Jim was also deeply bothered by Blair's comment to Joel that he'd overheard…that Sandburg would go to Joel 'first' if he needed to talk. What was that about? Why would he go to Joel? I'm his friend, room-mate, partner…what would he say to Joel that he couldn't tell me first? Jim wondered, but he didn't like where those thoughts took him. Maybe because I just keep letting him down…

Sighing, Ellison punched the button to call the elevator, conscious of Blair and Naomi standing just behind him. Distracted by his own bleak thoughts, he now realized he'd missed some of their conversation. Naomi was saying something about leaving…that she'd packed after Blair had left that morning and had a flight out in a couple of hours. He could tell from Blair's voice in response that he was surprised, but Jim couldn't tell if the tone signaled sorrow or relief, or maybe a little of both.

"Mom, we haven't had time for much of a visit…" Blair offered, trying to dissuade her from leaving so abruptly.

"No, I know," she replied quietly, not meeting her son's eyes. "But, well, I feel it's time to go…"

"I hear you," Sandburg replied, their code for 'I don't agree, but I can understand and accept your feelings'.

The elevator door finally opened and they moved into it. For all that he wanted to encourage Naomi to stay for Blair's sake, Ellison couldn't force the words into his mouth. The simple truth of the matter was that he was glad she was going. Much as he'd come to like Naomi, even understand her to some extent, he couldn't deny his own anger toward her now. Maybe she had only intended to help her son, but her actions had almost torn them apart and had led to the ruin of Blair's career as an anthropologist. Swallowing, Ellison gazed at the floor as he struggled with his conflicting feelings about this complex woman. For all her sweetness and good intentions, Naomi seemed incapable of seeing the world through another's eyes, only able to see what she wanted to see, only able to do what she wanted to do. Blithely assuming it would all work out just fine. If she thought about it at all, which Ellison doubted. She wasn't selfish exactly, nor stupid…but she really didn't have a trace of empathy in her being. Not for the first time, Jim wondered how Blair had become the person he was.

They all went home together in Blair's car, since Jim couldn't drive yet with his leg so stiff and sore, and he and Naomi had come to the station in a cab. She kept up an inane chatter all the way…on and on about where she was going next, some place in Peru to visit some ruins. "Such energy there, you can just feel it…so healing and restoring," she gushed, happily forgetful of Jim and Blair's experiences there as she urged that they "should go there some time…it's so beautiful." For once, Blair didn't correct her or remind her that that's where Jim had spent some really terrible months of his life, months that had forced his Sentinel abilities out of dormancy, or where they'd faced murderous drug manufacturers to save Simon and his son, Daryl. Blair understood that she was just talking out of nervousness, not really thinking, and he let her run on, nodding and making soothing sounds while Jim stared silently out of the window, just wishing they were home.

********************

Jim closed the door to the loft with a relieved sigh. She was gone. Blair had insisted upon driving her to the airport, so now here he was, alone in a too quiet loft. Limping over to the sofa, he picked up the remote and idly clicked through the stations, but turned the television off when he realized he wasn't paying any attention to it. Leaning back on the cushions, he absently rubbed at his aching leg, then shifted so that his head was supported, closing his eyes as he sprawled there and sighed again, this time heavily.

So much had happened, so fast, he hadn't had time, really, to think about it all. Zeller had kept coming at them, almost killing Simon and Megan, and then shooting up the station…miraculously without killing anyone, but several people were still in the hospital. At least the bastard was dead, and by his own hand, stupidly shooting up the rope that had held him suspended above the alley in his insane effort to kill them. Served him right and he could rot in hell so far as Ellison was concerned.

Grimacing, rubbing a hand over his head and down to massage his neck, Jim realized he was only thinking about Zeller so that he could avoid thinking about what had happened because of Sandburg's paper. Unconsciously rubbing his hand over his mouth, he wished he could take back the hard words he'd used when he'd as much as accused Blair of having manipulated the situation and the resulting publicity to hike up the value of the book. He winced at the memory, knowing how wrong he'd been, knowing he'd known he was wrong at the time and had only been striking out because he was hurt and scared. Not just about the havoc it would all mean in his own life, but because it could well mean that he'd lose Blair…hell, with millions and a Nobel Prize, why would the kid keep hanging around Cascade? Just like always…when in doubt, take it out on Sandburg. Drive him away before he could leave of his own volition… because driving him away meant Ellison was still in control. What a laugh…like he'd ever been 'in control' as far as Sandburg was concerned.

His actions had been inexcusable…the way he'd consciously and deliberately given Sandburg the cold shoulder, acting like he couldn't stand to be near the kid, abiding his presence in the loft, and Naomi's, on sufferance with cold civility, once again claiming by word and action that irreparable damage had been done to the trust between them, to their friendship. "God, I'm a jerk sometimes," Ellison muttered to himself, wondering with a feeling akin to awe why Sandburg put up with him…stuck by him.

Especially at such a terrible cost.

Jim felt nausea roil in his gut as he again remembered watching that news briefing, watching Blair destroy himself and everything he'd ever dreamed of, for him. To protect him. To save their friendship. "Dammit," he muttered. It wasn't right. He shouldn't have accepted the gesture, however nobly and unselfishly it had been made. He should have set the record straight right away and let the pieces of his own world fall where they might. Sighing again, he leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, head in his hands, sickened by the realization that he wasn't that strong. Oh, sure, there were other considerations. Cases that might be thrown out, bad guys who might go free as a result, and Simon's own career could have been blown to smithereens if his complicity in it all had come out…but Ellison knew all that could be handled. They hadn't compromised any evidence, or the rights of any of their suspects, always taking great care to ensure that what he gathered would hold up in court…so he used his senses to find some of it, so what? Evidence was evidence. And Simon could probably fend off any criticism by rightfully claiming to have been protecting the privacy of one of his people.

Jim shook his head. Images of the media feeding frenzy over the past few days merged in his mind with the craziness of what had happened after he'd returned so exhausted from Peru, heralded as some kind of hero, knowing he was only a survivor…the only survivor, still grieving and feeling guilty about comrades he couldn't save. Cameras with their piercing bright lights in his face, microphones shoved under his nose, questions, endless questions, that he couldn't answer. Knowing that something very odd had happened to his senses in the jungle, something that he couldn't explain or control and which, frankly had frightened him very badly, had left him tongue-tied and overwhelmed. He'd just wanted so badly for it all to end and to be left in peace. The experiences of the last few days only showed too clearly that it would happen all over again, only this time it would be worse…he'd be seen as some kind of freak.

He just could not bear that, could not face that alone, not when Sandburg upped and left, as he would have inevitably done, to a life of fame and glory.

He knew it.

And he hated himself for it.

The shrill ring of the phone cut into his dismal thoughts, causing his head to jerk up as he lumbered off the sofa and hobbled his way across the room.

"Hello," he responded, rubbing his eyes.

"Jimmy?" his father's voice came, a little tentative, uncertain. "I was wondering how you're doing…."

"Hi, Dad," Ellison replied, hitching one of the kitchen chairs over so that he could sit while they talked. "I'm okay…leg's a bit stiff, but it'll be fine. Blair's just taken his mother to the airport…"

"Ah…" his father replied awkwardly. "Yes, well, Naomi always seems to be on her way somewhere, at least from the little you've told me about her."

"Yeah, that's true enough," Jim replied, wishing he could think of something to say to fill the sudden silence between them.

But, his father rallied, asking, "How's Blair? I mean…well, I saw the press conference…"

Ellison paused, wondering how to answer. Finally, he sighed, "I don't know, to tell you the truth. We haven't had any time to talk about it."

"It's not right, Jimmy," his father interjected, his voice strong now and surprisingly gruff. "From what I can piece together from all this, Blair had nothing to do with that paper being released. He hadn't submitted it for his dissertation, and whether he intended to or not, that isn't the point. The university had no right to expel him the way they did. I read some self-righteous statement in the paper that they'd 'terminated' their association with him because 'his behaviour and the fraud he'd perpetrated' made his continued presence 'untenable'. Made me want to punch somebody."

Jim smiled briefly despite himself at his father's vehement defence of his friend. William Ellison hadn't always been one of Sandburg's fans, but they'd gotten to know one another a little better after his father had been almost killed and Sandburg's charm had worked its usual magic. And, he realized then, his father was one of the very few people in the world who actually knew the truth behind Blair's claim of being a fraud, knew Blair had sacrificed himself to protect his son. Jim frowned as he thought about his father's words and he had to agree that the university might have acted precipitously. "You're right," he said then. "But, I'm not sure what can be done about it."

"I'm not sure, either…but, you know, Jimmy, I think I might have a chat with my contacts on the university's Board of Trustees, maybe have one of my lawyers take a look at the situation," Ellison Sr. offered, then hesitated again, "Unless you think it's none of my business…."

"Uh, no, Dad, I think that's a good idea," Jim replied, wishing he'd thought of it himself. "Can't hurt to see if something can be salvaged from this mess…he should have the right to get his Ph.D. Blair…well," he continued quietly, "Blair has the chance to enter the Police Academy in a couple of weeks, but to be honest, I'm not sure if that's really what he wants."

"Blair…a police officer?" the elder Ellison exclaimed, astonished. William Ellison could not, for the life of him, reconcile the free-spirited, thoughtful and sensitive man he knew Blair Sandburg to be with the image he held of the police. But, suddenly aware of the silence on the other end of the line, understanding what being a 'cop' meant to his son and how much Jim would want Blair to be his partner officially, he continued quickly if still uncertainly, "Not that he wouldn't make a great cop, but I never would have pictured him in a uniform…with a gun."

"No…I know what you mean," Jim replied thoughtfully. He picked up the sound of Blair's steps out in the hall at that moment, saying hurriedly, "Look, Dad, Blair's just gotten home. Let me know how your enquiries go, okay?"

"You got it, Jimmy…and give Blair my regards," Ellison replied as he terminated the call.

Jim was just hanging up when the door opened and Blair eased into the apartment. With a sharp ache, Ellison couldn't help but see how totally wasted the kid looked, his face pale and drawn with exhaustion, his shoulders slumped, moving as if he was almost too weary to put one foot in front of the other. Looking up, Blair caught the concern in Jim's eyes and shrugged self-consciously as he pulled off his jacket and hung it carefully on the hook.

"Dad just called…said to say 'hello'," Jim said as he limped back toward the sofa.

"Oh yeah?" Sandburg replied with the shadow of a smile. "How's he doing?"

