DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Never were, and although a disclaimer may make no practical sense in the long run, here it is anyway, as I am still using someone else's established characters in my own story, which is, of course, against the law. Even if you sue me, I'm afraid my estate won't net you much but a lot of books, a bed, a computer, a desk, and a cat that I love and would cry in hysterics if I lost. Oh yeah, and a stereo w/a turntable.

RATING: Probably PG to PG-13 for language

WARNINGS: Were I to list all the warnings people wanted, which I can't as I haven't memorized the list, and no one's posted the whole thing, there would be no suspense or even a reason to write the story in the first place. Seriously, there are two warnings I know of: Blair's a Cop (although that's not important to the full plot) and there's the DEATH OF A MAJOR CHARACTER. HOWEVER: PLEASE DON'T WRITE A COMMENT ON IT UNTIL YOU HAVE COMPLETELY READ THE ENTIRE STORY!

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I am not a medical expert, nor have I done extensive research beyond my own familial experiences with the mentioned disease. This has also been neither Beta'd, Spell-Checked, or Grammar-Checked beyond my own abilities.

Scents And Scents Ability

by Charon

********************
Jim groaned as he lay himself gratefully on his bed. He was absolutely exhausted, both physically and mentally, but he also had the satisfaction of knowing that he and Blair had taken several unconscionable criminals off the streets. He replayed their crimes over in his head, and still felt the distaste in his mouth that he had first felt when the case had crossed his and Sandburg's desks.

Simon had grimaced with equal distaste as he filled the two men in on the crime, which was that terminally ill patients who were restricted to their beds, literally on their last breaths, had been systematically robbed, and only when there had been one family member or a nurse in attendance. It had turned out that it was a ring led by a pharmacist who targeted the patients when he received prescriptions for certain drugs and the amounts. Jim had grinned almost ferally when they broke the case a week after getting it, and the pharmacist had trembled as Jim personally loaded him into the police car.

Jim and Blair had spent a long, hard week interviewing the house-ridden, bed-ridden patients and their families, and he'd done his Sentinel thing, but the only thing he had seemed to be able to pick up with his sense of smell had been the lingering, sour tang of impending death. He decided he absolutely hated that smell, and as he lit the candle by his bedside, he imagined that he could even smell it at that moment. He exhaled, closed his eyes, and listened to the quiet in the loft that was broken only by Blair's breathing in the bedroom below. Accompanied by the scent left behind by the candle he blew out and the sound from below, Jim fell asleep.

When he awoke in the morning, it was to the sound of Blair cooking in the kitchen, even as the smell of pancakes, sausage, and eggs banished whatever bad smells may have been left behind in Jim's olfactory senses, and he almost bounded out of bed. By the time he'd finished his morning routine and joined Blair downstairs, Blair had the whole feast laid out on the table.

"Good morning, Jim." Blair practically beamed at the older man, and they sat down to breakfast.

"Good morning to you too." Jim answered affably, then indicated the heavily laden table. "What's all this?"

"A celebration of the successful conclusion to another of our jointly solved cases." Jim smiled at Blair's enthusiasm. He hadn't been sure if Blair would have made the adjustment from Grad student to cop smoothly, but he had, and even gave said adjustment his own Sandburgian Spin. Such as the fact that he had instituted the Celebratory Breakfasts for each jointly, successfully solved case.

Now, with the terminally ill patients robberies solved as of two days before, they had two complete cases under their partnered names, and Jim couldn't help but shake his head at the amount of food on the table.

"You know, you keep feeding us this way after every case we solve as partners, and we're going to be so fat they'll have to roll us out of this place by the end of the second month."

"Nah. Never happen." Blair shook his head. "The criminals'll have us running around and chasing them way too much to even have time to get fat. Besides, the pancake batter is fat free, the fruit is fresh - not frozen or canned, the sausage meatless, and the eggs ..."

"No." Jim raised his fork in surrender. "Don't tell me. I'm just going to pretend this is all real food and that it tastes as good as it smells." Accompanied by Blair's laughter, he dug in, and the morning passed blissfully normally as they chatted amicably over nothing, cleaned up, and climbed in the truck and headed for their days work.

Jim glanced over at Blair as he sat next to him in the truck, and thought over the circumstances that had brought the two of them to that point in time. Not the Dissertation Disaster, that was water under the bridge as far as they both were concerned.

No, what Jim thought about was how Blair had gone to the Academy and managed to weather the recruits' initiations there, which were none-too-gentle to begin with, but as far as Blair had been concerned, they had been almost sadistic. Three times Jim had almost gone to the Commandant with complaints, but only Blair's insistence had kept him out of the situations. A couple of times, when Blair had actually been physically injured by 'pranks', Blair had taken matters into his own hands, and targeted the instigators with his considerable, and often down-played intelligence and abilities, against which people even twice his own age had no defenses, let alone a few paltry police recruit bullies who, in the long run, had been washed out of the Academy. Jim suspected they had been helped along by some manipulation on Blair's part, but there was never any evidence to prove it, or to even suggest that theory, so anyone who thought that, just kept the thoughts to themselves, including Jim.

Even when he had graduated at the top of his class at the Academy, there were the day-to-day policemen who had resented Blair's automatic inclusion among the top cops in Major Crimes, and who had tried everything they could to cast aspersions and shadows over the new Detective. Again, Blair's intelligence and down-right determination had proven too much to overcome, and two patrolmen lost their jobs for "un-warranted harassment" of a fellow police officer.

In what seemed to Jim an amazingly short time, Blair and his Mis-Deed, or his Dis-Deed, as the press had dubbed it, faded from the news, and things were able to come to some sort of normalcy for the duo; a normalcy that Jim was more than comfortable with. He smiled as Blair picked a book from his ever present backpack and began to read.

Blair hadn't lost his yen for knowledge, or his zeal for teaching, and even though he couldn't go to Rainier, that didn't mean he couldn't take college courses over the internet, or tutor those who needed it, and he did both.

And then Jim glanced at the gun that Blair chose to wear in a shoulder holster under his flannel shirts in the summer, and under his coats in the winter, rather than a waist holster as Jim did. Jim still experienced a momentary pang of conscience when he saw Blair with a gun, but he couldn't keep the rush of pride at bay either.

Blair was an excellent marksman. Blair himself had made sure of it, and he trained, practiced, and re-trained until he knew the weapon inside and out, and could name every single part that comprised it. He had even named the gun itself, appropriately enough, Miranda. When Jim had asked about Blair's new, and more-than-worrisome, at least to Jim, obsession, Blair had smiled and said that he had made it a part of him, a true extension of him so that when he drew it, he would hit exactly what part of a person's body, all non-fatal, that he aimed at. Then his face had hardened, and, with his voice even, he had assured Jim that if the time ever came where Jim's life hung on the balance of his aiming to wound and aiming to kill, he only intended on shooting once and without hesitation.

Jim inhaled deeply at the memory of Blair's assertion, and promptly choked and then gagged.

Blair's head swiveled up from his book, and he looked at his friend in consternation as he rubbed Jim's back. "Damn, man." He said, his eyebrows raised. "You okay there? What was all that about?"

"Yeah. I'm okay, I guess." Jim answered when he could breathe comfortably again. "But it's that damned smell! I cant get away from it!"

"What smell?" Blair frowned and put down his book, immediately attentive, as he always was, to the now extremely rare occasions that Jim's senses chose to spike.

"Death. Or rather, impending death." Jim grimaced and shook his head. "It seems that every time I think about death, especially after spending all that time interviewing those terminal patients, it's all I smell. It's a sickly, sour smell too. Really sharp and really nasty." He put in before Blair could ask. "And I hate it." He added, rather unnecessarily, but forcefully.

Blair thought for a moment, then snorted. "Hmm. I guess since you're a cop that telling you not to think about death would be an excercise in futility, huh?"

"You think?" Jim's voice was sarcastic, but Blair ignored him and Jim recognized the look on Blair's face that meant his mental wheels had kicked into high gear and turned furiously. A few minutes later, his face cleared and he nodded.

"I've got it." Blair finally said. "You know how some people associate a memory or an event with a scent?" He didn't wait for Jim's response, and barreled on. "I bet what YOU'RE doing is associating a scent with a memory ... specifically, the memory of the terminally ill patients we just interviewed. Their memory is still in your head and your body registered the scents as those of death. So, when you have a memory of that, your body reacts by putting forth the scent. Kind of a Sensory Memory if you will." He shook his head. "Pardon the pun."

"I guess that makes some sort of sense." Jim shrugged. "As much as anything else."

Blair chuckled, and looked over at Jim who groaned when he'd realized what he'd said. "Man, if I didn't know you, I'd've thought you did that on purpose." Blair grinned at the chagrined expression on his friend's face, then shook his head. "But even with your sense of humor you wouldn't have stooped that low. Seriously, man, my suggestion to you would be to think of something pleasant that you can associate with death, and that should replace the unpleasant sensory memory that's now imprinted there."

Jim stared at Blair. "Something pleasant to associate with death? Are you serious?"

Blair shrugged apologetically. "I only come up with the solutions. How you choose to follow and deal with them is up to you. For now, maybe you should just dial down your sense of smell."

"Dial down my sense of smell on a memory?" He stared at Blair again, and Blair was glad that they had reached a red light and were stopped. "Is that even possible?"

"Won't know until you try it." Blair shrugged, and Jim snorted, but tried it.

"Got it." Jim announced a minute later, and was pleasantly surprised to find the smell gone. Blair smiled, then returned to his book until they reached the station.

"We'll work on finding a pleasant scent memory to associate with death later, after we get home." Blair assured him as they went to the bullpen, but they didn't even get to be at work for five minutes before Simon ordered them into his office on another case.
********************
Their plans were actually put on hold for the entire week as every nut-case in Cascade decided that the city was fair game, and it was an absolutely exhausted duo that stumbled, limped, and dragged themselves into the loft on a Friday night a week to the day later. Jim and Blair stripped themselves of their coats and guns, put them safely away, and then threw themselves on the various couches in the living room. However, not one to be able to put off food once he'd decided he was hungry, Jim entered the kitchen and rummaged through the refrigerator.

"Man." Blair moaned as he threw an arm over his suddenly light sensitive eyes as Jim turned on the kitchen light. "That was one seriously whacked out week with some seriously whacked out people."

"Tell me about it." Jim agreed as he fixed himself a sandwich, then looked over to Blair who he knew hadn't eaten much that day. "You want something to eat?"

Blair grimaced and shook his head. "No way, man. I just want a full night's sleep that doesn't involve Simon calling up at three o'clock in the morning bellowing about dead bodies." He cracked one eye and looked in Jim's general direction. "And speaking of death, how're you doing with that sensory memory thing? I know we haven't had any time to work on it. If you want, we could do something tonight ..."

Jim looked over at his partner, and inhaled briefly as he took in Blair's pale face, dark-circled, sunken eyes, and the exhausted, slumped carriage of his body, and shook his head. "It's there and then it's not. I've become pretty adept at keeping the dial turned down. We can do something about it on Sunday if you want."

