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There were two sources of inspiration for this story. The first was an essay in the October 4th, 1999 edition TIME magazine by Charles Krauthammer entitled "The Case of the Suspect Bios" about Professor Edward Said and the authors Binjamin Wilkomirski and Rigoberto Menchu, all of whom falsified their backgrounds and materials. Menchu won the Nobel Prize. They all more or less got away with it. I was incensed.The second source was a Stargate story (archived at Heliopolis) by Brenda Anders entitled "Vindication, or Paybacks are Hell" in which Daniel has been invited to speak at a memorial service for his former mentor in front of the same people who scorned him for his controversial views. Jack goes with him and deals with the situation in his own unique style. I could very easily see Jim in Jack's role, protecting Blair from his former colleagues. That is the story I wanted to write.

It didn't happen.

Instead, I got this.

"Dr. Stoddard, I can't possibly..."

Jim, wondering what was up, turned his head away from his computer terminal and the report he was drafting, and toward his partner who was seated, tensely, at his own desk. To his personal knowledge Blair had only ever refused Dr. Eli Stoddard one thing. What could he possibly be refusing the man now?

"Dr. Stoddard, I *do* understand she asked specifically for me..." Blair's voice was rising, losing its rich timbre.

Eyebrows now raised almost to his original hairline, Jim sent a questioning glance his partner's way. Blair, nearly panicking now, made a "turn it down" gesture and turned his desk chair away from Jim until he was facing the wall.

Jim immediately "turned it up", without a twinge of guilty feeling. The days were long gone when he could afford to be scared off by the fear of breaching Blair's privacy. After all, Blair had never feared to breach his when he felt it necessary. Jim was learning, the hard way, that Blair's safety in his new world of law enforcement, meant that Jim would sometimes have to monitor the behavior of the so-called "good guys".

When you give yourself the *name*, even for the best of reasons, you have to play the game.

"Blair, Susan asked for you specifically. She has very good reason...you, after all, co-authored the paper with her!  She cannot attend the Symposium! She has broken ribs! Actually, I believe the doctor referred to them as "flail" ribs! She can't get out of bed, much less leave the hospital and fly 6 hours just to read a paper, especially when the co-author can grab a taxi and be at the Symposium in 10 minutes!"

"Dr. Stoddard, you have no idea what you're asking me to do. And I only co-authored that work with Susan on condition I remain anonymous. You *know* how that paper would be, *will be*, received if my name is attached to it...I can't do that to her! I don't see why *you* can't read that paper!"

"Blair, I know *exactly* what I am asking you to do, as did Susan  when she requested your assistance in researching and writing this paper, and also when she requested my help in getting you to read the paper."

"Dr. Stoddard..." Blair's voice was verging on desperate. Jim could see heads turning in their direction as trained detective ears began to register the unusual demeanor of their newest and youngest detective. The only thing missing...

"Blair, I read the TIME article."

"Oh, God."

"Susan has instructed me to tell you that if you do not read the paper at the Symposium, the paper will not be submitted at all."

Silence.

"You know what that will do to her reputation, Blair."

...was Simon roaring...

Silence.

"Blair."

...from his office for...

"Ellison! Sandburg! My office. Now!"

Defeat.

"All right, Dr. Stoddard. I'll read the paper. I'll be there tomorrow, half an hour early."

"Any time, now, ladies!"

"Thank you, Blair. I understand.."

"With all due respect, Dr. Stoddard, I don' t think you understand at all."

"Blair, ..."

"I have to go, Dr. Stoddard. My Captain just called me into his office."

"Thank you, Blair. I  know how difficult this will be for you."

Blair's hand got impossibly tighter on the handset, his voice tenser. "I don't think so, Dr. Stoddard. I...really don't think you do. "

"Blair..."

"Goodbye, Dr. Stoddard. I'll see you tomorrow."

Blair replaced the handset, letting his hand linger as he gazed downward at his desktop, only looking up when he felt Jim's hand on his shoulder.

"You listened." A statement of fact in a tone redolent of defeat.

