Title and Summary -
Patrol - Sandburg's assignment with Major Crimes is challenged and he is forced to transfer.

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 Author: Takes place after TSbyBS. Originally posted to the Sentinel Angst list. Their comments and suggestions have made this version of the original a better story.

PATROL
By Jael Lyn

Simon Banks gazed around his near-empty bullpen. The lone resident would have to do for now. This was a conversation he really did not want to have.

"Ellison. My office. Bring your current case files." A puzzled look greeted his request. Simon retreated, leaving the door ajar for his detective. He busied himself pouring a cup of coffee, hoping for an inspirational way to attack this little interchange. By the time Jim had settled himself across the large desk, Simon himself was seated, taking a moment to skim through the contents of the single sheet now in his hand.

"Where's Sandburg?"

Jim shifted uncomfortably. "He's at the firing range. He's doing his follow-up marksmanship evaluation."

"Two months on full time duty went fast." Simon looked back at the administrative directive, wishing it would disappear. Several moments had slipped by before Jim interrupted him.

"Mind telling me what this is all about, Captain? I get the feeling I'm not here because you were lonely."

Simon braced himself for the explosion he knew was coming. "I want you to go through your outstanding cases with me and select someone from Major Crimes to partner with you on each of them."

"I have a partner." Ellison's voice was tinged with ice.

"Sandburg's being reassigned." As Jim surged to his feet, Simon continued sharply. "Just sit down and hear me out. You are aware that you belong to a union?"

"Yes." Oh good, thought Simon. Monosyllables.

"And that contract negotiations are in progress."

"Yes, but what...."

"I said, hear me out. There's been a grievance filed, protesting Sandburg's appointment to Major Crimes. Since we're in a negotiating period, it got used as a bargaining chip. Blair's being sent to Patrol for a minimum of 6 months to a year."

File folders clattered to the floor unheeded. Simon gazed with a calm he didn't really feel at the angry man on his feet before him, fists clenched at his side. Jim's voice rose with his heated response. "We had an agreement, Simon. Everyone up through the Chief and the Mayor signed off on it. This is...."

"Stop right there, Detective. Don't make it any worse." Simon was well aware that only their personal friendship was keeping Jim under moderate control. "Labor negotiations follow their own rules. It's been made clear that unless Sandburg's assignment is modified, it will be viewed as a major breach of contract."

"He's doing a great job, Simon. He's met or exceeded every qualification required of a rookie, and most of the ones expected of an experienced officer."

"You are absolutely correct, but it doesn't matter. Jim, I'm going to tell you something that can't be repeated outside of this office. The original demand was for total dismissal. We were lucky to keep Sandburg with the department." He tossed the offending memo onto the desktop. "This directive is a compromise, and it's the best deal we're going to get." Simon waited as Jim sank back into his chair. "I have no leverage here, Jim. None whatsoever. Please don't make it worse."

Jim's shoulders slumped, elbows resting on his knees. "I suppose I'm going to be the one to tell him, huh? Just a minor detour along the way - no big deal." He sat motionless as his eyes drifted shut. Simon hated to imagine what must be going through his thoughts.

******

Jim drove the route home on autopilot, preoccupied with the newest disaster to befall his friend. He and Simon had wrangled for nearly an hour redistributing the Major Crimes workload. In the end, Megan had joined them, at Simon's insistence. Since Connor was the only other member of Major Crimes that 'knew' about Jim's Sentinel abilities, it would fall to her to be Sandburg-in-absentia. Simon's continual presence couldn't be relied upon. As much as Jim objected to having anyone at his side other than Blair, he could grudgingly see the logic. Six months was a long time for him to function without his guide. His sensory reliability would be tested, and for his own safety and the safety of others, Simon was right. Megan acquiesced immediately, but Jim had no illusions. He and Megan still fought like teenage siblings. Her willingness was as motivated by her fondness for Blair as anything else.

He spotted the Volvo as he parked the truck. Sandburg must have made it through the drill at the shooting range in record time. He had secretly wished for some time to gather himself, but obviously Blair was already home. They had the day off tomorrow, and Jim was determined to delay breaking the news to Blair. His partner had been eagerly waiting for the holiday. Without the constant pressure of university responsibilities, Blair was extremely creative with his spare time. On days Jim would normally have spent doing laundry, Sandburg had him out hiking or at a concert or investigating a new restaurant. To all outward appearances, he was making a smooth career transition from academic life with no regrets. Only a roommate would know about the journal writing which continued into the early morning hours, or be aware of the myriad of small actions which kept the clouds of despair at bay. Jim hated to think what this latest news would do to the young man's equilibrium.

He tuned his hearing to Blair's presence in the loft. The young man had his newest CD on the stereo and was singing along. Jim had to grin. The shuffle of footsteps indicated that a little solo dancing was also in progress. So like Blair. The shooting range must have gone well. As he forced himself up the stairs, he could smell Thai - Blair must have picked up dinner on the way home.

He'd barely pushed the door open when Blair's cheerful, "Hey Jim" greeted him. Sandburg bounced across the room, snatching the remote to the stereo to turn down the music, then hustling back to the kitchen. "Sorry - I was trying to listen for you. Dinner's ready. You want to shower first?" Jim consciously wiped his scowl from his features. Luckily Blair still had his back turned towards him. He tried to distract himself by hanging up his windbreaker and stowing his firearm next to Blair's. Keys hit the basket as he continued to listen halfheartedly. "I got a great score on the range. I don't have to go back for a loooong time. Man, I'm so excited. I hate that place. I'd be perfectly happy if I never had to fire off another round." He was headed Jim's way, dark brown bottle in hand. "I have a new beer for us to try out. It comes highly recommended." Jim put on his best smile and attempted some enthusiasm for this new beverage adventure. He could do this, needed to do this for Sandburg's sake.

It didn't work. Blair froze in front of him, dropping his hands to his side. His eyes widened, followed by a hushed, "What?"

******

THE FIRST WEEK

"I look like a Nazi."

"Sandburg...."

"Correction - I look like a Nazi that escaped from nursery school." Blair emerged from the bathroom, petulantly pulling at his curls. "These guys DO NOT understand the ramifications of cutting my hair. When it was long at least I could pull it back. Now I look like a something from a Victorian greeting card. What am I gonna do, Jim? No one is going to take me seriously looking like this." He'd stopped in front of his partner, who lounged on the couch. Jim quickly took a sip of coffee to keep from laughing. This was no time to upset his roommate further.

"Sandburg, you need to calm down. It doesn't help to exaggerate."

"Jim, look at me. Look at you. End of discussion. And you still haven't answered me."

Jim frowned. Initially, Blair had kept his hair long based on the argument that he could do undercover work, or blend in when the situation demanded someone young and hip. On Patrol it was no longer an issue. Time to be constructive. He knew Blair had a point, and it was just adding to his anxiety. "I don't suppose you tried gel or something?" Ouch - a withering look from Sandburg spoke volumes.

"This from the king of the buzz cut."

"Well, I don't know." The mug clanked down on the table. "The military solution is to cut it until it doesn't curl. Isn't there some advice site on the web? Did the place you got it cut have any suggestions? You could always go shorter."

Blair flopped onto the couch opposite Jim and stared at the ceiling. "Why is my life this embarrassing? Great. I can shave my head. Imagine Kojak in this body. It's not going to work, man."

"Wear approved headgear. You've got a couple of choices."

"They are so not me, Jim. I really do look like a little kid playing dress-up. A department baseball cap automatically subtracts about 20 years from my age."

"Well, then shorter is the only answer. I'm sorry, Sandburg. More sorry than I can say."

Blair sighed. Since the first night, Jim had been miserable. He'd gone through a whole list of pathetic offerings that nearly brought the giggles out in Blair, despite his outrage at being moved from Major Crimes. Jim was doing the best he could. Blair recognized that if he was angry, Jim was scared to death. Scared that his Guide would just take this latest humiliation and call it quits. If no target was readily available, the Ellison strategy was usually to withdraw. This was actually a sign that their relationship was improving.

"You just hold that feeling of guilt while I change." Blair pushed himself off the couch and headed for his room, unbuttoning his uniform as he went. "You can take me down to that butcher shop you call a barber and I'll get it cut again, and then you can buy me lunch. I'll have you know this is a blow to free expression everywhere."

"Why do I have to buy lunch?" Jim's mood was relieved by the comfortable banter.

"Because I'm the one suffering here. Do not even THINK about taking me to WonderBurger."

******

Jim watched as his partner happily munched his way through a pita loaded with sprouts, cream cheese and other assorted veggies. Every time he looked up to carry on the conversation, his friend's new visage spooked him. Turned out that Jim's barber, all of 70 years old, knew a few little tricks not shared with the younger generation. Blair's hair was short, but had been tamed into waves rather than corkscrew curls. On the whole it looked decidedly less frenetic, but it just didn't look like the same person. Blair seemed blissfully unconcerned, but to Jim it seemed ominous. "Sandburg, it ought to be illegal to eat anything with that much green. Aren't you worried about pesticides or something?" Blair was in mid-swallow and nearly choked trying to squeeze a laugh around his mouthful.

"No, I am not worried about pesticides. Think about it, Jim. That WonderBurger you wanted was prepared from an animal exposed to pesticides, growth hormones and who knows what else? We're a lot safer in here." He grinned happily, gesturing with his half-eaten sandwich. "You haven't told me if you like your lunch?"

"How can I like it when you won't tell me what it is?" answered Jim sulkily.

"Since you inhaled the entire serving I assume it was okay." Blair was genuinely enjoying the teasing. It had been a pretty good day so far. Even the hair hadn't turned out half bad.

"Starving men aren't writing restaurants critiques, Sandburg. I just know you're going to tell me this was octopus or some mold or fermented tree bark."

"You mean you're unwilling to form an untainted opinion? Why can't you just rely on your tastebuds? God knows, you have them." Blair polished off his pita. "Come on - admit it you liked it."

"All right, I liked it."

"Yes!" responded Blair with enthusiasm. "Since we've wormed that little bit of truth out of you, why don't you tell me the rest."

"Sandburg, you are so full of it."

"No I'm not. We're still having dessert. I already ordered it. Talk, man. Don't spoil the mood."

Jim picked at his napkin. "I want you to wear a vest," he answered softly. "I don't like you being on the street alone."

"Jim, I won't be any more alone than every other officer. I don't wear a vest when I'm with you."

"Exactly my point, Sandburg. You won't be with me. Patrol is damned risky. You know as well as I do that the uniforms are almost always the ones that catch the nasty surprises. You never know when a routine stop will become a shoot-out. We go on calls after the fact, at least most of the time. This will be so ....Unpredictable."

Well now, wasn't that a mouthful thought Blair. Those old fears just keep biting you in the ass, don't they, buddy? In the gentlest tone he could manage, he answered. "We're talking about control here, Jim."

"No we're not. We're talking about safety. Since when is it wrong to worry about a friend?"

"No, we're talking about control. Because you aren't going to be there all the time, you've lost control of the situation. Jim, I appreciate your position, and I'm grateful for the concern it conveys. I worry about you, too, but you know as well as I do that some of the department does not want me around. It won't make my life any easier if you treat me like an overprotected elementary child."

"Wearing a vest is not being overprotective," Jim answered with heat. "It makes good sense. You can't anticipate when you might need one."

"Will you wear one all day?" Jim sat in stony silence, looking for all the world like a petulant teenager. "I thought not. I give you my word; I won't take any unnecessary risks. I'll be the first one to check out body armor when it's appropriate." Blair halted as their dessert was served. He had selected it with Jim in mind; a creamy flan that was a specialty here.

"Come on, Jim. You helped me out with the uniform and the hair. I know you'll help whenever something comes up. You'll always be my partner, whether you're by my side or not, and I know I can depend on you. Let it be enough." His friend sat quietly, but the anger had faded. Still, he hadn't exactly answered.

"Jim?? Tell me you're OK with this."

Jim smiled and reached for the small dessert dish. He poked at it with his spoon. "Do you promise me this isn't made of grubs or something?"

Blair took a bite and smiled back. Jim hadn't answered him, but he decided to let it go ... at least for now.

******

"Hi, Megan. Thanks for meeting me."

"Sandy, would you please explain to me why we're meeting in a grocery store? I realize you Yanks have some strange customs, but really."

"We're here because Jim won't let me out of his sight and we both know how private a phone call can be at the loft. Come on, grab a cart. You look conspicuous." Blair tossed a loaf of bread into her cart. "There, now you look normal."

"I don't need to shop, Sandy."

"Everyone needs to shop." A package of paper towels joined the bread. "I'm worried about Jim."