"Of course ..." Blair grinned widely. "We COULD have worked on it tomorrow IF one of us hadn't gotten assigned to talk about road rules and bicycle safety to a group of Boy scouts because he got a little enthusiastic trying to get some information out of a suspect." Blair chuckled, and pulled himself off the couch. However, he had to grab the arm of the couch as a wave of dizziness passed over him, and he waited a moment for it to pass.

"You all right?" Jim asked. "That's been happening a lot lately."

"I'm fine. Just really, really tired. I passed exhausted way back on Wednesday after chasing that knife wielding psycho down the alley for that mile and a half."

"It was only about ten blocks." Jim corrected amused, and Blair snorted.

"Might as well have been a mile and a half. It was ten blocks too many. Look, I'm going to go to bed. I'll see you sometime tomorrow, but as I get to sleep in, try not to wake me up on your way out, okay?" He smiled and slowly made his way to his bedroom.

"Yeah, sure." Jim ignored the obvious dig, and headed up the stairs to his room. "'Night Blair."

"Night John Boy." Blair chuckled, and Jim listened as Blair's shoes hit the floor and without undressing, Blair hit the bed. A few minutes later, he was sound asleep, and Jim went the rest of the way to his bedroom, where he too was asleep a few moments after tucking himself under his own covers.
********************
When morning arrived and Jim awoke, the first thing he did was to almost gag as the sour tang he'd come to know and hate, filled his nose. He automatically dialed down his sense of smell, and viciously rubbed his hands over his face. He really had wanted Blair's help the night before, but Jim knew that Blair had complained of at least three headaches during the week, and it was more than clear that Blair wasn't feeling well at all. He also knew that Blair hadn't been completely up to par for a few days, and Jim was loathe to disturb him when he so badly needed the rest.

Jim almost threw himself in the shower and used every pleasant smelling shampoo and soap they had as he tried desperately to rid himself of the almost ever-present smell of impending death, and his thoughts turned again to Blair. It took every effort on Jim and Simon's parts to make Blair take the full weekend off, and they had been hard-pressed to convince him that explaining the rules of the road and bicycle safety to a bunch of Boy scouts did not require the presence of both he and Jim. It was clear to whomever looked at Blair that he obviously needed some time off, but Jim also knew that Blair still felt that he had to prove himself, not only to the department and those he worked with, but to Simon, and Jim suspected, Jim himself. Jim shook his head. He also knew that no matter how badly Blair really felt, he was going to do his utmost to prove himself, even if it wasn't necessary anymore to anyone other than Blair himself.

Jim finished his morning routine and shrugged as he looked over at Blair's closed doors. Whatever demons Sandburg had dancing in his head, as Simon had put it once, were exactly that, in his head, and that's where they would stay until he dealt with them. However, Jim couldn't resist the urge to lay out a couple of bagels and brew a fresh pot of coffee for when Sandburg finally woke up. He gathered his equipment and quietly left for his appointment with the Boy scouts.
********************
Three hours later, Blair pulled himself out of sleep and ran a hand through his hair. Sleeping in generally meant that you were supposed to feel rested when you woke up, but if anything, Blair felt worse than when he'd gone to bed. He stood up, than almost promptly fell over as a wave of dizziness and nausea passed over him like a tidal wave. He barely made it to the bathroom before he lost the meager contents of his stomach. When he felt that he could stand without falling over, he looked in the bathroom mirror at his pale face, dark circles that almost ringed his eyes, and the red-rimmed, puffy eyes themselves, and decided that enough was absolutely enough.

He'd been feeling sick for the last three days, and he'd taken cold remedies, both natural and over-the-counter after he'd grown desperate to feel better, checked himself over for the flu, and even meditated, but nothing had worked. He was still sick. He hoped that stress couldn't be the reason for all of his symptoms, because if it were, then he'd have to seriously consider another job change. He scowled at himself in the mirror and refused to believe that stress was the only thing that was his problem. He loved his job, he loved his co-workers, and he himself had worked his butt off to get where he was and to be accepted as Jim's full-time partner. A little stress-related sickness was NOT going to stop him just as he was getting to where he was certain he should be.

He performed his own morning routine, then went to the kitchen and smiled as he saw the breakfast that Jim had prepared. However, no sooner had he smelled the coffee, than his stomach rebelled, and he barely managed to toss out the food, before he found himself worshipping the porcelain god again. He stumbled to the phone and called his Doctor's answering service. They recommended a Doctor to him who kept Saturday appointments, and he made one for that very afternoon.

The Doctor listened to him, took blood and other bodily fluid samples, poked, and prodded him for nearly an hour, then sent him back home with a prescription for anti-nausea pills, and advice to rest. He also said he'd get Blair's proper Doctor to call him about the results, but seeing as it was a weekend, that wouldn't be at least until Tuesday. Blair nodded and smiled and filled the prescription, and decided the best way for him to rest was to meditate. He grabbed just about every scented candle he had for peace-of-mind and inner harmony, and meditated until he fell asleep on the couch.

He was startled out of a sound sleep as Jim banged into the apartment and started coughing as the various and sundry scents hit him all at once. "Geeze, Sandburg!" Jim exclaimed when he could talk without coughing. "What did you do!? Light every candle you had!?"

"Um ... well ... actually, yes." Blair answered embarrassed, then looked at the clock and shot off the couch so fast he almost fell over. "Whoa." He shook his head to clear it, and grinned ruefully at Jim. "That'll teach me to meditate myself to sleep and try to jump up to an immediate standing position. I'm sorry about the time. I obviously fell asleep." He gathered his candles and placed them back in his room. "If it weren't 30 degrees outside, I'd open up some of the windows and air out the apartment."

"S'okay." Jim answered. "I'll just dial it down." It was his turn to look slightly embarrassed, and he looked at Blair. "Actually, I have a slight confession to make. I really hate to do this to you on our day off, but ..."

"But Simon called and has a job for us." Blair sighed and gathered together what he called his 'Cop Stuff'.

"Yeah. An all night Stake-out." Jim answered. "There's a huge drug deal going down in the warehouse district, and he wants the Super-Team to get on it."

"Super-Team?" Blair grinned as he raised his eyebrows at Jim in surprise. "That's what he called us?"

"Not him, no." Jim grinned. "But everyone else does. Come on. We'll pick up some dinner on the way."

Blair's stomach turned at the mere thought of food, and he grimaced. "Please, Jim. I'm begging here. Let it be anything but Wonder Burger. I seriously think I picked up a stomach bug, and you so do not want to see what I can do to the interior of your truck."

"If you're sick, Blair, I can go alone." Jim offered, but Blair didn't bother to respond, and they climbed into the truck and were on their way to work.
********************
As per Jim and Blair's usual luck, the crime went down on their shift, and it went down rough. However, with their usual efficiency and a high speed chase, the two men were able to subdue and apprehend the perps. They also had to spend the majority of Sunday morning at the station filling out the paperwork, until Simon sent them home. Once there, they decided their Sunday would be best spent unconscious and dreaming of lakes, fishing, and red-heads in string bikinis on a beach far, far away from cold, wet, and crime.

On Monday, it was business as usual, and a busy morning meant a busy afternoon filled with paperwork. Engrossed in filling out his forms neatly and legibly, despite the fact they insisted on blurring even with his glasses on, Blair jumped, startled, as the phone rang on his desk.

"Detective Blair Sandburg. How can I help you?" He asked, and couldn't keep the thrum of pride from his voice as he announced his title and his name. Jim chuckled slightly, and wondered how long it would take Blair working in Major Crimes before he answered the phone with only his last name, or a mere 'yeah' like the others did. "Oh." Blair sat up straighter, and his voice held a tone of surprise. "Doctor Abrams, hello. I didn't expect to hear from you until tomorrow." Jim resisted the urge to listen to his friend's conversation and returned to his own paperwork. "Gee, I don't know, I'm working." Blair squinted at the calendar on his desk, then nodded. "I guess I have some time. Say around one-thirty?" He nodded. "Okay. I'll see you then." He hung up the phone and rubbed his eyes, then looked over at Jim as the older man raised his eyebrows questioningly at Blair.

"Everything okay?" He asked, and Blair nodded.

"I think so, but that was weird. That was Doctor Abrams. I told you last night that I went to see a Doctor about this stomach bug on Saturday. Well, they took a lot of tests, and I didn't expect to hear about them until tomorrow, but Doctor Abrams wants to see me today."

"It's probably nothing." Jim tried to reassure Blair. "He knows how you are about your health, and probably doesn't want you to worry about it any longer than you have to. Want some company?"

"Nah." Blair grinned and shook his head. "I think I'm old enough to go to the Doctor's without someone to hold my hand. But thanks for the offer. Besides, you really need to get that report finished. The DA's coming by later for the lowdown on what went down last night, and without me doing your paperwork, well, let's face it, it's a good thing the computer has Spell-Check and that Automatic Language Filter." He returned his attention to his own paperwork and rubbed his eyes as the words once again blurred. "Damn." He said a moment later. "On top of everything else I have to do, I'm going to have to get my prescription on my glasses updated." He snorted in frustration, and the time passed.

"Hey, Chief, it's almost one o'clock." Jim prodded his friend, and Blair looked up, and squinted at the clock through a raging headache.

"Thanks, Jim. Say, can I use your truck? I did ride in with you after all. And while I'm out, I can pick you up some lunch. I shouldn't be more than an hour."

"You might want to eat too, you know. Even with that stomach bug, you need to have something in your system." Jim frowned at Blair and handed him the keys.

"I'll get something after I see the Doctor." Blair promised, and Jim stopped him as he started to exit the bullpen. "Oh, and Sandburg, there'd better be no new marks on my truck when you bring it back."

"How could you tell even if there were?" Blair shot back, and the rest of the detectives burst into laughter as Blair left the room, leaving a decidedly light atmosphere behind him.
********************
Blair's allotted hour passed, then another, and by the third hour, Jim started to worry. "Ellison!" Simon blared, and Jim almost jumped up and ran into Simon's office, thinking the worst thoughts, and all of them focused on Blair.

"Sir?" Jim asked, and Simon looked around.

"Where's your partner? This concerns him too. You have a new case ..." Simon began, and Jim looked confused.

"You didn't call me in here because of him?" Jim asked and didn't know whether to be relieved or upset, and Simon scowled.

"No. I called you in here because I have a case for you two to solve. Now where is he?"

"I don't know. He went out around one and hasn't come back ..." He turned around, and Simon looked up as Blair finally entered the bullpen. However, it was a Blair that neither of them knew, as he almost marched into the bullpen and ignored the greetings that were given to him by the other detectives. He entered Simon's office without knocking, and looked up at Jim, then at Simon, and they could see that his face was completely devoid of any color, his eyes were ringed by dark, almost black circles, and his eyes proper were red-rimmed, puffy, and lacked any and all emotion.

"Sandburg!" Jim exclaimed, and as usual, his worry turned immediately to anger. "You look like hell! What's happened!? You've been gone for three hours!"