Jim simply nodded his head and gestured toward Simon's office.

He could wait until they got home for the discussion. And there *would* be a discussion.

"Where the *hell* did this come from?!"

Jim held the photo-copied sheets in one gesticulating hand while glaring at his partner in his best "tell me and tell me now" manner. Unfortunately, the days when he could intimidate his partner were as long gone as the days when he could tell him to stay in the truck.

Blair had changed in the past year, and Jim didn't like the change one bit.

Yes, Blair still lived with him. Yes, Blair was his permanent partner. Yes, they still went on camping trips and went fishing and went out for a beer together and played poker with the other members of Major Crime.

Yes, Blair still pursued his interest in Anthropology. Yes, Blair even kept up with a few - a very few - of his old colleagues; Dr. Stoddard for one, and evidently this Susan...Susan Imbri...for another. However...

There was a wall around Blair's soul that had never been there before. Whereas before...Blair's career change...Blair had been an open and expressive person, reaching out to anyone and everyone with a desire to connect or help, he was now a by-the-book, distanced detective. Where before Blair's soul had shown, clearly, for anyone with eyes to see, now, except on very rare occasions, Blair's soul was completely walled off. Oh, he still had a desire to help people, he simply no longer connected to them. The intuitive leaps and connections he used to make, the outside viewpoint he'd brought to cases were gone.

His Guide that had been no longer existed. His Shaman that should have been would never be.

Blair, his Blair, the Blair he had, in desperation and grief, called back from the dead , was gone, replaced by the persona of the man Blair had created for the television cameras and newspaper reporters.

And the image of the wolf, the wolf he had killed, could damned well stay out of his head.

He saw enough of it in his dreams, he didn't need to see it in his waking hours.

"Jim, man, you *know* where those papers came from. *I* just handed them to you."

"That's not what I'm talking about, Sandburg, and you know it. I want to know where *you* got them." Jim rounded on his partner, jaw clenched, shoulders rigid, papers held out in front of him in one hand, while with the other he delivered a sharp slap to the offending sheets.

"What difference does it make, Jim? You've read them. You know what they say. Everything in them is a statement of the truth as far as it is possible for the author, for *anyone* to know. What is the point of getting so upset? You had to know that this kind of thing could, would, happen? Didn't you?"

Jim continued to glare, his gaze taking in his partner. Blair was sitting on the love seat, legs tucked under him, dressed in a pair of ratty old sweat pants, a gray Cascade PD T-shirt and gym socks, his wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose, his short dark curls subdued by his recent shower. Spread out on the coffee table in front of him were several file folders from the PD, a few pens, his lap top and a mug of coffee.

And that was another thing.

Tea was a thing of the past, along with the long hair, earrings, Salvation Army wardrobe, and non-stop enthusiastic conversation about every topic under the sun.

The one time he'd brought up the subject of the changes Blair had made in his lifestyle he had gotten more answer than he really wanted.
 

 "I can't be that person anymore, Jim. That person has to...die. I have to *be* the person who declared themselves a fraud. There's too much evidence out there to prove you're exactly what my thesis said you were.

 We can't afford to take any chances, so I have to live as if you've forgiven me, as if I'm trying to overcome my past. I can't be an anthropologist anymore. I have to  be a cop. I have to *act* like a cop, and if that means I have to act like the stereo-typical television cop, well then, that's what I have to act like.

 I don't have the freedom to be Blair Sandburg, ex-graduate student, playing at a new career. You've been under deep cover before Jim. You did the whole covert ops thing. You know I can't afford to slip up. I can't let people wonder if maybe there was something to the whole thing.

 We can't let people say, 'Oh, there's that nice Sandburg boy. I just can't believe he would do such a thing. You know he's still living with that Detective Ellison. I think they still work together, too. You don't suppose he's just trying to protect Detective Ellison, do you?', because every person who thinks that, who treats me like a victim, or as if I were really innocent, adds up to big trouble for us. I'm sorry, Jim. I'm sorry  about the original mess, and I'm sorry you don't like the person I am now, but that is the way it has to be. I'm sorry. You can't defend me. Simon and Megan and the guys can't defend me. That's just the way it is."
 
