The Long Way Back to You

This story received a 2007 Light My Fire Award Nomination

Author's Note: Regrettably, I do not own Jim, Blair, Simon or the rest of the "Sentinel" gang. Pet Fly/Paramount does, and I mean no copyright infringement with this tale. This story comes complete with the Quiet Wolf Happy Ending Guarantee. Any comments or criticisms are welcomed.




Always had a reason for keeping a distance
Trying to maintain my solo existence
Please understand it's all new to me
I never felt the longing or the mystery
Now I'm history.

Don't give it up too soon
Don't say you're gone
And there's nothing I can do

"The Long Way Back to You" - John Cunningham




Ellison yawned tiredly, flipping on the radio to drown out the rhythmic sounds of the windshield wipers. It had been a very long day, and he was looking forward to bed. He just had to make sure he didn’t fall asleep before he got there.

“Want me to drive?” Sandburg asked.

“I can handle it, Chief,” he replied, biting back another yawn.

“Then would you mind dropping me off at the university?”

“It’s after midnight,” the Sentinel reminded him incredulously.

“I know,” Blair told him. “But I’ve got a stack of tests that I have to get graded tonight. I’ve been promising my students I’d give them back for a week now.”

“They’ve waited this long, I’m sure they can wait another day.”

“But tomorrow’s Friday,” Sandburg protested. “If I don’t have them tomorrow, then they’ll have to wait until Monday.”

“Well, that way you won’t be ruining their weekend.” But the detective obligingly changed lanes, setting the course for Ranier as his friend reminded him that he’d left his car at the university that afternoon and would need it in the morning anyway. Jim pulled up in front of Hargrove Hall and parked beside the beat up Volvo to let his partner out. “Do you have your keys?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sandburg muttered, digging around in his backpack.

“Are you sure? If I have to get up to let you in... Forget that. I’m not getting up. You can sleep on the doorstep.”

“I have my keys,” Blair insisted, rolling his eyes at his partner’s grouchiness. “Man, go home and get some sleep already.”

“I plan on it,” Ellison told him. “And you should take a little of your own advice.”

“It shouldn’t take me more than an hour,” Sandburg assured him, opening the door and hopping out of the truck. “Plenty of time to squeeze in my four hours tonight.”

Jim sighed as he watched his partner trot up to the dark building through the rain, wishing that Blair had been joking. His days were split between Ranier and the Cascade PD, the latter often sucking up his evenings as well. Which left only late hours for him to try and fulfil the obligations of the classes he taught, as well as squeezing in his own research and studying. It was a rare occasion when he found himself in bed before two, and he was generally up by six or seven to start it all over again. Ellison had to marvel at his stamina and dedication, but he feared it couldn’t last and as he pulled away from the university, he hoped that his friend wasn’t overtaxing himself to the point of complete exhaustion and collapse.

Blair unlocked his office door and flicked on the light switch as he entered, tossing his backpack on the floor and hitting the button to his stereo, filling the room with the pulsing sounds of tribal music. He slid out of his jacket, which also hit the floor, and plopped down into the chair behind his desk. Rummaging around through the stacks of paper, he finally found the tests in question. He pulled his glasses out of his shirt pocket and slipped them on, and after finding a red pen in the depths of his desk drawer, he got to work.

Exactly fifty-eight minutes later, Sandburg finished the last test, jotting down the score at the top with a satisfied flourish before recording the grade in his book. Standing up and stretching, he picked up his backpack, sliding the stack of tests inside in case he didn’t make it back to his office before his morning class. Blair turned off the stereo and retrieved his jacket, slipping it on before slinging his backpack over his shoulder. He left his office, hitting the lights and locking the door behind him.

He got into his car, slipping the key into the ignition and feeling the Volvo roar to life. Leaving the university, Blair knew he should head home for bed, but his stomach was growling insistently. He and Jim had been hard at work on a case all evening and had grabbed a quick sandwich for dinner, hours ago. Sandburg decided he could definitely go for some real food, and figured he could review his lecture notes for the following day while he ate. With that justification, he pulled into the parking lot of the small, all night diner that was exactly halfway between Ranier and the loft.




Ellison omitted a muffled curse as the knock sounded on the door, automatically assuming his roommate had been wrong about having his keys. At first, he was tempted to make good on his threat to leave Sandburg out on the doorstep all night. But with a martyred sigh, he threw off the covers and stomped down the stairs, muttering under his breath about all the things he’d love to do to his partner, and knowing that Blair would find some way to blame this on him. He could just hear him now, insisting that it wouldn’t have happened if he’d only been allowed to keep his spare key above the door. The detective turned on a small lamp in the living room and went to unlock the door, a whole diatribe just waiting to spew forth from his mouth. But that died away quickly when he opened the door to reveal his captain standing there.

“Simon?” The Sentinel blinked a few times, trying to shake off the residual effects of sleep. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“Can I come in, Jim?”

Ellison stood aside, letting him enter. Banks stood uncomfortably in the middle of the room, his face a grim mask.

“What is it?” the detective demanded, his heart beating faster as he realized that something had to be very wrong.

“It’s Sandburg,” Simon told him. “He’s been shot, Jim.”

“What?” The Sentinel took a few steps back, reaching out and finding the chair he was looking for, sinking down into it. “What are you talking about? How could he...? I just left him at the university. How the hell could he have managed to get shot?”

“I don’t have all the details yet,” Banks explained. “It happened at that diner on 34th. The EMT’s found his credentials on him, and they called me after they took him to the hospital. Come on, go get dressed and I’ll drive you over there.”

“My God, Simon, is he all right?”

“I don’t know,” the captain replied softly.

“Where was he hit? Did they say?”

“Let’s just get over there, Jim, and the doctors will be able to fill us in.”

“Where?” Ellison demanded.

“In the head.”

“Was it a grazing wound?” the detective persisted, feeling sick.

“No,” Banks answered, shaking his head sadly.

The Sentinel turned and went upstairs, quickly throwing on the first garments he found, desperately trying to hold back the nausea that was churning in his gut. He couldn’t allow himself to fall apart. From the sounds of things, Sandburg had been badly hurt, and he needed to be there for his friend. He went back downstairs and followed Simon out to his car, finding he wasn’t able to ask the last question. Whether or not Blair was even still alive. For a negative answer to that question was simply unthinkable.

They sped quickly toward Cascade General. Due to the late hour, traffic was at a minimum, but the few vehicles that were on the road dutifully pulled aside in deference to the flashing red light in Simon’s car. So they arrived at the hospital in no time, with Jim sprinting ahead to the emergency room before Simon had even turned the ignition off. He was greeted by two familiar but anxious faces pacing restlessly inside the entrance.

“We tried to call you,” Rafe announced as he saw the detective burst through the doors. “But we got the machine so we figured you were already on your way.”

“We came as soon as we heard the call come over the radio,” H continued as their captain entered the building. “But they won’t tell us anything.”

“They’ll tell me something,” Ellison insisted with a deadly gleam in his eye.

“Hold on, Jim,” Simon ordered, taking his detective by the arm. “Chances are we’re going to be here awhile, so we don’t need you pissing off the hospital staff within the first five minutes. Just stay here and let me go talk to them, all right?”

Brown took over the slight restraint on the Sentinel’s arm as the captain went to confer with the nurse behind the desk. Several minutes, a flash of a badge, and two phone calls later, Banks returned to his waiting detectives.

“He’s still in surgery,” he told them. “We can go up to the waiting room outside of the OR wing, and a doctor will be out to talk to us as soon as they know something.”

He started to lead the way to the elevators, but Rafe and Brown passed him by as Ellison switched roles and halted him with a hand to his arm.

“He is alive, right, Simon?” Jim asked, unable to overcome the sick feeling inside that Sandburg was dead and they just didn’t want to tell him.

“Yes,” Banks reassured him. “He’s alive. Come on, let’s go upstairs.”

The four men gathered silently in the empty waiting room, perching uncomfortably on the furniture which had definitely seen better days, until it became too overwhelming.

“Do you think we ought to call Captain Taggert?” H asked, knowing that he had a special fondness for the young observer.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Banks nodded. “He’d want to know about this.”

Brown bounded off, glad to be doing something other than just endlessly waiting. Equally desiring to make himself useful, Rafe excused himself to go and put a call in to the precinct handling the shooting to ask for information and to offer the MCU’s help. Finding himself alone with Ellison, Banks glanced over at his detective, who was sitting rigidly in his chair, staring off into space.

“You doing all right, Jim?” When he didn’t answer, the captain reached out and shook him slightly. “Jim!”

Blinking, Ellison turned to look at his boss.

“Don’t you go and zone, you hear me?” Banks threatened. He didn’t pretend to understand all the Sentinel mumbo jumbo, preferring to let Sandburg dive in and make sense of it all. But he’d been given the basics, and knew that if his detective focused too hard on one sense, he would “zone”. Simon wasn’t even sure what that entailed, but it sounded bad.

“I won’t,” Ellison muttered, his gaze immediately becoming fixed and unseeing once more.

The captain sighed, guessing that the Sentinel was trying to extend his hearing to learn what was going on behind the doors to the operating rooms. He rose and went down the hall to the vending machine to get some coffee, hoping that it would be enough to stimulate Jim’s sense of smell and taste and keep him from ‘zoning’. And for the first time, he realized just how vital Sandburg’s role was to their partnership. There was a very real danger involved with having heightened senses, and if Ellison were to lose control and get into trouble, Blair was the only one that could help him. Banks sighed again, for even though he didn’t know the extent of the young observer’s injury, he knew it was bad. Best case scenario, the kid would be out of action for awhile. Which meant it would be up to him to take care of Ellison, and keep him grounded until Sandburg could resume his role as “guide”. Simon could only hope he was up to the task, for Blair would never forgive him if anything happened to his Sentinel.

He returned with the coffee, ordering his detective to drink it, which he did automatically. But it did seem to help, the warmth of the cup and the strong taste and scent grabbing his attention and taking some of the glaze from his eyes. Brown returned quickly, announcing that Taggert had insisted on joining them at the hospital, even though he had promised the captain he would let him know as soon as there was any news. Rafe regrouped with them soon after, sharing with them the information he had gotten from the responding precinct.

“According to the witness statements, a man burst into the diner at approximately 1:30 a.m.,” he relayed. “He was clearly drunk, and he pulled a gun on his wife and the man she was with in one of the booths, screaming that he was going to kill them both. Sandburg got up and approached him, trying to reason with him.”

“And the bastard shot him?” Jim demanded, a cold rage settling over his features.

“No.” Rafe shook his head sadly. “Blair actually managed to calm the guy down. Talked him into putting the gun away. But as soon as he lowered it, the guy in the booth pulled out a .38 and started firing. He hit the first idiot with the gun in the shoulder, but Blair...” The detective paused, swallowing hard. “Blair was hit in the head. One of the waitresses is a nursing student, and she did what she could until the ambulance got there. But they said he lost a lot of blood, and he never regained consciousness....”

He trailed off as Ellison rose abruptly and stalked off down the hall. Brown looked to his captain, but Simon just shook his head.

“Let him go,” he said softly. “He’s not going to go far. He just needs a minute.”

H nodded, settling back against the cracked vinyl chair.

“Rafe, did you talk to the captain in charge of the investigation? Do they need any extra manpower on this?”

“They already have the guy in custody,” Rafe replied. “He fled the scene, but they found him sitting on a curb two blocks away. I guess he was pretty freaked out by what he’d done, and he gave himself up willingly enough.”

“Man, I wish I’d been the arresting officer,” H muttered bitterly. “He’d be one dude that was resisting arrest, whether he was or not.” The burly detective was not normally an advocate for violence, but this guy had hurt one of their own. One that had simply been trying to make peace, trying to save the worthless hide of the one who had shot him. That was definitely worth a couple smacks, at the very least.

“Small consolation,” Rafe said quietly. “But there were enough witnesses at the diner that can testify against him. There shouldn’t be any trouble getting a conviction.”

“Small consolation,” echoed a bitter voice. They all turned around to see Ellison standing behind them. “Not really any consolation at all. Personally, I’d rather have this asshole out on the street. You never know what can happen out there. Maybe he’d find himself with a bullet in his head, too.”

“Jim!” Banks barked sharply, making the three detectives jump. “Don’t you dare start talking like that. Now come over here and sit down and try and get a grip on yourself.”

The Sentinel hesitated, looking for a moment like he was going to argue, but finally obeying his captain. As he lowered himself down to the lumpy couch, something flickered in his face and the other men all clearly saw the abject fear he was trying to hide. Everyone knew that the hard detective really cared about his unofficial partner. And after they had gotten to know Sandburg, they could understand why. What was not to like? The kid was eager and dedicated, hardworking, compassionate, and charming as hell. But at that moment, when they saw the sheer terror on Ellison’s face, they all knew. Jim Ellison, the lone wolf who had always kept everyone distanced from him, who hadn’t wanted anyone getting too close and who had chosen to live alone, work alone, and be alone... had gotten his heart stolen by one Blair Sandburg. The irrepressible young observer had crept under his skin, probably without the detective even realizing it, and had firmly embedded himself into Ellison’s life and had wormed his way into his heart. Which left all three men entertaining the same question. Whether it was the fear that Sandburg wasn’t going to make it that was scaring Ellison so badly, or the thought that he would have to continue on without the vivacious light that had illuminated his previously dark life. And all three concluded it was probably both. But unfortunately, none of them had any words to reassure their panicked colleague that everything would turn out all right. No words they believed in, anyway.

