Disclaimer: Pet Fly and Paramount own the copyright to The Sentinel and its characters. This piece of fan fiction was written solely for the love of the characters and to share freely with other fans. No profit is being made from the posting of this story.

Acknowledgments: I would like to give a nod of thanks to ShayAlyce, who suggested a "five years after" story needed to be written. Additional thanks must also go to my betas, who always make my stories into gems. In the great tradition of all-star casts, they are, in alphabetical order: Elaine, KimberlyFDR, Lyn, Mary, Montserrat and Terri. Ladies, thank you all so very much for your help.

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Some smarm.

Summary: A five-year cancer survivor, Blair finds himself going undercover into a cancer support group to help flush out a mercy killer and, in the process, becomes a target.

Thanks: A special thanks to the Court TV program "Forensic Files: Nursery Crimes" for the murder weapon and some crime details.

Author's note: This series has been written in both gen and slash versions. The slash version of the series has an extra story that is so integrated into slash that I can't even begin to write a gen version. In that story, Blair's cancer recurs with a vengeance, and the rest of his larynx has to be removed, creating the tracheostoma (described below). That story is called "Labyrinth," and for those who might like to read it, it is available at: https://www.squidge.org/~nat1228/labyrinth.htm. That Blair now has the stoma is all that's really needed to read and enjoy this story.

Medical Note: A tracheostoma (stoma) is a hole about the size of a quarter in the throat where the Adams apple used to be. It is created when a patient is forced to have his entire larynx removed due to cancer or other disease. The surgery physically separates the esophagus and trachea. The trachea ends at the stoma; the patient now breathes through this opening, instead of through the nose/mouth. Unless there is some sort of internal or external artificial device, the patient can no longer speak. Blair uses an in-dwelling artificial voice prosthesis that allows near-normal speech. This prosthesis bridges the gap between the esophagus and trachea with a one-way valve that allows the patient to eat normally and still speak. For more information on how this all came about, see the two earlier stories in the series: "Without Words" and "Never Get an Anthropologist Talking."

Comments welcome and appreciated!

Blair squirmed on the examination table as Dr. Stuart paced the room, reviewing the results of the most recent round of blood tests. Glancing up, he smiled at his expectant patient.

"You can get dressed now, Blair," he said, settling into the chair at his small desk. "You've been cancer-free for five years now," he began, riffling through the papers again.

Blair buttoned up his shirt and adjusted the ascot that covered his stoma, before hopping down from the table and coming to sit next to the doctor. "And...?" he asked, excited and nervous.

"And, with these latest results, you can officially join the ranks of the five-year cancer survivors."

"So... that means I'm cured?" Blair asked hopefully. For the last five years, he had been haunted by the apparition of cancer, which hovered near, ever in the background of his thoughts.... A cancer that had taken his voice, and left him with an artificial rasp that, while adequate, would never sound quite normal.

Dr. Stuart dropped his gaze briefly before looking into the steady blue eyes of the man seated next to him. Clearing his throat, he said, "Just like an alcoholic will always be an alcoholic, or a drug addict an addict, no matter how long they've been reformed, you will always be a cancer survivor. Nothing is ever certain, and until there's a definitive cure for the disease, there's always a chance of recurrence."

Blair fidgeted in his seat. "But five years..."

"Five years is a very good sign," the doctor agreed. "Your chances of long-term survival are excellent."

"Jim said we'd take a special vacation - up to the Canadian wilderness for camping and fishing - if this check-up was clean," Blair admitted. "So it's safe for me to travel now?"

"Wherever you'd like to go," Stuart agreed. "I'd still like to see you for annual check-ups, and anytime you have a concern, of course. But I don't expect any problems from here-on out." He slapped his hands on both of his knees and stood. "How about we clean the prosthesis while you're here? Then you won't have to worry about it while you're on vacation."

Blair nodded and opened his mouth wide so that the doctor could spray the lidocaine to numb his throat. With a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the chair, he did his best to sit still while the doctor probed his throat with the forceps, pulling the plastic valve free. Even after all these years, he still hated the procedure, enduring the discomfort out of necessity.

Stuart dropped the device onto a tray that he handed to his nurse. "It will be just a few minutes," he said, turning back to his patient. Blair nodded again, watching as the doctor exited the room and closed the door behind him.

Alone for the moment, Blair let his mind drift. Jim was going to be so happy to hear the good news. All the check-ups, all the tests over the past five years had paid off, and now he was free to go about living the rest of his life. He no longer needed to stay close to home for the frequent checks and tests. Now, he and Jim could take their long-overdue vacation. As he imagined the cool breezes and pine-scented air of the Canadian Rockies, a smile curved his lips.

His thoughts were interrupted a short while later when Dr. Stuart came back with the freshly cleaned prosthesis. "Five minutes, and you'll be able to go home," Stuart said, grinning at his patient. He sprayed a bit more lidocaine before inserting the artificial voice prosthesis. A finger inserted through Blair's stoma helped to seat the device precisely; connecting his trachea and esophagus with a one-way valve that allowed him to speak.

Blair endured the insertion, much as he had when the device had been removed. He hated the intrusion into his stoma to set the valve. The opening in his neck was sensitive and private, and the doctor's finger felt almost like a violation. When Stuart finished, he swallowed, making sure his voice was steady before he spoke. "Thanks, Dr. Stuart." He adjusted the ascot that hid the opening and stood, extending a hand, which the doctor shook with warm regard.

"You're most welcome, Blair," he replied. "It always does my heart good to see one of my success stories walk out of here."

~oO0Oo~

Jim waited impatiently on the couch in the loft. Simon had allowed him the afternoon off to accompany Blair to his check-up, but Blair had wanted to go alone. A key turned in the lock and the door swung open. "How'd it go?" He folded the newspaper he'd been pretending to read and looked up expectantly at his friend.

Blair paused in the doorway for a moment before flinging his arms wide in a gesture of triumph. "Free! I'm cancer free! We can go on that trip now," he said, coming over to sit next to Jim on the couch.

"This trip?" Jim asked, pulling the train tickets from his pocket and waving them in front of Blair's face.

The anthropologist grabbed the envelope and opened it, bouncing on the couch cushions as he pulled the tickets out. "Camping in Canada... wow," he breathed, grinning ear to ear.

Jim chuckled. "I'm surprised you can get worked up over the Canadian wilderness after all the exotic places you've traveled to in your life," he commented.

"Are you kidding?" Blair asked, amused at his partner's disbelief. "It's a beautiful area - natural and unspoiled. And besides, any place without a hospital for a hundred miles sounds like paradise to me."

"Going takes second place to the reason we're going," Jim said, tackling the young man and pinning him to the couch. "God, I can't believe we don't have the specter of cancer hanging over our heads anymore."

"I know. I've been holding my breath for the past six months," Blair said with a chuckle. "But by tomorrow afternoon, we'll be pitching our tents next to some secluded lake in the Rockies."

The phone interrupted the anthropologist's excited chatter. Jim reached over to grab the receiver. "Ellison."

"Jim?" the familiar voice of Captain Banks greeted his detective.

"Oh, hi, Simon."

"Jim, I hate to ask this -" the captain began.

"Then, don't, sir," Jim interrupted.

"It's important," Simon insisted. "I just got a case in that needs your expertise. Well, actually," the captain said after a brief pause, "it needs Sandburg's expertise."

"No, Simon. We're heading to Canada in the morning."

"What is it?" Blair asked softly, pressing up against Jim to see if he could hear the other end of the conversation.

Jim covered the mouthpiece of the receiver with his hand. "It's nothing. Simon got in a case he thinks needs your help. I told him no."

"Here. Give that to me," Blair said, struggling with Jim for possession of the phone. Finally getting the receiver free, he spoke. "Hey, Simon. What's the case?"

"Blair, no!" Jim hissed under his breath, trying to grab the phone back.

Blair stood and sidestepped neatly, ducking and weaving to stay out of Jim's grasp. "Uh-huh. Okay, Simon. We'll be right there." He hung up the phone and turned to his partner. "We need to go down to the station."

~oO0Oo~

As they entered the bullpen, Simon stuck his head out of his office door and flagged them in. "Hi, Blair... Jim. Come, take a seat."

"What's this about, Simon?" Jim growled, not pleased with having his vacation plans interrupted.

"I got a call late last night from a Dr. Matthew Fleming," Simon began.

"Matt Fleming?" Blair's eyes grew wide. "He works at the Cancer Research Institute with Dr. Stuart."

"That's the one," Simon confirmed. "Among his other duties, he runs a support group for end-stage cancer patients."

"What's this got to do with us?" Jim asked. "Blair's been cancer-free five years now."

"But he knows what it's like to be sick," Simon gently reminded his detective. A quick glance toward Sandburg confirmed his feelings. "Dr. Fleming has been losing patients recently. Three have died in the past two weeks."

Jim grunted. "How unusual is that, if they're terminal anyway?"

"Jim!" Blair slapped his tactless partner's thigh with the palm of his hand. "Show a little respect!"

"I'm sorry, Chief," Jim said, turning to Blair, his voice still gruff. "I don't like talking about this stuff. We lived it for nearly a year, and it makes me uncomfortable. I thought we were done with this crap!"

Blair's demeanor turned from scolding to reassuring as he rested a hand on the larger man's knee. "It's okay, Jim. This isn't about us. Let's hear Simon out." Turning to the captain, he asked, "Is there something unusual about these particular deaths?"

"Dr. Fleming seems to think so," Simon answered. "While these were terminally ill patients, at the time of their deaths, they were actually doing fairly well. Each was strong enough to attend the sessions in the hospital's day room, and all were in good spirits."

"Were autopsies done?" Jim asked.

Simon shook his head. "No. The hospital wouldn't authorize the expense, as these were end-stage cancer patients. The death certificates all state some form of cancer as the cause of death."

"But Dr. Fleming thinks differently?" Blair glanced between the faces of his troubled partner and his captain.

"He thinks there was no good reason for them to die when they did."

"What were the circumstances surrounding the deaths?" Jim asked, finally overcoming his discomfort with an interest in solving a perplexing riddle.

"All the patients were in-house, assigned to the hospital's cancer hospice wing. They died in their sleep." Simon sighed. "Dr. Fleming specifically asked for Blair on this case."

"Me? Why?" The young detective looked surprised as he pointed to his chest and turned a wide-eyed gaze on the captain.

"Why do you think, Sandburg?" Simon's voice was an exasperated growl. "He wants you to go undercover as a member of the support group and see if you can find out anything."

"Oh hell, no, Simon! No way!" Jim interrupted before Blair could speak. "That's putting Blair in too much danger. If someone in that hospital is a mercy killer, what's to keep them from coming after him?"

"I can take care of myself," Blair said, his artificial voice a growl. "If there is a mercy killer on the loose, at least I'll be alert and watching."

"You have an appointment with Dr. Fleming in an hour," Simon said, checking the clock on the wall. "He'll fill you in on the details and on what he wants."

"Wait a minute," Jim said, pushing his chair back to stand. "You were pretty sure about this, weren't you?"

"I was pretty sure about Blair," the captain answered with a smile. "I knew this was something he couldn't help but want to be a part of."

"Thanks, Simon," Blair said, rising. "I'll do it."

Simon smiled and thumped the junior detective on the back. "I knew I could count on you, Sandburg."

~oO0Oo~

The interior of Dr. Matthew Fleming's office was a soothing mixture of cool colors and paintings of serene beach scenes. His desk was dotted with exotic shells and porcelain seagulls.

Jim sat stoically silent, uncomfortable with being in an oncologist's office again. Blair was examining a particularly fine specimen of a conch shell when the doctor walked in. "Blair! It's good to see you again." He extended his hand, and they shook. He waved his guests to seats and settled behind his desk. "You're looking much better than the last time I saw you."

"That wouldn't take much," Blair chuckled, recalling the last time he'd been hospitalized with a secondary infection that had threatened his life. "I just got my five-year bill of health." He turned, gesturing toward Jim, who extended a hand at Blair's introduction. "This is Jim Ellison, my partner."

The doctor shook the proffered hand. "Nice to meet you, Jim. And congratulations to you, Blair." The doctor settled in his comfortable, leather upholstered chair. "Actually, that's why I requested you," he began. "Because I remember how sick you were there for a while. You can empathize with these patients, blend in."

"What is it you want us to do?"

Fleming folded his hands on his desk and leaned forward. "I'd like to admit you to the hospital as one of my patients, and I'd like to have you join our support group. You're a police detective, an anthropologist, and a cancer survivor... you can fit into this group and use your knowledge and skills to discover whether or not we have a mercy killer on our hands."

Blair nodded. "I still sometimes have nightmares about those days in the hospital," he admitted. "But I know what it's like to be there. And no matter how bad it got, even when I was ready to give up, I still really wanted just one more day, one more week, one more month to live." He turned to his silent partner and reached over to pat his arm reassuringly. "Nobody should have to die before they're ready, or before God takes them Himself. When do you want me there?"

"The sooner the better," Fleming said. "I've lost three patients in the past two weeks."

"That's what Captain Banks told us," Jim added. "Could we have a day or two to think about it?"

"What's to think about, Jim?" Blair asked. "People are dying who aren't ready to go."

"Then can I have a day or two to adjust to the idea?" Jim asked. "Please?"

The younger man gave it some thought. "A day or two might be better, if you can wait," Blair told the doctor. "I'm awfully healthy and fit - I've been working out with Jim lately," he confessed. "I really don't look the part of an end-stage cancer patient."

"Today is Tuesday," the doctor said, flipping the pages of his desk calendar. "How about I admit you on Friday?"

"Great," Blair agreed. "That will give me some time to look sick."

Jim grimaced at the words. "And just where do I fit into this great plan?" he asked.

"As my distraught friend and partner, of course," Blair said with a mischievous grin. "You'll be in the hospital day and night, sitting by my bedside, waiting for me to die. It's perfect!"

"Don't even kid about it!" Jim snapped. "This is going to be hard enough as it is."

"Calm down, man. Shhh... It's going to be all right," Blair soothed. "I'm fine. I'm perfectly healthy. I'm just play-acting, okay? And you'll be there to watch my back, like any good partner would."

Jim frowned. "I still don't like it," he growled.

Dr. Fleming turned a sympathetic look on the older man. "Neither do I, if the truth be told," he admitted. "There are things we can do to help Blair with looking the part, but I find them distasteful."

"Like what?" Blair asked, interested in what the doctor was contemplating.

"Once you're admitted to the hospice, I'll see to it that you're given a steady drip of saline to look as though you're being treated," the doctor said. "I can add a small dose of a safe emetic to the solution so that you'll throw up."

"Is that really necessary?" Jim asked. "Blair spent months on chemo being sick. I don't want him to have to go through that again."

