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.

Rating: PG-13

Sequel to: Without Words.

Author's Notes: ASL is a language unto itself, with its own grammar and usage rules. The interpretation of ASL in this story should be considered English constructions, and not literal translations.

Notes on my understanding of ASL: Signing is generally done in moderate gestures, about mid-chest, with the arms held out slightly away from the body. A person can "whisper" in sign by making small, compact gestures held very close to the chest. Shouting or effusive speech can be indicated by large, open signs. There's more to signing than just the gestures themselves. A lot is body language and facial expression.

Acknowledgments: To Terri (gen) and Montserrat (slash) for plot bunnies and padding out that have made this story a much better read. And to Kimberly, Mary and Lyn for their incredible beta talents.

Praise wouldn't be complete without thanking Virginia Sky for her lovely artwork. Thanks, Hon! My story is so much prettier, thanks to you.

Warnings: Permanent disability

Summary: What would it take for Blair to submit to getting an artificial voice?

Comments welcome and appreciated at nat1228@comcast.net.

It's incredible, Jim! Blair took the small phone out of his pocket and handed it to his partner. His hands flew with excited grace as he explained the wonders of the new technology. You can send text messages, download e-mail, read the news and stock reports straight from the Internet...

"What's the matter with a phone that's just a phone, Chief?" Jim interrupted. The new cell he held in his hand was so tiny, he could completely engulf it by curling his fingers around it. He handed it back to Blair.

Slipping the small device back into his pocket, Blair continued. The problem is, I can't talk! he reminded Jim.

"But doesn't the person on the other end have to have a cell phone capable of receiving text messages?" Jim wondered.

Yes, but nearly everyone I know has one. And those who don't, can get messages from me through those who do.

"Only you would come up with something as complicated as using a cell phone to communicate." Jim shook his head, smiling.

The hearing and speech impaired have as much right to a normal life as anyone else! Blair argued. Besides, I can still hear, it's speaking that has me skunked.

"I'm happy for you, if this is what you think you need," Jim conceded. "Are you taking that thing with you when we go on vacation?"

You bet I am! Blair confirmed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. Winter break at the school starts in less than a week. I love the kids at Mount Clarice, but I'm about ready for some extended adult interaction. His body shook with soundless laughter.

"Yeah... We've missed you down at the station," Jim admitted. "I need you there," he added more softly.

What's the matter? Blair was suddenly solicitous. Are your senses whacking out on you again?

Jim reached up to ruffle his hand through the long hair on top of Blair's head. "Nah, not really. Just an occasional spike; I can handle it. I just miss your company."

You're turning into a softy in your old age, Blair teased. I've missed hanging around with you, too. I love teaching again, but I do miss riding along. There was a certain amount of adventure just getting into the truck with you.

"Better quit while you're ahead, Darwin," Jim warned.

Blair laughed, his hands dancing. I'm always ahead, he said, dodging out of reach as Jim lunged at him.

Jim stumbled past his objective, then turned and laughed. "You win this time, but just wait until I get you alone up in the mountains."

Where are we going? Blair asked for the umpteenth time.

"You've got all the clues I'm going to give you," Jim teased. "You'll just have to wait and see."

Aw, man, can't you give a guy with a disability a little break?

"Don't you go trying to use that one on me, young man," Jim scolded. "You are one of the most able disabled people I know."

~oO0Oo~

A week later, the truck turned east onto Washington Highway 706. Blair watched the scenery fly by, becoming more wooded as they drove. Turning to Jim, he tried one more time. Okay. I've figured out that we're headed toward Mt. Rainier, he signed. But what's our destination?

Catching the movement with his peripheral vision, Jim turned his head briefly to read Blair's sign. "Paradise, Chief," he answered with a grin.

Can you elaborate on that just a bit? Blair asked.

"You do realize it's dangerous for me to drive while trying to 'listen' to you, don't you?" Jim asked, acutely missing the sound of Blair's voice, even after the passage of a year. "Why can't you just sit back and enjoy the ride?"

Blair crossed his arms, effectively zipping his lips, and stared out the window at the passing scenery. It was so easy for Jim to shut him out with a simple turn of the head. Sometimes he questioned his decision not to have the voice implant. After the surgery, he'd needed time to come to terms with his loss. None of the artificial voices sounded natural, so Blair had shied away from them. Once he'd learned to sign and had gotten the teaching job at the Mount Clarice School for the Deaf, there no longer seemed to be a need. But occasionally, when they argued, Blair dreamed of shouting down his stubborn partner.

As their elevation grew, patches of snow began dotting the landscape. Eventually, Jim pulled over to the side of the road. "We're not going any further until we chain up," he said, getting out of the car. "Are you going to help?"

Despite his frustration with Jim's secrecy, Blair climbed out of the cab and helped to put the chains on the tires. His partner was in an unusually good mood, and Blair didn't want to spoil it. Once the job was finished, they were quickly on their way.

"We're almost there," Jim said.

About time, Blair murmured, keeping his signs small and close to his chest.

As the truck rolled on through increasingly snowy terrain, they eventually passed a sign that read, "Welcome to Paradise, Washington; Gateway to Mt. Rainier National Park."

The sign brought a grin to Blair's face. You weren't kidding.

"When have you ever known me to kid?" Jim asked, turning right onto a local access road.

As they drove further into the park, the snow deepened. Finally, Jim pulled over into a turnout on the side of the road. "Grab your stuff. We're going to have to hike in the rest of the way."

How far? Blair asked, shouldering his backpack.

"About a half mile, if I remember correctly," Jim told him. Shouldering his own pack, he headed out on the trail, Blair at his heels. The going was difficult through the fresh powder; it took them nearly thirty minutes to traverse the distance.

Chilled and wet, Blair's eyes grew round with relief when he saw the cabin come into view.

"This is it," Jim said. Walking up the steps onto the wide porch he dropped his pack and stomped the snow from his boots.

Blair followed suit, dropping his backpack onto the porch as well. Wow! This is great, Jim! Whose is it?

"An ex-Army buddy of mine works with the forest service now," Jim explained. "The cabin is his, but he says it's unoccupied most of the year. We can use it anytime we want; just call first."

Does it have a fireplace? Blair asked before picking up his backpack and following Jim inside. Never mind. A huge stone fireplace occupied the entire north wall of the cabin. Dried wood and tinder were stacked next to it, with a larger supply in a covered area out back.

Jim tossed some tinder on the grate and lit it, waiting for the flames to grow before putting on a couple logs. "This should warm the place up pretty quick. Jack said there would be supplies in the cupboards. He'll stop by later with fresh meat and vegetables to stock the fridge."

Blair opened the refrigerator to find it nearly, but not completely, empty. All right! he crowed, turning a huge smile on his partner. I like this Jack guy already! Reaching in, he pulled out two beers.

"I thought you were cold," Jim reminded him.

Ah, but alcohol warms you up from the inside, Blair said, handing a cold bottle to Jim. He continued to wander around the cabin, taking in the sights from the windows. Setting the beer on the windowsill, he signed, Look, Jim! There's a lake out back!

Jim sauntered over, standing close to his partner and enjoying the view from the window. "Yeah. Jack says it's great fishing in the summer. Should be frozen over this time of year, though."

What are we going to do if we can't fish?

"Oh, I don't know," Jim said thoughtfully. "I saw you pack some books and journals. This would be a great time to catch up on reading. Or we could watch TV."

There's a TV? Blair asked, surprised.

"Electricity and indoor plumbing, too," Jim said with a hint of playful sarcasm. "This is supposed to be a vacation. Time to relax."

I can do that, Blair agreed, a big smile lighting his face. Just then, his stomach rumbled. Blushing slightly, Blair covered the offending area with the palm of his hand.

"Why don't I go see what's in the pantry?" Jim offered with a chuckle. He walked into the kitchenette and opened the cupboard, surveying the contents. "What do you want?" he asked, turning to look at Blair. "Spam and beans or... beans and Spam?"

Blair grimaced and walked over to look for himself. That's it? Spam and beans?

"Well, there's some pasta," Jim commented. "We could make Spam Alfredo."

No milk, Blair reminded him, much less cream or butter.

"No spaghetti sauce, either," Jim mumbled. "Well, we could use this can of cream of chicken soup as a base."

Blair picked the can out of the cupboard and examined it. Setting it back on the counter, he said, It expired two years ago. Are you sure you want to try it?

"We have to eat something."

Blair looked longingly out the window at the lake. Sure wish we could get some fresh fish.

Jim looked thoughtful, and then smiled. "I don't know why not. The fish are still there; all we have to do is cut a hole in the ice. I'm sure Jack keeps a pole or two around here somewhere."

That'd be great! Blair said, lighting up at the thought. He looked around, then pointed. Several fishing poles, completely outfitted and ready to go, hung from a rack mounted on the wall near the back door.

"Perfect!" Jim walked over to the display and admired the equipment. "This should do us just fine. I thought I saw some lures and fish egg bait in a drawer..." He walked back into the kitchen and pulled open a couple drawers before finding the right one. "Here they are."

Now all we have to do is cut a hole in the ice, Blair said.

"There's a small ax out back for splitting fire wood," Jim said. "That should work."

The two men bundled up once more and grabbed the poles. Jim carried the ax as they headed down the gentle slope toward the lake.

"Sure hope you don't scare the fish with that hat of yours," Jim joked.

Blair was bundled in the fleece-lined leather coat Jim had bought him for Christmas last year, woolen fingerless gloves to aid his signing, and his furry Fargo hat with the ear-flaps down and tied tightly under his chin.

Very funny, Jim. I'll have you know that this hat has kept me warm in conditions far worse than a little snow.

"Just don't lean too far over the hole," Jim quipped. A well-aimed snowball hit him in the back of the head. "Hey!" He brushed the crystals from his collar as he turned around to see Blair shaking with laughter. Bending down, he picked up a handful of snow and patted it into a ball.

Blair ducked as the missile headed toward him, gathering more snow of his own. The fight soon turned into a free-for-all, pitting Blair's practiced throwing arm against Jim's keen eyesight.

Finally, Jim held up his hands to signal a cease-fire. "Whoa, Chief! Let's call a truce. If we don't get started fishing soon, we'll lose what daylight we have left. I thought you were hungry."

Blair dusted off his gloves and picked up the poles again, covering the short distance to the frozen lake. Starved, he confirmed, testing the ice by tapping it with his foot.

"I don't think you have to worry," Jim said, walking confidently out onto the snow-covered surface. He went out about a hundred feet and began chipping through the ice. Once he had a hole large enough, he looked up to signal Blair.

On the bank, Blair had built a snowman. He leaned the extra pole they'd brought along onto a branching arm, then made his way carefully across the ice to where Jim waited with the bait.

"Think you can stop playing long enough to help me catch some dinner?" Jim grinned at the younger man as he baited his hook and lowered it through the hole in the ice.