When Taggert arrived at the hospital, he surprised his coworkers with a bounty of pastries and snacks that he’d picked up on the way, including good, fresh coffee that put the vending machine swill to shame. They all fell upon the repast gratefully, for it helped to break up the monotony of waiting, gave them something to talk about, and argue over, as they jockeyed for the best treats, and generally provided a slight distraction from the endless, silent worry. Ellison sipped at a cup of coffee, at the insistence of the rest of them, but he flatly refused to even attempt to eat anything. He sat back as they fought over who got what, trapped in his own silent vigil of waiting, refusing to be consoled. Only the doctor would be able to ease the constriction of fear from his mind, and only when he saw for himself that Sandburg was all right would he be able to relax and let out the eternal breath he’d been holding.

It was well after dawn when the swinging doors that led to the operating rooms parted and a middle aged woman in scrubs came out to greet the anxious faces strewn about the waiting room.

“Captain Banks?” she inquired. All of the officers immediately surrounded her and she looked them over critically. “Are any of you family members?”

“Yes,” Simon answered authoritatively. “We all are.”

She gave them an understanding, if weary, smile.

“I’m Doctor Norris,” she introduced herself. “Chief of Neurology. I operated on Mr. Sandburg.”

“How is he?” Ellison blurted out, not caring the slightest about any other details.

“His condition is very critical, I’m afraid,” the doctor replied. “We removed the bullet in surgery and repaired what damage we could. But penetrating head injuries of this sort are always very traumatic.”

“But he is still alive?”

Dr. Norris glanced at the impatient man hovering beside her.

“This is Detective Ellison,” Simon told her. “Sandburg’s partner.”

“He’s on life support,” she confirmed. “But he is still alive.”

“What’s his prognosis?” Banks asked.

“I can’t really say at this point. I wish I could give you some sort of idea, but with this type of injury, we just have to take it one step at a time. Right now, Mr. Sandburg is showing signs of brain death.” The doctor held up her hands to try and quell the horror that came over all of their faces. “That doesn’t mean he is brain dead,” she quickly assured them. “He’s been heavily sedated and we’ve given him some medication to help with the swelling in his brain, which could very well be causing it. We won’t know for sure until the drugs wear off, and then we’ll move onto the next step from there.”

“When can I see him?” Jim demanded.

“I’m sorry, detective,” Dr. Norris told him. “No visitors. Not yet.”

“You don’t understand,” he argued, his volume beginning to rise as H quickly put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

“Maybe we can arrange something a little later,” she placated. “Once he’s settled in the ICU and his condition stabilizes. But for now, all of you should go home and get some rest. Mr. Sandburg is receiving the best of care, and there’s nothing more you can do here.”

Naturally, the Sentinel absolutely refused to leave. His colleagues tried their best to persuade him into going home, but he declined with a deceptive calm, which just barely hid the rampaging emotions he was struggling to contain. Finally, Simon convinced everyone else to go, choosing to stay and offer support to his detective. But after a few hours, Ellison eventually talked him into going home, too. Jim persuaded him that he’d rather be alone for a little while, and he looked his captain squarely in the eye, giving him the sincere and solemn promise that he would not let himself zone. Although he hated to go, Banks left, knowing that there were things to be done and that his detective was not in any shape to do them. He promised he’d return soon, and he took the key to the loft with him, in order to get the numbers of the people he needed to call, including Naomi, so that he could let her know what had happened to her only son. And Ellison was left alone, to the peace and comfort of the isolation he used to cherish. Used to, before an energetic whirlwind had blown into his life, filling it with talk and laughter and light. As he curled up in one of the beat up chairs, the Sentinel was startled to realize for the first time that he actually preferred the chaos to the old silence. Without a doubt.

As the hours slipped by with agonizing slowness, Ellison did manage a few minutes of restless sleep here and there. But mainly he watched and waited, and did what he could to ingratiate himself to the hospital staff. He talked to everyone that passed through the waiting room, working his charms to make friends in the hopes that he could gain allies that would let him know how his partner was doing. Jim managed to win the nurse at the reception desk over to his side, and she did her best to give him updates on Sandburg’s condition. However it was always the same report. A grim ‘no change’. But he was still alive, and the Sentinel clung to that thought like a lifeline, making it his mantra and using it to anchor himself to sanity while he counted down the hours. The endless hours that stood between him and finding out if his friend was just alive in body, or in mind as well.

That afternoon, as he flipped through a magazine that he’d already read three times, a young woman in blue scrubs came out to talk to him, having heard from various staff about the police officer keeping the anxious vigil in the waiting room. She was very pretty, with long strawberry blond hair pulled back into a bouncing ponytail, laughing blue eyes and a seemingly permanent smile on her full lips, and her whole being radiated with kindness and compassion.

“Detective Ellison?” she asked, sitting down on the worn couch beside him. “My name is Lauren. I’m a nurse up here in the ICU, and I’ve been taking care of your partner...”

“How is he?” Jim interrupted.

“He’s doing as well as can be expected.” She grinned apologetically at him. “That sounds so cold and clinical, I know. But really, it’s just too soon to tell at this point.”

“I know,” the Sentinel sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “We have to wait for the medication to wear off.”

“That’s right.” The young woman laid a gentle hand on his arm. “I know how hard this is for you. But your friend has been lucky so far. Most people with gunshot wounds to the head don’t even make it out of surgery. My father didn’t.”

“Your father?” Ellison asked, looking up into her warm blue eyes.

“He was a cop, too,” she told him. “Back in Cleveland. A young kid caught trying to rob a liquor store panicked and started shooting. My dad was alive when they got him to the hospital, but he never made it out of the OR.”

“How old were you?”

“Ten,” she replied, glancing away as a flash of sadness came over her face. But then it was gone, and she turned back with fond smile. “My dad was a hero to me. I suppose every little girl thinks that about her father, but really, Superman had nothing on my dad.”

Jim chuckled slightly, surprising himself that he’d managed to take his intense focus off of Blair for a split second.

“Seriously,” Lauren continued. “I really do admire and respect what you and your partner do. Risking your lives to keep everyone safe. So I wanted to come out and tell you that I do appreciate it, and I’m grateful. And if there’s anything you need, or if you have any questions, just let me know.”

“I need to see him,” the Sentinel whispered, his blue eyes beseeching hers desperately.

“I’m sorry,” she told him sympathetically. “I can’t let you in the ICU without authorization from Doctor Norris.” The detective hung his head, but not before she saw the look in his eyes, which made her heart ache. “I’ll tell you what,” she offered. “If you want, I can take you back to the ICU. You won’t be able to go in, but you can see him through the window. Do you want to do that?”

“Yes,” Ellison said gratefully. “Thank you.”

The young nurse led him through the swinging doors and down the hall to the ICU wing. Jim leaned up against the glass windows, taking in the heartbreaking sight of his best friend lying motionless amid a clutter of machines that were keeping him alive. But it was a sight that brought him a momentarily relief, for he simply hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that his partner was dead. It was a weight lifted to see with his own eyes that Sandburg was still hanging on. But a new weight settled over him as his eyes also took in the gravity of the injury he’d suffered.

“When will you know?” he asked quietly. “If its just the drugs or if he’s really...” The detective couldn’t force himself to say the words. Couldn’t allow himself to even envision a world where the bright young scholar had been left brain dead.

“That’s hard to say,” Lauren answered. “Right now the biggest danger to Mr. Sandburg is the swelling in his brain. He’s being given a barbiturate drug to try and prevent that, and we can’t stop the drugs until the swelling starts to recede.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“Then he’ll have to go back into surgery, and Dr. Norris will operate again to relieve the pressure.”

“Which will cause more swelling,” Ellison sighed. He rested his head against the cool glass, his eyes firmly fixed on the still figure of his best friend. “Lauren, how bad is it? I mean, I understand that we have to wait and see and you can’t give me any specifics now. But in general. What’s he looking at?”

“Statistically? It’s rather bleak, I’m afraid,” the nurse told him. “Only one out of every ten people with head injuries from gunshots survives, and the majority of them are permanently disabled in some fashion. The edema caused by the injury can do further damage if the pressure gets too high. Once we get the swelling under control, we’ll take him off the barbiturates, but Mr. Sandburg will likely be in a coma. Until we’re able to assess him at that point, we won’t have any idea of his chances for arousal. And even then, we won’t really know the extent of the damage to his brain until he wakes up.”

The Sentinel closed his eyes, realizing that he’d been kidding himself into thinking that this nightmare would soon be over. There was a long, hard road ahead, and one that held more promise for darkness rather than a light at the end of the tunnel.

“But don’t write it off as hopeless yet, Detective,” Lauren advised, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “There’s still a lot about the brain that we don’t understand, but one thing we do know is that it has an amazing capacity to heal itself. This type of injury is completely unpredictable, and every case is unique. So until we know for sure, I don’t see any harm in being optimistic. It may be slim, but there’s still a chance that Mr. Sandburg could make a complete recovery.”

“Thank you.” The detective took a deep, centering breath, opening his eyes and facing her. “I appreciate the truth, but even more, I appreciate that someone in the medical profession is willing to offer hope instead of just scaring the hell out of everyone.” He smiled to show he was teasing, and the young woman grinned back at him.

“Let me take you back to the waiting room, Detective,” she said. “I need to get back in there and check Mr. Sandburg’s vitals. When Dr. Norris comes in, I’ll state your case for her and see if I can get her to let you have a couple minutes.”

Again, the Sentinel thanked her. And although he hated to leave, he obediently did so out of respect for the kindness she’d shown him and the promise of possibly getting more down the line. But he paused before passing through the swinging doors, turning back to the nurse.

“By the way,” he told her. “Please, call me Jim.”

“All right.” Lauren smiled at the detective before she let the door swing shut. A smile that assured him that his partner was in good hands, and made his vigil a little bit easier to bear.

Ellison paced restlessly around the waiting room for the remainder of the afternoon, only stopping to visit the pay phones long enough to call his fellow detectives, giving them an update on the young observer’s condition and assuring them that he was fine and didn’t need anything and that they shouldn’t bother coming down. Lauren finally came back out to tell him that Dr. Norris had granted him a brief visit with Blair, but that she wanted to speak with him first. She had been a bit worried that the severity of his partner’s injury hadn’t fully been explained to him, or that he was in denial over it, after getting word that he’d been insisting to anyone who would listen that his friend was going to be all right.

The detective sat rigidly in the neurosurgeon’s office, stone faced as he listened to her droning on about things he didn’t want to hear. She definitely did not share the optimism of the kind nurse who had befriended him, and Jim’s jaw clenched tightly as he tried to keep his annoyance bottled up. He was not about to blow his chance to see his friend, so he sat silently and listened as she informed him that Sandburg’s chances of making it through the next few days were slim, his chances of ever regaining consciousness were even worse, and his chance at a full recovery was virtually non-existent. And he listened as she explained the consequences of a penetrating injury to the frontal lobe, and the kind of damage to be expected, if Sandburg should happen to survive the initial trauma and subsequent swelling. When she finally finished with her grim jargon and asked if he understood, the Sentinel nodded briefly and rose, looking expectantly at the door. The doctor sent him back to the waiting room with a sigh, telling him Lauren would come for him and take him back to the ICU.

His wait was brief, for the young nurse was fully aware of how anxious he was to see his friend and she did not want to prolong his agony any more than they already had. So within moments, Jim was standing outside of the ICU.

“Go on in,” Lauren told him. “I’ll give you a few minutes alone, but I’ll be right outside here if you need anything.”

Ellison thanked her before she turned and disappeared into the small lounge area across the hall from the ICU. He started to enter the ward, but paused in the doorway, wanting to weep at the sight of his friend. Blair was hooked up to so many machines, his face barely visible beneath the ventilator tube and the bandages around his head. Taking a deep breath, Ellison tried to steel himself before he entered the room to sit in the chair next to the bed.

“Well, Sandburg, I have to hand it to you,” he said quietly. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

For a moment he was silent, listening to the whirl of the machines that were keeping his friend alive, comforting himself with the sound of his partner’s beating heart. But then he shook his head, taking another deep breath. It was definitely not the time to zone out. Leaning forward, he carefully picked up Blair’s hand, giving it a little squeeze.

“You have to help me out here, buddy,” he whispered. “Nobody out there is giving you much of a shot at pulling through this. I tried to tell them all that you’re a fighter, and you weren’t going to give up and bail out just yet. And you know how much I hate to be wrong, Chief, so if you could just help me out and prove me right...”

