Blair deftly snatched his suitcase off the luggage carousel and looked around again for Jim. Still no sign of him. Blair sighed as he hefted his suitcase and started toward the waiting area of the airport. He'd told Jim to pick him up here at exactly 10 AM. It was now 10:20, and still Jim had not arrived. Blair shook his head. It wasn't like Ellison to be late, not even by five minutes, for anything. It was just one of the little quirks about his big partner that Blair found so endearing.

He sighed as he sat down in the cushioned seat and pulled out his notebook, looking over the notes he'd taken during his trip. He'd just spent 14 hours on a plane, flying home from Japan. Blair had gone to Tokyo for a week to visit a friend who had been an exchange student at Rainer, and was now the Curator of the Cultural History wing of the Tokyo Museum. Isaki had asked Blair to come and visit for personal reasons, and also to get the young man's input in the best way to set up the new wing. Blair had jumped at the chance.

He smiled as he remembered Jim's reaction a week ago at the news that he was going.

"Japan?" the big man asked in disbelief. "You're going to Japan? For how long?"

Blair smiled. Jim was still a little nervous that Blair might some day up and leave him and his heightened senses alone. True, the anxiety had lessened considerably as time went by, but Blair knew that Jim still thought about that excursion to Borneo that the anthropologist had almost been a part of. It would've separated them for at least a year. Blair still found himself wondering at times what might have happened if he'd gone. Would he and Jim have teamed up again when he returned? Or would the Sentinel and his Guide have parted ways for good?

Seeing Jim's discomfort at the news of the trip to Japan, Blair laid a reassuring hand on his big friend's shoulder. "Only for a week, Jim. I promise, you'll never know I was gone." He smiled up at his partner and, as always, felt his heart flutter as the blue eyes gazed into his own. Blair had made the startling discovery a few months ago that he was falling in love with Jim Ellison. The whole idea both shocked and thrilled him. Shocked him, because he'd never had such deep feelings for a man before, although he'd always suspected he would find love in an unexpected place; it was just his way.

At the same time, Blair was thrilled when he realized that it was actual, honest-to-goodness love that he was feeling toward Jim. Love was something he'd begun to doubt he'd ever find. The closest he had come had been with Maya, and that had ended... well... badly.

Once Blair had confirmed that he loved Jim, things got complicated. He wanted so much to tell the big man about his feelings for him. He wanted Jim to know how much he'd come to mean to him. But the time just never seemed right, somehow. He'd come close to telling Jim as soon as he'd realized what he was feeling. It was right after his incident with the Golden Drug. He and Jim were at the loft, discussing the odd, glowy after-effect of the drug on their vision. Blair had gazed down at Jim's long form reclining on the couch, and remembered the joy he'd felt at seeing Jim's face as he came out of the coma. Jim's face had been the first thing Blair had seen, and he had instantly been reminded of what had happened in the garage. He remembered, with perfect clarity the sensation of Jim wrapping him in his strong embrace, protecting him from the nightmare images the drug had conjured up. He'd been about tell Jim how he felt about him when Margaret had arrived. Blair had pushed the feelings back down and made a graceful exit. He hadn't made a second attempt at confessing his love since.

Jim drove him to the airport the morning of his flight. At Blair's command, the big man sighed and again recited the date and time that Blair would be arriving back in Cascade. Jim promised to be there to pick him up. Blair smiled at him, and was just opening the door of the Ford, when Jim's hand gently lit upon his shoulder. Blair turned back to ask what was wrong, only to be startled as Jim's lips brushed his cheek. The big man had just kissed him.

"Jim?" Blair asked, shocked, gazing into the blue eyes. Eyes that quickly shifted to stare at the floor.

"I... I'm sorry, Chief," Jim sputtered, face reddening. "I don't know why I... I just...,"

Blair stopped the string of shaky words with a gentle finger on Jim's lips. "Shhhh," He smiled reassuringly as Jim's eyes crept up to meet his again. "There's no faster to way to ruin a moment like this than to try and apologize for it." Blair's heart leapt with joy as a look of relief mixed with love passed over Jim's face.

