Thanks as always to my friend, the valiant Sealie, who ploughs through my work and keeps me honest. A wave to Angela and Nancy...fine friends with knack for encouragement.

And a hello to Shellie at Homer JHS, who has sent such uplifting feedback on previous stories. I've not been able to write back to her so here's a 'thank you' right here! :-)

by Shelly

The Fahrenheit man
On the Centigrade sea
With wittage and wattage
And wastage...and me.
J. Frame

**********

Something was wrong. Even before the Sentinel reached the door to the loft, he knew that something was wrong. He scanned ahead as he took the stairs two at a time, and he heard the staccato beating of his Guide's heart. Fast... too fast.

"Blair?"

The loft door was chained.

"Blair...it's Jim. Open the door. Chief?"

There was a sound from inside the apartment, and Jim heard his friend moving unsteadily, and slowly, towards the door. The chain dropped away and swung freely, making a little chiming noise in the silence.

Jim opened the door. Blair had turned and was walking back to the sofa. The loft was in darkness except for soft light spilling across the room from the lamp.

"Blair?"

The younger man shook his head. He sat down heavily on the sofa, leaning forward with his arms crossed over his stomach, rocking back and forth. The fingers of his left hand curled inward as he cradled his arm against his chest.

And then Jim saw it. Something dark and thick, like oil, spread over the surface of Blair's left palm. *God. Not oil. Blood.*

Asking no questions, Jim moved into the kitchen, took a mixing bowl from the cupboard and filled it with cold water. Sitting back on the coffee table, he put the bowl of water down in front of Blair.

Pushing up the sleeve of Blair's sweatshirt, the Sentinel carefully took the injured hand and saw the torn flesh.

"I'm going to put it in here, Chief. I need to see what's going on. I'll try not to hurt you." Gently he slid the hand into the water. There was a fledgling gasp from his friend, then silence.

Jim's hand went across to his Guide's shoulder. "Okay, buddy. How did it happen? What's going on?" He noted the bruise purpling on Blair's left cheekbone.

Blair sat very still, staring at his hand in the water, unruly curls curtaining his face. After a moment, he looked up.

"My hand hurts." He seemed disorientated...lost.

Jim looked down into the bowl and felt his stomach lift. He could see the fleshy part of Blair's palm, dark and swollen, with shreds of skin clinging to it. The water in the bowl was pink, settling to a deep rose at the bottom.

Blair pulled his hand from the bowl, and stepped unsteadily past Jim murmuring, "Bathroom."

He headed across the room, veered right, and slammed solidly into the door jamb. He turned to Jim, a dazed, vacant look on his face.

"Don't feel good."

Jim steered him to the bathroom. Leaning forward with one hand braced against the wall, Blair vomited weakly into the bowl of the toilet. After a few minutes, he straightened up, his face drained of colour. He took the washcloth Jim handed him, and wiped his face.

Jim wrapped a towel lightly around the wounded hand. "I think you'd better lie down for a bit, Chief."

Blair let himself be led back to the couch. He lay down and turned his face to the back of the sofa, closing his eyes. When Jim spread a quilt over him, he opened his eyes, then closed them again, muttering something under his breath.

The Sentinel pushed back his anger, closed his eyes and let his senses drift through the loft. There was no noise except for Blair's murmuring. But there was something...an odour. What was it? He separated the layers away, identifying and then discarding. He shuddered. There was the smell of burned flesh... and something else. He concentrated harder and catalogued it for further study later.

Jim turned his attention back to his Guide. Blair's skin was pale and clammy, his breathing shallow. He was obviously in shock. What in God's name had happened?

Jim gently lifted the quilt and folded it back across Blair's knees. The wounded hand lay upon his chest; his good hand gripped his belt. He loosened the towel and spread it over Blair's chest. The young man was motionless, staring upward.

"I just want to take a look, kiddo. I won't touch it. No, just lie back. I don't want you sitting up."

The hand lay exposed on the towel, the fingers curving inward, more tightly than before. Jim lifted it onto his lap. "That's a pretty mean burn, Chief. How did it happen?"

Blair focused on Jim for a moment. "The Fahrenheit Man," he whispered with a shudder.

Jim let it pass. The hand was more important at the moment. "Can you open it for me, Blair?"

The Sentinel winced inwardly as the hand slowly opened and he saw the bloody palm.

It was dark and pulpy looking at the centre; the edges whitish with shredded blisters. It wasn't as bad as Jim had first thought. Second degree burn... must hurt like hell, though. He placed the hand carefully back on Blair's chest.

Taking the bowl back into the kitchen, he refilled it with fresh, cold water and found a new washcloth. Sitting on the coffee table, he again took Blair's hand onto his lap.

He dipped the cloth into the water, wrung it out and applied it gently to the burn. Over and over.

"Okay, tell me." Jim's voice was quiet and insistent.

"Someone knocked on the door. He said he was from Vice. He showed me his badge. Wanted to ask me about one of the kids at the University." Blair hissed as the cloth caught on a piece of skin.

"Sorry. I'm sorry." The Sentinel flinched in sympathy. He waited for the young man to settle again.

Blair closed his eyes. "Once he was inside, he started asking questions about you. I thought something was up and challenged him. Bad move, man." He grimaced, wryly, and tried to still his shaking hands.

"He started yelling and screaming like a mad man. Punched me, dragged me over to the burner, turned it on and held my hand on it. Shit... I thought he was going to kill me, man. He kept saying that now I could show his message to you. From the Fahrenheit Man. That's what he said. I don't get it. Do you know him, Jim?"

The Sentinel's jaw twitched with tension. He spoke slowly, deliberately. "No, Chief. But I will. Oh, I will."

___________________________________________________________________

Blair slept heavily for several hours until his painfully throbbing hand woke him. He had twisted himself into a tight scrimmage of blankets and he winced as he automatically reached down with both hands to untangle himself.

"Shit. Oh, man." He cupped his injured hand with his other hand and swayed with the rhythm of the pain. Wave after wave pulsed through him as he breathed through gritted teeth. "Jesus. Ow. Ow."

Kicking at the blankets, he stumbled from his bed and headed towards the kitchen.

He was mindful that Jim was sleeping, and tried to be quiet. He should have known better. The Sentinel had heard the murmurs of pain, and he was down the stairs and in the kitchen before Blair.

"And just where do you think you are going?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "Like I'm in any condition to go partying, Jim. I was coming to get some ginger. It's good for burns."

"Tell me what to do and I'll fix it for you."

"Uh, you need to crush fresh ginger. We've got some, near the garlic. You crush it till you can squeeze out some juice. Dip it into a cotton ball or something and then just put it on. It's good for pain and it's supposed to stop scarring. Thanks."

"No problem." Jim set about making the concoction while Blair sat at the table.

Silence swung between them like a pendulum. Each pushed it back, not wanting to be the first to speak about what had happened. Finally, Blair, keeping his eyes on his bandaged hand, reached for the elusive words.

"He's gonna come back."

The Sentinel had his back to his friend, and he heard the quiet percussion of Blair's heart arc to a frenetic beat as he spoke. Jim took a breath before answering.

"Yeah. Sounds like it. But we are ready, now, Chief. I called Simon while you were sleeping. He wants you to go in to the station tomorrow and see if you can identify the guy. I promise, whoever he is, he won't be able to get close again."

Jim picked up the bowl of juice, and turned to face Blair. He saw the way the kid pushed a smile onto his face, and a knife of anger gave a subtle twist in his gut. It was so unfair. Why did the kid have to be dragged this?

"Okay, Florence. Do your worst." Blair held out his injured hand to the gentle ministrations of his friend.

Cutting the tape, Jim lifted the gauze he had layered onto Blair's palm. The young man pulled his hand away, gasping.

"Holy shit! That hurts!" He cradled his hand protectively for a moment before offering it back to Jim.

The Sentinel dabbed the juice from the crushed ginger onto the blistered areas of the palm. He worked with infinite care, glancing up to see how Blair was faring with the pain. Gradually he felt the tension drain from the hand, and saw Blair relax, the lines on his forehead smoothing out.

"Man, that feels better. Much better."

