Disclaimer:The Sentinel and all related characters are the property of UPN, Paramount and Pet Fly Productions. No copyright infringement is intended. No profit is being made. This is just for fun and to thank all the other TS fanfic writers for entertaining when one hour a week is just not enough....I hold Danny Bilson and Paul Demeo in highest regard for the creation of such an entertaining program and such marvelous characters.

This one is for Spirit and Enthusiasm and Fun and Kindness and Encouragement. These attributes have names to me. They are personally one of the reasons I keep writing. Spirit is Iris Wilde, Wolfpup, Bonita, Klair and Grey. You guys run with wolves. Enthusiasm is Daydreamer, Amanda, and Teresa. What joy you take in reading and writing, a lesson for us all. Fun is Birkies, no two ways about it. Nesie and Monkee, the word was invented for you guys. Kindness is Shelly, Tate, Mercury, Shiloh and Paula. Simple words that ground me, help me feel a part of it all. Encouragement: sometimes it's a good swift kick, sometimes a gentle pat, sometimes a friend and sometimes the devil, herself. Star, you're it! You are a good friend, honest and supportive. To you all: My Thanks!

A special thanks to Shelly and Star for their time and effort. Any mistakes are solely mine. And, always, a special thanks to you, Wolfpup.

GLASSFISH

Agnes Mage

There are no second chances in life---be careful of this lie. There are no reset buttons, no pauses then resume the game, this is no simulated life. We hungrily accept the fantasy, for there are so many tales of redemption offered the second time around. Everyone makes mistakes, it is what makes us human. Would you want that second chance, to choose the other way? I think not. These choices that we make lead us down the path where other choices wait. The lessons learned with hard regret make wiser choices seem more clear. Second chances---no such thing---only bright and new beginnings.

PART ONE: TURNING OVER A WHOLE NEW LEAF

Blair Sandburg was approaching the intersection with caution, but his foot on the brake pedal felt like lead, unwieldy and sluggish. The small, white Neon was not responding. Three beers, that's all he had, yet, the car refused to obey his delayed reactions. Barely missing being hit by an oncoming car, he took a short gasp of breath to calm his nerves. He glanced over quickly in his rearview mirror and saw Dane Cartwright's face, it reflected much of the horror that he knew now shadowed his own.

The curve coming up required a careful hand, but the steering was off, the torpid control in his semi-drunken state not allowing him to properly maneuver the vehicle as easily had he been sober. Barely missing the orange pylons that lined the curb, he desperately tried to straighten the car. Then she was out in front of him without any warning, popping up between two parked cars, chasing her ball. The golden pigtails with red ribbons, the smiling, dimpled face---all images plastered themselves upon Blair's brain as he tried in vain to swerve. Then in a moment out of control, he ran the little girl down.

"Okay, Mr. Sandburg, pull over to the start line," the police officer sitting next to him said. "Mr. Sandburg?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry," Blair said as he regained his composure. "It just seems so real."

"Well, we try to make it real. We try to show people how real it could get if they drive while under the influence. These computerized cars are a great idea. We program the number of drinks an individual usually has into here," he showed Blair the computer keyboard that had been fitted in where the glove compartment normally would have been. "You said three beers, so the computer accepts the information and puts resonators on the brake, gas, and steering column to simulate the reactions of an individual with that much alcohol in his blood stream. Now you probably say that you've had three beers before and never had this much trouble driving, but I can assure you, under the right conditions, such as not eating a proper meal, combination of certain medications, etc..the delay in your reactions can be this severe with just three beers."

"Hey," Blair raised his hands off the steering wheel and gave the officer next to him a grimace as he shuddered, "I don't have to be convinced anymore. This was just like too real."

"Yeah, me neither," Dane Cartwright piped in from the back seat. He had already made his training run and didn't fair much better. Blair had seen the look of total devastation and shock moments before Dane had struck a small, pop-up dog that had run out from behind some trees. The simulated course was a new idea in Cascade. Several of the city official's family members were elected to give the course a tryout. Six weeks of intensive lectures, videos, and simulated driving for people with a propensity for driving drunk. The test group was supposedly volunteer. Notices had been posted around the Cascade Police Department for some months.

At first, Blair had thought he was the only recruit who was drafted. After driving his Volvo while under the influence and landing in a muddy marsh, Blair had been under the constant, watchful eye of James Ellison, Detective. He had resented the hard-handed way Jim had forced him into the program, never really considering himself with a drinking problem, let alone a tendency to drive drunk. However, his basic sense of reason knew how careless he had been; the shame of such a foolish act still haunted him. He felt himself damn lucky to have gotten away with a strong lecture and a commitment to a six-week training program. For all intents and purposes, Blair, like every one of the other ten participants, was a volunteer reviewing the program. No stigma was attached to the course since it was publicly noted as a test group. Trudy Towers, from WCAS Channel 5, was here today shooting footage for a spotlight on the evening news, a segment called Five Alive. This program was due to be added to the high school driver's ed training and coverage was welcome.

Blair had gotten quite friendly with a few of the so-called volunteers and discovered that many of them were friends and family of police officers, attorneys, and city officials. They each admitted to having driven while under the influence at one time or another. None had been convicted, but each had been threatened with unpleasant consequences if they didn't "volunteer" for the course. Everyone took it in good humor and could now jokingly sit back and admit it did them a world of good, opening their eyes once and for all to the danger of driving while under the influence.

"Well, gentlemen, let's join the others," Officer Nolan said as Blair slowly brought the car to the start line.

When Blair and Dane had joined the other eight class members, Office Nolan concluded the lecture.

"That's it for today, folks. Tomorrow, eight sharp, a small test will be given to see what you learned." At this groans rumbled throughout the group. Officer Nolan smiled and continued, "You won't be graded. We just want to see if you were paying attention. You'll also fill out the review forms which will be my grade and will effect the future of this program. We hope you found it helpful, informative, and we hope you recommend it as a viable correction for drunk driving. I'll see you all tomorrow. Consider it Graduation Day. I'm proud of you all. You've been a wonderful test group."

At that all ten people started clapping their hands. Blair knew they were just as relieved as he was that they were through with this unpleasant program. He was not sorry Jim had made him take it. The videos of smashed vehicles, crying relatives, injured and dead victims, had deeply affected his already tramautized soul. Never would he act so foolishly again. He knew this with every fiber of his being, and that's exactly what Jim had wanted.

"Well, Blair, are we still on for the little celebration at Benaro's tomorrow after graduation?" Dane Cartwright asked, as he and Blair made their way back into the building to collect their personal belongings.

"Sure, how many of the others are joining us?"

"Lisa Kurts, Tom Harkins, Deirdre Brown, Bud Gifford, Andy Will, and the reporter, Trudy Towers. The others have plans that can't be broken."

"Great, I'll see you then." Blair collected his backpack and left the Traffic Bureau. It was a block down from police headquarters and he had promised Jim he would meet him there. Blair still needed to be driven places. The Volvo had thrown a rod when he went into the marsh and they were having a hard time finding the part. He only prayed it would be soon. He missed the car and the freedom it gave him. Asking Jim to take him places was becoming a nuisance, not that Jim minded or ever complained, but he missed the freedom of having his own wheels.

Almost two months ago, Blair had been having the time of his life with Deedee Brighton. They had fallen in love with a cop show on television and had become involved in writing fan fiction on the Internet. Their intensive research and Deedee's insistence on true-life crime and settings had led them to a nocturnal exploration of an abandoned asylum. They had not been alone that faithful night, and Blair had bravely followed Arthur Pogue to a nest of horrors. Blair had ended up saving the lives of five women, but had spiralled into a deep and dangerous depression when one young woman, April Barrett, had died that night.

He had experienced a short period of self-mutilation in his efforts to revive his feelings, the emotions he had tucked away far into the protective walls of his psyche. If it hadn't been for Jim---thank God there was always Jim---he'd probably be a guest right about now in a facility very similar to the abandoned institute waiting for his daily dose of happy pills.

In all his twenty-eight years, Blair Sandburg had never met a man as forceful as Jim Ellison. He thanked his lucky stars and his fortuitous association with a very observant nurse. When she had faxed him the stats on a patient who was complaining of overactive senses, Blair dared to hope against all hope that he had found a real, live sentinel. Well, he had found that and more. He had found friendship on a level he never knew possible. True, Ellison was a hard man to get to know. The stories he had heard of the pre-Blair days often left him flabbergasted. This shadow from the past was not the man he knew now, but he could often glimpse passing images of that cold shape. Jim could be hard, unreasonable, anal, and determined most times, but he was also warm, caring, and abiding. Blair Sandburg had never had a better friend. If this Jim Ellison only showed himself since Blair came into his world, it didn't mean he never existed before. Blair always thought the real man was in there hiding, protecting his own tender soul from harm. Blair understood running. He understood the need to protect.

Until Blair had entered college at sixteen, his life had been a series of short trips, stops, and adjustments. Naomi Sandburg, flower-child, hippie, and psychic contender for free spirit of the year, knew no fetters. She raised Blair to believe in himself, pursue the truth, and never commit for too long. The world was a gift for their exploration and they needed to see what it had to offer.

However, when he had come to live with Jim in the loft, things had changed in his view of the world. Within a matter of weeks, the loft had crystallized into a warm, cozy home. The Spartan existence of Jim Ellison was slowly folded and put away. Windows were opened wider to bid entrance to the light, soft lamps heated the room in golden warmth on cold nights, doors were installed for privacy, and keys were duplicated as a welcoming and caring gesture. After a strict edict of "one week and you're out," no mention had been made again once the time period had lapsed. Blair lived in a quiet terror those several weeks, waiting for a broken glass or burnt meal or a capless toothepaste tube to call forth the dreaded eviction. It never came. Oh, sure, there was the big cleaning day, the house rules edict, the Tupperware division, but never the ultimatum. These anal displays only secured him deeper in the knowledge that he had found a home at last, and some ground rules for communal living were being clarified.

Now he welcomed the structure to his life, the demands and expectations the ex-military, Special Forces cop constantly exacted. Most were caring tributes to his Blessed Protector. Blair's state of mind was monitored as closely as his heartbeat and body temperature. Nothing went unnoticed when it affected one particular anthropologist.

Jim Ellison looked over the evidence report one more time, perhaps there was something he had missed the first time around. His case load had been down this past week. The pleasant September weather had a healing effect upon the citizens of Cascade. Whatever form of entertainment its denizens were seeking did not involve crime. Detective Jim Ellison was cleaning up some old paperwork on his desk, killing time waiting for his partner.

Things were looking up, by his standards. Blair had finally seemed to be handling the horrors he had witnessed several weeks ago. Well, handling was a subjective term. He wasn't finding the distant planet of Xeon a welcome retreat and he didn't need cuts across his midsection to make him feel alive. If by that small measuring stick, then, yes, Sandburg was handling things pretty damn well. He was finishing up the drunk driving test group and he had actually forgiven Jim the mandatory edict for his attendance. Jim knew he would eventually see reason, and if he didn't, Jim was determined to make him see it.

He remembered all too well the horror he had felt when he had gone looking for a despondent and dejected Sandburg. Luckily, Detective Davis had seen him leaving his favorite campus haunt, totally wasted. Jim had found him on a back, country road, Volvo stuck solidly in mucky goo, and Blair giggling to himself. When Jim was able to regain some sense of reason, he had wanted to shake Sandburg until his teeth rattled. The fears of finding a smash up with Blair and maybe innocent people hurt or dead had been just too much for him to brush under the rug. Sandburg had paid dearly with lecture upon lecture and the propitious introductory training class was perfect for his wayward guide.

Now, things were seemingly on a healing course and almost back to normal. Even Blair's shoulder was healing nicely, hurting only when overused. Dr. Radkin had given him a return to work slip and Blair seemed to be putting the nightmare behind him. Jim was amazed that he didn't have any trouble sleeping. As a matter of fact, that was one of the things Sandburg seemed to want to do most. At first Dr. Radkin explained that he was trying to escape reality and his depression was causing the exhaustion. Now, she said it had a lot to do with the healing process, and he should get his usual energy back in a short while.

Glancing at his watch he noted the time: Nine p.m. Sandburg should be here any minute. He started stacking the paperwork on his desk in nice neat piles and putting the reports back in the manila folders. No more paperwork tonight, they both had a long day. He was looking forward to watching the game on television. They could pick up some carry out on the way home.

Blair slowly came out of the elevator. God, he was exhausted today. He never realized how much effort he expended to get through the day until night time. When the city cloaked herself in darkness, it seemed to cut down on some solar-powered battery within his inner psyche. When the night blackened the world, he wanted to sleep. Oblivion sang a siren's song to him with her thick, licorice lips, soft and seductive, and irresistible.

"Hey, Sandburg, how's it going?" Rafe asked as he passed him in the hall.

"Oh, hey, Rafe. Great, just great. Is Jim at his desk?"

"Yep, seems like he's calling it a day. I swear I hate the quiet days almost as much as I hate the hectic ones. Cleaning my desk and going over old cases is not my idea of adventure."

"Well, I think Jim and I would rather have our adventures toned down a bit," Blair said in an almost wistful way.

"Hey, Blair." Rafe turned around and stopped, remembering what Blair had experienced. "I'm sorry, man, I didn't...."

"No, Rafe, it's me. I've just had a long day." Blair gave him a smile that was guaranteed to patch any holes in its scope.

Blair turned towards Major Crimes and waved a weary hand in the air to signal his indifference. When he saw Jim, he immediately straightened his shoulders, hefted his backpack higher on his back and smiled cheekily, getting into the role of happy Guide.

"I imagine you've about had it with paperwork. How's the housecleaning coming? I bet you're in your glory."

"Sandburg, I'm not as adverse to organization as you are, but I'm about ready to start climbing the walls. I didn't visualize sitting behind a desk doing reports when I signed on as a cop. Simon loves these quiet times at the station. He has everyone in Major Crimes going over old cases and cleaning out their desks. There aren't too many cops around here willing to play happy maid for too much longer."

Ellison looked up and started gauging his friend. Heart rate up a bit, breathing strained, and stomach growling---definitely ready for food and bed, in that order.

"So, how did the last class go?"

"Oh, man, Jim. They have this car that's computer operated. You program in the number of drinks you had and the steering, braking, and overall control of the vehicle is conversely effected. It's amazing. I think the program will do great in driver's ed. Kid's will think twice before getting into a car after drinking."

"What about anthropologists?" Jim stopped as he reached up to snag his jacket from the hook, pinning Blair with a steely-eyed glare.

"Jim, come on man, we've been over this." Sandburg let out an exasperated sigh. "Man, never again. I swear." He raised his right hand for emphasis.

"See that you don't, Chief. I don't ever want to be that pissed at you again."

"Me neither. I've learned my lesson, Jim." He smiled up in grudging acceptance at the man who could at times be quite paternal in his attitude. "Hey, tomorrow we meet at eight p.m. and fill out our reviews of the program. We're all getting together afterwards to celebrate."

"When and where do you want me to pick you up?"

"No problem. Dane said he'd drive me home."

They started walking towards the elevator. As the doors opened, out stepped a small, blond carrying a large backpack. She brushed passed them, then quickly turned as they entered the elevator lost in their plans for dinner.

"Hey, Blair isn't it?"

Blair looked up and grabbed the doors just as they were about to close. "Oh, hey, hi!" he said as he recognized the woman from his class.

"You're the reporter, right? Trudy?"

"Yes, Trudy Towers," she said as she extended her hand. Blair took it and shook it and saw the quizzical look she threw at Jim.

"Ah, excuse me, this is Detective Jim Ellison."

Jim extended his hand. "Pleased to meet you."

The doors started to close once again and Blair gave her a sheepish grin indicating the need for brevity. "I'll see you tomorrow night, right? At Benaro's?"

"Indeed, I wouldn't miss it," she said as she continued to study the pair, as though some distant memory was tugging at her.

As they entered the loft, Jim placed the pizza box on the counter and removed his jacket. Blair trudged in behind him, shed his coat and backpack quickly and proceeded to his room, "I'm not hungry, Jim. I'm going right to bed."

Jim reached out a casual hand and hooked it onto the back of Sandburg's shirt. "Nope, I'm hungry and I want some company. One piece, Chief, and I'll let you off the hook." He quickly tossed his jacket on the hook and putting both hands on his friend's shoulders steered him towards the kitchen table.

"Okay, all right, already," Blair said as he shrugged off the restaining hands. Heading towards the refrigerator, he pulled out two beers, uncapped them, and collected some silverware. He waited for Jim to put the pizza box in the middle of the table. Jim then handed him a plate and watched as Blair took two pieces. Grinning to himself, Jim turned away. Right again, the kid was hungry, just too tired to eat.

"Hey, where is this party tomorrow night and will there be liquor?"

"Jim...." Blair began to protest.

"No, Sandburg, you listen. I'm not sitting here worrying about what shape you or your friends are going to be in when it comes time to drive home. It's a question I have every right to ask. If you can't answer it, I'll be by to pick you..."

"No, no way, man." Blair looked up and saw the piercingly blue, Ellison glare. He knew his options were limited, hell, there were no options when one pigheaded detective set his mind to something, especially when he was in full Blessed Protector mode. Blair shifted uncomfortably, his resentment almost getting the best of him. Then he felt ashamed of his behavior. He had put Jim through enough the last couple of months.

"Dane has a van. He volunteered to be designated driver. We're going for beer and pizza. No big deal. Just a little letting off steam. It's been an intense six weeks."

After eating his pizza and taking several sips of the cold beer, he didn't feel so disagreeable after the hunger pains in his stomach were tended to. Jim was right. He had no right to get bent out of shape because someone worried about him or someone waited for him to come home. That was one of the things he loved most about living with Ellison---the family structure, the sense of belonging.

Naomi Sandburg had been a loving and concerned mother. However, Blair was taught early on to fend for himself. He had very few restrictions put on him. His friends had curfews, household rules, and limitations for just about everything. Blair flew free and wild. He simply didn't need the adult precepts to instruct and guide. His above-average I.Q., his experienced travels, and the independence that Naomi encouraged at all times allowed him to function quite nicely in a variety of situations and environments. Adapting was something Blair Sandburg had down to an art form, but adapting was different---totally different he found out---from feeling at ease or at home. He never knew "home" or the full connotations of that term, until he came to live with Jim. Now the word was a photo album of inviting images, warm smells, and safe feelings---thanks to the man who sat across from him---the man he was giving such a hard time.

Jim Ellison often appeared to be a detached roboton. He had an intense stare that often focused above and beyond the recipient of his attention, yet Blair knew that nothing slipped past his Sentinel. Heartbeats, blood pressure, the nuances of pitch and tone in a voice, all were acknowledged and catalogued. Maybe Jim didn't seem to be attentive and that was perhaps a problem he had in dealing with Carolyn and other women, but he was a man who paid attention to the things that mattered to him. Blair knew this and respected him for it.