 

And that was indeed the way it had been, for nearly ten months. Until today.

He hadn't seen a sign of regret or pain or longing for his old life from Blair until today, when Dr. Stoddard called. Blair had simply gone on with his life, ignoring what he couldn't change - the taunts and put downs, a few actual physical threats - as if they were nothing out of the ordinary. If he hadn't been listening in, trying to keep an eye on things, making sure nothing got out of control, beyond Blair's ability to handle, he would never have known *anything* had happened. He thought he'd caught it all. Until today.

"I want to know why you didn't come to me with this, Sandburg. I have a right to know this stuff. You're my partner. You should share things like this with me. I'd like to think you can come to me with this ...crap. We could talk about it, figure out what to do about it."

"Jim, it's a TIME magazine article.With an essay by Carl Kragener attached to the back. The same one you *heard* Dr. Stoddard mention on the phone. TIME is a major magazine, a public forum, out there for anyone with the purchase price to read. I'm not even the main focus of the article, I'm just a side bar." Blair was sitting quietly, another sheaf of papers in his lap. Hands that would formerly have been moving about, enhancing his words, lay still on the sheets of paper, eyes that would have been sparkling with emotion returned Ellison's glare expressionlessly.

Jim tossed the offending article onto the coffee table, and threw his arms up into the air in disgust.

"Sandburg, somebody went to the trouble to photocopy that article and send it to you through the office mail. Don't you think that bears a mention to me?"

Blair, still calm, shook his head and raised one arm to rest along the back of the love seat. "No. No, I don't. It was addressed to me, not you. There are no comments, no *threats* written anywhere on it. That's the October 4th edition, Jim. Four months ago. If anything was going to come of it, it would have happened by now.

Oh, maybe someone thought they'd get a thrill out of sending it to me. They were probably hoping to get *some* kind of reaction, but the point is, they didn't. It didn't hurt me, Jim. It didn't hurt *us*. Ignore it."

Jim turned and strode over to the balcony doors to stand gazing without seeing out over his city.

Blair sat quietly, head turned to watch his partner.

"I can't." The voice was low, tense, painful to hear.

"I can't ignore it. I understand what you're saying, I know *why* you're saying it, but I can't ignore it."

Blair looked back at him steadily. "You have to."

Jim's voice came very close to quivering. "I can't. I want to take every one of those damned idiots who think you could lie like that, and shake them until their heads fall off. I want to take every one of the self-righteous jerks on the force, who put you down and say you don't belong, by the neck and squeeze while I tell them that they will *never* be the cop you are. I want to say to everyone that shuns you that they don't know what they are missing by not getting to know you. That you are a good and kind and compassionate and honorable man."

"You can't, Jim."

"I know."

The loft was very quiet. 

Jim looked up the next morning from his breakfast  of scrambled eggs and bacon to see his roommate leaving his room dressed in a tweed jacket over a white oxford button shirt with black tie, newish black jeans, and loafers.

"Morning, Jim. You're up early for a day off."

Jim watched him over the rim of his coffee mug as he put bread in the toaster and turned the kettle on for hot water.

"I thought I'd catch you before you left and find out what time you would be reading that paper for your friend. I figured I could come listen."

Blair stood still. "I don't think that would be a good idea."

Jim leaned back, eyeing his victim. "Why not?"

Blair watched the kettle as if it would take off from the burner without his supervision.

"Because there will be a lot of people there who are familiar with...the  situation... and it might stir up speculation we don't need."

"I don't see why? That hasn't been the case so far. We work together everyday. There hasn't been much since the first week. I've been listening."

"I know you have. "

"So why don't you think it would be a good idea for me to go to the Symposium at Ranier?"

Blair sighed, his shoulders slumping, then turned to face Jim across the expanse of kitchen.

Jim looked back, watching as the shoulders once more straightened, the jaw firmed, the chin went up. His partner was the picture of renewed determination.