The Sentinel dropped his head down to press his forehead against the edge of the bed.

“I need you, Blair,” he whispered desperately. “You have to hang on, ok? We’ll deal with whatever comes after this together. But please, you can’t leave me.”

He spent a few more minutes with his partner, quietly reassuring him that things would be fine, and then just sitting in silence, focusing on the blessed sound of his beating heart. It was far from the strong, steady beat he was used to hearing, but it wasn’t faltering and was even enough to convince him that Sandburg wasn’t on the verge of checking out.

Lauren came for him, reluctantly telling him that his time was up. The Sentinel gave his friend’s hand one last squeeze, blinking back the tears in his eyes as he followed the nurse back to the waiting room. His own heart ached for seeing Blair looking so vulnerable and helpless, so gravely injured. But some of the fear had left him, for his guide was alive. And although he couldn’t understand why, Ellison had the strange feeling that it was in his power to keep him so. If that were true, then he was confident that Sandburg was going to pull through. He wouldn’t allow any other alternative.




Simon returned early that evening to check on his best detective, finding him looking utterly wasted, still hunched rigidly in the waiting room.

“Jim,” he urged softly. “You aren’t going to do him any good if you collapse. Go home and get a few hours sleep.”

“I can’t leave,” Ellison replied hoarsely. “They’re worried about the pressure inside his skull. If it gets any higher, they’re going to have to take him back into surgery.”

“All right,” Banks sighed, knowing it was pointless to argue with him. He set a small bag down at the Sentinel’s feet. “I figured you’d pull the stubborn routine on me. I brought you a change of clothes and a few personal items so you can clean up a little.”

“Thank you, Simon,” the detective murmured, gazing at his captain with bleary eyes.

“If you won’t go home, then I think you ought to try and get some rest here,” Banks told him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you lie down for a little bit and close your eyes? I’ll stay here and keep watch for you.”

“You don’t have...”

“I know I don’t have to,” the captain said. “I’m here because I want to be. So just shut up and do as you’re told, for once.”

Ellison smiled faintly, not fooled by his boss’ gruff tone. As much as he wanted to resist, he knew he couldn’t keep kidding himself. He was physically and emotionally exhausted, so he obediently stretched out on the battered sofa and immediately fell into a restless sleep as Banks made himself comfortable in one of the chairs, his stern gaze fixed firmly on the swinging doors before him.

Jim awoke two hours later, and despite Simon’s protests, he insisted that he was fine and resumed his watchful vigil. Banks stayed with him long into the night, lending moral support and hoping that he would be able to get the tight-lipped detective to open up to him and let out some of what he was feeling. But Ellison preferred to suffer in silence, and Simon finally left in the early morning hours, after all his further entreaties of going home were denied by his stubborn friend. And once again, the Sentinel was left alone to wait. But it was how he wanted it, for the only company he was interested in was down the hall fighting for his life. So near, and yet out of reach.




When Lauren arrived in the morning for her shift, she talked to Dr. Norris and got permission to oversee visitor rights for her ICU patients. She was a very competent nurse, and generally the doctors trusted her to regulate visitation, so that it would not cause undo stress for the patients or their families. And while Lauren generally preferred to keep the visits brief in most cases, she made an exception for Jim Ellison. The blind need he had to be with his partner was laid bare within his haunted blue eyes, and as long as he remained unobtrusive, she didn’t see what it could hurt to have him there. So, after doing what he could in the bathroom with the toiletries Simon had brought him and changing clothes, the detective was escorted into the ICU, where he firmly implanted himself at his friend’s bedside.

Lauren was assigned to the care of Blair Sandburg, but the kind nurse soon found herself dedicating more time to the man holding his hand like a lifeline. Patiently, she explained everything they were doing for the anthropologist in the simplest terms she could. Keeping the head of his bed raised to help drain blood and fluid away from his brain in order to combat the rising pressure. Going over what medications he was being given and why. Identifying the tubes and machines that were performing his body functions for him. And even letting him help as she checked his vital signs every hour.

Apart from talking, she also did a lot of listening. As she worked, Lauren coaxed Ellison into telling her about his unconventional partnership with his unconventional partner. And it was so subtle, the detective didn’t realize he was doing it until he’d just about given her Sandburg’s life story. But it did him good to talk about his friend. Not that he needed a reminder of what the kid had grown to mean in his life, but it helped to strengthen his resolve to do anything in his power to help Sandburg recover from this tragedy. He owed him that much, but more than that, he owed it to himself. For Jim knew his life would never be the same again without the bright, energetic spark of Blair beside him. The old life, one that he’d so carefully crafted and cherished, was not possible anymore. Unknowingly, the young scholar had crept in and irrevocably shattered it. But only now, with the benefit of hindsight, did the Sentinel realize he really didn’t enjoy that life that he’d designed for himself, finding it dull, sterile, lonely and loveless. And he was left praying he wouldn’t have to go back to it.

Around noon, Lauren arranged for the kitchen staff to have a meal sent to the ICU. The detective initially refused, for food was always the last thing on his mind whenever he was upset about something. But the compassionate nurse had a firm side, too, and she insisted that he eat, or else he would have to leave. So, Ellison downed the food on the tray, scarcely noticing what he was eating. It was just one more annoyance that took his undivided attention away from his friend.

“Jim.”

The hand on his arm and the soft voice tugged him away from the edge, where he’d been dangerously close to zoning. Blinking, and shaking his head slightly to clear it, he looked up at the nurse.

“My shift is over and I’m leaving for the day. I want you to go home, too.”

“No,” he started to protest, but she cut him off.

“You’re going to make yourself sick if you don’t get some sleep,” Lauren chastised gently. “Blair needs your strength now. Don’t let him down.”

Ellison focused on his partner, and she could see the detective was weakening.

“He’s doing ok,” she reassured him. “He’s holding his own for now. Go home, and get some rest. I’m back on at 7. You can come back then, ok? I made sure the next nurse has your number. If anything happens, everyone knows to call you immediately. So go home, and come back strong for him in the morning.”

“All right,” the Sentinel finally agreed. He loathed leaving his friend, feeling like he was abandoning him in a time of need, even though Sandburg was lost in the depths of unconsciousness. Reluctantly, he rose, forcing himself to release the limp hand he’d been clutching for hours. Lauren’s warm hand on his back was a welcome comfort as she led him out of the ICU. He looked back once, silently willing his friend to keep hanging on and to keep fighting, before heading down the corridor and through the swinging doors. Fatigue was clouding everything, and it took him a moment to recognize the familiar figure waiting in the chairs.

“Joel?” he greeted the captain in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I haven’t been thinking about anything but Blair,” Taggert admitted with a sad grin. “So I figured I might as well be close to him while I’m doing it. How is he?”

“Still the same, but he’s holding his own,” the detective answered, echoing Lauren’s words. “They’ve kicked me out for the night, so I was thinking of going home...”

“That’s a good idea. You look like you could use a good night’s sleep.”

“Yeah,” Ellison muttered. “But maybe I should stay...”

“I’ll tell you what.” Taggert reached into his pocket and pulled out his car keys, handing them over to his colleague. “I was going to stay here for awhile anyway. Take my car home, and you can bring it back in the morning. I’m off tomorrow, so I don’t mind staying the night.”

“Joel, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t,” the captain said impatiently. “I offered. Rafe and Brown are busy trying to track down Naomi, but they’ll probably stop by this evening. One of them can give me a lift home if I want. So go on home, Jim, and get some sleep. And don’t worry about Blair. I’ll call you the second there’s any news.”

“Thank you,” the Sentinel said softly. He turned and headed for the elevators, rubbing a hand wearily over his brow, never remembering having been so tired before in his life. Ellison still wasn’t happy about leaving his partner, but he knew that he needed to rest, and suddenly he didn’t feel so much like he was abandoning his friend. Joel was with him, and Joel would watch over him. Which was enough of a comfort to ease the conscience of the exhausted detective and allow him to go back to the loft for the first time in two days for some much needed rest. When he arrived home, Jim gave a passing thought to how drearily silent the place was before collapsing on the couch, too beat to even try to make it up the stairs. And within seconds, he surrendered to oblivion.




The Sentinel stood in the hallway with his arms folded, his eyes never wavering from his partner as he stared through the glass. It appeared that the technician was finally finished with the test, removing the electrodes from Sandburg’s head and packing up the bulky machine. Ellison held the door for him as he left the ICU, unable to get a read from the man’s neutral professionalism. But as he returned to his friend’s side, Lauren’s bright smile told him everything he needed to know. The detective still looked at her expectantly, wanting, needing, verbal confirmation that his prayers had been answered.

“The EEG did pick up some electrical activity,” she happily reported.

“So he’s not brain dead?”

“No, he’s not.”

Ellison let out a massive sigh of relief as he resumed his seat beside his partner’s bed. He picked up the limp hand in his own and gave it a slight squeeze.

“I knew you were still with me, Chief,” he whispered into his friend’s ear.

“Jim,” the nurse began hesitantly. “This new development is good news... great news.”

“But?” he prodded.

“I just don’t want to mislead you into thinking that we’re home free now. There’s still a long way to go, and a lot of things that can happen. We still need to take things one step at a time.”

The Sentinel nodded, giving the hand in his another gentle squeeze before looking up at the nurse.

“I understand,” he said softly. “The war is far from over. But still, this is another battle won, right?”

“Absolutely,” Lauren assured him, her smile returning.

“Good.” He turned his gaze back onto his partner. “So, what is the next step?”

“Doctor Norris will take a look at the results of the EEG, and then she’ll be coming down tonight, or probably tomorrow morning to do a few simple tests and assess the depth of the coma. Depending on what she finds, she’ll decide where to go from there.”

“What do you think of Doctor Norris?” Jim asked her abruptly.

“I know she can seem a little hard and impersonal sometimes,” Lauren replied. “But she’s the best neurosurgeon in Cascade. Trust me, Blair’s in the best possible pair of hands.”

“I was just thinking the same thing, myself,” the detective murmured, watching the nurse as she slipped a blood pressure cuff around Sandburg’s arm. She glanced at him, rolling her eyes in a dismissive humbleness as she took in his meaning.

“Why don’t you stop the flattery and help me take his vitals?” she proposed, placing a stethoscope under the cuff.

“Actually, I think I’ll run out and call the guys,” Jim told her. “It’ll be nice to be able to pass along some good news for a change.”

Lauren nodded, pumping the bulb to inflate the cuff as he rose and let himself out of the ICU. Ellison walked down the corridor and passed through the swinging doors, pausing for a brief visit to the men’s room on his way to the pay phone. He’d called Simon the previous day to let him know that the swelling and the pressure inside Sandburg’s head had started to recede and that they were going to stop giving him the medication that was keeping him so heavily sedated. Early that morning, Doctor Norris had examined him, announcing that his pupils were reacting to light, which was a very good sign. But although the Sentinel knew his colleagues were anxiously waiting to hear from him, he had chosen to wait until after the EEG she’d scheduled had been performed so as to have double confirmation and lessen the chance that he’d be reporting something he’d have to take back later. As he dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change, the detective couldn’t help but smile. After so many days of grim waiting, he was beyond happy to be able to tell his friends that it was just the drugs, and that Blair was indeed alive, in body and in mind. He had heeded Lauren’s warning, and was trying not to get ahead of the game, but he couldn’t help being optimistic. Sandburg had made it this far, and he knew his buddy wasn’t about to quit now.




Captain Banks entered the hospital cafeteria, immediately spying his detective hunched alone at one of the tables.

“They told me I’d find you here,” he said as he approached the table, not bothering to clarify who “they” were. Ellison had become such a permanent fixture at the hospital, virtually all the staff knew him by name.

“Hey, Simon,” Jim greeted him, waving an invitation at the chair opposite him. “They’re running another EEG on Sandburg and kicked me out of the room, so I figured I’d come down here and get something to eat in the meantime.”

Banks glanced at the untouched plate before his friend and sighed, figuring it was pointless to remind him that he needed to actually eat the food to receive any benefit from ordering it.

“Jim, I have to show you something,” he began quietly, pulling a few sheets of paper out of his overcoat pocket. “Darryl’s been really upset about what happened to Blair, and he’s been researching his condition on the internet. Most of what he’s found hasn’t been encouraging, but he brought this to my attention. And I think you need to look at it.”

Ellison took the papers from him, pushing away his uneaten meal as he glanced over them.

“Techniques and Principles of Coma Stimulation,” he muttered, reading the title aloud. His blue eyes scanned the following paragraphs quickly, growing larger as he fully absorbed what he was reading. When he finished the last page, the Sentinel let it fall to the table as he looked up at his captain in shock. “My God, Simon. Do you know what this is? This is what Sandburg does for me when I zone. The way this reads, a coma is just like an intense zone out, and with enough stimulation...”

He jumped up to pace in a tight circle around the table, running his hand over his short hair as he tried to comprehend the magnitude of what he’d read.

