Warning: This story contains a few swear words, and deals with the aftermath of someone's drunk driving choice. It is NOT a death story. It is a very sentimental story, with smarm (Sentinel meaning, not literary meaning) more so then the series lets us see. If you don't like that you may not want to read this story.

Thoughts are written in italics, speaking in double quotes.

Becky, Karin, Kat, Michelle thanks so much for your encouragement, and beta reading assistance. This story exists, and is much better because of your imput.

Disclaimer: The Sentinel, and its wonderful characters belong to PetFly productions and Paramount, not to me, as everyone knows. This is my first Sentinel story and is simply done for the enjoyment of the fans, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: This is a story of friendship and realization. Jim comes to understand just how much Blair, his friend, means to him, and that it's okay to say it. It's a story of loss, of choices; a choice to drink and drive, and a choice to sacrifice everything for a friend. It's also a story about Sentinels and Guides, and the equality in that special partnership. I hope you like it, and that it will make everyone think twice before drinking, and getting behind the wheel of a car.

A couple of notes. I make references to the movies "Fargo," and "Backdraft." If you haven't seen them the references may just pass you by. I had to throw in the Fargo reference to Blair's hat, since I actually live in Fargo, and darn if that hat didn't look familiar. :-).

On with the story!

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The Whole Connection
By Jackie Lang

--Anonymous quote credited to the Richmond Times-Dispatch.

******

A true friend unbosoms freely, advises justly, assists readily, adventures boldly, takes all patiently, defends courageously, and continues a friend unchangeably.--William Penn.

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An ear-piercing whistle shattered the silence of the precinct's garage. Detective Jim Ellison snapped his head up and winced, raising his hands to cover his sensitive ears. "Too late," he muttered, turning an exasperated glare toward the source of the noise.

"Yeah! It's party time," Blair Sandburg called to his partner as he made his way to the truck. Seeing the pained frown on Ellison's face, the younger man turned contrite. "Oh, sorry man," he smiled apologetically. "Guess I'm just pumped and ready for some serious fun at the station's New Years Eve party. A little wine, dancing...."

He clapped his hands together and did a little dance the last few steps to the pickup, finishing with a flourish by dipping his imaginary dance partner. "I know there's one seriously gorgeous babe there just waiting for Prince Charming to arrive and sweep her off her feet." Throwing open the pickup door, Blair jumped in. He bounced on the seat, arms waving animatedly, mouth going non-stop.

"Prince Charming," Ellison snorted. "Prince Nuisance would be more accurate." He scrubbed his hands over his face in an effort to wake up, then took his seat beside Sandburg. The detective studied his young friend for a moment, envious. Look at him. Full of energy. Doesn't he ever get tired?

The case they had just wrapped up had taken its toll. He was tired, and looked forward to a good supper, a hot shower and a full night's rest. Less chatter would help, he thought sourly as he started the pickup and pulled out of the parking garage, but I should know by now that Sandburg is synonymous with chatter.

New Year's Eve, a night meant for fun, for celebration. But it had given Detective Ellison little reason to celebrate. New Year's awakened long buried thoughts. Memories he could put out of his mind every night, but not this one.

The kid had no way of knowing it, but Sandburg's excitement only served to fuel the fire of his anger, a rage he'd cultivated for years, that still burned clean and true, as bright now as the day the fires started.

No, a party was the last place Jim Ellison wanted to be on this night.

Sandburg prattled on, oblivious to his partner's mood, and Jim tried to tune him out. Now'd be a great time for a zoneout, he mused. Of course, it never happens when you want it to.

Keeping an eye on the road, the detective allowed his mind to drift from the dark thoughts that consumed him. So much had happened in the last few years: the divorce, and all the mixed feelings accompanying it, the reawakening of the Sentinel thing and with it, senses gone wild, confusion, and a very real fear of losing control. Sandburg. Well, what could he say about Sandburg? Mere words couldn't begin to describe that relationship.

He smiled to himself. If someone had told him a couple of years ago that he'd be rooming with, and partnering, a neo-hippie anthropology grad student who talked incessantly, and who, for all his talk of civilizations, couldn't even follow some basic civilized house rules, he would have told them they were nuts.

"Jim?"

Sandburg's voice interrupted his musings and he turned his attention back to his friend. "Huh? What?"

"Jim, are you listening to me, man? The party should be a blast. I never realized cops threw such good parties 'til I went to that retirement bash with you. Remember the horse in the elevator?" Blair chuckled softly. "Man, I gotta know what surprises they'll come up with for New Year's Eve."

"Well, you'll have to find out without me. I'm not going," Ellison said as he pulled into the parking lot by the loft.

Sandburg rumbled on, heedless of his partner's comment. "You know, I could get a paper out of this." He rubbed his chin, deep in thought. "Yeah, cops in their downtime, playing as hard as they work. Stress reduction techniques and...What?" Blair's head snapped around and he stared at his friend. "What did you say?"

"What I said, and you would've heard me if you'd stop talking long enough to listen, is that I'm not going to the party." Jim got out of the truck, slammed the door, and started up the stairs to the loft.

Shocked into silence, Blair sat for a moment digesting the news. Then, in a flurry of motion, he erupted out of the truck and flew up the stairs after his roommate. "Jim! No way, man," he argued, spreading his arms in entreaty.

"'Way', Sandburg," Jim replied. He turned and opened the door of the loft. Kicking off his shoes he headed for the couch and, with a sigh of pleasure, settled himself in. "Just ten minutes," he murmured, feeling the pull of sleep. "I'll eat later."

"Jim?"

Ellison didn't need super senses to know that his roommate hovered over him. He sighed. Nothing's ever easy with Sandburg. No is the first word any kid learns, but apparently he never learned what it means. Scrunching down deeper into the couch, Jim wished he could turn off his hearing or at least tune out the insistent ramblings for a while.

"Jim, come on. There's got to be a law or something that says you can't stay home by yourself on New Year's Eve."

Ellison opened an eye and yawned, noting his friend's crestfallen expression. Blair stood, shoulders slumped, hands stuffed in his pockets, staring down at him.

"No law, Chief. As you keep reminding me, you're younger and have more energy. So take that energy and go party. I'm catching up on my sleep." He turned his back on Sandburg, snuggled into the pillow and mumbled, "Have a good time and don't drink too much. You got cab fare?"

Blair let out a disgusted hmmmpft. "I never drink too much. Well, almost never. I mean, what's the point? You wake up with a major headache, puking your guts out. That is like so unfun. I hate losing control, and...quit changing the subject, Jim. Jim, are you listening to me, man."

The exhausted detective groaned as his roommate's run-on mouth showed no sign of letting up any time soon.

"Give it up, Sandburg!" he barked in exasperation. "I'm tired. Go bug someone else for a while." He pulled the pillow up over his head.

Sometimes the kid's voice could be so gentle, so soothing. It could calm his fears and restore order to a chaotic mind overwhelmed by senses gone haywire. Tonight, however, the non-stop insistent prattle brought to mind an insect buzzing above his head. A mosquito. Yeah, one of those huge Amazon varieties he remembered from his jungle experiences. Jim felt the corner of his lip twitch in a smile. He couldn't very well swat his roommate away like a bug, but the thought did afford him a moment's pleasure.

A minute passed in silence--then another.

Curious over Sandburg's sudden capitulation, Jim focused his Sentinel hearing on his partner. He listened, concentrating as Blair had taught him, filtering out the other sounds in the area until he found what he wanted. He heard his friend's rapid heartbeat, his soft breath, a small sigh.

Jim opened his eyes and turned his head toward the sound. Blair sat hunched over in a chair, studying the floor. Brown curls fell forward, hiding part of his drawn face. Hands--almost always perpetually in motion--lay at rest in his lap. Still. No movement. Nothing, but the slight rise and fall of his chest, indicated that the active young man was not the statue he appeared to be.

Concerned, Jim sat up. "Blair?" he called softly.

The younger man slowly raised his head, his overly bright eyes meeting those of his friend. Jim started at the lost, resigned expression in those windows to his Guide's soul. Missing was the light that gave Blair's eyes their warmth, their character, that spark that drew people to him to share his joy of life.

"It's okay, man. I won't bother you anymore," Blair said dully. "Go to sleep. I'll be quiet."

Jim got up, crossed the distance to his troubled Guide, and crouched down beside him. Blair turned away, but Jim reached out to stop him. His hand gripped the younger man's chin, gently guiding the expressive face back into view.

"I'm worried here, Chief. There's quiet and there's quiet. You're too quiet. This isn't like you. Talk to me buddy."

"Make up your mind, Jim. First I'm too noisy, now too quiet." Unable to avoid Ellison's penetrating gaze, the anthropologist stuttered nervously. "Ev...Everything's fine...great." He forced a smile.

Jim crooked an eyebrow. "Try again, Chief."

Blair sighed heavily, and looked away. "It's stupid."

"No, it isn't. Not if it's bothering you this much. Why is it so important that I go to this party with you?"

"It's just...well...I...." Blair shook his head and bolted up out of the chair. He walked quickly over to the balcony doors and stood looking out at the night sky, his arms wrapped around hugging himself tightly. "You'll laugh," he said softly.

Jim saw his young friend's melancholy expression reflected back in the glass of the doorway. He wanted his Guide's smile to return, to hear his laughter. Heck, even the chatter was better than this--silent pain. He wanted to know why Blair felt so down, and how he could help.

Surprised by the strength of his feelings, Jim allowed himself to ponder the title Blair had given him. Is this what it means to be a Blessed Protector? We joked about it then, but I do feel responsible. I want...no, it's more than that...I need to keep him safe--and happy.

He padded softly over to where Blair stood, and gently laid a hand on his Guide's shoulder, turning him around. He waited until the younger man looked up at him.

"Blair, I won't do that to you. Ever." Jim studied his friend intently. "I know we kid around a lot, but you know that I'm laughing with you, not at you, right? You're my friend, my partner, and my Guide. I've trusted you with more of myself than I have any other human being, and you've always been there for me. Let me return the favor here. Trust me, okay? Chief?"

Blair looked up at the bigger man for a moment, than nodded. Turning back to look out the window, he began to speak in a soft voice.

"When I was a kid I generally spent New Year's Eve by myself. Naomi'd go out with her newest guy. She...she'd always ask me to go along. Mom wanted to include me in everything." Sandburg paused, a tender smile touching his lips at the thought of his mother. "But she just didn't 'get it' sometimes, you know? One look at the guy's face and I knew I wasn't really welcome." He laughed deprecatingly. "I mean, who wants a kid along? Kinda limits your choices." Blair's voice grew husky, and he swallowed. "So I'd make some excuse to stay home an...and watch the ball drop in Time's Square on T.V., if we had a T.V. at the time. I...I usually ended up falling asleep on the couch."

"It must have been lonely for you," Jim put in, gently squeezing Blair's shoulder.

"Yeah, it was," Blair whispered, his expression distant. "What I remember most is wanting to be with all those people, caught up in the joy and excitement of the new year. That's how it should be, right? Surrounded by friends, and family; having fun. You can just feel the vibes, you know? The old passes away, and all the crap of the previous year is wiped clean. You can start fresh with a clean slate."

Blair reached a hand up to shove his hair back, tucking it behind an ear. He turned to face Jim. "I just wanted to spend this New Year's Eve with my best friend, and the people who are so important to him." He pushed away from the window, and started pacing the room.

Jim waited patiently, giving his Guide time to sort through his thoughts, and get out what he needed to say.

"I guess I've been looking forward to this party for a long time," Blair continued. "You're always so quick to tell me that I'm not a cop, and I know I'm not. But I want to...belong. To be as much a part of your world as I can. I have to be, if I'm going to be any use to you at all as your Guide."