"Hey, man, I'm sorry," he said as he finished off his first piece and started on his next. "I'm just tired. I wish I had my energy back. I can't seem to keep my eyes open past nightfall anymore."

Jim smiled, encouragingly. "Dr. Radkin said it was normal. You should be getting back some steam in the next couple of weeks, Chief. Just don't push it. You're on the road to recovery, let it come naturally."

"Dr. Radkin's been really great and all, Jim. I have a lot of respect for her, but I don't think she has all the answers."

"How so?" a worried glance accompanied the query.

"Well, Jim, have you ever wondered who you are or if you're the person that you felt you should be?" Blair asked, creasing his brow to put folds in the question, pressing the edges for form and substance. "She asked me who I thought I was? I told her I didn't know any more. I just knew that I wasn't the me I'm supposed to be." Blair finished the second piece of pizza and wiped his hands on a paper napkin. He picked up his beer and leaned back in his chair as he looked at his friend. "You know what she said to that?" Blair asked matter-of-factly, as though this whole conversation were merely chit chat.

"No, what?" Jim put down his own pizza and gave Blair his full attention. He knew the kid was trying to get something clear in his head and he wanted to pick up all the innuendos that signified obfuscation, avoidance, and out and out lying. Blair was an expert on omissions and revised facts, especially when dealing with his own life and feelings. He wasn't about to sit back and let Blair do a snow job on himself.

"She said I might never be."

Jim sat still and watched the emotions that manifested across the soft features, signalling the hurt, the pain, the confusion. For one quick second he saw the panic that grabbed the anthropologist. Blair had seen horrors in the past month that had robbed the innocence and naivity that were trademark of his sheltered, academic lifestyle. Most of the pain had been part of the hazard of working with a cop, but this particular time it had been a fun outing intended only for garnering information to write fanfiction. Passion had dropped Blair right into a pit of hell and somewhere amid the pain and misery he had lost a portion of his soul.

Jim had sat back for the first few hours of Blair's rescue and watched helplessly as his friend became despondent and uncooperative, running off before his appointment with the department psychiatrist. Jim had to turn hardass on him. After pulling Blair out of the mud and goo he had driven drunkenly into, Jim had forced him to stay within sight of him at all times. There would be no more pricks and cuts to draw blood. The self-mutiliation was a side-effect of the Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome that Blair suffered from. Jim had never been so angry with Blair before, but then he had never been so frightened for his young friend, either. Once Blair had conceded and started his sessions with Dr. Radkin, he only cut himself accidentally. Jim questioned him on every small cut, bruise, and mark on his body. In time, the marks lessened and Jim could actually relax his vigilance. Dr. Radkin agreed the young man was on his way towards recovery and his feelings had once again awakened.

"Chief, I've seen a lot in my life and I've had to wear many faces. You learn in Covert Ops to pretty much shelve your own soul. Our whole operation is lies and deceit. I don't dwell on things I have no control over. Don't worry so much. This New Age bullshit is Naomi's thing. I like what I see. You'll just be someone new, someone better. Things happen in life, Sandburg, we change all the time. Maybe the new you will get to bed at a reasonable hour, will learn to love junk food, and, hey, maybe you'll even get a haircut." The last was accentuated with a hand tousling the long curls.

"No way, Jim. Not the hair. There's no way I'm losing the hair." He seemed to be assuaged by the lightness of the mood, the cheery comaraderie easing the tension of the philosophic avenue of discussion. Things were light for the rest of the meal and Blair seemed to be in much better spirits when he finally trudged off to bed.

Jim cleaned up the dishes and put the remainder of the pizza in the refrigerator. He sat down on the couch and turned on the television, finding the station with the game. The game began capturing only a small part of his concentration, the other part was tuned beyond the glass doors listening intently for any signs of distress. The even breathing of a deep and dreamless sleep were the only signs of life. Soon he lost himself in points, and maneuvers and the roar of the crowd.

"Chief, come on, shake a leg." Jim called as he cracked the eggs into the dish. He needed to drive Sandburg to a lecture and then he planned on stopping off at the courthouse. Then he needed to pick up some records about an old case that may have some bearing on a file that had caught his attention yesterday. Looking over the old cases, with nothing but time on his hands, had made him look at some of the evidence in a new light. Maybe he could solve an old murder. He felt guilty not earning his keep.

"BLAIR!" He finally resorted to a threatening tone.

"I'm coming," came the grumpy reply as the doors opened and a bedraggled anthropologist clad in boxers and t-shirt walked zombie-like towards the bathroom.

Jim watched the uncooperative display and shook his head. He put the coffee on the table, pressed the toaster button down, and put the butter in the heated skillet. Sandburg had never been a morning person, but then he never really wasn't. Jim had learned very soon in their relationship that Sandburg's mornings very much depended on his nights. If he came home late from a particularly appealing evening out or a satisfying date, he could be all chipper, song and dance in the morning, sometimes perturbing Jim with his exhuberance. Other times, when grading papers or lecture notes held him hostage into the wee hours of the morning, he could rise as grumpy as any bear from hibernation. Jim had learned to deal with both Sandburgs. Some mornings he actually preferred the quiet one, when his own restless slumbers left him bitter and branded with fatigue.

Ten minutes later Sandburg delivered himself to the table. He had chosen a soft blue sweater of light cotton that clarified the crystal coolness of his eyes. Jim often felt Blair's eyes were the one constant in his ever-changing features; features that relayed every nuance, every thought, and every emotion that passed through that razor-sharp mind. However, the cerulean orbs always remained constant like cool, clear water, deep, passionate, and expressive. The few times he saw the light dim, the sun seemed less bright in his own world. Jim Ellison did everything in his power to keep that light glowing brightly.

"Hey, Chief, what time do you want me to pick you up?"

Blair reached for a slice of the freshly made toast and began lightly buttering it. Jim placed a plate of eggs in front of him and then settled himself down with his own breakfast before him.

"I have the lecture from nine to eleven. I set office hours from eleven to noon. Anytime after noon should be fine."

"Okay, I'll pick you up at twelve thirty. I need to stop at the courthouse after I drop you off and I want to stop by the wharf. I've been reviewing some old, unsolved cases in my down time and something's been bothering me about one of the murders that took place there several years ago. Simon has a big cleaning project in the works today for anyone with time on their hands."

"Jim, I always thought neat cop was an oxymoron. Look at Colombo. If you watch most television programs the cop always looks disorganized and sloppy; it's all part of a cop's charm. Now after knowing you, I have a hard time buying into half the programming that's on television." Blair said teasingly as he put a forkful of the light, fluffy eggs in his mouth.

"You watch the wrong programs, Sandburg. Cops are organized; they process tons of information. They just pretend to be disorganized and forgetful---part of the charm, but also part of the game plan. A little like your obfuscating, a magic act to disarm. You should know."

"Whoa, Jim, I don't obfuscate all the time. I just present the information I think is important, maybe a little rearranging of facts and misrepresentation of feelings and it's a relatively convincing act, but, Jim, always for the benefit of the audience. There's a difference. No harm done."

"Yeah, Chief, there's harm done, you just don't see it." Jim eyed him speculatively.

Blair looked up, shrugged and declared his indifference. "I get by," he said with just a hint of bitterness. He often wondered how their conversations could be about one thing, but end up about something so much deeper and intimate. Jim had a way of steering his conversations down roads he just didn't want to travel.

Just then the phone rang. Blair was out of his chair before Jim could even put down his fork. He was glad to escape the scrutiny.

"Hello," he said.

"Hi, honey, how are you sweety?"

"Hi, Mom," he said as he looked at Jim. Jim waved a hand in the air acknowledging the caller. "Jim says 'hi.' Naomi says 'hi.' What?" Then Blair turned and walked to the glass doors by the patio. He slid the doors open and lowered his voice.

"No, Mom. No! Okay, okay, I'll tell him. He's busy, Mom. I said I would."

Jim was growing curious with the information the one-sided conversation presented, but out of respect for his roommate he tuned his hearing down and didn't even try to hear Naomi's side of the dialogue. He tried to concentrate on his meal. He kept hearing words pass through his ears: hunter green, love you, careful honey.

When Blair returned to the table, he looked a little pale. His heartbeat was fast and he seemed preoccupied. He sat back down, took his coffee mug in his hands and stared out the window.

"Problems?" Jim asked as he finished off the last of his eggs.

"No, everything's fine." The statement was given quietly, undramatically, and totally unbelievably.

Jim noticed that the eggs were forgotten. "Come on, Sandburg, finish up. We've got to get going."

Jim began cleaning up the breakfast dishes as Blair wolfed down the rest of his meal. "How's your mom doing?

"She's fine, Jim, everything's just fine," Blair said as he brought his own dish over to the sink for Jim to wash.

"Where is she?"

"Canada, somewhere near Alaska. There's a religious group there studying eastern religions and mystical rites. Naomi's in her own element." Blair looked up from behind the curls that had fallen over his eyes as he put away the bread and helped Jim straighten the kitchen. He could tell that Jim was curious about the phone call. Naomi didn't call very often and it was usually on the occasion of an intended visit, good or bad news, or concern for her son. How much of Naomi's side of the conversation had Jim actually heard?

The campus was alive with activity. It was the beginning of a new semester and students were gathering around the lawns, discussing classes, professors, and curriculum syllabi. Blair noticed a group of students talking loudly around some old trees that were on the front lawns of Hargrove Hall.

He noticed one of his former students, Frank White, in the crowd. "Hey, Frank, how's it going? What's going on here?"

"Oh, Hi, Mr. Sandburg, everything's fine. Just a group of us who want to save these beautiful old oaks. We heard they want to chop them down to put a concrete courtyard out here. It's a sacrilege." Frank was all alive and bright with the energy of the self-righteous and politically active.

Blair smiled to himself. "Yeah, I'm with you, Frank. These trees are beautiful and they're old. It takes years for a tree to get this big. Anything I can do to help, let me know."

Pulling his backpack off, he entered Hargrove Hall. He thought back on Janet and their adventures---chaining themselves to the great Old Man. How alive he had felt in those days. How alive Janet had been. They were always the rebel-rousers, the troopers on a cause of one kind or another. Never had he experienced such freedom of soul, such assurance that he was right and doing the work of the just. He hungered for those feelings again.

It was a lot like he felt when working with Jim. He knew how important Jim's work was. Jim was a sentinel to the City of Cascade. Jim was the watchman and protector of men coming together to live in peace. Blair was his guide, a kindred soul who made sure Jim stayed focused, and didn't zone out on any one sense. He felt he had an important role in the scheme of things, but his role was purely predicated by his relationship to Jim. If Jim one day decided he didn't need him or maybe if Jim found another Guide, Blair's whole life would be negated. All his life work, all his dedication and commitment to learning about Sentinels would be wasted. Was that all that his life came down to now: Supporting the Sentinel.

No, he thought as he dropped his backpack on the floor by his desk and waited for the first student to arrive. No, there's more to me than that. I have to find the me I was before I met Jim. I have to be ready at all times to resume another life if Jim should every kick me out. Then he was amazed at the knife that cut through his heart with that image. He realized the devastation he would experience if that ever happened. He would have a hard time adjusting if Jim didn't want him around any more. This dark and gloomy thought spiralled him into a quiet funk.

Then as he brooded on these thoughts of possible betrayal, his mind recalled the phone call from Naomi. Hunter Green. After all this time, surely he'd forgiven and forgotten. Surely.

Jim stood outside Blair's office for several minutes watching his energetic partner finish up a few remaining minutes with a student. The door was open and Blair was giving a pep talk to a student who didn't feel he could handle the work load Blair had laid out in the syllabus. Jim often marvelled at the fresh approach Blair used in handling each and every student, recognizing at all times the different needs, ambitions, and hopes brought before him in the course of a day. He could sense the level of obfuscation Blair reached to convince each student that they had far more potential than they were aware of. Trust was a rare commodity, traded by dealers and brokers with expertise, con men in the game of mind play, but Blair gave and received trust like tithe. It was a given in his relationship with his students. Any games played, any tricks of hand or eye, all were for the best interests of his students, and they all knew it.

The young man walked proudly out of Blair's office, a few feathers readjusted under his wings, and he looked like he could fly. Jim just winked at Blair and shook his head. Blair laughed and grabbed his backpack. "I'm ready. I could use some lunch."

"My thoughts exactly, Chief, but it's going to have to be a quick drive through at Wonder Burger. I have an appointment with a witness at one thirty and Simon dumped a whole pile of faxes on my desk. Rhonda was called away on a family emergency and he thought maybe you could sort through them before you tackle my reports."

"Sure, Jim, no problem. With the semester just starting I don't have any papers to grade. Plus parent day is this weekend so classes have been cancelled for Monday. A three-day weekend sounds great to me right about now. I could use the time to catch up on my sleep." He accentuated the statement with a yawn. "The rest of my week is light, so I can help out at the station." Jim noticed that the minute they left the campus and Blair no longer had to wear the robes of academia, his energy level seemed to start waning.

They passed the students grouped by love and passion around the old oak trees. Blair kept looking back and Jim noticed the wistful glances filled with longing and past rememberance. It was a look filled with sadness and regret, and Jim couldn't help but wonder what was going through his friend's mind. He knew some of Blair's early college days. His friend was not a laid-back student, but a mover and shaker. He imagined Sandburg as a thorn in many a professor's side. With his sharp mind, inquisitive journey of discovery, and his bull-dogged determination, Blair could drive the most sane man to madness. Jim smiled at the thought, a fine madness all the way.

I was like glassfish. I swam in murky waters, clear and content. No fish stands out when they all swim pale and crystalline. My soul lay bare in fragile filaments of tender bone, gauzy entrails and translucent flesh. I was like glassfish. I swam bare and open to the world. The trusting soul of all creation offers up to view---not knowing shame, nor standards, and sees no failing in itself. I was like glassfish. Then some perfect hand took me to task. Colored me in soft pastels and dyed my soul to match. For my own good, they said, the colors brighten you; there's more for them to see. But tincture hurts my tender flesh, the colors leak and fade. I wither in full view for a satisfied few. I was like glassfish.

PART TWO: COLORS OF THE FALL

When they got to the station, Jim set the paper sack on his desk. He explained to Blair what had to be done with the faxes and notifications. Blair grabbed a hamburger and coke and began going over the large stack of unsorted notices. Jim picked up the case file folder he had been working on and began preparing himself for his meeting in ten minutes. Each man became lost and content in his world of work and sustenance.

All of a sudden Jim was distracted by the loud erratic beating of a heart racing wildly. He heard a quick gasp of breath and looked up just in time to see Blair rush off to the men's room.

"Hey, Chief, what's wrong?" he yelled.

"I'm fine. I just need some water." Blair yelled back, but continued on towards the outer hall. Jim picked up the small remaining portion of the hamburger. He smelled it to check for any signs of bad meat or foreign substances. He picked up the coke and smelled, then sipped. All seemed fine by his standards. Then he looked down on the paperwork that Blair had been sorting through. Maybe it was something gruesome or horrible that had upset his friend's lunch. Nothing appeared unusual, no crime scenes with blood and gore, no unusually graphic descriptions.

"Detective Ellison?"

Jim looked up to see Mr. Owen March, timidly standing before his desk. The banker was one of the witnesses to the car that dumped the murder victim's body on the wharf five years ago.

"Oh, Mr. March, thanks for coming. We can talk in one of the interview rooms," Jim said as he reached down to retrieve the file he had laid on the desk. His eye caught a fax that was laying next to the folder. One name caught his attention: Hunter Green. Now where had he heard that name before? He quickly read further. It was simply a notice to inform the Cascade Police Department that Hunter Green, 70's activist and terrorist had been paroled six months ago. Apparently Hunter Green had decided to look for employment in Cascade. Jim shrugged his shoulders and directed Mr. March to the outer hallway.

When Blair came back to the desk, he was glad to see Jim had gone off to his interview. He did not want to explain to him the little scene he had just witnessed. Man, get a grip here, Sandburg, he chastised himself, Naomi's got me all rattled with her paranoia. It's just coincidence that's all. The man's free, he has a right to go anywhere he wants to look for work. He continued the conversation with himself until he ran out of arguments. Hunter Green was from Kansas, why come all the way up to Cascade, Washington. Naomi's words took on a new spin, "be careful." Well, now he knew he had better be just that.

When five o'clock came around, Jim was ready to call it a day.

"Come on, Sandburg. Let's go grab a bite to eat. I can swing back here and drop you off at the Traffic Bureau. You'll be hungry if you don't eat something." Jim was putting his coat on. He had a rather productive day. After speaking with Mr. March, he had other avenues to pursue in the still unsolved murder.

"No, Jim, thanks anyway, man. I'll just hang around here and hopefully cut down on what has to be done tomorrow. You go ahead. Don't wait up for me." Blair waved his hand in the air as he buried himself in some more reports. He was reading everything and setting up files for easy retrieval.

"Oh, Jim. Where's Simon been all day?" Blair asked. He was not anxious to meet with Simon, not since the incident with Mazorelski. He knew Simon was planning on a real heart-to-heart with him. Jim had warned him.

Jim smiled down at his friend. Blair put both elbows on the desk, pushed his hair back away from his face and grimaced. "You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?"

"Well, Chief, I guess it's about time you get your comeuppance. Simon didn't take too kindly to you not trusting him with the information you found on Mazorelski. I know I didn't handle it too well, either."

True, Jim had ripped Blair up one side and down the other about his lack of faith in Jim's professionalism. Blair had assumed that since Mazorelski had been Jim's partner at one time in Vice that Jim wouldn't accept evidence that Mazorelski might have been helping his brother kill and torture prostitutes. The fact, too, that Mazorelski was a councilman only added to the flack he took from Jim. Jim wanted him to know that if he ever suspected malfeasance on his part or anyone else's, he should go to Simon. He wanted Blair to know he didn't expect to be judged by any different standards because he was Sandburg's friend and a cop.

Simon was even more put out with Blair's failure to come to him with the information. If Blair felt Jim couldn't handle a friend and former partner being corrupt, then he should have voiced his suspicions to Simon. The lecture had been hanging over Blair's head for several weeks, but his particular dance of avoidance was well choreographed. He made a point of only being in the office after Simon was long gone. Now since he had his 'return to work' slip from Dr. Radkin, he didn't have any more viable excuses. He just didn't want to deal with it today.

"Just not tonight, Jim. I just couldn't handle it tonight," Blair almost whined.

"Relax, Sandburg, he left early this morning. One of Joan's aunts died and he flew out to the funeral. He should be back by tomorrow night. So you have a reprieve, Darwin, but you'd better resign yourself to that fact sooner or later Simon is going to talk you."

