relax. "Do you remember following Pogue while he was carrying his victim?"

"Yeah, I remember following, keeping in the shadows. I was so scared, man, I thought I'd wet myself. I still can't believe I kept going on, deeper and deeper into that maze. I saw him open the door with his keys and I crept forward. I almost gagged, it was horrible. God, Jim, it was horrible," Blair said as he started breathing heavily.

"Easy, Chief, easy....I'm right here...it's all behind you. Then what did you do?"

"I pulled back and I remember something not quite right, something out of sync, then I felt this hand around my neck and I felt this object...his ring I guess...it was oddly shaped. I don't remember." Blair opened his eyes, then he pulled his hand across his face and sighed. "I'm sorry, Jim, that's all I remember."

"It's okay. You did great. We know he wears an odd-shaped ring. Show me how he grabbed you." Blair stood and turned and took Jim's left arm and placed it around his neck. "So we know this guy wears the ring on his left hand. Good job, Chief. We're going to get this guy."

"Jim, I....I..." Blair hesitated unsure of himself. He was going to tell Jim about his observer's credentials and how someone would have had to take them off of him down there...there was no way they would have broken off while tucked inside his jacket.

Just then a knock resounded on the door. Blair stiffened. "It's Simon," Jim said as he turned to answer the door.

Captain Banks filled the doorway. He entered dapperly dressed as usual, but Jim did not recognize this as normal Saturday attire. "Simon, what's up?"

"I have a meeting downtown with the council. They want to discuss the asylum and what's going to be done to keep this kind of thing from happening again. How's Sandburg?"

"I'm fine, Simon," Blair said from the chair he was slumped in. He welcomed Simon's presence at that particular moment. Maybe Jim didn't need to know right now about the credentials.

"Sandburg! Why the hell didn't you keep your appointment with Dr. Radkin? Do you understand when I give you an order I intend for it to be obeyed," Simon walked purposely towards Blair who quickly jumped up, looking back at Jim for some support, all hope for a respite from one reprimand rerouted through the even more formidable Captain Simon Banks.

"Sir," Jim tried to intercept, "Sandburg, saw the file about April Barrett on my desk. He had trouble dealing with her death. He just needed some time by himself. He'll be in Dr. Radkin's office first thing Monday morning, isn't that right, Blair?" Jim asked him in a tone that didn't brook any disagreement.

"Yeah, Jim. I'm sorry, Simon...er..Captain, I'll be there on Monday morning." Blair said and then he noticed Jim behind Simon's back pointing to the chair. Blair quickly sat down. Captain Banks towered over him deciding on whether or not to continue the reprimand.

"Look, Blair, I know you've been through a hell of a time, but when I tell my men to do something...and yes, you are one of my men," Simon said as Blair looked up with a pleased expression, "just don't let it go to your head....I damn well expect them to follow my orders. Do you understand me, Sandburg?"

"Yes sir," Blair said humbly.

"Sir," Jim interrupted, "Blair remembered something that happened in the tunnels, there was another man who came up behind him and hit him on the head. There were two of them, sir, this isn't over."

"Damn, I knew this was too easy," Simon said. "What the hell am I going to tell the council this morning, Jim? We have another maniac out there?"

"Sir, I think we should keep this new development under wraps. We may have a better chance of catching this guy if he thinks Blair can't remember and we think the killer is dead," Jim suggested.

"Yeah, Jim," Simon said removing his glasses, rubbing his eyes, and sitting on the sofa in one comprehensive gesture of defeat. "Will this nightmare ever end? Where do these sickos come from? How many of them are there out there? You get one and another pops up, I sometimes think our jobs are futile."

"Captain, you know that's not true," Blair said, leaning forward in his chair and easily falling into a familiar, comfortable role, Guide and teacher. "If there weren't men like you and Jim out there, there would be no hope for the rest of us. You and Jim saved me from Pogue. Just having you two here right now makes me feel safe," and with this the young grad student reached across the short expanse and touched Simon gently on the sleeve of his topcoat.

Jim smiled to himself. Pride swelled inside him, and he realized how much this kid really meant to him. He saw Simon look up at Blair, surprised by the simple touch, yet pleased with the emotional pat on the back. Three friends, caught up in the whirlpool of nightmares, sharing their souls and a few minutes of their own human frailty, reinforcing their objectives in a bonding of justice and caring.

"Oh hell," Simon muttered gruffly, embarrassed to show how much the contact really meant to him. "I can't keep the city council waiting. These guys are looking to fry my butt right now anyway, I surely don't need to give them tinder for their fire," Simon rationalized as he rose from the sofa and headed for the door.

"Sir, I think if Blair's feeling up to it this afternoon, I'd like to come down to the station and check the computer records. Maybe we can come up with something. The files I brought home leave a lot of questions still unanswered."

"Sure, Jim, if you're sure you're up to it. You know, you both had a rough time of it down there," Simon said as he put his own hand on Jim's shoulder. "Just don't rush coming back. I want you whole when you're working."

"Simon, as long as Blair's okay, I'm okay." Simon nodded at this, understanding fully. This statement not only encompassed Sentinel and Guide team work, but friend concerned about friend.

"Okay, then I'll probably see you after my dance routine. I really should get taps put on my shoes," Simon said grinning at the ongoing joke about his performances for the mayor and city council members. "Blair, take care," and Simon left.

As Jim and Blair were working at Jim's computer in Major Crimes, Simon came back from the city council meeting. He looked like he always looked after dealing with all the political bullshit his job entailed: tired, weary, befuddled, and wearing a very short fuse. Jim and Blair both looked at each other and quietly mouthed "uh oh," as they smiled at each other in their secret musings. From past experience, they had learned it was best to give their Captain plenty of leeway until the aftereffects of a few hours of brown-nosing had diminished.