Blair paused, a small, worried frown creasing his forehead. For a moment he stared into space lost in thought, then reached up to push his hair back again. He looked at Jim, his lips curving in a sad smile.

"I'd hoped that you would want to go with me to the party. I'm still a little...unsure of my welcome sometimes. I don't know where I fit in at these 'cops only' functions. Maybe they won't want Hairboy hanging around during their fun time." He laughed, a short embarrassed bark. "Yeah, I know what you're thinking, scaredy-cat little anthro boy needs his partner to hold his hand at the party. It's not that...I just...." Blair's eyes darkened, and his smile faded.

Jim frowned. "Chief, has someone been bothering you? Something's upset you here."

Blair looked away. "Jim, I've been with you for over a year now, but in some ways it seems like only yesterday. I know some of your colleagues still wonder about me. Why that little 'hippie cop wannabe' is partnered with you. They wonder if I can be trusted. Some..." his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "Some think I'm a...a danger to you. I'm not a cop, and you'll end up getting killed...because of me."

"Who said that?" Ellison growled, his tone dangerous. "Was it someone in Major Crimes?"

"No, another department." Blair held up his hand to stop Ellison's question. "It doesn't matter who, Jim. What matters is what they believe, and...I've been thinking...maybe they're right." The young man sighed heavily, letting his shoulder's sag. "I worry that I'll be the reason you get hurt someday, that I won't be there or be able to help when you need it."

Jim shook his head, "Blair, don't...."

"No, Jim. What if they're right? I...I'm an outsider, I don't belong, and I know that I don't exactly march to the same drummer that they do."

Jim smiled. "No, Chief, you are unique in the annals of the Cascade Major Crimes unit. But we need some shaking up...from time to time." He cuffed Blair softly on the chin and was rewarded with a hesitant smile. "Blair, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. I know you, the people in Major Crimes know you, and we trust you. I trust you. Now you need to trust yourself, okay?"

Blair nodded. "Jim, I wanted to go to this party and have your friends get to know me outside of the work environment. I don't know if they'll ever totally accept me, but I want them to know...that I can be trusted. That I'm not some flake, and I'll watch your back. I take that responsibility very seriously. I'm your partner--your Guide. That's my job, and I will do it to the very best of my ability--such as it is." Blair's voice lowered to a whisper that Ellison, with all his enhanced senses, had to strain to hear. "My life for yours, if need be."

Startled, Jim just stared at his young friend.

Those ancient words echoed in the short, whispered tones of a young anthropologist. No stronger statement of friendship could be made.

Jim Ellison tended to avoid emotional scenes. They made him uncomfortable. He left that sort of thing to Sandburg, who had enough emotion for both of them. With this knowledge foremost in his mind, he marveled as he felt his heart skip a beat, his throat tighten and--could that be a touch of moisture in his eyes?

Blair's revelation left the Sentinel with mixed feelings. Joy--and fear. Different though they were, he shared a bond with this young man, something he couldn't completely understand or begin to explain. Jim considered himself independent, a loner, and had never truly needed anyone before in his life. But he did now, and that need frightened him.

He knew he was overprotective of Blair sometimes. How could he not know? Sandburg groused about it often enough. But...he worried. He worried about losing a partner who was too brave for his own good, and charged in where angels feared to tread. He worried about losing a Guide whose wisdom and gentle voice gave the Sentinel control over his genetic 'gift.' But most of all, he worried about losing a friend, a brother, who listened, who cared, and who had somehow wormed his way into this tired man's soul. Jim could no longer imagine a life without Blair Sandburg in it.

Jim tried to capture his friend's eyes with his own, but Sandburg refused to meet his gaze. The Guide turned, walked back over to the balcony doors, and stared out into the darkness.

Does he have any idea? Jim wondered. Any inkling of the guilt, the fear,I feel? I drag an anthropologist, an untrained college student for Christ's sake, into situations that could easily get him hurt or...dead.

Easy to say, not so easy to do.

It wouldn't come to that. It couldn't. Detective Ellison and Observer Sandburg. Sentinel and Guide. They were a team, a symbiosis of mind, heart and gifts. Each giving and receiving. He didn't want to lose his partner or his Guide, and would take even greater care to watch over him. Nothing, he promised himself, nothing would ever happen to Sandburg. Not with Jim Ellison, Sentinel in training, there to protect him.

Oh, yes, he cared a great deal about his young Guide, but he had never been certain if Sandburg felt the same way toward his Sentinel. Jim now knew that the bond ran deep, and was shared by both of them. He felt a catch in his throat, and took a moment to compose himself before joining Blair by the balcony doors.

"Thanks, Chief," he said roughly, then cleared his throat. "Um...just keep in mind that this Sentinel needs his Guide alive and well...and let's not forget all the broken-hearted women that would be left behind if something happened to you."

Turning serious once more, he looked Blair full in the face, and put his hands on both of his Guide's shoulders, shaking him slightly. "Listen to me. Don't ever risk yourself for me, Chief. I've dealt with a lot of things in my life, but...losing you like that would be more than I could handle, okay?"

"But...."

Jim held up a hand. "Blair, you're my Guide. More important, you're my friend. Even though you sometimes drive me nuts with your yanomamo drums, your weird food, your chatter and your inability to follow the house rules, I..." He paused, ran a hand through his short hair and looked away for a moment. Then releasing a deep breath, looked back at Blair once more. "I need you, and I want you around for as long as you're willing to stay. But remember, tough guy, I'm the Blessed Protector, okay?" He waited, studying his friend, seeking a promise that would put his mind at ease.

He saw a shadow darken Blair's eyes, a flash of pain that passed quickly and disappeared as if it had never been.

"It works both ways, big guy, but I'll be careful," the young man whispered. Then a mischevious glint formed in his eyes. "After all, it's what I do best."

"Yeah, right, Sandburg. That's why I'm always hauling your butt out of one form of trouble or another. It's a full time job, just looking after you." Jim gently tapped the palm of his hand against his friend's forehead. Blair laughed, and Jim felt the warmth return.

"Thanks, Jim."

"Anytime, Chief. You know that."

"I'll make supper. You take a nap and I'll yell when it's ready."

"I figured we'd catch a bite at the party. Should be lots of good food there."

"At the...No, Jim, it's okay, man. We don't need to go. You're tired and...."

"And you're right. Nobody should spend New Year's Eve alone. I'll go with you, but you would've been welcome by yourself." He held up a hand to stop his Guide's protest. "Believe it, Sandburg. You've made a lot of friends at the station who respect you for your courage and knowledge. The fact is your being there has contributed to the solving of many difficult cases."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Now, let's get ready to go. I warn you, I'll probably just last 'till midnight and then come home and crash."

Blair grinned happily. "Okay, Cinderella. Just remember to bring your glass slipper...Umph."

A pillow in the face stopped further comment. Blair rolled his eyes, but smiled widely.

That's more like it, Jim thought, a moment before the pillow made a return flight across the room, smacking him upside the head. "Look out, wise guy," he retorted, looking around and snatching up some ammo. "You're mine."

A pillow fight ensued and for once Jim didn't care if something got knocked over or a pillow lost its stuffing. A relaxed, happy smile lit Blair's features. The Guide's playful laughter raised the Sentinel's spirits driving away the darkness that had surrounded his soul.

When did he slip through my defenses? the detective wondered. When did this heart that worked so hard to keep people at a distance, open up, and allow him in where nobody else has been? When did this kid's happiness become more important to me than my own?

Those questions remained unanswered. Blair ran out of missiles and stood laughing at the sight of Jim, backed into a corner, surrounded by pillows.

"You..." he gasped. "You look like a Sultan in his harem tent. You got the pillows now all you need are the women." Smirking, he continued. "Too bad they all go for me, but I might be talked into sharing."

"Yeah, right. Okay, Darwin, I got you right where I want you. Cop tip for the day. Never run out of ammo." He advanced toward Sandburg.

Blair's eyes widened as he realized his prediciment. He searched around frantically for a pillow while backing away from Ellison. Finding none, he stopped, hands raised.

"Okay, okay, you got me, big guy. You win. Um, we'd better get ready for the party, huh? he babbled. "You can shower first and I'll...."

"You'll pick up the pillows and finish washing those dishes you left in the sink this morning," Jim finished for him.

"Yeah, man...I...was just thinking about that." Blair's expression grew thoughtful.

The Sentinel saw his Guide go into research mode, the gears turning in his quick mind. Uh, oh.

"Hey. I was just thinking about the dishes and...this is so cool, Jim. You know, they say everybody has some psychic ability, but it doesn't usually manifest itself except in emergencies and stuff. Do you suppose....?" Blair walked back and forth, gesturing wildly, his excitement growing. "We should do a study and see if you might have enhanced psychic abilities. It's called a sixth sense...if the other five are enhanced, maybe...."

Ellison held up a hand. "Sandburg."

"What?"

"I'm no Edgar Cayce."

"But, Jim...."

"Ah!" The detective waved a pillow dangerously. "Surrender or die."

Blair puffed his cheeks and blew out, fluttering the curls about his face. "You're no fun at all. All right, all right," he raised his hands in defeat. "I'll drop it." He headed for the kitchen and started stacking the dishes to wash them.

Jim couldn't quite be sure, but he thought he'd heard Blair mutter, for now, under his breath. Smiling he turned and headed for the shower. So much for a quiet evening at home.

******

Honest men esteem and value nothing so much in this world as a real friend. Such a one is as it were another self, to whom we inpart our most secret thoughts, who partakes of our joy, and comforts us in our affliction. Add to this that his company is an everlasting pleasure to us.--Bidpai-choice of friends.

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Chilly tonight, Jim thought, reaching up to close the top button of his coat. He drew a deep cleansing breath, hoping the brisk, crystalized air would drive the cobwebs from his tired brain. He sniffed again, sensitive nose sifting through the scents of the city.

The night air held a promise of snow. No sooner had that thought cleared, than a few flakes began to fall, sparkling in the glow of the streetlamp, to join those that crunched beneath his feet.

He glanced over at the companion who puffed along beside him. Sandburg, always susceptible to cold, had bundled up well. His mittened hand snuck out of a pocket to pull a scarf up over his red nose. The smaller man felt himself being studied and turned to look at Jim.

"Must be a good crowd tonight," Blair mumbled through the scarf. "I still can't believe the only parking space in a one-mile radius of the hotel is in the nosebleed section of the 5th Avenue parking garage."

He shivered and Ellison heard mutters about "cold" and "should be on a beach somewhere with lots of women in bikinis."

"Think positive, Chief. It could've been the 15th Avenue parking garage." Jim could just make out his partner's eyes peering from beneath a large cap with earflaps. His lips twitched.

"What's so funny?"

"It's just...that cap." Jim's grin widened. "You remind me of one of those characters from that movie, "Fargo."

"Ya, you betcha, then," Blair said in his best Norwegian accent. "Hey, those people in the Dakotas know about cold and how to dress for it. The hat's warm. If you keep laughing, I'll..." he paused for a moment, then remembering a scene from the movie, cackled in evil glee. "I'll have to run you through the woodchipper."

"Sandburg, you're scaring me. Just for a moment there I saw a distinct resemblance to Larry, the psychotic TV-watching monkey."

"Ape, Jim. Larry was a Barbary Ape, and you know the effect too much TV violence can have on the human brain. It's been proven that...."

The detective let Sandburg's lecture wash over him. His attention shifted to the city skyline. The night was calm--deceptively so. He knew in a few hours all that would change as hundreds of New Year's revelers poured out onto the streets, many of them unfit to drive.

