Remembering the Silences
By: Tate

He woke to darkness and a throbbing pain in his head. He lifted his hand and touched his temple. Blood. He couldn't see it, but he felt the wetness on his fingers and the tangle in his matted hair.

The surface beneath him was hard, likely the floor. Trying to sit up, he gasped at the pain the movement caused in other parts of his body. His left arm and ankle screamed with it. Broken, maybe. And the darkness, could he possibly be blind? Had the blow to his head affected his sight? 'Think,' he told himself. 'What happened? Who did this to you?' But as he searched his memory for the answer, a startling truth came to light. He didn't know any of the answers, and he had no idea who he was. As the revelation took hold, he felt a wave of nausea overcome him. Despite the pain, he rolled on his side and emptied his stomach. The violent movement brought a moan to his lips. "God, help me," he whispered. "Someone please help me."

He expected no answer to his plea. He hadn't heard anyone close by. Surely, had someone been with him, they would have come to his aid already. They wouldn't have just left him alone with this agony.

Then he heard a voice, but it wasn't coming from beside him, it was coming from within. Even in his injured state, he could tell the difference. It rang inside his head, as though he was thinking, but it wasn't his own voice. He'd just heard his own voice. 'Sandburg?

Can you hear me? What's happened?' a man asked. But who was it? Could he be going crazy too, hearing things that weren't there because of a head wound? The man in his mind was persistent. 'Answer me! I know you're there. Please, tell me what's happening.' Answering would be admitting the voice existed. He couldn't give in to his delusion. 'I know you need me. What's going on? Where are you, Blair?'

When the voice kept at him, threatening his tenuous hold on sanity, he responded with the first words that came to him. "Leave me alone. Please, just leave me alone."

****

Miles away at the police station, Detective Jim Ellison was stunned into silence by his friend's reply. He had felt Blair's fear and his sudden pain, and then for hours the link had gone silent. For the past forty minutes, he'd been sitting in the Captain Banks' office trying to contact Sandburg through the unexplained psychic connection they shared. Though it had, been a dangerous bond, especially for Blair, Jim had no other recourse. He had looked for Blair at the university and at the loft, but he had no clue as to where he had gone or had been taken. Finding him in Cascade would be no easy task--if he was still in Cascade.

Jim looked up into Simon's eyes. The captain was leaning against his desk with his arms folded. "What is it, Jim? Did you contact him?"

"Something's wrong, Simon," he muttered. "Something's very wrong."

"That much you knew right?"

Jim nodded. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. "I knew he'd been hurt, and I felt it when he regained consciousness. He wouldn't answer at first, but now, Simon, he's telling me to leave him alone."

"Maybe he wasn't hurt as bad as you thought," Simon suggested. "He could be embarrassed or just being plain stubborn. You know Sandburg, Jim."

"No, that's not it." Ellison frowned. "Not at all. He sounds frightened ... terrified." He took a deep breath. "I think we should put out an APB."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Done." Simon reached for the phone.

As the captain relayed the information, Ellison tried again to reach for his partner. He closed his eyes and sent what he hoped would be a non-threatening plea. 'Chief, it's me, Jim. Can you hear me? I need you to tell me where you are. Let me help you.'

The response came almost immediately, but it sounded like it came from someone on the very edge of sanity. 'Leave me alone. I don't know who you are. I'm going crazy. I don't know you. Stop, please.'

For whatever reason, Blair wasn't cooperating with him, and he needed to know where he was and what had happened. This was actually the first time Ellison, as a Sentinel, had sensed through the bond that his Guide was in real danger. Every other time, it had been Blair who had come to him and saved him by employing some strange, untested feat of psychic ability. Just after the first incident at the Wilkinson tower, Jim had felt Blair pass out at the university and had gone to his aid, but this was different. He knew Blair was seriously injured and had no idea where to find him.

Jim hated to use force, especially where Blair was concerned. In fact, the memory of pushing Sandburg up against a wall and threatening him the second time they met still made him wince. But in this case, he seemed to have no choice. Not knowing if it would work, he reached for Blair with his heightened senses and, much to his surprise, he found himself diving into his friend's mind as though it were a body of water.

The startled scream issuing from Sandburg almost sent him careening back into his own head, but he held on. He needed to know. 'Sandburg, just work with me here. I know you're scared, but it's just me. I won't hurt you. You know that. I won't do anything to hurt you,' he said. He received only a low moan in reply. Trying to ignore the desperation in the sound, he used Blair's mind and his own senses to try and determine his location.

Jim could see through the darkness enough to make out the wooden floor and cramped surroundings littered with shelves and supplies. He could feel a rhythmic movement beneath him, as though he were laying on something suspended. Could the rocking be caused by water moving under a ship? Jim listened, and over Sandburg's panicked heartbeat, he heard the familiar sound of waves sloshing against a hull. "Please, no." Sandburg's voice intruded, sounding as though it were coming from his own mouth. "I'm going crazy. I don't know ... help me ... I can't..." His breath came in gasps, until there was no room for words, and his heart began to race even faster.

Sandburg was either having a panic attack or going into shock. Jim couldn't tell which, but he knew both had the potential to harm the young man. 'Easy, Blair. Calm down. Try to breathe slowly. You can do it,' he urged. He didn't receive any kind of verbal response from his partner. As he repeated yet another string of comforting sentences, he felt for Blair's injuries. Severe pain in both his left arm and leg, and a throbbing in his temple seemed to be the extent of it. The injuries themselves didn't seem to be life-threatening, but left untreated they could be, especially if Blair was now suffering from shock.

"Please ... leave me alone. I don't know ... I don't remember ... remember ... anything," Blair mumbled. "Don't remember who ... I don't know you."

Though the words were disconnected, the meaning wasn't lost on Jim. They struck him like a blow, and he instantly found himself back in the captain's office. Banks was leaning over him, one hand on his shoulder. "Are you back with me, Jim?"

Jim slowly nodded. He looked up at Simon, and blew out a deep forceful breath. Finally, he found his voice. "Simon, he doesn't know me. He must have hit his head pretty hard. I think he has amnesia."

"That explains a lot. What now?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know." Jim's frustration was apparent. "I think I've been driving him closer to the edge with my mind-talk. He has no idea what's happening to him or who I am. He's alone and injured. I'm afraid if I don't find him soon..." Jim cut himself off and bowed his head for a moment. "He's calming down. I can feel his heartbeat slowing, and he's breathing easier."

"Because you're not talking to him?"

Jim glanced up. "Yeah, I think so." Jim managed a wry smile. "It's not every day you have someone walking around in your brain. I'm surprised you believed me when this happened the first time."

Simon shrugged. "I've come to expect the unexpected from you two," he replied simply. "Did you get any clues as to where he might be?"

"He's on a ship, but I couldn't tell you where or if the ship's still docked. He could be anywhere by now."

