Mind Over Matter
By: Tate

Jim Ellison felt the explosion. His ears rang with the sound of a thunderous roar heightened by his sentinel abilities, but he also felt it in his chest like a hand gripping his heart. Blair was dead.

The man who had called himself Galileo pressed a switch and changed his life irrevocably. Jim drew Frank Rachins closer and spoke in a low menacing tone. "Why don't we drop you off the building and see how fast you hit the ground."* Ellison knew he could do it. His rage demanded retribution. He shoved Frank toward the shattered window.

Frank's eyes widened with fear as he discovered Jim's threat was actually closer to a promise. "No," he pleaded. "You can't do this. You're a cop!"

Jim wasn't listening to his babbling prisoner. Instead his attention had been captured by a voice coming from a great distance. He recognized it as the voice of his partner and friend--his Guide. It came like a whisper from a distant room, or maybe it came from somewhere within. 'Don't do it man. He's not worth it.'

Without thinking, Ellison replied to the disembodied plea. "Chief?"

"What?" Frank asked, confused.

'Please, Jim, don't.' It sounded just like Sandburg--a voice young and alive, but tinged with desperation. 'You can't do this. It's not who you are.'

Jim shook his head as if to clear it and returned his attention to his captive. "You are going to pay for what you did to those people, for what you did to San--" Jim stopped himself before he said his friend's name. Frank didn't need to know. He shouldn't know, but it was too late.

A light sparked in Frank's eyes. "You knew someone on the elevator?"

Jim was silent, but his usually stoic expression spoke volumes. He shoved Frank closer to the window.

"I want to know who I took from you before I die," Frank said, struggling. "It's my right. You owe me that much."

"You son-of-a-bitch! I owe you nothing but this." Jim struck him hard across the face. "And this." Together they covered the final few steps to the window ledge.

'Jim, I know you can hear me. Don't you dare tune me out, man.'

Jim held Frank up against empty space, a dizzying drop away from a well-deserved end. If he did this, it would be the end of his career and his life. He could spend the rest of his time behind bars, but what good was he now without his Guide, without the closest friend he'd ever had? There'd be no one at his side who understood his senses, no one who understood him. Blair was dead, and his imaginary ghost masqueraded as Jim's conscience. He wouldn't listen to the voice. He had to do this. There was no other way to maintain his sanity.

'Jim, I'm not a ghost. I'm not dead. Trust me. You've trusted me with your life. I'm trying to save it now. Bring him back inside. You're not a cold-blooded killer. Let the courts deal with him. Please, I don't have much time.'

"Much time?"

"What?" Frank squeaked.

'If I stay with you, I will die but I won't let you do this. Even if it means...'

"No, Chief."

"Who the hell is 'Chief'?"

"My partner, you bastard!" Ellison screamed.

"I killed your partner?" Frank smiled. "Now that is priceless."

Jim trembled with anger, but if the voice was really Sandburg's he might still be alive. If it was really Sandburg's, then he could still be in danger. Jim had no choice. He wouldn't risk his partner's life for this one act of vengeance, no matter how good he knew it would taste. And Blair was right, he wasn't a cold-blooded killer. If he did this, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. Jim pulled Frank away from the window.

"I've gotta get down there," Ellison explained, "but I can't very well let you go. So here's a headache for you. Believe me, it's better than the alternative."

Frank tried to back away, but Ellison's head impacted with his and he went limp. Once Jim was satisfied his prisoner was unconscious, he grabbed his cuffs and secured him. He went over to check Frank's brother.

"He would have deserved it you know," the injured man said, weakly.

Ellison nodded. "Look, I'll go down and send up help. Just hang on. They'll be up in a couple of minutes. He should be out for a while," he said, gesturing at Frank, "but don't be afraid to use the gun."

Jim left the brothers alone, leaving behind his only chance at revenge if Blair was dead. He had done the right thing. He knew the difference between right and wrong, and killing Frank would have been wrong. It would have been dead wrong, but the thought of Sandburg murdered by Galileo drove him beyond the limits of his conscience. Jim bounded down the stairs taking several at a time, and practically jumping a couple of full flights. Blair had to be alive. He had to. "Chief, answer me. Sandburg,... don't leave me now." Jim said aloud between labored breaths. "Please... Sandburg."

Then he heard his Guide speak again, but this time, the voice was weak. 'Jim, thank God you didn't do it. I knew you couldn't. I... I feel really light, like I'm floating. Like

I'm...' Sandburg's voice faded completely.

"No! Sandburg!" Jim screamed, hurling himself down the stairs at break-neck speed.

He found himself out of the stairwell and rushing toward Simon before he knew what had happened. Captain Banks grabbed him and held him with steadying hands. "Whoa, Jim. Take it easy. The elevator didn't explode. The bomb went off in the shaft."

"But Blair... he's hurt."

Simon's forehead wrinkled. "How did you know?"

"I just do," Jim replied, as he fought to control his breathing. "Where is he Simon?"

"Still in the elevator. They are working on him now."

Jim tried to pull away, but Simon held him fast. "They know what they're doing Jim. Besides, there's no room in there. You'd only be in the way."

Jim nodded. "Look, you've got to get some men and an EMT up to the thirty-seventh floor. Galileo is incapacitated and his brother's been shot."

"Will do," Simon replied. "Stay here, okay?"

"Yeah."

Banks walked over to a group of police and ordered them upstairs with some medical personnel. In moments, he was back at Jim's side. Ellison leaned over, half crouching with his hands on his knees and his head down. He willed himself to regain control. He felt helpless not knowing what was happening to his friend. He had the power to find out though. He tipped his head slightly and listened.

Jim heard a sound, a rush of air being squeezed through a bag and into his partner. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Are you getting anything? Is he breathing?" someone asked.

"Not yet, but I'm still getting a weak pulse. Let's go again."