Having worked his share of New Year's Eve shifts, the detective breathed a sigh of relief that tonight, anyway, he wouldn't see the accidents, witness a death come too soon, or hear the grief of the families and the excuses of the drunks. He shook his head slightly, the muscles of his jaw tightening in response to the tension from a long-buried memory. No excuse could ever bring back the dead.

A soft touch on his shoulder brought Jim's attention back to the present. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk. When had he stopped walking? He hadn't noticed. Looking down, he saw Sandburg staring up at him, concern and inquiry splashed across his expressive face.

"Jim? What is it, man? You look like you just lost your best friend or something."

Lost my best friend. The words echoed in his mind. A coldness seeped deep within him, a chill not caused by the temperature outside. An irrational fear sent his heartbeat skipping, and caused his breath to come in gasps.

"Don't...don't ever say that, Sandburg. It's not something to joke about."

"Whoa, easy there, big guy. It's just...just a figure of speech."

Ellison examined the young face before him, blinked, and saw another. A well-loved face, too long hidden in the shadows of his mind. Shadows caused by grief, guilt and anger. Kyle's face. The face of his best friend who had bled out his life in the twisted wreckage of Jim's car. His last moments spent listening to Jim's rage, and the drunken excuses of the man who had hit them.

Jim blinked again. Kyle faded and Sandburg's face came back into view, but--bruised, covered in blood, agony clearly visible in the confused blue eyes. A hand reached out and he heard his Guide's voice plead with him. Jim, don't be down on me, man. I had to...tell me you understand. Please, Jim?

Ellison stumbled back nearly colliding with a streetlamp. Dammit! I'm losing it. What's going on here? He wiped a hand across his eyes and looked at Blair once more. The vision had disappeared as quickly as it had come. No marks, no blood marred his Guide's face, only an expression of shock which quickly turned to concern. Jim knew some damage control was in order.

"Jim, what's up with you?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You're staring at me like you've seen a ghost, and you practically mowed over the streetlight."

"I said it's nothing, so just drop it, okay?"

Jim saw Blair watching him. He figured the young man was mentally taking notes, logging his behavior and reactions to be poured over at a later date. He closed his eyes.

"Not now, Sandburg. I don't want to be a subject tonight."

"Jim, I'm not studying you.You're hurting. I can feel it. I'm here...Let me help." Filled with empathy, the young Guide's voice soothed his Sentinel's troubled soul.

Lack of sleep. That's it. That's all this is. I'm seeing things. Confusing Kyle and Blair. Shaking his head, Jim dismissed the strange premonition. To do otherwise would open the door for Sandburg to insist on running a full battery of what would most likely turn out to be unpleasant tests.

"Jim, you're scaring me, man. You feel okay? Did I do something? You want to go home?"

"No, Blair, I'm...okay. No really," he added seeing his friend's skeptical expression. "I don't want to go home. We've got a party to go to, right?"

"Do you want to talk about it?" Blair stamped his feet and shivered slightly.

"We need to get you inside where it's warm. Come on." Jim turned and strode away.

He made about three steps before Sandburg caught up to him. Showing surprising strength, the smaller man latched onto the Sentinel's arm jerking him to a stop. Mumbling apologies for his roughness, the young man moved in front of Jim and gently put his mittened hand upon the detective's chest.

"Jim, I don't care about the cold...If you need me, I'm here. I'll listen."

Ellison glanced up, jaw clenched tightly. He took a deep breath and released it, willing the tension to drain from his body.

"I know. You're always there for me."

"It's called friendship, Jim. Remember? I listen to you. You sometimes listen to me. We help each other out."

Jim felt the corner of his lip twist into a half smile. "You don't always listen to me, Chief." He rubbed the back of his neck and shifted from one foot to another.

Sandburg took him by the arm and led him to a bench on the streetcorner. Pressing the older man down onto the seat, the younger man plopped down beside him. Keeping his hand in contact with the Sentinel's arm, the Guide focused his attention fully on his friend. "Talk to me, man."

Jim sighed. "New Year's has never been a good time for me, Chief. Some really bad memories. I think that's why I bit your head off earlier tonight. You were so up, so happy, and New Year's only brings me down."

Blair's eyes widened, his hand automatically moving to stroke Jim's arm. "What happened?"

"I was thinking about Kyle O'Shaughnessy. A good friend. The best. I met him at the police academy. I was older than most of the cadets and kind of a loner. Big surprise, huh?"

Sandburg smiled and shook his head slightly.

"Kyle wouldn't hear of it. The kid just latched onto me and wouldn't let go until I opened up. He was so talkative, so full of life, always had a smile to share. You remind me a lot of him, Chief." Jim's voice deepened and he cleared his throat. "Anyway, we became good friends and had hopes of becoming...of being partners after the academy. Until...."

"Until?" Blair coaxed.

"New Year's Eve came around and Kyle and I decided to go out on the town together to celebrate our upcoming graduation in March. He figured two hunks like us would have no trouble finding women to ring in the New Year with. He said there was no way he was kissing me when the clock struck twelve." Jim chuckled softly, reliving the memory.

"We met at our favorite club. Kyle tried, but he didn't have any luck with the ladies that night. I really gave it to him good. He could always take a joke, though, and I never worried."

"Sounds like a fun guy," Sandburg commented.

Jim's expression grew distant, lost in another time, another New Year's Eve. "Midnight came and went, and Kyle was three sheets to the wind." His voice faltered, the blue eyes haunted. "I insisted on driving him home. I remember he turned to me and said, I had a great time, Jimmy-boy. He was the kid, but he got a kick out of calling me Jimmy-boy. He says, I had a great time. Better luck next year with the ladies, huh? Thanks for taking me home. You're a good man, buddy. That's the last thing I heard before it happened."

Sandburg's grip tightened on his friend's arm.

"One minute we're laughing, and talking, enjoying each other's company. The next...this car comes out of nowhere, jumps into my lane and just creams us. There wasn't time. I couldn't swerve...I couldn't do a damn thing!"

Ellison exploded off the bench turning to ram his fist into the side of the building.

"Jim!" Blair squeaked. "Don't...don't do this to yourself. Let me see your hand." He yanked off a mitten and reached up to pull his scarf off.

His anger now forced back under rigid control, Jim allowed Blair to press the scarf against the bleeding cut on his knuckles.

"I was banged up pretty bad, but Kyle..." The blue eyes held a pain so deep that Blair winced. "Kyle died shortly after impact. I couldn't save him. I couldn't protect him. He wouldn't even have been in my car if I hadn't insisted."

Blair put his hands on Jim's shoulder's shaking him slightly. "Jim, look at me. Please. I know there's nothing I can say to take the pain away. I didn't know Kyle, but he was important to you and that makes him important to me, too. You did the right thing. You did what friends are supposed to do. Kyle could've killed himself or someone else if he'd driven home. Could you have lived with that?"

Jim shook his head.

"You prevented that, you kept him safe, the best way that you could. What happened after wasn't your fault. You can not take the blame for someone else's bad decision. The drunk driver killed Kyle, and almost killed you. He is to blame."

"But I should've...."

"Should have what? You said yourself that there wasn't time. He jumped into your lane. You did all that you could do, for Kyle, for yourself. You stayed alive and I'm so very glad you did."

Jim looked away his eyes vacant, and the Guide desperately tried one last time to get through to his Sentinel.

"Jim. You're a Sentinel, genetically predestined to protect others. That is who you are. Your compassion, the instinct to protect...it's your greatest strength, but it can also be your greatest weakness if you allow guilt to destroy you."

Blair reached up and turned Jim's face toward him, forcing the older man to meet his eyes. "You're a Sentinel, a man who just happens to have a little edge over the rest of us, but you're still a man, Jim, not a god. All you can do is try, and hope. You do what you can to help. You do your best, and that's all you can do. That's all any of us can do. No man, Sentinel or not, can be expected to do more. To insist on perfection for yourself...it, well...it borders on arrogance and that's not you, Jim."

Ellison closed his eyes, a frown creasing the skin between his eyebrows.

"Jim, don't shut down." Blair reached out, grabbing the other man's arm. "Don't lose your humanity or you'll destroy yourself as a Sentinel, and a cop. Please, Jim? Too many people need you...care about you. Are you listening, man?"

"Yeah, Sandburg. This is one of those times I am listening to you."

He pulled away, and Blair allowed him his space.

"Is this the night for serious confessions or what?" the Guide asked.

Jim smiled slightly, and nodded. "Yeah. Come on, Junior. Let's go have some fun. Create some good memories, for both of us." He reached out, clasped a hand around the back of Sandburg's neck, and pulled the young man close for a quick hug. He grabbed the hat off of Blair's head and tousled the unruly curls, laughing at his young friend's protests of "don't mess with the hair, Jim. Women love the hair."

The kid always knew what he needed. How to make him laugh, when to push, when to pull back. Friend, Guide--whatever. All Jim Ellison knew was Blair Sandburg could reach him like no one else ever could.

The Sentinel would keep his Guide safe. He wouldn't fail this friend. As you did Kyle, a voice tolled in his mind. Shivering slightly, he shook off the coldness in his soul and hurried after his friend.

******

Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect, and touch, and greet each other.--Rainer Maria Rilke.

_________

The door to the ballroom opened and a wave of clanging dissonance hit Jim's eardrums, setting off a reverberation in his skull that settled to a dull ache between his eyebrows.

"Cool, a live band," Blair enthused as he slithered out of his coat. He turned and, noting the hunched shoulders and squinted eyes of his partner, changed instantly from exuberant party-goer to concerned Guide. A soft touch gained his Sentinel's attention.

"Okay, Jim, concentrate. Turn down the dial to an acceptable level. Breathe in, slowly...that's it. Now, release...slowly...let the tension drain out of your body." The Guide watched the Sentinel follow his instructions, and saw the lines of pain leave his face. "Better?"

"Yeah, Chief, better."

"All right. Let's party!" The young man's high spirits returned and he bounced off into the ballroom, head nearly spinning off his neck as he turned in all directions trying to take everything in.

Raucous music blared from the stage. A swirling multi-lighted ball sent its prisms of color over the packed dance floor. In one corner stood tables laden with food and drink. In the other, pool tables and table tennis provided the opportunity for good-natured competition.

The large ballroom held a full contingent of police and invited guests. The dress code ranged anywhere from full dress uniforms to jeans and T-shirts. Ellison had chosen a pair of navy pants, a cream dress shirt and a blazer; Sandburg, his best pair of black jeans, a white shirt and his favorite alpaca vest.

Blair's eyes danced with excitement, and he grinned at Jim. "Check out the food table. I'm headed there first."

"Of course," Jim smiled wryly. "You know, Chief. They're probably not going to have any seaweed extract or roots and bean sprouts tonight. Can you handle it?"

Blair threw him a look of feigned disgust. "I'll deal with it. You know, it wouldn't kill you to eat something once in a while that doesn't turn your arteries into an example for a Drano commercial."

"You jerk!" a female voice shrieked.

Sandburg jumped and looked around wildly. He sighed in relief when the speaker slapped another young man and nearly mowed the anthropologist over in her haste to leave.

"Whoa!" Blair laughed. "All is not well in romance land tonight. I hope this doesn't bode ill for me."

Jim clapped the young man on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Chief. With your track record, by the end of the evening you'll have flirted with and pissed off every woman in the building."

"Thanks so much for the vote of confidence," Blair said dryly. "So, you want to grab a bite, or what?"

Ellison spotted a friend and waved. "You go ahead. I want to shoot the breeze with a buddy for a few minutes."

"Later, then." Sandburg pushed off, dodging and weaving through the swirling crowd. He called out greetings and waved enthusiastically at people he recognized, and some he didn't. His infectous smile mirrored by everyone he met, Blair radiated happiness. And people responded in kind.