"Jim..." Blair reached up to pat his friend's shoulder, reassuring him. "We'll talk more about it when we get home, okay? I can make arrangements with Dr. Fleming after we've decided on how we're going to do this." He turned to the doctor. "Would that be all right with you? It's been five years, but the hell we both went through is still pretty fresh."

"By all means," Fleming agreed. "I don't mean to upset either of you, and I want you to know just how grateful I am that you've agreed to help." He stood and extended a hand first to Blair, then to Jim. "Thank you. See you on Friday, Blair?"

"I'll be there," Blair promised.

As they made their way across the parking lot to the truck, Blair turned to Jim. "Would you mind making a stop at Singer's Drugstore on the way home?"

"Sure, no problem. What do you need?"

"Just a few things. Nothing big," Blair answered.

A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of the drugstore and Blair hopped out of the truck. "Be back in a minute," he said, waving to Jim as he disappeared into the store.

True to his word, Blair emerged within five minutes, carrying a small, white pharmacy bag. Dropping the sack on the seat between them, he hopped back into the truck and fastened his seat belt. "Home, James!" he directed with a chuckle.

~oO0Oo~

"So, what do you have there?" Jim asked, following Blair over to the dining table and peering over his shoulder at the contents of the sack.

Giving his friend a disgusted smile, Blair reached in to withdraw a small, brown bottle and set it on the table.

"Syrup of Ipecac? Isn't that the stuff you give to kids to make them throw up?" Jim asked, looking puzzled.

"Yeah, well.... Dr. Fleming's idea was a good one," Blair admitted. "I've been working out with you lately, and I hardly look sick anymore. If I'm going to play the part, I'll have to look it as well."

"Not that way, you don't," Jim said, holding the bottle out of Blair's reach. "I don't want to watch you puking up your guts again. Been there, done that, have the T-shirt. When we're at the hospice will be soon enough. Besides, won't throwing up dislodge your voice implant?"

"Nah," Blair said, shaking his head. "Doc Stuart told me once that it's pretty secure. I'm not going to be having the violent, prolonged vomiting of chemo, anyway."

"Isn't there something else you could do to look sick?" Jim wondered. "Something that doesn't involve chemicals?"

Blair took his other purchase from the sack and crumpled the bag into a ball before tossing it into the trash. "This will help," he said, fingering the sharp blades of the barber's scissors.

"You're not...." Jim's eyes went round with worry. "Come on, Blair. This is just an undercover assignment. You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do," Blair said with a sigh. "I have to look the part. I have a friend who knows a makeup artist that can help give me that sallow, pale look, but it's going to take more than a little face paint to make me look like I've recently been through chemo and have reached the terminal stage of my cancer."

Jim took the scissors from Blair's hand and laid them on the table. "This can wait," he said. "We have until Friday to get a little research done into the background of this hospice. Until then, I suggest we relax, plan our vacation, and have a bite to eat." He picked up the ever-present brochures and waved them under his friend's nose.

Over sandwiches a short time later, Jim resumed their earlier discussion. "Blair, about the scissors… you don't really mean to cut your hair, do you?"

Blair finished the bite of sandwich he was chewing and folded his hands on the table. "Jim, man, I'm going undercover to play the part of a terminally ill cancer patient," he explained. "Look at me." He lifted his hands to gesture down his body. "I've been pulling weights with you at the gym for the past four years. Does this look like the body of a terminally ill man?"

Jim shook his head and smiled. "No. As a matter of fact, you look great," he complimented. "What does being in shape have to do with your hair?"

"It's one of the few things I can control at this point to help me look the part," Blair said. "I intend to shave my head, so I'll look like I did in the latter stages of my chemo treatment."

"No way! No, Chief. You are not shaving your head. No." Jim crumpled his napkin and struck the table with his fist. "You can wear your hair up under a cap…"

"I have way too much hair for that, Jim," Blair replied, fingering the silken spirals that fell past his collarbone.

"Then tell everyone it's a wig," Jim insisted.

Blair shook his head, a look of sadness in his eyes. "Wouldn't work. I might be able to fool my fellow patients, but it's the mercy killer who counts," he explained. "If I was wearing a wig, I'd take it off every night to sleep. Remember?" He reached across the table to cover Jim's clenched fist with his hand. "I have to really look the part," he insisted.

"You are not shaving your head," Jim repeated stubbornly.

"All right," Blair said, conceding to Jim's wish. "How about I just cut it short and hide the rest under one of your Jags caps?" he compromised.

Jim sighed. "I don't suppose there's any chance of talking you out of it?" he asked hopefully. Blair shook his head. "Can you at least wait until Friday morning to cut it?"

"I suppose," Blair conceded. "But the Ipecac has to start now." He pushed his chair back and rose, walking to the bathroom, Jim trailing behind. Reaching into the medicine cabinet for the dosing spoon, Blair poured in a measured amount of the Ipecac. "Here goes nothing." He put the spoon to his mouth and tipped it up, draining the bitter liquid as quickly as possible. Rinsing the spoon and putting the lid back on the bottle, Blair turned and headed for the living room.

Jim followed, his arms spread wide. "Aren't you going to stay near the toilet?" he asked, amazed that his partner had just turned and walked off.

"Not much point," Blair said, patting the cushion beside him in invitation. "You know, poison control centers don't even suggest using Ipecac anymore, because it can take up to twenty minutes to work."

"So we sit for twenty minutes waiting for you to get sick?"

"I suppose we could do something," Blair suggested, grinning weakly.

"Like what? A hand of poker, maybe?" Jim asked.

"Maybe something a little quieter," Blair replied. "How about we see what's on TV?" He picked up the remote and thumbed through several stations before finally settling on a PBS show on travel in Europe.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, with Jim wrapping a comradely arm around Blair's shoulders. Finally, he found he couldn't stand the silence any longer. "How are you feeling?"

Blair tilted his head back to look up into Jim's concerned gaze. "A little queasy, I suppose," he admitted, falling quiet again immediately after speaking.

Jim gave Blair's shoulder a squeeze. "I hate it that you have to do this," he commented softly.

"I'm the best man for the job," Blair responded, equally soft. "I know what it's like to be where these people are."

"I know," Jim said, leaning forward to rest his forehead against his friend's. "I just don't like seeing you sick." He felt the slight nod of Blair's head against his own before the body next to him stiffened. "Blair?"

The younger man suddenly began to struggle against Jim's hold, bolting toward the bathroom once he was free. Jim was on his feet immediately, following behind the rapidly retreating figure.

There was a slam of plastic against porcelain as Blair lifted the toilet seat, falling to his knees in front of the bowl. Jim skidded to a halt behind him, gathering the long hair off Blair's shoulders as his partner bent over and began to retch.

The first spasm brought nothing but a bit of bile and a bad taste to Blair's mouth. He'd barely recovered, spitting the foul tasting liquid from his mouth, when another paroxysm twisted his guts. This time, his most recent meal came up, spilling into the bowl as a series of cramps gripped him.

A short series of dry heaves followed, until Blair finally collapsed back against Jim, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Damn," he said, his voice weak. "I'd forgotten what that was like."

Jim reached over to flush the toilet and lower the lid. Lifting his friend, he helped Blair to sit while he went to dampen a cloth. He watched while Blair covered his face with the cool washcloth, eventually wiping away the tears and vomit. "I didn't," he said softly. "Blair, you don't have to do this," Jim insisted. "You could help them find someone else, maybe coach them a little. Then we could head for Canada and forget about all this craziness."

Blair shook his head. "I gotta do this," he muttered. "Could you get me something for this headache?" he asked, looking at Jim with weary eyes.

Jim rummaged through the medicine cabinet, dumping two white pills into his hand. Filling a cup with water, he brought the medication to his partner. "Maybe you'd better lie down," he suggested.

Blair swallowed the pills and allowed Jim to help him stand. Still a bit unsteady, he followed as Jim began to lead him toward his bedroom. Sinking onto the futon, Blair curled into a fetal position, shivering. Jim straightened the tangle of blankets and tucked them gently around the shaking body.

Blair looked up at his best friend and tried to give him a reassuring smile. "It's going to be okay," he whispered. Closing his eyes, he willed away the last feelings of queasiness. He dozed, despite the short nap he'd had earlier in the afternoon. When he woke, he looked considerably better.

Jim had settled himself in the yellow chair where he could both read the newspaper and keep an eye on his partner's room. When Blair finally emerged, he put the paper down, sat up straighter, and leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "Hey, Chief. Feeling better?"

Blair smiled at the concerned look Jim was giving him. "Yeah… much." He walked over and settled himself on the couch. "I'm not sick, you know," he added.

"I know," Jim agreed, "but you had me pretty convinced there for a while."

"It brought back some pretty ugly memories," Blair admitted, frowning. "But you know I have to do this."

"Because you look too damn healthy to be a terminal cancer patient," Jim finished for him. "Yeah, I know that, too, but it doesn't mean I have to like it."

~oO0Oo~

Blair ate sparingly at dinner that night, chewing slowly, savoring the flavors of the meal Jim had slaved over two hours to prepare.

"You're not eating," Jim said, pointing with his fork to Blair's nearly full plate. "Still sick to your stomach from that stuff?"

Blair shook his head. "Nah, it's not that. Just anticipating…"

Jim arched an eyebrow and stared at his Guide.

"It's unpleasant, okay?" Blair said, laying his fork across his plate. "I don't look forward to vomiting up a big meal."

"But if you're going to keep taking that crap," Jim said, referring to the Ipecac, "you're going to have to try to keep your strength up."

"That's the point," Blair argued. "I'm not supposed to be keeping up my strength. I'm supposed to look sick." He pushed back his chair and headed for the bathroom.

Jim was up in a flash, heading off his determined partner. "Look, you don't have to take that stuff right now," he insisted. "At least let a little of the meal get into your system. Wait an hour."

"It takes nearly a half hour for the stuff to work," Blair reminded him.

"Then wait a half hour," Jim begged, desperate to keep Blair away from the medicine cabinet a few minutes longer.

"All right," Blair agreed, turning around. "I guess I can wait for a little while."

Jim guided Blair back over to the couch and sat down, pulling the younger man down next to him. "You know I'll support you, whatever you choose to do," he said. "But the Blessed Protector in me gets all riled up when you're sick or hurt."

"I know that," Blair acknowledged. "We went through a lot together, and it's not easy reliving it. But, Jim… this is important, and I'm probably the only man Simon has that could be convincing enough to pull it off."

"You're right. There's not a single officer in the PD who has gone through the crap you have. Not a single one who would know the look and feel of the illness as well as you." Jim sighed. "This is something you have to do. I understand that."

Blair nodded. "But now," he said, getting to his feet, "it's time to get this over with." He turned and headed for the bathroom with Jim close behind.

Within a half hour, Blair was once again kneeling in front of the toilet, vomiting up the remains of his dinner. Jim stood behind him, holding the long hair back and out of Blair's way until he was finished. Exhausted from the second round of vomiting that day, Blair sank back into Jim's strong arms.

"I think it's time for bed. What do you say?" Jim asked, helping Blair to his feet.

"Yeah." Blair nodded, leaning heavily against his friend.

Jim guided him to the sink, got out Blair's toothbrush and put some toothpaste on it before handing it over. Wrapping his arms around Blair, he steadied his friend while he brushed his teeth, cleaning the foul taste from his mouth.

"Thanks, Jim." Blair turned to give his partner a weak smile.

"Let's get you to bed," Jim suggested, guiding Blair out of the bathroom and across the hall to his room.

Blair sat passively as Jim quickly stripped him to his underwear and then held the blankets up for him to crawl under. He curled up and closed his eyes, quickly falling into an uneasy sleep.

~*~*~*~

Two strong orderlies held his arms, pinning him to the bed. The nurse on duty approached with the feeding tube and an insincere smile on her face.

"It will all be over in a minute," the nurse crooned, pressing his head back against the pillow.

"No! No, please!" Blair's voice was a gurgle as he fought against the restraints. "I don't want it. I don't need it."

"But you do, Sweetie," the nurse replied. "You've been vomiting up everything you eat. We need to get some nutrition into you somehow."

"I'll be good," Blair pleaded. "I'll eat. I promise."

"That isn't good enough, I'm afraid," the nurse told him. "You'll just throw up again."

"Jim? Where's Jim?" Blair's eyes glanced frantically around the room, trying to locate his partner.

"Just relax and this will all be over with soon."

"No! Where's Jim?" Blair continued to struggle against the hold on his arms and head.

"He had to leave," the nurse informed him coldly. "He said he couldn't take it anymore."

"Jiiiimmmm..." Blair cried out in loss and desperation as the painful tube was inserted through his nose. He choked; gagging as the tube slipped passed the back of his throat and continued down the esophagus to his stomach.

~*~*~*~

"Jiiiimmmm…!" Blair twisted in the sheets, tangling his arms and legs as he lashed out, desperate to be free.

"Blair! Calm down! It's me, Jim. I'm here, Blair. I'm here." Jim had rushed downstairs at the first mewl of distress and now leaned over the futon trying to calm his agitated partner.

"Oh God, Jim!" Blair managed to free himself from the twisted sheets and wrapped his arms around the older man, clinging tightly. "It was awful!"

"Shhh… it's all right," Jim soothed, petting the long locks of sweat-dampened hair. "It was just a nightmare. Can you tell me about it?"

"I-I was in the hospital again," Blair began, his voice shaky. "They wanted to put in a feeding tube…" His voice failed and he swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump forming at the back of his throat. "I-I… you… you weren't there. T-The nurse said you couldn't take it anymore."

"Oh, Chief! God, Blair… You know there's no way in hell I'd ever leave you, no matter how bad it got." Jim hugged Blair closer, cradling his friend's head against his chest. "Don't you?" He could feel the faint nod as Blair agreed.

"I-I'm sorry…" Blair tried to contain his sniffles, pushing back so that he could look at Jim. "I didn't think this would happen."

"What did you expect?" Jim's voice was soft, full of concern. "You're putting yourself right back into the middle of hell. It doesn't matter that you're not really sick. To pull this off, you have to get yourself into that mindset, and it's going to have repercussions."

"Like nightmares?"

"Yeah, like nightmares," Jim said, pulling Blair against him once more. "But I'll always be here for you. I won't ever leave."

"God, Jim. How did I get manage to rate having a friend like you?"

"Just lucky, I guess," Jim said, smiling gently. "Think you can go back to sleep?" Blair nodded and Jim helped him settle back under his blankets. Perched on the edge of the futon, Jim watched as his partner closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep. Grabbing an extra blanket and pillow, Jim made himself comfortable on the floor next to the bed, determined to resume his duty as Blessed Protector.

