Disclaimer: No they are not mine. They belong to Pet Fly, UPN & Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended and no money has changed hands. The lyrics to the song "Runaway Train" at the beginning of this story were written by Soul Asylum

Note: No major warnings. Just the occasional little bit of bad language. In this story I've taken the liberty of changing a few facts that don't necessarily relate to how events occurred in the TV series.

Thank you. To Bobbie, StarWatcher and Arianna for your fabulous beta help. Thanks for answering my endless questions and making the writing of this story just that little bit easier. A big thanks also to Annie, who let me bounce ideas off her, always happy to offer suggestions and opinions, and last, but not least to wolfpup for hosting my stories at her amazing website.

I will always appreciate the endless support I receive from StarWatcher, Arianna and Sharon, You guys were there when I needed a shoulder to cry on.

Feedback: Feedback is always appreciated. I have added another email address, due to problems with hotmail. If I haven't replied to anyone, please know it's simply because I didn't receive your email.

jessriley80@yahoo.com.au

RUNAWAY TRAIN

Jess Riley

Jim Ellison sat wearily, his head leaning against the cold glass window as the train continued to make its arduous journey across the Bitteroot Range. The vast, windswept plains of Montana were a distant memory. The events of the journey to the state of shining mountains, however, would haunt him for years to come. He stared blankly at the passing scenery, his enhanced vision aided by the moon as it sporadically peeked out from behind a curtain of clouds. With his mind awash within a sea of emotion, he passed by the beauty and majesty of the mountain range without a second glance.

Shifting in his seat in an effort to find a comfortable position, his thoughts drifted back to the events of the day gone by -- events that had shaken the very foundation of his friendship with the man he considered more important than family. How will things pan out from here? he wondered. Would things ever return to how they were before? How do you even start to forgive someone who has taken his knowledge and used it against you in blatant act of treason? The big detective's eyes wandered away from the window and over to the figure huddled in the small bed. "You've really made a mess of things this time, Chief," he whispered.

Deep down he knew it wasn't all Sandburg's fault. His own fear-based reactions had helped fuel the fire. Actions and reactions had placed them both on a runaway train, with no way of stopping until one of them found the strength to pull on the brake. He wondered which one of them would summon the courage to take the first tentative steps toward reconciliation. Which one of them would be brave enough to say, "I'm sorry."

A rustle of blankets and a garbled word from the other side of the room brought him out of his reflections. Although not yet ready to forget or forgive, he could no longer ignore Sandburg's needs. Moving silently to the small bunk bed mounted to the wall, he freed his trapped guide from the tangle of blankets. He picked up the pillow, which had fallen to the floor, and gently placed it back beneath the broken wrist. His actions caused a moan of pain and incoherent words were mumbled once again. "Relax Chief," he whispered. His large hand stroked the top of his guide's head. "That's it," he encouraged as Sandburg settled. "Sleep; please, just sleep."

The detective let out a sigh of relief as the younger man drifted once again into a pain-filled sleep. The hope that Blair would stay that way for the remaining hours of their journey wasn't exactly noble. It wasn't purely out of concern for Sandburg's health, either. It had more to do with the concern for his own emotional wellbeing. He simply wasn't ready to face Blair yet. Anger still simmered away in the pit of his stomach. There was a lid on it for now, but it wouldn't take much to bring it back to boil. Any excuses or explanations from Blair about what had transpired in the last twenty-four hours would only serve as a catalyst, causing his anger to erupt again like an uncapped volcano. He needed time. Time to sort out his own feelings, his own emotions. Sandburg's actions had attacked him at his weakest, most vulnerable point. The fear of being rejected, of being betrayed, had plagued him since he was a child. It was the one emotion that had the power to cripple him in an instant. When it awoke from its slumber deep inside his psyche, it wasted no time in wreaking havoc. It smashed its way through his defences like a demolition ball, leaving him broken... crumpled.

Slumping back into his seat, the exhausted man leaned his head once again on the cold, frosty window. He closed his eyes and listened to the rhythmic sound of the train as it continued on its journey toward home. God, how did this get so out of hand? How do we stop this before we crash and burn?

Previous Day

Blair Sandburg looked around in awe at the old railway station. Built in the eighteen hundreds, the building stood as a testament to the pioneering days of yesteryear. Ever since he was a child, he'd had a fascination with trains. He smiled at the memory of his trip to Texas with Naomi when he was five. They'd taken the train all the way from San Diego to San Antonio. They didn't have enough money for one of those fancy sleeping cars, but that hadn't dulled his excitement. He remembered asking his mother relentlessly, every time the trained slowed if they were being held up by outlaws. His disappointment came when she informed him patiently, "Trains don't get robbed anymore, sweetie. That only happened in the olden days." His five-year-old imagination clicked into gear upon hearing his mother's words. Disappointment was immediately replaced by delight as make-believe scenarios were created. How exciting it would have been to live in the olden days... or even more... how exciting it would have been to be a train robber.

A whack on the side of his head brought him back to the present. "You're supposed to be paying attention," chided the man who called himself his partner.

"I am!" he replied indignantly. Rubbing his hands against the freezing cold, he asked, "What makes you think she's brought the kids here, anyway?"

"Because it's my bet she's heading for the border."

"There's quicker ways to get to Canada from Cascade than via Montana, Jim."

"I know that Darwin, and there are more ways of killing a cat than choking it with cream."

"Huh?"

"And I thought you were the smart one." Jim shook his head as if talking to a complete moron. "Look Einstein, I'm going to check out the platforms." He shoved a radio in Blair's hand. "You keep a lookout here. Any sign of Cambridge or the kids, you let me know." He gave Blair a querying glance. "You think you can handle that?"

"Yes, I can handle it," the observer replied, mimicking Jim's sarcastic tone.

Jim patted Blair on the shoulder. "Sometimes you really worry me, Chief." He turned to Detective Merrell of the Montana State Police. "Have your men been positioned at all the exits?"

"Just as you asked," confirmed the burly police officer.

"Good. If we split up, we can cover more ground. You take the southbound platform, I'll take the north."

Blair watched Jim and the other detective head across the foyer and disappear down the steps leading to the platform. Feeling like more of a hindrance than a help, he pocketed the radio in his jacket and wandered around the foyer, taking a mental note of the area. He took stock of the stairs that led to what looked like a basement car-park. Seeing two officers manning the front entrance, he decided that it was worth a quick investigation. Bounding down the stairs two at a time, he reached the bottom and surveyed the area. The car-park looked as if it were fairly well enclosed. The only escape route he could see was a set of fire stairs, which led to the street, and a manned boom gate. He quickly asked the guard if he had seen a woman with two small boys coming or leaving via the stairs. Receiving a negative answer, he made his was back up to the main foyer.

He wandered around the room several times, until people started to take note of his strange behaviour. In an effort to merge back into the crowd, he stopped at the vending machine, waiting patiently for the man ahead of him to finish his purchase. Blair watched with casual interest as the man bent down to retrieve his chocolate bars from the slot at the bottom. His interest sparked immediately, noticing the shapely behind that was revealed with this action -- a behind that surely couldn't belong to a man. Spurred on by suspicion, he waited until the man headed down a corridor, which led to the rest rooms. He followed the figure, hanging back until his quarry rounded the corner. Ducking his head around to take a quick peek, he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

"Melody!" he exclaimed in shock and surprise.

The woman lifted her head with a start, pushing two figures behind her as she did.

"Blair!" Her eyes were wide with the same surprise and disbelief.

The grad student moved closer to the young woman, still not believing what he was seeing.

"How are you?" she asked, trying to keep her tone casual. A small boy wound his arm tightly around her leg. "It's okay, sweetheart," she assured the youngster. "This is a friend of mine. His name is Blair."

"So Mel," he started, not able to keep his eyes off the children. "It's been a while. What are you up to these days?"

"Oh, nothing much," she relied nervously. "This and that."

"'This and that' wouldn't happen to include assuming a false identity and kidnapping two little boys, would it Melody... or do you prefer to go by the name Kristy Cambridge these days?" he accused. A pixie-like face peered out from behind the young woman. Blair bent down to the boy's eye level. "Hey, Connor."

"Hi," the young boy replied shyly.

"Blair," stuttered Melody. "It's not what you think."

He stood back up. "You care to tell me what it is, then?"

Spotting an 'Out of Order' sign on a toilet not too far from where they were standing, Melody ushered the boys toward it.

Blair followed suit, joining the trio into the small room and locking the door behind them. "Do you realise you have the Montana State Police, as well as Cascade's finest, after you?"

"Blair, everything's gone wrong. You have to help us."

He stood there, stunned. "Help you what? Kidnap children? I'm sorry Mel, but I don't care to spend the rest of my life worrying every time I bend down to pick up the soap."

"Blair Sandburg, you know me better than that!" she hissed.

"I thought I did, but you gotta admit, this sure as hell doesn't look like a nanny taking the kids on a trip to the park."

"Blair, I haven't kidnapped the boys. I'm returning them to their father. He has legal custody of them. It's their mother who was the one who stole them."

"What?"

She swung Connor up and settled him against her hip. "I'm involved with an organisation called Odyssey. We track down children who have been taken from their legal guardians and return them home. Blair, we don't have much time. If we're going to get out of here, I'm going to need your help."

"Do you realise what you're asking me to do?"

"Yes, I do. And I also know that the Blair Sandburg I once knew wouldn't hesitate."

Blair scrubbed his hand through his hair. "Are you positive that the father's the legal guardian of these kids? I mean, I know the cop who's on your tail. He's a good friend of mine. I can't see him overlooking a thing like this."

"Blair, think about it. Why is your friend involved? If this were a straight kidnapping case, why isn't the FBI handling it? I'll tell you why -- because money talks and the boy's mother and stepfather certainly have enough of it to pay off a few cops."

"No way, Mel. You're definitely barking up the wrong tree. I know Jim better than anyone. He's not a crooked cop."

"Well, somebody in the department is on the take."

The older of the two boys tugged on Melody's pants. "Kristy, when are we going? I wanna go home to my daddy."

"Soon baby, soon," she comforted. She looked at Blair with pleading eyes. "Blair, please."

He stared back at the young woman who was perhaps his oldest friend. They had been in and out of each other's lives since they were four years old. It was always a welcome surprise to see Melody and her mother on the fruit-picking trail, or at whatever commune they decided to call home for a few months. Melody had always been a fighter for the underdog. Always trying to make right a world full of wrongs. So now he had a choice to make, and deep down he knew what that choice would be. He cringed inwardly at what he was about to do.

He was about to pit his oldest friendship against the best friendship he had ever had.

"Do you have any money?" he asked, already fishing through his backpack.

"A little. We left sooner than anticipated."

Finding what he was after, he withdrew his emergency hundred-dollar bill. "Take this. It's not much, but it's all I have on me." Although the boys were dressed warmly, Blair could no longer ignore the shivering youngster in Melody's arms. He slipped off his jacket. "Here, take this."

"Thank you," she said, gratefully accepting the jacket and wrapping it around the child she was holding.

"Melody, this place is teeming with cops. You can't get on a train. You'll be caught right away."

"I know, but Blair this was our second choice. I don't know where else to take them."

Blair paced in the small confines of the room, his mind racing with possible options. "Brother Marcus," he suddenly muttered. "Mel, you think you can get back to Cascade? There's a monastery just outside of the city limits."

"If you think it's a safe place where we can hole up, I'll get these boys there. I've done my fair share of hitchhiking, remember."

Not daring to put the directions down on paper, he quickly briefed Melody on how to get to Saint Sebastian's. "Brother Marcus is a good man," he assured her. "They don't usually accommodate women, but you just tell him I sent you. Tell him you need sanctuary. He'll understand and he won't turn you in."