"He's…well, he's angry about how the university treated you," Jim replied as he sank down on the sofa, his eyes on Blair's face.

"Oh," Sandburg replied, startled, then embarrassed. "Well, they didn't really have much choice…I mean, I admitted on television for all the world to see that I'm a fraud…"

"Don't say that!" Ellison snapped, unable to bear it. "Don't ever say that, not to me."

Blair's eyes narrowed at the outburst, then his head dropped as he shook it briefly before looking back up. Moving into the living area, he sat down on the other sofa as he said quietly, "Hey…it's alright, man. I knew what I was doing…"

"It's not alright," Jim replied, frustration with it all clear in his voice and his expression. For a moment, he wondered whether to share his father's idea that maybe something could be done, then decided to keep the information to himself. Sandburg would just decline the help, whether he wanted it or not, believing that his troubles were all his own and shouldn't be a worry to anyone else. Besides, he'd hate to get the kid's hopes up only to have them shattered. Looking away, he murmured, "Chief, what you did was…well, there aren't the words, not ones I know anyway, to tell you what it meant to me…I'm sorry. I never expected, never wanted you to lose it all."

"I didn't 'lose it all', Jim," Blair replied huskily, his throat suddenly tight. "I did what was right…what was necessary, and I'd do it again." Sighing, he sank back against the cushions, staring up at the ceiling before he closed his eyes. He was way too tired to have this conversation right now…wasn't sure he ever wanted to have it. It was done. Now he had to pick up the pieces of his life and get on with living.

"You don't really want to be a cop, do you, Chief?" Jim asked softly, staring out the patio doors into the darkness, dreading the response.

"Hmm?" Blair murmured, then rubbed his temples. The damned headache wouldn't seem to go away. It had been days now, and it just wouldn't quit. Pushing himself up straighter, he bit his lip before he answered, wanting to get it right. "To be honest? I don't know, man. I mean…I never even considered that option before today. And…well, it scares me, if you want to know the truth. But, I do know that I want to be your partner…and since the PD lifted my observer pass right after the press conference, this seems like the only way to…to do what I want to do."

"Scares you? Why would it scare you? God, Chief, I've already told you you're the best cop I know, that I've ever known. This would just make it official," Jim exclaimed, turning back to face his friend, and was immediately caught by the stark look on Blair's face.

Sandburg closed his eyes and turned his head away, only too aware that Jim didn't get it, never had… couldn't credit that a career in academia could possibly rank with something as immediate and vital as law enforcement. In Jim's mind it was all so simple now, and even preferable. There was no way to explain how much it hurt to lose everything he'd ever dreamed of without burdening Jim with the pain of that loss.

"It's about having to carry a gun, isn't it?" Jim asked, certain that this was the real problem.

"It's not carrying the gun that bothers me, man…it's knowing that someday I'll have to use it that gives me the shakes," Blair clarified, shaking his head with weary resignation. "But…I've been thinking about it. And, well, I have to face that, don't I? I mean, I know you and the others hate it when you have to…to take somebody down, but it's about serving and protecting the innocent, right? About doing what you have to do, to do what's right? Somebody's got to do it, or the bad guys would just take over…and that would be hell on earth. So…I can do this, Jim…I can do this…." The words came out like a mantra, as if Blair was still trying to convince himself, even more than he was trying to convince Ellison.

Jim hadn't missed the fact that Sandburg hadn't been able to use the word 'kill'. Frowning, he wondered if Blair ever could kill someone and that worried him deeply. He felt something twist deep inside, and sadness welled up within him at the prospect of Blair having to know what ending another life felt like. Swallowing, he figured Sandburg would do whatever was needed to save someone else's life…but his own? Would he be able to kill in self-defence? Ellison wasn't at all sure his friend would be able to do that…and that could cost Blair his life, which would be infinitely worse in his humble opinion than the termination of some monster on two legs who preyed upon the weak and innocent. But, he could see that now was not the time for that particular discussion. Shifting a little on the sofa to ease his leg, he asked, "Why did you push me away like you did at the station today?"

Jerked from his thoughts about having to actually fire a gun someday, Blair looked confused for a moment as he tried to remember what Jim was talking about, and then he flushed in embarrassment. "Oh…that…"

"Yeah, 'that'. You almost knocked me over, Chief. Took me by surprise," Jim replied, trying to sound nonchalant but bothered by the memory.

Looking away, his fingers beating a nervous tattoo on the sofa until he stood and paced, Blair tried to find the words to explain. "I was, like totally blown away by Simon's offer…I couldn't take it in. I mean, I couldn't think, man…couldn't say anything except that I wouldn't cut my hair…I won't have to, will I?" he asked with a sudden look of dread, his eyes wide with the imagined horror of it all.

"You're changing the subject, Sandburg," Jim replied, not rising to the transparent attempt to redirect the conversation.

"Yeah, right," Blair replied, turning away to resume his restless pacing as he mumbled, "Doesn't matter, anyway, I guess. It'll grow back."

"Sandburg…if you don't want to talk about it…" Jim offered, not knowing whether to be concerned or frustrated with Blair's evident reluctance to share what he'd been feeling.

"No…it's just, well…I just reacted, Jim. I mean, I'd gone there to, I don't know, sorta say good-bye to the place, and turn in my pass…and I didn't have a clue what I was going to do now…now that I'd blown away what had passed as my career ambitions for the last ten years…and then I get this incredible offer…and then you were treating me like some kid in front of them all and I wondered how any of them could have any respect for me…how anybody could ever again have any respect for me…and I just lost it, man. I'm sorry…I know you didn't mean anything by it, that it was just fun…but, sometimes…sometimes I just wish everybody wouldn't treat me like I'm a child. I'm almost thirty, Jim…I'm not a kid anymore…"

No, he wasn't a kid anymore. What he'd endured in the last few months would age any man. Studying him, Jim despaired at the weariness he could see in Blair's eyes…at the loss of the innocence that had covered him like a mantle when they'd first met, and which had seemed able to survive any trauma to safeguard the enthusiasm and simple sheer joy in life that was so intrinsic to Sandburg's nature…any trauma but this last one. A man didn't blow up his life and not bear the scars of the loss deep within his soul.

"I'm sorry, Chief…I get carried away sometimes, I guess," Jim sighed, understanding now why Blair had acted the way he had. Though he hadn't talked much about it, Ellison knew Sandburg was being shunned like some kind of pariah by everyone he knew at the university. After having been respected as a 'wunderkind' for years by the other members of his academic circle and by his former students as a brilliant and impassioned teacher, that had to hurt very badly…God, what an understatement. It had to just about break the kid's heart. "I was just so damned glad to think you were going to be my partner, that it was all going to be okay, at least from my perspective…well, I didn't think."

Blair waved off the apology as he sat back down. "I know, Jim…don't worry about it, okay?"

Ellison nodded, but then continued soberly, "I know you're a grown-up, Sandburg…it's just, sometimes, I don't know…I forget." Hell, the kid had looked so cute and cocky standing there claiming there was no way he was going to cut that crazy hair, Jim just hadn't been able to resist giving him a hard time. But, now he realized he'd also just so desperately wanted to return to their light-hearted, teasing friendship… he'd just wanted everything to be back to normal. Bitterly, he thought, And I accuse Naomi of lacking empathy…

Sandburg felt his heart twist at the sight of the sorrow and regret that were etched on Ellison's face, and he couldn't stand it. None of this was Jim's fault…not any of it. Sandburg's mother had acted out of love, and so, Blair knew, had he when he'd tossed his career down the tubes. Jim had just been caught in something that could have hurt him terribly but over which he'd had no control. He shouldn't be suffering now, shouldn't feel a guilt that wasn't his to bear. Desperate to lighten the mood, Blair grinned as he shook his curls. "I know…it's the hair, isn't it?" he asked impishly. "And the fact that I was a perpetual student. Well…I'm not a student anymore…or at least I won't be when I graduate from the Academy… and maybe when my hair's short, I'll look more mature, wiser, more stable, solid… old, like you, man."

Rising to the bait, feigning umbrage, growling he wasn't 'that old', Jim threw a pillow at Blair in response to the teasing and was relieved to hear a faint giggle in response. It'll be all right, Ellison told himself, grabbing hold of that giggle like a parched man guzzles water. He wanted the reassurance Blair was offering him, wanted to believe the smile, the teasing. Needed to believe it. We'll find a way to make it all work out, he thought with determined passion.

Because it had to work.

Because Jim just couldn't imagine going back to those cold, lonely days and nights of his life before Sandburg had blasted his way into his home and his heart.

It just had to work. There weren't any other choices…no other options to guarantee Sandburg would always be a part of his life.

********************

Once he'd chased the worry from Jim's eyes, Blair struggled back to his feet, admitting that he really was wasted and just wanted to sleep. He took the opportunity to point out that Ellison was still recovering from his injury, looked a little pale around the edges and should probably also have an early night.

"Nag, nag, nag," Jim muttered, but he got up nevertheless and headed to the stairs to turn in for the night. Blair was right; he was exhausted…they both were.

Blair watched his friend navigate the stairs awkwardly, poised to help if needed, only turning off the lights once Jim had arrived safely on the upper level. Heading into his own room, he softly shut the door and kicked off his shoes, then dropped fully clothed onto the bed. Thoughts whirled in his mind and his head pounded with the stress-induced headache. Briefly, he considered getting up again, to make himself a cup of chamomile tea, but decided it was too much effort.

A cop.

He was going to be a cop.

Blair couldn't decide what he thought about it all. Part of him was excited by the prospect…it gave him a goal, a purpose when he sorely needed one having been feeling desperately lost and unable to imagine any kind of concrete future. He respected Jim, and everyone else in the Major Crimes Unit. It gave him a burst of pride to know they wanted him for who he was, that they still trusted him and were eager to work with him regardless of the fiasco with the dissertation. He also knew first hand how important that work was, how much good they did, quietly, without fanfare, regardless of the risks because they were committed to the protection of the people in this city, committed to the law. Blair knew he could take a great deal of pride in being a member of that team for real, not just as a hanger-on. Knew he could make a difference in people's lives.

But, it scared the wits out of him to think about drawing a gun with the distinct possibility of having to use it. Firing a weapon was always the last resort, he knew that. And, if he opted for a career in the ranks, on patrol, the odds were good he might never have to use a gun. But, Major Crimes was different. They went up against some seriously scary psychos and even terrorists, let alone the run-of-the-mill gangsters, street gangs, gunrunners and drug smugglers…he knew only too well the odds of likely having to shoot someone someday if he worked there. There was no 'if' or 'maybe' about it…it was a sure thing…inevitable. The only questions were 'when' and 'how soon'?