Simon moved back to the desk and picked up his phone again. "I'll send some men over to the waterfront to take a look. Meanwhile, we need to try to piece together what actually happened to him. Try to remember everything your senses showed you, Jim. There have to be clues in there somewhere," he suggested.

Jim leaned back in the chair, stretching his straining muscles and closing his eyes. Simon was right; there had to be something that would give him an idea. He searched his memory, deciding against returning to the scene and agitating his friend even more. There had to be some defining feature of what he suspected was a cargo hold. There were supplies on the shelves and other items. There must be labels on the items; maybe those could reveal what the ship typically carried or who owned it. As much as Jim knew his senses were a gift, he was also aware he didn't have a photographic memory--something he'd surely trade at least one of his heightened senses for now. His Guide could have helped him remember, but of course, his Guide didn't even remember he was one.

Jim knew what he had to do, but his heart wasn't in it. How could he possibly go back through the link and disturb Blair again? What would it do to him this time? Then again, not trying to find some kind of clue could cost Sandburg his life.

Jim sighed, opened his eyes and straightened. He listened to Simon's conversation conclude. The captain hung up the phone and turned his attention back to the detective. "I've put out the order. We should have some men on the waterfront within a few minutes."

Jim nodded.

"Anything?"

"No. I have to go back to him. I need to look for something, some sign that will lead me to him, but I don't know how he'll react."

"Jim, you have to be strong for him," Simon advised. "You can't let yourself fall apart. Let Sandburg know you are just trying to help him. Explain everything if you can. He might believe you, and he might not, but at least he'll know the truth."

"Thanks, Simon."

The captain smiled. "Everything is going to be alright. We'll find him, Jim. I'll be here waiting for you to get back, ready to give any order that'll put an end to this."

Jim took another deep breath. He sent a tentative call along the link. 'I won't hurt you. You have to trust me. I just want to help you.'

****

'...just want to help you.' The words echoed in his head, pounding against the walls of his cranium. He had no idea what had happened to him, or what was happening. He knew sane people didn't have voices ringing in their heads all the time. He must have crossed the line separating the normal person from the paranoid schizophrenic. If only he could remember when it happened or how, he could take the first step back to the other side, the right side. But it hurt to think. It hurt being conscious. He wished there was some way to hurry along the inevitable darkness waiting for him. He wasn't ready to die, but he could really use a good coma right about now. He grinned at the idiotic nature of the thought. Truly, he had crossed over.

'Your name is Blair Sandburg,' the man continued to talk in his head. 'You're an anthropology student working on a dissertation. I'm your subject and your friend, Jim Ellison. Detective Jim Ellison.'

He remained silent, wondering what the 'detective' would say next. It was a great story, if nothing else.

'You're studying my sentinel abilities, my heightened senses. You're an official police observer and my partner. We've been working and living together for over almost two years now.'

The young man chuckled. Now this was getting a bit twisted. Heightened senses? A police observer? And he'd been living with another man? This story he was making up sounded more like a feature film.

'Please, talk to me, Chief.'

"Chief?" As he spoke the nickname aloud, he seemed to remember something about it. It sounded somehow familiar. He knew he'd heard it before.

'It's what I call you sometimes, Sandburg,' the man who had named himself 'Jim' explained. 'Can you hear me? Please talk to me. I need to know where you are.'

"I--I don't know," he replied. "I woke up here." He paused, wondering why he was talking to a figment of his own estranged mind. He wasn't an anthropologist, and the man in his mind wasn't a detective. He was just some poor Joe who was about to meet a sorry end for reasons he couldn't imagine. He'd be damned if he met it talking to himself in the dark and hoping for a rescue that would never come. Before he could reveal his misgivings to the known part of his mind that called itself 'Jim,' he heard a noise that commanded all his attention. It came from somewhere above him.

At once, Ellison was elated and terrified. The sound of approaching footsteps meant he would soon find out what was actually going on, and he might even find out where Blair was being held. It also meant Blair could be in very real danger.

Jim once again sent his senses through the link and was rewarded by a blinding flash as a door opened and light spilled into the cramped space. He felt Sandburg's painful struggle to sit up and ease himself away from whoever was coming down the steps. 'Careful, partner,' he called softly, as he tried to focus on the figure. Just as it was revealed to be a large man, Blair protectively threw his good hand up in front of his face, cutting off Jim's view. "Damn," the Sentinel muttered aloud.

"Ah, the pretty boy is awake," the man jeered. He knelt in front of Blair and swatted his hand away. Jim could see him now. He must have been in his mid-thirties, with close-cropped blond hair and a scar on his left cheek. The man probably weighed as much, if not more than Ellison. Even crouched, Jim knew he stood over six feet. "We can't have you dying on us, boy. Not yet at least." He grinned and reached for Blair's injured arm. Sandburg tried to back away, but the man caught him and pulled his arm toward him. Blair's yelp of pain was enough to startle Jim out of the link. It activated a fight instinct in Ellison that had no outlet. There was nothing he could do, and he felt completely helpless.

"Jim, what is it?" Simon asked as he recognized the detective's agitation.

"He's been kidnapped, Simon. A man entered the hold," Jim replied. He described the suspect and the comments he made to Blair. "I need to get back to him. Maybe the guy will give us an idea as to where they're keeping him."

Simon nodded, prepared to watch Jim enter another trance. He leaned back against the desk and waited.

Jim took a deep breath, and focused on the thread that bound him to his Guide. It sang with fear. He followed it and emerged into a scene he hadn't been prepared for. Apparently, Sandburg had been gifted with a burst of adrenaline and had used it to fight against his larger captor. Surprisingly, Blair had managed to unbalance him and had gotten to his feet. His injured ankle gave way as he tried to break for the stairs that led up and out. He fell to his knees. Recovered, the man was on him in seconds. He shoved Sandburg forward until his chest pressed against the floor. "Oh, no, you don't," he growled. "You are not going anywhere, kid. You're worth too much to me."

"Let go," Blair pleaded.

"Not on your life." He grabbed a fistful of hair and Blair's right arm, using both to turn the young man on his back.

"No, please," The tremor in Blair's voice knotted Jim's fists.

The man straddled Sandburg's body, placing both hands on either side of his face. "Junior, I think you're easier to deal with when you're out. So, light's out," he chuckled. He lifted Blair's already battered head, and bashed it back against the wood floor, immediately knocking him unconscious.

Jim spiraled through the darkness and back into his own mind. "Damn him!" His hands spasmodically clenched and unclenched. He looked up at Simon. "I lost him. The bastard knocked him out. That son-of-a-bitch!" Jim leapt from the chair and began to pace back and forth. "I didn't even have a chance to find out where they might be or who this psycho is."

"Take it easy, Jim."

"I can't," the detective replied. "I feel so helpless."