Jim bandaged the hand again, taping it firmly at the wrist. He sat back in the chair and looked at Blair.

"You want to tell me a little more about this guy, Blair?"

"Uh. It's kinda hard to remember. He had brown eyes...weird looking eyes. And he wore gloves. He had a beard and a moustache. That's about it." Blair looked apologetically at his Sentinel. "I really was just concentrating on keeping my fear at an appropriate level, somewhere between manic and psychotic, I believe."

A grin flickered on his face for a moment and then dropped away.

Jim smiled at the glimmer of Blair's sense of humour. "You're not the Terminator, kid. It's okay to show emotion."

"Trust me, Jim. I showed it. I showed it! I got an A plus for showing emotion." Blair yawned, and without thinking, brought his injured hand up to his mouth.

He winced and looked mournfully at the offending hand. "Ouch. This is gonna be a pain. I keep forgetting!" Another yawn overtook him, and he stood up and stretched.

"I'm going back to bed. Thanks for the doctoring, Jim."

"Anytime, Chief. Sleep well."

The young man walked towards his bedroom, then stopped. Turning around with a small smile upon his face, he called across to the Sentinel in his very best Schwartzenegger voice.

"Hey, Jim. Ahl be buck."

The Sentinel nodded to his partner's retreating back. "'Night, Arnie." He kept the tone of his voice light, but his face was etched with concern.

_____________________________________________________________________

Jim stood in Simon's office, running his hands through his short hair, and looking out through the glass into the squad room.

He turned and spoke to Simon, his voice bitter. "Look at him." He gestured to Blair who was sitting outside at a computer trying to make an identikit picture of the intruder.

Simon came up behind Jim and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Jim, he looks fine. He was joking about the burn...saying he could use it as a sympathy vote to get a date from that Teaching Assistant he has been chasing. Sounds like the old Sandburg to me!" He chuckled.

"That's just it, Simon. It's all a show. The Blair Sandburg Show... running on empty."

Jim shook his head. "Taggart came up behind him just now, to ask how the hand was, and Blair just about went through the roof!"

"It's only natural. Of course he's going to be nervous... jumpy. But that doesn't mean that he is falling in a heap. He's a resourceful kid. He's got a lot of guts."

Jim turned to his Captain, despair written plainly across his face. "He shouldn't have to go through this, Simon. It's not fair. This bastard is obviously after me...why take it out on him?"

"It happens. We just have to deal with it. The kid doesn't blame you. I don't blame you. Don't take this on yourself. It's self defeating, Jim. Use your energy to find this guy and get him off the streets."

The Sentinel forced his fists to unclench and he took a long breath. A bandaged hand waved at him from the computer outside.

"Jim, come see."

Both Jim and Simon went to look at what Blair had drawn with the computer program.

"It's the best I can do. I don't think I got the eyes right. There was something about the eyes. But the rest is pretty close." Blair looked up at Jim hopefully. "Know him?"

"'Fraid not, Chief. Simon, can we get this run through the system to see if it comes up with any matches?"

"Sure. I'll get someone on it now. Blair, can you copy that and then try it again without the beard and moustache? Might be worth a go." Simon put his hand on the young man's shoulder as he walked by, heading off to arrange the systems check.

Blair punched the keys laboriously with his right hand, and Jim drew up a chair to sit down next to him. The younger man manoeuvred the mouse and deleted the moustache on the identikit picture he had drawn. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jim straighten up and lean closer to the screen.

"Jim?" Blair tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and pushed his glasses further up onto his nose as he turned to his friend.

Jim was focused in on the screen so intently that he jumped when Blair put a concerned hand on his arm.

"Take the beard off, too." The Sentinel's voice was pin-sharp.

The cursor moved across the screen and with a click of the button the beard was deleted.

Jim was silent, stunned. His large hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening.

"HolymarymotherofGod." The words were packed together in an unintelligible, lathered herd.

Blair shuddered, "Jim, you know him? Who is he?"

Jim pushed back his chair. "I've gotta see Simon." Blair was left open-mouthed in his wake. He followed Jim to Simon's office. Tentatively poking his head around the door to ascertain the wisdom of entering, he came upon his Sentinel striding up and down the room with long, furious paces. Jim's right fist was pounding into his left palm in an angry rhythm. His voice spiked into fury.

"YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND. Martin Tebbutt is dangerous. I want Sandburg out of here." Jim's fist pounded onto Simon's desk, sending the captain's collection of jazz figurines bouncing.

Blair flattened himself against the wall, cradling his bandaged hand. He watched Simon trying to placate the raging detective.

"Jim...Jim. For God's sake, man. Calm down. Yeah, I know this guy got to Blair...but that was before we knew that he was stalking. It won't happen again. I've got guys watching the loft and ....."

"No! I want him safe!" The Sentinel's voice reverberated through the room.

Blair stepped forward, intercepting Jim mid stride. "Jim, Simon's right. Nothing can happen now that we know that this guy is out there. Who is he?"

Jim took a breath, and another. He rolled his shoulders against the tension. "His name's Martin Tebbutt. He was in the Rangers with me. Don't know how he got in. He was an utter psycho! He beat some poor bastard nearly to death. He was thrown out. The night before he left, he took to the barracks with a flame-thrower. I wrestled him to the ground and his clothes caught on fire. He got third degree burns to his face, hands and chest. Jesus." Jim's eyes widened in horror. "That's what he meant...the Fahrenheit Man."

An involuntary shiver shook Blair at the mention of the name. "You know what they say, guys: The problem with the gene pool is that there is no lifeguard. He's obviously WAY disturbed. But, least we know now. Least we know." He nodded several times as if trying to convince himself.

Simon stood up and walked purposefully towards the two men. "Okay. We know who he is. We know what he is doing and why he is doing it. Now we just gotta find him. Get an APB out on him and..."

Jim stood, suddenly alert. "Something's burning. What..."

A commotion outside interrupted him. Blair was first to reach the door. He stopped short and Jim careened into his back. There was a fire in Jim's wastepaper basket. Taggart had smothered it with a jacket and dark smoke now curled languidly upward towards the roof.

"He was here." Jim's hands gripped Blair's shoulders. The younger man winced but did not move away.

Simon pushed past the two men. "What's going on? How did this happen? Joel, you see anything?" He moved into take-charge mode, ordering the waste paper bin to be moved and taken down to Forensics to see what they came up with.

Joel's normally affable face was clearly puzzled. He rubbed his hands over his short hair and then spread them wide in a gesture of confusion. "What's going on? I was just coming to put this report on Jim's desk and noticed the fire. Sorry about your coat, man. It was the first thing I grabbed." From the door of Simon's office, behind Blair, Jim raised his hand to wave away Joel's concern.

"You see anyone, Joel?" Simon's question was insistent.

"Nope. Why? I thought someone had accidentally dropped a cigarette in there or something. What..you think this had something to do with what happened with the kid?"

Simon raised an eyebrow and bellowed, "Yeah, I think this has something to do with the kid! I want some action here. *Who* saw someone near Ellison's desk?"

"Ah, sir?" A courteous voice interjected quietly.

"Ricardo, you see something?" Simon turned to face the tall, quietly mannered policeman who had stepped up behind him.

"There was a janitor who knocked over Jim's wastepaper bin. I nearly tripped over him because he was bent down picking up all the paper." He gestured at the space beside Jim's desk. A few pieces of paper remained.

"Description?" Simon's voice was apologetically curt.

"Caucasian, six foot, dark hair. Uniform, gloves...that's about it, sir. I only saw him for a moment. He had an ID tag."

Simon steered the policeman over to Jim's computer. "That him? That look anything like him?"

Ricardo canted his head to one side, studying the identikit picture that Blair had created. "Yeah. Could be, I guess."

Jim manoeuvred past Blair who seemed to have taken root in the doorway to Simon's office. He joined the two men at his desk.

"I....want.....Sandburg...safe." Jim whispered, but Simon heard the tension vibrating in every carefully enunciated word that he spoke. The captain nodded his agreement.

It obviously wasn't over. The game was just beginning.