"Because the Symposium, Ranier, Anthropology, was *my* world, Jim. Before I met you, before we started the sentinel stuff, I had another life."

Jim cringed involuntarily.

Jim watched with shadowed eyes as Blair sighed and turned off the burner beneath the water. Without taking the time to fix a mug of coffee for himself, he walked over to the table and seated himself, hands clasped on the table across from Jim.

Seconds passed silently as Jim watched Blair watch his clasped hands. Finally, with another sigh, Blair lifted his eyes to look back at Jim.

"I had hoped we would never have to have this kind of  conversation." Jim opened his mouth to speak. "No, Jim. Let me finish. This isn't going to be what you think it is.'' Jim slumped back in his chair, resigned to listening.

"I thought, when the...dissertation hit the fan...that I would have to make a one time decision. That after that decision was made, I would continue to be myself. That who I was wouldn't change. That I would simply go on being Blair Sandburg from that point in time."

Blair was quiet for a moment.

"That didn't happen."

"No. It didn't. It wasn't long before I realized there were several groups of people out there with different ways of reacting to what I...had done. I have to think of it like that, Jim. I have to think and behave as if I actually did write a fraudulent dissertation, as if I really did think I could accept the fame and money and Nobel Prize nomination, as if the only thing that stopped me was realizing my lies could have gotten you and the rest of Major Crime killed, as if I am trying desperately to turn my life around. You know all that. I explained it to you once before."

Jim gripped his mug tightly and contemplated his coffee. "I know you did. I just didn't think..."

Blair smiled. "I know you didn't, Jim. Neither did I. Oh, I had an idea. I'm not...an idiot. I knew some of what was going to happen. I was prepared for...the negative reactions. What I wasn't prepared for were the people who wanted to help me."

"People like Dr. Stoddard and this...Susan?"

Blair's smile grew wider. "No, Jim. People like you and Simon and the rest of Major Crime."

Jim looked up, surprised. "Well, what did you expect, Chief? We're your friends! What were we supposed to do? Throw you to the wolves? Of *course* we're going to defend you!"

"Ah, but you see, I began to realize I couldn't let that happen. The more you all acted as if I had done something 'noble', the more people began to question whether or not I had actually lied. Jim, I had one guy in uniform tell me he thought I had done 'something wonderful', and then asked if he call on you to do your 'sentinel thing' if he ran across a case that needed it!"

"But, Chief..."

"No, Jim. I put a stop to that right away. He may never speak to me again, but he thinks you're a saint to put up with me.

No, the problem was that I was 'acting a part', as if I was a 'secret agent' in a movie. I was giving off the wrong signals and confusing people. Some of the more perceptive people out there were picking up on the dichotomy. I couldn't let that happen.

If we were to pull this off, I had to change who I was. This isn't something that will ever go away, Jim. There isn't ever going to be a time when it will be safe for us to come clean. Tomorrow, and next week, and next year, and ten years from now, thirty years from now, the same circumstances will exist. If we're to have a prayer of a chance of convincing the world that I lied, then I have to be a reformed character.

People have to look at me and say, 'Oh, yeah. He's the guy who tried to make a couple million bucks writing some story about his buddy and almost got him killed.' Hopefully, after a while, they'll start saying, 'Huh! Well, he's changed. Good thing, too.'

Do you understand? Did this help at all?"

Jim sighed and looked away. This was hard. He wanted to go back to bed and hide. He wanted this to never have happened. He wanted to go back to the day before Incacha died and change the last two years of his life.

Incacha would be be alive and well in the rain forest. Alex Barnes would never have met Blair. Blair would never have died. Naomi would learn to listen to her son and leave well enough alone. Blair would be reputation whole and writing three little letters after his name.

Blair might be the subject of a side bar in TIME magazine, but it wouldn't be as an example of academic fraud, compared to Edward Said or Rigaberto Menchu.

Jim wouldn't be dreaming about a dead wolf.

He looked back at his friend. "All right. I understand where you're coming from. But I still don't understand why you don't want me to come to the Symposium with you. Maybe I was never a part of 'Your World', the way you're part of mine, but I still know this is a big deal, being asked to read a paper at a conference like this. I'd like to hear the paper."