~oO0Oo~

By Friday morning, Blair had dark circles under his eyes and his color was poor. He looked for all the world as if he'd started chemotherapy again. He stood in the bathroom, barber scissors in hand. As he studied his reflection, Jim walked up behind him and snagged the scissors out of his grasp.

"If you have to go through with this, you're going to do it right," Jim insisted. "I called my barber and he said he could get you in this morning. Get dressed." Blair turned to face Jim and, at the resolute look in his friend's eyes, headed toward his bedroom.

Ten minutes later, he came out, carrying a packed duffel bag and dressed in a pair of Jim's worn jeans and a flannel shirt, the combination making him look as though he'd lost considerable weight recently.

"You look like shit," Jim greeted him with a warm smile.

"Good, that's the plan," Blair said, grinning back. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

The trip to the barber was uneventful, but once he'd entered the shop, Blair hesitated. Jim put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him forward.

"Hey, Rick. This is Blair," Jim greeted his friend as he urged his partner forward.

"Come on over and have a seat." Rick smiled at Blair, gesturing toward the barber chair. "This the one you told me was never going to wear his hair short again?" he asked, turning to Jim. "What's up?"

"Police work," Jim answered enigmatically, not wanting to give away too many details of the undercover assignment, even to his barber.

Rick nodded his acknowledgment and then turned to Blair. "How short do you want it?"

"It's going to have to be pretty short," Blair said, running his hand through the mane of curls. "Jim insists on leaving as much as possible, but it'll have to be short in the back and on the sides. I need to be able to hide it completely under a baseball cap or scarf."

"Well, let's see what we can do," Rick said, fastening an apron around Blair's neck and taking out his scissors.

It was twenty minutes of agony for Jim, who watched as Rick first cut, then shaved the precious hair.

"How's that?" Rick handed Blair a mirror and turned the chair around so that he could check the back as well as the front.

Blair ran his hand over the closely cropped sides and nape, before brushing his fingers through the short curls left on the top of his head. "Looks pretty good. Let's see how it works." He held out his hand and Jim took the Jags cap from his head, handing it over. Blair pulled the cap over his hair and checked the mirror. "I think that'll do. What do you think, Jim?"

"I think it's too damn short," his partner grumbled. "But it's better than shaved."

"The Ellison seal of approval," Blair declared. "I guess that's it, then. Thanks, Rick."

"No problem, Blair. Good luck with your assignment, whatever it is." Rick took the apron off and dusted the last of the loose hairs from Blair's shoulders.

"See ya next week," Jim promised, handing over a ten-dollar bill on his way out. Rick grinned and waved at the departing men.

"Still need to see that makeup artist friend of yours?" Jim asked, climbing back into the truck.

"What do you think?" Blair wore the ball cap with the brim turned to the back. His pale features and dark-rimmed eyes stood out starkly against the bright sun of the early August morning.

"I don't think you need to fake anything," Jim answered grimly. "You really do look like shit." He twisted in his seat to face his friend. "Are you sure you want to go through with this? It's already stirred up unpleasant memories. What do you expect to happen once you're in the hospice?"

Blair sighed, staring at his hands in his lap. "I don't expect it to be easy," he said softly. "But there's something more at stake here than my insecurities and fears." He looked up, capturing Jim's eyes with a determined gaze. "People are dying, Jim. People that value every single day they're alive, just because their prognosis is so bad. I've been pretty damn close to where these people are, and I know how they feel. They deserve every day that God and medical science can give them."

"So... are you ready to head over to the hospice?" Jim said, finally starting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot.

"Might as well get it over with," Blair replied, staring at his hands again. "I've got my duffel in the back. There's no point in putting it off."

~oO0Oo~

Matt Fleming greeted the two detectives with a warm smile. "Welcome, Blair... Jim. I've got a private room all set up for you," he said, leading the way down the hall. "All our patients get single rooms, unless they specifically ask for a roomie. Most like to spend some time alone or with their loved ones out of the public eye, so to speak." He stopped in front of Room 107 and opened the door.

Inside, the room looked much like a home bedroom might, with the exception of a hospital bed and the accompanying medical equipment. Soft colors and chintz curtains, antique furniture and the warm glow of a Tiffany lamp greeted them.

"This is nice," Blair said, setting his duffel bag on the bed.

"I'll give you some time to get settled," Fleming said. "Pajamas and robe are standard attire around here, unless you feel up to getting dressed. You can hang your things in the closet." He gestured toward a beautiful old armoire. "A nurse will be by in about fifteen minutes to get you set up, then I'll be back and we can discuss the particulars of what we need to do."

Jim nodded and closed the door behind the doctor as Blair rummaged in his duffel for the pajamas he had recently purchased. Stripping quickly, he pulled them on. Jim walked over and batted Blair's hands away from the top, taking over the job of buttoning. When he finished, he patted the mattress.

"Up you go. I'll put your things away."

"Jim... I'm not an invalid," Blair reminded him. "I'm still capable of doing things for myself."

"You're not supposed to be," Jim shot back. "You're dying, remember?"

Meekly, Blair scooted onto the bed and watched as Jim hung his clothes in the closet and deposited his personal items in the small bathroom. When he'd finished, he circled the bed to stand between Blair and the window. "We have no idea who our perp might be," he said softly. "It could be anyone from an employee at the hospice, to one of the visitors. As long as you're here, you have to stay in character." He noted the rapid increase in Blair's heartbeat and respiration, and reached out to wrap an arm around his friend. "It's going to be okay. You're going to do great," he assured the young man.

"I know." Blair's voice was soft and trembled slightly. "I'm just a little freaked, now that I'm here."

"Understandable," Jim said, stroking Blair's back.

The anthropologist-cum-detective finally pulled away and looked at Jim. "Could you get me a scarf from my stuff? I think it would be more comfortable in bed than the cap."

"Sure, Chief." Jim rummaged through the assortment of scarves he had laid in the dresser drawer and pulled out a garish batik in oranges and red. "How's this?"

"Should do wonders for my complexion," Blair answered dryly, a slight smile curving the corners of his lips.

Jim returned and took off the cap, tying the scarf in place over what was left of Blair's hair. "There you go. You'd never know that you're not as bald as a bowling ball."

"Gee, thanks, Jim," Blair murmured, adjusting the scarf until he was satisfied.

Their exchange was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in," Blair called.

A nurse entered, her hands full of a sterile IV. She approached the bed and hung a bag of saline solution on the pole. "Good morning, Blair," she greeted her patient. "And you must be Jim," she said, extending a hand across the bed for Jim to shake. "My name is Michaela, but most of the patients around here call me Mike."

"Nice to meet you," Jim muttered, watching as Michaela swabbed the back of Blair's left hand.

"It's my job to get you settled," she said, picking up the needle and discarding the sterile cover. "This is going to prick just a little." She pulled the skin taut and slipped the needle into a vein in the back of Blair's hand. "There you go. It's especially important to keep cancer patients hydrated," she explained, looking up at Jim. "Often they can't keep much down because of the chemo, and this helps to keep them from becoming dehydrated. It's also an easy way to administer the prescribed medications."

"I know." Jim's voice was a low growl. "We've been through this before."

"Yes, of course you have," Michaela said with a slight smile. "I just want you both to know that we give our patients the very best of care here. If you need anything, just push the call button on the bed." She pointed to the switch on the inside of the rail. "Is there anything you need right now?"

Blair shook his head. "Dr. Fleming said he'd come back to talk to us soon. I'll be okay till then."

"Very good. Just holler if you need me," Michaela said with a grin before she turned to leave.

"Seems nice enough," Blair whispered after the door closed behind the nurse.

"They all seem nice enough," Jim grumbled. "Trouble is, the killer is probably just as nice. You can't let down your guard in here."

"Blair? Jim?" Matt Fleming poked his head into the room.

"Come on in, Doctor," Jim invited.

"So, how are you settling in?" Fleming asked as he approached his newest patient.

"As well as can be expected," Blair answered, lifting the hand with the IV needle.

The doctor smiled. "Well, you're certainly looking the part," he said seriously. "What have you been up to the past three days?"

"Puking his guts -" Jim began.

"Taking Syrup of Ipecac after meals," Blair interrupted. "I figured that was relatively harmless."

Fleming nodded. "It's easier to be sick than to act sick," he agreed. "I really don't like even suggesting this, but it might be a good idea if I keep a mild emetic in your IV drip as we discussed earlier this week. It would keep you just nauseated enough to not arouse anyone's suspicions."

"All right," Blair agreed softly. "I suppose we have to start somewhere."

"The support group meets daily at 3 p.m. in the solarium," Fleming informed them. "It's not unusual for new patients to wait a day or two to join the group, but you're welcome any time. It's a good way to meet the other patients."

"Any chance it's a patient doing this?" Jim asked, staring pointedly at the doctor.

"Anything's possible," Fleming admitted, "but I think it's unlikely. Most of these patients are too focused on their own misery to worry about putting someone else out of theirs. They're more likely to attempt suicide than murder."

Blair sighed. "This isn't going to be easy. I can already feel the beginnings of an anxiety attack, thanks to the stress."

"We've got BuSpar, which is very effective in controlling anxiety," the doctor said. "But I really don't care to prescribe anything the first day. Generally, we run a series of tests to see what the patient needs. In Blair's case, we won't need to do that, of course. However," Fleming concentrated on his patient, "if, over the course of your stay here, you need help with the anxiety or whatever else, I'm more than willing to work with you."

"What about me?" Jim asked. "I want to stay here with Blair as much as possible. We're partners on the job, and I want to be here to watch his back."

"This is a very progressive hospice, Jim," Fleming said with a smile. "We encourage family members to stay with their loved ones as much as possible. If you want to spend the night, we can easily bring in a rollaway or lounge chair for your use."

Blair smiled weakly. "Jim's just about the only family I really have," he said, reaching out to squeeze Jim's hand. "As partners and friends, we've been through a lot together."

"You can say that again!" Jim agreed. "The past nine years have been one hell of a roller coaster ride."

"Staff, patients and visitors are all used to family members being present 24/7," the doctor said. "The only time we'll ask you to leave Blair alone is during the time the support group meets. Most patients don't care to air their worst fears to their family or close friends, but they'll open up around other sufferers."

"I can live with that," Jim said, nodding and turning a smile on Blair. Both men knew that Jim could monitor Blair with ease, even from out in the hallway. Surrounded by a doctor they trusted and terminally ill patients, Jim felt comfortable with this one, small concession.

"Good enough," Fleming said with a nod of his own. "I'll go get the medication, then, and we can get this show on the road."

Jim perched on the side of the bed after the doctor had gone and continued to hold Blair's hand. "You feeling okay? You look a little pale."

"Worse than when we got here?" Blair asked with a small grin.

"Afraid so," Jim told him, squeezing Blair's hand in return. "If this gets to be too much, you let me know. We don't have to do this. You don't have to do this."

"It's okay, Jim. I want to," Blair assured him.

"Okay, here we go," Dr. Fleming said, breezing back into the room. He had a second bag of the saline solution, doctored with the emetic. He quickly switched the bags and regulated the flow. "If this is too much, be sure to let me know. I don't want you getting too sick. You're here to help us, after all."

"Thanks, Matt," Blair said, giving the doctor a brave smile. "As long as I have Jim here, I'll be all right."

"I'll leave you two alone, then, and give you some time to settle in." He turned to leave, and then turned back. "This might not be the best time to bring this up, but we have two options for meals here. You can come join us in the cafeteria, if you feel up to it, or you can order room service. The menu is in the top drawer of the nightstand."

"Something tells me I'm not going to feel much like eating," Blair said, trying hard to keep the smile on his face.

"You need to keep up your strength, so at least try to eat something," the doctor admonished. "Jim, see to it that he eats, all right?"

"He'll eat if I have to force feed him," Jim promised.

"I'll check in on you again this evening," Fleming said. "Feel free to move around the facility and get familiar with the place."

After the doctor had left, Jim rummaged in the nightstand drawer. "Ah, here we go," he said, extracting the menu. "I'm hungry. How about you?"

"Not particularly," Blair said glumly. Already he could feel the effects of the medication in his system dragging him down, churning in his gut.

"They've got sandwiches, soups, salads, pasta... and that's just on the lunch menu," Jim said, reading from the paper in his hand. "How about a chicken Caesar salad? You could handle that." He looked up from the menu to gauge his partner's reaction.

"Whatever." Blair waved his hand, dismissing his responsibility in the decision making.

"What's the matter, Chief? Is that crap starting to bother you so soon?"

Blair nodded, the smile he'd held for the doctor faded, being replaced by fine lines of stress across his forehead. "I don't really feel much like eating."

"Maybe a bowl of cereal?" Jim suggested. "They've got Fruit Loops."

"Jim, man... you like the Fruit Loops, remember?" The smile briefly returned to the pained face.

"Well, then, how about some whole wheat toast? Maybe toss in a little strawberry jam." Jim laid the menu aside and gave Blair a stern look. "You have to eat something," he insisted.

"Okay. Toast sounds fine," Blair agreed. "And maybe some orange juice?"

"That's the spirit!" Jim patted Blair's knee before turning to the phone and calling room service. A half an hour later, an orderly brought in the toast and juice, along with a roast beef sandwich and chips for Jim.

Blair nibbled at the toast, hoping that Jim wouldn't notice that he wasn't really eating. After living for so many years with a sentinel, he wasn't altogether surprised to find his ploy wasn't working.

"You need to eat," Jim told him, wiping his mouth on a napkin. "I just finished a whole sandwich and a bag of chips, and you're not halfway through your first slice of toast. Here, let me." He took a fresh triangle of toast and spread it thickly with the strawberry jam before holding it up in front of Blair. "Open wide." He made puttering airplane noises as he circled the toast in the air near Blair's mouth.

"Jim, I'm not a littl..." Blair reached out to smack the offending hand that held the toast. "Mffpt -" His words were silenced as Jim shoved the toast into his mouth, forcing him to take a bite.

"Now chew," Jim instructed, leaning in close to keep an eye on his recalcitrant partner. As he did, he rubbed at the bright red spot where Blair had slapped him. "You didn't have to do that, you know. I was just trying to help," he said, mock injury in his voice. Blair pursed his lips, but kept his mouth shut, chewing with determination. "Now swallow...." Blair struggled to comply, washing the toast down with a gulp of orange juice. "There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

In response, Blair's complexion turned gray, and with a suddenness that surprised both men, vomited into Jim's lap. The sudden onslaught of the repugnant smell caused Jim to automatically recoil. "I guess that answers my question," he said, a rueful smile curving his lips.

"Sorry, Jim." Blair spit the last of the foul chunks of regurgitated toast from his mouth.