"I know." Blair's voice was as devoid of emotion as his eyes, and he continued. "And I'm sorry. But I'm glad you're both here so I don't have to repeat myself." Blair looked at Simon and removed his gun and badge and laid them on Simon's desk. "I hate to have to do this, Simon, but I quit."

"You quit?" Simon thought that there was nothing in the world anymore that could surprise him, but with Blair Sandburg, he should have known better.

"What!?" Jim demanded, and Blair nodded.

"You heard me." Was all he said.

"You can't just quit!" Jim scowled. "Not after everything we went through to get you this job!"

"I believe that's Simon's line, not yours." Blair looked at Simon. "And as this is still mostly a free country, I am within my rights to quit any time I see fit."

"That's true." Simon nodded. "But why? I thought you liked it here."

"I do." Blair nodded once.

"Then why are you quitting? Are you being hassled again?" Simon desperately hoped that wasn't the case, because if it was bad enough to make Blair quit, then he'd have to bring IA into things again, and that he was loathe to do. Not when Blair was obviously so close to his breaking point.

"No." Blair shook his head and swallowed as a small crack sounded in his throat. "But this is something I have to do, and I can't put it off, or even give the customary three weeks notice. Please, Simon, don't ask. Not yet, okay? I have some things to ... to process."

He started to turn toward the door, but Jim imposed his figure in the way. "You can't just leave like this." He glowered, and Blair looked up at him, his expression cold and as emotionless as any look Jim had ever worn at any time in his life.

"I can either go around you, or I can go through you." His voice was low and even. "Don't make me choose the latter." Jim stepped away from the door and Blair walked out of it, and again, without acknowledging any of his compatriots, left the bullpen. A moment later, Rafe, Henri, and Joel were at Simon's door.

"Jim?" Joel looked at the towering man. "What's wrong with Blair?"

"Yeah, man." Henri nodded. "He didn't look so good."

"And he wasn't like himself at all. Didn't even say hi, or anything. Not to mention he's three hours late." Rafe was as worried as the rest of them, and Simon tapped his fingers on his desk.

"Actually." Simon filled them in. "All he said was that he had to process some things, dropped off his gun and badge, and left." He sighed. "Rafe, Brown, you've got a new case." He looked at Jim. "Ellison, go after your partner."

"You saw how he was, Captain. He also said that he needed to process, and that generally means by himself. Crime doesn't stop just because Sandburg's having a bad day." However, he looked at the door, and his distraction spoke louder than his protests. "If he'd wanted me with him, he would have said so. Besides, the DA's coming and ..."

"Yes, I did see how he was, and so did you. He was in no condition to be driving, and I want you to get a possible hazardous driver off the road. That's what the report will say. I know I can't justify time off for hand-holding, but I can justify the time off for keeping the streets safe, and that's what you'll be doing." Simon told him decisively, and Jim nodded.

"Yes, Sir. Consider it done. And thank you." And with that, Jim almost ran out the door, down the stairs, and into the parking lot, where he was surprised to find Sandburg in the passenger's side of the truck, obviously waiting for him.
********************
"You're still here." Jim said, somewhat unnecessarily as he climbed in the driver's seat, but he didn't know what else to say.

"I wasn't fit to drive." Blair answered. "I figured you'd show up here eventually."

"You want to tell me what's going on, Sandburg?" Jim demanded, but Blair merely shook his head.

"Not here, okay, Jim." His voice cracked, and he fought to regain his former control. "Just ... just take me h ...home. Please."

Jim hated not knowing what was going on, but he hated what it was obviously doing to his friend even more, so he reigned in his temper and his burning 'need to know', and nodded. "All right. But once there, you'd better tell me what's going on."

"I will. I promise." Blair answered, and that was the last thing he said all the way home. It was an equally quiet elevator ride up to the loft, and after Jim closed the door, Sandburg looked around as if he'd never seen the place before.

"All right." Jim growled in his impatience. "We're home. Now what the HELL is going on with you!?"

"I need you to do me a favor." Blair looked Jim directly in the eyes, and Jim once again reigned in his temper, but it was more and more difficult the longer Blair stalled.

"What." Jim's jaw clenched, and Blair looked down at the floor.

"Inhale, and deeply, then tell me what you smell."

Jim did and almost vomited as the odor of impending death he'd associated with the terminal patients three weeks ago, once again completely over-whelmed his olfactory senses. "It's that damned stench!" He cursed as he covered his nose with his arm and tried to breathe through his sleeve. "I STILL can't get away from it! And it's even stronger NOW than it WAS!"

"I know." Blair nodded. "But I need you to focus on that smell, Jim. See if you can find something it's coming from."

Jim frowned and refused to even think about the reason that Blair wanted him to do that. "You said it was coming from my mind." He latched onto the explanation Blair had provided three weeks before, and Blair swallowed his voice quiet.

"You're too good a Detective not to be able to tell, Jim. Denial's not just a river in Egypt, you know." He attempted to smile, but neither man was up to it. "But you need to let your senses prove it to you. Otherwise you'll waste a whole lot of time and energy fighting the truth." Blair's voice caught in his throat. "And the one thing we don't have right now, is time, or energy for that matter, to waste."

Jim swallowed and inhaled again, and let his mind wrap around the stench he had been trying for weeks to avoid, and as had happened so often before at innumerable crime scenes, he followed the scent to where it originated from, and then stopped. He opened his eyes and found that he stood directly in front of Blair.

"It's you." The words left Jim and sounded hollow and empty in the loft, as if he himself had just pronounced a death sentence for Blair, and the younger man nodded.

"Yeah. I just got the news today." He swallowed and had to clear his throat. "I drove around for a while, in shock I guess, and tried to figure out what to do. Before I knew it, three hours had passed, and I knew I had to get back to the station. I just didn't know facing everyone would be so hard." Blair dropped onto one of the sofas and looked at the floor.

"Blair ..." Jim ran a hand over his face, and sat next to his friend. "What, exactly, did the Doctor say?"

"A lot of medical stuff that I won't bother repeating, but it all boils down to the fact that there is a tumor in my body that's big and growing even bigger, and very, very fast. It's already spreading into other parts of my body. They ... they also said that if they'd found it three weeks ago, they could have removed it. Even two weeks ago they could have removed it, but the operation would have been riskier, as it could break open or something like that. I didn't really listen because what they could have done is a moot point anyway. Now, though, with the rate it's growing and spreading ..." Blair's head fell into his hands. "They said there was nothing they could do. I'm Terminal."

"No." Jim refused to accept that and jumped up and paced the floor. "That's not possible! There's got to be something they can do! What about Chemo ..."

"Too big. Too fast. Not healthy enough to start with. I'd be just as likely to die from the Chemo as from the tumor itself.

"Believe me, I asked. I even asked for a second opinion. Doctor Abrams had anticipated that, and got two other Doctors to confirm the diagnosis." He shook his head. "There's nothing they can do, Jim. I'm going to die." He wrapped his arms around his shoulders as if he were cold and sat as still as any statue.

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose, and forced out the one question he'd never wanted to ask, and ask of Blair of all people. "How ... how long do you have?"

"Two ... two to three months at most." Blair's whisper filled the suddenly silent and oppressive loft.

Jim whirled around and desperately wished he had something in his hands to throw or to crush or to break. "No!" He yelled. "No! That's not enough time!"

"You don't have to tell me that." Blair observed, and Jim looked, really looked at the miserable figure on the couch.

Blair had become such a fixture in Jim's life that he couldn't possibly imagine life without him, and then Jim strangled his wildly flailing emotions in mental hands, and sank into his refuge, reality. He actually could imagine his life without Blair - after all, people - partners - best friends even, died every day. But he and Blair, well, they'd both gone through so much to get where they were. Hell, they'd been through death and beaten it back. He, Jim, had been able to stop it before, and always before it was too late. Kincaid, Lash, Gallileo, Iris, Alex, and the countless others that had tried to steal Blair's life from him, had been beaten, killed, and/or punished. But how could he, James Ellison, beat, kill, and/or punish something that was inside Blair himself? How could he destroy something that was literally devouring his best friend from the inside out?

And then it hit him. He couldn't, and the absurdity of what he'd been thinking and the selfishness with which he'd been thinking it, almost made him laugh at himself in total mockery. He looked at Blair's stiff, hunched figure, his clenched fists, his tightly squeezed eyes, and his tremoring body, and knew that his thinking in this matter was too skewed to be believed. Jim had no more control over this situation than Blair himself believed he did. Jim also realized this situation was not about him, or his senses, or even the job. In fact, other than the fact that Blair was his friend, there was nothing about the entire situation that WAS about him. It was all about Blair and what he needed, and it was even more so about friendship than anything they had gone through so far was. There was only one thing Jim could do to help Blair gain some control over what was happening to him, and he again sat by his friend's side.

"Blair?" He asked. "What do you want to do about this?"
********************
Blair looked at Jim and sighed. "Well. I've already quit my job. They said I should look into going into the hospital soon ..."

"No, Chief. I mean, right now. Short of eating your gun, bullets first."

"Suicide?" Blair shook his head. "I can't say I didn't think about it in the truck as I was driving around, but I'm not in that much of a hurry to go. But Jim, you really DON'T want to know what I want to do right now."

"Then why did I ask?" Jim's voice was even and again, neither man smiled, even as Blair gave a laugh that was more of a sob.

"Okay. You really want to know what I want to do? I want to cry. I want to rant and rave and scream and kick. I want to break things and smash them ..." The more he talked, the tighter his fists clenched, and the straighter he sat, as the more angrier his voice grew. He suddenly jumped up from the couch and paced, as he raked his hands through his curls and gripped his hair so tightly, Jim was afraid he'd end up yanking whole handfuls out of his head.

"Then let go, Chief. It's okay." Jim swallowed and reminded himself this moment was about Blair and his control and friendship. "There's nothing in this place except you and I that can't be replaced."

And with that, Blair snapped out with his foot and over went the coffee table. As if once wasn't enough, he kicked it again. He ripped the couch cushions from the couches and threw them across the room as he raged at the unfairness of life at the top of his lungs. Over went a chair, and down came a bookshelf. A dining chair sailed across the room as he tore his way into the kitchen. He threw the toaster, swept all the things from the island to the floor, and shattered glasses. Finally, as his rage abated and he was left with only a deep, inconsolable well of depression and grief, he kicked at the cupboard doors and pounded his fists on the counter as horrible sobs wracked his already weakened body. Finally, when he slid to the floor and his sobs abated to mere hiccups, Jim approached him and knelt beside him.

"You know, Jim." Blair finally said as he swiped his sleeve over his face and cleared away the traces of his tears. "I thought if I were going to actually buy it, it'd be in the streets." He snorted bitterly. "I even could see the headlines." He waved a hand in the air as if proclaiming a banner headline. "Fraud-Turned-Cop Sacrifices Life For City, and that kind of thing. Damn it, Jim. Death should always be meaningful, you know? I mean, even when Alex killed me, it had some kind of meaning. But this ..." He indicated his own body. "It's pointless. Why, Jim?" Blair stared at his friend. "Why is this happening to me?"