Ellison smiled and shook his head in amusement. Yeah, Sandburg, you really needed me here tonight. You'll fill your face with food, flirt with the women, and won't even notice if I'm here or not.

The anthropologist never ceased to amaze him. Sandburg plowed through life; each day an adventure, each person met a potential friend. In a world filled with evil, the young man focused on the good, accentuated the positive, and tried to find the best in every situation, and every person. The responsibilities of being a student, teacher, police consultant, partner, and Guide to a Sentinel he accepted unconditionally, and with boundless energy and excitement.

The detective never would have guessed, when first laying eyes on Blair Sandburg, the depth of courage and loyalty the young man would display. Sandburg had witnessed and experienced events in his time with Ellison that would have shaken the most experienced detective. But he kept going, tapping the seemingly endless supply of courage and strength in the inner core of his being.

Whenever he grew frustrated with Sandburg, Jim reminded himself of that, and of how close he had come to losing this dynamo he called partner and friend. David Lash, a name never mentioned, a face never forgotten; Lash who lived on in the nightmares of a young anthropologist, and the detective who had saved his life--barely.

Another few minutes and I would've been too late. Sandburg would've been another statistic and I.... He didn't want to think how he would have lived with that failure. He's okay. He's here, I'm here. Time has passed. Lash is dead. Burn in Hell, you son of a bitch.

Pride. That's what he felt remembering the courage and spunk his friend had displayed in the face of certain death. Sandburg had never given up. The kid had fought for his life all the way, using his strength in a losing battle at the loft, and his quick wit and fortitude to strike out with words aimed at the very heart of his tormentor's psyche.

But it had cost him. Ellison knew the heavy price the young man had paid. Blair's innocence had been shaken to the core, his trust shattered. A darkness had haunted his Guide's soul, a terror reflected out through eyes shadowed by lack of sleep. Though Sandburg had seemingly put the incident behind him, the kid would never be the same. Neither would the detective. He had, not for the first time and probably not for the last, questioned having Blair with him on the job.

The Sentinel had seen the hurt in his Guide's eyes the one time he had brought the subject up.

"Jim, you need me, man. I have to be there. You could zone out...or...who knows what could happen. I have to be with you. You know that...Jim, don't you want me around anymore?"

He'd given in, of course. Lost the battle, and the war. A war he never wanted to win anyway. Tough Jim Ellison, former Army Ranger, had little defense against his Guide's pleading voice, and moisture-laden eyes, or his own fear of being left on his own to control his Sentinel abilities. The guilt remained, however, as did the Sentinel's determination to protect the physical and emotional well being of one Blair Sandburg.

He worried sometimes that Blair kept more bottled up inside then he let on. Sandburg talked a lot, but didn't often allow others to see his heart's deepest concerns. The Guide conquered his fear, absorbed and digested the bad with the good, and continued on backing up his Sentinel, facing the unknown with unflinching courage. A man couldn't ask for a better partner or friend. The kid really was something.

I should tell him that more often, the detective mused. But he might get a swelled head, and then he would really be impossible to live with.

Jim chuckled softly and decided to leave the important life questions for another night. He was here to enjoy himself. Time to get to it. He looked around for a moment. Not seeing the friend he had wanted to talk to, he headed over to sample the cuisine.

Sandburg had made good use of his time and Jim watched in amusement as his friend picked and chose among the many selections. Some things went straight into his mouth, bypassing the already-heaping plate. The young man's mobile face expressed his like or dislike accordingly.

Jim was about to announce his presence when he noticed Sandburg sidling up to an attractive blonde woman. The young man soon had her engaged in conversation, and Jim couldn't help but be curious about Sandburg's choice of pick-up lines. He turned up his hearing, frowning in confusion. It sounded like...an anthropology lecture?

"No, it's true. The women of the tribe can have more than one husband," Sandburg insisted.

The blonde leaned closer to Sandburg, a slow smile touching her lips. "Lucky women." She waved her diamond-clad hand in front of Blair's face, and a laugh escaped her at his disappointed expression. "I'm engaged, but for you, sweetcheeks, I'd be willing to try a threesome." She ran a hand through his thick curls.

The dim light proved no challenge to his Sentinel sight, and Jim watched as his partner's face turned scarlet to the tips of his ears. He heard the increased respiration and rapid heartbeat that grew to a resounding crescendo at the appearance of a large, muscular man. A very large, angry-looking man with a possessive hand that moved to grip the blonde's shoulder.

"This guy bugging you, Darla?"

Blair's eyes were perfect O's. His jaw dropped as did the carrot stick that slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers. He cleared his throat and let out an uneasy chuckle.

"Hey, no problem here. Your fiancee was just showing me the spectacular ring you bought for her. You've got great taste there, big guy. A very fine stone," he babbled. "I'm sure you'll both be very...um...happy."

Resembling a gazelle caught in a lion's claws, Sandburg looked around frantically for a means of extricating himself from this 'situation.' He spotted Ellison's grinning face a few feet away and beat a hasty retreat.

"So...how's your charm, Prince?" Jim smirked.

"You are just so pleased with yourself right now, aren't you?" Blair complained. "Man, I felt like a mackerel surrounded by sharks there. That was like intense. Did you see that guy? I thought I'd wake up with my nose pointing out the back of my skull."

Jim shook his head but his smile never wavered. "That's Darla Pulski. Bruno, her adoring suitor, is John Maddox. Works undercover for Narcotics. Chief, I'd highly recommend that you steer clear of Darla if you want to live past the New Year."

"Do I look like an idiot to you...don't answer that. I'm going to be so far away from her that it'll be like we never met. She's a black widow, man."

"A what?"

"A black widow spider. You know, the ones that inject their mates with poison and eat them...eeeuuuuwwww..." Blair shuddered. "I can almost feel sorry for Bruno."

Jim laughed and clapped his friend on the back. "You forgot your food, Darwin."

"Oh, man," Blair frowned in consternation. "Nope, no way am I going back over there. I'll have to do something to forget how hungry I am." He scanned the crowd and his eyes brightened. "Like, dance! Come on, I got someone I want you to meet." He took off through the crowd.

"Sandburg!" Jim eyed the food with longing, but he didn't really want to talk to Bruno either. His respect for Naomi Sandburg tripled as he imagined what it must have been like trying to keep track of a pint-sized Sandburg in a shopping mall. He followed his friend, bumping and excusing his way through the crowd.

Jim found Sandburg with Taggert, Rafe and Brown, talking to one of the band members. He looked around in confusion.

"So, who'd you want me to meet?"

Startled, Blair turned around, guilt plain in his expression. "Jim! Um...she disappeared by the time I got here."

"Sandburg what are you up to?"

"Who me? Nothing." Blair said with his best wide-eyed innocent look.

A shrill sound of a microphone being moved brought their attention to the stage. The band member Blair had been talking to made an announcement.

"Okay, folks it's time for the Macarena!" Cheers erupted from the crowd and the man waved for quiet. "This is for Detective James Ellison from his partner Blair Sandburg. It's Jim's first time folks," the guitarist chuckled. "What do you say we put our hands together and encourage the man?"

Jim shot Blair a look of death, and turned to leave. He found his path blocked by his colleagues from Major Crimes.

"Come on, Jim," Taggert grinned. "Sandburg set this up just for you. You don't want to disappoint the man, now do you?"

"Disappoint him? I'm going to kill him!"

Blair stayed well out of reach of his testy partner. He spread his hands and tried his best pleading expression.

"Jim, just give it a try, pleeease. You might actually enjoy yourself." At Ellison's disbelieving look, he continued. "Well, you might! You need to lighten up a little, big guy. Try new things. Come on, you're embarrassing me here."

"Embarrassing you? Nah...no. Don't turn those puppy dog eyes on me. Sandburg! Oh...all right!"

"Yes! You won't regret this, Jim. It'll be a blast."

"I already regret it."

Lines formed and the music started. Jim had no clue and flailed around like an octopus, arms waving, two steps behind everyone else. He had to grit his teeth at the hoots of laughter and the calls of "Hey, Ellison, you got rhythm." He vowed revenge on one anthropology grad student, teacher, consultant, Guide.

Sandburg jumped over to him. "Come on, man. You're not even trying. It's easy, Jim. See?" He ran through the set again.

"Let me see you on a ballroom dance floor, wise guy, and we'll see who looks out of place then."

Sandburg laughed. "Jim, lighten up. Relax, will you? Feel the rhythm, let it ground you, and then you can soar...."

Eyes closed, head thrown back, Blair raised his hands above his head. His steps changed, altered. To the beat of a modern hit, Sandburg danced the steps of an ancient tribal chant. Entranced, people gathered in a circle around the young man. Responding to the primeval motion, they joined in clapping along and trying to imitate his movements. The music ended and Blair's eyes snapped open. He blinked, bringing himself down from the euphoria of the dance. Smiling widely at the enthusiasic applause, he bowed with a flourish.

"There's Sandburg, right in the middle of things as always."

Ellison glanced over to find his captain standing next to him.

"The center of attention," he agreed. A slow smile crept over his features, and a chuckle escaped his lips. The center of attention. Yeah. "Simon, I think you can help me out, here. Sandburg wants so much to be accepted by the men, and I want to get him back for this Macarena thing."

Simon quirked an eyebrow. "Revenge, Jim?" he grinned. "I think I know what you've got in mind, and...it's already done."

"No kidding? The guys voted in Sandburg?"

"Yeah. I mean, Jim...Sandburg was born to play this role," Simon laughed. "He's not a cop, but since Sandburg forgets what the word observer means, the guys forgot that little technicality and voted him in."

"You okay with it?"

"I've got no problem with it. In my opinion, he's earned his place on our team. Don't tell him I said that. Sandburg already takes too many risks. I don't want to encourage him. As far as the vote goes, the kid was a shoo-in. If you vote for him, it'll be unanimous."

Jim nodded. "By all means let's make it unanimous. He's got my vote."

"Now all we've got to do is tell him." Simon nodded at Sandburg who was instructing some of the dancers in the finer points of tribal dance.

"No." Jim interjected. "This is a big honor for Sandburg, a rite of passage, and it should come as a total surprise." He laughed. "It's much more satisfying that way. Rafe, Brown, will you flank me and make sure our slippery anthropologist/observer doesn't escape?

"Our pleasure," Rafe said.

Jim couldn't get the silly grin off his face. He looked over at Blair who, feeling the eyes upon him, glanced up with a questioning expression, and an answering smile.

******

Be courteous to all, but intimate with few, and let those few be well tried before you give them your confidence....--George Washington.

__________

Later that evening.

The high pitched squeal of a microphone caught everyone's attention, and all eyes turned to the stage. Simon Banks stood next to a tall, elderly-looking man who wore a full-length purple robe, and sported a long white beard.

"Okay, folks, it's twenty minutes to midnight. Are you ready for the New Year?" Cheers broke out and Simon waved for quiet. "Father Time here is ready to pass the baton to Baby New Year. All that remains is to announce the lucky soul who's been elected to play this esteemed role."

Laughter, cheers, and chants of "diaper, diaper" echoed around the room.

Blair bounced on his toes in an effort to see better. He laughed and turned toward Jim. "No way, man. They actually have somebody dress up like a baby? What idiot did they convince to do that?"

Jim's lips curved in an enigmatic smile.

Banks continued. "As you know, the presenting of the Pacifier award is a time-honored tradition in the Major Crimes department. One of our officers, usually the one with least senority, is elected to play this honored role and ring in the New Year. The votes are in and this year's recepient of the Pacifier award is...Blair Sandburg."

Blair clapped his hands and smiled. A moment later his brain caught up with his ears. He saw everyone looking at him, and his eyes widened.

"Did he say....? He didn't."

"Congratulations, Hairboy, you're elected," Brown said with a grin.