"You... you mean... you're not... upset?" Jim asked, voice filled with hope. Blair's reply was to cup Jim's rugged face in his hands and tenderly kiss him on the lips. The look of happiness on the big detective's face nearly brought tears to Blair's eyes.

"Do you know how long I've been waiting for this?" Blair whispered, leaning forward to brush his lips against Jim's ear. "I've been in love with you for months! Ever since, you know, my drug thing...," Blair left the sentence hanging as Jim's lips found his again.

"Yes," Jim murmured as the kiss ended, lowering his face to nuzzle Blair's neck. "That's about when it happened for me, too. When you were in my arms on the garage floor, all I could think was 'Please... let it be me instead... please don't let him die... I love him.' " Jim's eyes were misty when he met Blair's gaze again. "I do, Blair. I love you." The big detective's face brightened as he finally spoke the words he'd been thinking for months, afraid to say.

"I love you, too," Blair breathed. Then he caught a glimpse of his watch. "Oh shit Jim, why did we have to wait until ten minutes before I fly across the planet to start this?" he whispered as Jim's arms wrapped around him and pulled him close. The big hands rubbed his back, and tangled lovingly through his curls. "Jim.... Ohhhh Jim," Blair felt himself becoming aroused as Jim began to trail his tongue down the side of Blair's neck. The young man glanced back over his shoulder toward the terminal. "Maybe... maybe I can... arrange to get a later flight...."

Jim immediately stopped the motion of his tongue and sat back. "No," he said firmly. He kissed Blair once again. "It's OK, I'll still love you just as much when you get back, I swear," he said. Then a mischievous smile had crossed Jim's lips. "Maybe even more. You know what they say about absence making the heart grow fonder?" Jim bobbed his eyebrows at his young friend.

Blair took a deep breath before replying, "If that's true, then you'd better be prepared when you pick me up in a week. I may just jump your bones right there in the terminal!" Blair grinned as Jim laughed at him. He loved the sound of Jim's laughter. The big man pulled him close for one last, long, lip-numbing, toe-curling kiss good-bye before shooing him out of the vehicle to catch his plane. "Good luck on the stake-out, man!" Blair called back over his shoulder as he ran. He managed to catch one last glimpse of his new love's smiling face as he passed through the terminal doors.

That was a week ago. Now Blair was smiling, lost in the memories as he sat in the waiting area of the airport. He snapped to suddenly and checked his watch. 10:45!Sheesh, he thought.Figures Jim has to be late the one time when I'm, like, DYING to see him! All the way home during the 14 hour flight, Blair had thought about all the wonderful physical things he and his new lover were going to try when he got home. He blushed as he remembered having to hold a newspaper over his crotch as one of the flight attendents had offered him a beverage. He hadn't wanted her to think that she was the reason his arousal was leveling off somewhere in the 'Able To Cut Diamonds' range.

Come on Jim, where are you man?! Blair looked around the terminal again, scanning for his friend. He did a double take as he spotted a familiar figure striding quickly toward him, though not the figure he'd been expecting. Captain Simon Banks was walking toward the area where Blair sat.Jim must've gotten caught up at work or something, he thought. He stood up and waved, calling cheerfully, "Simon!"

Simon heard the familiar voice and turned toward it. Blair was standing there, waving at him, happy as could be. Simon took a deep, shuddering breath as he made eye contact with the young man, and slowly moved toward him. This was going to be difficult. Very, very difficult.

Blair froze, hand in mid-wave as he saw the Captain's face. Something was wrong. Something had happened while Blair was in transit. He felt his pulse begin to pound in his head as Simon slowly came to stand before him.

"Blair," Simon began. "Blair... I'm sorry Jim didn't come to pick you up." The Captain averted his eyes from the desperate blue gaze of the young man before him.

"What...," Blair stopped to swallow, feeling his throat beginning to close up. "What is it... Captain... Simon?" Blair held his breath as the big man's eyes, now full of tears, met his again.Please no..., Blair's mind wailed.Ohpleasepleaseplease dear God anything but...,

"Blair... this morning there was an accident...," Simon began again. "An explosion... at Jim's stakeout...," Simon's voice broke, and he stopped to clear his throat.

"Is Jim... OK?" Blair squeaked. He knew the answer, even before Simon's tears began to spill down his dark cheeks.

