Disclaimer: The characters depicted within this story do not belong to us, but are the property of Pet Fly, UPN, Paramount and The SciFi Channel. No money has been made from the writing of this story.

Note from the Authors: Takes place after TSbyBS.

Dedication: Written as a themefic for Linda S on the Sentinel Angst list.

Summary: A new and deadly designer drug is the latest case for Detectives Ellison & Sandburg. Unfortunately, an unknown player within the department makes Blair a victim as well as an investigator.

JET RIDE
By Jael Lyn
March 2000

Jim sealed the evidence bags, double-checking the accompanying inventory before taking it down to evidence. Clicking computer keys drew his attention to his partner, absorbed in the computer. This was their normal pattern now. Blair typed up the bulk of the case notes and usually did the final reports. He was fast, and his report writing put everyone else to shame. If that meant Jim was stuck with the more mundane errands to evidence and forensics, so be it. Finishing, Blair tossed his glasses on the desk and rubbed at his eyes.

"I hate this case, Jim. We've been on it for two weeks off and on and we're getting nowhere. I feel like an ambulance chaser, just collecting the bodies after all the damage has been done. There's just got to be a way to crack this open. I'll go find Simon and tell him we're ready for our meeting."

Jim headed to evidence; Blair to parts unknown hunting for Simon, which shouldn't have been difficult. The guy left a pretty wide wake. These drug cases were making everyone miserable. After nearly a month of scattered reports and sporadic efforts from narcotics, this one had ended up with Major Crimes for one simple reason. People were dying at an alarming rate. According to Timmons on the dispatch desk, it harkened back to the old days of the sixties, when a load of bad acid would hit the streets, only exponentially worse. The hallucinogen had now been nicknamed JET, promising a high and fast flight. Unlike most hallucinogens, it seemed to be addictive as well. The users that survived came back for more in short order. They had been able to pry that much out of one of their few user interviews. That young man was in lockdown at a treatment center. Depending on where he was in the cycle of flashbacks, he alternated between begging to be kept locked up and safe, to raging for escape, caught up in his thirst for another ride on JET.

The whole thing was especially hard on Blair. Most of the victims were college age. Blair responded to them as if they were one of his former students. Jim was wise enough to know that despite Blair's adjustment to his new life, he still ached for the teaching he had left behind. The fact that Blair had his own personal nightmares from Golden didn't help. From any direction, the case exposed raw emotions that Blair, professionally, put aside. Personally, it was another matter. His eyes showed effect of the sleepless nights and daytime fretting.

After a brief chat with the evidence officer, bemoaning yet another sample of JET to be logged and another death, Jim trekked back to the bullpen. Sandburg should have rounded up the principals by now. He was unaware of the pair of eyes following his departure, as he had been unaware that their owner had listened to his previous conversation. Had the owner of those eyes muttered to himself, or to a nearby conspirator, perhaps sentinel ears would have sounded the alarm. Instead, the baleful eyes and malicious intent went undetected.

*******

"Ellison, you're supposed to go on in." Henri Brown was grinning, two Styrofoam cups in his hands. "Your guardian angel sent up your afternoon constitutional."

Despite the desire to look irritated, Jim had to laugh. His afternoon mocha was becoming a departmental joke. With a lot of gentle teasing in reference to his Neanderthal partner, Blair was determined that he would coax Jim into the new millennium with a change from his caffeine-in-any-form routine. The result was a chocolate mint mocha, which the rest of the bullpen hooted at, but Jim secretly loved. It had reached the point that Blair no longer hunted down the young lady with the espresso cart; she simply checked with dispatch to see if the detectives were in and filled their standing order. Jim accepted the cup and growled, "Don't think I'm enjoying this stuff, Brown. I drink it only to please Sandburg."

Jim joined the meeting in Simon's office, which actually included 2 high ranking officers from narcotics, the departmental public affairs officer and the departmental liaison to the mayor's office. Jim was surprised to see the extra bodies. This was supposed to be a briefing for Simon only. Sandburg cast a despairing look at the entering detective. He obviously didn't expect Jim to be thrilled with the meeting results so far. Jim pulled up a seat near Sandburg, and Simon charged right in.

"Ellison, its been decided that some preventive action would be appropriate on the Jet case until we get a break that puts our investigative resources to better use. Starting tomorrow, we've arranged for you and Sandburg to speak at places where high-risk kids are concentrated. The mayor's office has arranged time at all the alternative high schools and teen centers in the city. We're also making arrangements for Rainier University. You'll spend mornings and early afternoons doing the presentations, and investigate afterwards."

Jim immediately bristled. "I thought Narcotics and Youth Services had their own education people. Why don't they handle this and let us do our jobs?"

Mathers, the mayor's liaison, broke in. "It's our opinion that straight talk from detectives on the case will create a more lasting impression. If we can't catch these distributors, maybe we can cut down on their customers."

"How can we catch them if you don't give us time to look? Captain, I thought we're treating these as murders, not simple overdoses." retorted Jim sharply. Simon rolled his eyes skyward. He did not want to get into this with an audience.

"Jim, a lot of input has gone into this decision. We value your opinion, but this has been approved at the highest levels. You and Sandburg are dismissed to prepare your presentation. Your first stop tomorrow is at Chandler House, 10AM sharp. I sure you and Blair appreciate the seriousness of the assignment. I'll see you both privately before you leave for the day."

Blair didn't have sentinel resources, but he knew when his Captain was in 'don't you dare argue' mode and when his partner was set to explode. Best to get the match away from the powder keg. Grabbing Jim by the elbow, he said the good-byes and hustled Jim from the room.