"Small world - he's worried about you." They pushed their carts side by side down the aisle. Megan winced as granola bars sailed into her basket. "I mean it, Sandy. I don't need groceries."

"Correction, Jim is not worried about me, he's paranoid about me. I am worried for good reason." He bagged up broccoli for both of them. "I'll make you some dip for those if you don't want to cook them. And you do need groceries, because you're just like Jim. The only residents of our fridge would be beer and take-out boxes if I let him get by with it." He added strawberries and melon to both baskets. "Anyway, you know what to do for Jim if he zones, but there are some circumstances that might come up that you can't handle, so I made some contingency plans." They had come to a stop near the milk. Blair placed a small carton of chocolate milk in her cart and winked. "You just seem like a chocolate girl to me." Megan rolled her eyes.

The store was fairly empty as Blair began pulling small items out of his pockets. "First, here's a pager. It vibrates only. Mine dials yours and vice versa. For emergencies. We can back them up with cell phones."

"You can't just come at the drop of a hat like that."

"Megan, it is not like I haven't mangled a few rules in previous lives. Now, don't interrupt. I can't be gone long. Second, here's player and a tape of my voice. Jack Kelso got me the smallest one available. If nothing else is working, try that." Megan quickly stuffed the items into her bag. In true Sandburg style, she couldn't get a word in edgewise. Last came a sealed plastic bag containing some fabric scraps. "Don't get grossed out. Last time I worked out I swabbed myself down with those chamois strips. Smell is the most primitive of the senses. As a last resort, I know Jim registers my presence with scent. It's small enough to carry without being a problem. Just keep it sealed until you need it. I'll refresh it every few weeks."

"Sandy - I don't know what to say."

"Just take care of him." Her own eyes filled with tears as she heard his voice catch. Without another word, Sandburg pivoted his cart and hustled down a nearby aisle.

She stood for a long while watching his retreating back, clutching the plastic bag in her hand. Unsettled, she added a carton of ice cream to her strange assortment and headed for the checkout.

****

At eight AM sharp, Blair Sandburg joined 40 other bustling officers in the 1^st floor briefing room. When he dressed that morning it was as if he was climbing into a new, alien skin. It would take a while to get used to the hair and the clothes. In deference to his friend, he had waited patiently as Jim had adjusted his protective vest so it fit perfectly under his uniform. Not content with department- issue gear, Jim had produced a state-of-the-art item that was supple and almost silky. It went without saying that a small fortune was now wrapped around his ribs. Blair shuddered to think what strings Jim had pulled to procure it.

The next few days would be strictly procedural. Blair was keenly aware as the morning progressed how many of these steps he had skipped in order to waltz into Major Crimes as a detective. He would break in a pair of walking shoes, pull some routine escort duty and maybe some minor assignments. By the end of the week he would be assigned a partner and begin his duties on Patrol, probably in a cruiser, far from the protective embrace of Major Crimes and certainly far from his Sentinel.

******

THE SECOND WEEK

The silence in the cruiser was oppressive. Blair fidgeted, wishing the 10-minute drive would go faster. As the junior officer, he had of course been relegated to the passenger seat. His new partner, Brad McMillan, had made it perfectly clear with the first introduction that any unnecessary conversation was going to be slapped away with a snide comment. He'd only banged his head against that particular brick wall a couple of times.

Bored and unhappy, he allowed his thoughts to drift. He'd perfected this technique somewhere around 3rd grade to pass the time while everyone else finished reading the assigned story. Blair had made it an internal joke that this new assignment sent him straight back to his earliest experiences.

My feet hurt, but at least my shoes aren't ugly.

My partner hates me and he wears ugly shoes.

It's nearly lunch, maybe I can talk Brad into eating at a civilized establishment.

I could make a lunch and bring it. Wonder where my old lunch pails ended up?

Damn, more rain.

Brad needs more deodorant. Correction, Brad needs a personality.

Jim's in court today. Maybe we can grill steaks. I'll leave a message at lunch.

When I get home, I'm either wearing sweats or going naked. I hate this uniform.

Brad reminds me of Mark Tray - now there's a blast from the past.

Mark Tray. Geometry. I walked over to the high school for math every day because they couldn't find a class at the junior high to keep me out of trouble. Naomi was with - what was his name? - we were living in that old Victorian and had a garden. Cool. I grew pumpkins and they were great, but we moved before Halloween. Tray hulked around in a football jersey and stole my homework every day; I just made two copies to have a spare. Jerk beat the crap out of me when he figured out I was putting the wrong answers on the one I let him swipe. Idiot never picked up his homework and I got away with it for what? Six weeks? Brad is his evil twin. I know! Maybe they're cousins. The family tree no doubt intersects frequently.

"Sandbag! Pay attention!"

"Yeah, Brad. The address is on the second floor. Her name is Claudia Williams. Dispatch said she sounded like an older lady."

"Well, you go up and get started on her statement. I'll check around."

Blair knew there was no point in arguing. On their last call, Brad had spent the entire time in a bar down the street, watching ESPN on the tube. Jim hadn't been far off on his 'working alone fears', for all intents and purposes Blair did work alone.

As he pulled open the rickety screen door, he looked back. Brad had opened the car door and was lounging in the front seat, apparently settling in for another smoke. No doubt Brad will have made a 'thorough search of the area' by the time I get done. That's how I'LL type it up when I WRITE the report and fill out ALL the forms. At least get out of the car, you drone. Maybe you'll fall down a storm drain.

The floor creaked in the entry. Sounds of a furious argument toward the back of the building curled around him. A crying baby. Time to meet Mrs. Williams.

****

"Hey, Chief. You're late. I'll throw the meat on."

"Thanks, Jim. I thought I missed you."

Jim came back through the sliding doors. "Really? I left a note in your box."

"Well, you know me. I probably just shuffled right over the top of it." Don't go there. We don't need to share with Jim what was actually in your in-box, and it sure wasn't a note from him. "Make any progress with the fraud case?"

"Actually, we did. Found some records that were hidden in a false drawer of Liken's desk. We've got good leads for tomorrow. If you're not too tired, I'd like you to look at some stuff."

"Did you use your senses? Did you have any problems?" Blair struggled to keep his voice level. If he didn't sound upset he had a better chance of getting information out of Jim. Please don't make me check with Megan behind your back. She's getting tired of the grocery store.

"I used a little bit of touch to find the mechanism in the drawer. Had a little drift, but no zone. I keep telling you, Sandburg, I'm careful. What happened to you today? Didn't your shift end at three?"

Blair laughed as he dug out his tea canister. "I get this from the original work-a-holic? I spent some time getting some social services for one of our calls. She's in her seventies and has diabetes, no family, you know the drill. There wasn't a bit of food in the house. I called Meals-on-Wheels."

Jim fussed with the baked potatoes and set the microwave for another few minutes. "How much did you spend on the groceries you ran by?"

"I didn't .... Oh, all right, about $30 bucks. Don't look at me in that tone of voice. You think I could eat dinner when she wasn't going to get a scrap until tomorrow?" He plopped the kettle on the burner and turned back to Jim, leaning against the counter. "How'd you know? Did my heart rate go up?"

Jim shook his head. "No sentinel stuff. After four years here I can make a rational guess about your behavior. Go change. I'll make your tea when the water boils. Since it's the end of your work week I got a Merlot to celebrate."

Blair had a little of his bounce back as he walked down the hall. "Yeah - two weeks and no trips to the ER. I told you it would be okay."

As Jim flipped the steaks, he wondered what his roommate hadn't told him. How many times can a heart rate spike in a five-minute conversation?

*****

THE FOURTH WEEK

Blair pensively strolled the corridors outside the arena. Inside the Jags were finishing up their regular season. A couple of wins might land them in the playoffs. He tried to generate some enthusiasm. He could actually follow the game pretty well just listening to the announcer. Right now he'd give anything to sit down. That spot, however, had been taken by Brad the Bad, who left for a 15-minute break over an hour ago. He was undoubtedly watching the game, and Blair wouldn't put it past him to be downing a brew on duty. It wouldn't be so hard to deal with a surly attitude if the jerk wasn't lazy on top of it.

He gave a polite nod to each of the vendors as he passed. One of the women he knew only as Sherri held up a coffeepot with a questioning glance. He waved and shook his head. Maybe on the next pass. At least no one seemed to be having any problems. They'd pulled this duty for the third time this week. Brad must have some magical way of getting this particular assignment.

Simon and Jim were at the loft, sprawled out on couches and enjoying the game. He could imagine the feel of soft cushions underneath his shoulder blades. Forget the game. An undisturbed nap sounded like heaven. After literally years of all-nighters and combining University with Sentinel, he didn't know why he was so tired now. Okay, so he'd spent his time off riding with Jim whenever possible. So what if he hadn't really had a day off in the last month. He could still be in bed more than 2 hours a night, and he wasn't going home to stacks of papers and writing.

Maybe his mental outlook was the problem. Did depression create fatigue? Probably. Honestly, Sandburg, he chided himself. You have a job and a roof. You still work with Jim on Sentinel stuff, not full time, but whenever possible. You've started to hear from people at the university again. Not quite all of your money goes to pay off your student loans, even though your paycheck took a hit when you got the boot from Major Crimes. You're not alone and old and sick like poor Mrs. Williams. Self-pity has never been your style, so get over it. He could just hear the blistering lecture he'd be getting from Naomi about filling the universe with negative energy. Naomi. Well, he'd leave that one alone. She'd never get over seeing her little boy in uniform with a shaved head.

Without realizing it, he'd gone halfway around the arena. And you scold Jim about zoning out. Time to pay attention, Blair. With a shock, he picked up a bit of a struggle going on over by one of the administrative offices. One of the arena security guards, a guy named Eddie if he remembered right, had his hands full with three guys who had consumed a few too many. He picked up his pace, trying to size up the situation before he got there. These guys were three sheets to the wind and things were getting ugly. They all looked like former football players. Where was that damn Brad? He tried raising him on the two-way and didn't even get static. Probably had it turned off. He didn't care if he was the senior officer; he was going to wring his neck at the earliest opportunity.

One of the idiots gave Eddie a huge shove. His head cracked against the masonry and he slid limply down the wall. No time to wait for Brad now. His last few steps were at a run.

"Cascade PD! Everybody back off. Yeah, you hot shot. Eddie, you okay?" The man looked a little out of it, but pushed himself back up, leaning against the wall. "I was trying to escort these guys out of the building. They decided to object."

"Right, rent-a-cop. We paid for these seats. We're not leaving until we're good and ready to leave." The man responsible for the shove gestured wildly with his arms. He took a step back toward the stunned Eddie. Blair quickly stepped between them, noting that Eddie had hit the all-call button on his arena communications device. Some kind of help would be on the way.

"I said back off, and I meant it. You guys are going to lose more than a couple of seats if you don't use some sense." He barely had the words out before the guy took a wild swing at his head. Blair ducked easily and quickly put the drunk on the ground, face down. He was still snapping the cuffs on when Eddie's warning cry came at the same time a line of fire burned through his bicep. When he looked up he was eye to eye with a knife. It was already stained with his blood and was moving his way again.

******

"Simon, you ready for some pizza? Or do you want to keep waiting."

"Why don't we go ahead and eat?" Simon Banks watched as Ellison continued to fuss in the kitchen. That had to be the tenth time he had checked the clock. "We can save some for Sandburg. I thought you said his shift was over when the game finished."

"It should have been. Our Sandburg has a tendency to put in crazy hours no matter where we send him. Still, I really thought he'd be here before this."

"Relax, Ellison. I will reassure him that we did in fact wait. Honestly, would two old war dogs like us order a veggie pizza with extra cheese? That's proof positive right there."

Ellison chuckled. "You're right about that." He couldn't stop his eyes from looking at the clock again.

Simon had joined him in the kitchen. "I take it that this isn't a one time thing? I'd ask you what's going on, but I assume you've honored your word stay out of Patrol while Sandburg works there. You haven't been checking up on him, have you Jim? I meant what I said on that score."

"No I haven't." He tossed a towel onto the counter. Not that he hadn't thought about it. "I'll be honest, Simon. I wondered if his partner was dumping on him. You know, it's sort of a tradition to have the rookie do the paperwork, but there are limits. I've gone as far as picking up the phone, but I haven't called."

"See that you don't. If you really have a concern, pass it on to me."

"What makes you think that an inquiry from you will go over any better than an inquiry from me? Captain to Captain sounds kind of confrontational. I'd be subtle."

"Right. You'd mean to be subtle. It might even start out that way. Trust me that you would not maintain in the face of any injustice thrown Sandburg's way."