"How are we going to get out of here?"

Blair thought for a moment, before answering. "On the opposite side of the main foyer there's a set of stairs which lead down to the basement car-park. Go to the left and you'll see a fire escape that will take you back up to the street. Once you hit street level, you need to disappear pronto."

"I always beat you at hide and seek, didn't I?" she replied with a nervous smile.

"I'll try and stall the cops as long as I can."

With her eyes shining, she leaned up and placed a kiss on Blair's cheek. "You're a good man, Blair Sandburg. I should have married you when I had the chance."

He tenderly touched her cheek, a smile sparkling in his eyes at the distant memory. "Yes you should have... considering I was the cutest ten-year-old you knew."

Melody smiled back at the man who had been her lifetime friend. "You were the only ten-year-old boy I knew," she teased.

"Hey, I was damn cute. At least your mom thought so." He squeezed her hand. "Take care of yourself, Miss Melody. I'll try and get to the monastery as soon as I can." Before the reality of what he was about to do took hold, he breathed, "Okay, let's do it."

Taking a moment to centre himself, he opened the door. If Jim discovered what he was up to, he knew that the full wrath of the big detective would descend upon him like a swarm of locusts. A voice deep inside questioned the decision he was about to make. Should he give the detective the benefit of the doubt? Would Jim be sympathetic to Melody's quest, or would his natural instinct as a cop come to the fore? Arrest first, ask questions later. Unfortunately, time was his enemy. He didn't have the luxury to debate the finer points of the situation. He had a choice to make, and in this instance, the choice he made was to help Melody Parker.

Blair cracked open the door and peered into the corridor. "Okay, the coast is clear." He ushered Mel and the children out of the room. "Go, go," he said, urgently propelling the trio into motion. Keeping in step beside them as they left the cover of the corridor, the foursome emerged out into the open; fair game for the waiting police. "The stairwell's over there," he said, urging Melody and the boys toward the fire escape. A feeling of dread hit him suddenly, like a freight train out of control. He didn't have to turn around to find the source of his trepidation; he could feel Jim watching his every move. He froze momentarily when he heard his name being shouted.

Melody stopped in her tracks. "Blair?"

"Keep going," he replied frantically. "Don't stop and don't look behind you. And Mel, whatever you do, do not say where you're going. Not even when you think you're out of earshot. Run, Mel," he shouted, giving her a final push.

Blair knew he was cutting it close. Jim was now on the run. Even if Melody did make it down the stairs and out of the basement, it wouldn't take long for the sentinel to track her down. Looking around frantically, he spotted his only chance of disabling Jim. Mounted on the wall right next to him was a fire alarm. He knew Jim would have his hearing wide open and he also knew that the piercing shriek of the alarm would render the sentinel out of action, if only for a short time. He broke the glass with his elbow to gain access to the lever. Just before pulling it down, he whispered, "I'm sorry, Jim. Forgive me."

The detective crumpled to the ground as the ear-splitting sound reverberated painfully through his skull. He clutched at his ears in a futile effort to lessen the noise of the alarm. Desperately trying to work past the hellish racket, he managed to stagger to his feet, only to watch in horror as events beyond his control played out.

Blair's attention was now turned toward the two uniformed officers that were heading at a fast pace in the direction of the stairwell. With no time to formulate a plan, the grad student took the only option he could see open to him. Moving to the top of the stairwell, he grabbed a nearby luggage cart and pushed it into the path of the uniforms. Unable to stop their forward momentum in time, the two men crashed into the oncoming rolling carrier.

The force of the running officers overcame the forward momentum of the luggage cart. As they stumbled and toppled onto the platform, it reversed course and slid -- with the weight of the two men adding impetus -- across the floor and straight into Blair. He teetered at the top of the stairs momentarily, before the force that ploughed into him won. As he toppled over, he was thrown backward, tumbling out of control as his body bounced off the hard concrete steps. The cart came clattering down after him, its metal sides scraping and bending as it hit the railing. Blair's body came to a stop on the first landing with a resounding thud, the battered carrier making an abrupt halt as it smashed down on top of him.

Jim had helplessly watched it all happen with sickening clarity. The pain in his head completely forgotten, he surged forward, dodging his way through the panicked crowd, and the chaos caused by Blair's actions. He jumped over the fallen officers; they had slipped off the cart from the force of the impact and now lay in a crumpled heap at the top of the stairs, but their predicament not Jim's concern. The detective stopped for a split second on the top stair, scanning the scene below desperately for the sound of life. A small groan spurred him into action. "Sandburg!" he yelled, bounding down the stairs. With urgent haste, he lifted the cart off Blair's lower body and threw it out of the way, not caring as it continued its decent down the stairs with an almighty clatter.

Blair groaned again, this time trying to roll over onto his back.

"Lay still, Chief," he shouted in panic. Frantically, he ran his hands over Blair's neck and back, praying that the young man hadn't suffered any spinal injuries. Finding no evidence of broken or fractured bones, he helped Blair roll onto his back. Anxiously checking now for damaged ribs or any sign of concussion, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm okay, Jim, just a little winded," Blair grunted painfully. "Just help me sit up, will you?"

Jim supported Blair's back and helped ease the young man into a sitting position. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, just a bit bumped and bruised. Nothing serious." Blair neglected to inform Jim of the pain that radiated from his twisted knee, or the fact that his left wrist had taken the brunt of the fall. He knew what was coming, and he knew he deserved it; he refused to hide behind his injuries.

Jim studied Blair closely. His guide looked surprisingly unscathed for someone who had just taken a swan dive down a flight of stairs. Apart from some cuts and scrapes, the kid appeared to be in one piece. "Think you can stand?"

Sandburg took Jim's offered hand and gingerly got to his feet.

"So, you're positive nothing's broken?" Jim wiggled his fingers in front of Blair's eyes. "Vision clear?"

"Clear as day." Blair winced as he tested his injured knee by putting a little weight on it.

"Good." Jim's voice sounded ominously cool and collected.

Oh shit. Blair, prepared himself for the storm that was about to hit.

"Since we've now established that you're fine and dandy, you might like to inform me as to what the fuck you thought you were doing? You could have broken your god damn neck, you stupid son of a bitch!" With his concern for his friend's wellbeing quickly being replaced by fury, Jim was unable to put a leash on the rage that tugged to get loose. He pushed Blair up against the wall, almost snarling his disgust "Where is she?" he demanded angrily.

Blair lifted his good hand and placed it on Jim's chest. "Jim, if you'll just calm down for a minute and give me a chance to explain..."

Ellison smacked away the grad student's hand with a ferocity and hate that he didn't know existed when it came to his guide. "I don't want your excuses, Sandburg. I want to know where she is. Do you have any idea what you have done? Do you?" he shouted, this time giving Blair an angry shake. "Did you even think about the consequences of your actions?" He pushed Blair once again into the wall. "Would you care to explain to me why you purposely aided and abetted the escape of a suspected kidnapper?"

Wary of the eyes that were watching, Blair tried again to plead his case. "Jim, she was only trying to get the boys back to their father. It's where they belong."

"And you know this how?" he spat.

"Because she told me."

"Jesus Christ, Sandburg! Just how stupid are you? Of course she'd tell you that. Look at you, for God's sake, the eternal hippie with a bleeding heart. Just mention the word 'father' and you fall to pieces and totally lose your judgment."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Blair asked, somewhat surprised.

"It means you've got a soft spot, Chief, a weakness. Somebody just has to mention the word 'father' and your ears prick up and you stick you nose in where it's not wanted."

"What the hell are you taking about, and what the hell has it got to do with this?" Blair could feel his annoyance growing steadily.

"You know exactly what I'm taking about and exactly what this has to do with the case. You took it upon yourself to become judge and jury, simply because you felt those boys should be with their father." Jim was now pacing as he vented. "And this is not the first time you've done it. God knows you've interfered enough in arguments between me and my dad."

"What!" exclaimed Blair in disbelief. He couldn't fathom what Jim was getting at. How did this whole thing get turned around to be about him... his insecurities?

"You heard me," pushed the detective. "You interfere, just like you're interfering now. All someone has to do is spout the word 'dad' and your brain turns to mush. Why the hell don't you just ask your mother who he is so you can get on with your life? Or are you afraid of the answer? Afraid that she's slept with so many guys you'd have a one in a million change of finding out?"

Blair clenched his fist as Jim's words hit their target. "You bastard," he hissed.

Jim moved closer, stepping right into Blair's personal space. "A bit like the pot calling the kettle black, don't you think, Chief?"

Two pair of cold blue eyes bore straight into each other's souls. Jim clenched his jaw. Blair stood rigid as a statue. "Tell me where she's gone," hissed the detective. His voice was more menacing than the observer had ever heard.

Blair squared his shoulders and gave his answer. "You're the detective, you figure it out." His look revealed his feelings -- cold, hard and unemotional.

"Oh, I intend to, Chief. Believe me I intend to." Jim grabbed Blair by the shoulders and swung him around to face the wall. Pressing hard into the small of the young man's back, he withdrew his cuffs from his pocket. "Blair Sandburg, you are under arrest for aiding and abetting a suspected felon. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say..."

Blair flinched as the cuff snapped shut against his injured wrist. The movement of being swung around caused pain to shoot straight up his leg and into his groin. His focus on what Jim was saying was lost as he tried to get the sudden sharp stab of agony under control. He would not show any weakness in front of Jim. Especially not now.

Detective Merrell came down the stairs and stood beside Jim. "Are you sure you want to arrest your own partner?" he asked with uncertainty.

"Associate," Jim growled. "Not partner." He pushed Blair toward the stairs to get him moving. "Can you have a couple of your men take him back to the station?"

Merrell indicated for two of his officers to escort Blair the rest of the way up the stairs. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to see if I can pick up her trail."

"Ellison, it's pouring out there. She'll be long gone. There won't be any trail left to track."

"It doesn't hurt to look."

"What do you want me to do with your partner... I mean associate? You want me to book him?"

Jim stopped to consider what Merrell said. He hadn't intended on arresting Blair. It was just that the damn stubborn kid had pushed him too far this time. He knew any blemish on Blair's record would reflect badly with his academic standing. "No, I'll take care of that back in Cascade."

"Suit yourself," replied Merrell, heading back up the stairs. "I'll see if I can go and make peace with the railroad management. It'll take some fancy talking to get them to overlook the little stunt your associate pulled with the fire alarm and baggage cart."

"Did someone notify the fire brigade that it was a false alarm?"

"Yeah, my men were right on top of it."

A sudden thought struck. "Hey, Merrell. Don't put him in the lockup, okay? Can you keep him in one of the interrogation rooms until I get back?"

Merrell waved his understanding as he trod up the stairs.

By the time Jim got back to the station, he was saturated. As expected, he had found no trace of the nanny or the children. He gratefully accepted a towel and a cup of steaming coffee from Merrell. "Your Captain called. He didn't sound too happy. Wanted you to call him the minute you stepped through the door. His emphasis was on the word 'minute'. And none too quietly I might add."

Towelling off the moisture as best he could, Jim asked, "Did you tell him what happened?"

"Of sorts. Told him we lost Cambridge's trail, but didn't say how. Thought I'd leave that up to you. He doesn't come across as real friendly-like."

"You should see him when he's really pissed," muttered Jim. "Where's Sandburg?"

"In one of the interrogation rooms, just like you asked. Think the boy's feeling a little sore and sorry for himself."

"Yeah, well, he's gonna be feeling a hell of a lot sorrier when I get through with him. Hey," he said as an afterthought, "How are the guys Sandburg put out of action?"

"They're fine. Pride's more wounded than anything. I sent 'em home for the afternoon. Didn't want your boy to accidentally fall into a fist."