_______________________________________________________________

"Oh, man." It was the seventh such exclamation that had come from Blair in the short drive to the campus...not that Jim was counting. He cast a glance across at his friend and grinned. His guide radiated impatience. One foot was tapping out a rhythm under the dash, the fingers of his right hand flexed and splayed in time.

"Oh, man."

"Eight."

"Don't you mean eaten, Jim? And no...haven't had a thing since breakfast."

"Nope. Eight 'Oh, man's', Chief. Just trying to keep track."

"Well..sheesh. I've got like so much work to do...and you guys are dragging me away!" He arranged a suitably sad expression on his face. "And...."

"And you don't get to use your burned hand as an introduction to that Teaching Assistant." Jim chuckled, turning the steering wheel as he parked the truck.

"Well...yeah." Blair nodded, not in the least concerned that his Sentinel read him so easily and so well.

"Out, Chief. We pack up the things that you might need and then we are outa here."

"Oh, man." This time a grin accompanied the small chorus of complaint, and Blair came bounding buoyantly around the back of the truck.

"An enforced vacation. Could be worse...could be worse." He beamed up at the Sentinel who shook his head, despairing at ever keeping up with Sandburg's moods.

As they walked into the building towards Blair's office, a large, motherly-looking woman hurried towards them, wringing her hands.

"Oh Blair, dear. We've been trying to contact you."

"Mrs Milligan. What's up?" He reached out to stay her hands and yelped as he bumped his bandaged hand.

"Oh Blair. There's been a fire. In your office. It's a mess...everything is wet from the ceiling sprinklers."

"Jim..." The Sentinel was already way ahead of him down at the end of the corridor. He moved into the office and then stood back to let Blair survey the damage.

"Shit." Mrs Milligan was correct. The room *was* a mess. Paperwork was espaliered across outcrops of books and newspapers that had erupted all over the floor like an unusual geological phenomenon.

"I'm sorry, Chief." Jim's voice was tense with anger.

"Uhhhh, Jim. That's actually the way I left it. You know the way I work. Doesn't look like anything has even been shifted....It's just wet, is all. And look, it's really just the wastepaper bin again...that's where the fire was."

Jim closed his eyes and extended his senses. Beyond the pervasive odour of damp, burned paper, he sorted through the intricate layers of essences that made up Blair's office. Inhaling deeply, he discarded each known scent until he came upon the one that he was looking for. He had found it at the loft, again at the station and now here.

Try as he might, he couldn't identify it. It was like having a word on the tip of your tongue. He knew it, yet he didn't know it.

A hand touched lightly on his arm. "Jim?" Blair's voice snaked into his consciousness, breaking his concentration. He shook his head and nodded to his partner, signalling that he had not zoned.

"Chief, collect what you need from here. Don't go near the bin....I'll call Simon to send someone to come get it for Forensics to have a look at." He took out his cell phone and flipped it open, keeping one eye on Blair who was tiptoeing through the mess with the delicacy of a manic ballet dancer, arms whirling to keep himself balanced.

"Captain? It's Ellison. Yeah, again. At Sandburg's office. Blair's collecting some work he needs and then we're on the road. Could you get..... good. Thanks, sir. We'll call in when we get there. Whoa!" Jim held the phone away from his mouth and laughed loudly. "Sorry, sir. Sandburg's just decided to dive into his work...literally.

Okay, till then." Replacing the phone in his jacket pocket, the Sentinel stretched out a large, capable hand to the young man who was sitting miserably in a squelchy pile of papers, complaining with mock bitterness.

Jim pulled Blair to his feet. The younger man peered over his shoulder at the wet patch on his jeans.

"Oh, man."

"Blair?"

"Yeah, Jim."

"That's ten."

_____________________________________________________________________

"This is soooo cool!" Blair flung open the door of the cabin and stepped outside, his bandaged hand waving in the air like a small surrender flag.

Behind the two-roomed cabin, pristine forests covered mountains that stretched as far as the eye could see - jagged, soaring, irregular ranges. Directly in front of the cabin, through a grove of trees, lay a small private beach. Clouds scudded across wedgewood blue skies, a breeze coming in off the ocean in soft, warm whirls.

They had arrived at the cabin in darkness, simply pulled their sleeping bags out of the truck, and stumbled inside. Now, in the morning light, the surroundings revealed themselves in all their glory.

"Now *this* is the LIFE." His voice wandered out into the silence and bounced back.

Jim came up behind him and grinned. Blair lived life in a state of almost constant surprise. He would greet the day with a hearty 'good MORNING'. It was as if the entire language was being invented for him just two or three words ahead of his sentence, so that he was forever coming across new territory and marvelling at it.

"So I guess you aren't going to complain about protective custody this time, Chief."

"Nope. I shall endeavour to put up with this, Jim. It's my humble duty." He nodded and then smiled, his blue eyes radiating good humour.

"How about breakfast, then the beach? It's gonna be a hot one today." Jim gestured out at the clear skies.

"I think I'll have to put in a couple of hours on this marking. But you go ahead. I'll catch you up." Blair screwed up his nose, and then grinned good naturedly.

Jim raised a querying eyebrow, not needing to say a thing.

"Geez, Jim. We are in the middle of nowhere. The beach is within yelling distance. Nothing is gonna happen!" Exasperation climbed into the young guide's voice and settled there, ready for a fight.

Raising his arms in defeat, the Sentinel nodded towards the breakfast sitting on the table inside. "Okay, okay. Shall we?"

They collected their bowls of cereal and came to sit out on the wooden steps which led to the path through the trees. A glint of blue ocean could be seen through the tangle of trees. It looked inviting.

A bird's shadow momentarily stained the path. Blair jumped, causing his spoon to clatter against the edge of the tin bowl he was holding. He laughed nervously and turned to Jim. "Guess I'm not as calm as I'd like to make out, man."

Jim didn't smile in return. His face was impassive, but inside, something sank...something sad. "I promise you that we are safe, Chief. I promise you."

The two men looked at each other. For a brief instant, each felt the pull of the friendship that tied them together. And each was grateful.

Blair shuffled through his feelings, found a smile that he thought would pass as unconcerned, and pushed it onto his face. "Yeah, I know. Of course. No one knows we are here except for the guys at the station. It's miles from Cascade. No one followed. It's a nice, relaxing break. Right?"

Mentally applauding the act, but not for a moment believing it, Jim answered firmly, "Right. Now get on with that marking and then come down for a swim. The salt water should do your hand good."

Taking the bowl from Jim, cradling it against his chest so as not to jostle his injured hand, Blair nodded and turned for the door. Spinning around, he watched his friend walk through the trees in the direction of the beach. He felt an almost irresistible urge to call Jim back.

Laughing, he lectured himself sternly. "Sandburg, you are losing it." He walked inside the cabin and closed the door softly behind him.

________________________________________________

Lying on his side, head held in his cupped hand, Jim watched the ocean and felt a gradual drift of tension. The day coiled around him and he balanced it on his enhanced senses.

He felt the warmth and subtle sting of the sea air as it flowed over his skin. He listened to small crabs, secretive in sunlight, solacing themselves in the sand. Above him, birds, their wings unfurled, floated above the cove, caught in slow, wide eddies. It was so peaceful. For the first time in two days, he allowed himself to relax. He eased his body into the sand and let it mould around him.

How long would Sandburg be? He let his hearing drift up to the cabin. He could hear the kid muttering to himself as papers were shuffled. Jim grinned. Blair was a great teacher. He was extremely knowledgeable about his subject and imparted ideas and information in inventive ways. Students had a right to expect that kind of enthusiasm, work, attention to detail and sweeping vision from all their teachers. Blair took his classes to zones of intellectual discomfort, pushing them to question and argue...but he journeyed with them and delighted in their achievements and creative energies.

He heard Blair's pen scratching across paper, and the murmuring that went with it. "Jesus, Mike. You are kidding me, right? You did sit in on at least one lecture I gave didn't you? Oh, hang on. Yeah, you did! Hey, good observation!"

Jim chuckled. Blair had moved from exasperation to enthusiasm in the space of ten seconds. Very Sandburg.

The sun was making him drowsy. The hot stillness droned towards a breathless noon.

And the Sentinel slept.

_______________________________________

"NO!"