Blair sat reading all the arrest records for the prostitutes and scanning a database trying to find some common link that may point a finger at a common enemy. Jim sat reading the files again and the reports the clean-up team had turned in. Maybe something else found on the premises could help narrow their search for the other perp.

Jim raised his head, tilting in a dog's gesture of hearing something familiar off in the distance. "Jim, what is it?" Blair asked with concern.

Then the elevator doors opened and a hacking cough announced the presence of a well-dressed man with two other men following at his heels. It was obvious to Blair that this man was some city official with his underlings in tow. As he glanced up and watched the figure approach, he saw the man smile broadly raising his hands in wonder at his good fortune.

"Son of a bitch!" The man shouted, "If it isn't Jimmy Boy himself," and Blair turned in surprise to see James Ellison rise, flash his famous Jim Ellison boyish grin, and move forward to be embraced within the outstretched arms. Blair watched as the older man, probably in his fifties, started slapping Jim on the back.

"How the hell have you been Jimmy?" the older man asked.

"Fine, Abe, just great. There's someone I want you to meet," Jim said as he turned to present Blair, who still remained seated and dumbstruck.

"Abe, Blair Sandburg, my partner; Blair, this is Abraham Mazorelski, he and I use to work Vice together every now and then. Old Abe taught me a few of his tricks," Jim said as he ducked when Abe took a mock punch at his grinning face.

"Hi," Blair said rising and extending his hand, smiling up at the much larger man. Abe shook it and tightened his grip somewhat, looking Blair directly in the eye. Blair felt a little uncomfortable, so he quickly added, trying to stay on this guys good side, "It's nice to see you kept the family name, a lot of your generation shortened their names and that's kind of sad," Blair said not being able to resist an ethnic compliment. He had always loved the old European names and hated when people Americanized them.

Abe looked at him for a moment as though considering some complex puzzle, then his face returned to that lubricious grin. "You bet, kid, I'm proud of my heritage."

Blair regretted pursuing the conversation, now the older gentleman with his salt and pepper hair, impeccable attire, and charming personality turned his full attention to the long-haired grad student.

"So, Jimmy, this is what they give you now as a partner," Abe said in a somewhat condescending tone that Blair immediately disliked. He looked at Jim who didn't seem to find any malice in the statement or tone.

"Vice I could understand, but Major Crimes...what no dress code? Is Simon Banks getting soft in his old age?" Abe teased as he once again reached out for Jim and grabbed him around the neck in a mock choke hold. Blair sat back down and turned back to the computer screen somewhat put off by the male, macho bullshit display Jim seemed to be enjoying. Yeah, admit it, Sandburg, you're jealous. It's all right when Jim and I take mock punches at each other, but I don't like it when he does it with this guy.

"Hey, Jimmy, I heard about you solving that hooker case. Good work. I knew you'd do it, if anyone could."

"Actually Abe, I owe that one to my partner. He's the one who got suspicious." Simon and Jim had both decided to keep Blair's and Deedee's names out the newpspapers and only say that an off-duty police observer had noticed something suspicious on the premises and called the police. Those involved in the Thursday night raid had known of Sandburg's involvement. Since Abe was a former partner and retired fellow officer, Jim didn't hesitate to share common police knowledge. Being a city council member, Abe had the inside scoop on police activity and current crime waves that effected the city.

"Well well, a regular hero," Abe said, then he was interrupted with a continuous series of hacking, dry coughs.

"Hey, you still smoking three packs a day?" Jim asked as he looked with concern on the man who was for a short time his mentor.

"No, Jim, now I smoke four. Hey, don't look so concerned. At least I don't do weed, or coke, or other designer drugs," Abe said as he looked at Blair. Jim just shook his head and laughed.

God, Jim, can't you see this guy's going out of his way to make me feel uncomfortable. Get a clue, Jim, get a clue here.

"ELLISON!" Simon said as he poked his head out of his office. The bullpen was relatively quiet on a Saturday afternoon. Only a few detectives were in working away at their desks. "Oh, Hi Councilman Mazorelski," Simon said as he noticed Abe standing in the bullpen, "Jim could I have a word with you."

"Excuse me, Abe," Jim said as he turned to join Simon behind closed doors.

Oh, Jim, don't leave me here with this guy, please man, don't do this to me.

Abe turned to the two aides and gestured for them to leave after telling them to meet him in his office tomorrow at nine. Blair wondered when these men were allowed to lead personal lives, instead of always being at the beck and call of this pompous asshole. Blair took the few minutes Abe was pecking off orders to his underlings to really study the man. Dressed in a dark grey suit, white shirt, and red tie, the man had a triangular-shaped tieclip and Blair noticed the cufflinks to match. The tieclip looked like an eye inside a triangle and Blair assumed the cufflinks were a smaller replica. He remembered the religious signficance of this symbol, God the all-seeing eye.

When the two men had left, Abe came and sat down next to Blair in the seat Jim had evacuated several minutes ago. "So Sandburg, what are you and Jim working on on a Saturday?"

"Oh, we're just writing up reports and trying to fill in some missing details on the Arthur Pogue case," Blair said in an easy, friendly tone. He didn't want to make an enemy of this guy, afterall he and Jim seemed to share some common bond.

"So you're quite the hero. How did you happen to be around the asylum when Pogue was there? Were you on a stakeout?" Abe asked curiously.

"Actually, no, I was driving by with a friend and I happened to see something suspicious. I followed Pogue into the sub-level and my friend called Jim," Blair said trying to stick as closely as possible to Jim's version of the story.

"Wow, I bet that was really frightening for you and your friend," Abe pried.

"Yeah," Blair said, and then felt uncomfortable. Hitting several keys he exited the program and engaged screen saver, he pushed back the chair and said, "If you'll excuse me, I have to use the bathroom."