There was no use coming out here and freezing my butt off waiting for you to make that hole, Blair reasoned. Building the snowman kept me moving; kept me warm. He sneezed, the oddly silent gesture still causing his body to jerk with its intensity.

"Gesundheit," Jim responded.

Blair sniffled, wiping at his nose with one gloved hand. I think I'm coming down with a cold, he commented, getting his pole ready and lowering the hook into the water.

A half hour later, the two men surveyed their catch. Three fresh trout; enough for a good dinner feast. Gathering up their equipment, they headed quickly back up to the cabin.

Jim made fast work of gutting and filleting the fish, while Blair floured and seasoned them, laying the pieces in the pan to fry.

"All we have are the beans to go with it," Jim said, rummaging through the cupboard one last time.

That's okay, Blair assured him. We'll have enough.

The two men sat down to enjoy their meal. "We'll have to consider doing this more often," Jim said. Then glancing at his watch, he commented, "I'm really surprised we haven't heard from Jack yet. It's getting late."

Why don't you try calling him? Blair suggested, handing Jim his cell phone.

Jim accepted the phone gratefully and dialed the number. You have reached Jack Adams' place. I'm out and about, so leave a message at the beep.

"He's out," Jim said, punching in a new number. "I'll try the Forest Service."

Forest service, Rainier Division, a young woman answered cheerfully.

"I'm trying to locate Jack Adams," Jim told her.

There was an avalanche on the west slope, the woman answered. All available rangers were dispatched to look for survivors.

"Do you have an estimate of when he might be back?"

These rescues sometimes go for days. Do you want to leave a message in case Jack comes in?

"Yes. Please tell him Jim Ellison called. The cell number is..." He paused and looked at Blair, who signed the number. "555-4237." After hanging up, he looked at his partner. "Well, there was an avalanche, and Jack is on rescue duty. Do you want to wait, or do you want to make a food run into town?"

Let's make the run, Blair answered. The fish dinner had been great, but now all they had to look forward to was what Blair's students referred to as "mystery meat." Not a very appealing choice.

"Okay," Jim agreed. He turned a concerned glance to the window. "But let's wait until morning. The wind's picking up out there and it's getting dark. We can settle down and enjoy the amenities of this lovely cabin, then go to town after a good night's rest."

Sounds good to me. Blair rubbed his hands together briskly, relieved at the thought of staying in for the evening.

An overstuffed couch faced the fireplace and the roaring fire. Blair claimed it, sprawling full length across the cushions. He kicked off his shoes and wiggled his toes appreciatively.

Jim sat on one end of the couch, resting Blair's feet in his lap. "You weren't planning on hogging the only warm spot in the cabin, were you?" he asked, beginning to massage the feet through the heavy white socks Blair wore.

The younger man's head tipped back and his mouth dropped open in a soundless sigh. Oh, man, he signed. Not if you're going to do that. He wiggled his toes as Jim worked on the arch of his right foot.

"Like this, do you?" Jim grinned as Blair nodded, his eyes closed, his face blissful. He continued the massage, working the whole foot and each toe before moving on to the left. By the time he finished, Blair was snoring softly.

Slipping off the couch, Jim lowered Blair's feet to the cushions and tucked an afghan around the sleeping man. This was as good a place as any for the exhausted anthropologist to spend the night. He checked the fire, putting on another log for Blair's comfort.

~oO0Oo~

Blair looked out the window the next morning at the snow and ice that had accumulated while they slept. Are you sure we should be going out? he asked. If push comes to shove, I could live on Spam for a few days.

"You may have to," Jim commented, joining his friend by the window. "The lake has frozen over again. I don't think you'd want to do any ice fishing in this weather, anyway." He grabbed his coat and gloves, heading for the front door. "I'm going to make a quick reconnaissance of the road conditions."

Be careful out there, Blair admonished, a fit of coughing cutting off the rest of what he wanted to say.

"This won't take long." Jim walked across the porch and down the trail to the road where the truck was parked. Blair watched through the window, leery of the storm that continued to dump more snow on the mountain.

Jim returned a long forty minutes later, dusted with snow and shivering. He clapped the snow from his gloves and brushed it off his shoulders before walking back into the warmth of the cabin. "The road is passable, if we're careful," he announced. "We still have the chains, so the fresh powder shouldn't be a problem."

What about ice?

"There's none on the section of road that I could see," Jim told his partner. "I think we can make it."

Blair walked over to the pegs on the wall, pulling down his coat and hat. Let's go, then, he signed, before it gets any worse. Pulling on his heavy gloves, he followed Jim back out the door.

Jim squinted through the falling snow as they drove down the service road back to town. Patches of ice, hidden beneath the fresh snow, hindered their progress. He fought with the steering wheel, as the tires slid on the slick surface despite the chains.

Maybe you'd better slow down, Blair suggested, then grabbed the dashboard again as they skidded through a curve.

"I'm going slow," Jim argued. He tapped the brakes to slow down even more in an attempt to placate his nervous passenger.

Blair looked out the passenger side window at the deep ravine just off the shoulder of the road and shivered. Maybe we should have stayed at the cabin, he confessed. I didn't know we were going to get a storm.

"We can turn around if you want to go back," Jim told him, "but we're past the halfway mark for getting to town."

Blair's shoulders slumped. Okay, then. Fresh meat and vegetables do sound better than Spam.

"Aw, shit," Jim grumbled. He had taken his attention from the road to read Blair's signs, and now he found himself having to wrench the steering wheel to the left around a sharp curve in the road. The truck went into a skid, the chains failing to grip the icy surface.

Hold on! Blair shouted, his gestures large and effusive. Keep it on the road!

"Shut up!" Jim snapped back, fighting for control. He knew he'd lost when he felt the rear passenger tire slide over the embankment. One hand was on the steering wheel, while the other instinctively went out to hold Blair in his seat. "Hold tight!"

The truck rolled over twice, landing upside down at the bottom of the ravine. Blair's seatbelt failed to lock as they went over the embankment, and he was thrown from the cab when the impact threw the passenger door open. Blackness took him as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Later--judging by the shadows cast, at least an hour--Blair came back to consciousness; groggy and freezing cold. He pushed up only to drop back, his mouth open, screaming silently. He grabbed at his left leg, which was twisted beneath him. Must be broken, he thought miserably. He collapsed back into the snow, tired and weak, but knowing survival depended on what he did next.

Digging in his pocket, he searched for the digital cell phone. He began patting himself down as his fear grew; the phone was no longer in his possession. Looking around, he found the instrument several yards away, smashed upon a large boulder. Tears came unbidden to his eyes and he sniffled, wiping at the droplets with a gloved hand.

Slowly, he dragged himself across the few feet that separated him from the truck. His biggest fear was Jim's safety. His partner was still unconscious, hanging upside down, suspended by his seatbelt in the cab of the vehicle.

Ignoring the pain shooting up his leg, he reached in through the passenger door and gave Jim a gentle shake. When the gesture brought no response, he pulled himself further into the truck. There was a large bump on Jim's forehead, and blood was drizzling into his hair. Blair pressed his fingers against Jim's neck, feeling the steady pulse.

At least they were both still alive. The problem now was getting a rescue team to them in time. No one knew they were out in this storm. They could die before help arrived.

Finally, he remembered Jim's ancient cell phone; the one he always kept in the glove compartment. Opening the small door, he dug past the paper to the large, black phone buried at the bottom. Yes! Jim was nothing if not reliable. The phone sprang to life as he pressed the power button. Quickly, he dialed 911.

911 operator. What is your problem? Blair pulled the phone away from his ear and stared angrily at the instrument. 911 operator. Hello? Is anyone there? Blair took several deep, calming breaths. Hello? What is the nature of your emergency?

Finally, Blair realized what he had to do. Taking a pen from the glove compartment, he began tapping on the mouthpiece of the phone. **-. . . -.. .... . .-.. .--.**

The operator looked puzzled, then turned to the man next to her. "Tom, do you know Morse code?"

Tom looked up, startled. "No. What ya got, Marilyn?"

"I'm not sure. Someone's in trouble of some sort, I think. Listen."

**-. . . -.. .... . .-.. .--.**

"Hey, is that Morse code?" Another operator got up from his station and walked over.

"Yeah, we think so. Can you read it?"

"No," the new arrival answered, "but I think I know who can. Tell whoever that is to hang on."

Marilyn turned back to the phone. "Hang on; stay calm. We're getting someone who knows Morse code."

**--- -.-**

"Keep talking to him," Tom suggested. "Make sure he stays calm."

"What do I say? I can't tell if he hears me or not."

"The code changed the last time you spoke to him. I think he can hear you, he just can't talk for some reason."

Marilyn nodded and turned back to the phone. "We've got someone on the way who can tell us what you're saying," she began. "Don't worry. We'll get help to you as soon as possible." She kept up the encouraging prattle until her relief finally arrived.

"Hi. I hear you need someone who can read Morse code?"

"Yes!" Marilyn said, all smiles. "Here." She handed the man her headset.

"My name's Gil," he introduced himself as he sat down. "Can the caller hear me?"

"We think so," Marilyn replied.

"Hello?" Gil spoke into the headset. "This is your 911 operator. Go ahead."

**-. . . -.. .... . .-.. .--.**

"He says, 'need help'," Gil interpreted. "Where are you?"

**..-. --- .-. . ... - .- -.-. -.-. . ... ... .-. --- .- -.. .- .---- .....**

"'Forest access road A15'. Can you be more specific?"

**-... .. --. -.-. ..-.-. ...- . .-. .- ...- .. -. .**

"'Big curve, ravine'," Gil reported. "Any injuries?"

**-.-- . ... -... .-. --- -.- . -. .-.. . --.**

"'Yes, broken leg'. Is there anyone else with you?"

**-.-- . ...**

"'Yes'." Gil sighed. It was slow going. "Is your friend injured?"

**-.-- . ... ..- -. -.-. --- -. ... -.-. .. --- ..- ...**

"'Yes, unconscious'. What's your name?"

**-... .-.. .- .. .-.**

"Okay, Blair. Just stay calm. We have a rescue vehicle on the way. Can you give me the name of your friend?"

**.--- .. --**

"Jim. Okay, that's good. Tell me, Blair. Is the accident the reason you can't talk?"

**-. ---**

"No. Okay. Okay, just hang on. Listen for the sirens. Is there some way you can get their attention when they get near?"

Blair paused a minute, then dug under the driver's seat and extracted a small metal box. Inside was Jim's hand gun. **-.-- . ...**

"Yes. Good. All right. Stay on the line, but listen carefully. The ambulance shouldn't be too far away now. I'll stay on the line with you until they arrive."