"That's okay. Let me get something to clean us up." Jim got up and went into the bathroom, returning with towels and a washcloth to take care of the mess. "Good thing we brought extra pajamas," he said, lifting a clean pair from the dresser after removing the worst of the vomit from their clothes.

"Did you remember to pack extra clothes for yourself?" Blair asked, beginning to unbutton the soiled pajama top he was wearing.

Jim sighed. "No, but I was planning to go home and pack a few things once we got you settled. I'll be okay until then." He helped Blair peel off the pajama top and put on the clean one. "Steady there..." he offered, helping Blair to stand. The anthropologist was shaky on his feet, but managed to pull down the bottoms and step out of them. Jim held out the clean pajamas, and Blair was quickly dressed and back in bed.

"You look miserable," Blair commented, looking at the large wet spot that covered the front of Jim's pants. "Maybe you should go now and do your packing. I can rest until you get back."

"I don't like leaving you alone here," Jim told him. "There's a killer on the loose, and until we know what we're dealing with, I don't like for you to be vulnerable."

"Jim, I'll be fine," Blair assured him. "Why don't you take me down to the solarium? I can read a bit, and maybe take part in the support group, if you're gone long enough."

"I thought you didn't want to do that the first day."

Blair smiled. "Matt said I didn't have to, he didn't say I couldn't. Might as well get started. The sooner we get going, the sooner we'll be camping under the stars." He slipped off the bed and walked unsteadily over to the dresser to retrieve the book he had packed.

"Can't argue with that logic," Jim said, returning the grin. He walked to the closet and retrieved Blair's robe, wrapping it around his shoulders before helping him into the wheelchair. "Think we should call a nurse and get you disconnected from that IV for while?"

"Nah. I'm supposed to be sick. It'll look more realistic if I take it with me. You drive and I'll hold the pole," he said, grabbing hold of the wheeled IV stand.

Jim pushed the chair out the door and turned right, down the hallway to where Dr. Fleming had indicated the solarium was located.

"Taking a walk?" Michaela asked, smiling at her newest patient.

"Jim's taking me to the solarium to read while he goes home and changes clothes," Blair explained.

"Oh dear... an accident already?" she asked, looking pointedly at the wet spot on Jim's crotch. Her lips turned down into a slight frown. "You should have called a nurse. We could have taken care of that for you."

"It wasn't that bad," Blair told her. "Just couldn't keep my lunch down. Nothing new about that."

"We handled it," Jim added a little coldly. Until they'd had a chance to check people out a little more thoroughly, he wasn't inclined to trust anyone, except Dr. Fleming. Maybe not even him.

"Just remember that we're here to make your stay as comfortable as possible," Michaela said, patting Blair on the shoulder. "Enjoy the solarium. It should be quiet there for now. Things will pick up around three o'clock, when the patients start coming for the support group." She turned to Jim. "Did Dr. Fleming tell you that friends and relatives are invited to come to the first meeting?" she asked.

"No," Jim said, shaking his head. "He only told us that was the one place where I wouldn't be welcome."

"Not on a regular basis, no," Michaela explained. "But it's sometimes easier for new patients to feel comfortable their first time in the group if they have someone familiar with them."

"I'd like that, Jim," Blair said, turning his head to look up at Jim and covering his partner's left hand with his own. "Think you could be back in time?"

Jim glanced at his watch and calculated the distance he'd have to drive. "It'd be close, but yeah, I think I can make it in time," he said.

Michaela smiled and nodded at the two men. "See you at group, then."

Jim began pushing the wheelchair again, as Blair waved good-bye to the nurse. "She's nice. I like her," Blair said.

"Just don't get too comfortable with anyone," Jim warned him. "It's always the one you least expect."

They reached the solarium - a large, bright room, filled with plants and sunshine.

"How's this?" Jim asked, wheeling Blair over next to a small fountain near one of the windows.

"Great," Blair said, looking up at Jim with a smile. "Thanks, man. I really appreciate you being here for me. This all creeps me out just a little, you know?"

"I know, Chief," Jim said, nodding. "You going to be okay for a couple hours while I drive back to change and pack?"

"Sure. Just don't make too many side trips on the way."

Jim gripped Blair's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze of support. "Stay alert," he admonished before turning to leave.

Blair picked up his book and began to read.

The time passed quickly. Blair was surprised when he looked up to see a sudden influx of people into the solarium. The clock situated on the wall just over the door read three o'clock. He looked around at the gathering, but couldn't spot Jim in the crowd.

Dr. Fleming walked up to him. "Hi, Blair. I wasn't sure we'd see you here today. Are you settling in?"

Blair nodded. "I threw up my lunch on Jim, though," he confessed. "He had to go home to change clothes."

"Here I am," Jim announced. "Sorry I'm a little late. Did I miss anything?"

"Not at all," Dr. Fleming said. "We were just getting started."

The group formed a semi-circle facing the doctor. Matt Fleming looked out over the motley assemblage and smiled. "We have a new member of our group today," he began. "Blair, would you like to introduce yourself and your friend, and tell us all a little bit about your illness?"

"Well, ah...." Blair stammered, surprised to be put on the spot. "My name's Blair Sandburg, and this is my friend and roommate, Jim Ellison," he began. "I was diagnosed with cancer of the larynx a little over six years ago. I did the radiation and chemotherapy thing and went into remission for a while, but the cancer came back and I had to have my full larynx removed. I can speak thanks to an indwelling valve that acts like my vocal cords." He paused to look around the room at the patients gathered together. "I went through more chemotherapy after that. It got so bad that I almost gave up. But thanks to Jim," he tipped his head to look up at his partner, "I pulled through and went into remission again." The memories of his illness flooded back as he told his story, and tears formed, unbidden, to roll silently down his cheeks. He sighed and dropped his gaze to the folded hands in his lap. He hated lying, but his cover called for it. "After nearly five years of remission, the cancer returned in a particularly aggressive form." His throat had become tight as his mind taunted him with the thought that someday this fabrication could be truth. "I-I'm still on chemo, but my doctor, Ken Stuart, doesn't think I have more than three months at best." His voice faded and he fell silent. Even Jim had been moved by the memories, and had to wipe a tear that threatened to fall.

A small hand appeared in Blair's field of vision and lightly covered his. "It was hard for all of us to hear that diagnosis," a soft, female voice said. "My name's Gerri. Blair, we're here to help. None of us has a lot of time left, but it's something you can come to terms with." Blair lifted his head to make eye contact with the slender, middle-aged woman. "My disease is breast cancer. I had a double mastectomy, but the cancer had already spread."

"I'm sorry..." Blair muttered, not really knowing what to say. He felt guilty, knowing how deathly ill these people were, and that he had needed to lie to them in order to help them. The thought flushed his cheeks with shame.

"Don't be," Gerri told him. "I've accepted the fact and made my peace. We're all," she waved a hand around to indicate the assembled patients, "in various stages of learning to cope. That's why we're here."

"Jim, do you have anything to add?" Dr. Fleming asked, looking up at the taciturn man.

"We've been through hell, and I'm not wasting a single day I have left with Blair," Jim replied honestly. Whether it was the three months of their cover story or the next fifty years of their lives, he meant to treasure each day he had with his Guide.

Blair moaned quietly, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

"What's the matter? Not feeling well?" Jim leaned down to speak softly into Blair's ear.

"Sick," Blair said, swallowing down the bile that threatened to rise.

"I'm taking you back to your room," Jim decided. Turning to the doctor and assembled patients he apologized. "Sorry, but Blair's not up to this right now." He turned the wheelchair and pushed Blair through the door and down the hall.

When they reached Blair's room, the younger man stood on wobbly legs, grasping tightly to the IV pole for support. "Help me to the bathroom?" His voice was weak and shaking.

Jim wrapped an arm around his shoulders and guided his partner into the cramped bathroom. Blair lifted the lid of the toilet and dropped to his knees, retching over the bowl. There was nothing in his stomach to vomit up, but bile and saliva dripped from his lips and he spit into the water. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his robe, Blair sat back on his heels.

Jim got up to get him a glass of water to clean his mouth. He squatted next to Blair, wrapping an arm around the trembling shoulders in support. "You shouldn't have to be going through this kind of misery for a case," he said softly.

"It's all right," Blair said, taking a sip of the cool liquid. "I agreed to. It's too late to back out now."

"No, it's not," Jim insisted, helping Blair to his feet. "We just tell Dr. Fleming we're sorry, that this is too hard on you."

Blair shuffled along beside Jim to the bed and climbed in, sighing as he rested his head on the pillows. "It's just a little nausea, not all that bad." He reached out and grasped Jim's hand. "This is important. I want to finish what I've started here. Now, how about you go find something to entertain yourself, and let me have a nap?" Jim shook his head, unhappy about leaving Blair alone and unprotected. "Look, I'll be fine," the young detective insisted. "Go look around. You never know what you might find."

Reluctantly, Jim agreed. As the door closed behind him, Blair breathed a sigh of relief and shut his eyes against the nausea and fear.

~oO0Oo~

Later that evening, Jim attempted to feed his reluctant partner his supper. "How about just one more bite of mashed potatoes?" he urged.

Blair shook his head. "I've had enough," he said, pushing the tray away.

Jim settled in the chair next to the bed and gave Blair a contemplative look. "So tell me again about these placebos you'll be getting," he asked.

"Well," Blair said, taking a deep breath to ease the queasiness in his stomach. "As part of the cover to help make it look as though I'm really sick, I'll be receiving medications twice daily, just like all the other patients. Dr. Fleming is going to fill my prescriptions himself - with sugar pills, instead of the chemo treatment," he explained.

"And how is it that the nurses won't get suspicious?" Jim wondered. "Don't they usually give out the pills based on a prescription by the doctor?"

"Usually," Blair agreed. "But Dr. Fleming said it's not all that unusual that he'll fill the prescriptions himself, if he wants to monitor a particularly ill patient more closely. It's a rare occurrence, but not unheard of."

A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. "Come in," Jim called.

A male nurse in his mid-thirties walked in carrying a tray crowded with small paper cups containing the medications for the patients in that wing of the hospice. He walked over to the bed and stood next to where Jim perched on the mattress, trying to get Blair to eat.

"Hi there. My name's Jim Pierce. I'm your nightshift nurse," he introduced himself.

Blair lifted a hand in greeting. "I'm Blair. This is my friend, Jim Ellison."

"Nice to meet you both," the nurse responded, smiling. "I've got your medications here," he said, holding out a cup that he'd selected off the tray. "One is your chemo dose, the other a vitamin to help you keep up your strength."

Blair took the cup and tossed back the pills, swallowing them with a gulp of water.

"If you need anything," Pierce said, "just ring the nurses' station." With a smile and a nod, he left.

"I wish you would have let me check those things before you swallowed them," Jim scolded, eyeing the empty cup.

"Jim, man... they're placebos, fakes," Blair assured him. "What's to check?"

"Until we're sure who we can trust... everyone and everything." Not completely relaxing his guard, Jim picked up the fork again. "Seeing as how you seem to be fine, there's no reason you can't eat a little more of your dinner."

Reluctantly, Blair opened his mouth and allowed Jim to feed him. His stomach was still slightly upset, but he was getting used to the sensation, not unlike back in the days when he was actually on chemotherapy. He managed to finish most of his meal before pushing the tray away. "Enough. Thanks, Jim."

Jim took the tray and set it aside. After fluffing the pillows beneath Blair's head, he settled into the recliner next to the bed and picked up the television remote. "Let's see what kind of reception they have here," he said, flipping through the channels. "Wow... a full cable lineup, including some premium movie channels. This is quite a setup," he exclaimed. "Want to watch a movie?"

"Sure, why not?" Blair agreed, pulling the blankets up and settling in to watch TV.

They had been watching for nearly a half an hour when Blair suddenly bolted upright, a look of pure horror on his face. He struggled to get off the bed and stand. Grabbing the IV needle, he ripped it from his hand. Blood spurted from the needle site, leaving a spray of red droplets on the floor.

Alarmed, Jim bolted out of the recliner and over to where Blair stood. Grabbing the bleeding hand, he put pressure on the area to stop the flow. "What's the matter? Blair, what's wrong?"

Stumbling across the floor, Blair doubled over about halfway to the bathroom and began to vomit. Jim wrapped an arm around his waist and practically dragged the retching man the rest of the way to the toilet. Flipping up the lid, he directed Blair toward the bowl.

Blair continued to vomit until his dinner was completely expelled. Leaning over the toilet bowl, he grasped the edges and heaved in deeps gulps of air.

"It's over, Chief. It's over," Jim assured him, supporting the trembling man and massaging his shoulders.

Blair shook his head. "Not over." The words were barely whispered, discernable only to Sentinel ears. Moments later, he was heaving again, knuckles white against the porcelain bowl. When he was done, he collapsed back onto his heels, still keeping a death grip on the toilet.

Jim tried to pry the clenched hands away from the bowl, but Blair wouldn't let him. The terror that gripped his Guide was reminiscent of the darkest days of their fight with the cancer.

"I'm going to call the nurse," Jim said, reluctantly leaving Blair alone for the few moments it took to dash back to the bed and press the call button.

Almost immediately, the door swung open and Jim Pierce entered the room. "What's the problem?"

"He can't stop vomiting," Jim said, his voice tense with worry as he pointed to the bathroom. "What the hell's wrong?"

Pierce shook his head, frowning. "The chemo treatment he's been prescribed is particularly powerful," he said, consulting the chart at the foot of the bed. "I'll go get him an anti-nausea injection. Be right back."

"Page Dr. Fleming while you're at it!" Jim called after him. He stood for a few seconds, facing the door the nurse had just exited. His arms were hanging stiffly at his sides, his fists balled and ready to hit something. It took every ounce of his energy to keep from yelling after the nurse that Blair wasn't really on the chemo and he shouldn't be getting so sick on the mild emetic Fleming had given him. Taking a deep breath, he tried to relax. Getting upset wasn't going to help his partner.

He hurried back into the bathroom and knelt next to Blair, who was spitting bile into the toilet. "It's okay, Blair," he comforted. "You're going to be feeling better soon. I promise you, we're going to get to the bottom of this. Something's not right."

Blair turned his head to look up at his friend with bleak eyes. Before he could say anything, he was over the toilet again with dry heaves. When he finally sank back to the tiles, his hand went to his throat. After a few garbled attempts to speak, he reverted to the standby of sign language. The vomiting dislodged my prosthesis.

Jim frowned with concern. "Can you get it out?"

Blair shook his head. Need Dr. Fleming to help.

"Does it hurt? Can you breathe all right?" Jim's hands hovered uselessly near Blair's throat. He hated feeling helpless like this. It reminded him far too much of the hellish days of chemo.

