Blair Sandburg was very excited and in a very great hurry. Earlier that day, he'd gotten a call out of the blue from a publisher in San Francisco who'd read several of his articles on his research and field studies and was very interested in discussing the possibility of a book based on his experiences and ideas. Fairly hopping with excitement all day, much to the pleased amusement of his roommate, Jim Ellison, he'd been sorting out files in the loft, deciding what to take with him on the flight that night. At the last minute, he'd decided he just had to take a couple of CDs of pictures he'd taken of ancient rituals of worship and rites of passage.

Though Jim had offered to drive him to the airport to catch the late flight out, Simon had called him about having to meet with the district attorney, in preparation for a court appearance the next day. Ellison hadn't been pleased, but Blair had just blown it off, too excited to care. He could drive himself to the airport. He'd been on his way when he decided he just had to have the pictures, and made a quick detour to the university. He'd dashed through the icy gusting wind, raced down the corridor to his dungeon, er, office to rummage quickly through his disorganized files, found what he wanted and slipped the disc cases into his jacket pocket.

Racing back to the parking lot, he'd had to pull his collar up and hunch his shoulders against the latest squall the wind had blasted in from the sea. Jumping into his car, he had it running and pulling out to drive to the airport in less than a second. As his lights arced around the darkened lot and the sweeping lawns and shrubs beyond, they picked up a man striding up the incline. Startled the man looked up full into the light before turning quickly away. Blair vaguely noticed, thinking the guy looked familiar, but then just as quickly forgot about it as he concentrated on driving through the sheets of rain. There was no way he was going to miss that flight!

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

Late the next afternoon, Jim was puttering in the kitchen, making dinner and watching the clock. Blair should be back any minute and his buddy was wondering how it had gone in Frisco. A few minutes later, he heard the familiar tread in the hall leading to the loft and frowned. That slow, discouraged thump didn't sound like good news. Turning to the fridge to pull out a couple of beers, he had them opened and poured by the time Blair pushed the door open and slumped into the living room.

"Not a good day?" Jim asked, ambling over to join him and handing him one of the glasses of ale.

Blair looked at it for a moment, then took it, tilting his head back for a long swallow, then shrugged as he gazed up into his friend's sympathetic eyes. "No," he replied with a grimace as he tossed down his pack and moved disconsolately to sit on the couch. Shaking his head, he looked back at Jim as he said, "I can't believe it…they wanted something like, I don't know, Dirk Pitt or Indiana Jones, thundering about in the deep rainforest battling bloodthirsty cannibals. God…do I look like someone who writes comic books?"

At the expression on Jim's face, Blair held up a hand, saying, "Wait…don't answer that. Bad question. But, dammit Jim…I'm working on a Ph.D. I write serious stuff…stuff people would find fascinating and maybe even enlightening. But…no. They want fantasy. That's what sells."

Taking a seat in the armchair, Jim shook his head. "I'm sorry, Chief…I know how excited you were," he said quietly. "It's not your fault if they have no imagination and no interest in learning about something real or amazing."

"Yeah…I know," his partner shrugged as he sipped more slowly on his beer. Sighing, he asked, "So how was your day? Everything go all right in court?"

"Yep, piece of cake. But…a body was found on the campus this morning," Jim said, hoping Blair didn't know the kid.

Sitting up, his own woes immediately forgotten, Blair demanded, "A body? What body? Who? What happened?"

Watching him, Jim replied, "It was a student…Robert Armstrong from Pretoria. Did you know him?" Relieved when Blair shook his head, the detective continued, "He died of a massive overdose…drugs."

"Ah shit," Blair responded, sinking back against the couch. It happened far too often…kids fooling around, experimenting. Or kids despondent and trying to lose themselves in a never-never land that fast became a nightmare. "Poor kid."

"Yeah…but it gets worse. There were bruises on his face and body, as if he'd been beaten and maybe knocked out. We're treating it as a possible homicide investigation," Jim elaborated.

"Murder?" Blair frowned. "Who'd want to murder a kid…especially that way? Doesn't make sense."

Ellison shrugged. "Who knows at this point. The kid's family is fairly well off, and we've learned that he was bright, but antisocial. We haven't found anybody who particularly liked him or even knew him all that well. No girlfriends. No clues."

Squinting at his friend, Blair asked, "You sure…did you go out there yourself? You know you can pick up stuff everyone else misses."

"Yeah," Jim replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "But with all the rain last night, and it was in an area where people are tracking around all the time…no way to tell what tracks might have meant anything…I didn't pick up anything."

"What area?" Blair asked, curious.

Looking up at him, Jim replied, "Across from your building, actually…you know, the grassy common area past the fountain that slopes down to the boardwalk and the seawall?"

"Really?" his roommate replied, frowning suddenly as something niggled at the back of his mind.

"What…?" Jim asked, watching him.

Scowling, Blair shook his head as he chewed his lip. "What time did it happen, any idea?"

"Between 9:00 and 11:00 last night, at least that's what the coroner thought," Jim replied.

Looking up at him, his blue eyes wide as he tried to remember what it was that was nagging at him, Blair muttered, "I was there last night…I had to get some stuff from my office on the way to the airport."

Ellison sat up, all ears. "Did you see or hear anything?"

"I don't…wait…yes!" Blair replied, his eyes skittering as he dredged up the memory. "For just a split second, less…I saw this guy in my lights…coming up from the common."

"You SAW him?" Jim exclaimed, more than a little pleased. This was the kind of break they needed.

But Blair shook his head and held up a hand. "Whoa, don't get too excited. I don't really remember…"

"C'mon, Sandburg, think! What did he look like…tall, short…dark, fair, white, black, young, old…what?"

Shaking his head a little in frustration, Blair closed his eyes, trying to pull back that half-noticed, quickly forgotten image. "Medium height, I think…white, dark hair, but I could be wrong…it was black as Hades last night, and it was raining cats and dogs. I'm sorry…I just don't remember."