The two men held eye contact. Jim finally looked down and toyed with the towel. "I know. You're probably right. It's just that Sandburg is full of information about calls he takes, but I don't get a glimmer about how things are really going. He never says anything about how he's getting along with other people in the division. Go sit down. I'll bring in some food and more beer."

Simon returned to his seat, but his thoughts were not on SportsCenter. They were just barely holding this together and it had only been a month. Privately, Megan had confided that Jim was always better for a few days after Blair was present for a full shift. The longer they were apart, the more frequent Jim's lapses became. Connor was certain other people didn't know. To outward appearances, Jim just got lost in thought for a bit. He felt guilty about burdening Megan with the additional responsibility. It clearly worried her. Jim apparently was unaware, but his growing unease was obvious in the bullpen. Simon had taken every opportunity to express to the Chief of Police that they were dealing with a potentially dangerous, perhaps a tragic, situation.

His reverie was broken when Jim joined him with a newly laden tray of pizza, a beer, and a poorly hidden look of worry on his face. When the phone rang, Simon automatically muted the TV while Jim retrieved the phone. Maybe it was Sandburg.

*****

Jim pounced on the phone, mentally chiding himself for being so wound up. Sandburg probably stopped off somewhere or lost track of time. "Ellison"

"Detective, this is Christy Davis. I work at the ER - do you remember me?"

Jim's heart sank. Not Sandburg. Please not Sandburg. "Sure, Christy. What can I do for you - is there a problem?"

"I really shouldn't be calling you, but Mr. Sandburg is here. He came by ambulance, but there's no one here to pick him up or anything. He was talking about getting a cab, but I saw him looking at one of the bus schedules in the lobby. He's okay to be released, but they did a lot of work on his arm and I know they gave him several locals so they could do the stitching. I don't think he should be running around, especially on a public bus."

"Can you stall him? I'll be right there."

"That I can do. You know hospitals and paperwork, Detective. Please hurry."

Jim slammed the phone back in its cradle. Shit. What could have happened, and why was Blair there alone? Where was his partner, for God's sake?

Simon was already on his feet. "Sandburg? Is he okay?"

"Don't know. He's at the ER - alone." Jim was shrugging into his coat. "You know that bit about passing concerns on to you. Well, you've got em. Find out how the hell Blair got hurt at a basketball game, and why no one from the PD is at the hospital. I'll be at the ER - lock up for me, will you?" He was gone before Simon got an answer out.

****

Jim ran the sirens without shame all the way to Cascade General. His senses were spiking like crazy, but he forced himself to concentrate and keep driving. He was seething. Why hadn't Blair called him? Where was his partner? The guy had better be damn near dead. You didn't leave an injured fellow officer, much less your partner, to fend for himself. He blew through the ER doors, casting his hearing for Sandburg's heartbeat.

Blair was still in the waiting room. Christy had been successful delaying him. The arm of his uniform blouse had been cut away. Besides being wrapped in heavy bandages, it was also cradled in a sling. Blair had a colorful bruise on his forehead, and looked dead on his feet. Ride the bus, thought Jim. You couldn't make it to the street on your own power, buddy.

He kept his voice low. "Chief, it's me. How you doing?" His best effort failed. Blair jumped as if poked with a cattle prod, then winced with pain from the sudden movement. Jim sank into the chair next to him, gently laying a hand over the bandages. He could feel the heat rising from the edges of at least two long thin slashes. "How many stitches, Chief? That's an ugly wound."

"Twenty-seven." Christy had rounded the admissions desk, a sheaf of papers and three prescription bottles in hand. "Don't be mad, Mr. Sandburg. I was really worried about you. I broke every rule in the book to call him. I've never known you to be here without him."

Blair's expression softened. He knew just a little bit about breaking the rules to look after a friend. "I'm not mad. But it wasn't necessary. Thanks for coming, Jim. I should probably go to the station." He made it to his feet, although he seemed a little unsteady.

"Mr. Sandburg, you need to go home." Christy's brow wrinkled in concern "You're going to be hurting big time without these pain meds, and you should take them now and just go to bed. That's what the Doctor said - complete rest until noon tomorrow. Detective, isn't there some way you can get him to just avoid all the work stuff?"

"We can and we will. I can take your statement, Sandburg, and run the paperwork in if absolutely necessary. Sit tight while I bring the truck around and you can give me the whole story. Without the obsfucations. I'll take those, Christy, and thanks for the call." He quickly swooped up the care orders and the meds. Blair started to argue, and then just gave up. He eased himself back into the chair.

Christy knelt down and placed her hand on Blair's knee. "Am I forgiven? I can get my supervisor if you'd like to file a complaint, and you have every right."

Blair managed a shaky half smile. "Nah. I know you were just watching out for me. Don't worry about it." Right now he was a lot more worried about what kind of a grilling he could expect from Jim.

Jim called Simon from the parking lot. They spoke long enough to confirm that three suspects were in custody, brought in by a street unit called in for backup. Since they were handling the booking, Sandburg wasn't needed immediately. Simon would arrange for Sandburg to take at least one day of sick leave, and Jim could take a statement for the record and bring it by in the morning. Work details arranged, Jim fired up the truck and set out to collect his roommate.

*****

Simon stalked down the hallway to the first floor interrogation rooms. It was always a zoo down here. Major Crimes looked like a pillar of order and sanity by comparison, and that was a scary thought. The unit that had made the actual arrest was supposedly taking a statement from the private security guard, and had retreated to the interrogation rooms for some peace and quiet. Through the windows he spotted what he was looking for - the bight blue uniform of Jags security. He knocked gently and let himself in.

He realized that his unannounced presence was going to give the officers a start. "At ease, gentleman. Just a courtesy call." Both officers had hopped to their feet. Sorenson and Miller, Simon noted. "Sit down, sit down." He gave a nod in the witness's direction, waiting for an introduction.

"Captain, this is Edward Banes. He was involved in the Sandburg stabbing. We just finished his statement."

"Nice to meet you Mr. Banes." Simon leaned across the table to exchange handshakes. "Officer Sandburg was in my command until recently, I can't help but be concerned."

"Well, like I was telling these officers, Sandburg did a great job. The whole thing went bad very suddenly, and I was seriously outnumbered. He did everything by the book and used just the right amount of force on the first guy. The knife was a total surprise. Even after taking the first hit he stayed calm and helped subdue the other two safely. It would have been a good show from an experienced man, much less a rookie. If he was yours to start with, you should be real proud of him."

Simon smiled broadly. "Glad to hear it. Carry on, gentlemen. Excuse the interruption." He left and ducked back into the Patrol offices. His counterpart, Captain Steve Cantor, still had someone in his office. Simon glanced at his watch. He was supposed to pick up Darrel shortly. He hated to keep waiting around, and leaving a message just wouldn't do. Cantor would likely bristle at the thought of Banks interfering with one of his men if Simon wasn't there to smooth it over and make his intentions clear. Considering the glowing report he'd just heard, it could probably left for later. After one last fruitless check, he headed toward his car and his son.

*****

The ride home from the hospital had been a silent one. As he opened the door to the loft, Jim noticed with relief that Simon had taken the time to put the pizza away before locking up and leaving. "Chief, go put your feet up. I'll warm up some dinner and you can take your meds."

"Jim, I'm really not hungry...."

"I know you're not, and I don't blame you, but the antibiotics have to be taken with food. With a slice like the one you have, you can't afford to start them in the morning. Did they give you a tetanus shot, too?"

"Yeah," answered Sandburg wearily. "In my good arm, of course. There must be a medical rule book somewhere that states if you have one body part that doesn't hurt, they need to make it hurt." He watched Jim scooping pizza onto a couple of plates, mentally planning strategy for what was to come.

It didn't make sense to lie. The human heartbeat monitor would nail him before the first sentence was complete. Plan B - tell part of the truth, and leave the rest unspoken. What did he really want to keep hidden from Detective Ellison - his growing depression since being yanked out of Major Crimes or the fact that he'd inherited the partner from hell? Anthropologist Sandburg made the call. Brad McMillan and his fellow Patrol colleagues were a classic social structures problem. How does a new member integrate with the existing group? Blair knew the textbook analysis chapter and verse. The key was to do nothing to alienate the primary group further. Complaining about your assigned partner, who just happened to be the senior officer, was a red flag on many levels. Getting Jim involved would be the kiss of death. So, easy choice. Admit you're miserable. Deal with the predictable Ellison guilt/protective instincts as they come. Brad the Bad would remain his private problem.

Blair looked up and gratefully accepted the plate. He paused as Jim collected the standard tape-recorder and turned it on, going through the required preamble. Showtime.

"Okay, Sandburg. Tell me what happened."

*****

Officer Sorenson brought up the last form on the computer. They had booked all three suspects. The guard's statement was finished, and Sandburg's statement should be added, but it was coming in tomorrow. No problems there - the young man had done a textbook job. The only alternative would have been to draw his piece, and that was a very bad bet in a crowded basketball arena. It was a little tardy, but his call to Cascade General informed him that Sandburg had been picked up by a friend, so that duty could also be laid to rest. Banks stopping by was a little odd, but he seemed satisfied when he left.

He haltingly added a few more lines of information to the form and rubbed his tired eyes. Where was Miller with coffee? He had escorted Banes out right behind Banks. He was supposed to be right back.

His long lost partner finally rounded the corner, two Styrofoam cups in hand. They'd been together for nearly four years. He could tell Miller was upset. The taller man pulled his chair around to his side of the desk and sat with his back to the rest of the room.

"Sorrie, we've got a problem. A BIG problem."

"What now? If I have to do more paperwork I'm gonna hurt somebody." Even as he spoke, Sorenson's mind was racing ahead. This was a clean bust, with the exception of getting an officer injured. What could be wrong? "Don't tell me one of these yahoos is heir to the throne of Russia or some damn thing."

"Worse," whispered Miller in return. "We assumed Sandburg was on duty alone. Well, I just looked at the duty board, and he's still in his probationary period. He was supposed to be with McMillan."

"You're sure? Maybe MacMillan went home sick." Sorenson's stomach sank. That was a no go - he was supposed to call someone in; you just didn't leave a proby by himself. "Shit. Why didn't Sandburg say something?"

"Beats me," replied Miller, carefully hushing his response. "More important, how are we going to write the report? This is a huge violation of procedure. If McMillan had been with him like he was supposed to be, Sandburg never would have been going solo on those guys. He got hurt in the bargain."

Sorenson gave his partner a blank look. "We were there for a good thirty minutes and never saw the guy. We made enough ruckus making the arrests and getting an ambulance there for Sandburg. Where could he have been?"

"Well, that would be a real nice thing to know wouldn't it? It gets worse - guess who is already parked in the office our not-too-with-it Captain Cantor? The mysterious missing Brad McMillan. What the hell are we going to do?"

*****

"That's the story, Captain. I just can't get the kid to stay where he's supposed to be."

"I'm glad you came to me, McMillan. When Sandburg gets in tomorrow or the next day, I'll give him an official reprimand." Brad McMillan carefully kept his internal grin off of his face. God, he'd miss it when this old fool retired. Almost home free.

"I'd hate for you to do that, Captain," replied McMillan, trying to look concerned and worried. "I really think he's doing the best he can. Major Crimes probably was happy to have him as a tag-a-long mascot and didn't care if he followed the rules. Let's just avoid the formal paperwork and I'll keep trying to bring him along." Besides, if nothing is in writing, Sandburg will never know.

"I can assign him to another partner."

"No need, Captain. I really don't mind working with him. He seems harmless enough." Besides, I want to keep him. He gets all my work done in record time.

"Well, I appreciate your willingness to keep trying. We'll keep this between us for now. Dismissed."

Captain Steve Cantor chewed his lower lip as McMillan left and softly shut his office door behind him. Damn. He was sure he'd seen Simon Banks through the glass while McMillan had been in the office. That was one conversation he didn't want to have. Banks was a good man, but he had a reputation of getting what he wanted, and everyone knew Sandburg was the pet of Major Crimes. They could keep this unofficial just as McMillan suggested, but it still wouldn't hurt to cover his bases. He glanced at his watch. Tomorrow it would just be smart to send a letter to the Jag's organization apologizing for the lapses of Officer Sandburg. Yeah, that would be the perfect solution.

*****

Jim knew he was being overprotective, but couldn't stop himself from looking in one last time on his friend. They'd talked for hours before Blair's fatigue and medication finally overwhelmed him. He'd been gracious enough to accept some assistance getting into an old sweatshirt of Jim's with the sleeve slit up to the shoulder and climbing into bed. At Jim's insistence, they had piled up some pillows to elevate the injured arm and keep Sandburg from rolling onto it during the night. He'd waited until the sounds of regular breathing assured him that his roommate was soundly asleep. Not needing the light, he crossed to the futon and gently laid two fingers on Blair's brow. No fever - at least that was a good sign.

