The room's floor and ceiling were concrete. The narrow bed was the only piece of furniture within.

Jim Ellison paced.

He'd spent worse days and nights as a prisoner. As beds went, he couldn't complain. However, his prison had no imagination. The brick walls had been painted a flat taupe. The only object of interest was a short spigot for water. No wash basin below to catch it, just a drain in the floor the size of a fist. The room also had a stainless steel toilet in the corner and no privacy from the recessed camera on the opposite side.

But most importantly, the room didn't have Blair in it.

No one had answered when Jim had first woken up in his dim prison cell and pounded on the door until his hands hurt. Jim felt a little stupid about that, but the swelling had receded.

Now he just waited.

He'd been in this paradise for at least four days, which was a guess as he had no way to judge the passing of time except for the meals shoved through a floor level slot in the steel door.

Jim leaned against the wall and let his hearing drift, risking another zone. He couldn't help himself. He searched for that voice, something, anything to tell him that Blair Sandburg was still alive.

Footsteps.

Jim moved to the center of the room. His nose didn't detect food. The waiting game appeared to be over. He was glad.

The door opened on silent hinges. Four burly, armed men crowded into the space followed by the doctor from Kansas. The room filled with the familiar scent of gun oil.

"Mr. Ellison."

Jim looked to the dim hallway beyond, more armed men. No Blair.

"Where is he?" Jim demanded tersely.

"If you'd kindly follow me, I'll take you to him."

Jim followed.

The building continued to have no imagination, no artistic element. Each hallway was exactly like the last. They passed doors leading into stairwells and he wondered how many floors it had. Recessed lighting was spaced out miserly. There were no windows to give him a clue what was outside. It felt... wrong, but he couldn't place the reason.

A door opened and the welcoming sound of Blair's heartbeat filled Jim's head.

At first Jim didn't see anything in the glaring whiteness and padded walls. A whimper directed his gaze to the corner where a miserable-looking form huddled. Jim pushed through the guards.

"Shit," Jim whispered, kneeling by his friend.

They'd taken Blair's clothes, leaving him shivering in his boxers. His hair was matted, his face hidden by its explosion of disorder. The sticky residue from monitoring patches dotted his back, arms and legs, glistening on the areas of newly shaved skin. The air was filled with the strong tang of sweat and fear.

"Hey," Jim soothed.

Blair curled into even a tighter ball and moaned.

Jim touched a trembling shoulder.

Blair screamed, surprising Jim with a fierce sideways kick, catching him in the shin with his heel, then scuttled away, pressing into a padded corner.

Rubbing his bruised shin, Jim looked over his shoulder at the doctor. "What have you done to him?"

"He's fine," the doctor answered. "Physically, that is. It's up to you to fix him, if you can."

Curling his lip, Jim stood. "Get out. Bring blankets and food."

The doctor waved his entourage away and followed, pausing at the door. "I'll give you six hours."

When they left, Jim turned his attention back to his guide. "Come on, Junior. Talk to me."

But Blair was oblivious to Jim's presence, content to huddle in the corner. Jim felt his anger grow at the obvious mistreatment he'd endured. He squatted down, keeping just outside of Blair's kicking and hitting radius. "It's Jim. Sandburg, look at me."

Blair rocked on haunches and tugged fistfuls of his own hair. Before Jim could stop him, Blair slammed his head against the padded wall.

"No!" Jim lunged forward and grabbed Blair's shoulders, holding him still. "No, Blair. Stop."

Blair lurched to one side, kicking again. Jim was ready, moving in to restrain him with his greater weight, pinning him to the padded wall, shocked at Blair's scream of fury, but not letting him go. He soothed him with words and pats.

The fight didn't last long. Blair's body quickly grew weak as he bucked and kicked, his screams fainter with each draw of his breath, until finally it ended with a long moan and weak, shallow panting.

What had happened during the past four days to reduce his partner to this state? Before they had been captured, before Simon...

Blair moaned and writhed in pain.

Jim eased off, but kept in contact with his hands stroking Blair's arms. "Sandburg, listen to me. It's Jim. Tell me what's wrong."

Body shivering, Blair scooted out from Jim's reach and brought both knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them in a hug. Jim managed to hide his shock from his first good look of his friend. Like his own face, Blair had the start of a scraggly beard. But that wasn't the reason Jim's anger mounted.

Blair's sunken eyes radiated despair, no recognition, like a prisoner of war. His lips were dry and cracked. The haunted look on his face tore at Jim's soul. His neck and cheeks had been recently raked by fingernails and judging by the marks, Blair had done it to himself. The damage caused by the men back in Colorado was still evident, but the swelling had gone down, leaving yellowish green bruising.

Damn, he was going to kill that doctor.

Blair cowered, briefly keening out.

What the heck? Jim hadn't touched him. Unless...

Jim wiped his mind clear of all emotion, no easy task.

Blair quieted.

"Oh, man," Jim muttered, standing and turning away.

He could do this. He had to do this. Blair needed him calm right now. Turning back once he'd controlled his anger, Jim re-approached, keeping his voice low, his actions slow. "Hey, Sandburg. It's okay now. I'm not going to touch you, okay? Just listen to my voice for a moment."

Warm spring meadows. Ice cream in the park. Children on swings and ducks floating in the bay next to the loft.

Slowly, Blair relaxed.

"That's it. Look at me."

After a couple of false starts, Blair turned his head.

Jim moved to sit on the floor, his back to the wall and whispered, "Okay, just listen. I'm not going to touch you. I'm working on keeping my emotions in check, but I have to tell you, it's not easy. You need to focus. You need to build your wall again and start blocking out these outside -" Jim waved a hand "--whatever we're going to call it, emotion waves, I guess works as well as anything."

Blair stilled. He didn't look at Jim or make a move in his direction, but he appeared to be listening. Jim took it as a sign he was getting through.

"I've missed you, partner."

"Jim?" Blair whispered, his eyes focusing.

Risking a touch, Jim reached out to cup Blair's unshaven cheek. "You with me now?"

The door opened and two men holding automatic weapons took positions on either side as a third man entered carrying a tray and a gray blanket.

With a low screech, Blair turned his back and pressed into the corner.

"Put it down and get out!" Jim snapped.

They did as told.

With a sigh, Jim went to retrieve the items, bringing them back to Blair's corner and sitting down, taking time to get comfortable. This was going to take a while. He shook out the blanket first, ignoring the soup, water bottles and dry toast on the tray.

"I'm going to put this around you, Sandburg," Jim warned leaning in slowly, waiting and ready for the kick. "Don't go mule on me, Kid."

Blair allowed the contact.

Jim figured he was gaining ground. He tucked in the blanket edges, noticing the way Blair's shoulders began to relax. "Okay, now how about some food? Can you turn a little for me?"

Blair didn't move. Feeling brave, Jim tried to scoot him sideways, gently turning him with one hand on his bent knee and another on a hip.

Blair lashed out with his foot, catching Jim exactly in the same shin.

"SHIT!" Jim jumped back.

Blair covered his head with his arms and moaned.

Limping back, Jim squatted down. "I'm not going to touch you. Let's start over, okay?" He disciplined his mind, dwelling on memories of them back at the loft, riding in the truck, standing knee deep in a river with their fly rods. "Is that blanket nice and warm? Would you like some soup?"

Blinking in apparent hazy recognition, Blair leaned, just a little, toward the soup Jim held out.

"That's it. Let's try some." Jim worked the plastic lid off.

The smell of chicken strengthened. The plastic bowl was warm, so the soup should be suitable for sipping. When Blair looked like he was interested in the bowl, Jim pulled it back until Blair had to reposition himself. Amid untrusting glances, Blair finally inched around until he was facing Jim, knees still tucked tightly to his chest.

"Take the bowl. It's not hot," Jim coaxed.

A single hand with broken fingernails and scraped knuckles reached out.

Jim smiled for the first time in four days as Blair brought the bowl up to his lips and took a cautious sip. Earlier Blair had spoken his name out loud. Jim tried to get him to talk once more.

"There's toast here. Do you want some?"

A slight shake of his head was Blair's only indication he was listening. His gaze on the soup, Blair drank slowly, seeming to savor the contents. His stomach growled in response to the nourishment.

Jim took a slice of toast for himself, chewing and swallowing a bite before speaking again. "How's the wall? Better?"

A slight nod. A flickered glance.

Reaching out, Jim covered Blair's shoulder with the slipped blanket. "That's good."

Blair allowed it. They sat in silence as Blair sipped.

Jim reached back for the bottled water.

"J-jim?"

Feeling the knots in his chest loosen, Jim moved a little closer and laid a cautious hand on Blair's shoulder. "Welcome back."

The soup bowl was in danger of falling. Jim caught it as Blair latched onto his forearm in a desperate grab, his eyes darting around the room. "Are we out?"

Shaking his head, Jim had to swallow his sense of failure to answer, "No, we're still in the government's tender care. How's your wall doing?"

Blair tightened his hold, nearly cutting off Jim's circulation to his hand. The desperation was palpable. Blair shook his head. "Ruined. All of it."

"Shhh, calm down," Jim coaxed, setting the bowl down and rubbing Blair's shoulder. "Relax."

Obviously they'd been kept separate for a reason and Jim didn't think for one minute that they both weren't under observation, probably being recorded for later research. However, there was nothing he could do about that now. Now he just needed to help Blair recover. Slowly, Jim whispered Blair through rebuilding his protection. As they worked, Jim noted Blair's tense body relaxing through degrees, until finally Blair limply leaned against Jim, his eyes half closed in exhaustion.

"I thought you were dead," Blair muttered.

"Can't get rid of me that easy."

"Why'd Simon do it, Jim?"

"I don't know."

"Do they have Darryl? Because I can understand..."

Jim picked up the lukewarm soup. "Finish this. We'll worry about the rest later."

Only Blair had already fallen asleep. Bringing the soup to his own lips, Jim finished it off with three gulps and tossed the empty bowl aside. There was a water bottle on the tray. He'd save it for later. He eased his friend down, where Blair curled into a loose ball on the padded floor and snored.

Jim helped himself to the rest of the toast and kept guard.

The door to their padded room quietly opened, but it still woke Jim from his doze. Or maybe it was the effect the man entering the room had on the air currents. Amazingly, the man entered alone.

"Get out," Jim ordered.

Blair stirred and Jim doubled his efforts to keep his rage in check.

Simon Banks ignored the order. He knelt, his attention on the sleeping man at Jim's side. "How is he?"

"I mean it, Simon. Get out of here before I kill you."

Blue eyes fluttered open and looked up at Jim in fear. "What...?"

"We have a visitor," Jim stated flatly.

Blair sat up with a groan. "Simon?"

"I asked to check on you both. We're on camera, so killing me won't gain anything." Simon held out his hand. "These might help," he added in a quiet whisper, masking his actions by reaching for the empty tray.

Jim took the water bottle before the tray was gone, as well as the packets of Advil from Simon. Blair needed them. He wouldn't mind a few himself. "You're underestimating the extreme sense of satisfaction I would have in breaking your neck, sir."

Simon grimaced. "I'm sure I am, Jim. But there are circumstances you're not aware of. By running away like you did, you only thought of yourselves, not the good you would bring for science and our country."

Something was off. Jim recognized the statement for what it was - a lie. Before he could ask anything more, Simon stood with the tray and nodded. "I'll see you both later." He went to the door. It was opened from the other side and he left without looking back.

Blair stared as if in shock. "Jim."

"Not now." Jim made busy with the water bottle, twisting off the cap and opening two packets of pain medication while hiding his actions between their bodies. Both men were still sitting close enough that the cameras - and Jim was sure there were more than one in the room - wouldn't see it. "Here, drink this."

Blair's hands shook, which made it look natural for Jim to help him hold the bottle to his mouth and, at the same time, slip the pills between his lips. Blair swallowed, his gaze on the closed door. "How can he--."

"Shhhh." Jim opened another packet for himself, saving the last one for Blair. Hopefully they wouldn't search his pockets again. While Blair's clothes had been taken, Jim still wore the clothes they'd been taken in, sans his shoes and belt. "You should rest. It's only been a few hours."

Jim leaned over to tuck the blanket corners in.

"Shouldn't sleep... need to make a plan," Blair muttered as he lay back down, his eyes already closed.

Jim patted Blair's shoulder. "Rest, we've got time."

"You need to rest."

"I will."

"Liar..." Then Blair was asleep.

The next time the door opened, Jim knew their respite was over. The small army of men entered again with the Kansas doctor in their midst. Like a man with an internal warning alarm system, Blair's eyes snapped open and he bolted upright with alarm. Jim flung out one arm to scoop around Blair's shoulders as they both rose to stand. He nudged Blair behind him, into the corner.

"What do you want?" Jim demanded.

The doctor smiled. "First lesson is simple; what I want, I get." He waved his hand, ordering his guards forward.

Blair's fingers tightened on the back of Jim's biceps, his rapid gasps leading into hyperventilation filled the room. Jim raised both hands to ward them off. "Wait a second. Hold it!"

They grabbed his wrists and yanked him forward, leaving Blair exposed.

But it wasn't Blair they wanted. Jim's wrists were cuffed behind his back and he was dragged toward the door.

Blair's panic was instantaneous. "No! No, please! JIM!"

They shoved Jim into the hall where more men caught him by the arms. Scuffling sounds from behind caused Jim to twist until he could see two guards keeping Blair from following, cruelly twisting his arms behind his back.

"Stop it," Jim shouted, losing sight of what was happening to Blair, but not liking what he heard. They were not being gentle. "Leave him alone, damn it!"

The door was slammed shut. Jim shook off the hands. "I'll walk, damn it. Stop shoving."

Their destination proved to be an office. A mix of new paint and old concrete brought a sneeze. From the medical certificates on the wall, Jim guessed it belonged to the Kansas doctor. Now he had a name. It was a good thing to know the name of the person he wanted to kill. Samuel W Radhulson. The men pushed Jim into a large chair and stood guard behind it. The doctor walked around a glossy smoked glass topped desk and sat in the adjacent leather chair.

"We need to talk, Detective."

Jim lifted his chin. "How's the shoulder?"

Ignoring Jim's question, Radhulson opened a file, making a pretense of examining the contents. "Your friend has lost some weight since I last saw him."

"You mean the last time you tortured him," Jim answered.

"You're both custodial wards of the United States Government, under the CDC."

Jim snorted. "Right, I'm not buying the `Center for Disease Control' gig. I know what's happening here. Cut the bullshit."

"Alright," Radhulson answered easily, leaning forward. "Your partner has a never-before-seen medical anomaly. I believe it gives him certain abilities. You seem to have a direct link to this. I plan on learning everything I can about it."

"I noticed this has become about you, not Uncle Sam," Jim pointed out.

