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Part IV

Chapter Sixteen

"So, are we going by the station first?" Blair asked from the backseat, where he sat with his mother. Jim had driven the captain's car to pick them up from Oak Harbor. Blair was sure that once or twice he'd noticed Simon, who was sitting up front with Jim, flinching as Jim drove with his usual Ellison 'flair.'

"No."

"You just want to scare Simon to death by taking his car into city traffic?"

"No."

Blair looked to Simon for help, but the captain was in a sort of petrified fugue state. The poor man was more than likely remembering the last time Jim drove his car. There were probably still parts of it in the dark corners of the airport's parking deck. "Uh, you aren't taking us by the loft, are you?" The thought of seeing the loft was suddenly uncomfortable.

Jim shook his head. "I thought we'd do that tomorrow. Just the two of us."

Blair nodded. "So, what are we doing in the middle of downtown? The 'burbs are thataway." He pointed in the opposite direction.

"You sounded unhappy about the 'burbs, Chief, so I decided 'If my friend wants urban, I'll give him urban,'" Jim explained, with a grin that made Blair nervous.

"We're not staying at the Y, are we? I mean, I have nothing against it, but you are so not going to like--"

"We're not staying at the Y." Jim turned into an underground parking deck.

"This is for Wilkenson Tower. Gonna stop and get me flowers from the florist on the first floor?" Blair teased.

Jim ignored him, and rolled down the window for the approaching security guard. "Hi, John."

"Hi, Detective Ellison. I see you managed to collect your family all right." He peered into the car, and Blair could see he was memorizing their faces. "You folks have a good evening."

"You, too," Jim said politely. He pulled into a space marked "Private", and opened his door. "Everyone out," he called when no one moved.

"What?" Simon managed to ask, now that his car was safely parked.

"We're home."

"This is an office building, Jim."

"A tall office building," Blair added.

"With a penthouse on the top floor," Jim said. He took out the keycard and slid it into an innocuous looking slot. A panel hissed back to reveal a plush elevator car.

"I don't believe this," Blair murmured as the door closed and the elevator began surging upward.

"Wilkenson made sure to clear it with everyone but the President of the United States, so by the time the offer was made, there was no way I could turn it down. I figure we'll camp here for a week or two until we can find something more suitable."

"This is not camping, Jim," Blair said as the elevator opened directly into the penthouse. An expanse of obscenely white carpet spread out before them. Equally white leather furniture, paired with crystal-topped tables, completed the elegant setting. "Although this place is about as big as a couple of state parks I know. About that offer to stay in the 'burbs, man...."

"Can you believe this is supposed to be for company officials who travel with their families?" Jim asked, still amazed at the stupidity of the decorator. "I wonder if Wilkenson knows why the apartment is empty ninety-nine percent of the time."

Blair looked longingly at his friend as Jim stepped out into the penthouse. "I'm scared, Jim."

Jim sighed. "Take off your shoes if it makes you feel more comfortable." Three pairs of shoes were quickly removed and shoved in Jim's direction. He chuckled and set them aside.

"The bedrooms are more user friendly," Jim said when he turned around to find that they had timidly left the elevator. They seemed to be in a trance as they stared at the whiteness, and Jim breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn't zoned yesterday. "Down the hall are the bedrooms. I've given you the master suite, Naomi. I've already put away the things I bought for you. You can go shopping tomorrow for something you like."

She smiled warmly. "You did an excellent job of shopping for me, Jim. Should I be flattered that you know not only my sizes but my tastes so well, or is this a by-product of your sentinel abilities?"

Jim flushed. "Guess it's more of a by-product of being a cop. Observation skills are a top priority. That's why your son does so well."

She covered a yawn. "You would think that after all that time in the hospital--"

"You don't have to apologize. You're all still recuperating, and you need to rest. I haven't figured out yet how these two talked the doctors into releasing you so soon." He glared at Blair and Simon.

"Thanks for packing me a bag, Jim," Simon said quickly. "Daryl let you into my place?" He peeked into the room Jim opened for him. The dark wooden furniture seemed acceptable.

"Actually, it was more like a B and E, Captain. I didn't think you'd mind. I'm sure you were as tired of hospital-wear as I was."

"Well, I do mind, Ellison! Why the hell am I paying $39.99 a month for a security system that obviously doesn't work?"

"Change to the $19.99 a month plan, and use the extra cash on better locks," Jim advised.

"Why don't I dump it altogether?" Simon asked with a grunt of disgust.

"Well, the signs discourage casual thieves, and the fire alert part is probably worth the twenty dollars."

"So speaks the expert." The captain looked closely at his detective. "And here I thought the scariest thing about you was your driving skills. By the way, you didn't break into the car, too? I thought I saw keys in the ignition, but it could have been a ploy to give me a false sense of security."

"The entire office knows where you keep your spare car keys, Simon," Jim said quickly, fearing his poor character couldn't handle many more aspersions cast upon it. Gee, wreck a few cars, and suddenly you were an enemy of the state. "So now that that's settled, you should be able to sleep peacefully.

"In this place? The hospital was less sterile. But I am tired; I think it's the antibiotics. See you gentlemen in a few."

Jim moved to the next door. "This one is yours, Chief, right next to mine. So, if you need anything--"

"I'll just whisper as usual," Blair finished with a smile. "What are you going to do while we play invalid?"

"Fill out some paperwork for the insurance company-- which means I might be playing invalid myself in the near future." He gave an exaggerated snore. "Get some rest, Chief. All our problems can wait."

When Blair's door closed, Jim went into his room and got the packet of papers he needed. Stepping back into the hallway, he paused. Closing his eyes, he focused on the sounds around him. The chorus of soft breathing, the hiss of fabric as someone turned over, a snuffle as another eased from a light doze into deeper sleep, the thud of beating hearts. He smiled as he made his way back to the stark white living room. He was home. It might not be under the roof of choice, but his immediate tribe was once again together, and for the most part whole.

Yeah, he thought, defiantly throwing his feet up on the furniture. He was home.

*****

"That smells like one of Louise's casseroles," Blair said, sniffing appreciatively as he stumbled out of the bedroom two hours later. "Man, I need shades to come into this room. It's like snow-blindness. How can you stand it?"

"Sometimes this sentinel thing comes in handy," Jim replied with a smirk, writing his signature for the umpteenth time.

Blair's eyes widened. "You're using an ink pen in here?" he squeaked.

"Chief, you've been held at gunpoint and knife point. You've been kidnapped by serial killers, and chased by psychotics. Don't tell me you're intimidated by a carpet and some furniture."

"Okay, I won't tell you, but can't we talk in the bedrooms or maybe the kitchen? That casserole has my stomach rumbling for it."

"Give it about another twenty minutes, Chief. It is one of Louise's, by the way. The woman is something else. I called her yesterday to apologize for the abrupt way I left the funeral. When I told her about the loft, I had to talk pretty quick to keep her and Paul from driving down here. I assured them that I had somewhere to stay, and that our friends were taking good care of us, and she seemed appeased by that information. So I went on to my appointments and errands. Anyway, I stopped back by the station to see if Joel had any messages for Simon. I was up in Major Crime when the desk sergeant called and said I had a special delivery. I went downstairs and this familiar-looking man was standing there. It took me about two seconds to remember that I'd seen him at Carolyn's wake. Turns out he's Mom and Dad's neighbor, and a trucker. He made the mistake of letting them know he was going to be driving through Cascade, and the next thing the poor guy knows, he has four casserole dishes sliding around in the cab of his truck."

Blair laughed. "Louise is definitely a force to be reckoned with."

"Yeah, the Plummer women are tough." Jim's eyes grew haunted, then he shook himself. "I have some stuff in the bedroom you need to see. I would say have a seat, and I'll bring--"

"Way too much trouble."

By the time Jim caught up with him, he was seated in the center of Jim's bed. "Whatcha' got?" Jim picked up a plastic grocery bag and upended it. Mail swirled out onto the bed and Blair. "What is all this?" Blair asked in wonder.

"Cascade taking care of its own," Jim said proudly. "It seems our predicament made the evening news, and by the following morning, people were dropping off cards and monetary gifts at the station. Most were given anonymously. Still, I wrote down the amount that was in each card." He handed Blair the list, then gave him a large brown envelope. "This is the one that almost made me lose it."

Blair's hand trembled slightly. For Jim to admit something like that.... "Who is it from, Jim?"

"Mrs. Murphy's First Grade Class. I don't know a Mrs. Murphy. Do you?" Blair shook his head. "Well, her class decided to draw us some 'happy' pictures to look at when we got sad about our house."

Blair took a deep breath, and laid the envelope reverently aside. "I don't think I should tackle that one just yet."

Jim nodded. "It gets worse. There was thirteen dollars and eighty two cents inside-- mostly in change."

Blair wiped at his eyes. He focused on the list of money instead. "The guys at the station came up with a whopping six hundred and twenty-two dollars? Geez, Jim. I guess you must be feeling bad about getting the first pick of the doughnuts now, huh? I wonder how much we'd gotten if they knew you 'helped' the doughnut dolly load her cart every morning."

"That's right, Sandburg. Ladle on the guilt, why don't you? So as soon as our lives get back to some semblance of normal, we'll-- I'll," he corrected when Blair crossed his arms, "buy doughnuts for each floor. Oh, and we're going to need a really classy thank you note to put into the paper to thank all the anonymous donors. I'll let you take care of that."

Blair gave him the finger and scanned the list again. "Steven gave five thousand!" His hand shook as he did a doubletake. "And your dad gave-- your family has given us thirty thousand dollars, Jim!"

Jim shrugged. "It's just money, Chief. I better go check on that casserole."

Blair shook his head, stopping Jim from leaving with a light touch to his arm. "I don't think it's just money, Jim. And I don't think you think so either."

"I know they're trying to connect, Chief. I know that's why they were at Carolyn's funeral, too. I-- I called yesterday and thanked them. We're going to have dinner together as soon as I get things straightened out."

Blair smiled broadly. "That's great, Jim! You guys working out your differences is so cool. And they say you can't teach an old dog new tricks."

Jim speared him with a look. "I'm going to be gracious and assume the old dog you are referring to is my dad."

"Absolutely," Blair replied, his eyes twinkling.

Jim shook his head and turned to go check on the casserole, resolutely ignoring the low "arf" he heard coming from the room behind him.