"I know. I know I screwed up." Blair returned to his work.

Jim turned to leave, but stopped before he hit the door to the bullpen.

"Chief?" he called.

"Yeah?" Blair looked up.

"Are you sure you're feeling okay? After that problem with lunch, I think maybe you should just skip the party tonight."

"No, I'm fine. Stop worrying already." Blair smiled. "Just go home, Jim. You look tired."

Jim nodded in agreement, a tired nod of weariness and capitulation. He left Major Crimes and headed home. There was no use arguing. Sandburg was hiding behind obfuscation and avoidance. Waiting was the operative word, the tactical maneuver in most cases involving Sandburg. When Sandburg fell, he would make damn good and sure that he was there to catch him.

The testing took about half an hour. Blair was quite impressed with the questions asked and he knew that any student sent to this class for drunk driving would be carefully monitored in his responses. They would give a pretty good idea whether or not the student learned any lessons from the intensive instructions and lectures, and the instructors would know if the student would be a repeat drunk driver. Blair gave the course glowing reviews and eagerly encouraged its acceptance in Cascade and in the High School Driver's Education Program. He closed his test, handed it to Officer Nolan and left the classroom. He waited in the hallway with the other students who had finished early. Those attending the celebration were happily chatting.

Blair recognized Deidre Brown, Henry Brown's sister. She had told him about her one foolish drive home, after a date kept ordering her more and more drinks every time she went to the ladies' room. Henry had given her a stern reprimand after her mom and dad had snitched on her. Attending the class was the only way she could get her brother to stop lecturing.

"Hi, Blair," she said, her white teeth glowing against her dark skin, making her smile seem brilliant. "Henry told me about your experience, how you rescued those poor women."

"Yeah, well, I was glad I could help." Turning away, not really wanting to go there, he saw Trudy Towers standing behind, off to the side. She must have gone off to the bathroom when Blair came out of the classroom.

"Hi, Trudy," he said and noticed the cameraman shadowing her. Trudy had taped her spot in front of the classroom before the testing began and Officer Nolan explained the course in detail to the camera. Everyone involved in the program was supporting it and wanted as much good publicity as possible. Blair was glad to help get the training program approved, but he didn't really want to be on camera.

"Blair, this is Randy Jarvis, my cameraman. I've asked Randy to join us at Benaro's. I hope that's okay."

"Sure, why not."

Dane was the last to come out of the classroom. He smiled at Blair and patted him on the shoulder. Blair returned the gesture with a short jab to Dane's arm. They had become close during the six-week program. Dane Cartwright was District Attorney Eric Cartwright's son. One night, after his girlfriend broke up with him, Dane had smashed his Corvette into a parked car. He and Blair understood the pain that sometimes got the best of you, but they both shared the knowledge that they had been terribly wrong to get behind the wheel of a car drunk. Blair liked Dane's easy charm and boyish personality, but more so, he liked his honesty and acceptance of himself and others.

"Okay, everyone ready to party?" Dane asked the waiting group.

"Yeah." "Right on, my man." "Let's get to it," were some of the answering cries.

Trudy and Randy said they would drive to Benaro's in their WCAS van. Deirdre, Lisa and Andy decided to share a ride. Deirdre said she would drop them back at the Bureau to collect their cars. Blair and Tom were going with Dane in his van and Dane would drop both men off at their homes afterwards. Bud drove alone.

The party had been fun. Blair found himself relaxing with the group and though he caught himself yawning repeatedly, he was pleased that he was getting some of his night spirit back. He only had one beer, having lost his taste for careless drinking. Dane stayed true to his word and only drank Coke, along with Deirdre and Lisa. Andy was drinking mixed drinks, but he swore he was riding home with his dad, the cop, once Deirdre dropped him back at the station. Bud left after making a show and grabbing a quick bite, begging off with later plans for the evening. Trudy and Randy came in a little late. They said they were detoured to catch some coverage of a smash up on the Interstate.

Several times during the evening, Blair was aware of Trudy's eyes on him. He would be talking, losing himself in the camaraderie, and suddenly he would turn and see her staring at him. He smiled, embarrassed, and stared down into his beer.

After Deirdre, Lisa and Andy left, Blair was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Trudy had started asking Blair questions about his relationship with the police department and Jim Ellison.

"I'm a consultant for the police department. I was initially an observer studying the sub-cultures and structure of men in blue, but after helping out on several cases, I was given consultant status." He took a sip from the water glass he had been drinking from the last hour. The waitress had been kind enough to keep it full and Blair was chewing on the ice cubes to mask his nervousness. Something about the evening just didn't feel right. At first he chalked it off to his exhaustion, his own irritability with his lack of energy, but later he finally admitted it was Trudy Towers. He felt like a specimen under glass, as though he were the subject of the evening, the focal point of events. He found it unnerving.

Trudy excused herself and went to the ladies' room. Blair forgot about her as Tom started talking about computers and their benefit to society, such as the Neon they had all driven.

"Oh, Mr. Sandburg, I thought it was you," a soft voice said behind him. Blair turned to look up into the face of a washed-out woman. Her straight brown hair hung lifelessly down her face and she wore little or no makeup.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" he asked perplexed.

"No, probably not. We were never introduced, but you saved my life. I'm Bess Western. I was in that room when Arthur Pogue brought Sandra Black down there. I saw you run away from him. I know it was you who saved our lives."

Blair blinked confused. He didn't really want to be reminded of that night. He turned to look up and saw that Trudy Towers was smiling proudly and Randy was video taping the whole scene. He turned back to his water.

"I want to thank you, Mr. Sandburg. I can't tell you how grateful I am to you. You did a very brave thing." At this she bent down and kissed him on his cheek. She turned to look at Trudy, as though waiting for a cue, then she walked out.

Trudy then stood in front of the camera and started to speak, "This is a memorable night. A hero, a quiet, gentle, college professor of Anthropology, meets a woman whose life he saved several weeks ago. It goes to show you how you never know who you are in the midst of. Here we were covering a driving program and we see a silent hero in our group. Bess Western was a recent survivor of the Asylum atrocities, she was lucky this young......"

"No," Blair said as he shook his head. The camera was still rolling centered on him. "Please, Trudy. Don't."

Dane grabbed Blair's arm and pulled him out of the restaurant, followed by Tom. "Come on, let's go." Behind them they could hear Trudy Towers continuing her newscast.

When Blair was in the passenger seat and Tom was sitting behind him, Dane locked all the doors on the van. He turned to Blair. "Hey, we all know about you and what you did. We also know you took it pretty hard. None of us would have been so insensitive to tell her. Everyone in that class is a friend or family member of someone involved in Cascade government and law enforcement. She must have recognized you, or just got curious and did some snooping. We're your friends, Blair."

Blair turned to look at Dane, regaining his composure. Bess Western had just taken him by surprise. He wasn't ready to have the memory of that night dumped on him in the middle of a party. "I know, Dane. It never occurred to me that it was one of you. She saw me with Jim last night at the police station. That probably made her curious."

"Let's just leave. I'm tired." He said as he noticed Trudy and Randy coming out the door.

Dane started the van and they pulled out onto the highway. "Tom, tell me where to turn off?" Dane dropped Tom off at his apartment building. Traffic was still pretty heavy, even though it was one in the morning.

"I think I'll swing by on Highway 6 and go around. It's usually not very busy this time of night and gets us out of the city. I'm really sorry about what happened tonight, Blair. We were supposed to have privacy when we signed up for the class." Dane was around Blair's age. He was working as a law assistant in his Dad's office.

"Captain Banks isn't going to be too happy about this either. Everyone at the station kept my name out of the papers. I don't need this kind of attention right now. Not with school just starting." Blair rubbed a tired hand over his face pushing back his hair. He looked out the window and the blackness of the night engulfed them. He checked the side view mirror and could make out headlights in the far distance behind them. He rolled his window down, refreshed by the cool, night air.

"This road really is deserted at night. I should keep it in mind when I want to cross town without all the traffic," Blair said as he watched Dane drive at a steady speed, keeping well within the speed limit.

Blair noticed the car was gaining on them. Well he could always pass, there wasn't another car in sight.

"Hey, how about some music?" Dane asked, as he reached down to put the radio on and started adjusting the dials looking for a station to lighten their spirits and keep them awake. All of a sudden there was a loud burst and the van was out of control. Dane tried to keep the van on the road, but the front tire must have blown and he couldn't hold it steady.

Blair tried to grab the wheel, but the sharp swerve sent him against the window, straining against his seat belt. The van plunged off the shoulder into a deep ravine, then they were rolling and rolling and rolling. There must have been a brief period of unconsciousness, because his next congnizant thought was a view of the van upside down. Hanging topsy turvy in his harness strap brought blood raging into his head, exacerbating his headache. The tires were still turning. Then he smelled gas. He took a deep breath and reached over to release his shoulder strap, screaming as he moved his left arm. Bracing himself for the inevitable fall, he quickly grabbed the side door handle to help right himself. Then he looked at Dane who was hanging unconscious next to him.

He was thankful he had rolled his window down to get some fresh air. The doors looked like they were pretty well jammed by the trees where they had landed. He used his right hand to release Dane's harness, bracing his shoulders against the dead weight so that Dane wouldn't fall and injure himself any more. Blair saw a large gash on his forehead, bleeding profusely. His efforts to ease the burden down caused him to bang his left arm and he let out a cry of pain.

Backing carefully out the open window, pulling the unconscious form along with him, he struggled to pull Dane several yards from the van. He heard cars and sirens up on the road. There were bright lights focused down on him. Then as his attention was turned towards his would-be rescuers the gas tank exploded. He threw himself over Dane and thanked God they had made it out in time.

Blair heard the commotion, but he was drifting in and out of everything that was going on about him. His arm hurt and he was sure it was broken between the elbow and wrist. He was being tended to by the paramedics, who said he seemed fine except for the broken arm. They answered his eager concern for Dane with reassurances: a possible concussion, nothing life threatening.

One of the responding officers was Davis. "Blair, I called Detective Ellison. He's on his way." Blair just nodded his head. The thought of Jim taking over and making decisions, cleaning up the mess and putting his life back in order, pacified his distressed spirit. He wanted to see Jim right about now, hell, he needed Jim.

The ambulance was ready to leave. One of the paramedics came over to Blair. "Mr. Sandburg we're taking Mr. Cartwright to the hospital, why don't you come with us. You need that arm set."

"No, I'll wait for Jim. He'll take me to the emergency room. Just go ahead, I'll be fine." The medic looked at Davis for confirmation, not really wanting to take responsibility for leaving a man who needed medical attention.

"Go ahead, if his friend doesn't come, I'll take him, myself."

Davis looked down at the cut on Blair's forehead. "I got the call just as I was going back to the station. You're lucky that tv crew was driving by."

Blair looked up for the first time to the outer circle of spectators and saw Trudy Towers and Randy Jarvis filming the events of the evening. He couldn't make out what she was saying, and he was really glad he couldn't. He waited patiently for Jim to come. Everything was always better when Jim arrived.

When Blair saw the look on Ellison's face, all the comfort and eagerness with which he colored the arrival were washed away. Ellison was not a happy man, and that usually bode ill for anyone responsible. Blair secretly wished Simon was here. Sometimes Simon acted as a buffer between the volatile Ellison and his Guide. It was true that when Ellison was distraught or angry at anyone else, Blair could step in, grab hold of the madman and reduce him to reason and calm in a matter of minutes with a few well-chosen words. However, when his Guide was the reason for his irritability, only Simon seemed able to calm the storm, bridge the river, and clear away the debris.

"What happened?" Ellison asked as he put one hand on Blair's shoulder and started accessing the situation and physical health of his Guide. He inspected the cut at Blair's hairline, gently turning his face with a firm hand on his jaw. Pulling the left arm out of Blair's lap for inspection, his jaw muscle started doing an independent popping act as he clenched his teeth. Ellison was a man who had to be in control. When that control was out of his hands whether due to situations or people, he desperately needed to regain control. It usually required his own special brand of intimidation to retake the reins, but retake them he always did. This time Blair just wanted him to take over and put an end to the evening that had started out with such promise.

"Jim, Dane's tire must have blown. He lost control and we rolled over. Dane's going to be all right, at least the paramedics thought so. He has a possible concussion." Blair leaned back into the police car and rested his right shoulder against the seat, weariness overcoming him.

Jim looked down at the arm and gently lifted it, once again. Blair winced, but said nothing. Jim turned to Davis. "Didn't anyone look at him?"

Davis had known the wrath of Ellison. Almost a year ago, Davis had been called to Rainier on an attempted rape. He found Jim's partner with a concussion. The kid had stopped a rape attempt and taken a beating with a lead pipe. The two roommates had had a nasty argument and Blair had pleaded with Davis not to tell Jim. Davis had learned not to make such promises again. "Jim, he refused to go with them to the hospital. He kept saying you would take him."

Jim frowned down at Blair, who nodded his concurrence. Grabbing Blair by both shoulders he gently pulled him to his feet. "Then let's do just that, Chief. Come on."

The loft was inviting to Blair as he preceded Jim through the door. His left arm was in a cast from his wrist to his elbow. The pain pills had already kicked in and he could barely keep his eyes open. He allowed Jim to remove his jacket and he headed towards his room. Neither man had spoken since the last conversation in the truck.

Jim had turned to Blair the minute he had gotten into the driver's seat, "I just have one question, Sandburg, was he drinking?"

"NO! I told you already, he only drank Coke. I sat next to him the whole night. Dane was sober when he got behind the wheel. It was a blowout, Jim. It could have happened to anyone. Just don't make a big deal out of it, all right?"

"Well, it didn't happen to anyone, it happened to you. Which means I'm probably going to make a big deal out of it."

Blair threw up his hands in disgust and winced as he forgot about his left arm. Jim noted the increased heart rate and rising temperature, so he just casually turned to start the truck and not another word was spoken.

Jim Ellison admitted that he was not an easy man to live with. He understood that Blair had to make a lot of concessions when he moved into the Ellison loft. At first he admitted that the kid got on his nerves. The total lack of respect for order, time frames and rules irritated the hell out of him sometimes. He remembered asking Blair repeatedly to remove some masks from the television. After receiving the rote reply "I will" once too often, Blair had come home one day to see Jim in a cleaning frenzy. That was the day the notorious house rules were established. Blair ended up taking everything in good spirits, but Jim could tell the effort his roommate often expended trying to remember simple rules, like: not leaving your backpack by the door, hanging up your coat, actually getting your clothes to land in the hamper not on the floor, and keeping the table clean.

He often wondered how the kid got by never wearing a watch. Was this just another symbolic gesture embedded in his young friend's mind by the free-spirited Naomi. Blair always seemed to keep University appointments and commitments, but he had a natural aversion to the impression of time constraints. Just like he never had a set bedtime, wakeup call, or dinner schedule. Sometimes he even needed to set the alarm clock to remind him to get to bed at a decent hour. Jim wondered how the kid had made it this far in life. Apparently God did look after fools and children. Sandburg was living proof.

Now as he watched his partner trudge off to bed to salvage whatever sleep was remaining to the night, he tried to be reasonable. Right now he should be thankful Blair wasn't hurt too badly. A broken arm and cuts on various parts of his body were a small price to pay. He had seen the van after the explosion and he thanked whatever angels watched over said fools and children that Blair and Dane had both made it out in time.

Several minutes were tactfully filled while he tidied up the loft, a pretense of business, listening intently to the sounds behind the glass doors. When he heard the even, smooth breathing of slumber, he walked over to the French doors and opened them slowly. Blair hadn't even bothered to undress. He had kicked off his shoes and lay curled on his side, cradling the injured left arm to his chest. The comforter was pulled haphazardly around his upper torso. Jim walked in slowly and pulled the quilt off of Blair. He shook it out and softly laid it over the still form. Sandburg never moved once, but took a deep sigh, as though within his somber travels he had found some sense of peace.

You who speak of family names so old and grand, speak not to me of pride and honor. I see no pride in ballroom dance and stuffed shirts of wealth. I, too, have roots. Perhaps I do not dwell with blood from Europe's royal troops nor the charm and pomp of forefathers who championed a cause. Mine came not on the Mayflower and I am not a daughter of any Revolution. Yet, I stand tall and I stand proud. Speak not to me of ancestors fine, for I have hugged trees, and recognized one of mine.

PART THREE: THE ROOT OF THE CAUSE

Jim dropped Blair off early at his office. Jim tried several times to pull Blair out of his quiet sulk, but to no avail. Finally he just gave up. Let him stew if that's what he wants. The grad student had told Jim that he would catch a ride back to the loft with one of the other Teaching Fellows. His Blessed Protector had tried repeatedly to get him to call in sick, today, but he was adamant about finishing off the week, explaining that he had plenty of time to recuperate over the long weekend.

Once again the quiet group of protestors sat around the oak trees in front of Hargrove Hall. Blair smiled to himself, memory recalling his own rebel-rousing protests in upper Washington. He remembered their passionate resolve and determination to spare the Old Man. The Old Man was a giant Western redcedar near Forks, Washington, just outside of Olympic National Park. Two of the largest trees were in the area, but the Old Man was special. Several settlers on their way west had written of the beauty and impressiveness of this giant. Next to him were two smaller Alaskan Cedars they had named the Little Sisters. Blair and Janet had chained themselves, along with several other activists, around the tree's massive trunk when a resort developer had wanted to build his hotel around them. He felt that such a site would make an impressive center for his hotel courtyard. The young activitists had won their fight, and Janet and Blair and the others had formed a quiet bond, as soldiers often do who have seen combat together, especially when the soldier's hearts are committed to the war.

The day went pretty well for him for the most part. He called the hospital and found out that Dane had been released that morning. He was doing fine.

Blair's arm ached and the cast was a nuisance, but he declined taking a pain killer. He wanted his mind lucid and he didn't want to risk the ennui that overtook him so easily lately. When he left his office around noon, hoping to catch a fellow teaching assistant and get a ride home, he was drawn to the small group of protesters.

"Hey, Mr. Sandburg, come sit with us for awhile. The University will take us seriously if we get more teachers' support." Frank was a tall, athletic man who took everything with an easy charm. Blair liked him and thought he would go far if he just learned to take school work a bit more seriously.

"Sure, Frank. Any word on the courtyard decision, yet?"

Blair situated himself down between Frank and a small brunette. Frank offered him a hand when he saw the cast. "How did that happen, Mr. Sandburg?"

"Oh, I just fell."

"Mr. Sandburg?" another student of Blair's called from across the circle. "Did you ever protest when you were an undergrad?"