When he returned, he inwardly groaned upon seeing Abe Mazorelski still seated at Jim's desk. He really didn't like this guy. "Well, I guess Jimmy's going to be tied up with Simon a lot longer than I thought. I was hoping maybe he and I could grab a quick bruski together like in the old days. Jim used to be a real tiger in Vice. Those hookers knew their place when Jimmy and I called the shots. We didn't take any crap from those two-bit cunts." Abe said with pride in his voice.

"Mr. Mazorelski, what place would that be?" Blair asked not understanding the innuendo, and wanting to make sure he heard right.

"Lock up, my boy, locked up where their sorry, little shaking asses belong," Abe said with a quiet disgust.

"So you think all these women should be behind bars for the rest of their lives?" Blair asked trying to contain his anger and outrage.

"They should be taught good and proper that that kind of disgusting behavior leads to punishment and damnation," Abe said quietly.

"Oh, come on!" Blair said losing patience with this macho, self-righteous asshole. "Most of these women did this kind of work, because they couldn't get jobs elsewhere. I just read April Barrett's bio. She tried other lines of work, she couldn't make ends meet on what they paid her as a checkout girl. She was a kid herself when she was trying to support her three siblings. Don't you have any compassion for these women?" Blair asked, his voice rising as he rose from his chair and stared down at Abe.

"SANDBURG! That's enough" Jim shouted at him as he stood watching the scene from just outside Simon's office.

"Jim, man, I can't believe you worked with this guy. He's an asshole!" Blair said in a rare display of bad manners and bad attitude in public.

"I said, that's enough," this time Jim said it quietly, attenuating the force of the command, but increasing its sincerity.

Blair didn't say anything. He merely sat back down and turned back to the computer, angry at Jim's betrayal.

"Hey, Jim, it's okay. These kids now a days, no manners, besides he's probably still emotionally unnerved from chasing bad guys," Abe said as he rose and walked towards his ex-partner winking conspiratorially.

"There's nothing wrong with his manners, it's his attitude. He's not a cop, he has trouble understanding some things," Jim said, watching his partner's back stiffen as he sat at the keyboard trying to contain his anger and stay focused on the real reason he was here on a Saturday afternoon.

If Jim wants to go down memory lane with this asshole, that's fine with me. I know what's important even though I may 'not be a cop!.'" Blair thought to himself.

"Hey, Jim, I was wondering if you want to go get a beer with me, like old times," Abe asked patting Jim on the shoulder.

"Sorry, Abe," Jim said returning to his former good cheer at seeing his old partner, "but I'm working, maybe some other time."

"Sure, buddy, no problem." Then he leaned in closer to whisper in Jim's ear, "Maybe if the kid got his hair cut, he wouldn't go off on the far left wing. See our side of things for a change."

"Blair's okay," was the only reply he would give Abe.

Jim waited until Abe Mazorelski entered the elevator and the doors closed. Then he moved to the seat Abe had just vacated and watched Blair for a few minutes as he tapped the keyboard and seemed deeply mesmerized by the computer screen. Jim could see his shoulders stiffen and the hard set of his jaw. "Blair," he started off softly, "What was that all about? I know Abe can be a real hard-ass, but he's worked vice most of his life. He's seen the darker side of life on the streets. Don't judge him too harshly. He was a good cop, and he was my partner for a short period before I hooked up with Jack. He's also a city councilman. I think you should show a little more respect...he saw..."

"I don't believe you, man, I should show a little more respect to that pompous, self-righteous, arrogant, asshole. Who ever shows me any respect around here?" Blair said somewhat loudly. Then he saw Jim's face darken, Simon came out of his office wanting to know the cause of the disruption in the otherwise quiet bullpen; the few cops there were watching the whole scene with undisguised interest. Blair stood up and pushed his chair back forcefully and raced off in the direction of the break room.

"Sandburg, don't you dare leave this building, if you know what's good for you. SANDBURG!" Jim yelled with authority. At this he saw Sandburg stop in the hall outside the glass enclosure, stare straight ahead, nod his head once, and proceed down the hall to the break room. Jim decided to let the kid go and cool off.

When Blair entered the break room, he closed the door. He grabbed himself a cup from the cupboard and poured some of the stale coffee into the mug. He really didn't want to drink it, he just needed something to hold onto and he garnered some warmth and stability from the heat. As his palms warmed, the heat passed into his body and steadied him. The comfort offered him by this simple respite, helped him focus and calm his jumbled nerves.

When the door opened, he didn't turn to see who had entered. If it was Jim, he had no intention of making this easy on him. He continued to stare into the murky depths of his cup.

"Sandburg, how's the coffee?" Simon Banks asked him.

Blair turned in surprise. Simon had his own coffee pot and a collection of blends. He never drank coffee from the machine or the other coffee pots.

"It's hot, that's about all," Blair said turning back to his focal point in the mug.

"You know, Sandburg, Jim used to be a real thorn in my side when he was in vice. As a matter of fact, it wasn't until Jack teamed up with him that he started straightening out. Oh, there were days I would have liked to kick his sorry butt half way across Washington, but he was good at his job. Attitude was his problem ninety-nine percent of the time," Simon said as he took the chair opposite Blair, nursing his own cup now.

"He seemed to have made friends," Blair said sarcastically recalling the friendly display with Abe.

"Oh, that buddy-buddy scene out there," Simon said tilting his head in the direction of Major Crimes. "Don't let that fool you, I've seen him play that role before. I guess the military does that to men. They learn fast to fit in and belong; most times their lives depend upon it....that comaraderie. I've come to learn that Jim's friendship with a man depends on what he becomes from knowing that man. I saw the change in him when he teamed up with Jack. He respected the man; Jack could reason with him and made Jim tow the line...for which I will be eternally grateful," Simon said as he rolled his eyes towards Heaven in mock gratitude. "I've seen that same change come over him since knowing you."

Blair looked up and met Simon's eyes for one brief moment, then dropped back into the safety of the cup.