*****

"Anything new with the investigation, Jim?" Simon asked, as they sat in the kitchen after dinner. Jim had refused to let them help with the dishes, but they balked at going into the living room. Even Naomi said the room's aura was all wrong for her.

"Nah. The fire marshal let forensics go in today for a short while. But apparently the building is really unstable. What looks like is going to happen is that Avery is going to let a few people in at a time to salvage what they can, then the building is going to be razed." Jim's eyes sought Blair's. "I'm sorry, Chief."

"Not your fault. I just hope the stuff in the basement survived, especially my notebooks from my observer days with Major Crime."

"Still doing your dissertation on Sentinels, Sandburg?" Simon asked.

"No way, man! I'm going to write on the dynamics of a Major Crime Unit. I really wish you guys could see yourselves the way I did."

"It won't be a problem that you're one of us now?"

"Not if I stick to what I discovered before I got my own badge. That's why I really need those notes."

"Well, we're going to stop by and see the place in the morning, Chief. Then I'll check with the fire marshal about going inside. When we do so, he's going to want a team monitoring the building the entire time."

Blair moved a couple of bottles of spices around. "It's really that bad, Jim?"

Jim nodded. "Yeah. That's why I don't think you want some firemen hanging around when you first see it. Whoever did it knew what he was doing."

"What about the rest of this, Jim? What about the guys making Sirocco?"

"When I called the DOD, it became a military matter, Simon. I'm completely out of it now."

"Bullshit. I'm sorry, Naomi," Simon hastily apologized.

"That's all right, Captain. I've heard and used worse, I'm afraid." She looked at Jim. "Have you truly given up on finding them, Jim?"

"I'm not giving up. I'm just letting someone else do the search. The Department of Defense has a better chance of catching up to these people than I do. They have the added incentive of putting a stop to one of their scariest enemies-- biowarfare. Not to mention, if they can get proof of Sirocco's existence, they can ask Congress for a bigger budget."

"Practical to the end," Blair said dryly.

"The military way, Chief."

"You can drop me off at the station before you go check out the loft, Jim," Simon said. "I know Joel's been doing a great job, but--"

"Major Crime is yours, right?" Blair smiled. "That's the kind of stuff I'm going to put into my diss."

"And you have to go all the way to North Carolina to do it?"

"No 'have to's involved, man."

"But Duke's a prestigious school, Simon," Jim interrupted. "Don't you think Blair deserves the best?"

"Of course I do. But--"

"But nothing, Captain. I'm capable of surviving without him for a while. Especially since he's going to make you my official sentinel-sitter."

"Your what?"

"Come on, Simon. I really need your help on this one, man," Blair cajoled. "You know how he is on his own. He eats the wrong foods--"

"You expect me to watch his diet? Get real, Sandburg. You're the only one who can keep him out of Wonder Burger, and you know it."

"If he knows you're reporting directly to me, he'll listen, Captain. The only other things you have to watch out for are headaches and zones. He hasn't zoned in ages, and his headaches-- well, just keep an eye on that crease in his forehead."

"I am NOT going to watch his forehead!"

"You have to, Simon. He gets so bitchy when he has a headache."

"So he has a headache every day?"

"Hey! I'm about to get offended," Jim pointed out.

"You know if you weren't so damned useful, I'd tell you to take a year off and just go with him. But no, even a sentinel without a guide is better than no sentinel at all."

"Why, Simon, I'm touched," Jim drawled.

"In the head," Simon muttered.

Naomi giggled. "I think I'm starting to see why you're so happy, Blair. If you like, I'll check in on Jim for you while you're gone, honey."

"That won't be--" Jim began.

"That's great, Mom!" Blair outtalked him. "I won't be nearly so worried about him if I know you're around to make sure he's-- well, that he's living the way he's supposed to. And that he has someone to share the more metaphysical aspects of being a sentinel with. The captain here, loveable though he is, can be rather skeptical at times."

Jim had mental images of coming home to find his furniture rearranged and sage incense wafting through the air. "Blair, they have phones in North Carolina. I promise I'll call you if I have a dream."

"It's not the same and you know it, Jim. Mom will just be backup, okay?"

"You didn't think you weren't going to see me because Blair wasn't here, did you, Jim?" Naomi asked, patting his hand. "We've gone beyond you just being my son's friend, silly. I was planning on dropping in anyway. Just now, it won't be as big a surprise."

Jim gave a weak smile. "You know you're always welcome, Naomi."

"But it won't be here, right?" Naomi asked with a frown. "The feng shui of this place is awful, and I know a sensitive man like you must feel it."

Jim nodded. "I do. No, it won't be here, but wherever it is, I'll make sure you won't be arrested when you visit."

Naomi laughed. "I never realized you had such a playful sense of humor, Jim. Come on, honey, I think it's time for us to go to bed. We all have a busy day ahead of us."

"You have plans, Mom?"

"Always, dear."

"Don't forget to take your medicine," Jim called as Blair trailed his mother.

"We won't," Naomi replied.

Jim sat at the dinette table and dropped his head down on the well-crafted oak. "Sandburg wants me insane. That has to be his plan, Simon."

"If it is, it's an excellent one," the captain agreed. "But you can handle her, Jim. Truth be told, she'll probably be good for you." He yawned. "Guess it's time for me to turn in, too."

"Night, Simon."

"Night, Jim. And, Jim? He's just trying to make sure you're taken care of. It's not his fault it takes more than one person to fill his shoes."

Jim nodded. "I know, Simon. I know how lucky I am that he is who he is."

"I think you're both lucky. See ya in the morning, Jim. And, Detective?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"I'm driving."

"Yes, sir."

Chapter Seventeen

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"No, you're not," Jim said firmly as they stood across the street from the remains of 852 Prospect. "Just take deep breaths until you feel better."

"Feel better? How the hell can I feel better while looking at that?" Blair asked, his voice husky with emotion. "It looks like a mini Oklahoma City."

Jim tilted his head. It did sort of favor the sheered look of the remains of the Murrah Federal Building. That was just going to validate his point. "You're going to feel better because despite the wanton destruction you see before you, no one was hurt. There's broken glass, bricks, debris, ash, soot.... But there's no blood, Chief. Not a single drop."

Blair straightened. "You're absolutely right, Jim. It could have been much worse."

Jim brushed his shoulder against his friend. "That doesn't stop the hurt though, does it?"

"Not really." He squinted up at the jagged edges. "This was my first permanent home. Sometimes Mom and I stayed in one place for a while, but I always knew that eventually we'd move on, so I never got attached-- to the place, or the people. But I got attached here, Jim."

Jim nodded, performing a discreet sniff. "I know the feeling, Chief. Although most people thought it wasn't much of a home before you came on the scene, it represented an independence I hadn't had before. I went from my dad's house to a college dorm, to an Army barracks, followed by Officer's Quarters. The loft was the first place I could call my own. It was mine to do with as I pleased. The fact that I hadn't done much with it was my choice. Then you showed up and took over."

Blair gave a small smile, then led Jim forward until they were across the street, directly under the damage. The fire department had set orange and white plastic barrels on the sidewalk to keep people away from any falling debris. "I don't know what we're getting so worked up about, Jim. There were bad times here, too. Lash kidnapped me from here, and Cassie's psycho shot up the place. I also have that awful mental picture of you standing on the balcony, the loft completely bare behind you. That was creepy as hell, man."

"I still wonder just how sane I was during that time," Jim murmured, remembering what had jolted his sanity into place-- the same thing that had jolted life back into Blair. "Incacha died up there, too."

Blair shivered. "Do you think anything can be salvaged from the loft itself?"

"Doubtful. Maybe a trinket or two. But--" He stopped suddenly.

"Jim?"

"Get down!" Even as he spoke, Jim was shoving Blair behind the barrels.

Before Blair could get out a breathless, "What?" bullets were whizzing past the spot where his head had just been. Damn. They were under fire, hiding behind plastic, and neither was armed. Their weapons had been returned with their personal items at the hospital, but they had made a stop to personally thank Mrs. Murphy and her class, and knowing the precociousness of first graders, had left their weapons locked in the glovebox of the truck. Preoccupied by thoughts of seeing the loft, neither man had thought to retrieve them afterwards.

"You got your keys, Sandburg?"

"Yeah. What's the plan, man?"

"We retreat into the building and wait for backup." He heard the gunman dump a magazine. Reload time. "Hurry, Chief!"

Jim ripped the crime scene tape and Blair opened the door. Blair watched as Jim secured the lock. "And how do we know backup is coming?"

Jim pulled a slim phone from his hip pocket. "Because you're going to call them while I track the shooter."

Blair took the phone, and let his other hand rest on Jim's arm. He gave the information quickly and succinctly, and was rewarded with the assurance that help was on the way. Whatever else the 911 operator was going to say was lost when Jim shoved him aside, causing him to drop the phone. He looked on in horror as bullets tore through the door.

"Shit! Now what?"

"Up the stairs. Now!"

"Why are we running up? You're never supposed to run up, unless you know up has a way out," Blair muttered as they scrambled along the debris-strewn stairs.

"My backup weapon. Strongbox should have protected it."

If you can find the strongbox. And if you can hang onto the gun. Blair grinned. Colonel Reese had been right; a smile was the best thing for restoring hope. He'd held onto his keys, but he didn't need them. The door had been savagely blown from its hinges.

"Oh, man," Blair muttered as he saw the wreckage inside. The ceiling took up a large portion of the open space.

Jim skirted most of the mess, vaulted over the remains of the sofa, and squeezed around his bed to make his way up the stairs to his room. "Get behind something, Sandburg! He's on his way up!"

Blair dove behind the fireplace and assorted rubble just as the gunman entered the doorway and sprayed the room with automatic fire. It took a while before he realized the loft was quiet, except for faint cursing.

"They'll jam every time," Jim said, and Blair peeked over the top of part of the ceiling to see Jim standing up in the loft where his bed and a rail used to be, gun in his hand. "You might as well drop it, Walker."

"Or what, Ellison? Or else you'll shoot me? My weapon isn't working. According to Carolyn, you're too righteous to shoot an unarmed man."

Walker? This was the asshole who'd accused Jim of killing Carolyn? Fuming, Blair grabbed for the charred beam near his hand.

"Carolyn wasn't perfect, Walker," Jim called, seeing Blair's movement. "Sometimes, she could be completely wrong."