"Think of it this way," Simon offered. "You wouldn't know anything if you didn't share this connection with Sandburg. You wouldn't even have the vaguest idea of where he might be or what had happened to him."

Jim stared straight into Simon's eyes. "That's it! You're a genius, Simon." He stood up, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door. "Right now I have to pretend like I don't know anything."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to try to get to the bottom of this the good old-fashioned way," Jim said. "At least, I'll use my old-fashioned way. Let me know if they turn up anything on the waterfront. I'll be at the university. It's the last place he was seen." Jim paused; a look of determination lit his face. I'm going to find out who did this and why."

Simon nodded in understanding.

****

When Blair woke for the second time, he felt as though the world was falling away beneath him. The rocking was much more pronounced. If he'd been in a better state, it would have been a welcome, almost comforting feeling. As he was now, it only served to send a wave of nausea through him. He fought to keep from retching, taking deep steady breaths though his nose. His head pounded, and his arm and ankle ached even more than they had earlier. But the voice in his head remained silent, and the strange almost preternatural clarity of his senses had disappeared. He was himself again, whoever that might be.

He guessed his identity was the least of his problems. As far as he could tell, he'd been kidnapped and was being held for ransom. If the brutality of his captor was any indicator, he'd probably end up as fish food even if the ransom was paid in full. He groaned at the idea. The instinct for self-preservation gave him the strength to sit up.

With his good hand, he undid the laces on his tennis shoes and carefully eased his foot out. His ankle was swollen but didn't seem broken. He did know walking would be difficult, and running would be near impossible. He slipped the shoe back on. Where could he run anyway? They were likely in the middle of the Pacific Ocean by now. Pacific? How did he know it was the Pacific?

'Because you live in Cascade, Washington." Jim had returned.

"Not again," he said, angrily. "I really don't need this right now. I've got my own problems."

'Let me help you, then. You've said that to me a million times, Sandburg. Now let me return the favor. I can help you get out of this. You just have to trust me.'

"Trust you," he repeated, incredulous. "How can I trust you when I don't even know you."

The voice was silent for a long lingering moment, but it returned, sounding, uncharacteristically desperate. 'You do know me, Blair. I told you who I am. My name is Jim Ellison. We're friends. I'm a Sentinel, and you're my Guide. You're studying my senses for your dissertation, and we've become partners. Somehow, we've developed this ability to know when the other is in danger, and we can communicate through this connection. You have to believe me. I'm real, not just part of your imagination.'

"There's no way you can prove it to me." The plain statement of fact left him cold. He wanted this fiction to be true, but common sense told him it wasn't and couldn't ever be fact. This was the stuff of science fiction, and the predicament he found himself in was very real. He wanted to trust the voice. It would mean he wasn't alone, and someone, somewhere cared what happened to him and would do whatever it took to see him safe. No, it was too good to be true, too far out of the realm of possibility to be considered.

'Don't shut me out, Sandburg. Talk to me, please.'

"I can't--I don't..." he stopped short, because of the other voices, all too real ones, and the sound of a door opening.

He turned toward the noise and watched two forms descend the stairs into the hold. He recognized one of them as the man who'd knocked him out earlier. The other, surprisingly, was a woman. She was young, with shoulder length dark hair.

A name rang in his head so loud he felt somehow compelled to repeat it. "Veronica," he said.

Her eyebrows raised slightly. "So you remember me? Good, because I certainly remember you." She touched her own cheek. "You've got a wicked right but you're a wimp when it comes to handling a gun."

"What are you talking about?" he asked.

"You know what I'm talking about, Blair Sandburg."

His eyes widened; his jaw dropped. The name produced the reaction she had expected, but for a different reason than she had intended. She had just called him by the name Jim had, but what did it prove? It could be his name, and Jim could still just be a figment of his bruised brain.

"Yeah, I've done my homework, Sandburg. I know you're Ellison's sidekick. I know you work and live with him. I've been following you."

"I don't understand what's going on," he admitted. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, don't try to play dumb with me," she warned. "You're not very good at it." Her eyes were depthless pools of anger. "Shall I spell it out for you? I'm going to make Ellison pay for what he did to my father. First with money and then with your life. I'll probably kill him, too, but first I want to see the look on his face when he knows you're dead." She reached out and grabbed his chin, then leaned forward and kissed him hard on the mouth. "It's a pity I'll have to kill you," she said, releasing him. "But I won't have it any other way." She tilted her head and smiled. He didn't even see the blow coming before he felt its impact on his jaw and tasted blood. "That," she said, "was for our little altercation on the bus." She shook her hand out. "You will know far worse before this is over. Believe me, this is only the beginning."

The man who'd entered with her had been silent the entire time, but now his bellowing laughter filled the cabin. Together they exited the room, closing the door behind them and leaving him alone in utter darkness. But he wasn't alone was he? "Jim?" he called.

'I'm here, Chief. I'm with you.'

"You're telling the truth? Please, tell me I'm not crazy. Tell me you're real. How can I believe this is happening?" He let himself fall back against the floor. Despair crept over him like a fog.

'I can't explain how this is possible. You just have to believe it is, and that I'm real. You heard what she said to you. She mentioned my name and yours.'

"Who is she?" He needed to know who had just threatened his life and why.

'Veronica is the daughter of a man who died on a mission I was on. It was an accident, a helicopter crash in Peru.'

"And she blames you for it?"

'Yeah. She's actually an explosives expert. We caught her on a bus she was about to blow up. You decked her while I threw the bomb out the back window.'

"Didn't she get put away?"

'She did. She was sent to a mental institution. She must have escaped somehow.'

"And now she's trying to get at you through me." He brought his right hand up to his forehead. "You know, all this might be true, but you might not be really talking to me. You could just be my memories surfacing."

A short silence ensued, and then Jim spoke again. 'I think I can prove to you I'm real. I might also be able to find out where you are so I can come an get you.'

He wanted to believe someone was looking for him and would find him ... alive. "How?" he asked.

'By using my senses through you. It's what I started to do before that bastard knocked you out.'

Remembering the sudden shift in his perspective and the terrifying clarity of his surroundings that followed, he wondered if this were their only option. For scant moments, he'd felt as though his brain would overload with the excess in sensory stimulus. He tried to rationalize it away, as though it hadn't happened. But here was a chance to go through the same hell again. Could his mind survive it? Would he be worth saving when this little experiment was over?

'It's your choice, Sandburg. I won't do this if you don't want me to, but I don't think there's any other way. I've been looking for something to go on, and the search of the waterfront and the university has turned up nothing.'

He managed to sit up again and, half-crawling with the help of his one good hand, he eased himself over to the wall. He leaned against it and wondered how long he had until his captors returned. What would they do to him next? Certainly, death was inevitable at their hands. "Okay," he muttered. "Okay, just do it. I'm ready."