Jim started toward the elevator. A touch on his arm startled him out of his trance. He looked into Simon's worried face. "He's not breathing. He can't die." Jim tried to control his emotions, but they were getting the better of him.

"He's not going to."

"You don't know that!" Jim shot back.

"No, I don't, but I believe it." Simon said, softly. "You have to believe it too. He saved those people, Jim. He cut a hole in the floor with the construction worker's tools and dropped the bomb into the shaft."

"But what happened to him?" Jim shook his head and rubbed a hand over his face. "What the hell happened to him?"

Simon shrugged. "Shock maybe or a heart attack?"

"He's too young for that, Simon." Ellison turned away, focusing his hearing on the attempt to revive his partner. The EMT announced another failed effort to get Blair breathing.

"Dammit!" Jim felt helpless and guilt-ridden. The strange connection that had kicked in unexpectedly could cost Blair his life. If he hadn't been blind with anger, Blair wouldn't have needed to come to him and he might not be dying now.

Jim closed his eyes, and concentrated all his energy on reaching out to the voice that had suddenly vanished from his mind. "Chief," he mumbled the endearment under his breath and continued in his mind. 'You have to listen to me now. You have to come back! It's about friendship, remember? Blair, please.' Jim heard the sound of the bag deflating again filling his partner's lungs.

"Blair," he pleaded. Then he heard coughing, and the voice of one of the EMTs declare his return to consciousness. Jim turned toward Simon and slapped him on the back, beaming. "He's okay, Simon. He's breathing. He's coming around."

The captain sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "Thank God."

Taggert was the first to greet Sandburg as he exited the elevator. Having refused additional assistance, Blair emerged looking worn and shaken. His short conversation with the captain was followed soon after by one with the daughter of the building's owner. Jim joined him as the young woman departed with a police escort. Ellison placed his hands on the younger man's shoulders. "Are you okay, Chief? We should get you to the hospital. Where are those medics?" Jim looked around.

"I'm fine, Jim. I just want to go home."

Jim returned his attention to Blair. "You stopped breathing. You're not fine."

"Yes, I am," Blair argued. "Can we go now?"

Jim hadn't released him. Instead, Ellison stared down into his eyes searching for an explanation for what had just happened.

"What is it, man?"

"Not now. You're shaking," Jim said.

"I'm shaking because you're scaring me," Blair returned.

"I'm sorry, Chief." Ellison managed a smile. "Come on." Jim released Blair and turned toward the exit. Blair fell into step beside him.

"Hey Chief, this figurine you brought here to have appraised?"*

"Oh yeah, Wang Cho Dynasty, fifth century BC,"* Blair replied.

"Some kind of good luck charm?"*

"Uh-huh."*

"If I were you I'd bring it back up here to be re-appraised. Only this time, take the stairs,"* Jim suggested. He then tapped Taggert on the shoulder as they proceeded to the door. "Good job, gents."*

Once they reached the truck, Ellison opened the passenger door and helped Blair onto the seat. "I'm not made of china, Jim." Blair protested. Jim didn't reply; the grim set of his face spoke for him. "Okay, okay." Blair threw up his hands, just as Jim shut the door.

Ellison walked around the other side and climbed in. Without another word, he started the truck and headed toward the loft. They drove in silence for a long time. Jim desperately wanted to talk to Blair, but he had no idea on how to broach the subject. His usually talkative partner hadn't offered his own explanation. If Blair even suspected something untoward had occurred between them, he'd be all over the place. Maybe it hadn't happened. It could have been all in his mind. Blair could have suddenly stopped breathing because... why? And how would Jim have known he was in trouble? There had to be some explanation. Could they truly be connected psychically? Why was the connection so deadly?

Ellison turned toward Blair. The younger man had reclined against the seat and closed his eyes. Though Jim could hear his heart beating and his lungs collecting precious oxygen, he reached for him.

Blair stirred at the gently touch. "What? What is it?"

"Are you okay? I think we need to get you to a doctor." Ellison turned the truck suddenly at the light.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"I'm taking you to a hospital."

"Oh, no you're not. We are going home."

"You're not driving, Chief, or hadn't you noticed."

"Don't get pissy with me, Ellison," Blair's expressive face revealed anger that wasn't feigned. "I've been dropped several floors in an elevator and threatened with total obliteration. I'm surprised I'm the only one in the elevator who stopped breathing. I am not going to the hospital! You are taking me home!" The young man's heartbeat increased dramatically. His face flushed.

"Take it easy, partner. We'll go back to the loft. It's okay." At the next corner, Jim turned back in the direction of their home.

"I'm sorry, man. It's just..." Sandburg's voice trailed into silence.

"Just what?" Jim prompted, glancing over at him.

"I had this dream or whatever while I was out."

Jim tensed. "What dream?"

"I didn't want to say anything, but it's bothering me."

"Go ahead, Sandburg."

Blair lapsed into silence again. Jim could hear his heart still racing. "Take it easy. You can tell me."

"I saw you. You were going to kill that guy, and I had to stop you. I had to." Blair's voice had taken on the same tone of desperation that rang in Jim's head as he struggled with Frank.

Jim pulled the truck over to the curb and parked it. He couldn't have this conversation while driving. He'd surely kill both of them. "We need to talk about this."

"About a dream? What's got you so worked up? It was just a dream." Blair's eyes were wide. "Why'd you stop the truck? You know, I'd like to get home sometime this century."

Jim recognized Blair's babbling for what it was, a nervous reaction to Jim's sudden interest in his "dream." Even with this understanding, he had no idea how his next words would affect his partner. "I don't think it was just a dream."

Blair twisted in his seat. He reached for the dashboard with one hand and the seat back with the other. He seemed to be bracing himself for what was to come. "What do you mean?"