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Jim looked away. "A student? Anyone that looked familiar?"

Feeling like he was letting his buddy down, and not needing the guilt after the day he'd had, Blair snapped back, "Look…I'm not the one with the laser vision, okay? I was in a hurry, it was less than a second…I don't remember. I'm sorry, alright."

Holding up his hands at the tone, Jim replied placatingly, "All right, already. I'm sorry…it's just that we don't have anything else…and I'd hoped…well…forget it. Maybe it'll come back when you're not trying so hard to remember."

Blair shook his head as he took another gulp of beer. "I doubt it," he muttered.

Nodding with an expression that suggested he was probably right, Jim frowned. "Do you think the guy would have recognized you?"

Startled Blair looked up at the Sentinel, then away, his eyes going out of focus as he thought about. Shaking his head, he replied, "No…I don't think so. It was dark, raining hard…no way could he have made out much of the car let alone me."

Nodding, relieved, Jim glanced toward the kitchen. "Dinner's about ready, Chief. Want to eat?"

Sighing, Blair nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."

Smiling as he stood and clapped his smaller friend on the shoulder, Jim encouraged, "Cheer up, Sandburg…one idiot publisher doesn't mean they are all idiots. You'll get a book deal, wait and see."

Favouring his friend with a crooked grin of appreciation, Blair nodded, then brightened. "You know, if you let me write more about you…about the amazing things you do and the crimes you've solved…that would sell in a minute."

Sternly, Jim shook his head. "We've had that conversation. No," he replied, implacable.

"But, Jim…" Blair persisted with a pitiful whine, following his buddy to the kitchen.

"No," Ellison replied, grinning a little, knowing Blair was just pulling his chain. "Definitely not," he growled, going along with the game. But, much as he tried to let go of their previous discussion, the detective couldn't quite stifle the nagging worry that even if Sandburg hadn't recognized the other guy, it didn't mean the guy hadn't recognized Sandburg.

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

The rain was back the next day, a steady drizzle that left the roads slick and visibility uncertain as tendrils of fog drifted over the roadways. Resigned, used to it and hardly noticing, Blair pulled out of the university parking lot and turned onto the parkway along the coast. He didn't notice the SUV until it slammed hard into his back bumper, jerking him forward sharply against his seat belt and making his car swerve on the wet road.

Cursing, he spun the wheel to get control back as he flicked a quick look into the rear view mirror. With considerable shock, he realized the heavy vehicle behind him was coming up fast, intent upon ramming him again. "What the hell?" he exclaimed as he pressed his foot to the accelerator, hoping to stay ahead. But the road curved and it was too dangerous to speed on the slippery surface. There was nowhere to go…the sea on one side, the forest on the other, no turnoffs…nothing.

Bracing for the next impact, he concentrated on keeping his car on the road. When it came, on the curve, it was all he could do to keep from spinning out of control. He glanced again into the mirror, wondering who the bozo was, figuring he was probably drunk and looking for a sick thrill. Or a Super Type A in a mega-hurry. There wasn't time to get a good look at the driver, and the rain made it impossible to make out any details anyway.

The vehicle behind him pulled up fast on the next short, straight section of roadway, and Blair prayed it was the Super Type A option and the guy was finally just going to pass. As it came alongside, Blair glanced quickly to the left, holding his breath to see what was going to happen next. "Come on, come on, just pass me, creep," Blair murmured, his knuckles white as they gripped the wheel. But the other vehicle didn't pass by. His eyes flashing between the road ahead and the larger vehicle beside him, Blair was horrified to see the heavy vehicle was much, much too close and getting closer.

"Oh my god," Blair breathed, hitting his brake, hoping to fall back before the guy rammed the side of his car. His quick action slowed his own vehicle considerably just before he was hit hard, with a sickening screech as the metal buckled. He tried to hold it, but the other more powerful vehicle just kept sliding over, pushing him off the road. Cursing, terrified, he spun the wheel, trying for control, practically standing on the brake, but there wasn't enough room to stop. His eyes wide, his mouth open for a scream he was too terrified to make, he barely had time to think, more than a little hysterically, Wish I had an airbag… before his car slammed into the trees.

As the heavy SUV gunned off down the road and around a curve, the driver smiled grimly when he heard the almighty crash and the steady sound of a horn blaring behind him.

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

Ellison was on his way home when his cell rang. Fishing it out of his pocket, he flipped it open, "Ellison," he said briefly, watching the traffic.

"Jim…it's Simon."

"Hey…I'm off duty," Jim teased, knowing that Simon knew if it was important, he'd turn around and go back.

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, long enough to let Ellison know something was wrong. Frowning, he pulled over to concentrate on the call. "Simon? What is it?"

"I'm sorry, Jim…there's been an accident. You'd better get over to Cascade General. I don't have any details, just that he had to be cut out of the car…"

Ellison felt a flutter of fear as a cold chill settled over him. "He? You mean Sandburg?" he breathed, his throat suddenly very tight, his mouth dry.

"Yes, I mean Sandburg…I'll meet you there," Simon replied heavily, then ended the call.

Jim flipped the phone closed and sat there for a minute, letting the immediate shock of the news pass, only to feel anxiety fill his chest. How badly had Blair been hurt? Taking a deep breath, he checked the traffic and then swung his truck around, grimly intent upon getting to the hospital as quickly as possible.

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

Jim raced through the emergency entrance and straight to the nursing station. Flipping open his badge, he snapped, "I'm Ellison. You have an accident victim here…Blair Sandburg…I want to see him."

The nurse looked up with a slightly harried air. In this weather, there were lots of accident victims and the place was hopping. Sighing, she tried to remain polite despite this pushy cop's air of impatience. "If you'll just take a seat…."

"I don't want to take a seat. I want to see Sandburg…just point me to the right examining room and I'll be out of your face, all right?" Jim interrupted.