But he wasn't ready for the assault on his senses. It was violent and mind-altering. Everything around him became brighter, clearer and louder all at once. He could feel the slightest movement of the water beneath him as though nothing separated him from its surface, and smell a thousand unknowable scents as well as the fetid stench of his own vomit. He shut his eyes tightly and clamped his hands over his ears. The movement sent a tidal wave of pain though his injured arm. Even the pain was sharper. It was all too much for him to bear.

****

Jim sat alone in the loft, reaching toward his Guide with all his gifts, pouring them into Blair as though he was a vessel waiting to be filled. At once, he knew this sharing of his sentinel abilities may have been a mistake. Blair's heart began to race, and Jim felt him tense up. The younger man closed his eyes almost immediately. He covered his ears with his hands, but nothing could keep the sounds from seeping through. Jim could hear, feel, and smell as though he were in Blair's place. He could even taste the blood on Blair's lips.

'Relax, Blair. Don't fight it. Take it easy.' He sent comforting words through their bond. 'Please, open your eyes and let me take a look around.'

He received no reply. Blair remained silent in his suffering. Jim berated himself for thinking this could actually work. He was the Sentinel and Blair was his Guide. To inflict his senses on his partner without much preparation was surely more than the young man could take, particularly in his current state. What had he been thinking? He had to take them back immediately.

Jim had called him, but he was so intent on blocking out his newly heightened senses that he ignored the words spoken in his head. His whole body tensed until he thought he'd snap from the strain. The pounding in his head drummed to the beat of his heart. But through it all, he heard her. He could hear Veronica talking above. It was working. He took a deep breath, and listened.

'That's it, Sandburg. Just let it happen.' Jim's voice calmed him.

"I can hear her," he whispered.

'I know you can. So can I,' Jim said, calmly. 'Quiet now. She could give us something to go on.'

Together they listened.

"What the hell are you waiting for, Ronnie?" a man's voice asked.

"I want Ellison to stew for a while. I want him to know what it feels like not to know if his partner is alive or dead. Then I'll call and ask for the money."

"You know I'm only in this to get paid. I say we ask for it now, finish the job, and be on our way."

"I hired you, Thornton, remember?"

"How can I forget? Just don't you forget to pay me."

"I should. You're the one who damaged the merchandise by letting him fall down the stairs."

"You want him dead. Why do you care? Besides, it wasn't my fault. The kid pitched forward when I chloroformed him."

"Whatever." For a few moments, the space above was silent, and then Veronica spoke again. "What's our ETA?"

"We should be there by twenty-one hundred hours."

"Good. Let me know when we're close enough to make the call."

"Will do."

Footsteps sounded, and then nothing but the life sounds of the ships occupants and the swell of the sea. Those sounds themselves were far from being cacophonous, but their sheer volume disturbed Blair. Jim could feel him shifting uncomfortably. His eyes remained shut tight, leaving Jim in the dark as well. Though he knew dealing with enhanced sight would be another blow to his weakened psyche, Jim needed more to work with. Veronica and Thornton hadn't given him much information other than the promise of a phone call.

He tried to be as gentle as possible with his next request. 'Blair, are you with me, buddy?'

"Yeah, Jim." He tensed at the sound of his own voice.

'Easy, just take it easy. Don't talk, just listen. I need you to open your eyes and take a look around. I need to find out where you are, okay?'

The reply came immediately. "No."

Jim wondered if he had a right to push Blair into this next assault on his senses. The young man was injured, exhausted, and now he was strapped in for the Sentinel ride. It was totally unfair, but what choice did he have? Could he just wait for the call and see if he picked up any information from Veronica or the background noise? No, he knew their plans now. They had no intention of handing Sandburg over. This was all about Veronica's need for revenge. Her only goal was to see Blair dead and know Jim was suffering for it.

'I know this is hard for you. I've been there, remember?' He winced at the last word. Of course, Blair didn't remember. He was lucky the kid was beginning to trust him. 'Look, I need you to do this. I have to find you before this goes too far. Please believe me, if I could really trade places with you, I would, without hesitation. I just want to see you safe.'

His words must have had some effect, because the young man opened his eyes. He instantly shut them again, giving Jim only a brief glimpse of the cabin. But before Jim could try to coax him into another try, he complied on his own. This time more slowly. Jim felt a shudder go through his body. 'It's okay, Blair. I'm with you.'

Without replying, Sandburg let his gaze drift around the room. Enhanced sight revealed every detail of his sparse surroundings. As Jim had noticed earlier, the room was apparently used as a storage space. Shelves lined the walls, and large drums smelling of fish stood in the corners. He found what he might be looking for hanging on a prong protruding from the wall by the door. A jacket. He could make out some letters on the back, lost in the folds. He had to ask Blair to take a closer look and hated himself for it.

Before he could say anything, he felt Blair struggle to his feet and start toward it. He'd apparently noticed it himself. All Jim could do was mutter a few words of encouragement as the pain of the short walk, hit both of them. Jim watched helpless, as Blair reached for the jacket, yanking it off the hook and tumbling to the floor with it clutched in his hand. 'Blair!'

"Ow! I'm not deaf, man," he said. "Not in the least thanks to you. You don't have to scream in my head too."

'Sorry. Are you okay?'

"No. That's a stupid question, Jim." Sandburg examined the jacket, as Ellison smiled to himself. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought Sandburg was himself again.

Before he could pursue the thought further, Jim noticed the letters on the back of the jacket spelled out "Shelley's Paradise." Sandburg let the jacket fall in his lap and searched through the pockets with one hand. Nothing. Just as he was about to climb to his feet, the door above opened and Thornton bounded down the few stairs into the cabin. Jim cursed, then added, 'Don't try anything, Sandburg. Just stay calm.'

"What's going on down here, Junior? Are you having a party or something?" the mercenary taunted.

Blair didn't answer him, but Jim could feel his fingers gripping the jacket as though it were a life preserver and he a drowning man.

"What'cha got there?" he asked.

Again, silence.

Thornton leaned over the younger man and ripped the jacket out of his hand. "Didn't your mother ever tell you to leave other people's stuff alone?"

"Didn't yours ever tell you kidnapping is a federal offense?" Blair quipped.

'Blair, don't,' Jim's warning entered his mind only a second before he was dragged, unceremoniously to his feet and tossed across the room like a doll. The fall knocked the breath out of him and, for a moment, everything went black. When he opened his eyes again, he noticed his sight had returned to normal and was about to turn his attention to his other senses when two hands descended on him and pulled him up a second time. The man held him up against the far wall by his shirt.

"You friggin' hippie! You think you're smart?"

In his head, Blair replied, 'Well, I don't quite remember, but I bet I'm smarter than you.' He was glad he didn't say anything, because the mercenary would have probably forgotten all about his money and killed him on the spot. Even without the derogatory response, Blair found a huge fist impacting with his face. Once the other hand left his shirt, he allowed himself to slide down the wall until he was on the floor. The man's foot shot out, catching Blair in the ribs. "Freak!" he shouted. He then turned, grabbed the discarded jacket, and made his way back up the stairs, closing the door behind him.

