by Arianna and Imbrillig

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

"Enough!" Sandburg snapped, humiliation pushing his despair into quick rage as he wrestled free of Ellison's grip and gave his erstwhile partner a furious shove away. Straightening, he raked his hair back from his flushed face, and his eyes sparked with blistering anger as he panted for breath. "Enough," he rasped again, his jaw tight and his posture rigid. "I meant it. I'm not going to cut my hair. And, face it, I'm never going to be a cop. That's an impossible dream; liars and frauds don't make good cops," he grated bitterly. "Just... just back off and give me some space, here, okay?"

Jim gaped at him, pale with shock as he shook his head at the fierce, and very unexpected, anger. Around them, laughter and merriment froze into awkward, painful silence. Blair blew out a breath and looked at the men and women who were staring at him with sorrow haunting their eyes. "I'm sorry," he muttered, appalled at his outburst as he struggled for control and lifted a helpless hand. "I... I never wanted it to end like this."

"Chief, it doesn't have to end at all," Ellison cajoled, feeling off-balance and too aware of the sudden sense of hollow anxiety twisting in his gut. "If you'd just..."

"Just what?" Sandburg cut in sharply. "Be more like you? Stop being me? It's over, Jim. We're over. Done. It's what you said you wanted just a few days ago." Shaking his head, he said more softly, "I'm finished here. We all know that. I have no credibility. Hell, I don't even know who I am anymore." His voice was strained, nearly breaking as he added, "But I do know that I cannot keep doing the 'I don't trust you' dance."

Turning away from Ellison, he went on more gently to the rest of them, "It's not that I don't appreciate the offer and all that it means. And it's not that I haven't loved working with all of you or don't respect what you do. A year ago, hell, two weeks ago, if you'd've offered me a badge, I might well have grabbed it and never let go. But, it's not possible now. You guys might give me another chance, but the rest of the department would despise me. And the DA's office wouldn't ever trust me." Sorrowfully, he muttered, "Probably wouldn't have worked in the long run anyway." Giving himself a slight shake, he straightened his shoulders and said quickly, his voice nearly catching, "So... thank you for trying to throw me a lifeline, but I've got to find my own path now. I, uh, I've got to be going. I... I wish you all only the very best, always."

"Blair, sweetie, what will you do?" Naomi called into the silence, having finally found her voice. Part of her had rejoiced when he'd fought back and refused to become a cop, just because they all wanted him to be just like them, but part of her was afraid and utterly sick at heart. She had never seen her son so angry or so fierce.

Nor had she ever seen such terrible pain in the depths of his eyes.

He bowed his head and swallowed hard as he lifted his hands as if to fend her off or ask for mercy. He wasn't prepared for this - wasn't ready to tell them, or pretend it was what he wanted. He couldn't have what he'd wanted, not anymore. "Don't, Naomi," he implored hoarsely. "Just let me be. I'll be... everything will work out fine."

And then he was pushing past all of them, desperate to get away before he lost what little control he had left. Eschewing the elevator because he didn't want to risk having to stand and wait for it, he hit the stairs running.

Simon looked around at his people, all of whom looked devastated, and then lifted his gaze to Ellison's pale visage. This sure hadn't gone down the way they'd hoped and planned. "What are you waiting for? You let him go now, you may never get him back," Banks counseled darkly. "Go after him - work it out."

Feeling as if he were locked in a bad dream, Jim nodded tightly and limped quickly to the elevator, grateful that it arrived immediately and giving him some hope of catching Blair before Sandburg left the underground parking lot. But, as he impatiently watched the overhead floor indicators flash, he wondered what he could say or do to work things out, as Simon had so pithily directed. What other options did they have, short of him admitting his sensory capabilities publicly? Why the hell wouldn't Sandburg at least give this a chance?

Luck was with him, and he emerged from the elevator just as Sandburg came out of the stairwell. Seeing Ellison, he pulled up short, the shocked, hopeless expression in his eyes very like a deer caught in the headlights. There was confusion and despair, and wide-eyed startlement that Jim had come after him.

"Chief, we need to talk," the older man urged.

"Now you want to talk?" Blair exclaimed as he looked around the narrow hall, his posture tightening as if he only wanted to escape.

"Look, let's just go home," Jim suggested carefully, waving toward the heavy fire door to the parking garage. Wordlessly, caught with no civil options, Sandburg nodded numbly and led the way out to his Volvo.

"What about your mother?" the detective asked, as he limped behind Sandburg. "Doesn't she need a ride?"

"No, she decided to stay with a friend of hers," Blair told him tonelessly. "She moved out a few days ago, just after you were shot."

Jim frowned at that, wishing he'd known Sandburg had been left alone with his thoughts and shattered dreams. The kid hadn't come to see him in the hospital, and he hadn't answered the phone when Jim called - didn't return any of the messages. Blair had only called that morning, tersely indicating that he'd pick Jim up when he was discharged at 11:00, after he'd stopped by the PD to drop off his observer pass. It was how they'd all known when to find him there with their offer of a badge.

They got silently into the old car, Jim moving stiffly as he maneuvered his sore leg inside the low vehicle. Once he was settled, Sandburg started the ignition and steered out and up to the street. Ellison didn't need to be a Sentinel to feel the tension that crackled in the air between them. Worried, he watched the passing streets as he struggled to find the right words to fix a situation that had gone very bad.

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

But the situation went from bad to worse when they got to the loft and Ellison saw that Sandburg's stuff had been removed from the common living area, and there were suitcases by the door.

"You're leaving?" he rasped in surprise, turning a look of disbelief on his friend. "Where are you going?"

"Well, I can't very well stay," Blair stated flatly. "There's nothing for me here in Cascade. My adviser, Eli Stoddard, pulled some strings and called in some big favors to get me accepted at a university back east. I'm starting over on a doctoral program there and maybe this time, I'll actually finish."

"What do you mean there's nothing here?" Ellison snapped, suddenly feeling adrift and abandoned, and hating the treacherous emotions. "Your home is here. Your friends. A job if you want it."

Blair's lips thinned as he shook his head, and he looked as if he were struggling to control his own emotions as he waved Jim toward the living room. "I can see you're not going to make this easy," he muttered. "You'd better sit down and get the pressure off your leg."

"Easy? Why the hell should I make it easy for you to cut and run?" Jim demanded hotly as he hobbled to the chair and sank into it.

"'Cut and run'?" Blair echoed, his voice raising an octave. "Oh, that's rich coming from you," he snarled, stung by the hard words, his throat tight. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you the one who told me less than a week ago that it was time I moved on?"

"Yeah, well, I was angry and..." Jim grated, flushing in embarrassment but unwilling to admit the fear that had been driving him - fear of being seen as a freak. "And that was before..."

But his voice caught when his mind tripped over the terrible image of Blair sacrificing himself on national television.

"Before I trashed myself to protect my source and his secrets," Sandburg sighed as he flopped down on the sofa. "But that's exactly why I can't stay, for so very many reasons," he added as he scrubbed his aching forehead.

"I wish you hadn't done that," Jim sighed as he ran a trembling hand over his hair. "I never wanted that."

Blair gave him a long look but only shrugged and looked away.

"What's that? A shrug? Chief, c'mon, talk to me here. Tell me what's going on in that head of yours," Jim asked, feeling off balance and unsure. It was like talking to a stranger, not the man who'd been his partner and best friend for four years.

"What do you want me to say, Jim?" Blair asked, his voice brittle with control. Looking away, pale with tension, he grated, "God, Jim, didn't it ever occur to you to wonder why your name was in that 'dissertation'? Wonder why the whole damn thing was apparently about you and only you? I guess I should have made sure you were more savvy about academia, about what constituted an anthropological study. That document wasn't a dissertation! Did you really think that I was that bad a scholar? I know you think I was that bad of a friend. But what Sid got hold of was written for you and only you. I used your name because you spazzed on me when you read the intro back when I was trying to make even your copy of the diss conform to subject protection guidelines. So I wrote this other document that I never intended for anyone else to ever see. It was supposed to tell you where I thought we were, what we had learned about the whole Sentinel project, and where we went right and where we went wrong. For example, I've never been able to really talk to you about what happened with Alex."

When Ellison unconsciously flinched and turned his face away, Sandburg exclaimed, "See, you just looked away, and pulled away. You were supposed to be able to read what you couldn't hear." Blair sighed and pushed his hair back as he said wearily, "But, when it all exploded, you thought I'd conned you - all this time, and you thought I was only using you. And what did you want me to do, besides just disappear from your life? You wanted all the problems to go away and you figured it was up to me to fix things for you. Well, fine, I fixed them."

"I never wanted you to destroy yourself to do it," Ellison countered miserably. "You know that, don't you?"

"I haven't destroyed myself," Sandburg replied doggedly. "I've still got my Masters and I've got another chance at a PhD program at a good school. I'll be fine."

"But you denied your dissertation, destroyed your life's work," Ellison protested, confused and feeling physically ill with the magnitude of what Blair had given to protect him, especially after the dismal way he'd reacted. What did Blair mean that he had another chance?

"You're my life's work," Sandburg murmured, pain and pride warring in his voice. "Helping you to understand and use your talents, to achieve your incredible potential was far more important and meaningful than simply writing it down. Learning about you and with you has given me knowledge I'll always have, whether I get a PhD or not. You were my dream, man. Amazing and wonderful and I got to live it all fully. Best of all, I know that you'll go on doing good work, necessary work, and that I have helped you do it as well as you can... but I've got nothing more to give you, nothing more to teach you. A teacher doesn't hold on forever, but lets go when the student has progressed beyond need of him."

"All very noble, Chief, but frankly, what university that's worth a damn would take you on now?" Jim countered, regretting his bluntness when Sandburg winced, but kept going, needing to make his point. "I may not know much about academia as you so succinctly pointed out, but I know enough that they won't readily accept or trust a man who admitted to violating their most fondly flaunted ethical principles. You annihilated yourself, and you damned well know it! That's why we got you the job offer, Sandburg. And don't think it didn't take a lot of string-pulling to get a so-called fraud accepted into the Academy - or that it'll be all that easy to be partnered with a man half the force won't trust. But we did it for you and if you refuse this offer now, you won't be able to come crawling back here when you find out how they treat frauds in universities."

Blair flushed and swallowed hard, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he glared at Ellison. "'Won't trust', Jim? 'Half the force'?" Blair echoed angrily. He didn't need Jim lecturing him about the fallout of what he'd done, and he sure didn't need the doom and gloom prediction of inevitable failure. "Does that half include you? Because from where I sit, it sure does seem to."

"Trust you? You think it's about me trusting you? It's not that I don't trust you; it's that you don't trust me!" Ellison stormed back. "Half the time I don't even know what you're doing. I didn't know you'd written that document for me or that it had been written at all! And I sure in hell had no idea you were planning to leave town. How am I supposed to trust you when I don't know what you're going to do next?"

"The whole point of 'trust' is to have faith and believe in someone even when the facts would dictate otherwise," Blair spat back. But then he shook his head and held up his hands in a gesture of peace, desperately not wanting to fight. "I know trust is a major issue for you, Jim, despite the four years we've been together and the fact I have always done my best by you. But not everyone is as inherently suspicious and wary as you are. As incredible as it might seem to you," he seethed, "some of my friends and colleagues still trust me despite what they saw on national television, because they know me and their trust in my integrity is absolute." Blair pressed his lips together before he blurted out what he really felt. God, of all the people in his life, why was it the one who mattered the most who seemed incapable of trusting him, believing in him? They'd gone through some rocky times, but he had always hoped that Jim would one day finally find it possible to trust him without question. But any hope of that ever happening had died with Ellison's reaction to the dissertation fiasco.

Jim looked away as he tried to dampen his own anger. Yelling at each other wouldn't fix anything. "You could at least give the offer some thought - you could try being a cop and not just give up and walk away," he ventured, trying to keep the imploring note from his voice and not quite succeeding.

Blair blinked, caught off-guard by the genuine vulnerability in Jim's voice. He looked away and shook his head. This was getting them nowhere and there was no way he could stay, but he really wished Jim would understand why becoming a cop wasn't the solution - would, in fact, only lead to more problems. "Don't you realize that if I accept the badge, I would have to be a cop?" he sighed, having thought about being a cop for more than the past year but unable to see a way around the inherent problem with the role in terms of the support Jim needed from him. And, in the past week, he'd finally put that dream away, too. He wasn't ever going to be Jim's official partner. "I would be under a microscope and have to be better than the other rookies. I wouldn't be able to play fast and loose with the system, Jim. Especially now, I don't have the reputation to be cutting corners."

