Shattered Dreams

by Arianna

Title and Prologue by Virginia

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

Prologue

He watched with fascination as the figure on the ice picked up even more speed. He could tell that as the skater moved faster, the small body shifted, moving into the position required for the final, show-stopping jump.

The lithe young athlete leapt into the air and if spurred by the thunderous applause, went even higher, drew into himself and completed four turns before touching the ice again. But his skates touched the slick surface only briefly, long enough to push up again for a second jump of three turns. The move was finished as the skater landed on the ice, successfully completely the incredibly difficult quad/triple combination perfectly..

During practice sessions, the observer had watched the skater attempt this, one of the most difficult, jump combinations many times. Sometimes the young man failed, landing repeatedly on the ice until his disappointment and frustration showed clearly on his face. Other times, the jumps were performed with precision. Rarely though, did even this masterful young skater achieve the height, spin and form that he did tonight. It would clearly place him on the gold medal platform.

It almost seemed a shame to spoil the moment, the observer mused to himself. The object of his attention was smiling broadly, as if he could already feel the welcome weight of the gold around his neck. The audience was on their collective feet, cheering wildly as though they knew they were watching a gold medal performance.

But spoil it he would, for that was why he was there. What he had been paid to do. The contract with his employer had specified that this particular skater was not to reach the medal podium. Not even finish the routine if possible.

The figure on the ice glided to the center and with arms raised, began to spin.

The observer knew that this was his moment to act and carefully pulled the trigger of the high power rifle.

The skater only had time for a startled yelp as his feet flew from under him. The shooter paused, watching through the telescopic targeting scope long enough to see the force of the bullet strike the skate blade, slamming the young man across the ice and into the wall. The audience gasped as the once gold medal contender slid bonelessly to the cold ice and lay unmoving.

The shooter nodded with grim and heartless satisfaction, quickly dismantled the compact rifle and left the arena via a predetermined route. He'd been working this contract for two months and knew how to leave without anyone seeing him. Not hard considering all attention was on the motionless boy inside. Soon he was away, his mind already on his next assignment, the boy on the ice forgotten.

-- 12 years later --

Blair Sandburg looked up and smiled as his partner, Jim Ellison, walked into Blair's cluttered office.

"Hey, Chief. Ready for the weekend?" Jim asked cheerfully. "The fish are waiting."

"Sure, man. Just give me a minute to straighten up this stuff and I'm ready to go. So ready to be out of here for the weekend."

Blair quickly pulled himself out of his chair with a soft grunt as his knee protested the movement. He frowned and sighed softly, moving with more care, mentally cursing the old but still occasionally troublesome injury.

"You okay over there, Blair?" Jim asked, concern in his voice.

"I'm fine," Blair tried to reassure his friend, hoping his voice sounded more cheerful than he felt as memories assailed him. "I just sat too long in one spot reading the case files. You would think that I'd know by now that when I do that, my knee and leg gets sore."

"Maybe you should have it checked out, make sure it's not a more serious problem," Jim replied as he frowned with concern.

"Nah. It's already been looked at by some of the best doctors around. It's just a bit of a left over from an old injury. My knee gets stiff and when I go to move it likes to remind me. It's not a problem. Really." Blair fell silent as he closed the last of the files, stacking them to the side and clearing up his desk. He used the motion to lock away the annoying memories that had been haunting him. Memories of the roar of a crowd, the rhythm of the music and the glide of the skates. Memories that were a part of another life that was years behind him.

"Blair?" Jim's voice pulled him out his mental fog. "Anything wrong?"

"Nothing. Just thinking." Blair flashed a smile at his friend. "Nothing that a weekend at the cabin and a dinner of the fish I catch won't fix."

"That you catch?" Jim asked, his disbelief clear. "You're not taking that spear thing again, are you?"

"What?" Blair asked, letting the easy teasing wash over him. "You don't remember that the last time I took that 'spear thing', we actually brought back fish." He laughed at his friend as he locked the door to his office.

The two friends walked down the corridor, their teasing and laughter wiping the away the memories of a damaged pair of black skates, locked in a box at the bottom of Blair's file cabinet.

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

Some weeks later, Sandburg ignored the twinge in his knee as he lengthened his stride to keep up with his partner as they hurried through the drizzle after their lunch at the new vegetarian restaurant he'd insisted they try. He was still basking in pleased amusement that Jim had actually enjoyed the meal, despite his prejudice against anything that wasn't meat. As for the knee, well, it was damp, as it seemed always to be in Cascade, which meant the ache was so common as to be scarcely noticed. It didn't slow him down, didn't inhibit him from any normal range of activities. It just ached now and then…a part of the background noise of life.

He probably wouldn't even be consciously aware of it, if not for the news that morning that reminded the citizens of Cascade that the World Skating Championships were to begin that weekend. It was a coup to be chosen for the event and the city was already thronging with tourists, skating enthusiasts, the competitors from around the world and their entourages, not to mention sponsors, and international media crews. The news had made him remember again those days so long past now, so much a part of another world, another life. The ache in his knee resonated with a deeper ache in his heart, one he'd thought he'd long ago locked away along with his skates.

Shrugging off the lingering memories and regrets along with the droplets of water that flew as he shook his long mane of curls and brushed the surface moisture from his leather coat, he followed Jim into the building, and up the elevator to the seventh floor.

"Chief, do you mind!" Jim protested the fine spray of moisture. "You're worse than a hound coming in from the rain!"

"Sorry, big guy," Blair grinned, not taking offense. "Figured it was better to shake of the worst of it before I drip all over your files, man."