"Of course I mean my own government," Radhulson said, leaning back. "For the good of public health."

But Jim picked up the rapid heartbeat and the way his gaze nervously flicked up to the men standing behind Jim's chair. He also noticed that no mention had been made of his own sentinel abilities. For that Jim was grateful.

Maybe they had a chance after all.

"Your part in this might save Mr. Sandburg some... unpleasantness."

And here it comes, Jim thought, waiting.

"Tell me what you know about his ability."

Adjusting in his chair, Jim shrugged. "You mean his gifts?"

The doctor leaned forward. "If that's what you want to call them. Yes, his gifts."

"Well, first it was the little things, you know?" Jim looked back at the men guarding him. "Like he could move objects with his mind and shit. Came in real handy when we were on the run. Then he started melting steel with his laser vision and leaping over tall buildings in a single bound. We're just resting up before we burn this place to the ground."

Radhulson slammed his hand down on the chair's arm. "Are you purposely trying to cause yourselves more pain?"

Jim turned in his chair, addressing the guards. "You all realize you're working for a head case, right? I mean he survived that tornado but I think it messed up his brain a little."

"GET HIM OUT OF HERE!" Radhulson ordered.

Jim stood, allowing the escort, glad to be heading back. They made the trek back in silence. He memorized the turns and held back a sigh of relief when they stopped before the right door and the cuffs were removed. The door opened and he was shoved inside, the door slamming shut behind.

Too late, he realized the room was empty.

"Where is he? You bastards!" Blair fought the hands holding him down. His ankles and wrists were being wrapped in padded restraints. A larger strap already circled his chest. "You said you'd take me to him!"

"We lied," the burlier orderly said with a malicious grin.

He had been the one who had sent Blair over the edge before.

When Blair had first awakened from being kidnapped, he'd found his mental wall in ruins. Before he'd had even a prayer to rebuild it, they had started on the tests. Blood draws, CAT scans, MRI scans and biopsies, all the treatment he'd gotten in Kansas and more.

But it wasn't so much the pain that had sent Blair into fruitcake land, although he could have done without the needles, it was the orderlies. Some of their thoughts had been ugly. Blair felt exposed, hell, he had been exposed more than once, and knowing what some of them had been thinking, what they wanted to do to him, had freaked him out.

The last strap was tightened and the perverted orderly patted his bare chest, leaning close. "Now stay real still this time. I'd hate to have to punish you."

With Jim's help back in that padded room, Blair had rebuilt his wall. He returned the orderly's leer with a poisoned glare. "Touch me again and I'll kill you."

The orderly laughed.

Another orderly frowned at his peer. "Leave him alone, Greg."

The table started forward, carrying Blair into another large machine. He closed his eyes to avoid the claustrophobic tunnel forming around him. He hated being in the MRI machine and the clanging that seemed to last for hours. He just hoped his walls held this time.

When the door opened, Jim was ready. He had heard Blair's escorted approach and knew the kid was hurting. They let him walk into the room under his own power.

"Ch--"

But Blair staggered forward, holding up his hands to ward Jim back. "I'm f-fine. Just diz... dizzy, man." He slumped against the wall and slid down to his knees, hugging his stomach. His face was pale and clammy, his eyes squeezed closed in pain.

"Good news." Radhulson stood in the doorway, hands in his white lab coat pockets. A stethoscope was draped around his skinny neck. "Your apartment is ready. You should be much more comfortable."

His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, Jim glared at the man. "What did you do to him?"

Radhulson shrugged. "Simple tests. You ruined all my samples back in Kansas. I had to start fresh."

"I want to talk with your superiors," Jim said, stepping closer to the door. The two guards standing inside the doorway raised their weapons, their expressionless face holding deadly promises if Jim were to try anything.

"I'll take it under consideration." Radhulson turned.

After he left, one of the guards nodded. "If you'll come with us, sir."

Jim helped Blair to his feet. Frankly, he was glad to leave. They needed somewhere other than this empty room. Blair needed real rest and they both could use a shower. The walk took them by rooms where workers were installing large medical-type machines, running cables and talking about amps and breakers. Keeping Blair from stumbling, Jim extended his hearing. Water pipes gurgled. Somewhere people were sleeping. He could hear snores. It sounded like a barrack. They stopped in front of a steel door. One guard slid a card into a slotted reader and the door opened to show a softly lit room holding a brown leather sofa, a chair and a wide screen TV mounted high on the wall. A round table sat against the far corner with two chairs. There was no kitchen.

Jim supported Blair into the room, making for the doorway where he could see the corner of a bed. The back room had two full-sized beds. Blair dropped onto the closest one with a groan. Jim checked out the attached bathroom. The medicine chest above the sink had a safety razors and shaving supplies. The large shower stall was equipped with a tray of soap, shampoo and conditioner. The shelf above the toilet held a stack of towels.

Jim returned to the bedroom. The guards hadn't followed them in. They had the place to themselves.

"They watching and listening?" Blair asked. He lay on his back, one arm flung over his face to shield the light from his eyes.

"Undoubtedly," Jim answered as he pulled out the drawers of the dresser between their beds. The clothes were all gray sweats, sets in both their sizes. Jim sat on the empty bed. "You want to sleep first or shower?"

Blair pulled the bedspread up over his left shoulder and rolled to his right, wrapping it around him like a cocoon. "Sleep."

Jim scratched at the fuzz covering his face. He wanted a shower and shave, but he didn't want to leave Blair alone.

Who was he kidding? He couldn't stop them if they came for him. Still, it went against his grain to be in another room--

"Just go, man," Blair's muffled voice ordered. "Honest, he's done for the day. He told me. Go get a shower."

"You sure?"

Battered and bruised, his hair sticking every which way, Blair peeked out from the bedspread. "Yeah, I'm sure." He even managed a lopsided smile. "Your own smell has to be torturing you. Go. I'll take a shower when I wake up."

Making stacking motions with his fists, Jim asked, "How's your..."

"It's good, honest." Blair rolled onto his back and stretched.

"You holler if you need anything."

"I will."

Forty-five minutes later, Jim was clean and whisker free. Blair slept so still, so unlike his normal sleep habits that Jim stopped to watch his chest rise and fall. Even though he could hear the kid's heart beating, the stillness was unnatural. He contemplated waking Blair and prodding him into the shower.

No, he couldn't do it. Sleep had relaxed his friend's face into such a peaceful pose that Jim couldn't disturb it. He walked back into the main room to explore. Under the small table he found a refrigerator, the size a person might keep in an office. Jim checked the contents, finding the top shelf filled with bottled water. He pulled one out and checked the cap. It twisted off, breaking the plastic ring and giving the illusion of being tamper free. He sniffed. Nothing. He downed half the contents before checking out the other shelf.

It was too much to ask for beer apparently, but sandwiches wrapped in plastic made up for the slight. Again he sniffed. The bread was fresh and the cold cuts were plentiful. The fact Radhulson could drug them at any time made up Jim's mind to eat. He wandered around the place as he chewed, taking in the high security screens protecting the wiring of the TV and the way the furniture was bolted to the floor. There were no windows, but calming pictures of landscapes to break up the walls. He could hear the heartbeats of two guards standing in the hallway.

He found a stash of paperbacks and magazines. Settling into the sofa, he flipped through two issues of Sports Illustrated and listened to Blair sleep. After tossing the last magazine aside, he heard footsteps approach their door. Years of conditioning told him Simon had returned.

Moving fast, Jim waited just inside the door. It swung open and Simon entered alone.

Jim struck hard, swinging his fist in a roundhouse punch that Simon saw coming at the last minute. Still, the blow landed hard enough to knock the big man back into the jamb. The guards burst in, taking Jim down with the practiced ease of a well-trained team.

"Stop!" Simon ordered, struggling back to his feet and cradling his jaw with one hand. "Don't hurt him."

"Get the hell out of here, Simon!" Jim snarled, struggling to shake off the hands that held him down.

"I'm here to explain," Simon answered, holding up a hand against Jim's lunges.

"Nothing you say will make what you did okay." Jim shoved himself backwards and the guards let him go.

"Listen to me--"

"I said get out!"

"What's going on?" Blair asked, entering the room in a slow shuffle, the blanket wrapped around his body in a makeshift robe. "Simon?"

"Go back," Jim ordered. He didn't want Blair around him when he felt like this, even if the kid's walls were strong.

"Blair, I'm here to explain why I--" Simon tried to talk around Jim as the other man moved to stand in the way.

"Simon, I swear if you don't get out right now..." Jim ordered, leaving the threat hanging.

"Jim," Blair whispered, grabbing Jim's wrist. "I want to hear this."

"Thank you, Sandburg."

Blair looked at Jim. "I gotta know."

Reluctantly, Jim nodded.

"Have a seat, man." Blair wandered to the sofa. Jim followed, leaning on the arm. The guards stayed by the door.

Simon took the lounge chair. He leaned forward. "The military contacted me. They showed me documents signed by the president, Jim. It all looked on the up and up. If I helped them bring you in, they promised no one would be hurt. You can't run forever."

"And you thought we'd rather be lab rats for the rest of our lives?" Jim countered in disbelief. "Are you insane?"

"I know if you'd just speak with the person in charge, Jim you'd agree with me."

Blair leaned forward. "Is Daryl okay?" he whispered.

Simon nodded. "He's fine. I'm not being blackmailed. I really believe this was the best for both of you."

Jim slammed a fist into the sofa arm and pointed to the door. "Then get out. We have nothing to say to you."

"Jim--" Simon started.

"I mean it. If I see you again, and get half the chance, you're a dead man."

Without another word, Simon rose and left the room, taking both guards with him.

Blair sat, thoughtfully staring at the closed door.

Jim offered his hand. "Come on."

"Where?" He let himself be pulled to his feet.

"You'll feel better after a shower." He urged Blair forward into the bedroom with a hand at the small of his back.

Once in the bathroom, Jim reached into the shower stall to twist the knobs and wait for the water temperature to reach a comfortable level. Blair hadn't made a move when Jim turned back.

With a sigh, he tugged the edge of the blanket. Blair resisted, refusing to let go. They stood for a minute, both stating their side of the argument with their gazes. Jim wasn't going to budge on this issue. Blair must have seen that, because he rolled his eyes and let go.

Jim wadded the blanket up and tossed it in a corner. "Go ahead and get into the shower."

Turning aside, Blair gripped the elastic waistband of his boxers. "You going to wait outside?"

Jim didn't answer.

The bathroom was larger than most. He took down two towels and set them on the counter by the sink and lay a third one on the floor to serve as a bathmat. There was a fan switch on the wall, but Jim purposefully left it turned off.

Blair slipped off his shorts, holding them in front of his groin and waiting impatiently for Jim. "Are you going?"

Steam was building up in the room. "You haven't got anything I don't, Sandburg."

Blair stiffened. "Maybe I just--" The words caught as his voice thickened. "--w-want some damn p-privacy."

"Hey, I'm sorry." Jim held up his hands. "Work with me, okay? After you."

Back ramrod straight, Blair walked into the large shower stall, tossing his boxers aside at the door. He stepped under the warm spray and groaned, lifting his face, letting the water soothe his frown.

Jim shucked his clothes and followed. "I know you're tired and I'm sorry, but I needed you in here with water running and steam messing up the hidden cameras so we could talk. We have a good chance of not being overheard."

"Sorry, man, I'm just fed up with this," Blair muttered as he reached for the shampoo.

"You're entitled." Jim leaned against the wall and counted the needle marks on Blair's body. "Tell me about the tests they've given you."

Blair snorted and shifted his head enough to let the water completely soak his scalp. Jim could see the complete exhaustion and took in mind his friend's interrupted sleep.

"They have everything. We must be in some military hospital or the next best thing." Blair said stiffly raising his arms to work the shampoo into his hair. "Even an MRI machine. I've had so much blood drawn, they gave me an IV."

"Have you overheard any useful information?"

Blair gave a weak smile. "I'm trying, but they're not sharing much with me."

"What's your read on Simon?" Jim asked.

Blair turned, surprised. "You think he was lying?"

A trail of soap ran toward Blair's eyes. Jim wiped it before it reached them. "His pulse was steady. He seemed calm."

"But..." Blair asked. He stepped under the spray and let the suds rinse off.

Jim shook his head. "We're talking about Simon Banks. Other than you, there isn't anyone else I would have trusted more."

Falling forward, Blair surprised Jim with a fierce hug.

"Hey, you're naked. Remember? Folk are going to talk," Jim quipped, but hugging back.

"Damn you, Ellison," Blair choked out. "You pick the weirdest times to say shit like that to me."

"Yeah, well. Tell anyone I showered with you and our partnership is over. Now finish while you answer my question."

Blair obeyed, reaching for the conditioner. "He was calm. I can't describe it. It felt off, too much `in the moment' to be real. I guess... I guess I expected remorse."

"I agree," Jim said. He watched Blair guide the water through the thick locks of hair until the last of the conditioner was gone.

Taking the washcloth, Blair squeezed a generous amount of liquid soap onto it and started on his arms. "He seemed big on you talking to that doctor."

"No, not Radhulson, he said the `man in charge.'" Jim corrected.

"Radhulson? That's his name?"

"Yeah."

"So if it's not him? Who's in charge?"

"Remember back in Kansas? You said you heard a name? General Kestrel? He'd be the one."

Blair rinsed the soap from his legs. "So, what's the plan?"

"Still a work in progress."

"Can you hear what's going on around us?"

"A few conversations, but nothing important. I think our fine doctor keeps his office on the other side of this compound. There are too many machines humming."

Blair stood under the spray, letting it sluice over his skin. He closed his eyes in bliss. "So, they're acting like white noise generators. I told you we needed to run more tests after Brackett."

"I'll make a deal. When we get out of this mess, you can have a full week for all your tests. But first we get some real food and more sleep. We'll talk more later."

Blair gave a weary smirk. "Another shower together?'

"If that's what it takes."

"Will you do my hair this time, Big Guy?"

"Maybe I'll ask for a pair of scissors."

Reaching out to take the shower door in hand, Blair gently pushed Jim out, shaking his head. "Never mind. I'm good." The door closed.

Grinning, Jim peeled off a towel from the stack and rubbed himself dry.

Blair woke slowly. The room's lights had been dimmed and since there were no windows, he struggled with his internal clock. Deciding it really didn't matter what the time of day, they were still prisoners, their lives were no longer their own, he rolled onto his side to study Jim sleeping on the other bed.

If Jim had been up long enough to fall back asleep, then a lot of time must have passed. Blair touched his hair and found it completely dry.

A lot of time.

Still, Blair felt like he could go back to sleep. He rolled back to stare at the ceiling. He should stay awake and work on a plan. Not escape the problem by sleeping.

"They're coming."