But, he had to work in Major Crimes…because that's where Jim worked. And the whole point was to be Jim's partner. So, he'd have to deal with it. Taking a deep breath, he whispered aloud unconsciously, "I have to deal with this…get over it. I have to. I don't have a choice."

Rolling onto his side with his arms wrapped tightly around his chest and his knees drawn up, he tried to push the thoughts away. If he was going to be a cop, and he'd decided there didn't seem to be any other realistic option open to him that would allow him to continue supporting Jim, there was no way he'd ever not do his job or put someone else's life at risk and that was that. Period. No question, no debate, no doubt. Decision made, Blair promised himself he'd just have to work at getting to be a good enough marksman that, given the chance, he wouldn't have to shoot to kill, just to disable and disarm. It was the best compromise he could imagine and the only way he could live with the choices he was making.

But, when he tried to push away the immediate issues of shifting his career path from anthropology to law enforcement, he immediately came up against the vast open wound of his lost career. His breath hitched as he blinked hard, fighting the overwhelming sense of loss that threatened to swamp him. God, he'd loved teaching, seeing eyes brighten with understanding and curiosity, getting others to feel the same intrigue he did in trying to really grasp what made societies tick, why people in communities made the choices they did…their beliefs and lifestyles, what they worshipped and held sacred. It was his love of anthropology that had led him to Burton…and to the idea that Sentinels not only existed but could still exist. It had been the passion that had driven his life, fueled his dreams…and it was over, irretrievably, in an instant. Lost. Forever.

"Stop it," he ordered himself sharply. Thoughts like that only led to depression and misery. It wasn't over. He'd found his Sentinel and had made his choice to protect that Sentinel, for all sorts of reasons. To bolster his sense of the rightness of his actions, he reviewed those reasons, counting them off in his head.

First, as an anthropologist, he had a professional responsibility to protect his 'source' regardless of the costs to himself. It was about ethical behaviour and integrity.

Second, as a member of Simon's team, he had a responsibility to not let their work be compromised because of something some grad student had written after Simon had been good enough to get him the approval to act as a civilian observer. The media craziness had compromised their efforts to capture Zeller, and because of that, Simon and Megan had almost been killed, and at the time others were still at risk. It was about his responsibility to protect the community, to safeguard them and ensure they could have the protection they expected from, and deserved of, the police.

Third, he had a responsibility to protect Simon, who shared this secret and who could have his own career threatened if his complicity in protecting Jim's privacy and deliberate failure to fully inform his superiors was discovered. Oh, sure, the argument that he'd acted within the appropriate bounds of supervisory discretion could be argued, and Simon would no doubt survive. But, Blair had spent almost four years within the law enforcement community, knew their petty rivalries and jealousies were not unlike those he'd observed at the university and in countless other cultures. Simon's supervisors would have found a way to make him pay for leaving them hanging in the wind when the news broke. No way did Simon deserve that. No way. Not for the only crime of having stood by a friend. Blair couldn't do that to anyone, least of all a man he respected. It was about loyalty…and friendship.

Fourth, Blair wouldn't ever do anything to hurt Jim Ellison, period, not intentionally, not ever. His best friend's life would have been turned inside out, and Jim, so intensely private, would have been badly hurt, even traumatized, by all the media attention…and, worse could happen. Some psycho, or God forbid, Brackett, could decide to go after him, and use everything Blair knew, everything he'd written in that book, against Jim…and no way would Blair ever be able to live with Jim being hurt or killed because of something he'd written. It was about love.

The loss of the offered millions and the prospect of a Nobel Prize didn't even occur to him. Fame and fortune had never been the driving motivations of his life. Knowledge, making a difference, solving puzzles, helping people, learning, teaching, friends…having a place to call 'home'. Those were the things that mattered to Blair Sandburg, and those things he still had. Well, maybe not the 'teaching', he thought with deep regret as he wondered what his students thought about all that had happened, profoundly sorry to have them feel he'd somehow betrayed them by betraying the ethical principles he'd always told them were so important, so crucial to their search for understanding.

For a moment, Blair wondered again at his naiveté at having written the paper in the first place. What had he thought he would do with it? Oh, it wasn't unheard of to have a closed defence, open only to those who would make the decision on his doctorate, the research buried for years. At least it would exist, and someday the world could know that the marvel that was Jim Ellison had truly existed, and have hope that others like Jim were out there, keeping watch. And, if there were others, maybe they'd find some value and personal hope in his paper, understand themselves better, feel less 'odd'. Ruefully, he knew this was what he had hoped to achieve.

But, if he hadn't been able to win an agreement from his advisor to support such a measure, he'd had his back up paper ready. 'The Thin Blue Line' he'd called it, grinning as he'd typed out the title, remembering the first time he'd met Simon. 'The line that separates our guardians from the rest of society has led to the creation of a distinct and vigorous subculture within the law enforcement community, providing a milieu of safety and acceptance for those who must walk in darkness that the rest of us might sleep.' That had been the first line, and it was more than two hundred pages long, the final draft complete for some time now. Not that it would be needed anymore, either. And he really regretted that fact. The people he had come to know deserved to be understood and respected for what they were, what they gave everyday of their lives to protect others. He hadn't submitted it because it would have signaled an end to the charade that allowed him his observer status at the PD. But, he felt badly now for having delayed, because now it was too late. Pondering that, he wondered if maybe, someday, he could get that paper published, or parts of it anyway, maybe in a police journal. Then maybe something worthwhile could be salvaged from the wreck of his academic career.

Sighing, he rolled and punched his pillow, thumping his head back down upon it. If only, he thought, and then paused. If only, wasn't worth thinking about. The Fates evidently had a different pattern in mind for his life than he had had and who was he to argue with them? After all, if he had gotten his doctorate, what then? Had he really ever thought he'd pursue a full time academic career after he'd met Jim and gotten so involved in his friend's life? His first duty was to the Sentinel as his Guide. Besides, he suspected very strongly that he didn't have any choice. He figured that, however weird it might be, he was as genetically programmed with the drive to be his Sentinel's protective Guide as Jim was genetically designed to be a Sentinel to protect his tribe. In any case, his first desire was to always be there to back Jim up, as his friend. And that's what he was going to do. So…maybe he should stop feeling so bad about what he'd given up and start feeling good about what he still had.

Duty, drive and desire aligned, he was finally able to let the thoughts drift away as he settled into a dreamless sleep.

Upstairs, attuned to the restlessness of his best friend, hearing the unconscious whispers and able to guess the thoughts that provoked them, Jim stared into the darkness, wishing he could turn back time. Finally, when his senses told him Blair had finally settled into sleep, he let himself relax as well, allowing the darkness to overcome him, hoping it would not hold haunting dreams of what had been or, worse, of what might yet be.

********************

For the next two weeks, Blair dove into research, his first instinct whenever encountering a new challenge. He hit the public library and when he couldn't get the texts he wanted there, he badgered Jim into borrowing books on law enforcement and detective work from the department that he wouldn't have personal access to again until he was at the Academy, and then peppered his roommate with questions as he ploughed through the heavy material. Jim tried to tell him to relax, that there was plenty of time to get into all that stuff once Blair was at the Academy, but finally gave up and cheerfully at first, then ever so patiently after the first few days, answered the questions put to him. It was a relief to be able to go back to work, even if it was just desk duty, to get a break from the endless stream of questions and more questions from his intense and dedicated friend.

Though he'd hesitated to do so, leery of seeming to seek more 'special consideration', Blair finally did decide to ask Simon privately if there was any way to avoid having to lose the hair. It was ridiculous, he knew, to want so badly to hold onto the unconventional curls…but it wasn't the hair itself that he wanted to hold onto, but something of himself, some visible symbol of what he'd been before he'd made his decision to become one with the thin blue line. When he looked in the mirror, he wanted to see himself, not some stranger in a uniform heading out to face a life he'd never have envisioned for himself. So, he swallowed his distaste of asking for special intercession with a grimace, straightened his shoulders and walked into the restaurant where he'd asked Simon to meet him for lunch.

The captain of the Major Crimes Unit was already there, staring sightlessly at the menu as he wondered why Sandburg had asked for this private meeting, specifically indicating that he wanted to see Simon alone, which could only mean that he didn't want Ellison to know anything about it. Chewing on his lip, he sincerely hoped the former grad student hadn't changed his mind about going to the Academy.

"Hey, Simon…thanks for agreeing to see me," Blair said as he slid into the booth opposite Simon in the trendy vegetarian restaurant Sandburg had suggested.

"Sandburg," Simon acknowledged with a nod. Then, to avoid what he feared was the purpose of this meeting, he pointed irritably at the menu as he continued, "Could you decipher this for me…I have no idea what kind of food this place serves, or what 'Triton's Folly', 'Demeter's Feast' or 'Ambrosia' might possibly be. Couldn't you have suggested something that serves good, old fashioned meat and potatoes?"

"Just watching out for your cholesterol, Simon," Blair soothed with an impish grin as he picked up his own copy of the menu. "Somebody's got to make sure my boss stays healthy."

Sandburg was surprised when Simon immediately blew out an obvious breath of relief and seemed to visibly relax at his words. In response to the unspoken question signaled by his quirking brow and expression of sudden confusion, Simon smiled softly as he explained, "I was afraid you invited me here to tell me you'd changed your mind about becoming a cop. I'm glad to know I was wrong."

"Oh!" Blair exclaimed as understanding bloomed in his eyes, and then he blushed as he looked hurriedly back down at the menu, touched that Simon had been worried that he might not be joining the Major Crimes Unit. "No," he murmured, shaking his head, "that's not why I wanted to talk to you. I'm going to the Academy. You can count on that. It was something else…"

Picking a fresh, still warm multigrain roll from the basket the server had placed on the table with two glasses of water when he'd first arrived, Simon broke it open as he replied, "Alright, you wanted to talk…so talk."

The server arrived again just then, so Blair took a moment to order, for both of them as it turned out when Simon looked helplessly at the menu and then told Sandburg to just order something the kid knew he would like. When the attractive young woman turned away, Blair toyed with the cutlery for a moment, fidgeting as he wondered if this was such a good idea.

"Sandburg, whatever it is, spit it out," Banks ordered, impatient as ever with hesitant delays and obfuscations.