"The only people you have to impress are me and Simon, Chief, and you don't have to prove anything to us," Jim asserted as he turned his intense gaze back to Blair. There was trepidation in his eyes, but also, still, the ghost of hope.

"Jim, please, think about it, man," Blair implored. "What happens if I actually become a cop? I couldn't stop a zone from the backside of a house when you were sneaking in the front door, or if we were chasing perps in opposite directions! Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that why I'd be going to the Academy - so I could learn to do things the cop way and finally be the 'right' kind of backup for you? Not some tagalong at your back, but a fellow officer helping to capture the bad guys? I wouldn't be your guide on the streets. Half the time, we'd be separated, and that means I wouldn't be nearby to help you with your senses. You'd have to keep the senses dialed down when we're on a hot pursuit unless I was with you. We'd need to do some tests so I could see what your tolerances are when you're on your own, but you don't want to be a lab rat anymore. What's the point of me being your partner, Jim, if I can't be the kind of partner you really need? Face it, if I became a cop, it could get you killed."

"Chief, you were the right kind of backup." Ellison was serious now. If he didn't say just the right thing he knew that Sandburg would be out the door for good.

"Dammit. Listen to me! Don't you see?" Blair exclaimed in exasperation, his hands flying. "I couldn't accept a badge and then just slip back into observer mode, to be behind you, with you, watching your back. I'd be a badge-carrying detective with a lot of baggage, expected to toe the line and follow procedure. You said yourself that half the force would be watching and waiting for me to screw up. You and Simon wouldn't be able to do much for me when IA kept calling me on the carpet whenever I did anything not by the book! There's no block on the officer performance appraisal for being 'Jim Ellison's guide and tagalong'."

Vivid blue eyes locked onto blue. Anger and frustration that no solution seemed good enough to satisfy Sandburg began to overwhelm Ellison's fear of losing his best friend. Hell, it wasn't the 'guide' he wanted to keep! It was the partner he'd come to trust and depend upon. The friend he'd come to need.

"Oh, so this is all about looking good, Sandburg?" Jim snapped coldly. "More of the 'impress your peers' stuff? Nothing to do with friendship, huh?" But he knew as soon as he said it that he had struck a nerve and, given what the kid had just done for him less than a week ago, Ellison belatedly realized his remarks were more hurtful than he'd intended. Before he could say anything else, Sandburg was on his feet and storming toward the door.

"This is a waste of time. I have to go," Blair muttered, fighting to hold onto his control, to remain rational and coherent, to maintain some shred of dignity when all he wanted to do was smash something into pieces.

"You keep saying that, but that's not true," Jim objected, alarmed. Time was running out and he was screwing up, not fixing things.

Anger blazed again in Blair's eyes as he whirled, and then paced in agitation around the living room. "Why would I stay, Jim? I mean, aside from the fact that to give credence to my lies about the dissertation and the betrayal of my students, colleagues and advisers at Rainer I can't continue to associate with you, or we risk the truth coming out - why the hell would I stay where I'm not really wanted? Damn it, how many times do you think you have to kick me out before I get the message that I'm expendable? Why would I want to stay when it's all too clear that it's only until the next time you decide our friendship is worthless?"

"Look, that's not fair -"

"Not fair?" Sandburg interrupted hotly. For days, he'd had nothing much to do besides go over all that had gone wrong, and to feel the tearing pain of the realization that their friendship was a sham and maybe always had been. Unable to keep it all inside any longer, he ranted, "Not fair? Give me a break! You decided I betrayed you when I told you that I didn't, but my word wasn't good enough. And when you knew that the leak wasn't my fault, you still told me in no uncertain terms that you wanted me gone. You offer me a badge out of what, guilt? 'Cause you have to know damned well that there is no way I could ever be a cop, not now. I sure couldn't be your partner without a lot of people asking very pointed questions as to why you'd still put up with me, or why Simon would ever trust me enough to keep me around. And, you know what? After the way you've treated me for months now, let alone over the damned paper, I don't want to stay here. I don't need a fair weather friend, man - one that is only my friend on his terms and at his convenience. That's way too much like being used. Which is pretty much the way it is, isn't it? You used me for the past four years to get a handle on your senses, and now that you don't much need me anymore, our deal is off, and our friendship is revealed for the farce it was. You never, ever, intended to let me publish my diss about you, did you? Even if I'd found a way to protect your identity, you would have been afraid someone would figure it out - 'cause it's really pretty obvious when you get right down to it. Who else would my 'subject' have been? God," Blair sighed, pushing his hands through his hair, "I never thought it would ever end like this. I never thought you would betray me the way you have. I never thought you could ever believe I'd betray you so profoundly. I sure never thought my dreams, my life, could get this screwed up! I might have trashed my local credibility, big guy, but you were the one who trashed our friendship."

His voice caught as he looked at Jim - who was gaping at him and was as white with strain as if the words had been body-blows. Moisture glimmered in Blair's eyes as he choked out, "And the friendship was all that really mattered, man! To me, anyway. I never wanted to be rich and famous - I just wanted to do worthwhile, meaningful work. I thought that's what we were about, but I guess you never really saw me in the equation of what we did together. It was always, only, about you, the Sentinel. I can't... I can't keep doing this, being yo-yoed back and forth depending upon your mood and goodwill. Friends don't treat friends the way you treat me. They just don't. Guess I've never been much more than a neohippie witchdoctor punk to you."

Distraught, his whole body trembling with anger and grief and despair, he turned away, his arms rigidly crossed and his head bowed as he struggled to get himself back under control. He hadn't ever intended to say all that, but couldn't regret that it was said. It was how he felt. Completely, utterly used and betrayed. And he felt a fool for ever believing that Jim had considered him a friend, had ever really wanted him around. He'd protected the secret for years and had never betrayed Ellison, regardless of how Jim saw the world. Ellison had hated the thesis chapter because he didn't understand the language being used and, regardless, he wasn't prepared to admit that fear drove him. Jim had chosen to see Alex as a betrayal when all she'd been was a test subject, someone Blair hoped to maybe help and definitely use to offset the emphasis on Jim in his paper, to protect Jim's secret. It had been an academic exercise - not a case of lusting after someone who had murdered his best friend in cold blood and protecting her at the cost of anyone else's safety. Blair shivered as he remembered those hateful days in the jungle in Mexico. They'd never discussed, not one word, what had happened there any more than they'd ever discussed what happened at the fountain. Jim just did his famous repression act and behaved as if none of it had ever happened. And as for the dissertation - sure, maybe he had some culpability for having used Jim's name in the draft written for Jim's eyes alone, but it would have been taken out in the final, formal, sanitized version. But Jim hadn't wanted to hear that - hadn't wanted to discuss what they might do to fix the mess.

Had just told him to get out.

He'd been mugged, shot, beaten up countless times, drugged, kidnapped and nearly killed backing Jim up over the years. God, he'd died because of his friendship with Jim. But none of that had hurt as badly as knowing Jim neither trusted him nor wanted him around. He'd worked double-duty covering two full-time jobs, one at Rainier and the other downtown; but he'd never been as tired as he was after he'd given the Press Conference and known it was all over - not just the dissertation and his life in Cascade, but the adventure he'd been living, the friendship he'd cherished and the only real home he'd ever known. He'd given everything he had and he just didn't have anything left, not for a man who inherently despised him and believed him to be unworthy of trust, despite all evidence to the contrary. And, in the end, maybe he'd only proved that Jim was right about him after all - he had proven himself capable of great betrayal, perhaps not of Jim but of nearly everyone else who mattered in his life. He'd betrayed those who had believed in him and had trusted him, to protect the man who didn't. Feeling naked and empty, he recalled how blissfully elated he'd been when he'd first found Jim... man, who could have guessed that day was only the beginning of a long slide into hell?

"What do you want from me?" Jim rasped then, his voice tight and scathing with his own emotion - guilt and defensiveness, anger and a very real fear that the breach between them was too great to mend. "You want me to go public? Restore your reputation? Beg you to stay? What?"

"I don't want anything from you, Jim," Sandburg sighed. "At least, I don't want anything that seems possible for you to give." Turning, he looked down at the man who had been the center of his existence for the past four years, and his eyes were dark with pain. "I don't want you to go public. We've kept your senses secret for very good reasons, not least of which is to safeguard your life, let alone your privacy. My reputation is my problem, not yours, and I'll deal with the fallout to my Press Conference. I'll also deal with good old Sid for having published my work against my wishes, and Rainier for terminating my employment without just cause. None of that is your problem, and frankly, it's best if you just stay out of it. You're not an academic and you don't have the first clue about how that world works - you never did. My work was the least of your interests and concerns, and that was fine. You didn't need to understand my world; I just needed to understand yours. Beg? Yeah, like the great Jim Ellison would beg anyone for anything, let alone me to stay, when we both know you'll be relieved to see the last of me."

"What if I need help with my senses?" Jim challenged, playing a card he dearly hoped Sandburg wouldn't refuse. The kid had been his lifeline for years and Ellison knew how seriously Blair took his responsibility to help him.

"Talk to Simon or Megan," Blair retorted, surprising him. However, Sandburg's voice tempered into a more reasonable tone as he continued, "But that won't likely be necessary. You haven't zoned for months and you handle your senses really well. There's nothing more I can teach you or that you need from me. I'm redundant now."

"So, just like everyone else I ever let get close, you're just going to abandon me and hope for the best, is that it?" Jim growled, letting frustration and anger overcome the cold fear in his belly. The kid was really going to go and there was no way to stop him.

"Not everyone in your life abandoned you, despite the way you carry that belief around like a cross," Blair sniped back. "Some just died, like your men in Peru and Danny Choi and Incacha and Jack Pendergast - and Lila, who loved you so much she died saving your life. Some you rejected, like your father and brother. As for your mother, who knows, but I doubt she was abandoning her children so much as she was leaving her husband. Virginia was a self-centered bitch who used you from the get-go. When you and Carolyn split, it was mutual and you stayed friends. As for me, well, staying would do you more harm than good, and would destroy me. It's not abandonment, Jim, when there's no other choice and you told me to get lost."

"I don't want you to leave," Ellison finally stated flat out, bleak desperation resonating in his voice. "I... you're wrong about so many things. I know I've made some mistakes but I never meant to just use you and throw you away. You're my partner. My friend."

"You've got a really strange way of treating your friends, Jim," Blair sighed wearily. "I'd sure hate to be your enemy." The conversation was taking them nowhere except deeper into acrimony, and he just wanted it to be over. Swallowing against the massive lump of grief in his throat, Sandburg said hollowly, "It's too late for anything now. The proverbial bridges have well and truly burned. I've, uh, I've got to go. It's a long drive to Georgetown U and I have to report to my adviser there next week, with a new dissertation topic." He paused and bit his lip, seeming hesitant, and then said quietly, "I'm not sorry to have spent four years with you, and I guess I'll always love you like the brother I never had, but I just can't do this anymore, Jim. I, uh, hope you'll have a great life - I really do. Stay safe, okay? Don't take stupid chances - and please accept the next partner Simon assigns to you. You know, like it or not, you can't be alone out there anymore. I... I hope you'll trust whoever it is more than you've ever been able to trust me."

And with that, he turned and went to the door to haul on his jacket. When he bent to pick up his bags, Jim called out, "Sandburg, for God's sake! Don't...."

"Let me go, Jim," he whispered brokenly, tears close to the surface. "For both our sakes, before we destroy one another and whatever is left of our friendship, just let me go."

Ellison surged to his feet as he yelled, "If you leave now, don't ever come back!"

Blair froze at the door and gave him a long, haunted look. Then, murmuring, "Okay, if that's the way you want it," he opened the door. "I guess it's what I expected," he choked as he left, closing it firmly behind him.

"Sandburg!" Jim shouted savagely, as he lurched heavily across the room, but his bad leg gave out and he crashed to the floor with a grunt of searing pain. Panting, sick with his helplessness and grief, ashamed of his weakness and the things he'd said, he lay as still as a stone and listened to Sandburg clomp down the stairs and out to his car. The trunk opened and closed and then the car door. He heard the engine rev and the swish of the wheels on the damp pavement until the sound was swallowed up by other, more powerful noises when the Volvo got too far away to hear any longer. His throat was thick and his eyes burned as he slumped against the loveseat and lowered his face into his hands.