"What?" Blair sat up, watching Jim go from sleep to fully functional as he leapt out of his bed, fully clothed and looking ready for action. He disappeared into the other room.

Moving slower than he would have liked and feeling every puncture hole in his body, Blair followed, glad he'd taken the time to don sweats before falling asleep. "Who's coming? Simon?"

"No." Jim stood, terse and angry looking.

Blair hugged himself. "Radhulson?"

"Get behind me," Jim ordered.

"Man, you can't s-stop them." Blair forced his arms down. "Whatever they do, don't try. Don't give them a reason to hurt you."

The door swung open and the armed men poured in. Radhulson sauntered in, holding a clipboard and clicking a pen as he read the top sheet. "Okay, gentlemen, if you'd please come with me. We'll get started."

The walk was a little longer than when Blair had been taken to the room where they had performed the tests. The hallways were confusing and it looked like they weren't even in the same part of the building as before. He relaxed a little, hoping this wasn't going to be a repeat of the last time he'd been in this man's presence. He couldn't bear the thought of Jim watching him go through that again.

They ended up in a large lounge-like setting. Comfortable looking chairs were situated in groups of three and four. A desk with a computer and printer set up was in the corner. It reminded Blair of a high brow classroom he'd visited once back East.

Radhulson took a seat behind the desk. There were no nearby chairs for Jim or Blair so they stood like two school children being called before the principal.

If it weren't for the honking guns being held by the small army in the room, it might even have been humorous.

"All right, Mr. Sandburg. It's time to get your statement. What effects have you noticed over the last several months?"

Blair licked his lips. "Effects?" He hated when his voice squeaked.

"Yes," Radhulson said, nodding encouragingly. He clicked his pen again and posed it over some paperwork on the clipboard he'd set on the desktop. "I surmised your unique nerve cells provide you with some tangible abilities. I want to know what they are."

Blair spared a quick glance at Jim before shaking his head. "No, not really, man. I mean I'm as shocked as you are to find out about them. But it's not like I can tell anything's off."

Radhulson met Blair's lies with a completely neutral expression a few seconds before nodding to one of the men in the group.

"Aaagghhhh!" Jim went down hard, arms and legs twitching uncontrollably.

Even though Jim's pain blasted through Blair's wall, he surged forward, only to be caught by four hands holding him back. He kicked out. "Stop! God, stop it! Don't hurt him!"

Standing and walking to the front corner of the desk, Radhulson watched Jim convulse on the floor. "Electric shocks make such an effective motivator, don't you think? So visual."

One guard bent down and pressed the handheld device against Jim's ribcage. Jim screamed again, arching his spine.

"STOP!" Blair grabbed his head and screamed. "Please stop!"

The doctor perched on the corner of the desk, folded his arm and gave Blair his full attention. "Tell me about your little shower scene. I know you two aren't lovers. What did you talk about?"

Literally hanging in the guard's hold, Blair's chest heaved as he sucked in enough air to fight. It was useless. "J-jim just wanted privacy. That's all. We talked about... stuff."

"You expect me to believe that?"

Blair mustered a look of cooperation; glad Radhulson was talking to him and not ordering his guards to electrocute Jim. "It was because of me. I was... scared and f-freaked out. He just helped me deal. N-nothing else happened."

"Uh huh," Radhulson said slowly. "So answer my original question. Don't try to tell me you're just the same as the rest of us."

"Man, you're just looking for something that's not there!"

The guard kneeling next to Jim made his move.

"Don't!" Blair screamed at him, but was too late.

The electric snap and Jim was arching off the floor again, his eyes so wide the whites showed. His arms and legs twitched violently.

The pain jolted through and Blair lost it. "Goddamn you! Does Kestrel know you torture us?"

Radhulson snapped to his feet, moving in so close Blair could smell the coffee on this breath. "How do you know that name?"

"Stop hurting Jim!" Blair answered, panting.

Radhulson backed off and held out his hand toward an extra guard. "Give me your sidearm."

The gun was handed over, butt first.

"No," Blair pleaded.

Pointing it down at Jim's head, Radhulson looked back at Blair. "Last chance, Mr. Sandburg."

"I... I get pictures, scenes in my head," Blair blurted out, trembling with fear, his attention fixed on the bent knuckle of the trigger finger. Oh, God. It was whitening under pressure. "Please don't! I'm telling the truth. I don't know how. I see other people's memories."

The doctor lowered the gun, his predatory gaze back on Blair.

Jim woke in degrees of pain. When he became aware enough of his surroundings to realize he was alone on the bed, he forced himself into a sitting position. "Blair," he called out.

No answer.

Rolling, Jim's feet hit the floor. Every muscle and joint in his body ached. He stumbled into the bathroom. Empty. Taking a second to slurp water from his hand, he lurched into the main room. Empty. Going to the door, he pounded with his fist.

"Open up! Get me Radhulson! NOW!"

After a few minutes of this, Jim heard approaching footsteps. Someone answered the whispered messages he had heard the guards outside his door give on their radios.

Jim stepped back. The doctor entered, flanked by his armed protection.

"Where is he?" Jim demanded.

"In my lab." Radhulson frowned. "I'm a busy man, what do you want?"

"I want him back. I want you to leave him alone!"

"I don't have time for this." The doctor turned away.

"Listen to me," Jim said. "He's not the one you want."

"Yes he is." Radhulson turned back with a smirk. "If you're going to tell me you have some special biological anomaly, it's not going to work. Now, you'll see your friend when I'm done. Keep up this nonsense and I'll arrange for separate accommodations. Frankly, if it wasn't for the fact he seems to care about what happens to you, you wouldn't even be here."

There was no way to judge the passing of time. He extended his hearing time after time, risking a zone but giving up in the end when he realized the building was somehow muffled. It was simply impossible to overcome the sounds of the forced air and hum of the machines. Finally a familiar heartbeat registered in the outside hallway, its rhythm too rapid. As Blair neared, Jim categorized his breathing, the way he huffed when he was exhausted. He was being escorted by two guards. As they reached the door, Jim was waiting.

The door opened and the team guarding the apartment stepped in, their automatic weapons pointed at Jim's chest. Jim ignored them, focused only on Blair, who was supported by two other guards who half carried him into the room. Blair's head lolled against one guard's shoulders. His arms were draped over each man's neck.

Jim moved in, forcing the guard on Blair's left out as he took over. "Bed," Jim ordered the other guard as he took Blair's weight. "Hey, Junior."

"Jimmm..." Blair groaned, rolling his head into Jim's shoulder, his bloodshot eyes opening enough to stare unfocused at Jim's profile. "You...'kay?"

"I'm fine," Jim answered, his throat tightening. They made it into the room and Jim eased Blair down onto the bed with care, ready to rip apart the guard helping if he so much as scratched his friend in the process.

Surprisingly, the guard was gentle.

"What did the bastard do to him?" Jim whispered, not really expecting an answer.

"He'll be fine. Nothing long term," came a barely audible answer in an east coast accent.

Jim looked up in surprise. The guard was his age, but with darker skin and hair. Jim committed the face to memory.

After the guards left, Jim noticed more of Simon's packets half tucked under Blair's shoulder. The front door closed. Jim quickly palmed the medicine. Lifting Blair's eyelid, he checked first one pupil then the other for response. Both were equal and normal, maybe a little dilated for the amount of light in the room. Blair remained lax, breathing through his mouth, not responding to Jim's touches. Jim lifted one arm at a time, checking for fresh needle marks and finding four on his left and one on his right. They'd taken off his sweatshirt and put him in a short sleeve, light blue t-shirt. Already Jim could see the goose bumps.

He snatched the blankets off the other bed and covered his friend. Going to the main room, he took a cold bottled water from the small refrigerator. As he closed the door, he noticed his hand was shaking. He stopped and took a deep breath.

He needed to stay focused. Deal with one problem at a time. Forcefully, he pushed the rage down. There was no telling how strong Blair's walls were now. They might be fine or they might be gone. Still, Blair didn't seem to be in any immediate distress, just exhausted or drugged.

Calmer now, he returned to his friend. "Wake up, Sandburg." Jim sat at the head of the bed.

"Mmmmm..."

Slipping an arm under Blair's shoulders, he lifted and scooted between Blair and the wall, then let Blair lean against him in a semi-reclined position.

"Hey," Blair protested, eyes closed. He weakly batted at Jim's thigh. "'m sleeping."

"Later, right now you need fluids." Jim positioned the bottle at Blair's mouth. "Come on, kid. Drink."

Blair drank slowly until the bottle was empty.

"Okay, now you can sleep." But when Jim tried to slip out, he found his arms caught in a tight, panic-filled grip. Jim stilled. "It's okay," he whispered into Blair's ear.

Blair shook his head and trembled.

Jim waited.

"We're going to get though this, Sandburg," Jim murmured.

"J-jim," Blair finally whispered. "I can't..."

Jim wrapped his arms tightly around his friend, willing his own strength to somehow flow from him, into Blair. If only such a thing were possible. Jim would gladly give it all up.

"Promise me."

Jim tensed. "What?"

"If I ask you..." Blair turned his head a little. His eyes were open and Jim could see the pain. "Promise."

And Jim didn't need to ask. He knew what his guide wasn't saying. He knew Blair was right. There was no way either of them would want to live like this.

"I promise," Jim answered and a sob broke from deep in his chest, surprising both of them. "I promise."

After a few minutes, Blair fell back to sleep and Jim laid him down, adjusting the bedding until satisfied. Jim needed space. He needed distance from the medicated smells on Blair's skin. Stumbling into the main room, he sneezed three times in quick succession.

"What the hell?" Jim sniffed and sneezed again before spotting the object causing it.

A sprig of fresh sage lay on the floor by the front door.

Hunger woke Blair.

Somehow during his sleep he'd rolled onto his side and curled into tight ball. The blankets were perfectly situated to keep him warm. He felt snug and reluctant to leave the nest he knew Jim had arranged.

Lifting his head, he saw Jim sleeping on the other bed. Even in the dim lighting, the older man looked exhausted.

Blair tugged and pushed aside the blankets and got to his feet, each inch of movement a struggle in overriding the stiffness from the injections and tests. No part of his body had been left unexamined and he felt he should be half his normal weight from all the biopsies Radhulson had performed.

Blair remembered the food Jim had obtained earlier and went in search. The sandwich had been cold, so there had to be an ice box around somewhere. He found it and pulled out a tuna fish on wheat, along with a bottled water. He started back to the bedroom, not wanting Jim to wake and find him gone.

As he walked through the dim room - the closest they got to day and night were the automatic lighting cycles the apartment seemed to have - he felt a sudden draft of air on his bare arm.

No!

A hand covered his mouth before he could shout out Jim's name and his arms were pinned to his side by a bear-like hug. The bottle and sandwich dropped to the carpet without a sound.

He was lifted off the floor.

He kicked his bare feet back trying to break free.

"Shhh, keep still, Blair."

Blair froze in shock, recognizing the deep voice of Simon Banks.

"Let him go." Jim's deadly sounding order was growled from the doorway to their room. Standing with one had on the doorjamb, Jim looked ready to spring.

Two strangers flanked Simon. Blair was having a hard time seeing anything while pressed to Simon's body. It looked like they had guns.

Finally he was put down, but not released.

"Jim, we don't have a lot of time," Simon said. "We have an audio tape looping through their monitoring system. The shift change for the guard is less than an hour away. We need to move fast to get you both out."

Blair huffed a protest and shook himself once in irritation.

Simon seemed to get the hint. He didn't turn Blair free, but he lowered his hand. Before Blair could speak, Jim beat him to the question.

"Why should we trust you?"

One of the men with Simon was looking at his watch. "Time."

With a squeak of surprise, Blair was lifted off his feet again and carried toward the sofa. "Hey!"

"Shhh!" Simon ordered before dropping him to bounce on the sofa cushions.

With help from the other guard, the one not pointing his gun at Jim, Blair was caught before he could stand and forced face down into the cushions. He fought with renewed panic, his protests muffled by a hand to the back of his head pressing his face into the fabric.

Simon was giving a hushed, rapid explanation, "They've implanted a tracking device between his shoulder blades. We have to take it out. We don't have time to discuss it. If Naomi's plan is going to work, it's essential we stay on the timeline."

Oh, god! They were going to cut him!

Blair twisted with fervor.

Suddenly Jim's voice was close and he felt Jim's hand on his neck. "Settle down, Chief. I'll do it. It won't hurt."

Blair was allowed to lift his head. Jim was kneeling next to the sofa, his face inches away from Blair's. He squeezed Jim's forearm hard. "Jim, what if he's lying?"

Jim had a small, wicked looking scalpel in his hand. Simon must have given it to him. Hands were lifting up the back of Blair's shirt. The cool air made him catch his breath.

"I felt it," Jim answered. "When we were in the shower. Lie back down and let me take it out."

It took all of Blair's courage. He trusted Jim. He did.

But he was terrified, too.

The hands let him go. Blair raised his arms, crossing and buried his face in them as he took a deep breath. "Okay, man."

A small burning sensation and a sharp tugging and Jim patted the small of his back. "Okay."

"Here's a bandage, Jim," Simon said.

A second later and Blair was assisted to his feet. There were no guns in sight now. Jim had a tiny disk in his hand, half the size of a flat watch battery. He set it on the side table. The five men stood in a circle for a split second.

Jim broke the silence. "Don't' think this is over, Simon. You and I still have a debt to settle. But right now, you better have a plan."

Nervously scrubbing his jaw, Simon nodded. "We do."

The weight of the gun felt solid in Jim's hand, like he was back in charge. He followed Simon with Blair so close on his heels that every third step had him bumping into his back.

That was okay as well.

The man leading the procession down the dim corridor was the one that had slipped them the second dose of painkillers. Simon had quickly introduced them before leaving the apartment. The east coast accent guy was Rawlings. His partner was an Asian man named Ly, who was currently bringing up the rear and protecting their backs.

Rawlings opened a side door and waved them through. When the entire group had passed, he entered and closed it. They stood in a computer utility closet. Racks of servers with a plethora of wires crisscrossing between the black boxes filled the room.

"We should be safe here," Rawlings stated. He reached for a tidy pile of military packs and started to disperse them. "Don't put them on yet. We have vests we want you in first." He handed Jim two flak vests.

"Do I know you?" Blair asked Ly suddenly.

The man shook his head. Jim noticed the increased heart rate and the way he avoided eye contact with his guide. They would have to figure it out later. He held up the two vests, quickly judging the sizes. Setting his at his feet, he turned to Blair. "Let's get this on you."

Blair snatched it out of his hand. "I'm not a kid, man. I can dress myself."

"Right, sorry." Jim reached down and quickly got into his own.