"I know you think Jim took Abe's side out there, but you're wrong. Jim's playing the game. Abe's not worth making waves over, and being on the council now, he can make plenty of waves for Jim and for me. It's not that he's afraid of him, neither one of us is, but men like Abe eventually are their own downfall." Simon finally took a sip of the coffee and turned his face into a sour pout, "Man, this stuff tastes like shit. I told my cousin all the coffee tastes like Maxwell House to me, but this stuff tastes like mud."

"Blair," Simon said as he stood to leave, "Jim was in there, too, just remember that. He's got his own demons to deal with," then Simon walked to the door, but stopped as he put his hand on the knob. "Oh, Sandburg, one other thing, Abe doesn't hold a candle to you in Jim's eyes. Just remember that," and he left closing the door once again, leaving the once dejected young man with a soft smile on his lips.

Sometimes in the light, I don't see too well. The glaring sun reflects off polished surfaces throwing the light back against me....a magic act, hiding the object in it's own golden glow. I bow my head, I shield my eyes, I turn from the light, and in the turning the memory burns itself upon my brain and that inner eye remembers well the object that I viewed. Sometimes it is better to see things when are you are not looking at them.

Part Seven: Reflections Off Dark Surfaces

Jim Ellison sat at his desk, cursing himself for the way he handled Blair. He never particularly liked Abe Mazorelski that much any way. Jim handled vice the way he handled his military duties, tight lipped and stoic. He had a job to do and he did it. Once Jim had seen Abe get particularly rough with one of the hookers he was arresting, Jim had stepped in and the arrest was made with little incident. Abe had called Jim on his interference later that day, but Jim simply told him if he ever saw him handle a woman that roughly again, cop or no cop, he'd deck him; something about a cold, hard Jim Ellison made people sit up and take notice. Abe remained always careful about where he placed his hands on any females he arrested after that, and they had gotten along well.

He never should have embarrassed the kid in front of Abe and the detectives in Major Crimes. Blair simply was not a cop, and it was not fair to expect him to see things in the same light as Jim did. Even Simon often commented on the fact that Abe seemed to enjoy his job arresting prostitutes a little too much. Jim just chalked it off to Abe's dedication to being a good cop.

As he sat there trying to concentrate on all the reports and files before him, he felt a presence standing next to his desk. When he looked up he saw a sad-eyed Blair. God, the kid had an arsenal of looks: puppy dog, lost child, insecure friend, and right now the "I'm sorry I screwed up, Jim" look. Needless-to-say, all these looks were masterfully played to send James Ellison packing on the Guilt-Trip Express.

"Jim, I'm sorry, man. You're right, I shouldn't have said those things to Abe. I'm not going to lie to you, Jim, I don't like him, but I have no right to attack your friends," Blair said quietly. He didn't want to attract any more attention to himself than he already had.

"Sit down, Chief," Jim said as he rolled away from the computer and spun his chair around to face the stationary chair off to the side of his desk that Blair slowly lowered himself into.

"I'm sorry, too. I sometimes expect you to see things the way I do. You're not a cop," Jim grabbed his arms as Blair started to throw them up in frustration, tired of hearing the on-going chant, "I know, but it's true," he said as he continued to hold Blair's arms pressed down on the arms of the chair. "But you're my friend, Chief. You're the best friend I have and you are not a cop, and I'm glad you're not. You give me perspective, Blair, and sometimes I need that. I see things differently when you're around. Stick with me, okay, I need you."

"Yeah, of course, Jim," and then Blair smiled, "you give me perspective, too. See things your way or get my butt kicked." At this cheeky statement, Jim took a mock punch at Blair, and he ducked and blocked the punch.

"See that you remember that. Well, let's finish up here, Chief. Is there anything interesting in all these reports that you found?"

Blair momentarily considered telling Jim that each of the six prostitutes had at one time been arrested by Abe Mazorelski, but then thought better of it. Abe had worked for vice, so of course he would have been in contact with all the women of the street, arresting them had been his job at one time. He didn't want to break the tenuous reconciliation. Besides, he ran a report on Councilman Abraham Mazorelski, he was off the force for two years now.

"No, Jim, nothing new. Could I just type up some notes and print them. I'd like to study the files again tonight," Blair said as Jim nodded and rose from the chair. Blair scooted in quickly, hit the keyboard and started typing up a storm. Jim shook his head, smiling to himself, the kid was a godsend around here the way he accessed the databases and internet, and he could put out reports in record time. Jim plucked the keyboard slowly but surely, and just couldn't quite master the direct route to any information he needed quickly. Blair had set up short cut keys to a lot of the programs and information bases that Jim needed.

"Well, well, are you children finally playing nice?" Simon Banks asked as he carried his coat draped across his arm. "How about pizza and beer," and when he saw the hesitation he reluctantly added, "my treat," in a deadpan voice.

"Yeah, great, Simon!" Blair eagerly intoned.

"Fine by me," Jim echoed as he started stacking up the files and putting them in a box he pulled from under the desk.

Blair quickly printed a report and clipped it to the inside of a blue folder and placed it on top of the box. He had just accessed a find search on the Internet researching family members of Mazorelski, Abraham. He didn't have time to read it, but this evening when he and Jim were settled in for the night, he would go over the reports that he ran off the database and compare some notes. Right now, he and Jim needed some serious bonding, and Simon, of infinite wisdom where his men were concerned, had offered him the opportunity.

The Peaceful Pub was a local haunt for city officials, police officers, and attorneys. It was located near city hall, down the street from the Cascade Police Station, and open until the wee hours of the morning. Blair loved the place. It was always filled with the hub-bub and noise of people winding down from jobs that often times proved futile and unfulfilling. Every time Simon treated them to pizza, it was at the Peaceful Pub. Where the Cozy Campus Pub was quiet, laid back, and very European and academic in flavor, the Peaceful Pub was American all the way and bore no resemblance to its name: noisey, chaotic, and resounding with laughter and good cheer. It was a place Blair loved to lose himself in. No deep, soul-searching conversations were possible amid the constant chatter.

