"Wait a minute, Sandy. Let me get the lock."

Megan unbuckled her safety belt in order to lean across the passenger seat and unlock the door.

"These economy models don't come equipped with power windows and doors"

"Tell me about it!" Blair opened the passenger side door and swung into his seat. "At least the Volvo was a classic!"

"Um, yes. Here, give me your backpack....or you can put it in back yourself. You'll be more comfortable with it out of the way."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." He swung the backpack through the space between the bucket seats and onto the small bench seat. "Let me get my belt fastened. Hey! What is it with the new car? I didn't think they even *made* Suburu Justys anymore!

"Argggh!" Megan  made a funny bunched up face as she growled and pulled out into traffic.

"Argggh?" Startled, Blair turned in his seat to look at her.

"Yes, arggh! My car is in the shop. I broke an axle during..." She was unable to finish before Blair interrupted her.

"...during a car chase! No!" A delighted grin appeared on his face.

"Yes!" Megan glanced over at him and grinned while she slowed the car for a left hand turn.

"Megan, if you're not careful, you're going to catch up with Jim!" Blair was actually chuckling now.

"No! Never! Death before dishonor!" Megan took her right hand off the steering wheel, pumping it in the air in a 'rally the troops' type gesture.

Blair stopped chuckling so suddenly that Megan momentarily turned her head completely toward him, despite the upcoming traffic signal. She lowered her arm and reached her hand toward him, not sure whether or not to touch him.

"Oh, Sandy, I'm sorry! I didn't stop to think!" She slowly drew her hand back and placed it on the wheel, returning her attention to the road out of necessity.

Blair had turned his head toward the window, eyes closed, hands clenched in his lap.

"It's O.K., Megan",he mumbled.

"Sandy, I..."

"I said it's o.k., Megan. Really. It's o.k." He turned to look at her. His face was pale, eyes wide and dark with black smudges beneath them.

She risked a  quick look at him with questioning eyes.

"Really, Megan. Its just...well, it's not just the dishonor comment, you know? I know you didn't mean anything by it. You're my friend. I haven't been sleeping well, and...well, I just left the Volvo at Joe Leighton's and..."

"He won't have it for  long, will he? I know it's awkward not having transportation, just look at me, but...oh, Sandy, no!"

He dropped his eyes to his lap, then raised them again. "It's just...hard, you know? It's just...just a *car*, I realize that. But it was...*my* car. And..."

Megan was now stopped at an intersection preparatory to turning onto the northbound interstate. She couldn't take her eyes off the light; and as much as she wanted to, she didn't dare lift her hand from the wheel to touch him. She wasn't sure if he would allow it. She'd never seen him like this. She didn't think anyone from Major Crime, except possibly Jim, ever had.

"...and it was...Oh, damn!" His hands clenched in his lap, he again turned to look out the window. " I promised myself I wouldn't do this."

"Sandy, I..." the light changed to green in her favor and Megan pulled smoothly onto the interstate.

"No, no, Megan, I'm fine. It's o.k. I'm just...a little tired, ya know? And I'm not looking forward to this interview."

"Interview? I thought..."

Blair interrupted her in a perfectly controlled voice. "Yeah, well, I have to go through an interview with the guy in charge of cadets. I can't get in without it. Then there's the written exam, which I was not supposed to have to take, but isn't really so bad; and then, if I pass the written exam, and all is well, I get to take the physical exam. All on my own, as a special concession to Simon and the Commissioner as old friends. I did, you know, and I quote 'miss all the official testing dates'."

"Sandy?" She wished she could look at him, but didn't dare take her eyes off the road.

"Hmmm?"

"Do you *really* want to do this?"

Silence.

Hands gripping the wheel, Megan dared a quick sideways glance.

"Sandy, I'm sorry. I had no right to ask that."

"No, no Megan. It's all right.I guess, well I guess... I must have needed to talk about it."
 

"Well, of course you did. You do! I just assumed...Well, your Mom, or Jim, well, I know he's been gone, but surely some of your friends from the University.."

"Yeah, well Mom's Mom, ya know? She knows I'm o.k., and she had to leave, anyway, for a conference."

"What about, ummm..."

"Jim? Oh, we're cool. He just had to get away for a few days, get some, uh, 'down time'."

"Well, why didn't you go with him? Surely  you could use some 'down time', too?"

"I, ah, couldn't get away right now."

"Couldn't...he didn't ask you, did he?"

"No, no, I couldn't get away, really, Megan. Too many things to take care of, right now."

Risking another glance, she saw he was still clenching his fists in his lap as he looked out the window.

"Mmm. Well, what about..."

"The University is on break, Megan. A few of the guys are around. Rick's been helpful. He sold my books and laptop for me. No, no, Megan - it's o.k. I had to. I wasn't going to get another offer like that, and I didn't need them anymore anyway. I needed the money. I've got a lot of financial aid coming due."