Slapping the flak vest Velcro closures in place, Blair tilted his head and looked lopsidedly up at Jim. "Sorry, man."

"It's okay." Jim offered a sheepish smile. "I forget sometimes."

"So why aren't we just beat-feeting it out of here?" Blair asked their rescuers, taking the webbing pack from Jim and holding it up this way and that, trying to figure it out. He watched Jim put on his own and copied his movements.

"I've got a feeling it's not so much an escape as it is a counter-attack," Jim answered for the others. "Right?"

Rawlings nodded. "We're close to taking them down, once and for all."

"General Kestrel is coming?" Blair asked.

Rawlings nodded. "We proved his connection with Radhulson, and we've got the green light to move in."

"Why?" Blair asked. "What's so special about this General Kestrel?"

Simon spoke, "He's not United States Military, Sandburg. You were about to be sold to another country."

"Radhulson is a spy?" Blair asked.

"A greedy traitor," Ly spoke, his accent sounding more southern than Asian. "We've suspected it. Now we're going to prove it."

"We need a safe place for Blair to hide while this happens," Jim stated.

"Jim!" Blair hissed. "I thought we just settled this. I'm helping."

"Absolutely not, Sandburg." Jim shook his head. It was one thing to let the kid put on his own vest and pack. No way was he following them into a firefight. "You're parking your ass where we tell you to and that's final."

Bristling, Blair attempted to stand eye to eye with his sentinel. "Listen, man. You can't tell me what I am and am not doing. I'm the one this jerk was planning on selling."

"Exactly why you need to stay as far away from the action as possible."

Simon had crossed his arms. He waited and watched the two men have their fierce whispered argument.

"This normal for them?" Rawlings asked.

Simon nodded. "Yep."

"How did you stand having them work with ya?" Ly wondered aloud, scratching his head in wonder.

"You get used to it," Simon answered.

Blair slapped Jim's chest. "Don't be a dick, man."

"Keeping you safe does not make me the monster," Jim pointed out. "Besides--"

"Ah! If you even say the words `not a cop' I'm going to--"

"Okay, you two," Rawlings interrupted. "I'd like to let you both go on all night, but we have a job to do. Ellison, the plan involves Sandburg. Are you going to be okay with that? He'll be as safe as we can possibly keep him."

Frowning at his stubborn friend and wishing for once the little shit would do what he said, Jim crossed his arms. "It depends. Tell me the plan and I'll let you know."

Blair slumped in defeat. "He's like talking to a brick wall."

Blair hoped he could remember the map they'd shown him. He'd told Jim he had it memorized, and really, he did.

It was just his mind sometimes had a hard time remembering which part of the map was the top.

"Stay close," Jim whispered.

"I'm staying. I'm staying," Blair whispered back.

Rawlings and Ly had explained the building was part of a military complex which had been decommissioned twenty years ago. The facility had been dedicated to Cold War research. Miles and miles of corridors snaked up and down. From the outside it looked like a regular three story factory office, but there was another ten floors hidden below ground level. They were being held at the lowest level.

Now as Jim, Simon and Blair snuck down the hallway, a tangible pressure surrounded Blair. He knew it was just his mind playing tricks. He'd never been claustrophobic before. It was just the tomb-like silence getting on his nerves.

A shrill scream shattered the quiet as a siren sounded and Blair grabbed Jim's arm. "Dials!"

But Jim was already pressing the heels of both hands to his ears, anguish showing on his face.

"Simon! Help me!" Blair yelled over the alarm.

Together they shoved Jim through the closest door and found themselves in a storage room holding surplused file cabinets and broken down office chairs. Blair pushed Jim into a chair and practically straddled his lap as he held Jim's head in his hands to force eye contact.

"Look at me, man," Blair whispered.

Jim didn't seem to hear him. His eyes were squeezed closed.

Blair moved in closer, until they were both in the chair. Cheek to cheek, Blair pried one hand off an ear and whispered directly into it. "I'm right here, Jim. Find the dial and turn it down. The alarm is fading away. It's background noise. You don't even notice it. The pain is going away."

Jim's face relaxed. He sat up straight, a sheepish smile growing.

"You okay now?" Blair asked.

"Thanks," Jim said with a nod and a pat on Blair's thigh. "You can get off me now."

"I'm not even going to point out the fact," Blair whispered as he backed out of the chair and stood, "that you'd be in a world of shit if you'd left me behind like you wanted."

Rolling his eyes, Jim stood. "Thanks for not pointing that out, Junior. What's happening, Simon?"

Simon stood by the door, one ear pressed to it. "Two groups have run by so far."

Jim took his place at the door. Simon backed away, the automatic at his shoulder, pointed to the ceiling and ready. Jim listened and they waited for the verdict.

"They discovered we're gone. Orders to shoot you on sight, Simon."

"Nice to be loved," the older man muttered. Blair could barely hear over the shrill alarm.

"Starting a floor by floor search." Jim opened the door a crack. "Come on."

Jim slipped out the door. Blair went next. Simon followed. They hurried down the corridor. After three turns, they saw a doorway marked with the universal symbol for stairs. They went up.

According to the plan, their job was to take out the central control for all their communications and surveillance. Once that was completed, Ly and Rawlings would override the security measures and let in reinforcements who waited patiently for a signal.

If they could just get to the right computer room in time.

On the next floor up, Jim stopped to listen at the door. Apparently satisfied with whatever he was hearing, he led them up the next two flights at a run. Blair was breathing hard when Jim stopped a second time to listen.

Had they gone up enough floors? Blair was trying to remember which level they wanted.

"Clear," Jim said, his hand on the door. Just as he opened it, the alarm stopped and an eerie silence fell.

"That's bad," Blair whispered.

"Radhulson was probably getting a headache," Jim answered. "Let's move."

Faint sounds of gunfire sounded. Blair grabbed Jim's arm. "Oh, man!"

"It's coming from below," Simon said.

"Nothing we can do but get our job done," Jim answered as he led the way down identical looking hallways.

The air was cooler at this level and Blair took it to mean the computers would be found close by. Pressed close to Jim, he focused on not tripping his partner up and keeping his heart from breaking out of his chest. His mind flashed back to when he was running down similar corridors at the police station, hiding from Kincaid's goons.

At least here he was not alone.

"In here." Jim wrenched open a door and dived into the office beyond, yanking Blair through, swinging him around into a corner and closing the door just as Simon cleared the doorway.

The room was pitch black. Blair felt Jim back into him protectively. He sucked in his breath and got a good hold on the webbing straps crossing Jim's back.

Dozens of footsteps pounded down the hallway.

Blair closed his eyes and prayed hard as they passed, each time he felt their excitement and thrill of the hunt. It made him sick.

Finally it was silent again. Jim cracked the door and peeked through, waiting for a full two minutes before moving out with a silent signal for them to follow. They gained precious feet in leapfrogs from room to room, sometimes only waiting a short time, once waiting up to fifteen minutes in what looked like an old break room before Jim moved them out again. The constant anticipation of being discovered wore Blair out, worse than a full day workout at his partner's corner gym.

"This is it," Jim declared, nodding at the door before them.

"Finally."

Jim tilted his head. "Two men inside."

"What?" Blair stepped back. "Do we wait?"

Simon and Jim exchanged a telling look.

"Blair," Jim whispered, pulling Blair back from the door and going down to an adjacent room. He opened that door and nodded. "Wait in here until I come and get you."

"Why?"

"Because I said so," Jim answered, his voice hard and his expression firm.

"Right." Blair didn't feel like pushing the issue on this one. He slipped into the room.

Jim started to close the door, but paused. "Don't come out until we come for you."

Swallowing hard, Blair nodded. The door closed and he slumped against a low counter that jutted out from the wall. The room was dimly lit by a small, bare bulb over a cabinet holding a fire extinguisher, giving enough light to tell Blair the room was a small research lab.

The silence stretched out and he imagined Jim and Simon getting ready to make their move. Blair remembered the small handgun he'd been given and pulled it out of one of the compartments on his vest. Jim had shown him the safety switch and he carefully moved it to the off position.

His gun wasn't like Jim or Simon's. He didn't have a silencer on his.

Apparently, neither did the men in the next room over.

The soft `splat, splat' was answered by the sharp percussion of shots. Blair fell to the floor when a slug passed through the adjoining wall and shattered the glass on a picture next to his head. Crab-walking back into a corner, Blair pulled his knees up to his chest and pointed the gun at the door while he tried to remember how to breathe.

His hands were shaking.

How long before Jim was coming back?

Did each passing second mean Jim wasn't returning for him?

Should he go and find out if they were safe?

Blair realized he was chanting quietly under his breath. "Be okay. Be okay. Be okay."

He snapped his mouth shut and pointed his gun at the door and waited.

Lifting the dead man's shoulders, Jim dragged him out of sight, knowing Simon would do the same with the other one. They'd been fortunate, even though both men were on alert and prepared, they'd managed to miss them.

Thankfully, he and Simon had not.

"There's a tarp." Jim nodded with his chin at the sheet covering some equipment not in use.

Simon set to work covering up the two.

"I'll get Sandburg." Jim slipped back into the hallway, hurried to the other door and tapped it. "It's me, Blair." He opened the door.

Blair was huddled into a corner, gun pointed at him. Jim saw the shattered picture frame and grimaced. He should have thought of that and put his guide across the hall. "Come on."

He took him back to Simon, who was on his knees prying a metal grill plate off a vent opening at floor level.

"Do you remember what to do?" Jim asked.

Blair nodded. His gaze darted about the room to come to rest on the end of the tarp sticking out from behind a bank of computers. His complexion paled and he swallowed hard, but he reached for one of his vest pockets and took out a small round object.

"Here you go, Sandburg." Simon set the cover aside and crouched down to peer into the dark hole of the vent. "I think I'm glad I shop at the Big and Tall stores."

"Just crawl in and drop it where he said and come right out," Jim instructed as he helped Blair out of the webbing and his vest and knelt next to the vent.

Blair was down on his stomach now. "R-right."

A clench of uncertainty hit. Jim stopped him before his head disappeared into the vent. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Their eye contact was brief, but a wealth of communication passed between them. They were close to ending this and Blair was going to do whatever it took to see they reached the other side safely. Jim smiled and patted his back.

"All right then, get going."

Blair disappeared into the vent, advancing like an inch worm and moving faster than Jim thought possible. The fit was more than tight.

Simon stood at the door, listening.

Standing, knowing it was going to take a few minutes for Blair to reach his objective, Jim went to the bank of computers and monitor screens. They showed the outside yards around the compound. It was night. A tall chain link fence, topped with razor-wire, reflected the harsh vapor lights. Beyond the fence was darkness.

Did Naomi have the reinforcements in place, waiting for the signal to storm in?

The other monitors flickered from corridor to corridor, some showing armed men searching empty rooms. He picked up a headset and pressed one side to his ear to listen to the communication.

"Rawlings and Ly are still at large. They took out a team," Jim reported to Simon.

"Explains all the attention they're getting," Simon whispered back. "Keeping the heat off us."

"Jim."

Jim bolted back to the vent in answer to Blair's echoing call. "I'm here," he called out into the vent.

"Was it the third or the fourth `y'?" came the ghost-like question.

"Third," Jim said. "Number three."

""kay," Blair whispered and Jim heard clearly. "I'm pulling the pins and dropping them."

Jim heard the small pins clink against the metal walls as they fell, then the heavier thuds of the disks. He knew they were on timers and Blair would have plenty of time to back out. Still he felt his gut knot up. "Get out of there."

"Coming."

"Is he okay?" Simon asked urgently from the door.

Remembering the man could only hear one side of the conversation, Jim nodded. "He's good."

"Ah oh."

Jim dropped to one knee, peering into the vent. He could see where it split and angled out of view. "Sandburg?"

Sounds of shuffles, metal creaking with stress and grunts answered. "Ah, problem, man."

Jim figured he still had over three minutes. "Get out of there."

"Can't, I'm stuck."

"What is it?" Simon asked, hovering over Jim's shoulder.

"He's stuck," Jim answered, then directed his voice back into the vent. "How stuck are we talking? Can you move forward?"

"Think so."

Jim made a quick decision. "Go forward. The vent splits past the vertical shaft. Go right. It gets bigger. Find the first opening and we'll meet you there."

"Kay."

Jim hurriedly replaced the vent and slammed a corner with his palm to get it to stick. He stood, going to the door, Simon at his back. They slipped into the hallway.

"How much time does he have?" Simon asked urgently.

"Enough," Jim answered curtly. He had to have enough. There wasn't any other option. "Come on, this way."

Blair scooted along, gaining distance in inches and expecting his world to end in a fiery ball of flame He'd found the split and Jim was right. It did open up a little. Breathing easier, he got a rhythm going and made good distance so when the `whump' came and the hot air hit him, it passed around him, blowing his hair around his head and pushing his sweatshirt up his back.

Not as bad as he expected. Maybe that was why it was so important to get the small little incendiary device in that exact place. Blair hadn't stopped to ask when the plan had been laid out, he was just glad to be on the offensive for once.

Thick smoke filled the vent and he realized he'd overlooked an important factor of the equation. If he didn't get out of this place fast, he was going to suffocate.

Fighting back the urge to cough, he doubled his efforts. Fifteen minutes post explosion he was hacking, tears flowing. He couldn't see through the thickness of the smoke. Were his feet growing warm? Was there a fire in the vent as well? His movements were slowing. His body was starving for air.

He wasn't going to make it.

"Blair!"

Jim sounded so close. Impossible. Blair was hearing things.

"A few more feet. You can do it."

Blair summoned the energy to move. Something brushed the top of his head and for a second his fear of rats hit and he tried to recoil, but a sharp, painful tug on his hair stopped him.

"Move your ass, Sandburg," Jim demanded.

Elbows and knees, Blair gained another six inches. Then another three.

Suddenly he was sliding without any effort. The shoulders of his sweatshirt pulled him along, cutting into his underarms. He heard threads snap as seams were over-stretched.

Then he was out and the air was fresher and Blair gulped lungfuls of it in between toe-curling hacks of coughing fits.

Someone was smothering him.

Blair fought, needed his face free so he could breathe, but coughing too hard to talk. He became aware of Jim's soft assurances being whispered.

"Relax, relax. We're still in enemy territory, Blair. We have to be as quiet as we can."

And then he remembered and pressed his face harder into Jim's chest to muffle the sounds his body was making as it worked to clear the smoke from his lungs. Jim's arms were wrapped tightly around him, holding him up because somewhere in all that crawling his knees had forgotten how to work and his legs were shaking with the post adrenaline rush of nearly being burned alive in a space the size of a long coffin.

"Better?" Jim asked as Blair quieted down.

Blair nodded and carefully backed away. He wiped at the soot and mucus mess he'd left on Jim's sweatshirt. "Sorry," he croaked.