**--- -.-** ("OK") Blair tapped out.

The time spent waiting seemed to crawl by for Blair. He was shivering, his leg was throbbing, and Jim still hadn't regained consciousness. If only he could speak. His voice would have saved valuable time during the 911 call. As he waited, he came to a decision. I'm going to do it, as soon as we get home.

Finally, the sound of a siren pierced the silence. Blair waited until the sound came closer, then fired a shot into the air. A second shot brought the ambulance to a stop at the edge of the embankment. Blair sat next to the truck as the rescue workers rappelled down to the accident.

One of the paramedics approached Blair. "Hello. I'm Patrick. You must be Blair?" Blair nodded. "Okay. The 911 operator said you could hear, but couldn't talk?" Blair nodded again. Patrick picked up the phone that was cradled in his victim's lap. "We're here, Marilyn. Thanks for hanging in there." He broke the connection and handed the phone back to Blair. "Let me check you out."

I think my left leg is broken, Blair signed.

"I'm sorry, but I don't read sign," Patrick apologized. Blair pointed to his leg, which was now stretched out in front of him. The paramedic gently prodded the limb, while Blair gritted his teeth in silence against the pain. "It doesn't look too bad," he said. "I'll get this splinted, then we'll haul you up in the basket."

Blair pulled a notepad from his pocket as the paramedic worked. What about Jim? He's trapped and unconscious, he wrote.

"Gary's with him now. Don't worry; we'll take care of you both." Patrick wrapped a blanket around the shivering anthropologist and helped settle him into the rescue basket that would carry him out of the ravine.

I'm afraid of heights, Blair complained, scribbling quickly.

"Just close your eyes. It's a short ride," Patrick assured him. "I'm going to go help Gary with your friend."

Blair nodded his thanks and closed his eyes tightly as he was pulled up the embankment to the waiting ambulance.

The rescue vehicle was crowded with two gurneys in the back. One paramedic rode with the patients, while the other drove. The rest of the rescue workers made their way back in their own cars.

Blair turned his head to watch Jim, who lay unmoving, still unconscious. The knot on his forehead was the size of a lemon and covered by a vivid purple bruise. The bleeding had stopped; the wound covered with a gauze bandage. An IV ran into one arm, while the rest of his body was swathed in thick blankets. Is he going to be all right? he signed, knowing the paramedic couldn't understand, and feeling a growing frustration at his lack of ability to communicate.

The paramedic reached out to still Blair's hands, resting a caring palm across his forehead. "Settle down; just relax. You're going to be fine," Patrick assured him.

Blair sighed and closed his eyes. What was the point? Maybe when they reached the hospital, there would be someone who could understand him. A tear escaped to run down his cheek. This was all his fault.

~oO0Oo~

The hospital room swam into focus as Blair opened his eyes. The weight of a cast on his left leg felt heavy and cumbersome. His leg was raised slightly in a sling. Otherwise, he didn't feel too bad; just cold. Turning his head, he found a second bed in the room, occupied by Jim. The detective was still unconscious, hooked to various IVs and a heart monitor. The sound of footsteps drew his attention away from his partner.

"Good evening, Blair. It's good to see you awake again," the nurse greeted him. "My name is Lara."

What happened? Where are we? Blair signed, unsure if he would be understood.

Lara smiled at him. "You were given a mild sedative to calm you," she explained. "You're at the Paradise Mercy Hospital."

Blair breathed a silent sigh of relief. Finally, someone who could understand him. How is Jim? Blair asked, glancing again at the other bed.

"It's serious," Lara admitted. "I'll have the doctor come in and explain things to you. We'll need to get your medical information, including insurance cards, if you have them on you."

I don't know... Blair's hands dropped briefly to his lap before continuing. I think I left my wallet back at the cabin. Jim should have his, though.

"Don't worry about that now. We'll work things out," Lara said. "Now, you need to get some rest."

Why do I need to be in the hospital at all? I only broke my leg, Blair wondered.

"You were also mildly hypothermic," Lara told him. "We want to keep you overnight for observation. You should be able to check out in the morning. Do you have anywhere to go?"

No, Blair answered. We were staying in a cabin up the access road, but our home is in Cascade.

"I'll help you find lodging nearby," the nurse assured him.

What about the truck?

"Your truck was totaled," Lara said, shaking her head. "You're both lucky to be alive."

Blair sighed. Can I talk to the doctor now?

"He'll be by this evening," Lara told him. "Hungry? I can get you something to eat." Blair nodded, deciding he might as well do something while he waited for the doctor to arrive.

Blair was dozing when the doctor finally walked into the room, followed by Lara. He went first to Jim's bed, checking his patient's vitals, before turning to the younger man. "Well, Blair, I hear you're anxious to get out of here."

Not really, Blair signed, with Lara interpreting for the doctor. I want to stay near Jim. How is he?

"His condition is serious. Symptoms indicate there may be intracranial swelling. He needs an MRI scan to be certain. If I'm right, he may require surgery. We'll keep a close eye on him until morning."

Surgery? Blair was shocked.

"I'm afraid that's a good possibility," the doctor said. "We're a small hospital; we don't have the facilities or specialists for the type of surgery Mr. Ellison will most likely need. If it becomes necessary, we may have to life-flight him to Cascade."

I have to go with him! Blair insisted.

"He's stranded here, Dr. Fulton. Cascade is his home," Lara said.

Fulton nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

After the doctor left the room, Blair tugged on Lara's sleeve to get her attention. Someone has to call Simon.

"Who is Simon, Blair?" the nurse asked.

He's the captain of the Major Crime Unit of the Cascade PD, Blair said. Jim's boss; our friend. Someone has to let him know what happened.

"Give me his number and I'll call," Lara promised.

Can I speak with him? Blair begged, feeling frightened and alone in a strange place.

"All right," Lara agreed. "I can translate for you." She picked up the phone and paused over the numbers. Blair signed Simon's number and waited. Lara dialed, then pushed the speaker button so that both she and Blair could hear the conversation.

Cascade PD, Major Crimes, came the voice of Rhonda over the phone.

"May I speak with Captain Simon Banks, please?" Lara asked. "Tell him that Blair Sandburg is calling."

After a slight pause, Simon picked up his phone. Sandburg?

"Hello, Captain Banks. This is Lara Burns calling from the Paradise Mercy Hospital. I'll be interpreting for Mr. Sandburg."

All right. Put him on, Simon said, concern twisting his gut that Sandburg would be calling from the hospital instead of Jim. Blair? What's happened? Why are you at the hospital?

Blair signed quickly as the nurse spoke the translation to the captain. "'We were in an accident up near the cabin. The truck is totaled. I broke my leg, but Jim's got a concussion'."

Simon's voice sounded through the tinny speaker. God, the captain sighed. How bad is it?

Lara answered when Blair looked lost and confused. "Captain, Mr. Ellison has a severe contusion. Indications are that there may be internal swelling and that he will need surgery to relieve the pressure. We're not equipped to do that sort of surgery here, so we're arranging to have your men life-flighted back to Cascade."

Simon cleared his throat, digesting the information. I appreciate that. Could you let me know when to expect the flight? I'd like to be able to meet them, if possible.

"Of course, Captain," Lara replied.

Sandburg? Simon inquired. Blair? Hang in there, kid. Everything's going to be fine. You'll be home soon.

"'Thanks, Simon'," Lara interpreted. "'Good-bye'."

Good-bye, Blair. See you soon. There was a soft click, and Blair hung up the phone.

Thank you, Blair said to Lara, letting his hands drop into his lap. Exhaustion and pain had eaten away at his reserves. He coughed hard, then lay back on his pillows and closed his eyes.

"You're welcome." Lara pulled the blankets up and tucked them around her patient. "You get as much rest as you can."

His eyes still closed, Blair nodded in agreement.

~oO0Oo~

Blair dozed on the flight back to Cascade. He was roused when the helicopter landed and a flurry of doctors and nurses helped him out and into a wheelchair. A nurse pushed him across the landing pad on the roof of the hospital to an elevator, while her colleagues tended to Jim's more serious injury.

"We're checking you in for twenty-four hours of observation," the nurse said as she wheeled Blair toward his room.

What about Jim?

The nurse shook her head. "I'll have to get an interpreter up here," she said apologetically. "Your questions will have to wait."

Once more, Blair cursed the fate that took his voice.

~oO0Oo~

Sunlight streaming through the window woke Blair the next morning. The initial disorientation was quickly replaced by recognition. He was in the hospital again. Memories flooded his mind and he looked around in panic for any sign of Jim.

"Good morning!" a cheery voice greeted him from beside his bed. "I'm glad you finally decided to wake up and enjoy this beautiful day."

Who are you?

"My name's Melissa. I'm a nurse, and I'll be your interpreter while you're here," she answered.

How's Jim?

Melissa consulted some notes in her lap. "He was taken into surgery at 6:05 this morning," she informed him. "The prognosis is good. He's still in surgery, but I can take you down to visit once he's out of recovery."

Blair nodded, worried, but satisfied for the time being. Can you call Dr. Stuart for me, please?

"Dr. Rasmussen was assigned when you were brought in," Melissa said.

I really need to speak with Dr. Stuart, Blair insisted.

Melissa put her notes on the table and stood. "Okay. I'll see what I can do."

An hour later, Dr. Stuart stood at the bedside of his patient. "I'd say it's good to see you again, Blair, but I'm not so sure the circumstances warrant it."

I'll be fine, Blair told him. It's Jim I'm worried about.

"I checked on Jim before coming up here," Dr. Stuart said. "He's in recovery now. You can go visit him soon."

That's great news! How is he?

"He came through with flying colors. He'll be here for at least another day or two, so that we can keep an eye on him."

Dr. Stuart...?

"Yes, Blair?"

I've reconsidered. I want the voice prosthesis.

"I wondered what it would take to get you to make that decision," the doctor said, smiling gently.

Can you do it now?

"I don't have the device with me," Dr. Stuart apologized. "It's an outpatient procedure, so I could do it before you're released. Just give me a day or two. I think I have something appropriate back at the clinic."

Blair's shoulders drooped and he released the breath he'd been holding. I was hoping to get it right away.

"I know it's disappointing, once you've made up your mind," Dr. Stuart sympathized, "but we'll have you talking in no time." He reached out to pat the slumped shoulders of his patient. "Things have been moving awfully fast, son," the doctor reminded him. "From the accident to now has been barely twenty-four hours. You broke your leg," he said, indicating the cast-covered leg resting in a sling, "and Jim had a severe head injury. That's a lot to take in. Another day to wait might be a good thing."

I suppose. Blair was clearly disappointed. Can I go see Jim now?

"I don't see why not." Dr. Stuart grabbed a wheelchair that had been pushed into a corner of the room. "Climb in."

Blair struggled with the sling until the doctor came around the bed to help him, lowering his leg and aiding him in sitting up. A few minutes later, he was on his way to the surgery floor.