"I think you were actually with me. I needed you to be the voice of reason and somehow you came to me."

"Whoa, hang on a minute, big guy. You were going to toss him out the window!"

Jim nodded. "I thought he'd killed you. I was out of my mind."

"And you think I came to you?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Do you know what you're saying?!" Sandburg shifted in his seat again. He shook his head. "This is way beyond the Batman and Robin thing. Way beyond!" Jim expected to see wonder in the face of the anthropologist, instead he saw fear in the face of his friend.

"What do you remember?" Jim asked in the calmest tone he could muster. He didn't want to cause more anxiety, but he had to know if their experiences were similar. He needed to know if his moment of insanity had almost cost Blair his life.

"I--uh--I remember being in the elevator and feeling the explosion beneath us and the heat from the blast. Then--then I heard your voice."

"What did I say?" Ellison placed a comforting hand on Blair's knee.

"You said you were going to drop him out the window. Not in those words though. It was something like 'let's see how long it takes you to fall.' Something like that. Then, all of a sudden, I could see you, too. I told you not to do it. I said--I said he wasn't worth it." Blair chuckled. "Sound's crazy, huh?"

"Not so crazy. You asked me to trust you. You said I wasn't a cold-blooded killer," Jim looked deep into the young man's eyes. "You told me you'd die if you stayed with me, but you couldn't let me go through with it. Do you remember?"

Blair released a deep breath he'd unconsciously been holding. He looked out the front window and bit his lip. The wall was up, and Ellison had been shut out.

"Blair?"

"Look, I don't know what really happened," he said, without facing Jim. "Can we just go home? I'm kinda tired."

Jim knew this response wasn't like Blair at all. He was usually the one who would want to get to the bottom of an incident like this. Though tests were out of the question in this situation, he would at least want to talk about it, to explore every possibility. This time his life might depend on it.

"I need to know," Jim said softly. "I think you do too."

Blair looked back at him. For a moment, no sound came out of his half-open mouth. Then, he muttered, "No, not--not right now. Let's just go. Please."

Jim nodded and started the truck. He couldn't argue with the look in Sandburg's eyes. He pulled into traffic and headed for the loft.

Neither of them spoke the rest of the way home. Jim cast worried glances at his partner, but Blair refused to meet his eyes. Ellison gripped the wheel tightly, and in the silence of the drive, relived the scene forty stories above the city streets. He'd been so close to throwing away everything he thought was important to him--his career, his life, his honor, and even Blair. He'd almost desecrated the memory of a friend with the murder of his killer. If he'd kept his cool, not knowing Sandburg was alive, then there wouldn't have been a need for the younger man to actually risk death for him. Jim sighed. How and when had this connection been made? Had it been there all along, waiting to be of use? Or had it suddenly and violently been created at the moment of Jim's madness? Was it something typical to Sentinels and Guides? If so, why hadn't Sandburg mentioned it? Did he know this would eventually happen? Jim had many questions, and no way to begin asking them without hurting his friend.

Once back at the loft, Jim dropped his keys on the counter and hung up his coat. Blair shrugged off his backpack and took off his own coat and hung it beside Jim's. The idea he'd almost come home alone struck Jim like a blow. He lifted a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes.

"I'm going to lie down for a while," Blair announced, ignoring his friend's obvious distress.

Jim dropped his hand from his face and used it to grab Blair's arm. "I think we really need to talk about this. We need to know what happened back there. More importantly, we need to know why it happened."

Blair gently, but purposefully, pulled his arm out of Jim's grip. "Could you just give me a chance to come down? I feel like I'm still on the elevator. I need to rest. We can talk about it later."

Reluctantly, Jim agreed. He watched Blair walk away, listening as the young man entered his room and collapsed on the bed. Jim didn't even hear him take off any clothes or kick off his shoes. 'He must be really tired,' Jim thought, but he knew there was more to Blair's behavior than simple fatigue. Blair didn't want to talk about their shared experience.

The young man was afraid, but not willing to admit it. Ellison wondered if the fear centered on the strangeness of the occurrence itself, or on the fact he'd been so willing to give up everything for Jim. That couldn't be it, could it? Ellison remembered his second meeting with Blair and how the anthropologist had risked his life to save Jim from being run down by a garbage truck during a zone-out. He knocked him to the ground and lay beside him as the truck passed harmlessly overhead. Blair was as selfless as they came. Even so, he'd never been a breath away from dying for Jim, or more precisely, dying for Jim's stupidity.

Jim wandered over to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. He took it to the couch and opened it, all the while listening to Blair's heartbeat and breathing in the other room. He drank the beer and was almost done by the time he noticed Blair had drifted off. Just then, the phone rang. Jim rushed to answer it. "Ellison," he said softly.

"Jim, it's Simon. How's the kid?"

"Shaken, but okay. He's sleeping. I wanted to take him to the hospital, but he wouldn't let me."

"He's almost as stubborn as you are." There was a short silence on the line, and then Simon asked, "How are you doing?

"Me? I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Okay--look, we need you to come down to the station and fill out some reports, but they can wait until tomorrow. Get some rest and tell Sandburg he did a helluva job saving those people."

"I will, Simon, and thanks." Jim hung up the phone and returned to the couch.

****

Afternoon turned into early evening, and Sandburg still hadn't emerged from his room. Jim's concern for him mounted with every passing minute. Finally, when he couldn't restrain himself any longer, he walked over to the anthropologist's room. Quietly, he opened the door and looked inside. As he suspected, Blair lay fully dressed on the unturned bed. He was curled on his side facing the door with one hand tucked under his head. Though he looked pale, he was breathing normally. Jim still wasn't satisfied though. He needed to see Blair conscious; he needed to hear his voice.

He walked up to the bed, leaned over his friend and touched him on the shoulder. "Sandburg," he called.