"But, surely..."

"No, some of the others were good, too. And Professor Adams, my advisor, helped me clean my office out. He, ah, wanted to discuss, oh, heck. He just wanted to show his support. Him and my dissertation committee."

"Isn't that a little unusual? I mean, under the circumstances I'd have thought they'd be the last...no offense, Sandy, but..."

"Umm, well, they've been pretty cool right along, and uh,..."

"Never mind, Sandy. You don't need to explain. Hey!"

Blair turned his head to look at her. "What?"

"Look!" She took a right hand exit and pointed to a large set of buildings in the near distance. "We're almost there!"

"Oh, great!" Blair groaned as he said it, but grinned as well.

"Buck up, Sandy! It's not going to kill you!"

"Yeah, right! Easy for you to say! You turn there, I think." He indicated a driveway just visible between shrubbery.

"Well, it won't! I lived through it! So will you!" She smiled in relief at the lightening of the atmosphere as she pulled to a halt before a large building.

"I probably will. I've lived through worse." He leaned toward her, touching her right shoulder. She looked over at him.

"Thanks, Megan. For everything."

She smiled at him, saying nothing, letting her eyes speak.

"So,..." They both spoke at the same time, and laughed. She recovered first.

"So, when do you want me to pick you up?"

"I don't know. I hate to have you cut your day short. Why don't you call ahead? I'll keep checking in with the receptionist and when I know for sure, I'll leave a message for you."

"What about your cell phone?"

"I've got it in my back pack, but I might be..."

"...in the middle of an exam. Right."

"Right. or an interview. Look, I've got to go. I'll see you later. Have a good time shopping." He grabbed his backpack from the back seat, opened his door and edged out.

"Sandy?" He turned to look at her.

"Megan?"

She looked earnestly at him. "Take care."

He flashed her a wide, honest smile. "I will." He stood up, closed the door and walked toward the entrance.

She watched him with brooding eyes and a heavy heart until he disappeared through the door.

No entry.

Echo Lake

I am a very private person. I guard myself carefully. I also guard my home. I've spent a large part of my life "guarding". I've guarded my country, the Chopec, Cascade. I've guarded lives, quality of life, and property.

Given this background I have a hard time justifying my actions to myself.

I've "stolen" Blair's property. Again.

His thesis is a matter of public record. That one doesn't matter. He intended to actually  give me his 'finished' dissertation - after a long conversation. His research I regard as part of the thesis and dissertation, and I know if I'd asked he'd have given it to me.

No, what has me up here on this cliff overlooking the lake is something a little different.

I took Blair's journals and I read them, all of them, cover to cover.

And now I feel...

Even so, I'm *glad* I did it.

My feet hurt, my butt aches and I've got sweat trickling into places I don't want to think about, but I'm not moving. The view is incredible, even with normal vision. Climbing up here is the best idea I've had in days. I needed to gain a little perspective in more ways than one. I need to let this breeze blow away some of the preconceptions I've harbored for years.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, in a hidden corner of my soul, has been the conviction that  I was never wanted, never needed, not worth keeping. I've believed that everyone I have ever loved or needed has left me.

Well, I was wrong.

Maybe it's in the perspective.

Danny and Jack didn't choose to leave me. They were doing a job, accepting the risks, knowing death was one of the risks.

My men didn't  choose to die in the helicopter crash.

Every military man and woman knows death as a daily companion. He was no stranger when he came.

I certainly wasn't the only one they left behind. I definitely wasn't the only one affected by their loss. Veronica Serrais should have taught me that.

Lila, Laura, Veronica. ..they made their own choices. I never really had them to lose.

Stephen, well, it's been difficult for him, I know, but he's trying.

The same applies to my father.

If I have learned nothing else from this debacle, and I've learned plenty, it is that Father and Stephen have decided to be in this for the long haul. They could have bailed on me when the media frenzy started. Instead they stood quietly behind me. They're trying to understand.

My mother? I will probably never have a good understanding of my mother. At least I have a better understanding. I'm not going to blame her anymore for withholding something I don't think she was capable of giving.

I can even better understand some things about myself.

I think...that the walls I've built to keep myself safe...maybe I was telling myself I was keeping  them safe? Because everyone I care about seems to end up hurt or dead?

Oh, yeah...when did  I get elected God? Like those decision are left up to me, whether they live or die.

Yeah, I can see where I've translated everything into terms of "me".  I can't remember doing it consciously. Maybe just in...self preservation? Doesn't make it...right, though.

Seems as if...the closer someone is to me, the more important they are...the quicker I am to...to lash out at them.

Isn't it the Chinese who teach that honor begins at home? Blair would know.

Blair.

His writing.

I could never have predicted what I've learned from his writing.
The first thing of his I read was his Master's thesis, and it was my first surprise. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't what I found.