"Sandburg, what were you doing in there? This is pure, interdepartmental gamesmanship. We should have stood our ground. No way I'm putting on some feel-good tap-dance. Get a social worker. I'm a detective. What a waste of time. What am I? McGruff the crime dog?"

"Jim, keep your voice down," hissed Blair. "This was a done deal when I walked in the door. We may as well make the best of it. Look at it this way, if we do a good job, maybe we'll get a lead from a potential user instead of a body after the fact. Come on, Jim. Don't be a grouch when it won't do any good."

"All right, Darwin. What do you suggest for our entertaining, enlightening presentation? Just-say-no t-shirts? A few showings of 'Reefer Madness'? Can I just hold the charts and stay out of it?"

"We don't have any charts, Jim."

"Correction - we don't have any charts yet. I sure plan on having some great big ones before tomorrow, so you can do all the talking."

After an hour of grumpy wrangling, the two men had the outlines of something they thought would work. With the permission of their few JET survivors, they could play excepts of taped interrogations, some of which were truly heart wrenching. Two of their survivors were yet to discuss their hallucinations and flashbacks without breaking down into hysterics. Jim arranged for a portfolio of photographs of the victims, and would spend his time with the facts. Blair would handle most the interaction with the kids. With Simon's approval, they broke for the day.

At about the same moment they were leaving the building, a shadow slipped down the aisles of the evidence storage room. He was supposed to be covering the desk, but the moment the on-duty officer had turned the corner, shadow was on his way. A little eavesdropping earlier in the day had prepared him. Sorting through the items brought in that day, he quickly found the sealed plastic bag labeled with Jim's neat handwriting. According to Ellison, this was enough JET to keep 10 people flying for a week. More than enough for his intentions. Quickly transferring the contents, the bag was resealed. Shadow returned to his temporary post with time to spare. No one would know.

"Jim, you have to admit, it wasn't that bad. We may get some leads."

Jim made the last turn toward the station. "All right, it went better than I expected. I still hated every minute. Jim Ellison, your favorite performing seal. You did a great job. I think you even won over the hostile ones. You can put them more at ease than I can."

"Maybe. But when you start showing crime scene photos and played those tapes, you could have heard a pin drop. They might feel comfortable around me, but you're the one they trusted with the facts. Hey look, there's Kelly. Pull over for a sec." Blair's wave through the window of the truck was returned enthusiastically by the young woman at the espresso cart.

"I want to try a new flavor in my latte - have a suggestion for me?"

"I'll make one up for you. It'll be my surprise. How about Detective Ellison? Is Captain Adventure ready to branch out from mocha mint?"

Jim leaned across the truck. "Don't you two mess with my mocha mint. I mean it. NO banana - strawberry-papaya or some herbal witches brew. Mocha mint, period."

"Way to go, Detective. There's that flexibility under pressure we all admire," Kelly teased. "Keep this up and I'll make you my flavor tester." Blair almost choked to keep from laughing out loud - if Kelly only knew. "Don't worry, Blair. I'll send up something special. It will be about a half-hour, though. I have a couple stops on my route first." She waved and went on her way. The two detectives hustled off to the remainder of their workday.

*******

This will be easier than I thought. Find out their schedule, then just volunteer to carry the order to major crimes. Add a few other orders so no one notices. Kelly's busy and she's grateful for the help. Ducking quickly into a deserted office on the second floor, he quickly located the desired carrier among the other orders. "Sandburg's is the one with the flavor." A steady hand shook a tiny, carefully weighed amount of JET into the latte, leaving the mocha untouched. "So now it has a little extra flavor. Not too much. Not yet anyway."

*******

"Sandburg, if you don't finish up that report, we're never getting out of here. What's the problem?"

"Whaaat?" Blair looked up, startled. " Geez, I must be tired or something. I just can't concentrate. Look at this. The last four lines are complete gibberish." Sandburg frowned at the monitor, frantically hitting the delete key. Jim rounded the desk as his partner deleted the last line. It was a mess.

"Look, Blair. You've had it. Illiterates type better prose than that." Jim bit his tongue. That sounded harsh. "Listen, slide over, finish your latte. Take that set of files to Simon, and I'll finish the paperwork for a change."

Later, on the ride home, Blair was fast asleep before they left the downtown area. Jim shook his head. Just like his partner to run himself into the ground like this.

"Sandburg, you have a headache or something?"

Blair groaned, covered his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Blair, Jim and Simon were doing a full review of the JET case. They had taken over an interrogation room. The table was covered with files, photographs, forensics reports, and medical reports for the victims, detailed chemical analyses of the JET samples that had been obtained. Simon was drinking his third mug of coffee. Jim and Blair had made do with their regular order. Someone had brought it up halfway through their session.

"Captain, I'm sorry. Yesterday it was the headache. Today I can't focus on my reading. I'll go take an aspirin or something."

Simon and Jim looked at each other in shock. Sandburg was known to turn down even the mildest medications after a serious injury.

"Chief, if you're willing to take an aspirin, you must be hurting. Take ten and go crash in Simon's office. Shut your eyes for a minute."

Blair squinted. Now Jim and Simon were fading in and out of focus. It made him dizzy, and his head was killing him. "OK, but I'll call the optometrist first and make an appointment. Maybe I can get in before we have our talks tomorrow, or late in the afternoon when we're almost done."

Both men watched as Blair left the room, holding onto the doorjamb to steady himself. They each knew what the other was thinking. Jim spoke first.

"He hasn't been sleeping, Simon. This is a tough case for him. He's reliving Golden every time we talk to a group or find another victim. He slept the last couple of nights, but he had nightmares the whole time.