Simon and Jim were able to work a path through the crowd that stood three deep to the bar. They found a booth in the back section. Jim stood aside waiting for Blair to catch up. He then motioned his partner to sit first in his side of the booth. Simon sat across from Jim, tucking his topcoat on the seat next to him.

"Looks like a full-house tonight," Simon commented as he scanned the crowd for any familiar faces he would be glad to see as well as those he wanted to avoid at all cost.

They ordered a large pizza and beers all around. Blair was tempted to order a Coke, but he decided one beer wouldn't hurt and he needed to relax, too. Jim just shook his head and raised his index finger, indicating one only.

"I'm not driving, Jim, you are," Blair said.

"And that's just the way it better stay, too, Chief, if you know what's good for you. By the way, I called for your car to be towed today while we were at the station. We'll discuss the bill later." Blair just nodded at Jim's stern glare. Hell, he never thought of the expense of having the car towed, and what if there were mechanical problems due to his carelessness. That's just it, Sandburg, you weren't thinking, he chastised himself.

Simon raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"A personal matter, sir," Jim offered by way of explanation.

The meal allowed the three men to relax amid camaraderie and easy conversation.

Jim kept a steady monitoring of Blair's heartbeat and the inflection in his voice. It was good to hear the kid having a good time. He could relax his vigilance over Sandburg, give the kid a little more breathing room, give him back the trust he so desperately thrived on.

Jim ordered another round of beers for Simon and himself; Blair took the Coke with good cheer. Jim never drank more than two beers when he was driving. Simon and Sandburg were deep in conversation concerning a fishing site Simon had discovered last summer that he definitely wanted Blair and Jim to check out this year. Jim sat back and let his senses focus in on the room around him. He turned his head as he heard Abe Mazorelski's throaty voice and the raspy cough. Abe seemed not to have noticed Jim and Simon sitting in the back. Jim decided not to attract Abe's attention; Blair didn't need to feel any more uncomfortable.

Just then Jim noted Blair's heartbeat increase in rhythm, Oh, hell, the kid must have heard or saw Abe, Jim reasoned, but when he looked at Blair he saw him staring off in the opposite corner of the bar at someone in the crowd standing among the three-deep mass of drinkers. Jim focused in and saw a tall man, probably in his early fifties, baseball cap pulled low, wearing a nylon jacket with the collar turned up. He seemed to be staring at Blair from across the room with a particularly obsessive interest.

"Chief, you know that guy?" Jim asked him, as he lowered his head to keep the question between the two of them.

"No, I've never seen him before, but he sure seems to know me," Blair said. "Maybe he thinks I'm...you know.." Blair said as he made a gesture with his hands indicating alternate sexual preferences.

"Like I've always told you, you know all the moves, Baby," Jim elbowed him and Blair began his little dance routine in the limited space provided him between Jim's broad shoulders and the hard wall of the booth.

"Will you two cut it out," Simon said. "There are people here I have to deal with in a professional sense, I don't need you two acting like idiots."

"Sorry, Simon," Blair said, though he didn't look sorry at all behind the wide grin.

Jim just shrugged his shoulders, he never really did give too much thought to public opinion.

Just then Blair saw Abe Mazorelski making his way across the crowded bar towards their booth. "Uh, Jim, I have to go," Blair said starting to push Jim out of the booth.

"Go where, Sandburg?" Jim asked increduously.

"Jim...the men's room..."

"Oh, sorry," Jim said as he stood outside the booth. Blair just made it quickly to the floor and raced off in the direction of the men's room down the long corridor towards the back.

"Son of a bitch, Jimmy. I thought you were working late. Is this Major Crimes' new boardroom?" Abe asked as he came to stand next to Jim.

"Hi, Abe," Jim said.

"Hi Abe," Simon said, no longer feeling the need to show respect outside of the office to this obnoxious idiot.

"Where's the kid?" Abe asked as he looked around for Blair.

"He'll be back," was all Jim would offer on the subject. He wanted this guy to leave before Blair got back.

When Blair made it into the darkened corridor leading to the men's room, he took a sigh of relief. Damn, we were having such a good time, now Jim's going to wish he had gone with Abe for drinks instead of Simon and me. The rest of the evening is ruined.

Well, he would be better off going back to the station and waiting for Jim and Simon to return. Jim left the file box on his desk, and they had walked here from the station, he would leave and call Jim from his desk, if he walked quickly he should be back at the station before Jim even missed him. He quickly pushed open the back door that led out into the back alley. Before he could clear the dark recesses at the end of the alley, he heard footsteps behind him. If it was Jim he had some fast talking to do, but as he turned a sharp pain struck him full force on the side of his head and he crumpled forward into the darkness.

Abe stood talking to Jim for several minutes, trying to bring up old times, some pleasant and some not-so-pleasant, but Jim was making it obvious that he didn't want to take any trips down memory lane right now. Finally Abe bid them both farewell, and left.

"God, I hate that guy," Simon said, as he finished his beer. "Hey, where's the kid, maybe he's sick."

Jim suddenly had a bad feeling wash over him. He kicked himself mentally for having succumbed to Mazorelski's bullshit. He quickly looked over at the bar, not even aware that he was doing it, looking for the face that had intrigued him before. The man was gone.

"Excuse me, sir, I'd better check on him," and Ellison rose quickly and made his way to the men's room. There was no sign of Blair. Damn, the kid. He had better have a good excuse for this. Jim went to the rear door and opened it. He peered out into the alley. He could smell Blair's blood, but hell he could smell it all day from the cuts on his belly and hairline. He then checked the alcove off to the right where the phones were housed. Nothing. He returned to the booth and motioned for Simon to be quiet when he was about to voice his concerns. Jim focused his hearing listening for that other heartbeat that mattered so much in his world. Nothing.