"Officer…" she began.

"Detective," he replied.

"Whatever," she continued, "you look like you've been around enough to know that's not allowed. Take a seat and I'll see what I can find out about your Brian San…"

"Blair," he cut in.

"Blair Sandburg." She lifted an imperious hand and pointed to the busy waiting room.

Blowing out a frustrated breath, Jim threw up his hands. "Fine…just…just hurry, would you?"

Nodding, she rummaged through the folders, found the one she was looking for and headed down the hall. Jim watched her go, sorely tempted to follow her, but Simon arrived at that moment.

"Jim! How is he?" his superior demanded.

"How the hell should I know?" Jim snapped, then sighed. "I'm sorry, Simon…they won't let me see him and haven't told me how badly he's hurt."

Understanding his friend's anxiety, Simon laid a hand on his shoulder. "Don't borrow trouble…he's probably fine."

"You said they had to cut him out…" Jim replied, again looking down the hall, watching for the nurse to come back.

"He's alive…hold that thought," Simon replied, trying to hold onto it himself.

"Yeah…right," Jim sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to focus his hearing, tried to hear Blair's voice…but he didn't and that really scared him. Not much ever made Blair stop talking.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he saw the nurse coming back and just behind her, a tired looking doctor in a white lab coat. Taking a deep breath, steeling himself, Jim moved forward to meet them, Simon right beside him.

"Detective Ellison?" the physician asked as he looked from one of the tall worried looking men facing him to the other. When Jim nodded, he continued. "I understand you want information on Mr. Sandburg's condition. For the accident report?"

"Uh…no. Blair's my roommate. I'd like to see him…how bad is he hurt?" Jim asked, his face strained and pale.

"Oh, I see. Don't worry…he'll be fine. His ribs took a beating from the steering wheel, he's got a few cuts and contusions from the shattered glass and the impact of the collision, an impressive lump on his head and his right knee is badly bruised and swollen, but there's nothing that won't heal. It's a good thing he was wearing his seatbelt or it would have been a lot worse. I've ordered x-rays of his head and chest…and I want to keep him in overnight for observation to be certain he recovers from the concussion," the doctor replied.

Closing his eyes in relief, Jim blew out a long sigh as the tension eased from his body. Looking back at the doctor, he asked again, "Can I see him?"

"I don't see why not, but just for a few minutes. He's a little dazed," the doctor replied. Waving his hand, he said, "You'll find him in room four."

"Thank you," Jim replied and then he and Simon were striding down the hall. When they got to the right room and entered, Jim paused a moment, hit by how vulnerable Blair looked. He was lying on the examining table, his eyes closed, his jacket and shirt open, splattered with blood that also still painted his face. One eye was badly swollen and already turning black. The blood and bruises stood out starkly against the white pallor of his face.

Swallowing, Jim moved to the side of the table. "Hey, Chief?" he called softly, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Blair flinched and opened his eyes, relaxing when he saw it was Jim and Simon. "Oh…hi. You startled me," he said, sounding shaky and a little weak. He shifted, trying to sit up but winced with pain and Jim pushed on his shoulders gently to hold him down. "Whoa, Chief…just take it easy. They want to x-ray those ribs of yours."

His eyes pressed shut, gritting his teeth against the sudden stab of pain, Blair just nodded as he grimaced, muscles tensed and fists clenched against the pain that ripped through his chest and head. Unconsciously, Ellison reached to cover one of his hands and Blair reacted instinctively, gripping Jim's hand hard as he fought for control.

"Easy…you're all right," Ellison murmured, sorry to see him suffering.

Nodding, Blair blew out a breath and opened his eyes. "Yeah…just a little dented," he sighed, then made a face as he continued, "The car's a write-off."

"What happened, Blair? Do you remember?" Simon asked. He'd heard a little from the preliminary investigation from the officers who been at the site. And he hadn't liked what he'd heard.

"It was so weird, you know?" Sandberg replied, still too shocked by the accident to be angry. "This guy just came out of nowhere and rammed me twice from behind and then shoved me right off the road into the trees."

"What guy?" Jim demanded, frowning. It was the first he'd heard that this hadn't been any ordinary accident.

Blair just shook his head. "Man, I have no friggin' idea," he sighed. "It was an SUV…black…I don't know the model. It was raining…I couldn't really see the driver…and I sure didn't have time to get a license plate number. I was trying too hard to stay on the road…and, to tell you the truth, too damned scared to even think about details."

Squinting a little as he concentrated, feeling anxiety again fill his chest, Jim asked, "But…it was deliberate?"

"Oh yeah, very," Blair replied with a shudder of memory. "I mean… 'deliberate' that he drove me off the road. Not 'deliberate' that it was me, specifically. He could've been drunk…or crazy. Why would anyone try to kill me?"

"Why indeed?" Simon repeated thoughtfully, looking from Blair to Jim. "Any ideas?"

"Yeah…one," Jim nodded with a grimace, not liking it much. Not liking it at all, as a matter of fact.

"Really?" Blair replied, his mouth a little agape.

Nodding, Jim looked down at him, again laying a hand on his shoulder. "I don't want to worry you, Chief. But you'd better start remembering who you saw the other night, 'cause it's sure beginning to look like he recognized you."

"The killing at the university," Simon murmured, recalling that Jim had briefly mentioned that Sandburg thought he'd seen someone around the right time and in the right place, but couldn't remember much of a description.

"Uh huh," Jim grunted.

"Oh my god," Blair breathed, going a whiter shade of pale.

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

They posted a guard on his room and tried to suppress his name being mentioned by the media in the hope that, if Jim's idea was right, the killer had recognized the car if not Blair himself. But, they were too late. A particularly conscientious reporter had gotten the information out on the five o'clock traffic and news report.

"Damn it," Jim muttered as he slammed down the phone. "Too late."