Blair's voice, filled with horror, spiked into Jim's dream.

The Sentinel was up and running even before he was fully awake. He powered through the sand and up onto the path. Pushing aside the overhanging branches as he ran, he cocked his gun, shaking it free from the towel he had wrapped it in.

Tripping over the steps, he burst through the door, scanning the room wildly.

Blair stood in front of the scrubbed pine table, mournfully surveying spilled tea puddling over a pile of marked assignments.

"I...um...spilled it. On the papers. Sorry."

"Jesus, Sandburg. I thought...."

"Sorry, man. I know what you thought. Guess I'm not the only one who's a tad jumpy?" Blair beamed, taking delight in a small, small victory.

Behind them, a curtain bellied at the window, cupping the small breeze that trickled through a gap between the window and the sill. Both men jumped, spun around, looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Jim began to blot up the tea on the assignments with a towel, still chuckling.

"Hey, Jim. Look, the new *WONDERWIPE*." Blair flourished his tea-stained, bandaged hand. "Yes, ladies and gentleman, new Wonderwipe! Now... Sentinel Products present their multi-purpose bandaging."

Towel in hand, Jim stood, laughing.

Encouragement. Ahhhh. The whirlwind, known to the general population as Blair Sandburg, grinned. He mimed holding a microphone and held it out to an imaginary person.

"Sir. Tell me, what do *you* think of the new Wonderwipe."

Bouncing across the space, Blair pulled on a new persona, and faced the imaginary microphone. "It's useful, man. You can mop, wipe, clean...all that. And in the end..you still have a bandage...a dirty bandage...but a bandage."

He flourished his bandaged hand again. Jim caught it. "This comes off, Chief."

Gently he unwrapped the hand and held it for a moment, studying the injured palm.

The edges were puckering slightly, the skin beginning to heal.

"I think you should leave this open to the air now, Blair. It'll do it good."

"Geez, man. I got places to clean!" Blair grinned and ducked the swat that was aimed at his head.

___________________________________________________

The day was buckling under the sun, air aching with the heat. Blair stretched out on the steps, pulling his t-shirt away from his sweating body. He felt most satisfied.

Working steadily through the morning, he'd completed grading all the papers he had brought with him. There were no interruptions from telephones, or students, to distract him from his task.

Through the trees, he could see the azure sea rimmed with the silver line of the horizon. A dragonfly darted in the trees, laced with quick air, vibrant to the light.

It was utterly peaceful here. It could almost be a vacation...if it wasn't for the spectre of Martin Tebbutt lurking in the shadows of his mind.

Peeling off his t-shirt, he jogged down the path towards the beach. A trickling breeze cooled his skin and lifted his damp hair from his shoulders. Stepping from the packed-dirt path onto the soft sand, he wriggled his toes appreciatively. The carpet of white sand reflected the heat of the sun. Blair narrowed his eyes against the glare, squinting to see Jim further up the up the beach, apparently asleep.

A mischievous grin flickered across Blair's face and he worked his way quietly across the sand, reaching down to pick up a wad of sticky seaweed as he went. Lifting his arm in the classic pitcher's pose, he aimed for Jim's head.

Without moving, or opening his eyes, Jim languidly threatened, "Don't even think about it, Sandburg."

"Geez. Don't Sentinels EVER sleep?" Blair amiably dropped the seaweed and sat down in the sand next to Jim, wriggling a little to make a comfortable hollow.

Jim smiled lazily, opening one eye. "Don't Guides EVER sleep?" He mimicked the semi-exasperated tone used by his friend.

Blair was studying the sand-sparkle that clung to the palm of his good hand. He grinned at Jim. "Hey, man. I sleep. I sleep. It's just that when I do, I spend all night dreaming I'm an insomniac."

Chuckling, Jim rolled onto his stomach to rest his chin on his folded arms. "Chief, last night you talked in your sleep...and it wasn't about insomnia."

"You're kidding, right? I don't talk in my sleep." Blair shook his head to emphasise his words. There was a small silence. "Do I?"

"Hmmm...do the words Katrina Von Something-to-do-with-wine mean anything to you?" Jim's smile was positively evil. He rocked his chin from side to side, revelling in the game.

"Weinstein, Jim...Weinstein. Man! What did I say?" The young anthropologist had the grace to blush...deeply.

"Ask no questions and you'll be told no lies." Jim hid a smile as he watched a flurry of emotions dance across his friend's face. Doubt, humour, and hey.. what was that? Lookit, there goes embarrassment!

"Couldn't have been too much, man," Blair said, glumly. "The beautiful Katrina, the Kim Bassinger of the younger set, and I are kaput!" He twisted his heel in the sand making a little well.

"Are you saying that you let that one get away? Shit, Chief. And she had the IQ of a puddle too!"

"Now, that's cruel, man." Blair was smiling broadly. "She just had... uh, different goals in life. She wants to be ski instructor. I think I gave her the wrong impression. I think she was swayed by my black ski pants with fluorescent orange stripes down each side. They make me *look* like I'm moving really fast...even when I'm asleep." He drew breath and grinned engagingly. "But basically, I ski like a potato."

Jim shook his head and made little deprecating clicks out of the corner of his mouth, all the while battling to keep from laughing.

"Chief, I've said it before and I'll say it again... your love life is criminal. Simon reckons you've dated the equivalent of a small island population."

"Nah...it's not like that, man. Sometimes I just have communication problems. Take Katrina. She rang me to say she's not speaking to me. I didn't respond out of respect to her, because presumably, if she doesn't want to speak to me, she doesn't want to listen to me either. She hung up and rang back straight away to ask if I heard her the first time. I nodded, which of course she didn't hear. So...two minutes later her room mate calls to confirm the fact that Katrina is not speaking to me!" He sighed heavily, but his face was lit with mischief.

Blair eased himself back onto the sand and closed his eyes, murmuring with contentment. Silence lay between the two men, easy and comfortable.

"Jim?"

"Blair."

"You ever wonder..."

A bemused sigh came from the Sentinel.

"No, man. You ever wonder how actors figure out a way to look passionate for a scene, but remain unattached enough not to have to be levered apart by the dolly grip after the scene is over?"

"Sandburg... you have a one track mind and I think something just derailed!"

Blair's voice was mildly indignant. "Just wondering. I mean, I don't think I could do that, especially if I were in a steamy scene with Kim Bassinger. They'd have to hose me down with cold water, or beat me with large sticks in order to get my attention."

Jim burst out laughing. "Sandburg...criminal!"

The Guide stretched out wide to the sun. "Yeah, I know. But I'm a volunteer, man."

_____________________________________________________________________

Night curled in over the cabin. The Sentinel and the Guide had eaten dinner early and after playing several games of chess, Jim shooed the yawning anthropologist off to bed. In less than ten minutes, Blair was asleep, soothed by a sea-shaped lullaby. He lay sprawled on the sofa, one arm tucked under the pillow and his burned hand resting lightly on his chest. Already it was starting to heal. The skin was tight and shiny.

Jim sat in a kitchen chair in the dim light of the lantern, and let his senses drift. He smelled the salty tang of the ocean and it tingled on his tongue. The scrape of leaves in a whisper of wind, and a cricket's encrypted love song...an intricate melody...the elusive algorithms of a summer night. And Blair. He looked across at his friend and smiled. He knew the tidal detail of Blair's pulse almost as well as his own.

Leaning against the back of his chair, he stirred the lukewarm cup of coffee in front of him. The clink of the spoon against the rim of the mug rang in the quiet of the cabin.

He placed the spoon carefully on the table and lifted the cup. It slowed in mid-raise.

There was an almost imperceptible shift in the Sentinel's stance. It marked the intake of a non-physical breath.

He felt it. He was here. Tebbutt.

Sliding from his chair, he eased himself noiselessly across the floor toward the sleeping

Blair. He placed his hand over his friend's mouth, and as Blair jerked awake, he whispered, "He's here. Up. Follow me."

Without questioning, Blair threw off the blankets and stumbled blindly after Jim. They crouched at the window. Blair overbalanced and grasped his Sentinel's arm, leaving it there as Jim sent all his senses on a reconnaissance of the outside of the cabin.