They'd gone all through Sandburg's statement. Then Blair had plunged on, explaining his fatigue and distress as a growing despair with his situation. Sitting in the dark, staring into the fire, Jim cringed as he played the words over in his mind. Depression. Jim didn't doubt that Blair had been telling the truth, but could Sandburg, the most optimistic person he had ever known, truly be depressed? They had talked about medication, counseling, distractions to improve Blair's mental outlook. Not once had the young man hinted that quitting was an option. He still held out that when his six months was up a transfer back to Major Crimes was imminent. Jim felt overwhelmed with the realization that on top of everything he had endured, Blair had borne this additional burden in near silence.

Although Blair was unwilling to pursue medical treatment, Jim vowed that Detective James Ellison would be making a few changes for his friend. As soon as Blair had fallen asleep, he had placed a late night call to Stephen. Between the two of them, Blair's loan payments would take a nosedive in the near future. A decent car would be the next project. He could monitor his friend's diet, making sure that foods he found likable were readily available, both at home and at the station. No more errands for Major Crimes, and no more time off spent riding with the Ellison-Connor tandem. Sandburg would get the rest he needed. If possible, Jim would get Simon to rearrange his schedule so it coincided with Sandburg's, making it impossible for the younger man to hover voluntarily.

Blair had at least been truthful. For that Jim was grateful. Before climbing the stairs to his own bed, Jim sat in the darkness, the fingers on one hand delicately tracing the outlines of the tape recorder. The missing partner nagged at him. Blair said he had buzzed on the two-way. Backup and an ambulance had arrived, but not the partner. He'd allowed Blair to gloss over it, but all Jim's warning bells were ringing. Something was very, very wrong, and Sandburg was being very, very careful to avoid discussing it.

Well, isn't it handy that some skills are never really forgotten, mused Jim. Starting tomorrow, he'd be finding out a little bit more about one Brad McMillan, up close and personal. Extremely personal. The bastard had better be pure as the driven snow.

*****

THE FIFTH WEEK

"Hey, Hairboy! You free for lunch today? Rafe and I just got out of court, and we get to have a real lunch hour."

Blair looked up into the grinning face of Henri Brown. He sure missed these guys. "Well, I think my paperwork can probably live without me for an hour. Maybe I should check, though." He stood up, eyes dancing as he logged off the computer. "There must be some regulation that says uniforms can't be seen with real people in the daylight."

Rafe held Sandburg's coat open for him. Blair was momentarily embarrassed, and thought about refusing the aid, but reconsidered as Rafe picked up the teasing banter. "Oh, there's a rule, all right. We're going to log it as an undercover exercise. Besides, who else can we find to take to an Indian restaurant who actually knows what to order?"

Blair signed out on the duty board and checked in with the dispatch desk. One benefit of being on restricted duty for medical reasons was getting to know the inner workings of the division a little better. He now knew all the dispatchers and clerical people by name. It was a good feeling to be greeted with a smile instead of McMillan's derogatory comments and constant scowl. He was doing paperwork for everyone, so now he was on a good footing with most of the other officers. Actually, he thought, that was the second benefit. Losing McMillan for awhile was numero uno on the unforeseen benefits chart.

The three men were chatting furiously by the time they reached the parking garage, recounting their court appearance and various events in Major Crimes. As he unlocked the car, Brown looked over the hood and commented, "I'm going to have to quit calling you Hairboy. You haven't got enough left for the title. You going to grow it out again when you come back to us?"

Blair waited gratefully as Rafe quickly reached around and handled the car door. He was supposed to minimize the use of his arm, and doing everything with the wrong hand was a drag. "I hadn't thought about it. It takes less time, but I feel like I'm looking at another person in the mirror. Right now, Major Crimes seems like a lifetime away. Maybe I'll be stuck in Patrol forever. How many rookies end up in the hospital during their first month on the job? It doesn't make me look very good."

Rafe reached over the seat back and gave his shoulder a shake. "You're wrong, you know. Not many rookies make solo arrests and disarm knife-wielding drunks. You hang in there. We're going to get you back. Put in your 6 months and come hell or high water, Simon will find a way."

Brown snickered. "If he doesn't, Ellison and Connor will kill each other. You want to join the pool? There are dates in July and August open. Five bucks a slot."

"Don't tell me. They're doing their Katzenjammer Kids imitations. What am I betting on? I don't risk the vaunted Sandburg betting system on just anything, you know."

"Oh, we have a variety of creative choices to choose from. My personal favorite is the date Ellison will leave Megan tied up in Simon's office. Come on, Sandburg. You want in or not?"

As they wheeled out of the parking lot, Sandburg was laughing his head off. It felt really, really good.

*****

Randy Miller looked anxiously at his computer screen, tapping computer keys with growing consternation. Oh, God, no. He was a computer illiterate, but no one was this dumb. Where were his files? He just couldn't have lost them again. There couldn't be this much computer disaster in one lifetime.

"Sorrie." His panic rose as his partner just grinned from across the room. "Get over here, damn you. I can't find our paperwork from yesterday."

Sorenson sauntered across the room. His partner's expertise with the computer, or total lack thereof, was legendary. The thought of him one-finger typing all those forms over again would no doubt push the man over the edge. "Calm down, Randy. You didn't lose them. Sandburg fixed them this morning. Let me show you." Pulling up a chair, he calmly backed up a couple of screens. "I came in early this morning to finish up. You owe me, by the way. I couldn't find the file, as usual. What ever possessed you to name it 'root beer'?"

Miller pouted. "I had a root beer at lunch yesterday. So sue me."

"So why would I know that? Why would anyone know that? Anyway, Sandburg saw me losing it over here and helped me out. This is slick, Randy. Let me show you. Type in the month and double zero." He waited as his partner did his usual hunt and peck. "Great. Hit return. See? Everything we've done this month. We can also access by victim and primary suspect."

"They're all like this?" Sorenson almost burst out laughing, but his partner had issues with the computer. This was not the time to tease.

"Every one of them. Took the kid about 30 minutes. Look. See this sticker on the monitor. Shows you step by step how to name the new files as we do them. Isn't that great? I told Sandburg we owe him lunch or a beer after shift."

"Lunch? Maybe you. I owe him the biggest steak dinner in town. You know how much trouble this devil child computer has given me?" He turned his attention away from the computer. "What did you think of him, really?"

Sorenson shrugged his shoulders. "I was impressed. He's smart and he works at getting along. He knows computers, and he also knows procedure. I think all the rumors about him being Ellison's pet were just so much bull."

"Well, you can't blame people for being ticked when he got hired and got a gold shield on the same day."

"Maybe. In any case, Major Crimes had a gold mine in that kid and they were perfectly willing to have a reason not to share. Probably laughing up their sleeves the whole time." He gnawed thoughtfully on the end of a pencil. "We did the right thing, putting that addition on the report."

"Question is, will Clueless Cantor review it like he's supposed to, and will he pay attention if he does actually read it?" Miller's eyes drifted back to the computer. Sandburg had no idea the miracle he had just worked - he ought to return the favor.

"Well, its there, in black and white. McMillan split on his partner. I saw him this morning, by the way."

"And?"

"I told him what was in the report, and that we weren't going to cover his ass. I spoke for both of us, Randy. I hope you're okay with it."

"Oh, I'm definitely okay with it." The two partners silently exchanged the same thought. If the opportunity arose, maybe they should throw the Captain a few hints.

*****

In the back corner of the forensics lab, Serena sat at a lone computer station. It was lunchtime, and this station was rarely used anyway. The constant sound of footsteps behind her was starting to get on her nerves.

"Ellison, sit down," she said sharply. "You're giving me the willies." Ellison sheepishly sank into the chair beside her. "I can't believe you talked me into this."

"Serena, I promise I won't let you get in trouble. I just don't have Sandburg's hacking skills, or I'd do this on my own."

"Correction, Detective. You don't have any hacking skills. There's a reason these files are kept confidential. I don't suppose you considered that."

"Oh, I considered it all right," glowered Ellison. "I considered it long enough to go pick up Blair from the ER so he wouldn't try to take a bus back to the station. I'll consider it again when I personally take him for his check up on those 27 stitches." Serena inwardly shivered at the look in those piercing blue eyes. "I need to know whether this guy has a history of putting his partners at risk, Serena. I don't much care how I find out."

Serena sighed. "I guess this is preferable to your first choice, which was undoubtedly pounding him into a bloody pulp. There. I just dumped it to the printer." She watched as Ellison scanned the first few sheets as they printed out. "Do you mind telling me what you plan on doing?"

Jim gathered up the remaining sheets. "Don't know. Depends on what I find out. Thanks, Serena. Cover your tracks, and if anyone hassles you, call me." He was half way out the door when Serena's grasp on his arm pulled him up short.

"Jim, don't do anything to embarrass Blair. He wouldn't want that. I know how you feel about him, but sometimes you forget he's a grownup, and a very capable one at that." Ellison nodded and slipped away. Serena returned to her computer, not the least bit reassured.

THE SISTH WEEK

Captain Steve Cantor stretched and straightened up a few more piles on his desk. He hated late afternoon administrative meetings that bled into early evening. The only bright spot in the day was that he'd been able to duck Banks again. It had been 10 days since Sandburg's injury, and he'd managed to avoid his towering counterpart the entire time. Sandburg. What was I supposed to do for Sandburg? Aha - medical release form. He'd leave this in the man's box on the way out.

As he wound his way through the main work area he was surprised to stumble upon the young man in question, actively engaged in a phone conversation. Now, why would he still be here? Cantor had kept a close eye on Sandburg since McMillan had given him the heads-up. He'd given Sandburg the job of division clean-up, meaning that any outstanding paperwork was supposed to be sent his way. Cantor figured it was a good way to monitor his work habits and maybe get some of the backlog out of the way. He had promptly been buried in a blizzard of precisely written, well-documented paperwork. Although he wasn't allowed out in the field, Sandburg had tracked down a slew of loose ends over the telephone, hunted down missing files and generally impressed the hell out of everyone who dumped work on him. He'd seen no evidence of unreliability. If anything, Sandburg arrived early and left late. Maybe the stabbing incident had scared him into shaping up. Catching him just as he hung up the phone, Cantor warily launched into his first actual conversation with the infamous Blair Sandburg.

"Sandburg, here's your medical release form. Your appointment is tomorrow, correct?"

"Yes, sir. I was wondering where I was supposed to get these. Thanks."

"Mind telling me why you're still in this office this late?" he asked, leaning against a nearby desk.

"Well, sir, I'm not supposed to drive, and I got a ride with my roommate this morning. He's tied up, so I'm just waiting for him to get here. There's no problem with me being here, is there? I can wait down in reception."

"No - it's all right. Just don't tie up the phones with personal calls any further." To his surprise, Sandburg didn't look 'caught'. Confused would be more accurate.

"Uh... well, that wasn't really a personal call, Captain. I was talking to one of the Youth Services people. Davis and Larkin had a domestic disturbance call and they had to take another call before finishing the referrals. I told them I would take care of it."

"We usually just let those go out by mail."

"I know that, Captain. They were particularly worried about this boy, and I wasn't doing that much."

Cantor gravely reached over and picked up the notes Sandburg had been fooling with. "Is that what this list is? Follow-ups?" Sandburg nodded, uncertain about this line of questioning. Cantor scanned the list of about 10 items, half of which were checked off.

"This division handles such a high volume of cases. I didn't think it would be a problem to pitch in if I had the time. It beats reading a magazine or drinking bad coffee in the break-room." Sandburg sounded a bit defensive.

"No, it's not a problem." He handed the list back to Blair. "Stop by tomorrow and let me know how the appointment goes." Blair's heart sank as the man disappeared through the hallway doors. He had the distinct impression that he'd screwed up again.

*****

"Blair, is Ellison with you today?" Noting the affirmative response, Dr. Meyers continued. "I want to talk to him. Any objections?"

"No, I guess not."

"Good. Nurse, show Detective Ellison in." Meyers went back to his desk, making more notations on Blair's chart. He'd been Sandburg's personal physician for several years, so he knew both men fairly well. He didn't look up as Jim entered, but motioned him toward a chair. "I want a straight answers from both of you, because I don't like what I'm seeing here."

Blair looked at his arm. Two purplish, ragged scars were all that remained of his knife wounds. "What's the matter?" he asked. The stitches came out fine. The scarring isn't that bad."