"But...I'm not even a cop...Jim, you're always telling me I'm not a cop. How did I get elected?"

The detective raised an eyebrow, and stood with arms crossed.

"Guess this must be one of those surprises you were so anxious to see, Chief."

Sandburg backed away slowly, only to bump up against Rafe and Brown. The cops each grasped an arm, and Blair objected as he found himself lifted and propelled toward the stage. He shook his head wildly, curls flying.

"Na, no, no, no, no...bad idea guys. Guys! I'm like so wrong for this part. No really...infancy is best experienced only once. I haven't been a baby for 27 years! I don't remember the language. I...guys are you listening to me?"

They reached the stage. Simon looked at the protesting electee and nodded toward a doorway.

"Okay, gentlemen, take our reluctant infant backstage and get him into costume."

"C..costume?" Blair squeaked.

"Yes, costume, and I must say, Sandburg, that it suits you."

Blair groaned. "Did he just say that? Suits me? Trying out your punning wit tonight, Simon?"

"Hurry up, Sandburg. Time's a-wasting."

Blair threw a pleading look over his shoulder. "Jim, help me out, here."

"Sandburg, I 've just got one word for you."

"What?"

"Macarena."

"Jim, come on. That was all in fun. I just wanted to include you in the fun," he protested.

"Ditto, dude," Ellison grinned and nodded at the stage door. "Take him away, guys."

"Noooooo...."

Rafe, Brown, and Blair disappeared backstage.

Jim turned up his Sentinel hearing and laughed out loud as Blair's complaints became audible.

["A diaper! No way, man. No possible way am I going to wear that."]

Smiling to himself, the detective made his way toward the backstage door.

Taking a deep breath, Jim opened the door, and prepared to face Baby New Year.

******

This can't be happening. Sandburg closed his eyes and willed himself somewhere else. Anywhere else. Why did I have to insist on going to this party? He opened his eyes and saw two faces staring back at him.

"Take off your clothes," Rafe said.

"What?!"

"Just do it, Blair. We don't have much time." The young officer handed Sandburg a white t-shirt, and a pair of shorts. "Put these on."

Sandburg complied, but balked when Rafe handed him an adult-size diaper.

"A diaper! No way, man. No possible way am I going to wear that."

"Sandburg! Are you going to put that on or do I have to do it for you?" Brown threatened. "If you don't get out there soon, Banks is going to put all of us on permanent graveyard shift. So get dressed!"

"All right, all right, watch your blood pressure there, big guy." Blair took the diaper and put it on. It fastened on the sides with colorful, oversized safety pins. Over the t-shirt, he put on a large bib with Happy New Year blazoned across it. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," Brown said.

"Anybody who knows me will know that this is so not me. No self-respecting Sandburg has ever been caught dead in disposable diapers. They're an ecological nightmare, man. Naomi only used cloth diapers when I was little."

He found himself at eye level with two chests, and looked up into two amused faces.

"Okay! Little-er. I'm shorter than you guys but I assure you I outgrew the need for diapers years ago." He ran a hand through his hair in agitation. "This is not cool. I'm never going to live this down."

"You'll survive, Sandburg," Rafe said. "You think you're the only one to get picked for this honor?"

"You?"

"Yes me, two years ago. I survived and so will you."

The stage door opened and Ellison came in.

"It's almost time for you to shine, Sandburg. Whoa...check out those white legs. I need my sunglasses." He reached up a hand as if blocking a bright light. "You could use a little sun, Chief."

"Ha, ha, very funny. Try and get a tan in a city where it rains 360 days a year. Who ever sees the sun?" Blair said huffily. "Look...joke's over, right? You're not really gonna make me go out there, are you? Well, are you?"

Jim put a hand on Blair's back, guiding him over to the door. He put something in his friend's hand. It felt like--a baby bottle.

"What's this?"

"A prop, Darwin."

"No, Jim, don't make me do thi...."

Plop. Sandburg's appeal ended abruptly when Ellison reached over and stuck a pacifier in his mouth.

"One last prop, Chief. I kinda like it. I'll have to get one for home use." Laughing at Blair's disgusted look, he opened the door, stuck his head out, nodded, and opened the door wider.

Blair pulled the pacifier out of his mouth and drew a deep breath to launch a new round of complaints. Before he could get a word out he felt Jim's hands on his back, and a gentle shove pushed him out on the stage.

"You're on, Chief."

Oh, my God!

******

Tis a French definition of friendship, rien que s'entendre, good understanding.--Emerson.

__________

A wave of laughter and cheers washed over him when he stumbled out on stage. The noise faded as his mind focused on the visual. He stood apart, watching as strangers, friends, and co-workers cheered, clapped, and laughed. Laughed at him.

He looked down to see Taggert, Rafe, Brown, and Jim. Taggert raised a glass of champagne and toasted him. Brown had to sit down, he was laughing so hard. Rafe just looked happy that it was someone other than him on stage, and Jim--Jim leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, a satisfied grin on his face.

Sandburg closed his eyes. He had never felt so embarrassed, or so hurt. Jim had sworn that he would never laugh at him, yet here he was, grinning away at the silly anthropologist, along with the rest of the cops. Am I just a joke to them? To him?

Blair felt a prickle of anger form, but he clamped down on it immediately. He could handle this. It was nice to see Jim relax and laugh, even if it was at his expense. He owed this man so much, and could put up with a lot more than this to bring a smile to the Sentinel's face.

He opened his eyes and watched as the pleasure drained from his friend's face to be replaced by a look of concern. Jim straightened up, his lips moved, forming Blair's name. He pushed toward the stage, his gaze locked with that of his friend.

A clout across his shoulders caught Sandburg by surprise, nearly sending him to his knees.

"Sandburg, I haven't laughed this hard in years," Simon Banks chortled, reaching up to remove his glasses and wipe the tears from his eyes. "I told you that outfit suited you."

Sandburg stood uncertainly as the purple robed man moved over to him and presented him with the baton. He took it, and cheers broke out again. Banks moved over to the microphone and shushed the crowd.

"The baton has been passed. Father Time here, as you know, is Ray Johnson, who will be retiring this year. Baby New Year is Blair Sandburg, a police consultant who has quickly proven his value to our department. Let's put our hands together and say thanks to Ray for years of service, and welcome Sandburg, the newest member of the Cascade Major Crimes unit."

Joy and acceptance.

Blair Sandburg felt both. He sensed the silly smile plastered on his face, but didn't care. These people were his friends, laughing with him, not at him. (Well, maybe at him too, but he did look pretty ridiculous) He, Blair Sandburg, anthropologist, had been accepted by the officers of the Cascade Major Crimes unit. He was one of them.

As an anthropologist, he had witnessed countless initiation rituals in cultures around the world, and should have realized that what he had been experiencing was his own form of initiation ritual. And he had passed!

Sandburg took a bow with Officer Johnson, and shook the older man's hand. He noticed Jim standing right below him.

"Everything okay now, Chief?"

"Everything's fine, Jim. I finally got it." Blair smiled warmly at his partner. "Thanks, buddy."

Jim smiled and nodded his head. "We all voted for you, Sandburg. Remember that."

"Sandburg!" Simon bellowed. "Get your butt over here. It's almost midnight, and Baby New Year has to lead the countdown."

Blair laughed. "Duty calls." With a smile, and a wink for his partner, he turned and made his way to the microphone.

"Okay, everybody, grab your partners and your confetti, it's almost midnight." He looked at the large clock opposite the stage. "Here we go. Ten seconds, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...HAPPY NEW YEAR!!"

The sound of noisemakers and cheers filled the air, confetti rained down. Sandburg spared a glance for his partner, but Ellison showed only a slight discomfort.

He's getting better at this, Sandburg thought with pride. He walked off the stage, over to where his partner stood slightly apart from all the celebration. "Happy New Year, Jim."

"Happy New Year, Blair." Jim reached out and patted his partner on the shoulder. "I'd hug you, but...dressed like that?...people might talk."

Blair snorted. "Sorry, big guy, but you're not my type." His laughter faded and he glanced sheepishly over at his partner. "Jim...I'm sorry about the Macarena thing. I thought it'd be fun for you, but...well, sometimes I don't think. You mad?"

"No...I guess I can make a fool out of myself once a year and survive. Besides, who's going to remember me after your performance tonight?"

Blair groaned. "Don't remind me. I'm sure everyone at the station will make sure I never live it down."

"You understand what that meant, don't you?"

"Yeah. It's like an initiation ritual, man. In some tribal cultures, to be accepted into the warrior societies, a young man must undergo a ritual. He does something difficult or dangerous to be accepted by his peers." He looked down at his costume. "I got off lucky," he grinned. "Humiliation never killed anyone."

Jim laughed but sobered quickly and studied his young friend. "You got your wish tonight, Chief. You're part of us now."

Blair smiled shyly. "Yeah. They welcomed me. Me. Blair Sandburg, anthropologist. It feels...it feels....really...."

"Good?" Jim prompted.

"Great." Blair replied. "I feel like I belong. Like it's okay for me to be your partner now. I have the trust of the people we work with, and their opinion is all that matters. They think I can handle it. Now, if only I was so sure...."

"Blair...."

"I'd better go get changed. Yeah, this experience has been very enlightening, but this diaper's getting a little drafty, you know? Be back soon." He rushed off, leaving behind his pacifier prop in his haste.

Ellison picked up the pacifier. Why is it I need one of these things for Sandburg most of the time, but when I really want him to tell me what he's feeling, he clams up.

The detective glanced toward the stage door that had swallowed up his friend. Sandburg you are my partner. You watch my back, I watch yours. You help me in so many ways. You don't need a gun for that. A gun doesn't make you a cop, or a good partner, and neither do the opinions of people who don't know you. Blair, I trust you with my life. I'm afraid for you, but I'm never afraid that you will let me down. No, I fear that I will let you down. That's what I fear.

******

Sandburg emerged a few minutes later, all traces of babyhood gone. He had planned to get right back to Jim, but found himself delayed by a young woman who wanted to learn more about the tribal dance he had done earlier that evening. Always willing to 'talk shop' about anthropology, especially with an attractive young woman, he regaled her with tales of his travels.

Forty-five minutes passed before Sandburg realized it. He needed to get back to Jim, who was no doubt waiting impatiently for him. He made a date with the woman to meet at the university museum and said his good nights. Looking around for Jim, he spotted him talking to Simon, and made his way through the crowd to them.

"Hey, you still here?" Blair asked his partner. "I thought you were gonna pull a Cinderella and disappear at midnight?"

"Leave without Prince Charming?" Jim said. "So, Prince, you coming, or you got another ride home?"

"Nah, enough excitement for one night. I'm ready to head home. Lead the way, Cindy." Sandburg chuckled, and ducked to avoid Jim's elbow. The three men walked over to the coat rack.

Rafe spotted them and dashed over. "You guys leaving? Any chance I could bum a ride home? It'll take forever to get a cab tonight," he said breathlessly. "I had a friend drop me off 'cause my car's in the shop, again."

"Hey, no problem," Blair said. "I understand completely. My car loves my mechanic. It's in his shop all the time. If it's not one thing it's another."

"Ain't that the truth," Rafe said.

The four men put their coats on and walked outside. Sandburg noticed Jim and Simon conspiring together.

The captain looked at Blair and started snickering. "Oh, Sandburg," Banks struggled to keep a straight face. "Don't forget your binkie." He nodded at Ellison, who pulled out the pacifier, and waved it before Blair's face.

Sandburg made a quick grab for the offending item, but couldn't prevail over Ellison's lightning-fast reflexes. He stood, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently, exasperation evident on his features.

"Nope," Jim said, pocketing the pacifier. "Guess I'll hang on to this," He flashed a smile at Simon. "You know his mouth, I gotta live with the guy."