"It's okay." Jim tugged him across a large room toward a door where Simon stood guard. "Let's get out of here."

Blair got a brief glimpse of desks and cubicles in different stages of disrepair before sneaking back into a hallway behind Jim. A light layer of smoke flowed like a river over their heads. Somewhere far away, an alarm was blaring. Blair could hear distant doors slamming.

Jim stopped without warning and Blair ran into his back.

"Quick!" Jim reached for the nearest door. It was locked. He turned and pushed. "Run!"

The three men scrambled back the way they'd come. Now Blair could hear sounds of pursuit and it fueled him to run faster. Recapture was not an option in his mind. He wasn't going back on that exam table.

"There they are!" someone shouted.

A bullet dug into the sheetrock to the left of Blair's elbow.

"Shit!" Simon exclaimed.

"Don't shoot!" another voice ordered, sounding mad. "You'll hit the subject!"

Part of Blair's brain detested that he'd been reduced to a subject, but the other part was delighted, whatever it took to get them to stop shooting. Up ahead the corridor forked and Jim yanked Blair by the elbow to take the left. Another sign for `staircase' appeared and Jim threw himself at the panic bar on the door. They tumbled through it and charged upwards.

Blair felt his strength fading. Gasping, his lungs still burning from the smoke, he stumbled and grabbed the hand railing. Several flights below he could hear their pursuers follow.

Jim leaned over the railing and peered down. He aimed his gun and squeezed off a carefully aimed shot.

Someone cried out. There were curses. The pursuers seemed to stop to regroup.

Simon had one arm, Jim took the other, and Blair found himself being helped up the last short flight of stairs. Jim paused at a door to listen. He opened it and they were in another hallway.

God, the designers of this place had no imagination.

Simon stopped in the doorway to the stairs. "I'll keep going up, get them to follow," he whispered.

Blair shook his head. "Stay... together..." he managed to gasp out.

But Jim was nodding. He put his hand on Simon's shoulder. "Simon..."

Simon grinned at them both. "We'll meet up later."

And he was gone before Blair could gasp more objections.

Jim pulled him down the hallway. Blair had a very, very bad feeling about this.

But the deception seemed to work. Sounds of pursuit faded and Blair was able to catch his breath as Jim led him down hallways, ducking into corners and empty offices. The smoke was not as noticeable on this floor and Blair wondered if the fire had been put out. Had his foray into sabotage been successful at all? Were reinforcements in the building?

Was Simon okay?

"What do you hear?" Blair asked Jim as they paused outside another stairwell.

Jim shook his head. "Lots of confusion. The search for you seems to be the top priority. Kestrel has joined in."

"He's looking?" Blair's voice squeaked.

"Yeah." Jim flicked him a glance. "He's not getting near you."

"From your lips, man..." Blair muttered.

"Come on."

They slipped into the stairwell. The problem with this place was the way the levels had been constructed, leaving huge gaps between each one. What would have taken them up two or three floors back at the Cascade police department only spanned one of the underground floors. Probably due to the extra ventilation and stuff they'd need between each floor, Blair realized, remembering the maze of vents he'd been inside.

Sudden sounds of guards below them caused both sentinel and guide to speed up.

Jim passed the first door and kept climbing. Blair followed

One, two, three turns and still no sign of a door.

The sound of something hitting concrete came from below and smoke billowed around their feet.

"Hold your breath!" Jim ordered, taking Blair's arm and urging him to climb faster.

Another canister hit somewhere above them. Now they had a cloud of acidic smoke above and below. Jim charged into the cloud.

Blair got three steps before the burning hit. Unwillingly sucking in a short breath of shock at the pain in his eyes, he doubled over in a coughing fit. Something rammed his stomach and he was lifted.

Jim took a second to get Blair balanced on his shoulder and then he was moving. Blair bounced and held on to Jim's back, amazed at his friend's strength. His butt hit a door and they were out of the stairwell and moving fast. The tear gas was gone, but it hung on Jim's clothes like a ghost and Blair couldn't stop coughing.

"Stop!" We'll shoot!"

Jim went left, nearly throwing Blair off except for the tight hold he had around Blair's knees. Lifting his head, Blair could see the fuzzy shapes of dark-clothed men in pursuit. He watched them take aim at Jim's back and tensed. But before they could fire, they were ordered not to shoot.

Jim darted around another corner.

Blair smacked Jim's back and Jim stooped down. His feet touched the floor and Jim was pulling him along the corridor. He shoved open another door to yet another set of stairs, but tugged Blair down the hall until he found an unlocked office. They got inside and pulled it shut just in time.

The men saw the stairwell door swing shut and barged through it.

Leaning against the wall, Blair barely had time to catch his breath before Jim was towing him back into the hall and they were running.

The shot came out of the blue. Jim fell with a grunt, arms and legs disjointed as he tumbled, his head slammed the floor. He came to a sliding rest, still as a corpse, blocking the corridor. Blair couldn't stop in time. He tripped over Jim's legs and fell hard on his knees, but scrambled back to Jim immediately.

"Jim!" He patted the older man's chest, unable to see any blood. Jim looked unconscious. A hole high in Jim's vest told Blair where the bullet had hit. Had it gone through? Was he bleeding underneath?

"Step away from him."

Blair looked up to see three men with guns advancing. He threw himself on top of Jim. "Don't shoot him!"

"Step away." They were edging closer, guns pointed.

Blair hugged Jim hard and felt the guard's determination to kill hit his soul like a tsunami. "No."

"I'm not going to tell you again," came the low warning.

Creeping his right hand toward the gun Jim had somehow managed not to drop, Blair forced his shoulders to remain relaxed and he palmed the butt and got his finger into the trigger guard. No way could he take down all three of them.

He wasn't going back.

He wasn't letting them kill Jim without a fight.

A new tingle of grim determination filtered into the openings of his mental wall.

Feeling the guards so close that he felt he couldn't miss, Blair rolled and aimed. Two guards dropped before he could press the trigger. Then Blair was firing and the last guard went down before the poor guy had a chance to shoot back.

Simon Banks knelt down next to Jim and laid a steady hand on Blair's back. "You okay, Sandburg?"

Nodding, unable to answer, Blair carefully fingered the reddening lump growing on Jim's forehead, ignoring the three dead men sprawled down the hallway.

"Let's get him up," Simon suggested.

Together, they got Jim on his feet and supported him down the hallway and into a room off a dead-ended corridor. They laid him down on the floor. Under the reddish glow of the exit light over the door, Blair saw a small utility sink against the corner. Tearing a section of the t-shirt he wore under his sweatshirt, he dribbled enough water to soak it and carefully bathed Jim's face.

"I figure we're still three floors down from ground level," Simon said as he pressed his fingers to the inside of Jim's wrist. He nodded and gently rubbed the sentinel's shoulder. "Come on, Ellison. Wake up."

"Rawlings and Ly?" God, was that his voice? Blair tried to clear his throat and tried again, still sounding like a fog horn. "Have you made contact with them?"

Simon shook his head. "I waited at the designated meet site. They didn't show. I came looking for you two."

"Glad you did."

Jim groaned. His hand twitched.

"Jim?" Blair patted his cheek with the wet cloth. "Hey, man. You with us?"

After a few false starts, Jim opened his eyes, shielding his face with one hand, even in the dim light. "What... happ'n?"

"Vest caught a bullet," Blair answered. "You hit your head when you fell."

"S-simon?" Jim struggled up onto his elbow.

"It's me," Simon answered.

"He totally made with the rescue, Jim," Blair reported.

Sitting up with Blair's help, Jim groaned and rolled his shoulder. He touched the spot where the vest had been hit. "Status?"

"Three dead guys on this floor," Blair told him reluctantly, a twinge of regret hitting unexpectedly.

"What happened?" Jim asked, looking between the men.

"I..."

"You had to shoot, Sandburg," Simon said, answering Jim at the same time.

"Oh, god," Jim muttered.

Blair forced a smile. "I'll freak out later. For now, let's get out of here."

They helped Jim to his feet where he swayed for several long seconds, waiting for his world to stop rocking and rolling. With a nod, he followed Simon to the door, taking back the gun Blair offered him.

"Wait," Jim ordered, catching Simon's arm before the other man could crack open the door and look into the hallway. "Company coming."

A tight feeling in Blair's gut caused him to grab the back of Jim's vest. Without even being aware he was doing it, he checked his mental wall for broadcasted reports and found them.

Anger. Anticipation. Predatory thrill of the hunt.

Then he felt a new source. Valid righteousness. Hope. Determination.

The second set of emotions brought brightness to Blair's soul.

"Jim, there's more. Feels like... the good guys are here, too."

"What?" Simon asked. "Did you hit your head, too?"

"No, sir. He's right." Jim tilted his head and appeared to listen. "We've got two waves coming from opposite ends on this floor. I think... yes, I think reinforcements are here."

"About damn time," Simon breathed. "Do we wait it out?"

Blair shook his head. "The bad guys are closer."

Jim nodded. "Let's head toward the good side."

Checking his dial's setting, not needing to spike, Jim led them toward the far end of the floor. Naomi's commandos were giving crisp orders when needed but mostly staying silent. If Blair hadn't picked up on them, Jim would likely not have realized they had arrived.

The kid was useful.

Opening a heavy door that swung on silent hinges, they found themselves in a stripped industrial kitchen. They passed filthy stainless steel countertops and empty slots against the wall where large gas ranges once stood. The smell of rancid grease hung on the walls and Jim had to dial down smell to avoid a sneeze. Blair's hand found his elbow and squeezed.

Jim nodded in acknowledgement, not even wondering anymore how the younger man seemed to know when he was struggling.

Another door opened into a cavern-like room. A few broken down tables and chairs had been left behind. Obviously this was the mess hall for the facility and judging by its size, a large part of the floor had been given over to feeding the troops. They crossed the room. Just as they reached the middle, Jim heard the approaching enemy.

"Take cover," Jim whispered, running for a clump of tables.

Ceiling lights near the exits cast long shadows toward the middle of the room. Grabbing the nearest table, he flipped it quietly on its side and the three men ducked behind it as a side door opened and several men entered fast, crouching low and leapfrogging positions to provide cover for their teammates.

"Bad guys," Blair whispered with a sage nod.

Another door opened on the opposite side. More armed men entered. Blair popped up, his head clearing the table before Jim jerked him back down. He pulled his guide close and whispered into his ear. "Stay down!"

"It's Mom!" Blair whispered.

"Don't care, stay down," Jim answered as gunfire broke out.

Men shouted.

Bullets flew.

Overhead lights were hit and glass rained down.

"I don't think they know we're here," Simon said, his voice covered by the gunfire. "We're caught in the middle."

Bullets peppered the wall behind them, a few splintered through the table close to the captain's shoulder.

Jim threw Blair down flat and covered him with his own body, ignoring the surprised squeak and muffled protests. Blair wiggled. Jim smacked his flank.

"Keep still."

Blair settled down.

The gunfire didn't last long. Radhulson's men were outnumbered. Simon kept low, peering around the end of the table to watch, holding his gun ready in case any of the bad guys tried to come their way. He gave a whispered commentary.

"There goes another one. I think they know they're losing. Oh, one just tried to break cover and get out. He's down. Shouldn't be long. Ah, ah, ah." Simon raised his gun and fired. "Think again, mister. This table is reserved."

"Squishing..." Blair snapped.

"Shut up and stay still," Jim answered, lips brushing Blair's hair.

"Overprotective much?"

"Your point?"

"Jerk."

"Deal with it, Junior," Jim ordered. "We never got your vest back on you."

The room went quiet. The smell of gunpowder drifted like morning fog. There were sounds of people moving and Jim could imagine Naomi's men going in to check on the downed enemy, reporting their kills. Jim couldn't see, but was willing to bet they had small throat microphones worn around their necks.

"Clear."

"Copy, all clear."

Jim smiled, easing to one side, but keeping a protective arm around Blair's shoulders to keep him down.

"What?" Blair demanded, tensing.

"Almost there, partner," Jim told him.

A quick scuffling sound and a quiet identification that the person coming in was friendly gave Jim just enough time to warn Simon they were about to have company of the good kind.

A slight figure slipped around the table and crouched next to Jim.

"Good job, Simon." Naomi Sandburg nodded to the captain. She patted Jim's leg. "Good to see you, Jim."

"Mom!" Blair tried to sit up.

Jim caught him. "Is it safe?"

She nodded.

Jim let go and Naomi caught her son in a full embrace. "Hey, baby."

"Oh, God... Mom."

But she only let the maternal instinct take over for a few seconds. Firmly, she drew back and patted Blair's wet cheek. "Okay, back to business."

Jim was never prouder of his partner than that moment, watching the younger man swallow his pent up fears, frustrations and longings to be comforted. Blair scooted back to squat next to Jim and wiped his cheek with a shaky hand.

"We have splinter groups of hostiles still roaming around, but we control all the exits," Naomi said. "You three stay with us. Everyone's primary objective, now that we have you all back, is the two targets."

"Radhulson and Kestrel?" Simon asked.

"Right." She popped up to look over the room. "Let's go."

After making sure some of her men had bound the wounded men and assured her the others were dead or soon to be dead, they left the old cafeteria and found stairs to take them back down.

Jim didn't like the fact they were going deeper into this hell pit of a complex. But he knew the reality of their situation. Until Radhulson was caught, they would never be free. Blair's hand had latched onto the back of Jim's vest again, and Jim was glad his partner knew enough to stay close.

Or maybe Blair needed to stay close. It didn't matter, as long as he could reach out and protect him if needed. They'd come too far and too much had happened to them this year for a stupid mistake to get his guide hurt.

Naomi's team had equipment; lights, guns, extra ammunitions and communication with the other search teams. She ran her crew efficiently as they took part in searching the next floor down. They met up with another team about the same size and Jim noticed that one was being led by Rawlings. After a quick face-to-face, they split apart and took different stairwells down to the next floor where they immediately got into another firefight.

Jim and Simon kept Blair between them, keeping to the rear of the group, happy to let someone else take on the battle. The gunfire exchange took place in a lobby-like area with several hallways branching off toward what look liked more offices. Some sofas had been left behind, dusty and ripped with white clouds of stuffing sticking out. Jim found cover for his friends behind a corner wall, ignoring Blair's huffs of irritation at being pushed back behind the two taller men.

Radhulson's men were breaking cover and falling back, recognizing the futility of the fight. Naomi was in contact with Rawling's group, who was picking them off as they fell back and accepting surrender from those smart enough to give up.

Jim focused on the battle, knowing they were almost finished with this floor and wondering how many more they had to take down.

"Jim!" Blair started to yell, only to be cut off with a yelp of pain.

Jim spun.