"Answer my questions first. I gave you permission to return to light duty. Just exactly what did you call light duty? Splitting a cord of wood every day?"

"No," answered Blair, slightly indignant. "I rode a desk. Didn't I, Jim?"

"How many hours a day? Twelve? Fourteen?"

Blair had the decency to look embarrassed. Jim finally faced the music and answered for him. "I was late picking him up a couple of days. I didn't want him to ride the bus home, which was the other alternative."

The doctor flipped the folder closed with an irritated flourish. "At the risk of putting words in your mouth, let me translate. You were late every day, but really, really late just a couple of times." Jim now looked as guilty as Blair had earlier. "Next question - how far off schedule were you on the antibiotics."

"I took all of them," answered Blair. At least he'd done that much.

"On time? Exactly six hours apart? With food to ensure proper absorption? I thought not." Now the doctor looked really angry. His eyes drilled into Ellison. "What about sleep? Ten hours like I suggested? Or has my favorite nightowl been up to his usual insomniac tricks? Right. Well, gentlemen, haven't we all done a fine job of screwing with Sandburg's recovery!"

He glared at Blair. "The stitches came out fine, but the area, to use layman's terms, is spongy. You're running a fever, your lymph nodes a swollen, as is the entire arm, all the way down to the wrist. I suspect you've got an infection going underneath the healed surface. This is the kind of thing that can kill you, Blair. You could wake up tomorrow, have the infection go systemic and be in the morgue by the evening." Blair's eyes widened. He noted that all the color had drained out of Jim's face. Just you wait, he thought grimly. You think you're worried now, big guy? Just wait until I get ahold of you. Belatedly, he realized that the doctor had continued his rant. "I hope to God we don't have to open that up and drain it. We're going to run some blood tests, both to check your immune system and to try to isolate the infectious organism. I'm going to put you on a different antibiotic, since you've set up prime conditions for this bug to become resistant to the antibiotics you were using." He moved to the hallway, signaling for a technician. "Now both of you listen. Blair, you're on half-days until further notice, as in four, count-em, four hours. Take a cab if you have to. You will eat every 6 hours and take your antibiotics like clockwork. You will drink all the fluids I specify on your care list. The next step is an IV in the hospital. Knowing how you love the hospital environment, use that as motivation."

Turning to Jim, he reloaded and fired away. "You are to make sure I get an accurate temperature log. Take it every 2 hours while he's awake. Call it in to the nurse every day. You will set out his food and fluids every morning and ensure he doesn't cheat. Outside of work hours he is not to drive, shop, cook or clean. He may read, write letters and contemplate his navel. You were in the military, man. I assume you know how to take orders as well as give them." He took a breath as the technician arrived. Blair blanched as tube after tube was laid out for collection.

"How am I supposed to get better if you bleed me white?" he protested. "This is as bad as using leeches."

"I am not amused by this feeble attempt at humor. Lay back and let the young woman bleed you dry. I'm not done with your buddy here, yet." With that he tugged Jim out of the room.

He shoved several slips into Jim's hands. "Here, go get these filled at the pharmacy while we get what we need." His toned softened. "I needed to get Blair's attention in there. I hope I have yours as well. There's a prescription for a sleeping pill as well as the new antibiotics. I know how Blair feels about medication in general, so I'm counting on you. I'm very fond of that young man, but when it comes to his own health he has the sense of a grasshopper. I'll call ahead and tell the pharmacy to put a rush on it. Who is his supervisor right now? Not Banks?"

"No. It's Captain Cantor."

"Fine, I'll call him right now. Go get the antibiotics. I'll make sure there's a care list for you before you pick him up. It'll be about 10 minutes."

*****

Back in the examining room, Blair was fuming. So when were you going to tell me, Jim? When were you going to let me know that your senses were so messed up that you didn't even know I had a fever? How could you have been so stupid? How could I have been so stupid?

*****

Jim pulled the truck up to the front of the clinic. The sack containing Blair's new medications lay on the seat beside him. He was just pulling the door opened when Blair appeared at the passenger door. Jim recoiled as Blair awkwardly clambered into the truck. He'd never seen Blair this enraged - it was as if his emotions were being translated into some physical phenomenon that was crashing against his senses.

"I called Megan. She'll be at the loft by the time we get there." The words roared through Jim's hearing, but he knew his Guide had barely whispered. "Drive, Jim. Drive and don't say a single word to me."

*****

Eddie Banes read the letter again, starting at the top and reading each work carefully. "Mr. Harper, I don't get it."

"Neither did I. That's why you're here." Nathan Harper, President of the Cascade Jags, was not a patient man. "On your recommendation, I've got season tickets and a press release ready for Officer Sandburg. Now we get a letter apologizing for his lapses in the performance of his duties?"

Banes looked at the offending letter again. "All I can say is that this is total fantasy. Sherrie told me the next day that Sandburg wouldn't even come off his rounds long enough to get a sandwich or a cup of coffee. Kept saying he needed to wait for his partner to came back before he could take a break."

"What partner? Wasn't Sandburg alone?"

"Nah. He had a partner. This same guy keeps getting assigned to be our security liaison. As worthless as tits on a boar, if you'll pardon me. Sandburg was only with him the last week or so."

"Sandburg's the junior officer?"

"Yeah, Mr. Harper. He must be. In fact, I know he was. Some guy that knew him was teasing him about his hair, and he said he had just gotten it cut to start his new assignment. What do you think is going on, Sir? I stand by what I told you originally and what I said in my statement to the police."

"I don't doubt that for a second, Eddie. I would be willing to bet next year's season that this Captain Cantor got a real different version of events."

"Well, if he wrote that letter, it sure wasn't the truth. Not even close!"

*****

Megan was waiting at the top of the stairs, dressed in workout clothes. She took one look at the two men and knew this was going to be a distinctly uncomfortable conversation. Jim had barely closed the door before Blair started in. "How many times has he zoned, Megan?" he asked sharply.

"Chief, we can talk about this later. You're supposed to rest until all your tests are back and we know how bad this is." Megan started to ask what was wrong before she was drowned out a Blair Sandburg she'd never seen before.

"No!" roared Blair. Jim winced at the sound. Blair didn't rage like this. What he saw worried him. Blair's face was flushed, and his hands were shaking. "No, we will not talk about this later! What's later, Jim? Later as when Megan can't bring you back? Later as when you have a bullet through the brain from zoning at the wrong time?" He shuddered and clenched his hands at his sides. "Answer me, Megan. How many times has he zoned?"

Megan sat down before she started to speak. Her eyes never left Jim's face. "At first, several times a week, for maybe 10 or 20 seconds each time. He came out of them himself. Since you've stopped coming along, each time gets worse. He's had .... several. The last time I had to play your tape. Her stomach twisted as she watched Jim's reaction. He grasped the back of the couch as if he could barely stand. "Jim doesn't even realize it's happening," she finished softly.

"The suspect we were chasing yesterday - I zoned? That's when he got away? Why didn't you just go after him?"

"Really, Ellison? Megan's accent got more noticeable when she was angry. "Just leave you there?"

Blair interrupted. "Why didn't you tell me, Megan? You promised me."

"Sandy, I did the very best I could. After you got hurt, Jim said the two of you had talked, and that we needed to reduce the strain you were under. I assumed you knew - that we were all in agreement that you wouldn't be doing double duty to ride along with us any more. He was afraid for you. I was afraid for you."

Blair faced off toward his partner again. "Jim, if you didn't know about the zones, how long did you know about the senses?"

Jim remained motionless, but closed his eyes. "I realized things were fading out last week, but I...I just didn't realize. I'm so sorry, Chief. I should have known you were getting sicker days ago."

"Do you really think this is about me getting sick? This is about your safety, yours and Megan's both. I can't believe you'd think ....I give up, I just don't know what you think anymore." Blair's voice had risen to a shout again. He was shaking, either from the excess emotion or from the chills of his fever.

Megan watched with growing horror as Ellison snapped from stunned silence to full-blown anger. "Don't give me grief about trying to do something to make this easier for you! Two weeks ago you damn near got your arm cut off, you were exhausted, stuck on Patrol, and ...and why didn't you tell me about your partner!" The two men were almost nose to nose, and neither was backing down.

"Both of you stop it! Sandy, sit down. You too, Ellison. Don't you two see what's going on here? You're both so dense. Sandy, you're physically ill, and getting worse. Jim, you're just as sick from your senses. Can't you see that the two are intertwined?" She waited while that thought settled in. She could almost see the anger draining away from Blair. Jim just looked lost, torn between guilt from so many directions.

Megan spoke firmly as she rose to her feet. "We can't do anymore here. The truth is, you're both hurting. At least everything is out in the open. I suggest you both start re-evaluating these positions you've staked out. At this point you're both doing more harm than good, to yourselves and to each other. I'll tell Simon that you won't be in tomorrow, Jim." The slamming of the door provided the final exclamation point.

*****

Blair felt like he was swimming through a cloud. He could hear a phone ringing in the distance, but he couldn't quite get his body to move or his eyes to open. When he finally pushed himself to his side and started to focus, he realized Jim had already picked up. For a moment he was content to drift, until he realized that Jim was talking to his new boss.

"I'll have him call when he wakes up, Captain Cantor. Yes, the doctor was very specific about half days." He was struggling to untangle his feet from the sheets when he heard Jim chuckle. "Well, he's an definitely equal opportunity guy when it comes to chewing people out. If Sandburg doesn't get better I'm going to be looking for a country without extradition. Yes, sir. I'll tell him. Thank you for calling." Blair finally got his feet on the floor and felt them slide out from under him just as fast. He was scolding himself about leaving clothes on the floor as booby traps when he realized that the offending article was the quilt off Jim's bed. He was still trying to puzzle it out when Jim appeared at the door, holding a glass of orange juice, a carton of yogurt, a fist-full of pills and a temperature strip.

"Hey, we're a little behind times, so you need to take these. Meyers will have my head."

Blair figured it wasn't worth putting up a fight. He took a swallow of orange juice and sat down. "Want to tell me about my new carpeting?"

"No. Here's a spoon. Dump the pills in the yogurt and eat up."

Blair took the spoon. "I eat when you talk." Jim glared at him, but Blair knew this skirmish was already over.

"You are such a pain, Sandburg."

"And you are such a jerk, Ellison." The spoon remained poised.

"Oh, all right. But take a bite first. Don't be a child, Sandburg. Take the pills." Jim pulled out the desk chair. "Every time I went upstairs to go to bed, I'd lose your heartbeat. I just felt better being down here if I couldn't trust my senses."

"I should have devoted an entire chapter of my diss to blessed protector overdrive." Oops, thought Blair. Not a subject to joke about. "What did my Captain want, other than my head?"

"Apparently Meyers pinned his ears back pretty good. Cantor will probably have you taking naps in his office. The guy has a gift for cowing the troops. Here, take your temperature."

"100.2," replied Blair. "Were you close?"

"Yeah. Your fever is coming down steadily. Maybe things are looking up. I should call Meyers." He made motions to leave, but Blair had other ideas.

"Oh no you don't. You're not off the hook, big guy, so just sit right back down. If we can't work together, you have to tell me stuff. We should have handled this differently."

"You had better be including yourself in that statement, Chief. Why didn't you tell me about McMillan?"

How did you find out about him, thought Blair. "Nothing to tell. It's a tradition to haze the newcomer. I've done plenty of paperwork for you." Maybe his senses are still off and I'll be able to pull this off, thought Blair.

"We're not talking about paperwork, are we Sandburg?" Jim started walking toward the door. "I'm going to call Meyers and let him know I didn't kill you during the night. When you're ready to talk about your partner, I'll talk about my senses. Blackmail is a two way street, Chief."

*****

Steve Cantor hung up the phone and stabbed at the intercom button. "Ms. Hayes, please track down Brad McMillan and have him see me immediately." This is all I need, he grumbled to himself. It was never good when an officer went down. Now I get lectures about 'the department's cavalier attitude in regards to medical recovery.' No way was he going to be responsible for any further complications with Sandburg, and he didn't want the hassle of monitoring what the man was doing. As soon as Sandburg came back to work McMillan could baby-sit him for exactly four hours a day.