Ellison rolled his eyes but couldn't resist a wry half-grin. The kid was always thinking. The least, inconsequential action, if questioned, could be linked to some other motivation. Or so Sandburg pretended. The truth was, Ellison figured, the kid was just quick on his feet in coming up with all manner of explanations and excuses to address any eventuality. Unless, of course, he was playing 'innocent', and then the response was of wide-eyed incomprehension, slightly wounded but willing to be regretful, if it was absolutely required.

"Ellison, Sandburg! My office!" Simon bellowed as they entered the operations room of the Major Crimes Unit. Neither thought much about the fact that the other detectives weren't present. This time of day, they would be at their own lunch, or chasing down leads or suspects for the crimes they were investigating.

"What's up, Captain?" Ellison asked, as he moved to stand before his superior's desk, Sandburg as usual hopping up to sit on the conference table.

Banks scowled and sighed as he sat behind his desk. "There's been a demand for heightened security at the pre-competition skating trials. Apparently, there've been threats against some of the competitors and we've been asked to blanket the place. The others have already left along with a good number of the uniforms."

Ellison heard a soft but sharp gasp from behind him and noted a curious increase in Sandburg's heart rate and respirations. Casting a look over his shoulder at his partner, Jim's eyes narrowed at Blair's sudden pallor as he asked, "What kind of threats, Simon?"

"Oh, nothing specific. Phone calls to the trainers that they should pull their competitors, skaters receiving anonymous gifts of mutilated skates. Intimidation by an unknown source…could be just a disgruntled fan who wants to remove the competition to their favourite…it's not necessarily anything dire. But, we can't afford to take chances," Simon explained. "The organizers are nervous, though. Seems there was an incident, oh a dozen years ago or so, when a skater received similar threats and ignored them. I gather the kid was not only taken out of the competition, but sustained serious enough injuries that he was never able to skate competitively again. Damn shame. Ever since, when these threats crop up every few years, they are taken seriously."

Ellison wondered why Sandburg's eyes had fallen away as his heart rate spiked even higher, but decided this was not the time to pursue it. Turning back to Banks, he asked, "Do we have the names of the skaters and the trainers who have received these threats?"

"Uh huh," Simon grunted as he picked up a sheet of paper and handed it to Ellison. "Joel is working with Security at the arena to determine how to control entry, as if that were possible, while H. and Rafe are wandering about, keeping their eyes and ears open for anything suspicious. I'd like you two to meet with the trainers and competitors."

"We're on it," Jim replied as he turned to leave. "C'mon, Junior."

Blair nodded quietly and slipped off the table to follow his partner.

Simon frowned as he played with his unlit cigar. Was it just his imagination, or did Sandburg look like his lunch had disagreed with him? The kid had looked positively nauseous for a minute there…and he was sure a lot quieter than usual. Come to think of it, Banks frowned, he didn't say a thing.

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

As Jim steered the truck up the ramp and onto the street, he asked with a sideways glance at his partner, "So, what about this situation has got you so worked up, Chief?"

"Huh?" Blair asked, giving the 'innocent' wide-eyed look while he swallowed and realized that, of course, Jim had picked up on his shock at what was going on down at the arena.

Ellison just cocked a brow and shook his head. "Give, Sandburg…I don't have time to pry it out of you. Your heart rate went through the ceiling in Simon's office," he prodded.

Sighing, Blair shook his head. He hadn't known Jim all that long, and there were lots of things about his background that he preferred to remain where they were, in the background. Besides, what happened twelve years ago, while still spooking the circuit, like an urban myth, couldn't have anything to do with what was going down now. It was too long ago and too far away. "It just bugs me, that's all," he obfuscated. "These are kids who put their hearts and souls into skating…they shouldn't have to be frightened by some wacko who wants to intimidate them into quitting. They work hard to get this far. They have enough pressure to deal with."

"Sounds like you know something about how the competitors feel, Chief," Jim reflected, throwing his partner a speculative look as he turned away from downtown toward the arena on the outskirts of the city.

"Doesn't take a genius to figure it out, Jim," Sandburg replied off-handedly as he turned to gaze out the window.

Ellison grunted non-committedly as he cast a narrow glance at the younger man, fully aware that Blair wasn't giving him a straight answer. But, short of imagining that it was Sandburg making the threats, which was absurd, he couldn't figure out what could be causing such a level of evident anxiety, however much it didn't show on the surface. Shrugging, he chalked it up to the other cases they'd dealt with recently. Galileo sprang to mind. Someone anonymous making threats of intimation of physical harm wouldn't be high on Sandburg's list of favourite criminal types right now. Maybe that's all it was.

Meanwhile, having glanced at the list of the people they were to interview, Sandburg was preoccupied with determining how he was going to handle this. Cutting Ellison a sideways glance, he sighed. He really didn't want this to be about him, because it wasn't. It had been a long time ago. There were other innocent people being threatened now.

Besides, he was tired of finding himself in the middle of some crazy situation. Almost from the beginning, the guys had been teasing him about being a trouble magnet. He wasn't keen on letting them know that he had a history of attracting trouble.

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

Blair hung just behind Jim's shoulder as they strode down the back hallways of the arena to the locker rooms. He could hear the scrape and swish of blades on ice each time they passed one of the side portals onto the rink. Shivering at the bone-deep chill he felt, he was all too conscious that it didn't have anything to do with the cold air that surrounded them. Much as he tried to hold the memories at bay, it was all too familiar…and it hurt.

Disgusted with himself, he shrugged off the melancholic mood. He'd known tremendous joy, as well, in those days. A radiant pleasure of movement, almost like flying, in tune with the music, as one with the ice and air. That's what he remembered most…that extraordinary feeling of freedom, of transcendence.

And that's what he missed most.