The young man slowly opened his eyes and turned on his back, sliding away from Jim's touch. "Oh man," he yawned. "What time is it?"

"About seven," Jim replied.

"Seven?" Blair sat up and ran his hands through his hair. "I didn't mean to sleep so long. I've got work to do."

"You are not going anywhere or doing anything until we get to the bottom of this," Jim snapped, sounding harsher than he intended.

Blair looked up at him and raised his eyebrows. He managed to look surprised, hurt, and angry all at the same time. "Oh, I'm not, huh? Why don't you just handcuff me to the bed then?" He stood abruptly and started to push past Jim on his way to the door. Before he reached it, he swayed and brought his hands up to his head. "Oh, man," he moaned.

Jim was at his side in an instant. He guided his friend back a few steps and set him down on the bed. "Just breath evenly. You're okay," Jim comforted.

"I felt like I was back in the elevator and that asshole just dropped it." Brushing his hair back, he looked up at Ellison and attempted a smile.

"You just got up too fast, Chief. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have woken you."

"No, I'm sorry about the handcuff comment, Jim. I was out of line. It's just, well, what happened... I mean..." Blair gave up and waited for Jim to speak.

Jim could sense his partner's growing agitation. "It's okay. I just think we need to talk about it. I'm concerned about this, and I don't want it ever happening again."

"I don't think either of us have the power to stop it, Jim."

The gravity of Blair's statement chilled Ellison to the bone. He tried to push away his fear by asking the question that had been on his mind for hours now. "Did you know this would happen? Have you read anywhere about this kind of connection?" He sounded accusatory, but he felt he had a right to know.

"No." Sandburg shook his head. "I haven't come across this anywhere." Blair placed a hand against his own chest, emphasizing his next words. "Do you think I'd keep something like this from you? I'm learning right along with you."

"Well, this is one lesson I certainly don't care to repeat." The anger apparent in Ellison's voice wasn't directed at his friend. He was angry with himself for being the cause of this anomaly, this fatal flaw in their Sentinel/Guide relationship.

"Me neither, man." Sandburg brought both hands up in a gesture that recognized the tension in their potentially explosive confrontation.

Jim frowned. His shoulders sagged. He didn't mean to scare the anthropologist, but he needed some answers. "I can see we're not getting anywhere with this," Jim continued in what he hoped passed for a calmer tone. "Why won't you talk to me, Blair?"

"Because you think I have all the answers and I don't!" A look of frustration appeared on the young man's face. His hands braced against the bed, and he pushed himself up, muttering a couple of obscenities. Jim was prepared to catch him again if he stumbled, but this time he didn't. He walked, albeit slowly, past Jim and toward the bathroom. He obviously wanted out of their heated discussion.

Jim returned to the living room and listened as Blair turned on the shower. He usually took showers in the morning. Jim guessed this was his way of avoiding a much-needed discussion.

Realizing neither of them had eaten since breakfast, Jim called a Chinese food place that delivered. Ordering Blair's favorites, he hoped it would be accepted as a peace offering.

Jim started a fire to warm the growing chill out of the loft and waited on the couch for the young man to emerge from the bathroom, all the while practically zoning out on thoughts of self-reproach. Unanswered questions buzzed in his mind along with the horrifying idea they might never be answered. If this connection ever blazed to life again, if he were separated from Blair and needed his guidance, he might come home to find the anthropologist locked safely in the loft, dead. How could he live with himself knowing his need had caused his Guide's death?

Jim didn't hear Blair walk out of the bathroom, bare feet padding against the wood. The young man entered his room, dressed and toweled his hair before joining Jim in the living area. When Jim didn't respond to his presence, he touched his friend's shoulder.

Jim jumped up, startled. His hand unconsciously found the gun at his side, but he recognized Blair before he drew the weapon. "I didn't hear you," Jim admitted. "I was just thinking." Just then, knock sounded at the door. "I placed an order for Chinese. It must be our food," Jim explained.

"Great. I'm starved." Blair bounced on his toes and smiled.

Jim answered the door and paid for the meal. He took the bag from the delivery boy and handed it to Blair before closing the door. Sandburg began emptying the bag, placing the separate cartons on the kitchen counter as Jim pulled some utensils out of a drawer.

"You know, you should try eating with chop sticks," Blair suggested.

"Not tonight, Chief."

Those few words were enough to crumble all semblance of normalcy. Without replying, Blair took a couple of cartons over to the table and began eating alone. Watching the younger man, Jim stood in the kitchen with his hands braced on the counter.

Blair pushed up the sleeves of his flannel shirt and periodically had to brush his wet hair back from his face as he leaned over the cartons. He was intent on his meal, ignoring Jim to the best of his ability.

Ellison pulled one of the cartons open and stuck a fork inside. He managed a few bites before giving up. Who was he kidding? He had no appetite. He dropped the fork in the sink and walked around the counter. He noticed that Blair looked up briefly as he passed and then glanced back down at his food. Jim knew he had ruined any chance at even idle chatter, let alone a real discussion. Blair probably wouldn't speak to him again tonight if he could help it. All Jim heard were the sounds of his friend's living body--a heart beating. A Guide's heart beating. Jim knelt by the fire, carefully tending it as the sound filled his ears.

Finally, sitting back on the floor and resting against the coffee table, Jim watched as Blair cleaned up and put the leftovers into the refrigerator. He wiped the table and grabbed his backpack, dropping it into one of the chairs. Pulling out some papers and a pen, he sat down and began marking them.

Jim broke the silence. "What time's your class tomorrow?"

"It's at nine-thirty. You know that, Jim." Blair didn't look up from the papers as he spoke.

"Maybe you should skip it," Ellison suggested.

"Not an option. I'm handing these papers back and going over them."

"Look, Chief, you've had a traumatic experience, don't you think..."