"Shut up! Don't you dare talk about her, you murdering bastard!"

"If anyone killed her, it was you, Walker. You told them where she was. You led them to her. You sold her out."

Walker howled and raised the rifle. The few seconds of cooling allowed the weapon to fire again. Jim dropped to the floor, ignoring glass from the shattered skylight. The burst stopped abruptly when Blair slammed the piece of wood against Walker's head. The man collapsed. Blair kicked the rifle away from him, and looked quickly toward Jim's former bedroom.

"You okay, Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief," Jim stood, brushing himself off. "But we need to get out of here. The place is creaking like hell. The struts are about to give way." Taking a deep breath, Jim dropped beside Blair, startling him.

"Shit, man. Warn me when you're going to do something like that. Grab his arms, and let's get out of here," Blair huffed, reaching for Walker's legs. "Jim?" he added, when his partner didn't move. He hadn't been shot, had he?

Jim bent over and ripped open Walker's jacket. Rows of explosives were taped around his waist, along with a timer that was counting down. Jim grabbed Blair's arm and tugged. "Go, Sandburg. We have to get out of here, now!"

They stumbled their way down the stairs, yelling at incoming officers to pull back. Blair got to the middle of the street before Jim slammed into him. Through the asphalt Blair felt an ominous rumbling, and a sound like echoing thunder deafened him. When he opened his eyes, he saw the air around them was thick with dust and grit. He quickly shut them again. Something shifted atop him: Jim.

"Hey, you okay? Jim?" The body above him lifted, and he turned over to face his partner. "You okay, man?"

"Ears are ringing, Chief. Can barely hear you," Jim said, placing his hands over his ears.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Blair asked anxiously.

"No. What about you?"

"I'm good." He looked around. Everyone he saw appeared shell-shocked, but healthy. "I think we avoided that blood thing again."

"Except for Walker."

"He planned on blowing us up, didn't he? The rifle was basically for show."

Jim climbed slowly to his feet, dragging Blair up with him. "He's dead; his motives don't matter to me anymore."

"Ellison! Sandburg!" They turned to see Brown and Rafe rushing toward them. "You guys okay?" Brown continued yelling.

"Yeah," Jim answered, turning to look at the building, which was now two stories instead of three. "Forensics is going to find some body parts up there."

"You know who?"

"Walker."

Brown growled. "We just got a sheet back on him. He was a demolitions engineer for a northwestern contracting firm, the kind of company you call when you want to blow up something like the Kingdome."

Blair nodded. The old Kingdome in Seattle had been imploded to make way for a new outdoor stadium. Twenty-four years gone in twenty seconds. Just like the loft. "He came after us with an assault rifle, and also wired himself. Guess he was determined to get Jim one way or the other."

"Crazy bastard. Let's get you guys to an ambulance."

"We're fine, Brown. Just the usual assortment of cuts and bruises."

"I'd say you were pretty damn lucky," Simon commented, walking up with Joel.

"Yeah, I'm starting to understand why Carolyn wanted a restraining order on Walker; the guy was tenacious," Blair said.

"And now he's dead," Jim remarked dryly. "Case closed."

"What bug has crawled up your butt, Ellison?" Simon asked, accompanying Jim and Blair to the truck.

Jim sighed. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm just frustrated as hell. It isn't bad enough that we have this shadow organization on our tails, we get a psychopath, too? I'm just wondering how I got on this merry-go-round, and when the hell I'm going to climb off."

"Jim," Blair began.

The fire marshal's SUV pulled up."Ellison! Sandburg! Don't you dare leave before you give me your reports."

"And the carousel ride continues," Jim muttered. Kicking a broken brick out of his way, he crossed to meet Avery.

"He going to be okay, Sandburg?" Simon asked.

"Jim's used to working under pressure, but this is getting ridiculous. Is he going to suffer a meltdown? Speaking from tons of experience, I don't think so. A couple of years ago, he would have lost his senses by now. Emotional crap used to short-circuit him in a heartbeat. But he's not only grown into the gifts nature gave him, he's also grown into his sense of self which stabilizes him. So, no, he's not going to snap, but I think he's going to be in a hell of a bad mood for a while."

Simon grabbed a cigar from his inner jacket pocket and jammed it, unlit, between his teeth. "I started to say I wouldn't want to be the one living with him right now, but I am, aren't I? How long do you think it'll be before he feels comfortable letting me out on my own?"

Blair looked at the captain in surprise. "You understand? That he needs to watch over the three of us for a short while, that he's overcompensating for the loss of Carolyn?"

"Yes, I understand, Sandburg. I'm not a completely insensitive jerk. I've done my share of coddling Daryl after a bad illness. The truth of the matter is that we had a deadly disease, and more of us would have died if Jim hadn't detected our exposure as quickly as he did. That has shaken me, so I know how badly it's rocked Jim. And whether you admit it or not, you have to be on shaky ground as well. Not only were you infected, but so was your mother. You know, it might do Jim some good to know he's not the only one still trying to get over this."

"Wow," Blair said in admiration.

"And in case you're thinking I've turned into this caring, sensitive, turn-of-the-century kind of guy, let me point this out to you-- you have about a mile of white carpet to cross before you reach a shower."

Blair groaned, looking at the grime that obstinately clung to him. "That's cruel, Captain."

Simon laughed wickedly. "Yes, it is, isn't it?"

*****

"Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief?" Jim didn't look up from where he was carefully inspecting an abrasion on Blair's knee for gravel and other foreign objects. Now that they'd made it back to the penthouse and showered off the concealing filth, it was time to patch the injuries. This was taking place in Jim's bathroom because he figured it was more sanitary than Blair's. However, Blair seemed to think it was because of some territorial instinct. Sometimes Blair thought too much.

"Simon said I should tell you how frightened I was when Naomi was sick." Blair sort of rocked back and forth as he sat on the vanity.

"You think I don't know that?" Jim picked up a pair of tweezers and extracted a small shard of glass from the scrape. "You think I couldn't smell the fear coming from you? That's why I made sure to tell you about Naomi's condition every single day. I also let Naomi know how you were, because she was frightened for the very same reason."

"Thanks, Jim."

Jim measured out a small ribbon of triple antibiotic and smeared it on the wound. "I also know about the anger." The knee jerked beneath his hand.

"The what?"

"The anger, Chief. You're angry at Carolyn for getting us into this mess. You're angry at Naomi for not leaving when you asked her to. You're angry at me because I should have forced the issue, and you're angry at yourself because you think you should have pressed harder."

Blair shook his head. "You're wrong, Jim. I never hide my anger. If I'm mad, I let everyone know."

"Except for when you think it's going to cause someone pain, or you think it's unjust. You think you can't blame Naomi for wanting to stay around to help you. You think you can't be angry with Carolyn, because in your heart you know she did the right thing in coming to me. You think you can't be angry with me, because you feel I've had enough shit dumped on me. You could be angry with yourself, but you're afraid you won't be there for us if you indulge in what's very close to being self-pity."

"And you got your psych degree from where?" Blair asked archly.

Jim grabbed Blair's hand, and turned it over to inspect the injuries there. Most of the scrapes were from pushing him to the asphalt just before the explosion. "Go ahead and get angry with me, Chief. I can take it. Your anger is nothing compared to what I have. Not that it's any less valid than mine, but at least you got to bash Walker's head in. That had to take some of the pressure off."

"Is that where your anger is focused, Jim? On Walker?"

"On Walker...and on Carolyn. Guess I took the easy way out by blaming it on the dead guys." He spread more antibiotic.

"You're angry at Carolyn for dying?" Blair hazarded.

"That's the least of it. She had no business dying. She had no business leaving Cascade and getting mixed up in that shit in Oregon. She had no business dating Walker." Jim flung the tube of ointment against the shower wall. "She had no business walking back into my life and into my bed only to die two days later!"

"It wasn't--"

"Don't you dare say it wasn't her fault, Sandburg. She was born with a defective heart. Fine. She didn't mean to see the file on Sirocco. Fine. She didn't invite herself into my bed, and she sure as hell wasn't the only one who enjoyed herself. But she's the one responsible for Walker coming into our lives, and Walker is the one who told those bastards where we were. Walker is the one who blew up our home. Walker is the one who came within seconds of killing us this morning!" Jim sent his fist toward the mirror, but his action was checked by Blair's hand, which deflected the blow.

"I don't think either of us can take seven more years of bad luck, man," he said softly.

Jim laughed weakly, and retreated to the toilet, sitting heavily on its lid. "Walker was Carolyn's responsibility. And Carolyn was mine, Chief. So, in the end, all of this was my fault. It's like that kids' story about an old lady swallowing a fly, then swallowing a spider to swallow the fly, then swallowing a bird to swallow the spider, and so on and so on. It might be swallowing the horse that actually kills the woman, but everybody who listens to the story knows it was really the fly."

"And you think you're the fly?"

"Buzz, buzz," Jim said sadly.

"You ever stop to consider if the old woman hadn't swallowed the fly in the first place, none of the rest would have followed?" Blair reasoned. "The situation existed long before Carolyn got involved, long before you got involved with Carolyn. The old lady just couldn't keep her mouth shut, man. Not your fault. Not Carolyn's fault. You were just gobbled up like the rest of us. She swallowed a horse for God's sake. Not a very picky eater."

"Bet she got to go to Wonder Burger," Jim said with a small smile.

"Yeah, and look what happened to her," Blair pointed out. "And since you're sitting so nicely, let me get a look at those cuts of yours. Keep going at this rate, Jim, and I'm going to have to switch the SCK from a backpack to a duffle bag."

"Think we should buy stock in Johnson & Johnson's?" The company manufactured ninety-nine percent of the first aid products they used.

"You mean we don't have any already? Man, that's like Bill Gates not having any Microsoft stock."

"Uh, maybe we want to rethink that," Jim said, remembering the trouble Microsoft was in. Gates was probably dumping stock on a daily basis.

"Nah, we'll be okay, Jim. Maybe the world can do without Microsoft, but we're always going to need Band-Aids."

"Sad but true, Sandburg." Jim put his hand on the one spreading the retrieved ointment on his arm. "Thanks, Chief."

Blair grinned. "You're welcome, Jim."

*****

Lambert stared out the window while his computer went through the procedure of "burning" a CD. So easy, he thought, to put a lifetime of work onto a little plastic disk. It really showed a person just how insignificant a lifetime was.