Blair reached across the table to touch the back of Jim's hand. "Jim, I told you. This was my world. Before I met you I went to a lot of these things. I published a lot of papers. I was Eli Stoddard's protege', Jim. An 'up and comer'. Ranier's School of Anthropology is respected world-wide. People expected a lot from me.  I expected a lot from me. And I was young. You're expected to pay your dues in the Academic world, and I did, but I had a lot of success at a relatively young age. A lot of people...didn't like that. I got grants and appointments that other people thought they should have gotten."

"You're saying that there are people who will be at this Symposium who are going to be...less than friendly."

"I'm saying that that there are going to be people at this Symposium who are going to be outright hostile, and I won't be able to defend myself. I've explained to you why I can't.

I know you, Jim. You won't be able to let them get away with insulting me. You're going to want to defend me, and I can't let you do that. These are people with an amazing variety of contacts. They receive grants and funding from private and government sources. If they have any reason, and I mean *any* reason to believe I lied about lying, you're right back in the position you were in before. Vulnerable. You can't go."

"So what about Dr. Stoddard? And your friend Susan? Where do they come into this?"

Blair removed his hand from Jim's and sat back in his chair. "Sideways. I swear they come into this sideways."

Jim blinked.  "I didn't quite get that, Chief."

Blair grunted and got up from the table. "I don't either, really. They seem to think they can help me get a leg back up in anthropology, even if it's a tiny one. I don't agree, and I don't want to drag them down with me.

Look, I'm going to be late. I have to go, now, and hurry at that, if I'm going to meet Dr. Stoddard before the presentation starts. Don't wait supper for me. I don't know when I'll be in. See ya."

Jim watched as Blair caught up the bound report, slid it into the briefcase he now carried instead of a backpack, and left the loft. He sat quietly for a few minutes, thinking, then got up and went over to the phone. He dialed a number  from memory and waited for it to be picked up.

"Hello, my name is James Ellison, with the Cascade Police Department, Major Crime Division. I'd like to speak to Suzanne Tomaki, please."

"Suzanne? Jim Ellison. How are you?....That's great. Look, Suzanne, I need a favor...."

Jim stood in the back of the crowded conference room, looking out over the sea of anthropologists. He'd had no idea this Symposium was such a large gathering. Over a thousand anthropologists had pre-registered for the gathering, with more registering even now in the halls.

Suzanne had grabbed at his offer to help out with security for the symposium with both hands. Evidently the Symposium was spread out over three conference sites, the museum, and a commons. She was especially worried about some of the exhibits.

Jim wasn't worried about the exhibits. He wanted to know first hand what kind of trouble Blair had wrought for himself by giving in to Stoddard's request to read a paper.

It was bit like watching a disaster and having no way to prevent it. You didn't want to watch, but you felt you must bear witness, no matter what the cost to yourself.

It was a lot like watching Blair give a press conference and branding himself a fraud.

He could do this.

If he could watch Blair as the wolf die by his hand every night in his dreams, he could watch this.

He deserved to watch this.

He could already hear some of the comments. The whole room had been buzzing with surprise and speculation over the addition of Sandburg's name, ever since the list of speakers and topics had been listed on the announcement board outside the conference room. There had been so many last minute requests to join this particular session that the central room dividers had been drawn back, effectively doubling the available space.

Very, very few of the comments had been kind.

Cynical, skeptical, even derogatory.

Erase that. Many were derogatory, uttered in a gloating tone of voice.

He was surprised. He hadn't realized academics were so cut throat. Actually, he had never thought much about professional academics at all. If anything, he'd pictured them as either like his partner, or a bit unworldly.

He shifted his weight,  back against the wall, as he reflected. It would seem his partner was somewhat more unique than he had thought. Or had been.

He shifted again, uncomfortable this time not physically, but emotionally. He shoved the picture of the dying wolf firmly away.

Dr. Stoddard came to the podium placed at the front of the large room, glanced up and around at the assembled conference go-ers in the ascending rows of seats, and cleared his throat before speaking.

