Jim heeled the loft door shut, tossed his keys into the basket, then reached around behind to tug his jacket sleeve down and off. He was tired from a day of paperwork and phone tag, not to mention unexpended energy. Maybe "wired" would be more accurate. The last week had been difficult. He'd gotten up this morning with a renwed sense that life was, indeed, good.Then the situation with the Warners had come up, followed by whatever Simon and Blair had been up to in the office . Since when did Simon have meetings with Sandburg to which he pointedly was not invited? Since Sandburg was offered a detective's shield, evidently.  He'd expected Sandburg to be home by now, but whatever  mysterious appointment  he'd gone to after his meeting  with Simon apparently still held
him in its thrall.

He hung his jacket by the door and headed to the kitchen intent upon grabbing a beer. Opening the refrigerator door he counted four bottles of beer and...not much else. Maybe he could call for takeout. If his partner would get
home...he grabbed a beer, shut the door and headed for the balcony. He needed to be outside.

What a day. He rolled the moisture covered bottle over his forehead as he stepped through the balcony doors, and urged himself to relax. Muscles taut from inactivity released their tension as his mind calmed beneath the rhythmic
movement oof the bottle. Opening his eyes he looked out over his city to the bay. His city. The Great City. He was its Sentinel. He had come so close to losing it all. So close to shuttung down his senses, cutting Sandburg free. Denying his need to be a sentinel. Denying his need for his guide.

Guide. He closed his eyes again. What was going on with his guide? He seemed to all appearances to be bright and cheerful. Full of energy. Excited about the new path his life would take as Jim's full partner. Oh, there had been a few rough spots, most noticeably last Friday. Sandburg had insisted on cleaning out his office at the university by himself. He'd offered to help. Henry and Rafe had offered to help. All three had been refused.What Sandburg had done with the books, papers, and artifacts was anyone's guess. He hadn't brought them back to the loft. As a matter of fact, Sandburg's room, all of his belongings, were the neatest and most organized he'd ever seen them.

There was no mess spilling out into the living room, no papers covering the table, no blue books littering the floor in front of the couch. There was no backpack slumped over on itself by the door, no laptop surrounded by coffee mugs taking up squatter's rights on the kitchen table.

Damn. He rolled the bottle across his forehead again. If he didn't hurry up and drink the thing, it would soon be too warm to drink at all. If he didn't figure out why he he misgivings about his guide's welfare, he'd soon have a
full blown headache.

The Warner's this morning. He understood Mark Warner's reasoning. He really did. He might even have felt the same way if he'd been in Warner's position. What was he going to do, though when Blair's promised invitation never arrived and the date for the "thank you" dinner party came and went by? Sandburg was very fond of the Warners. What effect would this break between them have on him when he became aware of it?

Well. The headache had arrived. Now if his guide would just show. What kind of an appointment could he have had?

Damn, and damn again. He was going to have to take something for this headache. And dump the beer. He could think of a few things he liked less than warm beer, but there weren't many. One more thing gone wrong with his day.

He stepped back through the balcony doors  as the answering machine picked up. Huh. He hadn't heard it ring. Sandburg must have set it to automatic. Probably expecting a call. Yep. Sure enough.

"Blair? Are you there? Pick up if you are. This is Rick. About the books - I think I have a buyer for you. And the laptop? George wants to know if you need the money now, all at once, or if you can wait a week until his grant money comes in. He had to go out of town tonight, but you can leave a message with
me. He'll be back tomorrow. Look, I'll be up untill about 11:00, so if you get a chance, call."

Jim went still as he listened to the message. When it was over he turned and stared at the machine. The light was blinking, indicating more messages. He walked over  to the machine quickly and savagely stabbed the 'play' button.
What was his guide up to?

<beep>

"Hello. Mr. Sandburg? This is Joe Leighton of Leighton's Used Cars. I'm returning your message from Friday. I'm available untill 4:00 today and tomorrow, just come in when it's convenient for you. I'll be glad to look at
your car. I'm sure we can come to some kind of arrangement."

<beep>

"Mr. Sandburg. This is Midori Sato from the Financial Aid Office. I'm afraid we'll have to reschedule your appointment for this afternoon. Please call me as soon as possible. We need to discuss your loan repayment schedule."

<beep>

"Mr. Sandburg, This is..."

Jim switched his attention from the voice on the machine to the noise in the hallway. Familiar footsteps stopped outside the loft . The door opened and his guide stepped in. Light blue lasers burned their way into suddenly apprehensive dark blue eyes.

"... Gina Martin calling from..."

"Sandburg, what the hell..."

"...Martin's Job Placement Service..."

Dark blue eyes turned beseeching. "Jim, I can explain..."

"...in regard to your placement application. If you would..."

"...do you think you're doing?"

"...please call me between the hours of..."

"Jim?"