"I don't know, Chief." Jim shook his head, as Blair tentatively, as if unsure of the older man's reaction, leaned his head on Jim's arm and Jim gripped Blair's shoulder in support. "But I wish to god I did."

"Jim." Blair's voice was low and he couldn't meet his friend's eyes. "Jim, I'm scared, man. I mean, real scared."

"That's nothing to be ashamed of." Jim assured Blair and swallowed. "I'd be scared too. But you've got to know, Blair. You're not alone here, okay? I mean it. You won't have to go through any of this alone."

"Thanks, man. I can't tell you how much I ..." He wanted to finish, but his words were swallowed by a jaw cracking yawn, and he chuckled. "Gee. I think I'm tired."

"I can't imagine why, Darwin." Jim looked around the house, and Blair sighed.

"Just call me a one man wrecking crew. I suppose I should get some of this cleaned up ..." He struggled to his feet with Jim's help, and they looked around, and Blair yawned again.

"Tomorrow." Jim said. "I think sleep would be a better idea right now."

"Yeah. Me too." Jim watched as Blair stumbled off to his room. "'Night, Jim." Blair tossed a wave over his shoulder and disappeared into his room.

"Good night, Blair." Jim answered, and looked at the glass shards as they glittered on the floor, laying like the broken pieces of his life, and he automatically went for the broom. As he cleaned up the glass, he wished he could fix his life as easily as he swept up the shards into a nice neat pile. Jim closed his eyes and tried to come to grips with the thought of Blair's being gone permanently, and wondered if he'd ever get used to the silence he had so thought he'd enjoyed Pre-Blair.
********************
When Blair lurched out of bed the following morning to give in to his nausea, he noticed the apartment was spotless, and that everything was either back where it belonged, or had been separated into boxes of repair-ables or refuse. Jim was snoring softly, stretched out on the couch. However, Blair couldn't really take the time to notice too much else, as he just made it to the bathroom in time. Jim sat up the moment he heard Blair heaving, but there was nothing he could do, so he sat and waited it out.

"Jim, man, remind me never to get pregnant." Blair half-grinned as he exited the bathroom and their eyes met. "I don't think I could take the morning sickness."

"I'll make a note of it." Jim answered, but then was serious. "Blair, I've been thinking ..."

"Thought I smelled smoke." Blair grinned and Jim shook his head.

"Comedians." Jim groused, even as he was grateful to Blair for his attempts at keeping things normal between them. "Everywhere I go there're comedians. And bad ones at that."

"Not my fault. You're the one with the underdeveloped sense of humor." Blair chuckled, but Jim would not be distracted from his subject.

"Listen, Blair. Remember last night when I asked you what you wanted to do?"

"Yeah." Blair looked pointedly around the room. "And unless one of my tumors has invaded my brain and caused me to hallucinate, I believe I tore this place up and said I'd clean it up today."

Jim looked embarrassed. "At first I was only going to clean up just the glass, but I got thinking, and then I got cleaning, and then I got thinking and cleaning, and the next thing I knew the sun was coming up and the place was spotless."

"Then the least I can do for you is to make you breakfast. As it stands I still owe you like four celebratory partner-solved case breakfasts."

Jim wanted to keep Blair from cooking and waiting on him, but knew the younger man needed to do something to keep him mobile and keep his mind active, so as Blair puttered about the kitchen and opened two prescription bottles and laid two pills out on the counter, Jim spoke. "Anyway, last night you mentioned going into the hospital."

"Yeah." Blair sighed. "The Docs figured I've only got a few good weeks left in me, and then I'm going to be pretty much useless." Blair swallowed as he fought down another wave of nausea as he forced himself to throw together omelet fixings. "Of course." He shook his head. "The word 'good' is purely a relative thing now. Maybe they should have said I'd have a few mobile weeks where I may be able to function at a somewhat normal state of being. I think that's a better description, don't you?"

"Stop trying to change the subject." Jim was annoyed, and he frowned at Blair. "I want to know if you want to go into the hospital."

"What?" Blair stared at Jim. "I'm going to have to. It's not like I can take care of myself." He looked into the pan and turned over the omelet. "Es ... especially at the ... the end."

"I told you last night you weren't alone. I meant that, Blair. I need to know what you want to do so I can make plans. I mean, am I going to have to set up a hospital ward in the livingroom or what? How much time am I going to have to take off from work? You know, I need to know these kinds of things."

"You ... you'd do all that?" Blair stared at Jim as if he'd just grown a second head.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You're my friend, Blair." Jim looked at Blair and couldn't figure out why they were having this kind of a discussion. "I thought you knew that."

"But, Jim ... this is your home. You'd have to give up so much more than you already have." He shook his head. "No, Jim. I couldn't ask that of you."

"I don't recall you asking. Damn, it, Blair. Why's it so hard for you to believe that I want to do this for you? You'd do it for me!"

"But that's different! You aren't me!" Blair looked at Jim and Jim flinched as if he'd been slapped. "Oh wow." Blair swallowed. "That didn't come out quite right. I'm sorry ..."

"No, Chief. It came out just fine. You expect a lot of yourself, but very little from others, as that's what you've always gotten. I never said this stuff to you because I assumed you always knew how I felt. I mean, Blair, you knew what all this was about, even before I did." Jim looked down at his plate as Blair slid an omelet onto it. "You knew it long before I did. You called it a friendship thing, and to me, it translated into a partner thing, as that was the only kind of friendship I've ever really known. Military and Cop, that's all I've ever known. But you, Blair, you died, lied, and gave up your whole way of life for me, and that went way beyond what I knew as friendship, and this is all I have left. Please, Blair, let me do this for you."

"Why?" Blair studied Jim's face and almost laughed aloud at the shock that flitted across it.

"I thought I just explained it." Jim answered. "What do you mean, why?"

"Would you be doing it to make up for your past mistakes? I mean, cripes man, that'd be one hell of a punishment for you to make up for any guilt trips you might have had from past mistakes. I mean, you could tell people how you took care of poor little Blair right through to the end, and then people could pat you on the back and congratulate you for your kindness to the fraud who probably got exactly what he deserved..."
********************
Jim stared in more shock than anger at his friend as he made his accusation. There were several ways that Jim could have handled things: he could have gotten angry, he could have stormed out, he could have protested, he could have yelled ... or he could just chill his ass out as Blair would have said, and remember that his friend was hurting, and that none of this was about Jim himself. But he also didn't intend on being a verbal punching bag for Blair either. Jim woodenly took a bite of his omelet, chewed deliberately as he organized his thoughts, and then dropped his fork to the plate.

"That was deliberately cruel, and more than a little unfair, Chief." He finally said. "You know I know you aren't a fraud, Simon knows you aren't a fraud, and even Rafe, Joel, and Henri know you aren't a fraud. More importantly, Blair, YOU know you aren't a fraud. And those are the only opinions that matter in the long run. I thought you knew that."

"All right." Blair nodded, unsure how to deal with a calm and rational Jim that he had just deliberately baited. "Maybe it was cruel, but I've run out of time, and I don't want to have to waste any of what I have left playing the 'You Said/I Said' game. All I've got left right now is my dignity, and I'm even going to lose that." He looked down at his hands. "I mean, you say now, with me standing here in front of you, that you want me to stay here and you are willing to do all this stuff for me that you need to. That's great man, it really is. I appreciate the thought, but what about in a few weeks from now when I'm keeping you up nights screaming because I'm in pain? What about when I collapse and can't function to even bathe myself or go to the bathroom and I'm going to need to be changed." Blair paled slightly, but continued. "What happens when I can no longer feed myself or move, even in a bed? And what about at the end, Jim? What about when the disease and the drugs used to control the pain have robbed me of most of the coherence I may have had and the ability to form even a simple sentence is cause for celebration? You saw what those families went through, Jim, and so did I! You heard the stories of what they went through, the sacrifices of time, energy, other loved ones, and even faith they had to make. I saw that you could almost taste the illnesses, Jim. And the smells made you absolutely ill ..."

"This isn't about me!" Jim glared at Blair. "This is about you!" He jumped up and stormed into the livingroom to put some distance between the two of them, and kicked the coffee table over. "I want you to be happy and comfortable ... or as comfortable as you can be at any rate! Damn it, Blair! You took care of me for five years! If I were to stand here and list all the things you've done for me, and I just don't mean the two big ones, we'd be here for hours!" He ran a hand over his face and inhaled deeply. "And yes, Blair, I did see the families and what they had to do, the sacrifices they'd had to make. I saw people who'd lost jobs and spouses, whose children couldn't understand why Grandma couldn't play anymore or remember who they were. But, Blair, I also saw love and attention given to people who had been all but abandoned by everyone else, and who were no les deserving of it because they were ill. I saw people who would have gotten lost in a world of pain and fear without those same family members with them. Maybe their bodies had no dignity, Blair, but they certainly did, and that's what I want to give you. I want you to know that you are loved and respected and cared for as much as you have loved, cared for, and respected others! I want you to be around the people and things you know and recognize so that when you ... when you ..." He couldn't say it.

"When I die." Blair filled in, and Jim nodded helplessly as he righted the coffee table, checked it for damage, then returned to his breakfast.

"Yeah, that." Jim swallowed and dully noted that Blair's omelets were just as good cold as hot. "I just don't want you to be alone and confused and afraid."

"Jim." Blair had to clear his throat and couldn't look at his friend. "I followed up on the victims of the robberies."

"I figured you had because that's the kind of person you are." Jim smiled. "And?"

"Two out of the five have since died. Mrs. Fraisby was moved into a hospital after the robbery. She died three days later in an unfamiliar bed, no family around, and no sound but that of the machines that monitored her. Helen Irwin died in her own bed, surrounded by her two daughters and three grandchildren watching a Man From U.N.C.L.E. marathon. She died surrounded by love and laughter, Jim, and that's how I want to go."

Jim breathed a silent sigh of relief and nodded. "Most of that's do-able, but I don't know about The Man From U.N.C.L.E., although I suppose we can get some tapes ..." Blair's laughter rang as he was taken by surprise by Jim's sudden humor, and Jim smiled at the sound.

"I prefer Starsky and Hutch, thanks anyway." Blair swallowed. "And uh ... actually, the family thing might be a little hard to do as well. I wrote a letter to Naomi, but she's on this six month tour in the Himalayan's and may not get it in time."

Jim almost choked on his omelet, but forced the bite down his throat. If he hadn't made his offer, the Blair would truly have been on his own, and he watched as Blair finally took the pills he'd laid out. He vowed that no matter how hard things got, Blair would NOT be alone in any stage of his ordeal. It was then that Jim noticed that Blair had only made one omelet, and wasn't making anything else.

"Hey, Chief, what about your breakfast?" He looked at Blair with raised eyebrows, and Blair shook his head.

"I just had mine." He indicated the pill bottles and grimaced. "The way I feel now, I couldn't keep anything down anyway."

"You need to at least try." Jim prodded. "If you keep doing that not eating anything thing, we'll have to lay in a supply of those vitamin/protein drinks."

"Yuck. no thanks, man. I'll make my own." Blair hauled out the blender and normalcy resumed once again.
********************
For three weeks they were able to pretend, even though Blair had quit the police department, had periods of weakness and nausea, and severe headaches, that everything was normal.