"Keep an eye on him, Jim. I need you both sharp."

Jim grinned at the image of Blair, chatting up Kelly. She was a senior at Rainier, but concentrated her classes in the early morning and at night. Afternoons she did the espresso cart, and did well enough to pay her college expenses. Being a cop, with its expected burdens, may have slowed Blair down but hadn't cost him his charm with the ladies.

"Mr. Sandburg, we just took these measurements. They can't be this far off now."

Blair pulled his head away from the instruments. His voice showed his irritation. "Dr. Freeman, I know, but I can't even focus on the chart now, much less read the letters. What is going on with my eyes? Maybe I'm just tired. It's the end of the day. I skipped lunch because we were late. All I've had for food all day was a latte. Maybe that's it."

"Blair, I don't think fatigue is a viable explanation. Let me run you through part of the exam again."

After ten more frustrating minutes, they gave up. "Blair, your eyes are not behaving normally. There are sudden changes in pupil size that don't correlate with the amount of light, but I don't think that is it. I'm going to refer you for some neurological testing next week. The tests need to be run at Cascade General. I'll call you with an appointment time."

"Great, just great," thought Blair. "The Blessed Protector will probably want me to stay in bed until then." No point in trying to varnish the truth. If he was getting better at guiding his sentinel, the sentinel was also getting better at detecting obfuscation. He slumped in the waiting room chairs, cell phone to his ear, waiting for Jim to pick up on the other end. "Yeah, I'm done. No, he didn't change my glasses. No, no...I need to go in for tests next week. I'll fill you in when you get here. Great." Blair looked out the window, and shuddered as the skyline at sunset faded into wide smears of gray, yellow and orange.

"Uh, excuse me, Captain. I really need to speak with Jim." Henri Brown was peaking around the corner of Simon's door.

"Brown, we're in a meeting. It'll have to wait." Jim and Simon were going through a host of new leads in the JET case. Blair was doing wonders meeting with the at-risk kids at their morning sessions. They were getting inundated with follow-up possibilities. In truth, it was the only movement anyone was getting. Narcotics was drawing a blank, even though a high percentage of their resources were committed to JET.

"Begging your pardon, Captain, but I don't think it can. Ah, hell, it's Blair. He's in the break room. I've got Rafe making up excuses to keep people out, but he's acting really out of it."

Jim flew out of his seat, interrogating Brown as they fled through the bullpen and down the hall.

"Ellison, I don't know. The three of us were having coffee. Rafe and I were teasing him about whatever flavor Kelly made up for his latte this time. We sit there about 5 min and Blair gets this real spacey look, and he's talking, but not really talking to us anymore. I thought he was just fooling around, and then we got kind of scared. If I didn't know better, I'd say he'd had a liquid lunch, you know?"

A worried Rafe let Jim and Henri pass. Without really paying attention, Jim realized that Simon wasn't far behind. With alarm, his centered all his attention on the forlorn looking figure in the center of the room. He walked to the chair and touched Blair on the arm, gently at first. What he saw scared him.

Blair gave no indication that he knew anyone else was there in the room with him. He was indeed talking to himself, but in a jumble of words and phrases that made no sense. He was staring at a brightly colored, abstract poster advertising the upcoming jazz festival at Rainier. "This must be what I look like during a zone," thought Jim.

He pulled the chair around and knelt in front of it, rubbing his hands across the thighs of Blair's jeans. "Chief? What's the matter, partner." No reaction. Taking him by the shoulders, Jim gave Blair a shake, and raised his voice. Finally, a response. Blair looked like a deer in the headlights. "Jim... Why are you here, man? Is your meeting over?" He started to stand up, but swayed and nearly fell before Jim caught him and lowered him back to the chair. "Whoa - head rush." He clutched at his head with both hands, and seemed unsteady, even sitting down. "Man, did somebody hit me or something?" He finally seemed to realize that half of Major Crimes was in the room, staring at him. "Jim, what's going on?" He sounded thoroughly confused. His speech was slow, if not slurred. He started to panic and tried to shake off Jim's hands to get up again.

"Take it easy, son." It was Simon. "You have another headache - as bad as yesterday?" Blair nodded, in obvious pain. "Ellison, I thought you were taking your partner to get his eyes checked?" He glared at Jim. "Didn't you see to it yesterday?" Blair looked helplessly at Rafe and Henri. His only thought - that a major collision between Mother Hen Banks and Mother Hen Ellison could squish baby bird Sandburg. Time to beat a retreat.

"Simon, I did. He's supposed to go for more tests. I even called to make sure it was OK for him to work. The Dr. said to cut back on paperwork and computer work. He didn't say anything about dizzy spells."

"Uh -oh," thought Blair. Jim looks ready to go for the 4 star rescue-to-the-hospital scene. "Hey, guys. Remember me? I'm fine. Just relax. Jim, let me stand up, OK." He gained his feet and gave his head a shake. "It's cool. I just got lost in my thoughts - you guys always say that's a pretty scary possibility. No biggie." As he looked around the room, he saw the misgivings in the faces of his colleagues. "If it will make you feel better, I'll go upstairs and call the Dr. back, and ask him if I should go to ER or something."

"Sandburg, maybe I should pull you off the case until you get these tests done."

"Simon, don't do that. You've got the report from Jim. We're starting to make our first real headway with our morning sessions."

"All right, but I want you to both go home and get some rest. And I want the medical report from Jim. No offense, Blair, but I can't afford a Sandburg obfuscation right now. Go. And take tomorrow off after your outreach sessions."