Jim raised his eyebrows, the look on his face suggesting to Merrell that he'd better explain his comment. "Don't worry Ellison. I was only pulling your chain. We ain't been nothing but neighbourly toward the boy."

"Yeah, well, just make sure it stays that way," warned the sentinel before picking up the phone and dialling Simon's number.

Simon's colourful language travelled down the line. "Run that past me again, Jim. I'm trying really hard to understand just how the both of you managed to fuck this up. No, on second thoughts I'd rather see the look on your face while you explain it to me. I want your butts back in Cascade pronto. Understand?"

"Yes sir. I'll book us on the first flight I can get."

"Ah, no, you won't," interrupted Merrell, who had been listening to the conversation with interest. "There's a strike at the airport. No planes taking off for at least the next forty-eight hours."

"What?" hissed Jim, putting his hand over the receiver. "You gotta be kidding me!"

"I swear on my granddaddy's grave."

Jim waited for a break in Simon's latest rant, before he managed to get a word in. "Um sir, there seem to be a slight problem with getting a flight. No planes in the air for at least forty-eight hours."

"Well hire a car, detective, catch a bus, hitchhike, walk for all I care. I don't want to know how you do it, but I do want you both back in my office tomorrow... no excuses. The mayor and the commissioner are both screaming like banshees from hell, and I'll be damned if I take the heat for your screw-up. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." Jim winced at the sound of the phone being slammed down on the other end.

"Yes-sir-ee-Bob, as I said, I'm sure glad he ain't my Captain," chuckled the burly detective.

"Any suggestions on how we get outta here?"

"I'm one step ahead of you, Ellison. I've managed to acquire the last two tickets out of this fine city. Your train leaves at five-thirty. Not that I'm trying to expedite your departure, mind you." He made no effort to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

"Train!" moaned Jim. "What about a rental car? Did you look into that?"

"You don't seem to understand the circumstances, my friend. Let me clarify. One major strike added to the largest toy convention to have ever had hit this town, equals you're damn lucky I was able to get you train tickets. Of course, you can always hang around for a few days and take in the wondrous sights this beautiful place has to offer. I'm sure you'll enjoy our company as much as we've enjoyed yours."

Jim snatched the tickets from Merrell's hands, giving the detective a dirty look. "I'll be lucky to have a job to go back to at this rate. I guess I can suffer twelve hours on a noisy, overcrowded train."

Merrell slapped Jim on the shoulder. "That's what I like to see. Someone who always looks on the bright side... and Ellison, it'll be fourteen hours. There's a two-hour stopover in Spokane."

Merrell chuckled his amusement as Jim let out a loud groan. "Hey, you reckon you got much hope in getting your 'associate' to tell you where the girl took the kids?"

Jim got to his feet. "Not a chance in hell." With that, he grabbed Blair's backpack from the desk and picked up the handcuffs that had been placed next to Blair's bag. "These mine?"

"Yeah. He's in a secure room. Figured he could lose the cuffs."

Jim pocketed the cuffs and headed off down the hall toward the interrogation room. He didn't need to be shown the way. He'd been monitoring Blair's heartbeat since the minute he stepped foot inside the police station.

He barged into the room, dumping Blair's bag on the table. "You ready to talk yet?"

Blair lifted his head from the table, closing his eyes against the sudden movement. Even if he did feel like talking, he really didn't have the energy. His head pounded mercilessly in time with his heartbeat. He suspected that his wrist was more badly damaged than he first thought. Adrenaline had done its job keeping the pain at bay in the heat of the moment back at the train station, but had long since worn off. It's a pity it couldn't hang around a little longer, he thought wearily.

Jim eyed Blair carefully. "You look like shit, Sandburg. You sure you don't need to see a doctor?"

"I didn't think you cared," he answered sarcastically. His comment was childish and petulant, but he didn't care; it was how he felt.

"I'll take that as a no." Jim sat down on the chair opposite Blair. "Seems to me you've got two choices here, Sandburg. You either tell me where the girl went, or I haul your sorry ass all the way back to Cascade in cuffs and let Simon deal with you."

"I don't have anything to say," Blair answered tightly.

Without hesitation, Jim upended Blair's bag on the table and started riffling through the contents.

"Hey, that's my stuff!" Blair protested, Jim's unexpected actions bringing on a new-found energy.

"Where is it, Sandburg?"

"Where's what?" he asked, trying to keep the contents from spilling off the table.

"The hundred bucks you keep in here for emergencies. Where is it?"

"I guess I must have spent it," he replied flatly.

"Bullshit, you gave it to her, along with your jacket. What's with this girl, Chief? What makes her so special that you're willing to watch our friendship go down the toilet in order to help her?" Jim studied Blair closely, before continuing. "She must have something pretty good, considering what you're willing to give up for her. I mean, it's obvious that we can't work together anymore. How can I work with a partner I can't trust?"

Blair swallowed hard. "Associate," he said.

"What?"

"Associate. I'm not your partner. I never have been. I'm just a ride-along, remember? An associate."

"That's right, 'associate'. It should be easy to remember, you'd think. Because you're sure as hell not a partner. A partner would never do what you did to me today. You know, I'm still finding it hard to believe. I have to keep pinching myself to make sure I'm not in the middle of some nightmare. What made you do it, Sandburg? Was she such a hot babe that you thought you might be in with a chance if you helped her out? Or did she offer you something more? A quick blowjob in the john in return for your help?" Jim knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn't stop. The angry words were the only thing keeping him from flattening Blair. He'd never been this angry with the kid before. Never angry enough to really want to hit him. What Sandburg had done to him today hurt him more than he'd ever been hurt before. Blair had taken not only their sacred relationship as Sentinel and Guide, but also their friendship, and tossed it into his face as if it was no more than a worthless piece of trash. He moved from the table to try and regain his wits.

Blair refused to look at him, as he tried, clumsily, to stuff the contents back into his pack. A silver object caught Jim's attention and he snatched it off the table before Blair could grab it. "What's this?" he asked.

Blair sprang from his chair in an effort to take the item from Jim's hand. "That's none of your goddamn business, Jim!"

The big detective pushed Blair back down on the chair, not noticing the look of pain that flashed across his face. He popped open the case. "You care to tell me why you're carrying around a syringe? Why don't you just tell me you're doing drugs, Chief? Ice the cake, make my day!"

"It's for you, you stupid ape!" Blair shouted angrily. At Jim's expression of disbelief, he continued, "It's epinephrine, in case you go into anaphylactic shock. I keep it just in case you ever have a serious allergic reaction."

Jim stared dumbly at the needle and back at Blair. The words that came out of his mouth next were not what he intended to say, but he'd long past lost control of his anger and his tongue. The actions of the young man had considerably undermined his confidence in his own ability to keep a close relationship. He needed to feel the anger, the hate, because without it, he would have to give in to what he was truly feeling -- bitterly wounded and hurt. Without any further hesitation, he turned on the grad student. "You say that, but perhaps it's just another weapon in your arsenal of betrayal, huh, Chief?"

Blair didn't answer him. The look on his face said it all and Jim realised, belatedly, that he had just stepped over the line.

"Come on," Jim said, urging Blair to stand and hoping to erase the look of sharp, stunned hurt on the kid's face. "The Captain wants us back in Cascade by tomorrow and the only way outta here is by train." Blair slowly got to his feet, trying to keep as much pressure as possible off his twisted knee. He followed Jim, limping toward the door. "What, no cuffs?" he piped up. He brought his hands up and placed them together in front of him. His gesture had only one aim... to provoke the detective further. "I thought I was under arrest," his voice taunted with obvious antagonism.

Jim was absurdly pleased when he heard the words. It opened the doors for a new wave of anger. At least anger was better than guilt. "You know, Sandburg," he said spinning around. "Any normal person in your situation would realise they'd done enough in one day to well and truly piss me off. But not you, you just gotta keep on pushing buttons, don't you? You are truly the most stubborn--"

"Oh, that's rich!" Blair butted in. "Me stubborn? You know, if you had just given me a chance to explain back at the station, none of this would be happening. If you had just reined in that caveman temper of yours for one second, we could have sorted this out calmly and rationally."

"Oh, no, you don't!" Jim yelled. "Don't you dare turn this around. The fact is that none of this would have happened if you hadn't taken my secret, our secret, and used it deliberately and maliciously against me. You betrayed everything we once meant to each other. And I'm not just talking about our partnership," he spat. "I wonder if there's anything in the rule book that covers a just punishment for a guide who turns on his sentinel."

Jim roughly grabbed the grad student and once again slapped on the cuffs. Caught up in his own frustration and anger, he didn't notice the swelling and bruising around Blair's wrist, or the sharp intake of air as the cuffs bit into the tender skin.

Blair let himself be pushed down the corridor. The strain on his knee and the nausea from the pain in his wrist were minor annoyances compared to the agony from the hole in his heart. Jim was right. What he had done was inexcusable. His actions had torn apart the very fabric of their relationship -- a tear he wasn't sure he would be able to patch.

The icy wind whipped through Blair's clothing as he stood on the sidewalk waiting for Jim to pay the cab driver. He hadn't spoken since they left the police station. He had nothing left to say, nothing Jim wanted to hear. Shivering against the cold, he let himself be led into the foyer. He stopped to look at the fire alarm on the wall. With the glass case still broken, it was a haunting reminder of his act of treason. Jim tugged on his sleeve and he felt himself being pulled forward. Hobbling down the stairs to the platform, he found the strain of keeping up with Jim's fast pace difficult. Relief finally came when the detective stopped and dumped their bags on the ground. "Train should be here in about fifteen."

He replied with a nod, not trusting his voice. As the wait on the busy platform continued, he shifted to try and take some of the pressure off his injured knee. The stares and whispers of passing commuters finally became too much for him to handle. He could only imagine what was going through their minds. A prisoner, bruised, battered and handcuffed, waiting to be transported to the nearest detention centre. He closed his eyes to block out their faces. A mistake. He lost his equilibrium and swayed dangerously to the side. He felt Jim's hand on his arm in an effort to keep him upright.

"Sorry," he whispered. He felt the word fitted the occasion in more ways than one.

"Come on." Jim encouraged him to move down the platform. They stopped in front of a wooden bench, its seat taken up entirely by a rough-looking youth and his luggage.

"Hey buddy, you want to move some of your stuff so my friend can sit down?" Jim asked.

The young man didn't bother to look, his concentration firmly fixed on his hand-held electronic game. "Why should I?"

Jim leaned down to whisper in the boy's ear. "Because I asked nicely and, more importantly, because I have a gun."

This got the immediate attention of the youth. His head shot up and he sized up the figure towering over him. He took one look at Blair's bruised face and handcuffed wrists. Wasting no time, he grabbed his bags and removed himself from the bench.

As Jim lowered Blair to the seat, a ball of ice formed somewhere deep inside the grad student. He latched onto the sentence... move your stuff so my friend can sit down. A hollow sentence. A sentence that at this present time bore no truth.

Jim's first perception of train travel was right on target. Cramped into a noisy, overcrowded carriage, he cursed his senses as he tried to ward off the headache he could again feel building. Standing up to take off his jacket, he noticed for the first time the shivering form of his once trusted guide. You idiot, he berated silently. Had this finally gone too far? Was he so caught up in his own wounded feelings that he'd forgotten about basic compassion? He knew Sandburg had given his jacket away, but in his anger he had failed to notice that he had dragged an already exhausted and injured man from a heated police station out into a freezing city with only a few inadequate layers of clothing.

"Here," he said tucking his jacket around Blair. "You may as well have this. It's too hot in here for me to wear it anyway."

"Thanks," stuttered Blair, his jaw trembling against the cold. The train pulled out of the station and Jim settled down on the seat. He leaned his head wearily against the headrest. This really has been one shit of a day.