However, one night, all that changed.

"Oh my god! Blair!" Jim threw open the door in the middle of the fourth week, and found Blair laying face down on the floor of the living room in an apartment that reeked.

"I'm sorry, Jim." Blair couldn't stop the tears that flowed down his cheeks. "I couldn't make it. I tried to go, but I collapsed and couldn't stand back up and I left the phone in the bedroom so I couldn't call you."

"It's all right." Jim soothed his friend and picked him up. "We knew this time would come. The nurse is just waiting for our call. I'll call her tonight and she'll be here first thing in the morning." Jim had wanted to be able to take care of Blair himself, but they had both known that was impossible, as Jim still had to work, and had prepared well for when the time came that Blair couldn't care for himself. "For now though, let's do what we have to do."

Jim carried Blair to his room, and as tears of humiliation rolled down his face and he stared resolutely at the ceiling, Blair let Jim do what they both knew had to be done. When Blair was safely and warmly tucked into his bed, Jim handed Blair some pills from the growing pharmaceutical cornucopia by his bedside, and helped him to take them.

"I couldn't move, Jim." Blair sniffed. "Damn it, Jim! I'm not ready for this. There's still so much I have to do. I haven't even told the others yet."

"I know, and they know something's very wrong here. I keep putting them off by simply telling them you're sick, but none of them are stupid, Blair. They are, after all detectives. They're willing to wait for you to tell them, but if you wait much longer, not only will it be too late, but they'll come over here with a Search Warrant. They deserve to know."

"I know." Blair finally sighed. "Look, tomorrow's poker night anyway, right?" He watched as Jim nodded. "Where's it being held?"

"It's at Joel's ..."

"Have it here. I'm not going to be able to go anywhere now if I'm falling over and not able to stand up again." He moved quickly from sadness to anger, and then to fatalistic acceptance. "I'll tell them tomorrow. Not that they won't be able to see something's drastically wrong anyway. I lose any more weight, you won't be able to see me if I stand sideways." He sighed. "This is NOT a weight loss program I'd recommend." Blair moved back to sadness and held up his hands, until they tremored from the effort it took. "I really, really hate this, Jim." His hands fell back to his sides, and Jim tucked them under the edge of the blanket as the drugs kicked in and Blair fell into an assisted, uncomfortable sleep.

"Me too." Jim whispered and watched his friend squirm in his sleep, unable to get away from his pain even there. Not knowing what else he could do, Jim cleaned up the mess in the livingroom, then went to bed himself.
********************
The nurse they'd called had been one most of her adult life, and had worked with terminal patients for almost 15 years. She was kind, she was patient, but she also didn't take anything from her patients that was unwarranted, but what was most important to Jim, was that she made Blair laugh.

When Jim came home that first night, he found Blair ensconced on the couch, wrapped in his colorful comforter, asleep, and the nurse was getting the table ready for the poker game. To say Jim was surprised was an understatement, and she smiled at him.

"I didn't know setting tables for poker games was in your job description." He said, somewhat lamely, but she laughed.

"Well, when Blair told me what was going to happen tonight, I had to help. Besides, I was getting bored being beaten at Chess, although I did get a few good licks in at Trivial Pursuit ... but only in the Entertainment category, and that was in anything before 1970." Jim waited for the inevitable 'he's so young', but it never came, and he guessed in her career she'd seen all ages from all walks of life die of equally horrible things. He looked over at Blair, then down at the nurse as she laid a hand on his arm. "Look, Jim. My primary function is to take care of the patient, but part of that care extends to the families as well ..."

"We're not family." He shook his head, and she snorted.

"Not by blood maybe, but from what Blair's been saying, and the grilling, the reference checks, and the background check you did on me ..." She chuckled. "I still can't believe you hired me, even with the two parking tickets I got ..."

Jim had the grace to look embarrassed, but his voice was serious. "They were gained in the line of performing your duty." He answered. "I checked it out. In fact, that was one of the main reasons I hired you. Because of your dedication to your patients."

She smiled. "My patients will always come first. That's probably why I'm still single." she laughed and he chuckled appreciatively as he thought of his own marriage and the dedication to the job he hadn't had to Carolyn. "Anyway, as I was saying, after all that, I can see that you've become as close as any family, and that's enough for me." She pulled out a business card and handed it to Jim. "But, as I was also saying, part of my job is to help the family so I can concentrate on the client. This is the 24 hour number of a crisis and counseling department, specializing in helping the families of terminal patients at home. I strongly urge you to use it. There're also support groups that meet twice a week they can put you in contact with." She laid a gentle hand on his arm. "But you've got to know that it's okay to grieve, Jim, even now, before he dies. You're losing someone you care for deeply, and that hurts." She nodded at Blair. "Just remember that he doesn't need you to be strong for him, he just needs you." She left, and Jim stared at the card for a moment, and Blair stirred as the door shut behind her.

"Oh, Jim. You're home." He looked over at the table. "Peggy did a good job." He swallowed. "The guys are coming, aren't they?" He looked almost afraid, and Jim nodded.

"Yeah. I told them you wanted to talk to them. I ... I think they know."

"Wouldn't be surprised. They're smart guys."

Jim gathered the food from the kitchen and had set it on the table when he swiveled his head and looked at the door as pounding feet and laughter sounded from the hallway. Jim and Blair's eyes met and Jim gave him an encouraging smile, then opened the door.

"Let the games begin." Blair's voice was Sentinel soft, and Jim shook his head at his partner's resilience.
********************
Simon, Henri, Rafe, and Joel traipsed in and Jim took their coats as greetings were exchanged, and slowly silence descended on the room as they all looked over at Blair on the couch. Jim and Blair had had time to get used to how bad Blair actually looked, but for the others it was a shock, and the two men let their friends adjust.

"Geeze, Blair." Simon was the first to speak. "When you get sick, you don't do things halfway."

"Never did anything else that way." Blair smiled. "Why start now?"

"Blair." If it was possible for Henri to pale, he did. "When I was a kid, I had a cousin and we were closer than most brothers. He looked as sick then as you do now, and he had cancer. Do you ..." He swallowed, and Blair looked down at his hands.

"Yes." He whispered and couldn't look any of them in the eyes.

"Cancer?" Joel swallowed and looked at his round, but reasonably healthy body, then back at Blair's thinning form. "Just exactly how long have you been sick, and why are we only finding out about this now?"

"I've been sick just under two months. I ... I'm telling you now because ..." He cleared his throat. "Because I don't have any choice."

"No choice?" Rafe's voice was strangled and thin, and he swallowed. Blair wasn't much younger than he was, and though he had suspected there was more to Blair's illness than Jim had been telling them, to actually hear it didn't lessen the shock any.

"As you've probably guessed." Jim took over when it was clear that Blair wasn't going to be able to speak. "Blair's dying." He went on to explain about the tumor and how it had grown and spread, and was continuing to do so even as they spoke.

"How long have you got?" Henri asked, his voice steady.

"Another month ... possibly a month and a half if I can drag it out." Blair half-smiled.

"That soon!?" Rafe stared, and Blair nodded.

"Now you see why I had no choice. It ... it wasn't fair to you guys not to tell you." He looked over at Henri. "And if your cousin died ..."

"He did." Henri confirmed, and Blair sighed.

"Then you know why I had to tell you. You have to know what to expect and to know what I'm going to like at ... at the end. It's bad ... bad enough I have to leave you guys this soon, but to do it without telling you would have been cruel. After all, you're the best friends I've ever had. You're the only ones I've got left from Pre-Dissertation Disaster days. I ... I mean, you guys've probably got lots of other friends to take my place. I'm not saying I'm irreplaceable or anything ..." He stumbled over his words, and Joel smiled.

"Blair, I can't speak for everyone here, but you are certainly one of my better friends ..." He stopped as the others nodded. "Heck, the first time you ever met me, you saved my life, and not once, but several times since then."

"And I can honestly say you aren't like anyone I've ever met before or since." Simon grinned. "So I'd say you are pretty irreplaceable."

"And after what we saw you do for Jim." Rafe smiled. "I mean that was a pretty incredible thing you did. We've never really talked about it, but I can only hope to one day have as good a friend as you've been to Jim."

"It's been a hell of a ride, Hairboy." Henri laughed. "But one I was glad to take. Even if you never shared your horse race gambling scheme with us."

There was a moment of mirth as memories passed back and forth, but then Blair sighed. "I can't tell you what hearing you say these things means to me, guys. You really are the best friends I've ever had. Now I don't feel like I'm so alone."

"You aren't." Joel nodded.

"Not when we're around." Rafe confirmed.

"There's no way we'd even begin to let you go through this alone." Henri swallowed. "No one should have to go through something like this, and definitely NOT alone."

"And I'm only going to say this once, and then deny it, Sandburg, so listen good." Simon's voice was harsh, but his grin took any and all sting from his tone. "You're one of us, and you always have been. Ever since you helped defend the station and my people from Kincaid, you've been part of us, and we don't desert one if our own under fire, no matter what kind of fire that may be."

"Wow, Simon, thanks." Blair smiled, then looked down at his hands. "Then ... then can I ask you guys one more favor? But don't agree to anything until you've heard the whole request, and don't feel pressured or anything because there's really none there. I mean, I wouldn't ask but ..."

"Breathe, Sandburg." Jim admonished, and the rest of the guys chuckled at the familiar words.

Blair took a deep breath, then looked at each one of them in turn. "It's kind of a huge favor ..."

"So stop with the suspense and ask already." Simon grumbled, and Blair inhaled.

"I don't know if Naomi's going to make it here in time, you know, before I die, and I was wondering if, when ... when it's my time to ...go. My time to die, I mean." He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. "Would ... would you guys be with me? Jim's already said yes, but I want you there too."

"Are you saying you know exactly when ..." Rafe couldn't finish, and Blair gave a lopsided smile.

"As you know, I have prior experience with the death thing." Blair shrugged. "I'm uniquely qualified to know when it's going to happen and be able to recognize the signs. I ... I just want my friends around me this time and not ... not some homicidal female alternately apologizing and enjoying my death at the same time."

"Blair." Henri spoke first. "I was only a kid when my cousin died, and they never gave me a chance to say goodbye to him because I was just a kid. No one's ever going to keep me from saying goodbye to a friend again."

"If you want me there, I'm there." Rafe nodded.

"Put me on your speed dial." Joel confirmed. "And when I get the call, I'll be here."

"The same goes for me." Simon made it unanimous, and the brilliant smile of gratitude and relief that lit Blair's face was both humbling and gratifying to those who were privileged enough to see it, and Jim mouthed a thank you over Blair's head to the others.
********************
The four guys were soon a fixture at the loft, and one or more of them would stay with Blair on the evenings and nights Jim had duty. In the daytime, Peggy was almost constantly besieged with phone calls asking how Blair was, and did he need anything. Four weeks came and went with equal amounts of excruciating lethargy, and lightning fast flashes, and Blair's predictions about his symptoms, given to Jim on the morning he had agreed to stay at the loft throughout his illness, one by one over so short a period of time, came agonizingly true.