*******

Shadow watched the two partners slowly head downstairs. Damn, Damn, Damn! The dose had been just right. Just Sandburg's luck that it went down with people that would cover for him. It should have been a perfect set up. Now Banks had given them time off and he wouldn't be able to get to them until next week. With that amount of time, he'd have to build the dosage up all over again. He was getting impatient, with success so close.

Jim slapped at Sandburg's alarm, then rubbed his face. What a night. He'd ended up on the floor beside his partner's bed. Blair had spent the night in an ongoing cycle of nightmares. At times Jim couldn't rouse him, and when he did wake, he wasn't coherent. Jim finally gave up trooping between his bed and Blair's room, and had thrown some blankets and couch cushions on the floor. He gently peeled away the comforter and the linens. The sheets were damp with sweat, attesting to the horrible night his partner had spent. "Wake up, bud. It's morning."

"Jim?" Blair opened his eyes, but kept his head on the pillow. "Did I oversleep?" He started to untangle himself and sit up, but yelped in pain. "Oh, man. Would you bring me about a thousand aspirin?"

Jim returned with a glass of water and two tablets. Blair was shaky, but he sat up to swallow them down. He looked awful. "How do you feel? Do you remember anything from last night?"

"I feel like my worst hangover times 100. What about last night? Did we have a major party in the loft and I didn't know about it?"

"Blair, you were screaming in your sleep most of the night. Don't you remember any of it?"

"Ah, Jim. I'm sorry. Why didn't you just wake me up instead of wasting a whole night's sleep."

"I tried. Look, why don't you take a shower, and I'll make you some toast." A bewildered Blair nodded and proceeded to drag his uncooperative body towards the shower.

Jim watched his partner struggle towards the bathroom. Without hesitation, he headed for the phone as soon as the water started running.

"Simon, he had a terrible night, but he wants to go to our two meetings this morning. No. I called the Dr. while he was in the shower. He doesn't have any explanation, but he's moved the neuro tests up to Monday morning, so we need to reschedule those two sessions. I asked them to do the test's today, but the technicians are at training in Seattle. I'm going to come back here with him and stay. This is all just too weird, and I don't want to leave him alone. Tell the guys we'll probably miss the party at O'Malley's tonight. OK. Sure. We'll keep in touch."

Blair emerged from his room, pulling a thick sweater over his flannel shirt. "I cannot get warm this morning." He shook his head in exasperation. "Between the two of you, I couldn't even have heart failure without permission. I know everyone's trying to be helpful, and I appreciate it, but there just has to be a simple explanation." He smiled, trying to put on a cheerful face.

"Blair, you don't have to act like your feeling better. I can tell your head still hurts. I have half the lights turned off and you're still squinting. Dr. Freeman called your regular doc and got some pain medication to tide you over until Monday. We can pick it up on the way to the alternative school." He grabbed a thermos off the counter. I made this full of that herbal tea for headaches and put some honey in it. There's more in the travel mug. See if that warms you up. No coffee - not even your beloved latte. I want you to come home and sleep this afternoon."

The medication seemed to help. The two detectives went through their spiel, once for an alternative high school and again for a halfway house for young people transitioning out of rehab. As they were leaving, one of the residents was waiting by Jim's truck, and quietly pressed a slip of paper into Blair's hand. Word around was that JET was available at that corner from the occupant of a dark sedan. It was their first break in the tedious, all-important process tracking the distributors back to the source.

Simon quickly arranged surveillance. Starting with Brown and Rafe, that corner would be monitored round the clock. Jim and Blair would be called only if there was action. It might be a considerable wait before their seller appeared. The drug seemed to come available in spurts. Forensics had tested enough samples now that they could identify batches by a sort of chemical fingerprint. Slight variations that seemed to occur between batches were detectable, both in the pure JET and the user's blood. Blair had hypothesized it was manufactured in small batches, and the manufacturing process was still small scale, hence the sporadic availability. No one involved with the case had any desire to see the body count if the distributors perfected their manufacturing process.

Blair rested through the afternoon, while Jim used his laptop to plug away at reports. He seemed to be improving gradually, and was really sleeping. After 4 hours of nap without a nightmare, he pronounced the headache gone and joined Jim. There was no action on their stakeout, which was not unexpected. Jim was ready to call in for a pizza, but Blair was objecting.

The party at O'Malley's was a Cascade PD tradition. Owned by a retired cop, every St. Patrick's Day for the last 15 years the banquet area of the restaurant was closed to the public and catered for current and retired members of the force. It was one of the rare times during the year when members of the force mixed freely, without regard to rank or division. Jim looked forward to it each year, if only to see some of the retirees and enjoy an evening of tall tales. A traditional Irish dinner was served, complete with green beer. Blair had never attended, even though he had been invited while still a consultant.

Blair wanted Jim to go, arguing that he would be fine. Jim refused. Irritated at Mother Hen Ellison, Blair then announced that he would go, but come home whenever Nurse Jim ordered. They haggled back and forth for several minutes.

"Jim, I will order a ghastly green beer and let it sit in front of me. We're earlier than some of the crowd, so we can get an out of the way table. I'll just sit and watch the parade go by. No drinking, no darts, no dancing, no pool. Just sit and chat with whoever stops by. Promise."

"You'll tell me if you get even a twinge of a headache? If you won't give me you word, I'll just follow your heartbeat in the crowd till my brains fall out."

"I P-R-O-M-I-S-E. Scout's honor, even if I wasn't a scout. Can you imagine me in the uniform, by the way?"