"Phyllis, I could tell you stories. A group of us once chained ourselves around a tree. It wasn't to save the tree's life, but save it's dignity. I hate to say it, but it's not you that's going to save these trees, it's the press. You need publicity and you need to get to the University contributors behind you. It's sad, but money does talk." Blair started giving them his opinion of strategy and telling them some of his own war stories. He was so wrapped up in the session that he didn't notice the WCAS Channel 5 van pull up and Randy Jarvis start filming the whole scene.

"Hey, look!" one of the student's yelled. "It's Trudy Towers, from Five Alive. We'll have all the coverage we could want."

When Blair looked up and saw Trudy, he immediately tried to get up. Frank jumped up and helped him, reaching down and handing Blair his backpack. "Do you have to go, Mr. Sandburg, we could use your support."

"I'm sorry, Frank, but I have an appointment. Good luck. I love these trees, too." Then Blair put his head down and quickly walked away.

When Blair arrived at the loft he was tired. Now he was glad Jim told him not to come to the station. He still had classes Thursday and Friday to get through, and his energy level was waning fast. Slowly getting out of the elevator, he started digging for his keys. Looking up just in time, he noticed a rather large box in front of the loft moments before he fell over it. Examining the label, he read: Blair Sandburg.

Unlocking the door, he put his backpack down under the coat rack and slowly pushed the box in, using his good right arm. Turning around and closing the door, he continued to push the box over to the sofa area. He went over to the kitchen and filled the kettle with water allowing it to heat under a low flame. Placing a tea bag in his favorite mug, he opened the utility drawer where Jim kept a small exacto knife. Moving over to the sofa with eager anticipation, he sat down on the cushions and began opening the box.

Jim had spent a dull morning trying to follow up on some information supplied to him by Oliver March. Memory has failings in the morning, let alone several seasons past. However, he felt better earning his keep as he was trained to do. He didn't relish sitting in the office doing paperwork or cleaning out his desk drawers.

He called Davis and checked to see if any blood tests had come back on Dane Cartwright. He had trusted Blair and believed that he was over the depression and dark mood that had led him to handle his life with a little less concern than normal. Well, normal by Blair's standards at least. The observer had a penchant for rushing into situations, hell bent for leather, concerned for everyone but himself. Though Blair was not suicidal these past few months, the light in his eyes was a little dimmer and Jim feared the wear on Blair's soul. Blair seemed to run on some inner generator that burned with passion and commitment. When his tender soul was traumatized he went within himself putting on an outer shell that showed the world, the unobservant, a well-adjusted academic. A Sentinel---no, a friend---one well-tuned to the silent sounds of pain could tell the facade was only that.

Jim had nothing against obfuscation and avoidance. He had practiced the craft himself most of his life. Most men he knew could be fooled with his hard-ass, jaw-clenching routine, but not Blair. Blair saw through it all. Blair often literally ran in where angels feared to tread. He had no doubts. In his mind Jim would never hurt him. Even after slamming him up against a wall, Blair pushed back in the surefooted way of the righteous. Sure, Blair took on the hurt, puppy dog look that Jim was learning how to ignore, but as frightened as he would be when Jim was in a rage, he stood his ground and dug in. Blair knew the difference between anger and uncontrollable rage; he knew the difference between a man at his limits and a bastard; he knew the frustrations and horrors that Jim saw on a daily basis, and he knew how to handle the man, the man inside of Jim Ellison.

Jim's whole life had been a front. The hurt his father had inflicted upon him and Steven had left him distrustful of all relationships. Carolyn had bore the brunt of his inexperience in relationships and try as he did to keep the marriage alive, wear and tear had taken it's toll. He was just not willing to give that much of himself; besides, he didn't think there was all that much worth giving.

Then a hippie punk had come bursting into his life. Sandburg was a person he would never have given the time of day. As a matter of fact, if a crime had been committed within the vicinity, Sandburg would have been one of the first people he would have patted down. Now he realized how wrong first impressions can be. Now he had the other part of his soul sharing his loft and he was amazed at how easy it all had been, when he learned to trust a little.

Blair had wormed his way into a one-week stay in the loft when the warehouse he was calling home had been blown up by drug dealers next door. At first Jim had counted down the days when Sandburg would leave. After the incident with Larry trashing his place, he had told Blair in no uncertain terms that he was out. However, he watched Blair accept the eviction. He remembered the large, cold warehouse, the huge rats, the ratty couch and stark conditions that Blair branded home. A protective instinct came over him, and rather than admit the soft spot within him, he let the period slide from a week, to two, to three and on and on. Blair never said anything lest the bubble burst, and Jim never admitted that he wanted his new roommate to stay.

Games, everyone played them. Jim let out a long sigh now, wishing the gameboard could be put away and Blair could open up about his feelings. The last couple of weeks had been a pantomine. Blair's expressions were the only sign of the pain and horror he had experienced with Arthur Pogue. He was better, that much was for sure, but there was something missing and the missing piece scared the hell out of Jim Ellison. If he had not known the energetic academic, the youthful spirit that flew on gossamer wings, he would not have complained. Hell, he would have been in ignorant bliss. However, after the bouncing ball of energy that filled the loft with the pleasant sounds of chaos and activity, the silent void of the missing piece now screamed at him and echoed off his own soul.

Now as he heard the words he was hoping to hear, he relaxed. "Jim, no alcohol in Dane's bloodstream. The kid was sober."

"Did you find out what caused the blowout?" Jim asked as he jotted down some notes on a small pad before him.

"Tire's pretty shredded. I'm having the lab do a quick check. Afterall, Eric Cartwright is not a man to fool around with. Since Dane is the DA's son, it's better to be safe than sorry. Cartwright has too many enemies."

"Sounds good, Davis. Let me know what you find."

Gathering his papers in a neat pile, he checked his watch. It was four o'clock. He would cut out early today. Sandburg would probably be home already, sacked out on the couch, softly curled away in that other world he sought so easily lately. Well, Jim would force him to watch some television tonight. He would stop off at the Trattoria and take home some pasta. He wanted Blair awake tonight supplying him with the company he missed. Silently vowing to himself to bring his young friend back into the land of living, he left the station.

Jim opened the door to the loft and stopped dead in his tracks. The first view caught him off guard. The loft was a mess and the focal point of the chaos was the sofa. Around the apex a circle of papers, pictures, photo albums, momentoes and letters were strewn in a haphazard display of the past. A large box was situated at the foot of the sofa and Blair was seated in the middle. On the coffee table a brass urn sat dead center. The late evening sun caught the urn in a coppery tribute, pasting the image upon Jim's inner mind. Memory labeled the contents with recognition---it was a funeral urn.

"Hey, Chief. What's going on here?" Jim asked the somber form that had in no way acknowledged his entrance. Jim placed the take out on the counter and hung up his jacket.

Blair seemed lost for a second or two, then the evening sun dulled. In an instant, recognition lit a flame, passion sparked some inner light, and Sandburg returned to life. The room became alive with a kinetic energy Jim had missed these past few months. Sandburg was burning again and Jim was amazed at the difference.

"Oh, man. Jim! Come here. You've got to see this. I forgot all about this. It's amazing." Blair eagerly reached over onto the floor and picked up a small copper etching.

As Jim walked cautiously over to the sofa, still suspect of the complete turnaround of emotions, he was handed the framed etching. It was a copper plate of a road and on both sides of the road stood two huge trees...giants...wonders of nature. An old Model T was on the road to give a feel for the enormous splendour of these unusually large trees. All other trees in the background were dwarfed and insignificant.

He was impressed with the trees, but he didn't see what the big deal was. He wasn't as excited over this copper plate as Blair seemed to be. He looked up at his enthusiastic roommate and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Come on, man. Look at the name. Look at what the trees are called," Blair said this in an almost frustrated voice. It was unusual for Sandburg to be so curt with Jim, so intellectually patronizing.

Jim looked down and saw the nameplate: "The Sentinels." He should have guessed. There was no other topic that harnessed Blair's attention like sentinels, apparently in whatever form.

"Yeah, so they're called the Sentinels. What's your point, Chief? And where did all this stuff come from?"

"Damn it, Jim. These trees are at Calaveras Big Trees in California. Jim, they're huge...well, actually only one is left, the other fell in 1909, but I was always fascinated by these trees. When Janet told me about them, she knew my theory of live sentinels in modern civilization. We saw them when we drove down the coast for a nuke demonstration in Janet's old Mustang convertible. Janet and I had a passion for trees, Jim. Remember me telling you that we chained ourselves around one once in a demonstration. Well, that's what this is all about---trees, Jim. It's about trees."

Jim stopped and took a deep breath. He was approaching this the wrong way. It was good to see Blair passionate and alive again. After the past few months of lethargy and ennui, seeing the fires come alive, spark, rage, and burn so freely did his soul good. He had to encourage this interest, not nip it. Maybe this box was just what Sandburg needed---a trip down memory lane.

"Where did you get this stuff from?"

"Janet Myer's estate. The attorney sent it. It comes with a stipulation." Blair said this with a nod towards the urn.

"And that being...." Jim started, the growing annoyance obvious in his voice.

"Dwyer and Rice have been going over Janet's estate and will. She has an elderly mother living with her aunt in Wyoming. Janet was cremated after her death." At this Blair paused, the old hurt and loss coming to the surface, marring his vibrant features, restraining the joy of moments ago. Then he seemed to steel himself, as though burying some hurt beneath the folds of his soul. He continued, "Janet left instructions for this box and all its contents to be delivered to me. Dwyer and Rice wrote that they had a hard time finding me. When Janet wrote this will, she had graduated and the last she knew of me I was off on an expedition in Peru. Apparently old University records kept giving the impression that I was off on one anthropological expedition after another. Finding me kept getting put on the back burner of their big legal deals. Once they found my address they had the box delivered. Janet wanted me to have her remains and she left me instructions on how to dispose of them."

"Well, Sandburg, I'm glad they found you at last. Is it a private matter or are you going to tell me what Janet wants you to do?" Jim said as he sat down on the arm of the sofa and studied his partner.

"She wants me to scatter her ashes around the base of the Old Man. It was one of the trees we saved in upper Washington the summer of 92. Janet really loved that tree, she had some special connection with the Old Man. Janet made things a part of her. She fought fiercely for ecology." He looked up with big, blue, damaged eyes seeking understanding from the man he looked up to. Jim wanted to reach out and put a comforting hand on his shoulders, but the mess scattered around him as he sat positioned in the center of the sofa, made that impossible.

"Chief, you're not responsible for her death. Stop beating yourself up over every life that's lost. She did what she thought was best. She tried to help us get information about the illegal operations in Peru. It wasn't your fault."

"I know that. I just feel I owe her this." Blair took the etching back from Jim and smiled. The returning light pushed the darkness away so fast, Jim paused in amazement. He had always been in awe of the expressions that could whisk their way across Sandburg's face. The kid was an open book with nothing to hide. It was the thing that made him so vulnerable, made Jim so protective.

"Well, I think you should," Jim said not wanting to see the enthusiasm that now filled the loft flutter away. It was the first time he had seen his partner come alive with that old raging passion with which he embraced most of life. To do anything now to quell that flow would be a sin.

"Well, I am. The weekend is long. I'll hitch, like we did in the old days. Janet and I thumbed, once when the Mustang was in the shop, all the way..."

"Whoa! Stop right there, Chief. No hitching anywhere. It's unsafe. I'll drive you." Jim got up off the couch with that final edict and headed towards the kitchen. Case closed by one pig-headed detective, no compromise, no discussion.

"No, Jim. This is about me for once. Not you. This has nothing to do with you. It's something I owe Janet and I'll take care of it in my own way." Blair made this statement with no anger in his voice, but an underlying tone of frustration and restlessness punctuated the air.

"Give up the control for once. I had a life before you. I'm your Guide and I enjoy working with you, but not everything----as shocking as it may be, Jim, to your ego----not everything is around and about you."

Jim started putting the pasta in an oven dish, he lit the oven to warm the meal. He popped the garlic bread in the toaster-oven to warm. His jaw muscle was working overtime as he listened to Blair's counter move. When Blair was finished, Jim grabbed a towel from the counter, wiped his hands then slammed it down on the work area and leaned forward pressing both hands down firmly on the surface.

"Sandburg, you have a broken arm, you can barely keep your eyes open after nightfall, you just got over being shot in the arm and pursued by a psycho. I'm not discussing it further. Besides, you have no transportation and you are not---I repeat----NOT hitchhiking. Major Crimes is slow and I'm quite frankly looking for a reason to take some time off. We'll go together this Saturday. Now, get ready, we'll eat in ten minutes."

Blair's mouth formed a retort, but he saw the look on Ellison's face. It was the control-freak who would not listen to reason. It was the Blessed Protector look that offered support, understanding, and caring, but could not be reasoned with. He needed to find another approach. Not being his usually upbeat and witty self, Jim could now run circles around Blair's tired mind. Making this trip for Janet was important to him, and he was going to make it for himself. He would do it his way, of that he was certain.

Even if Jim came along, he would make it perfectly clear that Jim should plan his own itinerary. Blair needed to do this in the privacy of his own memories. He needed to find that other Sandburg that he could just barely remember.

That evening Jim tried to watch some television, but Blair was so wrapped up in the box of memorabilia that every now and then he would be interrupted with a "Gee, Jim, I remember when..." "Oh, hey man, you've got to see this..." "Look these trees are so huge, see..." and on and on. He would probably have been quite perturbed, but Blair's enthusiasm was catchy and Jim found himself enjoying the trip down memory lane---a trip into a part of his Guide he never knew about and wanted to explore more deeply. The depth and shades and colors of Sandburg's world never ceased to amaze Jim. Perhaps he was the one who saw more in life, the combat, murders, crimes, and darker side of the moon; but Blair saw the beauty and awe of it all. Blair knew where the butterflies rested, where rainbows crossed the barren lands, and where angels guarded all.

When ten o'clock came around, Jim switched to Channel 5 news. Blair was sitting next to him on the sofa still wrapped up in an old scrapbook. Then he quickly looked up as Trudy Towers' segment of Five Alive came on.

The camera showed the fiery wreck of Dane Cartwright's van. Then it showed Blair sitting in Davis' police cruiser. "This week I had the wonderful assignment of covering a test group for a new drunk driving program that is being introduced in Cascade. However, in my search for one story, I uncovered another. Blair Sandburg, Teaching Fellow, Police Consultant and quiet hero was in the midst of this test group. I was there when Mr. Sandburg pulled District Attorney Eric Cartwright's son from his vehicle moments before it exploded." More coverage of the burning van and a picture of Eric Cartwright filled the screen.

Blair looked at the screen with his mouth open. "Oh, shit."

Jim heard the pain in his voice.

Then the screen was filled with the inside of Benaro's. Bess Western was bending down and kissing Blair's cheek. "A hero, a quiet, gentle college professor of Anthropology, meets a woman whose life he saved several weeks ago. It goes to show you how you never know who you are in the midst of. Here we were covering a driving program and we see a silent hero in our group. Bess Western was a recent survivor of the The Asylum atrocities that shocked Cascade one month ago. Blair Sandburg. How many lives has this man saved that we don't know about. But ask yourself in light of Mr. Sandburg's participation in a drunk driving test group, if perhaps heroism doesn't have a price. Is Mr. Sandburg still paying for his acts of heroism?"

"Oh, God. Why is she doing this to me?" Blair asked as he turned to Jim.

Jim punched the "off" button on the remote.

"How does she know all this, Chief?"

"Jim, she's been watching me. She must have suspected something. Maybe she got a tip from someone. Nobody in the group would have told her anything about me. Those that knew were supportive of my right to privacy. Jim, I'm sorry about this, man. Simon's going to have my ass."

"Hey, it's not your fault. She had no right running that segment without your permission. I'm going to make sure she stays away from you, Chief," Jim said as he picked up the phone.

"No, wait. Please, man, just leave it. Let it be. The damage is done, Jim, just let it be." His voice trailed off at the end, totally used up by the events of the day.

Just then the phone rang. "Ellison here."

"Jim, do you want to explain to me why Sandburg is on Five Alive? We did everything we could to keep the kid's name out of the papers and he's the main attraction in Trudy Towers' segment. What's been going on while I've been out of town?"

"Simon, she saw Blair with me at the station the other day. She must have been inquisitive and started digging. Blair knew nothing about it."

"Well, how's the kid handling it? I know he doesn't like reliving those memories."

"He's fine, sir. Just a little taken aback."

"Well, you tell him if he wants charges pressed against her for stalking or invasion of privacy, just let me know. I believe in supporting the press, but I won't have my people uncomfortable."

"Yes, sir," Jim said as he smiled at the protective tone in Simon's voice.

"You can also tell him he and I have a date for a good sit-down."

"Yes, sir, he already knows." He looked at Blair who looked nonplussed.

"Yes, I'll make sure he does. How was your trip?" Then Jim finished up his conversation on a personal note about Simon's visit with Joan's relatives.

When Blair got to his office the next morning, he felt great. The heart had reasons this morning for getting out of bed and oh what a difference it made. He had the etching in his backpack and some pictures of him and Janet as they fought for their cause. Feeling proud of this display of camaraderie and affection, he hoped to see Frank and his group around the trees. When his classes were over and office hours concluded for the day, he rushed out to the oak trees.

Jim was planning on picking him up within the hour and he wanted to share some time with the tree protectors, as he had come to think of them. Frank was there as well as the rest of the group. Blair eagerly joined them and began showing them pictures of his adventures. He had begun to feel a bond with these students, enjoying their passion, respecting their compassion, and wanting to taste the fervor of commitment once again.

"You and her must have been pretty close, Mr. Sandburg," Frank asked as he looked at the warm embrace Blair and Janet shared when they had heard the trees were spared. Someone had snapped a shot of Blair swinging Janet around in a warm bearhug.

"Yeah, she was special. We were just good friends, Frank, but people join their souls in common causes and you never quite get over that kind of bond. She died recently, and she sent me all these things. She asked me to scatter her ashes around the base of this tree. That's what I'm going to do this weekend, so you understand why I can't help you guys with your protest."

"Hey, I understand, Mr. Sandburg, I understand completely. I've heard of the Old Man. It's nice knowing you were one of its saviors," Frank said, looking at his professor with a quiet awe and respect. Blair had captured many of his student's hearts with his passion for the subject, but even more so with his passion for life and his respect for their individuality. Blair knew enough from his days with Naomi to give people the benefit of the doubt and to judge with a tender heart.

"What time do you have, Frank?" Blair asked realizing it was getting late and Jim would be coming by any minute.

As Blair started walking towards the front of Hargrove Hall, he saw Dean Wilkes coming towards him. "Mr. Sandburg, I was just coming to see you." Blair walked eagerly towards the department head, unsuspecting and happy.