*****

Nathan Harper was a busy man. He had three important appointments and a contract negotiation to wade through, but it ran contrary to his nature to let something slide. Before he wheeled his new Lexus out of the arena parking lot he dug the phone out, selecting a number from memory. "I need to speak with your Public Affairs Office, Mr. Taber specifically. Please tell him that Nathan Harper, President of the Cascade Jags is on the line. Yes, I'll hold." He waved at the security guard at the gate as he pulled into traffic. "Robert? Glad I caught you. I thought we were all squared away on recognizing the officer who was injured assisting our security guard. You did too? So why did I get a letter from ..... hold on a sec ... a Captain Cantor apologizing for the man's lax behavior? Well, how the hell should I know? It's your police department. Look, Robert, I checked with my people and they have nothing but praise for Sandburg. I want to follow through on this in a timely manner, so you get back to me, pronto. Right. Full media coverage is exactly what I have in mind. Good. I'll be waiting to hear from you." Harper disconnected the phone and allowed himself a small smile. Whoever screwed this up was in the first place should be in for an unpleasant day, and said individual probably deserved it.

*****

Jim gently shook Blair's shoulder. "Hey buddy, it's time for your antibiotic again." He reached out and caught the book which slid off Blair's lap. He'd dozed off reading on the couch an hour or so ago, and Jim had left him undisturbed for as long as possible.

Blair rubbed his eyes and sat up, twisting his head to unkink his neck. "How long was I asleep?"

"Not that long." He touched the young man's forehead. "I'll have you double check, but I think your temperature is back to normal. I may get a reprieve from Meyers. What do you want to eat with your antibiotic? Could you handle a sandwich? Yogurt three times in a row sounds like punishment to me.""

"Do we have to go through the 'real men don't eat yogurt' thing again? I could do a sandwich, but I can make it. You've been hovering over me all day."

"Uh uh. Remember? No cooking, no cleaning - reading, writing or navel contemplation. You want to get me in trouble?" The two friends watched each other, fumbling for the right words. "I guess..... as weird as this sounds coming from me, I'd feel better if we talked this out."

"Okay - I guess I can give this a try. No more medication strikes."

"We'll both try. You stay put. I'll get us both something to eat. How does turkey sound?"

"With sprouts?"

"Shit, Sandburg. What a way to ruin a perfectly good sandwich."

*****

"Captain, Robert Taber called again from Public Affairs."

"How long ago?"

"Twice - you were still at Administrative Council. He wouldn't leave a message, he said he needed to speak with you directly. The last time was 10 minutes ago. Would you like me to ring his office for you?"

No, I would not like you to ring his office, thought Cantor. I would like you to wring his neck, or wring your own. Putting on his best harried administrator face, he grabbed his coat from the rack just inside his office door. "That won't be necessary. I need to check on a situation downtown. See you tomorrow."

Allie Hayes was not pleased, but she made her polite good-byes anyway. Her smile faded quickly as her boss disappeared from sight. "You'll be checking a situation downtown when my cat plays the violin," she muttered to herself. "I need to work for someone who doesn't jump at his own shadow." When the phone began to ring, she rolled her eyes and picked up the receiver, knowing already how this conversation was going to go. "Patrol Division, Captain Cantor's desk. I'm sorry, Mr. Taber, he's still not available...."

*****

A few floors above the annoyed Ms. Hayes, Simon Banks was also a very unhappy man. Administrative meetings did that to him. He was waiting on Megan Connor, who had in turn been waiting on him all day. He'd snagged Megan's coffee mug off her desk and filled it with his latest flavor - something with almond. The dark haired young woman accepted the steaming mug gratefully as she took a seat. Simon shut the door firmly behind her. They didn't need any eavesdropping on this conversation.

"You gave me the short version last night. How bad was it?"

"We lost the suspect. It could have been worse. Jim was standing flat-footed, fully exposed. If the guy had pulled a gun I could never have gotten to him."

"How long was he zoned?"

Megan took a cautious sip from her mug. She didn't share her superior's zest for new experiences in java. "I lost track of time, Captain. I don't mind admitting that I was scared to death. I don't know how Sandy does it. Ellison's a big guy - it's not like either one of us can toss him over the shoulder and cart him to safety. I finally played the tape and he came out of it - maybe three minutes total."

"A long time when five seconds can be deadly." Megan nodded mournfully. "You said a tape? What tape?"

"Blair made a tape of his voice. He gave me some other things, too, but I didn't get that far."

"Sounds to me like I can't keep Ellison safely on the street."

"Actually, Captain, I think you can, but I'm just not sure how to work it out. If he can have regular contact with Sandburg, the problems are pretty minimal, or at least manageable. Unfortunately, having Sandy run a double shift has its own problems, and now that he has that infection, it's impossible. Isn't there some way to have him spend part of his time with us?"

"No. Impossible." Simon walked to the window, hoping an answer would fly through the glass or something. "Thank you, Connor. Continue on your current cases, but take Taggart with you. I'll speak with Jim personally."

The hubbub of shift change came and went. Simon clicked off his office lights and watched the sun slip behind the nearby buildings. His frustration bubbled, and he thought back to a time when it was 'impossible' for an African-American to become a detective, much less a police captain. He and Taggart had been two of many black cops who had banged fruitlessly against a wall of policy and procedure before the whole system had been turned on its head. He chewed on the ends of his glasses. Had one of his detectives been a witness, they would have recognized the expression. Banks had a reputation for crafty political solutions when there was a need. Mentally, he chided himself. He'd wasted almost two months cursing the labor negotiations that threatened his best team. Time to take a new approach. There was always a way.

*****

"Good news, Chief. You can go back to work, providing your temperature's still down in the morning and stays down. Meyers wants you to come in tomorrow afternoon to draw more blood."

"I need a doctor who isn't part vampire." Blair was munching through the last of his sandwich. "Your senses must be back on. The thermometer agreed with you. You gonna tell me how bad it got?"

"I said we'd talk. I meant it." Jim settled on to the opposite end of the couch. "The first few weeks, they were just like a flickering light. It was annoying. Every time you pulled a shift with me, things were normal. Believe me, Blair, I didn't know I was zoning then."

"I do believe you. Megan may not have been aware of them either. I suppose you might have them all the time, but our interaction keeps them from being noticeable. You can't get details like that from the literature. Those are the things only a Guide-Sentinel pair would know about each other. When did they start fading?"

"Thinking back on it, when I rearranged my schedule so you couldn't come with us."

"I guess that's where I start to lose my patience. Why would you do that?" The words weren't even out of his mouth before Blair knew the answer. He'd told Jim he was feeling depressed. He recalled his own mental conversation about dealing with the guilt response later. He'd expected it and then blown it. "Don't answer that - I already know. Damn, I should have known all along and I was just oblivious."

"Which brings us to my turn at interrogation." Jim crossed his arms, clearly annoyed. "You told me you were depressed, and that's understandable. Why didn't you trust me enough to tell me about McMillan?"

"Mind telling me how you found out? I sure didn't tell you."

"Yes, you did," contradicted Jim. "When you gave me your statement, you said you buzzed on the 2-way. At no point did you talk about waiting for your partner or where he was the rest of the time. You buried it under all the other details pretty well, and maybe someone else wouldn't have caught. The one thing I did manage to teach you was how to call for backup, so I knew. The next day I hacked into his personnel file."

Blair threw up his hands. "Jim, you can't hack into your own e-mail! Someone will find out. That's grounds for termination."

"Well, give me a little credit," snorted Jim. "I know my limitations. I got help."

"Who?"

"None of your business."

"It is if I need to go cover your tracks." The pause made it clear that Jim wasn't rolling over, so he continued. "Brown can barely use Print Shop. Simon wouldn't have done it. Megan probably could, but she doesn't know the departmental structure well enough to do it without attracting attention. My guess is Serena, and you're right, she doesn't need my help." Jim tossed a napkin on the table in disgust. He covert op days were obviously numbered if Sandburg could track him that easily.

"Blair, the guy never has a partner more than a few months. With a pattern like that, there's a reason. His evaluations have always been barely adequate. I can't imagine why Cantor would match you up with him other than sheer laziness. His last partner had just transferred."

"I'm surprised you left it at that."

"Well, it wasn't my first inclination. My first choice was to throw him up against a wall in a dark alley and find out why his rookie partner was handling an altercation alone, for a start. We would have progressed pretty rapidly from there. Trust me that he would have talked." The big man leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I didn't do it out of respect for you, but now I want the whole sordid truth. We'll leave the motivation for later." He waited for a response that didn't come. "Blair, it's the obligation of every experienced officer to watch out for the new guy. You don't need regulations and procedures to know that. How many times did he leave you on your own?"

Finally Blair met his eyes and barely whisper, "All the time. I was on my own all the time, and I was scared to death."

THE SEVENTH WEEK

Blair fussed with his uniform. Despite Jim's initial optimism, several days slipped by before his fever had stayed down and his blood tests were clear. After such a long absence, he didn't want to look like an idiot his first day back. He couldn't help being nervous and fidgety. He was supposed to see Captain Cantor first thing to discuss his return to work. His introductory encounter with the man had left him uneasy. Simon was explosive and demanding, but you knew where you stood. Cantor was a cipher as far as he was concerned.

His other worry was Jim. Blair now knew what cold-blooded fury looked like. Officer Brad McMillan had best hope that he didn't cross paths with Detective James Ellison. After hearing the whole story, it had taken Blair hours to convince Jim that immediate decapitation wasn't the best solution. He realized that Jim was outraged on several levels, and to a certain extent, couldn't fault him. For someone who had spent a lifetime in honorable service, first in the military and then with the police, McMillan was a spot to be cleansed and removed, not ignored. In the end, it was only the certainty that Blair wouldn't be the man's partner when he returned that kept Jim in check. They had agreed that Banks would be consulted privately for the best way to proceed.

He was pleasantly surprised when he was warmly greeted as he made his way through the Patrol area. Apparently his time as the designated clean-up had earned him some brownie points. He headed toward Cantor's office feeling slightly reassured. His unease surged when he made the final turn and was confronted with a darkened, locked office. Cantor had made the appointment. What could be wrong now?

"Hi, Blair." Allie Hayes' sunny face was a welcome sight. "Captain left a message for you. I don't know when he'll be back." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "He's ducking someone from Public Affairs, so don't get paranoid. The man takes his hiding seriously, and he has me, of course. He's put you on courtroom liaison, which won't be too strenuous. You might have to escort some prisoners, but mostly its just odds and ends. If you have time, maybe you can show me how you fixed Miller's files. The man used to drive me crazy when reports were due." She shuffled around on her desk. "You need to take this over to the courthouse so they know the face that's on duty this week. The lady you need to talk to is Sarah. No cheating, either. I already told her she can't ask you to lift a finger after high noon. McMillan's already supposed to be there, but between you and me, you'll probably find the jerk snarfing doughnuts in the break room. Ask Sarah and she'll show you where it is." She looked up from her desk and noticed the wide-eyed look on Sandburg's face. "I know how you feel. I can't stand the guy. Doesn't know what he can and can't touch, if you get my drift."

"I don't suppose....."started Sandburg. He obviously changed his mind about what he was going to say. With a wan smile, he just thanked her and started to leave. Allie grabbed his arm to stop him. "Is this a problem?" she asked quietly. Without waiting for a real answer, she nodded. "I'm pretty good at steering Cantor in one direction or another. Hang in there. I'll see what I can do."

Sandburg crossed the street in a haze. Shit. What am I gonna do if Jim sees that on the duty board? He comes in at noon to pick me up. Who can I get to run interference for me?

*****

"Interesting proposal, Banks. I must admit that I like the idea. The union has been pushing us for a proposal along these lines, but we've never come up with a satisfactory compromise."

"We've run this past most of the Division Captains," commented Taggart. "So far they've all been supportive. You should be getting correspondence to that effect."

"Already got some by e-mail. Foster came down personally. I took the liberty of discussing the idea in general terms with the Chief and the Mayor. They were both interested. It would solve a dilemma we've had for a long time."

Simon sensed it was time to press for a decision. "Your next negotiating session is this afternoon. May I ask you intentions?"

"It's irregular to introduce something this late in the negotiations process, but I'm going to give it a try. Thank you for coming by."

*****

To Jim's pleasant surprise, Sandburg was waiting for him outside the building. He looked fine, but his heart was banging away at Mach 1. He barely let him climb into the truck before cutting to the chase. "Are you feeling okay? What's wrong?"

"Jim, I'm fine. Just give me a sec here." Jim pulled the truck back into traffic, but had no intention of letting this go, and Blair knew it. "Can we put this conversation off until we get back to the loft?" Blair got his answer when Jim abruptly pulled into a parking lot and stopped. "Guess that's a no." With Jim staring holes in him, he just blurted out, "I'm working with McMillan again."

*****

Blair had spent the morning trying to anticipate his friend's reaction. Jim said absolutely nothing, but his eyes went to ice. Jim Ellison could be a pretty scary, threatening person when angry, but Blair was a little more accustomed to a little yelling, something physical. This stillness - it was like walking into the loft to find his belongings in boxes - totally unpredictable.