"Excuse me." The head nurse stopped the doctor as he was about to wheel Blair into Jim's room. "Mr. Ellison isn't slated to have visitors yet. He just came back from Recovery."

"This is his partner, Blair Sandburg. They were brought in together," Dr. Stuart explained. "A few minutes won't hurt."

"All right," the nurse reluctantly agreed. "But he's still under sedation and not conscious."

That's all right, Blair signed, eager to see his friend. I just need to see that he's okay for myself.

The nurse looked puzzled, turning her head from Blair to his doctor.

"He says thank you," Dr. Stuart paraphrased. "I'll send Melissa up for him in a few minutes."

Nodding, the nurse allowed the visit. Dr. Stuart wheeled Blair into the room and up next to the bed. "I'll leave you two alone," he said with a grin. "But you only have a few minutes, so make good on your time."

Blair sat next to Jim's bed, holding his hand for a few moments before releasing it and signing with nervous energy. Oh, Jim. I'm so sorry. Can you forgive me?

Jim was silent, his eyes closed. He had been moved from Recovery up to his room once he showed signs of consciousness, but the heavy medications had put him right back to sleep.

Laden with guilt for his perceived culpability in the accident, Blair sat vigil until Melissa came to claim him and take him back to his room. I'll come back, Jim. I promise. Blair grasped Jim's hand one last time, giving it a squeeze. I'll make it up to you somehow, he promised.

"He's going to be fine, Blair," Melissa assured him. "If you want, I can give you periodic updates on his condition."

That would be great, thank you! Blair pushed himself up out of the wheelchair and climbed back onto his own bed. Melissa came around to put his leg back in the sling.

"There, how does that feel?" she asked, patting the cast.

Hurts, Blair admitted with a slight grimace. I'd forgotten what a broken bone felt like.

"Not your first, huh?" the nurse asked with a smile.

I broke my arm falling out of a tree when I was a kid, Blair told her. Of course, back then it was almost a badge of courage to sport a cast and sling. Now it's just a pain.

"I'm going to get you something for that," Melissa promised, exiting the room and coming back a short while later with some pills. "Take these. They'll help with the pain and make you drowsy so that you can get some rest."

Blair obediently swallowed the offering, then laid back against his pillows. Will I be able to go see Jim tomorrow?

"Absolutely!" Melissa confirmed. "He should be awake by then, too." She smiled at Blair. "Now you close those baby blues and get some sleep. Jim's not the only one who went through some trauma."

Blair nodded and closed his eyes, surprised at how tired he felt now that he was back in bed. Within a few minutes he was asleep.

~oO0Oo~

"Did you get a good night's rest?" Dr. Stuart greeted Blair the next morning.

Blair sat up straighter, suddenly alert. Did you bring the implant? Can you do the procedure now?

Dr. Stuart chuckled at the unbridled enthusiasm facing him. "I've got it right here," he said, holding up the small plastic cylindrical valve that would act as Blair's artificial vocal cords. He pulled a small equipment tray over to the bed.

Will it hurt much? Blair asked, nervous now that the procedure was at hand.

"Not much," Dr. Stuart assured him. "First, I'll numb the area locally with a lidocaine spray," he explained gently. "That should help reduce the discomfort and the gag reflex. I'll have to make a small hole in the tracheal wall to anchor the device; that could leave you with a slight sore throat."

Blair flinched at the thought, but squared his shoulders, determined to have the procedure done. That's okay. I can handle it. I found out firsthand how valuable my voice really was yesterday.

"Open wide, then," the doctor said, picking up the spray.

Blair choked as the lidocaine penetrated deep down in his throat. He fought not to struggle against intrusion. Quickly, he felt the area go numb, making swallowing difficult.

"That's good," Dr. Stuart comforted. "You're doing great, just relax." He continued the procedure, piercing the small hole and inserting the valve that would function similarly to the lost vocal cords.

While he wasn't actually in pain, Blair fought not to squirm as the doctor worked methodically in his throat. The pushing and pulling, prodding and poking, could all be felt despite the lidocaine spray. Finally, the instruments were removed and he could breathe freely again.

"All done," Dr. Stuart announced. "These devices have a mean life of about five months," he told his patient. "However, it could need replacing earlier--or much later. I'd like to have you in for monthly checkups for a while to monitor how you're doing. It will need periodic cleaning, and you'll need to come to the office for that. So, how does it feel?"

Strange, Blair admitted. Like I have something caught in my throat. He coughed, in part to clear his throat, but the device didn't budge.

"You'll get used to it," the doctor assured him. "Learning to speak will take a while. You should be able to communicate right away, but mastering its use could take up to a month. Why don't you try?"

I don't know how.

"It's pretty much like your normal vocal cords, you exhale to pass air through the device, then form the words as you normally would with your mouth and tongue," Dr. Stuart instructed.

"T-h-ank you," Blair growled, forcing the air from his lungs through the foreign device. The sound coming from his throat was coarse and deep. His hand flew to his throat, and he looked up at the doctor with startled eyes.

"You didn't expect it to sound like your own voice, did you?" Stuart asked. "I'm sorry, Blair, but that's one trick we haven't mastered yet."

"Can... y-ou... under-st-and... me?" The words were forced out as Blair struggled to master his new voice.

"Quite clearly," the doctor said with a smile. "Don't worry, you'll get used to the sound. It's much more natural than the external methods of speech reproduction."

"It's... go-o-d." Blair returned the doctor's smile. "J-im will... be... so sur-pris-ed."

"Very pleasantly, I would think," Dr. Stuart added.

"Can... I... see... him... now? Is he... a-wake?"

"The last report I saw said he was doing very well," the doctor informed Blair. "It's early, though, and I think they still have him on some pretty strong pain medication. He could be groggy."

"I-I j-ust... want to... see him." Blair said, becoming increasingly confident in his new voice.

"I'll have an orderly take you down," Dr. Stuart said, packing up his instruments. "Just remember that you need rest, too. Take it easy."

Blair smiled at the doctor. "T-than-k... you; I... will."

~oO0Oo~

Blair sat quietly beside Jim's bed, cradling his hand and whispering in a halting voice. "J-jim, man..., I am... so s-orry... for this. I-I dis-tracted... you from... y-your d-driv-ing. T-this is... my... f-ault." He watched the sleeping man, as he had for the past hour. Jim's head was wreathed in gauze, and Blair reached out to stroke it lightly. "I'm... sorry," he repeated yet again.

"Blair, Sweetheart..." Melissa approached her patient. "You really should be resting. You're still suffering from the hypothermia and you just had a very invasive procedure."

"I'm... okay. I... ha-ve to... to st-ay here... un-til Jim... wakes... up," Blair insisted, struggling with his voice. The numbness from the lidocaine had finally worn off, and he was suffering the slight discomfort of a sore throat in addition to the difficulties with enunciating clearly.

The nurse drew a deep breath and then sighed. "All right. I'm going to bring you something for your sore throat, and I'll throw in some extra blankets and a pillow. Maybe you could try to get some rest until Jim wakes up."

"Okay," Blair agreed, a slight cough rattling his response. He sucked in air through his mouth, knowing that his new voice did not impede his breathing, but feeling smothered nonetheless.

Melissa crouched down so that she was at Blair's eye level. "I like your new voice," she said, smiling. Blair smiled back. "I'll go fetch that pillow and some blankets, and bring you something for your throat." She left, returning a few minutes later bringing the promised items to where Blair sat next to the bed, then turned, leaving the two men alone.

"I'm... not lea-ving," Blair vowed, turning back to Jim. "I'm... stay-ing... right h-ere." Speaking had become an exhausting exercise. Suddenly weary, Blair stretched out and covered up. His eyes drooped shut and he was asleep almost immediately.

When he awoke, it was to two blue eyes watching him. He sat up quickly. Automatically, he began to sign, then stopped and swallowed. "J-im..." he croaked, still a bit embarrassed by the odd sound of his voice. "You-'re... awake! I... was so... worr-ied a-bout you. You... o-k-ay?"

Jim's eyes widened and a smile stretched across his face. "You can talk." The first words out of his mouth were laced with awe. "Blair, you're talking."

"Yeah," Blair nodded, signing fluently as he spoke brokenly. "W-hat... I w-ant... to k-now is...." He stopped to take another deep breath. "H-how... are... you?"

"I just got to feeling a whole lot better," Jim said, still smiling. "Head feels like someone's taken a jackhammer to it, though. What happened?"

"L-ong... story," Blair said, shaking his head. "It all... st-arted... with me. T-his... is my f-fault."

"Hold up there a minute, Chief," Jim scolded. "First of all," he began, gripping Blair's hands, "none of this is your fault. Where did you get a harebrained idea like that?"

"I-if you... hadn't... been dis-tracted... by my... signing..." Blair stuttered, tugging by habit to free his hands.

"No!" Jim gripped the hands more firmly, unwilling to let them go. "The road was icy and the chains failed. End of story. Your signing had nothing to do with it."

"You... had to... watch me to... 'hear' me..." Blair protested, finally giving up the struggle for his hands. "Y-ou could-n't pay... attention to... the... r-oad."

"I haven't heard you shoveling that much bullshit in months!" Jim exploded. "Look," he added, softening his voice as Blair shrank back from his tirade. "I don't blame you; you shouldn't blame yourself. It was a combination of a lot of things. Your signing was only one small part, and not the main one." He released Blair's hands, patting them gently.

Blair hung his head, struggling to control his breathing. With a sigh, he rested his voice and spoke with sign. I can't help it. I feel so guilty.

"You shouldn't," Jim repeated. "I'm doing fine. I may even be released in another day or two. What I haven't heard yet is how you're doing?"

Broke my leg, Blair told him, gesturing at the cast. And I haven't quite warmed up yet. The nurse tells me it's hypothermia. But you had surgery. God, Jim, I was so worried about you. Blair reached up to grasp Jim's hand and squeeze it gently.

"I'll be fine. I want to hear how you came to be talking again," Jim insisted.

My new cell phone got smashed in the crash, he explained. I had to use the one you keep in the glove compartment; only I couldn't speak, so I had to tap out my message in Morse code.

"Leave it to you to figure that out," Jim chuckled. "I didn't know you knew Morse code."

"L-earn-ed... it... in Boy... Sc-outs," Blair said, trying his voice again.

"Boy Scouts? You were a Boy Scout? I didn't know Naomi went in for such things."

Just for one year, Blair told him, switching back to signing so that he could communicate more clearly. I was staying with an 'aunt' and 'uncle' while Mom was away on some retreat. Anyway, it took the 911 operators forever to find someone who could figure out what I was saying. Morse code is pretty archaic in this digital age. They finally got someone and got help out to us, but I decided that no matter how I felt about the prosthesis, I needed to be able to speak. We could have died out there. He dropped his head and stared at his hands, unable to meet Jim's eyes.