"This sucks. This really sucks." This was the hundredth time his partner had made this brilliant statement on the state of affairs. Jim was beginning to wonder if Blair even knew he said it anymore.

The drive back to the station had been a long, tedious display of such interjections. "I can't believe the timing. Dean Wilke's said that the University feels such publicity is in bad taste with parent's day coming up this weekend. They want me to keep a low profile until next Tuesday. My sitting in on the protests over the oaks is drawing too much attention....detracting from educational activities. What stuffed shirts, Jim. What idiots." Blair said as he hit the dashboard with his good, right hand.

"Hey, take it easy, settle down." Jim said forcefully. He wasn't worried about the damage his irate partner could do to the old Ford pickup, but he was concerned about the fervor his friend had worked himself up into. Blair's stress level recently was at an all-time high. Working himself up into a heated fever was adding extra wear to his fragile psyche. If Jim had to get tough with him, he was perfectly willing.

"Jim, Trudy Towers couldn't have decided to make me a public figure at a worse possible time. I just don't need this kind of exposure right now," he said, but he was thinking about Hunter Green and the chances of him seeing the Five Alive segment.

"She had no right to put me up for public viewing without my permission." He slapped his hand against the door frame.

"Well, Chief, she did already. I can keep her away from you, but the damage is done. At least you get a longer weekend. Tomorrow's Friday. I can ask Simon for vacation time and we can make that drive up to Fork." Jim tried to show Blair the brighter side of the problem and distract him from his rant.

"Yeah, I guess. I just had one more class tomorrow, why couldn't she have waited until after parent's weekend?" Blair asked the rhetorical question as he brushed his hair back from his face and looked out the window.

Now sitting at Jim's desk, trying to concentrate on setting up some new files for current cases, he saw Simon pointing a crooked finger in his direction. It was a beckoning gesture as a spider might make to a fly, a dinner invitation where you are the main course.

Oh, shit, not now, not today of all days, Blair thought as he grimaced. He slowly got up and walked into Simon's office.

"Sit," Simon said as he pointed a finger towards the chair in front of his desk. He walked over to his coffee pot and poured two cups without asking his guest if he would like one. He placed one in front of the nervous anthropologist and settled down at his desk with his own.

Blair looked at the coffee and picked it up, "Thanks," he murmured as the refreshing liquid quelled his agitation. He braced himself for the attack and lecture that had been pending since he came out of the asylum, bruised and battered, physically and mentally.

"Blair, do you consider me a friend?" Simon started off with a warm look in his eyes. He wanted to give the kid the lecture of his life, but when he saw the cuts and scratches on his face and the arm in the cast, he softened his approach.

"Yes, sir. You know I do," Blair said warily.

"If I needed your help or maybe Darryl needed some information on anthropology, or," Simon steepled his fingers in front of his face and blew out a soft breath, "or, let's say Darryl suspected something was going on with me that he was concerned about and afraid to ask me, you'd help us if we came to you, right?"

"Of course, any time." Blair said.

"Well, why the hell didn't you give me the same consideration when you felt that Mazorelski might be involved in those kidnappings? Do you think I am any less capable of being a good friend?" Simon's voice was beginning to rise and Blair straightened in his chair, still holding the hot mug and wrapping his left hand around it. He was using it as a shield against the tall man's anger, not wanting to put the peace offering down, lest Simon forget about friendship and civility and insecure anthropologists.

"No, of course not, Simon, ah, er sorry, sir,.... Captain," Blair began to stutter.

"The next time you think there is something going on in my department with my men, no matter who they are, I want to hear about it. If you feel you're in danger and you don't know who to turn to, you turn to me. You got that, Sandburg?" Simon now rose to his full, intimidating height and came to stand over the still-seated consultant.

Blair looked up with a pathetic expression that almost made Simon relinquish his authoritarian stance. The kid needed to understand certain laws of nature and the department before he could continue his association with Major Crimes. Simon hated being harsh with him when he was so battle weary, but this needed to be settled. It had nothing to do with a Sentinel and his Guide, but it had everything to do with departmental procedure and friendship.

Yes, sir," Blair said. "I'm really sorry, Captain. I won't ever withhold anything from you again, I promise."

"Good. Now that we've got that settled, how's the arm?" Simon smiled down at the one person he considered a miracle worker. Captain Banks still had a hard time believing that a long-haired hippie could work wonders on his best detective. If he hadn't of seen the changes in Jim Ellison with his own eyes he never would have believed them if someone had told him. Even more so, he was amazed at the changes he had exacted from his own son, Darryl. Darryl trusted this man so close to his own age, yet so intellectually advanced in understanding others. Whatever magic Sandburg sprinkled about seemed to fall heavily on his relationship with Darryl.

"Better, it's starting to itch like crazy though," Blair said putting his mug on the desk and scratching his hand for emphasis.

"Simon, there is something I think you should know," Blair said.

Just then a loud knock sounded on the door and Jim entered without permission.

"Simon, we just got the lab report," Ellison said, "Dane Cartwright's tire was shot."

Simon turned back to his desk, the reprimand forgotten.

Jim entered and eyed Blair checking the kid for damage.

Blair rose and gave Jim a tired smile.

"I want police protection on both Eric and Dane, the whole family, immediately. Check all the recent prison paroles, break outs, recent trials, threats, anyone that might possibly have a grudge against Eric or his son. He's the District Attorney he has more enemies than Sadam Hussein."

Just then Simon's phone rang, "Yeah, put him through, Betty."

Simon looked up with his hand covering the mouthpiece. "It's the Mayor, we're back in business boys. Vacation's over." Jim motioned for Blair and they both left Simon's office.

"Chief, come on let's take a ride. I want to check out the place where you swerved off the road."

Just then Jim's phone rang, Blair grabbed it as Jim reached up to snag their jackets off the hook. "You shouldn't call here," he whispered turning his back to Jim. When he saw his partner staring down at him, he put his hand over the mouthpiece and waved Jim on, "I'll be right with you, Jim. It's personal. Sorry, man."

Jim gave him a peculiar look then nodded and exited Major Crimes.

"Mom, you shouldn't call here on Jim's line.....Yeah, I told you I'd tell him.....Mom, he is not going to remember me. It's been twenty years.....Mom, I might be going out of town for the weekend. No one will know where I am. I'll be careful. Love you." Then he put the phone down and stared down at the files on Jim's desk. He was so lost in thought he didn't see his Sentinel standing outside the glass dividers looking his way.

When they were situated in the truck, Jim asked casually, "Was that your mom again?"

Sandburg's pulse took off, his breathing becamed strained, "No," he said, heartbeat even faster with that reply, "just a friend." Then he turned to look out the window, shutting out the opportunity for help, the choice of friendship. Man, Jim just doesn't need to hear this right now. Everything is not about me just like everything is not about him. There is no way Hunter Green is going to hunt me down. If I tell Jim, he'll have me under police protection and I don't need that right now. Just like Trudy Towers to get wind of it. It could even endanger Naomi.

Penny candy, penny loafers, a penny for your thoughts. Wooden nickels, silver dollars, paper money buys hotels. How cheap our childhood treasures really are. The things most valued cost us least, and yet have made us rich. If possessions pale in autumn's light and winter finds us poor, we traded pennies from our youth and bartered with our souls.

PART FOUR: BRANCHING OUT

When they got to the sight where Dane had swerved off the road, Jim pulled over alongside the top of the drop off. Blair joined him and stood leaning back against the truck as he watched his Sentinel focus, carefully monitoring Jim's expressions for any sign of a zone out. He was always proud of the way Jim could pick up the small traces of evidence when he really set his mind to it. The man was a crime-solving wonder, and Blair proudly knew he had a lot to do with controlling this human crime lab.

"Jim, focus on smell first. Maybe powder burns, skid marks, gas. Start filtering the smells and cataloging. Eventually you'll push aside the smells you can identify, the ones that are obvious." He watched as Jim looked down into the ravine where the van had exploded. All that remained was the burnt grass and trees in the vicinity of the explosion.

Then Jim turned quickly, as though a thought came to him. In furrowed concentration, he stared at the road where the car had started to skid. Then he walked back the way they had just come. Blair pushed off from the truck and followed.

"What is it? Do you smell something?" Blair asked impatiently.

Jim raised an irritated hand to silence his shadow. Blair followed, but remained silent.

Then Jim stopped and did a three hundred and sixty degree turn. "Chief, before the tire blew, do you remember seeing anything on the road, anyone else driving by?"

"The road was pretty deserted, man. Dane and I had commented on how little traffic there was on it compared to the city. Wait! I remember a car following behind, gaining on us. Dane was driving the speed limit. He passed us, but I don't remember if that's the exact same time the tire blew. Dane was adjusting the dials on the radio and I was watching him. I remember I had my window down and I heard a loud pop before he swerved, but I thought it was the tire blowing." Blair said as he pushed his hair behind his ear.

"Chief, that popping was probably the gun shot." Jim suddenly stopped his slow pirouette, he spotted something on the side of the road.

Blair watched as Ellison bent down, pulled a plastic bag from his coat pocket, and carefully picked up the object with the plastic bag between his fingers. He let the object fall to the bottom of the bag and held it up for Blair to see. "Looks like a shell from military issue." Jim scanned the foilage off the road looking for possible places a sniper could have hidden and gotten off a clean shot. Nothing looked viable. "My bet is it's from the passing car."

"Do you remember anything about the car that passed you?"

"No, no man. I was pretty tired by then. I was looking out the window. I just remember the headlights gaining on us in the side-view mirror." He stood for several moments, trying to remember. "Sorry."

"It's okay. We at least have our first clue. Let's go back to the station and get this analyzed."

As they were heading towards the truck, Jim's cell phone rang. "Ellison here."

"Yeah, that's great. Okay, we'll drop by now. We should be there in twenty-five minutes."

He turned to Blair as they got in the truck. "Good news, Chief, your car's ready. I'll drop you off and sign the charge slip. You think you can drive with your arm?"

"Oh, man, that's so great to hear. Jim, I can't tell you how much I miss her. Remember, man, I'll pay you back. I should be able to give you fifty every two weeks until it's paid off." Jim had put the major repairs on his charge card and Blair was going to make monthly installments. Part of the interest payment was the drunk driving class. Jim had been so angry when he had caught him in the marsh, Blair felt he got off pretty easy considering.

As Jim drove, Blair could tell he was mulling over the attempt on Dane's life. There were a lot of sickos out there and Jim seemed to draw them like flies, well, not only Jim, Blair had met his fair share as well. Look at David Lash...no, he did not want to go there right now. He only hoped they caught this one before someone was hurt. Dane was the one he felt sorry for. If his father was anywhere near as anal and protective as Jim, he'd be in for a long haul of restrictions and barriers.

Plans already began formulating in his head. He could now make the trip to the Old Man without Jim. It was a four-hour drive. He could leave as soon as tomorrow morning and since he was pressed for money, he would have to make the trip back that night or sleep in the car. His expenses this past month had increased with the car and loss of school time, but one short day-trip wasn't out of the question. Janet was his biggest debt right now, as he saw it. Besides, if worse came to worse, he'd take his sleeping bag and maybe camp out right under the Old Man. The more he thought about that idea, the more the memories blanketed his mind, and he found a sense of peace he hadn't known for some time.

After Jim paid for the repairs he watched Blair check his prize possession over. The mechanic came up to him. Jim watched the pride cross Blair's face as the mechanic said, "There was a guy in here recently asking about it? Said it was a real collector's item. He wanted to know if you were interested in selling it, so I gave him your name and number? I hope you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind, but I'm not selling. This car and I have been through a lot," he said as he lovingly rubbed his hand over the hood.

"Hey, Chief, you coming to the station?"

"Sure, Jim, I'll be right behind you."

Jim watched as his happy Guide got behind the wheel, a self-satisfied grin making him look childishly ecstatic. Brushing an irritated hand through his hair as he re-familiarized himself with his long-lost friend, he seemed content and proud. Jim often wondered what Blair saw in the ancient car, but he was glad it brought him so much pride and joy. Jim had only seen his own vehicles as a method of transportation. He knew in his line of work chances of avoiding collisions and scratches were practically non-existent.

When they got back to the station, Jim had a pile of messages. He set Blair about the task of looking over the list of parolees and prison releases. Blair kept coming up with the parole release for Hunter Green. The more he thought about it the more he felt he should have told Simon. He knew Jim would go into overtime as Blessed Protector, but Simon would just want to be notified and would keep an eye on the situation. Afterall, the man had just talked to him about informing him of things that pertained to the men in his department.

No, Blair thought, Simon's under too much pressure right now from the mayor and the district attorney's office. He doesn't need the added burden of my little childhood memories. Besides, Naomi's just got me spooked. No way is Hunter Green going to risk going back to prison on my account.

He put aside the notice for Hunter Green and started looking over the cases that involved Eric Cartwright and started compiling a list on the computer of possible suspects with a vendetta against the District Attorney and his family. The list was quite impressive and would keep Major Crimes out of the housecleaning business for awhile. Rafe and Brown would be happy.

Simon motioned for Jim to come into his office. "I'll be right back, Chief." He got up and patted Blair on the shoulder. "Careful with that arm. If it starts to hurt, take a break."

Blair nodded and continued cross-checking the names and attorney list.

When Jim got into Simon's office, he saw Simon motion for him to shut the door. He closed it and took the seat near Simon's desk. "What's up?"

"Cartwright's pretty shook up over this attempt on his son's life and I, quite frankly, don't blame him. It just doesn't make sense, Jim. A sniper had no way of knowing they would take that route home. Maybe it was just a stray bullet from a hunter or some kids shooting at cans under the stars." Simon stood up and started his usual fueling routine. He poured two cups of coffee, knowing both men could use the heat to put some life into them. It had been a long and frustrating morning since they discovered the bullet hole in Dane's tire.

"Blair says he remembers a car passing, but he doesn't know if that's the exact time of the blowout. He was pretty vague about it," Jim contributed as he eagerly reached for the hot mug.

"How's the kid holding up? Damn shame one thing after another keeps happening to him. Talk about a streak of bad luck."

"He tries to convince me he's okay," Jim stopped and turned to look out the window.

"For the most part, I think he is. I don't have to worry about the self-mutiliation routine or the depression, but he's still pretty lethargic. There's hope, though. A box came yesterday from Janet's estate. You remember, Simon, she was killed in that Cyclops Oil case. Well, she wants Blair to dispose of her ashes around Fork and Olympic State Park. Man, Simon, I haven't seen such passion in the kid's eyes for so long, it was kinda nice." Jim turned back to Simon.

"He wanted me to drive him up there this weekend and I was hoping to get the time off." Simon probably knew he was testing the waters, but he had to at least make the effort on Blair's behalf.

"Jim any other case involving anyone else but the DA's son and I'd go with you, but it wouldn't look good with my best detective off on a trip that can wait for another time. The woman's been dead for almost a year, I don't think she'd mind waiting another week or two." Simon looked out into the bullpen and saw Blair concentrating on his reports. He looked tired and pensive. Simon wanted to see that spark back in his eyes, too.

"Look, Jim, the minute this thing is settled, why don't the three of us go up. We can make a weekend of it, like a vacation, maybe even get some fishing in. It's only a four-hour drive up there." Simon was using his best mediator tactics, he knew how much the kid meant to Jim and he wanted him to know he, too, wanted what was best for him.

"Sure, Simon. Blair got the Volvo back today, too. That at least was a bright spot in his day."

"Well, just keep an eye on him, Jim. I gave him a pretty stern lecture this morning, but I'm still not sure he's comfortable bringing any problems he has to my door. I know he's still hurting. Just keep a protective eye on him."

"Sir, you know I will. We appreciate the concern," Jim said.

"It's my job to look after my men," Simon said gruffly. "Also, why don't you question Dane, get a feel for what he did on Tuesday, who he met with. Maybe he pissed someone off and didn't realize it at the time."

"Yes, sir. I'll take care of that now." Jim stood up, lifted the coffee mug in a gesture of thanks, and headed back to the bullpen.

"Chief, I'm going to meet with Dane, do you want to come or finish up here?" Jim asked him as he quickly finished his coffee watching Blair type with his right hand, pecking in frustration at the keys.

"No, Jim, I think I'll just finish this report. I'll leave it on your desk. Then I think I'll take off and start dinner. How about baked chicken, I'm afraid my chopping skills are a bit hampered," he said as he raised his arm to emphasize the cast.

"Fine, I'll see you at home." He grabbed his jacket off the hook and turned.

"Oh, Sandburg, drive carefully, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, Jim. I know how to drive." Blair pushed the stray hairs behind his ears and looked up with hurt eyes. "Start to trust me, man."

"Chief, I always trust you with my life and others, it's your own I worry about."

With that Jim turned and left Major Crimes, leaving his frustrated partner drifting in a sea of guilt and self-recrimination.

When Blair got back to the loft he put his backpack down by the box. He had put everything back into it and Jim had moved it to sit beside the couch where Blair could easily retrieve anything he wanted. The urn still sat on the coffee table. He felt like Janet was there with her vibrant smile, patiently waiting for him to answer one of her philosophical questions. "Well, Blair, you have to decide what's important. No one else can make that decision for you." He remembered many an argument lost to her logic and quiet persistence.

He seasoned the chicken and put it in the oven, along with two potatoes, to bake. He checked the clock. It was five o'clock. Jim would be home in about an hour. Laying down on the couch with the intention of closing his eyes for a few seconds, he placed the throw pillow under his head. As his intentions of the past few weeks often proved, a few seconds were enough to take him into a deep and exhausted sleep.

When Jim came home, he quietly stood outside the loft for a few minutes. He listened to the soft, even-breathing of his roommate, smelled the chicken well-cooked and savory. Remembering times before, lonely times when there were no warm, homey smells or the heartbeat of another soul, he smiled in warm appreciation. He inserted his key and quietly hung up his jacket. Checking the oven setting, he lowered the dial to warm. He took a beer out of the refrigerator and twisted off the cap. Then he walked over to the living room and quietly looked down at his partner.

Blair was curled on his side, his head resting on a throw pillow. The favored left arm snuggled close to his chest, protected and cushioned by his right. Jim watched the soft features ironed smooth by repose. He often watched Blair sleep. There was something in this small scene from every day life that reinforced his soul. Of all the horrors in his life, all the evil in men that he saw first hand, he had this one pleasure, this one reaffirming pattern to his life. There was always Sandburg. Blair had called him his Blessed Protector. He had jokingly given Jim the name after Ellison had saved him from David Lash. Jim didn't see himself as any blessed anything. He knew that he often treated Sandburg with a cold indifference, always fighting the closeness whenever he could expend the effort. However, more and more he found himself easily giving in to the displays of affection and warmth.