Simon shook his head and shrugged. "Maybe," he replied, knowing Jim wouldn't like his idea.

"Maybe?" Ellison replied. "Maybe it's a bad thing that the killer now knows for sure who saw him the other night?"

"Look, Jim…I know this is a bad situation, but we can watch out for Sandburg. But, think of it this way. We have no idea who the guy is, and no way of ever finding out. But…if he keeps going after Blair, we'll be able to catch him. Right?" Simon suggested, determined not to wince at the shout he knew was coming.

"You want to use Sandberg for bait?" Ellison blasted back. "I don't believe it."

"Sure you do…you just didn't think of it first, that's all. And, it doesn't really matter what I want. The fact is, the guy thinks Blair is a threat and is going to go after him again, well, probably anyway, whether we like it or not," Simon retorted, but he kept his tone calm and reasonable. He didn't like the situation any better than Ellison did, but they were stuck with it. "If you would just start thinking like a cop again, instead of a den mother, you'd know that as well as I do."

Jim looked away, his lips thinned as he shook his head…but he had to admit, Simon was right. Every protective instinct within him was screaming out in protest, wanting to deny the threat to his partner, to protect him above all else, but he couldn't, not when he didn't know who the threat was. "Fine…but you get to tell Sandburg," he said, trying for humour but his heart wasn't in it.

"Oh, thanks," his boss replied dryly. "That'll be fun."

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

"Bait?" Blair repeated, his voice clipped, as he pulled the clean T-shirt Jim had brought over his head. "Well, that's just great. You guys want to fish for a murderer and I get to play the worm on the end of the hook. Oh joy."

"Well…that's a little inelegantly put…but, yeah," Simon affirmed with a wry smile, glancing over at Jim.

They'd come to pick Blair up from the hospital. His cracked ribs were taped, and there was a strip of adhesive covering the cut over his eye, but he looked a whole lot better than he had the night before. It helped a lot that the blood had been washed off. He sported quite a shiner though. Made quite a statement with the wild hair.

"Sandburg…the guy is already hunting you. And he knows your name. At least, this way, we're watching and can protect you," Jim soothed, characteristically rational and logical, though inside he was no more enthusiastic about it all than was Blair.

Resigned, no fool, Blair had figured that much out for himself. But, much as he hated it, he was scared, not that it would do to let the other guys know that. Quirking a grin, he replied, "It's okay…I mean, this'll help you get the guy who killed that student, right? And, hey, no problem, not really. I know you guys won't let anyone close enough to hurt me, right? The bad guy doesn't stand a chance."

Nodding as he laid a reassuring, steadying hand on his friend's shoulder, Jim returned his smile. "You got it, Chief."

But, both Jim and Simon didn't fail to notice that Blair didn't even seem to register the very pretty young nurse who arrived just then with a wheelchair, to escort him out of the hospital. As he absentmindedly settled himself into it, with nary a protest, nor an admiring expression of charming infatuation, they looked at one another over his head. The kid was scared…and he had every right to be.

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

It was a long week.

At first, Blair was very glad of the protective surveillance, even though it wasn't always Jim who was glued to his side like a siamese twin. Though his roommate wanted to be with him, and was clearly ill at ease every time he watched Blair head out with another cop, or when he had to leave himself, he had a job to do. There were other cases, and another court-date that week.

Blair tried to be stoic about it, waving off his buddy's concerns with a brief, bright grin, but he never felt quite as safe when Jim was out of sight. For the first three days, he loitered at home, his ribs too tender to even bother considering a return to his classes at the university. He called in reading assignments for his students and let it go.

But, by the fourth day, he was restless and sick of being cooped up in the loft. His custodian wasn't much company, not wanting to be distracted from his wary watch of the street from the balcony. So, he read and did some writing, getting ahead on his lecture notes…getting twitchier and twitchier. Finally, he decided he couldn't make like a recluse for the rest of his life, hiding out in their loft above the street like a hermit in a mountain cave. So, he got up, got dressed and told Jim at breakfast that he was going back to work.

"You sure that's a good idea?" Jim challenged, not liking the idea of Sandburg being a more accessible target. "You still look a little peaked…wouldn't hurt your ribs to have another couple of days of rest."

"I'm fine," Blair asserted, draining a glass of freshly squeezed guava juice.

"I like it better when I know where you are," his roommate advised him.

"You will know where I am…at the university. In my quaint little dungeon or in the lecture hall with my adoring students hanging on my every word," Sandburg retorted. He was scared, and he knew Jim was worried about him, but he couldn't just sit around any longer. Looking away, steadying himself, Blair reminded himself that he trusted the police to watch out for him…trusted Jim to make sure nothing happened to him. The sooner they flushed this guy, whoever he was, into the open, the sooner this would all be over.

Jim rolled his eyes. He'd looked in on the classes a couple of times, and he'd thought those 'admiring students' more closely resembled a collection of zombies. "Sandburg, would it kill you to just stay put for a few more days?" At the look on the younger man's face at his ill chosen metaphor, he winced.

"You never know, buddy…it just might," Blair replied, grinning wickedly, trying to blow off his instinctive reaction. He was irritated with himself for feeling so scared that a simple word could throw him.

"Sorry…but you're safer here, Chief," Jim persisted, feeling that crazy desperation in his chest that always made it hard to breathe when he thought Sandburg was in any kind of danger.

"Jim, I'm bored out of my skull…I have to go out or I'll be climbing the walls, swinging from the light fixtures and singing, 'Climb Every Mountain'. Don't worry…I've got Sherlock over there…I'll be fine," Blair insisted, laying a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Relax, Jim…really. I'll be fine."

"All right," his buddy sighed, knowing there was no point in arguing with Blair when he had his mind made up. Sandburg might look like a kid, and might defer to his wishes in almost everything, but the fact was that his partner was no pushover. Blair made up his own mind and acted accordingly. "Have it your way. The upside is we might have a better shot at drawing this guy out if you're easier to get to…."