“I thought it might be something like that,” Simon murmured.

“Theoretically, we can bring him out of this,” Ellison mused. “When I zone, I lose all awareness to the outside world. Which is basically what a coma is, right? So when Sandburg stimulates my senses, it’s enough to bring me back to consciousness. If I can do the same thing for him...”

“That’s probably oversimplifying it a little,” the captain told him, but the Sentinel had already snatched up the papers from the table and was sprinting out of the cafeteria. Banks shook his head in resignation, sliding his friend’s plate toward him and helping himself to a few fries.




Jim perched anxiously on the edge of his chair in Doctor Norris’ office while he waited for her to read the pages he’d given her.

“I’ve heard about this type of treatment,” she said when she finished, slipping off her glasses and letting them drop to hang around her neck by a chain. “There’s a lot of debate surrounding it within the medical community. The advocates claim that it greatly improves the chances for arousal in comatose patients. But the detractors argue that the chance for overstimulation is too great and that it can place undo stress on the patients.” The doctor slipped her glasses back on and glanced over one of the pages before looking back at the eager, hopeful detective. “However, I think this is worth trying.”

“Thank you,” Ellison enthused. The benefit of his Sentinel insights had convinced him that he was onto something, and he would have been utterly crushed if the doctor had refused his proposal. “When can we start?”

“Mr. Sandburg’s intracranial pressure is still dropping, a bit slower than I’d like, but it is receding. I want it to return to normal before he’s placed on a program of stimulation. Tomorrow I’m going to try weaning him off the respirator. If he does all right with that and his pressure continues to drop, I’ll take out the ICP monitor and move him out of the ICU into a private room. In the meantime, why don’t you get with Lauren and have her help you write up a proposal for your stimulation program? If you keep the sessions brief and use mild stimulus to begin with, I’ll sign off on it and you can begin in a few days.”




Jim watched as Lauren disconnected the tubing of the respirator, preparing to suction out the tube in Sandburg’s airway. He hated the procedure, since for a few scary moments his partner was left with no air. But the nurse was fast and thorough, and had the machine connected and running in no time.

“Doctor Norris said she was going to try weaning him off the respirator tomorrow,” he remarked absently, focusing on the slight rise and fall of his friend’s chest.

“She usually tries to get her patients off the ventilator as soon as possible,” Lauren told him. “It helps take some of the stress off of them.”

“Stress?” the detective asked, a frown creasing his brow. “What stress? Isn’t the machine breathing for him?”

“Being unconscious and immobile isn’t quite as relaxing as it looks,” the nurse explained with a wry smile. “The initial injury is the obvious trauma, but everything that comes after that helps take its toll on the body as well.”

“I’m not following you,” Ellison said, confused.

“Well, under normal circumstances, the body is constantly undergoing various chemical changes, and all of its systems coordinate and adjust to keep everything in balance. But being in a coma throws everything out of whack. Lack of movement interferes with blood circulation and pressure and makes the heart work harder. Not eating can cause problems with the digestive system, and metabolism slows down making it difficult for the body to adjust to other changes, such as temperature. Tissues start to break down... and even the machines helping to keep Blair alive are putting stress on him. The respirator is breathing for him, but at a constant rate, which is hard for the body to adapt to. It also causes some fluid loss. And by giving him fluids, we’re altering his natural fluid volume, and his system has to work harder to compensate. Meds are foreign chemicals that have to be processed by the liver and kidneys. Even such simple things like his IV and the catheter add to the stress on his body by bypassing normal body functions and causing mechanical irritation.”

“I had no idea,” the detective murmured.

“Most people don’t,” Lauren continued. “And most doctors don’t really worry about these stresses unless they manifest into physical problems. But Doctor Norris prefers to get the body functioning back on normal levels as quickly as possible, and try to avoid the complications before they arise. We also need to start working Blair’s muscles a little, and start turning him so he doesn’t develop pressure sores. And that’s a lot easier to do if he’s not attached to the ventilator tube.”

“What if the weaning doesn’t work?” Jim asked. “What if he can’t breathe on his own?”

“Then he’ll have to go back onto the respirator.” The nurse gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze as she walked around him to get the chart hanging on the foot of the bed. “But I wouldn’t worry about that until we see how it goes. Blair’s brainstem wasn’t damaged, and that’s the part of the brain that controls the nervous system. His kidneys and his heart are working normally, so there’s every reason to believe he’ll be able to breathe on his own. There’s no harm in hoping.”

“No, no harm,” the Sentinel whispered. It had served him well so far.




Ellison paced restlessly along the length of the glass window. The curtain had been pulled around Sandburg’s bed, preventing him from seeing anything, but he heard everything that was being said. And although he didn’t understand all the medical jargon, he got the gist that the weaning was not going as well as they had expected. Finally Lauren came out to talk to him, laying a hand on his arm when he appeared not to notice her.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized quickly as he jumped in surprise. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“What’s going on?” the detective demanded, waving away her apology.

“Blair is taking a few breaths on his own, but it’s not enough to sustain him,” she explained. “They’re trying to decide whether to give him a few minutes and see if he picks up his respirations, or to just go ahead and put him back on the automatic ventilation.”

“Lauren, I need to see him,” the Sentinel insisted.

“Doctor Norris won’t allow you in there just now,” the nurse replied. “I’m sorry, Jim. I have to get back in there. I’ll let you know as soon as we know anything.”

She reentered the ICU, disappearing through the curtain. Ellison pressed his forehead against the glass, closing his eyes and taking a few deep, cleansing breaths.

“Come on, buddy,” he whispered under his breath. “You can do it. Come on, Chief. Breathe. Just breathe. Come on, Sandburg. Fight for it. Breathe, buddy, breathe.”

He kept up his hushed mantra, urging his partner to breathe as he mentally focused on the image of his friend, willing him to fight. In his mind’s eye, he could see Blair lying there, so still and helpless, and without even knowing what he was doing, Jim projected his strength and energy and the will to live to the image of his guide.

A hand on his back made him jump a second time, and he spun around, shaking his head to clear it as he focused on Lauren’s bemused face.

“He did it,” she informed him. “He’s breathing normally. We’re going to monitor him closely for awhile, but if he keeps this up, Doctor Norris will extubate him in the morning and he’ll be on his own.”

“Thank God,” the detective sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “He had me worried there for a minute.”

“He had us all worried,” Lauren grinned. “Your friend certainly has a flair for the dramatic.”

“You have no idea,” Ellison muttered, unable to suppress his own grin.

“Well, Blair’s doing ok, so why don’t you go home and get some rest tonight?” the nurse suggested.

“I’m not tired,” the Sentinel lied.

“Oh no?” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “So you weren’t just asleep on your feet and leaving prints on my window?”

“I was just...” Jim trailed off, not sure how to explain to her what he’d been doing. He wasn’t even sure how to explain it to himself.

“Go on in,” Lauren told him. “You’ve got fifteen minutes, and then I’m sending you home.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Ellison saluted her quickly before hurrying into the ICU to his friend’s bedside. “Way to go, Chief,” he whispered into his partner’s ear. “I knew you could do it.”

“Another battle won, I’d say,” Lauren observed.

“Yeah.” The detective looked up at her with a fond smile. “Sandburg’s quite a fighter. For a pacifist.”




As the Sentinel came through the swinging doors, he was a bit surprised to find Joel and Simon in the waiting room.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“We were on our way to dinner and we thought we’d stop by and check up on Sandburg,” Simon told him. “How’s he doing?”

“Ok,” Ellison replied. “He’s still on the respirator, but he’s breathing on his own now. And if he keeps it up, they’re going to take out the tube in the morning.”

“That’s wonderful,” Taggert beamed.

“Yeah,” the detective agreed. “I think we deserve a little good news.”

“Well here’s some more for you,” Banks announced. “Rafe and H managed to track down Naomi. She’s in Nepal.”

“What the hell is she doing in Nepal?” Jim demanded. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” It didn’t matter where Naomi was. As far as he was concerned, she was where she always was when Blair needed her. Someplace else.

“She’s on her way back, and she should be here in a few days,” Banks continued.

“Thanks, Simon,” Ellison sighed. “I appreciate all of you guys taking care of everything.”

“It was our pleasure,” Joel assured him. “We all know you needed to be here, and we were glad to help.”

“So,” the Sentinel said, aiming for casualness. “You guys are heading out to dinner. Where are you going?”

“We’re going to try that new Italian place on the waterfront,” Banks answered. “I don’t suppose we could talk you into coming with us?”

Jim grinned, suddenly realizing he was starving, and with good reason. He hadn’t had what constituted as a real meal since Sandburg entered the hospital.

“Only if you let me buy,” he told them, looping an arm around his captain’s shoulders and leading the way toward the elevator.




When Ellison returned to the hospital in the morning, he found that the intubation tube had already been removed and Sandburg was indeed on his own and breathing normally, with only a nasal cannula helping him with a slight oxygen boost. It was a relief for the Sentinel to be able to see his friend without the hideous tubing taped to his face, and he relished the quiet that took the place of the rhythmic whooshing of air through the respirator. Lauren kept a close eye on Blair, frequently checking his respiration rate and sending off periodic blood samples for lab analysis. His blood gasses routinely came back normal, with the oxygen and carbon dioxide levels in his blood right where they should be. The next morning, Doctor Norris was satisfied with his progress enough to remove the ICP monitor, and the following day Blair was transferred out of the ICU into a private room in the ward on the other side of the floor.

Jim was, of course, glad that his partner had improved enough to leave the ICU, a mere ten days after his grave injury, and was placed in the ward where visitation was much less rigid and the guys from Major Crimes would be able to see him. But a small part of him was sad to see his friend leave the ICU, for it meant he was no longer under Lauren’s dedicated care. The detective had quickly grown to respect, admire, appreciate, and even love the young nurse for the kindness and compassion she had shown both of them, and he was sorry Blair had to be taken away from that. But things were slow in the ICU, and Lauren made it a point to visit the two partners she had also come to care about. And she and Jim put their heads together and designed a proposal for a stimulation program, both pleased when Doctor Norris approved it as written.

The Sentinel dedicated himself to getting the program underway. He decided against visual stimulation at first, since Blair had his eyes closed, lost in deep unconsciousness. But he raided the loft, bringing in a host of familiar objects to try and stimulate his partner into arousal. Ellison drew up charts, scheduling several brief sessions every day, focusing on one or two senses at a time. He also made charts for recording reactions to the various stimuli, so they could keep track of progress and compare what worked with what didn’t. Once he got his system underway, he taught Simon and the rest of the guys how to apply the varying stimuli according to the chart, along with what to look for and how to record it. They had all expressed an interest in helping, and Jim figured it would be good for Blair to get the auditory stimulation of all his friends, instead of only hearing his voice. And ironically, one of the first scents that Sandburg showed any sort of reaction to was the smell of one of Simon’s cigars.

At first Blair demonstrated little or no reaction to any of the stimuli he was given. But Lauren urged the Sentinel not to become discouraged, and he patiently kept at it. Letting his partner smell a bottle of his herbal shampoo, or the scented candles he favored which were fragrant even when unlit. Playing his favorite CD’s, or turning on the tv for a few minutes of the Jags game. Changing his position, covering him with the soft afghan that he loved to snuggle up in, or exercising his limp muscles. And using swabs to give him tastes of some of his favorite foods, including an algae shake that he’d specially blended up. All the while, Jim kept up a steady dialogue, trying to orient his friend to the fact that he was in the hospital and why, always explaining what he was doing as he exposed him to the various stimuli. Slowly, but surely, Blair began to respond.

Naomi arrived, but Ellison scarcely noticed. It was Simon who picked her up at the airport, explaining the situation to her as he drove her to the loft. So she was prepared when she arrived at the hospital, although the sight of her son with a healing wound standing out on the patch of shaved head still made her gasp. But she quickly recovered and Jim initiated her into his program, familiarizing her with the charts and schedules he kept in a thick binder and showing her what to do and what to watch for. Signs of reactions, as well as symptoms of overstimulation, which had fortunately only happened once so far. Naomi had her own ideas of stimuli to try, and the Sentinel incorporated them into his schedule as well.

Deciding that Ms. Sandburg’s alternative treatments, such as cleansing Blair’s aura, balancing his chakras, and employing crystal therapy, were all harmless and not detrimental to his stimulation program, the detective returned to work. He’d been off for two weeks, and although Simon had been very understanding, Jim knew that he couldn’t justify any more time off now that his partner was stable and out of danger. Ellison still spent every night at the hospital, more or less content to leave Naomi with her son during the day, especially after extracting a promise from Lauren that she would check in on them when she could. They continued the stimulation program, adjusting it accordingly as the responses they got from Blair increased. Although they were slight, a faint moan, a swallow, a flutter of the eyelids, increase in respiration, Doctor Norris was impressed with the progress and encouraged them to keep it up. Which they more than willingly did, with the help of the rest of the Major Crimes unit. Simon even brought Darryl a few times to talk to Blair, the boy very proud that he’d found something that had seemed to help the injured anthropologist.