He sighed as the shadows lengthened in the grove of trees that was supposed to be a perk. A garden-view, they called it. But he didn't like the trees, and he most especially didn't like the shadows. They reminded him too much of the ones which were gaining on him, those of his past...and more importantly, those of his present. It was all going to end soon, and then the only shadows he'd see would be the ones dancing along with the flames of hell, flames blown about by a searing wind. Maybe it was fitting that a sirocco would be his immortal companion.

The computer beeped, and he hit the appropriate buttons. The disk slid out, the light refracting from the silver surface to shine a prism on the wall. A rainbow was said to be a promise, right? A covenant between God and man. Guess that's what he was doing. Making a covenant, between himself and another.

He pulled out a white cardboard mailer, and slipped the disk inside. Uncapping a Sharpie marker, he scribbled a name on the mailer, and put it in his jacket pocket as he stood. He walked down the hall, and knocked on a door.

"Come in."

"I'm calling it a day, Freer," he said. "See you in the morning."

"Good night, sir."

Lambert patted his pocket as he headed toward the elevator. Tonight wouldn't be a good night, but that was coming soon.

Everything was coming soon.

Chapter Eighteen

"Thanks, man." Blair reached for the bowl of popcorn Jim carried. "I only cross the tundra when I have to. Did I hear the phone ring?"

Jim smiled. The living room had been dubbed the Great White North, only to be ventured through on the way to the elevator. In fact, Blair had gone so far as to turn the master bedroom into a den now that Naomi had gone off with friends-- after promising to return at the end of the month for a complete checkup at Oak Harbor. Simon, too, had left the penthouse for his own place so if he ignored the Arctic Circle, Jim could believe everything was back to normal, at least for the short while Blair was still with him.

"Just a sales call. Think the Jags are going to make it?" he asked, wincing as he lay on the bed and looked down at Blair, who was sprawled on the floor; apparently the dark green carpet was nearly as intimidating as the white. Down three games to one in a best of seven series, it was a do or die situation for their home team.

"I hope they pull it out for Orvelle's sake," Blair replied. Orvelle Wallace, a personal friend, was the Jags interim coach. A former member of the team, he couldn't say no when he was asked to fill in after the Jags coach was found murdered wearing only fishnet hose and a Santa cap.

"I think Orvelle's just glad we haven't have to investigate the team in the past six months. That's a record in itself," Jim said, biting back a groan as he tried to get comfortable.

He wasn't as quick as he thought. Blair's head swiveled around. "Jim?"

"Just a muscle twinge, Chief. Goes along with almost getting blown up a few days ago."

Blair threw his head back against the bed's footboard. "This is when I really miss my stuff and the loft. We had that herbal liniment you liked, remember?"

Jim nodded. "At least we were able to finally get to the stuff in the basement. You got what you needed for your diss, didn't you?"

"Yep. Looks like everything is a go."

"You could sound more enthusiastic, Sandburg. You still agree this is something you need to do, don't you?"

Blair nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess, but after coming close to losing you and Mom, and losing the loft, it just doesn't seem as important as it used to."

"I was afraid of that," Jim sighed. "How about we go to Durham and check the place out? Soak up some of that academic air, and I'm sure you'll regain your enthusiasm."

"We?" Blair asked excitedly.

"Sure, Chief. I'm still in Mother Hen overload. Since my other chicks left, you're 'it' for a while, I'm afraid."

Blair's grin died. "Can we afford to do something like this?"

Jim shrugged. "The insurance is going to pay off. Besides, two tickets to North Carolina won't make much of a dent in Dad's check. I'll even shop around for a cheap flight."

"You sure about this?"

"Yeah. We only have a few more days of Disaster Leave from the department, and you need to let them know that you're quitting."

"I'm not quitting; I'm taking a leave of absence for educational purposes." Blair climbed up on the bed to be eye-level with Jim. "I'm coming back. I'm going to be your partner no matter what."

"I hear you, Chief. Now, pass the popcorn."

*****

"We have an eight-hour layover in D.C.?" Blair asked as the plane reached cruising altitude.

"You're the one who wanted cheap, Jack Benny." The late comedian was known for his penny-pinching ways.

Jim rubed his forehead. "You still have a headache?" Blair asked.

Jim nodded. "The altitude changes aren't helping."

"Could that be it, Jim? Could living in the penthouse be causing your headaches?" Jim had had a headache for the day it took them to get the tickets to North Carolina. It hadn't dawned on him that the height of the building could be the instigator.

"Possibly. We'll worry about it after the trip, all right, Chief? I plan on sleeping my way across the country."

"Sounds like a good idea, man. Must be why they call them red-eye flights, huh?"

Jim nodded and reclined his seat. He felt Blair squirm beside him, and the next thing he knew, a sleeping mask was slipping over his head. "Thanks, Chief."

"I have your white noise earplugs, too."

"You're too much, you know that?"

"So are you."

"What do you mean?"

Blair shook his head. "We'll discuss it later. Let's just sleep for now, okay?"

If it wasn't for the annoying headache, Jim might have pushed the conversation. Instead, he leaned back and let sleep overtake him.

Jaguar opened his eyes to find Wolf staring at him worriedly. His heart raced. He hadn't heard Wolf approach, hadn't sensed him in any way. If Wolf had not been a friend, a trusted companion, he might be dead. What had happened? What magic had prevented him from knowing of Wolf's presence? What evil now plagued his jungle?

He tried to lift his head to assure Wolf that he was awake and on guard. But he found he didn't have the strength for the simple movement. Wolf whined above him, and he felt a broad tongue lap at his fur. A hot wind swirled around him, causing a shiver to dance along his spine. Pain radiated throughout his body. Something was terribly wrong. Whimpering, he crawled closer to his friend, who seemed impervious to the strange air surrounding them. Wolf noticed his actions, and reached out to place a stilling paw on Jaguar's back. The paw was withdrawn quickly, but not before Jaguar saw it was covered in blood.

Ah. No magic. No evil. Just Flesh-Eater. He must have come in with the wind, hiding in the shadows until no one was watching. Jaguar curled up into a tight ball, the pain growing stronger. It seemed that Flesh-Eater was in a playful mood, eager to prolong his torture. Wolf howled, then pressed his head against Jaguar's, telling his friend that he was there, that he wasn't alone.

With a sigh, Jaguar sank against the soft jungle grass and knew that even if Flesh-Eater destroyed him, his soul was well-guarded.

Jim went from sleeping to awake in the blink of an eye. The first thing he did was peel back the eye mask and looked at Blair still sleeping beside him. Well-guarded, indeed. So, Sirocco hadn't been a bust after all. Or had he picked up something else? A stray bug at the hospital, or maybe the air system in Wilkenson Tower did have a fungus growing in it? He reached out his senses and found Blair's temperature normal. His own was not. That meant that Blair didn't have what he had. Good. Probably all those antibiotics had protected him. Still, he'd have to make sure Blair, Simon, and Naomi were all thoroughly checked out. Hopefully, he'd have time to do that before....

Blair stirred, and his eyes opened. "You awake, Jim? Where are we?"

"About an hour away from D.C."

"You sleep okay?" A shrug. "You wanna tell me why we're going to D.C.?"

"We're not going to D.C. We're going to Durham. D.C. just happens to be a point we cross before we get there."

"What are we going to do there for eight hours?"

"We're landing at Reagan National, Chief. You'll be just minutes away from dozens of museums and exhibits."

"And what will you be doing there for eight hours?"

Jim glanced at his partner, his eyes narrowing. "What is it that you think you know, Sandburg?"

"It took me a while to put it together, and I'm not sure what it was that originally tipped me off. It wasn't the idea of the trip itself; it was perfectly logical that you'd do everything in your power to convince me that I belonged at Duke. You would go with me, meet the people I'd be working with, see where I would be living, and it would ease your doubts, which in turn would ease mine. It all made sense, but something niggled at the back of my mind all night. Then you showed me the tickets, and the layover in D.C. was the catalyst for everything to gel in my mind. The sales call you got before the playoff game. What exactly was being sold?"

Jim knew it was useless to try to bluff his way out of it, nor did he have the energy to waste. "Information."

"On?"

"The creators of Sirocco."

"They're in D.C.?"

"A few miles away in Maryland. New offices. New labs."

Blair took a deep breath. "I thought you said you were going to let the military look for these guys."

"The military did look. I just made arrangements that I'd be 'notified' when the search was completed."

"And so what? You're going to be part of the operation that apprehends these guys?"

Jim looked down at his hand, suddenly very interested in that speck of something trapped beneath one of his nails. "Something like that."

"Be more specific," Blair demanded.

"Knowing the military, they're going to be more interested in recruiting these people, than in punishing them."

"And?"

"And I think they deserve to be punished."

"So, are you planning to be their judge, jury, and what? Executioner?" Blair whispered bitterly.

"I don't know. I just know I can't let them get away with this."

"You are NOT a vigilante."

"I am whatever I have to be, Chief."

"Let the military deal with this," Blair pleaded.

"No."

"Fine. I suppose you have some kind of plan laid out. What do we do first?"

"We don't do anything. I hear the Air & Space Museum has this new ex--"

Fingernails dug into his arm. "Either with you, or behind you, Ellison. Your choice."

"You don't want to do this, Chief."

The fingers released him. "No, I don't. But since you won't change your mind, I have no choice."

"This is outside the sentinel/guide realm, Chief."

"And that means squat! Ninety-nine point nine percent of what we are is outside the sentinel/guide realm. That's never stopped either of us, Jim, and you know it."

Jim felt the throbbing in his head increase, and his temperature move up a notch. "Promise me you'll do whatever I tell you to. If we're caught, they'd be within their rights to kill us."

Blair laughed. "Rights or no rights, everyone's always trying to kill us, Jim. And you know what? We always survive."

Jim nodded as the muscles in his stomach clenched. Maybe not always, Chief.

*****

Blair had never felt so out of his depth as he did sitting in the passenger seat of the Ford Explorer Jim had seemingly rented at the airport. But the SUV came with accessories Blair hoped wasn't standard on most rentals-- like weapons, blueprints, and camo gear in the back where the spare tire was supposed to be. When he'd asked Jim about the stuff, his partner said they were gifts from Jiminy Cricket.

"You bastard!" Blair called out suddenly as he realized everything in the back was already doubled. There'd been no time for Jim to arrange for extra gear for him. "You knew I would figure it out, didn't you?"