As the train rumbled along the tracks, its gentle rocking lulled Blair into an exhausted slumber. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the sentinel. His mind just wouldn't seem to shut down. He looked over at his guide, taking note of the young man's pale and waxy complexion. Lifting his hand, he felt Sandburg's brow. God, his skin is as cold as ice. He slid his hand under the jacket to try and gauge Blair's core temperature. Not happy with what he discovered, he left his seat and went in search of the steward.

The steward handed Jim a pile of blankets. "Do you think this will be enough, sir?"

"Yeah, thanks. Hey, is there anywhere I can get a hot cup of tea on this train?"

"Certainly, sir. Just continue up the passage through the sleeper carriage and you'll come to the dining car. We're not quite ready for dinner yet, but the bar is open. You'll be able to purchase your beverage there. Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact there is. You mentioned a sleeping carriage. Do you have any vacancies?"

"I'm afraid not until we pass through Missoula, which should be within the next hour or so. We have a passenger departing at that stop."

"Good," said Jim digging out his wallet. "Can I book it for the rest of the journey to Cascade?"

The sleeping compartments are quite expensive, sir."

"I don't care how much it costs. My partner's not feeling the best and really needs to lie down."

The steward glanced at the reservation list. "The cabin is free until we reach Spokane. You'll have to depart there anyway to board the connecting train to Cascade."

Jim slipped his credit card from his wallet. "You take plastic, I assume?"

"What name shall I book it under?" inquired the steward, accepting the card.

"Ellison, Detective Jim Ellison."

"Where are you seated, Detective Ellison?"

Jim pulled the ticket out of his pocket and glanced at it. "Seat forty-five. Carriage D."

The steward wrote down the seat number. "I'll let you know when the passenger has departed and the room has been cleaned."

"Thank you." Jim made his way back down the passage toward Blair. His first priority was to warm the kid up. He entered the carriage, only to be confronted by the noise of a crying baby. "Terrific," he mumbled, unfolding the blankets and piling them on top of his still sleeping partner. Blair's colour had not improved, nor had his temperature. Hoping the extra layers would do the trick, he decided to forgo the hot tea for the time being. Sandburg appeared to be dead to the world, and rest was probably the best thing for him. The train rumbled along as Blair continued to sleep.

When they pulled into Missoula, Jim was relieved to find the woman with the crying infant preparing to depart. It would still be at least another ten minutes or so before he could move Blair into the sleeper. The kid's temperature had gone up a few degrees over the last hour and he no longer felt like Frosty the Snowman. Shuffling through the crowd with her crying baby, the infant chose to let out a mighty wail just as it passed their seats. Blair woke with a start, appearing somewhat disorientated and unaware of his surrounding. "Hey, Chief, take it easy," comforted Jim, concerned by the glazed look in Sandburg's eyes. "We've just stopped at Missoula to let passengers off." Pain-filled eyes didn't seem to comprehend what was being said, and Jim's worry metre inched up another notch. "Blair, you okay?"

Blair shook his head and pressed it back into the headrest. From the minute he woke, he was hit by the severity of the pain in his arm. He didn't need to touch his wrist to know it was badly swollen. The pressure from the handcuffs digging into his injury was becoming unbearable. He couldn't stop the tears as they tracked down his cheeks. "Cuffs... please Jim," he choked out.

"Shit, Chief, I'd forgotten you still had them on." Jim couldn't quite understand Blair's overly distressed state. Surely the pressure of the day hadn't broken the kid? Granted the day had been trying, to say the least, and some harsh words had been spoken, but Sandburg was tougher than that, wasn't he?

A sob escaped from Blair and Jim hurried his actions. "Hang on, Chief, they're in my pocket." Jim fished around in his jean pocket until his fingers touched the metal keys. He stripped the pile of blankets from the younger man and lifted off his jacket. "Jesus," he whispered the moment he spotted Blair's wrist. Tears were now streaming down his guide's face and blood had formed on his bottom lip as he bit down against the pain. Jim inserted the key into the lock, and removed the handcuff, taking care not to jostle the injured limb. Not daring to touch Blair's arm, he did his best to offer comfort. "Just breathe, Chief, just breathe through the pain."

"It hurts Jim... it hurts so bad," Sandburg grated through gritted teeth.

"I know, Chief, I know, just keep breathing. That's it, long deep breaths." Jim's emotions took a major turn as guilt flooded over him. How could have I been so blind, so damned stupid? He had let his anger, his pride overpower his natural instinct to keep Blair safe. He knew Sandburg had been hurt back at the train station, but in the heat of the moment chose to ignore it. In his own twisted way, he had justified Blair injuries... an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, Blair's pain for his.

The steward spoke up from behind the detective. "Sir, your cabin has been prepared." He looked past Jim's shoulder to Blair and, seeing the severity of the injury, he added, "Sir, there is a doctor on board. Do you want me to fetch him?"

"I'd rather get him to the cabin first. Can you grab our bags?"

As the steward gathered their bags, Jim helped Blair slide across the seat. "Okay, Chief, we'll do this nice and easy." Blair managed to stand briefly before a wave of nausea crashed into him. "Jim, no... gotta sit."

Easing his friend back down to the seat, Jim knelt in front of him. "You gonna be sick?"

Blair shook his head. "...be fine... just need a few minutes."

"Time is the one thing we have plenty of, Chief." The sentinel's hands had managed to find their way to Blair's knees, comforting strokes giving both men the contact they so desperately needed. "Just take deep breaths... that's it, breathe through it," Jim encouraged, his hand continuing its motion.

After a few minutes, the colour returned to Blair's face. "Think you can manage to stand now?"

"Yeah..."

Jim helped Blair get to his feet, a strong arm snaking around his middle. "Okay junior, we'll do this nice and slow... one step at a time."

They made their way cautiously down the passage, the steward following closely with their bags. "Next cabin on your right," he informed.

Jim entered the tiny room and steered Blair over to the bed, which was perched halfway up the wall. Knowing it would be a difficult task for Sandburg to make it onto the bunk without help, he adjusted his grip and lifted Blair into his arms. He grunted slightly at the strain. Sandburg may have been smaller than him, but he was certainly no lightweight. The severity of his guide's pain hit home, when no objection was forthcoming. The steward placed the bags just inside the door. "I'll go get the doctor."

Blair lay on the bunk panting harshly, holding his injured wrist to his chest. He was aware of his shoes being removed and a pile of blankets being tucked around him. "Doctor's on his way," he heard Jim tell him. "Won't be long now, buddy." Buddy, he thought. Did Jim just call me 'buddy'? It wasn't supposed to happen like this. He was still angry with the detective, he wasn't ready to be his 'buddy'; he wasn't done with yelling and screaming at the hardheaded Neanderthal yet. And he also wasn't ready to be forgiven. He didn't want Jim's pity just because he was hurt.

What he'd done was wrong; he knew that and he was prepared to suffer the consequences. But he wasn't sorry he'd helped Melody. He just wished he had confided in Jim... trusted him to help. Perhaps he did underestimate Jim's ability for understanding and compassion. He realised suddenly that he was guilty of the same prejudices as the detective. He had labelled the man. He had taken his intimate knowledge of Jim's past and put a sign slap bang in the middle of his forehead, which read, 'Do not confide it this person. He does not have the ability for kindness, compassion and understanding.'

He was vaguely aware of the sound of muffled voices. A tiny prick in his arm was all he felt before his world started to grey. Before he blacked out completely, he wondered what label Jim had placed on him and what it would say.

Blair woke, alone and confused. He blinked several times trying to encourage his eyes to cooperate. The comforting colours of dawn's early light filtered softly through the window, filling him with a sense of peace as the train rumbled along the track. Train, his muddled brain finally comprehended. The splendour of the soft pastel shades painting the sky was immediately marred. The events of the previous day descended upon him, covering like a heavy blanket, its darkness erasing the dawn's offering of a new day, a new beginning.

"Jim," he whispered, not sure whether or not he wanted to hear an answer. Easing into a sitting position he looked around the room. Okay... alone. Alone is good. I can handle alone. Lowering himself carefully to the floor, he swayed, keeping in sync with the rocking of the carriage. Finding his balance, he half-walked, half-staggered to the tiny bathroom, his gait cautious and unsteady. A morning routine, that would normally have taken no more than a few minutes, turned into a momentous task as uncoordinated fingers struggled with the simplest of jobs. Drying his face, he stared into the mirror, studying the stranger looking back at him. The close encounter with the stairwell had left an assortment of colourful cuts and bruises decorating his face. He lifted his arm and studied the swollen wrist -- a wrist that was now tightly strapped. The agony he'd felt the night before was now a tolerable ache, contained, he assumed, by the lingering effects of the needle he remembered stinging his arm.

Making his way out of the bathroom, he was confronted again with solitude. One glance at the bed on the wall was enough to make up his mind. Even though desperate to lie down again, the height of the bunk was too great an obstacle to overcome. The seat by the window offered a more enticing option.

Staring out the window he watched the fertile fields of Idaho's heartland pass by. Quaint farmhouses dotted the landscape filling his mind with an imagery he tried in vain to ignore. Images of a family, complete in its unit... brothers and sisters, a mother... a father. A 'completeness' he had never known. A 'completeness' he longed for.

He thought of his family, of Naomi... and of Jim. Why don't you ask your mother who he is? Or are you afraid of the answer? Afraid she's slept with so many guys, you'd have a one in a million change of finding out who he is... like the pot calling the kettle black, hey, Chief? He closed his eyes and bit back the familiar sensation. It wasn't the first time he'd been called a bastard. The memory of his mother's tears was still vivid, the anguish cracking her voice as she tried to explain to him what the kids meant when they called him that. It was a guilt he would always carry... the guilt of being his mother's bastard child.

Jim stood uneasily in the passageway. One hand was occupied, holding the breakfast tray steady; the other perched indecisively on the door handle. He had no idea how to approach Sandburg. What to say, what not to say? He was still angry and hurt, but time had managed to take the sting out of these emotions. He pushed open the door, deciding that the ball was in the kid's court. He would let himself be guided by the reaction waiting on the other side of the door. The tension hit like a brick wall the minute he stepped into the room. Blair's angry expression ignited the flame once again.

Jim pulled the small table down from the wall. "All I could get this time of the morning was toast."

Blair glanced at the tray, before turning his attention back to the passing scenery. "Not hungry."

"Sandburg, you haven't eaten since yesterday morning. The doctor left you some pain pills which you can't take on an empty stomach." Jim lifted the lid off the tray and picked up the plate. "Eat," he ordered.

Blair pushed it away. "I said I'm not hungry."

Jim swore he could feel the anger surge through his veins, racing madly, searching for a way to escape. "Listen you stubborn son of a bitch. I've been up all night playing nursemaid. I'm tired and I'm not in the mood for your pissy attitude."

Blair's voice was dark and sinister. "What did you just say?"

Confused by Blair's tone, Jim asked "What?"

"What did you just call my mother?" Blair sprang to his feet. "A son of a bitch, I believe were your exact words."

"Grow up, Sandburg. It's just an expression. I didn't mean anything by it."

Blair prodded Jim in the chest. "Just like you didn't mean anything when you called her a slut."

"I never said any such thing!" shouted Jim.

Blair pushed again. "Not in so many words, but you inferred it."

Not wanting to go down this path again, Jim pushed Blair, back out of his space, which the angry young man was now occupying. As he did so Blair's knee gave out and he stumbled, hitting his arm against the window. He let out a cry of pain, before falling back onto the cushion.

"Chief!" Jim panicked, trying to aid his guide's descendent. "I'm sorry Blair... I didn't mean to..."