"Yeah, okay," Blair replied, taking a deep breath as he looked up into Simon's eyes, his own projecting his mingled emotions of hope and embarrassment. "Simon, I've been thinking…"

"Lord help me," Simon muttered, but there was a twinkle buried deep in his dark eyes.

The soft comment surprised a smile from Blair and the familiar teasing helped him to relax. Grateful, he pushed on, "It's about my…hair." Pausing for a moment, he checked to see if there was any reaction.

Banks narrowed his eyes a little, beginning to suspect where this was going. Unconsciously, his shoulders straightened a little as his lips thinned, waiting for it. Without realizing it, he had already begun to shake his head…no way could Blair expect to save those ridiculous curls. The police academy was in many respects a paramilitary establishment and recruits, cadets, had to conform to a certain standard. It was part of learning the discipline required in their future careers.

Seeing the incipient signs of refusal, Blair rushed on, "Just give me a minute, here, okay? Before you say 'no'? It would be different if I was going to follow the established pattern of being a uniformed patrolman, but I'm not, right? You're going to bring me straight into Major Crimes to work with Jim…I mean, that's the whole idea, that I be his partner? Well…we don't work in uniform there…and we do a fair amount of undercover work. So, my hair could be an asset." Raising his hands for emphasis, a quizzical expression on his face, Sandburg asked, "I ask you, do I look like a cop to you?"

Simon's head was still shaking in the negative as he studied Sandburg, but now it was for a whole different reason. "No, Sandburg," he replied without a trace of a smile, "you don't look like a cop, not unless I count the guys in Vice or Narcotics, and that's your point, isn't it?"

"Yep, that's it, exactly," Blair confirmed as he sat back, pleased that Simon seemed to be willing to at least consider the idea.

Thoughtfully, Banks stared blindly out of the window beside them, his fingertips lightly tapping the table as he pondered Blair's request. At any given time, there were any number of cases on his desk that required some undercover work and Sandburg might be just the wild card he needed. The kid made a good point. No one would look at that hair and those earnest eyes, or that boyish face and think 'cop'. It would be virtually unheard of for someone to be exempted from the rigorous standards of the Academy, but then Sandburg didn't seem to fit any of the usual categories. Never had, come to that. The kid was…unique. Unbidden, another thought slipped into the forefront of his mind.

"You didn't want Ellison here because you don't want him hearing you volunteer for what are usually dangerous and uncontrollable assignments, right?" he asked, turning his astute gaze back on the younger man.

Looking a little chagrined to have been so transparent, Blair nodded as he replied, "Yeah, you got it, man. I don't think he's quite wrapped his head around what all this means yet. I mean…I think in the back of his mind, he still thinks he'll be able to order me to 'Stay in the truck, Chief!'" His voice had deepened as he mimicked his partner's tones and cadence.

Giving him a sardonic half smile, Simon agreed, "I suspect you're right about that. The first time you move out with a gun in your hand is going to shock the hell out of him."

"He won't be the only one," Blair muttered, looking away briefly, but then he gave himself a visible shake and turned back to Simon. "So…what about the hair?"

"Not so fast, Sandburg," Simon replied, made thoughtful by Blair's response to the idea of holding a gun. "You have come to terms with the fact you'll have to use a weapon someday, right?"

Blowing out a long breath, Blair nodded, his face somber, his eyes deadly serious. "Yes, Simon," he replied firmly, "I have. I couldn't go to the Academy if I had any doubts about that. Lives will depend on me doing my job…you don't have to worry about me screwing that up. I promise you."

Equally sober, Simon nodded in acceptance of the vow. "I believe you," he said simply as he reflected that for all the kid looked like a refugee from 'Hair', there were few men he knew who were as committed or responsible in their choices and actions. When he thought about the choice Blair had made to protect Jim Ellison's secret, he amended his thought…there was no one he knew who was more committed, who would give more, or even as much, as this man had done to do what was right.

Grateful, relieved, Blair blinked and looked away from the intensity of Simon's gaze. Silence fell between them as the server brought their food and set it before them. Blair pushed his hair back behind his ears, then picked up his soupspoon. Knowing Simon enjoyed spicy food, he'd ordered them gazpacho to be followed by the 'Demeter's Feast' Greek salad plate.

"So, not to be pushy," he resumed as he dipped the spoon in his bowl.

"'Pushy', Sandburg, you?" Simon teased as he started in on his own lunch. "Never."

"C'mon, Simon…don't keep me in suspense, man," Blair cajoled. "Do you think there's any way around the rules about this hair business?"

Idly stirring his own soup, Simon sighed. Finally, he nodded, as he made his decision. "Alright, you make a good point. I'll see what I can do," he replied. At the look of naked relief on the kid's face, Simon held up his hands as he said hurriedly, "Now…don't get your hopes too high. I don't make these decisions. I can only make a request, that for the good of the department and in expectation of the duties you will be assigned, that you be allowed a dispensation with respect to the regulation haircut."

"I know, I know," Blair answered, his head bobbing in understanding. But, his face lit with that smile that could light the whole world let alone warm a cynical police captain's heart as he said, "Thanks, Simon…I really appreciate this."

Banks closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head slightly, feeling the depth of gratitude he read in Sandburg's eyes was out of all proportion to what he'd agreed to do. And that was when he saw past the arguments Sandburg had made to keep the hair and wondered why it was so important to the kid. Hair grew back, after all. Cutting it shouldn't have been such a big deal. Returning Sandburg's gaze, with a look that suggested he expected an answer, he asked, "All right, now that you've manipulated me into doing what you want, and pointed out why it's good for the department, would you care to tell me why it's so important to you? It's only hair, Sandburg…it's not like the hair is who you are."

Taken aback by Simon's insight, not having expected the question, Blair looked away and swallowed. Taking a deep breath, he nodded, as he looked back and replied softly, "I know it's just hair, and that it would grow back. It's just that…there're so many changes in my life, you know? I'm not…what I was, who I was…for so long. Not going to be what I expected to be someday. Don't get me wrong, I'm not sorry to be going to the Academy. I'm grateful for the opportunity. But…I never expected to be a cop…I guess I just want to keep something that's 'me'. Crazy, I guess…."

"No, Sandburg, it's not crazy," Simon replied gently, compassion in his eyes. "What you did is…well, pretty damned amazing. Not to mention incredibly noble. You have a right to want to hold onto some symbol of the man you were before…well before everything went to hell in a handbasket."

Blair blushed again and looked away, feeling a lump in his throat at Simon's words and the look of profound understanding and respect in the older man's eyes. "Thanks, Simon," he murmured, "for understanding."

"Oh, I understand alright, but listen to me, Sandburg," the captain went on, his voice stern, needing to be heard clearly. "I meant what I said that the hair isn't you. Whether or not we get this dispensation, you don't need those locks to be Blair Sandburg. Who you are is defined by your intellect, your heart and your soul, by the choices and decisions you make, the actions you take…not by what anyone, including you, sees on the outside in terms of something as superficial as the style you wear your hair. Remember that."

Taking a deep breath, Blair nodded as he looked back at his Captain. "I'll remember, sir, thank you," he promised.

"See that you do…I can't say I'm personally all that fond of the hair. But, I have come to very much appreciate the man underneath all those curls," Simon replied, his voice a little rough, as he surprised himself with that admission. It wasn't his style to be so forthcoming or free with his sentiments about his people.

Blair grinned impishly as he replied, "I know what you mean…I'm not fond of the cigars, but I love you, too, Simon."

"That's 'Captain' to you, Sandburg," Simon replied with a withering glare, only half kidding.

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," Blair snapped back with parade ground dignity, then ruined the effect with a snicker as he picked up his spoon and resumed his lunch. Relieved that his request had been accepted, warmed by Simon's friendship and touched by the older man's words, he suddenly found he felt really hungry.

As their lunch progressed, they talked easily about the curriculum at the Academy and how Blair was preparing himself for the courses he'd face. More relaxed, Blair was able to bring himself to ask the question he'd been wondering about ever since Simon had made him this incredible offer. "Simon," he asked, "can I ask how you got anybody to agree to me attending the Academy, let alone be slated for a detective position on your team? I'm mean, a community that prides itself on representing truth and justice is an odd place to find a self-proclaimed liar and fraud."

Caught off-guard by the question, Simon looked away, staring out of the window as he thought about just saying he'd 'handled it' and letting it go at that. But, frowning at how easily Sandburg referred to himself as a 'liar and fraud' made him reconsider. Looking back at Blair, he thought how wrong it was…and how much right Blair had to know about the conversations that had occurred about him. Taking a breath, Simon said, "Sandburg, it is all about 'truth' and 'justice'. When I heard about the sacrifice you had made, there was nothing I could do to set the record straight in the public forum. But, within the department, there was a lot I could, and did, say." Looking away from those intense blue eyes, the captain hoped what he was about to say wouldn't be seen by Sandburg as a fundamental violation of trust.

Sighing, he went on, "I decided it was time for me to tell the truth to my superiors about Jim's senses. And that everything you had said in that paper was true. They were somewhat surprised to hear all that, let me assure you."

"I'll bet they were," Blair murmured, blowing out a silent breath, his brows arching as he considered the implications. "Does Jim know about this?"

"Not yet," Simon replied with a long-suffering sigh, too able to picture how that conversation would go. "But, I'll tell him later today, as I'm telling you now, you don't need to worry that Jim will be in any way compromised by this. My superiors have the same fundamental responsibility to protect his privacy, as a member of the force, as I do. Anyway, I assured them that I'd checked the precedents and verified that the legal rights of citizens would not be compromised by the use of his talents…" Simon broke off at the look of surprise on Blair's face. "What," he continued, "did you think you were the only one borrowing books from the departmental library to do the research to be absolutely certain that what we were doing was legally and ethically valid?"

Blair just kept his mouth closed and shook his head. If he had thought that, Simon's revelation had certainly disabused him of any such narrow assumptions.

"Anyway," the captain continued, "I explained to them that your real role was to work with Jim, that you were doing research with him to understand and control his senses. I also told them that, in my opinion, you had been, and continue to be, essential for him to function at peak effectiveness. And, that's the 'truth' part of it, Sandburg."

"Thanks, Simon," Blair breathed, but Simon held up his hand.