There it was. That smell again. And what else? There was a far off rasp, like the beating of a moth's wings against a screen door... a match being struck. Then the noise of an engine roaring into life.

Jim winced against the sudden onslaught of sound, sagged against the wall, and turned to face Blair.

"He's lit a fire. And he's gone." His voice slid to a halt and he closed his eyes for a brief instant.

Blair took a breath. He pressed his good hand against his chest, trying to push back his heart, which was threatening to squeeze through his ribs and leap from his body.

He peeked through the window.

"I can see it. Jim?"

The Sentinel was already at the door, hearth shovel in his hand.

They raced down the path towards the glow of the fire. Blair's eyes flickered towards any peripheral noise, but Jim was completely intent upon the fire.

"Jesus." The Sentinel was anger's mirror and the fire in front of him magnified it, raging in his blue eyes.

On the sand, stones had been placed in a pattern, doused with gasoline and lit. Three letters. One word. Die.

_______________________________________________________________

Captain Simon Banks was in full flight. The whole department knew. Detectives Brown and Rafe were huddled together discussing the 'Fahrenheit' case when a foolish junior detective stepped up to the Captain's door.

Another fierce blast of cursing and yelling erupted from the room. The young detective stopped in his tracks. Through the slatted blinds, he could see the captain pacing the room, smoke puffing from his cigar like an old steam train. Every now and then, Simon would pull the phone away from his ear, obviously not listening to whoever was on the other end. He'd give the person a few seconds then blast them again with renewed vigour.

Henri Brown looked over at the scene. He nodded to Rafe. "Ten bucks says he doesn't go in."

Rafe laughed. "Yeah. Like *anyone's* gonna take *that* bet!"

Both men watched the detective outside Simon's office with amusement. The young man shifted nervously back and forth on his feet. He flinched as another tirade poured forth from the captain's office.

Decision made, he glanced ostentatiously down at his watch and then backed away.

"Ah yes. The old 'Oh I've Forgotten That I Had Another Appointment' trick. An oldie but a goodie. Used it many a time myself!" Brown laughed as Rafe winked in acknowledgment.

The Captain burst through the door of his office and pointed directly at them.

"Brown. Rafe. My office. Now!"

Both men looked at each other and spoke at the same time. "Oooooooh, shit!"

____________________________________________________________________

Jim drove the truck through the city streets with grim concentration. In the passenger seat, Blair sat looking out at the oyster colour between deep night and dawn. The colour of silence.

"Jim?"

The Sentinel acknowledged him with the briefest nod of his head.

Blair's fear glowed like a wound in his consciousness. He bled his voice of emotion as best he could, and asked the question.

"It's like a trap, then?" There...it was out. The young guide took a breath.

The Sentinel heard. For a moment his expression softened.

"I don't know what else to do, Chief. He's got contacts from being in Covert Ops. He had no trouble getting into the department...or the loft. He was at the cabin. He's letting us know that he can find us. This is the only way. If he finds us we'll be ready. If he doesn't find us; well and good." His knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel, not looking at his friend.

Blair stared at the palm of his burned hand. It itched like crazy. He rubbed his thumb gently across the tight surface, trying to relieve the sensation. "I guess so." His voice was very quiet.

The truck pulled to a stop in front of a large warehouse. Two cars were parked in front of them. Jim reached out and put a hand on Blair's shoulder. "Chief?" A mellowness filled the word, an exhausted gentleness.

Blair looked across at him and smiled. "Yup. I'm with ya."

Rafe and Brown got out of the car parked in front of them. They walked towards the truck and leaned on the hood.

Blair scrambled out of the car seat and went to greet them. Jim followed, more slowly.

"Hey, you guys. You draw the short straw or something?" Blair reached up and patted Henri Brown's broad chest.

Henri's slow, broad grin spread across his face. "No, man. The Captain's lighting a fire under everyone in the department over this one." There was a brief silence as the words fell and Henri's face went with them.

"Shit. Sorry, kid. Bad choice of words."

Blair waved his hand. "Don't worry, Henri. We've been through every saying and every song that has anything to do with fire. Spent half the trip back singing 'I've seen fire and I've seen rain'!" It was an embellishment on the truth...something to take away the sting of those words.

The older man sighed in relief and continued. "Anyway...we're the lucky ones. We're outa there. The captain's on a rampage and it ain't a pretty sight. He wants this Fahrenheit guy... bad."

They were discussing the pattern of the crimes when Rafe and Jim rejoined them.

They'd done a quick circuit of the building to make sure that there was nobody was in the vicinity.

Rafe drew his gun. "Gentlemen, let me show you your new temporary abode. All the comforts of home." He unlocked the door and gestured to the others to follow him.

Looking around the warehouse, Blair sighed and shook his head. "Hey, Rafe. *This* has all the comforts of home? Just where did you grow up, man?"

The floor of the warehouse was concrete. The heat of the previous day had permeated the building and it was stifling inside. Narrow, high windows admitted the first watery light of morning.

The warehouse itself emitted a dark, wet smell, like a cave. It had obviously been abandoned for years. In one corner, near what had been an office, two bunks had been set up.

Blair wandered over to the 'bedroom'. "Hmmm. Nice. I kinda like it. It's got that 'early bomb shelter' feel about it." He grinned and tossed his hair back. "Yeah. Beautiful and barren. Very chic!" He fingered one of the rough grey blankets stretched tight across the bunk.

A smile flickered briefly, but Jim rubbed his hands across his face as if to erase it. He looked bone weary.

"It won't be for long, Chief."

The answering nod was enough. No more needed to be said.

Blair began to set up the hotplate that was to be their method of cooking until this whole thing was over. He winced at the sour smell of the thick grease that plastered the top. He picked up a piece of metal and began to scrape the muck away.

In the corner, next to the slightly open door, Jim spoke quietly to Rafe and Brown.

"So...how many have we got on the perimeter?" His eyes scanned the part of the wire fence visible through the crack in the door.

Henri put a comforting, and comfortable, hand upon his friend's shoulder. "Hey, man. We got it covered. There's someone on every side. Every access point is under surveillance. If he turns up...when he turns up...he's gonna go down."

Rafe nodded towards the door. "Brown. Come on. We're due for the next shift in five minutes." He caught Jim's look and stretched out to shake his hand. "Luck, Ellison." He nodded to Blair.

Both men slipped through the partially opened door and Jim slid it shut, sliding the bolt through the lock with a vengeful clang. For a moment, he rested his forehead against the steel door. He turned his head a little, watching Blair's reflection in the metal. It made him seem far away. His guide's outline slowed down to a dull liquidity, swirling like oil on water.

The warehouse stood still and cracked its swollen joints in the gathering heat of the morning. Everything seemed to be caught between tick and tock.

The Sentinel turned around, pushing away from the door, and ran his fingers through his short hair.

"Sandburg, it's gotta be 90 degrees in here and you're boiling a pot of tea?"

Blair looked up from his crouched position in front of the hotplate. "Jim. Have some. It's cooling. It's actually more thirst quenching than water. There's a place in India where.." He stopped, and grinned engagingly, as Jim walked across the factory and reached out a hand for a mug of tea.

_______________________________________________________

The day stretched on interminably, each hour sliding by with maddening slowness. Through the high windows in the factory, Jim could see clouds assembling , a hot, soiled heaviness on the sky. He pulled at his sweat imprinted shirt and once again wished for a breath of fresh air or a spray of rainwater.

He glanced with mock irritation at Blair. The young guide had given up watching Jim prowl around like a caged animal and had settled down for some meditation.

He sat, cross-legged, on the floor. His long hair curled damply around his face, his eyes were closed. He'd been like that for almost two hours. Not even the stutter of a helicopter passing overhead had disturbed him.

The Sentinel took a deep breath himself. 'Soon', he thought. 'It's gonna be soon.'

He rolled his shoulders, trying to release some of the tension he was feeling.

Blair opened his eyes and watched his Sentinel for a moment. "Hey, man. You oughta try relaxing."

Jim laughed. "Last time I got sucked into relaxing...you scared ten years off my life."