'Sandburg, talk to me.' Jim said, softly. Through a haze of pain, Blair wondered at the quiet desperation in the tone of the voice in his head.

"Can't..." he managed, between choked breaths.

'Shh, it's okay. Just talk to me in your mind. You don't have to talk out loud. I can hear you either way.'

'Jim, it hurts.'

Ellison never felt so helpless in his entire life. Back at the loft, he rubbed his hands over his face, trying to regain his composure. When he knew Thornton was on a rampage, he'd pulled his senses out of Sandburg's mind to reduce the pain, but he retained his hold on the link, feeling as it reverberated with fear. 'I know, but you're going to be okay. You're going to be just fine.' Jim wasn't sure if he was comforting Blair or himself. At least he had more to go on now. It wasn't much, but at least it was a start.

'It hurts to breathe.'

The fear coming through the bond was almost overwhelming. What if he'd punctured a lung? 'Blair, listen to me. Just breathe slowly and don't fight me. I'm going to need to check you out. It'll hurt more, but we have to know how you're doing. Okay?'

'I don't have a choice. Do I?'

'No, Chief. I'm sorry. Just stay with me. Try not to pass out.' In a blaze of energy, Jim tumbled through the connection and found Blair huddled in pain, holding his good arm around his body protectively. The feeling intensified as Jim's senses entered his body. As quickly as he could, Jim checked the damage. To his relief, he found no broken ribs, but the break in his left arm had been jostled, tearing through part of a muscle. He pulled away as soon as he could, but an echoing cry followed his senses back into his own mind.

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean...' Blair began.

'No need to apologize. I wish there'd been some other way.'

'Me too.'

Just then, the real world intruded on their shared connection as the phone in the loft rang. Jim bolted up and grabbed it. "Ellison," he barked.

"Jim, it's Simon. The kidnappers called the station looking for you. You'd better get down here. They're calling again in twenty."

"I'm on my way." Jim hung up the phone and grabbed his jacket off the rack. 'Try to stay awake, Chief. I'm right here if you need me. I'm heading for the station. Veronica and Thornton want to talk to me.'

'Jim?'

'Yeah.'

'You can prove it, man.'

'What?'

'Ask to talk to me. Ask--tell them to...' Silence.

'Chief! Blair, wake up!'

Nothing.

'Blair!'

Silence.

Jim was grateful he could feel the steady beat of Blair's heart, but the eerie stillness of their connection sent a pang of fear through him. He wondered if his assessment of his partner's condition had been accurate. Blair could have been worse off than he'd thought. If so, he had little time to solve the puzzle of his whereabouts.

****

Ellison continued to speak through the bond, as he wove through traffic on his way to the station. None of his attempts yielded an answer. His anxiety grew exponentially. It was plainly etched on his usually stoic face when he entered the Captain's office.

"Jim, what is it?" Simon asked. "What do you know?"

"Blair's not responding to me. Our friendly kidnappers decided to rough him up, and I think he's hurt pretty bad."

Simon frowned. "I've got more bad news," he began.

Jim nodded in understanding. "Veronica's out and she's one of Blair's kidnappers. I know. I saw her. How in the hell did she get out?"

"We're working on that one, Jim," Simon replied, "but I'm guessing her means is less important than her motive."

"She wants him dead to get back at me." The guilt in Jim's statement was apparent. "The funny thing is, Sandburg can't even remember any of what took place on the bus. He doesn't even recognize her. I'm surprised I've gotten him to trust me."

A ringing phone interrupted their conversation, and sent a wave of foreboding through both men. Simon reached for the receiver. "Banks."

A dispatcher announced the incoming call, and Simon immediately gestured Jim to signal for the recording and the trace. "This is Captain Banks."

"Put your man on the phone now, Captain," a male voice ordered.

Simon passed the receiver to Jim. "Ellison here."

"We've got your partner. We want a quarter of a mil in unmarked bills delivered to the warehouse on Rich street at 7 a.m. tomorrow or he dies. Come alone, Ellison."

"Let me talk to him or no deal," Ellison said, recalling Blair's suggestion while wondering if the anthropologist could be revived to receive his proof. He hoped their methods of revival were gentler than the treatment he'd received thus far.

Jim's sensitive hearing heard a gasp, and he felt a simultaneous jolt in the connection. God, what did they do to him? "J-Jim?" Sandburg called.

"Yeah, it's me, Chief. How you holding up?"

"Been better."

"Shelley's Paradise, you remember, don't you?"

"It really happened?"

"It did. Just know you're not alone. Do you understand me? I will never leave you alone. I'm going to get you out of this."

Blair's reply was a muffled sob.

Thornton's voice replaced Blair's. "That's enough. You have the instructions. See you tomorrow, Detective."

"Damn it!" Jim cursed as he put the receiver back on the cradle.

Moments later, it rang again. Simon picked it up. "Did you get a fix?"

Jim didn't need to see the look on Simon's face. He'd heard the negative reply. Blowing out a breath, he said, "We have so little to go on and less than twenty four hours to find them. My guess, from what I've heard through Blair, is that they'll kill him at the warehouse in front of me, or ... or they'll just bring his body." Jim ran a hand over his face. "They want me to know he's dead before they kill me too. Then they take the money and run."

"Do you have any idea where they are?"

"Blair found a jacket in the hold with the name 'Shelley's Paradise' on it which could be the name of a ship," Jim offered.

"I'll have Anderson check on it. Anything else?"

"Nothing other than the last name of our other kidnapper."

Simon shot him a questioning look.

"Thornton. He has to be a mercenary, a hired gun. He's only in it for the money, but he seems to know Veronica well. He calls her Ronnie."

"I'll see if we can find a connection. Why don't you go through the tape? You might pick something else up."

Jim agreed, though he dreaded having to listen to Sandburg's despairing utterance again. He'd meant it when he'd said he would gladly trade places with Blair. Jim hated the fact his enemies saw fit to use his partner against him. He felt thoroughly responsible for the young man.

Over the last two years, they'd become close friends. Jim depended on his Guide's knowledge and ingenuity, but more importantly, he valued Blair's enthusiasm and perspective. He couldn't imagine what his life would be like without him. And he found himself on the brink of losing his Guide and best friend all too often as of late. Surely, fate couldn't continue being so cruel.

After listening to the tape at least half a dozen times, Jim isolated a sound which could very well have saved Sandburg's life, if it had been more distinctive--the distant, but recognizable sound of a foghorn. They had to be fairly near if they planned to meet Jim in the morning. Now all Jim had to do was pinpoint their whereabouts with a sound that could have been generated from at least a dozen different locations. And what assurance did he have they'd still be in the vicinity? The frustration welled within Ellison until the sound of his partner's choked cry set him over the edge. He tossed the tape recorder against the wall of the interrogation room.