Doesn't hurt; I'll be okay, Blair informed him, leaning wearily against his partner.

While they waited for Pierce to come back with the anti-nausea injection, Jim took a damp cloth and wiped Blair's chin and neck, mindful of the stoma that was covered with a splattered patch of gauze.

It seemed an eternity to Jim before Pierce returned. Once the injection had been administered, each man took an elbow and lifted Blair to his feet, half walking, half carrying him back to the bed.

When Blair was settled, Jim handed him a glass of water and insisted he drink. "You need to get some fluids back into your system," he told his Guide.

Can't swallow, Blair informed him. After the prosthesis is reset. He handed the water back to Jim, giving him an apologetic look.

Jim rounded on the nurse. "Did you call Dr. Fleming? I want to see him now!"

Pierce nodded. "He's been paged. It could be a while, though. He's very busy."

"Like hell!" Jim spat, his face twisted with anger. "Call him again! This is an emergency!"

"I assure you, Blair will be fine," the nurse said calmly. "Violent bouts of nausea are quite common with patients undergoing chemotherapy."

But Blair's not sick! Jim wanted to shout. "I want the doctor to check him," he said, trying to keep his voice reasonable.

"And he will." Pierce's voice remained calm, but his heart rate increased noticeably. He picked up the discarded IV needle and unhooked it from the line. "Let me see your hand," he requested, taking a good look at the injury. "We'll have to use a different site," he said, clucking his tongue. "You shouldn't be taking out the IV yourself." He turned to leave. "I'll have to get a fresh needle... be right back."

"Don't bother," Jim said, grabbing hold of the man's forearm. "We'll wait until we've had a chance to talk with Dr. Fleming."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Ellison," Pierce apologized, "but it's procedure. Patients who are vomiting as much as Blair, need the IV fluids to stay hydrated."

"Get the doctor here, and then we'll consider it," the detective insisted, putting the full weight of his authority into his voice.

"I'll have to talk to the shift supervisor," Pierce said, turning to walk out the door.

"Call the doctor!" Jim shouted at the nurse's back. Once Pierce was out of earshot, Jim turned to Blair. "I want you off that crap that's making you sick!" he hissed.

Blair nodded his head, too weary to argue. This bout of nausea was the worst he'd had since his actual chemotherapy, and he wasn't pleased to think about going through that again. The muscles in his abdomen ached from the violence of the spasms he'd endured. Moaning softly, he closed his eyes, only meaning to rest for a minute. As he slowly collapsed, Jim caught him and lowered him gently to the pillows.

~*~*~*~

"No, no more, please." Blair pushed at the nurse who wanted to put yet another needle into his arm.

"Blair, Sweetie," she crooned. "Just calm down. This is for your own good."

"Enough. I've had enough. Please..." Blair knew he sounded pathetic, weak... but he was tired, so tired. He just wanted the ordeal to be over, even if it meant disappointing Jim. "Jim, forgive me..."

"Jim isn't here," the nurse scoffed. "He told us to do what we had to do and to call him when you're feeling better." With that, she motioned for two strong orderlies to hold Blair down while she inserted the IV needle into his vein and adjusted the flow of the toxin that would treat the cancer that had spread throughout his system.

"Jiiiimmm...!" Blair cried out as the orderlies strapped him down so that he couldn't struggle, couldn't remove the needle that was making him sicker than the disease. "Help me! Help me!"

~*~*~*~

Jim stood outside the door to Blair's room, waiting for the doctor to arrive. When Fleming finally appeared, Jim jumped on him. "Something's going on here!" he said through clenched teeth. "Blair just had a bout of vomiting as serious as he used to have when he was on chemotherapy. I didn't think that stuff you were giving him was supposed to make him that sick!"

Fleming shook his head. "It's not," he said. "Christine told me it was bad enough to dislodge the voice prosthesis."

"And it takes quite a bit to do that," Jim informed him.

"Was he able to get it out?" the doctor asked.

Jim shook his head. "He said he'd need your help. He was so exhausted after all the vomiting, that he went to sleep."

"I'll take care of it," Fleming assured him.

Undeterred, Jim grabbed the doctor's upper arm and shook him lightly. "I want Blair tested. Something is making him sick."

"I make up his medication cups myself," Fleming insisted. "There's nothing dangerous about the sugar pills he's getting."

"I don't give a damn!" Jim growled. "I want him tested, and I want him off that stuff you're giving him! He's suffered enough!" A soft cry from inside the room distracted him. He released the doctor and hurried into the room, crossing quickly to the bed.

"Blair? Blair!" Jim gently shook his Guide's shoulder. "Wake up. You're having another nightmare."

"Does this happen often?" Dr. Fleming asked, looking with concern at the young detective who had agreed to take on this task for him.

"A couple times, now," Jim answered, distracted by caring for the groggy man. "Chemo was a hard time for both of us. I think this is bringing back bad memories."

Jim? Blair blinked his eyes and focused on the man sitting on the edge of his bed. You're here?

"Of course I am. What? Did you think I'd leave?" He stroked a hand over the colorful batik scarf on Blair's head.

In my dreams, you're always gone.

"Well, that settles it then," Jim said, smiling at his shaken partner. "Your dreams aren't memories; they're reflections of your fears. Are you afraid I'll leave?"

Blair shook his head. Not anymore. But when I was really sick... I didn't know how you could stand to stay around. A weaker man would have shrugged me off and left.

"And that's what you see in your dreams?" Jim's voice was hurt.

Sorry, Jim. I know it's not real, that it didn't happen, but I'm just so scared that you'll leave me alone.

"Not going to happen, Chief," Jim assured him, reaching out to take Blair's hand. "You'll have to tell me to go, and even then I'm not certain you could get me to leave." He glanced up briefly at the doctor who was waiting patiently for them to finish. "Blair, Dr. Fleming is here."

Blue eyes tracked from Jim's face over to where the doctor stood. Hi, Matt, he signed, with Jim interpreting for him.

"I hear you had a violent episode of nausea this evening," the doctor said, getting right to the point. "The emetic I'm giving you in the IV shouldn't have caused a reaction like that. At Jim's request, I'm switching you back to plain saline solution, no drugs. You should start feeling better almost immediately." He reached up to remove the tainted bag of saline and replaced it with a full, sterile unit. "I'll let the nurse set the needle after we're through here. Meanwhile, let's get that implant reset, shall we?" Blair nodded, anxious to have his voice back.

When Fleming had been summoned to Blair's room over the vomiting incident, he'd been told of the dislodged prosthesis and had come prepared with the proper tools. "Open wide," he said, spraying the lidocaine to numb Blair's throat. With a finger inserted through the opening in Blair's neck, and a pair of flexible forceps through his mouth and down his throat, the doctor was able to remove the device with little fanfare. He grimaced at the sight that greeted him after he'd pulled it free. "You'd better let me clean this," he said, going into the bathroom to rinse the remnants of vomit from the plastic valve.

"All right, here we go," Fleming said, returning to the bedside a few minutes later. Blair endured the reinserting of the device with stoic silence.

"Sorry to be so much trouble. I haven't had a chance to get a feel for the place yet," Blair apologized when he could speak again.

"Don't rush if you're not feeling up to it," Fleming said. "I'm just grateful you agreed to look into these deaths for me. Now, I think it's about time we get you hooked back up to that IV. You really do need your fluids with all the vomiting you've been doing." He went to the door and summoned the nurse. "We need to set a new IV and draw some blood," he told Pierce.

The nurse nodded and went to get the supplies. He returned a few minutes later and crossed quickly over to the bed. "This will just take a minute. Hi, Blair," he greeted his patient. "Ready to be hooked up again?"

"I suppose," Blair said, beginning to regret agreeing to take this case.

Pierce eyed the damage done to the hand that had held the IV before. The needle site was swollen and bruised, tender to the touch. "I think maybe we'd better use the other hand," he suggested, making his way to the other side of the bed. He prepped the new site with antiseptics before sliding the needle home in the vein.

Blair winced as the needle penetrated the delicate skin on the back of his hand. Pierce taped the needle in place and checked the drip in the IV line.

"There you go. All set up. Now we just need to get that blood sample," Pierce said, testing Blair's arm for a good vein. It only took a minute to draw the requested vials of blood and drop them in the pocket of his scrubs. "Now we're done." He smiled at Blair. "Holler if you need anything." Pierce waved as he left the room, leaving Jim and Blair alone with the doctor once more.

"I don't trust that guy," Jim said, his skin still crawling from the nearness of the man. "What can you tell me about him?"

Fleming frowned. "He's one of our newer hires - started working for us just under a month ago. Came out of a cancer ward in New Orleans. His former employers gave him high marks."

"Why did he want to move so far away?" Jim asked. "Seems unusual for someone to move across country like that, unless they had some compelling reason."

"He has family out here, I think," Fleming said. "He's been a good employee - always on time, never misses a shift."

"Has he always worked the night shift?" Jim continued to grill the doctor, hoping to find something concrete on which he could base his feelings about the man.

"I believe so, yes," the doctor answered.

Jim sighed. "Well, if you think of anything else, or if you have any suspicions of your own you'd like to share, let us know."

"I will, of course." Dr. Fleming did a quick check of Blair's vitals before turning to leave. "Let me know if you're not feeling better by morning. Good night, Blair... Jim."

"Good night, Matt," Blair called after the retreating doctor.

"I think maybe it's time to call it a night," Jim said, pulling the blankets up to Blair's chest. "We can do some more reconnaissance in the morning when you're feeling better."

"Jim?" Blair took his partner's hand and squeezed. "Thanks for being here. I couldn't do this without you."

"You won't ever have to," Jim said, moving his recliner closer to the bed before settling in for the night.

~oO0Oo~

"You're looking good this morning," Michaela remarked as she breezed in to check on her patient.

Blair was enthusiastically shoveling in the eggs and toast Jim had ordered for him for breakfast. "Yeah, I feel like I haven't eaten for a week!" he said between bites.

"You haven't," Jim complained. "Now finish up. We've got work to do."

"Work?" Michaela looked at him quizzically.

"We didn't get a chance to take the grand tour yesterday," Blair explained, wiping his mouth on a napkin. "We thought we'd tool around the corridors and check things out."

"I think you'll like what you see," Michaela said with a smile. "There's a big rec room in the basement. It's got a pool table, darts, chessboards and cards - almost anything you can think that you might like to do. Then there's the solarium -"

"We saw that yesterday," Blair said, nodding.

"It's a popular place to just go and relax," Michaela added. "And the daily group meeting is there. We have a library," she continued. "That's on the second floor. And don't forget to check out the cafeteria. You might enjoy going there for your meals occasionally."

"Thanks, Mike." Blair smiled at the pretty nurse, who blushed.

"I think you'd better take your morning meds," she said, producing the small paper cup of pills.

Blair looked at it warily, but tossed back the pills and swallowed them with a full glass of water, as instructed.

"I'll come back to check on you around noon," Michaela said. "If you need me before that, you know what to do." She turned and walked out, leaving the men alone again.

Blair watched the door close, then leaned in toward Jim. "I still don't think she's got anything to do with why we're here," he said softly.

Jim nodded. "You could be right," he agreed. "But I'm not going to be comfortable until I can get back to the office and run some checks on some of these people."

"Let's check out the building," Blair said, changing the subject. He eased out of bed and grabbed his robe, pulling it on before settling in the wheelchair and grabbing the IV pole.

The two men toured the facility; impressed with the luxuries it granted to its terminally ill patients. The library even had computers with a broadband Internet connection.

"I could log on to the department's computers from here," Jim mused. "Maybe I'll try that later."

"Let's do lunch in the cafeteria," Blair suggested. Their exploring had taken the better part of the morning, and already people were filing through the halls headed for their noon meal.

Jim popped a wheelie with the chair, causing Blair to grasp the arms in surprise and burst out laughing. "It's good to hear you laugh, Chief," Jim commented as he headed to the cafeteria.

"You'll be the death of me yet," Blair said, still chuckling.

"Don't even joke about it!" came Jim's fervent reply as Blair continued to snicker.

~oO0Oo~

"Why don't you drop me off at the solarium," Blair suggested. "I'll join with the group today; see if I can get a better feel for the patients who are here."

"I don't like leaving you alone," Jim complained as he pushed the wheelchair down the hallway.

"It'll just be for a little while," Blair reminded him. "Once the support group arrives, I'll have plenty of company. Maybe you could use the library's computers to do some of your research."

"Good idea," Jim agreed. He punched the button for the automatic doors to the solarium and waited for them to swing open. "Where do you want to sit?"

"Over by the fountain again," Blair answered. "That was really nice yesterday."

Jim parked the chair and squeezed Blair's shoulder. "You be careful while I'm gone."

"I can take pretty good care of myself," Blair reminded him. Besides working out at the gym, Blair had also taken the Academy's self-defense course a second time, honing his skills. He could even occasionally get the drop on his partner, if he caught the older man off guard.

"I know you can," Jim said. "But I still worry."

"You need to be careful too," Blair pointed out. "We still have no idea who might be behind the murders, if indeed there even are any actually killings. Watch your back."

"I will." Jim patted Blair's shoulders, then reluctantly left to go up to the library and log onto the computer network.

Blair stared out the window at the colorful flowers in the garden outside.

"Hi there."

Startled, Blair turned around. "Oh, hi."

"Remember me? I'm Gerri," the small woman reintroduced herself.

"Of course!" Blair said, grinning. "Pull up a chair and join me."

Gerri motored her chair alongside Blair's and set the brake. "The weather has been so lovely here of late," she sighed. "Too bad I won't be here to see the holidays."

"Don't say that," Blair admonished. "We never know what the future can bring."

"Oh, I know," Gerri said with a slight smile and a nod. "I'm doing better right now, thanks to the medications Dr. Fleming has me on, but it's only a matter of time. It's all right, though," she hastened to add. "I lost my only daughter to breast cancer two years ago."

"I'm so sorry to hear that," Blair said sincerely. He couldn't begin to imagine how painful it must be for a mother to watch her child die.

Gerri reached over and patted his hand, grasping it and giving it a light squeeze. "Don't be," she said. "It was hard, very hard," she acknowledged, "but now I'm going to see her again, and I'm looking forward to it."

Blair had taken an immediate liking to the older woman, and felt a familiar bond. "I'd feel the same way if I lost Jim," he said softly. "But..."

"You're not ready to leave him alone, and you're worried about how he'll cope," Gerri supplied.

"How'd you know?" Blair asked, eyes wide with wonder.

"It's how I would have felt if I were the one to go first." She squeezed his hand again. "You have to let go," she told him. "Trust that Jim will manage without you."