"Damn it. He's not here, Simon. He must have left when he saw Abe coming towards our table."

"Jim, the kid knows better than that. He knows you're worried about him. He wouldn't just up and leave without telling you," Simon tried to pacify the man across from him. Jim's jaw muscle was popping protrusively, bobbing the signal of deep agitation.

"Sir, he's been better today, but yesterday he was showing all the signs of Post Traumatic Stress. He's been angry, aggressive, and a real charmer; I really thought he was better today. Damn it!" he punctuated his frustration with an angry fist on the table. Several patrons turned at the violent display.

"Jim, take it easy. Let's go back to the station. I bet he just went back there to wait for us. He probably intends to call you on your cell phone when he gets there. Come on, I don't blame him for wanting to escape another confrontation with the Maze." Jim had forgotten the nickname Abe had been known as when he was a cop.

When they got back to the station, Jim sat at his desk, frustration draining the color from his face. "Simon, when I get my hands on him, he's going to be typing his reports from the kitchen counter. I swear I've never wanted to beat the kid like I do now. Where the hell is he?"

"Jim, will you take it easy, you've both been through a hell of an experience. Neither one of you has been acting too reasonably as far as I'm concerned. Now our first concern should be finding the kid. Where do you think he may have gone? Maybe back to the loft," Simon was trying to give Jim something else to focus on besides his growing irritation with Sandburg.

Just then Jim slammed the drawer of his desk. "Damn it! DAMN IT!" He then lowered his head in his hands.

"Jim, what is it?" Simon asked as he came to stand by Ellison's desk.

"My extra gun, the one I keep in this drawer. It's gone."

"I thought you were going to lock that thing up after Sandburg and the Golden incident?"

"I didn't want Blair to think I didn't trust him any more."

"And now you think he took your gun?" Simon asked. Then he put his hand on Jim's shoulder, "Do you really think he might kill himself?"

"I don't know, Simon, I'm no psychiatrist. I thought he was doing better, or I never would have let him leave the loft until he saw Dr. Radkin."

"Jim, maybe someone else took it."

"No one from Major Crimes would take it, Simon. All the guys keep their extra guns in their desks."

Then Jim's eyes focused on the blue folder that Blair had put on top of the box just before they were ready to leave. Maybe there was some indication in there as to Blair's intentions.

When Jim opened the file he saw the report on Abraham Mazorelski. He saw the list of family members. No wonder Abe seemed distraught when Blair had mentioned shortening old names. Alex Mays, uncle; Aaron Mazor, brother. Jim remembered Aaron Mazor's name. The man was a self-appointed minister for the Church of Morality, a small Christian group that constantly demonstrated against adult theaters, X-rated movies, and other moral threats that existed in Cascade.

"Simon, look at this. Blair had his suspicions, but he must have been afraid to tell me, after the way I reacted to him this afternoon."

"Son of a bitch, Abe and Aaron are brothers. Alex Mays...hey, that's Arthur Pogue's stepfather," Simon sat in the chair next to Jim's desk. "God, the kid had his suspicions; he did his homework well. Why didn't he come to me then, if he was afraid to broach the subject with you?" He wiped his hand down his face washing away his own sense of guilt; didn't Blair trust him yet.

Jim turned back to the computer. He rememberd some of the search engines Blair had shown him. He called up a search on Aaron Mazor and after several moments, he slammed his hand down on his desk, "Damn it! Aaron was an attendant at the asylum before it was shut down."

"Let's go, Simon. They've taken him to the asylum. They want it to look like a suicide. Abe must have taken the gun when he was here this afternoon, probably when I saw Sandburg get up to go to the men's room."

"Jim there are security guards around all the entrances. There's no way they could get the kid in there."

"Simon, I remember stories about entrances into that place from underground. Some said even the local houses had access tunnels connecting to the grounds. That's probably how Aaron got out on Thursday without anyone seeing him."

When Blair woke up he was being carried over someone's shoulder. His hands were tied in front of him, bobbing to the rhythm of the long strides. His head hurt and he had trouble keeping his stomach settled. In the upside down position, the world spun. This guy reeked of stale cigarette smoke. This was the incongruous smell that tickled his cognizant thought the other night. He tried to focus his vision on the rope tying his hands. He didn't dare move until he understood where he was and who he was dealing with. He felt a moment of panic as he remembered the huge figure lumbering through the darkened halls...the monster came back. The monster had him to do with him as he chose. No, Arthur Pogue is dead. Blair reasoned. Just don't panic, take it easy. Jim will come; Jim said he'd always come for me.

Blair watched the floor bounce off and back as their shadows moved forward. He was in the sub-level again, the one place he swore he'd never come again. Nothing looked familiar, but then how can you recognize barren wall after barren wall, dark door discerned from other dark doors, there were no markers saying "Hell, Level One" or "Punishment Pit Seven." The bleakness and despair were the only cornerstones to your damnation.

He had to push these thoughts from his mind. He had to concentrate on Jim. Jim would come...Jim would come...the mantra needed to be repeated to ensure belief in these truths. They finally came to a room. The man stopped and pulled some keys from his pocket. He opened the door. Blair still feigned unconsciousness. I might have an advantage if he thinks I won't give him any trouble. Blair reasoned, bracing himself for the moment when he could make his escape. He was roughly tossed to the floor and had to forcibly keep himself from letting out an "Ooomphf."

Blair opened his eyes to see the man he had noticed staring at him from the bar. The baseball cap was now pushed far back on his head. He pulled out a cell phone and was dialling a number. Blair noticed the large ring on his left hand. It was a triangle with an eye inside. This was the other man, but it was also the same symbol as Abe Mazorelski had on his tie clasp. Blair was momentarily confused, he really thought Mazorelski might be involved in this.

"I have him, he'll blow his brains out...it's going to look like a suicide. I'll meet you back at the church. Yeah, Abe, I know what to do. His kind never could handle the darker side of life too well....no firm belief in anything." Blair almost jerked when he heard the familiar name. So he was right, Abe was involved.