"No, you look." Blair kicked back the chair and stood. "I have a job to do." He gathered the papers and stuffed them in the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He made for his room. Without glancing back, he added, "You're just going to have to deal with that." The door slammed shut behind him.

'Great, just great,' Ellison thought. Briefly, he considered going to the station and working on the reports, but the idea of leaving Blair alone wasn't at all appealing. Instead, Jim opted for grabbing another beer and watching some television. He flipped channels periodically, remembering how he often scolded Sandburg for doing the same thing. Nothing seemed to hold his interest.

He found himself thinking of how to approach Blair. Certainly the anthropologist had formulated a theory as to why or how the connection had occurred. Blair usually got to the bottom of Jim's Sentinel problems with stunning speed and accuracy. Maybe it was different for Blair this time because Jim's problem had actually become his own. And the results were nothing short of terrifying.

In the early morning hours, Jim turned off the television and walked up the stairs to bed. As he got undressed, he listened to Sandburg's pen trail across yet another sheet of paper. Jim fell asleep to the sound.

****

In the morning, Ellison woke to utter silence. On any given day, his acute hearing would detect Sandburg's beating heart and steady breathing. He almost always rose before Blair, and the sound of his sleeping partner had become as natural as waking to birdsong in the country. But this morning, he only heard the sounds of life outside the loft.

Jim bolted upright and started down the stairs without fully coming awake. "Sandburg!" his voice bounced off the walls, echoing back to him. He fully expected to find the young man dead in his room from the unknown aftereffects of yesterday's trauma. Why hadn't he insisted Blair go to the hospital? Jim burst into his room, finding it empty. Both Blair and his backpack were gone. Jim wasn't satisfied until he'd searched the rest of the loft. When he didn't find the young man, he breathed a sigh of relief that instantly turned into a curse. "Dammit, Blair," he said to the empty space around him. "Why can't you work with me on this?"

Jim walked back up the stairs and got dressed. He checked the clock--seven-thirty. The first place Jim thought to look was his office at the university. Blair might have gone there to finish with the papers before his class. Even so, he should have told Jim were he was going. Ellison grabbed his keys, locked up the loft, and headed for his truck.

****

The door of Sandburg's office stood slightly ajar. Ellison approached it, remembering the first time he entered the small room and found the anthropologist bouncing in his chair to some obnoxious music. This time, an altogether different sight greeted him. His heart sank when he saw Blair slumped over his desk. Blair's forehead rested on one arm, curls tumbling to all sides. His other hand stretched across a pile of papers in front of him.

'He's asleep, that was all,' Jim assured himself. He pulled a chair quietly over to the desk and sat down. Reaching over, he caught Blair's wrist and called out softly, "Chief?"

Blair slowly came awake. He leaned back and rubbed his face. "Hey, Jim."

"How long have you been here?" Jim asked, straightening.

"Uh, since five, I guess. I didn't finish last night, so I thought I'd come in early and get the rest of the papers graded before class." Blair glanced at his watch. "Damn, it's already eight, and I still have a few more to go." He shuffled through the stack in front of him, counting under his breath.

Jim recognized a dismissal when he saw one. He stood and dragged the chair back over to the wall. "Look, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. When you weren't in the loft this morning, I got worried. I'll just go." Jim gestured toward the door.

Blair looked up at Jim with a sincere apologetic expression on his face. "I didn't mean to worry you. Why don't you come pick me up for lunch? I'll be done here by twelve-thirty at the latest."

"Yeah, it should give me time to get some work done at the station. I'll meet you here at twelve-thirty."

"'kay," Blair said.

Jim turned and left.

****

"You were going to do what?!" the captain shouted. Ellison was sure everyone in the bullpen could hear him through his closed door.

"I thought he'd blown up the elevator," Jim explained. "I thought he'd killed Sandburg."

"So you got it in your head to throw him out the window! Jim, this is even way beyond the Danny Cho incident. Do you know what would have happened to you? You would have been down for murder!" Simon's eyes were wide with anger. "I'm surprised Rachins hasn't pressed charges."

"That's the least of my worries, Simon."

Banks frowned and gestured at a chair. "Something tells me this is a long story. Sit down, Jim."

Ellison dropped into the chair across from Simon's desk. "What I'm about to tell you is going to be hard to believe, but just listen with an open mind."

"I'm listening." Simon leaned forward in his chair.

Jim sighed. "Sandburg stopped me from killing Rachins. He was trapped in the elevator, but he somehow managed to come to me, to link with my mind."

A look of bewilderment crossed Simon's face. "You're saying Sandburg communicated with you mentally?"

"I am, and what's worse is it put him in danger. It's why he stopped breathing."

"Wait a minute. Are you sure you weren't hallucinating? You thought he was dead, right? Maybe you were just hearing the voice of your own conscience."

"That's what I thought, but Simon, Blair knew what had happened between me and Rachins. He knew what I said. He told me in the truck on the way home. He thought it was a dream, but it wasn't. He saved me from making the biggest mistake of my life and almost paid with his own."

"You're saying you and Sandburg have some sort of psychic connection?"

"In short, yeah."

"What does the kid say about this?"

"He doesn't want to talk about it."

"That doesn't sound like the Sandburg I know."

Jim shrugged. "I'm at a loss, Captain. What if this happens again? He could die next time, and I wouldn't be able to stop it."

"Well, maybe..." the captain began, but Jim didn't hear the rest of his words. Suddenly, his sight shifted and for a millisecond he was somewhere else--a classroom, Blair's classroom. He felt disoriented, and then he was back in Simon's office staring into his captain's concerned face. "What happened, Jim? Are you okay?"

"It's Sandburg," Jim muttered, shaking his head and reaching for the phone on the desk. "Can I use your phone?" he asked, already dialing.

"Go ahead."