"But we didn't," Jim felt constrained to point out, reaching a hand to tip Blair's head back up. "You saved us both, Blair."

"It's... my... sign-ing... that got... us in-to... tr-oub-le... in the... first... place." Blair struggled to speak, determined to try to communicate verbally. He had to let Jim know how serious he was. If he hadn't distracted him while Jim was driving on the treacherous road, they wouldn't be here now.

"You're determined to take the blame, aren't you?" Jim frowned, dropping his hand to grasp one of Blair's. He squeezed gently and smiled at his partner.

"Be-cause... it's... my... f-ault..."

"I was driving," Jim reminded him softly.

"Gentlemen..." Melissa walked into the room. "Arguing isn't going to do either of you any good. Blair, I think it's time I take you back to your own room."

Blair turned desperate eyes on the nurse. "P-lease... I n-eed... to stay... with... J-im."

"What you both need is rest," Melissa insisted. "Come on." She brought the wheelchair over and stood patiently while Blair did his best to procrastinate.

"I'll... be... back..., J-im. I... pr-o-mise."

"Blair... it's okay. I'm okay. Get some rest, and don't blame yourself." Jim squeezed his hand before releasing Blair and shooing him toward the waiting nurse. "And Blair?" he added as Melissa began to wheel his partner from the room. "I love hearing your voice again."

I'm not going to cry, Blair told himself. "S-hit." He reached up to swipe an arm across his tearing eyes.

Jim shook his head as Blair was taken away. Why did his friend always try to take the blame? He sighed as he sank back into the pillows, resigned that he wouldn't be able to comfort Blair anymore that day.

As they rode in the elevator back up to Blair's floor, Melissa stroked a hand down the mass of curls. "The past couple of days have been pretty stressful," she reminded him. "It's all right to cry."

Blair sniffled and wiped again at his eyes. "I'm... a gr-o-wn m-an..., not a... chi-ld," he grumbled. "I-I j-just..." He sighed and fell silent.

"Blair, I understand," Melissa said, wheeling him into his room and helping him into bed. She tucked the covers up under his chin. "Need another blanket?" At Blair's nod, she fetched one from the closet in the room. "There now. I'm going to check with the doctor about giving you a little something to help you sleep. If you want out of here, you've got to get a bit more rest."

"I... th-ought I..." Blair sighed with exhaustion, switching back to sign. I thought I was being released this evening, he said.

"There's been a change in plans," Melissa informed him. "You're staying at least one more night. Dr. Rasmussen heard some congestion in your lungs, and he wants to make sure you're not coming down with pneumonia."

"I'm... not s-ick," Blair insisted, knowing that if he were, he'd be barred from visiting Jim.

"You need to rest," Melissa insisted. "How does your leg feel?" she asked, lifting the broken limb and placing it back in the sling that kept it slightly elevated.

"H-hurts..." Blair admitted through gritted teeth.

Melissa shook her head, but there was a gentle smile on her lips. "You've been abusing yourself today, you know. You care more for your friend than you do for yourself. I'll get you something for the pain." Ten minutes later she returned with the medication. "You need to take this and get some sleep."

"Can... I vis-it... with J-im la-ter... this eve-ning?"

"If you get a few hours' sleep now, yes," the nurse answered. "Now be good and take your medication."

Blair swallowed the pills obediently and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, even though he wouldn't admit it to the nurse; but he was afraid that with all the thoughts swirling through his mind, he wouldn't be able to sleep. He felt Melissa smooth the hair away from his face, her palm lingering briefly against his cheek, then the blessed darkness of sleep took him.

~oO0Oo~

After twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep, Blair awoke the next morning and looked around, orienting himself again. A nurse he hadn't seen before poked her head in the door.

"Oh, good; you're awake," she said, walking into the room. "How are you feeling this morning?" Her tone was cold and professional.

A coughing fit seized him as Blair tried to speak. When he finally recovered, he sighed and rested back against his pillows. "Not so... gr-eat," he admitted.

"Well, let's see how bad it really is," the nurse said, drawing a thermal-scan thermometer from her pocket. "My name's Connie," she said by way of introduction as she stuck the device in Blair's ear. "Oh my, 103 degrees. It looks like you're going to be enjoying the amenities of our little institution a while longer."

"I need... to... go see... J-im." Blair struggled to sit up, even though the effort brought on more coughing.

Connie pushed him back into bed. "You're not going anywhere, Mister. You're sick, and you're staying in bed. The doctor will be around to see you soon and will doubtless start you on antibiotics to keep you from developing full-fledged pneumonia."

"But J-im..." Blair protested.

"You should be thinking about your own recovery," the nurse scolded. "Why are you so worried about this 'Jim'?" she asked as she completed her cursory morning exam.

"He's... my f-friend," Blair told her. "We were... in... an ac-ci-dent to-ge-ther. He's on... the sur-gery... floor. I-I need... to see... him." The short speech had taken nearly all the reserves Blair had built up from his long night's sleep.

"I can check on him for you," Connie suggested. "It's really not advisable for you to leave your bed right now."

"But... oh..., all ri-ght," Blair sighed in defeat.

"Why don't you close your eyes and try to get a little more rest? You'll get over this sooner with plenty of sleep. I'll check on Jim and report back to you later."

Blair was set to protest going back to sleep when yet another coughing fit wracked his body. His chest hurt from the deep coughs; he felt as though they reached clear down to his toes. When he finally quieted, he was in no condition to fight the suggestion to rest. His eyes drooped shut and he was soon asleep once more.

Later that morning, he was awakened by some gentle prodding and a stethoscope on his chest.

"Good morning, Blair. I'm Doctor Rasmussen, in case you don't remember," the doctor introduced himself. "Looks like you've taken a little down-turn in your condition."

"I'm... f-ine," Blair answered, then coughed resoundingly.

"Sure you are," the doctor chuckled. "Would you be so kind as to roll onto your side so that I can listen to your lungs from the back?"

Blair twisted on the bed, constrained by the sling that held his leg. He was hurting again--an ache that seemed to travel up from the break to settle in his hip as he strained to hold the position for the doctor.

Thank you," Dr. Rasmussen said as Blair rolled over. "There's definitely some congestion in there. I'd like to send you down to x-ray so I can get a better idea of where we stand."

"Can... I go... see J-im soon?" Blair rasped, his artificial voice hard pressed to function with the phlegm in his throat.

"You won't be doing any visiting anytime soon," the doctor told him. "Nurse Thompson told me you were asking after Jim, so I checked on him for you. He's doing quite well. When he was brought in, the concussion he sustained in the accident caused some swelling of the brain. The surgery successfully relieved that, and otherwise, Mr. Ellison seems to have suffered no ill effects from the accident. He's doing so well, in fact, his doctor is considering releasing him in a couple more days."

"I pr-omised J-im... I'd come b-back and... see him," Blair protested.

"I'll see to it that he knows the situation," Dr. Rasmussen said. "Meantime, I'm going to start you on intravenous antibiotics. If we catch this early enough, you may get out of here sometime this week."

Blair coughed and tried clearing his throat. Speaking was becoming increasingly difficult. "Tell J-im...."

"I'll tell him how you're doing. No visitations yet, until after his release, but maybe I can have him give you a call," the doctor said as he turned to leave.

Blair nodded and smiled weakly. Already he was ready to sleep again. A few minutes later an orderly roused him to take him down to Radiology for chest x-rays. When he was returned to his room, the phone was ringing.

Blair picked up the receiver then coughed to clear his throat. "H-ell-o?"

How are you doing, buddy? You don't sound so good.

"Jim!" Blair sat up straighter, suddenly wide awake. "Good.... I'm... go-od."

That's not what the doctor tells me. I'd come see you if they'd let me, but they have these crazy rules... Jim stopped to chuckle.

"Yeah," Blair sighed. "How... are... y-ou?"

Ready to stage an escape if they don't let me out of here pretty soon.

Blair chuckled. "I'm sur-pris-ed... you... haven't... tr-ied."

No chance of that. Jim returned the chuckle. Simon was up to see me. He said you were sleeping and he didn't want to disturb you.

"I've b-been... doing a... lot... of that... l-lately." Blair's response was punctuated by a cough. "J-ust can't... seem... to shake... be-ing tired."

Then don't try, Jim instructed. Simon said to thank you for calling. He's converting my time to sick leave, so I don't lose the vacation days.

Blair opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out except a strangled croak. He tried clearing his voice, coughing to loosen the accumulating phlegm.

Blair? Are you all right? Blair?

Blair struggled to speak, croaking unintelligible noises before finally managing a single word. "F-fine."

The strangled sound didn't sound fine at all to the man on the other end of the line. Blair, hang up and page the nurse. Blair... do you hear me?

"J-im..."

Don't even try it! You hang up and get some help, or I'll do it for you! Jim took some satisfaction at hearing the click of the receiver hanging up on the other end, but then he began to worry. This wasn't working out well at all; both of them hospitalized, but on different floors and forbidden to see each other because of his injury and Blair's illness. He pushed the call button on the side of his bed. After a few minutes, he pressed it again, then threw back his blankets and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He grabbed the robe that lay across the foot of his bed, slipping it on.

"And just where do you think you're going?" The head nurse of the surgery floor blocked the doorway.

"I'm going to find out what's wrong with Blair," he stated, clutching the thin hospital robe around him and heading determinably toward the exit.

"I don't think so," the nurse told him, continuing to stand in his way. When Jim reached her, she grabbed his arm to turn him around. "You need your rest. I'll check on your friend."

"I'll rest after I've checked on Blair," Jim said, continuing to push his way past the nurse.

"You can't do that!" the nurse shouted at him as Jim made his way down the hall to the elevators.

Poking at the call buttons, Jim waited impatiently at the elevator doors. "Watch me." The doors swished open and he stepped inside, grinning as they closed on the face of the startled nurse.

~oO0Oo~

Dr. Rasmussen turned to Melissa, asking her to fetch a pair of forceps. "Blair, your prosthesis has to come out. It's clogged with mucus and is impeding your ability to breathe comfortably."

No. No, please, Blair signed frantically. Fix it. He coughed, trying to clear his throat. "I-I c-an h-hand-le it," he pleaded. "J-ust clean... it."

"It can't be fixed the way you want, Blair," Melissa told him. "It has to come out to be cleaned. I've called Dr. Stuart. He'll tell you when you can have it back."

No. I just got my voice back. You can't take it away so soon! Blair tried to scoot to the far edge of the bed, but his injured leg impeded his progress.

"It's just temporary; until you're feeling better," Melissa assured him.

"What's going on here?" Jim stood in the doorway, anger and fear warring in his gut.

Dr. Rasmussen and Melissa turned, startled to hear the angry voice behind them.

"Mr. Ellison!" the nurse exclaimed. "You shouldn't be here. You need to be back in your own bed."