Three weeks into the program, Ellison answered the phone at his desk, receiving an excited call from Naomi. She reported that Blair’s eyes were open, and the detective immediately left work and sped to the hospital. Bursting into his partner’s room, he found that the blue eyes were indeed open. His own excitement was quelled slightly when he discovered that his friend was staring into space, seemingly unaware and unfocused. But he immediately began incorporating visual stimulation into the schedule, adding pictures and mementos and faces of friends into the mix.

The Sentinel had thought that his partner had been close to waking up, but the days passed and there was no further improvement. The rest of the guys began to get discouraged, and Naomi became frustrated with her son's stubbornness. Even Jim started losing his iron clad grip on the hope and confidence that he'd been clinging to all along. So he looked to Lauren, who had been so instrumental in bolstering that hope all through the agonizing ordeal.

"The waiting is the hardest part," she counseled him over coffee in the cafeteria. "I know how hard this is for you, Jim. And I also know how hard you've been trying and how much you wanted this to work. But I think you need to take a step back and look at what Blair's already accomplished. I've heard some of the staff calling him the miracle in room 209. And it is a miracle, not only that he survived such an injury, but that he actually survived with some brain function intact and is now showing signs of coming out of the coma."

"I know that he's already surpassed everyone's expectations," he said impatiently, tired of hearing the same old spiel.

"Jim, don't push him." The nurse reached across the table to cover his hands with hers. "Blair has been through hell, plain and simple. And he's still got a long, hard fight ahead of him. You just keep doing what you're doing. He'll come back to you when he's ready."

Ellison drew in a long, deep breath and took her hands, squeezing them gratefully. He knew that without the encouragement and support of the kind nurse throughout his tortured vigil, he probably would have lost it completely. If not in a physical breakdown, then in a Sentinel-induced zone out of massive proportions.

"I have to get back to the ICU," Lauren told him with a smile. "You keep hanging in there." She rose from the table, taking her cup with her. "Thanks for the coffee."

The detective watched her leave, promising himself that he wasn't going to forget her when this was all over. At the very least, he owed her a nice dinner. And he looked forward to the day when he and Sandburg could extend the invitation, although it wouldn't even begin to make up for all that she had done for them. Both of them.




The Sentinel entered the quiet room, realizing that Naomi must have already left for the day. Usually their paths crossed and they spent a little time together working with Blair in the late afternoon, but the detective had gotten tied up in court and was later than usual with his evening visit. He turned on the lamp above his friend's bed to add to the dim florescent light that was always present and took off his jacket, draping it over a chair in the corner.

"How are you today, Chief?" he murmured, picking up the heavy binder on the table next to the bed and flipping it open to the day's entries. He scanned the chart quickly, going over the sessions that Naomi had done and grinning as he saw the flowery script recording the one o'clock session, indicating that Lauren had participated. H had joked that he knew for sure Sandburg was in a coma, since he didn't pop up and try flirting with the attractive nurse. Not that Ellison could argue with that, chuckling to himself that he was hard pressed to come up with anything that would be much more visually stimulating for his younger partner. Yet he was obligated to try, according to his schedule, although he decided to work on touch stimulus first.

"All right, Junior, you know the drill," he announced, his voice calm and reassuring. "You're here in the hospital, remember? I know you're pretty happy in your unconscious world, but you've been there long enough and we have to try and wake you up. I'm just going to work your muscles a little bit."

He adjusted the bed so that it was lying flat and began the process of exercising his friend's limbs. Jim frowned slightly, wondering if he was actually detecting a slight tenseness to the normally flaccid muscles, or if he was imagining it. But as he worked Sandburg's legs and moved to his arms, he became convinced that he was encountering some resistance.

"That's it, Chief," he encouraged, trying not to seem too excited. Everyone at the hospital had warned him repeatedly about reading too much into small progresses and building false hope around them. But the Sentinel couldn't help himself, for as far as he was concerned, even the tiniest skirmish won was still that much closer to winning the overall war. He recorded the data into the chart, unable to resist adding an exclamation point after he wrote down the reactions and scored them, and then brought the bed back up so that his partner was in a more upright position. "Now let's see how you do with sight. I brought you something new tonight.”

Ellison moved over to the corner where he’d left his jacket, reaching into the pocket and pulling out a handful of baseball cards that he’d gotten from his friend’s room back in the loft. He returned to Sandburg’s bedside, sliding into the chair next to it and flipping through the stack of cards.

“Ok, who shall we start with?” The detective glanced over at his partner and suddenly froze as he realized that Blair was looking at him. His wide blue eyes were focused, the blank, fixed stare gone. Jim slowly rose, his heart hammering loudly in his chest as he walked around the bed. Sandburg’s head turned slightly, his eyes never leaving the Sentinel. Ellison almost collapsed, leaning up against the bed with shaking knees. Oblivious to the tears on his cheeks, he reached out and clasped his friend’s hand tightly in his own. “Welcome back, Chief,” he whispered, forcing the words past a constricted throat. “I knew you could do it.”




Both Jim and Naomi sat up a little straighter as Doctor Norris entered her office, and they looked at her expectantly as she took a seat behind her large oak desk.

“First of all,” she began, folding her hands in front of her. “I want to commend you both. I believe your stimulation program had a lot to do with bringing Mr. Sandburg out of the coma, Detective. I only wish I had some better news to pass on now.”

Naomi glanced worriedly at her son’s roommate and turned back to the doctor.

“What did the tests show?”

“I gave him a complete neurological exam,” she explained. “His cranial nerves are all intact, and his sensory function, mobility and reflexes all seem to be functioning normally. However, he failed all of the mental status assessments.”

“What does that mean?” Ellison demanded.

“It means that Mr. Sandburg is not showing any signs of conscious thought,” she replied. “He can react to stimuli, but he can’t process any of it. He can’t initiate even the simplest forms of activity, and he has no reaction to verbal commands.”

“But he can get better, right?” Naomi whispered, reaching out to the detective. He took her hand, squeezing it tightly. “This isn’t permanent, is it?”

“There’s always hope for improvement,” the doctor told them. “He’s going to need extensive therapy. No guarantees, but there’s a chance he could recover some of his abilities. But I’m not going to lie to you. I don’t think he’ll ever be the same as he was before the injury occurred.”

Naomi dissolved into tears and the Sentinel slipped a consoling arm around her shoulders before looking evenly at the doctor.

“When can we take him home?”

“Detective Ellison, haven’t you been listening to me?” she asked incredulously. “Mr. Sandburg isn’t functioning beyond the basic autotomic impulses. He can’t go home. He needs to go to a rehabilitation hospital, where he can get the care he needs.” The doctor gentled her tone a bit. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard on both of you. Take a few minutes, and then I’ll help you figure out the next step.”

“I don’t think I can take this,” Naomi sobbed, clinging to the detective’s chest. “How could this be happening to him, Jim?”

But the Sentinel didn’t answer. He didn’t have the words, but even if he did he doubted he could get them past the knot in his throat.




“Hey.” Lauren stepped through the doors, shivering a bit in the cool night air. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I just needed a minute to clear my head.” Ellison turned his head to look at the nurse as she hopped up to sit on the edge of the large planter beside him. “You’ve heard?”

“Yes,” she replied sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Jim.”

“Yeah, me too,” he said bitterly.

“I know this was a blow, but don’t lose yourself to anger now.”

“I’m not angry,” he seethed, hopping down to pace the sidewalk. “I’m furious. At the doctors, for not being able to help him. At the idiot bastard who shot him. I’m pissed off at Sandburg for letting it happen. And at myself...”

“Why are you angry with yourself?” she asked. He didn’t reply, but stopped his pacing, looking up at the clear night sky as he wrapped his arms around his chest. Lauren slid off the planter to stand beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Why are you angry with yourself, Jim?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered in a trembling voice. “For not being there with him when it happened. Not protecting him. For turning him into a cop in the first place, making him feel like he had to step in and get involved.” He glanced at the young nurse beside him, and she saw tears glistening in his blue eyes. “Or maybe I’m just mad at myself because I let myself care about him so damn much. I’m mad because I need him. I let myself grow to depend on him and rely on him, and now I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do without him.”

“Jim, throughout this whole thing you’ve always managed to hold onto your faith and hope. Don’t lose that now. Not when Blair needs it the most.” Lauren reached up, gently turning his chin to look at her. “You’ve gotten him this far,” she said earnestly. “I know it’s been a long road, and it’s only the first leg. But don’t get discouraged now. You need to bring him the rest of the way.”

The Sentinel sighed, running a hand wearily over his eyes.

“Be angry at what happened to him,” she continued. “But channel that anger into your resolve to help him. Don’t take it out on Blair, and don’t bury yourself with guilt. What happened wasn’t his fault, and you certainly aren’t to blame. From what you told me, Blair’s the sort of caring man who would have stepped in and tried to help anyway, cop or not. And don’t ever be angry with yourself for loving him. That’s the greatest gift we can share with another human being. Don’t ever begrudge yourself that.”

Lauren slipped her arm around him, hugging him. Ellison closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and drawing strength from her warm embrace, realizing she was right. He relaxed, the anger melting away from him, leaving him feeling tired and drained.

“I just wanted to take him home,” he murmured. “I wanted this all to be over” He glanced back toward the building, at the rows of windows, focusing on the room that his partner was currently occupying. “Naomi’s already making arrangements to have him transferred to some rehab place. Which I guess is what’s best for him, but I would have rather just gotten him home.”

“Then you need to help him get there,” the nurse encouraged. “It’s not hopeless, Jim. Just don’t give up on him. Not now, not when he’s come this far.”

Give up? No, he couldn’t do that. He may have been on the verge, but when it came down to the wire, that patented Ellison stubbornness just wouldn’t let him. And he certainly couldn’t give up on Sandburg. The kid had long since proven that he had a knack for pulling off the impossible, so the Sentinel had no reason to believe that this time would be any different. And while hope and faith had always been Sandburg’s department, the often cynical detective had no problem holding on to his now. Not where his irrepressible partner was concerned. He had just needed a little reminder.

“Thank you, Lauren,” he said gratefully, turning and drawing the nurse into a hug of his own. “I appreciate all your support. We never would have made it through this without you.”

“It doesn’t have to end here,” she told him. “You have my numbers. Don’t ever hesitate to use them if you have any questions or if I can help you with something. And keep me updated. I lose track of so many patients after they leave the ICU. But I really would like to know how the both of you are doing. So many don’t make it out of the ward, it helps to be able to remember the successes.”

“I’ll do that,” he promised solemnly. It was the least he could do after all she’d done for them. And he also wasn’t in any hurry to lose contact with the one person who had understood and accepted without question his blind need and his unconditional love for his partner. The Sentinel had a feeling he would be needing her compassionate bolstering again before it was all over.




Ellison shut the door behind him, immediately noticing the bags arranged neatly on the floor.

“Naomi?” he called out, slipping out of his jacket and hanging it on a hook.

“Back here.”

He entered Sandburg’s room to find her zipping up the garment bag that was lying on the bed.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m leaving, Jim,” she told him, picking up the bag and moving out of the room. The detective followed her out into the living room, where she hung the bag on a hook next to the door.

“Leaving?” he echoed, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “Why? Where are you going?”

“Cairo, for starters,” she replied, going into the kitchen. “I have some friends there. Then I may go up to Jerusalem, or maybe over to India. I’ll see when I get there. Tea?”

“No, thank you.” Ellison shook his head, dumbfounded. “Naomi, I don’t understand. How can you leave Blair? He needs you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” she said quietly, pouring hot water from the kettle into a mug. “He doesn’t even know who I am.”

“But...”

“Jim, it’s time to face the facts.” Naomi came forward to meet his gaze, laying a hand on his arm. “The Blair we knew is gone, and all that’s left is a shell. He needs someone to care for him, but he doesn’t need either of us. It’s time to accept that, and to get on with our lives.”

“How can you do this?” the Sentinel demanded in disbelief. “How can you just abandon your son? Don’t you love him?”

“Of course I do,” she answered, stepping back to the stove to retrieve her mug. “And I love you, too, for all that you’ve done for Blair. I know you care about him, Jim. But we’ve done all we can and now we have to let go. It’s not abandonment. It’s moving on. I need to go and find spiritual acceptance with what’s happened to him. And I suggest you learn to do the same. It’s what Blair would have wanted.”

Naomi took her mug and went back into her son’s room to finish her packing, leaving the detective staring after her in astonishment. He knew that she had often been selfish, putting her life before her son’s as he was growing up, although Blair had never seen it that way. Sandburg had always accepted that his mother was a free spirit, and had never questioned the offhanded manner in which he’d been raised. But Ellison had seen things another way. There was no doubt that Naomi loved her son, but he had always come second to whatever whim she wanted to follow. Although not maliciously, and perhaps even unconsciously, she had neglected Blair time after time, of that the Sentinel was sure. It was no wonder the kid was so damn industrious and ingenious; he’d had to be, just to survive.