"Great, more jokes," Blair groaned. "Tell you what. I'll go get the pickup. You guys stay here and get it all out of your system, okay? Keys?"

Jim laughed. He reached into his pocket for the keys and held them up. "What do you think, Simon? What's the law about Baby New Year's driving?"

"All depends on whether he's had his shots or not," Simon grinned.

"That's it! I'm outta here," Blair said, snatching the keys from Ellison's hand. Head held high, he marched away. He knew the dignified pose had failed when he heard the hoots of laughter from behind him.

******

Loyalty means nothing unless it has at its heart the absolute principle of self-sacrifice.--Woodrow Wilson.

__________

The Rolling Stones boomed out their 'Sympathy for the Devil,' in the confined space of the truck cab. Sandburg sang along, enjoying this brief moment of musical freedom, and volume, before Jim got in the truck.

"Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name. But what's puzzling you is the nature of my game," Mick Jagger crooned.

"This truck's got a great sound system," Blair said. "Too bad Mr. Jim 'Santana's the only band worth listening to' Ellison doesn't make better use of it."

Sandburg stopped at a red light and tapped his hand on the steering wheel in time with the music. Warmth poured from the truck's heater. He unhooked his seatbelt to shed his coat, and his "Fargo" hat. No need to give Jim any more ammunition for jokes tonight, he thought.

"Let me please introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste. And I lay traps for troubadors, who get killed before they reach Bombay."

Sandburg drove around the last corner and stopped at yet another in an endless series of red lights. He could see his friends standing on the corner laughing and goofing off. He sighed heavily, expecting the ribbing to continue all the way home. At least Simon's got his own car, he thought gratefully.

Tapping his hand impatiently on the steering wheel, Sandburg waited for the light to turn green. The song built towards its climax, Jagger giving it his all. Blair's mittens became drumsticks, the steering wheel his percussion. With all the power behind Sandburg lungs, he gave Mick Jagger a run for his money.

"Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name, oh yeah, but what's confusing you is the nature of my game."

He looked up. Nope. Still red.

"Just as every cop is a criminal, and all the sinners saints...." Jagger continued.

"Yeah, well, Mick, you don't know the cops I do."

Movement caught his eye, and he glanced over to see a car approaching the intersection. Guy's going way too fast, Blair thought absently. The light's gonna change any second now.

He came to full attention when he noticed the driver slump forward. The car began weaving, turning off course, turning toward--

Jim!

Everything seemed to slow down. Senses focused, amplified, Sentinel-like, if such a thing were possible for him. Hearing dimmed, until only the rapid pounding of an adrenalin-taxed heart filled his awareness. Vision narrowed focusing on the car, and his oblivious friends in harm's way.

He saw Jim's head come up, swing around, his mouth drop open in surprise.

No time!

Protect the Sentinel!

Real time returned in a rush. Blair floored the pickup, putting himself in the path of the oncoming car, using the truck as a barrier to turn the car and keep his friends safe.

Only when he heard the screech of tires, and felt the first jolt, did he spare any thought to what would become of him.

Mick belted out the final verse. "So if you meet me, have some courtesy. Have some sympathy, and some taste. Use all your well-learned politesse or I'll lay your soul to waste."

I don't want to meet him...Jim, don't let me die, he thought as the darkness took him.

******

"And then you stuck that pacifier in his mouth...priceless, absolutely priceless," Rafe laughed. "His face...I should've had a camera."

"I'm keeping that pacifier. Whenever his mouth kicks into high gear, I'm gonna pull it out and...." Jim paused as his sensitive ears picked up a sound. He turned and felt the blood drain from his face.

"Jim?" Simon asked.

"Look out!"

Not enough time, Jim knew, as he shoved Simon over with every ounce of his strength, then turned back for Rafe. He pulled the young cop behind him and braced for the impact, the pain.

Nothing.

Opening his eyes, he saw a truck drive into the path of the oncoming car. The car plowed into the truck, the impact sending the pickup on a twisting, spinning journey, finally coming to rest on its passenger side. The tortured screech of metal impacting metal sent Ellison to his knees, grasping his head in pain. The car, turned from its deadly path, crashed into a dumpster. The echo of a scream hung in the air, then--silence.

Ellison scrambled backward, turning to look for his friends. "Simon? Rafe?"

"Here," Rafe called, his eyes round with shock.

Simon lay sprawled on the ground, his ear to a cell phone. "Yes, the Bloomsbury hotel. Looks like a drunk driver to me. Get an officer over here, and rescue units immediately. It's a bad one." He turned off the phone, got shakily to his feet, and nodded at the others. "Let's see what we can do to help here. We owe our lives to...oh, my God!" He stared at the truck, and Ellison's eyes followed his gaze to view the devastation before him.

The crumpled remains of the blue pickup were familiar.

Too familiar.

His truck.

"Sandburg!" He ran to the truck. No movement in the cab. No sound. Wait--relief flooded his mind as he heard a weak heartbeat. Alive, thank God.

He could see Blair through the shattered windshield, and immediately began pulling the glass away, breaking up the windshield with his hands, unmindful of the cuts or the pain.

"Blair!"

No answer. His Guide was unconscious. Caught by one of his legs, Blair hung upside down, hair flowing down the the pickup seat. Blood streamed from a gash in his forehead. The blood soaked into Blair's hair, then dripped, to puddle on the ground next to one of his limp hands. Ellison's medic-trained eyes could also see the growing red stain on Blair's pants from the leg that held him trapped.

The Sentinel reached a shaking hand through the broken window to feel for a pulse. Not trusting his senses, he sought assurance that the weak heartbeat he heard did indeed belong to his guide.

So much blood, the detective thought. Just like Kyle.

Just like Kyle, who had bled to death in Jim's car.

"Not again," Jim whispered, his voice trembling with panic. "Never again."

He leaned over the truck and started pulling at the one visible door.

"Open, dammit! Blair, hang on, buddy, I'll get you out."

"Jim!" Simon's voice boomed.

"We've got to get him out of there Simon," Ellison tugged at the unyielding door, strain evident on his face. "He's hurt. I won't let it happen again, do you hear me? I won't let another friend bleed to death in my car. I can't lose Blair, now help me, dammit!"

Simon maneuvered himself between Jim and the pickup, raising his hands in a calming fashion when he saw the wild expression in Ellison's eyes.

"Jim, easy...easy now," he said soothingly. "The rescue units are on their way."

Jim pushed Simon aside and the captain grabbed him by the arm.

"Ellison wait!" he barked in a commanding tone.

The no-nonsense timbre of command broke through the detective's panic to reach the mind of the former military operative. Ellison backed away from the truck, and raised a shaking hand to his face.

"We have to wait." Simon continued gently. "We don't know how serious Sandburg's injuries are. We could hurt him worse by moving him. Jim, listen...do you hear the sirens? Those people are trained to help him. Let them do their job. You've got to calm down now. Blair needs you.

Blair needs me. Ellison let out a pent-up breath and nodded his head.

A moan came from the pickup. The detective jerked away from Banks and went down on his knees before the shattered windshield.

"Blair?"

******

But it was even thou, my companion, my guide, and my own familiar friend.'--Book of Common Prayer, Psalm LV.

__________

Darkness.

The ebony tide swirled around him. Caught in an eddy, he struggled, fighting the current that threatened to sweep him away. Part of him wanted to give in, to let the stream take him where it would, but something kept his exhausted body fighting, denying him the peace he sought. Someone called his name, insisting that he go back.

The course changed. Blackness gave way to greys and silvers with flashes of color and sound. The color grew in intensity as his mind sought the connection with his body. Color became pain--bright, fire engine red, an agony that jolted him back to awareness.

He gasped, attempting to draw breath from lungs that seemed filled with Jell-O. The struggle weakened him still further and he couldn't find the strength to open his eyes. He felt drops falling on his face. Rain...so thirsty. He parted his lips and felt for the droplets with his tongue. Funny metallic taste--not water--blood.

Blood?

Why did he hurt so much? Why was his leg testing all its nerve endings at once; his head pounding in time with his heartbeat? And his chest...oh, God...when had he met up with the mule that had kicked him? He moaned softly.

"Blair?"

Comfort. A familiar voice...who?

Think, he demanded, forcing his fuzzy brain to concentrate.

Sentinel, partner, friend, his mind provided.

Jim.

"Blair, open your eyes for me," Jim's anxious voice requested. "Please, buddy."

He could do it, for Jim.

Slowly his eyes opened and he blinked, attempting to focus on the blurry face before him. Something was wrong.

"Wh...why you standing on...your head?"

"Shh...don't talk, Blair. There's been an accident. The rescue crews are on their way. You'll be out of there soon."

Blair slowly turned his head and winced as daggers pierced his skull at the movement. He saw the shattered remains of the truck around him and realized it was he who was upside down.

"A..Accident?" His blue eyes widened as the memory returned. "Jim! Ahh....hurts."

"I'm here, Blair, lie still now. Don't move."

Blair felt the soft caress of his partner's hand, a feather-light touch stroking his cheek. He saw the cuts on that hand.

"Jim...all right?...Hand?"

Ellison looked at his torn and bleeding hands. "I'm fine, Blair. Just some cuts from the glass. Don't worry about me."

"Si...mon? Rafe?"

"We're all fine, Sandburg. Thanks to you." Simon moved into Blair's line of sight.

Blair closed his eyes, relief flowing through him. It worked. They're safe.

"Paramedics are on their way. You just hold on, now," Banks said gently.

"Glad...." Blair tried to laugh, but it came out as a sickly wheeze. "Just glad I'm..." He felt his mouth fill with blood and choked, coughing to get a clear breath. "...not wearing that...stupid diaper...doctors...could just see...their faces."

A forced smile touched Jim's lips. "The nurses would probably love it, and knowing you, you'd still manage to get a date."

"Yeah...would be a...challange...ahh," Blair hissed in pain.

"Shh...be still. I know how hard it is for you to be quiet, buddy, but now would be a good time."

"No, more...pacifier jokes." Blair fought to breathe, his heart hammering out an uneven rhythm.

"No more jokes tonight. Just keep breathing, okay?"

"Hurts to breathe."

"I know, Chief. I know." Blair heard the pain in his friend's voice.

"Dizzy...." Blair felt his eyes drift closed. The pain had faded from fire engine red to crimson "...'s not so bad now."

He could hear his friends talking to each other, but only got fragments. It took too much effort to listen.

["Where are they?"]

["...going into shock."]

["...internal bleeding."]

["...lose him!"]

Thoughts passed through his mind in rapid succession. Jim sounded so scared. Did Jim get scared? He always seemed so in control. Except when he got mad. Was Jim mad at him? I wrecked his truck. Does he understand why? Gotta make him understand.

Blair felt his oxygen starved muscles contract. He shivered and couldn't stop.

"So cold," he murmured.

"You'll be warm soon. I promise. Stay with me, Chief."

The pain had dulled now to a deep purple. The river of darkness called for him to return to her peaceful depths; made him promises of an end to pain, and no more worries. It would be easy--so very easy to let go. Blair felt his heart pound in an off-beat rhythm, each breath harder to draw. He fought a battle in a war for survival--a war that, in his weakened state, he didn't know if he could win.

Is this what it feels like to die? he wondered. What a paper I could write.

Scholarship gave way to panic as he felt blood well up in his throat once more.

Choking.

No air.

He felt strong hands lift and turn his head. He coughed, spraying a fine mist of blood over the shattered windshield and the friend who held his head.

"I've got you, Blair. Just keep breathing. Don't you dare stop!"

Jim. The young Guide's eyes sought those of his Sentinel, and saw fear there to mirror his own.