When the tall man ended his phone conversation, he flipped the phone closed and pulled out a knife. He knelt down to cut the ropes. When Blair was free, he opened his eyes just in time to see the man reach into his pocket. He kicked his feet out sending the kneeling figure backwards, and completely off balance. Blair quickly jumped up. Raced from the room. Once again turning to close the door, hoping against all hope that it would lock. Then he raced off through the dimly lit corridors. He could hear the man behind him giving chase, cursing the object of his search.

Just before he rounded the next turn he heard a loud blast of gunfire, his arm felt like someone had lit a match to it. He instinctively clasped his right hand over his left shoulder feeling the sticky wetness. Run, you fool, his mind chastised him. Run until you can't run anymore.

So he ran. He ran blindly through the darkened halls, thankful for the small light from the bare bulbs at each end. He ran towards Jim. He kept that image in mind like a rabbit pulled to entice a dog into a run.

Finally he came upon a fire door, when he pulled it wouldn't open. His initial suspicions were confirmed, a door that only opened one way. A self-locking trap into this abattoir. Blair felt all hope exit from his soul like air escaping a balloon. Confidence could puff the ego and pad the soul, without it all was flat and forlorn. He pushed himself sideways against the wall, hoping to minimize himself in the shadows, just then the door opened violently outward into the hall and Blair gasped as a strong arm grabbed his shirt front and pulled him through the opening. He was immediately pulled back against the wall. His shirt was released and his face was roughly grasped between two huge hands. He looked up into the face of the man he was expecting. The one man he knew would come for him...Jim.

He felt himself being pulled back against another hard body. Simon stood behind him supporting him as he leaned back in his exhaustion. Jim motioned for him to be quiet. All three men quietly stood along the corridor watching the fire door. Then the knob started rattling. Jim and Simon both had their guns drawn ready to fire. Then Jim heard him fishing out his keys. Simon pulled out his cell phone and quietly instructed his men to move in.

"Blair," Jim whispered in his ear. "Go down the corridor, there's another fire door at the end. Before it there's a room. Wait there for me."

"Jim, I need to be here with you."

"This once, just do as I tell you," his Sentinel hissed into his ear. Then he softened the command with a light tap on Blair's hand, "Please, just go."

When Simon and Jim saw Blair out of harm's way they pulled back waiting for the door to open.

Blair didn't remember much after that, the loss of blood and the pounding in his head caused him to lose consciousness. He remembered jerking awake when the gunfire started. After that the place was literally crawling with cops. Simon had called when he and Jim had left for the asylum and requested squad cars posted at all the entrances to the grounds. They were told to wait until further orders, not wanting to spook Mazor before they got to Blair.

Blair sat on the floor in the room he was instructed to wait in. For once, doing what he was told to do. He sat waiting for Jim to come. No truths mattered to him now more than that one thought. Jim would come. He hugged that truth to his soul knowing no greater comfort could be found.

Promises are made daily. They are used to cajole, placate, postpone, and attenuate. They are often given as false hope, sincere wishes, or tender cheers. Some are honored, others forgotten, some not quite believed, and others never kept. Promises are like a good strong wind, portentous and awesome, but ethereal. Most mythical heros have graced the pages of legend who promises have kept.

Epilogue

Sunday afternoon, Cascade weather turned icey and cold. The windows of the loft felt the sting of a cold, cruel rain trying desperately to turn to ice. The fireplace glowed warmly, soft lighting cushioned the room in a golden, friendly wrapper...a welcoming reminder of home and hearth for the battle weary young anthropologist.

Blair Sandburg once again lay tucked in on the sofa in the loft. He had orders not to move off of it if he knew what was good for him. He was just too tired to give Jim any hassle over it. His arm tightly bandaged and in a shoulder sling, stitches along his forehead, and the worn out demeanor with which he carried his whole body were proof of the previous night's ordeal.

Simon had stopped by hours ago to find out how Blair was holding up. Holding up was to Blair Sandburg a purely relative term. Holding up to friendly conversation and the normalcy of everyday activities: shaving, eating, sleeping...fine...no problem. Holding up to moments alone when his mind drifted to dark pits, naked, abused women, and pursuits down long corridors...well...not really holding up, more like holding his own. He at least now knew it would take time. Time and Dr. Radkin's help and the ever-present, rock-solid strength of Jim, and he could actually see the light at the end of this dark and lonely tunnel.

When Blair had tried to offer Jim some kind of apology over Abe Mazorelski, Jim's former partner, being arrested, Jim had snapped at him. "Sandburg, he means nothing to me. Do you think you can get that through your thick, pigheaded skull. He means nothing! You're important to me. Why don't you try concentrating on that singular thought for awhile, maybe, just maybe, you'll eventually see the light," and Blair had simply kept his own counsel after that. Jim staying by his side every step of the way once Mazor was down and cuffed and in custody. Jim had been forced to shoot Mazor and he had a fifty-fifty chance of making it.

Once Simon had turned his attention back to Jim, Blair sought refuge in sleep. When Simon saw the lips slightly part and the soft, puffing snores exhale with each breath, he had pulled Jim aside and filled him in on some of the missing details.

"Abe suspected his brother of kidnapping April Barrett, he always knew his brother was a religious fanatic, plus there was the tell-tale abuse of animals in his youth...he always had a sadistic streak. He even used their uncle's stepson, Arthur Pogue, to snatch his victims. Arthur was big and strong, but very pliable and he knew Aaron from his days as an attendant at the asylum. Aaron had Pogue wrapped around his finger. All the abuse the women suffered was at the hands of Aaron, he smoked like his brother and used cigarettes as an instrument of torture. Pogue would tied them and blindfold them for Aaron's special visits. Aaron started blackmailing his brother into keeping silent about it. Besides, Abe hated these woman anyway. He basically had the same self-righteous, moralistic convictions as his brother. Also, Abe wanted to run for higher political office in the city and didn't want his reputation ruined by association. When Aaron threw Sandburg's observer's credentials in Abe's face....and Jim," Simon took a break from his story, "I do want to know how Sandburg's credential's ended up with Mazor."