"Blair, I'm sorry.... I'm so sorry, kid...," Simon took a deep breath. "Jim is dead."

Jim suddenly became aware of his surroundings. It wasn't like waking up, or opening his eyes, or even regaining consciousness. It was just one minute there was nothing, and the next he was standing in what appeared to be a white room. A room with no doors or windows, he discovered as he looked around. So how did he get in here? White ceiling, white floor, everywhere Jim looked was white. Where the hell was he? Was he dreaming?

Jim tried to remember the details of the time before he had found himself in this place. He'd been on a stakeout. Alone, he remembered, because Blair was... Blair was... Blair was in Japan! That was it, he remembered now, Blair had gone to visit a friend in Japan, something about a museum. Jim smiled and raised a hand to touch his lips as he remembered saying good bye to his new love at the airport, the kiss they had shared as they finally realized....

Jim stared at his hand in awe, not quite reaching his lips. His hand was glowing. An inspection of the rest of his body revealed that he was naked, and shimmering from head to toe with a sort of hazy, iridescent silvery sparkle. It was similar to the effect of the Golden Drug on his eyesight, only there was nothing unpleasant about it. Jim shook his hands a few times, just to see what would happen, but the glow stayed. Resigned, Jim returned his attention to trying to remember how he'd gotten here.

He was on the stakeout, holed up in a filthy, run-down little shack to keep an eye on a family of drug dealers in the house across the street. It was early morning, very early, the sun wasn't up yet. Jim had just gone to the window to check the activity of the "drug house," when....

What was it? Something important, he'd noticed something that made him stop in his tracks. Jim held his glowing head in his equally glowing hands, rubbing his temples as he fought to remember. Gunpowder. Jim's head shot up. He had smelled gunpowder! Too much to be from just his gun, he'd realized. So he'd gone to investigate, using his sense of smell to track the source of the scent. He had moved into the basement, senses wide open, searching. As he inspected the underground room, Jim's sensitive ears had picked up a voice coming from outside. A familiar voice.

The gunpowder forgotten for the moment, he had run to the window to look out. From the dirty, ground-level window, he spotted a human figure moving away from the house. Jim focused his Sentinel sight on the retreating figure just as the man paused to look back at the house. Jim's blood had run cold. Liam Wallace.

Liam was one of the most elusive extortionists in the city of Cascade, and one of Jim Ellison's sworn enemies. Liam and his two brothers, Derek and Marcus, offered 'Protection Services' to the business owners of Cascade, in return for a large chunk of their profits. Only a month before, Jim and Blair had managed to get the youngest brother put away for life for the murder of Jonathan Meyers. Marcus Wallace had undoubtedly been following his brother's orders when he killed the well-liked, prosperous young business owner. Meyers had refused to yield to the Wallaces' threats, rallied the other business owners in his neighborhood to do the same, and had therefore been eliminated. Upon arresting Marcus Wallace, Jim had expected to be able to put away Liam as well. But The Wallace Brothers were loyal; Marcus had clamed up tighter than a steel trap. It had become clear very quickly that he was going to be no help in arresting his oldest brother, the ringleader, regardless of how sweet a deal the police offered him.

From his window in the basement, Jim had made eye contact with Liam for a moment. The bastard had smiled at Jim, waved, and mouthed the words "Good-bye, Detective." Then Jim remembered smelling something burning and hearing a loud noise behind him. He'd turned to see what it was, and was slammed violently into the stone wall of the basement, feeling his skin and lungs seared as the room was engulfed in flames.

Jim's eyes flew open. The basement, right, he'd been in an explosion. He looked around again. So what was this place? Was he in a hospital? Jim sighed, and searched again for a way out of the stark, white room, but found none. He was beginning to get frustrated, and a little bit scared when a gentle voice reached his ears.

"Hello Jim."

Ellison whirled to face the owner of the voice. The question of how this person had entered the room died on Jim's lips as he identified the speaker. "What the hell?"

Danny Choy laughed, and folded his hands behind his back. "No Jim, not quite." Danny took a deep breath as he studied his mentor, his honorary big brother who'd been with him when Danny had been murdered. Shot in the back by Tommy Juno. Ellison looked good, for a dead guy. The young Asian man smiled gently at the shock on his friend's face as he walked over to lay a hand on Jim's shoulder. "We need to talk," Danny said softly.