"I'm not finished," he said. "There's still the 'justice' part that needs to be addressed. What you did took a lot of guts, Sandburg…and a whole lot of integrity," Simon said, respect burning in his eyes. "I couldn't replace what you had sacrificed for Jim, for the department, and, yes, I know, even for me. But, I was damned if I wasn't going to offer you something to approximate what you had so nobly given up without hesitation…a career in law enforcement if you wanted one. I pointed out to the Chief and the Commissioner that you had made a very substantial contribution to our team, not just as a support to Jim, but through your brilliant, insightful, creatively intuitive and unorthodox perspectives…and I had the arrest records to back that up. I want you on my team. Further, I pointed out that since you had compromised your whole future, impugning your academic integrity, not to mention your own personal credibility, to protect the department and to get the media out of our face to let us do our jobs, we owed you…big time. When they had the whole picture, they couldn't help but agree with me. So, pressure was brought to bear on the Academy." It hadn't been quite as easy as that, but Sandburg didn't need to know the gory details.

"Pressure?" Blair repeated, concerned and uncomfortable with that idea.

Simon hesitated again, biting his lip, wishing he could say that he'd been able to remove all the hurdles from Sandburg's path, but he couldn't. "Sandburg, the people at the Academy don't know any of this. And, they no doubt resent the pressure and wonder what makes you so special. But…they're cops. Good cops. They know that nothing, least of all what the media presents as fact, is all that it seems on the surface. I'm hoping they'll give you a chance to show them what you can do…that they'll give you a fair shake. I'm sorry, it was the best that I could do."

"Sorry?" Blair stammered. "My God, Simon…you just keep blowing me away, man." Pausing for a moment, speechless at what this truly honourable man had done for him, Blair could only shake his head in awe…and overwhelming gratitude. Taking a breath, he said quietly, his voice shaking with sincerity, "I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you for this, Captain. But, I promise you, I won't ever let you down."

"You never have, Blair," Simon replied. "You never have." Pausing before he returned his attention to his salad, he stated simply, "Nor do you owe anybody anything for this. It was about 'truth' and 'justice', period."

********************

True to his word, Simon bit the bullet as soon as he returned to his office, calling to Ellison to follow him as he walked by. Once they had reached his office, he closed the door as he motioned Jim to a seat.

Wondering what his superior wanted to discuss, Jim felt a vague disquiet as the silence stretched between them while Simon stared out the office window, obviously uncomfortable.

Finally, with a sigh, Banks turned to face Jim as he gave it to him straight. "There's something you need to know. When I learned what Sandburg had said during his press conference, I decided that the time had come to set the record straight, at least as far as I am able. I've told the Chief and the Commissioner about your senses."

"What?" Jim exclaimed, stunned. Consternation gave way to a reflexive anger that Simon had betrayed his trust.

Seeing the expression hardening on Ellison's face, Simon cut in before Jim could say more. "Just listen for a minute before you blow up. Your 'secret' isn't compromised. They are as bound as I am to respect and protect your privacy," he assured, hoping this would assuage his subordinate's anxiety. But, when the anger remained, even verged on what looked a lot like disgust as Jim turned his head away, his jaw tight and his posture rigidly uncompromising, Simon felt his own anger flare. "You listen to me, Detective Ellison and you listen good," he ordered, his voice a low snarl. "Your best friend and partner crucified himself to protect you…destroyed himself professionally and personally. Sandburg labeled himself a fraud and tossed his own credibility and integrity into the gutter for you. Maybe you can live with that, but I couldn't. Can you possibly imagine that I could have ever gotten a self-proclaimed fraud a chance at the Academy without letting the Chief and the Commissioner know the truth? God damn it, Jim, we owe him…you, me, this city…and I'll be damned if I was going to let him hang himself and not do everything in my power to repay his sacrifice. If he can live with virtually everyone in this world believing he's an unethical fraud, you can damned well live with your superiors knowing the truth. Am I clear?"

Simon's angry words hit Jim with the force of a battering ram, smashing through his instinctive, fear spawned anger with a truth that was humiliating and overwhelming. His shoulders sagged as he bowed his head in shame. Fighting down the bile that rose with the understanding that Simon held him in as much contempt as he held himself, he murmured quietly, "Very clear, Captain."

"Good," Banks snapped as he turned away. There was another long silence between them and Simon felt his own anger dissipate. Better than Ellison knew, he understood Jim's fear of exposure and how that fear compromised his capacity to manage his senses…understood that Jim truly believed the truth about his senses couldn't be revealed.

Behind him, Jim straightened as he looked at his superior's back. "I'm sorry, Simon. Of course you had to share the truth with the Chief and the Commissioner. And…believe me," he continued, his voice hoarse with the emotions he was trying desperately to control, "I know what Blair did for me…I know what I owe him. Thank you for doing what you did to…to stand by him. To give him something back."

Banks nodded, suddenly feeling very weary. "All right," he sighed as he turned back. His expression was compassionate as he gazed down at his subordinate and saw the guilt written so clearly on Jim's face. But he couldn't find the words to grant absolution. Ellison would have to find the way to make his own peace with his conscience. Waving awkwardly toward the bullpen, he said quietly, "There's work to do…best you get back at it."

Swallowing, looking away, Jim stood and left the office.

********************

Jim didn't say anything to Blair about his conversation with Simon when he got home after work. He didn't know about the meeting his superior had had with his roommate earlier in the day. But, his subdued manner when he entered the loft was the only signal Blair needed to know that Jim now knew that more people shared the secret of his senses.

Later though, Blair wondered what exactly had been said when Jim, after pushing the food around on his plate without taking a single bite, finally laid down his fork and looked up at him with haunted eyes. "What?" Sandburg asked, worried.

Jim's gaze dropped as he looked away, shaking his head a little before he looked back and asked quietly, "Chief…you do know how much I appreciate what you did…the press conference…don't you?"

"Yeah…sure I do," Blair hastened to reassure him. "Why?"

Shrugging a little helplessly, Jim replied hesitantly, "It just feels so…wrong. I can't handle people knowing the truth…so you set yourself up to be seen as a liar. I…" But, his voice trailed off, caught in the pain of a dilemma he couldn't find a way to resolve.

"Hey," Blair replied softly as he reached to grip Jim's forearm firmly. "It's all right, Jim. Everything has turned out all right. I'm going to the Academy; I get to be your partner for real. Let it go, man…we're past that."

Jim searched Blair's eyes and found the absolution he so sorely needed…but, somehow, it didn't assuage the guilt he felt to the depths of his soul.

********************

Simon must have been persuasive, because Blair received a call from the Academy two days later informing him that in view of his anticipated assignment following graduation and for the good of the department, special permission was being granted to him to forego the usual regulation hair cut. However, he was cautioned that his hair was to be tied back at all times, and when in full uniform, it was to be pulled up and concealed by his cap.

Blair couldn't resist a cheer of victory when he hung up the phone, his face blazing with happiness. When Jim heard the news, he could only shake his head as he reached out to ruffle his friend's hair while muttering, "Only you, Chief, only you could pull off something like this…"

Of course, he might not have been so sanguine if he'd known that Blair had volunteered for undercover work as the rationale for keeping his long hair…but all Sandburg had said was he'd sought Simon's support that since he wouldn't be working in a uniformed branch but in Major Crimes, the regulation haircut wasn't, perhaps, really, absolutely, necessary.

And so it was, when the day came, Blair stepped out of his room crisply dressed in the stiffly pressed spanking new uniform of a police cadet, his hair pulled back and hidden under the formal peaked cap of a police officer. Unusually reticent, his manner shy, he looked over at Jim who was sliding pancakes from the griddle onto a plate. Straightening his shoulders, he asked doubtfully, "So, uh, what do you think?"

Jim had been gazing at him with an unreadable look on his face but his expression relaxed into a slight smile as he replied, "Looking good, Chief…different…but good."

Smiling with relief, Blair stepped forward to take the plate Jim was holding out toward him. "Thanks, man. I feel like a kid dressed up for Halloween, you know? It'll take a while for this to feel…well…normal, I guess." Moving to the table, he pulled off his cap and set it to the side, his gathered hair falling down to hang over the back of his collar.

I can imagine it will, Jim thought with a twinge of sadness. Sandburg had had to give up so much to come to the point of wearing that uniform. But all he said as he sat down across from his friend and picked up his glass of juice was, "Don't worry, you'll get used to it."

Blair nodded as he took a bite. But, the butterflies in his stomach were taking up too much room for him to get down more than a few bites and a couple of sips of juice. First day nerves, he told himself as he pushed the plate back and picked up his cap. Reaching to shove his hair under, he slid the cap onto his head and straightened it carefully. Taking a deep breath, he said as he stood, "Well, I don't want to be late on my first day, so I'd better be off. See you later."

"'Later, Chief…and, Sandburg, don't worry, you're going to do just fine," Jim replied, his voice warm and reassuring. "In fact, I predict that you'll be great."

"Thanks, Jim," Blair replied with a grateful smile…and then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.

The Sentinel listened to the clatter of steps on the stairwell and sighed as he pushed his own plate away. He'd meant it; he believed Blair would blow them away at the Academy. Jim Ellison just wished there could have been another way that hadn't cost his friend so much.

Turning his gaze to the door, Jim murmured, "I promise you, Sandburg, this will be okay. I promise I'll keep you safe, that you'll be all right."

********************

After his first day at the Academy, Blair wasn't sure being allowed to keep the hair was such a good thing. Too many people there had seen his press conference and were aware that he'd labeled himself a fraud…and they didn't hesitate, or at least several of them didn't, to tell everyone else in the new class of cadets. The hair only gave one more excuse for them to jibe at him with insults and speculations about his masculinity if not his integrity.

Gritting his teeth, pasting a smile on his face, Blair told himself that he'd only gotten what he asked for and he'd be damned if he'd abuse Simon's support by cutting his hair now just to 'fit in'. He didn't fit in. With or without the hair. He wasn't a jock, or an 'outdoors' sort of person who looked for work outside of a traditional office setting, however much he could understand the lure having enjoyed his field work a whole lot more than filling out those forms administration never tired of requiring. He didn't have an overwhelming urge to 'protect' anyone but his Sentinel, though it mattered to him to know he'd be able to save lives. He hadn't grown up in a law enforcement household, taking after a parent who had been, or still was, a cop, but then he thought with a small smile that sharing a home with Jim was not unlike having a relative he respected in law enforcement. Ruefully, he shook his head, reflecting that maybe he wasn't so different after all. But, as he looked at some of the behemoths that surrounded him, he knew he'd never be that tall or muscular. And, as he thought about those who were trying to bully him, he reflected that he had no desire for power of any kind over other people.