"You didn't object to Cantor?" he asked in a biting tone.

"Didn't have a chance. Cantor skipped the appointment and left some stuff with Allie." Blair honestly didn't know which way to jump, so he just plunged in. "Jim, it's not so bad. I walk back and forth from the courthouse to the department and back. I run errands. I help out. There are lots of people around. I did some computer stuff. I hardly saw McMillan."

"You hardly saw your partner and this is supposed to reassure me? This is not going to happen, Chief."

"Just talk to Simon, okay? See what he says, and then we'll go from there. Please don't do anything, Jim. It's got to be the right time and the right place. I'm not in immediate danger. I mean, what can happen at a courthouse?"

*****

Robert Taber slammed down the phone. He was stuck between the irresistible force, Nathan Harper, President of the Cascade Jags, and Captain Steve Cantor, the invisible man. Harper wouldn't accept being put off too much longer. This was a very tricky call, no matter how you looked at it.

The whole thing would have been easier if it wasn't Sandburg. The higher-ups in the department had a thin skin where Ellison and his ex-civilian observer-slash-partner were concerned. They'd had their share of grief over the young man, and Taber was sure only a select few knew the whole story. You just didn't offer a confessed fraud a detective's badge without an overwhelming reason. Now we're going to put his name back in the spotlight and I'm not even sure it won't blow up in our faces. Why was Cantor's read on the whole thing so backwards, and why wouldn't the idiot just talk to him? Someone with more juice than he had was going to have to straighten this whole thing out. With no small amount of trepidation, he dialed the extension for the Chief of Police.

*****

Jim Ellison blew through the bullpen of Major Crimes and straight in to Captain Bank's office. The fact that someone else was in there didn't deter him in the least. Rafe watched in quiet amusement as the other occupants of the office ran for cover and Simon's blinds went closed. More power to Ellison; heaven knows if he or Brown ever tried that they'd be picking up litter along the roadside for the rest of their wretched lives. In their bare feet. With leg irons. As he returned to his computer and the never-ending paperwork, he was vaguely conscious of the rise and fall of Ellison's angry voice. Something had really set off Cascade's best detective.

*****

Officers Sorenson and Miller exchanged horrified glances. Finally Randy Miller gathered himself and replied, "Acknowledged. We'll head back now. Should be about 15 minutes. Out."

"Sorrie, did we screw up?"

"Damned if I know." Sorenson pulled the squad car out into traffic. "The Chief of Police? Why would he want to talk to us?" He drove for a few minutes, lost in thought. "You know, if we'd screwed up it would be IA or Cantor."

"Sorrie, I've never even seen the guy other than when he shook my hand at graduation. And what's the deal about going directly to his office without checking in? And radio silence? Man, maybe we should just run for Canada."

"Can't, Randy. My daughter has a soccer game tonight. Any flight from prosecution will have to wait until my baby kicks the opposition's butt." He grinned at his younger partner, trying to joke him into relaxing. Too bad he was just as freaked as Randy was.

*****

"Okay, Simon. You've heard the whole story, or at least what I know."

"Damn you, Ellison. Why can't you walk into my office and tell me that I won the lottery? Or that my son just got a full scholarship to Harvard? Why does it always have to be the disaster of the century?"

"At the risk of being rude, Captain, I'm waiting. I told Blair my first inclination was to throw McMillan against a wall in a dark alley. I'm revising that; I'm going for something more physical, if you know what I mean."

Simon glared across his desk. He was well aware of what Ellison could accomplish with fairly minimal effort. This time bomb needed the fuse pulled. "Well, forget it. You are not going to go anywhere near this guy. I know how you feel about Blair, but he's made tremendous sacrifices to be your partner. Don't negate them by getting yourself kicked off the force." He regretted using that tactic when he saw the guilt that washed through Ellison's eyes. "Jim," he started, but Ellison was already on his feet.

"If it comes to it, Captain, I'll transfer to Patrol and get myself assigned as Blair's partner. Maybe Cascade is a dead end, and we'll go somewhere else and hire in as a team. This guy's negligence has already put Sandburg at risk. I'm not going to tempt fate."

"Will you give me a couple of days? I think Sandburg is right. He's working half days, and what could possibly go wrong at the courthouse?"

*****

Blair was gratefully finishing another day on courtroom liaison duty. He'd tried to see Captain Cantor this morning, but the guy was taking the morning off. From his university days, he was well aware that administrative styles ran the gamut from excellent to awful. Still, he couldn't reconcile the difference between Cantor and Simon Banks. Simon might do impressive impersonations of a growling grizzly, but he knew every individual in his command, what they were doing, and how they worked. If someone got hurt, he was the first person at the hospital. If someone was struggling, on the job or off, he never failed to deal with the problem head-on. Cantor obviously believed in a more hands-off approach, and that was a charitable assessment.

Blair knew he was pretty down. He was amazed how tired he was just from four hours of walking around. He made his required call to Dr. Meyers every morning, and every morning Meyers gave him a lecture about the persistence of internal infections and how he wasn't out of the woods yet. On top of the fatigue, another day of snide comments from McMillan didn't improve his outlook. He shouldn't let the guy get to him. He truly wished his official partner would choke on a doughnut or something. He'd gratefully ditched the guy when the call came to hustle back to the PD. He was out smoking behind the building and Blair just didn't have the energy to chase him down. He'd told Sarah he was going alone.

He was met at the door by Allie Hayes. "Sorry, Blair. I know you should be on your way home. Judge Tremont is taking a special deposition in chambers, but we need his signature on these right away." She handed him a slim black leather folder. "He knows you're coming. Just knock, go in, and he'll sign them. They've asked that you and McMillan stand extra security in the hallway after you get the signatures. Apparently whoever is in the deposition is a heavy hitter and they're not taking any chances. Don't worry about McMillan. I had dispatch get him on the radio. He should have no excuse for not being there." Blair smiled and started back toward the courthouse. He'd come to realize that many of the underlings knew what the score was with McMillan, and he appreciated the little gestures that were being made to make things easier. He noticed that she had her lunch and her walking shoes with her.

"Allie, are you ready to take lunch?" She nodded. "Would you mind waiting a few minutes on the bench over there? It would be a nice place to eat on a day like today. When my roommate comes to get me you could tell him what's going on and how long I'll be."

"Sure thing. What's he driving?"

"A blue truck. You'll probably recognize him - Detective Ellison."

"THE Detective Ellison?" she teased.

"The one and only he," called back. He trotted off toward the courthouse and his final task of the day.

It took him a few minutes to thread through the winding corridors. He knew he was in the right place when the elevator doors opened and he spotted McMillan lounging in a chair down the hall. As he approached, the man shifted lazily in his chair. "The jail personnel are covering the stairway entrances at either end. We're supposed to hang out here until they transfer the dude back to wherever he came from."

"Okay. I'll get these signed." Black folder under his arm, Blair knocked and entered into the room. As soon as the young man disappeared through the doors, McMillan started down the hallway. The candy machines were just around the corner, and this nonsense was delaying his lunch.

Blair did a double take when he entered the room. Two young women were with Judge Tremont. One he recognized as being from the DAs office, although he couldn't quite remember her name. Jaynes, he finally remembered. Kathryn Jaynes. The other was transcribing the testimony. Blair couldn't help smiling. He'd met the young lady yesterday when Sarah had sent her to find him with a muffin and juice. She was tiny, vivacious and very, very pregnant. They'd joked about her having the baby in judge's chambers if she wasn't careful. The fourth occupant of the room was the one who gave him a start. Grant Carpenter, one of the biggest organized crime figures in the city, maybe the northwest. Jim had worked on this case, and it had been a bad one.

Blair waited by the door until Judge Tremont motioned him over. "We'll take a short break while I sign these," he said accepting the folder from Blair. It took a few minutes, as he skimmed through each of the sheets before signing. Carpenter was in shackles, and simply glared at him and it made him uneasy. Blair was grateful when the Assistant DA quietly inquired about his injury.

"Lots better, thank you. I'm still on restricted duty, but I'm hoping the doctor will release me next week." He was about to tease Lisa about her 'baby in the judge's chambers' comment when he heard a series of dull spitting sounds. Silencers. Everyone in the room froze.

He pulled his gun. "Get down," he ordered crisply. He moved toward the door, opening it just a crack. McMillan was nowhere to be seen. At the far end of the hall, he caught a glimpse of two officers down and two men in ski masks who were moving toward them. As they stepped over the bodies of the two officers, one abruptly turned and pumped another bullet into the nearest one. Blair dropped to a knee behind the half-open wooden door and fired, although he knew he was probably too late.

The door splintered as they returned fire. Blair didn't have time to think about how he had dreaded this moment. He dropped one of the men on his first shot. The other was taking cover and continuing to move. Blair was seriously outgunned. "Get behind the desk," he shouted. He was certain he'd gotten the second man in the leg when pain blazed between his shoulders and he went down.

*****

Brad McMillan was absorbed in the choice between Snickers and Milky Way. As he stuck out a finger to select D-5 and go for the Snickers, the sound of gunfire behind him sent him diving around the corner of the candy machine. One of the jail personnel staggered around the corner and dropped, clearly wounded. The roar of Sandburg's service revolver joined the fray.

McMillan spent less time on his next decision than he did on the candy bars. At the first break in the shooting he made a break for the stairwell at the far end of the hall. He flew down the steps three at a time.

*****

Jim had just pulled up to the curbside when he realized that although Blair wasn't at their meeting place, someone was expecting him. He rolled down the passenger window as the young lady strolled over to his truck.

"Detective Ellison? Blair just took some papers up to Judge Tremont. They wanted him to do some extra security, but he'll be done soon. He didn't want you to worry."

Jim hopped out of the car and locked his side. "Well, I go keep him company. Judge Tremont, did you say? Fourth floor, west side, right?"

"I'll lock up this side, Detective. By the way, I think it's really cool how you're watching out for Blair. He seems like a really nice guy. What lousy luck to get hurt right when he was getting started."

He was about to comment on Sandburg's long career as a trouble magnet when the sound of gunfire shattered the noontime chatter. He pulled his gun and ducked for cover, dragging Allie to the ground with him. He stretched his hearing. The gunfire was coming from - of, God, no - not from the fourth floor. He tugged his cell phone from his pocket and pushed it into Allie's hands. "Tell Captain Banks they're on the fourth floor and I'm going in on the northwest stairway."

*****

Groggily, Blair rolled to his side, conscious of Lisa's screams. Carpenter, still in his shackles, was out of his chair and had pulled her by her hair to his side. He was holding a gun to her head - where the hell had he gotten that? Carpenter was screaming for the guys in the hall to get into the office, but no one was coming.

"You," he bellowed at the Assistant DA. "Get the keys. Get the keys now!" Blair realized she was bending over him. "Run!" he hissed in her ear. "Run and don't look back." He could see the doubt in her eyes. "One less hostage. Get going!" Nodding her understanding, she struggled to her feet, looking fearfully back at Carpenter.

Carpenter missed the exchange. He was threatening the judge. "You! Old man! Get somebody on the phone and tell them I'm gonna blow all of you to bits if I don't get out of here. I want a chopper on the roof."

"They're not going to....."

"Do it!" He pulled back the trigger and jerked Lisa closer. She was sobbing with fear. Judge Tremont slowly picked up the phone and made his call." As the noise settled, Blair realized the other woman had run down the hall and all of them could hear her retreating footsteps as she headed down the stairs. Carpenter shouted at her in fury. Blair breathed a sigh of relief that Jaynes had done as he requested.

Carpenter shouted for his men again, but there was no answer. Blair lay very still, and tried to place the location of his service revolver. He must have dropped it when he fell, correction, when Carpenter shot him in the back. Bless Jim's foresight. That vest had probably just saved his life. He spotted the gun. It had skittered through the doorway. He could see it, but no way would he get to it before Carpenter shot him again, or fired on the hostages.

Judge Temont had reached the Chief of Police. They were stalling, of course. Carpenter continued to make demands, jerking Lisa from side to side. Suddenly, she let out a strangled moan of pain, and her expression changed. Shit - the baby. Blair slowly pushed himself up. He sat back on his heels, holding his hands out in plain sight.

"Carpenter - take it easy, man."

"You - I thought I'd taken care of you!" He seemed torn between keeping his eye on the judge, the gun on Lisa and shooting at his newly resurrected victim.

"Look, man, this is going to take awhile. You're scaring her, man. She's pregnant and she's scared to death. She's gonna have that kid right on your shoes." He started to creep forward on his knees. "Let her go, let her sit down. Use me instead, man. I'll do just fine for what you want." He continued to inch toward the pair. Carpenter seemed mesmerized by his slow progress. He was at the man's side, still on his knees. He laced his fingers through Lisa's hand, still talking. " Just let her hair go. Let me help her, and then we can figure out how you're getting out of here."