"Why? What have I done?" he gasped hoarsely, unable to stop the tear that trickled down his cheek. "What the hell have I done?"

And he truly didn't know.

Oh, sure, he'd blown up and been out of line, but Sandburg understood him as no one else ever had - Blair had to know he hadn't meant what he'd said in the heat of anger. So, okay, he really didn't want to announce his senses to the world - was that such a crime? The kid had just said he agreed that they should be kept secret. Not trust Sandburg? Shit. What was that about? He'd never trusted anyone more - he might grouse, but he always did what Blair wanted him to do when it came to managing his senses. He'd given the younger man a home, hadn't he? And maybe they hadn't talked about some stuff that they should have, like the fountain and Alex, but talking wouldn't make it any different, wouldn't undo what had been done - she would have still killed Blair. He would have still lusted after her, his instincts at war with his head and his heart. Hell, Sandburg had seemed to understand it all far better than he ever would; at least, from what he'd said on the beach and at the temple, Jim had thought that he understood.

Why had Blair decided now that he had to leave? They could have found a way to make the job work. Was it really only because he couldn't finish his PhD locally? Was all the rest of it just a fancy excuse to rationalize his decision to go? How could he just leave like that? He'd said he loved the work, loved the rollercoaster, loved him like a brother. How could he imagine Jim no longer needed him, or felt he was 'expendable'?

"Damn it," he grated as he threw his cane in fury against the wall. "Well, fine, then, go!" he snarled, hurting badly. "I don't need you. Don't need anybody. You're right - I'll be fine."

But the ache of loss spread in his chest until he found it hard to breathe past the sob that lodged in his throat and that he wouldn't acknowledge. Breathing shallowly, blinking back tears he would not allow to fall, he conceded silently, in the deepest depths of his soul, that he loved the kid and he'd've rather given up his right arm than watch Sandburg leave. And he knew, in his heart, that Blair had been hurting, too, badly - and hadn't left to be malicious or selfish, but because he was drowning here, drowning in sorrow and loss and grief and anger.

Maybe... maybe it was just as well.

Life as a cop would have been dangerous.

But, damn, he was going to miss Sandburg - more than he suspected he could even begin to imagine. It was hard to believe that what they'd shared was over and done. That all he had now was memories, less substantial than dust in the wind and about as satisfying. Blair had been very wrong about some things - Jim certainly felt no relief at his leaving. To the contrary, Ellison felt utterly bereft, as if all the joy had been leeched from the world and it would forevermore be gray.

Suddenly bone-weary, unable to face his thoughts or deal with his emotions, Jim dragged himself to his feet and gasped at the agony flaring from his wounded leg. Fumbling in his pocket for the small vial of pain medication, he took two capsules, more than he would normally, and turned to the staircase. But he didn't have the energy or inclination to haul himself upstairs so he sagged down onto the sofa. Blair's scent was strong there, the cushions still warm from his body. Curling on his side, Ellison was more than willing to succumb to the numbness of sleep and he gratefully let the darkness claim him.

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

Blair pulled over at a fresh food market just before the highway, to stock up on water, fruit and granola bars for the long trip ahead. After dumping the bags onto the passenger seat for easy access, he pulled out his cell phone and called his mother to tell her he was headed to Georgetown U in Washington DC, to finish his doctorate there.

"Oh, but that's wonderful!" she exclaimed, relieved to learn that some of his dreams might yet come true. "I know it must be hard to leave Cascade and Jim after all these years, but you'll get your PhD and everything will be fine! I'm so glad, sweetie."

Blair shook his head but didn't bother to correct her. At least someone was happy with the way things had turned out. "Thanks, Mom," he replied with as much warmth as he could muster, unaware that he sounded so broken and sad that tears grew in her eyes as she listened to him trying to be brave for her. "See, like I said, things work out the way they should. Uh, look, I've got to go. I'll call you as soon as I get settled and give you my new address and phone number, okay? You... you take care of yourself."

As soon as she'd said her own farewell, he disconnected and shoved the phone back into his jacket pocket. With grim resolution, he hit the state highway and headed toward the Interstate. But he found it was far easier to leave Cascade behind geographically, than it was mentally and emotionally. Literally sick with despair, he had to pull over at one point to retch into the grass, until there was nothing left but dry heaves and he was gasping for breath. He wanted so very much to turn around and go back; hated the memory of the stricken look on Jim's face when the older man had realized that he was really going to leave. Why did it have to be so damned hard?

Leaning against the car, he reached in to grab a bottle of water and rinsed out his mouth, spitting the dregs onto the gravel. Closing his eyes, he focused on getting his breathing settled and then risked a small swallow. When that stayed down, he capped the bottle and returned to the driver's side, once again pulling out onto the highway.

His thoughts kept dragging him back over the last week. After he'd gotten Jim settled in the hospital, after Ellison had been shot by Zeller, Blair had returned to Rainier to pack up his office. Someone must have alerted Eli - probably the departmental secretary though he'd never know for sure, not that it mattered. All he knew was that he'd looked up to find his mentor standing in the doorway looking ineffably sad.

"Ah, Eli, I'm... I'm really sorry," he'd stammered.

But the elderly professor had waved off his attempt at apology as he came into the office and settled into a chair. "You were right to protect your source, though I regret the cost," Stoddard said firmly, leaving no doubt as to what he believed to be the truth.

Blair knew he'd gaped at that, and had broken eye contact, not sure what to say and not wanting to lie to the man's face. He owed Eli too much to engage in pretense. Silence was the only defense he could muster, and avoidance, so he kept packing a box with papers and books.

"I've spoken to the Chancellor and pointed out that that paper had never been submitted as your dissertation," Eli went on into the silence, his voice strained and tired. "She had no right to do the things she did and certainly no right to fire you - but I'm afraid she'll never forgive you, either."

Nodding, Blair had gone on industriously packing his notebooks and texts.

"What will do you now? Where will you go?" Stoddard asked into the uncomfortable silence.

And those questions brought Sandburg's nervous action to a halt. Shaking his head, he looked up at his old friend and replied softly, hopelessly, "I don't know."

"Well, I thought that might be the case," Eli replied briskly. "So I've made a few calls, called in some favors. You can start at Georgetown next week, if you want. Saul Bronson has agreed to be your advisor there, if you decide you want to pursue your PhD."

Gaping at Eli, Blair's lips parted in amazement. "You're kidding? I mean - after what I did?" he gasped.

"What did you do but stop a media feeding frenzy and act with all due integrity and principle to safeguard your source's privacy?" Stoddard demanded hotly. "Surely you don't think that anyone who knows you and your work gave that Press Conference any credence? Nonsense. You've too good a brain to waste, young man. You're a genius, Blair, and I refuse to let this mess cost us your future contributions to the field of Anthropology. So, shall I call Saul and tell him you're on your way?"

Startled into a laugh, Blair couldn't help but smile at the man who had taught him so very much. "Thanks, Eli. For believing in me," he said with candid sincerity. "I... I can't stay in Cascade, at least not right now. And I've pretty much destroyed any hope of continuing as Jim's partner at the PD. So, yes, tell Saul that I'll be there with a new diss topic - and thank him for giving me this chance."

Eli shrugged. "Oh, come on, you must know he jumped at the prospect of luring you to Georgetown," the older man snorted. "He tried hard enough when you finished your Masters - your work on his field expedition over in Africa a few years ago impressed him greatly." Standing, Eli held out his hand, and when Blair took it, he added, "I'm proud of you, and if you ever need me or want to come back here, you only have to call. Edwards can't blackball you forever, not when she's the one who was in the wrong. If I were you, I'd sue her ass off. Go, get your PhD. But don't write us off entirely. Who knows what the future might yet hold; I'd like you back on my team some day."

Blair had pulled Stoddard into a fierce hug, too moved for words. In more than a week full of disasters and heartbreak, Eli's abiding faith in him had been the one bright spot and it had given him the strength to get through the rest.

When he'd cleared out his office, he'd gone home to pack up his stuff there. It had been hard to put his life into boxes and to remove all trace of his presence from the loft. He didn't want to go, but he couldn't see that he had any choice. Sure, Jim had warmed up after the press conference and had seemed to finally forgive him, but the pattern that had developed in the past almost year was distressing. Ever since Ellison's trip to Clayton Falls, Blair had been aware that Jim was pulling back, leaving him behind more and more. The older man was hungry for his independence and keenly needed to know that he could manage his senses on his own, though Jim had never said so in so many words. But Blair had seen it and had even understood it. He just hadn't wanted it to end. The rest, whether their fight over the first chapter or Alex, or even the dissertation, had all been no more than pretty transparent excuses for Jim to tell him, again and again, that it was time to move on. He just hadn't wanted to hear it. It hurt to think his friend was tired of him and didn't want him around anymore. And Blair had truly loved their work together. It had made a real difference for the good.

And he truly loved Jim.

But the universe trundled on and, eventually, the time had come when Sandburg had to acknowledge that Ellison didn't want or value their friendship and partnership as much as he did. Jim was intrinsically a loner; he'd put up with having his personal and professional space invaded for as long as he was prepared to tolerate.

And, deep down, Blair really did feel betrayed and more than a little used. He was glad he was able to help Jim, but he'd never bargained for the way Ellison had treated him time and again - like a pariah - unwanted, unrespected, unneeded... even despised. Well, thanks to Eli, at least he had a place to go and another chance at life as an academic. Blair sighed, knowing he should be more grateful for that opportunity. But he had stopped wanting the academic dream long before he'd held the Press Conference. Still, it was a far sight better than nothing and it gave him a starting point for a new life path.

Sandburg drove until well after dark and, when he was growing too tired to continue further safely, he pulled over into a rest stop, crawled into the back seat and pulled a blanket over his body. His thoughts and ragged emotions finally took mercy upon him and let him sleep.

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

Blair woke stiff and cold, and he shivered as he sat up and then left the car to conduct his morning ablutions in the public restroom. Feeling slightly more human, but wishing profoundly that the coffee machine had been working, he jogged back to the Volvo and cranked up the heater before uncapping some water and eating an apple. There wasn't much traffic on the highway that early, just the semis rumbling past, trying to make time before the lanes filled up with cars. In minutes, he was back on the road, driving into the rising sun.

He caught himself wondering how Jim was doing and if he should have hung around to make sure his friend could manage with his injured leg. Guilt tugged at him, telling him he should turn around, but reason barked sharply, ordering him to keep going. There was nothing back in Cascade, certainly not a friend he could rely upon no matter what. If he'd left sooner, when he'd first sensed that Jim was growing weary of their arrangement, maybe things wouldn't have gotten so bad. Now, going back would solve nothing.

But it was hard to keep heading east when everything and everyone he loved most in the world was behind him. To steel himself to what was necessary, to keep his anger fueled, he conjured up the memories of the hurts and betrayals, both small and large. Jim, up in Clayton Falls, being clear he didn't want Sandburg around because Blair was always in his face and wanting to do tests and more tests. Still in Clayton Falls, thinking he was going to die and being incredibly relieved to find out there was no deadly disease, just a minor poisoning - but Jim hadn't said a word then or since about being glad he was alright.

Okay, that was petty, he reasoned. It wasn't like Ellison had hoped he'd died. But it had still hurt.

Then, the recollection of Jim yelling at him in the PD garage on the night of the strike, about his dissertation chapter - the one Jim knew he wasn't supposed to read but had anyway - being a betrayal of trust and friendship flared and flamed his fading anger. Reminding him of what he owed Jim, up to and including letting him stay in Jim's apartment, as if it were on sufferance, and he hadn't both paid rent and worked free of charge backing Jim up on the job, long after he'd gathered all the information anyone could possibly need for ten dissertations, let alone one!

Being summarily kicked out of his home, after having been greeted the night before with a pistol in his face.

The blowup over Alex and Jim telling him to find another subject, again because Ellison considered the issue a betrayal of trust and couldn't get past it - completely uninterested in hearing why Blair had been so excited and careful about revealing the fact he'd found another sentinel. It had all been to protect Jim, not that Ellison ever seemed to realize that or care.

Dying in despair, believing Jim despised him.

Being miraculously revived had been incredible - absolutely incredible - but Jim didn't want to talk about the awesome mystery and import of what had happened, just said he wasn't ready to take that trip. Well, fine.