"It's hard," Blair sighed. The feelings that were being dredged up really were hard, and Blair prayed again that he wouldn't have to deal with the consequences for many years to come.

"That's what our group is here to do - help us all cope with these feelings, to help us come to terms with the future."

"I'm still a little nervous," Blair lied. "Can you tell me anything about some of the other members of the support group?"

"Well... Bill has lung cancer - smoked for forty years, and it's finally caught up with him. His wife is such a sweet thing, always somewhere nearby. Casey is another smoker, but with him, it's his liver." She paused for a moment before continuing. "Mark has prostate cancer. His wife preceded him... an automobile accident three years ago. Mark says his cancer is caused from lack of sex. He was diagnosed two years after Abby's death." She chuckled. "Mark's the clown of the group; helps us all keep up our spirits."

"They all sound like decent people," Blair commented, studying Gerri's face.

"Oh, they are!" the woman exclaimed. "Salt of the earth. Lizzy is another lung cancer patient," Gerri continued. "Her husband tried for years to get her to stop smoking. Now he has emphysema from the second-hand smoke."

Blair shook his head. "I never could understand the allure of smoking. Simon, Jim's boss, is addicted to cigars." He wrinkled his nose. "Fortunately, he doesn't smoke them much in the office."

"What does Jim do for a living?" Gerri asked, showing genuine interest in her new friend.

The question brought a smile to Blair's face. "He's a detective with the PD's Major Crime division. You should have seen the look on my mom's face the first time she heard that. Naomi's one of the original hippies, and she was appalled that I was rooming with a 'pig'. Jim may seem a little gruff, but he's just overly protective of me. I've never known anyone more gentle or kind."

"You're very lucky to have a friend like that." Spotting movement from the corner of her eye, Gerri turned to see several people entering the solarium. "Looks like the rest of the group finally arrived."

~oO0Oo~

"Did you find out anything?" Blair asked over dinner in his room that evening.

Jim swallowed the bite of meatloaf he'd been chewing and shook his head. "Not a lot. I got a list of employees for the hospice, including the hire dates and any complaints filed against any of them. So far, nothing stands out. Couldn't get much on the patients. You?"

"I had a nice talk with Gerri before the group meeting started," Blair told him. "She gave me a rundown on the patients in the group; their illnesses, and in some cases a little family background. I don't see anything suspicious there." He took another bite of steamed halibut, chewing thoughtfully. "These are all good people who have fallen on hard times. Frankly, I'm amazed at the level of acceptance most of them have. It makes me feel privileged to have had a chance to know them."

"Don't get too attached," Jim chided, knowing Blair's big heart would have him adopting each and every patient in his group as a part of his extended family. And when they died... a little piece of Blair would go with them.

"I'm not," Blair said, shaking his head. "At least, I'm trying not to. It's hard, Jim." He looked up at his friend. "These are good people. I don't like the thought that someone is out to shorten what little time they have left."

"Knock, knock!" Jim Pierce, the night nurse, appeared at the door.

Blair glanced up at the clock on the nightstand. "Right on time," he quipped, taking the small cup of medication. When he'd finished taking the pills, he handed the cup back to the nurse. "Thanks."

Pierce nodded. "I'll check back later to see how you're doing."

The door closed quietly behind the nurse, and Jim shook his head. "That guy gives me the creeps."

Blair looked quizzically at the Sentinel. "How so? I haven't got a clue about him one way or the other."

"Just something about him," Jim said. "He's the one that was last in here before you got sick, and I've noted his heart rate increase when he's questioned," he continued, trying to catalog what was off about the man. "His recent move from New Orleans seems suspicious, too, but I'd have to do more checking."

"Dr. Fleming said he might have family out here," Blair reminded him. "That would be sufficient reason for a move." He paused, studying his partner. "I'm the last person to doubt your hunches, but he seems to be an adequate nurse."

Jim shook his head. "Let's forget it for now," he said, waving the conversation off. "You're feeling better, and that's what counts."

Blair yawned and stretched. "It's been a long day; I'm worn out."

"You're still recovering," Jim reminded him, tucking the blankets up under Blair's arms. "Get some sleep. I'll stay up and do a little reading." He reached up to turn off the light.

"That's okay," Blair said, reaching out to stay Jim's hand. "The light doesn't bother me."

Jim shrugged off the gesture and turned out the light. "You forget: I can read in the dark." With a smug grin, he settled into the recliner and opened his book. Twenty minutes later, a gurgling cry from the bed brought him immediately to Blair's side. He turned on the light and looked at his partner. Blair's face was contorted with pain, his color draining rapidly.

"Blair? What's the matter?" Jim's voice was tense with worry.

Blair clamped his mouth shut and signed quickly. Sick. Help. He struggled to sit up. Jim placed a hand against the small of his back and assisted him, helping Blair to his feet. The younger man collapsed after a few steps. Bracing himself with his arms, he vomited onto the floor.

Wave after wave of nausea gripped him, causing Blair's abdominal muscles to cramp. Dinner, and some of lunch, spilled onto the linoleum flooring, splattering back to dirty Blair's pajamas. He began to choke as some of the splatter was aspirated through the stoma. A hand quickly moved to his throat as a look of panic clouded the blue of his eyes.

Jim bounded to the nightstand, jerking open the top drawer to find the suction bulb they'd stored there the day before. Kneeling next to Blair, he pried away the clawing hands and suctioned the vomit from the small opening. Blair sucked in a deep breath as the color began to return to his face.

"What the hell happened?" Jim asked softly, wrapping an arm around the shaking shoulders. Blair just shook his head. "Let's get you back to the bed. I'll get you cleaned up."

"Bathroom," Blair croaked.

Switching directions, Jim guided the sick man to the small lavatory. Blair dropped to his knees in front of the toilet with barely enough time before he began to retch again. Remnants of stomach contents and a smattering of bile came up before the vomiting turned to dry heaves.

Jim ducked out of the bathroom long enough to ring for a nurse, then hurried back to support Blair as he huddled on the cool tiles, waiting for the next round of nausea to hit.

Christine Larkin, the head nurse, and Pierce ran into the room together.

"Oh my God," Christine gasped, seeing the extent of Blair's illness. "I'll get a syringe of Lorazepam," she said, turning quickly to exit the room.

"And get Dr. Fleming!" Jim called after her. "I think Blair dislodged his prosthesis again," he said, turning to Pierce.

"Don't worry," the nurse assured Jim. "We'll make sure that Blair is taken care of."

Pierce stayed with his patient until the head nurse returned a few minutes later with the anti-nausea drug. Christine administered the shot, and Blair almost immediately went limp. Jim and Pierce hauled the barely conscious man to his feet and dragged him back to the bed.

Pierce began to strip the soiled clothing, but Jim nudged him out of the way. "Get away. I don't want you anywhere near Blair," he said, taking over the task. Pierce gave him a curious look, but backed off toward the door, giving his supervisor a questioning glance.

"Jim?" Christine looked at him curiously.

"I want another nurse for Blair," Jim ground out after Pierce had left the room. "I don't trust him any farther than I can throw him."

"He's new, but he's always been a conscientious employee," Christine argued. "However, if you insist, I can assign Blair another nurse."

"I insist," Jim emphatically told her.

"Consider it done." The head nurse nodded and took her leave.

Once they were alone, Jim returned to the task of cleaning Blair - stripping the soaked pajamas and wiping him down with a warm, damp cloth before dressing him in clean clothes and dumping the dirtied pajamas in the hamper. He was tucking the blanket beneath the sleeping man's chin when an orderly came in to mop up the mess on the floor.

"Thanks," Jim said fervently once the floor was clean. The pungent smell of the vomit had brought him near the edge of throwing up himself. He settled into a chair next to the bed to wait for the doctor to arrive.

~oO0Oo~

"Jim?" Fleming's soft voice woke him from a light doze.

"Matt! Thank God you're here." Jim stood up to greet the doctor and guide him over to where Blair slept. "I don't know what's going on here, but Blair was sick again tonight." Fleming began examining Blair, listening to his heart with his stethoscope. "It's as bad as the days when he was actually on chemotherapy." Jim watched as the doctor methodically checked out his patient. "I think he dislodged the voice prosthesis again, too," he added.

"Very possible," Fleming said, nodding. "He's sleeping very soundly now," he commented, straightening to his full height. "So long as his breathing isn't impaired, I'll wait until morning to reseat the prosthesis. No need to disturb him."

"He collapsed right after he got the anti-nausea injection," Jim told him. "I just assumed he was exhausted."

"Mmmm..." the doctor muttered. "That shouldn't have happened. Lorazepam can cause sleepiness, but Blair shouldn't have just collapsed like that. I'll call down to the lab and put an expedite on the blood tests."

"How long until you know something?" Jim asked.

"With an expedite flag on the samples, we should have the results by tomorrow afternoon at the latest," Fleming said. "I want to apologize. I never expected anything like this to happen."

"Neither did we," Jim said, his fury barely contained. "Blair volunteered to do this as a favor, and because he has a big heart. I suspect you knew he wouldn't be able to turn down this assignment. He was supposed to be safe."

"And he is, Detective," Fleming said, resorting to a more formal pose. "I don't know what's going on here, but we're going to find out."

"You're damned right you are!" Jim hissed. "I'm calling the PD. I want a twenty-four-hour guard on his room."

"Anything you want," Fleming agreed. "I don't see how this facility could be at fault, but if it will make you feel better -"

"Blair was perfectly healthy until he came here," Jim growled, poking a finger into Fleming's chest. "And now he's sick again. Something is going on here, and I intend to find out what!"

"And I want to know as badly as you do," the doctor agreed. "I'll check the results of the blood tests tomorrow, and we can go from there."

~oO0Oo~

"What do you mean, they're gone?" Jim had turned livid with rage.

Dr. Fleming cringed slightly under the onslaught of the detective's anger. "I checked with the lab for the results of the blood tests, and they say they never received the samples."

"And how the hell could that happen?" Jim shouted. "What did they say when you called down to expedite the tests? Didn't they know then?"

"I don't know what happened," Fleming confessed. "You can be assured that I'll be looking into it. We've never had anything like this occur before."

"You'd damn well better figure this out, and soon! Otherwise I'm pulling Blair out of here," Jim threatened.

A muffled sound from behind made the angry man spin around. "Blair...." He moved over to the bed. "How are you feeling?" He stroked a hand across a pale cheek, cupping Blair's chin with his palm.

Not so hot, Blair admitted, forced to sign by the dislodged voice implant. What happened?

"That's what we're trying to find out. You passed out last night, and have been sleeping pretty much ever since," Jim explained. "The doctor had some blood drawn for tests, but somehow the samples never got to the lab."

Someone must have intercepted them, Blair conjectured. But who, and why?

"Maybe our killer," Jim suggested.

"Do you have any leads?" Fleming asked.

Jim shook his head. "Nothing concrete, but I've got a hunch. Jim Pierce gave Blair his evening meds just before each vomiting incident." He paused and looked over at Blair. "I'd like to go down to the station where I can make some calls and do some research," he said.

"You can use our facilities here," Fleming suggested.

"I'm going to be running up some phone bills, as well as needing an Internet connection," Jim explained.

Matt waved a hand, interrupting him. "Don't worry about a thing. Make any calls you need from here. You can work out of my private office, if you like."

"Thanks," Jim said, genuinely relieved. "I didn't like the idea of leaving Blair alone."

"You've got the plain-clothes guard now," Fleming pointed out. "And the nurses will keep a close eye on him. I'd like to take another set of blood samples. I'll hand deliver them to the lab myself. Mike..." He snagged at the nurse's arm as she walked passed. "I need three vials of blood from Blair right away. We've got to find out what's going on here."

"Yes, doctor." The nurse nodded and went to get the supplies she'd need.

While they waited for Michaela to return, Dr. Fleming retrieved the forceps and lidocaine from a locked drawer of the dresser and quickly reseated Blair's voice implant.

"Thanks, Matt," Blair said, clearing his throat as he adjusted to his voice once more. "I came here to help, and I end up being more trouble than anything else," he apologized.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," Fleming assured him. "Meanwhile, it's my job to see to it that anything you need is taken care of. You're no trouble." He rested a reassuring hand on Blair's shoulder.

When Michaela returned, Jim hovered protectively over Blair as she drew the blood. His partner barely winced as the needle was inserted into his arm, but he wouldn't watch as the vials filled. When the nurse was done, she bandaged the needle prick and patted Blair's arm. "All done, you can relax now."

"Did it show that much?" Blair asked with a small smile, letting the tension drain from his body.

"That you're afraid of needles?" Michaela returned the grin. "It's not at all uncommon. You shouldn't be embarrassed. You did fine."

"It's just that while I was sick -"

"You began to feel like a pin cushion," Michaela completed his thought. Her smile was warm and genuine. "You're not alone. Ask any of our patients. But..." she patted his arm again, "this should be the last of it."

Fleming took the vials from the nurse and thanked her, heading down the hallway to the elevator that would take him to the basement labs.

"I guess I'll take my leave as well," Michaela said with a wave.

"Just as well," Blair said with a sigh as the nurse walked out, finally leaving him alone with Jim. "Right now, I just want to sleep some more."

"Would you mind if I slipped down to Fleming's office and did some research?" Jim asked.

Blair shook his head. "Are you going to check out Pierce?"

"He's my Number One at the moment, yeah," Jim said. "I have a bad feeling about the guy."

"He comes on shift in just over an hour," Blair reminded him.

"Don't worry," Jim assured his partner. "There's a plain-clothes officer patrolling the hallway on this floor and one at the front of the building. You'll be okay."

"I'm not worried," Blair said with a small grin. "Just don't be gone too long."

"No longer than I absolutely have to be," Jim promised.

~oO0Oo~

Jim logged onto the Cascade PD network and began his research. Something about Jim Pierce hadn't set well with the detective since the day they had arrived. Unfortunately, a thorough search of the database yielded no rap sheet on the man.

He picked up the phone and dialed directory assistance. "Hello? I need the number for the New Orleans police department." He paused, scribbling down a number. "Yes, thank you," he responded to the operator's offer to put him through to his party.

The Louisiana police were no more help than his own department had been. Jim Pierce had no police records in either state.

When he hung up the phone, Jim glanced at the clock. Where had the time gone? Pierce had been on duty for nearly an hour....

~oO0Oo~

Blair tossed restlessly in bed, gripped by another nightmare.

~*~*~*~

The water sluiced down the drain as Blair finished washing his hair. A startled shriek erupted from his throat as his hands came away with fistfuls of tangled strands. Looking down between his feet, he saw that the drain was clogged with hair and the bathtub was slowly filling with water.

Dripping wet, he stepped out of the shower. Mindless of his nudity, he walked into the kitchen, arms extended, the strands of hair dangling from his fingers.