A tall, Mediterranean looking man had Blair in a headlock, his neck pinched painfully in his meaty arm. Radhulson stood at his side, a handgun pointing at Blair's chest.

"I believe we have your attention now, gentlemen?" the doctor said a little breathlessly. He waved at the lobby beyond. "Tell them to put down their weapons. We're walking out of here."

"I don't think so," Jim told him, aiming at Radhulson's head.

Simon had Blair's captor in his sights.

The two men stepped backwards, dragging Blair along.

"We'll kill him."

"Then we'll kill you." Jim stepped forward. "You've got nowhere to go. Put down the guns and give up."

"The penalty for treason in this country is death," Radhulson informed them.

"Not with the thousand and one legal angles available," Jim answered, his aim steady. "You'll die an old man on the taxpayer's dime. Now let him go."

Naomi appeared at Jim's elbow. "It's over, Radhulson. You've lost."

"I don't think so, bitch." With a twisted grimace of hate, the doctor swung the gun out to aim at them.

Blair let out a panicked, strangled scream as Radhulson fired.

Jim and Simon took the shot. Naomi fired a split second later, but her aim went high as she fell backwards.

The two rounds fired by the Cascade officers hit their marks.

Blair's captor fell back with a small bullet hole between his eyes. Simon's shot had been perfect.

Jim hadn't stopped with just one shot. He fired four quick rounds. Two bullets smashed into Radhulson's sternum and pulverized his heart. The third matched Simon's aim for a head shot. The fourth round wiped the smirk off the man's face.

"Mom!" Blair shouted as he freed himself from the dead man's hold.

Jim let Simon check their kills and turned to join Blair at Naomi's side.

"Oh god." Blair held his hands over his mother's chest. The bullet had hit her just above her vest, near her throat. "Jim."

"She's still alive. Keep pressure on that." Jim turned to wave at the men. "We need to get her to a hospital, now!"

Jim had to give the team credit. With their leader down, the second-in-command, a heavy-set man with a mop of wiry hair and a squashed nose took charge, barking out orders. Three men accompanied Jim, Blair and Simon into the nearest stairwell and provided armed protection as they carried the bleeding woman up the stairs. After three flights, another heavily armed group met them. They had a medic team and a collapsible gurney.

Jim helped package Blair's mom onto the gurney and stepped back, pulling Blair with him as the medics started two I.V. lines to replace the blood that soaked her clothes and covered her son's hands.

Jim helped himself to one of the towels in the medic's kit and wiped his own hands clean. He handed the towel to Blair but it was ignored.

Blair stood as if he were the one bleeding out, slipping into shock. His face was pale, eyes haunted and fearful as he watched the medics work feverishly. Finally his mother's men took positions to carry her out of the underground facility.

Passing clusters of armed personnel, it was obvious that more than just the CIA had been involved in the raid. FBI, Army, Marines and Air Force uniforms were visible. Special Forces patches decorated more than a few arms.

Exiting through large glass doors, they walked down concrete stairs and into a light rain. The air had an early morning chill to it and Jim zoomed on a wrist watch being worn by a Seventy-second Airborne commando. It was nearly six in the morning.

"I'm sorry, sir," a man was telling Blair, his hand stopping the other man from climbing into the back of the military medical unit which Naomi had been loaded into. "You can't ride with us."

"But--"

They didn't wait to hear his objection, only closed the door in Blair's face. Blair's hand weakly worked the handle. Someone had locked it from the inside.

Blair jiggled the handle uncomprehendingly.

"Come on." Jim gently pulled Blair back. "We'll get someone to take us to wherever she's going."

Blair let Jim guide him away.

They were in a private hospital waiting room somewhere in Colorado. Jim didn't know the name of the town. The city noises surrounding them sounded like a suburb of Denver. The hospital looked equipped enough to handle Naomi's injuries.

After arriving with a military escort, the three men had been hustled into this private room.

They'd been waiting for hours. Blair hadn't sat down to rest for even a minute.

"Give it up, Jim," Simon said from his corner chair, watching Blair pace back and forth. "At least he's burning off energy."

Jim scrubbed a hand over his face. They had both cleaned up at a sink before coming to the waiting room but still had splatters of Naomi's dried blood on their clothing. Blair made another pass and Jim caught his arm. It chilled him to see the blank look he got.

"Sit down, Chief." Jim gently pulled him back down and circled his arm around Blair's shoulders, forcing him to lean back against the sofa with him. "How's your wall doing? Are you solid?"

Blair was staring at the door.

Jim gave his shoulders a squeeze. "Sandburg? Blair?"

"Hmmm?" Blair blinked at him. "Hey."

"Hey back. How are you?" At least the kid was talking again.

"Fine... when..." Blair made a move to get up.

Jim held him back. "Soon. Talk to me about your wall. How's it holding up?"

"Wall? It's...just..." Blair's voice faded away as footsteps and a passing conversation caught his attention. The unknown persons moved on down the hospital corridor and once more silence settled in the small waiting room.

Jim could feel the exhaustion in Blair's body. If he couldn't get him to lie down, maybe he'd just lean on him for a while. He held on. Slowly, Blair's body began to relax, although his attention never left the closed door.

"This way, sir," a man's voice said from the hallway.

Blair bolted out of the sofa before Jim could stop him.

"Damn it."

Simon offered an understanding grimace.

The door opened, but it wasn't the doctor who entered.

"Tristan," Jim said, surprised.

"Mom?" Blair asked, looking hopeful.

Tristan shook his head. "I don't know. I just got here." He reached out tentatively to his son. "Blair?"

Jim was starting to recognize when his partner was using his `gift.' Deep lines of concentration traveled across his forehead. He looked up at his father. A dreamy sort of look flittered through his face, with surprised joy.

Blair's gift was giving him a unique view into the man that was his father.

"Dad," Blair said with a soft breathy whisper before falling into the older man's embrace.

Simon stood with a stiff groan. "How about walking with me to get some coffee, Jim?"

He didn't want to, but it was right. There were still guards posted on the wing. The security was equal to what the president would receive. "Yeah, good plan."

He patted Blair's back as they left. Giving Tristan a `don't screw this up' look, he walked with his boss into the hallway and tuned out any chance of hearing a conversation between the two men behind.

When the emotional storm had passed enough that Blair felt able to talk, he turned his father loose and wiped at his wet cheeks. He felt like he'd just woken from a dream.

No, more like a nightmare.

"Sit down before you fall down."

A good plan, the sofa was comfortable. He had a vague memory of sitting on it with Jim.

"Son, are you all right?"

Wow, that sounded so right, but weird.

Blair nodded. "Mom... when will I know?"

Still holding both of Blair's hands within his own, Tristan drew one leg up on the sofa and leaned sideways into its back as he faced Blair. "This is the briefing I received on the way over. She's in surgery. The bullet is very close to her artery. She's lost a lot of blood--" He rushed through the next part as Blair felt his panic build. "--but you know Naomi, Blair. She's a fighter."

Nodding like crazy as Tristan's image blurred through more tears, Blair squeezed the other man's hands. He couldn't speak. Hell, breathing was starting to become a chore.

"I want you checked into this hospital as well," Tristan said. "You and Jim both. You've been through--."

"N-no," Blair stammered, shaking his head at the first mention of doctors looking at him. There was no way he wanted to go near an exam table, probably ever. "I'm only here for Naomi."

"I wish you'd reconsider."

Blair shook his head.

Jim and Simon slipped back into the room. Simon held a cardboard tray with hot drinks. Blair could smell the sweet fragrance of apple.

Jim set his drink down on a side table and removed the drinks from Simon's tray, handing them out. "Careful it's hot."

Blair was right. It was apple. Where had they found hot, spiced apple cider? Blair sipped carefully. The sugar hit his system with a rush. The heat flowing into his palm made him realize he was chilled. Hell, his feet were wet.

He looked at his feet in wonder. He wore filthy socks with no shoes. How did that happen?

"Sandburg? You okay?" Jim asked, sitting down next to Blair.

"Wet socks," Blair said without thinking.

Simon went to the door. "Be right back." He slipped out

Simon hadn't been gone for more than a few seconds when the door swung open and two men dressed in dark suits entered. Something about them made Blair's chest tighten. Jim went soldier-mode, standing and moving to intercept.

"This is a private room," Jim told them.

"I'm special agent Morrison. This is special agent Galloway. We're with the federal government task force investigating Dr. Radhulson," Morrison answered, pulling out a slim leather ID case and showing Jim his card and badge. "We're here to ask you both some questions."

"Can't it wait?" Jim snapped. "My partner's mother is in surgery."

"I'm sorry," Morrison answered smoothly, looking like he meant it.

Blair somehow doubted that. He could feel the man's anticipation.

Morrison's gaze slid around Jim to Blair.

Tristan went to Jim's side. "This is highly unusual, agents. These men were just rescued themselves."

"I understand, sir." The agent sounded nervous. "However, the Incident Commander didn't want any delays to the investigation. We only really have one question."

Tristan frowned. "All right, make it quick."

"Yes, sir." Morrison took out a notepad. "We've searched all the floors and found heavy fire damage in the room containing what appeared to be medical files and computers. Everything is ruined. Can either of you tell us about that?"

Blair remembered that room. They would sometimes roll the examination table into it while Radhulson made his notes or looked up things on his computer. There was no way the incendiary device he'd dropped into the vent shaft could have burned that room up. It was too far away.

Jim shook his head. "We don't know anything about that."

Morrison leaned around Jim to look at Blair. "Mr. Sandburg?"

"No, I mean, yeah, I know the room. But, no." Blair shook his head, truly puzzled.

"Okay, thank you. We'll fully brief you at a later time." They left.

Simon entered after a few seconds. He held a pair of soft looking slippers and thick socks. "I think these will fit, Sandburg."

They did and between the cider and warm feet, Blair started to feel a bit more human. If only someone would tell him about his mother. Restless, his thoughts returned to what the special agents had told them.

"If that room is burned," Blair mused aloud, hopeful. "Then all those records on us are gone."

"Simon," Jim asked after they returned to their seats. "I noticed you had a lingering scent of smoke on your clothes when you broke us out of there. Did you switch cigars?"

Simon smugly sipped his coffee.

The next time the door opened, it was the doctor.

"Family for Naomi Sandburg?"

Blair stood, suddenly weak.

Tristan stood as well. "That's us."

"Easy, Buddy." Jim was at his side, holding his hand, giving support. "Slow it down."

What?

Right, breathing too fast.

Blair made himself hold his breath a second before releasing it in a rush to ask, "How is she?"

The doctor was an older man, with a pale complexion of too much time spent under florescent lights. "Stable. She's lost a lot of blood, but I believe she'll recover without any complications. Her collar bone..."

Blair let the doctor's report fade away. He replayed the words `stable and `recover' over and over in his mind. They sounded so sweet. A dreamy feeling took over. Warm relief started in his toes and filled him up. A tiny part of his brain tried to get his attention, to warn him not to give in.

He was so tired.

It felt so nice.

Too damn tired.

Blair let go.

"Lay him down there," the doctor ordered Jim and Tristan.

Jim let the older man lift Blair's feet. He took the shoulders, shifting his hold to keep Blair from hitting the carpet.

Damn, he should have expected this. The two of them had run out of reserves a while ago. It was amazing Blair had lasted this long. He let the doctor move in to check Blair's vitals and thumb open a lax eyelid.

"He looks exhausted." The doctor stood, looking first at Tristan, then Jim. "I understand he was held hostage for days?"

Jim nodded. "We both were."

"I'll have you two admitted. I'll see he's put close to his mother."

"Actually..." Tristan pulled on his earlobe, looking uncertain. "I think it would be best if we could avoid that. Perhaps you could examine him in here?"

Jim was thinking the same thing, but how did Tristan know?

"And you are?"

"His father," Tristan said, challengingly.

"No, I agree." Jim nodded. "We've both been through enough medical procedures."

The doctor sighed wearily. "And you are...?"

"Jim Ellison, Detective. I hold his power of attorney. We're roommates and partners." Jim had to admit he was stretching the last part.

"And I'm their boss," Simon added his obfuscation. "In his words, `he'll freak' if he wakes up in a hospital room."

"Fine, fine." The doctor shuffled out of the room, scratching his balding head. "I'll be right back."

The doctor was true to his word. He sent someone to take Blair's vitals, even hook him up to an ECG machine, where he was pronounced fit. Jim was glad the kid was still out when his blood was drawn and taken away for tests. He figured Blair was better off not seeing another needle.

After the results were rushed through, it was determined an IV wasn't needed. Jim asked for a blanket. He made sure Blair was covered before sitting down and going through the same checkup.

At the end of Jim's exam, Blair yawned, rolled over on the sofa, yawned again and opened his eyes.

"It lives," Jim said.

"What the hell?" Blair sat up, looking around the room with confusion. "How'd I get here?"

"Your body reached its limit," Jim explained, rolling down his sleeve after the doctor removed the blood pressure cuff.

"You're good to go, Mr. Ellison." The doctor picked up his tray of medical implements and rose. Nodding to the others, he left them alone.

"Where's Tristan?" Blair asked.

"He'll be back," Jim answered. "Naomi's in recovery. He's sitting with her."

Flipping the blanket off, Blair swung his legs down. "Why'd you let me sleep, Jim? I want to see Mom, too."

"First of all, I didn't let you sleep," Jim said. "You `passed out'. And second, only one person is allowed in recovery at a time. Hospital rules. Relax. She'll be transferred to a room soon and you can be with her."

Simon stood up and stretched. "I don't know about you two, but I'm thinking a hotel. I'll go find one within walking distance and let you know when I've got rooms booked."

"Good plan." Jim checked the clock on the wall. It was late afternoon. They'd been waiting all day. "Make sure it's got room service."

Perched on the edge of the sofa, Blair cradled his head with both hands.

"You okay?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, fine." Blair didn't sound it. "God, I can't believe I fell asleep."

"Seriously, you passed out." Jim leaned back in the chair and crossed his ankles. "I guess it's your body's way of telling you it had had enough."

"More like my brain, man." Blair massaged his head, mussing his hair even worse than the bed-head he'd woken with. "Keeping my `wall' strong through all of that escaping business took more out of me than I thought."

Jim wasn't surprised. "Still, you did it. I'm proud of you."

That comment brought the desired smile Jim had hoped for.

"I'm betting you'll find it gets easier with practice."

"I hope so." Blair pulled his hair back then released it. The curls bounced out to frame his face. Blair frowned. "When can we see Naomi?"

"Let's go find out."

The walk down the corridor toward his mother's room seemed like miles. Typical, whenever he wanted something really bad, time slowed like a melting ice age. Finally, Jim turned toward a closed door and reached out to open it.

Inside the room was dark and machines beeped in reference to the woman under the sheet. Tristan looked up with a smile.