"You're just trying to scare me, but it won't work. I'm going," the guide sniffed, hoping Jim was just trying to scare him. But the quizzical expression on his partner's face wasn't reassuring.

Still, for all the worry, nothing happened. Not that day, or the next, or the next or even the one after that. Blair took his classes, met with grad students, and went to faculty meetings, which were predictably mind-numbing…and jumped at every shadow, much to his personal embarrassment and silent chagrin. The tension was wearing him out. He could hardly sleep at night and when he did, he just kept seeing that black SUV pressing closer, or the trees rushing up to meet him…or the indistinct face of the man who was hunting him looming out of the dark, like Bela Lugosi on his worst night.

Jim was getting worn down as well. He slept with his senses wide open…which meant he didn't sleep much at all. During the day, though he tried to present his typically stone-faced façade to the world, he was a nervous wreck until he caught up with Sandburg again, and knew he had his partner safe, beside him, where he could protect him. He tried to shake himself out of his mood of over-protectiveness, not really understanding it.

He'd only known the kid for a few months, but in that time Sandburg had become more than a partner. Since Einstein had moved in with him, he'd gotten to know Blair a whole lot better. Though some of his behaviours were annoying, like his love of weird music played at ear-splitting levels, or his propensity to sink into a meditative state like some kind of zombie, not to mention his preference for herbs and soothing teas, the truth was, he liked the kid, really liked him. And, there was something about Blair that seemed vulnerable for all his independence, something that made Ellison feel a need to protect him. The fact that the young anthropologist attracted lunatics like Lash or inadvertently got poisoned by a Golden-laced pizza meant for the detectives in the squad didn't help.

Still, they both tried to hide their growing anxiety from the other, endeavouring to act as normally as possible, as if the possibility of a murderer hunting Sandburg didn't exist.

On the seventh evening after the car crash, Blair lounged on the couch, his feet crossed on the coffee table, nursing a beer as he tried to concentrate on whatever was on television. Jim was sprawled in the chair, similarly engaged, while his ear was tuned to the street below and the hall outside their door.

"Maybe…maybe it was just a drunk or a wacko after all," Blair suggested with a sigh. "Besides, he's got to know I haven't a clue who he is or he'd've been arrested by now. So, he must know there's no reason to keep coming after me."

"Maybe," Jim allowed, wishing that it could be true, but doubting it.

"The force can't afford to keep babysitting me forever," the slight anthropologist noted distantly, not sure whether he wanted to be rid of the constant shadow, or was afraid to be on his own. What a way to live, he thought, wondering how celebrities and people like the President learned to stand the constant threat, the never knowing if someone was going to take a shot at you…or the constant lack of privacy of an ever-present bodyguard.

"Oh, we can afford it for a while longer," Jim replied, though he knew there was already pressure from administration about the costs of having at least one cop off the streets every day. If necessary, he'd take leave and guard Sandburg himself twenty-four hours a day. In some ways, he'd feel better doing that than leaving the kid's security to others.

Sitting up, his expression somber, Blair asked, "Seriously, Jim…what am I going to do? If it was the killer and he's spotted my police escort, he'll just wait it out. What then? What do I do then? I can't keep going around afraid of my own shadow and spooked when a cat walks by."

Leveling a steady gaze at his partner, knowing Blair was scared, Jim replied calmly, "We are going to keep you alive. That's what we're going to do. Any more questions?"

"Good plan…I like it. Really reassuring. No…no more questions," Blair pouted, slumping back against the couch, but oddly comforted by the fact that Jim had emphasized the 'we'. At least he wasn't up against this alone. "I know you don't have the answers, either," he sighed quietly, trying to resign himself to letting the Fates take their course.

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

Glancing at his watch as he settled into his truck, Ellison thought for a minute and figured Blair would have finished his last class of the day about half an hour ago and would be on his way home. Frowning, he turned on the ignition and headed out of the police lot. The kid was wound tighter than a ball of twine and it was only a matter of time before he began to seriously unravel. Sighing, he knew he was impressed with how well Sandburg had been handling it all. The kid was brave, too brave for his own good sometimes. Just like the crazy rabbit in the old commercials, he took a lickin' and kept on tickin'…but he wasn't a wind-up toy and nobody could stand the strain of being a target forever. Maybe the killer had backed off. Sandburg was right, whoever it was, he had to know that Blair didn't have a clue as to who he was or the cops would have been knocking at his door long before now. Shaking his head, Jim wished he could believe that…but killers tended to be nervous and had a low tolerance for risk. An eye-witness was a loose end that most killers would want to tie up tight.

Ellison was certain the bad guy hadn't given up…he was just smart enough to bide his time. They'd found no clues as to who would want to kill that student. Hell, they hadn't found anybody who'd cared enough about the kid to even notice if he was around. The only thing that was the least bit of evidence was the drug that had killed the youth…some lead. You could buy it from any number of shady clubs, dark alleys or high society shindigs depending on the circles you ran with.

Shaking his head again in weary frustration, he was turning onto the street toward home when his cell phone demanded urgent attention. Dragging it out of his pocket, knowing it was probably routine but unable to quell the sudden shaft of anxiety, he barked, "Ellison."

"I lost him," came the slightly sick voice on the other end of the line.

Hitting the brake and pulling over, Jim shouted, "You WHAT? WHERE?"

"At the university, in his office," Carl, the latest 'Sherlock' as Blair referred to his shadows, replied.

Grimacing with irritation, Jim tried to hold some measure of calm. Losing it wouldn't help Blair. "Explain that if you wouldn't mind," he growled.