"Oh, yeah, I cam imagine. Sandburg the over-achiever. Merit badges on every available scrap of uniform and rewriting the oath so it included the earth goddess. Forest fires on every campout."

"That is so harsh, man. Go find something green to wear so I don't have to attend with a nerd."

"What about you? Going as a leprechaun?"

"This is a culturally significant celebration. Those of us trained in anthropology are never unprepared for tribal ritual. You one the other hand...." His laughing voice trailed off as he headed for his room. Jim went of to raid his closet, grateful that at least his partner seemed to be feeling better.

Blair did exactly as he promised. Dressed in a dark green vest quilted with Celtic designs and his hair pulled back with a silver Celtic knot, he ordered a green beer, poured a third into a nearby plant, and left the glass on the table in front of him. He sipped on a tall ice-filled glass of seven up the rest of the night. He picked at his corned beef sandwich, but Jim expected that. Plenty of people joined them at their table, and Blair never wanted for company. Jim finally allowed himself to be diverted to a dart match between Major Crimes and Narcotics.

"It's an annual event, Sandburg. Why don't you come with us? We'll find you a chair."

"I'll pass, Brown. I can see from here." He noted Jim's grateful nod. Mother Hen was still on patrol. For a moment he hesitated, on the verge of backing out and staying with his partner.

"Jim, go. I'm going to sit right here, and then we'll go home."

"I'll send another one of those over, Chief," indicating the soft drink. He wiggled his eyebrows. Jim had been totally amused at how Blair had managed to be just finishing the same green beer for three hours. With Rafe and Brown on either side, he allowed himself to be dragged off to the dartboard, stopping at the bar as promised.

Blair took the opportunity to visit the restroom. With the table briefly unoccupied, and Jim engaged elsewhere, no one took notice of the stocky young man who slid into the chair next to Blair's and absently stirred the newly arrived soft drink with the straw. By the time Blair returned, his shadow was gone. Taggart arrived a few moments later, 'to keep him company'. Blair protested mildly, worrying that Jim was behind the suggestion.

Joel clinked his beer against Blair's still half-full glass. "Don't fret. You're sparing me terminal embarrassment. They'd rope me into it, and I can't throw a dart to save my life."

Turning their chairs, they watched the progress of the dart game at the opposite end of the room. They carried on a lively commentary, laughing and joking, poking teasing fun at the participants. After 10 minutes or so, Taggart realized Blair's end of the conversation was lagging. Blair seemed to be gazing off at nothing. Joel had heard the whole break room story from Brown. He took Blair's elbow and tried to attract his attention. The young man still seemed to be drifting. Joel shifted his chair and tried again, trying not to convey his alarm to everyone in the room. He knew how sensitive Sandburg was. No need embarrassing him more than necessary.

Blair had a momentary flash, when he thought, "I must be getting tired - time to get Jim." The thought was lost, as Joel's warm voice receded into the background. His vision blurred around the edges. For awhile all he could see were the brightly colored darts in Jim's hand. He could hear a murmur of Joel's voice, but it seemed far away. Why couldn't he talk sense? Then the walls were spinning, colors running together, objects melting away. Green. Green was crawling over him, drowning him. Where was Jim? Come now - come now....

"Get Ellison. Get him over here right now. Danny, without a scene." Taggart watched as their host, Daniel O'Malley, a long time friend of his, waded across the room. "Come on, Blair. Stay with me." The young man wouldn't answer him, but he was breathing fast and he seemed, if anything, confused and frightened.

O'Malley had never met Sandburg before that night, but the fact that the other members of Major Crimes were so solicitous of his well being was validation enough for Danny. He hissed in Jim's ear, "Your partner." Then he grinned broadly, taking his darts, providing Jim a diversion to slip away. "Stand back, you pathetic youngsters. I retired out of Major Crimes, so I'm an honorary department member. It's my turn now." As the hoots and bantering soared around them, Jim slipped quickly away.

"What's wrong? Blair? Chief, are you OK?"

"Jim, he was fine until just a minute ago. Is this what happened before?"

"Yeah. I think so. He didn't drink any beer, did he? He's had some pain medication today."

"Not a drop. Just the seven up. We were joking about the beer. He told me he poured it on the plant."

Jim tried to make eye contact with his partner. He still looked pretty out of it. "Joel, get on the other side. Let's try to get him out of here. Maybe some fresh air will help."

"Danny's got a side door behind those screens - go that way."

They gently maneuvered Blair to his feet. With each of the big men on one arm, they steered him out of the room. They were almost out the door when Jim heard a mocking voice behind them. "There goes the newest member of Major Crimes. So drunk on his butt they have to carry him out." Joel heard it, too. He saw Jim's face darken with rage. "Let it go, Ellison. We can pound the jerk later." None the less, Jim filed the voice. That was one person he planned to speak to later.

******

Joel, kind soul that he was, drove the two men home. He had dashed back in, while Jim held his partner in the back seat and tried to soothe Blair back to coherence. He left Jim's keys with Simon following a terse explanation of what had happened. The captain would get the truck back to the loft so they wouldn't be stranded.

"Jim, is this worse than before? You want to go to ER?"

"It's more like when he was having nightmares. I couldn't wake him up then, either. Go back to the loft."

"I hope you're right. He looks bad, Jim. It came on so sudden."

******

Joel took charge of getting Blair into bed, while Jim called Blair's regular physician at home. He'd treated Blair for years, and knew Jim's background as a medic.

"Detective, I'm not sure we shouldn't have this conversation in the ER."

"I'm not sure either, but he seems on the edge of panic, like something's scaring him. You know how he is about hospitals. I think he'd be worse off."