Blair attempted to sit up, straining to get closer to Jim. "Jim! J-im... they... they want... to take... my v-voice. Don't... let them..., p-please!" he pleaded. Jim made his way past the medical personnel to perch on the edge of Blair's bed. The younger man was struggling through a coughing fit, brought on by the effort to speak.

Jim reached out to brush the wild hair away from Blair's flushed face, allowing his palm to rest briefly against a fevered cheek. "It's all right, Chief," he soothed. "Don't try so hard. It's going to be okay." He turned to glare at the doctor as he rubbed soothing circles across Blair's back, trying to calm him. His anger and frustration began to boil over. This had all started as an accident, yet Blair seemed to be unfairly taking the burden of responsibility for it. And now, just when something was going right, they wanted to take his voice away, too.

Blair blinked back the tears that threatened to fall, staring mutely at his protector. He leaned into the soothing massage, feeling safe now that Jim was here.

Jim turned back to the doctor. "Tell me what the hell's going on." His voice was level and steady, full of implied threat.

Melissa walked over to calm him. "Blair's fighting a bout of pneumonia and the mucus he's coughing up is clogging the voice prosthesis. It needs to be removed and cleaned."

"And then? When do they put it back?" Jim asked.

"Probably not for some time," Dr. Rasmussen said. "Until the infection is cleared, there's not much point. The mucus would keep clogging the device and as Blair will tell you, the insertion and removal are not comfortable procedures."

I don't care. Jim, tell them I don't care about the discomfort. I want to keep my voice. Tell them! Blair signed frantically, stopping occasionally to tug on Jim's robe for emphasis.

Jim stilled the flying hands, resting his lightly over Blair's, giving the younger man a chance to slip free should he want to protest. "I don't want you to go through any more pain and discomfort for my sake. Let them do this. You'll get your voice back when you're feeling better."

Dr. Rasmussen interrupted to finish what he had to say. "I'm waiting on the opinion of his oncologist, but I'd say the prosthesis should stay out until he's recovered."

"Absolutely." The voice came from behind Jim, who moved aside to let Dr. Stuart enter the room. "Blair, I hear you're having some problems."

"T-hey w-want to... to... take... my v-oice," Blair croaked, trying hard to hide his difficulty speaking past the mucus clogging his throat. "Don't... let t-hem... take... my voice."

"It's only temporary, son," the doctor soothed. "The device doesn't work properly when there's too much mucus. I should have warned you about that. I didn't know you were so ill, or I wouldn't have implanted it when I did."

Jim? God, Jim, please. Don't let them do this, Blair signed. The look of despair on his face was enough to melt the most hardened heart.

Jim cradled the expressive hands and looked into the fear-filled eyes. "Hearing you speak again was a miracle I never expected," he began. "Your voice is music to my ears, but the doctors are right. You're too sick for it right now. Let them do what they have to do, then hurry and get better so that you can have your voice back again."

The two men shared a long, searching look before Blair nodded his reluctant acceptance. Dr. Stuart picked up the flexible forceps and approached his patient. "Open really wide for me, Blair." The young man did as instructed, waiting impatiently while the doctor sprayed the lidocaine to numb his throat and still his gag reflex. He squeezed Jim's hand tightly as Dr. Stuart began the procedure, threading the instrument down his throat and coming back out a few minutes later with the prosthesis.

Jim wrapped his partner in his arms as a spasm of choking and coughing wracked the smaller man's frame. When the fit finally passed, Jim pulled away to find the front of his robe spattered with sputum.

I'm sorry, Jim. Blair grabbed a fistful of tissues and tried wiping at the mess he'd made.

Jim took the tissues away from the busy hand and finished cleaning himself. "Don't worry about it, Sport. It's okay." He patted Blair's cheek, then pushed him down onto his pillows. "You need to rest."

"And you need to get back up to your floor." The surgical floor nurse stood in the doorway, tapping her foot. "Didn't I say I'd check on him for you?"

"He needed me," Jim stated simply, refusing to budge from the bed.

"Let him stay a few minutes longer." The unexpected support came from Dr. Stuart. "They've been separated for over a day, and from what I've seen of this pair, that's highly unusual. Trust me; you'll get more cooperation with a little leniency."

"Five minutes," the nurse said, turning on her heel. "Then I want him back up in his room."

"Yes, ma'am." Jim saluted the retreating nurse, then turned his attention back to Blair.

The room cleared, with one final admonishment from Dr. Rasmussen. "Five minutes."

Jim nodded, his eyes not leaving those of his friend. "It's only for a little while."

It feels... Blair let his hands drop into his lap in despair, then lifted them again. I know it's ridiculous, but it feels like losing my voice all over again. Like the first time.

"It's not ridiculous." Jim stroked Blair's cheek, letting his fingers drift down the lines of his throat to hover over the scar left from the surgery. "You had no expectations of having the gift taken away again so soon. You got your hopes up, then had them dashed."

I wanted to surprise you.

"You did that." Jim grinned. "You certainly did that."

But now we're back to square one.

"Nah," Jim said, shaking his head. "We took maybe a half-step backward, but it's temporary. You rest, do what the doctors and nurses tell you to do, and you'll have your voice back in no time."

"Speaking of following the rules," Melissa said, poking her head back into the room, "your time is up, boys. Jim, your chariot awaits." She indicated the wheelchair in the hall.

"I can walk," Jim protested.

"Rules...?" Melissa grinned at him.

Jim turned back one more time and squeezed Blair's hand. "Soon as I'm released, they won't be able to kick me out anymore. I'll bivouac right here." Blair chuckled silently as Jim obediently turned and settled himself in the wheelchair, waving as he was taken away.

~oO0Oo~

"I told you they wouldn't be able to get rid of me." Jim grinned three days later, as he sat on the edge of Blair's bed watching as an orderly brought in an old lounge chair for him to sleep in. "I had to pull a few strings, but I convinced the powers that be to let me stay."

Blair reached up to touch the white gauze that still circled Jim's head. How's your headache?

"Much better, now that I'm here," Jim quipped, brushing the hair off Blair's forehead. "This was supposed to be some time alone together for us... This isn't exactly what I had in mind, but I guess it'll have to do."

The cabin was really nice.

"Yeah. Maybe I can convince Jack to let us stay there again sometime." Jim chuckled. "But next time I'll make sure we bring our supplies with us."

But, Jim; I know where you can find all sorts of recipes for Spam on the Internet-- He was stopped when Jim covered his hands, stilling the words.

"Don't. I don't want to know," Jim chuckled. "You're sounding better," he said, changing the subject. Blair still sported a nasal cannula giving him a light flow of oxygen to help him breathe, and an IV for fluids and antibiotics, but the monitors had been disconnected the day before.

I'm doing better, Blair confirmed. I want to go home, Jim. He had no more than finished his request when a deep cough shook him. Jim gathered the weakened man into his arms and held him as he rode out the spasm, which lasted several minutes. Damn, Blair complained, pulling back. I think I wet myself with that one.

Jim wrinkled his nose. "Yeah, a little," he agreed. "Want me to help?"

I'll just call the nurse, Blair signed. It's not the first time. He pressed the call button and leaned back, waiting for Connie to arrive. Guess this means I'm not going anywhere for a while?

"I think you guessed right." Jim moved aside as the nurse entered.

"Did we have another accident?" Connie asked, annoyed at being called for yet another clean-up.

"We didn't," Jim deadpanned, "but Blair had a minor spill."

"Okay, Sweetie. Out of the bed while I change the sheets. Maybe your friend here can help you wash up?" A hint of sarcasm laced Connie's tired voice.

Blair scooted off the edge of the bed, dragging the IV pole with him toward the bathroom. Jim got up to follow, but stopped next to the nurse, grabbing her arm and turning her around to face him. "That kid has been through hell, and you're not helping," he growled.

Connie wrenched her arm free and gave the detective a stern look. "I don't have time for this. We're short-handed here, and changing sheets is not why I became a nurse."

"No. You became a nurse to help people," Jim reminded her, equally stern. "At least, that's what most nurses tell me. You certainly don't do it for the money." He took hold of both arms in a light grip and gave Connie a shake. "If you want to continue working here, I suggest a little attitude adjustment. I won't have you treating my partner like he's a wayward child. He's sick and he's hurting. If you don't want to help, I'll see to it that we find someone who will."

Connie turned indignantly and went back to changing the sheets.

Giving the nurse one final angry glance, Jim turned and headed toward the bathroom where Blair waited. Just outside the door he paused to take several deeps breaths, calming himself so that he wouldn't take his anger out on his partner. He entered the room, closing the door behind him.

Blair sat on the closed toilet seat, his head resting in his hands. After a few moments, he looked up and signed, I'm so tired of this. I just want to go home.

Wetting a washcloth, Jim approached and knelt in front of his partner. "You're not ready to go home yet, Blair. Give it some time."

I want my voice back.

Jim sighed. "I know you do. Damn...! So do I. You can't imagine how much I've missed hearing your voice."

Even if it doesn't sound like me?

"You'd be surprised," Jim told him. "The timbre of your voice is different, but your speech mannerisms haven't changed. You're still the Blair Sandburg I know and love."

Blair took the washcloth and wiped himself clean. Really? You think so? His signing was more subdued as he watched Jim's face.

The older man reached back for a clean gown, untying the soiled one and quickly replacing it. "Yeah, I do." He smiled, and was rewarded by a smile in return. "Let's get you back in bed." He helped Blair up and took the IV pole, wrapping a supporting arm around Blair's waist and guiding him back to his bed.

~oO0Oo~

It had taken the better part of a week before Blair was deemed well enough to be released from the hospital. Dropping his crutches, he settled onto the couch. It's never felt so good to be home, he commented with a relieved exhalation of breath.

Jim sat beside him, studying his partner closely. "Then why don't you look very happy?" he wondered.

Blair's head dipped, then he looked up to meet Jim's eyes. I thought I was coming home with my new voice.

"And you feel... what? Like a failure? The temporary loss?" Jim tried to plumb the depths of Blair's emotions.

A little of both, perhaps, Blair admitted. I know there's no reason to feel like a failure. I got sick and the thing wouldn't work. That's not my fault.

"You bet it isn't," Jim confirmed.

But if I hadn't caused that accident, I wouldn't have gotten that sick. And you wouldn't have been hurt, Blair added. In a way that makes it my fault, and me a failure.

Jim reached out to tip up the face that had dropped away from his gaze again. "You're determined to take the blame, aren't you?"

It's my fault... Blair began.

"No!" Jim purposefully did what Blair had once told him in anger never to do: he grabbed Blair's wrists to still the talking hands. "It was an accident; and that's the last I want to hear about it. None of this was your fault. It was as much my decision as yours to go into town in the first place, and that's where any blame should start. If you want to feel down because you had your voice and it was taken again so quickly--go ahead. But no more blame. Okay?"