Then Jim had left him in the hospital to go after Alex, all the way to Mexico, with no word - just gone.

Another gun pointed at him when Jim found him and Megan in the hotel room, as if Jim hadn't heard their voices, smelled their scent, picked up on the familiar heartbeats - a major disconnect between them, as if a wall had grown up so thick and solid neither of them could get past it.

Jim's unbelievable behaviors in Mexico, from making out with Alex on the beach, yelling a warning to her that brought deadly fire on their position, taking off after her, even leaving him and Megan alone in the jungle, careless of the threat of the drug smugglers or that fact that she was a stone-cold killer.

In the Temple, Jim leaving him still tied up to go to Alex, to hold and kiss her and his distant, sometimes even cold manner ever since.

The list went on and on. They'd never talked about any of it. For months, they'd lived in the same apartment and sometimes still worked together, but were increasingly alienated as more and more Jim was working with Joel or Megan or even Harry, the master thief.

And the last couple of weeks had been truly awful. Maybe he should have told Jim right away about what his mother had done, but... but he'd known that Ellison would just blow up. So he'd tried, desperately, to contain the damage, to no avail. God, Jim had believed that he had betrayed Ellison and then lied about it. Had been so angry he couldn't look at Blair or speak to him. And even when Jim had found out the truth of what had happened, it didn't matter. Jim had still been very clear about wanting Blair out of his life.

That was the singular moment when Blair had known there was no going back, no recovery that would restore what they'd had for so long in the beginning. He had to fix things for Jim and then he had to move on. He was just damned lucky he had somewhere to move on to.

Sandburg sighed and squinted a little as he continued driving into the new dawn, utterly convinced that only a fool would have lingered after all of that. Huffing a sigh as he raked his hair back from his face, he figured he was fool enough for having wanted, so very badly, to stay.

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

The shrill ringing of the phone roused Ellison to his throbbing headache and the persistent pain in his leg. Bleary, not quite awake, he wished Blair would take the call, but when the phone rang again, he pushed himself off the couch. He felt hungover, muddled, as he limped heavily across the room and grabbed the phone off the wall.

"Hello," he muttered, his attention more on the refrigerator and his search for a bottle of cold water.

"Jim?" Simon asked, concern in his voice at his friend's odd tone. "You okay?"

"Huh? Yeah, just woke up," Ellison replied as he wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, and twisted off the cap. "You?" he asked before taking a long swallow.

"Me? I'm fine, nearly good as new," Banks lied as he rubbed his aching chest. "Look, I just wondered if you'd worked things out with Sandburg."

"Sandburg?" Jim echoed, but the name caused all the memories to crash back into place. He looked wildly around the living room, hoping it had only been a bad dream. But the changes, small nuances though they might be, told him it had all been real. The candles and afghan were gone from their places, the masks no longer on the wall. "We... yeah, I guess you could say we worked it out," he rasped as he rubbed a hand over his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What does that mean?" Simon probed, worried by Ellison's empty, almost lost, tone of voice.

"He's moving east to attend Georgetown University, to finish his PhD there," Jim reported factually, his tone now contained and flat. "Left yesterday afternoon."

"Is he coming back?" Banks asked, dumbfounded. He didn't know what he'd expected, but this wasn't it.

"I doubt it," Jim replied stonily, the ache of loss again invading his chest. "He said there was nothing left here."

There was a momentary silence as Simon absorbed the news, and then he sighed heavily. "Well, I'm sorry to see him go, but he was right yesterday. He'd've had a hard road in the PD. Maybe this is for the best."

For the best? Jim leaned his forehead against the cool wall and closed his eyes. "Yeah, maybe," he managed to agree hoarsely, though everything in him wanted to protest.

"You going to be okay?" Banks asked then, wary as always of Ellison's sentinel abilities and the toll they exacted.

Jim nodded as he swallowed. "I'll be fine. Sandburg said... he said that he didn't think I needed - that I'm handling everything okay. He's right. I've been pretty much working without him for months now."

"Yeah, I'd noticed," Simon rumbled, his voice sounding weary. "Okay, well, take a few days to give your leg a chance to heal. Guess we'll both be back to work next week, at least on desk duty. You need anything, you give me a call."

"Thanks, Simon, but I'll be fine," Jim repeated dully and then hung up the phone. Lumbering to the nearest chair, he sat down heavily before burying his face in his trembling hands. God, he hoped he'd be fine, but he hadn't felt so uncertain about anything since he'd been a kid and awakened to find his mother had left them. Snorting, resenting all the implications of that thought, he straightened and rubbed a hand over his head to massage the back of his neck. He wasn't a child anymore and Sandburg sure in hell wasn't his mother. Okay, so the senses still unnerved him a little - they were so damned unpredictable - but Blair had taught him a lot about control and he'd been applying the lessons as well as he knew how. For several months now, he'd been confident about flying more and more on his own because he'd always known Sandburg was there, in the background, available if he was needed. That was all changed now. Taking a calming breath, Jim closed his eyes and focused on his internal dials, resolutely turning them all to a setting for what passed for normal perception. If he held them there, he really would be fine. He could do this on his own - had to; he had no choice and his pride wouldn't allow him to admit that he was scared.

But it wasn't all about his senses. Looking around, listening, he was struck by how empty and lifeless the loft felt. How lonely.

Well, he thought bitterly as he pushed himself to his feet, he'd just have to get used to that, too. For now, he needed a shower and a strong cup of coffee, in that order, and then he'd figure out what to do with all the free time he had until he went back to work. Limping down the hall to the bathroom, he very carefully did not look into the vacant spare room under the stairs.

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

For the next couple days, Jim ate, slept, did some reading - or tried, watched some television - or tried, but his mind kept wandering and he was having a lot of trouble concentrating on anything but the silence that surrounded him. A master at stoically accepting what couldn't be changed, he told himself he'd get used to it. It wasn't like they'd made some kind of life pact to always live and work together. It had been inevitable from the start that Sandburg would move out. He'd only been there for convenience, right? It was easier to observe Ellison and to help him learn to control his senses, and cheaper than that rat-infested, firetrap he'd been living in before it blew up. So what if it had stretched on longer than either of them had ever imagined it would in the beginning? Blair was right. Jim didn't need constant babysitting anymore. Sure didn't need a roommate underfoot all the time, with weird stuff in the fridge and cupboards, perpetually noisy, always talking and making a mess he never got around to cleaning up. So what if the ending had been as unexpected and abrupt as the beginning had been?

But he kept remembering things that pulled at his heart. His fear of not getting to Sandburg in time when Lash had taken him. Sandburg running for his life after having suffered a head injury and been left alone in the forest with two deliverance-type whackos wandering around - and then Blair being shot and in pain in the cold, filthy mine. The kid screaming in terror when he'd been airlifted out and there not being a damned thing Jim could do to make it any easier. Sandburg saying on their return from Peru that it wasn't just about his research but about friendship. Standing up for him over the Junos and, well, so many times up to and including the Press Conference. Simple times together - here in the loft, on short holidays, going to the movies, talking, laughing, just being companionable. Blair wet, cold and dead on the grass in front of the fountain. The too frequent times when he'd seen hurt darken those huge eyes, dimming their sparkle - hurt he'd caused by his careless words and too quick temper.

When he thought about Sandburg leaving, he remembered the pounding heart and the trembling hands, the glimmer of tears in eyes shadowed with such terrible pain.

The whispered voice raggedly begging him to let Sandburg go, for both their sakes.

How many times had he told Sandburg he hated his senses and wished they'd disappear? How many times had he told the kid he wanted space or outright told him to get out? How many different ways did he signal that he wanted it all to be over?

How long would it be before getting his wish stopped hurting so bad that it was hard to breathe?

How long was the rest of his life? And was this it? All there was or would ever be? A difficult, dangerous job and an empty home? A tenuous reconciliation with his father and brother? And friendships that were based on work relationships more than anything else? Where was the fun, the laughter? Where was the joy?

And he wondered, often, where Blair was, how far he'd traveled and if he was all right.

But then, time and time again, he forced the feelings away impatiently and ignored the ache in his heart. Sometimes life stank and that's just the way it was. Whining and moaning about it never made anything any better. You just sucked it up, kept going, and kept doing your best.

And he tried once more to focus on whatever the hell was on the television.

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

Not long after pulling out of Cheyenne, Blair left the mountains behind. He found himself glancing into the rearview mirror as they receded, and he felt a tearing ache as the last peak disappeared. The rolling plains of Nebraska bore no resemblance to the windswept, mountainous coast of Washington. He gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles were white and his jaw was clamped tight with the physical effort it took to keep going.

Hour after hour, the landscape slipped past, increasingly flat and foreign. He passed through Omaha and crossed the wide Missouri into Iowa at Council Bluffs and kept driving though the day was growing old. By the time he reached Des Moines, he had to stop. The roar of the wheels on the pavement filled his ears and he was trembling with fatigue. Pulling into a nondescript motel, he got a room and then stopped in at the diner across the road to eat. But he felt tired and vaguely nauseated. Though nothing much appealed to him, he forced down half a bowl of soup and some salad. Returning to his room, he took a hot shower and climbed into bed, where he lay staring at the dark ceiling and listening to the distant lonely rumble of semis on the highway.

He felt as if someone had died, as if he'd lost a vital part of who and what he was. It was frightening to feel so alone and empty, to be swamped with such grief and despair. He knew he had to get past it, had to find some peace, some comfort - hell, some hope and possibility of joy. He couldn't keep living like some kind of shell, a robot on autopilot. Closing his eyes, he forced himself into a deep breathing exercise that would eventually lead him to sleep. Willfully, he focused on nothing, allowing thoughts and feelings to float through his mind and away as he tensed and relaxed muscle groups in his body and limbs until he finally drifted into the darkness.

The next day, he crossed the mighty Mississippi and the moment held tremendous significance for him. It was, literally, a watershed; the physical demarcation between the west and the east. He shuddered with misery as the Volvo swept down off the bridge and a sob built in his throat. Suddenly, he knew he had to get off the highway because he was in no shape to drive. Taking the next exit, he pulled into a small shopping plaza full of factory outlets, and parked at the far end of the lot, away from all the other cars. He'd never given way to tears, not in all the time that his life was crumbling around him. Not when Simon and Megan had been shot, or when Jim had told him it was over and had walked out on him. He hadn't lost it after the Press Conference, or even when he'd been packing, first in his office and then at home. He'd kept himself under rigid control, moving from one task to another. He'd been as stoic as he could manage given that stoic wasn't his thing, but he hadn't dared to let go because there was no one to catch him, to hold him and he didn't want anyone's pity.

But, he couldn't keep holding it in any longer.

The sob built until it filled his chest and tears burned in his eyes. He couldn't swallow past the lump in his throat and his lip began to tremble. Burying his face in his hands, leaning forward onto the support of the steering wheel, he gave up the battle for control and wept with the painful, gasping intensity of the utterly heartbroken. He mourned his losses, the death of his dreams, the ending of his friendship with Jim, and the wrenching move from all that he'd come to call home. His face and hands were awash with tears, and he was gasping for breath, sniffling against the stuffiness before the storm of emotion passed.

"Some genius you are," he muttered brokenly as he swept the salty wetness from his cheeks and fumbled in his jacket for tissues. "How could you have been such a fool? How could you let yourself get so caught into someone else's life that your own got lost? Idiot. What did you think? That the rollercoaster would go on forever? That you'd always live under the stairs, like some kind of gnome or troll?"

But his throat thickened again and more tears leaked from his eyes. "But I was so happy. So happy. I love him, dammit. Somehow, he became the most important person in my life. And I don't know how to get past that - how to let go," he panted, his muffled words torn and broken by sobs. "It hurts so much, that he... he thought so little of me. God, how could he ever think I'd betray him? What did I do to make him believe I could be so... so corrupt and loathsome?" Raking his hair back from his face, he stared through the windshield up into the sky, as if the answers might be written on the clouds that scudded overhead. "I did my best, you know? I gave him everything I had to give. Why does he always think I would deliberately hurt him?" Sniffing, swiping at his eyes, he shook his head and then rubbed his temples, trying to ease the throbbing. "All I wanted was to help him. Be his friend and partner. But I guess I wasn't good enough." Sighing, he blew his nose and sat back, feeling physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually exhausted. Swallowing, he sniffed again and shook his head numbly. "Guess it wasn't all me. He's got serious trust issues and that temper...."

Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes. Bad as he felt, he had a limited tolerance for self-pity and he knew intellectually, however raw his emotions were, that he couldn't judge himself by Jim's standards and behaviors. He'd screwed up, lots of times, and was far from perfect. But he had done his best. And he had made a difference. Jim was better off for having known him. If Jim didn't trust him, that didn't mean he wasn't trustworthy. Whatever Ellison might have thought at the time or would think in the future, Blair knew he'd acted with integrity and affection. And he'd left Jim whole. He could do no more.

He took a deep breath and then another before opening his eyes and straightening to really look around to see where he was. Too wrung out to drive any further that day, he spotted a motel and drove across to check in. Once he was in the room, he tossed the keys onto the bedside table and crashed, falling immediately into a deep sleep.

And when he woke, he began to think about what he would say to Saul in four days' time. He needed to work up a new dissertation topic and he needed it in a hurry. There was the 'thin blue line' idea; he sure had enough information to write about the closed society of law enforcement. But that tugged him back into his old life and that was over and done. He really, really needed to move on. For the next day and a half, he pondered various ideas as he drove further and further east, around Chicago and then southeast toward Washington, DC.

He realized, belatedly, that the emotional breakdown had cleared his mind in an odd way. Instead of being trapped in endless circles of questions with no answers, regrets, recriminations and sorrows, he was able to take a more detached, almost clinical, view of what had happened. He looked at the dynamics with a wider lens, not just from his or Jim's perspectives, but from how it all would have appeared to everyone else - his students and colleagues, the cops on the beat, perfect strangers watching the news. None of them would ever know the truth, only what was recorded and reported in sound bites and pithy quotes. And that led him to think about how perception of the world and reality was dependent upon such limited - more often than not slanted - information.

By the time he driving through Maryland, he had his new topic - and, with a curl of the old excitement in his gut, he knew it was one that he'd have fun with and that it could be something meaningful.

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

When Jim returned to work, he thought he was prepared for the reactions of his closest colleagues to the fact that Sandburg had left town, apparently for good. The kid had been popular and they'd all miss his teasing and laughter, the brightness that he had brought in with him everyday, like some folks brought donuts. They would also miss his quirky way of looking at things that had helped them all solve cases. And Jim knew, as well, that the others in MCU didn't buy the Press Conference. They all now knew about his unusual senses, even if they didn't have all the details. He wondered if they'd hold it against him, that Sandburg had sacrificed himself to keep the secret secure, and he figured they probably would. So, he was braced for their animosity, having promised himself he'd endure it in silence.

But he was surprised and disconcerted as he moved from the garage through the corridors and the elevator by how many of the patrolmen and detectives from other branches, how many of the clerks and technicians and specialists quietly, almost furtively, murmured their regrets that Sandburg had had 'to take the hit' but they understood and would do all they could to help him if he needed it. Some came right out and said they'd been smart to keep the information from the general public. Wouldn't do to have the perps know they had an advantage. Jim blinked and nodded noncommittally, his expression carefully neutral, but he was astonished. All these people had figured it out; but they were all handling the information as if it were a national secret. As one after another patted him companionably and sympathetically on the shoulder, he matched them with crime scenes and discussions about evidence. They must have all noticed something was up, right from the beginning, but they'd held their peace and just let him and Blair do their thing. The media hype had simply explained what they'd already observed but hadn't understood.

It was the same thing in MCU. Everyone was sorry Sandburg was gone, and thought it a damned shame. But it was what partners did, Henri mused somberly while the others nodded. Partners, the kind that counted most, didn't duck but took the hit, and that's what Blair had done for Jim. They respected and understood the reasons why it had been necessary, and admired the kid's guts and integrity for having the courage to do what he'd done. And they all offered whatever support or backup Jim needed, whenever he needed it. All he had to do was tell them how they could help.

By the end of the day, it was patently obvious that the whole PD was engaged in a conspiracy of silence around an open secret. But they would protect him and keep the knowledge inside the department. He was their Sentinel and they'd do what they could to help him do his job.

Jim didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Blair - hell, all of them - had figured he'd have no credibility in the general law enforcement community, but everyone seemed to all think he'd more than paid his dues. There would have been no resentment or backlash. If only they'd risked talking to other people about what they were doing. If only Jim had been more comfortable sharing his difference with his colleagues. It could have been so simple. As he drove home, he felt a terrible guilt.

Blair had given up everything and was having to start over with a reputation of being a fraud and a liar.

As for him, his life was just peachy-keen.

Was that what Sandburg had done? Taken the hit for him? Or had the kid just gotten fed up with being treated like a useless appendage, a persona non-grata? Or had he just wanted to move on and rebuild the shambles of his life?

Regardless, Jim knew he'd gotten everything he'd wanted - his secret was safe, his life as a cop was secure, his home was his own. Hell, people even felt badly for him! And were far more supportive than he could remember colleagues ever being.

But he'd never been more unhappy in his life.

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

Sandburg had barely gotten settled in his new digs, a small apartment near the campus, when he saw a brief note in the newspaper, probably picked up on the wire from Cascade because he was now living in DC, that reported the "infamous Blair Sandburg, who publicly admitted his doctoral paper on mythical Sentinels was fraudulent, has left Washington to take up residence in the nation's Capitol, where he is now attending Georgetown University. Sources at that institution state that Mr. Sandburg showed too much promise not to be given a chance to start again. Captain Banks, of the Cascade Police Department said, 'Blair Sandburg is a good man. We wish him every success in his new location.' Officials at Rainier University refused to comment. Perhaps this time, the grad student who preferred shortcuts will do the work necessary to honorably earn his doctorate."

With a muttered grunt, Blair tossed the paper aside and hoped that would finally be an end to the past.

Turning to his laptop, he drafted a note to Jim and found himself reworking it several times to get the right tone. There had been so much anger and acrimony the day he'd left, and he didn't want that to be the last thing either of them remembered about their years together. In the end, he settled on a cheerful, if matter-of-fact note that simply ignored the rancor and reported he was settled and his new diss was already in process. With luck, maybe he'd finish in less than a year. After stating that he hoped all was well with Ellison, he gave Jim his new address and phone numbers, home, office and cell, and ended with greetings to the others in MCU. After that, he checked his messages assiduously and eagerly grabbed the phone every time it rang for a week before giving up hope that Jim would respond.

However, he did hear from Jack Kelso, who expressed regret for not having seen Blair before he'd left Cascade, but his main reason for calling was to catch Sandburg up on what was happening at Rainier.

"Your formal petition to have your dismissal and expulsion reviewed has been received," the former CIA Agent reported gleefully, "and it's the talk of the school."

"Oh, yeah? I thought these things were supposed to be confidential," Blair replied carefully. The petition was only the first, formal step and he was fairly certain he'd end up having to sue Rainier before the matter was settled.

"Normally, yes," Jack agreed. "But you're a celebrity, my son. A hero of sorts for your history of death and resurrection, the most popular 'prof' in the School, not to mention for repeatedly bearding the beast in her den, and for refusing to simply slink into the shadows just because she wanted you to disappear. Nobody here honestly believes that Press Conference, well, most don't, anyway. She went too far this time, and we're going to nail her."

"We?" Sandburg echoed, bemused by Jack's comments. Funny, he hadn't felt like much of a hero the day he'd packed up his office - an outcast maybe.

"Well, that's why I'm calling," Kelso replied, humor again in his voice. "You know the regs - a dissenting student under suspension or expulsion cannot be represented by another from his or her own faculty. Questions of bias and favoritism arise. So, Eli gave me a call when your petition was filed and asked if I'd represent your case before the Tribunal. Needless to say, I jumped at the chance. Frankly, after Berkshire published that formal apology, it's pretty much a slam dunk that you'll be cleared of all wrong-doing."

A smile blazed across Blair's face as he whooped into the phone. "Jack, that's great! Thank you! Man, I wish I could be there to state my own case, but I really haven't got the bread for the airfare right now. Talk about being tapped out," he obfuscated, for it wasn't the issue of finances that kept him well away from Cascade. "Anyway, there's no one I'd trust more to do this for me."

"Well, let's get to it," Kelso replied warmly. "Tell me what happened from the beginning."

They talked for the next hour as Blair shared the details of what had happened with the paper, without ever getting into the legitimacy or fraudulence of the document itself. And then Jack wanted more details on any other confrontations Sandburg had had with the Chancellor - the Ventriss case, in particular, would prove most useful. The ex-CIA agent revealed that he wanted to do more than clear Sandburg's name - he wanted to use Blair's case as the springboard to rid Rainier of Edwards for good. As they wound up the call, Sandburg agreed to summarize everything he'd said and to send Jack a report by email, no later than the next afternoon.

"Thanks, again, Jack," Blair said fervently just before they ended the call. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this."

"No sweat, Blair," Kelso replied, suddenly sober. "You're a good friend and you got a raw deal any way you look at it. It's a pleasure to help make some of it right. And, hey, I'm on Eli's side - I'd like to see you back here someday."

After their call concluded, Sandburg sat back in relief. With his name now cleared publicly, if he could win his case against the Chancellor's precipitate actions, the academic world would also know he hadn't deliberately set out to commit fraud. Blair smiled to himself as he reflected on how his mother hadn't been willing to sit back and let the wheels of justice grind slowly if at all. Unable to resist trying to help him one more time, she had flown to New York City and stormed the Berkshire's bastions, relentless in her pursuit of the President. With years of experience in how to stage a protest, she'd had a Times Reporter in tow and she was no doubt frightening in her fiery, righteous determination to make things right for her son.

The President never had a chance.

By the time Naomi was finished with him, she had a check in hand for Blair. After calling her son on his cell and learning he'd already moved into a small apartment, she took note of the address but hadn't told him where she was or what she'd been up to. Instead, she'd taken the train straight to Washington and was standing on Blair's doorstep with the New York Times in her hand when he answered the doorbell early the next morning.

"I'm sorry," she said with a quaver and tears in her eyes. "I know this will never make up for the trouble I caused, but maybe it will be of some help here and now." And then she opened the paper to the headline of Berkshire's public apology to Blair Sandburg, and handed him the settlement that would more than cover all his debts and pay for a good deal more of his future life's expenses besides.

"Oh, Mom," he'd choked as he pulled her into a hug. "Thank you."

Sniffling as she clung to him, she whispered hoarsely, "I love you, baby. I never, ever, wanted to hurt you."

That had been three days ago, the day after he'd sent his email to Jim. At that thought, the smile faded and his eyes darkened with sorrow. All the money in the world, all the vindication of his actions, would never ease the raw hurt in his soul or alleviate the emptiness he felt whenever he thought of Ellison, his Sentinel and the man who'd been the best friend he'd ever had.

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

He got an email from Blair two weeks after the kid had left, giving him Sandburg's new address and phone number. The note said things were going fine and he'd begun on his new dissertation, and that he hoped Jim was well. Ellison stared at the words for a long time, wondering if he should pick up the phone and tell Blair that he could come back anytime with no worries about being accepted in the department. But then he read again the bit about how the new dissertation was going fine and Sandburg was settling in - and he thought maybe he should leave well enough alone. Blair was finding his own path, building his own life, creating new dreams. He didn't need to be dragged back into the past.

And, besides, why would he ever want to come back?

So he never responded to that note, or the next, or the one after that.

So what if he kept the bed under the stairs freshly made up with warm flannel sheets, or if he'd bought candles and incense to leave ready on the desk? Or if he'd covered the barren walls with framed pictures of the two of them together, most of the photos from fishing trips, capturing them both laughing and happy?

Didn't mean anything really.

Didn't mean he wished every damned day that Sandburg would come back home.

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

A week later, hunched over his laptop on the desk in his small living room, Blair was making good progress on his new dissertation. The overhead fan helped keep the heavy air of a DC summer moving and the open windows allowed in the fragrant breeze. He could hear the rustle of leaves outside and looked up briefly, enjoying the sensation of being in a kind of treehouse. His apartment was on the second floor, over a coffee shop on a narrow street lined with sycamores and magnolias in the Old Town, near the University. It was both peaceful and convenient, and if some might find it small, he preferred to think of the place as cozy. Still, it was a lot warmer than he'd grown accustomed to in Cascade, the sun brighter and hotter, the air stickier. Ruefully, he felt nostalgic for the sound of rain on the roof and windows.