"You're probably right. His vitals are still good?"

"Heart rate and breathing are fine. He's answering when were talking to him, at least some of the time. He's not feverish. Shocky, if anything."

"OK - here's what we'll do. If he has even the slightest change for the worse, you get his butt to Cascade General, and I'll meet you there. Stay with him. See if he'll take some fluids. Call me at eight tomorrow morning, if not sooner."

Jim sat on the foot of Blair's bed. Joel was wiping his face and shoulders down with a cold washrag, talking in soothing tones. Blair seemed to be following him; eyes open but not speaking. He seemed less agitated. He stood up while Jim raised Blair off the pillow and coaxed some juice down him.

"Jim? So sorry. Green was drowning me - where were you?" The words were slurred and halting, but at least he was talking.

"You want me to stay, Jim? I can crash on the couch."

"I think we're OK, Joel. Thanks, you were a real lifesaver."

"I'll make up a tray for you and bring some of your sweats down before I go. I think you're right. He does seem better."

A few minutes later, just before closing the door to the loft, Taggart whispered, "Take care of him - he's worth it."

******

Two days off had helped. Blair had awakened the day after St. Patrick's with no memory of leaving the restaurant and a raging headache. Given the circumstances, the doctor was reluctant to have him take the pain medication again. He suffered in pain while Jim brought him fluids, small meals, and kept him company. He still felt shaky, but was functional. The weekend had passed quietly.

Jim accompanied his partner to the hospital on Monday morning. The neurological tests had been trying, to say the least. Blair felt sick and exhausted. Jim had insisted on staying, and now they were in a secluded consulting room waiting to speak with Blair's regular doctor, Dr. Thompson, and the neurologist. Jim was slightly surprised when both men appeared together.

"Good day, gentleman. I'm Dr. Taylor. I've run Mr. Sandburg's neurological tests. Perhaps, Detective, we should do this privately. There's a waiting room down the hall."

Jim stood to leave, but Blair caught his arm. "Jim's my partner and my emergency medical contact. Anything you need to say to me you can say in front of him."

Dr. Taylor seemed reluctant, but sighed and continued. "You both realize that what we say to each other here will be held under strictest confidentiality?" For some reason, that statement seemed to be directed at Jim. The two partners exchanged puzzled looks. Finally, Blair just blurted out, "Why don't you just say what you need to say, Doctor."

"Based on the original referral, we concentrated on diagnosing things primarily associated with vision. To state it directly, the results are conflicting. Mr. Sandburg, I need to ask you a question, and it's extremely important that you answer truthfully, for the sake of your health. I meant what I said about confidentiality. Are you using some kind of hallucinogen?"

Blair dropped the magazine he'd been flipping through, unable to answer. Jim however, exploded. "What do you mean, drugs? Do you have any idea what Blair went through with Golden? Or what kind of cases we work on? Sandburg won't even take an aspirin without being coerced."

"Jim! Calm down!"

"I won't calm down. You've been through hell for nearly a week, and the best they can do is accuse you of doing drugs!"

"Mr. Sandburg wouldn't be the first police officer with a substance abuse problem. I'm sure the department would be supportive. We can have you in treatment before the day's out."

"I don't believe this." Jim was on his feet now and nearly shouting. He looked at Dr. Thompson. "How can you let this go on? You know Blair better than this."

The neurologist looked ready to continue arguing the point, but Dr. Thompson broke in. "Blair, you haven't answered the question."

Barely able to manage a whisper, Blair was clearly upset. He shook his head. "No. Absolutely not. No drugs - not ever."

Jim moved to his partner's side, laying a hand on his shoulder. Wasn't this just the icing on the cake?

Dr. Thompson at last filled the painful silence. "If drugs are out, there is one other possibility. Because of your exposure to Golden, it's possible that these are a kind of flashback. Since this would indicate a change in the brain itself, our only alternative is to scan for a brain tumor. That being the case, is your answer still the same?"

Watching the horror play across his friend's face, Jim simply asked, "When can you schedule the scan? Is tomorrow too soon?"

*******

"Sandburg, are you sure you want to go to the station? Why don't you let me take you back to the loft."

"Jim, it's tempting, but I need to talk to Simon. That was my doctor, for God's sake. I can imagine what the word is around the station."

Jim's jaw clenched. "Anybody badmouthing you right now is going to be in for serious problems."

"Hey, man, you just turn those ears of yours down, right now. It won't help me to go around pounding everyone who noticed how I've been acting."

"You're not acting, Chief. You're sick. There's a big difference."

"Let it go, Jim. Besides, we need to concentrate on restructuring the casework if I have to take time away from work. Even if I can keep up with the outreach sessions, you need some help with everything else."

"I don't believe you. Forget the case. They're talking about a brain tumor. You think I care about the damn case at this point?"

"We both have a job to do, and you know it. Narcotics has been a bust. You and I are the only ones getting any leads. People are dying - I can't deal with this and have that on my conscience, too."

"I am not going to tolerate you feeling guilty on top of being sick. Neither will Simon. I can predict how he's going to react."

"And I'm counting on you to take my side. Don't give me the burden of innocent lives going down the tubes. I'm sorry, I just can't talk about this anymore. Can we just put this on hold until we sit down with Simon?"

"All right. Close your eyes and try to relax for the rest of the drive. Just don't expect me to put any case above your well being."