Ellison clenched his jaw tightly as he moved out to the balcony. It was cold, but he resolved to stay out there until he got himself under control and was sure he wasn’t going to barge into the bedroom and give Naomi a piece of his mind. Although it might be temporarily satisfying, it wouldn’t solve anything and would only leave a lot of bad blood between them. She was a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions, and even though he thought she was wrong and merely running from what she didn’t want to face, he had to respect that. If only for Blair’s sake.

So in the morning, the detective held his tongue as he drove Naomi to the airport. They stopped briefly at the hospital, for her to say goodbye to her son.

“He taught himself to read, did you know that?” She stroked Blair’s hair gently and looked up at the Sentinel with tears in her eyes. “When he was three years old.”

“I didn’t know,” Ellison murmured. “But that doesn’t surprise me.”

“He was always brilliant,” she continued, gazing down lovingly into the wide blue eyes looking up at her. “Even when he was a baby, I knew it. That’s why it kills me to see him like this. That beautiful mind... gone. Everything he was, and all he wanted to be... gone. I just can’t stand it.”

She turned away, wiping at the tears on her cheeks. Jim handed her a handkerchief as he put a comforting arm around her shoulders.

“I almost wish he had died,” she choked out. “It might almost have been easier than seeing him like this.”

Naomi excused herself to duck into the bathroom, missing the look of horror that came over the detective’s face. He glanced over at his friend, taking a deep breath. The fact that Blair was still alive had been his consoling thought all along. And as much as it hurt him to see the young scholar helpless, only able to react to what happened around him, having him there in that state was better than not having him at all.

“We’d better get going, or you’ll miss your flight,” he announced when Naomi finally returned, her eyes dry and her makeup reapplied. She nodded and bent over the bed, kissing her son on the forehead.

“Goodbye, Darling,” she whispered. And with one quick glance back, she followed Jim out of the room.

He left her at the airport, promising he’d take care of Blair. But she told him to take care of himself first, hugging him and telling him that she’d call him when she landed somewhere. Ellison saw her off, then headed back to his truck, still amazed that she was able to just pick up and run out on her son. He expected the guys to all be on his side, but he was shocked to find that they actually had some sympathy for Naomi when he went to work and relayed the story.

“You can’t blame her for wanting to get on with her life, Jim,” Taggert reasoned.

“You’re defending her?” Ellison asked incredulously. “A woman who jets off to Egypt while her son’s lying here in the hospital?”

“What do you want her to do, man?” H piped up. “The hospital’s taking care of Hairboy, and it’s not doing him any good to have her sitting there beside him day after day.”

“What is wrong with you guys?” the Sentinel demanded in exasperation.

“Look, Jim, we’re not saying that we agree with her decision to go halfway across the world,” Rafe tried to placate him. “We’re just saying that she’s not wrong for wanting to turn over some of the burden to the professionals and get back a little for herself.”

“That’s fine to say if you’re on the outside,” Jim argued. “But what if it were your son lying in that hospital?”

He tossed the file in his hand onto his desk and left the bullpen, leaving his fellow detectives contemplating his words in silence. Deciding to call in sick for the rest of the day, Ellison went down to the garage and hopped in his truck, firing it up and heading back to the hospital. He made his way down the long corridor, pausing at the reception desk to request a wheelchair before he entered his partner’s room. An orderly brought one before long, and helped him get his friend into it. Jim put Blair’s jacket on him and tucked a blanket around his legs, then took the handles of the chair and pushed it outside. The detective walked leisurely through the landscaped grounds, stopping next to a wooden bench where he parked the chair and took a seat.

“Well, I guess it’s just you and me now, buddy,” he murmured softly.

Blair glanced at him as he heard the words, but then a squirrel digging through the leaves on the ground nearby captured his attention.

“I don’t care if you don’t remember me,” the Sentinel continued. “Because I remember you. That’s what’s important, right? And I promise you, Chief, I’m not going to leave you. We’re in this together, and I can’t move on unless you come with me. And I know you can do it. Besides, you don’t just run out on the people you love.”

The younger man looked at him again, and Ellison peered into those deep blue eyes. For a split second, he thought he saw something flicker in the azure depths.

"You’re not just a shell. You are still in there, aren’t you?” he whispered. But he received no further confirmation to his speculation, and he sighed as he put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. Rising, he hit the brakes on the chair and began heading back inside as the first drops of rain began to fall from the threatening clouds. If there was even the slightest chance that some shred of his partner remained, then the detective wouldn’t rest until he found it.




Ellison knocked on the frame of his captain’s open door, entering as he was waved in.

“All right, thank you.” Banks hung up the phone and turned to his detective.

“All the evidence is logged in and I’ve finished the fives,” the Sentinel told him, handing him the report.

“That was the D.A.,” Simon explained, glancing over the forms. “She was granted the bail that she asked for, and this clown is never going to be able to make it.”

“Good,” Ellison sighed, taking what consolation he could from the news.

Banks leaned back in his chair, looking his detective over.

“How have you been doing with your senses?”

“Ok,” he shrugged. “I’ve had a few spikes, but I haven’t zoned yet. I think I’ve got a pretty good handle on the control now.”

Simon was glad to hear it, but he was more concerned with the weary, troubled look that his friend sported.

“Rough case, huh, Jim?”

“Yeah,” the Sentinel muttered. “You could say that.”

He was no stranger to the horrors of the job, having seen most everything in the way of murders, violence, and all manner of crime. But that afternoon they had followed up on a tip regarding a known felon who was rumored to be cooking up methamphetamine in his bathtub. Not only did they catch the lowlife at his task, but they had also found his live in girlfriend and her three children in the rat and roach infested apartment. The oldest boy, eight years old, was clearly hopped up on the stuff. And all three kids were half starved and showing signs of having been battered. The sight had sickened the detective to his soul, and it was one he knew he wasn’t going to be able to get out of his head anytime soon.

“Why don’t we grab Rafe and Brown and go get a beer?” Banks suggested. “My treat.”

“I appreciate that, Simon, but some other time, all right? I think I’m going to head over and drop in on Sandburg before I go home.”

“It’s got to be after visiting hours,” the captain pointed out, glancing at the clock. “They let you in this late?”

“That’s when it comes in handy to have a badge.” Ellison managed a faint grin. “They have to let me in.”

“So long as I don’t get a call about it,” Banks chuckled. “How’s the kid doing?”

“I don’t know,” Jim sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not seeing any improvement.”

“What do you mean? I thought you said he was up and walking.”

“He’ll walk, if you lead him somewhere,” the Sentinel answered. “His muscle tone is getting better, and he’s gaining with his balance and coordination. But there hasn’t been any progress in terms of his awareness. He’s still no more conscious of anything than he was when he first arrived.”

“Maybe that’s because its as good as he’s going to get,” Simon suggested gently.

“I don’t buy that, Sir,” Ellison said firmly. “I don’t think they’re spending enough time with him. He gets physical therapy for a couple hours a day, and then that’s it. The rest of the time he’s trapped in his room, confined to bed or a chair.”

“I’m sure they’re doing the best they can,” Banks reassured him. “They have a lot of patients to take care of, and they can’t spend all their time just with Sandburg.”

“I know that, but I just think he’d stand a better chance if they spent a little more time working with him,” the detective argued. “I’ve only seen his doctor once since he’s been there. And... I keep finding bruises on him.”

“Bruises?” Simon frowned over the rim of his glasses. “Surely you don’t think they’re abusing him, do you?”

“No, of course not,” Jim replied impatiently. “I’d never leave him there if I even suspected that was going on.”

“Then where is he getting bruises?”

“They say it’s during the physio.”

“And you don’t believe them?”

“I do,” the Sentinel said slowly. “But... When I take him out, he doesn’t come back banged up. I think they get in a hurry and maybe aren’t quite as careful with him. Or sometimes they have him in group therapy, and who knows what some of the other patients might be doing to him. I’m just afraid he’s getting lost in the shuffle, you know? I keep thinking that...”

He paused as the phone on his captain’s desk rang shrilly. With an apologetic nod, Banks answered it for a brief conversation.

“Brown’s coming in with the transfer order for me to sign,” he explained as he dropped the receiver back into the cradle. “He and Rafe are personally going to escort your meth pusher over to the Cascade Jail.”

“All right,” Ellison murmured as he headed for the door. “I’m going to get out of here, then.”

“Jim.” Banks rose and moved from behind his desk to clap his detective on the shoulder. “Today wasn’t the greatest. Go see your friend, then go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow we can pick up this conversation where we left off, ok?”

“Thanks, Simon.”

The Sentinel left his captain’s office, pausing by his desk to turn off his small lamp and grab his jacket. As he waited for the elevator, he realized that he should be glad he had gotten another dope slinger off the streets, but instead he just felt numb. His passion for his job had been declining ever since Sandburg had been hurt, and now he was just left mechanically going through the motions. The young observer had come to represent for him everything good and decent about humanity. And without that constant in his life, he was left with only the worst humanity had to offer. Up to his eyeballs in it every day. And it was starting to wear him down.

Which was why he felt such a pressing need to see Blair on such nights. For there was something in those calm blue eyes... No recognition or awareness. But they radiated a serene peace, and the detective was always able to find something life affirming just sitting next to his partner’s bed. It restored his flagging hope and faith, not just in himself, but for all of humanity.

The rest of the guys in the MCU obviously didn’t feel the same way. They had come to see Sandburg a few times, but their visits had pretty much stopped. And every time Ellison walked down the corridor to his room, he could understand why. It was depressing, plodding down the cold, clinical hallway and seeing all the poor souls inhabiting the hospital. People with all manner of disabilities, crippling in mind and body. Old folks with stroke paralyses, young kids with head trauma. People of all shapes and sizes, spouting gibberish, roaming dazedly through the halls, laughing, crying, screaming for help... It was enough to disturb the most stalwart of men. And then having to see Blair, who had always been the model of energy and motion and enthusiasm, lying so still and quiet. Unable to speak or wave or even so much as wink to show he had any degree of cognizance. It was utterly heartbreaking.

But the Sentinel kept coming back. Not every day, but three or four times a week. He would take Blair out for a walk around the grounds when weather permitted, or just sit with him when it didn’t. Keeping up a constant stream of chatter about work and life and the world in general. And making sure to bring in all manner of treats, once he saw what passed for food in the facility. Though he sometimes got discouraged or frustrated, he never lost his patience and he never even thought about stopping his visits. Blair might not have needed him, but he needed Blair. Especially after a case that was destined to haunt him.

The reception desk was empty when the detective entered the hospital. Grateful that he didn’t have to strong arm anyone into letting him in, Ellison hurried down the corridor toward his friend’s room, hoping he could duck in before he was spotted. But as he entered the room, he stopped short as he got a good look at his partner. Blair was bound securely to the rails on his bed and looked absolutely miserable. Jim started toward him, but halted as his senses picked up footsteps out in the hallway. No longer worried about remaining undetected, he strode out the door and accosted the orderly who was coming down the corridor.

“Hey,” he called out, catching the man by the arm. The detective reentered his friend’s room, dragging the orderly with him. “What the hell’s going on here? Why is he in restraints?”

“Mr. Sandburg became agitated and uncooperative,” the man reported, yanking his arm out of the Sentinel’s grasp and glaring at him in annoyance. “He was restrained for his own welfare and safety. And visiting hours are over, Detective. I’m going to have to ask you to come back in the morning.”

“All these weeks and he doesn’t stir once, and now you’re telling me he’s being ‘agitated and uncooperative’?” Ellison demanded, ignoring the request. “Maybe there’s something wrong with him, did you ever think of that?” He moved over to his friend’s bedside. “What’s going on, buddy?” He reached out a hand to brush the curls back from Blair’s face, frowning as his fingers touched his partner’s skin. “He’s hot,” the Sentinel announced, resting the back of his hand against his friend’s forehead. “He’s burning up, you incompetent idiot!” Jim turned on the orderly, the look of menace on his face making the man back up nervously toward the door. “I want him taken to the hospital, now.”

“Detective, we have medical staff here who...”

“Are you going to arrange it?” Ellison snapped, pulling out his cell phone. “Or do I have to do it myself?”

“I’ll call the hospital,” the orderly said finally. “They’ll send an ambulance to pick him up.”

“Then go do it and get the hell out of my sight, before you end up needing one for yourself.”

The man turned and flew out of the room. Jim sighed, closing his cell phone and sliding it back into his coat pocket. He went back to his friend’s bedside and began undoing the restraints. Once he was freed, Blair curled up into the fetal position, and the Sentinel’s heart ached for his partner.

“It’s ok, Chief,” he murmured, stroking his hair and rubbing his back gently. “Everything’s going to be all right. We’re going to get you taken care of, I promise.”

After about thirty minutes the EMT’s arrived, loading Blair up on the stretcher and wheeling him out to the waiting ambulance. Ellison followed them to the hospital in his truck, but was forced to stay out in the waiting room while his partner was examined. Finally, the doctor came out to speak with him.