Just then, Simon entered. He glanced at the ruined machine and back up at Ellison. "I'm glad we have a copy of the tape," he said, trying to ease the tension in the small room.

"It doesn't matter, Simon. There's nothing of use on it. Just a foghorn," Jim said. 'Just a foghorn, and Blair's voice,' he thought, 'a voice I might never hear again.'

Simon pulled out a chair and rested his hand on Jim's arm. "I know how you feel. But you have to put those feelings aside and see this as another case, Jim. You are good at what you do. Hell, you're one of the best, but your emotions are getting in the way. You need to keep a cool head."

"You're right. I know you're right, but..." A sudden agitation in the link drew his attention back to Sandburg. "Blair?"

The captain realized Jim's attention had been diverted, and he expected the worse. Time was running out. He grasped Jim's arm tighter, knowing at any moment the man could actually feel the death of his partner in his head. All hell would break loose if it happened.

'Someone's coming,' Sandburg explained.

"Easy, partner."

'I don't want to be alone.'

"You're not. I'm here." Jim said, continuing to speak aloud.

'Can you see through me?'

"Not unless I use my senses. Can you handle them?"

'I can try.'

'Done.' Jim tuned out Simon and his own surroundings, focusing all his attention on the link, and returning to Blair. In a matter of moments, he had entered the younger man's mind and was watching Veronica approach down the stairs, flashlight in hand.

"Hey, Sandburg," she called, shining the light directly at him. Blair threw up his hand to protect his extra sensitive eyes. "Don't be shy now. I just wanted to let you know how this was all going to go down, love."

"Whatever," Blair muttered.

Veronica reached over and pulled an old oil lamp from one of the shelves, setting the flashlight in its place. She dug a match from her pocket, and urged the wick to life. "There. Now you won't have to spend your last hours in the dark."

"Thanks," Blair muttered.

She crouched at his eye level, studying him. "You don't look so good," she commented. "You know, I really don't think you'll make it until the morning. We'll be trading a dead man for a quarter of a million." She reached out and drew a finger across the uninjured side of his face. "Too bad. But you know, I am going to enjoy ending you're life. I've got it all planned out. We'll bring you up on deck before the sun comes up and tie you to a mast. I plan to drag your execution out for at least an hour. Just as the sun comes up over the water, you will die by my hands. Then we'll take your body to the warehouse where Jim can take a good long look at what we've done to you before Thornton pumps him full of lead, and I blow up the building as we leave. How's that sit with you?"

Despite his situation, Sandburg couldn't resist the urge to tell Veronica exactly what he thought of her. "You sick bitch!"

'No, Blair!' Jim warned.

Her face transformed into a mask of anger. She pulled a gun out of her jacket pocket and before Sandburg could react, she pressed it against his temple. "I could just do you right now! Is that what you want?"

Jim fought to stay in his partner's terrified mind. He heard and felt the gun cock with surreal clarity. Blair squeezed his eyes shut. He mouthed a couple of words under his breath that nearly broke Jim's heart. "Sorry, Jim."

God, this was it. Jim would soon feel the bullet enter Blair's brain, and the final beat of his heart. But Jim refused pull away. There was no way he'd break his promise, as physically and mentally painful as it would be. Blair wouldn't die alone.

"What did you say?" she demanded.

Sandburg opened his eyes meeting her deranged stare. He felt the cold barrel of the gun press harder against his head. "I said I'm sorry."

"Do you think an apology will save you? Do you think I give a shit, pretty boy?" She laughed and withdrew the weapon. "A bullet in the head is too easy for you. I plan on making you suffer. You'll wish I'd pulled the trigger."

Jim felt Sandburg tense. 'Don't! Stay right were you are. She's the one with the gun.'

'You don't have to remind me.'

'I wouldn't, if you'd keep you're cool.'

Veronica stood, oblivious to the inner conversation Sentinel and Guide were having. "See you in a few," she said. She picked up the flashlight and used it to light her way back up the stairs and out the door.

'That was too close,' Jim commented.

Blair ignored him; instead the light of the still burning lamp captured his attention. Jim thought it was a fascination akin to a zone-out. He believed the younger man was losing himself in the dance of the flame. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Without any warning, Sandburg stood and, despite his injured ankle, made his way over to the shelf. 'Blair, what...?' Jim began, but before he could finish, Blair knocked the lamp over. It crashed to the floor and instantly lit the base of the wooden shelf. Ellison was too shocked to speak through the link. He watched in horror as the hold ignited around his partner, and Blair began to scream.

"Help me! Fire! Help!" Sandburg made his way over to the stairs. The growing heat and smoke motivating him to push beyond his normal limits of endurance.

In moments, the door above flew open and Thornton scrambled down the stairs. "Shit! What the hell did you do!?!"

"The lamp..." Blair coughed, gesturing back at the flames.

Thornton grabbed Blair's arm and shook him. "You friggin' hippie. I should let you burn!"

"But you can't!" Blair shouted over the crackle. "He needs to know it's me."

Jim remained speechless. It seemed as if he were watching a movie and he had no control over the outcome.

Thornton roughly pulled Blair up the stairs and shoved him out into the night. Leaving him coughing against the wet deck, Thornton called for assistance. "Ronnie! Ronnie, get your ass over here! The boat's on fire!"

The woman rushed passed Blair with hardly a glance. She grabbed a fire extinguisher hanging by the door and joined Thornton below. Once they were both out of sight, Sandburg scrambled to his feet. Sentinel sight allowed him to maneuver over the deck without much difficulty. He caught the railing with one hand, leaning against it for support. In the distance, he could make out the shore and the lighthouse emitting the foghorn Jim had heard earlier on the tape. Jim recognized the area immediately.

The revelation drove him out of his stupor. "I know where you are!" he shouted aloud so both Simon and Blair could hear him.

"Then, come get me," Blair whispered, feeling the gentle spray of the sea on his face.

Ellison relayed the information on Blair's location to Simon who immediately notified the coast guard. Jim was about to leave for the scene, when Simon stopped him. "I'm going with you."

"I could use the help. Let's go."

****

On the way to the parking garage, the captain called in an order for backup to meet them at the remote coastal area by the Queen Anne Lighthouse. It was an isolated stretch of beach without a functioning dock. Jim estimated the ship was still at least a good half-mile from the shore and had no intention of docking anywhere close by. He didn't have a clue how this would play out, but he did know he didn't have the luxury of mapping out a plan.

Simon insisted on driving, since Jim was still connected to his partner, and any other helpful details of their surroundings and the position of the kidnappers in relation to Blair would be useful. A sense of foreboding sent a chill down Jim's spine. The next few minutes could determine how this would be resolved. He had a feeling Sandburg's current impulsiveness would be as significant a factor as Veronica's desire for revenge.