So much to tell you, Jim...things you must understand.... he thought.

"Jim!" Blair gasped out the older man's name, and with fading strength lifted his hand and reached for his partner. He felt Jim's fingers encircle and warm his own, and he smiled, knowing that no matter what happened he wasn't alone. His friend was here with him. The pain continued to fade from deep purple to dark brown and the Guide knew that his consciousness would soon follow into the blackness.

Have to stay awake...tell Jim.... His eyes drifted shut.

"Blair! Stay with me here...you with me?"

"Do you hear the sirens? The paramedics are here. They'll help you. Wake up, Buddy."

He was so tired. So very tired. He stood at the edge of the river. One step and the current would take him, pull him down. This time there would be no return. His strength was gone.

"Blair, don't you do this," a distraught voice pleaded. "Please, Blair...don't leave me alone."

Jim.

Only the fear and pain in that voice could call him back. And only the love that he felt for this man could give him the strength to turn once more from the darkness to the light. A voice in his head warned him that his duty toward his Sentinel was unfinished. The Guide needed to know that his Sentinel and friend would be all right, and that Jim understood the choice Blair had made.

He tapped the feelings in his heart to give his failing body strength. Opening his eyes, the Guide zeroed in on his Sentinel's face.

"Blair, thank God. No...don't talk. Rest."

"Jim...listen...please. I...." A cough shook him, tearing through his weakened lungs, stealing the breath needed for speech. Waited too long. Time's up. Blair's blue eyes bored into Jim's, willing the Sentinel to read in the Guide's soul the feelings he could no longer give voice to.

******

The eyes--Sentinels of the soul, he'd once heard them called. Sentinels guarding the deepest secrets, the most heartfelt feelings of his Guide's spirit. Jim lost himself in those blue eyes and he watched silent, and in awe, as a dam broke and the emotions poured forth. Wave after wave washed over him, and he struggled with the tide, fighting, trying to understand the source, the message behind the soul-stirring emotion.

******

Blair felt his heart skip and thump heavily in his chest, and a wave of blackness washed over him. No! Need more time. Determined, he shook off the dark and forced his eyes back up to his partner's face.

******

Those eyes...pleading with me, so desperate, so much pain, Jim thought. What are you saying to me, my friend? What is so important?

"I'm here, Blair. Please...stay with me."

******

The young Guide saw the anguish in his friend's eyes and flinched inwardly at being the cause of such pain. His hand tightened imperceptibly on Jim's, but the Sentinel felt it and returned the pressure.

Blair heard muted voices in the background. Movement. Colors, shapes passed by, but he paid them no mind. Nothing mattered but Jim, the feel of his friend's hand in his, the grief in his Sentinel's eyes. Jim must understand. Accept. And in doing so free his Guide, allowing him to leave at peace.

Blair allowed the love he felt to shine from his eyes and he smiled. It's done.

******

"Blair? What is it? What are you trying to tell me?" Ellison asked, confusion evident in his expression.

The Guide felt the tears well up and spill down his cheeks. I've failed.

"S...sorry...Jim, don't be...down on me...had to...." he gasped.

"Down on you? Blair...are you worried about the truck? Is that it? Blair, I don't care about the truck...."

"No...." Sandburg felt the darkness reach for him. It had been patient long enough and insisted he surrender. "...not truck...Tell me you...understand. Please...Jim."

******

So weak, that whispered voice. But not too weak for Sentinel ears.

"Understand? Blair what?...Oh my God...."

Jim felt the blood drain from his face. He'd been here before--seen this--seen Blair, bloody and in pain. The vision he had dismissed earlier had come to life before his eyes in full technocolor and sound. But this was no dream. He couldn't wake up, now. Blair was dying before his eyes, and he was helpless to stop it

"The vision. I saw this. I could have stopped this. Blair...God, I'm so sorry."

******

Blair was too tired to figure out what his friend meant. All he knew was he had protected his Sentinel, but failed his friend. Jim didn't understand, and the sadness the young Guide felt at leaving his confused and angry Sentinel behind was more than he could bear.

Take me now, he told the darkness. I won't fight you anymore.

Voices. Lots of them.

Blair felt his hand torn from Jim's. The pickup jolted, but he felt no pain. A stranger talked to him, but he couldn't hear the words...could no longer see the face. Blackness enveloped him in softness--and he let go.

Falling.

His last coherent thought was that, this time, Jim wouldn't be there to catch him.

******

A heartbeat does more than measure life--Its rhythm holds the voice of love.--Lee Ann Chearney.

__________

Siren song filled the air, but the Sentinel didn't notice, his attention centered fully on his Guide. For a moment he saw the deep sadness in Blair's eyes before consciousness faded and the young man's body went limp.

"Blair, nooooo...." His voice broke, and his hand tightened convulsively on the slack fingers of his friend. He felt hands grabbing him, pulling him away--away from Blair. He struggled, but felt his Guide's fingers slip from his own. The connection broken, he threw back his head and screamed, a high pitched animal wail of anger, pain, and loss. The hands released him and he whirled around to face his tormentors. Simon stood between him and three wide-eyed paramedics. Fear and concern darkened the captain's eyes.

"Jim, please. Let them help Blair." Simon pulled the frantic detective away from the pickup, allowing the firemen to begin extricating the young anthropologist from the truck.

The minutes seemed like hours. Ellison watched as the firemen used the jaws of life to free Sandburg from the demolished truck. He stood by helplessly as Blair was gently lowered onto a backboard, then quickly moved away from the accident scene.

["I've got arterial bleeding here. Pressure on that leg now!"]

Ellison hated this feeling of helplessness. He was a doer, not a spectator. His Guide needed help, his best friend needed him. The Sentinel's protective mode was fully armed and operational, and to be forced to the sidelines was intolerable. I'm his protector. I should be there for him.

["Blood pressure 70 over 50!"]

["He's crashing!"]

Jim tuned in, focusing his hearing on one sound only, the rapid erratic heartbeat of his friend. He listened as the laboring muscle slowed, gave a final thump, and stopped. A last shuddering breath escaped Blair's lungs; no inhalation followed.

"Blair!...." Jim moved instinctively toward the still figure on the ground, but found himself caught and held by strong arms.

"No, Jim. Let them do their job," Banks said.

"This can't be happening. Not again...Blair...he...he's not breathing, Simon. His heart's stopped...I can't...I can't go through this again. Not Blair...not him. Everyone leaves. Everyone I allow myself to...to care about. Not Blair...I can't lose him. I need him too much, Simon."

"The kid's a fighter, Jim." Ellison felt the consoling arms of his captain and friend tighten around him, and took comfort in the living presence beside him.

["He's not breathing! Check his airway!"]

["Start bagging him."]

["I don't have a pulse! Start chest compressions."]

A flurry of activity began over Blair Sandburg's lifeless form. One paramedic began CPR, another put an Ambu bag and mask over Sandburg's blue-tinged mouth, and began pumping air into his lungs. The third prepared an IV solution and spoke into a phone, giving the patient's vitals to the doctor, and relaying orders from the hospital.

Ellison's medic training gave him insight, and he listened as the paramedics reported Blair's condition to the hospital. The words were familiar, but seemed unreal because it was Blair being discussed. Blair who lay on the ground bleeding, drowning in the blood that filled his chest cavity and squeezed the rhythm of life from his heart and lungs.

["I can't get a pulse. Paddles!"]

A jolt of electricity coursed through the paddles into Sandburg's still body, sending it arching off the backboard. Ellison winced, feeling the shock surge through his own body.

["Again!"]

Jim found himself chanting a Sandburg mantra. "Please, please, please."

["I've got rhythm."]

Yes, there it was, the familiar beat of his Guide's heart. Not dead. Still with me. The paramedics quickly moved Blair toward the ambulance. Jim broke free of Simon's hold and rushed over.

"I need to be with him."

"I'm sorry sir, you'll have to follow on your own. He's stable for the moment, but...he's bleeding so badly inside. I don't know...we need to get him to the hospital now."

Jim brushed his hand over Blair's face then stepped back, allowing his friend to be loaded into the ambulance.

"I'll be right behind you, buddy," Jim whispered. Fight this. Stay alive! Tap that source of strength deep within you. I've seen it. I know it's there. And if it's not enough then take my strength. Take it all, because I don't want to live in a world without Blair Sandburg in it. "Do you hear me?" he called out.

Only the faint wail of a siren answered him. Jim turned and stumbled blindly back to his truck. He stared at the shattered remains, the twisted metal and broken glass, and shuddered at the thought of Blair inside it. His nose twitched at the overpowering scent of blood. Blair's blood. So much of it lay on the ground. Too much? Was there enough left in his Guide's body? Enough to keep him alive?

Something caught his eye and he bent down to retrieve a blood-covered piece of fur. Blair's "Fargo" hat. He crushed it to his chest and smelled the essence of his Guide. The newest herbal shampoo, and other scents that just said, Blair. The hat was saturated in blood. Ruined. Blair would never wear it again. Never....

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the truck. A noise caught his attention and he looked up to see the driver of the car staggering around, muttering incoherently, and ignoring the attempts of a paramedic to get him to sit down.

A spark of anger, like the lighting of a match, broke through the haze of grief. Jim watched the drunk stumble about, unhurt except for a few scratches. His eyes returned to the pool of blood at his feet, the image of Blair suffering still fresh in his mind. The reek of alcohol filled his sensitive nostrils and he began to shake. The spark ignited, fueling the rage. An explosion of white-hot fury filled his being and he erupted. One moment he was beside the pickup clutching Sandburg's bloody hat, the next his hands were wrapped around the drunk's throat. He picked the man up and rammed him against the car.

"You drunken son of a bitch! You never think about the people you hurt!" He waved the bloody hat in the man's face. "Do you see the blood? My partner is bleeding to death because of you! Why? Why does an innocent always have to pay? Why?! Answer me, you bastard!"

His grip tightened on the drunk's throat. The man's eyes bugged out, and choking noises escaped his lips. It would be so easy to snap his neck. He wanted to. He wanted it so badly...for Blair, for Kyle, and for everyone who had lost someone to one of these irresponsible drunks.

"My friend is choking to death on his own blood. How does it feel? Do you want to die that way?"

"Jim! Let him go," Simon Banks interceded. "Please Jim, don't do it. This won't help Sandburg. He needs you at his side, not sitting in a jail cell."

Ellison's gaze slid from the drunk's face to find his captain on one side of him, Rafe on the other.

"Think of Blair, Jim. You know he wouldn't want this."

Blair. A picture of his Guide formed in Ellison's mind. Blue eyes sparkling with mirth, hair blowing in the wind, a gentle smile. Gentle. That described Blair. A gentle man who would never want someone else to suffer because of him.

"Blair wouldn't want this, Jim."

Ellison let out an explosive breath, dropped the drunken man as if burned, and turned to walk off into the night.

The inebriate lay on the ground gasping. "You can't do dis to me. Dis is America an I ga rights. I wanna lawyer."

Banks pulled the man to his feet and silenced him with a deadly glare. "Yeah, you got rights and you're going to get them read to you right now. Collins!" he gestured at a uniformed officer standing nearby. "Read him his rights and get him out of here."

As Collins walked over to lead the man away, Banks pulled the drunk close. "Let's get one thing straight. That kid they hauled out of here, broken and bleeding? He's one of us and we take care of our own. If he dies...." Simon's voice broke and he cleared his throat. "If Blair Sandburg dies, no lawyer, nothing will save your sorry ass." He waved at Collins to take the man away. "Get this piece of scum out of my sight."

Simon turned away and looked for Ellison. The tall silent figure stood before his crushed truck, a stunned, empty look on his face. Banks had seen that look before: when Jim had told him about Kyle O'Shaughnessy's death, when his partner Jack had first disappeared, the day his divorce to Carolyn became final, when Danny Choi died in his arms. Each time the detective had closed up a little more, and reigned in his emotions.