"There was always the possibility," Jim said calmly, steering the vehicle off the Interstate and onto a local highway. "I'm predictable. You're predictable. Guess that's why we're stuck with each other."

"Jim, do you know you can be really annoying at times?"

"Only at times? I must be improving."

"If it makes you feel better, you're a jerk all the time," Blair replied with an insincere smile.

"Oh, that hurt, Sandburg." He pulled off onto the side of the road, and popped the hood of the Explorer. "Grab the stuff out of the back, Chief. We hoof it from here." He propped the hood up, and hung a white towel from the window. Just another disabled vehicle if anyone noticed.

He led Blair to the line of trees blocking the industrial area behind from sight of the highway. There, they shed their jackets and slipped into bullet-proof vests and camouflage coveralls. Blair watched Jim smear on grease paint and attempted to mimic the action. Jim eventually painted Blair himself and stuck a cap on his head. After he and Blair slipped on very thin, tightly fitting gloves, he handed Blair a Glock model similar to the weapon he usually carried. Jim shouldered an automatic rifle, and grabbed a Beretta.

Blair checked his gun as Jim had taught him to do, and casually noted that the serial number had been carefully removed. Well, that told him all he needed to know. He glanced around and saw Jim watching him, waiting for his reaction. He knew if he expressed one iota of doubt, Jim would leave him behind, unconscious or tied up. "Ready when you are," he said quietly.

Jim nodded, and they took off at a slow jog. Using the trees as cover, they circled the industrial complex until they neared what had to be the headquarters. Blair used a pair of binoculars to spot two guards patrolling the building's grounds. Jim didn't need such help. Neither did he need assistance as he pulled out a slender tube, loaded a dart, and blew it into the neck of one of the guards. The man dropped without a sound.

"Hey, I didn't get one of those," Blair whispered sentinel-soft.

"It was a special order," Jim mouthed, before dispatching the second guard the same way.

They approached the door, which was activated by a key card. Blair held up the one he'd swiped from the first guard. Jim nodded in approval. Inside, Jim led them to the elevator, careful to make sure Blair kept his head down to keep the cameras from seeing his face. They exited on the sixth floor, Jim using his hearing to determine no one was in the hall before the doors opened. Blair worried that it was all too easy, but he didn't say anything as they prepared to enter the office of, according to the nameplate on the door, Gerald Freer. He held the Glock and prepared to go low and to the left, while Jim went high and right.

The unlocked door revealed nothing but an empty office. Jim motioned him inside, and closed the door. Jim pointed to the desk before going to the file cabinets. All-too-familiar with desk searches, Blair went to work. He'd found nothing, when Jim suddenly stiffened. Afraid someone was coming, Blair took aim at the door.

"Gunshot," Jim whispered, pulling his own weapon.

"Where?"

"A couple of offices down."

"Why didn't I hear it?"

"Whoever it was used a silencer."

Shit. The good guys never used silencers. He followed Jim down the hall, stopping behind him in front of John Lambert's office. Jim sniffed, smelling the scent of recent gunplay. They burst into the office, Jim's gun focused on the single heartbeat he'd heard outside.

"Captain Ellison, you're right on time."

A silver-haired man crouched over another. He stood slowly, a gun dangling harmlessly between his index finger and thumb. Harmless or not, Jim didn't blink, and his gun didn't waver as he glanced quickly at the blood splattered figure on the floor. A messy shot, but a deadly one. "Put the gun down and back away from the body."

"Of course, Captain." The gun dropped on the dead man's chest. "I'm John Lambert."

"And he was?"

"Gerald Freer. He was going to be-- difficult. I just went ahead and got him out of our way."

"Our way?"

Lambert shrugged and walked to his desk. He slid a white disk mailer toward Jim. "This is for you, Captain. All my work, and all the company's research into chemical and biological weapons."

"Why?" Jim noticed Blair securing the murder weapon. Good going, Chief.

"Because I owe you."

Jim listened and could find no evidence that Lambert had people coming after them. "For what?"

"Forty years ago, I had a wife who took my heart and gave it life. She was a nurse, and I was a biochemist. Being a devoted Catholic, she thought we should use our talents to help the unfortunate, to give back to the world some of the happiness the two of us had found in each other. We left our son, barely two years old, with her parents, and joined a missionary group. Somehow we got caught in a gunfight between warring tribes. Marilyn was killed. I wish I could say I went mad with grief, but I was quite sane as I used my training as a biochemist to totally wipe out both tribes. A government group found out about it, and I was 'disappeared.'" Lambert smiled. "Don't you just love the current generation, Captain? Their words mean just what they say.

"The disappearance wasn't totally against my will. I really didn't have much of a soul left after killing all those people, so I figured my son wasn't losing anything by not having me for a father. I spent the years designing killing weapons for a number of wars, taking out enemies before anyone 'official' was aware they were enemies. I was moved up to management, and found I was good at that, too. Once or twice, I thought about my son. I checked up on him-- even stole a paperweight he made in art class when he was eight. Eventually my son joined the Army and became a Ranger.

"When I found out he'd been killed in a helicopter crash in Peru, I felt pain for the first time since holding Marilyn's body in my arms. I wondered if I was to blame for his death, that maybe the sins of the father had been visited upon the son. Marilyn had been able to look up into my eyes and know that she was loved as she died. Our son? Our son had died in some godforsaken jungle, and probably his last memory was of some animal snacking on his flesh-- much like what had happened to the tribes I'd destroyed.

"But I was wrong. It seems that one man had survived the crash, and he had not only buried my son and marked his grave, but I heard later on that he'd known my son was Catholic, and had managed to give him a semblance of last rights before he died. This man had taken my sin from my son. There could be no greater gift."

Jim paled, but the gun didn't waver. "There was no Lambert on my team."

"For a number of legal reasons, his grandparents adopted him. He was known to you and the rest of the world as Tim Matthews."

"My XO," Jim said hollowly.

"Yes." Lambert wiped a hand across his face. "I repaid your gift with betrayal, Captain. When I first found out you were involved in this situation, I truly thought I could handle your death. After all, I'd been killing people for years, and not a single one of them had come back to haunt me. When Freer asked to run a field test on you, I gave him the green light.... From that moment on, not only did the soul I was sure was lost return, but it was also damned. You'll never know how sorry I am, Captain Ellison, that I didn't recover my soul quick enough to save you."

"What?" Blair asked, speaking for the first time.

"I wish I could have been spared the loss of my wife, and the fear for my friends' lives, as well," Jim said hastily. "You tell a sad tale, Lambert, full of the required pathos and regret, but it doesn't negate anything you've done. If you're telling the truth about what's on this disk, maybe you'll save lives for once in your miserable life. That will go in your soul's plus column, but it's never going to erase the minuses."

Lambert smiled. "Are you giving me my last rights, too, Captain? It's not really necessary. I've seen the shadows and the flames, and I'm prepared to face them." His eyes flashed a message to Jim. "If your partner would be so kind as to put the weapon back on Freer's body--"

"Like hell."

"Do it, Chief," Jim said quietly.

"I don't understand." Blair looked at Jim in confusion.

"It's about honor, Chief. Even the dishonorable can have honorable moments."

Still in the dark, Blair put the gun back on Freer's stomach, then aimed his own as he saw Lambert pull another out of his drawer. "Drop it!" he yelled.

"Get out of here, Blair. Wait for me in the hall," Jim ordered.

"Jim, you can't be serious. I'm not leaving you here with an armed suspect."

"The gun isn't for me, Chief."

Blair looked at Lambert. "No! There has to be another way."

"I'm too old for prison, Detective Sandburg. And I'm too guilty to plead innocent. Besides, I think you're going to cheer my action eventually." Lambert calmly attached a silencer to the barrel of his weapon. "I've already disabled the cameras. The cleaning crew will discover my body when they come on duty. The authorities will find a note in my drawer, explaining that I killed Freer. Uh, should I include the two guards as well? I can write an addendum," he offered.

"They're alive," Jim said. "I used darts coated with a powerful sedative, which also has the side effect of short-term amnesia."

Lambert smiled. "It's a good thing that you don't have a murderous soul, James Ellison, or you could have rivaled my ruthlessness." He looked at the gun in his hand. "Will you explain things to Tim and Marilyn when you see them? I'm afraid I won't be heading in that direction."

"This is insane," Blair muttered. "You don't want to do this, Mr. Lambert."

"Yes, I do. I may owe you the biggest apology of all, Detective Sandburg. Maybe one day, when you're old and gray, you will cease to curse my name."

"What are you--"

"Leave, Chief. I'll be out in a minute, okay?"

"Hell no, it's not okay, Jim. But I can't stop this, can I?"

"No," the older men chorused.

Blair backed out hesitantly.

"You know, don't you?" Lambert asked, looking into Jim's eyes.

"Yes."

"I am sorry, Captain." He rested the silencer against his lip and pulled the trigger.

Jim flinched, then picked up the disk. He joined Blair in the hall, and they left without looking back.

Chapter Nineteen

"We're going to head back to the airport, and forget this ever happened, right?" Blair asked, using a baby wipe to remove the paint from his face.

"Welcome to the world of Covert Ops, Chief," Jim said, his voice sounding oddly rough. Blair glanced at him, but his face was hidden as he removed his greasepaint.

After shucking the coveralls, and packing everything away in the back of the Explorer, Jim handed Blair the keys. "You drive."

"Why?" Blair asked suspiciously.

"Because I feel like crap."

Blair refused to let Jim look away. "What is it, Jim? Your head? You didn't get hit by flying debris at the loft and conveniently forget to anyone, did you?"

Jim refused to reply, and settled into the passenger's seat. He remained quiet until he asked Blair to pull off at a roadside phone that, according to a sign, was a quarter of a mile away.

"You need to check in with someone?" Blair guessed as he clicked on the turn signal.

"Listen, Chief, I know all about that pact you and Simon made with Lynne." Jim looked determinedly out the window as he fumbled in his pocket for his wallet. "Here's her number. And make sure she gets the disk, too."

Blair slammed on the brakes, and a car shot around them, horn blowing. "Jim?" His partner turned. He was sweating, but the sweat was pink, as if the perspiration were tinged with-- Fuck.

Jim doubled over, and a black stream of blood gushed from his mouth.