Arriving at their first destination, Jim knocked briefly on the open door of the dressing room and entered, calling "Miss Tarkington?"

A trim woman in her late forties turned to the door, as she answered, "Call me 'Janie', please." But, her eyes drifted past Ellison even as he began to introduce himself, a puzzled look on her face as she murmured, "Blair?"

Smiling at her, moving past Jim, his arms wide, Blair replied, "Hi, Janey! Long time no see."

"BLAIR!" she exclaimed then, her eyes wide with delighted recognition, her face alight with the joy of seeing him again. She moved to hug him tightly as Ellison watched with a bemused expression on his face. Shaking himself, he told himself he'd known there was something going on with Sandburg. Maybe now he'd find out what it was.

"You two seem to know one another," he observed dryly.

"Oh, my, yes," Janie enthused, but Blair cut in before she could explain.

"Yeah, years ago, a good friend of mine was being coached by Janie…and I used to hang around the rink a lot," he said quickly.

"You, Sandburg, willing to hang around a freezing rink? Wonders will never cease," Jim replied, but his keen eyes caught the quick, startled look that Janey Tarkington threw at his partner. "So, you were coaching Sandburg's friend. Anyone I know, Chief?"

"Uh, no, man," Blair replied, looking away. "That was a long time ago…you never knew that kid."

But, his heart rate was up and so was hers.

"How did he do, your friend? Win any championships?" Jim asked, wondering what was going on.

"No," Janie replied quietly, a look of infinite sadness in her eyes. "He could have…he was the most gifted skater, the most disciplined…a truly amazing phenomenon…but…"

"He sustained an injury and was knocked out of the competition," Blair intervened again, his tone carefully impersonal.

"Too bad," Jim murmured, watching them both, reading their vital signs, aware that she was confused and Blair was trying to make like everything was fine.

"It was a crime!" she snapped, old fury flashing in her eyes. But, when Blair surreptitiously squeezed her arm, she looked away, her tone muting as she added distantly, "But, as Blair says, it was a long time ago."

"Look, I don't mean to pry into ancient history here, but could whatever have happened then be related to what's going on now?" Jim asked. "You said it was a 'crime'?"

Janey looked at Sandburg as she shook her head. "No, I don't see how. It's been more than a dozen years ago…no, though there are some similarities, no…"

"What kind of similarities?" Ellison prodded, certain he wasn't getting anything like the whole story.

She sighed and pushed her fingers through her short, graying hair. "It's the subtlety of it. The sense of threat without any concrete proof of who is behind it. I've gotten a couple of phone calls that suggest my competitor, Mario Lopez, is out of his league and shouldn't push himself so hard that he incurs an injury. Mario himself has received a pair of broken skates…the blades sawed off."

"Do you have the skates?" Ellison demanded.

"Yes, I do," she replied, going to the desk to pull out a plain brown box.

"This is what they came in?" Jim asked, frowning. "How many people have handled it?"

"The people who log the mail, the boy who delivered it, Mario, me…we didn't know what was in it until it was opened. There'd been a plain wrapper around it, I gather, but that was thrown away by the people in the mailroom," she explained.

Shaking out a handkerchief, Ellison reached into the box to pull out one of the skates. Sandburg had moved up beside him. "What do you think, Jim?" he asked, his voice low.

His lips thinned in frustration, a slight scowl between his brows, Ellison shrugged as he murmured, "I don't know, Chief. The blades have been shorn cleanly and they look like ordinary skates otherwise, not a special make, I don't think…"

"No, that's a common enough label," Blair agreed. "What about prints?"

Shrugging again, Jim wasn't hopeful. "We'll need print samples from everyone you know who touched the box and the skates," he informed Janey. "What do you think this really means?" he asked then.

Janey looked at Blair, her eyes dark, before she shifted her gaze to Ellison. "I'm afraid someone will hurt Mario," she said simply. "I…I'd like to pull him from the competition, to not take the chance. But, if everyone who was threatened pulled out, then whoever is trying to intimidate us, wins. Mario and the other skaters…they're young. They don't really believe there is any danger. And, they could be right." Pausing, she then murmured, "But they could be horribly wrong."

"The others who have been threatened, what do you know about them?" Jim asked.

"They are the five top contenders," Janey sighed, lifting her hands helplessly. "They come from different countries. There's nothing to connect them except for the fact that they are all superlative skaters."

Ellison nodded thoughtfully. It was possible that this was to get the five top performers out of the way, but it was equally possible that one of them, or their families, friends or coaches were behind it, to weed out the competition while appearing themselves to be under the same threat. He squeezed the bridge of his nose as he wondered how to determine which was the likely scenario…if anything was going down at all.

Meanwhile, Janey Tarkington had turned to Blair. "What are you doing working with the police, Blair? The last I'd heard, you were headed toward a degree in Anthropology?"

"Yeah, I still am working on my doctorate in Anthropology," Blair explained with a sigh. "Sometimes, I wonder if I'll ever get it done! Anyway, I work with Detective Ellison, as an unofficial observer. My dissertation is about the closed subculture of the law enforcement community."

"Really?" she asked, looking surprised. With a tentative smile, she asked quietly, "I thought you were going to prove the existence of Sentinels in our modern day world. Did you finally give up on ever finding one?"

Blair looked away and shrugged. "I live in hopes that someday…but meanwhile, I had to get on with a subject I could actually document and write a paper on," he said with a deprecating grin.

Jim had perked up his ears at the conversation. Blair must have hung around a lot, for her to remember something so specific about him after so many years. "How long is it since the two of you have seen one another?" he asked.

"Long time, Jim," Blair replied easily, and then he changed the subject. "Do you want to move on to see the others on our list?"