The session with Simon was agonizing. Blair insisted on revealing the implication of drug use, going so far as to ask Simon if he wanted to suspend him. The answer was an emphatic, "No." Simon pointed out that at a minimum, the break room of a police station was a highly unlikely place to experiment with drugs. After serious haggling, the three men had agreed that Blair would only continue the outreach sessions, and do all other work from home from then on. Megan would be switched to Jim's partner for other activities. Together, the three men had gone to the case meeting with the other divisions, informing the rest of the task force of the change in personnel. Their explanation was limited to saying that Sandburg was being reassigned for temporary medical reasons.

The Volvo was sitting in the parking garage, but Blair declined to drive home. Instead, he was sitting at Jim's desk, fidgeting with paperclips. Although Megan couldn't be reassigned until tomorrow, Jim had gone to follow up a lead on the sellers down in the warehouse district. It seemed like a solid possibility. The tip had come through narcotics; one of the few useful pieces of information that slice of the task force had turned up. Actually, it was fairly close to Blair's former residence, so he could attest to the questionable nature of the neighborhood. If anything, the area had gone downhill in the years since the demise of Blair's building. Sandburg hated to let him go unaccompanied, but agreed. He settled for waiting instead.

*******

The shadow man was fuming. He'd taken full advantage of his unexpected opportunity at O'Malley's. A little aggressive rumor mongering, and half the station was convinced Sandburg had a substance abuse problem. So now, after a near-perfect setup, the little twerp would be out of the station and out of reach. This probably was his last chance to get Sandburg kicked out of Major Crimes, and maybe out of the department. Time to stage the last act of this little production. How fortunate that he had anticipated this as a possible scenario!

He had fled the task force meeting, making a few frantic phone calls from a pay phone a few blocks from the station, making his arrangements on the fly. The timing had to be just so. Ellison left the station. He waited 20 minutes. Counting on Ellison turning off his phone while checking out the lead, he made his last phone call; an anonymous tip to Sandburg that his partner was in immediate need. Dashing across the street and retrieving the usual afternoon order, it took minimal imagination to bump into Sandburg on his way out and deliver the latte. He had no time to fool with the dose, and dumped half of the remaining JET into the cup, saving the rest for one last-ditch attempt if necessary. The young man was in such a hurry to get going, he took it without protest and hurried off.

Following at a safe distance, he had to coax the old, beaten up jeep to life at every stop. He'd left it on a side street near the station, hoping he would have a chance to pull this off. The vehicle had been claimed from a junkyard through a friend years ago, when he had dreams of fixing it up. It had been unlicensed for years, and there was no real bill of sale, nothing to trace. He watched gleefully as Sandburg absently sipped at his drink, mistakenly hustling to his partner's side. It was a fairly long drive to the area, through long deserted streets in this neglected area of Cascade. Please, please, please, kick in. A satisfied sneer appeared when he noticed the Volvo start to weave; once, then twice. Time. Now or never.

Dodging over one block, he raced on a parallel course to his struggling victim. Don't pull over, you idiot. Think about your partner. Keep driving. A few blocks down, he turned right and raced back to intersect his original course. Perfect. Sandburg had slowed down, trying to stay on the road, making this even easier. He revved the engine, and as the Volvo entered the intersection, plowed the dilapidated jeep into the driver's side of the vehicle at maximum speed. Sandburg was so out of it he never saw it coming.

Securely belted in, he braced for the crash. When the sounds of crunching metal and breaking glass stopped, he abandoned the jeep. Volvo's were reputed to be pretty crash proof, but he'd done serious damage. Sandburg was moving, just barely, blood streaming from his forehead and nasty cuts on his arm. Rejoicing in his success, he ran three blocks to the nearest bar and convinced that waitress to call the cops about the awful drunk driving accident he'd just seen. From there, it was a short walk to catch a bus out of the area. He could hear the approaching sirens as he gleefully made his escape.

*******

Blair sat helpless, slumped on the pavement next to his wrecked vehicle. Sparkling knives hacked at his arms. Red was everywhere. Hopeless, swirling red. Banging sounds and voices, none of it made sense. He tried to run away from the sensations that overwhelmed him. His skin burned like it was on fire. He kept falling, and the red would roll over him and his skin would burn again. Hands. Hands that clawed and hurt. He batted at the hands pulling at him. He tried to crawl away from the red; it frightened him. With the world whirling around, he collapsed on the pavement, still struggling, still trying to escape the hands and the noise and the red.

*******

Jim was giving the reputed drug corner a disgusted last look when he heard the sirens coming ever closer. He grabbed the radio in the truck to check in. Paramedics and uniforms were already on site, a drunk driving accident close by. He gunned the truck engine to life when he realized the vehicle description had to be Sandburg, and raced away. What the hell was he doing down here, anyway?

Detective Blair J. Sandburg, bandaged and sore, waited to be called for internal review. How could life be more of a disaster? His car was probably beyond repair. He'd spent long hours in ER, escaping arrest for driving while intoxicated only because Simon had lobbied that there was a verifiable medical explanation. Fortunately, the initial blood tests ruled out alcohol and other substances in a normal drug screen, so Simon had temporarily won the day. Emphasis on temporary. It was fairly obvious that he would be placed on suspension after this tap dance. Even if he got a reprieve and wasn't charged with misconduct, medically he was unfit for duty. He knew Jim had steadfastly defended him against all accusations of drug use, but he couldn't blame anyone for reaching that conclusion. Physically, he was a mess. He had a crushing headache, no balance and minimal ability to see. Vision wavered in and out, and he knew his current attention span rivaled that of a grasshopper.