*****

Blair paced the corridor of Walter Reed Army Hospital's Critical Care Unit. It wasn't as familiar a route as the one at Cascade General, but it was getting there. Six hours had crawled by since Jim had been wheeled into a special, high-level quarantine area, nearly eight since Jim had keeled over in the truck. Somehow, he'd managed to steer the Explorer to the phone and make the call. His hands had been shaking so badly that he'd had to dial Colonel Reese's number three times, and that was after he'd dropped the change that was supposed to go into the phone. Damn tiny slot.

To her credit, Colonel Reese had kept to her pact. She'd been waiting at the hospital when the paramedics, looking like rejects from a bad sci-fi movie in their heavy-duty protective gear, had rushed Jim inside. Jim had been a mess by then; covered in blood and other body fluids. He'd lost consciousness in the ambulance, for which Blair had been grateful. Despite his constant urging to decrease the pain dial, Jim had remained in constant agony until he passed out. Colonel Reese had a team of specialists ready, and had already contacted Simon, who promised to track down Naomi and get them both back to Oak Harbor. She herself had taken Blair's blood while she quizzed him on what medicines Jim could or couldn't tolerate. Then she had disappeared into the bowels of a lab, and Blair had accompanied a conscious, but terribly weakened Jim to the CCU, where they were placed in separate sterile rooms while the blood tests were being evaluated.

Blair had showered and his clothing, spattered with Jim's blood, was taken away to be properly disposed of. Donning maroon scrubs, he'd sprawled across the bed and tried sending good thoughts to Jim. If he had empathic tendencies like Naomi said, then that would help, wouldn't it? A nurse had come in later and moved him to a general waiting area, so he figured his blood had checked out clean. When he'd asked to see Jim, a nurse had told him that Captain Ellison couldn't have visitors at the moment-- not even his next-of-kin. Not wanting to upset the relationship with Reese, Blair had acquiesced, and dutifully stayed within the boundaries given him. What was important was that Jim was still alive.

"Detective Sandburg."

Blair turned to see the colonel approaching him. She looked tired, and he smiled at her sympathetically. "Make it Blair. The formality is just adding to my stress."

"And heaven knows, we all have too much of that already, Blair. First, I want you to know that you, your mother, and Captain Banks have all tested clean."

"Clean of what? It's some kind of hemorrhagic fever, right? Like Ebola?"

Lynne sighed. "Not like Ebola; it is Ebola."

Blair fell back against the wall, and slid to the floor. Ebola was, like, the epitome of bad diseases. It was so bad that Hollywood loved it, gleefully showing the images of people bleeding from every orifice, their organs liquefying like gelatin left out of the fridge too long. "Is there--" He stopped, knowing she probably couldn't understand the choked up words. He took a deep breath and began again. "I know there isn't a cure, but what about a treatment?"

"So far, none of the known antiviral agents work on the Ebola virus. What we have done is to initiate supportive therapy. That means we're keeping his fluids and electrolytes balanced, keeping close watch on his oxygen intake and blood pressure, checking constantly for complicating infections, and have machinery in place in case he goes into organ failure."

"How probable is that?" Blair asked hesitantly.

Lynne shrugged. "Ebola is a strange disease. Not only do the symptoms vary from patient to patient, but recovery is very much dependent on each patient as well."

"Jim?"

"From his history, I think he has a good chance. His immune system is strong, and it reacts quickly. His white blood cell count has shown constant exponential growth while he's been here. That means his body is fighting back."

Blair nodded. Fighting back was something Jim was awfully good at. "Are we talking about a full recovery, or could there be lingering problems?" he asked. Better to be prepared than hit cold later.

"He's going to be markedly weak for a long time. The fever and fluid loss is desiccating his body. The weight loss will be noticeable. There may be liver abnormalities, and in some cases there are aural and visual complications."

"What kind of complications?" he asked quickly.

"Short-term tinnitus and conjunctivitis are the most common. However, there have been instances of retinal infections which could lead to some level of permanent vision loss."

Blair had thought about standing, but after hearing that, figured he'd just remain on the floor a few minutes longer. "How? How did he get this?" If Lambert had infected Jim after he'd left the room, he'd personally hack the corpse up and feed him to any wild animal he could find. Or could Jim have been splattered by contaminated blood when Lambert blew his brains out? Honor, my ass!

"The CD you gave me explained that. Apparently the virus' RNA was inserted into the anthrax bacteria you were exposed to. When the bacteria died, the virus was released. In the case of you, Captain Banks, and Ms. Sandburg, the antibiotic soup we'd turned your blood into wasn't conducive to viral replication." Lynne paused, frowning. "That's the part I don't understand. It took expert bioengineers to create Sirocco. These experts would also know the protocol for anthrax exposure. Why didn't they realize the virus wouldn't be able to replicate in such a hostile environment?"

"They knew," Blair observed quietly.

"What do you mean?"

Blair shrugged. "Everything happened just as it was supposed to. We were exposed. We were treated with antibiotics. Although more of the exposed would have died if Jim hadn't discovered the contamination so soon, our deaths were never supposed to be the end result of Sirocco."

"Then what was?"

"The Ebola doesn't replicate in patients given aggressive antibacterial treatment, right?" Lynne nodded. "Who would get the aggressive treatment?"

"Everyone exposed to the anthrax."

Blair shook his head. "Jim didn't get it."

"That's because Jim was--" She slid down to the floor beside him. "We'd end up with a healthy civilian population--"

"And a stricken military one. If your intention is to cripple a nation, the civilians won't be the primary target."

"Diabolical, but strategically sound," Lynne said with a hint of admiration.

That made Blair remember why Lambert had been in the position to develop Sirocco instead of being punished for delving into mass murder. Jim had been right; Lambert would have escaped justice again if the military had been the ones to confront him and Freer. He sighed. The line between good guys and bad grew thinner every day. "Can I see Jim?"

"You can't even stand, Blair."

"That's easily remedied. Can I see Jim?"

Her eyes widened in remembrance. "Being near you helps him."

"Yeah." Does me a world of good, too.

"I'll make a deal with you: Go with me to the cafeteria, take that dose of antibiotics you've probably missed, then we'll negotiate terms for visitation."

"I'm really not very hun--"

"I'll give you the lowdown on why I call Jim 'Diablo'," Lynne enticed as she got to her feet.

"Yeah?" he asked, accepting her hand up.

"Ever been in the jungle with the man? Let me tell you...."

*****

"He's unconscious again," Lynne said, sounding apologetic as they went through the airlock to Jim's room. Why such a facility was already in existence, Blair really didn't want to know.

"That's okay. He doesn't need to be conscious to know I'm here."

"Please don't tease me with statements like that."

It was Blair's turn to apologize. "You've really been great about this whole thing, although if I'd known he'd be needing you this soon...."

She patted his arm, the paper gown crackling softly. Gowns, masks, booties, and gloves were mandatory precautions. "You were right about us being on a high back at Oak Harbor. Perhaps if we hadn't been so busy congratulating ourselves, we would have caught this."

"You really believe that?"

"No." She looked at Jim's file. "His numbers are steady. He just needs to keep hanging in there. Think you can convince him of that?"

"I'll give it my best shot."

She stroked the back of Jim's hand before stepping back toward the door. "I'll leave you gentlemen to whatever it is you do."

"Thanks, Colonel."

Blair grabbed a chair and dragged it to the bedside. "Hey, Jim. Yeah, it's me behind all this paper. And don't say a word about it not being Halloween, man. My costume's a hell of a lot more attractive than yours." He looked at the gaunt face, ghostly pale except for the dark bruise-like patches beneath his eyes and near his mouth. Tubes were attached everywhere, adding to and taking away appropriately.

"If this is the way you felt at Oak Harbor, watching over all three of us like this, I understand why you were so reluctant to stop mother henning us. I hope you realize there is no way in hell I'm moving to North Carolina now. No way, amigo. Ain't gonna happen. It's not that I don't trust you; I just don't trust the people around you. And you have the tendency to step into the deep shit, man. I mean, me, Mom, and Simon just sailed through this, you know, and what do you do? You come down with fucking Ebola. How the hell did you survive eighteen months in Peru without falling into a pit of guano, Jim? Or did you? Is that why you're so fucking reticent about your adventures down there? If Incacha hadn't gotten himself shot, what could he have told me about you? If I go to the Chopec with an interpreter and ask them about you, what will they tell me? Probably not a damn thing, because unlike you, I'm an outsider.

"Do you know how remarkable it was for the Chopec to accept you, to follow you? It takes anthropologists months, even years to gain access to indigenous tribes like the Chopec, and you did it, like, instantly. You were there for eighteen months; the pass was secured for eighteen months. That means you buried your people, and put the Chopec to work right away. Was it because Incacha knew who and what you were? Or did they all know it? But you'll never tell me, will you? Even when you were upset about Incacha, you never revealed anything about what went on down there.

"I know it sounds like I'm complaining, but I'm not. Well, not anymore anyway. I'm starting to see why you keep your secrets, understand more about the world you used to inhabit. I'm starting to see how having your trust is a great honor, and how much you risked by giving it to me. I thought I knew the world. I really did. I've been to so many places, studied the natives. But, God, next to you, I'm a naive little kid.

"I think maybe that's what Naomi held against you, that you were taking my naivete away. Guess she didn't want her baby boy to grow up. I can't hold that against her. But you know what? She likes you now. No, that didn't come out right. She liked you before; she didn't want to, but she did. You blew her away with your dreams, man, and the way you just came out and explained them. I didn't have the heart to tell her that we'd learned the hard way that ignoring your dreams, or keeping them to yourself, was a really bad deal. Can you imagine her reaction if I told her about Alex? I think she'd pack us both up, and plop us down in the middle of Tibet for a decade or two."

Jim groaned.

"Hey, you waking up? Take it slowly, okay?" Red eyes blinked open. "You're in the hospital, Jim, and you're doing really well."

"What's--what's wrong...me?"

"Sirocco."

"I know. But what...what is it?"

"Ebola. But you're going to beat it. Your body is already kicking its ass," Blair said encouragingly. "Hey, what do you mean you know it's Sirocco? Did you know you were sick? Before you started bleeding in the truck, I mean."

"Dream...on plane."

"And you didn't share?"

"Had...a...mission to...complete."

"Fuck the mis--" Blair stopped, realizing this wasn't the time to get into this with Jim.

"You...sound like Lynne."

Blair raised an eyebrow. "I've never heard her use profanity."