He didn't want to become attached. When you became attached to things, they were always cruelly taken from you. He would fool the gods this time and pretend indifference, hell, even chilly contempt at times. The kid saw through the act, that was all that mattered. Sandburg knew the difference between his steely-eyed look and true anger. Blair knew these looks were merely tools of control, reins to steer his partner clear of trouble and bring him back in line. Surely, things between them went deeply enough that more was said in silence and in gestures than any words could tell.

Taking a deep swallow of the beer, he looked up at the sun as it set over the city he was genetically primed to protect. What price did Sentinels pay? He oftened wondered. He knew he needed a Guide, and he knew Sandburg would be the only one for him. He would never let anyone this near again, of that he was certain, but what price in the end did such advantages exact. What parts of his own soul did he relinguish when he became a Sentinel and more importantly when he accepted Blair as his Guide. He knew one thing for sure, Blair mattered and the cost of his safety had no ceiling in Jim's eyes.

Blair started twitching, he raised his right hand and rubbed ferociously at his nose. Then the hand moved to the cast and Blair opened his eyes as he tried to squeeze his fingers into the plaster and ease the irritation. He looked up and started, "Oh, man, geez, Jim, you scared me."

"Sorry, I was just wondering whether to wake you or let you sleep it off." Jim sat down on the chair near the coffee table.

Blair rubbed his eyes and sat up leaning forward on his knees. He yawned repeatedly, trying to relinquish the lethargy and resume in full operative mode. "How was the interview? Did you find out anything from Dane?" Blair asked, yawning again.

"He doesn't remember anything particularly significant. As a matter of fact, he's pretty put out by the whole thing. His dad's being a real hardass about protecting him. He's not allowed to go anywhere until this is settled."

"Hey, I feel for him, man, I know what that's like," Blair said disgustedly. "I know too well, man, way too well." He rose and headed for the kitchen.

Jim just let the little display of attitude pass. Blair had every right to be bitter about some of the restrictions Jim put on him, but it still didn't mean Jim would change his militant ways. Being a Captain in the army you learned to protect your men at whatever the cost and it was not a popularity contest. Jim had learned you did your job best when your men respected you and obeyed you, if a little fear held the reins tighter, then so be it. Jim always dealt fairly with his men. He never missed any sleep in self-recrimination over how he handled them.

They settled down at the table for a quiet dinner. Jim enjoyed the chicken, but he noticed Blair hardly touched his. Something was bothering the kid, but he didn't want to push right now. There were circles under the young grad student's eyes and the gash on his head, though healing nicely, made him look battle-weary and vulnerable.

After dinner, Jim did the dishes in deference to Blair's arm. Then they both sat on the sofa as Jim began channel surfing. Blair once again rummaged through the box alongside the couch, happily lost in past memories. Every so often Jim turned to him and it was all the encouragement he needed to go off on another enthusiastic replay of the days of friendship among the trees.

"Jim, you've got to see one of these trees some day. I mean it, man, they are breathtaking. They dwarf all the other trees around them and they make you feel so insignificant. I'm telling you, anyone with delusions of grandeur only needs to stand under one of these," Blair said as he pointed to one of the trees, known as the Sentinels, "and you get your priorities right pretty quickly."

"What are you saying, Chief," Jim eyed him critically, "you think I have delusions of some sort?" Jim kept his gaze level, serious, and threatening, holding back the humor that tugged his lips.

"No, man. Hey! I'm just saying there's magic here, Jim. Real magic. There's something about these trees that makes you feel there is a God and that we really are quite small in the whole scheme of things." Looking at Jim, pleading for understanding in the quiet pools of blue, he finally said, "I'm just saying you can learn a lot from them."

Holding the copper etching once again, tickled like a child at some pleasant treat, he pointed once again to the two trees, "Sentinels," he laughed, "Man, can you believe it, Jim, Sentinels."

"Now I know there are two, one made of wood, the other has leaves," Blair grinned impishly, ducking just in time, missing being struck by the flying pillow.

"You really love those trees, don't you?" Jim asked as he smiled, watching the shadows from the television set play across Blair's features, igniting areas with tiny lights.

"Jim, I never told you this before, but I've always loved trees. Sometimes trees were the only friends I had, they never turned me away. When I was little I climbed them like a little monkey." He laughed happily at a memory that flicked the pages of his mind. "Naomi would go looking for me and always look up in the trees never knowing which one I was hiding in."

"You could have fooled me, Chief, I remember sending you up to a magpie's nest and I can't remember ever hearing such bitching and moaning."

"Well, something happened, I guess it's something I should tell you about, I've been kind of meaning to, but, it's not really important, I mean...well, Naomi thinks it..."

Just then Five Alive came on the television. Once again Trudy Towers stood in front of the camera which was focused on Hargrove Hall and the student protest in front of the oaks.

"Another story unfolds before us, another story we assumed different in nature from last night's, but we find that is not so. These students are protesting the destruction of these beautiful, ancient oaks to make way for modern courtyards, but in their midst once again we find our hero, Blair Sandburg," the camera showed Blair sitting with Frank White and quickly rising when he noticed the camera was on him.

"Oh, Man, what's with her, Jim?" Blair threw the scrapbook down on the coffee table and leaned forward on his knees.

"Mr. Sandburg it seems was responsible for the salvation of the Old Man and the Little Sisters up in Fork back in the summer of '92." The camera now showed old footage of a group of students chained around a huge, Western redcedar. Jim recognized a very, young Janet in jeans and t-shirt and next to her was a laughing young man with hair down to his waist.

"It seems Mr. Sandburg is now returning this weekend to the Old Man to scatter the ashes of his friend, Janet..." Jim flicked the tv set off as Blair's face tightened in pained remembrance.

"Chief, she seems to know more about what your plans are this weekend than I do." Jim couldn't keep the irritation out of his voice.

"Oh, shit!" Blair raised his leg onto the sofa and turned to his partner, realizing the muscle indicator in Ellison's jaw was indicative of his anger.

"I just mentioned it to Frank. I was going to help them with their protest by sitting in with them this weekend, but then when the box came I wanted to do this for Janet. Jim, I just wanted him to understand why I couldn't participate and give him some ideas on how to handle his own protest. I never thought he'd mention it to Trudy."

Blair put his head down in his right hand, still resting his elbow on his knees, a picture of forlorn dejection. "She's ruining me, Jim. What did I ever do to her? Dean Wilkes all but came out and said he thought I had a drinking problem because of that segment she did the other day. It's all your fault, man, you and your mandates." Blair stood up angrily and walked to the windows looking out over the night, drifting into the reflection, bracing himself for the retort he knew was coming.

"Hold it right there, Sandburg," Jim said in an angry voice, "you needed that class and I'm not sorry I convinced you to take it. I never want to go to the morgue to identify your body, because you think you can handle driving and drinking. I admit this whole publicity got out of hand, and I'm sorry you're the target area, but I won't apologize for any methods I feel necessary to keep you safe."

Blair stood looking out the window, hurting inside. Suddenly he felt strong hands on his shoulders. "I care about you. I admit I don't always know what's right or wrong. Sometimes, Chief, I'm at a loss. We're different, we see things differently, but keeping you safe is as simple in my book as it gets. I'll do whatever it takes, whenever. That's all I really need for you to understand."

Blair saw the shadow behind him in the dark world he faced. He looked small and fragile in the forefront, an insignificant frontispiece to the tales of the city lights. The stars canopied the sky and earth blended with the night. The tall form behind him looked solid and sure, reflecting strength and confidence. Were images in glass true to form or did the juxtaposition of shape create illusions? The safe feelings those hands on his shoulders promised were no lies. Blair had seen Jim in action.

"I'm sorry, I know you're right. I needed that class, we all did. Everyone there admitted they'd been wrong. I guess I'm pretty quick to say things aren't always about you, Jim, but when they go wrong with me, it's easy to put the blame on you. I wasn't being fair."

"No, you weren't. Why don't you tell me what's really bothering you." With this, Jim steered the young man back to the sofa and pointed to the cushions. Blair sat down, leaned back, and stared up at the ceiling. He heard Jim in the kitchen opening cupboards, pouring coffee and placing a mug on the table before him. Jim was giving him time to compose his explanations and himself.

"Have you ever seen glassfish? They're in Peru, but people have them in aquariums, too. They're clear, Jim, crystal clear. You can see every bone and organ. They dye them, to add color, make them more interesting. Jim, these creatures are so delicate, so ethereal, it's unbelievable, man. Yet, it's not enough. They have to be reshaped and colored to match our view of what they should be. They die earlier because of this, but that's not important to anyone, because at least while they were here they measured up, they met the standards we put upon them." Blair sat up. He took a long sip of the hot liquid, then put the mug back down.

"It's not fair. I'm not a hero. I don't want to be one. I'm not perfect, Jim. I sometimes think you're disappointed in me because I don't always do things the way you would, but I don't want to be perfect. I don't want to be a perfect grad student, or a perfect anthropologist or a perfect human being. I want to fail occasionally, Jim. I know I was wrong to drive drunk. I know that with every fiber of my being, but I'm not sorry I crumbled over the atrocities I saw in that asylum. I want to feel and I want to be damaged by things...things like that...the horrors. If I start accepting them and dealing with them, I'm not me anymore."

"Sandburg, you reacted like I expected you to react. I don't expect anything from you. You're not a cop. How many times do we have to go over that. You see things differently. It's what I like most about you. You remind me of my own humanity, when the job makes it necessary for me to forget." Jim watched to see if his words had any impact on his friend.

"I just wanted it all behind me. I feel like such a phoney, Bess Western thanking me, Trudy calling me a quiet hero, God, Jim, I'm not anybody anymore. I just don't know who I am. Now I have people labelling me, putting me on the shelf for display, tagged and categorized, and I don't recognize the package."

"Chief, I don't have all the answers either. I can only tell you one thing, you'll never be the kid in those photos again. He's gone. You've seen too much since then, but change is good and you have to change. You have to reflect the outside forces that affect you. It's called living and growing up. I've seen you change, Chief, but you change to meet the challenges, you're not changed by them. I ve never seen you relinquish compassion, or kindness, or understanding. I've only seen you use the tools differently in each and every situation, as called for."

"Jim, I need to go tomorrow. I need to make that trip up to the Old Man, and I need to make it by myself. Please, just this once, let me handle it my own way." The blue eyes crystallized into the pleading, hurt look Jim knew so well. Beyond the soft look of need and want was a strong resolve that Ellison recognized as the steel-like structure of character and strength. Blair may look helpless, act lost, and pretend chaotic confusion, but he never lost track of reason. The determination of his spirit was evident when he set his mind to something.

"I just don't think it's a good idea, Sandburg. Can't you just wait one more week?" Jim said in a cautious tone, knowing full well Blair needed to make this trip and Jim really had no right to stop him. The school had made it perfectly clear they wanted him off campus until after parent's weekend, Trudy Towers was giving him unwanted attention, and he now had his own transportation. There was really no reason Jim could think of that he shouldn't go. Maybe this would be just what Sandburg needed to help find himself again, and discover the man he was so many summers ago.

"Please, Jim, trust me. It's between Janet and me. This time it's not about us." Blair tried to assert himself calmly, but he realized the selfish overtones of his speech. Damn it, he thought, I have a right this time to be selfish. Besides, I'd only be in Jim's way now. Trudy Towers is going to be gunning for me.

"All right. When are you leaving?" Ellison said duly irritated by his capitulance.

"Tomorrow morning. It should take me about four hours to get up there, maybe less. I'll pack some sandwiches and hopefully make it back by tomorrow night, but I'm not definite on that, Jim. I may decide to spend the night. It's an open forest and I can camp out, if it gets too cold I can alway sleep in the car."

"Money problems, right?" Jim said as he grabbed for his wallet.

"No, no way. I told you, Jim, I have to do this my way. Besides, Janet and I never had any money when we hung out that summer. This will be a fitting memorial, another journey made on a shoe string," he said as he laughed. The tension of the last few days seemed to expel itself in the smile that now creased his features. The lines of worry, stress, and pain now gave way to tender cracks of remembered joy. Jim couldn't help but notice the change and his eyes drifted to the urn sitting sentry on the coffee table. He smiled at Janet, a quiet thanks.

If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it does it make a sound? What absurdity. It rips a hole in the universe of space and time. History crashes to the earth. Birds rage towards the sky, forest creatures run with fear and horror, and the sun breaks through the canopy of leaves in a cacophony of golden screams. The whole of life within the forest is shifted and trampled, destroyed and reborn and re-nourished. A giant fell and no one heard it, yet its fall will echo through generations.

PART FIVE: TIMBER TIME

Blair woke early on Friday. Bouncing out of the bathroom with an added vim and vigor, a decided change in his demeanor, he practically skipped about his morning routine. Jim watched the manifestation, carefully monitoring his body signs. Only a sadistic fool would deny the young man this trip. It was something he definitely needed and wanted.

Coming to the table and sliding into his chair, he smiled impishly up at his friend. Jim put the eggs down in front of him. He returned to the stove to fill his own plate with the steaming, fluffy eggs. "Is the cell phone charged?" he asked.

"Yes, I told you. I have my sleeping bag, extra clothing, blankets, sandwiches, soft drinks and water. I probably won't even spend the night, but I just want you to know I've planned for it should the possibility arise and I'll be fine." Receiving a decidedly paternal look from Jim over his coffee mug, he smiled back at his concerned partner. "Jim, I've been on expeditions before and I've been camping more without you than with you. Give it a rest, man."

"Speaking of rest, that's another thing, make sure you don't overdo it. You're still healing. If the arm hurts or you get tired, pull over to the side of the road and sleep it off. Do you understand?"

"Sheesh," Blair said totally disgusted now. Looking up into the steely, no-nonsense ice blue orbs, he decided some tact would be appropriate. He didn't want Jim turning all Blessed Protector on him now. Changing approach and entry might land this baby with a lot less turbulence.

"Look, Jim, I know I'm not one hundred percent better, but this trip is what I need, believe me. This is something Janet has me doing for her, but by some strange matter of happenstance, I'm doing it for me, too. I want my energy back. I want to be whole again."

"I want you whole, too, Darwin. I'll expect you back here no later than late Saturday, understood?" This was said in a firm, authoritarian, Jim Ellison voice. The travel rules, a subroutine of house rules, were just being firmly laid down and Blair simply nodded in acquiescence.

Blair finished packing the treasures from Janet's box. He took the journal and map marking the location of the Old Man. He had outlined his route on a map for Jim the night before and Jim had also studied the map Blair was taking. Jim knew exactly where he was going, where he would camp if he spent the night, and which roads he would be taking up and back. Jim had learned long ago, not to leave anything to chance where Sandburg was concerned. If a guide was not replaceable in this Sentinel's eyes, then a friend was valued beyond measure by Jim Ellison.

"I hope you find it was just a stray bullet from some idiot shooting in the woods, Jim. I imagine Dane's about ready to climb walls," Blair said as he gently lowered the urn into his duffel bag. A moment of guilt passed through him as he considered how lucky he was to have his freedom back. Protective custody was not all it was cracked up to be on television.

"Don't work too hard," he said as he zipped up. "All set, man. I'm off." Blair shrugged into his coat, slung the backpack on his shoulder, and sheepishly looked down at the duffel. Realizing it was way too heavy to manage with his arm, he looked up and laughingly said, "Hey, man, do you mind?"

Jim shook his head and cracked a wide grin as he bent to lift the bag, "What was it you were saying about managing on your own, Darwin?"

Jim arrived at the station irritable. He didn't know exactly why, but ever since Sandburg pulled out of his parking slot, waving cheerily as he contentedly sat behind the wheel of his treasured Volvo, Jim had felt uneasy. It was not the uneasiness of worry that tugged quietly at the back laces of your mind. It was not the vague doubts that sometimes cornered you in your daily routines: things left undone, unsaid, and overlooked. It was the abrasive sensation of an ill wind. He felt a deep concern for his friend as he drove off on his mission of promise and remembrance.

The station was filled with usual morning routines. Brown and Rafe were talking in a corner about a date Rafe was eagerly looking forward to on Saturday night. Rhonda was back from her family emergency and she was fencing calls for Simon, patient and knowledgeable as only a good secretary can be. He allowed his hearing to drift. It seemed to be centering itself in Simon's office. He didn't usually listen in on his captain's phone conversations, but it was the color again, hunter green, that caught his attention. Then as he focused more clearly, he recognized Naomi's voice. He looked up and saw Simon motioning for him to come in. The look of urgency on the dark face made Jim hurry.

Blair felt great. He rolled the windows down in the Volvo and the clear, cool beginnings to October freshened his spirits as well. He couldn't remember feeling so alive in the last several months. All the horrors and physical pain he had suffered were now behind him. This was what it was all about. This was the feeling he remembered from his early days, the protest days, the days of freedom and friendship, causes and ideals. Besides, he reminded himself, it's good to be doing something just for me for a change. Something Jim has no control over. Hell, Jim's not the type of man who would understand this.

It took him four hours to get up to the road that led into the forest. Janet had driven her old Mustang convertible up here, piled high with provisions and sleeping bags and chains and locks. In those days he had been so young, so naive. Now he knew that there were darker sides to the world. There were places where protests and banners and people joining in a cause made no impression. That's why there were men like Jim and Simon. They knew the language of this dark side and it was more often spoken out of the barrel of a gun. He could no more have reasoned with Arthur Pogue and Abe Mazorelski than he could have reasoned with the devil himself. Maybe Jim didn't understand the quiet troopers of opposition who simply made their feelings known, but when the bullets flew and there were no rules of ettiquette, Blair didn't want anyone around him more than Jim.

He took the turnoff slowly and decreased the pressure on the gas pedal. The bumpy road jarred the car violently. He slowed even more, not wanting to put the old bones through any more trauma. A slick slide down into a pond was enough of a roller coaster ride for the green car.

He cautiously moved forward. The road had not changed all that much in the past six years. Once the resort lost their battle with the ecological protesters, the bad publicity had cornered them in the public eye. They eventually decided the bad press would keep college professors, professional activists, and the upwardly mobile and educated from booking rooms. In a park-like setting known for three giant trees, this was not good marketing. The trees remained untouched and in their natural state.

Blair drove leaning forward on the steering wheel, looking up as he drove through the dense forest. The road cut a small path, ridges on both sides sinking deep into the earth, along the forest floor. Blair knew it would be just up ahead, he braced himself for the reaction he knew would take his breath away.

Then he was there, the forest opened up. Small trees lined his vision against the horizon. Straight ahead to the right a giant Western redcedar stretched up to the sky. Blair raised his head and peered up the long expanse, he felt tears welling in his eyes, he felt the old passions stirring, the acknowledgment of his own awe. This was magic. This was his first Sentinel, the one before Jim, the one he called his own. He committed his soul to this one, just like he committed to Jim. "Hey, Old Man," he said out loud, "Janet and I have come back." With that he started crying. Huge tears raced down his cheeks and he realized that for the first time he was mourning for his friend.