His face carefully devoid of expression, Ellison nodded. "Yeah, I guess that's a good idea, Chief. Thank you, Ms. Tarkington, er, Janey. I'll have someone come for the box and the skates."

"Come back and visit when you have more time," Janey urged. "I've missed you, Blair…I think of you often."

Hugging her briefly, he replied, "I think of you, too. For sure, I'll see you…maybe we can have dinner or something when the competition is over and you've got time."

"I'd like that," she replied with a warm smile.

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

Once they'd finished the rest of their interviews, having found out nothing more, and were heading home in the truck, Jim observed, "Why do I get the feeling you're not being completely candid with me, Sandburg?"

Sighing, Blair rolled his eyes as he replied, "Okay, okay, I give up. I used to skate…and I was one of the people Janey coached. But, I never actually amounted to anything and, well, it didn't seem to have a lot do with what's going down now. It was more than ten years ago, man. I just didn't want to make like I have insider information or something, when I really don't, not after all these years…"

"You're babbling, Chief," Jim replied evenly. "Look, if you do have any information, any insight, don't hesitate to share it with me, okay?"

A stricken look came over Blair's face as he replied, "I'd never withhold anything important from you, man. You know that! It's just…it was a long time ago, and I left it all behind…"

"All right, Chief," Jim allowed, satisfied now that his curiousity had been vindicated. "But I can hardly believe you took up something like ice skating as a hobby. With your aversion to the cold?"

"Yeah, right," Blair muttered, looking away, remembering the cold of the ice seeping into his body as he lay upon it, unable to move, in excruciating agony, stabbing pain from the broken ribs that made it hard to breathe, the broken arm twisted under his crumpled body…remembered the crimson stain that had spread from the deep gash on his head, and the odd angle of his knee. Swallowing, he added quietly, "I think it was the experience that has left me feeling cold ever since."

"Could be, Chief," Jim replied, letting it go. "What do you feel like for dinner?"

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

The phone rang as they were just finishing their meal. As Ellison reached for it, Sandburg cleared the table and started to wash up.

"Ellison," Jim answered.

"Jim, it's Simon," Banks replied. "I've just been advised that the media has been made aware of the threats against the skaters. Attention on this is likely to heat up quick."

"Right," Ellison sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Who leaked it, do we know?"

"An anonymous call, apparently," Simon replied dryly. "The local station called to do some fishing, to see if there was anything to it. They didn't find out anything from our public affairs people, but one of the skaters or someone in one of their entourages, or even one of the WSCA people is bound to confirm it."

"Okay," Jim said. "Thanks for the heads-up."

"Joel isn't impressed with the security arrangements. It's a public event and anyone can buy a ticket," Simon sighed. "H. and Rafe say the place is like Swiss cheese, there are so many entries, uncovered exits, lax procedures in the mailroom, lots of nooks and crannies."

"Yeah, I noticed that today…and no, I don't think we picked up anything useful. People are nervous, but most think it's likely a ruse to get the better skaters to pull out of the competition," Jim replied. "I've had the evidence, such as it is, picked up for forensics, but I don't expect much."

Blowing out a breath, Simon finished, "Well, the competition begins in four more days. The clock is running."

"I hear you," Jim replied.

Blair turned from the sink as Jim hung up. "Something to do with the problem down at the arena?"

"Yeah, it was Simon," Jim replied, standing with his hands on his hips. "An anonymous caller has clued the media in about the threats."

"Really?" Blair frowned, turning away to rinse off the plates and stack them to dry.

"Hmm," Jim mused. "I don't take this as a good sign," he said then, thoughtfully. "Whoever is doing this wants to be taken seriously and wants lots of publicity…no doubt to increase the fear factor."

Blair nodded. "I think you're right," he said quietly. "You know that incident that we've heard about from a dozen years ago?"

"Yeah, what about it?" Jim asked.

Keeping his back turned, Blair replied, "Well, I was skating at the time…and more and more, this is sounding like what happened back then."

"You remember it?" Jim asked with a frown of surprise.

"Yeah, it was big news at the time in the skating world," Blair reported, his voice oddly tight. "When I heard about the M.O. today, it made me wonder…I could see Janey remembered it, too. The calls, the broken skates…and whoever it was back then clued in the media at that time, too."

"How do you know all this, Sandburg?" Jim asked.

"Like I said, I was part of the circuit at the time," Blair replied. "It was pretty scary, man. And, well, one of the skaters got hurt, bad."

"Your friend?" Jim asked, putting the pieces together as he again picked up on an accelerated heart rate and his friend's tight, shallow, too fast respirations.

"Yeah…my friend," Blair confirmed. Turning as he wiped his wet hands on a towel, he continued, "But, there have been similar threats over the years…not every year, mind you. But, no one has ever been hurt since. So, I think that's why people aren't sure whether to take this seriously or not." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "The times it's happened since, I heard some of the threatened skaters pulled out of the competitions."

"And, you?" Jim prodded. "What does the Sandburg intuition say?"

Shaking his head, Blair frowned, then looked up to meet Ellison's gaze, his wide blue eyes dark with worry as he said, "I'd take it seriously, man. Trust me…you wouldn't want anyone hurt like…like what happened before."

"Your friend never went back to competitive skating, did he?" Ellison asked, his voice and expression soft with understanding empathy.

"No, he didn't," Blair replied, turning away. "His injuries were too severe."

"I'm sorry, Chief," Jim murmured. "That must have been hard to see."

Blair simply nodded, not trusting his voice.

"And they never found out who was behind it?" Jim asked.

"Nope, they never did," Sandburg replied, his voice little more than a whisper. Blowing out a sigh, he moved toward his room as he said, "I've got some work to do on a lesson for tomorrow."