Dry, cracked lips tried to smile. "Then I must be okay."

"That's what I've been telling you. I can't believe you'd take the word of a doctor over mine."

"Bite me, San...Sandburg."

"That would sorta negate all this protective gear, don't you think?" Blair teased. He grabbed a tissue and wiped the fluid leaking from Jim's eyes.

"Hurt."

Blair froze. "Your eyes hurt, man?"

"Bad?"

Blair realized Jim had heard his heartbeat spike. "Not really. But I think Lynne needs to know."

"She's Lynne now? Why do...I feel that's...not good?"

"I don't know, Diablo. Why don't you tell me?" Blair laughed, and reached for the phone.

Jim had dozed off by the time Lynne came in, trailed by a team of ophthalmologists. They poked, prodded, took samples and put in drops before bandaging Jim's eyes and leaving.

"Well?" Blair asked Lynne.

"There's some indication of infection beginning in the retinal areas, but it was caught early and the medicine should halt the progress of the inflammation. Your immune system is getting spread thin, Jim. We're just going to have to help it along a bit."

"I'm...all for help, Lynne. Just ask Sandburg."

Blair shook his head. Even exhausted and frightened, Jim was trying to make him feel better by teasing. "Oh, yeah. Jim's been known to call for help with the smallest things. Like hanging on to a moving train, and fighting death matches in prison...."

"Jim, don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad we live coasts apart," Lynne said, smoothing the tape down on one of the bandages. "You need to get some rest."

"He'll be out in seconds," Blair promised.

"You need rest as well, Blair."

"We'll be out in seconds," he amended, his eyes pleading with Lynne.

"I'll be back to check on you later. I expect you both to be sleeping," she warned as she left.

"You heard the lady, Jim. Just relax, okay?" Blair said, stroking the back of Jim's hand to soothe him.

"You're the one...with the racing heart, Chief. The eye infection scares you?"

"Yes. I don't know why, but it does," he replied honestly.

"Probably...probably has to do with...Golden. Blinded me, almost killed you. Not surprised you have...issues with...it."

Blair laughed. "You've been reading Psychology Today again, haven't you? Okay, Jim. You sleep, and I'll deal with my issues."

Jim shook his head and reached out his hand, which Blair promptly caught in his own. "We'll sleep, then we'll deal with your issues, 'kay?"

"You come up with some great plans, man."

"Just...part of...my charm."

Blair smiled and squeezed the hand he held. Without letting go, he angled the chair around, and slid into a comfortable position. His thumb stroking assurances to his Sentinel, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

*****

"I don't want any more, Sandburg!"

"Please, Jim? Just another sip? For me?" Blair pleaded. Jim's latest blood work confirmed that he was well into his recovery, and Blair was eager to start replacing some of the weight Jim had lost. "You love chocolate shakes."

"That's not a chocolate shake. That's some kind of nutritional crap frozen to make me think it's a chocolate shake."

Blair couldn't see the blue eyes flashing at him from behind the dark shades Jim was required to wear until his eyes completed their healing, but he knew the look that generally accompanied that tone. "If you drink the rest of it, I'll bribe one of the orderlies to go to Wonder Burger and bring you a real shake tomorrow, okay?"

Jim sighed. "I don't want a shake, Chief. I want...."

"What do you want, Jim?"

"I want to go home. I think I'll get better there quicker."

"You can't get better much quicker than you already are, Jim. Two days ago, no one was sure you'd live."

"But I am going to live, and I'm going to see. And I'm going to gain weight, and be able to walk three steps without shaking like a leaf from exhaustion. But I think I'll do all that faster in Cascade. I need my tribe, Chief."

Blair threw back his head and laughed. "Oh, man, anyone who whines like that is ready to be released. Give it a rest, Jim. I've already arranged our trip home. We fly out of Andrews Air Force base tomorrow morning. You'll spend two nights at Oak Harbor, and if you continue to improve, I can take you home after that."

Jim sucked on the straw until it made slurping noises. "Here you go, Chief. One empty wannabe milkshake."

"I'm impressed, Blair," Lynne said, entering the room. "You got him to drink the whole thing."

"Only by bribing him with a trip home."

"You that eager to leave me, Jim?"

"You bet your ass, Reese," Jim replied with a grin.

"You always were an honest son of a bitch." She allowed him to pull her into an embrace. "I really wish I could say I'm going to miss you, but a hospital or two isn't the place for a reunion of old friends. Let's say we do Disney World or something next time, okay, Jim?"

"How about Carnival in Rio?" he asked cheekily.

"Not Brazil. I'm never doing Brazil with you again. Remember that."

"I'll remember everything about you, Lynne," he promised. "Come visit us if you're ever on the West Coast, and we'll make sure hospitals aren't on the grand tour, okay?"

"Deal. Gee, I'm always making deals with you guys. How come you are all so persuasive?"

"It's because we're cute," Blair said. "Me, Jim, Simon. We're all cute."

Lynne was still laughing as she walked out.

"I'm insulted, Jim," Blair remarked with a pout.

"We're going home, Chief. That's all that matters to me," Jim said, smiling at his partner.

Blair returned the smile. "Yeah, that's all that matters."

Chapter Twenty

Jim heard the elevator approaching the penthouse and looked up from his book. He was reading a paperback, because a hardback had been too heavy for him to hold. Even the lighter weight could be tolerated only about an hour before his muscles started twitching in exhaustion. He couldn't make it to the bathroom without feeling like he'd run a marathon. The light still bothered his eyes, which meant he donned dark shades whenever he was awake, which wasn't often. Mrs. Murphy's class had a later bedtime than he did. All in all, he was still quite a mess.

"Hey, Jim," Blair called. He slung his backpack to the alcove next to the elevator and removed his gun and holster.

"Hey, Chief. How was work today?"

"The usual. I mean, even I can't get into trouble when I'm chained to my desk until my partner comes back. And by the way, I'm enrolling Dills into a penmanship course. His writing rivals a frat boy's after an all night kegger."

"I guess you better get used to that."

"Used to what? Dills' scribble? I don't think so. As soon as we get some meat on your bones, you're coming back to work, and I'm not doing anybody's reports except ours."

"I meant the frat boy's scribble."

"I'm not a Teaching Fellow this time around, Jim."

"Oh. Maybe if you wrote Duke--"

"I've already talked with Duke, man." Blair sprawled in the chair across from the sofa.

"When do you leave?"

"I don't."

"Sandburg!" The sunglasses removed all the threat from of his glare. Besides, righteous anger took too much energy. "I thought you said this was something you had to do, that you had to finish your education so that you could move on."

"That's exactly what I'm going to do, Jim-- at Rainier."

Jim's book dropped to the floor. "Rainier? I thought the bad vibes--"

"Jim, look at me. I'm sitting in this living room, with my feet up on the table, thinking about going to get a bag of Cheetos. This place used to intimidate me. The idiots at Rainier used to intimidate me. But you know what happened? I watched my best friend collapse in a pool of bloody vomit. I watched him drop fifty pounds in less than two days. I saw doctors shake their heads when they thought I wasn't looking, listened to them whisper doubts when they thought I was asleep. I was told you might lose your eyesight, or maybe even your hearing. All of that was intimidating, man. This, this is pure crap. The furniture and the carpet can be cleaned. Chancellor Edwards and her clonies can be ignored at best, dealt with if they push it."

Jim snorted. "'Clonies'?"

"Yeah, undifferentiated, partially formed clones, without a thought in their heads that Edwards didn't put there." Blair deliberately leaned his head back against the white leather. "I've already been to the President's Office and gotten reinstated as a doctoral candidate. Funny what the threat of a lawsuit can do."

"And Edwards?"

"Mouthed off as usual. I gave her one of your stares. You know, the one where the other person is just an annoying bug and you're considering whether to ignore them or just stomp?"

"You prepared to step on her, Chief? She's probably going to take this personally."

"I think it's high time that people realize you don't come between Sentinel and Guide, Jim. Let her try, and I'll squash her, scrape my boot on the nearest curb, and keep on walking," Blair vowed.

"You're turning into a really mean son of a bitch," Jim said admiringly.

"Coming from the master, that's a compliment, my man. So, what have you been doing around here?"

Jim smiled. "The same thing I do every day, Pinky-- sleep!"

Blair laughed. "That's good. Exactly what you need." He sat up and stared at his partner. "You aren't getting ready to fall into that stage in your recovery where you're frustrated and depressed by your lack of strength and seeming lack of progress, are you? Because if you are, we're going to nip that in the bud right now."

"My progress has been remarkable, and I'm getting stronger every day," Jim recited dutifully. "When I got here a week ago, Simon had to nearly carry me to my room, and I had to be fed because I didn't have the strength to hold a spoon for more than five minutes. But I've gained ten pounds, can feed myself, and I even took a shower today."

"You did what? Jim, you know you shouldn't have tried that this soon, and especially while you were here alone. Of all the-- You know I was just getting ready to praise you for being such a good patient. Now, I think I'm going to make you drink another vitamin supplement."

"As soon as I'm able to go shopping, I'm going to love avoiding the Ensure aisle." Blair got up. "Come on, Chief. I don't need another can of that stuff. I'm sorry for taking the shower. I promise not to do it again unless you're here to spot me."

"I'm not heading to the kitchen, Jim. I wanted to show you something I downloaded off the internet today." Blair grabbed his backpack, and took out a sheet of paper. "It's from the Washington Post: the Chevy Chase local section."

"You cruising Maryland papers for a reason, Chief?"

"Yeah. This reason." He handed Jim the article.

MURDER/SUICIDE

Authorities have completed the investigation of the bodies discovered at Pharmtech Industries over the weekend. John Lambert, 65, CEO of the company, and Gerald Freer, 38, Vice President, were found dead in Lambert's office. According to the investigating officers, Lambert left a note detailing his reasons for killing Freer and himself. There is no evidence of outside involvement.

Company officials declined to speculate about the future of the business.

Jim looked up at Blair. "Are you okay with this, Chief?"

Blair shrugged. "I haven't really given it much thought. I just had too much other stuff to worry about after it happened, and now that I look back on it.... If you had left this alone, Lambert and Freer might be alive today. But they would also be out there developing Sirocco and other forms of biological weaponry. I have no doubts about that. You should have seen the look of admiration Lynne had on her face when she realized the implications of Sirocco." He held up his hand when Jim started to interrupt.