And he had labeled himself 'a fraud', so he couldn't be surprised by the wary and even resentful looks he got from other students and many of the staff. He could only hope, as Simon did, that they'd give him a 'fair shake' and that, after a while, they'd accept, if not exactly trust, him.

After a few days, he found a niche with other cadets who had chosen this career simply because they wanted to serve, because it was the right thing to do, right for them anyway, to make a difference for the better in their community. The rest he tried to get along with as best he could, ignoring the malicious and sarcastic comments made when the instructors weren't present or too quietly for anyone in authority to hear. He didn't complain, didn't whine, didn't even tell Jim about any of it. What would be the point? Jim would only feel badly, maybe try to get involved, which would only make him look like a wimp. This was his row to hoe, so he bent himself to the tasks at hand, determined to do his absolute best to repay the trust Simon and the others had in him. It wasn't as if he cared what the other cadets said, not really. They didn't know him. But, they might have to work together one day, who knew, so he did his best not to cultivate enemies, to win tolerance if not respect.

He worked hard at every aspect of the curriculum. A professional student for years, the course work was a snap for him and he routinely scored brilliantly on the quizzes and tests. But, he didn't study to get good grades…he studied long into each night to make sure he'd be a good cop. Though he didn't think of himself as an athlete, he'd done plenty of fieldwork in harsh conditions…and he'd had to keep up with a Sentinel, who'd had Covert Ops military training, for years. So much to his own surprise, he also scored in the top three on the initial physical fitness of agility, stamina and speed. But, he pushed himself harder still…out in the streets, being fit, being able to chase down a suspect or race to someone's defence could mean the difference between life and death.

The physical training related to self-defence and bringing down an assailant was more difficult. Blair had an aversion for physical violence and abhorred the idea of combat. But, he'd had to learn a few hard lessons in self-defence over the years working with Ellison and he was pragmatic. This was just one more skill, one more challenge he needed to conquer if he was to be Jim's partner. Though he was considerably smaller than many of the other cadets, he was solid, and when he was determined, he was a force to be reckoned with…a terrier that just wouldn't let go. So, he practiced hour after hour, honing and perfecting the moves, unconscious of his natural balance and exceptional grace of movement that others came to admire. It wasn't long before he could more than hold his own, even dropping Mallory, one of the more belligerent and aggressive cadets who was a great deal larger, stronger, meaner and who never seemed to tire of baiting him, to the mat with relative ease. An ease that only inflamed the dislike Mallory harboured for him, fanning it into a fury spawned by prejudice and fed by arrogance.

"I'll take you down," the big, surly cadet growled one day from the mat where he lay face down and helpless with Blair's knee in his back, pinning him to the floor.

"Maybe," Sandburg agreed with easy good humour, "but not today, my friend."

"I'm no friend of yours, you lying fag," Mallory growled back.

"Gosh, Mallory, you keep saying those nice things and I'll begin to wonder if you're in love with me," Blair taunted good-naturedly as he released his hold and moved to help the other cadet to his feet.

Furious, the muscular cadet rolled and kicked out, but Blair had been waiting for the move. It wasn't the first time that Mallory had played dirty. Philosophically, Sandburg just figured it was good practice in never letting down his guard around a suspect who had apparently been subdued. Stepping back from the attack, his hands up as he crouched in readiness for another aggressive assault, Blair prepared to take Mallory down again. Which he did, with unnerving ease. The two cadets hadn't realized they'd garnered a bit of an audience, other cadets around them turning at Mallory's tone of threat to see if there was a problem. When the bully hit the mat for a second time, red-faced and furious, while Blair moved with the grace of a dancer and didn't even break a sweat, there was a spattering of applause.

At the sound, Sandburg looked around in surprise, gave a quick grin and bowed his head in acknowledgment. But, inside, he was sorry for the attention. Mallory had never liked him, and it was only too clear the easy malice was swiftly building into a very real hatred…and that could only lead to more confrontations with the hostile cadet. It was Blair's secret and profound hope that when they finally did graduate, they'd be assigned so far apart from one another that he'd never have to work with the guy again, because he just didn't trust Mallory to ever be more than trouble.

In class, Sandburg aced the role-play sessions that required emotional insight into people, demonstrating a brilliant capacity to disarm, to win trust and cooperation and to diffuse potentially deadly situations. His experience working with Jim and the others, combined with his own keen intelligence, was revealed time and again in case studies and scenarios requiring creative intuition combined with thoughtful and informed judgment. But, even then, he pursued lengthy conversations with the instructors and the other cadets, exploring and debating other options that might have even better results in the kinds of situations they were discussing.

Thorough, rigorous, Blair challenged himself to the limits and beyond every hour of every day to ensure that when he was 'out there' for real that no one would be at risk because he didn't know how to do his job.

The hardest of all, though, was coming to grips with the gun…literally. When his assigned weapon was first held out to him, it had been an effort of supreme will, of extreme control, to reach out and grasp it, taking it firmly into a hand he desperately tried to keep from shaking. Turning away, fighting his inclination to shudder and heave a deep breath to draw in air to drive off the feeling of suffocation, Blair kept his muscles rigid, his expression bland. He could feel the weight of it in his fist, the cold, sleek hardness of it and he could have sworn it reeked of the smell of blood. Keep it together, Sandburg, you can do this, he commanded himself as he fell into line along the wall of the interior shooting range, reminding himself of the few times when Jim had pushed a gun into his hands and he'd swallowed hard, knowing at the time it was necessary. Well, this was also necessary. The fact that he hadn't actually ever had to aim a gun at someone, and fire, with the intent to wound if not kill wasn't really relevant, was it?

He forced himself to listen to the instructor's words about how to hold, care for and use the weapon. "You must always aim for the body as this presents the largest target and allows the best possibility of disabling the assailant. Remember…no fancy shooting, ever…when you fire, you do so with deadly intent. It may well mean your life, not to mention the lives of the people you are sworn to protect," the instructor stated with implacable clarity.

Blair's breath caught at those words and he realized with a shock of horror that he'd been unconsciously deluding himself to think he'd not have to learn to shoot to kill. Forcing himself to breathe, fighting the bile that rose in his throat, he trembled with his determination to see this through…to do what was necessary.

To learn to kill.

It took everything he had.

When it came time to fire it at the target, the cadets were directed to put on sound mufflers to protect their eardrums, and then each took a place in the long bank of stalls. Blair swallowed hard against his parched throat, took a deep breath and lifted the weapon, holding it in both hands, his arms straight and elbows locked, his feet spaced apart for balance. Sighting along the barrel to the target beyond, he squeezed the trigger gently, not jerking it…and scored a hit in the center of the man-shaped image.

He thought he might throw up.

Instead, he gritted his jaw, forced himself to take a deep breath and fired again…and again…and again…until the pistol was empty. When he relaxed his muscles from their rigid stance, his arms were shaking, his whole body trembling and he had to fight off the desire to weep. Rubbing his sweaty palms along the sides of his trousers, he reloaded, lifted the weapon, and resumed firing. He could do this. He had to. He didn't have a choice.

From that day on, he spent every spare moment on the firing range, until he'd attained top scores and rated as a marksman. When one of his instructors approached him to ask if he'd consider serving as a sniper on special assault and rescue SWAT teams, Blair froze inside at the thought of patiently holding a rifle with the intent to kill, but just shook his head. It would be too much like being an assassin and the very idea of it made him feel ill. Too much imagination, Sandburg, he castigated himself as the instructor waited for his response. "No," he explained then, glad he was able to maintain an easy, calm tone, "I already have an assignment waiting for me, but thanks anyway." Then he simply turned back to the firing range to resume his practice. Blair knew he was already more than capable of efficiently killing someone if and when that terrible day came, but that wasn't nearly good enough to satisfy his own rigorous standards. No, he was determined to be good enough to maybe have the chance in a desperate situation to disarm without having to take a life, no matter how dangerous the criminal might be. It was up to the courts to make life and death decisions, and he intended so far as was ever possible to give the courts the opportunity to do their job.

In the early days, Jim tried to get Blair to talk about life at the Academy, wondering if his friend was getting a fair shake. But, Sandburg would just shrug, open one of his books, say everything was fine and study well past the time when he should have been in bed. Shrugging, Ellison told himself not to be surprised. This was Sandburg the Student…obsessive as ever about learning all he could as fast as possible.

But, as the weeks went by, Jim couldn't help but notice Blair had changed. He was quieter for one thing, more somber than Ellison had ever known him to be. The indefinable spark, that mixture of bright enthusiasm and pervasive cheerfulness, the wonder that had been in his eyes, the way he'd chattered on and on about whatever caught his fancy…it was all missing. The kid would smile, even crack a joke from time to time, but the lightness of spirit was gone and Jim mourned its loss. One day, he found himself wondering when he'd last heard Blair laughing with high good spirits, unreservedly…like a delighted child. And, he found it had been so long that he couldn't actually remember. He only knew it had been too long, and he wondered if he'd ever hear that sound again.

Maybe he should have talked to Sandburg about it, but he didn't know what to say. How could he complain about missing what amounted to an innocence of spirit when he knew too damned well the pain Blair had suffered on his behalf, and was no doubt still suffering, was what had cost Blair his innocence? How could he ask his friend why he was so serious and somber when he knew the doubts Sandburg had had about becoming a police officer? Blair had always been the one with the ready words and the right questions, the one to provoke discussions about difficult subjects…when he was silent, Jim didn't know how to deal with it. He didn't want to push, so he backed off.

Made for quiet evenings in the loft.

Ellison told himself it would be better when they were working together again. Blair would relax and see that it wouldn't be all that different from the way it had always been. As the experienced officer, Jim would take the lead and Blair would back him up, that's the way it would go. Just like before, he'd do all in his power to keep Sandburg safe.

Unconsciously, the detective didn't even realize he wasn't really adjusting to the new reality. Blair wasn't going to be a civilian, someone who could be ordered to stay in the truck, out of the way of danger, not that he'd listened all that well anyway. Jim wouldn't be able to treat him the same way in the hopes of keeping him safe. The rules would change once Blair graduated, and though Blair knew that, and Simon knew it, and everyone else on the squad knew it, Jim hadn't really figured that part out yet.