Blair was on the seat, rocking back and forth, trying to get the pain under control. Jim grabbed the packet of pills the doctor had left and reached for the container of juice sitting on the breakfast tray. Blair offered no resistance as the capsule was pushed into his mouth and the cup brought to his lips. He continued rocking, praying for the pain to ease. He felt Jim's hand on his back. With tears streaming down his face, he moved away from his sentinel's touch. "Go, Jim," he ground out. "Just get out and leave me alone... I don't need your help."

"Blair I'm--" was all the older man could manage, before being interrupted.

"Don't say it, Jim." Blair looked fiercely into Jim's eyes. "You don't mean it, so just don't say it!"

Pain and hurt flashed across the detective's face... an expression that was impossible for Blair to miss. He knew his words had hurt Jim, but he didn't care. He was self destructing; they both were. His voice cracked. "Just leave, Jim; please just leave me be."

With the situation growing steadily out of control once again, Jim stood and, without a second glance, headed out of the room. As he closed the door he felt like someone had just turned the page in another chapter of his life. The book was coming to an end, the story was winding up, a happy ending looking more and more unlikely. He made his way down the passage toward the dining car. He would give Blair his wish. He would leave his guide alone for the rest of their journey.

Blair lay down on the seat, curling himself into a ball. The minute the door clicked closed, he regretted his words. "I'm sorry, Jim, so very sorry. Please don't leave me alone," he whispered, too soft for even sentinel hearing.

The two-hour stopover in Spokane came and went. They changed trains, with only a few necessary words being spoken, both men afraid of opening their mouths, of doing more damage. As the train pulled into Cascade station, Jim stood and pulled their bags down from the overhead locker. Not able to handle the uncertainty of the situation any longer, he asked, "Are you coming home?" He held his breath, afraid of the answer he might receive.

Blair looked up from the seat. "Do I still have a home?"

"I'm not going to kick you out, Sandburg. You can stay or you can leave. Either way, it's your decision."

"I guess, right at the moment, I don't really have a choice, do I?"

"You always have a choice, Chief."

Knowing that he didn't really have any other option, Blair replied quietly. "I guess home it is... for the time being at least."

Wincing at the last statement, Jim moved out of the way so Blair could stand. "Will you agree to a trip to the hospital first?"

Blair moved into the aisle. "I guess so," he mumbled.

Jim led the way toward the exit, hoping that he'd be able to get a cab quickly.

Simon spotted his detective the minute he walked into the waiting room. "You didn't tell me Sandburg was hurt!" he said tersely.

Jim looked up. "Nice to see you too, Captain."

"Can it, Ellison. What happened?"

"Blair broke his wrist when he took a tumble down a flight of stairs."

"And you didn't think this important enough to share with me?"

"I didn't know, Simon, alright? I knew he was a little banged up, but I was too mad at him to notice."

"How is he now?"

"The doctor's putting a cast on his arm. It's a clean break, so there shouldn't be any complications."

"How come you're out here? You usually stick to the kid like glue when he's hurt."

"Yeah, I do, don't I? I guess things have changed."

Simon took a seat next to the man who was not only the best detective he'd had the privilege to work with, but also a man he considered a good friend. Jim had already filled him in briefly on the events that occurred in Montana. But in usual Ellison style, they were the facts only. No feelings, no emotions. Just the facts.

"Well I guess he's in the right place," Simon stated taking a seat next to Jim.

"How do you mean?" Jim asked warily. He'd seen that look on Simon's face more times than he'd care to remember. Bracing himself, he thought, time to batten down the hatches.

"Because by the time I get through with him, he's gonna need a whole team of emergency doctors to reattach the limbs I intend of tearing from him. Adding and abetting Ellison!" Simon shouted, springing to his feet. "I assume you've heard of the term before? Have you informed your estranged partner exactly how many years on the inside he's facing?" Simon bit down hard on his unlit cigar in frustration. Plucking it from his mouth, he continued. "I swear even if I live to be ahundred and ten, I'll still have no idea what the hell goes on in Sandburg's head."

Feeling defeated, Simon slumped in the seat next to Jim. "You sure he's... you know... all there? 'Cause sometime I gotta wonder whether or not he's got a few cows running loose in the top paddock."

Jim leaned his head back on the wall wearily. "Simon, at this point you could tell me Sandburg's a mass murderer and I'd probably believe it." He looked over at his Captain. "Just when you think you know a guy!" The sadness in his voice was unmistakable.

Simon glanced over at Jim. "Maybe he's one of those idiots?"

A puzzled expression graced Jim's face, questioning for an explanation. "You know the ones Jim. The guys who are so smart that they've usually got a few screws loose." He grappled, trying to remember the word. "Savants... idiot savants!" he exclaimed.

Jim's puzzled expression intensified. "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to make excuses for Sandburg, Captain."

Simon huffed at the suggestion, dismissing his earlier thought. "I guess you're right." Getting to he feet he added. "He's just your average, everyday, run of the mill idiot."

The ER nurse walked into the room, seeking out the familiar face. "Detective Ellison, he's ready to go."

"You and the idiot need a lift home?" asked Simon.

"Yeah, if you don't mind." Jim started toward the door. "Simon, when you see Sandburg, go easy, okay? It's been a rough twenty-four hours. If you're gonna kill him, can you at least wait till he's feeling a little better?"

"Yeah, I guess I should wait, too many witness here," muttered the police captain, patting his pockets in search of his keys. "Jim," he said seriously, keys now in his hand, "despite everything that's gone on, the bottom line is that there's still an active case on your desk that needs solving. How you do it is your problem. I just want you to know that I do expect it to be treated with the same reverence you give all your cases. Do I make my self clear?"

"Perfectly sir,"

Simon patted Jim's arm. "I'll go bring the car around."

Blair's head was nodding up and down, agreeing with everything the doctor was telling him, but Jim knew that the young man wasn't listening; he was simply complying so he could get the hell out of there. "I'll make sure he does what he's told," he butted in, walking into the small cubicle.

The doctor looked up, recognising the detective immediately. "Good, because I somehow get the impression your partner's not paying attention."

The word 'partner' did get Blair's attention. "Associate," he mumbled at the doctor.

The medical resident gave Jim an inquisitive look. The detective casually waved it off, mouthing the word, "drugs." Inwardly, his heart sank; his angry words spoken in Montana were coming back to haunt him.

"Here's a list of instructions. I've given Blair a fairly strong painkiller, so don't be surprised if he's a bit out of it for a while. Keep his arm elevated for the next few days, and try and persuade him to rest his knee as much as possible. I've strapped it for extra support, but the best thing really is for him to take it easy. As I told your partner, any undue pain, come back as soon as possible."

"Thanks, doc," Jim offered as the young resident move on to his next case.

Jim watched as Blair struggled to put his shoes on. "You need some help?"

"I got it," slurred the young man, trying hard to keep his balance. To his credit, Blair managed to slip on his shoes without help. The fact that they were on the wrong feet didn't seem to concern or even occur to him. With his shoelaces still untied, he started toward the exit.

"Hold up a minute there, Darwin." Jim halted Blair in his tracks. He bent down before receiving a protest. "At least let me tie your shoelaces."

"'Kay," mumbled Blair, holding still while Jim worked on his laces. As they continued down the hall and toward the exit, Jim kept a light hold on the kid's arm. With Blair limping heavily in his 'mismatched' shoes, Jim decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

Blair sat silently in the back seat of Simon's car as they headed toward the loft, but the police captain's continuous glances in the rear view mirror finally attracted his attention. With his tongue feeling twice its size and his brain feeling like someone had just given him a lobotomy, he concentrated very hard to form a sentence. "How come you're not yelling?" he finally managed to ask.

Simon kept his eyes forward and on the road. "Oh, I thought I'd save it up for when you're actually listening."

With the aid of the drug racing around in his system, Blair's comment came out a little more honestly than he intended. "But I never listen to you."

The Captain's attention was now divided between trying to concentrate on the road and giving angry glares to the pain in the ass in the back seat.

Jim had managed to get Blair from the car and into the loft. With the kid's coordination deteriorating rapidly, the detective didn't bother asking permission to strip off Sandburg's jeans. "Lift your foot Chief," Jim said, now struggling with the task of dressing Blair in a pair of old sweats.

"Huh?" Blair stared at him dumbly.

Jim grabbed Sandburg's leg and worked the pant leg over the sock-clad foot. Repeating the procedure with the other leg, he encouraged Blair to stand, pulling the sweats over the younger man's hips. He pushed Blair back down onto the bed. As if his power cord had just been suddenly unplugged, the injured man slumped forward, his head coming to rest against Jim's chest.

The sentinel remained still, savouring the sensation of this guide's warm breath as it tickled his chest. His hand hovered awkwardly in the air, hesitating. As if too impatient for his brain to make a decision, his hand took control and found its own way to rest on the back of Blair's head. With his body now betraying him as well, Jim found himself bending down to rest his cheek on the top of the chestnut curls. "Damn you, Sandburg," he whispered.

"How is he?" asked Simon, handing Jim a freshly-brewed cup of coffee as he came out of the bedroom.

"Dead to the world."

"You want to fill me in on all the blanks, before I head downtown to the Commissioner's office and try and save your butts?"

"Simon, doesn't this case bother you?"

"Take a look at me, Jim. Did I look this old twenty-fours hours ago? Of course it bothers me!"

"No, I mean, it's not right. Something just doesn't gel." Jim put the coffee down and started pacing. "Why was Major Crimes involved in the first place, and why wasn't it handed straight over to the Feds?"

"That was my first thought, but the orders came directly from the Commissioner. I questioned them, especially given the fact that the children were taken over the state lines, but I was told that they needed the extra manpower."

"And you believed that?"

"Look Jim, I know you hate the politics of the department, but occasionally you need to just shut your mouth and get on with the job. I had every confidence that you and Sandburg were the best men for this investigation. I guess that even I can make a mistake," he added sarcastically.

"Simon, Blair told me that the kids' father had legal custody of them and that it was the mother who had stolen them."

"Jim, I saw the custody papers. They all seemed in order to me. Cambridge would have told Blair anything if she thought it would help her get away."

"Captain, Sandburg might be a lot of things, but stupid's not one of them. You know he's not usually wrong when it comes to working people out. Besides, I have a sneaking suspicion there's more to it than meets the eye. I've got a feeling that Blair knows more than he's saying." Jim sat down on the edge of the sofa. "How much do we know about the mother? Did you happen to run a check on her?"

"I did the usual check. It came up clean."

Jim picked up his coffee cup and headed into the kitchen. "I think it might be prudent to pay Mrs. Wallace a visit."

"Well, you're not going alone. You're not exactly in their good books at the moment."

Jim scribbled Blair a quick note before heading into the small room under the stairs. Blair was lying on his side, his injured arm cradled protectively against his chest. Jim adjusted the blankets, his hand touching his guide's cheek briefly as he did so.

"Julia, the police are downstairs," Jonathan Wallace informed his wife, shutting the bedroom door firmly behind him.

The slim, immaculately dressed woman spun around. "Oh, Jonathan, I'm so scared," she cried. "What if they find out that we don't have custody of the children? What are we going to do then?"

"With the Police Commissioner on my payroll, there's no way that's going to happen. He has too much to lose."

She poured herself another scotch with trembling hands. "What happens if Kristy gets them back to Michael? What then?"

"Then we take them back and I arrange a little accident for your ex, like I should have done from the start."

"No!" she exclaimed in horror. "You can't do that."