“We’re waiting on the results of his urinalysis to come back,” he told the anxious detective. “But it looks like a classic kidney infection. They aren’t uncommon in people with catheters.”

“So, antibiotics can clear that up?” the Sentinel asked.

“If the test results confirm the diagnosis, then, yes, we’ll get him started on antibiotics and he should be fine,” the doctor assured him. “We’re going to admit him, regardless, and I’d like to keep him here until his fever drops.”

“Can I see him?”

“Why don’t you wait here while we get him settled into a room? I’ll send a nurse to bring you to him once we get him situated.”

Ellison nodded his thanks, wearily resuming his seat on the lumpy couch, picking up the magazine that he been staring at blankly. He didn’t have to wait very long, and as promised, a nurse came to get him and led him to Sandburg’s room. Within the hour, another nurse entered, glancing at him half asleep in the chair next to his friend’s bed.

“You know, Detective, visiting hours are over.”

Jim sat up, biting back a yawn as he opened his mouth to argue. But as he looked at the young woman, recognition set in and he knew she was teasing.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he grinned, getting up and moving over to her for a hug. “How are you, Lauren?”

“Stuck on night shift for the next three weeks,” she told him, making a face. “Oher than that, I’m fine. But I hear my favorite patient isn’t feeling too well.”

“No,” the Sentinel replied, shaking his head. His blood boiled when he thought of his friend lying there in misery at the rehab hospital with no one to help him, but he was far too tired to get into that rant with the nurse.

“Well, don’t worry,” Lauren consoled him, giving Sandburg’s hand a soft pat. “It just so happens that my roommate is working this floor tonight, and she’s almost as good as I am.” The young nurse shot the detective a mischievous smile. “Blair’s in good hands, and I’m sure he’ll be fine. I have to get back to the ICU now, but I’ll stop back in later.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” he beamed. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Jim. Maybe someday we can stop meeting like this...”

He smiled at the retreating nurse and went to check his friend. Blair was lying with his eyes half closed, and what blue was visible was glazed with fever. Ellison rested his hand on his friend’s forehead, feeling the heat radiating from him. Instead of resuming his seat, he darted into the bathroom and soaked a towel in cool water. Taking his chair once more, he began repeatedly bathing Blair’s face and neck, trying to bring his friend some small measure of comfort before the nurse arrived.

“Detective Ellison?”

He looked up and nodded as the young woman entered the room.

“And this must be Mr. Sandburg,” she said, smiling down at her patient. “I’ve been ordered to take especially good care of him.”

“Are you Lauren’s roommate?” Jim asked.

“Bethany,” she acknowledged with a nod as she inserted a needle into a bottle of clear liquid. “The test results came back and confirmed that Mr. Sandburg does have a kidney infection.” She depressed the plunger in the needle, squirting a little fluid out into the air until it reached the correct dosage. “So the doctor ordered a course of antibiotics. He can go on oral meds once he’s released.” She injected the medicine into his IV port. “But he should start feeling a lot better in a day or two.” The nurse jotted down some notes on his chart and started to leave the room, but turned back to the detective. “You know, it’s a slow night. We’re probably not going to have any need of that bed, so it will most likely just sit there empty.”

“Thank you,” Jim told her gratefully, picking up her meaning. She nodded and smiled and left the room, instructing him to hit the call button if they needed her for anything. The Sentinel sat up for a little while, watching over his friend carefully, but eventually fatigue got the better of him and he nodded off, his head lolling back against the chair he was slumped in.




The air was heavy with humidity, perfumed with damp soil and green plants and tropical flowers. All around him he heard the buzzing of the forest insects and the cries of exotic birds. He was back in the jungle, and the jaguar was near.

The Sentinel could smell the musk of the big cat, hearing the brush of it’s soft paws on the earth as it paced around him. It snarled quietly, growing annoyed that he was not following. But the mist and fog were so thick, he couldn’t even see a hand in front of his face. The cat took off, sprinting through the bushes. He knew he was supposed to follow it, but he couldn’t see a thing. He extending his hearing, trying to track the jaguar. But all he heard was a lone wolf howling in the distance.




Ellison awoke, jerking his head up and wincing as he felt the pull of his cramped neck muscles. He got to his feet, yawning broadly as he tried to get the circulation flowing through his body. The detective glanced at his watch quickly before checking on his friend. Blair still felt hot, but he was fast asleep and seemed comfortable enough. For a moment Jim debated going home, but decided he was too tired to bother and instead stretched out on the empty bed, dropping off almost immediately.

In the morning, Blair was showing signs of improvement. His temperature was down a few degrees, and he seemed to be in less distress. He wasn’t allowed any food, but he was given a glass of cranberry juice, which Jim managed to coax into him. Although he wanted to stay, Ellison knew his partner was being well cared for, and he decided to run home and grab a shower before going into work. He had something very important to discuss with Simon, and he knew that his captain was not going to take what he had to say well at all. But it didn’t matter, for the detective had made up his mind, and he was not going to give up until he got what he wanted.




Banks almost dropped the coffeepot, slamming it back down on the burner as he turned to face the detective, ignoring his outstretched mug.

"You want a what?" he asked, trying to make sure he'd heard correctly.

"A leave of absence," Ellison repeated, setting his empty mug down on the edge of his captain's desk. "I can't leave him in that place, Simon. I have to bring him home. And I already know what you're going to say."

"No, Jim, I don't think you do," Banks said firmly.

"This isn't something I've decided to do on a whim," the Sentinel explained. "I've been thinking about it for awhile. And after last night...."

"I know how much you care about Sandburg," Simon told him. "We all care about him. But he needs more help than you can give him, Jim. If he stands any chance of recovery, he has to be with people who are trained in rehabilitation. You don't know the first thing about the sort of therapy that he needs."

"Maybe not," Ellison shot back. "But I guarantee you I'll at least notice if he spikes a fever of 103 degrees."

"All right," Banks sighed. "So this wasn't the best facility. But there are other places, Jim. Good places that will take care of him."

"I don't care how good the place is," the detective argued. "It's still going to have rotating staff, and he's still going to be just another patient. But he won't be a number with me. I can spend more than a couple hours a day working with him. And that's really what he needs. Someone who cares about him, and who can give him the time and attention that will help him. That's really the only shot he's got."

The captain was silent for a moment, turning his back and removing his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose as he thought of trying a different route. He reached out and picked up his detective’s mug, filling it with coffee and handing it to him before topping off his own.

"I appreciate what intentions are behind this, Jim," he began, taking a sip. "And I admire you for what you're trying to do. But I think you're letting whatever gratitude or obligation you feel for Sandburg cloud your thinking. You know he would never expect you to give up your life for him."

"I know that, Sir," Ellison murmured quietly. He blew gently on the steaming mug, taking a drink of the fragrant brew. Rising from where he was perched on the arm of the chair, he paced restlessly over to the window, pausing to look out at the overcast sky. "But I keep thinking of when he first found me. I was a mess, thinking I was going insane and on my last nerve. Who knows how I would have ended up? Probably quitting the force, and maybe even over in the nut house, doped up in an attempt to silence my "hallucinations". But Sandburg not only clued me into what was wrong, he helped me learn to control it. More than that, he helped me learn to embrace it, as part of who I am. So yeah, I am grateful for that, and I do feel an obligation to him."

"But that's my point," Simon said in frustration, moving to stand beside the detective. "I'm not trying to deny the magnitude of what he's done for you, but don't you think you're overcompensating? He helped you out with some research and some theories and some tests, and it's not like he wasn't getting something out of the deal as well. You're talking about giving up your whole life to take over the burden of caring for him, and you don't even know if he'll ever progress beyond the point he's at now!"

"I'm not giving up anything," Jim protested defensively. "I just want a leave so I can spend a little time with him. Because I believe he's still in there, Simon. All he needs is someone to help him learn how to be himself again. And he's not going to get that in an institution!"

"But why do you have to bear all the weight?" Banks asked. "You're not his mother, you know?"

"Well his mother can't be bothered with him," Ellison snapped bitterly. "Like always. So I guess that does just leave me." He took a deep breath, rubbing a hand tiredly over his eyes. "Besides," he continued softly. "He would do it for me. You know he would." The Sentinel glanced over at his captain. "I have to try, Simon. I owe him at least that much."

Banks stared hard at his best detective for several long moments, seeing several things in his intense blue eyes, but resolve was shining through the strongest.

"All right," he relented finally, clapping Jim on the shoulder . "I still think this is crazy, but I can see your mind's made up. Go to Personnel and fill out the paperwork, and I'll sign off on it."

"Thank you, Sir." The Sentinel left the office, going out to the bullpen to have a seat at his desk to make sure all of his files were in order and his loose ends were wrapped up. He couldn't expect Simon to understand, but this was something he needed to do. Maybe it would help Sandburg, and maybe it wouldn't. But he had to try. For it went beyond their project, and beyond any debts. It was about friendship.

Banks watched him go, remembering a time when all the gruff detective wanted was to be left alone. He never went out of his way to make friends or win a lady's heart. His home was his private sanctuary, and having a partner at work was just out of the question. He kept himself apart, aloof, and distanced. And it all wasn't so very long ago. The captain sat down at his desk, wondering what kind of magic Sandburg had worked to get that to change. To get the remote Sentinel to open his heart and welcome another into his life, however reluctantly. For it was painfully obvious that the kid meant a lot to one Jim Ellison, and Simon could only hope that his venture would pay off and that he'd be able to guide Blair to recovery. Because he didn't think the detective would be able to take losing yet another person he loved.

Ellison filled out the necessary paperwork after he had gotten all his casework cleared up and his desk cleaned out. All that remained was to deliver the forms to Simon, but before he officially began his leave, there was something else he had to do. Sitting at his desk, he dialed the number of the rehabilitation hospital and took great delight in informing the administrator that Blair would not be returning. She did her best to argue with him, which was what he wanted so he could take the opportunity to complain about the lack of suitable care his friend had received.

“Detective, Mr. Sandburg was admitted by Naomi Sandburg,” the woman protested, trying for one last chance to hold onto a paying patient.

“Yes, that’s correct,” he said smugly. “His mother signed him in. But if you take a look at his file, you’ll see that I have power of attorney over him. So I’m well within my rights to sign him out. I’ll be over within the hour to collect his things.”

The Sentinel hung up the phone with a degree of satisfaction. He rose, taking one last look around the bullpen before he headed for Simon’s office.




"Hi, Jim."

"Hey, Lauren," the detective greeted the nurse as she entered the room. He folded up his newspaper and tossed it on the small bedside table, watching her as she bent over his friend.

"Hi there, Bright Eyes," she murmured to Blair, resting her hand against his forehead before gently stroking his cheek. "You look like you're feeling a little better."

"His fever's down and he seems a lot more comfortable," Ellison confirmed, rising from his seat to stand next to the nurse. "They want to keep him one more night. Get some more fluids in him and make sure the antibiotic has the infection under control. But they're most likely going to release him in the morning."

"Good." Lauren smiled at the young man, who gazed up at her calmly, before glancing over at the Sentinel. "I'm on a break at the moment. Do you want to go get a cup of coffee with me?"

"Sure." Jim patted his friend's knee through the blankets. "I'll be right back, Chief."

He followed the nurse out of the room and down to the cafeteria.

"It's my treat this time," she told him as he pulled out his wallet.

"Thanks." The detective took his cup and they found a quiet table in the corner of the room.

"Jim, I'd like to talk to you about something."

"Let me guess," he sighed wearily, setting his coffee down on the table. "You think I'm making a mistake, too."

"Yes, I do," she replied. "But not because you want to take him home. I admire you for that. But the mistake is thinking you can do it all alone."

"I thought you were the one person who would understand what I was trying to do," he muttered.

"I do understand," she told him. "And I applaud your intentions. But, Jim, you're going to need some help. There are places, good places, that provide outpatient rehabilitation. You can take him there a few days a week, and they'll work with Blair one on one. They'll work with both of you, and help you learn how to better help him. They are trained to deal with people with his kind of injuries, and they have the equipment and tools that will help the process." She caught his eye with her earnest gaze. "I just don't want to see you get overwhelmed. And Blair's already come so far, I really think he'd benefit a great deal from rehab. Add that to what you do with him at home, and I think he's got a shot for recovery. I can get you a list of some good facilities, if you want."

Ellison picked up his cup, taking a sip of the hot coffee. Truth be told, although he never would have admitted it, the fear had crossed his mind that he was getting himself into more than he could handle. He trusted Lauren implicitly, and it certainly wouldn't do any harm to check into the kind of place she was suggesting.

"Yeah," he said finally. "If you could get me some names of some good places, I'd appreciate it."

She smiled broadly at him and took a drink of her own coffee. Though she didn't voice it, she couldn't help thinking that she wished all her patients had someone who cared as much about them as the detective did for his young partner. The recovery statistics would probably shoot through the roof.