The thesis was a unique view of an obscure subject, written in a scholarly but interesting way.  It was, however, only a Master's thesis and as such a 'rehash' of other peoples' work.

No way in hell it should have led Brackett, no matter what he said, or anyone else, to me.

Next I read through his research, and that was surprise number two. It wasn't all about me.

Blair had thousands of case studies of people with enhanced senses. Hundreds were done by him, probably the ones he told me about in his office that first day. Others, done by different professionals, went  back to the American Civil War. He had anecdotal accounts as far back as Julius Caesar. His subjects, although overwhelmingly military, were as diverse as Australian aborigines and French wine tasters.

He'd told me, again on that first day, that most of his subjects had one or two enhanced senses. I hadn't realized, until now, how many subjects he'd had with three or four.

And the dissertation? That was surprise numbers three andfour. Back during the Cyclops Oil case Blair told me he had enough information for ten dissertations. I just assumed his subject was Sentinels. Well, it was and it wasn't.

Surprise number three was the completed dissertation I found at the bottom of the box containing Blair's research. A dissertation written four years ago.

A dissertation whose title was "The Application of Enhanced Senses in the Modern Occupational World".

Not "The Sentinel".

Blair's dissertation explored the biological and genetic basis of enhanced senses, their development from child to adult, the various occupations to which a subject would be predisposed by each enhanced sense or sense cluster, and the physical, social, and psychological drawbacks that could be experienced.

Included was an account of the 30 days Blair spent riding around with a Montana State Trooper with fourenhanced senses.

So what did he need me for?

Surprise number four. Well, that would be the dissertation based on me.

A year ago I betrayed Blair's trust and read the first chapter of his dissertation. I look back now and can see that. Never mind the provocation, I'm the one who transgressed the bounds of friendship. I wouldn't do that again. This time is different. For one thing I have a different motivation. For another...something inside me has changed. So, yes, I am glad I read it last year.

If I hadn't read it, I wouldn't know. This is not the same dissertation.

I forget sometimes that Blair is...was...no, damn it, is, a scholar. His first dissertation, on the applications of enhanced senses, makes that abundantly clear. If he had defended that dissertation four years ago he'd have been Ph.D. long ago.

This one...

If this was the manuscript Sid Greene received from Naomi no wonder he offered Blair three million dollars for the rights to the material.

This one was written from his heart. Smooth flowing, fast-paced. This manuscript reads like a novel.

There is no way Blair could have defended this dissertation successfully.

So why did he write it?

He once said his research had helped me to understand who I am. I told him I didn't need anyone to tell me who I am. That I knew.

I was wrong. He sees me all to clearly. What I am, what I could be. Who we are.

And then there are his journals.

It's a little hard  to reconcile the Blair I live and work with, or even Blair the academic, with the Blair I've met in his journals. Maybe that's true for everybody. We all have masks, and we would tend to take them off in our  personal journals, but...

I don't know what to think about this Blair.

One of the other things I've learned in the time I've been staying here, is to recognize moments like this. Moments when I become uncomfortable with my thoughts and feelings, when I want to slam down the walls and shut out those same uncomfortable thoughts and feelings.

I really don't want to think. Every muscle in my body is screaming for movement. My mouth is parched and I want a drink. My eyes are roaming the lakeside and woodlands below me looking for an excuse to take my attention away from my thoughts. At any other time I would go with the sensations. Any other time.

This is one time I can't afford to simply react. Habits can be broken; I will break mine.

I take deep breaths, close my eyes. I smell the pines, feel the breeze.  My muscles relax, one by one.

I can do this.

It isn't that I don't know what to think about Blair, it's that I don't want to think about Blair in the light of his journals at all.

Blair needs "me." Me, Jim Ellison. Not the "cop". Not the "sentinel". He needs me the "friend". We've been buddies, roommates, partners. We've even been friends. There are levels  of friendships, however, and I think I've been living the semblance of one while I both felt and denied another. Blair seems to have understood that. I don't mean I didn't hurt him, but he seems to have accepted the hurt as a part of the friendship. He knows how I feel about him, even though I deny it to myself.

He's my friend "closer than a brother", my "strong right hand". And yes, he's my "thousandth man".
He calls it something else, and maybe it is.

Way back when we got home from Peru and he finally verbalized our friendship, he wrote about David and Jonathan in his journal. That story may come from his cultural background, but father sent Stephen and me to Sunday School and Church when we were kids. I know that story. Back then I didn't believe it. Blair does. He calls our friendship  "knitted souls".

Maybe he's right. I sawthe wolf merge with my jaguar. We both did.

I'm luckier that David, though. He lost Jonathan.

For whatever reason, and yes I'm still afraid to go there, I can't go there,alone; our friendship has transcended death. I brought him back. The one time I did have the power of life and death.