When Jim entered Simon's office, his captain pointed a finger to the chair in front of his desk. Jim closed the door and sat. "Naomi, I'm going to put you on the speakerphone. Jim's here. I'm sure he knew nothing about this. Start your story over." He pushed a button and hung up the handset.

"Jim?" came Naomi's voice over the speaker.

"Naomi. How are you?" Jim said as he raised his hands and eyebrows in a query.

Simon just shook his head, indicating Jim should listen.

"Jim, he didn't tell you, did he? Blair never told you about Hunter Green?" Naomi's voice was strained, worried.

"No. Naomi, why don't you tell me what's going on here?" Now Jim's face showed concern, as he listened.

"When Blair was eight he fell out of Mrs. Danbush's tree and broke his arm. That I suppose was the catalyst of this whole thing. We lived in a lot of communes and group houses in the seventies. Blair met a lot of people and he got along well with most of them. Except one man---Hunter Green. He hated Blair for no apparent reason. I was living with a man, Drew Calvert at the time. Drew was a great guy and Blair and he got along well. It was a communal house. There were several of us living there, including Hunter. Hunter was a Vietnam vet home from the war and an active protester. He was mean, Jim, really mean. He reminded me a lot of Charles Manson, the hypnotic eyes, making him look mad all the time." Naomi stopped for a few moments, composing herself.

"Naomi, take it easy. Tell us what's going on so we can help." Simon tried to be the voice of reason. The look on his best detective's face told him reason was fast flying out the window on that side of the room. Jim's jaw muscle was rapidly pounding out a message, one that right now bore close watching.

"Yes, of course, I'm sorry. I'm just worried about him. Is he okay, Jim?"

"Yeah, I just saw him and he's fine. Tell me what this has to do with Blair and Hunter Green?"

"I was called away for a few days, a personal, family matter that I didn't want Blair being involved in. Drew offered to watch him. Drew was a photographer and cameraman for an underground newspaper. He often let Blair take his video camera and play with it. My son also had a passion for climbing trees. He often perched in the neighbor's apple tree, at least that's where I found him on more than one occasion. I even called him my Little Monkey." Naomi let out a soft laugh.

"While I was gone Blair video'd a robin's nest in the eaves of the attic room where we were staying with Hunter and some other friends. He must have been watching the mother make her nest for some time. I'm sure he saw and heard a lot from his little eagle's nest above the world. There was a terrorist bombing several days after I left, a local war memorial. One passerby was injured. When Drew viewed the film a week later, he saw the bird's nest Blair had filmed from Mrs. Danbush's tree, but when he adjusted the picture he had a clear view of Hunter in the attic room hiding explosives in the crossbeams. Drew turned the tape into the police and Hunter was convicted of the bombing. We were activists, Jim, not killers. Hunter had many friends who supported what he was doing, people like himself who didn't care who they hurt. The next week Blair fell out of the tree and broke his arm. When some of Hunter's friends visited him in jail and told him this, he put two and two together. He swore if he ever got out he would pay Drew and Blair both back. Jim, I just found out that Drew is missing. I told Blair to tell you about Hunter being paroled, just so you could keep an eye on him. I never should have trusted him to do that. I should have told you, myself." Now Naomi was crying, "Please, Jim, please take care of him. Keep an eye on him for me, please."

"Yes. I'm going to do just that Naomi, don't worry."

Simon finished up the conversation with Naomi, taking down a number where she could be reached. When he hit the button terminating the connection, he turned to Ellison.

"Do you believe the kid," he said angrily. "After the lecture I just gave him about coming to me with problems, he has the nerve...When I get my hands on that ...where the hell is Sandburg anyway, Jim?" Simon finally brought his tirade under control realizing the focal point of his aggression was nowhere in sight.

"He's on his way up to Fork. Then the bullet wasn't for Dane, it was for Blair, all along," Jim said as he quickly went into full military mode.

"It would seem that way, Jim, but we can't rule out an attempt on Dane's life either at this point. We don't even know if this Hunter Green is here."

"He's here and Blair knew it. I saw the parole papers on my desk. Let's get a copy of Trudy Towers' tape. Maybe there's more footage in Benaro's that night. Maybe Hunter was there."

"Jim with your abilities, you mean you never heard any of these phone conversations the kid had with Naomi?" Simon said, shaking his head in bewilderment.

"Sir, I heard bits and pieces, but I don't listen in on Sandburg's every conversation. Hell, I try to give the kid some privacy. Besides, when Naomi calls, she seems to do all the talking." Ellison seemed irritated with the question. Then he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Damn it, Simon, I admit I was suspicious. I admit I questioned him several times after the phone calls. He had ample opportunity to confide in me."

Then Jim seemed to growl, directing the anger at himself, "I should have kept closer tabs on him, knowing he was still hurting."

"Well, let's not worry about the hows and whys, let's just pull the kid back to safety." Simon pushed his phone and started rattling off a list of instructions for Rhonda. He called Rafe and Henry in and in a matter of minutes, Major Crimes was alive with action. The purpose of protecting one of their own, compounding the urgency for information.

The early autumn air was cool and crisp. Blair took the small cooler he had brought filled with sandwiches and soft drinks. He slowly slid it along the ground towards the Littlest Sister. These two Alaska cedars that were known as the Little Sisters did not quite reach the height or girth of the Old Man. They made it in the record books as Big Trees, but they still fell short of their impressive neighbor. Still having three of the big trees so close together was phenomenal in Blair's mind and he loved this trio.

The smallest cedar of the two had a hollowed out area in her base. It was big enough for several people to walk into, only the tallest of men would have had to stoop. Within this hollow base, Blair dragged the cooler. If he did decide to spend the night here, he had every intention of sleeping within the base of this tree.

Making the short distance to the Volvo, he unzipped the duffle in the trunk. The Volvo was not an ultra-terrain vehicle and he had no intention of abusing her anymore than he already had. Carefully piling up blankets, a sweatshirt, and extra socks, he compiled only what he would need for the night. Several trips were going to be needed, since his left arm was already expressing its displeasure over the abuse. The low growl coming from his midsection reminded him it was well-past noon.

Returning to the hollow, he opened the cooler and pulled out a sandwich and apple. Taking a bottle of spring water, he made his way to the base of the Old Man. Slowly lowering himself down next to his lunch, he leaned his head back and looked up, and up, and up into the leaves over two hundred and fifty feet above him. A sense of peace came over him. A quiet knowledge filled his troubled mind with a surety and forcefulness long gone with his idealistic youth, or so he had thought. Now he realized how easy it was to reinvent yourself when you found a missing piece. One small memory buried beneath the folds of commitment, responsibilities, disappointments and the chaos of everyday life, and you could literally lose yourself in the mayhem. Find that one missing piece, the one clarifier of the simple, true you, and, boys and girls, we're back in business.

Looking down, his eye still held the golden glow of the sunlight. The warm ring that imprints itself upon the mind's eye when looking at the sun and attributes the impression on all that is viewed. For one brief moment, he saw Janet walking towards him. Her bright face gently creased with laugh lines. Then she was gone and the ache inside him returned.

Filling his belly, refreshing his body, he felt a warm contentment spread through him. The day was perfect. Cooling breezes swirled the leaves around him. This was basically a dense part of forest, but the area right around the great trees was cleared, a small field of open space that welcomed the sunlight. In back of the Old Man and beyond the Little Sisters the denseness resumed, coloring the forest black and forbidding. Blair was thankful his mission delivered him into the warmth. He didn't think he'd want to be alone in those dark, thick woods.

Simon, Jim, Rafe and Henry sat in Simon's office viewing the tape Randy Jarvis had filmed in Benaro's and at the crash site. Jim started filtering out sounds. At one point as the camera panned to follow Bess Western out, the dark shadows of the bar were trapped on film.

"Hold it, pan back, hold it right there." He focused his vision. From the ordinary eye view a vague shadow could be made out at a back table, but to a Sentinel, turning his vision on, the figure became a clear shape and a detailed face. He looked down at the picture of Hunter Green each of them had before them. "It's him. Hunter Green was following Blair. He was in Benaro's that night. He must have followed Dane's van and he was the shooter."

"Okay, so we know Blair was the target," Simon said as he took a deep puff on his cigar, "but he's off in the woods. Nobody knows about this trip of his, do they?"

"Simon, Trudy Towers' did a follow-up segment on a University protest. Blair just happened to be there. The kid mentioned to one of his former students that he was going up to the Old Man. If Green saw that telecast, he knows exactly where Sandburg is going to be this weekend."

"Since when did Sandburg become so popular?" Simon asked, totally put out with the series of events that had started spiralling out of control since he went away for one day. "Damn it, Jim, I leave for twenty-four hours and the quiet spell ends. Sandburg would have to be the match that starts this little fire."

"Well, right now I just want to find him. He'll experience all the heat he could want when this is over with," Jim said in an angry voice.

When Blair woke up, the sun was considerably lower in the sky. The warmth of the day was chilling slowly with the shadows now cast around him. Rising slowly, he walked to the Volvo. He pulled out a thick sweater and jacket. If it got any colder, he would have to sleep in the car. He was perfectly willing to spend the night out, but he wasn't exactly into cold and wet. Rain or bitter temperatures may even have him on the road home by this evening.

Taking the urn with Janet's ashes from his backpack, he placed the brass container in the hollow of the Littlest Sister. Returning back to the Old Man, he threw his right arm around the tree, placing his cheek against the rough bark. In his mind it was '92 and he could hear Janet laughing as they all gave the tree a group hug, "He knows, I can feel him, Blair, he knows what we did for him." Opening his eyes he could see her face next to his, smiling, laughing, passing her joy and knowledge on to him.

"Oh, Janet, I'm so sorry." The tears rolled down his cheeks and he closed his eyes again savoring the pain and loss. Knowing that memories were all that he had left, he chose to handle them with care. Memories could be precious treasures, Blair knew, and he wanted them taken out and dusted off occasionally. Janet was too good a friend to be forgotten.

"My, my. How touching."

Blair jumped and turned around, bracing his back against the tree. A tall man of about fifty stood six yards from him. He carried a rifle and a large, heavy backpack. At first Blair thought it might be a hunter, illegally about his craft, but there was something familiar in the green eyes. The hair was long and grey. The beard was excessive, but neatly trimmed, speckled with black. Then he gave Blair the peace sign and turned his hand upside down, the classic, mocking gesture of Hunter Green.

"Well, if it isn't the Little Monkey. How I've waited for this reunion."

"Hunter, it's been twenty years, man. I was a kid. I was eight-years-old. I never knew what was on that video." Blair tried to reason with the man, whom he knew from past experience could not be reasoned with. Blair remembered the instant dislike Hunter had taken to him. At one point he had actually told Naomi to keep her brat away from him.

"You and Drew, you guys were real buddy-buddy that summer, weren't you?" Hunter started approaching, keeping the gun aimed at Blair.

"Drew was good to me. He liked me. What's wrong with that? It kept me out of your way." Blair started to get his spirit back. He didn't like having a gun pointed at him, but he hated this man who had often made his days that summer miserable.

"Well, kiddo, I'm glad you feel that way. Becaaaaussse," he dragged the word out like a game show host presenting the choice prize, "you are going to be a team in my little game today." Hunter started laughing, a diabolical, evil laugh that sent chills down Blair's spine.

"Strip---take everything off, except your underwear."

"Are you crazy? It's 40 degrees and dropping." Blair realized too late calling Hunter "crazy" was like telling the cauldron it was hot.

The gun was redirected at his foot. "We can play the game with a handicap, a little extra handicap," he said as he motioned to the cast, "you keep up that uncooperative attitude, Little Monkey."

Blair realized Hunter would have no reservations about shooting his foot. He slowly began to strip. When he got down to his boxers and t-shirt, Green halted him. "That's enough, you were wearing shorts and a t-shirt that summer. We want to re-enact. We're going for poetic justice here. I thought you'd like my sense of humor. I've followed your progress for the twenty years I rotted in that prison, you and Drew. I have a lot of friends from the old days. Especially these last six months, when I was paroled. Man, you have been a busy little busybody Monkey. Haven't you?"

"I have friends, man. I have a friend you're not going to want to meet." Blair used Jim's image as a shield against this man. Just reminding himself of his Blessed Protector helped calm his nerves, but he realized Jim didn't even know about Hunter. He should have told Simon and Jim. If only there were second chances, he would go back to start and play this game differently.

"Oh, yeah, your cop friend. Hey, Monkey, you're not going to believe this but I knew your Detective Ellison. I met him one time while coming home from Nam. He was just getting ready to be shipped out on some secret, Co-vert Ops mission. Boy, those guys thought they were cool shit. They didn't know the hell us boys in Nam had seen. They couldn't begin to imagine."

"Jim's seen things, too. You always thought everyone owed you something, Hunter. Why don't you just drop this whole thing and try to get on with your life. Don't you think you've let the war drag you down enough already," Blair said as he started shivering in the cool breeze. His bare feet prickled on the pine needles, cones, and twigs that scattered around the base of the Old Man.

"No, one little game. One little adventure for you, Monkey." He motioned with the butt of his gun for Blair to start walking into the deep, dark woods beyond the Sisters. "Let's go. Move it!" Hunter raised his voice in anger as he jabbed the gun into Blair's lower back.

Blair started the procession into the dense regions of the forest. The hard stones and needles beneath the foilage pierced his tender flesh. Whatever game Hunter had in mind, Blair was not destined for any big prizes. In his heart, he felt a sadness. Where had the spunk and attitude gone, the creative edge that saw him through so many messes without Jim's help, the small bright spaces in time that allowed him to ward off evil until Jim could make the final entrance, slay the dragons and save the day. Where had the magic of his existence gone? Where were the pyrotechnics in the pockets of his soul that illuminated the darkest hours and flamed with ingenuity and promise. How could he have misplaced himself so completely.

The wind picked up as the sun drifted off to seek its own repose beyond the horizon. The forest stilled with the strange presence, hushing the nocturnal sounds into compliance with the drama of the hour. Blair started shivering violently. The soft cotton boxers and white t-shirt gave him no protection against the cold.

"Oh, can't have you freezing to death, not so soon." Hunter took out a small whiskey bottle tucked inside his jacket. "Hold it," he said harshly to the figure walking ahead of him. "You need to warm yourself." He handed the bottle to Blair who looked at it, the incongruity of the gift out of character.

Hunter noticed the questioning look, "Oh, don't worry, I'm not having any change of heart. The games go on. I just think in view of your recent "drunk" driving class, finding you stinking drunk might add my own dose of poignancy to this little tragedy." Hunter then started laughing like a man who had lost his mind.

When he noticed Blair not willing to take the offered gift, he straightened with a serious face. "No, no, can't have any resistence, little man. Here's the deal." Now he swung the huge backpack from around his shoulders and deposited it gently in front of the trembling form. He reached in and pulled out two cylinders. "I don't know if a little sissified mama's boy like you recognizes this, but it's napalm. Not much rain around here lately," he paused for effect as he looked around, concern marring his features into a tight grimace. "One little fire and this whole forest will be ash, just like your little friend Janet Myers." When he saw the surprised look on Blair's face, he chuckled, "Oh, yes indeedy, I know about all your little playmates."

He repacked the items in the rucksack and came up to Blair's face, pressing his nose against Blair's "DRINK THE GODDAM WHISKEY OR I BURN YOUR FUCKING OLD MAN AND ALL THE FUCKING TREES IN THIS FOREST!"

Blair's face stamped fear wide and even in his features, leaving no doubt upon his tormentor's mind that he had received the message loud and clear. Blair reached a trembling hand and took the bottle. He uncapped it and took a swallow.

Coughing violently, he bent over fearing he would vomit on his captor and suffer far worse consequences. Hunter laughed, "You'll get used to it, Monkey boy. Keep drinking as you walk. I want you good and wasted for the main event. You drop that bottle," Hunter interjected as though reading Blair's mind, "I'll rub your face in the dirt and make you lick it up, glass and all. Then we'll warm ourselves by the fire, if you get my drift."

Blair walked forward, the liquor beginning to dull the cold, as well as his senses. Reasoning became a blur, fragmented sentences flipping across his mind, nothing coalescing into a sensible thought. Then he felt his mind shift levels. There was a peaceful valley amid the fear and chaos of his thoughts, he allowed his mind to rest within the folds, finding warmth in one lonely thought: Jim will come.

We all have childhood friends, following us through our lives sometimes, matching us stride for stride. Gauging our progess by their sorrows, losses, and achievements, we measure ourselves in their eyes. We pick up new friends along the way and many times within the seams the stitches are the same. We choose the style that fits our needs in friends as well as clothes---common designs of shape and form that complement our own. The task before you, my friends of trees, to choose your friends today---when in childhood's sweet memory, giants held up your skies.

PART SIX: UPROOTING A SENTINEL

Jim Ellison was driving his old Ford. Simon grabbed the door strap for the hundredth time since leaving Cascade. Ellison drove like a madman, raging and inconsistent in the best of times. When his Guide was in danger, the man was a general nuisance to all. Simon sighed and swore, "God damn it, Jim! SLOW DOWN!"

The dour face turned to him, grimaced in frustration, then softened by the slight voice of reason when he saw Simon tautly holding on. "Sorry, sir, but he must have been right behind him if he was following his every move, like we suspect. If he hurts him, so help me God, Simon, I'll kill him"

"Detective, I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Simon said trying to throw some reason across the chasm of desperation and rebellion, hoping Ellison had the sense to grab hold.

The bridge came down, reason regained control as Jim relaxed his grip on the steering wheel and eased his foot up on the gas. The truck proceeded along at breakneck speed instead of warp.

"Hold it! This is as far as we go." Hunter laid his rucksack down, still keeping the gun pointed at Blair. He motioned at the bottle still clutched in the young anthropologist's hand. "Drink up. The game's starting."

Blair couldn't handle any more of the burning liquid. He felt his stomach rise up as he brought the bottle to his lips. Forcing a deep breath into his lungs to steady his queasy stomach he took another long swallow. Swaying a little with fatigue and the effects of the liquor, he wiped his hand across his mouth. The cold winds now burned upon his skin and the warm, amber liquid coursed through him with languid warmth. Curling up and sleeping is what he wanted to do more than anything right now.

A sharp slap caught him across the face. He jerked his head up as Hunter brought the hand back for another crack. "No, stop!" Blair said as he tried to back away.

"Don't get sleepy on me," Hunter said with a satisfactory grin. "I need to explain the rules to you, then once the game begins, you can sleep all you want, but I wouldn't advise it."