Stretching, Blair stood up and laughed also. It sounded good, each note tumbling merrily over the other, resting and rising again. "It was just soooo tempting, Jim. A stronger person would have resisted...but you know me..."

Jim's smile gentled. "Yeah, I know you, Chief."

Blair's eyes lit up with pleasure. He knew what Jim was trying to say. They both valued the friendship that they had found in each other. It flowed through them like common blood.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Blair grimaced. "Geez, it's hot."

Outside, thunder rumbled in the distance. The windows framed the blue-black hammer of the approaching storm.

"Want to eat before it gets too dark? They've left us some stuff."

Crouching on the floor before a box of supplies, Blair sorted the food into two piles.

He pushed his hair back from his face and glanced up at Jim. The Sentinel was standing still, mesmerised by the rolling clouds.

"Hey, man. You want Chinese? They've left us rice and would you believe it...fortune cookies! I bet that was Rafe's idea!"

Jim nodded. "Yeah. Chinese. Chinese would be fine." He thought he had heard something. He let his senses sidle across the factory floor and ease outside. A slash of lightning bit through the clouds. The following crack of thunder dropped him to his knees, hands trying to block out the painful noise.

Blair was with him in a heartbeat, his quiet, insistent voice easing through the pain, urging him to turn down his senses. Jim reached out gratefully for the anchor offered.

Manoeuvring back into a sitting position, Jim shook his head ruefully. "That was plain stupid. I thought I heard something but I knew a storm was coming. Man, that shook me!"

"Keep them turned down, Jim. We're being watched on all sides. You can let the guys take over for a while. Come on. Let's eat." Blair gestured to the rice bubbling in the tin pot on the hotplate.

They ate quietly, each lost in thought. The warehouse was gloomy, lit only by a small lantern and the occasional flash of lightning blanching the walls.

Jim pushed the rice around his plate, his fork leaving small trenches. Blair watched, feeling the terrible pull of the unknown. He felt as if they had been herded down some illusory highway leading to nowhere.

Shaking his head, Blair reached into the packet of fortune cookies. He drew out one cookie and then passed the packet to Jim.

"Yes! Hey, listen to this Jim. Nothing happens to any man that he is not formed by nature to bear. Cool! There's a message in that." Blair grinned affably and waved the small piece of paper in front of his friend.

Jim cracked open his cookie and wrinkled his nose up in distaste. "Oh, yeah. Love your enemies, for they tell you your faults. Deep, Sandburg. Real deep."

Blair chuckled and began an enthusiastic lecture. "There are two schools of thinking vis a vis the matter of fortune telling...the sceptics and the gullible. You, my friend, are a sceptic and I am in the latter school. I am a gull of the first order of Ible."

Laughing out loud, Jim threw the remnants of his fortune cookie at Blair. "Gull, huh?

Okay, my young feathered friend, I'm going to check the guys and see who's on. That leaves you with the dishes."

Stretching tall, he reached for his cell phone and wandered off into a corner to check in with Simon. Pulling a piece of paper from his jeans' back pocket, he perused the list of code words that he and Simon had composed. Wouldn't do any good. Tebbutt obviously had his finger on the pulse. His little message at the beach house had proven that. It was necessary to keep up appearances, though.

Tuning out the good natured mutterings coming from Blair, who was now doing his best to wash the dishes, Jim punched the speed dial number for his Captain's cell phone. He held the phone away from his head as Simon's voice roared a most unwelcoming, "What???"

Jim suppressed a grin. "Double here, sir. Checking in."

There was a brief silence as Simon took a deep breath and urged some civility into his voice to speak to his best detective.

"How is it going? You coping with Trouble?"

Glancing across at the young man diligently scraping burned rice from the bottom of the pan, Jim smiled. "Yeah. We're fine. Trouble is alternating between talking non-stop and not talking at all. Driving me crazy. That's gotta be a good sign."

Simon laughed and then struck a match, obviously lighting one of his beloved cigars.

Jim heard the flutter of the flame and pictured his Captain breathing deep the pungent odour of the smoke. It was oddly comforting to think of Simon sitting back in his chair smoking. On the outside of all this mess, some things in life were going on as usual.

"You ready for the night? Looks like there's a storm coming in. The Monastery all locked up and secure? No sign of the package?" Concern edged sideways through Simon's words and Jim was grateful.

"Yep, sir. All secure. Ready for lights out. It's been a long day. The kid is dead on his feet."

To illustrate that point, Blair yawned mightily and made a futile attempt to cover it up. He stacked the plates and cups neatly back into a cardboard box and stood gazing out at the approaching storm. The windows seemed squarer, harder. The window panes gleamed with a flat, metallic light. He made eye contact with Jim and smiled.

Jim raised his hand to show that he was nearly finished the conversation.

"Yeah, Simon. That'll be fine. We'll see you in the morning then."

Snapping the phone closed, he walked over to Blair and shook his head at the weather.

"It's gonna be a big one. Tebbutt won't wanna come out and play in this weather. How 'bout we turn in. It's been a long day and I'm beat."

It amused him how quickly Blair agreed. His guide never would have brought the subject up himself. Now that the Sentinel had given his blessing to the idea, he was quick to spread out his sleeping bag on the narrow bed provided.

"Yeah, well, I'm not tired, man. But since you are, I'll just lay down and rest for a while so as not to disturb you. That okay?"

The young man was so studiously sincere that Jim muffled a laugh.

"Yeah, Chief. Thanks. I appreciate it."

Both men prepared their bedding. Jim's bed was closest to the small office in the corner of the building. Blair's bed was at right angles to the Sentinel's, and faced a long bank of windows.

The pallid moonlight was completely enveloped by low, brutish clouds bulging with rain. Only the glow from one oil lantern kept the warehouse from total darkness.

"Guess that would be a hint, " Blair said amiably.

Jim folded his long, angular body onto his sleeping bag and stretched out with a sigh.

"Yep. It's the big guy telling us that it's time for lights out. You ready? I'll turn off the lantern."

Clambering into bed, Blair lay on top of his sleeping bag before sitting up and pulling off his t-shirt.

"Geez...it's still hot. Wish the rain would come. Cool everything off." He wriggled around trying to get comfortable. The springs on the bed squeaked like a strangled soprano.

"Sorry, man."

"No problem, Chief. Just relax."

"I'm not tense, Jim. I'm just very, very alert."

Another aria burst forth from the protesting bed springs as Blair turned over on his side.

Jim waited.

There was silence for at least sixty seconds, then a soft snore drifted into the darkness, followed by a more robust one.

The Sentinel smiled. "Very, very alert...and very, very tired. 'Night, kid."

He lay staring up at the ceiling. Outside, lines of lightning patrolled the skies, the after -flash flickering on the roof. There was no point in using his heightened senses to reconnoitre the outside of the warehouse. Thunder was tumbling through the air with its own venom. He'd only end up with blown eardrums. He'd have to trust the guys on surveillance. He would stay awake and watch.

Rain started pounding a dull symphony on the roof of the warehouse, trickling down minute corrugations on the walls. The wind picked up and moaned a one syllable tune.

Inside the warehouse, two people slept... and one person watched.

_______________________________________________________

Looking down through a crack in the ceiling, the man watched the sleeping Ellison. His partially paralysed face twitched slightly. Absently stroking his hollowed cheekbone, he grinned with reptilian coldness.

With infinite care, he rolled onto his back. In the cramped space between the ceiling and the roof, he felt discarnate.. a voiceless body.. buried. The night sky of his mind allowed a single file of thoughts to light up as a sentence. Dream of the devil and wake in fright. He smiled. It was time.

He moved slowly, inching his way noiselessly to the vent that he had loosened when his source had told him where Ellison was going to be stashed. Thunder rumbling through the sullen air provided him with the cover he needed. He counted the time from flash to crash and co-ordinated his movements to coincide.

Lifting the wire grate from the vent, he positioned himself so that he could see his prey. He was almost directly over the young one. His lips twisted up into a self-satisfied sneer. He saw how Sandburg cupped his injured hand, even in sleep. God, that had felt great...holding the kid's hand to the burner. The power.

As another fork of lightening split the night sky, he manoeuvred his body so that, when the clap of thunder came, he could simply drop down onto the scaffolding below.