"Jim?" he called, looking around for his partner. "Jim?"

A slight draft from the open front door hit his bare skin, causing him to shiver. He dropped his arms, trailing wisps of hair as he made his way over to the entrance of their apartment and looked out into the hall. Neighbors lined the corridor, all pointing and sneering at the naked man. "Jiiiiimmmm!" The cry echoed down the hall, unheeded.

~*~*~*~

"Jiiiiimmmm!" A strong hand held over his mouth muffled Blair's cry.

"Jim's not here," a familiar voice whispered to him. "Just quiet down. I'm going to give you something to help you sleep." Christine pulled a syringe from her pocket and emptied it into Blair's IV line. "Now just relax. It'll all be over soon."

Blair fought his attacker, struggling against the grip that held him down and kept him quiet. With a clarity that often precedes death, he knew who his killer was, and that he was about to become her next victim.

Oh God, Jim, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for it to end like this! his mind cried as the drug made its way through his system. Blair's struggles lessened quickly and his breathing became shallow. The nurse smiled and tucked the syringe back into her lab coat before making a casual retreat from the room. Her back was turned as Ellison rounded the corner. She checked in at the nurses' station and walked briskly toward the front doors of the building.

~oO0Oo~

Jim ran down the hallway at breakneck speed, barely sparing a glance at the head nurse before slamming into Blair's room moments after Christine had exited. Sentinel senses boosted to their limit, he scanned his Guide's vitals, terrified when he heard the last stuttering beats of the precious heart before the room went silent.

Lunging toward the bed, he pressed the call button and climbed onto the mattress to begin CPR. Tilting Blair's head back, he covered the stoma with his lips and breathed twice into the still lungs. Keeping his hearing dialed up to listen for breath or heart sounds, he began the chest compressions: one, two, three, four, five - up to fifteen before breathing for Blair again. He was on his second set of compressions when Jim Pierce walked in, followed by a perplexed plain-clothes officer.

Jim didn't give the nurse time to ask anything. "Get a crash cart in here, NOW!" he yelled at the man, ignoring the officer in favor of keeping Blair alive.

Pierce scrambled out of the room and returned a few minutes later with a complete crash cart and team, including Dr. Fleming.

Jim reluctantly moved out of the way while the doctor made a quick assessment of Blair's condition. Fleming ripped open Blair's pajama top and grabbed the electro-shock paddles. "Charge to two hundred," he ordered, coating the paddles with a conducting gel. "Everyone clear!" He pressed the paddles to Blair's chest.

Blair's body arched off the bed as the shock ran through him. Jim heard the first stuttering beats of his friend's heart and sighed with relief.

Fleming stopped to listen with his stethoscope once more. At the faint sound of a heartbeat, he turned to his crew. "Get a heart monitor on this man, stat," he ordered. He turned to Jim. "I got the result of the blood work on the second sample," he began. "Blair showed significant amounts of chemical toxin in his system. Somehow he was getting real chemo pills."

Jim suddenly remembered seeing the head nurse leaving Blair's room. He was out of the room in a flash, running down the hall toward the entrance to the building. As he got within eyesight of the front doors, he saw Christine talking to the policewoman set to watch the entrance. "Hold that woman!" he shouted.

The officer grabbed at the head nurse, but she struck out, twisting away and bolting through the doors. Jim followed her for about a block down the street before tackling her and cuffing her hands behind her back. Here was the monster that had tried to kill his partner - the murderer who had already taken three lives. It took all of his self-restraint to keep from grinding her face into the cold cement. "You have the right to remain silent," he growled. "If you give up that right, anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney...."

~oO0Oo~

Jim stood by Blair's bed, stroking a still hand and waiting for his Guide to wake up. Simon and Dr. Fleming were also in the room.

"We found this vial in Christine's pocket," Simon said, holding up a small drug bottle.

"Succinylcholine," Fleming said, nodding his head.

"Is that significant?" Simon asked.

"Could be," the doctor said. "Succinylcholine is a powerful muscle relaxant. We use it in small doses for patients who suffer from painful cramping, and occasionally for seizures. In large enough doses, it can cause respiratory failure." He shook his head and frowned. "I've heard that some prisons use it as part of the lethal injection cocktail. It's that potent."

"Can you tell if that's what Christine injected into Blair's IV?" Jim asked.

"It would be very difficult to confirm," Fleming said. "Unfortunately, succinylcholine breaks down quickly into two chemicals that are found naturally in the human body: succinic acid and choline. That makes it very hard to trace."

"But it can be done?" Simon asked.

"I sent a new sample of Blair's blood to the lab," the doctor said. "I'll make sure they run it through the Mass Spectrometer Gas Chromatograph. It's the only definitive way to find the trace elements."

"Let me see that," Jim said, snatching the bottle of the drug from Simon's hand. "There are two needle holes in the stopper." He turned the bottle around, examining it more closely. He pulled a pocketknife from his jeans and began to pry out the rubber stopper.

"Jim, stop!" Simon cried out, aghast. "That's evidence!"

Popping the cork, Jim sniffed the contents. "This is mostly water," he concluded, handing the vial back to Simon.

"How did he...?" Fleming turned to Simon, confused. "How did you...?" he asked, turning his gaze on Jim. When both men chose to ignore the questions, he sighed and continued. "We'll have to test the contents of the bottle."

"We most definitely will," the police captain agreed. "But how do you explain the fact the bottle was full of water?" Simon asked, looking between his detective and the doctor. "Answers, gentlemen?"

"She could have used the drug to kill Blair, then used a syringe to refill it with the water," Jim speculated. "That would account for the two holes in the stopper."

Fleming nodded, laying aside the mystery of Jim's abilities in favor of the riddle posed by the evidence they had in their possession. "Very possible. My lab can check the contents of the bottle for you," he offered.

"Thanks," Simon said, replacing the rubber stopper. "But I think it might be better if our labs did the testing."

"Understood," Fleming said with another nod.

"But how could she have known?" Jim asked, rubbing his forehead to help relieve a growing headache.

"That would be my fault," Fleming said softly. "Christine has been head nurse and a trusted employee for over seven years. She knew I was investigating the sudden rash of deaths."

"You told her who we were, why we were here?" Jim asked, astonished.

Fleming studied his shoes. "I thought she could be trusted," he sighed. Looking up, he met Jim's steely gaze. "She was the only one I confided in," he said. "I'm so sorry."

"Sorry? You could have gotten Blair killed!" Jim shouted. "She knew why we were here, so she must have switched Blair's placebos for the real medications."

"But only in the evening," Simon mused. "To make you suspect Pierce, perhaps?"

"Could be," Jim agreed. "He's the newest employee, and he came in from out of town. The perfect patsy for a murderer to set up."

Soft sounds from behind the men caught Jim's attention. "Blair?" He turned to see the wide blue eyes watching him. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I've been run over by a Mack truck," Blair answered, his voice coarse and gravelly. He smiled weakly, trying to reassure his concerned partner.

Jim cradled Blair's hand, squeezing it gently. "You're going to be all right," he promised.

Dr. Fleming came to stand by the bedside. "You're going to need a few days of rest while the drugs work their way out of your system," he told Blair. "But there shouldn't be any permanent damage done by any of the medications you were given." He took a deep breath and expelled it slowly, never losing eye contact with his patient. "This never should have happened, and there's no way I can adequately apologize for your suffering. I hope you know how very grateful I am for your help in catching Ms. Larkin."

"We did it the hard way," Blair said with a little grin.

"You can say that again!" Jim agreed. "And I'm going to make damn sure that bitch's ass is fried. You can count on it."

"Do you think she'll get the death penalty?" Fleming asked.

"Considering the circumstances, I don't doubt it," Simon said. "We've got some more evidence to gather, but the case is pretty tight."

"Wouldn't it be poetic if she was killed with the same drug she gave to me?" Blair asked softly. He was frowning.

"What's the matter?" Jim asked, knowing the subject matter had to be disturbing to his partner.

"I-I don't really support the death penalty," Blair said, rather unnecessarily, as Jim was quite well aware of his partner's stance on the subject. "But in this case... I want to see her dead for what she did to me, and to the other patients here. Does that make me a bad person?"

"Oh, God, Chief, not at all!" Jim exclaimed. "It makes you human. You're a damn sight more compassionate than I am," he reassured Blair. "I'd tear the bitch limb from limb if they'd give me a chance."

"No, you wouldn't," Blair concluded, smiling now. "We have a trip to Canada to plan, and you couldn't very well go if you were behind bars."

"Point taken," Jim agreed, returning the smile. He turned to Fleming. "Would it be possible to take Blair home to rest?" he asked.

"He really should stay here for a few days," the doctor insisted. "His heart stopped, and he should be kept on a monitor so that we can keep careful track of his condition. Once the drugs are entirely out of his system, he can go home, but he should take it easy for a while."

"Would it be okay for him to travel? We had a vacation in the Canadian wilderness planned; really laid back, relaxing."

"Driving shouldn't be a problem, if that's what you're asking," Fleming confirmed. "I think a nice, restful vacation sounds like just what the doctor ordered."

"So, how long do I have to stay here?" Blair asked, hopeful of getting out as soon as reasonably possible.

"I'd like for you to stay at least two days, maybe three," Fleming answered. "We'll do daily blood work on you and monitor your condition closely. If all looks normal, you could be out of here by Wednesday. How does that sound?"

Blair sighed. "I suppose, if I have to."

Jim took off the scarf Blair had been wearing and ran his fingers through the soft, short curls. "I'll make the arrangements for the trip so that we can leave on Friday. That okay with you?"

"Sounds great!" Blair smiled and relaxed, closing his eyes. "Mmmm, feels good," he said, enjoying the sensation of Jim's hand in his hair.

"I think I'll go," Simon said, grinning. "The crisis is past, and now we'll have to get down to the dirty work. Jim, I'll expect you to finish the paperwork before you leave. It's going to take a while to gather all the evidence and make our case, so you have plenty of time for your vacation before the trial."

"Thanks, Simon," Jim said, smiling. "I'll make sure to come in and do the forms before we leave."

"Just see that you do," Simon admonished, turning to leave. "Take care, Blair."

"Thanks, Simon. Good-bye," Blair called out from the bed.

"I'll be leaving you for now, too," Fleming said. "I think the two of you need some time alone. Just remember that Blair needs his rest." The doctor left the room, hanging a "do not disturb" sign on the outer doorknob.

"Alone at last!" The relieved sigh came from the weary anthropologist. "I didn't think they'd ever leave."

"A little tired?" Jim asked, perching on the side of the bed.

"A little like death warmed over," Blair said, turning to face Jim. "Would it be a little weird if I asked you to hold me?"

"Not at all." Jim smiled and wrapped his arms around the slender body, pulling Blair in close. "Rest now, Chief. This is just the start of the rest of our lives."

~oO0Oo~

"It's beautiful!" Blair stood outside their campsite in the Waterton Lakes National Park and stretched. After nearly a day on the train, they had rented a truck and camping gear, and packed their way into the back country of one of Alberta's most untouched wilderness areas.

Jim walked up behind him, stopping mere inches away from his Guide. "It is, isn't it? What would you like to do first? Hike? Fish?"

"I think we'd better put up the tent and find a sturdy tree limb to hang our food and supplies out of the reach of the bears," Blair suggested. "After that, I wouldn't mind exploring some of the trails."

It took the men nearly an hour to set up the tent, sort through their supplies, and get the food hung twenty feet off the ground. Satisfied that the camp was secure, they headed down the trail toward the lake.

"I hear they have boats and fishing supplies to rent," Jim commented as they picked their way down the narrow dirt path.

Blair rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Good, because I'm looking forward to adding some nice trout or bass to our meals on a regular basis."

They arrived at the lake and stood on the bank, drinking in the sight of clear, blue water surrounded by mountains and fir trees. About one hundred yards to the north was a worn shack and pier, with several small boats in the water. Jim nudged his partner. "Let's go check it out." They turned and walked down the bank toward the boat rental shop.

"Anybody home?" Jim poked his head through the door as he knocked. Blair peered around him, trying to see into the darkened room.

"Must be closed for the day," Blair concluded. "It is getting somewhat on in the day. Let's try again in the morning." He pulled a map of hiking trails out of his pocket and studied it for a few moments. "There are a lot of waterfalls in the area," he said. "If we head back toward the camp and turn east up this trail," he pointed to the map, "we should find a couple within an easy walking distance. What do you think?"

Jim cocked his head to one side. "Well, I wanted to fish, but if we can't get a boat today, a hike seems like a reasonable alternative. Lead the way, Chief."

~oO0Oo~

"Wow..." Blair looked up in awe at the eighty foot high glacier-fed waterfall tumbling down over the rocks to the stream below. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a disposable camera. "This is amazing. Wait until the guys back in Major Crime see this!"

"You're taking pictures?" Jim asked, grinning. "How very touristy of you."

"Tease all you want, but you'll be happy to have the pictures after we get home," retorted Blair.

"Whatever," Jim replied good-naturedly. He turned to walk toward the falls, Blair following behind.

"After what we just went through to solve that case, I happen to want a record of this trip," Blair explained. "It'll give me something pleasant to remember."

They approached the waterfall, finding a narrow, wet trail behind it leading into a shallow, fern-covered cave. "I was just pulling your leg," Jim said, turning to smile at his partner. "Take all the pictures you want. But if you start getting crafty on me, making one of those 'memory' scrapbooks, I'm calling the guys in the white coats to come and take you away."

Blair chuckled. "Don't worry. I've got an appropriate shoebox for all the pictures."

Jim smiled and nodded. "That's good to hear." He made a circuit of the small cave, coming back to stand next to his friend. "You're shivering."

"It's nothing. Just a little chill," Blair said, brushing off the concern.

Jim squinted past the falling water to what he could see of the sky. "The days may be a bit longer up here, but with all the trees it's already starting to get dark. I think we'd better get you back to camp before we lose the light."

"Thank goodness for your sentinel vision," Blair said with a grin. "But, yeah, I should have thought to put on my heavier coat. Just because it's summer, doesn't mean it's all that warm up here."

The trek back to camp took almost another hour. When they arrived, they looked around in dismay at the ruin of their campsite.

"What happened here?" Blair wondered, a note of tense distress in his voice.

Jim shook his head, carefully stepping through the mess until he found Blair's coat and handed it to him. "Bears," he answered succinctly.

"So soon?" Blair accepted the jacket and shrugged into it gratefully. He looked up at their supplies, still suspended safely from the tree limb. "At least they didn't get our food."

"But they made a mess of the rest of the camp," Jim replied. "We'd better get busy and get this cleaned up before we lose all our light. I'm getting hungry, and I'd rather that the camp was in order before we eat."