"Go ahead, Chief," Jim waved him off. "I'm just going to watch a little television while I mull this over in my head. I figure it's got to be one of the competitors, though that wouldn't be any kind of link with something that happened more than ten years ago, unless it's a copycat thing. Or one of the coaches. Or a sponsor."

Blair paused at the door to his room, looking back with a thoughtful expression. "Sponsors? Yeah, you know…maybe. There can be quite a bit of money involved. Investment in training and travel, competition fees, equipment…it only pays off if your protégé wins," he offered.

"I thought this was all amateur, non-professional sport?" Jim replied with a frown.

"It is," Blair nodded, "in the sense that the skaters don't get paid, but corporate sponsors are common. Not many people can cover all the expenses on their own. There's pretty big money in the endorsements later…winners sell."

Scratching his cheek, Jim nodded. "That's good information, Chief…I'll have to think about it and see if there are any parallels with then and now. Thanks."

Blair paused a moment, as if he was going to say more, then shook his head and turned to enter his room.

Watching, Jim couldn't shake the feeling that there was still something Sandburg wasn't telling him. But he simply shrugged as he headed into the living room and picked up the remote. If one of the kid's friends had been seriously hurt, no doubt it still haunted Blair. He'd feel bad for anyone who had been hurt, any innocent victim, but especially if it had killed off his friend's dream. From what that Janey Tarkington had said, the kid had been damned good.

Simon had been right earlier. It was a shame.

Even more a shame that they'd never gotten the scum who'd been responsible.

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

Jim had been about to turn the television off for the night, when the news anchor announced there was going to be a special news brief on the threats being levied against top skaters in this year's World Championships. Curious, he leaned back against the sofa to watch and see what the media thought they had.

Turned out, there wasn't much. Interviews with some of the same people he'd met earlier that day. But, several of them alluded to the incident of so many years ago. Clearly, it still haunted those who had been part of the skating world at the time. The announcer came back on, to reveal their minor triumph in having dug up the old footage.

While the newsreader was talking, the camera cut away to the scene twelve years before at the World Skating Championship competition that had been held in Sweden that year. Interested, Jim watched Sandburg's friend, a small, slim skater, skim across the ice, as if he was flying, unencumbered by gravity. Frowning a little, he thought the kid looked somehow familiar, and even though he couldn't get a good look at the adolescent's face, he wondered if he maybe had seen the guy with Sandburg at some point in the last year or so on the few occasions when he'd met various of his partner's friends. The kid leapt and whirled, while the crowd gasped at the extraordinary mastery of form and style in one so young…clearly a nascent champion who they'd thought would lead the world for years to come. Sitting a little straighter, caught up in admiration of the masterful performance he was watching, he wished the camera would zoom in to give a clearer shot of the skater's features. Jim found his jaw tightening as he thought about what this extraordinarily talented young man had lost. How he'd been robbed by a vicious assault. Which was as much as he knew so far…just that the kid had been hurt somehow and hadn't skated competitively again.

So, he was unprepared for the shock of seeing the youth with the long dark hair pulled back, wearing tight black pants and a startlingly blue silk shirt with flowing sleeves come out of a perfect quad/triple, where he'd literally looked like he was flying, to swoop around to the center of the rink, his arms raised in triumph as he began to spin at an incredible speed…only to be flung off-balance as a blast rang out over the tape. Jim saw the skater's feet slammed out from under him as he flailed helplessly, the momentum of his spin combining with the brutal force of the heavy caliber bullet to fling him hard across the ice and into the boards. Jim winced at the crack as the kid's head and body hit then crumpled limply to the ungiving ice, blood quickly spreading from somewhere on the back of his head. Seconds…it had all happened in a matter of shocking, breathtaking seconds.

The newsreader's voice was overlaid with the image, detailing that the blade of the skate had been blasted away by a sniper's bullet, and that the injuries sustained had included a fractured skull, a broken arm and ribs, and a ruined knee.

But that was nothing to the shock as the camera zoomed in on the skater's face for the first time and caught the pallor of absolute shock and then the grimace of horrific pain before the young skater clearly succumbed to unconsciousness.

"Oh, my God," Ellison whispered in horror as the announcer concluded the news brief, "Blair Sandburg, the young phenomenon who had taken the skating world by storm, was never able to compete again."

Jim's head snapped up, listening to the quiet click of the keys of Sandburg's laptop. The detective's mouth had dropped open in shock and he shook his head, trying to take it in, to reconcile the frozen, broken image of Blair on the screen with the vital young man a few steps away. Unconsciously, he clicked off the television, and moved to the door of Blair's room. He felt so shaken, so sick, that he wasn't sure he could stand on his own, so he leaned against the doorjamb. For a moment, the burning of the bile in the back of his throat robbed him of the ability to speak.

Blair looked up when he sensed Jim's presence looming in the doorway to his room, blocking some of the light from the kitchen beyond. The room was dark but for the lamp illuminating the desktop and the soft glow of the computer screen, so Sandburg couldn't see the expression on his roommate's face, but he could read the lines of rigid tension in Ellison's body.

"Jim…what's wrong?" he asked, his eyes wide with concern for his friend.

"The news…" Ellison began, but his shaky voice caught and he had to forcibly fight back the memory of the blood pooling on the ice, the twisted expression of Blair in agony, the twisted limbs.

"What about the news, man?" Blair asked, now feeling very alarmed. "Has something terrible happened? Oh, man…has something happened to someone we know?"

"Yes…" Jim said, straining to control his voice. Taking a breath, he asked tensely, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?" Sandburg asked, confused now, trying to figure out what he'd done lately that could possible rate coverage on the 11 o'clock news.