"Good Morning! On behalf of the University, the President of the Board of Regents, the Chancellor and the School of Anthropology, I am happy to welcome you all to 'Anthropology Symposium 2000'. As you know, this is the first time the Symposium has been held here at Ranier, my alma mater, and so, for those of you who have never been here, I would like to extend a warm invitation to tour the school during the breaks in our schedule.

I am sure you will have taken notice of the list of speakers and topics, and are most anxious to begin. I would like to take a moment remind you of the format for this morning's session. The papers will be presented, and then, as time permits, there will be a brief question and answer session. Please keep your questions germane to the topic. If you wish to pursue the topic in more depth, please leave your request with the coordinators in the lobby.

Now, please welcome our first presenter, Dr. Meredith Reade from Berkeley, who will be speaking on... "

Jim turned his hearing down and settled himself to wait. Blair was the last of five speakers. It would be at least a couple of hours before he spoke.

Jim straightened and turned his hearing back up. Blair was next.

Dr. Stoddard introduced Blair, explaining why he was reading the paper instead of Dr. Susan Imbri, the author of record. He told them  Blair had had a significant role in researching the paper and was therefore fully qualified to answer any questions they might have about the content.

Blair began his presentation.

He spoke clearly, looking directly at the audience.

He finished his presentation in the same manner as the first four speakers, by asking if there were any questions.

Unlike the response for the first four speakers which had been lively, spirited and ended by enthusiastic applause, Blair was met with complete silence.

Jim stepped forward, honestly not knowing what he intended to do, but unable to remain still.

Blair looked out over the audience, his gaze touching on each face.

"On behalf of your colleague, Dr. Susan Imbri, I would like to thank you for your consideration of her paper. If you have any questions about this topic, I am sure you can contact Dr. Imbri at the address in the program."

He picked up his papers and left the stage, passing Dr. Stoddard as he walked toward the podium to dismiss the morning session.

Nearly twenty minutes later, Jim found himself walking down the corridor to the area set aside for Dr. Stoddard. He had thought about leaving before Blair noticed him, but knew he couldn't do it. After the reception his partner had received from the audience he couldn't leave him to face the luncheon alone. He would, he decided, confess to being there, then ask him out to lunch. Anything had to be better than sitting through a meal as a pariah.

Just before he could step through the doorway leading into Stoddard's work area,he heard Blair's voice raised in regret, never noticing he had been followed until Dr. Stoddard stepped up beside him.

"I'm sorry. I can't help you."

"Dr. Sandburg, I've come a long way to ask you for help. You've got to help me. I'm going crazy!" A young voice, with a note of pleading running through the words.

"I'm sorry you've come so far for nothing. I can't help you. And I'm not a doctor. I'm a police detective. I work for the Cascade Police Department." Blair's voice, again. Firm.

"I know, I know! " Just a hint of hysteria. "Look, Mr. Sandburg. I need help. I know you can help me. I read what you wrote about your friend. It was in the papers. That's me. Everything you wrote about your friend, that's me. I can't control it. I'm gonna, I'm gonna lose it. My folks are gonna commit me!"  Pleading.

"I'm sorry, but you have to know I lied about my work. None of that stuff is true. There *are* no sentinels. There is no such thing as an enhanced sense. I don't know what you're experiencing, but sentinel senses are a fairy tale."

"Mr. Sandburg, please. I know you're just protecting your friend. I need to know how to live with my senses. I don't want to end up in a sanitarium. I don't want to hurt someone without meaning to, I don't want to end up dead myself. I *know* you know how to help me. *Please*, Mr. Sandburg. *Please*, help me."

"I'm sorry. I can't help you." Blair's voice. To Jim's ears, it was full of regret and pain.

A pause, a whisper, "I hope you can live with your decision", then rapid footsteps coming toward them, passing them by, fading away. A door opening, closing.

Silence.

Blair's voice, whispering.

"I hope I can , too."

Stoddard walked forward to meet Blair.

Jim closed his eyes on the image of a dying wolf.