"No, I don't blame her personally. I mean most scientists hate the H-bomb, but that doesn't stop them from appreciating the skill and genius that went into its design. What some of the early anthropologists did to the tribes they studied, how they altered native lifestyles to 'civilize' and 'de-heathen' them was appalling. But that doesn't take away from the fact that their studies paved the way for other studies, that despite the destruction and chaos they caused, if it wasn't for them, we would have no record of what was. Burton and his crew probably left half-white babies all over two continents, but without him, I wouldn't have recognized what you are."

"You believe in fate, Chief?"

"To some degree. Do I believe our lives are pre-destined and we have no choices? No. But do I think certain things happen for a reason? Yes. However, it's up to us to find that reason, and choose to accept it or not. Why do you ask?"

"It just seems weird that I ended up having a connection to Lambert. What would have happened if I hadn't led the mission to Peru, or he hadn't had a son on that mission?"

"That's exactly what I'm talking about, Jim. Circumstances led up to the two of you meeting, but it was your own personal choices that dictated the outcome. Lambert could have ignored what you did for his son. You could have charged in there with your guns blazing. But both of you made other choices, and I'm hoping that somewhere in the Great Beyond, Lambert has found a certain peace because of what he did. Maybe his son has found peace, too, knowing that his existence and his death, kept his father from creating even more destruction and death."

"Don't panic, but I think my head's hurting again," Jim said, smiling so Blair would know he was teasing. "I'm not sure what I got out of that lecture, but I'm glad fate arranged things so that we'd meet, and I'm also glad that we made the choice to go forward from that meeting."

Blair smiled. "I'm glad, too, Jim."

Jim cleared his throat. "What's for dinner?"

"Simon's bringing it, so I'm sure it's nice and greasy. Better enjoy it while you can."

"Believe me, Sandburg, I am. What time's the game?" If the Jags won this game they would be in the finals.

"Not till eight. So, catch a nap while you can. I'm going to grab a shower."

Blair came out half an hour later, and adjusted a light blanket over Jim. He chilled easily these days. But he was getting better. He argued more, made it through entire conversations without falling asleep, and the joint pain didn't wake him in the middle of the night anymore. Definite improvement.

The intercom chimed once, and Blair hurried to answer it before it could wake Jim. "Yeah?"

"Send the elevator down, Sandburg."

"Sure, Captain."

Blair was waiting by the doors when they opened. He grabbed one of the bags from Simon, and motioned for the captain to be quiet. Simon saw the figure on the sofa and nodded, following his detective into the kitchen.

"He's still sleeping around the clock?" he asked softly.

"Not really. But I think he doesn't want to embarrass himself by falling asleep in the middle of the game tonight. Ribs? He's going to love them."

"Why would he be embarrassed? It's not like he's never slept through one of them before. Hell, it's not like I haven't fallen asleep during a game at your place."

"But that always happened because one or more of us was exhausted from some case. This time it's because he's sick, and you know how he hates that."

"Does he know how lucky he is to be alive? I checked into the Ebola virus, wanted to weed out the Hollywood hype, you know? Found out there wasn't much hype to it. What strain did he have?"

"A totally new one. The scientific community has defined Sirocco as Bacillus anthracis recombined with Ebola-Ellison. Cool, huh?"

"Uh, right. But now that the authorities have that disk, there isn't a risk of it occurring again, is there?"

"There's always a risk, Captain. Anthrax has been around for a long time, a treatment has been devised for it and everything, yet it's still the number one threat in biowarfare. Knowledge of a disease doesn't render it impotent; it just gives you a few more ways of possible survival."

"You know, a lot of my friends laughed at me for coming to Cascade to work. 'You aren't man enough to handle a real city, Banks?', 'Gonna arrest moose for crossing the street illegally, Simon?' You know what they say to me now? 'How do you stand it, man?', or 'What the hell's in the water in Cascade?' I won't go so far as to say you and your partner are the reason we're so crime-ridden here, but I will say that you're the reason why I know about stuff I never intended to know anything about. Government conspiracies, spirit animals, ghosts, sentinel temples.... None of this was covered in the municipal administration classes I took."

"Next time your friends say anything to you, tell them that you'd be bored to death in some hick town like New York or L.A."

Simon chuckled. "Yeah, the places are so uncivilized, they don't even have a sentinel."

"Sad, isn't it?" Blair commented with a grin.

"Do I smell ribs?" Jim's voice sang from the living room.

"No, man. Simon brought us some rib-flavored tofu. I'm dishing you out a plate now."

"It's not nice for the Guide to toy with the Sentinel," Jim said from the doorway. "I know Simon wouldn't do something that terrible to me."

"You could have stayed on the sofa, Jim. I would have brought it to you," Blair fussed, pulling out a chair and watching Jim sit safely on it.

"I know you don't fear the room anymore, Chief. But ribs? I wouldn't wish that on any cleaning crew."

"Okay, for the sake of the domestic help, I'll let you eat in here."

"Domestic help? You guys got domestic help?"

"Came with the penthouse," Blair answered. "They come in twice a week, whether the place is occupied or not."

"I don't remember them while I was here," Simon said.

"Oh. That was the week of the misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?"

"It's not my fault," Jim said defensively. "Blevins didn't say anything about a cleaning crew."

"Jim pulled his weapon on them," Blair said brightly. "They refused to come back until he apologized."

"They broke in, Chief."

"They had mops, Jim. I don't know about you, but I've never heard of cleaning thieves."

"What about Zeus Cleaning? That little operation was cracking safes until I went undercover with them."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You can come up with all sorts of excuses now that you've had time to think about it," Blair scoffed. "Where are you going?" he asked when Jim moved to stand.

"To wash my hands?"

Blair shook his head. "I'll bring you a wet towel."

Jim looked at Simon sheepishly.

"Dictatorial little shit, isn't he?" Simon said sympathetically.

"What was that, Simon?" Blair asked sternly.

"Uh, nothing," Simon hurried to reply. Jim just grinned at him.

Blair turned back to the plate he was fixing, hiding his own grin. This was just what Jim needed; a little bit of normality in his world. They talked about what was happening around the office as they ate, then cleaned up and went to the living room to watch the game on the high definition television disguised as an armoire.

"What's this?" Simon asked, picking up the newspaper printout. "Someone you know?"

"The father of one of my men in Peru," Jim said easily.

"Oh." Simon put it back down, knowing Jim avoided discussing that area of his life. "I still don't like this place."

"I'm off tomorrow, so I thought we could scan the real estate notices in the paper, Jim, and maybe check one or two out if they look promising," Blair said.

"What exactly are you looking for?" Simon asked.

Blair and Jim shrugged.

"We have no idea, Captain," Blair finally said. "We'll just know it when we find it, right, Jim?"

"Right, Chief. Just somewhere with easy access to the station and Rainier."

Simon nodded. "The paperwork is going to go through without a hitch, Sandburg. You're going to be on part-time until you get your degree, then we'll see about creating a position for you-- unless Detective Dr. Sandburg sounds okay to you?"

"As long as I'm riding with Jim, the title doesn't matter, Simon. Now, shush. Carter's sister is singing the National Anthem."

"Carter in records? Hmm. His sister looks a lot better than he does," Simon commented, as they settled back to watch the incredibly clear picture.

Jim managed to stay awake for the entire game, although his sacrifice did the Jags no good-- they lost 99-81.

"Guess I'll be stopping by the ATM in the morning," Simon said, as he stood and stretched.

"Who'd you bet with? Brown?" Jim asked.

"Nah. When someone asked him about it, he started going on about seeing the army coming down the Damascus Road after him...." Simon threw up his hands. "You know, if I didn't know my people so well, I would swear all of you were doing drugs."

"Actually, I am," Jim said with a quirk of his upper lip.

"And you've been more rational than I've ever seen. Think I can get a truckload of whatever you're popping?" Simon quipped. He shook his head and pushed the button for the elevator. "A lovely evening as usual, gentlemen. Goodbye."

They grinned and waved.

"Okay, Jim. It's way past your bedtime."

"I'm not eight, Sandburg," Jim complained. He tried to stand, and had to reach out and grab the arm of the sofa when his body protested the movement. "I'm eighty. Actually, I hope I'm not this stiff when I'm eighty."

Blair took his arm. "Come on, Grandpa. I'm sure this time next month, you'll be catapulting over the sofa, and running down eighty flights of stairs."

Jim leaned on Blair and let him lead him to the bedroom. "You're supposed to be making me feel better, Sandburg."

"Oh, right. Forgot that for a moment." Blair lowered him to the bed. "Stay. I'll get you some water for your night pills."

Jim struggled out of his T-shirt, angry that he ended up panting so hard he didn't have the energy to toss it farther than the other side of the bed. Damn, he'd be glad when he was well. At least well enough to drive. He needed the airport. He needed to be reminded that he was special, that he could do things others couldn't, because-- because he was really doubting himself right now.

"Jim."

He looked at Blair, saw the concern in his eyes, and so much more. This had been hard on his partner. Maybe the weight loss wasn't as great, but there were circles beneath his eyes, and he was too pale. Hell, if he couldn't do anything for himself, he might as well take care of Blair. "I was thinking that maybe looking for somewhere to stay could wait. What do you think about us going off to the mountains tomorrow? The sunshine and fresh air will do you good. Get some color back into your cheeks before you start that academic grind again."

"Sounds good, Jim, but you know you're not up to that yet."

Jim smiled. "I figured we could drive up as far as we could. You can go hiking or whatever, and I'll just hang around the truck, soaking up rays and sleeping. Maybe I'll luck out and there'll be an aerie nearby. It'll be nice to...soar with the eagles for a while."

Blair sat down on the bed, handing him his nighttime meds. "I think we have a plan, Jim."

Jim nodded. Yeah. It was definitely a good plan.

Epilogue

As quickly as the wind rose, it died, blending seamlessly back into the elements from which it had sprung. The telling char marks would eventually fade, the ashes and dust would integrate themselves into the land, and new life would arise to replace the lost. Nature's cycle was, is, and always will be. Even when it seemed to change, it never truly did. There was birth, life, and death. Nature demanded it and the universe had no choice but to obey.

Just as the sirocco had no choice. It'd been spawned, had destructively lived, died...and now waited for its rebirth.

THE END

Comments? D.L. Witherspoon (dlspoon@skeeter63.org)