He didn't get an answer at Sandburg's office. He slammed the phone down in frustration and checked his watch--ten o'clock. The class would still be in session. "I've got to get to the university. I think Blair's in trouble." Jim didn't wait for Simon to respond; instead he bounded out of the office.

****

After finding an empty classroom, Jim located Blair in his office. The young man wasn't alone. An older woman, probably a professor, sat at his side holding a glass of water. She rested on hand on his shoulder, while Blair sat with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

Ellison knocked on the open door to catch their attention. They both looked up at him.

"Don't say 'I told you so,' man. This is embarrassing enough." Sandburg's voice sounded weak. His face was pale.

"What happened?" Jim asked.

When he didn't answer, the woman spoke for him. "Mr. Sandburg passed out during his Intro class. He wouldn't let us take him to the infirmary." Sandburg shot her a look usually reserved for an overprotective mother. She returned it with a mother's scolding look for a son. "I'll be leaving now if you'll stay with him," she told Jim. "I have a class to teach in fifteen minutes."

Jim nodded. "Thanks."

The woman placed the glass on Blair's desk and patted his shoulder. "You're welcome," she said as she passed Jim on the way out.

Jim entered the office and shut the door behind him. "How are you feeling, Chief?"

"Like an idiot," Sandburg replied. His hand trembled as he reached for the glass and brought it up to his lips.

"I think we should get you checked out."

Jim braced himself for another refusal, but this time Blair didn't argue. "Okay," Sandburg said, putting the glass down, "but can you give me a minute? I still feel pretty light headed."

"No problem." Jim walked around the desk and sat down beside him.

"Who called you?" Blair asked.

"No one."

"Then how...?" Blair looked into Jim's eyes. "Oh god, you just knew, didn't you?"

Jim replied as calmly as he could. "Yeah, partner, it seems this goes both ways."

"This is psycho, just psycho." Blair leaned forward and rested his elbow on the desk and held his head with his hand. His hair fell against his cheek, obscuring his pained expression. "What are we going to do?"

"We're going to work through this together," Jim offered. "We'll find an answer."

"But you don't get it, Jim." Blair looked back at the detective. "I don't know--I don't understand what's happening to m-- to us."

Jim caught the slip. Sandburg tried to cover it, but to no avail. He was afraid for himself, and ashamed of his fear. The very fact he agreed to go to the hospital confirmed his feelings. Jim hated himself for bringing this to life. If he'd only kept his cool yesterday this might never have been an issue, but there was no going back. They had to find some answers, and though the medical realm had failed him before, it was an obvious place to start.

"Can you walk, Chief? We should get going."

Blair nodded, and Jim helped him stand. Together, they headed for the truck. Jim set his pace just behind and slightly to the right of his partner, ready to offer assistance should the younger man show signs of distress.

****

Twenty minutes later, Jim pulled the truck into a parking space near the emergency room entrance. Blair had drifted off during the short ride and remained asleep beside him. Jim exited the cab and walked around to the passenger side. He opened the door and reached over to unbuckle Sandburg's seat belt. He gently caught hold of his Guide's arm. "Come on, Chief. We're here."

His partner came awake and, just as he had before, pulled his arm from Jim's grasp. "Jim, I'm not an invalid. You don't have to treat me like one."

Jim raised his hands and stepped back. "Fine, whatever."

Blair climbed out of the truck without his assistance. The expression on his face transformed from annoyance to regret. "Look, I didn't mean to snap," Blair said. "I'm just really stressed. That's all."

"And I'm just really worried about you," Jim admitted.

"I know. I don't mean to be such an ass about it." Blair smiled. "I know you're just trying to help."

Jim gestured toward the emergency entrance. "Shall we?"

Blair sighed. "I guess."

****

Jim sat in the waiting room thumbing through a newspaper while Blair stood at the counter filling out paper work. In a few minutes, the young man joined him. "They said it would be a while. You don't have to stay if you have work to do. I can just call you when I'm done," Sandburg suggested.

"It's okay. I called Simon and he gave me a personal day."

"Oh."

Jim turned in his seat to face Blair. "Did you tell them about yesterday, and about your collapse at the university?"

Blair rolled his eyes. "Yes, Dad. I had to give them some reason for wasting an overworked intern's time, didn't I?" This time, Blair's tone was playful, not biting.

Jim returned his attention the newspaper in his hand. "You kids today." He smiled to himself when he heard Blair chuckle softly.

An hour later, they were still waiting. Blair finally stood and began pacing back and forth in the open space between their seats and the counter. Jim looked up at him. "Sit down, Chief. You're making me tired."

"I really hate being here, man. I hate hospitals--the smell, the sounds." Sandburg shuddered, still pacing.

"You sound like me on a bad day," Jim joked.

Blair stopped walking and turned to Jim. "Well, your sense of humor has certainly kicked into overdrive, huh?"

"Just trying to make things easier," Jim replied. He tapped the arm of the chair beside him. "Come on, sit down."

A nurse appeared with clipboard in hand. "Mr. Blair Sandburg?" she called.

Blair cast a worried look at Jim.

"You're up, Chief. I'll be right here when you get through."

"Thanks," Blair's voice was barely a whisper. He turned toward the woman. "That's me."

"Right this way, Mr. Sandburg." She turned and Blair followed her down the hall.

****

Another hour passed. It was Jim's turn to pace. He wondered what could be taking so long. Maybe they had found something. Perhaps, Blair's episode yesterday and his collapse this morning were symptoms of insidious and maybe even progressive illness. Whatever had occurred between Sentinel and Guide could have hurt Blair more than they realized. Jim sighed. He returned to his seat and rubbed his face with his hands. Not knowing what was going on in the examining room made him conjure all sorts of worst- case scenarios. 'This is ridiculous,' he thought. 'I have a way to find out without anyone knowing.'