"It was you…not some friend…you!" Ellison almost shouted, still chilled by what he'd seen on the screen. The blood. The broken body. The expression of such unendurable pain.

Awareness dawned in Sandburg's expressive eyes, quickly followed by embarrassment and regret. Looking down and away, he mumbled, "I'm sorry, Jim. It was so long ago…it hasn't been 'news' for a long, long time. I guess they must have mentioned my name in connection with the current threats, eh? I should have realized they might. I'm sorry, I just didn't think."

Moving into the room, Ellison sagged down onto the end of the futon, shaking his head as he stared at his young roommate. His best friend. How could he have not known this about Blair? Why hadn't Sandburg told him? If not before, then today, during the investigation? God, Sandburg knew just about everything about his past, but it seemed Jim knew virtually nothing about the man who was such an integral, essential part of his life.

It hurt.

And it was more than a little scary.

And the images…Blair could have died that day. The idea of never having met Sandburg, of what that would have meant for him, for his life and sanity, made him tremble…made him feel nauseous.

Raising a shaking hand to grip Sandburg's shoulder, as if to reassure himself Blair was there, fine, whole and uninjured, Ellison finally grated, "They showed the tape…of the shooting."

Sandburg's head snapped up at that bit of news and he swiveled on his chair to fully face his best friend. Alarmed at the pallor of Jim's face, the horror in his eyes, he instinctively gripped his friend's arm to ground him as he stammered, "Oh, Jim, I'm sorry! I never meant for you, or anyone, to see that! But, I'm fine…I'm here and I'm fine. It's okay."

"It's not 'okay', Sandburg!" Ellison growled, rage beginning to replace the shock and horror. "You could have been killed! A skull fracture…the blood! You hit the wall and the ice at what must have been what? Twenty miles an hour?"

"Felt more like thirty, actually," Blair mumbled wryly, wincing at the memory. "You build up a lot of speed for those stunts, man, and the force of the bullet's impact added to the velocity."

"Why didn't they get the bastard who did that to you?" Jim demanded, wishing he had the man responsible within range of his hands.

Blair shrugged and looked away. "There was no way, I guess, of figuring it out. And, it was bad, yeah, within our skating world, but nobody died. It was dramatic and criminal…but the only loss was one young skater's future. And, it happened in Sweden. People over here hardly even noticed if they weren't interested in the sport," he replied quietly. Looking back at Jim, he continued, "That's one of the reasons I don't think it has anything to do with our current investigation. Sweden is a long way from here, man."

Ellison read the sadness, the sorrow of loss and remembered pain in Sandburg's eyes and the rage was washed away, for now at least, by the ache in his heart for what his friend had suffered. "You were amazing," he murmured. "I've never seen anyone skate like that…it was like you had wings, Chief. Like you were one with the ice and the air, an extension of the music. It was incredible to watch you."

Sandburg nodded and looked away as he swallowed hard. "It felt pretty incredible," he whispered. "I've never felt anything like it since."

"You looked…like you were hurt really bad," Ellison said then, frowning again at the memory, feeling the bile rise in his throat.

"I was," Blair admitted quietly. "I was in the hospital over there for months. First unconscious…a coma actually. For a while, I guess they weren't sure I'd wake up. Poor Naomi was really freaked out. It didn't help that we didn't speak the language and most of the hospital staff didn't speak English. It was pretty confusing when I finally woke up. I couldn't figure out where I was or remember what had happened. The memories still aren't all that clear, but I've…I've seen the footage. My leg was pretty messed up so I had to be in traction for quite a while. That's why we couldn't come home. Janey was great, though. She was my coach and she stayed with us, did everything she could to make it all as easy as possible."

"Why didn't you ever go back to skating, Chief?" Jim asked softly, wondering if the fear had been too overwhelming…the fear of it happening again.

Blair shrugged. "My leg…my knee, actually, doesn't have the strength anymore. It takes a lot to launch into those maneuvers and to land solidly without losing your balance or falling. My knee just couldn't take that kind of pressure anymore. It's okay, for normal stuff…just not for that kind of athletics. Janey worked with me for a year afterward, but it was hopeless…and we both had to face that fact eventually," he explained, his voice carefully contained. It had been a year of painful therapy, of repeated falls and frustration, of an unwillingness to quit, to give up…and the final grim reality of having to face that it was all really over.

"Why didn't you ever tell me about this?" Jim asked, his voice sounding almost lost.

Sighing, Blair turned to gaze into his friend's eyes, a sad smile flitting on his lips as he replied, his tone tinged with compassion, "I guess…I guess because it still hurts to remember it, Jim. And, I know you…if you saw that it still hurt me, it would hurt you, too. You pretend you're some big, tough, heartless, macho guy, but you feel the hurts of other people, especially the people you care about. I couldn't see the point of talking about something that would only make the two of us feel bad. It was a long time ago…"

Unable to hold his friend's candid gaze, to see the pain that was still reflected there, Jim dropped his eyes as he gently squeezed Sandburg's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he said huskily, "I wish you felt you could tell me the things that matter to you. That you didn't just carry stuff like this inside. Especially times like today, when it had to all be rushing back…"

"I'm sorry," Blair replied quietly as he studied Ellison and read the grief and regret on the man's face. "I should have told you. The video footage wouldn't have been such a shock then…"

Irritated, Jim's eyes shot back to Sandburg's as he said with painful clarity, "I'm not looking for an apology here, Chief. I'm not sorry because the damned video surprised and shocked me. I'm sorry because you won't tell me anything about who you are, about what happened to you when you were a kid. All I know is that Naomi hauled you all over the world, that you never really knew what having a home was about …and that you're a brilliant whiz-kid who got into university at a ridiculously young age! What else don't I know? What haven't you told me because you're afraid the knowledge might hurt me? God, Sandburg …nobody should have to carry memories, regrets, sorrows, and losses like that alone. Dammit…I thought we were getting to be pretty good friends, here. Am I wrong?"