"Listen to me," he said, grabbing her angrily. "I can do anything I want. Besides, this whole thing is your fault. If you hadn't left those damn brats alone for three days while you went on a drunken fucking spree across the state of Nevada, then none of this would be happening, would it?" He pushed her down angrily on the bed. "God knows, I've paid a fortune already to have your record wiped and the custody documents falsified." He pointed his finger as a warning. "I'll be damned if I'll let your past ruin my political career. As far as the media and my associates are concerned, we are all one big happy family." He moved away from the bed. "Now, go clean yourself up and get rid of that smell on your breath. I want you downstairs in five minutes, playing the grieving mother... understand?" He slammed the door behind him and descended the stairs to greet the police.

Jim studied the striking middle-aged man closely as he came down the stairs. "Gentlemen. I hope you come bearing good news. My wife's just about reached the end of her rope. She's frantic with worry."

"I bet she is," Jim mumbled under his breath.

"Mr. Wallace..." started Simon, before being interrupted by Jim.

"Mr Wallace," Jim announced, "I'm sorry for the inconvenience and the interruption. I think our visit might be a little premature. I've just received a phone call confirming a positive sighting of the boys. I'm sorry, but we have to go. I have no intention of losing the trail this time."

Jim ushered a surprised Simon out of the room. "Detective!" Wallace shouted, following behind. "Spotted where?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wallace." Jim was now on the move toward the front door. "It's too early for me to reveal any further information. But believe me, we're going to do our best to bring the boys home to you, where they belong."

Simon pulled his arm from Jim's grasp halfway down the drive. "You care to tell me what that was all about?"

"Just keep walking, Simon, I'll let you know in the car." Simon knew by Jim's voice that the detective was on to something.

"Okay?" asked Simon as they pulled away from the curb. "I'm listening."

"The Commissioner is on the take, Simon. This whole thing was a setup, right from the start."

"Jim, that's a pretty serious allegation. I hope you can back it up."

"I will, as soon as I find Cambridge and the kids' father. Look, I overheard the conversation Wallace had with his wife before he came downstairs. He's not only paid off the Commissioner, but he's paid to have her record wiped and false custody documents put in place. The children were stolen all right, Simon, just not by their father. Sandburg was right."

"Jim, it doesn't make sense. Why didn't the father simply take action through the courts? If he has legal custody, then he shouldn't have had any trouble getting the kids back. I mean, it's not as if they were in hiding. Their identity was never covered up."

"I'd put money on him being too afraid to go through legal channels. I think he's been threatened in some way. Look, I need to get back to the loft. I need to talk to Sandburg. Right now, he's our best hope of finding the kids and their dad."

Jim drove down Prospect Street, pulling the truck into the vacant parking space next to Simon's sedan. Taking the keys from the ignition, he turned to Simon. "Sir maybe we should fill Henri and Rafe in on what's going on. Get them to start making some discreet inquiries."

Simon pushed open the truck door. "My thoughts exactly." He pulled his cell phone from this jacket. "You gonna be okay handling Sandburg?"

Jim's eyes drifted up to the third floor. "Yeah," he simply replied.

"Jim, just remember what you're priority is here. Do whatever you have to do and say whatever you have to say. You need to get Sandburg to tell you where those children are. From this point on, your disagreement with the kid has just taken a back seat."

"Understood, Captain." Jim pocketed his keys and headed toward the front door of the building. Simon was right, his feelings were inconsequential. If he were going to be successful in gaining any information from Sandburg, he knew he needed to tread carefully.

Blair glanced up briefly as Jim entered the loft. Not saying a word, he went back to the task of trying to cut his sandwich.

"How're you feeling?" Jim asked, coming over to the counter.

"Okay," was the only response forthcoming.

Jim took the knife away from Blair and proceeded to cut the sandwich. He handed the plate to Blair, who took it without a word.

"Chief, we need to talk."

"Not now, Jim," he replied, halfway to his room. "We both still need time to do some serious thinking."

"Well, I won't disagree with you on that one, Chief, but unfortunately, time is something we don't have."

Jim's words got Blair's attention. "What do you mean by that?" His brain raced with possibilities.

"If you'll sit down for a minute, I'll explain."

Getting more curious, Blair hobbled over to the sofa. "I'm listening."

"Chief, I was thinking about what you said back in Montana about the children's father having custody. While you were sleeping, Simon and I paid a visit to the Wallace's. It turns out you were right. Their mother took the kids illegally."

"I already told you that. It's a pity you were too busy yelling and screaming to hear."

Jim bit back his temper. "Sandburg, I need you to tell me where they are."

"Why? What does it matter now? The kids are probably already back where they rightfully belong." Blair paused for a moment. "I won't turn in Melody, Jim, if that's what you're asking."

"I thought her name was Kristy? You do know her, don't you?" Jim accused.

Blair's jaw tightened and Jim knew that if he continued down this line, he'd get nowhere. "Chief, I think that your friend and the kids might be in danger."

Blair eyed the sentinel suspiciously and Jim knew exactly what was going through his guide's head. Sandburg was trying to decide whether or not he was telling him the truth or spinning him a line to trick him into revealing the whereabouts of the children. I guess not much has changed, he thought.

"Why do you think that?" asked Blair, placing his plate and uneaten sandwich on the coffee table.

"Because this thing goes right to the top. The Commissioner is on the take."

"What!" Blair exclaimed. "Can you prove it?"

"No, not yet I can't. That's why I need to talk to your friend and the kids' father. Look, apparently the mother has a very dubious past. From what I can gather, she had the kids taken away from her because of neglect. Her current husband obviously has a few connections in the right places, because he's managed to have her record erased and false custody documents put in place. I overheard him telling his wife that the kids' father would be taken care of... permanently." Jim looked at the stunned expression on Blair's face. "Chief, do you trust me enough to let me help?"

Blair knew he no longer had a choice. His feelings and misgivings had to take second place. Melody and the kids needed to be his primary focus. "They're at Saint Sebastian's," he replied quietly. "It's a monastery a couple of hours' drive outside of Cascade. I used to go there sometimes when I was a kid. I told Mel to take the kids to someone I know there, and he'd offer them sanctuary until the children's dad could pick them up."

"Can you give me directions?

"I'm coming with you."

"You sure you feel up to it?"

Blair got up from the sofa and limped to his room. "Just give me a minute to get dressed, okay?" He closed the door behind him and leaned against the frame. He had never felt quite so alone. All he wanted to do was to rush back out into the living room and tell Jim how sorry he was. Sorry for not trusting in him, for not giving him the benefit of the doubt. He wanted nothing more than to hear the words 'It's okay Chief, I forgive you.' But he couldn't. He knew it was pride, that made the words of apology stick in his throat. And he knew it was ugly and stupid and juvenile, but he couldn't help it.

Jim watched silently as Blair hobbled to his room and closed his door. He had never felt quite so empty. All he wanted to do was to barge into the small room and tell Blair how sorry he was. Sorry for the words spoken in anger, sorry for not giving him the chance to explain. He wanted so badly to hear the words. 'It's okay big guy. I forgive you.' But he couldn't. Blair had betrayed him, hurt him worse than he'd ever thought possible. And so he took refuge in his hurt, not recognizing his own ugly pride standing in his way.

"Mr Wallace... it's Nick."

"Did you manage to plant the bug without complications?"

"Yes, sir. I waited until the cop left and then broke into the apartment. His partner was sleeping like a baby."

"You left everything exactly how you found it?"

"Exactly. They'll never know I was there."

"Have you managed to find out anything yet?"

"The kids are at a monastery called Saint Sebastian's. It about a two-hour drive from here."

"Well, what are you waiting for? You know what to do."

"Yes sir."

Nick disconnected his cell phone and turned over the engine. He pulled out into the midday traffic. What a perfect day for a trip to the country, he mused.

Nicholas Downer's reputation as a man who 'got the job done' was justly earned. He'd been born into a poor, working class family. He'd watched his father break his back on the docks, working thirty years for a pittance, receiving nothing more than a golden handshake for a lifetime of labour. That was a lifestyle he had no intention of following.

His first kill had been difficult, a husband and wife pleading for their lives on the bathroom floor in a tiny apartment in upstate New York. He nearly relented, falling victim to their harrowing tale of embezzling the money from their less than reputable employer to help their sick child. Memories of their haunting faces had disappeared quickly, as he was rewarded with a sizable sum for a job well done.

Giving his tools of the trade a final check, he zipped up the canvas bag, shouldering it as he slammed the trunk closed. Fully aware that time was his enemy, the assassin moved quickly through the undergrowth. He needed to find and eliminate his targets quickly and efficiently. He had at least an hour's head start on Ellison and Sandburg, but the time constraints he was forced to work within allowed no room for mistakes. He needed to find his victims and eliminate them before Ellison arrived.

Quietly padding to the far side of the chapel, he gave a quick word of thanks to the gods of fate. The monks, occupied with their prayer session, would not be an obstacle to thwart his intended mission. His head snapped around quickly as the delighted squeal of a small child brought a smile to his face. "Bingo," the predator whispered. Pulling on the drab, brown robe he had taken from the clothesline, his disguise was complete.

"Brother, catch," yelled Timothy, tossing the ball in the monk's direction.

Nick Downer caught the ball, waiting for the young boy to close his distance.

"Good catch," puffed Timothy, coming to a halt just in front of Downer.

Nick Downer held the ball out, bending down to the child's level as he did so. "I have a surprise for you, my child," he whispered.

"A surprise... what is it?" Timothy exclaimed in excitement.

Pulling his gun from the sleeve of the robe, he pulled Timothy roughly toward him. "Why don't you call dad over?" he ordered.

Frightened and trembling, Timothy screamed for his father. Michael Warner wasted no time in rushing over to his son. "Timmy, what's the matter?"

Downer pulled the child around, the nuzzle of this gun placed on the child's neck.

As Michael unthinkingly surged forward, the pistol struck the side of his head without warning. He crumpled to the ground, stunned and dazed.

"Don't even think about it, missy," warned Downer, his eyes tracking Melody and the child she was now trying to carry toward the monastery. "Over here, now," he ordered.

He pushed Timothy toward Melody as she neared them. "Up," ordered Warner. He reached down and roughly pulled the shaken man up by his collar. "Move it dad," he sneered. Satisfied he had everyone's attention he said, "Alright folks, we're gonna take a little stroll in the forest. I want everyone to be real quiet... quiet as a monk, you could say." He laughed, amused at his analogy. He looked toward the sky, squinting as the sun hit his face. "A perfect day to die, I'd say."

"The turnoff is up ahead on the left," Blair announced, shifting to get comfortable in the front seat of the truck. Their journey from Cascade had been a solitary one, each man keeping to himself, neither speaking unless to ask or give directions.

The uneven, dirt road, which Jim had just pulled into, aggravated Blair's injuries and he grabbed hold of the 'oh shit' handle tightly. His mind drifted back to the day he'd become the proud owner of his very own 'oh shit' handle. Jim had dragged him from his bed and down to the truck early one Saturday morning. He still remembered the expression on the big detective's face as he announced. "There you go, Chief, your very own 'oh shit' handle."

The look of utter confusion on his face prompted the sentinel to carefully explain to him the uses of an 'oh shit' handle. The sheer stupidity of the detective's explanation still rang as clear as day in the observer's mind.

"Chief, you know how you're always complaining that I drive too fast, and that you're always hitting your head and bumping into the door as I skilfully round corners in pursuit of the bad guys?"

"The term 'skilfully' isn't exactly how I'd describe your driving, big guy. In fact, I'm really at a loss for words to explain your driving at all."

"My expertise in the finer points of driving is not the issue here, Chief. Your lack of coordination, however, is."

"What! My lack of coordination! Grow a brain, Jim. How the hell do you expect me to stay coordinated when I become airborne every time you go over a hill? I mean the G-force created when you go around corners is enough to make even the most experienced fighter pilot puke on his shoes."