"He'd finished his last class of the day and had gone back to his office…surrounded with students, talking a mile a minute, gesturing…like he does, you know? Anyway, I was a few feet back. When he got to his office, there was a guy waiting for him, holding two cups of coffee and Blair seemed to know him, no problem. They went in and the next thing you know, they're gabbing about the philosophical underpinnings of archtypical whatsits in the spiritual beliefs of pre-whatever cultures. I didn't get the half of it. Anyway, Blair looked up and realized I was hovering around the door. He zipped over, told me he'd be about half an hour and I should get a coffee and come back later and closed the door. I swear, I thought it was all right. And, it's been more than a week with no trouble. I was only gone less than twenty minutes…when I got back the door was still closed so I just leaned on the wall and waited…but when more than the half hour passed, I knocked on the door. No answer. When I opened it…well, they were gone."

Jim had long past turned the truck around and gunned it toward the university. "Who was the guy?"

"I don't know… Blair called him 'Tony'," Carl said with a sigh, knowing he'd blown it big time and really worried about the funny little professor with the wild mane of hair.

"Did 'Tony' see you, know you're a cop?" Jim demanded, his throat dry, his heart clenching in fear. He'd promised Sandburg they'd keep him safe…dammit, he knew he should have been guarding his partner himself.

"I don't know. I'm in plain clothes…he might not have spotted me in the hall. The place is thick with students, teaching assistants and professors. When Blair came to the door, he'd've blocked most of the guy's view of me, and he didn't say anything that would signal I'm a cop…and the rest of the time, the guy had his back to me," the police officer reported. He knew he was probably giving too much detail, but Ellison was famous for wanting to know every little thing.

"What did 'Tony' look like?" Jim asked, a cold ball of icy fear growing in his gut.

"Average…Caucasian, about six feet, dark brown hair, nothing remarkable, casually dressed, but good clothes…around forty, maybe," Carl relayed.

Feeling his heart clench, Jim swore softly. "It's him…the killer."

"Damn it," Carl cursed. "Look, I've got security scouring the building and Sandburg's car is still in the lot. He has to be here somewhere. But, so far, nobody saw nothin'."

"Right," Jim breathed, disgusted but not surprised. Nobody ever saw nothin'…they just never wanted to get involved. "Look, I'm at the university…I'm heading straight over to Sandburg's building and I'll meet you outside his office." Maybe he could pick up something…anything. He prayed Blair had found a way to leave him a clue.

The wheels squealed as he hit the brake and jumped out of his truck outside the tall brick edifice. He stopped for a moment, zoning in on his listening, trying to hear his buddy's voice. Blair had to be still near here somewhere…had to be. And, if he was, the odds were, he'd be talking. Filtering out other sounds, hundreds of voices, he closed his eyes and concentrated.

And heard him.

"Maybe I should join the circus," Blair was saying in a singsong voice. "Like the 'Flying Sullivans'…the 'Sonic Sondbergs'…" and he giggled. "Dum de dum," he hummed then muttered, "Fly…maybe I can fly!"

Looking wildly around, trying to place the voice, Jim looked up at the top of the building and his blood froze in stark horror. He focused in, and saw Blair clearly; arms outstretched as he skipped along the narrow wall of concrete that edged the building, a token barrier to keep anyone on the roof from accidentally falling.

"Oh my god," Jim breathed, and then he was running flat out. Up the front steps, skipping four at a time and down the hall to the elevator. He punched the button impatiently, and it opened to his vast relief. Inside, he pounded the top button, and the one to close the doors. Finding it hard to breathe, he kept muttering, "Come on, COME ON!" as it ground its way to the top. As soon as the doors were open, he was racing down the hall, skidding at the door to the stairwell that led to the roof…and on up the stairs. "Don't jump," he panted like a mantra, "don't jump!"

Shoving open the door at the top, he bolted onto the roof and raced to the far edge where Blair was thankfully still walking an imaginary tight rope. He slowed as he got close, not wanting to startle his friend, and came up behind him, within arm's reach. "Chief," he called softly, trying for a reassuring tone, though his voice stuck a little in his throat, blocked by the lump of fear lodged there.

"What?" giggled Blair as he swung around on his toes, practically giving Jim a heart attack as he teetered dangerously. "Hey, buddy!" Blair smiled that blinding, innocent, full of life smile…but his eyes were dark, the pupils so dilated the blue irises were lost in the blackness.

"Hey," Jim replied, holding out a hand, slowly so as not to threaten. "What's up?"

"I am!" Blair sang out, throwing his arms wide. "High in the sky, free as a bird…I can fly, Jim! I know I can…wanna see?"

"NO!" Jim blurted. "No, Chief…later okay…not now. I want to talk now. So…why don't you come down from there and we'll talk, okay?"

Tilting his head as he gazed at Jim, Blair thought about it for about half a second then shook his head. "Nope, don't think so. I tell you, I feel sooo GREAT! I'm gonna do it! I'm going to soar like an eagle over the forest and the ocean…like Icarus…."

"Icarus got burned by the sun," Jim called, desperately afraid as he edged closer.

Blair grinned, "Well…I just won't fly that high…too easy! Watch!"

"NOOOO!" Jim screamed in horror.

The slight man turned and dove…but Jim was already moving, as fast as he'd ever moved in his life as he lunged to grab Blair's arm, catching hold just as his best friend leapt from the roof…pulling him up short and hard against the building as he fell. Jim felt as though his arm was being pulled from his shoulder, but he held on and dragged Blair back up, reaching with his other hand to grab hold of his partner's collar as he heaved him higher.

Dragging Blair over the edge, he pulled the smaller man close to his chest and backed away, sinking to his knees, holding his friend firmly. Hating the restraint, needing to fly, Blair fought him, yelling and kicking and squirming like a fish, but Jim wasn't about to let go. "Easy," he shouted, his voice taut with anxiety, with fear for what had been done to his friend, and of what had almost happened, "Sandburg…settle down! Easy!"