Blair stared at their joined hands, thinking over his response. Finally he looked up and slipped his hands from Jim's grip. It's not easy to let go, he admitted, but I'll try. I just feel so empty for some reason.

"For over a year, you lived without your voice." Jim spoke softly. "And then, because of a perceived necessity, you decided you wanted it back. There was nothing wrong with that, and I loved hearing you again," he admitted. "But then circumstances took it away. You have a right to feel the loss. You just need to realize that it's okay to mourn."

Blair took in a deep breath, letting out a silent sigh. I'll try, he whispered, his hands signing tightly against his chest.

"That's better," Jim said, slapping his hands against his knees and pushing off to stand up. "How about some lunch?"

Blair struggled with a brief coughing spell, wiping his hands on his jeans when it passed. Not for me, thanks. I think I'll go lie down for a bit. He stood up, hobbling on his crutches toward his room. At the doorway, he turned briefly to look at his partner, balancing himself with his crutches tucked into his armpits. Jim?

"Yeah, Chief?" Jim replied when Blair paused.

Thank you. For everything.

As the young man entered his room and began to close the door, Jim's soft response followed him. "You're welcome. For everything."

~oO0Oo~

"How are you doing, Blair?" Doctor Stuart asked as he approached the exam table where his patient perched.

Better than three weeks ago, Blair answered. I'm not coughing nearly as much. I was hoping... Could we try the prosthesis again?

"Now?" the doctor looked skeptical.

I'm much better, Blair all but pleaded. Please, let me try it again.

The doctor continued his exam, not answering immediately. "Well, your lungs sound clear," he admitted. "Are you coughing up mucus?"

Only a little. Not all the time, Blair hedged.

"Well, it's against my better judgment to put it back so early, but if you're willing to take the chance that it might have to come out again, I'll do it." Dr. Stuart studied his patient as he waited for his answer.

I'll take my chances. I want my voice back, Blair declared.

"All right then. Give me a minute to get my things." The doctor stepped out of the exam room, leaving Blair alone to think about his decision. When he returned, he found the young man patiently waiting. "You're sure about this?"

Absolutely.

"All right, then. Open up." It took about five minutes to numb his throat and insert the prosthesis. Blair sat as still as he could, enduring the slight discomfort of the procedure for the sake of his voice. "All done," Dr. Stuart announced.

"G-great," Blair said, trying out the prosthesis. "T-th-anks, Dr. Stuart."

"You're welcome. I just hope you don't regret this decision in a few days," the doctor cautioned.

"Don't w-wor-ry," Blair assured him. "It'll be... fine." He slipped down from the table and gathered his crutches, swinging his way out to the lobby where Jim waited.

"So, Chief, how did it go?"

"Excellently," Blair said, smiling.

"Your voice! You got your voice back?" Jim was astonished. "I thought the doctor said it would be at least six weeks."

"I con-vinced... him I was... o-kay," Blair said with a conspiratorial grin.

Jim shook his head, returning the grin. "You're quite a piece of work, Sandburg."

"Let's get... out of... here," Blair said, gaining proficiency in speech quicker than he had the first time.

As they crossed the parking lot to where they'd left the truck, Blair was babbling away in his halting, gravelly voice. They passed a mother and young child.

The boy yanked on his mother's arm, turning to Blair. "You talk funny."

"Tommy!" The boy's mother was appalled at the indiscretion. "You mustn't say things like that."

"I-it's... o-kay," Blair assured her, leaning forward on his crutches to get closer to the boy's level. "I got... sick and lost... my voice," he explained. "The d-octor... had to... give me a new... one."

"It still sounds awful," Tommy insisted as his mother pulled him away with an embarrassed smile and a quick apology.

As they climbed into the truck, Blair turned to his partner. He had wanted his voice back so very badly, and now he found himself suddenly embarrassed to speak. "Do I... really s-ound... that... bad?" he wondered, his voice soft with insecurity. "J-jim, you got-ta tell... me. Yo-ur... hear-ing is... so sensi-tive. D-does... my voice... b-bother you?"

Jim left the keys dangling in the ignition and turned toward his distraught friend. "You're going to take the word of some kid?" He sounded incredulous. "Blair, it isn't how your voice sounds that matters to me. It's that quirky mind, the quick wit and your mannerisms that make you who you are, not the tone of your voice."

"B-but... does it... bother you?"

Jim's own voice softened. "No. No, it doesn't. I'm not going to say you won't meet with some prejudice because of it; it does sound different. But different doesn't have to be bad." He rested a calming hand on Blair's thigh, patting lightly with his fingertips. "People will eventually get used to it, and you can go about just being yourself. In the meantime, you may have to put up with some thoughtless comments by ignorant people, but just consider the source." He finished his short speech with a light slap and a confident smile.

Blair nodded and smiled. "O-kay.... Thanks, J-jim. I-I can... do that."

~oO0Oo~

That night, the coughing worsened. Blair woke, choking, barely able to catch his breath. Jim was at his bedside quickly, rolling him onto his side and pounding between his shoulder blades to loosen the clogging phlegm.

Blair sputtered, finally spitting some of the mucus onto the floor. "G-god, J-jim..." He sucked in ragged breaths of air. "C-can't... br-eathe..." He coughed some more, then tried clearing his throat. The implant impeded his ability to rid himself of the suffocating phlegm. "H-help me!" He retched violently, his face turning red with the effort, but he was finally able to spit out a bit more of the accumulating phlegm. He rolled onto his back, taking in large gulps of air.

"Sit up," Jim ordered, helping to pull the recumbent man forward. He gathered the throw pillows that decorated the futon during the day and placed them behind Blair's back, topping the pile with the bed pillow. "There now, rest back," he said, helping to lower his friend onto the cushions. "You'll breathe more easily if your head is elevated a bit."

"Th-anks, J-im," Blair croaked out, starting another coughing spree.

Jim sat on the edge of the bed, keeping a light hold on his partner. "Easy there, Darwin. Slow down. Take deep breaths."

Blair tried to follow the instructions, his body trembling with the effort and exhaustion. "C-can't swal-low," he said, choking on the words. "Hard to... breathe."

"That's just the panic," Jim assured him, having talked Blair through several minor anxiety attacks in the past. "You're okay. Just relax. Breathe like you taught me: slowly in through the nose; out through the mouth. Come on, you can do it. Find your center."

Blair let his eyes drift shut, focusing on the gentle voice directing him to relax. The tension began to seep from his body, allowing him to breathe more easily. The coughing ceased, and after several swallows to clear his throat, he opened his eyes again. "It... was a... mis-take, wasn't... it?"

"What was a mistake, Chief?" Jim asked softly.

"Getting... my voice... back."

Jim let a smile crease his worried features. "It wasn't a mistake so much as it was jumping the gun just a little," he answered. "I think in your eagerness to speak again, you tried too soon."

"You'll... take me... to... Dr. Stu-art... in the morn..." Blair trailed off, closing his eyes again.

"Yeah. We'll go back in the morning. Want me to stay here for a while, until you get back to sleep?"

Blair nodded, reaching for Jim's hand in the dark, and squeezing it tightly.

~oO0Oo~

"I'm sorry to see you back so soon." Dr. Stuart sounded genuinely unhappy about the situation.

"He had an incident last night," Jim said, speaking for Blair, who was uncharacteristically silent.

"What sort of an incident?" The doctor directed his question at his patient, but when Blair didn't answer, he looked to Jim.

"He started choking on some phlegm he'd coughed up," Jim explained, "and had a panic attack. He had trouble breathing and swallowing."

"But you talked him through it?" The doctor looked from Jim to Blair, who nodded, and back to Jim again.

"M-my v-voice," Blair muttered, the guttural sound drawing the attention of both men back to him. "I'm... n-not read-y... yet."

Dr. Stuart nodded. "I was afraid of that. You'd like me to remove the device?"

Blair nodded.

Jim stood close by, wrapping an arm around Blair's waist to help support him.

The doctor came back with his equipment and Blair opened wide without being asked. "How's your leg doing?" he asked in typical doctor-fashion of posing a question when the patient is least able to answer.

Blair snapped his mouth shut and quickly signed his answer out of expediency. It itches like crazy! he complained. And the cast is cumbersome. But otherwise, it's fine.

"You seem to have mastered the crutches rather quickly."

Practice, Blair answered enigmatically, then opened his mouth so the doctor could spray the lidocaine.

The procedure was over with quickly, and Blair slumped in the chair with relief.

"Feel better?" Dr. Stuart asked.

Yes, thank you. Sorry I put you through this twice this week, Blair apologized.

"That's all right, son," the doctor assured him. "There was no real harm done, and some things you simply have to learn by experiencing them. I'll see you back here in, say, another three or four weeks, and we'll reevaluate you then."

"Thanks, Doc," Jim added as he helped Blair to his feet, handing him the crutches. "We'll see you in a few weeks."

~oO0Oo~

"I know it's been a long haul, waiting until you were completely well to get your voice back, but I hope it's been worth the wait." Dr. Stuart stepped back and eyed his patient.

Blair cleared his throat, then began haltingly, "You... bet... Dr. S-tuart." A huge grin spread across his face. "All r-ight...! A little... more... prac-tice here..., and... you won't... be... able to shut... me up!"

Jim joined in the laughter. "Wouldn't bother me a bit, Professor," he said, patting Blair on the shoulder. "Welcome back."

"I want you back in a week to check for any build-up on the prosthesis," Dr. Stuart instructed. "We'll keep a close eye on it for a while, until we can determine a reasonable schedule of maintenance for you."

Jim turned to the doctor. "I was a Medic in the Army," he said. "Is there any chance I could do the maintenance at home for Blair?"

Blair's eyes widened and he shook his head, negating the idea. Jim was his friend, not his nurse. He shouldn't have to do such things. The very idea made Blair squirm with discomfort.

"It's a nice offer," Dr. Stuart affirmed, "but not practical. We need to numb Blair's throat and use special lights and instruments to remove the device. It takes considerable training and, preferably, a licensed professional."

Jim shrugged. "I just wanted to help."

"No problem," the doctor assured him. "See you next week, Blair."

"Okay, Doc," Blair answered, allowing Jim to help him down from the exam table and hand him his crutches. He turned at the door leading to the lobby. "Thanks... so much. You'll... never k-now... how much this... means."

"Oh, I've got a pretty good idea," the doctor replied, watching his patient leave followed by his partner and friend.

"What was that all about?" Jim asked, climbing into the truck.

"W-hat was... w-hat all... about?" Blair returned, looking innocently at his partner.

Jim shook his head. "Don't think I didn't notice you shaking your head. Why didn't you want me to help you with your voice?"

Blair sighed, then took a deep breath, ready to defend his position. "Y-you're... my friend, man. You... should-n't have... to... do the grunt... work."