Just as the thought crossed Jim's mind, he felt Sandburg jump at the sound of Veronica's voice. "Hey, pretty boy, thanks for toasting our store room."

'Don't...'

"You're welcome," Blair replied turning to face her.

'Shit, Blair, can't you keep your...' Jim began to chastise him, but was himself stopped short by the sight of the gun in her hand. It was leveled at his chest.

"Get over here," she ordered.

Blair didn't move. He knew full well what she meant to do, and he wasn't about to allow himself to be tortured and killed--not when he knew help was only minutes away.

He turned his attention back to the shore. The wind whipped his damp hair against his face. A thousand scents of the ocean played around him, and the night sky above shone with a brilliance he'd never known. No, he wasn't ready to die and he wouldn't give her the pleasure of killing him. He knew he only had one choice, one chance. He had to take it.

Though Jim couldn't read thoughts Blair didn't consciously send, he knew Sandburg faced a dilemma and, by his physical actions, Jim could tell the young man was weighing his options. Either choice was potentially deadly. But he had a feeling Blair would choose to jump. 'I can't stop you,' Jim said, as calmly as he could, 'but I don't know if this is the way to go, Chief.'

"It's the only way," Sandburg said aloud.

"Get over here!" Veronica repeated.

Without looking back at her, Blair made his move. He knew she could shoot him on the spot, but prayed she wouldn't. He propelled himself over the railing and into the water below. A second before he struck the surface, he wondered if he knew how to swim.

Jim paled. With his mouth slightly open and his eyes distant and hazy, he looked like someone who'd just witnessed a scene that would haunt him for the rest of his life. And, in truth, he had. Nothing would ever erase the desperate act he'd just seen from his memory. Sandburg had plunged into the icy ocean, in the dark of the night, without any assurance of a rescue.

Even though he was driving, Simon was struck by Jim's expression. He reached for the detective's arm. "Jim, are you with me? What's happening?"

"Simon, he--he jumped. He's..." Jim paused a moment, and closed his eyes. "He's in the water."

"Oh, god." Simon pressed the gas pedal to the floor. They didn't have much time.

****

The shock to his system affected Blair in a way he wouldn't have dreamed. As the water came pouring into his mouth, the memories came flooding though his mind. He knew who he was, and he remembered Jim. Flashes of their time together--the cases they'd solved, the loft they shared, but most importantly: the fact Jim had always been there for him, and he had been there for Jim--played out in his head. They had both risked a great deal for their friendship. Blair knew he was lucky to have found not only a walking dissertation, but a true and loyal friend.

He focused on the inner visions as he tried to get his limbs to respond, to help him toward the distant shore. It wasn't long before he knew his efforts were useless. He didn't have the strength to sustain himself. The ice-cold water numbed him. He sputtered, taking in more water. 'At least, I can die knowing who I am,' he thought to himself. 'At least it won't be at her hands.'

He heard Veronica shout for Thornton. Blair resolved that they wouldn't recapture him. With the energy he had left, he paddled away from the ship and toward the lights in the distance. There was no way he could make it, and that thought brought another resolution. There was no way he'd let Jim feel this. The link was useless now since death was inevitable. He focused on the connection and sent a message, filled with sympathy, in a tone of calm acceptance. 'I know you tried, Jim. I'm sorry I can't wait for you.' He didn't wait for a reply. He broke the link. Without knowing it could be done, he severed the bond he shared with his Sentinel. He realized he'd never be able to share this discovery with Jim. Floating in cold darkness, he knew the end of their story.

This happened just as Simon pulled the truck to an abrupt stop on beach. Before Simon could open his own door, Jim was out of the truck and shouting for Sandburg. Simon trailed after him, noticing the ship in the distance as the light from Queen Anne flashed over it and the approaching coast guard vessels.

Jim pulled his sweater off and discarded his shoes. Blair's words echoed in his head, and the strange silence of their broken bond ached in his chest. For all he knew, his partner was already dead.

"Just what do you think you're doing, Ellison?"

"Going after him."

"The water is freezing!"

"I can compensate, Simon," he explained, wading into the surf.

"Damn it! I don't want to lose both of you!"

"I don't plan on you losing either of us." Jim took a deep breath before diving into the waves.

Instinctively, Jim tuned down his sense of touch and reached out with his sense of sight and hearing. He would find Blair and bring him to shore. The two of them would survive. He wasn't about to give up.

He'd covered a good distance before he heard the exchange of gunfire between the coast guard and Blair's captors. Right now, having them brought to justice didn't mean as much to him as finding Sandburg alive. It was his sole and consuming purpose.

Nearing the ship, he stopped swimming and floated opening all his senses and reaching through the darkness. Blair had to be close. He soon noticed an almost imperceptible increase in the water temperature and the muffled thrum of a beating heart. He followed the signs to the limp form of his partner beneath the surface. Jim wrapped one arm around his friend's waist and pulled Blair's back against his chest. With his own failing strength, he brought him up to the surface. He used his free hand to tilt Blair's head up out of the water, resting it against his shoulder.

Jim could hear Blair's heart failing. His lungs had already filled with water leaving no room for precious oxygen. By the time he managed to get them back to shore, if he could actually make it, his friend would be dead. As gently as he could, but with purpose, Jim wrapped both arms around the younger man and compressed his chest. A trail of water leaked from Sandburg's mouth but that was all. He hadn't managed to start spontaneous breathing, and there was no way he could safely administer CPR. He was afraid if he continued to compress Blair's chest, he'd injure the struggling heart and force Blair into a cardiac arrest. "Damned if you do..." he muttered. "Come on, Blair, you have to help me out here. I don't know how or why you cut yourself off from me, but you have to come back. You have to let me help you come back."

As he expected, he received no sign Blair had heard him. Both the physical and psychic aspects of his Guide seemed to be beyond his reach. And time was growing short. Blair's heart slowed. Jim spoke softly, hoping somehow Sandburg would hear him. "I'm here, Chief. You're not alone right now." He patted Blair's chest above his heart.

****

The coast guard ship was practically on top of them before Jim realized it. He must have zoned-out. Someone was pulling Blair from his arms, and he heard men scrabbling on the deck above. Someone called for a blanket, another for a medical kit. Then he felt himself lifted out of the freezing water.

Once on board, Jim saw two men leaning over his partner and trying to work a miracle. With a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, Jim stumbled toward them, standing out of their way, but close enough to monitor their attempts. His partner's lips were blue, he wasn't breathing, and his heart had stopped. Jim didn't remember hearing it stop, but he wondered if it was what he'd zoned on--the last beat of Blair's heart.

Sinking to his knees, he felt someone crouch beside him. "You should come in the cabin and lie down. We need to get you warmed up."

Jim shook his head. He wasn't going anywhere. He would be there when they pronounced him, knowing they would be declaring his failure. Even with the connection, he'd failed, and Blair had died without an identity.