Both men pitched in, and soon the tent was back in place and their belongings safely stored inside. Blair got out the cook stove, as open campfires weren't allowed in the back country of the park, and got the fire started. Jim lowered their supplies from the tree and they settled on hot dogs and beer for their dinner.

"Not bad," sighed Blair, sitting back and patting his stomach. "It feels good to eat and have the food stay down for a change."

"You'll never go through that hell again, if I have any say about it," Jim replied fervently. "But let's not bring it up anymore right now. We're here on vacation to celebrate your remission, not your illness."

"You've got a deal," Blair agreed. "So, what are our plans for tomorrow? Fishing?"

"Are you kidding?" Jim asked, his eyebrows arching as he took a swig of beer from his bottle. "I can almost hear the fish calling to me."

"I hear my sleeping bag calling to me," said Blair with a yawn.

"Good idea. Get to bed early; get up with the sun."

"We'd better clean up first, so that we don't get any repeat visitors tonight," Blair said, standing and beginning to gather up the garbage.

Once the campsite was clear, with all the food and garbage once more hanging from the high limb, Jim and Blair crawled into the tent and the warmth of their sleeping bags.

The next morning dawned clear and sunny. After breakfast, Jim led the way back down to the lake and the boat rental shop. This time, the owner of the shop was there, checking and tending to the boats.

"Good morning!" Jim called, waving to the man.

"'Morning," the man said, nodding his greeting to the two men.

"We'd like to rent a boat and some fishing tackle."

"Got that," the man agreed. "Renting for the day, or by the week?"

"For a week," Blair informed the man. "We plan to do a lot of fishing."

The man did a double-take and gave Blair an odd look. Uncomfortable with the gaze, the anthropologist adjusted the ascot at his throat that covered his stoma. He'd seen the look before - one he often got when people first heard his artificial voice.

Jim reached out and rested a hand on Blair's arm. "Don't let it bother you," he whispered. "There's not a thing wrong with your voice." He turned his attention back to the man at the boathouse. "My name's Jim, and this is Blair. We're here for a week of camping."

"Hank. Pleased to meet you. You looking for a boat with an outboard, or do you just want to row?"

"An outboard would probably be best," Jim said, noting the nod from his partner. "How much for the week?"

"With fishing tackle for two; seven days..." Hank did some quick calculations in his head. "How does $200 sound?"

"Like a bargain," Jim agreed, pulling out his wallet and peeling off the bills.

"Follow me." Hank turned toward the dock and picked out a sturdy little boat. "Just overhauled the motor on this one. She shouldn't give you any problems. Be right back with the tackle."

Jim held the small boat steady while Blair climbed in, and then handed him the tackle that Hank had brought. Settling onto the bench seat in the back, he started the engine and took the boat out into the middle of the lake.

Blair had packed sandwiches and bottles of water for their lunch, knowing how much Jim hated to have to leave a good fishing spot once he got comfortable. They spent the day fishing, bringing back enough for two large meals.

Jim made short work of filleting the fish. Blair wrapped them in foil with some herbs he had brought along in his backpack and they waited for the fish to steam in their own juices.

"This is heaven!" Blair sighed, digging into his portion of the day's catch. "I'd forgotten how good a fresh-caught fish tasted."

"It's been a while since we could go camping," Jim agreed. "It feels good to be out in the wilderness."

"You can say that again!" Blair mouthed around the fish he was chewing.

~oO0Oo~

Their vacation time had flown, with only two days remaining before they had to head for home. In that time, they had fished and hiked, and eaten like kings on the trout from the lake. Blair's color had returned and the black circles had disappeared from beneath his eyes. He looked healthier and happier than Jim had seen him for months.

"Want to go out fishing again today?" Jim asked.

"Okay, but you promised to take me on the Crypt Lake trail before we leave. Don't forget, we have to catch a ferry to get there," Blair reminded his partner.

"Tomorrow, for sure," Jim promised, heading out toward the pier.

"There are a lot of Native American sites around here as well," Blair commented, climbing into the boat and taking the tackle that Jim handed down to him. "I don't think we have time this trip, but maybe we can come back next summer?"

"You never stopped being an anthropologist, did you?" Jim asked softly as they motored out to their favorite spot on the lake.

Blair shrugged. "Don't get me wrong. I like being a detective; being your partner... but I've always had this fascination with other cultures, you know? You can take the man out of Anthropology, but you can't take the anthropologist out of the man." He grinned saucily at his friend.

"Smart aleck!" Jim lunged forward and Blair jumped back, making the boat rock wildly. Blair pinwheeled his arms, trying to regain his balance, but as Jim reached out to grab his shirt, the boat tipped over, dumping both men into the icy water of the lake.

Jim surfaced a few seconds later, shaking the water away from his face, and looked around for his partner. Twenty feet away, Blair had surfaced, his face a mask of panic as he flailed helplessly in the water. Confusion joined the sudden fear in Jim's mind. He knew that Blair was a strong swimmer. What could possibly be wrong? A few swift strokes brought him alongside the drowning man. He wrapped an arm around his friend and swam with him back to the shore.

As the water got shallow enough to stand, Jim picked Blair up and carried him over to a grassy area near the pier. The younger man was clawing at his throat, where the stoma was exposed after the soaked ascot had pulled away.

"Dear God...." Jim moaned, realizing his mistake. When Blair had fallen into the lake, water had flooded his stoma, choking him. They didn't have the suction bulb with them; neither man had considered that the boat might tip over, putting Blair into the water.

He covered the stoma with his mouth, sealing the hole with his lips and tried to blow air into the starving lungs. When that didn't do enough, he laid Blair flat and tried chest compressions, working desperately to revive his dearest friend.

Water gushed from Blair's lungs and he began to cough and sputter. "Jim?" His voice was weak and shaking.

"It's all right. It's going to be all right now," Jim crooned, pulling Blair into his arms.

~oO0Oo~

The forty-five kilometer drive into nearby Cardston had been harrowing for Jim. Blair had slept most of the way, his breathing regular but labored. Jim berated himself for the close call that had nearly taken the life of his partner.

When they had arrived at the hospital, Blair had been immediately taken in for emergency treatment. Now, he was settled in a room, resting comfortably while the doctor gave Jim a rundown on his condition.

"I'd like to keep him overnight," Dr. Kelly said, watching the monitors. "He seems to be recovering well, but in cases of near drowning, it's a good idea to keep a close eye on the patient for at least twenty-four hours." She smiled at the nervous man pacing beside the bed.

Jim nodded. "Is it all right if I stay with him? He gets a little spooked when he wakes up in a hospital."

"I can imagine," the doctor said with a nod. "He's probably seen more than his share. Is he still in treatment, or is he in remission?"

"Remission. Five years," Jim said with pride. "This vacation was supposed to celebrate that fact."

"I'm sorry it had to turn out this way for you," Kelly said sympathetically. "Probably not what you had in mind."

"No...." Jim sank down in a chair next to the bed and grasped Blair's hand. "Not at all. This isn't the first time he's drowned...." His voice trailed off and he stared at their clasped hands.

The doctor rested a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder. "He's going to be fine. Just let him rest, and then take it real easy for the remainder of your stay here. I'll come in and check on him again before my shift ends."

"Thanks, Doctor." Jim settled down to his vigil, waiting for Blair to wake.

Three hours later, Jim was brought out of a light doze by a squeeze on his hand. "Jim?" A soft voice cut through the fog of grogginess.

"Blair! Oh, God, Chief... How do you feel?" Jim was immediately on his feet and leaning over the bed.

"Chest hurts." Blair laid his free hand on the area, while increasing the squeeze on Jim's hand.

"You almost drowned when you fell out of the boat," Jim told him. Then, turning to his old self-incriminating way, he muttered, "Whatever got into me? I should never have kidded around like that in a boat. I should have known better than to risk it."

"I should have known better," Blair croaked. "You were just joking around. I should have stayed put. I know you wouldn't deliberately try to hurt me."

"I shouldn't have taken you out," Jim countered. "What the hell was I thinking? You can't swim anymore. You have no business being out in such a small boat."

Blair coughed to clear his lungs. "We could go around and around," he said, giving Jim a weak smile, "but it's over and done. I'm okay."

"Some vacation this turned out to be," Jim groused.

"It's been a lovely vacation," Blair countered. "And I have the pictures to prove it." He gave Jim his patented Sandburg smile.

Jim reached out to ruffle his hand through the short curls on the top of Blair's head. "That you do," he agreed, returning the grin.

~oO0Oo~

The next afternoon, Dr. Kelly stood signing the release papers. "Now, Blair, you'll need to cough periodically to keep your lungs clear. Sometimes it's going to hurt a bit."

Blair nodded. "I understand. And if I start coughing up phlegm -"

"Get to a hospital right away," the doctor finished for him.

"Any other instructions?" Jim asked, helping Blair into his clothes.

Kelly shook her head. "No vigorous activities, and definitely no swimming," she said with a smile. "And it would be a good idea to check in with your family doctor when you get home," she added.

"But light exercise is okay? Like walking?" Blair asked.

"Walking is fine. It would do you good to get out, breathe some fresh air," Kelly agreed. "Just take it easy; no hiking those steep mountain trails. Stay on the level and don't go too far."

"Is that all?"

"That about covers it," Kelly said, smiling. "You're free to go."

"Would it be all right if I made a phone call before we leave?" Jim asked. "I think I ought to call home and inform our boss that we might be late returning to work."

"Go right ahead," the doctor said, gesturing toward the phone. "The call will go on Mr. Sandburg's bill." As she turned to leave, Jim picked up the phone and dialed.

"Captain Banks," Simon answered when the switchboard put the call through.

"Simon? This is Jim. We're still in Alberta. There was a little accident, sir. Blair had to spend the night in the hospital," Jim told his boss. "We'll be a day late getting back."

"My God, is he all right?" Simon asked, sounding immediately concerned for the youngest member of his team.

"He'll be fine, Simon. He had a little dunk in the lake." Jim settled on the bed with the phone between him and Blair. "He's being released, but I thought I ought to check in before we head back out to our camp."

"Is Blair with you now?"

"Yes, sir," Jim answered.

"You couldn't have called at a better time. I've got some news for you both, and he's going to want to hear this, too," Simon insisted.

Jim scooted closer to Blair and held the receiver so both men could hear what their captain had to say. "We're listening, Simon," Jim said.

"I hope you're both sitting down," the captain began. "Christine Larkin pleaded guilty to three counts of murder, and one of attempted murder."

"What convinced her to do that?" Jim wondered.

"More than likely her attorneys told her she'd be facing the death penalty if she went to trial," Simon explained. "By pleading guilty on all counts, she gets life in prison without parole instead."

"Well, I'll be damned." Jim sighed. "I'd rather see her die and rot in hell, but at least she won't be able to hurt anyone else." Jim looked up from where he had been picking at a loose string on his shirt and smiled at Blair. "Thanks for the news, Simon."

"Thought you might like to hear it now, rather than have to wait," Simon said. "I'll let you go, but I want the full story of how Sandburg ended up in the hospital again once you get home."

"You've got it, sir. Good-bye." Jim hung up the phone and turned to Blair, who was smiling. "Looks like you're off the hook for having to testify."

"It was worth a dunk in the lake to get news like that," Blair laughed.

"Bite your tongue!" Jim snapped, only partly in jest. "Nothing, nothing, is worth almost losing you." He put the phone back on the nightstand. "Remember that. Besides," he added, "getting dunked was not a condition for receiving that news."

"I know," Blair said, suddenly contrite. "Sorry I scared you like that. I just forget sometimes, if you can believe that after all this time," he said with a sigh. "You make me forget I'm disabled."

"That's because you're not," Jim said with feeling. "You are the most able person I know, and that's saying quite a lot."

~oO0Oo~

A short wheelchair ride out to the pick-up area soon had the men on their way back to the campsite. Jim insisted that Blair stay in the truck as he broke down their tent and stowed all the gear and food into the pickup bed. Reluctantly, Blair obeyed, feeling guilty about not being able to help.

Slipping behind the wheel, Jim began the drive out of the campground and north to Calgary, where they would catch the train that would take them home to Cascade.

"I really had a great time," Blair commented into the silence. "Too bad the time had to go by so fast." He waited patiently for Jim to reply. When the silence continued, he sighed. "You've got to stop blaming yourself, Jim. Not everything that goes wrong in this world is your fault."

"But this time it was," the frustrated Sentinel growled. "This time I damn near killed you with my stupidity."

"We all make mistakes. Hell, it never occurred to me that I couldn't swim anymore," Blair said, going from calm to animated in a matter of seconds. "You can blame yourself if you want, but if you do, blame yourself for the right reasons." He paused and looked at Jim, who appeared to be puzzling over his last comment.

"What do you mean, the right reasons?"

"It's what we discussed back in the hospital," Blair explained. "Despite everything I've gone through with the cancer: the surgery, the radiation, the chemo, the nausea-from-hell - you've been there, making me feel normal. You've supported me, been there when I needed you most, and most importantly, you make me forget that I'm disabled." Jim opened his mouth to sputter a reply, but Blair kept steamrolling along. "Don't you try to tell me I'm not, because I am. In the eyes of the rest of the world, I have a disability," Blair said firmly. "But you treat me as though nothing has changed, and so sometimes I forget that I'm different. And that's a good thing!"

"Not when it almost gets you drowned!" Jim managed to interject.

"Yes, even then," Blair insisted. "You see, Jim, your only fault in all this is in making me feel like a regular guy; like someone that cancer and hardship has never touched. You've given me back my self-confidence and taught me not to be afraid. If that means that I occasionally forget and do stupid things, well, that's my problem, not yours."

"But I was horsing around in the boat..." Jim tried to interrupt.

"And I could have put a stop to it by reminding you that I couldn't swim," Blair shot back. "God, Jim, you're exasperating sometimes!" Blair sat back in his seat with a sigh, temporarily out of breath.

A slow smile began to spread across Jim's face. "Takes one to know one, Einstein." He reached over to dig his fingers into a particularly ticklish spot in Blair's ribs.

The anthropologist squirmed, fighting back as he shouted, "Cut that out! Geez, Jim!" The truck swerved on the narrow mountain road, careening near the edge of a precipitous drop. "You're going to get us both killed!"

Jim chuckled, turning the truck back onto the highway. "Now, maybe, you'll shut up and let me concentrate on driving!"

"You haven't heard the last of this," threatened Blair.

"I certainly hope not," Jim said with a wide grin. "'Cause I plan on listening to your lectures well into our old age."

"Your old age," Blair shot back with a grunt of laughter. "I don't plan on aging."

"Whatever you say, Chief. Whatever you say. Just so long as we do it together..."

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