Finally, Blair was so heavily drugged that he barely moved, and was more unconscious than awake, and it was into his seventh week, that Peggy gave Jim the news he'd been dreading to hear. She greeted him as he came in the door, and then took his hand.

"Jim ..." She said, and Jim's stomach twisted as he looked toward the French doors. He relaxed only slightly when he picked up the slow, and rather unsteady heartbeat that he'd monitored with his hearing for the last week, and looked down at the nurse. "Jim, you and your friends have given Blair three more weeks than were expected, but I think you need to be prepared. Based on my experience and changes in his heartrate and the amount of time he's been unconscious, he's going to go soon."

"How soon?" Jim wanted to run to Blair's side, but forced himself to stand still and listen to the nurse.

"I'd say within the next couple of days. All we can do now is keep him comfortable and monitor him. I ... I think he knows, Jim. He wouldn't let me give him his painkiller until he talked to you. As soon as he does, make sure he gets his medicine, okay? He's going to need it."

"I will. Thanks ... for everything." She smiled encouragingly at him, then left, and he entered Blair's room.

"Hey." Blair whispered as he squinted up at Jim. "I heard what ... Peggy said."

"She said take your medicine." Jim frowned at Blair, and a ghost of a smile passed over the sick man's ragged, pain-tightened face.

"She's right Jim. I do know. Soon, but ... not yet. You can't get rid of me that ... easily."

"Good. Not quite ready to let you go yet." Jim's voice was thick. "But what did you want to talk to me about?"

"Just to thank you." Blair sighed. "These last few years have been ... the best of my life. Although, I could probably have cheerfully gone without ever meeting Lash." Jim started to speak, but Blair shook his head. "Let me finish. I won't get another chance to say ...this. You gave a neo-hippie witchdoctor punk a chance to do more ... than just take up space in a university, and showed me the search for a Holy Grail ... doesn't always end when you find it." Jim gripped Blair's thin, trembling hand in his strong one and gazed at the unnaturally translucent skin, then followed the trail of blue veins that stood out from the skin like dark, unhealthy ropes, and looked into the dull eyes that once sparked with enthusiasm and burned with life.

"You already know what you've done for me." Jim's voice shook, and he cleared his throat, even as he dropped Blair's hand and helped prop Blair up so he could take his medicine. "I can't ever thank you enough for all of it ... or any of it for that matter."

Even that little bit of movement exhausted Blair and he sank back into the pillows. "S' no prob, man." He mumbled, and Jim was grateful for Sentinel hearing. "S'what friends ... for." He fell back into his unconsciousness, and Jim did nothing for the rest of the night but stand by his friend's bedside and then did something he hadn't done in quite a long time.

He prayed.
********************
Jim watched the sun come up, and knew that there was no way he could go to work when any time might be Blair's last few moments, and he called in. Simon's voice was calm and reassuring, and he told Jim that he'd relay the message to the others so they could be waiting for the call, when it came, so they could all keep their promises.

Peggy arrived at the normal time, took one look at Jim, and in true Nurse Fashion, bullied him into a shower, food, and a nap but only on the proviso she'd wake him if Blair woke, which she did, and she puttered about the livingroom, as the two friends talked.

"Hey Blair." Jim smiled down at his friend, who couldn't do more than look in his direction, and let a small smile pass over his face that was gone almost as suddenly as it had been there. "I've been thinking." The lines around Blair's eyes deepened, and Jim sighed. "Yeah, I know, you smelled smoke." His voice caught in his throat, and he bent his head. "Do you want to know what I've been thinking about or not?" He watched as Blair moved his head in what Jim assumed was a nod. "Then don't interrupt." He said mock sternly, and Blair snuffled, which Jim took to be a laugh. "The Dissertation." Blair frowned, and snorted, and Jim shook his head. "I thought I told you not to interrupt. You know, Chief, you've really got to get a handle on this disobeying me stuff." Another snuffle answered him, and he smiled. "Seriously. Remember when you thought we destroyed the Dissertation and all of its copies?" Blair again moved his head, and his eyes narrowed as Jim inhaled deeply. "Well, I didn't. Not all of them at any rate. There's one left. The original to be precise."

"Whaaaat?" Blair forced the word through his drug-numbed lips, and tried to raise his head, but Jim shook his head and placed the flat of his palm against Blair's forehead.

"I couldn't let you do it, Blair. Not to something you dedicated most of your whole life to, so I've got a copy of the Dissertation in a Safety Deposit Box with orders for it to be published after my death, or after I retire, whichever comes first. I ... I was supposed to go first, Buddy. Not you. You were supposed to be published and a PhD and ..." He couldn't finish, and Blair sighed, then forced his hand to crawl across the blankets and laid his fingers over Jim's. The small amount of movement exhausted him, and he closed his eyes as he took a deep breath, or as deep a one as he could get.

"Thaaaaank youuuu." Blair forced out, and panted heavily, even with the assistance of the nasal cannula attached to the portable oxygen tank.

"You're welcome." Jim smiled and mindful of the IV in Blair's hand, curled the skeletal fingers around his own hand, and watched as Blair fell back into his unconsciousness, yet the corners of his mouth stayed curled upwards.

That was the only time that day that he woke, and neither Jim nor Peggy left Blair's side. Peggy left, as she always did, toward evening, and Jim continued his vigil alone, until he fell asleep in the chair beside Blair's bed.

"Jim." Blair's whisper woke the bigger man immediately, and he looked into Blair's eyes. His gut tightened in something akin to terror as he saw a clarity there that he hadn't seen in months.

"B ... Blair?" He stammered, and Blair looked at the phone.

"Call them." Was all he said, and Jim's throat constricted painfully, his hands shook even as he dialed, and he had to force himself to swallow several times before he could speak.

"Simon." Jim's voice was tight, but fortunately, he didn't have to say much. "Yeah. It's time. You'll call the others? Thanks. See you." He hung up, and stood by the bedside, his hands clenched into ineffectual fists, and he looked completely lost.

"Could ... could you help me get dressed?" Blair whispered, and Jim merely stared.

"What?" Jim inhaled deeply and pulled himself together for what he knew was Blair's last stretch.

"Don't ... don't want to die like ... this, in here. Want to be out ... side." He indicated the livingroom with his head. "Sitting ... up. Dressed."

"Outside?" Jim asked as he rifled through Blair's clothing, and came upon the brightly patterned vest Blair had been wearing the first time he'd come across the Grad student. The vest proved almost to be his undoing, but with long practice, he checked his emotions at the door and took the vest, as well as a white shirt and jeans, over to Blair, then proceeded to dress him.

"Appropriate." Blair smiled and forced out, as a warm lethargy seemed to capture him. He scowled and fought it back as Jim looked at him, pale. He'd obviously heard the skip in Blair's heartbeat as it had slowed, then sped up again. "I ... I'm going to wait for them." Blair scowled, and the determined set of his chin was so like the old Blair that Jim felt his heart constrict and tighten in his chest. "Outside." The younger man said again, and Jim looked at the lifesaving paraphernalia that surrounded the bed. "Unhook me. It's moot." Blair ordered, and with his hands shaking harder than he could ever remember they had at any time before, Jim took Blair off of everything but the oxygen. He had just finished when he tilted his head, and smiled sadly.

"I think they broke just about every speed law in the city, but they're here." He reached under the skeleton-like body of his best friend and pulled him, cover and all, from the bed then dragged the oxygen tank behind him. He was in the livingroom when the sounds of the others filled the hallway.

"They're going to ... tick off the neighbors." Blair observed, and Jim smiled.

"Least of the worries, Blair." Jim told him,, and then opened the door. Silence issued forth, and Blair sighed as he took in their faces.

"Thanks." He said simply, but they read a wealth of words in his face, and quietly accompanied the two to the terrace. Jim sat in one of the chairs, and in a tender, big brotherly way, he cradled the smaller, emaciated body against him. Simon placed his hand on Jim's shoulder, and the others stood or knelt closely around the duo. Blair's eyes wandered from one pained face to the other and sighed. "Suppose I selfish want ... here." He managed to say, and they looked at him.

"No, Sandburg, it's not. You aren't. It's human." Simon shook his head, and Blair raised a trembling hand, and in a surprise move, slipped it into Simon's hand. The African-American Captain couldn't keep his lips from quivering as he enveloped the smaller, cold, bony hand in his and thought about Daryl, and what he'd do if his son were ever in the same position that Blair was at that moment. He tightened his fingers, and Blair smiled gratefully at him.

"Hard ... for you." Blair sighed. "All of you. Sorry."

"Like we said before, it'd've been even harder if you hadn't wanted us here." Joel told him, his voice calm, comforting, and strong.

"I've been ... lucky." Blair breathed. "How often ... get complete ... second chances in life?"

"Not often enough for civilians, and in our cop world, hardly ever." Henri answered. "I'm just glad we could help you through yours."

"Good ... life. Only wish ... more time to know ... you." the younger man sighed, and let his eyes drift over the faces around him.

"So do we." Rafe laid a comforting, strong hand on Blair's shoulder, and Blair smiled.

"Take care of ... Jim. He ... he's high ... high maintenance." He giggled. "I ... I'll be watching." The others chuckled appreciatively, and Blair felt what could only be described as a soft, comfortable warmth as it moved over him like a blanket and his head fell against Jim's shoulder, as some of the most beautiful music he'd ever heard played soothingly through his mind. "I ... I can't ... wait any ... longer." He said, and Jim felt the dam inside him give completely as it broke into a million shattered, slivered, jagged pieces, and each one cut into him like a knife, but all he did was repeat the words to Blair that he'd said the night Bair had first told him about the tumor.

"Then let go, Chief. It's okay."

Blair sighed a long breath, and Jim heard it leave his lungs. He couldn't help but listen as Blair's heartbeat skipped, slowed, and then stopped altogether. Blair's hand dropped from Simon's into Jim's lap, and Blair's body completely relaxed into what had been his best, and dearest friend's embrace.

Simon turned away and covered his face with his hands, Joel didn't even try to check the tears that ran down his cheeks, and Rafe sought comfort in the closeness of his bigger partner. As for Jim, he buried his face in Blair's hair and shuddered as the stoic shell he'd hidden behind ever since the death of Jack Pendergrast was destroyed as he wept inconsolably.

He pulled the body closer to him, and it gave with a softness that was more than strange, and he realized that the curly hair had gone coarse, and smelled like ... like laundry soap and feathers!? What the HELL was going on!?
********************
Jim opened his tear-gummed eyes, and looked around. He was in his bed, in the loft, and from the sounds and smells from below, someone was in the kitchen. Jim bounded out of bed, threw on his robe, and flew down the stairs so fast he almost fell down them. He skidded to a stop, as he looked into the kitchen, and saw Blair - a strong, healthy, energetic, and enthusiastic Blair Jacob Sandburg - in Jim's own kitchen, making some sort of feast. It was all Jim could do to restrain himself from jumping on Blair to see if he were real, or a very strong figment of a suddenly demented imagination, and Blair finally turned around.