The man beside him stood, but remained close. Together, they watched as the attempts continued.

To Jim's utter surprise, it wasn't long before they started his heart. For a few more tense moments they had to continue breathing for him. It wasn't until Jim heard Blair cough, that he got to his feet and neared the scene. Pulling away their equipment, one of the men stepped aside, while the other continued to check their patient over. Blair's eyes were open and he was answering the man's questions in strained whispers. Jim knelt beside them, muttering his thanks, and shaking more from relief than the cold.

"Hey, Chief," he said.

Blair's eyes met his own. "Jim."

"Yeah, it's me." Ellison reached for Blair's arm beneath the blanket.

"I know. I know you." Blair smiled, weakly. "I remember."

Jim smiled back. There were no words to express his relief.

Beside him, one of Blair's rescuers spoke. "We need to get him inside and warmed up. Both of you will be transported to a hospital once we dock. There's an ambulance waiting."

Blair tried to sit up but failed. His muscles weren't responding. The man beside Jim, reached for him, but the detective waved him away. "It's okay," he said. "I can carry him." Jim eased one arm under Blair's shoulders. Careful not to aggravate Blair's injured arm, Ellison pulled him into a sitting position. Blair freed his right hand from the blanket and reached up to rest it on Jim's shoulder.

"You okay, man? You don't look too good," Blair commented, as Jim slipped his other arm under Blair's knees.

"Look who's talking." Jim grunted as he lifted his friend off the deck. "Just what have you been eating lately?" he joked.

"Ha, ha," came the weak reply. Blair rested his head against Jim's shoulder.

"You with me, buddy?" Jim asked, as he carried him to the cabin.

"Just tired," he admitted.

The two men who had revived Sandburg entered with them. One motioned to a small bunk. "You can set him there."

Jim nodded and again whispered his thanks. He carefully rested Blair on the mattress. Before releasing him, he drew his semiconscious Guide into a hug. Wrapping one arm around Blair, he cradled his head with his other hand. "I thought..." he began, but broke off, laying Blair back against the bunk. "Everything's going to be okay now, Chief," he comforted, grinning at how much he sounded like a father speaking to his son.

Blair nodded and yawned. His eyes falling shut, he replied, "I know, Jim."

"Get some rest." Ellison pulled the blankets up around his friend.

Blair began to drift off, cradled in the rocking of the ocean beneath him. It had almost killed him but now it rocked him to sleep. 'Yes,' he thought, 'everything is going to be okay.'

****

Blair woke to voices and the all too familiar smell of a hospital. Opening his eyes, he saw Simon and Jim speaking quietly by the window. He could barely make out what they were saying.

"With Blair's testimony, Veronica and her accomplice won't see the outside of a jail for a long, long time."

"I know, Simon. I just wish..."

"What?"

"I wish I could have kept it from going as far as it did."

"He's okay."

"But he wasn't. If you could have seen him..." Jim's voice trailed, as he looked over to the bed and found Blair awake. "Hey, Chief," he said, grinning. He stepped over to the bed. Simon followed close behind.

"Hey." Blair wanted to tell Jim he had to stop beating himself up for what happened, but he could only manage a few words at a time. "Not you're fault. I cut you off."

"You sure did," Jim's voice was stern, but not angry. "But I should have gotten to you before you made that choice."

Blair shook his head in frustration.

"I don't think now is the time to argue about this gentlemen," Simon interrupted.

"You're right. I don't know what I'm thinking." Jim reached over and squeezed Sandburg's arm. "Get some rest. I'll be by a bit later."

"'kay."

After Simon and Jim left the room, Sandburg took inventory of his condition. His left arm was in a cast, his ankle in a wrap, and his head was bandaged. He ached all over and he felt slightly congested. Not bad for someone who'd been kidnapped, beaten, and taken the plunge in icy water. Though Jim was blaming himself, Blair knew his 'Blessed Protector' had come through once again. Smiling at the thought, he closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.

 

EPILOGUE

Three weeks had passed since the coast guard pulled Sentinel and Guide out of the freezing waters of the Pacific. Blair had already been home for more than two. They had kept him to make sure he didn't develop pneumonia or any complications from the blows to the head he'd suffered, and then sent him home with strict orders to stay home for a while and allow his body time to heal.

He hated staying away from the university and from the station, but Jim wouldn't hear his protestations. He'd even hidden the keys to his car. Now all Blair could do was write about his experiences and hope that through them, he could learn more about how the psychic link worked.

The fact Jim had sent his heightened senses through the connection excited him to no end. He actually had a chance to experience what Jim did on a daily basis. If he'd been himself at the time, he would have gone nuts thinking about the implications.

He was sitting on the couch propped up on some pillows and writing when the key turned in the lock. He put the notebook down on the coffee table, as Jim walked through the door.

"How you feeling, Sandburg?"

Blair frowned. "I'm fine, man. When are you going to believe me?"

Jim didn't respond to his question. Instead, he hung up his jacket and walked over to the couch. "What are you writing about?"

"About how it felt to have your senses."

Jim's eyebrows rose. "How did it feel?"

Blair shrugged. "I was scared. I wanted to help you, but I didn't know what was going on. I wish I'd been myself then."

"Maybe if you had been, you wouldn't have cut me off."

Blair winced. They hadn't talked about Blair's decision to breaking the link since he'd gotten out of the hospital. Jim didn't know the details. Now was as good a time as any to fill in the blanks. "I was myself. I remembered everything when I hit the water." Blair braced himself for the reply.

"You mean, you were in your right mind at the time?"

Sandburg nodded. "I didn't want you to have to feel my death. Damn, I didn't even know it would work. I just did it, instinctively."

"You thought it was better to leave me in the dark than to help me find you."

"No, of course not." Blair's frustration grew. "Jim, I really thought there was nothing more you could do. I just couldn't imagine you knowing the exact moment I died. It seemed unfair."

Jim's expression softened. "Just, please, don't ever do it again. Don't shut off the link. It manifests for a reason, and I might have been able to find you sooner."

"I'm sorry I put you through that, man," Blair said, remembering the spontaneous embrace Jim pulled him into while settling him on the bunk. Jim's gesture touched him, and for those few moments, he felt like nothing in the world could harm.

"You in there, Sandburg?" Jim waved a hand in front of his face. "Don't tell me you've learned how to zone through the link?"

Blair laughed, throwing a pillow at his friend. Jim caught it and lobbed it back. "Let's eat, I'm starved," Blair suggested.

"You buying?"

"I don't think so. You're the one who's been going to work lately."

"Ha, ha, good one."

The two men stood, and began debating about restaurants. Jim handed Blair his jacket and grabbed his own. Together they exited the loft, leaving behind Blair's notes and, for a brief span of time, the knowledge they both new very little about the link that bound their lives together.

THE END