The brill of the phone shattered the contemplative moment. "Hello," he replied, his attention divided between the call and the notes beside his computer.

"Is this Dr. Sandburg?" a girl's voice asked uncertainly.

"It's just Blair Sandburg," he replied with unconscious warmth to reassure the caller.

"Oh, well, yes, um, I... I read about you in the newspaper a few weeks ago and I need your help," she stammered and then blurted out her story as if afraid he might cut her off or hang up before she was finished. "My brother - he's just a kid but he's having trouble with his senses, I think. Everyone thinks he's crazy and making things up, but he's got skin rashes and loud noises or bright lights really hurt him. Sometimes smells make him feel sick and he can't eat hardly anything because things taste bad to him. I think... I think he might be a sentinel."

"Whoa, slow down," Blair soothed, though he could feel the old excitement of discovery. It might only be a prank in poor taste, but the voice sounded too young and worried not to be genuine. "What's your name?"

That was only the first of many such calls, some of them from other countries; from people who had senses they couldn't understand and that tormented them, parents worried for their children, spouses scared for loved ones, or friends and siblings who hoped the obscure story of an anthropologist, who had claimed to have found a Sentinel only to deny it and then been vindicated of wrong doing by the publisher that had revealed his work, was the answer to their prayers.

As more and more people sought him out for help, his reputation for understanding their heightened senses grew. He was able to write articles about his work with them, using the current experiences as a screen to also communicate what he'd learned while helping Jim. And he found he wasn't only working with nascent sentinels but also with those who became their guides, helping them to learn how to assist the sentinel. At first, he thought anyone could be a guide if they had the right knowledge, but he discovered that something more seemed to be required. Whether it was a quality of voice or touch, he had trouble discerning, but sentinels responded better to some people than others.

All of it continually made him wonder about how Jim was faring.

So, almost eight months after he'd left, he worked up his nerve to call his erstwhile partner and friend, to tell him about all the people who were making themselves known to Blair, and to share what he was learning from them.

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

When Jim heard Sandburg's voice, he felt stunned, disoriented. Somehow, he'd never expected the kid would call. But he drank in the warm tones, the cheeriness, believing it absolutely with no idea of how hard Blair was working to sound upbeat. Sandburg did most of the talking, as he always had, filling the silent spaces. When asked directly, Jim said brusquely that he was fine, just fine. No problems. Blair had been right in saying he could manage on his own. No, no zones. His tone grew truculent, though, with the lie, because he was zoning when he was tired. But Blair didn't know it was a lie and so he backed off, became impersonal again and then ended the call with warm wishes for everyone.

Jim hung up and leaned his brow against the wall. He hadn't said any of the things he'd thought about saying in the long hours of sleepless nights. Hadn't given any clue of how much he missed the kid and wished he'd come home.

And once again, his need made him angry and he pushed it away.

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

When Jim was distant, almost cold when Sandburg asked how he was doing and if he was having any trouble with his senses, Blair interpreted it as being an unfriendly, definitely unfriendly, signal. He backed off immediately, embarrassed to be imposing himself upon someone who clearly didn't want anything more to do with him. He kept it light and cheerful to hide the hurt and regret and, as quickly as he could, he terminated the call.

Looking at the phone, he thought of the emails he'd sent that had never received an answer and he sighed. He had to accept that whatever his secret hopes might have been for some sort of reconciliation some day, it wasn't ever going to happen. Well, he wouldn't intrude into Jim's life anymore... well, not with anything particularly personal. A card at Christmas, maybe, or Jim's birthday couldn't be offensive, or he hoped it couldn't.

Getting up to wander to the window and look out at the leafless branches and the stormy winter sky, he pondered the mystery of the universe. He'd spent a good part of his life looking for a sentinel and knew he was one of the very few people in modern society who still gave any credence to the myths. And he'd found Jim when Jim had needed help the most. When he'd been writing his paper in Cascade, knowing it would have to be kept secret, his only regret had been that there might be others, like Jim, who might have been helped if his work could have become widely known. And then the whole thing had blown up. It had cost him Ellison's friendship, something he still mourned as irreplaceable - but it had also resulted in others finding out about his work and reaching out to him for help.

Staring up at the sky, he remembered his words to his mother on the fateful day he'd decided to hold his Press Conference. Nothing in this universe happens randomly. It all has a purpose. Things will work out the way they should. And oddly, even perversely, things had worked out - in that his mother's ill-considered action and Sid's perfidy had made it possible for all these other people to get help from the one person who really understood what was happening to them.

"The mysterious," he murmured to whatever compassionate Sentience kept the universe functioning as it should. "There are no coincidences. It's all about synchronicity, however improvable that is in a scientific sense." He smiled ruefully, his eyes searching the sky, and then whispered sentinel soft, "I just wish... I wish it hadn't cost so much, you know? I wish..."

But he turned away, leaving the words unspoken, to bury himself again in his work. He had so much to be grateful for and was in awe of how it had seemed to turn out for the best, when it had appeared such a complete disaster less than a year ago; it seemed churlish to want still more.

To want, even ache, for reconciliation.

To want, sometimes with fearful desperation, to be able to go home.

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

The months wore on, and there were no more emails. No more calls. But, in the long, silent hours of the night, Jim continued to rehearse the things he might say if he ever happened to see Sandburg again, face to face. One day, he heard a song on the radio by a country singer named Gary Allan, and it took his breath away. It was as if someone had been reading his mind - and his heart - and it left him feeling naked.

But he still didn't know what he'd say, if he ever got the chance to say anything at all.

The months blurred into a year, and Jim's moroseness came to be accepted as the kind of inconsolable grief any partner would feel when they lost that special one who was so close, had such an affinity as to seem a part of oneself. People were tolerant and kind, and continued to be as supportive as they could. He shared some general information about his senses as he worked crime scenes and either Joel or Megan, or occasionally even Simon, backed him up when he was doing his 'sentinel thing'.

But it wasn't the same. He didn't allow himself to really open up his senses, like he had when Blair had been with him, grounding him.

Nothing was the same.

More months passed and he successfully defended his dissertation. The subject caused quite a stir, and resulted in the University holding a mock trial in which they charged the media with professional misconduct and even criminal abuse of their power. The resulting proceedings and arguments got a lot of press coverage, to the amusement of some and the thoughtful reflection of others.

And it made Blair something of a celebrity. Before long, he was being invited to speak at conferences in several states, Canada and a few European venues. At the same time, his work with sentinels, combined with both his broad knowledge of anthropology and his acquired knowledge of police work and procedure, led to a second doctorate and a consulting role with several metropolitan police departments on the east coast.

Blair had acquired the wealth and fame he'd never sought. He had achieved a double PhD and a professorship at Georgetown, who felt lucky to have him. He was working with sentinels and their guides on nearly a daily basis on a research project funded by The National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Maryland. As busy as he'd ever been, it seemed that all his dreams had come true.

All but one.

He sent a Christmas card and a birthday card, but never heard anything in return. He kept up with the gossip and general news on what was happening with the MCU crowd through Daryl Banks, who had started his freshman year at Georgetown the month before, and the occasional note from one or the other of the gang in MCU, who kept him posted on how Jim was doing.

He told himself, over and over again, to stop wishing for what was never going to happen.

When Eli and Jack called, urging him to consider coming back to Cascade, he respectfully declined. The last thing Jim had ever said to him was don't ever come back. It had been said in the heat of anger and hurt, and Blair had long hoped that the words would be retracted and their relationship restored to at least civil exchanges, but that hadn't happened and probably never would. Until those words were retracted, until Jim signaled that he would like Blair to come back to Cascade, Sandburg would remain in the east.

However, neither Eli nor Jack was prepared to give up that easily. It had been over a year since Jack had won Blair's case for him, including a standing opportunity for Sandburg to return to a full professorship once he'd obtained his doctorate. The two older men got together and conspired to hold a joint Political Science/Anthropology World Conference on Media: Truth or Dare. And Dr. Blair Sandburg was penciled in as the keynote speaker. When they called and ruthlessly implored him not to let them down, he had no real choice but to agree to attend. He owed both men too much to not support their work in turn.

So he wrote his speech and packed his bags, slipping in the folder of the information he had recently complied to send to Jim and Simon, figuring it would be faster to courier it to them locally just before he returned to DC. Whether Jim would talk to him or not, both he and Simon, at least, had to know what he was learning and postulating from his research.

An hour later, Blair was sitting in the bar at the airport, waiting for his flight, when his attention was caught by a Chris de Burgh song playing in the background. It had a tone of desperation and a pounding beat.

The words caught at Blair's heart and he lowered his head, listening hard, feeling as if he could have written them himself.

His throat tightened with the poignant sorrow in the singer's voice and he felt his chest grow tight.

"Oh God," he gasped at the reference to drowning, and he lifted his hand to cover his mouth, the words conjuring too many painful memories. The singer was desperate now, needing to be heard, afraid of the continuing lack of any response. The beat pounded hard and the voices were pleading...

He felt a sudden shiver, cold despite the heat of early fall in Washington DC, the grief of what he'd lost surging so fiercely that he could barely breathe or swallow. How could he do this? How could he go back to Cascade when the one person who mattered most in his life didn't want him there and never wanted to see him again? How could he return to what had been home as if it didn't matter anymore? God, surely he wouldn't run into Jim. There'd be no reason for Ellison to attend the conference. If he stayed close to the University and didn't wander far from his hotel room, maybe, maybe, he could get through this.

It had been eighteen months. Why the hell did it still hurt so badly, as if the breach between them had only happened yesterday?

God, how he wished he was going back under different circumstances, eager to return because Jim wanted him back, wanted their friendship restored as much as he did. But even if they reconciled, there was no hope of reviving their old partnership. People had long memories and the cops in the Cascade PD would still despise him as a liar and a fraud who'd conned them all, however successful he'd been since.

No, he had to get in and get out as quietly and quickly as possible. Jim would never even know he was in town, and there'd be no more chance of further hurt and rejection.

But a treacherous spark in his soul longed to see Jim one more time.

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

Ellison sat in the very back of the auditorium, bracketed by Banks and Taggert as if they thought he might try to escape if he was left any possible route of retreat. On stage was a man that Jim had thought had ceased to exist - a curly haired whirlwind of activity and commentary, eyes flashing with great good humor and hands flying to illustrate points being made, playing the audience like a maestro as the events surrounding a media circus were illuminated and dissected. Blair Sandburg was in his element. Groans and chuckles and outright laughter were wrung from the audience of staid social scientists gathered to hear a treatise on Media: Fact finders or myth makers? Public perception, private reality.

Ellison breathed a sigh a relief, not unmixed with pique, that Sandburg had evidently fared so well during their separation. Certainly the lecturer on the stage was a far cry from the repressed, angry and anguished man who had left Jim's loft and life eighteen months ago. Jim didn't need to hear Blair's retelling of the Dissertation Mess - the 'diss-aster' as Blair had taken to calling it in a cynical, self-mocking tone of voice that didn't set well with the sentinel; he had lived it. But he found himself drawn into Blair's recounting of it, into Blair's analysis of the role that ratings and expectations and advertising revenues and plain greed of more than one stripe had played in the manufacturing of a modern urban legend out of a faction melding two disparate topics of research. Without ever bringing up whether or not Jim Ellison was a sentinel, Sandburg was leading the audience into seeing the entire affair as an exercise in the abuse of power... by members of the media, the publishing world and even academia. Ellison was watching the master obfuscator at work, setting things right without ever telling an outright lie, concealing the truth below layers of provable facts. As Blair wound down to a conclusion, Banks elbowed Jim in the side. "Hell of a tale, don't you think?"

Ellison nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak, and more sure than ever that he shouldn't even attempt to see his erstwhile guide. Obviously, he had nothing that Sandburg needed, no deal he could make to get Blair's help this time. Sandburg had no need of a dissertation subject. From what Jim had just heard and read earlier in the conference brochure, the kid had plenty of subjects. Of course, he could always appeal to Sandburg's sense of justice....

Taggert mused aloud, "Wonder why he didn't take this tack back when this all happened?"