Evidently I need him, too.

I suppose this can't be avoided.

I'm a "sentinel". Blair's a "guide". I'm genetically predisposed to have enhanced senses. I'd have them, physically, even if I chose to cease being a sentinel. I'd pass them on to my children were I to have any.

I can accept the community and spiritual responsibilities of being a sentinel, or I can reject them, but I will still possess the physical senses.

I used my senses, without harm, for 18 months in the jungles of Peru. Nobody asked me to make a choice, I dreamt no dreams, I had no visions. I functioned as a sentinel.

I know Blair has wondered about my time in Peru. From his journals I know about his speculations.

He figures Incacha was my "guide".

Well, he was and he wasn't. He was a guide in that he taught me how to fit into the village life, and he recognized me for what I am. That's important.

But he didn't have time to go traipsing around the rain forest as my "back-up". He had an important role to fill in the village community. Outside of the tribal leader, he was the most important person in the village. Actually, in the entire area. Not every village had a shaman.

Not every sentinel had a shaman.

When Blair said every sentinel had a "back-up" native, he was more right than he knew. The native wasback-up, an assistant. Any properly briefed person could have filled the role.

The shaman, however, was no "assistant". He was easily the equal, or more, of the sentinel. They worked together,in their different disciplines, for the good of the tribe.

I respected and honored Incacha the shaman. We worked together and the Chopec tribe benefited. I thought of him as my friend. I deeply mourned his death. Somewhere, inside of me, a part of him still lives.

He was not the other half of my soul.

Blair is. Quite literally.

I'm pretty sure Blair would consider this heresy, but Richard Burton didn't know as much as Blair thinks he did.

Brackett definitely didn't.

Blair has been my back-up. He fills that role very well in a manner that goes far beyond simple back-up.

He is also the Shaman to the Great City and its Sentinel. That's where we run into trouble.

And I don't think it's all my fault.

I think, if I didn't mean so much to him, he wouldn't have a problem with his role. If he didn't have a problem with it, I wouldn't have a problem with it, either.

I'm guessing here, but there are plenty of clues in his journals and his behavior to make a fairly solid guess.

Blair doesn't have much he can call "family", just his mother, a few people he calls "cousin", "aunt" or "uncle" but aren't, and me.

I don't know her reasoning, it's none of my business so I'll never ask, but Naomi can't or won't tell him who his father is or might have been.

I have plenty of problems with my father, but I know who he is. I can see myself in his looks, his mannerisms, his beliefs. Blair doesn't have that. What he has is Naomi.

She loves him, that's obvious. I'm just not convinced it's a healthy, unselfish, liberating love.

In some ways she reminds me of mymother.

It's not obvious. My mother was basically up front about it, but Naomi has a fairly good smoke screen. She can be unbelievably charming when she wants to  be.You find yourself forgiving her for all kinds of things the way you would a well meaning child, which she is not. She's a strong willed woman.

Both of them put their own well being before that of anyone else, even those they professed to love.

Naomi's feelings seem pretty shallow to me. Blair'sworld can be shot to hell, but as long as Blair forgive's her and loves her, her world is fine.

Does she stick around to help him put his world back together? Does she give him her physical presence as comfort ? Does she even get mad at me for lashing out at him?

No. She leaves his wellbeing in the hands of the men and women of Major Crime. She leaves him to me, who did the same thing.

There should be more parents like Simon.

From what I can tell, Blair has a family of two. Naomi and me.

He has two people he loves. Naomi and me.

If he had to choose between us, God help us ...

But he isn't going to push either one of us to his benefit. He thinks he'd lose us.

He isn't willing to lose what he thinks he has, to gain what he knows he wants.

He isn't going to force his mother into maturity and responsibility, and he isn't going to force me to see and treat him as my equal.

So how do I convince him that's what I want and need?

He would make a good cop, but that is not what he was meant to be. That is not the intended destiny of his soul.

How do I help him  gain his rightful place in the world?

I've listened to the whispers of my heart.

I think I'm learning to listen to the hearts of others.

I have the building blocks. Now I need a plan.

It's almost time to go home.

"So, what do we do now?

"I don't know. Give me a hand here. He doesn't look very big, but he's sure no light weight."

"Why did they do this? I thought it was a 'go' "?"

"They  just wanted to make sure. There was some question of whether or not it was a set-up."

"A set-up? That would have had to have been some elaborate set-up! Be real!"

"Forget about it. It's none of our business. We just have to make sure he comes out of this o.k. and doesn't remember anything except what we tell him."

"Yeah,  and if he remembers?"

"Then they use the pictures."

"Poor guy. He's been through enough."

"It was his own choice. Don't forget, we're in this, too."

"How can I forget? Isn't there any way out?"

"No."

"So, what do we do now?"

"Wait."