Sandburg’s homecoming was not marked by any fanfare or celebration. Just a long, relieved sigh from the Sentinel that his friend was finally back in the loft, where he belonged. As he was still recovering from his illness, Blair spent the majority of the first few days sleeping. And Ellison was content to let him rest, using the time to try and prepare himself and the loft for the task he had undertaken. He also spent several hours during those first few days on Sandburg’s laptop, searching the internet for anything he could find concerning the brain and head trauma. He even joined a mailing list for those caring for people suffering from the effects of penetrating head injuries. Ellison doubted he’d ever contribute to it, as he never had been a “share your feelings” kind of guy. But he figured that he might possibly get some good information or tips from others in his situation. And he checked out the websites of the rehabilitation facilities that Lauren had written down for him, finding that the one she had starred seemed to be the most promising. So when he thought that Blair was feeling up to it, he called and made an appointment with the director of Hopewell Farm, which was located a few miles outside of the city.

It really wasn’t much of a farm. Just a few chickens and goats and a couple horses, with a nominal vegetable garden behind the small barn. But the grounds were expansive and well landscaped, giving the buildings that made up the facility a natural, rustic feel. Inside, however, everything was clean and modern, but lacking the stark, clinical sterility that the rehab hospital had exuded. Everything had a comfortable, homey feel, and Ellison was immediately enamored as he was given the tour, with Blair in tow. What sealed the deal for him was the interview with the director that came afterward, where the mission and policy of the facility was explained to him in depth. Treatment plans were designed and tailored to the individuals needs, and covered all areas of rehabilitation. He was promised that Sandburg would receive one on one personal attention with the skills that he needed to work on the most, and the director assured him that they lived by the motto that no case was hopeless and that there was always room for improvement. Since it seemed to be exactly what he had been looking for, Jim filled out his application and submitted it on the spot.

Two days later the detective got the call that his application had been approved. So he drove back out to the farm with Blair to fill out the necessary forms and meet with their caseworker to devise a therapy schedule. She told him that as patients progressed, their therapy schedules would progress with them, but in Blair’s case they would start at the beginning, working with the very basics. Together they worked out a plan to begin with, and the following week Sandburg began rehabilitation.

Four days a week, Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, Jim drove his friend out to the farm. Blair had sessions with the physical therapist to continue working on his motor functions, and also met with the behavioral analyst. But in the early weeks, he spent much of his time with his occupational therapist, who strove to help him learn to regain the skills of daily living. Sometimes Ellison helped work with his friend, and other times he attended sessions of his own where the staff educated him on how best to continue with therapy at home. He frequently had blocks of free time as well. At first, he spent them observing Blair’s sessions. But soon he realized that his friend was being very well looked after, and started using his time to his own advantage. Working out in the weight room, doing the shopping, running errands, or just taking a little time for himself.

For all the rest of his time was completely devoted to Blair. He did miss work a little now and then, but mostly he was too busy to think about it much. The staff at the farm stressed the importance of routine with someone in Sandburg’s condition, which suited the detective just fine as he had always been a creature of habit. So he was careful to keep things to a schedule, and his evenings and weekends were dedicated to working with Blair further on the skills he was being taught, as well as trying to come up with different activities that would stimulate his mind or help him remember the man he used to be.

Slowly, Blair began to show subtle signs of being more alert and responsive. He still was unable to initiate any activity on his own, but he gradually began to learn what to do when things were initiated for him. It was a painstaking process that often left the Sentinel frustrated, but he always stood back and took a deep breath and never lost his patience with his friend. Working closely with the occupational therapist, he, himself, was able to get a grasp on Sandburg’s basic needs, learning to read when he was hungry or thirsty and tired. And eventually, Blair learned what to do after those needs were provided for him. Getting rid of the catheter was a little trickier, but Ellison was determined to succeed in that respect, even though some of the staff weren’t quite so optimistic that it could be done at such an early stage. It wasn’t that he minded the chore of caring for the device, but he just felt that it was somehow degrading for his friend, even though Blair no longer knew anything of modesty. And since his goal was to help his partner learn to function as close to normal as he could, freeing him of extraneous tubing seemed to be a good place to start. It was not a battle easily won, but eventually Jim hit upon the right combination of routine, observation, and training, and Blair finally caught on and the catheter was removed for good.

Since the farm was a rehabilitation facility and did not specialize in the medical aspects of treatment, Wednesdays were left open for visits with Dr. Norris. But unlike Hopewell, the detective was not encouraged, or even allowed, to accompany his friend as the technicians whisked him away for a barrage of tests. The doctor explained to him that while they were not hurting Blair, some of the things being done to him might be strange or uncomfortable, and it was her policy not to have patients associate discomforts with their primary caretaker. Ellison wasn’t sure he agreed, but there was no arguing, so he would hang out in the waiting room or run down to the ICU to visit with Lauren if she wasn’t too busy until his friend was done. And then he would meet with Dr. Norris in her office while she went over the results of the previous week’s tests and they discussed Blair’s progress and prognosis. Which she never found encouraging. What Jim saw as improvements, she was able to explain away in some sort of technical jargon that always left him feeling empty and hollow.

“Mr. Sandburg is operating on a primal level,” she told him. “He isn’t really learning, not in the traditional sense. The behaviors he’s picking up are all conditioned responses to controlled stimuli.”

“You mind running that by me again, in English?” Jim asked her wryly.

“Have you ever heard of Pavlov’s dog, Detective?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “He rang a bell before he fed the dog, and eventually the dog learned to associate that with food.”

“Exactly,” the doctor agreed. “The animal would salivate when the bell rang, because he anticipated the food that would be coming. It’s really the same thing with Mr. Sandburg. He’s reacting to the stimulus he’s given, performing as he’s being taught to do. But he really has no understanding of why. There’s no conscious thought or motivation behind his actions. He’s just parroting back what he’s been taught in anticipation of the reward to come.”

“So let me get this straight,” Ellison said, anger rising in his voice. “You’re trying to tell me that my friend is nothing more than some kind of performing monkey?”

“Detective,” she began calmly. “I know this is upsetting for you...”

“No,” he argued hotly. “What’s upsetting for me is that I’m working my ass off, doing everything you people tell me to, trying to help my friend. And when I finally get some results, you tell me it all amounts to a heap of nothing!”

“I don’t want to take away from what Mr. Sandburg has accomplished...”

“Oh no?” the Sentinel interrupted. “You sure as hell could have fooled me.”

“He’s come a long way in a very short amount of time. No one is denying that,” the doctor stressed. “And I’m not trying to say he’s not going to progress any further. But right now, he’s still not showing any signs of cognizant thought and his test results haven’t shown any improvement.” She sighed, slipping off her glasses as she glanced at the stone faced man in front of her. “All right, Detective. Why don’t we call it a day? I’ll see you both next week.”

Grumbling under his breath, Ellison stomped out of her office and moved down the hall to where Sandburg was waiting for him. But his anger evaporated when he entered the small treatment room and saw his friend. As Blair caught sight of him, a light of recognition shone in his blue eyes and he smiled softly. Jim couldn’t help but smile back as he moved forward, picking up his friend’s jacket.

“Look’s like someone’s happy to see you,” the nurse sitting with him remarked as she gathered up the files she’d been working on.

“Yeah,” he murmured. For a moment, a bitter voice in his head speculated that Dr. Norris would write it off as Mr. Sandburg associating him with food and shelter and was just demonstrating a conditioned response in anticipation of the meal that would be coming. But as he slipped the jacket on his friend and knelt down in front of him to zip it up, he took a good look in the blue depths of those wide eyes. And in his heart, he knew that the doctor was wrong. Oh, he didn’t kid himself that Blair remembered him from before the accident, but he knew that his friend was recognizing him now. And it was more than some Pavlovian response. There was love shining out of those baby blues.

“Come on, Chief,” he said softly, helping his friend up. “Let’s get out of here.”




Ellison stood for a moment in the kitchen, leaning against the island, closing his eyes briefly as he heaved a heavy sigh. The loft was quiet, with only the rain hitting the windows breaking up the silence with its soft pattering. It was how it used to be, back when he lived alone. Before Sandburg moved in and started driving him crazy, shattering his peace and quiet as he laughingly shrugged off all the rules the detective had tried to set down. Many times he had longed to go back to his pre-roommate days, when his home was his castle, and his to rule alone. And now that he had gotten his wish, he found he couldn’t stand it. True, there was no raucous music blaring, no weird smells coming from the stove, and no mess to clutter up the territory he protected so fiercely. But there was also no exuberant laughter echoing through the room, no scents of soothing teas floating in the air, and no signs of life to break up the sterile environment. There was no comfort, no joy, and no warmth. And the Sentinel couldn’t believe he had ever, even for a second, wished that away. Looking back, he could see it was his one track mind, his perpetual stubbornness, that had grumpily tried to resist change and cling to the self imposed isolation he’d so carefully crafted around himself. Taking the friendship that Sandburg offered so readily for granted, and never even knowing what he had until it had been taken away from him.

Sighing again, Jim reached up into the cupboard and pulled down a box of crackers. He moved over to the table, setting a small stack in front of Blair before sliding into the chair across from him. Munching out of the box, he picked up a pencil and started working on the crossword puzzle in the morning’s paper, but he didn’t get very far before the ringing phone interrupted him.

“Ellison,” he answered after snagging the cordless off the coffee table.

“Hello, Jimmy.”

“Dad?” he blurted in surprise.

“Yes, it’s me,” the elder man confirmed. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” the detective replied, unable to figure out why his father was calling. “Is everything ok with you?”

“I read about your friend in the paper,” William Ellison explained, not beating around the bush. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.”

“You are, huh?” The Sentinel began to pace back and forth in front of the balcony doors as the lightbulb went off in his head. “Well, I really appreciate the sentiment, Dad. Especially since Blair was only shot over five months ago! So what this call is really about is me taking a leave from the P.D., right?”

“I heard about that, too,” he said softly.

“I’ll bet you did,” Jim muttered, not bothering to ask where his father had heard it. He was a prominent man in the community and most likely had many friends among the Brass. “Look, Dad, I’m a little busy here, so why don’t you just spare me the speech, ok?”

“Jimmy, I think it’s admirable you want to help this young man,” William protested. “But why do you have to give up your career to do it?”

“I’m not giving anything up,” the detective argued, weary of having to go through it all yet again. “It’s just a temporary leave. And as for why, it’s nothing you would understand.”

“I don’t understand. Just what is it about this boy that makes you want to sacrifice your life for him?”

“God, I can see where this is going,” the Sentinel groaned. “Look, Dad, Blair and I are not gay, all right? We’re not lovers, although I do love him. I know admitting that you love another person goes against all your teaching, but I do. He’s my friend, and he’s stood by me through thick and thin since the first day we met. Which incidentally, I lied to you about. That story about him being a student observer, working on his thesis about police subculture is all a smokescreen. He’s really with me because he’s an anthropologist and he’s made a study on primitive tribesmen with abilities like mine. He’s been working with me, helping me learn to develop and control my senses. And I’ll tell you something else, Dad. He thinks that I have a gift. So that’s why I took the leave. Because Blair needs me now. And I owe him that, not only for the help he’s given me, but I owe him the debt of friendship. He’s always been there for me, when nobody else has. He’s cared for me and about me, and he made me feel proud of my abilities, instead of trying to hide them away because I felt like a freak.”

“Jimmy, that was a long time ago...”

“Yeah, and you were just trying to protect me,” Jim interrupted. “We’ve been through all that. And I don’t want to hash it out again. What’s past is past, as far as I’m concerned.” He paused, gentling his tone a bit. “But the truth is, you lost any right you had to pull the ‘fatherly advice’ routine on me a long time ago.”

“Yes, I suppose I did,” the senior Ellison admitted sadly. “But a father never stops wanting to look out for his son.” “But I don’t need it, Dad,” the detective told him. “I know what I’m doing here. And I’m going to be all right.”

“Ok,” William said in resignation. “But if you do need anything...”

“I’ve got the number.”

“Goodbye, Jimmy.”

The Sentinel shook his head, hitting the button to disconnect the phone and putting it back into its cradle. He didn’t know if his father was more concerned about him, or about the reputation he may have been garnering in the elite circles of Cascade. Either way, it didn’t really matter. He tried to go back to his puzzle but found he had lost all concentration, doodling instead in the margins of the paper as he mulled over the conversation with his father. Glancing up, he saw that Blair had finished off his crackers and was watching him intently.

“Want to give it a try, Chief?” he asked softly. Jim rose and went to the bookcase, pulling out a notebook and opening it up in front of his friend. He put the pencil in Blair’s hand and positioned it over the blank paper, guiding him as he wrote Sandburg’s name in big letters across the page. But when he let go, the younger man kept going, covering the paper with meaningless scribbles. The detective stood up, rubbing a hand over his neck and wondering why he felt so disappointed. “Don’t know what I was expecting,” he muttered to himself as he moved into the kitchen to start dinner.

On to Part Two

The Sandburg Zone
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