Lightly as a cat, he came to rest on an iron railing fifteen feet from the ground. It would be an easy manner to shimmy down the pole to the floor. He held his breath as the kid muttered and turned restlessly onto his back. Ellison stirred and glanced across at Sandburg. Thunder rolled again and Ellison winced before dropping his head back onto the pillow. His even breathing signified that he was asleep. All was quiet.

Gripping fingernails to his sweaty palms, he took a deep breath and slid silently down the scaffolding, landing with a scarcely audible touch upon the ground. Two steps forward and he was standing next to Sandburg's bed.

For a moment, black anger paralysed him. The anthropologist looked very young. It wasn't his fault. It was a shame that he was going to have to die. Ellison was to blame, though. Ellison was always to blame.

Flexing his gloved hands, he let adrenaline burn through his stomach, like a tributary pouring into a river. Outside, rain pelted down, weaving a blanket of noise that pressed against the warehouse.

Blair rolled over onto his side and the man let him feel the edge of the knife he held. The young man's eyes flew open, panic flaring. A leather clad hand pressed down over Blair's nose and mouth. A voice, flat, yet with chilling intensity, breathed into his ear.

"One noise...one move...and Ellison dies. You understand?"

Nodding, Blair reached wildly for elusive air. At last the man released him. He took one gulp of air, his ribcage straining and sagging with the achievement of breath.

The knife came down upon his lips, the blade laying flat against his skin. His eyes rolled upward to search the face of the man who held the knife.

"Not...one....move." The voice was thick with menace. A small beam of light frittered from a flashlight. It gave the warehouse a claustrophobic quality...the darkness crowding in around.

Blair lay still, concentrating on remembering every line, every facet, of this man's face.

He desperately wanted to look across at Jim. Why hadn't the Sentinel picked up the presence of an intruder? Had the man already hurt him?

A clap of thunder rolled across the sky. Blair grasped onto the noise with a tide of gratefulness. That was it. The storm. Jim had turned down his senses. Although fear howled in his head, Blair remained perfectly still, his eyes fixed upon the face of the man who held the knife.

"There now," the man whispered with elaborate, silky politeness. "We meet again, young Sandburg. What a shame." The knife slid down Blair's chin and came to rest against his adam's apple. The man laughed quietly, obviously amused at the young man's shaky intake of breath.

"So... here we are. At last we get justice. And you.. you get to come along for the ride, courtesy of your friend, Ellison." Once again the knife was trailed across his body, coming to rest just over his pounding heart.

A jagged line of lightening lit the warehouse for a moment. They waited for the thunder that was sure to follow. It came up in a wave of sound, shaking the windows with its ferocity.

Jim woke and rolled onto his back, listening to the ebbing noise. He knew that the storm must have worsened. His hearing was dialled down and it was the vibrations that had stirred his sleep. He stretched lazily, almost zoning on the mesmeric trail of raindrops down the windows. Suddenly he tensed, wound tight, pulsing without movement. The smell. It was here. *He* was here. Tebbutt.

Forcing himself not to move, he listened for Blair's soft breathing. Nothing. He strained for it against the blind wall of darkness. Nothing. For one interminable moment he thought he had lost him. Then a frantic, well-known heartbeat arced through his despair and relief flooded into him. Blair was alive.

Muttering as though still asleep, he rolled onto his side and searched for Blair through almost closed eyes. He kept his breathing even. With sentinel vision kicking in, he could see the kid laying on his back on his bed. Tebbutt had one hand covering Blair's nose and mouth. A knife was pressed against his chest. Blair's back was arched. He was obviously desperate for air.

In one smooth movement, Jim rolled from his bed and barrelled into Blair's bed, sending the kid flying into Tebbutt. Tebbutt rolled with the force and landed nimbly on his feet, pulling a gun from his belt. Jim stopped in his tracks. The gun was pointed at him. Then Tebbutt smiled, an eerie, out-of-place grin. He turned slightly and aimed the gun at Blair who was still in a heap on the floor.

"Yo, Ellison. Soooooo good to see you, man. Come on. Try it. Have a go. Reckon you can get to me before I shoot him? Come on. Let's do it!" Tebbutt's voice oozed confidence.

Jim raised his hands in the air. Blair wobbled to his feet and did the same.

Tebbutt moved backwards, keeping his eyes on his prey, and picked up the knife that had been thrown against the wall in the scuffle.

"Just tidying up a bit, gentlemen. Can't have things like this around to tempt good old Jimbo now, can we?" He slipped the knife into the side of his boot and waved the gun towards Jim.

"Over there, Junior."

Blair stumbled across to Jim's side.

"You okay, Chief?"

"Yeah. Well...bits of me are." His voice was shaky but he tilted his chin defiantly upward.

"SHUT UP!" Tebbutt's voice echoed off the walls.

Blair jumped and stepped back. Jim made a tiny gesture with his hand to settle him, never taking his eyes off Tebbutt.

"Tebbutt, you know this place is surrounded, don't you? It's madness. You're not gonna get away with anything." The Sentinel's voice betrayed no emotion.

Tebbutt laughed. "Surrounded? You mean the men I got past? You gotta do better than that, Ellison." He sighted the gun on Blair again. "By the time any of those flatfoots find out what is going on... it'll be too late."

A muscle in Jim's jaw twitched. "Too late for what, Tebbutt? It's all too late. It's over."

The man smiled and shook his head. "Ellison, you are about to learn that the past is never over. It's not even past." He stepped towards Blair. The Sentinel moved to block him. Tebbutt moved the gun from side to side, an admonishing gesture.

"Ahh ahhh. Not this time, Jimbo." He reached for Blair's burned hand and held it lightly in his own, turning it over to study the injury. "Healing okay, kid?"

Blair pulled his hand away. "Screw you!"

Tebbutt chuckled. "So much defiance in one so young. You'll learn, my boy. You'll learn. And what a lesson it will be. You got off lightly before. Want to compare hands, son?" He caught the middle finger of one glove in his teeth and pulled the glove from his hand. Blair shuddered involuntarily. Tebbutt's hand was misshapen and highly coloured... old burns.

"Not a pretty sight is it?" Tebbutt grimaced. "What do you think, Ellison? What do you think of your handiwork?" The look he gave Jim was acid-bright, corrosive.

Shaking his head, Jim answered in a flat voice. "That had nothing to do with me. If you hadn't come chasing the squad with the flame thrower, none of this would have happened. You made that choice. No one forced you."

"*I* had no choice. Covert Ops was my life. And after you were finished with me, I didn't even have anything outside. Who would want me like this?" He tore open his shirt to reveal more thick, scarred skin.

Jim stood unmoving, inscrutable, arms folded like a samurai warrior. His lack of emotion seemed to spark fury in Tebbutt who began to pace up and down in front of his captive audience.

"You....you...Ellison. You're gonna die...you're gonna..." He waved the gun around as he spoke.

Jim waited until Tebbutt took his eyes from them for one instant and he sprang, leaping full tilt into the enraged man. The Sentinel was fast and strong. Tebbutt was equally so. They grappled, rolling on the floor, each trying to gain control of the gun.

Blair spun around trying to see something that he could use to help. Too late.

There was the sickening sound of the gun butt hitting bone and the Sentinel fell to the floor, blood oozing from a gash in the side of his head. It didn't stop there. Tebbutt unleashed his anger upon the unconscious man. He kicked into the Sentinel's ribs, over and over. He was beyond words. A repeated grunting - sometimes more a snarl -- punctuated his exertions. It was a sound so rhythmic and primal that he became caught up in it.

"Noooooooo." The scream from Blair was both anger filled and plaintive. He flung himself upon Jim's body in an attempt to deflect the blows. "No more. No more. You're killing him."

Tebbutt took a long, whistling breath. "Damn," he said quietly. "That's not what I wanted to happen. You've spoiled it again, Ellison."

Blair crouched over the Sentinel like some fierce mother hen protecting her chicks.

His eyes blazed and he stood his ground.

"Awwwww. Touching. Almost a Hallmark Moment." Tebbutt sneered at the scene in front of him, strangely unsettled by the bond of friendship that was so evident in the two men.