"Oh, hey." He grinned, and inwardly Jim rejoiced. "Good morning partner." Blair beamed, then his face creased in concern. "Hey, man. you doing all right? You look like you've been crying."

"Very, very, very bad dream." Jim waved a hand. "But everything's fine now." He couldn't contain the grin. "In fact, everything's just perfect. Couldn't BE any better."

"Um ... that's good." Blair was obviously puzzled by Jim's very uncharacteristically verbose and enthusiastic behavior. "But if you don't get a move on, we'll be late, and we won't get to eat this celebratory breakfast I'm making in celebration of solving the case ..."

"The case?" Jim looked blank. "What case?"

"What case? What do you mean, 'what case'? The one with the pharmacist who was robbing the terminally ill patients, of course. You know, the one we just wrapped up as of yesterday?"

"Was that only yesterday?" Jim asked as he sat at the table and watched as Blair laid out a feast of eggs, sausage, and pancakes topped with fresh fruit. "Seems like it was months ago. This looks great, Blair, but if you keep feeding us this way after every case we solve as partners, we're going to be so fat they'll have to roll us out of this place by the second month."

"Nah. Never happen." Blair shook his head, and a knot wound itself in Jim's stomach at the familiarity of the words. "The criminals'll have us running around and chasing them way to much to even have time to get fat. Besides, the pancake batter is fat free, the fruit is fresh - not frozen or canned, the sausage meatless, and the eggs ..."

"Never mind, I know." Jim said, and frowned.

"Jim?" Blair's voice was low and questioning. "Did ... did I do something wrong? Is ... is the food all right?"

"It's fine." Jim swallowed. "Everything's fine. It was just a dream. The food is wonderful, Sandburg. No worries. See? It smells wonderful, and probably tastes just as good." He inhaled deeply, to prove his words, and then choked. He gagged as the smell he had come to absolutely despise even beyond the word hate: that awful, disgusting smell of impending death, filtered into his consciousness, though it was weak, and nowhere near as strong as it had been in his dream. He gripped the table edge until his knuckles were white. Blair jumped up from his side of the table and ran to Jim, even as the older man struggled to control not only the effect the scent had on him, but also the fear and nausea it evoked in him.

"Jim?" Blair's voice broke through the haze of panic, and he gazed into his friend's blurry face as his own eyes watered from the force of his coughing spell. "Jim, if you don't say something right this minute, I'm going to call an ambulance!" Blair declared.

"Smell." Jim choked out, and Blair sighed.

"Must have been one hell of an odor to make you react like that. You haven't had any kind of sensory spike in ages."

"Death. I smelled death." Jim said, and Blair grimaced. "I've been smelling it since last week and I can't get away from it! It's everywhere!"

"Really?" Blair's face took on the look he got when thinking madly, then snapped his fingers, and again Jim paled at the all too familiar scene. "I've got it! "You know how some people associate a memory or an event with a scent?" He didn't wait for Jim's response, and barreled on. "I bet what YOU'RE doing is associating a scent with a memory ... specifically, the memory of the terminally ill patients we just interviewed. Their memory is still in your head and your body registered the scents as those of death. So, when you have a memory of that, your body reacts by putting forth the scent. Kind of a Sensory Memory if you will." He shook his head. "Pardon the pun."

"No." Jim shook his head. "I don't think that's it."

Huh?" Blair looked surprised. "Then what DO you think it is?" Without answering him, Jim stood, reached out, grabbed Blair's arms tightly in his hands, and pulled the younger man to him, until they were mere inches apart, and then Jim began to actually sniff Blair. "Um ...Jim." Blair cleared his throat. "This is the kind of thing that makes people start talking. Could you like, let me go? Please?" Jim ignored him, and Blair grew more and more worried about his friend's sanity, or lack thereof. "Jim." His voice was sharp. "I like you and all, man, but you are really starting to freak me out here. What's going on in that mind of yours? Tell me, and maybe I can help."

"My dream." Was all that Jim said, and released Blair so fast he almost fell over, then dashed upstairs to his room.

"The one you had this morning?" Blair called up to the room, and Jim nodded.

"Yes. You said the same thing. Gave the same explanation, but you were wrong. And you died. Now that smell ... that same smell of impending death is all over you."

"It shouldn't be. I showered ..."

"No. I mean, it's in you." Jim stared over the balcony at Blair, and his eyes widened. "Oh my god. Blair. In the dream the Doctors said if they had found the tumor ..."

"I had a tumor!?" Blair exclaimed, and Jim nodded as he threw some pants on.

"Yes! And they said if they could have operated on you three weeks before they could have saved you. Even two weeks would have been enough time." He finished dressing, and Blair was desperately trying to make sense of what was going on as Jim gathered their things together and tossed Blair his.

"Jim, will you PLEASE slow down!" Blair pleaded. "You aren't making any sense!"

"When did we get the call about the robberies?" Jim ignored Blair as they shrugged themselves into their guns and outer clothing.

"March thirtieth." Blair supplied. "Why?"

"And we solved the case yesterday, right?"

"Yeeees." Blair answered hesitantly, then stared as Jim opened the door. "Uh ... we haven't had breakfast yet, and we definitely haven't cleaned up. We're leaving the loft this way?" Blair was more and more alarmed by his friend's strange behavior by the minute, and it certainly wasn't helping to clear up his confusion any, and Jim didn't seem interested in doing so in the least.

"What was the date?" Jim asked, and Blair's mouth dropped open.

"You filled out some of the paperwork yesterday, man. You should know the date. It was April 10th."

"Twelve days!" Jim's eyes went wide. "Come on. We have to go and go NOW!"

"Go? But the loft ...?"

"Now is not the time for questions! Come on!"

"Okay. Okay. Okay." Blair held his hands up in surrender and was absolutely convinced that Jim had lost his mind as he took only long enough to lock the door, and then ran down the stairs and to the truck. Jim gunned the engine, threw the truck into gear and peeled out of the parking space to the road. "Um ... Jim. The station's the other way."

"The hospital's this way."

"The hospital!? What are we going there for!?"

"To admit you for tests."

"WHAT!?" Blair stared at Jim, who pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath.

"Look. In my dream, you had a tumor. It grew too big and too fast for them to do anything about it after you'd had it for two complete weeks. By the time they found it, it was too late, and you were too far gone to save. Within three months, you were gone. Dead. I watched you deteriorate and then you died in my arms, and there was nothing I could do about it." He kept his eyes out the front window and didn't look over at his friend. "All the same clues were there. The headaches you've been complaining about, the fatigue, the inability to sleep well, and then there was the smell. We thought it was just a sensory memory, but it wasn't. It was real, Blair. As real as it was when I smelled it in you this morning."

"Are you sure it's not just like, stress or anything?" Blair asked, his eyes wide.

"i can only hope and pray to god it is." Jim answered, his nerves severely on edge as he pictured how Blair had looked as he'd died. "You were in so much pain all the time. You'd scream in the night, and there was nothing I could do to stop it." His throat closed up and he forced himself to swallow. "And you were so weak. When you died, you could barely even speak. I don't want you to have to go through that again." His voice cracked and Blair placed a steadying hand on Jim's taut shoulders. "I couldn't stand it. I couldn't bear watching it happen again, and if I have to look stupid to prevent it from happening, then I'll put on a pink bunny suit and carry you into the hospital in an Easter basket if it would save you ... us ... from going through it again." Blair swallowed the laughter and the automatic comments THAT particular image evoked, and settled for merely squeezing Jim's shoulder as they squealed into the parking lot of the hospital.

Two hours later, Blair was ensconced in a room, much to the annoyance of several nurses and one seriously upset Admissions Clerk, all of whom felt that Blair should NOT have been where he was. Blair fidgeted in the hospital bed, and looked up as his Doctor, also rather annoyed looking, almost stalked into the room.

"So." He said without any formal greeting. "I was told you demanded to be admitted."

"I demanded it, actually." Jim stepped forward. "He's seriously ill and ..."

"Oh. I see. The police department has started handing out medical certifications now?" The Doctor demanded, and Jim bristled, but Blair finally spoke up.

"Doctor Abrams, I haven't been feeling very well lately, and Jim just thought it'd be in my better interests if I were in a hospital."

"If you weren't feeling well, you should have come to my office first. You are aware your medical coverage only covers Doctor sanctioned admissions."

"If it turns out that we've wasted your valuable time and precious bed-space." Jim snarled. "I'll pay the damned bill myself. But look, my friend is sick, so why don't you just do your job and find out what the hell's wrong with him!"

"Jim, it's okay, man. Just calm down." Blair held up his hands and smiled placatingly at the Doctor. "You'll have to forgive him. He's been under a lot of stress at work lately. I'm sorry for the suddenness of this, but I know how busy you are, and we didn't think we'd get an appointment soon enough to nip this what-ever-it-is that's making me sick, in the bud, so to speak. And with the job I do, I can't afford to be sick for very long, if at all."

"I see." Doctor Abrams approached Blair and poked, prodded, and asked questions about Blair's symptoms, and when he was done, he stepped back. "Well, there's definitely some questionable reactions, and the symptoms aren't those of a completely healthy person, so I'll order a battery of tests today, and we should have the results back by tomorrow or the next day at the latest."

"Thanks, Doc." Blair smiled.
********************
For the rest of that day, Blair was poked, prodded, had blood and other bodily fluids taken, was x-rayed, CT Scanned, and MRI'd just about to death. By the time Jim was able to see him, it was late in the evening and visiting hours were almost up.

"Hey there." Jim greeted, and Blair looked up at him with distinctly blurry eyes, and a big yawn.

"Hey yourself."

"Seen the Doctor yet?"

"Nope." Blair sighed. "He said something about going to a reception or something like that tonight. I don't think he really believes there's anything seriously wrong with me." He looked at Jim with his head tilted. "Jim, are you sure ... I mean, I really do feel fine - except for the headaches and the tiredness ..."

Jim's face could have been cut from stone and he frowned. "I know what I smelled, Sandburg." He retorted, but didn't get a chance to say anything else as the Doctor, dressed in a tuxedo under his coat, suddenly walked in.

"Doctor Abrams." Blair's eyebrows shot into his hairline, surprised. "I thought you were going to a reception tonight and I wouldn't see you until tomorrow morning sometime."

"I was, and you weren't." He glanced over at Jim. "But perhaps your friend had better wait outside ..."

Blair paled, and glanced at Jim. "Um ... no. If there's something going on, he should hear it too. What's ... what's going on, Docotor?"

"We got the results of your tests back a little sooner than planned, and it's a good thing we did. When the lab found its results, they put a rush order on it, and I was sent for. As you've probably guessed, we've found something, and Blair, it is serious ... very serious."

"Oh damn." Jim sat by Blair's bedside, and put his head in his hand. Even though he'd known what they would find, he'd still hoped it was only a nightmare ... his nightmare, and one that Blair wouldn't have had to live.

"You have a tumor, Blair. A big one, and it's getting bigger even as we speak. I don't know how your friend recognized the fact that you were indeed so sick at this stage ..." He looked over at Jim, who made a silent apology to Henri, who had told he and Blair about his cousin the first time he'd heard about the robberies of the terminally ill patients, then spoke, his voice even and quiet.