"If I'd told you, then what?" Blair replied with maddening reasonableness. "How would you have felt about it? What would you have thought?"

"Well, I would have felt bad…you had a amazing talent that someone stole from you," Jim replied haltingly, his eyes darting around the room as he tried to articulate his feelings. "And they damned near killed you," he whispered, his throat tight.

"Sounds a lot like pity, man," Blair replied, though his voice was even. "I don't do 'pity'. Too many negative vibes. It was the past…you move on."

Somehow, that wasn't terribly reassuring to a Sentinel who couldn't help worrying about his Guide. What the hell else didn't he know because Blair didn't want to be 'pitied'? His jaw tight, he shook his head, wishing he were as facile with words as Sandburg was. "We're not talking about 'pity' here, Chief. Not unless you 'pity' me for all the crap I've told you about in my life. I think you know what I'm talking about, what I mean."

Blair cast an astute look of assessment at his friend, realizing his bluff had been called. Obfuscation wasn't going to work here. Sighing, his shoulders sagging a little in defeat, he murmured, "I know…you're right. But…there's such a lot of stuff that would worry you, or disturb you and you'd want to do something about it. But you can't. It's all over and done. Jim, I can see what you think about the way I was raised, how hard it is for you to just accept Naomi for the person she is, to not judge her. Our worlds were so completely different…"

Ellison swallowed, avoiding Blair's eyes as he stood, mumbling, "Fine…you don't owe me your life history, Sandburg…"

Unwilling to leave it like that, understanding that Jim felt hurt by the lack of disclosure, even saw it as a lack of trust, Blair stood quickly to block Ellison's exit from the room. Gripping the Sentinel's arm tightly, he said with a hitch of emotion in his voice, "Jim…you don't get it. What's important to me is NOW, not what was. Whatever bad things might have happened, good things happened, too. I loved the skating… and I remember how great it felt, not just what it felt to lose it. Sure, sometimes moving constantly was a drag, but I saw so much of the world, met such amazing people, learned to accept people for who they are, not what I wish they'd be. But…none of that is as important as what I have NOW. Jim, what's past is past. I'm not going to let misery or regrets about the past get in the way of the possibilities that exist now and for the future. I'm alive, and I love my life, Jim. Man, there are SO many possibilities, so much left to do, to experience. I loved skating, yes, but that's not all that my life is about. I just want to give as much, live as much, experience and do as much as I can in this life. Like…helping you with your senses, learning about what helps and what doesn't. Being able to help on some of the cases, to make a difference that helps other people. You've given me so many opportunities, man…so much I don't even know where to begin to thank you."

Blowing out a breath, Ellison nodded as he bit his lip. Swallowing, he rumbled, "You give as good or better than you get, Chief. No thanks are ever needed. We're more than even."

A bright, luminous smile broke over Blair's face then as he asked, his brows rising quizzically, "So…we're okay here?"

"Yeah," Ellison replied with a small smile of his own, "we're okay." But, as he reached out to grip his friend's shoulder, he growled, "But, I swear to you, if that same creep who hurt you is behind these threats …I'm going to take him down."

With a low chuckle, Blair grinned, but his tone was sincere as he replied, "I have no doubt you will… thanks, Jim."

Nodding, touched by what he saw in Blair's eyes, seeking some normalcy, some distance from the heated emotions, Ellison looked around the room and then at his watch. "It's late, Chief. Try to get some sleep for once, okay?"

"I will," Blair promised, warmed by the concern, touched by how much Jim cared what had happened to him, about those dreams that had shattered along with his knee, so long ago…and about whether he got enough sleep now. "Good night, Jim."

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

When they arrived at the station the next morning, it was clear any number of people had seen the news the night before. There were murmured condolences and brief touches to his shoulder, as various members of the police force and related civilian support services, acknowledged Blair's brilliance as a skater and the regret for what he had lost. He was touched and surprised that so many people seemed to sincerely care about what had happened to him back then.

When they entered the operations room of the Major Crimes Unit, their colleagues stood and Simon came out of his office.

"Damned shame, Blair," H. called out. "They ever get the turkey who did that to you?"

"No, H.," Sandburg shook his head, "they never did."

"Looked like you were hurt pretty bad, son," Joel said as he moved to touch Blair's shoulder, concern shadowing his dark eyes.

"It was no cake-walk, Joel," Blair replied, but then smiled reassuringly, "but I'm fine. Don't worry about it, okay?"

"You were some amazing skater, kid," Simon noted, studying the young observer, remembering how quiet he'd been the day before and understanding now why. "You okay with being on this case? If it's too hard…"

"I'm fine, Simon," Blair hastened to reassure him and everyone else. "It was twelve years ago, another lifetime. Really…I'm okay with this. And, maybe given my knowledge of the sport and the competition circuit, I can be of some help."

Nodding, giving the young man a tight smile of approval, Simon accepted his words. "Okay, Sandburg. I appreciate that."

Getting quickly down to business, they sent an electronic message to the Swedish police force that had undertaken the investigation into the assault against Blair. But, as it had been so long ago, they were warned it would take a while to have the information retrieved and sent to them. They also sent a similar request to the World Skating Championships Association to obtain lists, if any still remained, of the sponsors involved in the competition twelve years ago, and every other year that threats had been made. They asked for similar data on coaches.