"She asked about you in recovery," he whispered.

Blair approached the bed, taking in the thick bandage that completely covered her right shoulder and neck. Her left shoulder was bare, but the sheet covered her chest.

Still, Blair found his hands reaching to pull it higher, his mind wanting to protect his mother from the men in the room.

"Hi, Mom," he whispered to the sleeping woman. His mind reached out in a tight focus.

He detected no anxiety or fear. She was comfortable. His own headache, the one he'd had ever since waking up in that waiting room, increased in tempo so he pulled back and quickly reinforced his wall. Still, Jim must have noticed something.

"The doctor said she'd sleep the rest of the night. We should do the same thing." Jim placed a hand on his shoulder. "Simon's checked us into a suite."

"In a second," Blair replied. He didn't want to leave just yet, too content with studying his mom's beautiful face. He saw the pain medication being slowly dripped into her IV. His mother would sleep through the night. "She's pretty amazing, you know?"

Tristan chuckled. "If you knew the half of it."

The comment cut deep. Blair struggled to keep the pain off his face. His father was right. He didn't know the half of it. The woman on the bed was a part time mom and more than a part time spy.

"She loves you more than anything else on this earth, Blair," Tristan said.

Blair nodded, ducking his head when his face grew warm. His headache was pounding and it was getting harder and harder to focus. "Tell her, um, tell her I'll be back in the morning, okay?"

"I will." Tristan glanced at his watch. "Visiting hours are about up. I'll probably get kicked out."

Somehow Blair doubted that. Judging by the plain-clothed agents standing guard outside the room and several nearby strategic spots, the CIA had taken over the ward.

Outside the room, Blair drew in a deep breath.

"She's one lucky woman," Jim said. "The doctors are predicting a full recovery."

The walk to the hotel was two city blocks. Streetlights made the journey through the night easy. The air had a `big city' feeling to it, like Salt Lake City, only cleaner and maybe a little thinner. It helped clear his head to be out in the open. Between the underground prison and the hospital, even city air smelled like perfume.

They rode the elevator in silence. Blair didn't even pay attention to which door Jim knocked on. Simon let them in, sleep marks on one cheek. The main room held a sofa, a round table in the corner with a kitchenette and a small under the counter icebox. The TV was on and a local Denver newscaster was pointing at a computerized weather map.

"I got the lasagna, figured it would microwave the easiest," Simon said, going to the kitchenette.

"First I need a shower," Jim said.

"I'll wait before heating your dinner," Simon promised.

Jim looked at Blair. "You okay?"

Blair nodded, hoping he would be. His mental wall felt wobbly. Hopefully just having Jim in the same suite would be enough to keep it from failing.

"You want to start with a salad?" Simon asked after Jim had disappeared down the hallway.

"Sure." Blair wasn't really hungry, but he felt used up and clueless about what to do next. He might as well try and eat. He wandered toward the table, dropping into the chair. Forks, folded paper towels and glasses of orange juice were already set out.

A microwave dinged. Simon reached in and pulled out something wrapped in a paper towel. It was a roll.

"Here, start on this." He set a Caesar salad and the warmed roll down and returned to the counter to ready the pasta for reheating. Blair picked up the fork. The first bite was mechanical and he swallowed without tasting.

"You know, I tried to keep Radhulson from hurting you." Simon closed the microwave door and started punching in numbers. He leaned a hip against the counter as the timer counted down. "I'm sorry I couldn't."

"I'd rather... not talk about it." Blair reached for the orange juice Simon had set on the table. He took a long drink and wiped his mouth with the paper towel. He glanced toward the hallway and wondered if Jim was listening to them over the sounds of the shower. He lowered his voice. "None of this seems real, you know?"

"I can imagine."

The microwave dinged again. The fragrant smell of tomato and spices wafted up from the steaming plate Simon set next to the salad bowel. The older man took a seat at the table. "I'm so sorry this happened to you, kid."

Focusing on eating, Blair shrugged. "It's sort of my fault. And the worst part was dragging Jim into it."

"It's not your fault."

"If I hadn't gone through with that stupid procedure." Blair pushed the empty salad bowl away. He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I've derailed Jim's life for..."

Blair looked around the room, not seeing a calendar.

"How long have we been running?"

"Give or take a few weeks, about six months."

"Shit."

Simon leaned forward, hands clasped, elbows on the table. "Listen to me, Sandburg. My great-grandmother had a saying. `There is no cure that does not cost.'"

"Jim shouldn't be the one to pay." Blair stood, his appetite completely gone. "Which room am I sleeping in?"

Blair woke with a start, covered in sweat. Sometime during the night he'd wrapped himself up in the sheets. They restricted his arms, pinning them to his sides. He couldn't even kick his legs. The hotel room was pitch black.

"Jim!" Blair tried to roll. He found he was tightly bound. "Jim, help. I'm stuck!"

How stupid was this?

The mattress felt wrong under his back. Too thin. Fingers exploring, reaching out as far as he could met the edge of a rubber mat close to his hips, then a metal frame. The exam table.

Fear pierced his chest. "No!"

A blinding light flooded the room.

Blair squinted. He made out the shape of Radhulson looming over him. Further on, he saw computers and a countertop with test tubes and bottles. A ceiling-mounted light in a reflective concave mirror was poised above him.

Radhulson reached high and flicked on the light. "Let's see what we have here, shall we?'

"No!" Blair yelled, writhing in the straps. He was naked and sweating hard. The air was cold on his skin. "You're dead! Jim killed you!"

"Really?" Radhulson pointed to the other side of the room. "I don't think so."

Blair turned his head.

Jim's body was stretched out on a second exam table. His chest had been opened up with a `y' incision. His rib cage cut away. Blood bathed his sides. Jim's head was turned their way, his eyes open and staring accusingly at Blair.

"I couldn't find anything of worth. What a disappointment," Radhulson was saying.

Blair screamed.

"Sandburg!" Radhulson shouted down, grabbing Blair's shoulders.

The scream died out and Blair sucked in another breath and screamed again, louder, harder. The pain of Jim's death was ripping him apart.

"Sandburg! It's okay. It's okay!"

The room went dark. The bed became soft and Blair's arms and legs were suddenly free from the straps. Blair kicked and flailed. His scream bled into a strangled sob and became muffled with something soft and warm pressed against his face.

"Shhhhhhh. Everything's okay now. You're safe."

Jim! Jim's voice.

Blair could feel Jim's arms around his shoulders and back, the big hand on the back of his head, warmth against his cheeks. Reality melted back into a dark hotel room. Streetlight filtered in through the window's curtains.

"It was just a dream, buddy," Jim whispered.

Blair couldn't stop his body from shaking. He clung to Jim, the dream too fresh, his chest heaving as he waited for the images to fade away.

"I know," Jim responded. "I had a few of them myself."

Eventually Blair's terror ran out of steam and his breathing returned to normal, with a few hitches. He forced his stiff fingers to open, to turn Jim loose.

Jim leaned over to flick on the small light. Blair settled back on his bed, taking in the surroundings. His gaze went to the doorway and his heart started pounding again as he noticed the tall form standing within the frame.

Jim glanced over his shoulder. "Go back to sleep, Simon. I've got it," he commanded.

The form withdrew without a word.

Jim looked back down. "You want anything?"

Blair shook his head.

"You sure?"

"So..." God, was that his voice? He sounded like a rockslide. "... real."

"I know." Jim rubbed the back of his own neck.

Blair flopped an arm over his eyes, feeling his damp lashes. "I h-hate this, man."

"It will get better."

"He killed you." Blair pushed down the covers and sat up again, his body protesting with each movement. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The carpet tickled his feet.

"The guy you shot back in Radhulson's compound?" Jim guessed.

Blair swallowed hard and shook his head. "I swear... I didn't want to."

"Chief, it was a righteous shoot." Jim leaned down and plucked Blair's pillow from the floor.

"It's not the first time, is it?" Blair accepted the wayward object.

"What?" Jim froze.

Pursing his lips, Blair crushed the pillow in his hands. "I figured that's why I had that damn operation, the one that caused all this."

"Sandburg, I told you--" Jim answered.

Blair cut him off. "I'm just saying I figured it out. I don't need to know the details."

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You know what?" Blair stood and dropped his pillow up to the head of the bed, remembering the dream and the grisly sight of Jim on the table. "I would do it again in a heartbeat."

Jim looked dubious. "You sure?"

"Jim." Blair nodded. "Those bastards tried to steal our lives. One of them was about to shoot you in cold blood. I think I've learned that some things are worth fighting for."

It was hard to tell, but Jim seemed to accept Blair's statement, maybe even look a little pleased by it. "Try and go back to sleep. It's still dark."

"Sleep? No way." Blair turned away from the bed.

Jim sighed. "I guess we can find an I-Hop and get some breakfast."

The hospital corridors were crowded the next morning. Jim followed in Blair's wake. They'd been up for hours, eating breakfast at a twenty-four hour McDonalds, the only place within walking distance. Simon had offered to accompany them, but both Jim and Blair had preferred he didn't.

It would take a while before that bridge would be mended.

They turned the last corridor, nodded to the security detail and left the crowds behind as they entered Naomi's ward.

Apparently the CIA took their responsibilities seriously.

Naomi was awake and sitting up in her bed.

"Mom." Blair leaned over to kiss her cheek. "You look great."

"And you're a liar," she answered, nodding at Jim. "Hi, Jim."

"Naomi." Jim nodded to Tristan.

"How are you feeling?" Blair sat down in the chair next to the bed, opposite side from where his father sat.

She answered with a weary smile. "Tristan was just telling me about the arrests."

"The raid was a complete success," Tristan confirmed. "Better than we could have hoped for. We have Kestrel in custody."

"About that," Jim interjected, standing at the foot of the bed. "Do you think you might share the details?"

"Especially the part about Simon," Blair added.

"He was wonderful," she told them, then frowned. "Where is he?"

"Making some phone calls. He said he'd be joining us," Blair told her.

"Then I'll start from the beginning," Naomi said. "It started with Radhulson. He was the leading doctor on genetic research and the government's golden child for many years. He was even being considered for a Nobel."

"Why? What did he do?" Blair asked.

"During the cold war, the other side was working on a viral bomb," Tristan explained. "We managed to get a sample before it was used. Radhulson discovered a way to interfere with the virus. He made some early breakthroughs on how our genes are regulated. He effectively shut down the genes which would have interacted until the virus died."

Jim watched as Blair became sucked into scientist-mode.

"Ohmygod, you're kidding me," Blair said, leaning forward with rapt attention. "I remember reading about that."

Naomi nodded. "After that, he pretty much got whatever he asked for. Endless grants, facilities, a literal army to protect him."

Tristan rubbed his head. "He did some good work. His research helped a lot of people."

"But..." Jim crossed his arms, knowing where this was going.

Naomi nodded. "The last few years we noticed some odd things. His trips overseas became more frequent. His internal security tightened up. We heard rumors he was in bed with some less than friendly nations, but it was nothing we could prove."

"Then he came across Sandburg's medical file," Jim finished for her.

Naomi nodded, gazing fondly at her son. "Thankfully his own greed kept him from telling other doctors about you."

Blair shook his head. "I don't get why you just didn't arrest Radhulson on the spot."

"General Kestrel," Jim guessed.

"Exactly. The good doctor had proved to be a dangerous man and our intel confirmed Kestrel already knew too many of our nation's secrets. But first, I needed you both safe and out of the way." Naomi reached out to take Tristan's hand. "We had two operatives in place to join Radhulson's security team, but it would take time to get them high enough to be trusted. Every month you stayed free, you helped us get our men where they needed to be."

"Your escapade in Kansas nearly made that impossible," Tristan said.

Jim remembered the man with the British accent gunned down, his dying words to get Blair to safety.

"Kansas! That's where I saw that guy!" Blair slapped his thigh and turned to Jim. "That guy with Rawlings? The one that helped us get out? He was working with Radhulson in Kansas. He was nice to me when they were..." Blair bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair.

Jim nodded. "Ly. We haven't seen him since splitting up."

Tristan cleared his throat. "He didn't make it out."

A heavy silence filled the room.

"When we knew both men were in place and trusted, we contacted Simon," Naomi pressed on after a bit. "He was willing, more than willing, to help us."

"Once Radhulson believed Simon was on board--" Tristan started.

"We were taken prisoner," Jim confirmed.

Naomi leaned wearily back against her pillow, looking at her son. "We wanted to shut down Radhulson and bring in Kestrel. Honey, you were enough of a draw to bring the man onto American soil."

Blair swallowed hard, his eyes shiny. "You used us as bait."

Naomi looked pained. "You were only supposed to be there for a day at the most."

"Something went wrong," Tristan explained. "Kestrel's entry into the States got delayed. We don't know how."

"So you held off on the raid." Jim crossed his arms.

Looking miserable, Naomi nodded. "We had no choice. If we didn't catch Radhulson in Kestrel's company, he would have wriggled out of treason charges. You both would have still been in danger."

Blair stood. "Well, your plan sucked. I can't believe there wasn't a better option available, Naomi. They tortured Jim. They nearly killed him. You don't understand w-what we..." He pressed his hand to his forehead and scrunched his eyes closed. "What we went through."

Tristan stood, taking Naomi's hand in his as she recoiled from Blair's growing anger. "Blair, your mother was following my orders. If you have a problem, it should be with me. Not her."

"Honey, please try and understand," Naomi said.

Blair backed away from the bed, trembling with emotion. "You know the worst thing about it? Neither one of you even gave us a choice. No...I need to g-get out of here, Mom. I need to process this." He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and released a mirthless laugh. "I know that was just an act for you, but to me it was real." He walked out.

Naomi flinched as if struck.

Before the door could close, Simon entered the room with a bewildered look. "What's wrong?"

Following Blair, Jim was stopped at the door by a soft plea. "Jim."

Turning, Jim shook his head. "He's not me, Naomi. Don't get me wrong, I'm pissed as hell, but I understand what it's like to have a mission that needs to be completed. He doesn't."

"Don't let him be alone," Naomi said tearfully.

Jim nodded. "We'll be in touch." Outside the room, he scanned the empty corridor. He headed for the elevator.

Tristan caught up to Jim in the hall, catching his arm. "I'm moving her back to Virginia tonight."

Jim nodded. "If I can get him to come back today, I will. They can talk."

"If not, tell him it was all my fault."

Jim punched the elevator call button. "You and Sandburg have more in common than you know."

Out on the sidewalk, Jim scanned the street. His partner was nowhere in sight. Knowing the way Blair's mind worked, Jim turned away from the route that would take him to the hotel. The morning air was crisp, with a hint of moisture from a cleansing overnight rain. The clouds had fled with the dawn. It promised to be a perfect summer day.