"And why would I consider it grunt work to help you out?" Jim was genuinely confused by his partner's reasoning.

"It's dis-gusting...," Blair tried to explain. "M-mucking aroun-d... in some-one else's... mouth. Besides, it... just feels too... personal. I don't... know." He ended the explanation lamely, staring at the hands that rested in his lap.

Jim covered the hands with his own. "If the idea makes you uncomfortable, for whatever reasons, you're entitled to that. Don't worry, I won't push.

"T-thanks," Blair murmured, finally looking up and meeting Jim's gaze.

"Now that we have that cleared up, when are you coming back to work for the PD?" When Blair didn't respond immediately, Jim turned to eye him. "Blair?"

Taking a deep breath, Blair answered softly. "I... don't know. I r-eally... don't know." He expelled the breath and paused thoughtfully. "I like t-each-ing... at Mount Cla-rice, J-im. The kids... there are so... an-imated... and bright. I'm learning... from them, as... they learn from... me. Be-fore this... job, I'd al-most... for-gotten... how... much I enjoy t-teaching."

"But you only quit the PD because of the can..." Jim's voice trailed off.

"Cancer, J-im. It's... okay; you can... say it." A gentle smile curved Blair's lips. "It was be-cause... I lost... my v-oice to... can-cer..., that I quit. But... maybe it was... a ser-en-dipi-tous thing.... Maybe... I was... r-eally meant to t-teach."

"I miss you at work," Jim admitted. "I rarely use my senses on the job anymore. What's the point, without you there to watch my back?"

"Really? Jim..., you never... told me that...! Your senses... are your se-cret wea-pon..., man! You... sh-ould use... them." Blair took a deep breath, panting slightly with the effort to speak so much, so soon.

"I was a good cop before my senses came back on-line, and I'm a good cop now," Jim defended.

"I never... said you... weren't," Blair argued, his hands automatically flying along with his words. "But your sen-ses... set you apart; give... you an ad-vant-age. It's crim-inal not... to use them."

"Then come back to work at the PD. Be my partner again."

Blair slumped in his seat. "I... don't know.... I don't know... if they'd let me... come back. I'm still... con-sidered dis-abled. My voice... isn't really... my voice. I doubt I qual-ify for street... work any-more."

"Let's talk to Simon. Maybe we can work something out," Jim suggested. "Maybe they could make you a special consultant to the department. Hey," he added, grinning, "at least no one can say you're not a real cop anymore."

"You've got a... point," Blair chuckled. "Okay. If it means that... much to you.... But I don't want... to give up teaching... al-together. Maybe... something... part time?"

"Whatever makes you happy," Jim agreed.

Later that evening, the men sat across the table from each other, enjoying a light meal of chicken stir-fry. Jim pushed some broccoli around his plate, then looked up to find Blair watching him.

"Do you... re-ally have t-rouble... with your senses... at work?" Blair asked, his blue eyes steady and serious.

"Not trouble," Jim began slowly. "I just don't use them much anymore."

"Be-cause... I'm not... there?" Blair put his fork down and reached across the table for Jim's hand. "It's a part... of who... you are."

"You're a part of who I am," Jim almost snapped back. He folded his napkin and got up from the table to pace around the open floor. "Things don't work right when you're not around."

Blair's head hung, and he stared at his dinner for a few moments. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the pacing Sentinel. "I've missed... working... with you." He pushed back, stood and grabbed his crutches, hobbling over to confront his friend. "Do you re-ally... think Simon... would let me... be your... partner... again?"

"I don't know, Chief," Jim admitted, resting his hands on Blair's shoulders. "But I sure as hell want to find out." He guided Blair over to the couch, and the pair sat facing each other. "You've got to get out of that cast first," he said, patting the autographed plaster.

"It... comes off... in another couple... we-eks," Blair said, smiling. "It'll be... g-ood to get... rid of... the it-chy thing."

"I can imagine," Jim chuckled. "Then all we'll have to deal with is your voice... and your teaching career."

"That's... just it...." Blair stopped to catch his breath. It was tiring using the prosthesis, and he seriously considered switching back to sign but decided to persevere. "It's a career... Something I... really enjoy doing."

"And I don't want to take that away from you. It's a part of who you are." Jim sighed. He hated to admit that Blair was more suited to teaching than to toting a badge and gun, but it was the truth. His partner was a born academic; that was where he belonged. He belongs with me! Jim thought selfishly, wishing he could make it true; knowing he could not.

"Yes... but being your... partner is... a part of who I... am, too." Blair grinned and grasped Jim's hand, squeezing gently. "Let's see... what S-imon has to... say tomorrow."

The next day; Simon Banks' office:

"Welcome back, Blair. It's good to see you again," the captain greeted his ex-detective.

"T-hanks..., Si-mon." Blair seated himself and accepted the cup of hazelnut coffee offered to him.

"So, I finally get to hear your new voice," Simon said, smiling. "Doesn't sound much like you."

"T-they haven't... quite mas-tered that..., yet," Blair replied, signing out of habit as he spoke.

"It's going to take him a while to become completely fluent," Jim added, reaching over to rest a hand on Blair's arm.

The anthropologist turned to grin at his partner. "I'm working... on it," he confirmed. "Takes prac-tice."

"When does the cast come off?" Simon asked, eyeing the well-autographed plaster monstrosity.

"An-other couple of... weeks," Blair answered. "It... itches like... crazy!" He tried sneaking a finger under the cast to reach the most recent means of his torture. "I can't... w-wait."

Simon chuckled. "I'll bet!"

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation.

"Come," Simon called.

Henri Brown stuck his head through the office door. "I heard Hairboy was back," he said. "Just wanted to see for myself." Then, signing toward Blair, Welcome back. We've missed you.

"Haven't you... heard?" Blair asked. "I've... got my v-oice... back."

"Hot damn!" Henri exclaimed. "Congratulations! Old Jimbo here isn't very good at keeping us informed."

"I just thought that maybe Blair would enjoy telling you himself," Jim retaliated.

"Well, that's great news!" Henri turned to the captain, looking contrite. "Sorry for the interruption, sir. I just wanted to welcome Blair back."

"He's not back yet," Simon informed him. "We're negotiating."

"Yeah, well, I'll just get out of here," Henri said, backing through the door and shutting it.

Simon chuckled. "You cause a scene wherever you go, don't you?" The question was directed at the anthropologist. "Now, about getting you back on the payroll.... What was it you had in mind?"

"I'm not... really sure yet," Blair admitted. "I've already... told J-im I... don't want to... give up tea-ching... altogether." He stopped for a breath. "If I start... back with the... PD, even part-time..., I'll... have to clear... things with Mr. Z-oster."

"Unfortunately, the PD has rules about disabled officers." Simon sighed. "Technically, you're still connected with the department. Personnel put you on unpaid medical leave after your sick days ran out."

"That was... over a year ago!" Blair was astonished. "I thought... I had a med-ical dis-charge."

"You never got the papers, did you?" Simon asked.

Blair looked at Jim, who shook his head. "No. I never... got any-thing formal.... I just as-sumed..."

"Never assume anything around here, especially where Jim's concerned," Simon said with a chuckle. "He wanted to make sure there was a loophole to bring you back."

"J-ames Jos-eph Ell-i-son!" Blair turned on his partner and glared. "Shame on you... working the sys-tem... like that."

Jim shrugged. "It worked, didn't it? You're technically still a cop. I know for a fact your badge and gun are locked in your top desk drawer. If you'd been retired, you would have had to turn those in."

"But I'm a tea-cher... now," Blair said, knowing the argument was weak.

"A teacher with a license to kill," Jim teased. Blair blushed.

"All right, gentlemen," Simon said, breaking into the private disagreement. "We came here to see what we might be able to work out. Any suggestions?"

"I can't... work the street... with J-im any-more..., right?" Blair asked for clarification.

"Technically, no," Simon agreed. "But you're still a detective, and there wouldn't be a whole lot I could do if you wanted to ride along with Ellison occasionally. Say, maybe to drop you off somewhere on his way to a crime scene."

"Uh-huh..." Blair nodded. "Es-peci-ally crime scenes... where his senses might... be par-ti-cularly useful?"

"I didn't say that," Simon said. "I didn't say that, did I, Jim?"

"No, sir. You didn't say that," Jim agreed, nodding.

A smile spread across Blair's features. "So, what... are we talk-ing here? A part-time... position, say... half days; or... some-thing on-call?"

"You name it, Sandburg. Whatever you can work out with the Director at the school and whatever you feel comfortable with," Simon told him.

"Oh, I feel com-fort-able with... Jim any-time," Blair answered, turning his smile on his partner. "It's just a... mat-ter of jugg-ling... two sche-dules. But it's... not like I've... never done that be-fore..., so let me see... what I can work out," he concluded.

"Sounds good to me," Simon agreed. "Gentlemen?" He stood and indicated the door. Jim and Blair both stood and made their way the short distance across the room. "It's good having you back, Sandburg. Just remember that this is a work place."

"Yeah, S-imon," Blair said, chuckling. "Thanks.... I will."

The two men exited the captain's office and walked toward Jim's desk. "So, what are you going to do with the rest of your day?" Jim asked, settling into his chair.

"I thought may-be... I'd go talk to Mr.... Zoster about my sche-dule... and see what we can... work out," Blair said. He looked up as Megan approached.

"Hi there, Sandy! I hear congratulations are in order," she said.

"Thanks. Yeah..., it's good being able... to talk again," Blair told her.

"So how about spilling the beans on this whole vacation-slash-disaster story of yours, huh? Trying to get anything out of Jim, here, is like pulling teeth."

Blair opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Jim. "Don't get him started, Megan," he warned. "You won't be able to get him to shut up."

The look Blair turned on his partner could have melted lead. Megan just laughed and guided the younger man away, toward her own desk. "I hear you boys have a nice cabin up in the woods...."

"Yeah, it's... great." Jim listened in as Blair spoke, a knowing smile curling his lips. "J-im knows this guy..., he's a forest ranger...."

*Blair's spam recipes can be found at http://www.spam.com.

For the purist: None of the indwelling voice prostheses I could find were made for use with the type of surgery Blair had in "Without Words." They all seem to be made for use with patients who have undergone a complete laryngectomy, which means the trachea and esophagus have been separated, and the trachea ends in a stoma (small hole) in the neck. The speaking devices are all inserted either through the stoma or through the mouth and stoma, and are made to bridge the division between the trachea and esophagus. One interesting page with a lot of information on the devices, including pictures, can be found at: http://web.nmsu.edu/~lleeper/pages/Prosth/. I have been purposely vague in describing the device, as I had to use a certain amount of poetic license to allow Blair to use it at all. All other medical descriptions are as accurate as my research could make them.

RETURN to my fiction page.