Blair ignored the jibe. Fingers lightly running over Jim's face, he whispered to his Sentinel. "Jim...come on, Buddy. I can't do this by myself. Please, Jim." For once, the Sentinel was beyond the cajoling voice of his guide.

Tebbutt moved through the warehouse with confidence. He could tell that the young one would not leave without Ellison...and Ellison was going nowhere. Taking the first of the pile of drums that he had stockpiled in the corner of the building, he began to splash the walls and floor with gasoline.

Outside, the storm picked up in intensity, rain drumming on the roof and lightning cracking through the air. The noise was incredible.

Blair stood up. "Look, this is insane. Let us go and they'll give you a deal."

Tebbutt continued splattering fuel, laughing insanely. He began to sing. "Oh the weather outside is frightful, and the fire is so delightful...da da da da da da da da." The song hung from the ceiling, menacingly out of season.

"Please.." Blair tried again. It was difficult to see the man in the gloom, he was like a shadow .

Tebbutt stopped. "Please what? Please let us go? I don't think so. Please give us another chance? Another chance to ruin someone's else life? Nope. This is happening, kid. And your pals outside will realise that something is wrong when they see the flames...but too late...too late."

Blair licked his lips. "But you'll die too."

The man stared at him and smiled. "Kid, I'm already dead." He closed his eyes and emptied a tin of gasoline over himself. A flicker of his dark eyes, almost subliminal, and he reached into his pocket and drew out a cigarette lighter. With a cry as primeval as any uttered before an ancient fire, the Fahrenheit Man burst into flames and ran the length of the warehouse before collapsing.

The fire was quick to take hold. First it fed upon the floor of the warehouse, then it began to climb the walls. It was a living, breathing thing. It roared like a beast in pain.

Blair ran to Jim and grabbed a t-shirt to cover the Sentinel's face.

Putting his arms under Jim's, he began to drag him backwards towards the steel door.

For a brief moment, he felt the tender skin on his hand begin to split, and then nothing.

Every fibre of his being was concentrated on taking one more step...one more step.

The smoke was dense in the warehouse. Windows spat glass and he walked on it...one more step...one more step. He could vaguely hear the guys outside yelling and hammering on the door. He kept pulling Jim towards that noise.

One of the precinct detectives shimmied up a drainpipe and broke a window. He dropped down inside the warehouse and unbolted the door. Simon stood in the doorway and sent his voice booming into the hell that confronted him.

"Sandburg! Ellison!"

A sinking feeling in his gut told him he was too late. The warehouse was ablaze, little sparks showering from the walls to create more fires. "Jesus, Mary and Joseph."

In the distance he heard the howling sirens of the fire brigade. They mocked him.

A movement caught his eye. To one side, he saw something emerging through the thick smoke. Sandburg. He was dragging a body. Ellison.

"Help me. Brown!!!" Simon screamed to the detective who joined him at the door.

They ran to Sandburg. He was coughing heavily and repeating something to himself over and over. Simon's eyes were streaming from the smoke. He put his hand on Sandburg's shoulder and heard the kid say, "One more step. One more step."

"Sandburg." Simon pulled at Blair's arms, trying to get him to release his hold on Jim.

The Guide's grip on his Sentinel was like iron. Simon couldn't break it.

"Kid, you can let go now. You can let go. We've got you." Simon turned Blair's head to look at him.

Blair blinked. "Simon?"

"Come on, kid. You can let go."

Bewildered blue eyes looked at the Captain. "I can let go?"

"Blair. We've got Jim. But you need to let us take him." Simon pulled once more on Blair's arms and freed Jim. Henri Brown and another detective picked up the unconscious Sentinel and carried him away from the entrance of the warehouse.

Simon shook Blair's shoulder. The kid looked at him with heartbreak in his eyes. "I let go." He took one step towards the Captain and collapsed. Simon caught him easily, and swung the slight body into his arms. He carried him outside into the rain.

_______________________________________________________

Simon raised his hand to knock on the door of the loft and was greeted instead by Jim, one finger pressed against his lips, his head nodding towards Blair who was fast asleep on the couch. Simon nodded, stepped inside and carefully closed the door. He followed Jim to the kitchen.

"How you doing?"

Jim touched the bandage on his head that covered ten stitches. "I've got a hard head. Any word on the leak in the department?"

Grimacing, Simon nodded. "Yeah. It was Sorenson. We found him with his throat cut. Tebbutt was obviously tidying up loose ends."

The Sentinel frowned. "Damn. I always thought Sorenson was a good man. Damn!"

Simon nodded again, and then, seeing Jim's demeanour, decided to hijack the conversation.

"So... how is the kid?"

The two men looked over at Blair. He'd fallen asleep whilst reading an anthropology text. The book lay on the floor where it had fallen from his hand. His other hand was heavily bandaged.

Jim grinned. "He's fine. He drove them crazy in the hospital and now he's driving *me* crazy. Things are back to normal."

Blair opened one eye and commented languidly, "I heard that." He sat up and tumbled his hair through his fingers. "Hey, Simon."

"How're you feeling, Blair?" Simon frowned slightly as he watched the young anthropologist tread warily to the kitchen, his feet still bandaged from walking on the glass in the warehouse.

"Me? I'm fine. Jim's the one with the broken ribs. I'm just a little battered. You staying for dinner? Jim's done steak and salad. Something easy." Blair's throat remained hoarse from smoke inhalation and he covered his mouth as a coughing fit struck him.

Simon banged him on the back. "Yeah, kid. Sounds like you're fine too!"

As Blair spluttered, Simon moved to take the salad bowl across to the table. Blair reached out for the plates to no avail. The Sentinel pointed him in the direction of the table. "Sit down."

"Sheesh. Get attacked by a psycho, fight your way through a wall of flames, and everyone thinks you're an invalid." His mouth curled into a wide and wicked grin.

Placing a plate in front of Blair and Simon, Jim returned to the kitchen to collect his own meal. "Yeah, yeah," he said dryly, walking back to the table. "Our mission is to book you for loitering with intent this week. You're staying put."

Blair didn't answer. He was too busy prodding his fork into his steak. Jim risked eye contact with Simon, who reciprocated with a raised eyebrow and then a wink.

"Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief?"

"You know how I like my steak....?"

"I do, Sandburg. You like it rare."

Blair pushed his knife into the piece of meat. "Ummm. That would be *rare*, man. Not grazing. The meat on this plate is trying to canter off to a rodeo." He put his knife down and sighed plaintively.

Simon and Jim collapsed into laughter.

"Well. You win. I think I've just become a chalked outline in the meat-eating department. I hate blood. Pass the salad, man." He smiled engagingly at his Sentinel, then his eyes grew wide.

Jim recognised the look. Blair's effervescent intelligence had just made a bold leap to a new and wonderful conclusion.

"Uh oh. Simon....hang on to your hat...." Jim nodded towards Blair.

The Captain looked perplexed.

"No, man. That's it!!! Don't you get it." Blair's words tripped over themselves, bubbling forth with enthusiastic abandon. "Hate! That's it. The smell you said that you couldn't classify. Man, you were smelling an EMOTION. Geez..I gotta go make notes. We should do some experiments. Just imagine...." His voice trailed off as he hobbled to his bedroom.

Simon took a bite of steak. "You know, I think Sandburg has been sent here to teach us patience. But I think I might have to come back and do the course again." He grinned and raised his glass to the Sentinel. "Good luck, Ellison!"

Jim smiled and watched papers and books being flung around Blair's bedroom. His Guide was in his element.. something new to discover. Sandburg's mind always asked the question "I wonder how far I can take this?" And the spirit of Blair answered by taking strides into the unknown, creating terra firma for itself to land on. It answered by inventing roads where none existed and extending ones that did. It was the way that Sandburg approached everything in his life. Front on. Full force.

Blair found what he had been looking for and came stumbling out into the living room. He stopped when he saw his two friends watching him. He just smiled at them, a warm, rich smile that made everybody else's smile look faded. He was happy.

Touching his glass to Simon's, Jim laughed softly, an affectionate laughter. "Like I said, man, things are back to normal."

Finis