Blair could feel his heart pumping, faster and faster, and the world was spinning, out of control. He felt suddenly sick and stopped struggling, lying perfectly still in Jim's arms. The frantic fear in his friend's voice got through to him. Jim was in trouble, needed him…sounded scared and lost. Blinking, Blair looked up into his friend's eyes. "Jim?" he murmured, reaching up a hand, touching his partner's face… and then his hand fell back and his eyes clouded as his lids drooped and he slumped back against the arm that held him so tightly.

"Sandburg?" the Sentinel called out. "BLAIR!"

But, there was no response. His friend lay as still as death in his arms.

Close to panic that Blair was dying, sick with the fear, Jim almost zoned out, focusing on Sandburg's heartbeat…too fast, too erratic…pounding like a steam engine thundering out of control, a runaway train heading for a crash….no…NO! He heard Blair's voice in his mind, 'They are your senses, man, you were born with them, you can control them…just breathe and concentrate…breathe and focus…." Panting, slowing his breathing down, he brought himself back, sweating with the effort, with his fear.

Then he was up on his feet, Blair in his arms, as he raced back across the roof and down the stairs to the elevator. Inside, he braced his friend between himself and the wall while he punched out the ground floor and pulled his cell from his pocket, punching the speed dial. When Simon answered on the other end, Jim blurted, "I've got Sandburg…he's in bad shape…we're headed to Cascade General. Meet me there."

Shoving the phone back into his jacket, he slipped his arm around Blair's knees and turned as the elevator doors opened. "Out of the way!" he shouted as he plunged down the corridor. "Emergency! Get out of my way!"

The people who heard his frenzied shout looked up in shock and then scattered to the walls as he raced past them, out to his truck. He put Blair on the passenger side securing him tightly with the seat belt, then climbed up over him to slide under the wheel. Hitting his lights and siren, he peeled out of the drive, and gunned the engine when he hit the street.

One hand on the wheel, he held Blair with the other, a firm grip on his partner's shoulder. "You hang on, you hear me!" he shouted. "Sandburg…you hang on!"

When he got to the hospital, he left the truck at the entrance to Emergency. Gathering Blair in his arms, not even bothering to close the vehicle's door, he turned and raced into the building. Simon had called ahead, and they were expecting him, a nurse waving him down the hall…the same doctor waiting by the examining room door.

His own face white with shock, trembling, he laid his best friend gently on the table. "He's been drugged," he said succinctly, looking up at the doctor. "I don't know what it is, but he was hallucinating or something… thought he could fly…and then he just passed out. His heart's beating too fast, way too fast."

"Alright," the doctor replied, deliberately using a calm tone to settle the large man who was clearly on the edge of panic. "Let me take a look." Bending to examine Sandburg's eyes, his pulse, the doctor turned quickly to the nurse who had followed Jim into the room. He ordered a battery of something…Jim didn't get it, too focused on Blair, his increasingly shallow breathing, hearing again the heartbeat…out of control, thumping wildly, faster and faster…until it stopped and the silence was deafening.

"His heart stopped," he muttered, more to himself, scarcely aware of the others in the room, moving forward to start CPR.

"What?" demanded the doctor turning back to him. "You can't know that!"

"It's stopped, dammit!" Jim cried again, pulling away roughly when the doctor grabbed his arm and tried to move him back, away from Blair. He thumped his fist down on his friend's chest to try to shock the silent heart back into action. "Do something!"

Thinking Jim had lost his mind, the doctor still turned to try for a pulse. His eyes widened when he didn't find one. He snapped to the nurse, "Call the code and get me 100 ccs of epinephrine. NOW!"

She went to the phone on the wall and punched in the number, saying crisply, "Code Blue, Emergency, Room One," then turned to the cabinet of supplies. The doctor was already there, pulling out an intubator and grabbing an oxygen mask connected to a manually inflating airbag. Turning to the wall, and the oxygen hook up, he twisted the segments together and turned on the flow. A blur of continuous movement, he was back, standing behind Blair's head, tilting his jaw up and out as he slipped in the instrument to clear the airway, put the mask over Blair's face and started pumping the bag. Jim was compressing his friend's chest, doing the count.

In less than a minute, the crash team had poured into the room, hauling the cart with them. The nurse turned to hold out the long-needled syringe and the doctor took it, as he called to Jim, "Rip open his shirt."

Jim straightened and his hands yanked viciously at the thin material, popping off the buttons as he tore it open. He backed up, and the doctor moved in, plunging the syringe into Blair's chest…into his heart. Jim had to look away, suddenly feeling dizzy and definitely queasy. Blair was dying…god…Blair was dying!

The crash team members had been clearing Blair's extremities and slapping on sensory devices. The line on the crash cart monitor lit and droned with a high whine and a straight line. "Paddles," ordered the doctor. "Give me two hundred."

Someone slapped the paddles into his hand while someone else smeared something on Blair's chest. "Clear," called the doctor as he placed the paddles and zapped the power. Blair arched, his body spasming in contraction, then thumped back onto the table. The line droned straight. "Three hundred!" the doctor called out, "Clear!" and zapped again…another contraction…nothing. "Four hundred," he called, his voice tight. Jim prayed incoherently as he stared at Sandburg's gray face. "Clear!"

This time, when Blair collapsed back against the thin mattress, the monitor beeped and erratic lines appeared…far from healthy, but beating. Jim sagged against the wall and closed his eyes as he swallowed the bile in the back of his throat, panting a little as he grimly tried to hold onto his raging senses.

"Jim?" he heard Simon call and looked up to see his superior in the doorway. More people were pressing into the room, lab techs from the look of them, who took blood from Blair's arm and ankle.

Looking away from Simon back to Sandburg's face…and then up to the doctor's features. "What's happening? Can you keep him alive?" Jim demanded, shivering a little in shock.

The doctor looked away from the monitor, into the Sentinel's eyes, as he replied, "I don't know yet. We need to see what kind of drug he took."