Jim tuned out everything around him and reached his sense of hearing into the corridor behind him. He searched the myriad voices for the one distinct voice of his friend. It took some concentration, but he found what he was searching for. Unfortunately, the conversation he caught seemed to be well underway when he reached it.

"... about four hours maybe, but I slept a lot yesterday after we got home," Sandburg said.

"How much have you eaten since then?"

"I didn't have breakfast or lunch yesterday, but I did have Chinese for supper."

"And today?"

"Nothing yet."

There was a brief moment of silence followed by a shuffle of papers. "Well, Mr. Sandburg, the tests we've run so far haven't turned up any disturbing results. Right now, I'd say you're suffering from extreme exhaustion. The fact you stopped breathing, however, is nothing to dismiss. I'd like you to check into the hospital. We'll run some more tests and see if we can get to the bottom of this."

"I'd prefer not to." The fear in Sandburg's voice was apparent.

Another moment of silence followed before the doctor spoke again. "It's your decision, Mr. Sandburg. You should also stay home for the next couple of days and remember to eat regularly and drink plenty of fluids. Also, take my advice and make an appointment to see your regular physician for a thorough examination."

"I will."

"Liar. You don't even have one," Jim mouthed as the conversation ended.

A few more minutes passed before Blair rejoined Jim in the waiting area. "You can take me home now," Sandburg said, bouncing up and down like a child. "They gave me a clean bill of health."

"I wouldn't call 'extreme exhaustion' a clean bill of health." Jim stood and rolled the paper up in his hands.

Blair frowned. "Man, can't a guy get a little privacy? I mean really."

Jim shrugged. "Let's go get something to eat, Sandburg. I'm starved."

"You buying?" Blair asked hopefully.

"You bet. Come on." Jim fought the urge to take Blair's arm and lead him out of the hospital. Blair's recent behavior told him his touch had become unwelcome, and now he was forced to make a conscious effort to keep his distance. Together, they exited the hospital, debating on the restaurant as they walked to the truck.

****

By the time they reached the loft, it was almost three-thirty. Blair had insisted they stop off for some movies, and Jim had agreed. The younger man deposited the tapes on the kitchen counter before taking off his jacket. "So which one do you want to see first?" he asked Jim.

"Either is fine. You choose."

"Okay." Blair picked one up and walked over to the VCR, inserting the tape before Jim had even managed to hang his coat up. Sandburg took a place on the couch, remote in hand. "I've been wanting to see this one for a long time. It's a foreign film."

"You mean I have to read subtitles?" Jim moaned.

"Don't be that way, man. Foreign films can be so much better than the domestic crap out today."

"Okay, okay, I'll bite," Jim said, sitting on the chair at an angle from the television.

Almost three hours later, Jim looked over at Sandburg as the credits began to roll. "Not bad, Chief, definitely not crap."

"That was intense," Blair replied. "I'd like you to try to find something like that in English."

"You got me. What's the other one?"

"Revenge of the Nerds," Blair replied, trying unsuccessfully to remain straight-faced.

Jim broke out into a smile.

"Just kidding, Jim. But hey, wouldn't you like to eat something before we watch the second one."

"Yeah, how about some pizza? I'll call for delivery," Jim stood and walked over to the phone. "What would you like on it?"

Blair made a disgusted face. "Naw, I was thinking of cooking some pasta with some homemade sauce. I can put a salad together too."

Jim shook his head. "No, it's okay. I'll just go and pick something up."

Sandburg stood and made his way to the kitchen. "How many times to I have to tell you I'm fine." The young man's voice rose slightly. "It doesn't take a lot of energy to boil water and cut up some veggies, man."

Ellison sighed and stepped out of Blair's way. "Be my guest."

Jim grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and watched Sandburg prepare their meal. Neither spoke until Blair asked Jim to set the table. This time, they ate together and managed some small talk. Jim cleared and rinsed the dishes while Sandburg put away the leftovers.

It was about eight o'clock when they sat down to watch yet another foreign film. Halfway through it, Sandburg stretched out on the couch. Without even glancing at him, Jim knew he was falling asleep. The detective purposefully kept his eyes on the video so Blair wouldn't feel compelled to stay awake.

When he could head Blair's even breathing and slowed heartbeat, Jim finally looked over. Sandburg was curled up on his side, clutching a pillow to his chest. Ellison noticed he hadn't bothered to take off his shoes. "Rule number eight: don't put your shoes on the couch," Jim whispered softly. He stood, grabbed a throw and draped it over Sandburg. Then, he walked over to the kitchen to get another beer.

A sudden crash sounded in the living area and Jim rushed in to find Sandburg flailing on the floor between the couch and the coffee table, a look of utter terror on his face. Jim stepped between the chair and the couch and leaned over him. "Sandburg, are you okay?" Jim reached for him. Blair scrambled back until he bumped against another chair. "Whoa, Chief, it's me. No one's going to hurt you." Jim could hear his Guide's heart pounding in his chest. His breath came in gasps, and his left arm was draped across his chest, hand pressing against his right shoulder. "Did you bang yourself on the table? Let me see."

"I--uh--"

"Take it easy."

"Dream--it was just a dream. I felt like I was falling."

Jim knelt by him and again reached for his arm. "Let me take a look."

Once more, Blair pulled back. At that moment, Jim recognized the look in the young man's eyes. Without thinking, he spoke. "You blame me. Don't you?"

Sandburg's reply sounded weak and unsure. "No, no, I don't, Jim."

"Yes, you do. I know you're lying to me, Sandburg."

"Alright!" Anger turned Blair's blue eyes to ice. "I do. You almost killed a man, Jim. You almost tossed him out a window, and to save your butt, I had to do a freaky-ass Shirley MacLaine thing."

There it was, all out in the open. For a moment, Jim could only stare and, when he did respond, the words were a defense. "I thought he'd killed you."