"My point exactly, Darwin -- hence the installation of your new 'oh shit' handle. Next time I impress not only you, but the fleeing scum-buckets, with my talented handling of a motor vehicle, instead of you trying to grab onto the glove box, the gear stick or my leg, you've now got your very own handle to cling to. So instead of shouting 'shit Jim,' as you normally do, all you need to do is grab hold of the 'oh shit' handle and it'll keep you steady as a rock."

"Jim, did you ever consider the fact that maybe you should slow down a little? You know -- slow and steady wins the race."

He still remembered the detective's answer as the big man packed up his toolbox.

"Geez, Sandburg. The only reason I became a cop was so I could drive fast. Spoil a guy's fun why don't you?" With one last proud glance at his handiwork, he patted Blair on the shoulder. "Chief, you might wanna put some clothes on. The neighbours are starting to stare. I'd hate to have to arrest you for indecent exposure."

Another jolt brought him back from his thoughts. He noticed that the truck was now creeping along the road at a snail's pace. "I'm okay, Jim. You can speed up. The sooner we get there, the sooner I'll be able to put my mind at peace."

The detective studied him for a split second before increasing the pressure on the accelerator. "How come you know about this place?" he asked.

"Naomi used to send me here when I was a kid. She said it was a good place for me to get to know myself."

More like a case of getting you out of her hair for a while, Jim ungraciously thought.

Silence descended again as they continued up the dirt road. At Blair's direction, Jim took a left onto a gravel road, which ended in the formation of a turning circle at the front steps of the monastery's main structure. It didn't take Blair long to recognise the familiar figure of Brother Marcus. Easing out of the truck, he extended his hand to the big monk.

The brother pushed away Blair's hand and pulled the grad student into a gripping hug. "Blair, my boy!" he exclaimed happily.

Jim could hear the hiss of discomfort that came from the young man, and he moved quickly. "Uh, sir his arm," he alerted.

Brother Marcus relinquished his grip and pushed Blair back with an apology. "I'm sorry, Blair. I didn't realise. Did I hurt you?"

"No, Brother Marcus, I'm fine. It hardly hurts at all anymore."

"Liar," Jim ground out, extending his hand to the monk. "Sir, I'm Detective Ellison of the Cascade PD. I'm here in relation to the young woman and two children that you have taken in."

Blair noted the look of uncertainty on the monk's face and moved to reassure him. "It's okay, Brother Marcus, Jim's a friend." He gave Jim a look of uncertainty. "He's here to help. We believe that Melody and the children could be in danger. Are they still here?"

"Yes. The children's father arrived late last night. He was planning to stay a few days to get the children settled before leaving. They've been through a harrowing experience, the poor little souls."

"Can you show us to them?" asked Jim, anxious to question the children's father.

"Certainly. They're in the field at the back of the house. The children love playing baseball. Timothy was telling me how he'd just joined little league, before his mother took them away." Brother Marcus led them around to the back of the house and out to a large field. "They must have gone inside for something to eat," he muttered. "Those boys have voracious appetites." Brother Marcus turned and headed toward a door at the back of the monastery. "I'll go and check the kitchen."

Jim surveyed the area, his eye coming to rest on a patch of red staining the grass. Without explanation, he bounded toward it.

"Jim!" Blair took off after the detective, his injured knee slowing his progress. Stumbling to a halt beside the sentinel, he panted. "Jim, what is it? What have you found?"

Jim looked up into the worried face of his guide. He got to his feet and wiped his fingers on the handkerchief he'd pulled from his pocket. "Blood."

Blair's complexion paled considerably and his voice contained more than a hint of panic. "Blood! Jim, we've got to find them."

"Calm down, Sandburg, we'll find them. I just need to concentrate, okay?"

Blair knew if he were to be of any help, he needed to pull himself together. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated on helping Jim focus. He placed his hand on the small of Jim's back. "Okay Jim, you know the drill. Reach for your centre, and just send your senses out one by one."

Jim closed his eyes and concentrated on the techniques Blair had been teaching him. Feeling the comforting sensation of his guide's reassuring touch on his back, he set about focusing his senses. He concentrated on eyesight first, scanning the area for any sign of movement. He heard Blair whisper, "Anything?" On his negative answer, Blair's level, monotone voice guided him to intensify his hearing. Ever so faintly, he could hear the sound of voices beyond the distant tree line. With Blair by his side he risked allowing his hearing to expand further. "Get up you little brat. You fall again and I'll blow you're head off right here." A child's scream and a father's angry shout flooded his ears with their terror. "Chief, you got your cell phone?"

Blair patted his jacket pocket. "Yeah, why? Jim, what did you hear?"

"They're in the woods, headed west. Call Simon and tell him to get here as quick as he can. Tell him to organise backup."

Blair shouted at the detective, who had taken off across the field toward the woods. "Jim, that'll take hours." His words fell on deaf ears. Jim's attention was fully attuned to whatever was going on in the woods beyond.

Brother Marcus was now crossing the field toward Blair. Spotting the portly figure out of the corner of his eye, Blair hastily made his way over to him.

"No sign of them in the kitchen," informed the monk.

"I know." The grad student quickly filled in Brother Marcus on Jim's suspicions. Dialling Major Crimes, Blair waited until he was connected with Simon. He thrust the phone into Brother Marcus' hand, trusting that the monk would relay the details. Despite the pull on his knee, he took off at a fast pace after the sentinel.

Nick Downer pushed his quarry through the scrub until coming to a halt at a small clearing by the river. "This looks like a good spot," he announced.

"A good spot for what?" hissed Michael Warner. The deep gash caused by the pistol whipping he'd received was bleeding freely.

"A good spot for a murder-suicide," smirked Downer.

"You'll never get away with it!" Melody shouted, surging forward.

In an instant, Downer steadied his pistol, aiming it point blank at her forehead. "If I only had a dollar for every time I've heard that, I might be rich enough to get out of this game." He smirked, a smile gracing his thin lips. "Oh second thoughts, maybe not. I'd miss the pleasure it brings me, too much."

He lowered his gun as she moved back to stand beside Michael and the two frightened boys. "Let me set the scene for you people. A father, distraught and angry at the prospect of losing his sons to his ex-wife decides that the best thing for everyone is to put an end to their suffering. Simply doing her job, this poor innocent young woman gets caught in the middle of this horrendous crime. It's a heroic act you're about to do young lady. Giving your life trying to save the lives of two helpless young boys who have been entrusted to your care."

"You bastard!" she spat.

"Tsk, tsk. Such language in front of young ears."

"Look, you don't need to do this," pleaded the boy's father. "Take the boys back to Julia. Tell her she's won. I won't try and take them again. Please," he cried. "They're only babies."

"Now that would be a nice way to end this whole debacle wouldn't it? Except for one minor detail. Dear old step-dad doesn't want them back. I think his exact words were, 'eliminate the father and the girl... and knock off the brats while you're at it'. I wouldn't be surprised if his lovely new wife is so grief-stricken that she herself commits suicide in the not too distant future."

Michael paled, pulling his boys close. He couldn't let this happen, he wouldn't. He'd die before letting anything happen to his boys.

"Okay!" Downer snapped. "Enough chitchat. Shall we begin? Who would like to go first? Perhaps the brave young heroine?" The hit man lifted his gun once again and aimed it at Melody's head. "Don't worry, my dear, you won't feel a thing."

Jim emerged from the thick tree line without a second to spare. Downer's finger was already squeezing down on the trigger. He didn't have time to aim his own weapon, he could already hear the distinctive sound of the gun's mechanism as it loaded the bullet into the chamber. Positioned on top of the embankment, he threw himself forward, crash-tackling Downer to the ground.

The assassin's gun fired, his aim thrown off slightly as the bullet raced toward Melody. In a split second, Michael pushed his boys out of the way and threw himself in front of Melody, shielding her with his own body. The bullet smashed through his shoulder, the force sending him crumpling to the ground.

The very nature of Downer's trade meant he was deft on his feet and more than capable with his fists. It took no time for him to disengage himself from his attacker and regain his footing. Just as agile, Jim recovered his composure quickly. The fight that ensued was powerful and bloody, each man exchanging hard-hitting blows with violent force and accuracy. With their similar stature and abilities, a bookie would have been hard-pressed to pick a winner.

Blair skidded, coming to a halt on the outskirts of the chaos. He scanned the area quickly. Melody was on the ground, her efforts concentrated on stemming the flow of blood that was pouring from Michael Warner's bullet wound. The children were screaming hysterically, their little hands grasping at their father's jacket, pleading with him to open his eyes. He turned his attention to Jim. The Sentinel's face was sweaty and bloody as hard blows continued to rain down upon him. The hitman didn't appear to be faring any better; his nose was awkwardly angled to the side. With his refusal to carry a weapon coming back to bite him on the butt, Blair desperately scanned the area for anything that could be of help. Spotting just what he was looking for, he picked up a smooth, rounded river stone. "Don't let me down now," he prayed, referring to the ability and accuracy of his pitcher's arm. Seeing an opening, he pitched the rock toward Downer's head. The stone found its mark, true and strong. The assassin crashed to the ground, toppling like a tree that had just been felled.

Jim turned in surprise, looking for the source that had brought about his opponent's downfall. He stared at the young man, who appeared glued to the spot. "Good shot," he whispered before his legs gave out and he landed flat on his butt.

The detective's sudden descent spurred the grad student into action. "Jim," he shouted with concern. He reached his sentinel's side just in time to stop Jim from falling flat on his back. He leaned in to support his best friend, using his sleeve to try and wipe away some of the blood that covered the big man's face.

Blair sat back, the full weight of Jim's exhausted body pressing into his chest. "You look like shit, Jim," he observed, the worry in his voice giving away the true meaning of his words.

"Love you too, Chief," his friend breathed heavily.

Blair closed his eyes for a moment, taking time to savour the closeness between them. He hadn't realised until this moment what he'd been prepared to throw away for the sake of pride. He shared a bond with Jim that he had never experienced with anyone else... a bond he was determined to get back.

Melody had fled back to the monastery to raise the alarm. Brother David had rushed to the scene at the river, calling upon his abandoned skills as an emergency room doctor to save Michael Warner's life. He also examined a heavily concussed Nicholas Downer before handcuffing him to the nearest tree. With the frightened children clinging to his robes, Brother Marcus did his best to offer comfort to the boys.

The peace and quiet of Saint Sebastian's was shattered. Ambulance and police cars streamed up the driveway in a steady flow.

Jim could hear the sirens in the distance. Still too unsteady on his feet to move, he entrusted Brother Karl to lead the cavalry to them. With Blair by his side, he closed his eyes, trying to bring his senses back to a normal level, the task, made easier by the gentle encouragement of his guide.

Jim sat in the back of the ambulance as a paramedic patched his wounds. Blair hovered nervously, praying that Jim wasn't seriously hurt. He didn't notice the presence of the police captain until a strong arm found its way around his shoulder. "You okay, Blair?"

Without taking his eyes off Jim, he asked. "What's going to happen to Mel and the kids? Will their dad get them back?" Blair turned to look at Simon. "She won't go to jail will she?" he asked anxiously.

Simon gave Blair's shoulder a quick squeeze before leading him to a picnic table on the front lawn. He urged the young man to take a seat. "No, technically she's done nothing wrong. She was only acting on the father's behalf, and since he is the boys' legal guardian, no charges will be laid. She has agreed to testify in the case against Wallace and will be moved to a safe house along with the boys' father as soon as he's able."

Blair raised his eyebrows in question.

"Your friend was right, son. This does go right to the top. I contacted a trusted associate in IA. It turns out the commissioner has been under investigation for several months. The DA will be negotiating a deal with Downer's lawyer and they're confident that he'll come to the party. Along with the testimony of Ms Parker and the boys' father, we should be able to put both the commissioner and Wallace away for a very long time."