*****

Standing at the second floor landing, Jim heard footsteps moving down the stairway and braced himself in firing position. The steps were light. He wasn't surprised when an unarmed woman, dressed in a fashionable suit, came flying around the corner railing. She recoiled at the sight of his gun.

"Cascade PD. Get down here." Watching the stairway at the same time, he steadied her with a hand on her arm. "Were you there?"

She nodded. "Kathryn Jaynes, Assistant DA. I was in Judge Tremont's office for Grant Carpenter's deposition. Two men, they tried to shoot their way in. I saw two officers down right at the fourth floor stairwell."

"Hurt? Dead?"

"Dead, I think. I didn't check. He wanted me to get the keys for his shackles, and Sandburg told me to just kept going."

"What about the shooters?"

"They were down, too. Sandburg returned fire. One was still moving, but he's not going anywhere."

"So who's holding the hostages? Who's left in the office?"

"Carpenter. He pulled a gun from underneath the chair in Tremont's office. It was taped underneath. He shot Officer Sandburg in the back."

Jim tightened his grip on her arm. "Is he okay?" The vest, thought Jim. He has to be okay.

"I don't know. He was facedown by the door when I ran out, but he told me what to do. Said one less hostage was best. Carpenter still had Lisa and Judge Tremont."

"Get going. Find Captain Simon Banks and tell him everything you told me. Tell him I'm moving on the office." Jim refocused his attention on the floors above and continued his cautious trek up the stairs.

*****

Brad McMillan came flying out of the building. The grounds in front of the Courthouse was crawling with cops. He took a moment to assess where he should go next. He saw the Assistant DA burst through the doors on the opposite corner. She was quickly pulled down by the closest personnel. She was gesturing fiercely, and was hustled to Captain Banks, who was apparently trying to bring some order to the milling personnel. He spied Captain Cantor just coming out of the PD half a block away. That was definitely the spot for him. He dodged away from the building at a run and lost himself in the crowd.

*****

"Captain Banks, Ellison was working up the stair." The Chief of Police and the Mayor joined the group.

"Kathryn, are you all right?" sputtered the Mayor. "What the hell happened? I thought we had a deal with Carpenter?"

"So did I, but apparently he had other plans."

"We had extra security up there. How did they get through?" The Mayor glared at the Chief of Police. Jaynes broke in. "They were there, Mayor. Officer Sandburg had everything under control until Carpenter shot him in the back. Sandburg brought up the papers for the Judge to sign, and there was another guy at the door. I don't know what happened to him. He wasn't with the wounded when I got out."

"Banks, handle the deployment from this end. I'll check with the people on the phone with Carpenter. I want to be ready to move in three minutes if we have to." Mayor, please stay here with Kathryn and keep out of the line of fire." Chief Walters headed across the grassy area between the courthouse and the PD. Banks was a good man. He would be free to concentrate on the negotiations. As he hustled over he thought grimly of Sandburg and his recent conversation with Officers Sorenson and Miller. That young man was going to be the death of him. Still, another case of missing partner, and Sandburg was clearly where he was supposed to be. What's-his-name McMillan had better have a damn good explanation and he planned to hear it personally.

*****

It was working. Carpenter loosened his fingers from Lisa's hair. Blair steadied her as she sank to the floor. She leaned back against Tremont's huge mahogany desk. Blair stayed on his knees, motionless. He felt the gun press into his temple.

"Let the Judge come around and help her. We can move over to the table. You can use the phone, negotiate for yourself."

"Okay. Move with me, and don't try anything." A space opened up between the two men and Lisa. The Judge started to move around the desk, but Carpenter would not have it.

"Forget it, old man. You stay in that big chair, right where I can see you."

They waited. The telephone negotiations were following a predictable pattern. Blair's back ached from the bullet he'd taken, and the kneeling position was making it worse. Blair kept a close watch on Lisa. She was trying to hold it together, but he suspected she was in labor.

"Carpenter..."

"Shut up, cop."

"Listen to me, Carpenter. The girl's in labor. Get her out of here. Use her as a bargaining chip. Get something you want, but get her on her feet and get her out of here."

Carpenter pressed the gun into Blair's head. "Don't mess with my head. Now shut up."

"Use your head here," wheedled Blair. "You're trying to concentrate. You think you can do that when she's giving birth on her own. I'm serious. You still have me, you still have the Judge. Let her go. It's a smart move, man."

Carpenter seemed to reconsider. "Can you get on your feet?" he demanded sharply. Lisa nodded. "Then do it. Get out of here. You tell them they've got two dead men on their hands if they don't hurry up. I'm not going back to prison."

Grabbing the edge of the desk, Lisa pulled herself up. With tears in her eyes, she mouthed the word "Thank you" and moved out of the room, using any nearby object to keep her balance.

Blair breathed a sigh of relief. One more hostage safe.

*****

Jim's hearing picked up the movement at the opposite end of the hallway. The tentative steps convinced him that this person was no threat. As he saw the young woman move unsteadily down the hall, he holstered his gun. He stepped into clear view, finger to his lips and holding his badge high. She nodded in response and kept coming. Jim pulled her past the dead officers and into the stairwell.

"You were in the office?"

She nodded again, a little breathless.

"Tell me exactly where they are."

"Judge Tremont's at his desk," she whispered. Carpenter has Blair on his knees, to the right of the doorway."

"Blair? He's okay?"

"He must have been wearing a vest. He's going to kill both of them, I just know it. He already thought he'd killed Blair - made a comment about taking care of him already. Says he's not going back to prison."

"Any chance for a sniper?"

She shook her head. "We drew the blinds and the curtains before Carpenter came up."

"Can you get down the stairs alone? There should be someone on their way up by now."

"Absolutely. Go get them out of there."

"Find Captain Banks. Tell him everything." He could hear Carpenter shouting. Time was running out. Leaving the girl on her own, he moved back into the hallway.

*****

Carpenter was screaming into the phone. There was no helicopter. He was getting paranoid. He kept squeezing the trigger and then easing it back. Blair was sure he was staring death in the face. He wished he could say good bye to Naomi. They'd spoken so seldom since the mess with the dissertation. She'd been the most precious person in his life for so long, and she'd be carrying that evil time as her last memory of her son. And Jim. God, what about Jim? They'd made some progress, but he realized there was so much more he wanted to say. That he was grateful to have had Jim Ellison in his life, that he wouldn't have given up the chance to know him for anything.

The gun went off. Blair jerked, then wondered why he wasn't dead. Blair felt like he was on another planet when he heard Carpenter scream into the phone, "You hear that? The next one's through his brain..." He shut his eyes, waiting for the final shot.

Another shot. Blair jerked again, but felt Carpenter falling away. He opened his eyes to look directly into the eyes of his partner, still holding the smoking gun in firing position.

His single shot, guided by sound and sight, had been sentinel perfect.

From far, far away, Blair heard a new voice. "This is Judge Tremont. We're safe, and we're coming down." Moving slowly, he rounded the desk to where Blair was still on his knees, too stunned to move. "You did a fine job, young man. Let's get you on your feet."

*****

The three emerged from the building to a scene of total jubilation. Other than to direct teams up to the fourth floor, Jim and Blair spoke to no one. The crowd would soon discover that the cost of this misguided escape attempt had come at the cost of several lives, including two members of the Cascade PD. They were quickly surrounded by personnel from Major Crimes. Simon, in particular, rejoiced in the normalcy of it all. Ellison was trying to coax Sandburg to the ambulance, Sandburg was refusing to cooperate. They had dodged another tragedy.

Simon was about to relax when he realized a change had come over Ellison, that he had detached and his attention was firmly fixed on a group of PD personnel near the street. He moved away, slowly at first, then like missile homing in on its target. Blair realized too late what was happening, and struggled to catch up to him. Banks was hot on his heels.

At the center his intended target zone were two men. One was Captain Cantor. He was of no interest to Ellison. The other.....well, they hadn't been properly introduced, but Jim intended to remedy that right now. With a smile far more feral than friendly, he quietly said, "Hi, I'm Jim Ellison." With that, he decked the man next to Cantor with a vicious blow to the jaw. Standing over the fallen man, as he stared upwards from a position flat on his back, he continued calmly. "You're Brad McMillan. You've nearly gotten my partner killed twice, and that's two times too many. There won't be a third time."

Although no one present could explain how it happened at a later time, Ellison turned, collected Sandburg, got into his truck and drove off. No one stopped them.

THE EIGHTH WEEK

Hands went up all around the table. The vote was unanimous.

"I'm glad to see that we're in agreement. We'll recommend ratification to the membership at the meeting tomorrow afternoon. If it's confirmed, we'll have a new labor contract in effect by the following morning. Congratulations, everyone. We bargained hard and we have a good contract." The room was filled with excited conversation. Their chairman gave them time to enjoy the moment. Serving on a negotiations committee was a thankless job, and these people deserved to bask in the feeling of success.

"We do have one more task to complete now that we've settled the other issues. We've accepted the merit promotions proposal from management, even though they introduced it so late. Management has submitted one name from each division. Although the process was hasty, the different segments of the bargaining unit have done the same. These are all individuals with exemplary records with less than two years of service. I need your names from your bargaining unit." Gradually ten half sheets of yellow paper were collected from each member of the negotiating team. They were matched with similar sheets on blue paper. Quiet discussion continued as the nominating sheets were mounted on a large easel. They were obligated to select three individuals from this group.

"Sorenson, I'm a little surprised by the nomination from your bargaining unit. He hasn't been there long."

"It's legit. No other candidate came even close. I stand behind it without reservation."

As it turned out, only three names were nominated by both management and the bargaining units. It didn't take them long to reach a final decision.

*****

"I always wondered what the final trip to the guillotine must have felt like. Now I know."

"Relax, Sandburg. Don't jump to conclusions."

"I don't have to JUMP anywhere, Detective Ellison. I'm going to get fired, you're going to get charged with assault. They're going to keep us in cages in front of the station and feed us stale bread crumbs as examples of what happens to all bad children."

Ellison sighed. "Where do you get this stuff, Sandburg?" The elevator dinged and came to a stop. "Move, Sandburg. Simon's office is that direction, in case you've forgotten."

They moved through the bullpen, but as soon as Blair realized that Simon's office was already packed with people, he tried for an about face. As Jim continued him backwards in the correct direction, he protested. "They already have the whole inquisition assembled, or maybe the firing squad. We should just forget the whole thing." Jim firmly turned him by the shoulders and frog marched him into the office. Simon was on the verge of outright laughter, but maintained a straight face.

"Nice of you two to stop by. You're only ten minutes late."

"Sorry, sir," answered Ellison. "Won't happen again."

"As we all know, our labor negotiations team has just formally signed a new contract." Ellison gave Sandburg a sheepish look. They'd missed the ratification meeting because they'd slept in after the whole hostage mess. Simon continued. "A significant and innovative part of that new contract is the Merit Promotions Program. Chief, if you will..."

"Officer Sandburg, in recognition of your superior performance on multiple occasions, particularly during the situation with Judge Tremont, and on behalf of the Cascade Police Department, I'm happy to inform you that you are one of three recipients of a merit promotion, exempting you from the usual requirements of such a move. We need you to tell us where you would like you new assignment to be."

For one of the few times in his life, Blair was speechless. Ellison threw a sharp elbow in his ribs. He stage whispered, "We'll take you back in Major Crimes, but you need to tell them officially."

"Uh, I'd like to go to Major Crimes, Chief Walters," parroted Sandburg, still looking like the axe would fall any second.

"Well, fine. In case you don't know, this is Nathan Harper, President of the Cascade Jags. He has a presentation he'd like to make."

"Officer Sandburg, the Jags organization and the police department are aware of your efforts to assist our security personnel. In recognition, we'd like to present you with a pair of season tickets, with our grateful thanks." Sandburg recovered enough to mumble a thank you, but that was it. "I would have preferred to call a press conference, but I trust you realize this private setting in no way diminishes our gratitude."

Thank you for that little brainstorm, Taber, thought Chief Walters. We're not going to put this kid back in front of the cameras just yet. "I believe Captain Banks would like you to report for duty tomorrow, but you can go celebrate with your new department at the moment. Thank you for coming by, Sandburg." Blair still looked like a deer in the headlights. He was frozen. "You can go now, son," prompted the Chief . Grinning from ear to ear, Ellison shepherded him into the bullpen, closing the door behind them. It was time to welcome the prodigal back to the fold.

The End