"Oh, don't lay this on me, man. What possessed you? I could feel you were going to do it. It wasn't just a threat. I was right there with you. Dammit! You almost bought me a one way ticket out of my body." Blair released his shoulder and brushed back his hair.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what got into me, and I'm sorry. It was my fault. I put you in danger, but now we have to focus on what happened between us. We have to know why and how, and what to do if it ever happens again. Will you talk to me now? We have to get through this together."

Blair laughed and shook his head. "You don't get it, do you? I've been wracking my brain for the last day and a half. I've even gone through most of my notes. I don't know what happened or how, and it's pissing me off!"

"Wait a second," Jim said, waving a hand in the air. "Your notes deal with me, right? They deal with the Sentinel."

Blair nodded.

"Well, what about the Guide?"

"What do you mean, Jim?" Blair tilted his head, quizzically.

"You told me once I was a throwback to pre-civilized man. You said I was genetically enhanced. What about Guides? Couldn't they--couldn't you have some sort of genetic predisposition that could strengthen the link between us? Maybe the answers to our questions don't lie in my abilities, but in yours."

"What?! I'm not predisposed to anything except for late night research and herbal tea. Where do you get this stuff?" Sandburg eased himself up on the chair behind him, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. "For your information, a Guide is just that, a Guide and nothing more." The slight tremble in Blair's voice caught Jim's attention, and he realized fear and frustration spoke for the young man.

Jim hoped by acknowledging these feelings, Blair could move beyond them. Jim knew he was taking a chance when he spoke again, but he thought the truth could be a healing force. "I know you're scared," Jim said, moving to sit on the couch. "I understand how you feel. I felt the same way when my senses started on overdrive, but you helped me through it. You have to let me help you through this. Together, the both of us can get through this."

Jim could see a spark of hope light Blair's eyes. "You believe that, man?"

"I do," Jim replied.

Sandburg took a deep breath. "Okay, where do we start?"

"Your research."

"Well, most of it is at the university."

Jim expected as much. "Why don't we get some sleep tonight and tomorrow, after I'm done at the station, I'll come by and we'll go there together."

Sandburg nodded. "Whatever you say."

****

At five the next evening, Jim returned to an empty loft. He let his anger mount as he paced back and forth. Where could Sandburg be? Jim had asked him to stay home all day and get some rest. They'd planned to go to the university together as soon as Jim got home. "Can't the kid stay put for even a few hours," Jim muttered to the empty air.

Minutes later, the key turned in the lock and the door slid open. Sandburg entered with an armful of groceries and a smile. "Hey, Jim."

"Hey yourself. I thought you were staying home today."

"We needed some milk. While I was out, I just thought I'd pick up a few more things." Sandburg explained, setting the bag down on the counter. "Don't look so sour, man."

"You need rest. You don't need to be..."

Blair waved him to silence. "Stop right there. You are not my keeper. I feel fine. I even went by the university earlier and picked up what I thought we could use." Sandburg walked over to the living area and tapped a pile of folders and a couple of books. "I've been going through all this, and you know, I think there's only one way for us to proceed."

Jim momentarily lost his urge to scold Sandburg for his reckless behavior. The young man seemed to be back to his old curious self. "How's that, Chief?"

"By testing the bond we have in a controlled environment," Blair replied. He picked up a file and offered it to Jim. "Here, I've even--"

"Are you out of your mind?" Jim raised his voice.

"I knew you'd react that way." Blair rolled his eyes. "Look, this is the only way we can get to the bottom of it."

"No scientific experiment is worth your life!" Jim shouted. "I would never have urged you to look through your research if I'd even thought you'd come up with something as idiotic as this."

"Idiotic? Jim, come on."

"No, and that's final."

Blair lowered his voice and steadied his gaze. "When this happens again and we don't know how to control it, what are you going to do without a Guide?"

Jim knew he was really asking what he'd do if Blair died. "This won't happen again," Jim shot back.

"Can you give me a guarantee? Can you tell me you won't need me like the other day? Can you promise me you'd get to me before... before..." Blair looked away and dropped the file. "I'm not being fair," he whispered. "I'm sorry, Jim."

Jim shut his eyes and, for a terrifying moment, he saw himself kneeling over Sandburg's lifeless body. He saw himself loosing control of all his senses and plunging into the deep, silent abyss of grief.

"Jim," the voice calling to him seemed to be coming from a great distance. Then, Ellison felt a hand on his arm, and suddenly, the voice was very close. "Jim, are you okay?" He opened his eyes to see Sandburg staring up at him.

"When I was waiting with Simon," Ellison began, "and I thought you were dying... I knew it was my fault. I knew--"

Suddenly, Blair's eyes widened. "Oh god, Jim, you brought me back. I heard you! I don't believe it!" A smile lit his face.

"What?" Jim wondered if he'd understood the young man's words.

"I heard you call my name, and you said 'it's about friendship.' You were like an anchor. You brought me back."

"Why didn't you say something before? Why just now?" Ellison demanded.

"I just remembered it now," Blair admitted. "Do you know what it means?" Blair released Jim's arm. His hands came up to his head in excitement, and his smile widened. "It means we can control it! Wow! I gotta take some notes."

Jim shook his head. 'Leave it to Sandburg to be excited about something like this,' he thought. If Jim had called him back somehow, it still didn't solve their initial problem. And without any experiments, Blair would be just as vulnerable when this bond decided to manifest itself again. When--the idea it was an inevitability set like a stone in Jim's chest.

As though he were reading his Sentinel's mind, Blair looked up from his scribbles and spoke. "We're just going to have to wing it next time, man, but at least now we have a fighting chance."

'God, I hope so,' Jim thought to himself.

 

note: *indicates dialogue from the episode "Dead Drop"