Hunter pulled a snapshot out of his jacket. Pushing it in front of Blair's face, he grabbed a fistful of hair at the base of Blair's neck and held both the head and photo steady. "See, do you recognize your friend, Drew?"

Blair's eyes blurred with the alcohol, and without his glasses he had trouble focusing. Then the image came in clear. It was a man badly beaten, chained to a wall by his ankle, in what looked like a cellar. "That's Drew. You see, Drew's in his own little prison cell right now, and he needs you to get him out."

"I admit, at first I just shot out the tires. I wanted to scare you, but I figured if you died in a crash, so be it. Drew was due for a long, slow death, very reminiscent of your Asylum discovery. I had him tucked away before coming to Cascade. Then when you survived and still came out the little, tarnished hero, I figured we needed a hollywood moment here, equal to your exciting little life. I figured we'd see what you could do, Monkey, when another life was in your hands."

Hunter pulled Blair back by the hair he still clutched. He forced his head to look up into the trees. The setting sun and density of the forest dimmed the light, but in the high reaches of the branches Blair could make out an arrow with golden feathers piercing the bark. "You see that arrow up there, Monkey boy. Well, there is a piece of paper with the address where Drew can be found. No time limit, really, but I wouldn't push my luck past another twenty-four hours. What you need to do, is climb the tree and get the paper. Then I let you live. You can run off and be the little hero again. Drew should be running out of food and water about now. Then I disappear."

"I can't climb up there," Blair said. "Please, Hunter, be reasonable. I have a broken arm, I'm cold and I'm woosy from the liquor. I can't do it."

The tall man grabbed Blair roughly by the shouders and spun him around. "YOU GOD DAMN WILL DO IT! YOU LOVE TREE CLIMBING SO DAMN MUCH!"

Then he composed himself, with a soft chuckle. "Wooo, have to keep it cool. Sorry about that, Little Monkey, but I know how much you love trees and you either get your ass up there now or I burn you and this whole damn forest to the ground. Drew dies of starvation or dehydration or whatever."

He turned Blair around again and pushed him roughly to the base of the large oak. "Now climb, damn it!"

Blair shivered against the cold air and against the madness around him. He reached up with his right arm and grabbed a hold of the lowest branch. No purchase could be made with his bare feet and several times his foot slipped on the slivered bark of the trunk and he cried out in pain. Warm blood trickled from his feet and his calf was scraped and bloody, and he hadn't even made it off the ground, yet. Hunter stood by and laughed like madmen laugh at the moon.

Jim pulled the truck up behind the Volvo. Both men immediately exited. Jim stood by and motioned for Simon to be quiet. Then he moved towards the base of the Old Man.

"Jim, what is it?" Simon asked, unzipping his jacket, readying his reach for the gun at his side.

Jim picked up the clothes that Blair had shed. The shoes and socks, sweater, flannel shirt, and jeans, were carefully touched, lovingly examined. "They're still faintly warm. Hell, Simon he's out there with practically nothing on." Then Jim looked at the ground. Seeing the larger boots marking the ground around the area, he realized Hunter had arrived.

Turning his head slowly, focusing his hearing, he froze as he pinpointed the sounds deep in the wooded area. "Please, I can't go any higher. Iiiitt's cold and I can't do it anymore. YOU'RE CRAZY, MAN."

"Then Drew dies and the forest burns, little man." The other voice said with jeering glee.

The pleading, defeated sounds coming from his friend, spurred him to action. "Simon, it's Sandburg. He's in trouble." Then both men, guns drawn, a duet of concern and practiced protection, ran off towards the enveloping darkness.

Blair was more than half way up the tree. Most of his body was scraped, cut, or openly bleeding. The thin boxers and once, white t-shirt barely covered his body. Several of the toe nails on his feet were ripped and bloody. Pain screamed through every inch of his body, cold drilled its bitter path into his veins, the liquor and the night called to him in sweet, soft whispers. He wanted to curl up on the branch and sleep. Oblivion was a welcomed world where he walked masterfully in denial. Long acquainted now with her loving embrace, he gladly would have joined her forever right now. One thought pushed him forward---Drew. Another person needed him, he just needed to reach the top.

Looking down, a wave of dizziness overrode his sense of balance. The giddy sensation and lightheadedness of his drunken state exacerbated the vertigo. He wobbled on the precipice of a great fall. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he reached up for the next branch bracing his left foot against the trunk, trying to lift his right leg up and over the higher branch. Finally, he threw his left arm over the branch and hanging by his arm pits he slowly brought his body up and his leg over. Now he straddled the branch like a bareback rider in a circus. The blood from his chest, legs, arms and hands now comingled. His body resembled that of someone being flayed.

Simon ran along behind Jim, following the Sentinel's lead. Suddenly Jim halted, stopping Simon dead in his tracks. "What is it?" Simon whispered.

"Quiet! They're right up ahead."

Now both men crouched low as they approached the soft sounds coming from just ahead. Jim focused in close on the scene before him. He saw a man in fatigues pacing back and forth in front of a huge oak brandishing an army issue rifle. On the ground he saw a rucksack overflowing, protruding out of it were a bow and arrows. Turning his hearing on full, he heard the heavy breathing and soft gasps of pain, but more importantly he recognized the one heartbeat in all the world that snagged his attention like no other could. Blair. Looking up he saw the barely-clad grad student making his agonizing climb.

Fearing all forms of reprisal on Blair if he made his presence known, Jim motioned for Simon to stay put. Visually tracking his plan in the air with his fingers he presented his maneuver to Simon who merely nodded his understanding.

Jim crouched lower and headed off to the right of Simon. The tall Captain stayed in position awaiting the signal from Jim, his gun drawn should the need arise to go into action sooner.

When he saw Jim wave across the circle, directly opposite him, Simon picked up a stone and threw it as far off to the left as he could. Hunter turned aiming the gun abruptly, seeking focus and target in one trained-military move, crouching into the pirouette. Jim raced across the short expanse and brought Hunter down, knocking the rifle from his hands. Simon ran forward, giving cover.

The older man, long institutionalized was no match for the younger man, let alone an enraged Sentinel protecting his Guide. Jim started hammering the man unmercifully.

"JIM! STOP IT! THAT'S AN ORDER!"

Then Simon grabbed the deaf avenger by his shirt collar and hauled him off his victim. Hunter's face was bloody and the man was barely conscious.

"Just cuff him, Jim. This isn't helping Sandburg."

That brought Ellison out of his stupor. He turned and looked up still watching Blair trying to climb higher. Simon knelt down and cuffed Hunter's hands behind his back, seeing Jim's attention elsewhere.

"BLAIR! Stop right there. You don't need to climb anymore. It's okay, Hunter's taken care of."

When it appeared that the grad student hadn't heard him, he gave Simon a desperate look. "BLAIR SANDBURG! It's Simon and Jim. It's okay, Sandburg, everything's going to be all right."

Blair seemed to finally realize the voice he heard wasn't a dream. Jim and Simon really had come. He looked down from the branch he stood on, hugging the trunk of the tree, expecting the vertigo that he knew would assail him.

"Oh, man," his voice cracked in emotional relief, "Oh, am I glad to see you guys, but I've got to go higher. Hunter buried Drew alive. The location is on the piece of paper up there, held in place with the yellow arrow." He stopped to wipe the sweat from his forehead. As cold as he was, he still felt the clammy, water dripping down his face. Then in an impassioned plea for understanding, he said, "I don't want to, man, but I have to. I have to save Drew."

"SANDBURG!" Jim's voice echoed through the night, anger filling the sound with density. "I can see the damn note from here. Remember. Now stop climbing."

Blair seemed to finally realize what Jim was trying to say to him. He looked down and started laughing, at first a slow laughter at a joke one has just gotten, then in hysterical bursts that threatened to topple him.

Jim looked at Simon. "We need to get him down from there. Simon, there's a blanket and nylon rope in the boot of the truck, would you mind, sir?"

"Sure, Jim." Simon turned to race off, then he halted, looked back at Hunter and pointed a threatening finger at Jim. "He'd better be alive when I get back." Not really feeling his best detective would murder a handcuffed prisoner, but making sure the warning touched all the bases, he waited until he saw the nod of acquiescence.

Where Sandburg was concerned, Simon knew Jim functioned on another level. Perhaps it was the atavistic sense of survival of Sentinel protecting his Guide, or maybe the bond of friendship that made men soulmates in the deepest sense of the word. Whatever, he knew Jim could become an unreasonable killing machine when in Blessed Protector mode.

Jim took the bow and arrows out of the rucksack. He lined them up. "Listen to me, Blair. When Simon returns with the rope, I'm going to shoot it up to you. I want you to sit down on the branch."

He watched as Blair carefully sat down, hugging the trunk of the tree as though his life depended upon it. Positioned securely, he looked down at Jim. "Okay, man, I'm ready."

When Simon returned with the nylon rope, Jim secured it to the tip of the arrow, knowing the weight of the rope might throw his aim. "Blair, move over along the branch as far out as you can get from the trunk. I'm not sure how much leeway the shot will require, but I don't want to snag myself a guide."

"Hey, man, me neither," Blair called back. Some of his spirit was returning, now that a portion of the ordeal was in Jim's hands.

Jim took careful aim, he gauged the strength required to carry the extra weight and watched as the rope missed the trunk but fell over the top branch above Blair. Good enough, he sighed in relief.

Blair grabbed the rope and pulled it to him. He waved the prize high in the air, proud of his Sentinel.

"Sandburg, tie it around the limb your sitting on. Wrap it around several times, then knot it."

Blair did as he was told. "Jim, are you sure you know where Drew is....I mean, man, you're not just telling me that you can see up there, are you?" Blair asked in a pathetically, small voice, too scared to hear all, but one answer.

"Sandburg, have you no faith in my abilities?" Jim asked him, gently.

"For God's sake, kid, he's a sentinel. Aren't you always telling him and me what he can do." Simon added, partially frustrated, but partially patient and cajoling.

Blair nodded. Jim looked up once again at the paper blowing in the wind. He focused deep, then aloud he said: "7534 Conway, Calgary. The cellar floor in the garage."

Blair brightened, "Yeah, man, that's where Drew was from---Calgary." Now he knew Jim was not giving him a snow job, he could read the paper. Blair didn't need to make the impossible climb to the top to save Drew's life.

"Jim, I don't think I can make it down. I'm cold, tired, and most of my flesh is ripped and bleeding." Blair said this as he examined his arms and legs.

"You don't have to, I'm coming up for you." Taking the hunter's knife he found in the pack, he cut a large hole in the middle of the blanket. Stuffing the blanket inside the empty rucksack, he hoisted it upon his back. Then he grabbed the rope and climbed. Keeping his body in excellent shape at all times, remembering the military training courses he had aced, he made the 30-foot climb in no time.

Jim stood on the sturdy branch below the one Blair sat on. "Scootch back to the trunk, Chief." When Blair positioned himself above Jim, the Sentinel handed him the blanket and tossed the backpack to the forest floor. "Wrap yourself up."

He waited while Blair pulled the blanket over his head like a poncho. "Thanks, Jim. I don't like cold."

"Okay, Chief, here's the part where you trust me. You think you can do that?"

"Of course, Jim. I trust you with my life."

Jim let go of the rope and braced himself facing the trunk. Blairs legs were dangling near Jim's back. "When I say 'go,' drop down gently, Chief, and wrap your arms around my neck. Do it nice and easy, don't worry about hurting me. Just don't panic, I promise, I won't let go."

"Oh, man, Jim, I don't think I like that idea." Sandburg said, a quivering resonance in his voice.

"Blair, you have to trust me." Jim looked up directly into Blair's eyes. For one brief moment Blair saw a determination and promise that seemed to burn through his soul. Whatever magic that gaze held, quelled his fears, and he slowly nodded, not breaking the contact.

"Okay, say when before I lose my nerve."

"NOW!" Jim felt Blair's arms reach down and barely touch his shoulders, then he felt Blair lean forward some more, falling onto him, grabbing Jim's neck as his backside lost purchase on the branch seat.

"Hey, man, take it easy. I don't like heights. Jim, don't let go."

"Close your eyes, Chief, and your mouth. Just enjoy the elevator ride and hang on."

Testing the security of the rope one last time, Jim pushed off from the branch, and started a mountain climber's descent. When they landed, Simon grabbed Blair, the blanket barely covering him, and pulled him off of Jim. He wouldn't relinquish his hold. "Blair, let go. You're on the ground."

Once he realized he was safe and on terra firma, he seemed to deflate. Jim turned just in time to catch him as he fell forward, finally embracing the oblivion he sought.

When he passes from this world it will not cease to spin, the sun will shine and clouds will drift. His passing shall not one whit diminish this whole realm. No marker need define the spot where silent rest he found. The trees above will honor him as proof enough he was. No glory need his name evoke; no accolades to him. He needs not praise or thanks from us, his service was his call. And if in silent, painful awe, you think on him and grieve, having found a friend in you, is all the tribute that he needs.

EPILOGUE

Blair solemnly spread the ashes as he walked slowly around the base of the Old Man. Tears gently streaked his face as he bit his lower lip trying to regain control. Looking up briefly he saw his two friends standing off by the Little Sisters, giving him the privacy and solitude only grief allows. Raising his head, looking high up into the branches that topped the world, he said his last goodbye, "Bye Janet, keep the peace and save a place for me." Then he reached out and touched the Old Man, "Keep her with you, Old Man, and she lives forever. Goodbye, my friends."

Turning, he was struck with how small Jim and Simon looked beneath the towering trees. He had always seen them as giants. He knew that things were relative in life, and it all boiled down to perspective. Realizing that in time he might be mourning Jim or Simon, grief cut his heart sharply, unmercifully, and he paused briefly to regain some balance to his soul.

Wearing soft slippers, his feet bandaged, hell, most of his body cut or bruised, he walked slowly. Jim had bought him a jogging suit several sizes too big. The soft cotton didn't scratch the open, tender flesh. Jim and Simon had taken him to a local clinic once he touched down upon the earth again. They had unceremoniously placed Hunter in the flatbead, securing him with rope to the metal frame. Simon had contacted the Calgary Police and Drew was found, alive, but traumatized. Rafe had come up with Henry and they had driven Blair's Volvo back down, collecting his clothes and supplies. The urn sat safely tucked in the tree hollow along with Janet's ashes. Blair had refused to return to Cascade until he fulfilled Janet's wish. After spending one night in the small hospital, Jim and Simon had checked out of their motel and agreed to allow him this last mission before safely returning him to the loft.

"Hey, Chief, you okay?" Putting his arm around his friend, drawing him close against his body, easing the pain onto his own shoulders, Jim walked beside him.

"Yeah, man, I'm okay. She was a good person, Jim. I wish you could have known her."

Escorting him in the simple gesture away from the grief and loneliness he knew his friend now suffered, Ellison monitored his vital signs. He slowed his step in deference to the wobbling gait Sandburg displayed.

"It'll take time, Blair, but you'll be able to think of her with fond memories and warm thoughts some day. You just never allowed yourself the chance to grieve. I was handling Incacha's death and you were helping me deal with it. I'm sorry I was so selfish, and you're right," Jim said stopping for a moment, looking down into the sad eyes, "it's not always about me and it shouldn't be. You're entitled to your place in the scheme of things."

"Jim, I didn't mean that 'being always about you' bit the way it came out, I was just claiming my space. You're my friend," Blair said with a sincerity that cut Jim with its intensity.

"No apologies, Chief, no regrets. Come on, we've got a city to protect, and the way I look at it, Sandburg, it's at least a two-man operation," he said as he playfully scattered the curls beneath his shoulder.

"Hey, you two," Simon piped in as he joined them on their march back to the old Ford truck, "how about a three-man operation. Every team needs a leader, and, Gentlemen, I'm it." Simon paused displaying a wicked grin. "I know no one ever listens to me, but I must be the Captain, I make more money."

"Yeah, sir, thanks for reminding me. Maybe you can expend some of that generous nature and the glowing attributes of leadership and buy your team some dinner. It's going to be a long four hours." Jim grinned across the top of Sandburg's head.

"Yeah, Simon, to show your support of the troops, your appreciation for all their service and hard work," Blair encouraged.

"I wouldn't be starting anything, Sandburg, you and I are due for another sit-down and this one I'm going to do on one of my bad days. We have issues to get settled before you can continue working with Jim. Do I make myself clear?" Simon delivered the serious warning.

Before Blair could answer, Jim tapped him on the shoulder. "Chief, that's going to be the easy part. Simon only gets a crack at you when I'm done. This time I'm going to get through to you, no matter what I have to do. Got it?" Blair gulped once, then nodded.

"Of course, when your mom gets done with you, there might not be anything left for Simon and me...."

"Oh shit, Naomi!" Blair almost stopped with that revelation. "Man, you don't know my mom when she gets going....Oh,...Jim, maybe you could.."

"No way, I'm not taking Naomi on," Jim said, raising his hands in defeat.

Blair looked up at Simon with puppy dog yearning.

"Whoa, don't even think it, Sandburg. I'm still trying to figure out ways to reason with Joan where Darryl's welfare is concerned. I stay out of mother-son battles."

Blair mustered up a hurt and doleful expression. "Oh, well, I guess Naomi will just have to make a visit down here. I'll tell her I need her support and things have been kind of rough for me, then she'll stay at the loft...probably rearrange furniture, you know, Feng-shui,....she'll want to...."

"Okay, Chief, you win. I'll do some patch work," Jim said, fighting the grin that threatened the corners of his mouth. "I know when I'm taken down."

All three laughed as they approached the truck. In unison they turned to look up at the three marvels of creation. Towering high above the forest, the Old Man and his Little Sisters quietly stood their watch. The late afternoon sun cut patterns through the leaves. The cool October breeze caressed the land with soft strokes.

Blair looked up at the two men who towered over him, his own Sentinels. True, one was genetically primed---the real thing, the other---only of spirit and heart, but both were watchers and protectors of a city and its people. Maybe they aren't as impressive as the trees, Blair thought, but in my heart, they measure up in stature.

All of a sudden the wind picked up and the trees shifted, shuffling for position. The Old Man stretched himself towards the sky, casting his shadow on the trio, bestowing a final blessing of farewell. Blair turned and started walking towards the truck, his shadow caught the sun as the Old Man moved gracefully aside, bidding the light entrance. For one brief moment, Blair could see the two tall shadows at his side, protectively sheltering him. Then the Old Man eased his way back across them and the shadows blended into one.

THE END

Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.

Author's Note: The Old Man and Little Sisters are my own creation. The Sentinels of Calaveras Big Trees do exist, though only one remains standing. Please visit the site---then go hug a tree---or better yet, plant one.

http://www.sierra.parks.state.ca.us/cbt/cbtsentinels.htm

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