"Hey, Sandburg, I heard you were up here." Blair groaned inwardly. Just what he needed. Nick Branning, on of the members of the JET task force. He was about Blair's age and a poster boy for narrow-minded, power hungry macho cops everywhere. Jim had disliked him almost instantly, and Blair had always gotten a feeling of unease whenever the guy was around. Lately, he'd been bringing around espresso orders, much to Blair's dismay. Blair had always made a point to avoid the guy. He chided himself for being so uncharitable. The guy was probably just being nice. "Tough luck about the wreck. I brought your usual up. Do you think Ellison wants his?"

Blair sighed. No one could be this clueless. Still, he tried to be polite. "Sure, I'll keep it for him." He accepted both cups, setting Jim's aside on a nearby table. "I hate to be rude, Nick, but I'm really not up for conversation right now. It's kind of a bad time, you know?"

"Sure, sure. Take it easy." Branning drifted toward the door, noting that Sandburg had taken a sip of his latte. "Drink it, you bastard," he thought. "I used all of the rest, everything I had left. You'll be flying before you ever see that review board."

******

Blair was distantly aware of his worsening condition. He felt awful. He heard the rise and fall of angry voices in the review room. Jim and Simon were putting up a fight on his behalf. If they don't hurry up, I'm not going to make it. He set the latte aside - it just didn't taste good. Kelly was usually pretty inventive about blending flavors, and had a knack for picking out pleasing combinations, but she'd missed the boat with this recipe. This version either had an awful aftertaste or his tongue was as screwed up as every other aspect of his life. He jerked himself back to reality when he realized Simon was calling him. From the look on his face, it wasn't the first time. Great, Sandburg. Jim's been in there going to bat for you, and you can't even pay attention.

Simon's irritation evaporated when Blair took three steps and crashed to the floor, unconscious. Quickly, he was at his side, with Ellison in hot pursuit. The members of the review board streamed out of the office, but they were the least of their worries. Sandburg's eyes were open and completely dilated. Feeling at the neck, Simon struggled to find a pulse. He didn't seem to be breathing. In near panic, the two started CPR.

The situation wasn't looking any better when the paramedics arrived. Forced away by the medical personnel, Jim relinquished his spot giving mouth-to-mouth. He wiped his lips in disgust, senses on overdrive. Sandburg had tasted of latte, but he was overwhelmed by a harsh chemical tang he couldn't identify. He snatched the abandoned cup from the table and sipped, recoiling from the taste. His head spun. As the gurney with Sandburg headed out the door, Jim searched the onlookers for a trusted face. Simon, who was trying to organize their own departure for the hospital, looked on in disbelief as Jim hauled Henri Brown out of the crowd and drug him into the hearing room. Jim snatched a paper from the table and wrapped it around the side of the cup. "Henri, take this to forensics. Now. Don't give it too anyone except Serena. Stay until you have the results in hand. Don't ask me why, but tell them to test for JET. Call the hospital when you know. I think someone's been dosing Blair on the sly." Paying no attention to the shock on Brown's face, he vanished with Simon.

"Hey, buddy, good to see you. Stay flat, it's too soon to be moving around."

"Jimmm? Where am I? Feel bad."

"I'll bet." Jim reached over and hit the call button. "You gave me a serious scare."

"Whaa hppnd?"

"Shhh...just relax. Dr.'s on his way. Everything's OK." Jim stroked the back of his partner's hand, carefully avoiding the IV. "Now that you're awake, we've got nothing to worry about. The nightmare's over, Chief. Totally, completely over."

As his eyes drifted shut, Blair managed to register a glimpse of his partner's trusted face and smiled.

"You mean he did all this because he was passed over for Major Crimes?" Blair peered at his partner over the edge of the report.

"Looks like it. When Serena matched the latte and your blood samples with what they had already tested, she realized it had come from the batch on the streets two weeks ago. It was an out-of -date chemical signature, as she put it. The recent stuff was coming from different processing runs. It didn't take a genius to check the evidence room. Branning left a print on the evidence bag when he emptied it out. I should have been the only one to handle it, and you never touched it. Kelly confirmed that he had been making a point to pick up our order over the critical time frame. It took some serious digging, but we did trace the hit and run jeep to him. Never would have found it if we hadn't known to look. It's enough to make a case, and more than enough to exonerate you of any wrongdoing. You were the victim."

"Did he confess?"

"Of course. In triplicate."

"Jiimmm?"

"You don't have to know everything, Sandburg."

"Jiimmm - what did you do?"

"Nothing. Simon was there. I didn't threaten him, not directly anyway. I was good."

"You're impossible. Mr. Covert Ops was 'good'. What did it? Juggling the grenades in the interrogation room? Cleaning the AK-47 while the guy ate lunch." Jim smiled sweetly, the picture of innocence. Blair gave up and changed the subject. "Will you be mad if I ask about the case?

"Yes, but I'll tell you anyway. The surveillance paid off while you were here. We followed the seller right back to the lab. It's a small group and we think we got them all. Rafe and Brown did a great job."

Blair handed the folder back to his partner. "How can someone be that vengeful over a job?"

"For the same reason people manufacture poison and peddle it to kids. Greed, selfish pride. Any one of a dozen reasons. For five cents I'd snap the guy's neck for what he did to you."

"Jim, don't talk like that. On a different topic, when can I get out of here?"

Jim grabbed his coat and picked up the folder, heading for the door. "For someone who nearly died, you're an ungrateful wretch. Maybe tomorrow. Be patient. I'm just grateful you're coming home at all. However, I do have one condition."

"Oh, really? I can just imagine. OK - how am I supposed to buy my freedom this time."

Jim leaned against the door and looked back fondly at his partner. "That you never, ever, ever, under any circumstances order or consume another latte in your life!"

The End