********************

At first, the instructors had been decidedly cool towards him, wondering how a guy who'd lied to the world and abused his friendship with a police officer to write such incredible fiction without even bothering to change the detective's name, had ever managed to be accepted to the Academy. Not only accepted, but given the special dispensation of not having to cut his hair. It didn't add up. Seasoned officers with curious minds, they checked their own sources in the department and speculated about the infamous 'Sentinel' dissertation privately and amongst themselves. Ellison had been named 'Policeman of the Year' more than once, routinely actually, both before and after Sandburg had been working with him as an unofficial observer. There was no doubt that Ellison was an outstanding cop…but he'd pulled off some truly amazing stunts in the last few years…the 'Sandburg years' as they came to refer to them in their quiet speculative conversations in the staff coffee room. And, it was an open rumour that the 'righteous' Ellison couldn't wait to get his 'partner' back, refusing to work with anyone else until Sandburg graduated and was assigned to the Major Crimes Unit, which didn't square with someone who had supposedly abused his trust. Added to all of that, so far as they knew him and some of them knew him very well, Simon Banks was no fool. If he was willing to jump Sandburg over any number of other well qualified, experienced and deserving officers in order to give him a gold shield right out of the Academy…well, it would be a first.

Actually, it was damned near unbelievable.

All of which meant that Blair Sandburg wasn't all that he seemed in the public eye.

Nor did it take them long to be personally impressed with his clear talents and hard work. No doubt about it, he was going to make an outstanding cop. Which only made them wonder more about the story behind the story that had caused such a stir a few short weeks ago. Some of them even tried to get Sandburg to talk about it, veiled enquiries to learn the truth about this 'Sentinel' business, but Sandburg froze them out. His face would go all blank and pale as he politely, but resolutely, refused any comment on what had occurred. All he'd say was that he'd made a mistake but he hoped he'd learned from it…and that was that.

Which only made them all the more certain that there was a great deal more to the truth than what most people might ever know. Professionals, they kept their opinions to themselves within their own closed circle, but they'd be watching what this crime team would accomplish once Sandburg graduated. "Should make for interesting times in the city," one quipped to the others during one of those speculative discussions, "If the bad guys have any sense, they'll move out of town while they still have the freedom to get away." His colleagues chuckled at his wry observation…but they were also in complete accord.

Nor were the instructors as oblivious as Blair thought them to be with respect to the nastiness he was experiencing from some of the other cadets. With narrowed eyes and silent appraisal, they watched those who couldn't seem to accept the man on his own terms, letting their biases and prejudices cloud their judgment of a fellow cadet who did nothing to earn their personal rancor. As the weeks went by, several of the troublemakers were surprised to find themselves deemed 'unsatisfactory' and summarily dismissed from the Academy. Blind to their own shortcomings, they couldn't see that their attitudes spelled trouble, that they'd be dangerous on the streets, abusing their power in order to intimidate others. Though nothing was ever said that would let them know the decisions were at least in part influenced by their treatment of Sandburg, many resented the fact that he got to stay while they were kicked out…and some, one of whom was Mallory, would nurse their grievance with a grim and implacable patience, holding him in their minds as the symbol of the injustice done to them. One day Sandburg would get his due. And what a sweet day that would be.

The weeks wore on.

Sandburg kept his head down and did all that he could do to get through it as successfully as possible. Once he graduated, he was all too conscious of the responsibilities he would bear as an armed officer of the law…he intended to be as ready as humanly possible to fulfill those responsibilities and repay the trust all the members of the Major Crimes Unit had in him.

********************

About a month after Blair had entered the Academy, William Ellison called his son, to report that he'd held the conversations they'd discussed.

"Do you think it will do any good?" Jim asked. "Does your lawyer think there's any kind of case here of unlawful dismissal or whatever they call it when a student is expelled?"

His father sighed as he replied, "I don't know, Jimmy. My lawyer wrote up a letter for me to send to the Chancellor with thinly veiled threats of a possible lawsuit, but we haven't gotten any response other than they've received my letter and are 'considering the matter'. As for the folks I know on the Board of Trustees, well, they listened politely to my concerns but didn't say much. I'm afraid there isn't much we can do."

"I understand, Dad…thanks for trying," Jim had replied.

Thinking back on the conversation later, Ellison wondered at the mixed emotions he felt. Part of him really wanted Blair to be vindicated, to have a chance at obtaining the degree he so richly deserved. But, part of him was relieved. If Sandburg got his Ph.D., he might want to pursue another career…it would only make sense if he got the necessary academic credentials. It was what he'd trained the greater part of his life for, being a professor, researching, teaching. Ruthlessly, he pushed away a nagging anxiety that the university officials might well wonder why his father had attempted to lend Blair support…an odd thing for the man to do given his son's reputation was supposedly compromised by a document reputed to be false. Sighing, Jim rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head at his seemingly limitless capacity to be selfish, but God, he missed having Blair with him at work. Still, it was all out of his hands, he consoled himself to mute the guilt he was feeling. His father had tried and there was nothing more to be done. Letting it go, he was just glad he hadn't raised Blair's hopes since the situation with the university did, indeed, seem to be irreparable.

********************

One morning, about an hour after Sandburg had left, Jim headed down to his truck and was surprised to see the old battered Volvo still in its slot. Frowning, he noticed the tires were flat…all of them. Squatting to investigate, he ran his fingers over the treads, and found the puncture holes. Thoughtfully, he flipped open his cell and called their garage to see if Sandburg had arranged for new tires, unsurprised to learn they'd not heard anything from his roommate. Explaining the situation, Ellison ordered new tires to be charged to his account and directed that they be installed that day. As he talked, he scanned the other cars in the area and he didn't feel any better when he noticed that all of their tires appeared to be intact. A prank? Simple vandalism? Maybe.

But, maybe not.

That evening, Blair was surprised on his return to find his car once again whole and ready for use. Smiling to himself, he didn't have to guess that his best friend had found the damage and seen to the repairs. There hadn't been time that morning for him to do anything but sprint for the bus, cursing under his breath at the destructive tendencies of disaffected youth and muttering to himself about his bad luck in ending up the random target. Nor had there been time that day to call the garage himself and he'd thought he'd have to deal with it when he got home. He was tired and it was a relief to see the work had already been done.

"Thanks, Jim!" he called gratefully as he bounded into the loft, tossing his pack of books onto the floor by the sofa. "I see you got my tires replaced."

"Uh huh," Ellison grunted from the kitchen where he was busy chopping up the makings of a salad.

Going to the fridge, Blair snagged a beer for himself, and seeing that Jim didn't have one, pulled one out for his friend as well. "I really appreciate it, man. How much do I owe you?"

"We'll work that out once you have a paycheck coming in, Chief. Don't worry about it right now, okay?" Ellison replied, looking up and glad to see the grin on Blair's face and the agreeable nod. He'd been afraid of an argument about the money and he knew Sandburg didn't have two cents to rub together at that point. It was a relief to know Blair could accept a little help without making a big deal out of it. "So, why your car, Sandburg?" he asked, concern darkening his eyes.

Blair just shrugged as he moved to the stove to stir the tomato sauce that was simmering gently. "Who knows, man? Bad karma? Maybe whoever did it doesn't like classic cars," he replied.

Jim snorted at that. "Classic cars? Give me a break," he replied with the disparaging tone he reserved for the old Volvo.

Blair gave a short bark of laughter then moved to the counter to pull the fresh Italian bread Jim had picked up from the bakery downstairs from its paper wrapper. Slicing it and coating the halves with olive oil and herbs, he changed the subject. "So, how are things down at the station?"

"Oh, you know, the usual…some gang heisting semis loaded with military weapons destined for the base outside of town, word that a major drug deal is going to go down sometime soon, miscellaneous threats against prominent citizens…this and that," Ellison replied with a shrug as he loaded the rabbit food into a large bowl.

"'This and that,'" Blair snorted, "right. Any of those sound like they could be pretty hairy, Jim."

Not fooled by the nonchalance, Jim laid a hand on Blair's shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. "Don't worry about it, Chief. I'm being careful…I'll be fine," he said quietly. Blair nodded but didn't look up at him. Biting his lip, Ellison moved away to take plates from the cupboard and set the table. He knew all too well how hard Blair was finding it to not be able to be there in case he was needed, how much his roommate worried when he couldn't be present to provide backup. But, Blair had enough on his plate right now. He looked tired and he wasn't sleeping enough. No way could he be finding the Academy's curriculum all that difficult, so Jim knew Blair was driving himself to a level of unachievable perfection. The last thing he needed right now was to worry about errant Sentinel senses or the everyday hazards of life on the job as a detective in the Major Crimes Unit.

Silently, Jim drained the noodles and dished up their simple meal. When they were seated across from one another, he said, "You need to ease up on yourself, Chief…you're attacking your studies like they were a life and death issue…."

"They are," Blair interjected without apology. He looked up and caught Jim's pained expression and shook his head as he helped himself to the salad. "Look, I know you think I'm too intense about it all, but…Jim, it could be life or death. Yours. Some civilian. Another cop. I just want to be sure I'm ready when I graduate, that's all."

"I know, Sandburg…but you were a great detective before you started. You won't do anybody any good if you work yourself to death before you even hit the streets," Jim counseled as he reached for the cheese and shook copious amounts of it over his plate.

Blair eyed the flakes of solid cholesterol with disfavour but refrained from verbal comment. "I'm fine, don't worry so much, Mom," he replied, then cut Jim a quick glance accompanied by a fleeting grin to let his friend know it was the truth. He really was fine and there was nothing to worry about.

"Eat your dinner, Sandburg," Jim replied severely…but then he grinned back.

********************

The next morning, they went downstairs together, and found that someone had taken what looked like a sledgehammer to the windshield of Sandburg's car. A hole was punched through the glass, cracks radiating from it across the entire span of the windshield and tiny shards of shattered crystal littered the interior of the vehicle.

"Aw, man," Blair groaned under his breath, his tone that of an anguished wail. His insurance rates were already high enough. He really did not need this.

"You know, Chief, I think you've managed to seriously annoy someone," Ellison observed. But, though his words and tone were mild, inside his gut clenched. This wasn't random violence.

Someone was sending Blair a message.

"You think?" Blair asked with disgust, but then shook his head. "No…really…who'd do this?"

"I don't know, Chief," Jim responded as he pulled out his cell to call the garage and arrange the tow and repairs while his eyes scanned the area searching for whomever might be watching to enjoy the reaction to the vandalism. But he didn't see anyone who looked the least bit suspicious…just the usual early morning traffic and pedestrians heading to work. Flipping his cell closed after the conversation with the mechanic, Ellison turned to Blair to resume the one they'd been having. "You haven't been anywhere but here and the Academy for weeks. Since I didn't do this, or slash your tires, who at the Academy would attack you like this?"

