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