`Blair spores' still drifted in the breeze. Jim followed the invisible trail. After three blocks he spotted a familiar, despondent-looking figure sitting at a park bench, watching kids play on swings and a corkscrew slide.

Jim joined him, silently glancing at his partner's profile.

"What she did was wrong, man."

Jim hesitated before answering, "Perhaps."

Blair slapped his own leg. "How can you side with her on this?"

Jim shook his head. "I'm not taking sides. I'm just saying--"

Bolting up off the bench, Blair kicked a tuft of grass. "Let me guess! It's the `you don't have a clue, Sandburg' speech. Or better yet, `this is a military thing and you're a civilian!' Oh, I know! How about, `better to leave the top secret spy stuff to the experts, little buddy, you focus on your school work'!"

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Jim calmly kept his gaze fixed on the distant Rocky Mountains. Any anger he gave into would just distress his friend more. "You finished?"

Blair fell back onto the bench.

"It's not a black and white world, Blair. If life has taught me anything, that lesson has to be one of the big ones."

Blair snorted. "They should have had a better plan! Something that didn't put your life at risk!"

"Sandburg, no plan is completely safe."

"I don't get it, why aren't you mad?"

"I am."

"You're doing a great job of hiding it."

"Practice makes perfect, probably a military thing," Jim said with a sigh. "I agree the operation didn't go down well, but consider the outcome..."

"What?" Blair asked.

Jim waved a hand at the kids playing. "Look at them. Look at us. We're sitting here. The government knows exactly where we are and yet we're safe. There's no black van screeching to a stop with Feds jumping out to grab us. We're just two guys watching the kids play."

Blair leaned forward, finger-raking his hair back. He bowed his back, elbows on his knees and talked to the ground. "I'm so pissed at her. At both of them. They had no right to risk... shit, man, Radhulson was going to kill you."

"But he didn't," Jim pointed out.

Blair huffed and scrubbed his face. "It was too close."

And, frankly, Jim couldn't argue with that.

The plane tires slapped the runway with a lurch and a screech of rubber. Too late, Blair thought of Jim's dials. But the sentinel seemed fine as he cleaned empty water bottles and plastic snack wrappers from the seat pocket. Blair turned back to the view through the small window.

The weather in Western Washington was sunny with high floating ostrich-feather clouds. A fleet of service vehicles waited patiently for the plane to dock. The flight attendant's voice over the public address system thanked them for flying Delta. The overhead seatbelt light blinked out followed by hundreds of unsnapping seatbelts. Blair followed Jim's snail pace down the aisle. Simon was behind him. The covered gangway took them to a large round concourse where mini stores offered magazines and overpriced `Sleepless in Seattle' t-shirts. They presented an odd trio. Blair still had fading bruises covering his face. He and Jim wore matching dark blue sweats and off brand tennis shoes purchased in a Colorado JC Penney store. Simon's rumpled dress shirt, open at the neck and dark brown corduroy slacks made him look like a traveling businessman.

Jim lifted his nose, breathing deeply. An intense craving filtered through Blair's mental barrier with ease. Blair spotted the familiar green and white mermaid within the circular sign midway down the wide corridor.

Five minutes later Simon was pocketing his credit card while Jim sipped his coconut and white chocolate latte. Blair enjoyed a mocha with extra foam. His mouth welcomed the richness that, for him, personified the Northwest.

They hadn't checked any luggage, so they bypassed the escalator leading down to the baggage pick-up area. Simon talked into his cell phone as they walked. With a few short sentences, he pocketed the phone and led the way to the outside. SeaTac airport's circular drive held a passenger drop-off and pick-up zone with assorted airline signs to tell passengers which ticket desk was the closest. They waited under the Delta sign.

Blair watched the cars and vans roll by. Excited passengers got out and hugged their drivers goodbye, while weary passengers waited to be picked up: a human cycle of transformation. The pressure of their emotions pushed against Blair's imaginary wall, testing, probing for weaknesses.

Damn, he was so tired of being close to strangers and their emotions. Even with Jim at his side, the awareness of the close proximity felt like dragging a heavy chain around. Would it be easier with time? He needed to teach again, to stand in front of a group of freshmen. Could he do it without Jim?

A blue sedan pulled up and Simon reached for the front passenger door. Joel Taggart opened the driver's door. Leaving the engine running and ignoring the irritated glances from other drivers, he hurried around the vehicle. "Jim! Blair! You two clowns are a sight for sore eyes! How the hell are you?"

There was no time to avoid the hug. Joel's long arms wrapped around Blair and he was lifted off the ground. Twinges of pain from Radhulson's needles made him gasp.

Suddenly he was free of Joel's enthusiastic greeting, his view blocked by the back of Jim's sweatshirt.

"What's wrong?" Joel asked, stepping back in surprise.

"We're just a little sore," Jim explained, reaching for the man's hand and shaking it.

Joel looked around Jim's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, kid. What happened to your face?"

"How about we catch up in the car?" Simon asked.

"Sure, sure," Joel answered.

The drive from SeaTac to Cascade was all Interstate. Blair settled into the backseat, content to let Jim field Joel's questions. He let his mind return to Colorado and his farewell with Naomi. He had been cool and very aware that his attitude had hurt her. He hadn't been able to help himself. Intellectually, he might learn to accept her role in their rescue. Emotionally, however, he couldn't get beyond the memory of Jim writhing on the floor in pain, of his own treatment on the exam table, of the men that died getting them out.

"Blair?"

"Huh?"

"Joel's asking about your dissertation research," Jim asked. "Remember? Simon told him about our last minute overseas police exchange program?"

"Research?" Blair snorted, thinking back to the cover story Simon had explained to them on the flight, "Yeah, tons, man."

"I still don't understand why you couldn't send any letters," Joel said, sounding mildly put out.

"I already told you," Simon answered, glancing toward the men in the back seat. "The inter-governmental program is highly sensitive, a complete information black out."

"Still, you'd think a postcard..." Joel huffed, then grinned into the rearview mirror, catching Blair's eye. "So, quite the adventure, right, Blair? I'm glad you're okay. Traffic accident on a mountain road, Wow! Like some of the expeditions you always tell me about?"

Blair forced a fake smile. "It was."

"Bet you're glad to be back in Washington."

Blair sighed. "You have no idea." He finished his drink and set the empty cup on the floorboard.

"What's new at the station, Joel?" Jim asked. "Did you ever solve the Jacobson murder?"

Blair let the conversation take off in a new direction. His headache had doubled in size. He squirmed, unable to find a comfortable position. The seatbelt was scratching his neck. His shoes didn't fit right. The seat was too hard.

A warm arm dropped around his shoulders.

Blair looked at Jim in surprise.

Still talking to Joel, Jim pulled Blair close. The pressure in Blair's mind eased, leaving behind a pleasant, lethargic numbness. Sleep called, overriding the worry of what Joel or Simon would think if they looked back. But neither man turned around. Half listening to shop-talk of fingerprints, methods of entry and probable cause for search warrants, Blair let his head drift against Jim's shoulder as he slipped into sleep.

Jim Ellison stood on Prospect Avenue, breathing the familiar smells that made up his neighborhood.

His building needed painting. He'd have to talk to the other tenants, maybe get some bids. The ground floor windows had been cleaned recently. The crack in the sidewalk had widened a bit. The maple tree roots were growing. Would the city cut them down?

"I can't believe we're home," Blair whispered, standing at Jim's elbow, rumpled from sleep.

"You sure you don't want me to come up?" Simon asked, head leaning out the passenger window.

Jim shook his head. After all they had gone through their return home seemed surreal. They didn't need an audience. "We'd rather be alone."

"Call me. We'll talk," Simon said.

Jim nodded. He still had issues with his boss. But he was confident they would get through it. "I will."

Simon withdrew into the car and rolled the window up. He drove off.

Jim palmed the spare loft key Simon had provided. They silently entered the lobby. The same chair sat in the corner. It looked as though Mrs. LeBelle had attacked it with her can of upholstery cleaner again. Jim noticed the way the red stripes blurred into the cream colored background.

The elevator carried them up to the third floor amid creaks and groans. The door slid open. They walked down the hall. Jim slid the key in, unlocked the door and pushed it open.

A fine layer of dust covered all surfaces. Someone, Simon no doubt, had tossed drop sheets over the sofas and chair. The floor showed footprints, making paths through the dusty floor.

Blair walked ahead, stopping by the kitchen post, touching it in wonder. He forged a new trail in the dust, going to the balcony door and opening it wide. As the salty bay air drifted in, he began to remove the plastic tarp from the closest sofa.

"No," Jim said. He locked the front door behind him. "Leave it."

"Jim, your senses, man. All the dust."

"Later," Jim told him, catching his arm and tugging him toward the balcony.

"What?" Blair asked as they stood on the small ledge.

Jim drank in the view.

His view.

He dropped his arm around Blair's shoulders. "I missed this."

A tugboat was dragging a barge toward the mouth of the bay. A flock of gulls had found something worth feeding upon in the foam line. A handful of 21 foot Rangers raced to reach a distant buoy, a local sailboat club enjoying a pleasant afternoon.

His guide stilled beneath his arm, leaning in a little. Jim could hear and feel Blair's heart slow. "I didn't think we'd ever get home," Blair admitted.

"I know."

"How can we expect things to go back to normal?"

Jim chuckled and briefly hugged Blair before dropping his arm. He leaned out, propping both elbows on the railing, interlacing his fingers. "Sandburg," he said, looking sideways at his friend, "we never did normal."

Blair's worried expression evaporated into a boyish grin. "Yeah, I suppose you're right."

"But, to answer your question, we'll manage." Jim nodded back at the loft. "But we'll have to make plans, just in case something like this happens again."

"I can't stop thinking of all the things I should have done differently."

"Well, I regret not picking up some beer before Simon dropped us off," Jim quipped, lightening the mood. He stood and reentered the loft.

"We can always walk down to the corner market, man." Blair followed, veering off into the bathroom.

Jim went to the kitchen, raising his voice enough for Blair to still hear him through the closed door, "We need to make a list. Bank first. Then beer and groceries. Then clean the loft." He picked up the garbage can from under the sink and set it before the refrigerator.

The sooner they got the spoiled food out, the better. Jim opened the door and saw Simon had already done the work for him. The ice box was empty, save a few bottles of water. Jim opened the freezer with a relieved sigh and started tossing the freezer-burned food.

Blair came out of the bathroom and into his room.

His heart rate spiked.

Jim slammed the freezer door, going to his side in an instant, scanning the room for danger. "What?"

Blair stood amidst his belongings.

Clothes were tossed randomly over the bed. Drawers were pulled out. Computer disks scattered over the desk top. Jim remembered the night half a year ago, when they had fled, packing Blair's bag for him and forcing him to go through his sentinel research and notebooks. Apparently, Simon hadn't found a reason to tidy up in here. No doubt Jim's room was exactly the same way he'd left it as well.

With a weak, strangled laugh, Blair scrubbed his face. "It's just... god, man, I don't know if I can do this."

"Do what?" Jim asked.

Blair picked up the framed picture of the two of them fly fishing. From the range of emotions cycling through his guide's eyes, Jim wasn't sure if Blair was going to hurl it across the room or break into tears.

"Just--" He paused to clear his throat. "--pick up where we left off."

"Why not?"

Setting the frame down carefully, Blair drew in a deep breath. "Jim, I know you, okay? You like your life just so. And your sentinel abilities were okay as long as you have them under control."

Jim nodded, watching Blair pace the small room, hands gesturing in frustration as he spoke.

"And I'm not the same person anymore."

"We're both different after the last six months."

Blair shot him a `don't patronize me' glance. "I'm not talking about being a little older and wiser. Ellison. Do you know how many times my ability to block out other emotions was completely and absolutely blown to smithereens during the last week?"

A stab of guilt made Jim wince. "I can imagine."

With a dismissing wave, Blair continued. "I'm talking about how just being with you again gave me some type of protection, a temporary shield, for the lack of a better term."

"Okay, that's good." But Blair continued to look pained and Jim didn't get it. "What? It's a good thing."

Ramming his fists against his hips, Blair glared. "Right, it's just great. So, how long before you get tired of me... needing you?" His shoulders sagged and he continued his tiny circuit of the room. "Hello, man, it's just not fair to expect you to help me twenty-four-seven. Maybe I should find another place--."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Jim demanded, shocked to the core that Blair would even say that. He'd never felt more like a real team and now Blair wanted to leave?

"I don't have the control you do, Jim," Blair confessed. "I know I'm going to screw this up. It's just a matter of time before I cross the point of no return with you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Jim snarked before he could rein the hurt in.

Hands flung up toward the ceiling, Blair retorted, "Call me the anti-PollyAnna, man, but I do consider myself a student of human nature."

Jim jabbed a finger in his roommate's direction. "Sandburg. I'm not going to throw you out the second or third time you piss me off."

Blair lifted an eyebrow.

"Okay, fine," Jim admitted, raising his hand in surrender. "Maybe the old me would. However, I'd like to think I've grown a little here. If nothing else, the months on the run should count for that. I've - hell, we've both - learned a few lessons along the way."

"You sure, man?" Blair asked in a quieter tone, tucking both hands under his arms in a self-hug. "This is going to change everything."

Jim nodded. "Look, you helped me - and you're still helping me - learn how to be a sentinel. Now, I'm no anthropologist, but I'd like to think I can give you a hand learning to be... whatever we're going to call what you have. And if you need to take - whatever protection I give - from me, then it's nothing I haven't taken from you over the years."

That was a lot to say and it left Jim exhausted, but the hopeful smile Blair gave back made it worthwhile.

"So you're okay?" Jim said, hoping.

"No, not okay, but getting there." Blair shoved his hands into his pockets.

Jim grinned.

"Sooo, I'm starving," Blair admitted sheepishly.

Chuckling, Jim walked back out into the loft. nodding to the garbage can. "Unless you want freezer burn burritos, we'll have to walk to the store."

Blair followed with a snort. "I'll pass."

"Good call."

"Do we have money?"

"I borrowed a twenty from Simon."

"Cool, man." Blair looked at the door then let his gaze travel around the loft.

Jim knew that look. "Would you rather stay in and order some pizza?"

Blair's beaming smile caused Jim to pick up the phone.

They still had a ton of issues. Blair needed to forgive his parents. He needed to square things with Simon. They both needed to get back to their jobs, make sure their bank accounts were active and figure out what they were going to do for transportation, but all those goals were reachable.

After putting in their order, Jim joined Blair back out on the balcony.

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow on the buildings lining Prospect Avenue. The warm breeze tickled Jim's neck and made Blair's hair dance on his shoulders.

"It's good to be home, Jim," Blair whispered.

"You said it, partner."

<end for now>

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