Ellison winced; he knew why. Blair had laid it out for him just before he had left the loft and started the journey to Washington, DC. He could still hear the low, discouraged tone of Sandburg's voice when he'd explained that the document Naomi sent to Sid Graham had never been meant for anyone's eyes but his own, to help him better understand his own experience as a sentinel and their experiences together as they'd done their best to figure out how to use those senses. The paper had never been Blair's formal dissertation but the kid had gotten trapped into denying it to take the heat off Jim. Whenever he thought of their last furious and futile conversation, Jim felt his gut clench with anger and despair - and no little self-disgust for his lack of anything resembling empathy for what Sandburg had been enduring at the time. He'd been too damned caught up in his own anxieties, wants and needs to spare any emotional support to his best friend and partner.

Seeing Blair now, his vibrancy and composure, his very obvious success in having moved on, Jim felt bereft and defensive all over again. God knew he hadn't found the last eighteen months so easy. His senses had gotten so unpredictable that he normally kept them dialed back, so even at crime scenes he no longer gave them free rein. His world felt grey and joyless, tedious and so indescribably dull and empty of warmth. But he couldn't admit that to Sandburg, like some kind of penitent begging help. Left to his own devices, he would have walked out there and then, but he knew Simon wouldn't let him get away with that. Nor, in good conscience, could he regret that. First, last and always, he was a detective and he wanted, even needed, to do his best to justify his existence on this earth. But men were dying, murdered in cold blood and he knew - he knew - that he was missing something; some ephemeral clue that could keep others from suffering the same fate. And he also knew, like it or not, he needed help to figure out what that something was.

Sitting in the auditorium as thunderous applause rang out, Ellison remembered the sense of outrage, of betrayal he felt as he had interrupted and lashed out at the man telling him what he didn't want to hear. He found himself asking again just whose fault it was that everything had fallen apart. He hadn't done anything any different from the way he'd been throughout their association. It was Sandburg who'd called a halt, who'd refused to try to preserve their partnership. Who wouldn't even try the option of becoming a cop. Sure, the kid had been under pressure, but who hadn't been? Maybe it couldn't have been the same as it had been before the disastrous leaking of the private paper, but they could have found a way to make it work.

And now Sandburg was back, if only briefly, looking every inch the confident academic and brilliant genius that he was, as illuminating and enthusiastic as ever. The conference brochure said he was currently employed with the National Institutes of Health, working with people who had heightened sensory abilities and specializing in cases where social and cultural norms and mores impact on the repression or manifestation of enhanced senses - whatever that meant. Bottom line, Jim supposed, the kid had made vintage lemonade from lemons, and was living his dream of working with sentinels. Bleakly watching him, listening to him, Jim felt old and tired, weary and empty, and he just didn't know how he'd scrape up the energy to pretend he was doing just fine and didn't need anybody's help or concern.

Down at the podium, Dr. Blair Sandburg acknowledged the applause with a grin and a wave before leaving the stage. He had barely hit the bottom of the steps before he was mobbed, and the three policemen lost sight of his curly head as he was enthusiastically welcomed back by his colleagues.

Taggert said quietly, "Seems to me there are a lot of people who were just waiting for an excuse to bring him back into Rainier's academic fold."

Banks chuckled. "Excuse? Hell, the kid didn't need an excuse - that, gentlemen, was a triumphal return."

While they waited patiently in their seats near the back of the hall for the room to empty, Jim experimentally extended his hearing. For the first time in a long time, he did it easily, with a sense of... not control, exactly, because he had his hard-won control, but maybe confidence, even comfort, as he latched onto Sandburg's voice. The voice that had flattened in the last month of their partnership into little more than a monotone was back to the shifting, changing, ever enthusiastic tones of the researcher who had burst upon his scene and talked his way into his life.

"Aw, man, Jack, that's nice of you to ask, but I'm pretty happy in DC," he heard Blair saying with apparent joviality, but then Jim squinted at the slight strain he could pick up, though it probably wasn't noticeable to Kelso. There was something the kid wasn't saying; something that was making him uncomfortable. "I'm doing some really interesting work with a group of, well, I'm calling them proto-sentinels, that should really help out people having trouble with enhanced senses. I'm also working on identifying what it is that guides do - did you know I've got a dog working with a ten-year-old girl that has been able to keep her from falling into a fugue state? She was in a psychiatric ward when I started working with her. Now she's home with her family and -"

Jim lost the rest of it when he snorted disparagingly. Trust Sandburg to liken what he did to the impact of a dog in a child's life. Sure, there were similarities. Blair had a way of relaxing people, making them comfortable around him, and he was protective and affectionate, open and generous with his feelings, but, come on... a dog?

A high-pitched voice calling out to his former partner caught his attention and pulled him back into the scene playing out below.

"Sandy! Hey!" an attractive, curly-haired redhead called out as she pushed her way through the gathered admirers to give Sandburg a big hug. An expressive shrug moved through the energy-filled figure, as Blair disengaged himself from the limpet-like embrace and laughed a trifle awkwardly. He looped an arm around her shoulders, though, as he said with what Jim could tell was forced camaraderie, "Joce! Hey, when did you get back? Last I heard, you were in Tibet."

"A few weeks ago," she chirped smugly as she looked up at him. "Took me a while to make my way back - longer than you, that's for sure - but I'm back now!"

"That's great, Joce," Sandburg said, the warmth in his voice more natural. "I'm glad. I always thought you had a ton of potential." Then, as if remembering Kelso, he turned back to his friend to perform the introductions, "Jack, this is Jocelyn Warren. We were undergrads together. Joce, this is Jack Kelso, a prof in the Poly Sci faculty and a very good friend."

Jim couldn't help wondering how Sandburg would introduce him. Former friend? Ex-partner? Jerk of the Year? Has-been sentinel?

Banks felt the sudden tension in the man next to him. "Jim? Ellison? Don't you zone on me!"

"Oh for... I'm not zoning, I'm listening," Jim muttered with a grimace. Even after all this time, his colleagues still weren't comfortable with his abilities. 'No, to be honest,' he reflected, 'they aren't comfortable with the idea of being my guides. Only Blair had the nerve to dive head first into the uncharted waters of sentinel senses, as if he knew where the rocks were.' A memory from happier times flitted through his mind's eye - a mischievous grin and sparkling dark blue eyes as Sandburg responded sardonically to one of his rare compliments with, "Hey, man, anybody can walk on water if they know where the rocks are hidden." Sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose, Jim knew that he missed his friend even more than he missed his guide. His guide....

Former guide.

"Simon, he's working with other people who have enhanced senses." Even Jim heard the bit of discouragement he couldn't quite keep out of his voice. With so many 'proto-sentinels' relying upon him, why would Sandburg consider staying in town to help only one? Ellison's lips thinned as he stiffened his spine. He'd managed fine for the last eighteen months; he'd just have to solve this case alone, too. Big deal.

"We knew that, Jim. Daryl's been keeping us in the loop. Hell, didn't he say anything about it to you in your Christmas card?" Simon rumbled, as he studied Ellison with a thoughtful frown.

"No. He mostly asked about my senses and you guys...." Jim didn't add that he hadn't answered the card any more than he'd answered any of the cards or emails that had come. There was no way he was setting himself up for another fall. He still remembered how it felt when he had received the first email from Blair. At first, he had considered not even opening it - what the hell did Sandburg think a note could do? Make up somehow for the fact that he had walked out on their partnership? Well fine, he had proven to himself that he didn't need Blair. But, admittedly, after Sandburg had left, it was easier for Jim to keep his senses turned down. In fact, it was an effort to turn them up when he needed to really examine a crime scene but he could do it, and his zones and spikes were very rare now. He could still function as an organic crime lab - Blair's enthusiastic voice rang in his mind - but everything wasn't filtered through the senses of a sentinel anymore. Jim had gotten his wish; he was a good cop, a good detective, one with a bit of an edge, but not one who needed a babysitter to get his job done. Yeah, he got more headaches but nothing that some heavy-duty meds couldn't cure. After the media circus and Blair's departure, the whispers and looks he'd been receiving for years had pretty much died down. No more cracks about setting a hippie weirdo to catch crooks and the like... no more rumors about what exactly Sandburg did for him that would make Ellison keep a civilian observer on as partner and roommate when he was known to be a loner who liked it that way. Hell, Jim thought defensively, he liked his life! It was well-ordered, quiet, as predictable as a detective's life could be. Even the pyschos seemed to have set up shop elsewhere... hadn't been a serial killer or mad bomber in months.

Well, except for the latest serial killer.

The one he hadn't caught yet.

Growing weary of the lies he'd been telling himself for too long, Jim tuned back into Sandburg's conversation, guiltily aware that he was eavesdropping but unable to stop himself. Blair had eased himself away from the woman who had greeted him so enthusiastically and had quickly brought Sandburg up to date on her life before moving off, but she was still standing on the fringes of the crowd, watching and listening with avid interest.

"Hey, Jack, it's not the money. The NIH grant would move with me. There's just nothing to come back to in Cascade... no, I haven't heard from Jim in a while but Daryl - Simon Bank's son? - is attending Georgetown. He keeps in pretty close contact; he's got a study group that hangs out at my place twice a week."

"So, I can't talk you into a professorship? We've got a month before the fall semester starts. I'd make sure that you had the time to continue your research and consulting -"

"Be hard for you to top the deal I've got in DC, Jack. Teach a little, research a lot, do enough consultation to keep my hand in - you know that I do work with the District police, don't you? Man, they've got a cop that's a dead ringer for Jim - eerie."

"How about the friends you've got here, Blair? You spent a lot of years in Cascade. Put down some roots...." Kelso's voice was persuasive; but apparently not persuasive enough.

"Yeah? Where were all my friends when the diss went sour? I got a couple of calls, an e-mail or two... Eli went out on a limb for me, and Banks offered me a badge, but that was about it. And you, Jack; it would have been harder to recoup my reputation without you in my corner." Jim couldn't help cringing at the unaccustomed bitterness in Blair's voice.

The crowd had cleared enough that Ellison could see Kelso's easy, open grin, as he recounted some of what happened, "Hey, Blair, I'd like to tell you that you owe me, but I had much too much fun pinning Madam Chancellor to the wall. It was like conducting a major op again - memo trails and phone records, submission of witness statements and the drafts you'd prepared of the early chapters, all clearly showing a solid academic work in progress. You did have a lot of support behind the scenes, kid. Very few of your colleagues ever thought that you had committed fraud, but what the hell were they supposed to do after you stood up before God and everyone and claimed that you did just that? They knew you must have had your reasons and didn't want to screw anything up. I must say that your next act of bravado - seizing the opportunity to do an in-depth study of a media frenzy - wasn't anyone's guess, though."

Kelso's voice was warm with humor and reassurance, but Jim could see Blair begin to fidget. Jack frowned a bit in concern, evidently having made the same assessment Jim had from the younger man's behavior - Sandburg didn't like to spend time reminiscing about that period in his life. It was one thing to write a dissertation or give a speech about the issues raised by the media's behaviors, and another to chitchat about how others hadn't bought his denial. At least, that's what Ellison hoped was making the kid jumpy and he felt a pang that, even after all this time and the rift between them, Sandburg was still protecting him.

"Jack, this isn't the place to do this," Blair asserted, beginning to fuss with his notes. "I've got some people to see." Lifting his gaze back to Kelso, he seemed to force himself to relax. Reaching out to grip Jack's shoulder, he said with vulnerable candor, "Look, I'll get in touch with you before I leave town, okay? I really do want to spend some quality time with you, man."

Even from the back of the auditorium, Jim could hear Blair's upset in his voice, in the quick beat of his heart, and the tightness in his breathing, and dormant instincts of protection came back on-line. Jim had risen from his chair and was climbing over Simon before he fully realized what he was doing - instinctively moving to protect his Guide - and he stumbled in confusion. Banks unceremoniously pulled him back down into his chair and hissed, "Hold it, Jim. We're waiting until everyone else has pretty much gone, remember?"

Ellison nodded mutely, more than a bit upset with himself. He didn't need Blair, didn't need anyone - so why the hell was he ready to spring to the aid of someone who didn't need it, and probably didn't want it?

It's about friendship.

Memory's echoes of times past and friendship lost left him aching, and Jim unconsciously shook his head to deny the old words and emotions. All he wanted was for Sandburg to help him do a memory trance; to see if he could get a look at whatever it was that had been bothering him about the murder scenes. He didn't need Sandburg's help, and was sure he could solve the crimes himself; but as long as the kid was in town - and Banks had suggested it....