Meanwhile, H. and Rafe were setting up arrangements with Security to have metal detectors at all the entrances, those like at the airport that people could walk through. There was considerable resistance as such measures would drastically slow the entrance of the spectators, but the guys remained firm, reminding the officials of what they'd all seen on the tape on the news the previous night.

The problem was, a rifle could well already have been secreted in any number of locations in the arena. There just wasn't any way of knowing, not for sure.

Next, they poured over the lists of corporate sponsors of this year's competitors, but there was everything from small, local, community and school groups who had raised money to huge international corporate sponsors. Too many and not enough to go on to come to formulate any suspicions, let alone conclusions.

They also compared the lists with earlier lists, and pulled out the lists of coaches as well, but it tended to be many of the same coaches year in and year out. And while many of the local sponsors changed, the big ones remained the same…and some of those were beginning to show up on several of the lists as supporters of either the winners, or the skaters who'd received threats…or both. Still, there was no clear correlation between coaches or the sponsors who backed the winners in any of the years where threats had been received, certainly nothing on which to base any accusations. Different countries had won. The winners, of different nationalities and ethic backgrounds didn't form any pattern, any more than did those who had been threatened and subsequently pulled out over the years.

They had nothing…and they knew it.

Frustrated, Ellison sat back late in the day and scrubbed his face with his hands. His eyes were tired from staring too long at the computer screen and reading over too many lists of information. "I don't know, Chief," he muttered. "We're getting nowhere here."

"I know," Blair sighed, equally discouraged.

Sitting up, Jim hesitated, not wanting to dredge up the memories, but then asked quietly, "Who won the year you were knocked out of the competition? Do you remember?"

"Yeah, it was Michael Lorrimer, from New York," Blair replied. "He was pretty good…really competitive."

"Aggressively so?" Ellison probed.

"Hey, man, most of us were pretty aggressive about hoping to win," Blair replied with a faraway smile. "We all worked so hard, you know? For so many years…and this was it. Whoever won, well, it was the next best thing to the Olympics…and the winner was assured of a spot on their country's Olympic Team. Who wouldn't want that, Jim?"

Shaking his head, Ellison replied, "I have the hardest time seeing you as that competitive, Sandburg."

"Why, 'cause I lack the famous Ellison discipline in my approach to life?" Blair teased.

"No…you're as disciplined as anyone I know about your responsibilities and what you care about, Chief…it's the aggressive part I don't get. Winning doesn't ever seem that important to you," Jim reflected, frowning faintly as he tried to understand.

Blair shrugged. "It was a guaranteed scholarship to university, Jim…I didn't have a whole lot of money," he said softly. "And, well, I just loved it, you know…I can't describe it, not really. It was just the most amazing feeling…"

Jim felt rage flicker again in the depths of his soul at how his best friend had been robbed of his dreams, and very nearly killed into the bargain. Clamping down on the feeling, knowing it would only distract him, make him less effective, he asked then, "Do you remember who coached and who sponsored this Lorrimer kid?"

Thinking back, Blair replied, "The coach was Frank Mills. One of the best…has a history of winners. He was just beginning to get a reputation in those days as the 'coach to have', if you could afford him or if he thought you were good enough to take on. Sponsors?" Shrugging, shaking his head, "I don't remember, sorry."

Ellison flipped through the piles of the lists, looking for Mills' name. His brows lifted at the number of times the guy cropped up. On several occasions, his skater had been threatened. Twice, the kid he'd been coaching had pulled out. The other times, his skater had hung in and won. In the years where there had been no threats, his skater had, more often than not, won.

"Tell me more about Mills, Chief," Ellison encouraged. "Did you know the guy?"

"Not particularly well," Blair admitted. "He did try to get me to sign with him at one point, but I'd been working with Janey for years and didn't want to change coaches. She was one of the few constants in my life in those days and, well, I loved her a lot. It was flattering though, to have been one of the skaters Mills offered to coach. I can't imagine he'd be involved in anything like this…the sport is his life, man."

Biting his lip, Ellison shook his head and let the paper in his hand flutter to join the pile on his desk. "Let's head down to the arena. We don't have much of anything, but there are recurring sponsors on some of the lists, and I wouldn't mind meeting this Frank Mills guy, if he's there. His skater isn't on the list of those threatened this year." Standing he grabbed his coat and Sandburg's from the hook behind him.

"Sure," Blair agreed willingly, as he stood, taking his coat and shrugging it on as he followed Ellison out. "I know Mills has someone competing. I saw him down there yesterday." Though he couldn't really see what good it would do. He was beginning to understand why it had been so hard to figure out who had shot his skate out from under him years ago. There were just too many variables at play.

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

Mills, along with everyone else in the arena, knew the police were all over the place, trying to get to the bottom of the threats and determine if there was really something to worry about, or whether it was a case only of intimidation. Since his skater wasn't involved this year, he'd ignored the investigations going on around him. Though it was worrisome, he was paid to pay attention to his contender and that's what he intended to do. This kid was good, and had a reasonable shot at the gold this year…certainly the silver.

So, having not paid attention to the cops, he was taken a little by surprise when an eclectically dressed young man with long curly hair ambled toward him, a brooding giant in tow.

"Uh, Mr. Mills?" the young man ventured. "Do you have a moment?"

Shaking his head, waving with irritated impatience toward his skater out on the ice, he tried to fend off the stranger. "I'm busy, sorry," he stated sharply, not even bothering to turn his head to look at the men who wished to speak with him.

"It'll only take a moment of your time, sir," the tall man intervened, reaching into his pocket to pull out his badge and introducing himself. "Detective Ellison, Cascade PD. This is my partner, Blair Sandburg. I'd like to ask you some questions about the recent threats."

At the name, Mills' head snapped arou