"He didn't take any drug!" Jim snarled. "He was poisoned. Somebody just tried to murder him."

Startled, the doctor looked back down at Blair. "Somebody almost succeeded," he replied.

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

Simon and the doctor both tried to talk Jim into leaving the small, crowded room, to give them more room to work, to get him somewhere to calm down, but he wasn't having any of it. Wasn't really even aware of them any longer, his senses zoning on Sandburg, his erratic heartbeat, his shallow and irregular breathing. Simon realized what was happening and eased Jim into a corner, where he could watch and listen but be out of the way.

Speaking softly but deliberately, fighting for a calm he didn't feel, Simon worked to bring him out of it. "Listen to me Jim…hear my voice…lock on it. Breathe, man…slowly…take it easy. Just breathe. That's it. You have to talk to me, Jim…you have to tell me what happened. Come on…come back. We need to get the guy who did this…Jim?"

The Sentinel blinked, shuddering a little. "He's dying, Simon…I can feel it," he grated, his voice low, hoarse.

"He's still alive and they're working to keep him that way," Simon reassured him, his arm wrapped around Jim's back, supporting him.

"I should've been with him…I shouldn't've let this happen. I promised him, Simon, I promised him we'd keep him alive…." His voice cracked and he blinked against the burning in his eyes, panting a little, finding it hard to breathe with the vice of sick dread squeezing his heart.

"This isn't your fault," his superior tried to soothe him, but knew he was wasting his time. Jim was trembling with the effort of holding onto his control. While Simon knew a little about this Sentinel business, he knew he didn't begin to understand the link that had grown between these two men. They were almost increasingly symbiotic, one needing the other to function fully. He didn't want to think about what would happen to Ellison if they lost Sandburg.

"What's taking them so long!" Jim growled with mounting impatience, looking from the clock on the wall to his partner's gray face. So still…he was so still. Sandburg was never still...even when he slept, he was restless, mumbling in his sleep. Always moving, shifting, waving his hands, a dozen expressions flashing across his face in scarcely more time than a heartbeat, always with something to say.

"It takes time to do the blood analysis, you know that," Simon replied. Then, to distract Jim, he asked again, "Tell me what happened."

"Well, uh," Jim stammered, struggling to focus, "that idiot Koczanski left his post, left Sandburg unguarded 'cause it seemed he was having a safe meeting with a fellow professor, who'd been waiting at his office with two cups of coffee. Someone Sandburg knew, apparently, called him 'Tony'. Medium build, dark hair, white, around forty. Sandburg told him he'd be busy for a half-hour and to go get a coffee. Carl said he was only gone twenty minutes…when the door didn't open after half an hour, he knocked and went in. Empty. When I got to the campus, I spotted Sandburg on edge of the roof, thinking he was some kind of circus performer…a tightrope walker. I just barely got to him when he decided he could fly and jumped. I grabbed him and hauled him back onto the roof. He fought me…his heart was racing so fast. Pupils fully dilated. And then he just stopped moving. He looked up at me, said my name, and then lost consciousness. When we got here, his heart…stopped beating. That's it…that's all I know."

A technician rushed into the room at that moment, a clipboard with some papers in her hand, which she handed to the doctor. He rubbed his chin as he read, frowning. Then, he nodded, wrote out some orders on the chart and turned to murmur something to the nurse, who went to the supply cabinet and began sorting through vials of medicine as she prepared two syringes.

The doctor checked Blair then turned to cross the room to speak to them. "Well, we at least know what's in his system. A fatal dose of ice took him up…no wonder he thought he could fly. And an equally lethal dose of barbiturate made him crash, hard," he reported.

"So…you know what to do to help him," Jim replied, not liking the way the doctor wasn't quite meeting his eyes.

"To an extent, yes, that's true," the physician replied, slightly hesitant in his manner. "We'll give him medication to counter the effects of the drugs and stabilize his system."

"There's a 'but' in there that I don't think we're going to like much," Simon observed when the doctor hesitated.

Nodding with a sigh, hating having to give this kind of news, the doctor replied, "A big 'but', I'm afraid. I'll need to do more tests…but it's highly possible, even probable, that your friend will have suffered extensive brain damage from the dosages he was given. I'm sorry…I can't really tell you anything more until I do the tests."

Jim's features bleached with shock as he sagged back against the wall, the words hitting him with the force of a sledge-hammer. 'Brain damage'? He thought he might throw up. Memories flashed, memories of Sandburg's words after he'd seen an assassin hooked up to life support, brain dead. 'Whoa, I hope I never end up like that,' he'd said, blowing out a long sigh. 'A soul trapped in a dead body, unable to escape the darkness…I pray to all the gods any people ever worshipped that they have mercy and never condemn me to that.'

"We'll be moving him soon…there isn't anything you can do here except provide information to the admission's clerk and leave word as to how we can contact you. As soon as I know, I promise you I will be in touch," the doctor continued, looking from Jim to Simon.

"I don't want to leave him…he needs me," Jim protested, feeling desperation fill him.

"He needs you to find out who did this, Jim," Simon countered. "There's nothing you can do here."

Torn, needing to stay, wanting to track down the animal who had done this, swallowing, Jim murmured, "Can I have a minute with him?"

"Yes…of course," the doctor agreed, stepping out of the way.

Like a man in a nightmare, Jim moved to the edge of the table and laid his hand over Sandburg's heart, the other moving to brush back his best friend's hair to rest on his forehead as he bent to murmur into his partner's ear. "Listen to me, Chief. I know you're in there, and you're scared. But…but they know how to counteract the drugs and how to take care of you. I can't stay, but I'll be back, I promise. Don't be afraid, buddy…we're going to get through this…I promise you…I won't ever let you be alone…or trapped in the darkness. You hear me? I'll make sure you're okay."

Whatever it cost him, if it turned out it was hopeless for his friend, he'd