"I had a cousin who died from cancer when I was a kid." Jim answered smoothly. "I memorized his symptoms and I've been ..." He paused. "Hyper-sensitive to them ever since." Blair almost chooked as Jim had said 'hyper-sensitive', but he swallowed it and Jim looked at the Doctor. "But what's important here now is Blair. What's going to happen to him?"

The Doctor nodded and inhaled deeply. "Well, if we'd caught it a week ago, there would have been no question of trying to remove it. As it is now, the operation'll be far more difficult and risky, but it can still be done however, it has to be done in the next couple of days, or we won't have any chance at all and Blair will go Terminal."

"No contest, man. Get it out." Blair ran a hand through his hair and thought about what Jim had said about what he'd gone through, no, what they'd BOTH gone through, in the dream, and if there were any chance at all of avoiding putting them both through that kind of a hell again, he was going to take it.

"If we do take it out, you'll have to follow up for a few months of visits to make sure we got it all. I'll give you the papers to sign tonight, send a nurse in here with something to help you sleep, and we'll schedule your operation for nine o'clock in the morning."

"Hey, Doc." Blair glanced at Jim. "I know visiting hours are up in a few minutes, but could Jim stay a while? Just until I go to sleep?"

"Sure. I'll clear it with the desk nurse. You're a very lucky young man to have such a ... cautious ... hyper-sensitive friend who doesn't take 'no' for an answer from either tough nurses, irrascible clerks, or even old Doctors."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Blair beamed and the Doctor left, then Blair sighed and leaned back against the pillow on the bed and looked at Jim. "Why does it seem like I'm always thanking you for saving my life?"

"Because you are." Jim grinned, then shook his head. "I didn't mean that, Blair. What I meant was that if you let me save your life a couple more times, we may actually even the score." Jim corrected himself, and a nurse entered with the necessary papers, which Blair signed with a shaky hand. She left, and a moment later, another nurse entered and set up an IV and attached it to his hand as he lay down. She smiled encouragingly at both men, then left the room, and Jim paced to the window and looked, unseeing, out at the city. "I just wish I'd caught it earlier. Why didn't I recognized it earlier, and before your life was in danger? Why'd the hell I have to dream it first!?" He was angry at himself, and Blair sighed.

"I have a theory ..." He said, and despite himself, Jim smiled, then turned to him.

"Thought you might, Darwin. Want to let me in on it?"

Well, think about it a minute. You register thousands of smells a day ... we all do. However, unless we consciously force ourselves to notice them, we don't usually think about them at all - especially when out conscious minds are otherwise engaged, like yours was on solving the robberies. Your conscious mind smelled the sickness, registered it as sickness, then dismissed it to get on with solving the more immediate problem, which was the robberies."

"So, if I knew it was sickness, why didn't I register it as such at the loft?"

"Because you didn't recognize it as such in that environment. You can't explain the smell of a rose to someone who's never seen a flower. Your conscious mind associated the smell with only one experience - the terminal patients. There were no terminal patients in the loft, so therefore there was no reason to associate, or even register, the scent with the loft or anyone's presence in it."

"So why'd I dream all that, then?" He shuddered as he once again pictured Blair's skeleton-like body curled against his shoulder, and heard the breath leave and his heart stop. "And in such god-awful detail too?"

"The mind's a fascinating thing, Jim." Blair yawned. "It chooses what to accept and make a part of us, what to store forever, and what to reject and then what to send out to the conscious mind in the form of dreams. You see, this is what makes you such a good detective - even without the Senses. They only make you better, but the core of you, your mind, your ability to solve tough puzzles, is your real strength. Your mind never quits. It doesn't just see a tough problem and forget it, or leave it up to someone else to solve, your mind takes bits and pieces, seemingly small and insignificant and completely unrelated pieces, and then works on them until they make sense. I mean, think about it a minute. You've got the smell of death where is shouldn't be, you've got Simon commenting on how tired I am, you've got H telling you about his cousin and his symptoms, you've got the family members telling you what they were going through, you saw what the patients were going through, you've got me in your face almost constantly, and complaining about headaches, and you work every day with Rafe, Joel, H, and Simon. So, naturally, your sub-conscious mind, presented with a problem it didn't understand, put all those factors together and came up with the right answer. Just as your conscious mind did and does when it's presented with a crime scene and evidence."

"It all sounds so perfectly normal." Jim mused, and Blair snorted, even as he scooted down futher under the blankets of the hospital bed, as the sleeping drug in the IV slowly took effect. "It IS all perfectly normal. Perfectly normal for who you are, man, James Ellison, Detective and Sentinel. You know." His voice lowered and he yawned. "Remind me, when I get out of here, to smack your father upside the head with a trout. That'll teach him to call my friend's and Holy Grails freaks."

"With ... with a TROUT, Chief?" Jim couldn't contain the burst of laughter the mental picture gave him, and Blair slipped into sleep, completley unaware of his stoic friend almost doubled over in laughter at his drugged, completely Sandburg Zone association.
********************
"So, how's he doing?" Simon's voice interrupted Jim's musings as he studied the pale face in the hospital bed, and he looked up.

"Well, it was a VERY long and involved operation, but the Doctor says they think they got it all out. They're going to want to see him every couple of weeks to monitor him and make sure it won't come back, but they're hopeful."

"That's a relief." Simon exhaled, then looked at jim. "And how are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm all right. I had a few bad moments realizing how things COULD have gone, and that I could have lost him, but I guess I'll be all right." He ran a hand over his face, then shook his head. "You know, everyone says he's lucky that he has a friend like me. He's even said it, and yet, all the things he's done for me ... I'm the one who's lucky, Simon. I just wish it didn't take times like these to make me realize it. I mean, I get so used to having him around that he becomes like the furniture, and I start treating him like it." He scowled. "It's going to stop, Simon. This time I'm going to make a conscious effort to make it stop." He looked his dark friend directly in the eyes. "Simon, you've got to promise me, if it seems like I'm taking things out on him more than usual, or if I start taking him for granted, you've got to promise me, no matter how I react, to tell me. Bad habits, even ones developed over a life time, CAN be stopped."

"That's true, but Jim, when he wakes up, I think you need to tell HIM this."

"I plan to." Jim smiled, and Simon clapped his friend on the shoulder.

"Good man. However, I hate to do this, but crime hasn't stopped, just because your partner's sick, no matter how sick, and in the hospital. I can't authorize any more time off for you. Two days is the limit, so I'll expect to se you at your desk first thing in the morning."

"I understand, Simon. I'll be there. He's supposed to wake up sometime tonight anyway." Jim nodded, and Simon looked down at Blair.

"Tell him everyone at the bullpen is pulling for him, and that we know that the next few months of not knowing are going to be hard on him."

"Well, if real life is anything like the dream I had, he won't be alone through them, that's for sure. And I'll definitely let him know that too." Jim smiled. "And thanks."

Simon nodded, turned, and left Jim to stand vigil at his healing friend's bedside.
********************
EPILOGUE -- THREE MONTHS LATER

"Good news, Man!" Blair entered the bullpen almost dancing, and tossed the manila envelope he held, down on Jim's desk, and was as bouncy and as enthusiastic as ever. "Complete and total clean bill of health! Any and all signs of the tumor are gone, and not even a cell has raised its ugly head in return!"

"All right, Blair!" Rafe grinned from across the room.

"Way to go!" H high-fived Blair, and the younger man bowed to the applause in the room. Drawn by the noise of the impromptu celebration, Simon stepped from his office.

"I take it that the examination went well?" He asked in his typically under-stated, calm tone, and the bright, beaming grin on Blair's face was all the answer he needed. "Congratulations." He allowed a smile to cross his face, then it was replaced by what Blair had termed as his 'Captain Expression'. "However, this is a Detective precinct, not a bar. Save the celebration and the noise until later. There's work to be done here."

Blair snapped off a crisp salute that would have made any military Drill Sergeant's heart swell with pride and bring tears to his eyes, then stood at attention. "Sir! Yes, Sir! Captain Banks! Sir!" Blair shouted in perfect Academy form, and Simon snorted as he turned back and went into his office. He shut the door and dropped the blinds, then laughed as he dropped himself into his seat. He had listened when Jim had told all of his dream, in detail, and was glad that THIS three months had ended so differently from those three.

Blair dropped into the chair at his own desk, and had just started on some paperwork when he looked up and found Jim gazing intently at him. "Are you going to grab me and sniff me, again, because if you are, I think it's only fair to warn you that I have a gun."

Jim chuckled, then shook his head. "No. I can smell you from over here."

"Was that a slur?" Blair narrowed his eyes, as Jim continued to stare at him, then the older man shook his head, and the smile never left his face. "I'm starting to get paranoid over here, man. What!? Why are you staring at me?"

"Two reasons." Jim sighed. "One, I'm glad that this three months has ended like it has, and NOT like it had in my dream ..."

"Well, I agree with you on that one. However, I did NOT need the full color, graphic-image, sound byte filled description of everything you saw and that I went through. I even almost cried and felt sorry for myself when you described my death scene." A tremor passed through him. "Weird. Way too weird, even for me." He tilted his head at Jim, as the wide, un-Jim like grin reappeared. "And what was the second thing you were thinking?" Blair's voice was suspicious, and the grin widened.

"I was wondering when to set the appointment up with my father."

"Your father? What?" Blair wondered exactly when he had entered The Twilight Zone.

"In the hospital, as you were going under whatever-it-was they put in your IV, and after you made the explanation about why I dreamed what I had, you said for me to remind you that when you got out of the hospital, to smack my father upside the head with a trout. You also said that'd teach him to call your friends and Holy Grails freaks. Well, consider yourself reminded. I want to see you do it, and I'm pretty sure Steven would too. We just need to decide on a place and a time when we can both be there."

"Smack your father upside the head with a trout?" Blair boggled at his friend. "Jim, I was just given some really good, legal drugs, man. It's no fair making fun of the infirm."

"When I see an infirm person, I'll keep that in mind. Anyway, I also thought maybe I'd sell some tickets. If I do well, I'm thinking of making it an annual event. How's this? The Annual 'Smack William Ellison Upside the Head with A Trout' Charity Ball."

Blair's shoulders shook with silent laughter, as he looked at his friend. "You're nuts, man. Anyone ever tell you that? You are completely and totally cer-ti-fi-a-ble."

"Well, then, it's a good thing I have you around to keep me grounded." Jim grinned back at Blair.

"Always, Jim. Always." Blair held up his hand, and Jim clasped it in his own, and when they separated, Blair looked at a small key that lay in the palm of his hand. "What's this? It looks like a key to a Safety Deposit box."

Jim was serious as he looked at Blair, then the key. "It is. It's also a key to the future. It's yours."

THE END

COMMENTS: Sure, but please READ THE ENTIRE STORY FIRST and I only ask that if you can't say at least one good thing about said story, don't say anything at all, and then print out the story, and then burn it. That way you'll work out your aggressions, and I don't have to defend myself.