"What about the boys' mother?"

"I've handed that over to the FBI. She'll be charged with kidnapping and illegally taking children across the border."

Fed up with being prodded and poked, Jim 'politely' excused himself from the EMT and wandered over to the picnic table. The one finger salute he received from the annoyed medic was a testament to his 'courteous' departure.

Simon looked at the approaching detective. "You look like crap, Ellison."

"Geez, you guys are gonna start to give me a complex. You know a lot of women find the wounded look very attractive."

Simon smiled. "Wounded maybe, pulverised... I don't think so." He bit down on his cigar. "I heard that Downer managed to hold more than his own in your little scuffle. Not losing your touch, are you?"

Jim sat down heavily on the bench. "I had the situation under complete control. I was simply trying to lure him into a false sense of security before hitting him with the big guns."

As the bantering between the two men continued, Blair's attention was drawn toward the attractive young woman who was flanked by two heavily armed police officers. He pushed himself off the bench and walked toward her. "Can you give us a few minutes alone?" he asked the officers.

Agreeing to the request, they kept a respectful distance.

Melody ran her fingers lightly over Blair's cast. "I'm sorry you got hurt," she said, unable to keep her tears at bay.

"Hey," he soothed gathering her in his arms. "It's no more serious than the time I fell out of the apple tree. You remember that, don't you?"

"How could I forget?" she replied, wiping away her tears. "I told you not to climb that tree."

"I got you the apple, didn't I?" He lifted her chin, his fingers taking pleasure in the soft texture of her skin. "l love you, Miss Melody," he whispered. "I was smitten the very first time I laid eyes on you."

She raised her hand to cover his. "They say that a childhood love is the most cherished love you'll ever know. You know what Blair Sandburg? I think they're right." She leaned up and kissed the man that had held a special place in her heart since she was a little girl. Reluctantly breaking the connection, she whispered, "Stay in touch?"

"I promise," was all he said as she was led away to the waiting police car.

Simon watched the figure standing all alone on the front lawn. He turned to Jim. "You and the kid had a chance to work things out yet?"

"No, things have been kinda hectic."

"Well, since you're officially on sick leave for the next few days, I'd say there's no time or place like the present. Why don't you guys hang out here for a couple of days? Who knows, the tranquil, spiritual setting might be just what you need.

"What -- a quiet place to contemplate how to kill each other?"

Jim," he started, "I know that what happened between you and Sandburg in Montana is a huge thing. He betrayed your trust and that's not an easy thing to forget, or forgive. But before you give up on the kid, I want you to do one thing for me. I want you to think long and hard about your next move. Friendships like the one between you and Blair don't come along every day. Every friendship comes across bumps in the road occasionally. But how you handle these bumps is the measure of what that friendship is truly worth."

"I hope you're willing to give that bit of profound advice to Sandburg as well, Simon, because I'm not the only one who has to forgive and forget."

Simon clapped Jim on the shoulder. "Work it out Jim... for everyone's sake."

When the cavalcade of cars finally pulled away from the monastery, Blair and Jim were left alone, both wondering how to make the first move.

Drawing a deep breath, Blair turned around and made his way back to the bench were Jim was still sitting.

"You really do look like shit," he said.

"Oh and you don't? Had a look in the mirror lately, Romeo?"

"Hey, at least I ended up with the girl."

Blair stood in front of him, awkwardly sifting from foot to foot, unsure of how to begin. "Jim I'm..."

"Chief, I'm sorry," Jim blurted, his timing coinciding exactly with Blair's, "I'm sorry, Jim."

Nervous laughter followed, until Blair spoke up. "You wanna take a walk?"

"You should be keeping off that knee."

"It's not far. There's a pond a short distant from here. I used to go there when I needed to think."

Not another word was spoken until they reached the small duck pond. Blair settled himself on a rock by the edge, remaining silent.

Jim picked up a stone and skimmed it across the surface of the water. Summoning his courage, he finally turned to face his guide. "Chief, why didn't you trust me? Why didn't you tell me about Melody and the kids back at the station?"

Blair took a deep breath. "I guess because I was unsure of your reaction. If I had told you, what would you have done, Jim? Arrest her? Let her go?"

Jim scrubbed his hands through his short hair. "My honest, gut reaction? Yes, I would have arrested her."

"Well, I guess you've answered you own question, then."

"Not entirely. I might have made an arrest, but I would have listened to her side of the story. I would have considered all the evidence and made an informed decision. If I'd had the opportunity to know all the facts back in Montana, just maybe I could have nipped this in the bud before it went this far." He moved to sit on a rock opposite the young man. "Why didn't you give me the benefit of the doubt? What you did back in Montana was to take your own deep-seated, misguided opinion of police and immediately tar me with the same brush. Just because I'm a cop, you automatically decided that I didn't have the ability to do the right thing. I can't believe that after all the time we've spent together, you don't have a higher regard for me than that."

Blair turned his eyes away, no longer able to look at the wounded expression on Jim's face. "I'm sorry, Jim. I'm truly, very sorry. Everything you just said was right. I let my preconceived ideas, my prejudices, interfere with my judgment. I let my own fears blind me as to what kind of man you really are."

"Blair, the fact that you didn't trust me hurt, but you know what? It was nothing compared to the betrayal of that trust. Can you even begin to realise how important this relationship has come to mean to me over this past year? Of all the people that have come and gone from my life, I honestly thought that our friendship was beginning to mean something. That it had grown into something special, something worthwhile. I've trusted you more than I've trusted anybody. I've let you into my life, to share not only my home, but my secrets, my doubts, my fears. What you did was take all of these things and throw them straight back in my face. Every single person that I have ever trusted in my life has let me down. My mother, my father, my brother, even my wife. As naive as this may sound, I honestly thought that our friendship was built on a stronger foundation. I thought I had finally found someone I could trust never to betray me... under any circumstance. Am I wrong, Chief?"

Blair got to his feet and wandered to the water's edge. "Jim, you're not wrong. I value our friendship more than life itself. Before you make a decision as to whether I will ever be worthy of your trust, your friendship again, I hope you give me the chance to try and explain."

"I'm all ears, Chief."

"Jim, I have never been honest with you... not completely. The picture I've painted of my life is filled with fantasy. A fantasy dreamed up by a young boy who wished nothing more than to have some stability, some permanence, some feeling of security. Do you want to know how many times I was taken away from Naomi when I was a kid?" Blair turned around to gauge Jim's reaction. "Five times, Jim. Five times I was taken away by authorities, by police, who judged her not fit to be a mother. They judged her abilities by her appearance, but they never took the time to see who she really was. They never looked past the clothes, or her lifestyle or her alternate ways. They blindly snatched me away to be put in the care of good Christian people who knew how to give a young Jewish boy a strong, disciplined upbringing."

Jim moved closer to the young man. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I'm not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me, I'm telling you to hopefully help you understand why I did what I did. Every time I was taken away, Naomi got me back. I don't know how she did it; all I know is that she fought tooth and nail to have me returned. The very last time I was returned home, I overheard a conversation between her and my father. She was thanking him for his help. She knows who he is, Jim. He's not some one-night stand, not some guy in a million. To this day, I can still vividly remember the look on her face, the sound of her voice when she spoke to my dad. She loved him, Jim. Really loved him." Blair held up his hand to stall Jim's question. "I know you're wondering why I never asked Naomi who he was. Well I did, more times than I care to remember. She won't tell me because she's afraid of something. Afraid for herself, afraid for my father, afraid for me. She's given me so much and fought so hard for me over the years, that I have to trust her. I have to have faith in her belief that she's keeping this secret for the right reasons."

Blair took a few steps closer to Jim. "When Melody told me about the boys, about their father, your assumptions were right. My brain turned to mush and I lost all judgment. All I could think of doing was helping those boys get back to their dad. I didn't want them to have the same fate that was bestowed upon me by misguided authorities. I felt that if I didn't help, they would be somehow lost in the system. I saw you as part of this system."

"I guess we've both let our past insecurities fog our judgment, Chief. I'm sorry for what I said about your mother."

"It's okay, Jim, water under the bridge. It's not the first time I've heard it."

"No, it's not okay. I shouldn't have said what I did, under any circumstances."

"Look we were both angry. We said a lot of things that we shouldn't have. It's okay... really. I just hope you realise how special Naomi is, how much she really does love me."

"I do now, Chief." He touched Blair briefly on the arm. "Hey listen, you may not know who your father is, but by the sound of things, he must be a pretty special guy for Naomi to have shown so much devotion toward him for all those years."

"You think?"

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't believe it, Chief."

A small smile graced Blair's face for a moment, before being replaced by a more serious expression. "Jim, how do I go about rebuilding your trust? How do I find a lost friendship?"

Jim moved right up to the young man and placed his hands on his guide's shoulder. "The friendship was never lost, Sandburg, just waylaid for a short time."

"What about the trust?"

"That we'll have to take one day at a time." Jim studied the sad expression on Blair's face. "But you know what, I think today is a promise of good things to come. The trust issue is not just your problem, Chief. It's mine as well. I have a lot to get past before I can start moving forward."

"Can I help?"

Jim didn't hesitate in pulling Blair into a hug. He needed to feel his Guide. He needed his friend back. Blair was the only person that he felt truly comfortable around. The last few days had given him a glimpse of how much he had to lose if Blair walked out of his life. He squeezed the younger man tightly, elated as the embrace was returned. "You already have, partner; you already have," he whispered

Blair pushed back, about to open his mouth. As if reading the kid's mind, Jim covered the younger man's mouth with his hand and warned, "Don't say it Sandburg... just don't say it."

A sound he hadn't heard in what seem like a lifetime tickled his hand as Blair burst out into laughter. Jim slapped Blair on the back, his arm finding its way to rest on the kid's shoulder. "What do you say to hanging out here for a few days? The river in the woods might be a promising fishing hole."

Blair leaned into Jim's touch. "No fishing rods, big guy."

"Come on, there must be some around here somewhere. Surely monks fish? Don't they?"

"Nope."

"Okay, then we'll just take it easy. Catch the playoffs tomorrow night on the TV. Now, I know that the brothers must like basketball. I saw the court out back."

"Actually, Jim, they love it. It's one of their favourite pastimes. But there is a slight problem with your plan."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"No TV."

"You gotta be kidding!"

"Nope."

"Okay, we'll just hang out in our rooms and read."

"No rooms Jim... cells"

"Huh?"

"The rooms are called cells."

"Why?"

Blair pulled away from the detective. "You'll see."

"Sandburg, please tell me that there's indoor plumbing!"

"...right Jim, sure thing. Indoor plumbing's not a problem."

Blair waited for Jim to catch up. "The only problem is that the indoor plumbing happens to be outside." An even broader smile spread over Blair's face as he reacted to Jim's expression. "Cheer up, big guy, you'll love it here." He took a deep cleansing breath. "I can already feel the stress leaving your body. Can't you feel the tranquillity, Jim? The peace, the serenity?" He gave the detective a quick slap on the back. "I'm gonna go tell Brother Marcus we've decided to stay for a few days. This is gonna be so cool, Jim."

"Yeah, cool," mumbled the sentinel as he watched his guide's retreating figure. He looked around and took in the beauty of Saint Sebastian's grounds. They had both taken the first steps to rebuilding much of what he thought they had lost. Maybe their stay here was meant to be. Maybe this was the best place to find themselves again.

From a distance, Jim watched Brother Marcus' reaction as Blair told the monk they were staying for a few days. He couldn't help but notice the small spring in the young man's step as he left the monk on the lawn and headed up the stairs into the house. Nor could he help overhearing the soft words as Brother Marcus watched the same scene. "I promise I'll make it up to you one day... my son!"

The End

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