Shaking his head, Blair sighed. "No one I can think of. I mean…there're've been a few people who took exception to me being there after…well, you know. But, that's just stuff, man, to be expected. Maybe this is just random vandalism."

Jim winced at that. He wondered how much crap Blair had had to put up with that he was unaware of, just because it was 'to be expected'. But, his tone as he replied held nothing of his own pain at those simple words or why Blair just took it as a given. Indeed, in his attempt to hide his own anguish, to spare Blair that at least, he sounded almost gruff. "C'mon, Sandburg, you're supposed to be a detective. Think about it. Do you see any other cars around here with slashed tires or smashed windshields? So who's doing this? Who's trying to send you a message?"

His own eyes hardening at the tone and the criticism, Blair snapped, "I don't know, Jim. Let's just drop it, all right? I have to catch the bus or I'll be late." Without another word, Blair turned and jogged away.

Ellison opened his mouth to apologize for his roughness, to call him back and offer him a ride, but then he let it go. The fact was, he had no intention of 'dropping it'. Whether Blair wanted to face it or not, he'd made an enemy…one who snuck around in the dark and exhibited violent tendencies. Not a good enemy to have. Turning back to the Volvo, Ellison examined the car and the ground around it, looking for any clues he could find. But the gravel beneath his feet and the battered exterior of the old car gave up no secrets. When he sniffed the air, he could detect no foreign or unusual traces of scent. With his white noise generator up in his bedroom, he'd heard nothing during the night. Whoever had done this hadn't left any clues behind.

Which meant this enemy was either lucky or dangerous…neither of which was reassuring to the Sentinel.

However, when there were no further incidents in the weeks following, Ellison allowed himself to hope that it might have just been a passing flare of anger that had burned itself out…though he was still bothered that he had no idea of who or why someone had exhibited such violence toward his best friend.

********************

A week before classes at the Academy were finally finished, Blair got home before Jim. Pulling the mail from their box, he carried it upstairs while he idly sorted through it. However, one envelope caused him to pause in mid-step. It was from the Chancellor's Office, Rainier University. Frowning, wondering why she'd be writing to him, his mind reviewed the last few hours he'd spent there, cleaning out his office, returning books and artifacts to the library. He couldn't think of anything he'd overlooked or left behind. Idly, he wondered if he was going to be sued for having caused the institution embarrassment as he trudged up the stairs, not eager to find out.

Once inside the loft, he tossed the other mail along with his cap on the table, and took a deep breath before slitting open the envelope. He unfolded the single page of heavy stationary, and scanned the missive, his eyes widening with incredulity as he read. 'I can't believe it,' he murmured as he slowed down and started again from the top.

'Dear Mr. Sandburg, A review of events suggests that the University may have acted precipitously in severing our connection with you. Since you did not, in fact, submit the document purported to be your dissertation for publication and never at any time personally attested to its validity, it has been determined that the incident, however distasteful, was not your full responsibility.

However, your admission to having written the document and your public assertion that it was fraudulent did, indeed, bring embarrassment upon this institution and your association with Rainier University cannot be contemplated in the long term.

Nevertheless, a decision has been reached to offer you the opportunity to submit a dissertation in support of your status as a candidate for a doctorate of philosophy in your field of study, Anthropology. If you wish to take advantage of this opportunity, please submit said document for review within ten days to your former advisor, Dr. Elijah Stoddard. Given the number of years that you were associated with this institution, and the multiple extensions you received toward the completion of this documentary requirement for graduation, this should be sufficient time for you to provide evidence of your scholarship. If you fail to do so, this opportunity will expire.

Should Dr. Stoddard find the document worthy of verbal defence, he will advise you accordingly in the near future.'

For a moment, Blair stood in stunned silence, the sheet of paper trembling in his hands. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to take a deep breath, then a second and third, grounding himself, restoring himself to some semblance of calm.

They were giving him another chance. Briefly, he wondered why. But, then, as the reality of it sank in, he discovered he didn't care.

His eyes lifted from the letter to gaze through the balcony windows to the sky beyond as a wordless, overwhelming sense of gratitude filled his soul. Then, carefully folding the letter and returning it to its envelope, he went to his room and turning on his laptop, he found and inserted the diskette on which he'd stored, 'The Thin Blue Line by Blair Sandburg'. Flipping on the printer, he tapped in the command and waited for the lengthy document to be produced on the small portable printer on the side of his desk. Once it was finished, he carefully placed it in an envelope, and then left the loft to head to the printer down the street. The formal submission of a proposed dissertation required five appropriately bound copies.

They'd given him ten days thinking he'd never be able to meet the deadline and their responsibilities would be met without any further contact with him. But, he'd have the necessary copies on his advisor's desk before another ten hours had passed.

Within two hours, he had returned from the university, where he'd left the bound documents in a large envelope with administration for overnight delivery to his advisor's office and had changed out of his uniform. By the time Ellison got home, Blair was finishing the preparation of a quick but substantial meal. All the while he'd been preparing it, Sandburg had debated telling Jim about this incredible turn of events. But, he hesitated, still uncertain that he'd get a fair hearing. He might not even be granted the opportunity of a verbal defence, and even if he was, there was no guarantee they'd accept the dissertation and grant him his doctorate. No, better to keep this to himself for now. It wouldn't change anything, not really. He'd still be Jim's partner. It would just be a major vindication of his academic reputation and it would finally bring closure to all of those years of effort and dreams. That's all…no big deal. Right?

Despite his decision, he couldn't hide all trace of his excitement. So, it was no surprise when Jim picked up on it and asked what was going on. Grinning as he dished up their meal, Blair simply said, "Nothing special. I guess I'm just excited to know I'm almost through all the Academy hoops. One more week, man. Just one more week and then graduation a week after that…and you have yourself a partner again."

Smiling at Blair's excitement at the idea of returning to work as his full-fledged partner, Jim replied warmly, "Well, when you put it like that…I guess it's reason enough to be excited. I'm looking forward to having you back, Chief, more than you know."

********************

The week flew by, and in anticipation of receiving his diploma, Blair headed into the station with Jim the following week to begin reading up on the current cases, so he'd be ready to jump into full action as soon as he had the authority to do so. Everyone welcomed him back with unbridled enthusiasm, everyone in Major Crimes, that is. If there were more than a few sidelong looks from others in the department, a few muttered disparaging comments, Blair ignored them. They were only to be expected and he'd just have to live with it until the novelty of his presence wore off. When he sensed Jim stiffen after having also overheard a sarcastic slur, he placed his hand on his friend's arm as he murmured, "Let it go. They'll get used to me in time. They did before."

Jim threw him an aggravated look, his eyes clouded with anger and concern, but he sighed. Sandburg was right. If he made a big deal of it, the attitudes would only harden. But damn, he was tired of the crap Blair had to endure. It was so very far from what Sandburg deserved.

Within a couple of days, Blair noticed that while many still gave him a wide berth, or dealt with him coolly when they had to do so, the evident looks and comments of disparagement and bitter annoyance at having to work with 'a liar and a fraud' had ceased. Thoughtfully, he pondered that, knowing it hadn't just 'blown over', not that quickly. But, when he challenged Jim as to whether he'd intervened somehow, Ellison just raised his hands, his face a picture of innocence as he denied having done or said anything…much as he had very much wanted to. The detective saw no reason to tell his young partner that he hadn't had to do or say anything. The other members of the Major Crimes Unit, including their Captain, had done and said all that had been required to bring enlightenment to anyone who imagined they could get away with criticizing their newest team member.

The graduation ceremony was held the following Saturday, a bright clear June day, the clouds and incessant drizzle absent as if even the weather was celebrating this auspicious event. Everyone from Major Crimes was there, and Blair was touched to see William and Steven Ellison slip into the back row. Only his mother was absent, but he hadn't expected her to celebrate his initiation into the field of law enforcement. She'd called the night before, to congratulate him, though he could tell the words were a little forced. Still, he appreciated the gesture…it had been more than he'd expected.

Jim and the others were all grinning with clear pride and jubilation that this day had finally come as they each took their seats in a row near the center of the auditorium at the Academy. They'd known he'd achieve, even more, that he'd excel. But Blair had not given them a clue as to just how very well he had excelled. The formal speeches of welcome, and of the importance of this event, of the work these men and women would do in the years ahead gave way to the presentation of the diplomas to each individual cadet as their names were called. As that part of the program was concluded, the members of the graduating class stood and were collectively applauded by the guests and by the dignitaries on the stage. Then came the presentation of awards for outstanding achievement in several areas of the curriculum: academic studies, marksmanship, physical training, and leadership.

As that stage of the program was reached, Commissioner Owens, who routinely presented those awards, rose to move to the microphone. Placing his large hands on either side of the podium, the man who ultimately led the Cascade Police looked out over the gathered assembly. "I have the pleasure of recognizing excellence in this year's class of cadets," he began, "but instead of presenting each award separately, this year I want to first share with you what the achievement each award represents. The Academic Studies Award is given to the cadet who scored the highest marks in their studies across the board in all subjects, and this year, the recipient not only achieved this distinction through an averaging of their marks, but also did indeed score the highest grade in every single subject. The Marksmanship Award is self-explanatory, and this year's recipient has far exceeded the standards required even of the best members of our Special Weapons and Tactics Teams. The Physical Training Award goes to the cadet who is best able to both defend himself and others in unarmed combat when that is required to subdue a suspect or the perpetrator of a crime. And, finally, the Leadership Award is given to that cadet who most exemplifies the qualities we seek in our ranks…service, dedication, commitment, professionalism and the elusive quality to inspire others to follow his or her example. Each and every one of these awards is a major achievement of which the recipient may be rightly proud. It is rare, indeed, that one individual should be chosen to receive them all, but this year I am privileged to honour such unique and extraordinary achievement."

The Commissioner paused a moment to let the expectant silence settle over the assembly, then called out with a broad smile, "Officer Blair Sandburg, please stand and come forward."

There was a collective gasp in the auditorium. Some because they remembered what had occurred less than three months before and could scarcely believe such an individual could be so honoured. Others, most notably those in the center row and two men in the back, because of the pride that fairly burst from them, and then they were clapping loudly and standing to show their respect and admiration. Their example was soon followed by others, until even those who were uncomfortable doing so stood, conscious of the discomfort they'd feel if they remained in their seats when so many others were applauding the unique and overwhelming achievement of this single individual.

Blair was simply dumbfounded.