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

Blair kept a smile pasted on his face as he detached himself from the last of the academic groupies. He wanted... no, needed, to keep up a nice, calm, professional, professorial - professorial, for a moment his smile became real - façade if he wanted his obfuscation, that the entire 'dissaster' was a field study, to hold up. The subterfuge made him cringe more than a little, because he had to present himself as having posed as a bit of a conman masquerading as a fraudulent academic to carry it off, but the ruse seemed to work. His academic friends, and he had found out when he left Cascade that he had more of those than he thought he did, were more than ready to believe it. His enemies, and he had those too, rivals who had thought him safely out of the anthropological world, seemed to be accepting, grudgingly to be sure, his well-spun tale. He wasn't too surprised - he had carefully based his scenario on provable facts. Everything he said was truth, just not the whole truth.

Blair allowed himself a sigh of relief as he packed up his laptop. Finally, he could move on. Coming back to Rainier had been even harder than he thought it would be - way too many memories. He thought it ironic that it wasn't the bad memories that caused the most pain. But it had been worth it; he had laid to rest for once and all any possible residual doubt that the fraud charge had been true. He could move on.

Damn, but he couldn't believe just how very tempted he was by Jack's offer. Memories of the time when he had a sentinel and a friend cast a powerful spell on his heart. But his brain kept reminding him that every time he listened to his heart the penalties just got worse. Dying was comparatively easy when contrasted with the long, lonely months he had spent buried in work since declaring himself a fraud and leaving Cascade. At least death left you alone; didn't ambush you without warning the way a less than pristine reputation, or memories in odd moments, did. In the end, he was still sure he'd been right to leave, but he wished it hadn't had to cost his friendship with Jim. If he had stayed, Ellison would never have forgiven himself for letting that lie stand, nor Blair for making it necessary. Ultimately, Jim would have felt forced to tell the truth, Sandburg was certain of that. And that would only have put Jim's life in danger.

Get over it, Sandburg. Don't dwell in the past. 'Detach with love, Sweetie'.

Sandburg sighed again and picked up his laptop. It was time to head back to the hotel, take a shower, relax a bit, and decide which invitation to accept for the evening. Knocking back a few beers with the gang at the pub they had frequented when they were all grad students sounded good. He wanted to thank them for making the trek back to Cascade to hear his presentation. He could almost hear the laughter as they all competed on the longest trip award. He was pretty sure that Jocelyn would win that; she'd explained quickly before leaving him with Jack that she'd been studying or studying with, she wasn't quite sure which, monks in Tibet when she'd heard that he was presenting at the conference and decided it was time to make her own triumphal return - or so she'd just said with an ironic, maybe even bitter laugh.

"You always were a bit of a conman, weren't you?" she'd teased knowingly before moving away, leaving Blair to wonder which con she meant.

Lying about the diss to protect Jim? Lying now about lying then, as if it had all been planned from the beginning to create the right circumstances for his study of the media's impacts on society? Lying about being perfectly happy with his life, just the way it was? Never could put one over on Joce, he thought ruefully; she might have cut corners but her intelligence and her instincts had never been in question.

Shrugging off his morose musings, he returned to thinking about how to spend his evening. His Dean would certainly appreciate the interest that the Academic Press and John Hopkins University literary agents had in his study, and the representatives of the prestigious journals were still milling around the back of the auditorium. Maybe the solution would be to invite the reps to go the pub with his friends. A grin teased at the corners of his mouth - that might work; get in a little networking for the gang, too... and give him the chance to slip away early and unnoticed.

Deciding to try to catch up with them and invite the media reps for a drink with the gang back at the hotel, he bounded off the stage, energy restored, good humor returning, when a voice out of the past stopped him in his tracks.

"Excuse me, Doctor Sandburg but we could use a little help."

Simon? It couldn't be Simon.

But he knew it was. He'd know that voice anywhere. Taking a breath, fighting for composure, Blair slowly turned around and saw Banks, Joel and behind them, Jim.

His expectations for a pleasant evening crumbled.

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

Jim Ellison, Joel Taggart and Simon Banks were all trained detectives, astute observers of human nature and behavior. What they sensed in the stiffening posture of the former observer did not bode well for their mission. What they saw when Blair Sandburg turned around and faced them boded even less well for a good night's sleep. Deep blue eyes that had always held a mischievous yet heartfelt trust now were wary. The open, expansive body language of his conversations with his colleagues and peers was suddenly closed in... defensive. Joel's expression saddened while Simon tried his best to pretend he didn't notice.

Jim felt a little bit of anger grow, and he stiffened defensively in response, his expression flattening. He's all palsy-walsy with the people who ignored him after the Press Conference and the guys who got a self-professed fraud a job are suddenly persona non grata? Well, fuck this. I don't need his help. He opened his mouth to announce his decision when Simon beat him to it.

"Heard from Daryl, Sandburg; wanted to say thanks for keeping an eye on him. I'm sure you knew before I did that he made Dean's list?" Banks said with an uncomfortable joviality that might have been forced, but his words and expression were obviously sincere.

Warmth crept back into the deep blue eyes. "He's a good student, Simon, and a better man."

"Can't take all the credit for that, Sandburg," Simon rumbled modestly and then switched gears abruptly. "Fascinating talk you gave tonight, Doctor. It was especially interesting to hear about your work with other people with enhanced senses." All three cops saw the wary glance Sandburg shot in Ellison's direction before returning his attention to Simon.

"Yeah, I guess that was one good thing that came out of the Press Conference," Blair sighed, but rallied as if attempting to recover some of his former ebullience. As Blair continued more enthusiastically, Simon wondered sadly if anyone who had been there would ever drop the capital letters. "Those people who were experiencing enhanced senses might have believed that Jim wasn't a sentinel, but they weren't willing to believe that I didn't have some answers. And when the NIH got involved after I did my doctorate at GU, it just snowballed. Helped to keep the studies' subjects confidential after seeing the kind of hassles the media could cause. And the proto-Sentinels knew they could trust me." His voice sounded cold as he cut another glance from under long lashes at Ellison, who had never quite mastered that trait.

Before Jim could respond to what he perceived as a quick jibe, feeling as he were pushing a boulder uphill, Simon ploughed on manfully. "I'm sure I owe you dinner, Sandburg. Want to collect?"

Blair's gaze dropped away and he looked around nervously before answering uncomfortably, "Um, look, Simon, thanks, but I've got people to see, things to do. I'm not in Cascade very long -"

"Blair," Banks interrupted, and was pleased to note that his use of Sandburg's first name still got his former observer's close attention. Playing on that response, keeping his tone warm and sincere, he went on, "Blair, we've had a series of murders; Jim is pretty sure he's picked something up at the scenes that could identify the killer, but he can't put his finger on what it is. It's the kind of thing you used to be able to help him in remembering."

"And you want me to help now?" Blair hedged in disbelieving astonishment, incredulity in his face as he gaped from one to the other and back again to Simon.

Banks ignored Ellison's warning growl and pushed on. "I want you to help. Jim wants to catch the guy doing this. We've got five young men dead in the last two weeks - men only a little older than you, and it's not pretty. They were all, uh, mutilated. We're ready to try anything."

Sandburg snorted. "You'd have to be desperate to try me. Jim and I... we weren't working very well together at the end."

"You can't let it go, can you? Can't keep blaming me for everything that went wrong?" Ellison grated as he entered the conversation for the first time. Taggart rolled his eyes and sighed, while Banks winced at the sense of ill-usage compounded by challenge in his senior detective's tone.

Sandburg locked eyes with Ellison. No more quick glances, uncertain asides; in that moment he was a double doctorate at home with himself and his place in the world, not someone dependent on the good will and uncertain loyalties of anyone. "It turns out, Jim, that it was no one's fault. Just the way this sentinel/guide thing works. Look," Blair said abruptly, "there are things I've discovered, researched, that you need to know. And certainly," he nodded at Simon, "if there is anything I can do to keep anyone from being murdered, I'll do it. Mutilation suggests there might be some sort of ritual involved, and I might be able to help with ideas about that, too. But this isn't the place."

Ellison had latched onto Sandburg's statement: no one's fault. Not his - when he'd believed deep down that he had finally driven his guide away; nor his guide's - who had allowed himself to be driven away. He'd been telling himself a lie since the day Sandburg had walked out - that it was inevitable, no one's fault really, just life -- but it was only a rationale that had permitted him to bury his guilt and grief and go on. Now, when he'd thought it was impossible, that lie might, incredibly, be true. But that still left him feeling bereft, incomplete somehow, and he didn't want that to be all there was to it. Before he even knew he was going to speak, he offered spontaneously, "We can go back to the loft. Order some takeout, pick it up on the way." Almost like before.

Sandburg shook his head; even unconsciously stepped back as if he couldn't face that idea. "You need to hear about my research first, Jim. I don't know that I could help you until you understand what was happening before I left, why I couldn't be the partner you wanted; until we clear the air about that...." His voice trailed off when Jim looked away sharply, both of them feeling the other was rejecting them, and both hurt badly by that belief.

Sensing that a tentative peace was about to fall apart before it had barely begun, Banks interjected quickly, "My place, then. Or the station."

Blair shook his head vehemently this time, curls flying everywhere. "Not the station, Simon," Blair objected. "Even after all this time, I can't imagine most cops have forgiven, let alone forgotten, what I did."

Jim winced, but Simon and Joel just looked dumbfounded. "What do you mean?" Joel exclaimed. "You're practically a hero downtown."

"Yeah, right," Blair snorted with a wry grimace.

Frowning, Banks cut a quick look at Jim. "Didn't you ever tell him?" he demanded sharply, unable to believe that Ellison hadn't let Sandburg know he'd be welcomed back with open arms. All this time, Banks had believed that Blair had simply chosen not to return, to pursue a different life elsewhere; regrettable, certainly, but understandable.

Jim shrugged, bowed his head as he gave it a shake and looked away from the growing confusion in Sandburg's eyes.

"Tell me what?" the younger man asked. "What are you talking about?"

"Blair," Banks replied after a last disbelieving look at Ellison, "nobody downtown believed your Press Conference. Apparently, for years more people had noticed something was going on between you and Jim than any of us ever imagined, and all the media hype only explained to them some of what it was all about. Nobody was happy about what you had to do to protect your partner, but they all accepted it and respected you for it - and have kept the secret."

"On the annual questionnaires," Joel added, wanting to give Blair good news, and innocently making the situation infinitely worse, "you know the ones about work satisfaction and stuff? On the question asked about what people want in a partner, the most common answer now is, 'I want a Sandburg'. Your name has come to represent a partner who will go to the wall, and then to hell and gone, for his partner."

Blair paled as he looked from Joel to Simon, his lips parting in shock as he came to grips with all that that meant. Blinking, he turned to Jim as he whispered hoarsely, "I could've come back and you never told me?" He turned away from the other two men, his voice dropping further still until no one but Jim could hear him. "You really did despise me and want me gone, didn't you? You still do. That's why you never -" But his voice caught, nearly broke, and he couldn't go on. Swallowing heavily, he took a shuddering breath before turning back to Banks. "Simon, I don't know if I can -" he began, his voice laden with the old pain, his hard won defenses destroyed.

"Chief, you don't understand," Jim cut in sharply, wanting to explain, but Blair held up a hand as he interjected with a defeated tone, "Don't call me that, man. I think it's pretty clear that -"

Quickly, Banks cut in before it all came apart. "Blair," he rumbled, his deep voice drowning theirs out. "We need your help. Please. Whatever else is going on here, we'll deal with that, but we all have to remember innocent people are dying."

Ellison turned half away from the devastation in Sandburg's eyes, struggling with his emotions. Dammit. How had his desire to allow Blair have his own life, to live safely away from the dangers he'd faced for too many years, gotten turned around like this? God, but he wanted to punch something. He dragged in a deep breath, fighting for control, and then stiffened in protective alarm as something caught his attention. Something that didn't belong here. Didn't belong anywhere near Sandburg! But he couldn't catch it and Blair's voice intruded, capturing all of his attention.

"I... alright," Blair sighed as he raked trembling fingers through his hair. Nodding, he stiffened his spine, unwittingly giving the impression of a man about to face a firing squad. "Alright," he said again, more strongly, as he grappled with his crumbling control and won back a measure of dignity, "I'll come down to the station. Guess that's the best place to go over the case file anyway."

"Good man," Simon approved warmly, solidly and reassuringly