Now Sandburg.

The captain had seen a remarkable change in Detective James Ellison since Blair Sandburg entered his life. The young man proved invaluable not only as a focus for Ellison's Sentinel abilities, but as a control for his emotions as well. Sandburg somehow got past those famous Ellison defenses as no one, not even Simon, had ever been able to do, and it had helped mold Jim into a far better man.

Simon Banks knew the deep affection Jim had for the kid. Ellison had become closer to Sandburg than to any of his other friends or partners. The Sentinel thing assured that. As he watched the silent, grieving figure, the captain wondered if Jim would recover from the loss of this partner, his 'Guide.' Banks didn't understand the bond between Sandburg and Ellison, but he could feel the connection between them. It ran deep. Soul deep. And right now he was witnessing a soul in agony. Watching Jim's reactions to Blair's injuries and to the man who caused them, the captain feared for his friend's sanity if the kid died.

Time to be a friend, Simon. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked over to Ellison. The still figure didn't acknowledge him until he laid a hand on a tense shoulder.

"Why, Simon? Why'd he do it? What was he thinking?"

"You know the answer, Jim," Simon said gently. "Sandburg was thinking of you, and me, and Rafe. His friends. The kid has always put others ahead of his own safety. One of the reasons I worry so much about him."

Jim closed his eyes. "'My life for yours,' he said. That's what he told me earlier tonight." He opened his eyes and looked at Simon. "I never wanted that, Simon. I told him never to risk himself for me."

"Would you do that yourself?"

"What?"

"Stand by when you knew your actions could save the lives of people you cared about."

"We're not talking about me. Blair...he's got this protective streak running through him. He never thinks of his own safety. He just reacts."

"I wonder where the kid picked that up?" Simon chided gently. "Jim, Blair cares about you. You're important to him. The Sandburg I know could never stand by and allow harm to come to you. Not when he could prevent it. Don't expect the kid to be any less honorable than you, Jim Ellison. He is what he is and cop, or not, I'm damn proud to call him one of my men...and a friend."

Ellison looked over at his captain. "Blair would love to hear you say that. He's always wanted your good opinion. He respects you so much, Simon." He glanced over at the truck once more. "I never should have allowed him to start working with me. I can't keep him safe. It's all my fault."

Banks reached out and grabbed his friend's arm. "Whoa, now. This accident had nothing to do with you, or the job. It was a drunk driver, Jim. It could have happened to any of us at any time. There was nothing you could do to prevent it. Stop running yourself through the wringer here."

Simon placed his arm across Jim's shoulders, squeezing gently. "I'm here for you Jim, and so are your other friends. You won't go through this alone. Right now the kid needs you. Be strong for him, and for yourself. Now...we need to get to the hospital. Are you ready?"

"Yeah, I'm ready. And Simon...thanks."

"I'm your friend, Jim. Good times and bad. You remember how I leaned on you in those tough times during my divorce? It's my turn. Lean on me now. I'm here." Arms around each other's shoulders, they made their way to the car.

******

And Jonathan...loved David as he loved his own soul.--1 Samuel XX, 17.

__________

Like a caged tiger, Banks thought as he watched Ellison pace the waiting room floor. Sandburg had been taken to surgery immediately upon arrival, and all his friends could do was wait, and worry. The room was filled to capacity as many of the officers of Major Crimes stayed on to wait for news of Blair, and to support his partner.

The captain watched his officers with pride, and respect. Each man and woman in this room knew the fear that Jim Ellison felt at this moment. A partner down, life hanging in the balance. All of them had been here before, waiting for news of their own partner, or supporting another officer through their ordeal. Police officers didn't dwell on that thought, but it was there nonetheless, every day when they picked up their badge, strapped on their gun, and went out into the street. A cop counted on his partner, trusted his partner, and was often closer to that partner than to family. A bond not easily broken, except by death.

We few...we band of brothers. Where had he heard that?

Simon's eyes continued to scan the room, which was remarkably quiet considering the number of people assembled. Few words were spoken, and those in hushed, subdued tones. He could hear the pages of a magazine turning, a sigh and a crack of joint as someone stretched from a cramped position. Partners sat together, drawing strength from each other.

A soft snore emanated from a corner and Simon looked over, his eyes meeting those of Henri Brown. The younger detective smiled slightly but did not move. Rafe had fallen asleep, exhaustion overcoming the adrenalin rush of his near miss. He lay slumped bonelessly against Brown, head resting on his partner's shoulder, dark lashes standing out stark against his pale face. Caught in the grip of a dream, the young man muttered in his sleep and moved restlessly. Brown reached an arm around to pull Rafe closer and spoke to him in soft, soothing tones.

Simon's gaze returned to Ellison and he saw the detective pause momentarily in his pacing to observe Brown and Rafe. On the way to the hospital the captain had watched and worried as Jim withdrew back into his shell, throwing up tattered shields after his emotional outburst at the accident scene. For a moment now, as Jim watched Brown comfort his sleeping partner, the shield fell, and pain flickered in those blue eyes. For a moment only, then Ellison wrenched his gaze away. He cocked his head, eyes glazing over as he listened to sounds that only a Sentinel could hear.

Banks watched as Jim's mouth fell open slightly, his eyes squinted and a line of concentration formed between his brows. The detective shook his head abruptly, winced and resumed his pacing, frustration evident in his expression.

Jim's trying to listen to Blair's surgery, the captain realized. He's frustrated, and can't go deep enough because he's afraid of zoning in front of all of us. He needs a quiet place where he can be alone.

Simon got up and left the room, returning a few minutes later. "Jim, come with me, okay?"

Ellison followed him out the door, his expression fearful. "What, Simon? Did you hear something?"

"No, Blair's still in surgery. Just follow me." He led the way to the end of the hall, opened the door to another room and ushered Jim inside. "It's quiet here and you'll be alone."

"How did you....?"

"Jim, I'm not dense. I know you want to be with Blair now. And you can't, not with all of us around. You'll be alone here, so go, be with him. I'll be nearby to pull you out if you zone." He patted Jim on the shoulder and left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Ellison looked around the room. It was a small Catholic chapel with room for only four pews and a small altar at the front. On the wall hung a figure of Christ on the cross. The figure's compassionate eyes seemed to stare right into the detective's soul and tears welled up, blurring everything before him. He sank down onto a pew and put his head in his hands.

"I...I'm not very good at this. Please...please don't take him from me," Jim said in a whispered voice. "I believe we were brought together for a reason. To do good, help people--I don't know. But there's still so much left for us to do, to learn, about each other, and these special gifts I've been given." Jim blinked the tears from his eyes and he looked up at the figure on the wall.

"I remember when Blair took me to the monastery. He told me how much he admired the monks, and how he could never have that kind of dedication or commitment. It took me a while to realize it, and him too, maybe, but he does have it. He has pledged himself--to me--his Sentinel--his friend." Ellison's voice choked and he swallowed the tears he feared to cry.

"Blair has sacrificed so much to stay with me. His dissertation's on hold. He gave up the career opportunity of a lifetime, the study in Borneo, to stay with me out of friendship. He's risked his life and followed me into danger time and time again. And now...now he offers his own life to save mine." Jim shook his head in wonder.

"What did I ever do in this life to deserve such unselfish devotion? To earn his trust? To deserve such a friend? And how do I go on...if..." Jim's voice faded to a whisper. "...if he is taken from me?"

He drew a deep breath, closed his eyes and reached out with his hearing. So many people, so much emotion. He heard the joy and pain of a new mother as she struggled to bring her child into the world, the muffled sounds of pain and laughter, the cry of a sick child, an old woman's scream of loss as her lifepartner passed on. So many heartbeats, so many...where was it...the one he sought. There...a familiar beat he knew as well as his own. Blair. I'm with you, buddy. Can you feel me beside you?

He widened his hearing from Blair's heartbeat and listened to the doctors as they fought to repair his friend's broken body. Somber voices.

["God, look at this...Drunk driver was it? SOB ought to be shot."]

["I heard this kid drove his truck in front of the drunk's car to save his friends standing on the streetcorner. Can you believe it? Brave just doesn't cover that in my book."]

["Yeah....Shit! Give me some suction, I've got a bleeder here. No here! Christ! Here's another one. Where's it coming from? Gotta stop it, kid can't afford to lose any more blood."]

["His BP's dropping...."]

Sounds merged into one: the excited voices of the surgeons, a crazily beeping monitor, Blair's irregular heartbeat, Jim's own heart, pounding with fear. A symphony of sound, then--silence.

"NO!" Jim's eyes flew open. His Sentinel hearing had failed. Only the silence of the chapel greeted his ears, the faint sounds of voices and the hospital intercom. He's still alive. He'll make it through. He's got to.

Jim tried to remake the connection with his Sentinel hearing. He had to know what was happening to Blair. Sound faded in and out, loud to soft, muted as if his head was underwater.

"What's happening to me? Just like in Peru...just like...."

He looked around wildly, searching for a black panther, then spoke to the air. "Are you here? What's happening to me? Another test? Do you want to know if...if this Sentinel can function without his Guide?" Jim slumped down on the pew and looked up at the ceiling. "No...he can't. End of lesson."

Jim squeezed his eyes tightly shut, hoping to feel the soft touch on his shoulder, wanting, more than anything to hear the voice of his Guide.

"Blair, I'm lost here. Without your guidance I'm a Sentinel without senses, a man with no direction. I...I feel like a ship adrift on the ocean, no rudder, no wind, no destination. You are the wind in my sails, Blair. You guided me, kept me steady and on course, helped me fight the storms, and brought me safely home to port. You, Blair. Only you. I feel your presence at my side and I am calm. I can face the tempest that is my life. Help me, Chief. I'm not used to this feeling...this fear."

Jim, calm down, his mind heard the familiar voice. Slow your breathing, that's right...slow and easy. You can do this, I know that you can. Believe in yourself as I do.

Jim pictured Blair in his mind. He saw the light, the faith shining from his friend's eyes. "Stay with me."

"Rest...just shut my eyes for a moment...."

"Jim? Jim, wake up."

"Blair!" Ellison sat up quickly and fell off the pew. He stared bleary eyed at Simon, who reached out a hand to steady him.

"You fell asleep, Jim. Probably the best thing for you. Wake up now. Blair's out of surgery and the doctor wants to talk to you."

"Hmmm...wha? No, Blair's here, Simon. Right here by me."

"You were dreaming, Jim," the captain said gently.

Jim looked around. The room was empty, but for him and Simon. No sign of Blair. His heart plummeted.

Simon saw his distress. "You okay?"

Even in my dreams he looks out for me. Jim swallowed and shoved his feelings down deep. He took a deep breath and got up. "I'm fine. Let's go talk to the doctor."

******

A faithful friend is the medicine of life.--Ecclesiasticus 6:16

__________

[We almost lost him.]

[Critical condition.]

The doctor's words cycled through Ellison's mind, in an endless circular loop. He tried to still the voice in his head, and listen as the surgeon described the operation, listing Blair's injuries.

"He had a ruptured spleen which caused bleeding into the abdominal region, and a massive hemothorax, generating more bleeding into the chest cavity," the doctor said, grimly. "Both are generally blunt trauma injuries caused by impact with the steering wheel. Mr. Sandburg also has three broken ribs, a compound fracture to his left leg, shock, and concussion. We intubated him to assist his breathing, and will be monitoring him closely for the next few days."

"Will he make it, doctor?" Simon asked.

The surgeon sighed tiredly, his expression grave. "At this point, I can't give you a definite answer, captain. I wish that I could, but it's just too