"Yes, sir, I'd like to know myself. I have a suspicious feeling that small detail was deliberately left out of Sandburg's version," Jim said, "I'll deal with it, sir."

"Well, you'd better. I don't want the kid using his credentials to get into places he has no business being. Do I make myself clear?"

Yes, sir."

"Anyway, Abe decided to feel the kid out. When Sandburg started making all those comments about the shortening of names, Abe felt he couldn't risk the kid putting two and two together. Abe knew you always kept a spare gun in your drawer and he had heard talk around the station that Sandburg was having a rough time dealing with Thursday night---talk around the station compares to a widow's coffee klatch sometime, I swear---anyway, he called his brother when he saw Blair at the Peaceful Pub."

"He never thought his brother would make his move then, but Aaron seems to be pretty unpredictable. Abe left your revolver in his car for Aaron to pick up. When Aaron spotted Blair go off by himself, he made his move. I guess it's lucky for Sandburg that he did. He could have waited and went after him at the university or somewhere away from you, Jim. It's also lucky Sandburg ran that report on Abraham Mazorelski and left it in the top folder. The kid's lucky all around by my guess."

"Yeah, the old adage, fools and children," Jim said in a tired voice, glancing back at his partner who was sound asleep on the sofa. He had been pretty much out of it since returning from the hospital.

"Jim, I'm going to sit him down, as soon as he's feeling better and Dr. Radkin gives me her report, and go over some pretty serious issues with him, police related and personal. The kid withheld vital information, didn't trust me or you, and I want the use of police observer credentials explained to him in detail," Simon raised his hand in frustration and anger, "no, Jim, you are not going to handle those aspects, he's got me so pissed right now I'm seeing red. He should have come to me with his suspicions about Abe."

"Sir, that's my fault. If he didn't think I held Abe in such high regard, he would have confided in me. I guess I shouldn't have alienated him during that confrontation in the bullpen."

"Jim, that's bullshit, and you know it. I've always told the kid he can come to me with his problems. If he felt you couldn't handle that information, he should have confided in me. I've tried to at least offer the kid another shoulder to lean on when needed. I take this as a personal affront. I won't have men in my department withholding information involving a case, and I will not have a friend, yes Jim, a friend totally ignore me as a viable option for help."

Simon took a break from his tirade to look over at the peaceful, unsuspecting young grad student. Jim could see the softening of the creased brow, the relaxing of the jaw muscles, and the corners of his lips fighting back the pull of a smile. The damn kid can charm the pants off of Simon even in his sleep, Jim thought. God, he's good.

"The damn kid irritates the hell out of me, Jim, but I've also come to depend on him for his insightful comments, hairbrained schemes, and fountain of insignificant and sometimes relevant information....and don't you dare tell him I ever said that, Detective," Simon said as he waved his unlit cigar at Jim, "I can still have you do your own reports. I just want to keep him safe. Why can't he get that through that thick, academic head of his?"

"Simon, Blair knows. He just follows his heart more often than his head, but I wouldn't have it any other way. The kid keeps me grounded but in a totally different realm from earth. I think it's gotten to the point where he needs me as much as I need him," Jim said, then he slowly smiled, "and I don't think that's such a bad thing....the need."

Simon nodded his head, deep in thought, fully understanding. Thinking about his own relationship with Darryl based on need, dependence, love, and respect, he could not deny how two people could form such soul-engaging ties.

When Simon left, Jim started to fix lunch. Blair would be waking soon, and if not, Jim was going to rouse him. He didn't want him burying himself in oblivion as the answer to his waking nightmares. It would be too easy to slip away from life and reality wrapped in his warm cocoon of lethargy and ennui. Tomorrow the kid would be going with him to the station and meeting with Dr. Radkin first thing. Simon, Jim and Dr. Radkin would sit down and discuss his progess and until such time as he was deemed fit, Jim would keep a close, paternal eye on his friend.

Jim's thoughts were interrupted as he heard movement coming from the living room. He walked over and sat in the chair opposite the couch watching his friend merge back into the day. He stretched, yawned, and pulled the covers tightly around himself.

"Oh, no, Chief, none of that. Time to rise and shine. Lunch is almost ready," Jim scolded from his chair.

Blair slowly opened his eyes and gave Jim a sheepish grin. "I guess I haven't been Mr. Enthusiasm, lately, have I?"

"You'll get your energy back, Chief, you're just shell-shocked. In a few days, you'll be up and about, bouncing off the walls and furniture. Then I'll have only memories of these quiet moments," Jim said in a wistful voice, a smile straining the serious facade.

"Never happy, are you, Jim? I either talk too much or not enough," Blair complained, but he seemed to be in a good humor.

He sat up wrapped in the warm quilt, snuggled and safe in what he had come to regard as his safe zone...the sofa piled high with blankets and pillows. He looked at the warm fire glowing and crackling in the hearth, he stared out the window at the cold, bitter storm that raged just beyond the window. He thought of all that lay beyond that glass guardrail, the cruelty, desolation, poverty, and crime. It was out there and it was a viable threat to him personally and to all humanity, but he would deal with that later, when he felt stronger.

Now he felt safe. Jim had kept his promise; he had come for him, like he always did. Within these warm walls nothing could hurt him. The one man who could offer him a shoulder to lean on, security, friendship, family structure, parental guidance and a shelter to run to sat across from him right now, patiently waiting for him come down to earth. Yeah, Blair thought to himself as he smiled reassuringly at the man who so vigilantly gauged his emotional structure, there are other places to feel safe and sheltered, other places not so distant as the clouds.

THE END

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it.

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