The funeral went by in a blur. Blair barely remembered the way the crowd had milled around him, Jim's fellow officers patting him on the back, one or two of the younger officers hugging him as they gave him their condolences. He remembered Carolyn, weeping in Simon's arms as the flag-draped mahogany casket was slowly lowered into the ground, while a lone bugler played Taps in the background.

Blair hadn't cried. Not when Simon told him the news at the airport, not at the wake, not at the funeral. The whole thing felt unreal, dreamlike. It wasn't Jim in that coffin. It wasn't his friend, his partner, the man he loved who was being committed to the hard Earth. It was just a shell, a husk, the empty chrysalis of something beautiful that was now somewhere else. The Priest had droned on and on about 'walking with God,' that 'our brother Jim' was 'in a better place.'I don't care, Blair had thought.He's not with me.

Now, a week later, Blair was moving absently around the loft, packing up the last few belongings of his dead friend to be sent to Goodwill. Blair sighed as he folded up a pair of Jim's favorite old faded blue jeans, soft and velvety with wear. Blair was about to lay the pants on top of the stack of clothes in the cardboard box, when he paused. Slowly, he lifted the jeans to rub the denim softly against his cheek, inhaling the scent of his lost love still present on the fabric. The scent brought back a flood of memories. Jim laughing, either with Blair or at something Blair had said, blue eyes twinkling. Jim scolding, teaching, comforting, protecting....

Blair felt the tears that had been absent until now rising up in his throat, burning like acid. Clutching the jeans tightly to his chest, Blair backed away from the boxes that contained all that was left of his love to slowly sink down against the wall. He buried his face in the denim in his arms and began to sob. He let out all the pent-up sorrow, all the anguish he'd been protecting himself from. He cried, aching for Jim.

Blair remembered those loving, playful, two-handed face slaps that Jim bestowed on him from time to time. So many little touches they had shared, touches of friendship. As Blair sobbed, he realized that he and Jim had been in love for a much longer time than either of them had realized. Now it was gone. "Oh God Jim... I miss you so much...," he whimpered into his drawn-up knees.

Blair wept for a long time. When he lifted his head at last, there were long shadows creeping across the loft floor. Blair glanced at his watch and saw that it was late afternoon. He'd better get dinner started before Jim got home.... Blair collapsed back against the wall in despair as the tears started anew. How long would it take before he stopped feeling that Jim was still alive? That his friend and love was still a part of his life. When would Blair's heart finally believe and accept that he and Jim were never going to be together again....

He closed his eyes, head tilted back against the wall, face toward the ceiling. He cried quietly for a few more minutes, then froze. His eyes flew open and he quickly jerked his head up and looked around. Blair stood, shakily, and carefully scanned the loft, dropping Jim's blue jeans from his arms to rub his face with both hands. It seemed so crazy, but for just a moment there, as he sat crying, he swore he could feel... hands on his face. Big, warm, rough hands stroking his face in the gentlest of caresses, like the touch of a butterfly's wings. His heart began to pound as he realized he'd recognized the touch. The hands had been Jim's.

"That's... pathetic man," Blair said crossly, chastising himself bitterly, one hand still absently examining his tingling cheekbone. He sighed. He was so desperate for Jim's touch that now he was imagining it. Blair huffed in annoyance with himself and crossed to the fridge for some juice. He tried to still his shaking hands as he poured himself a glass, drained it, then scanned the loft again. He had the oddest feeling that he wasn't alone, and found his eyes drawn almost magnetically to the spot on the couch that Jim usually occupied.

Blair walked over to the couch, wondering if he was going mad, and knelt. Hesitantly, fearfully, Blair stretched a hand toward the cushion where Jim used to sit to watch the news. He touched his palm lightly to the rough material, and then gasped and drew his hand back as if receiving an electric shock. The cushion was warm! Blair straightened, one hand moving to run nervously through his hair as he looked around the loft again. He was the only one here, he was alone. No one was watching him. No one....

THUMP THUMP THUMP!

"AAH!" Blair yelped as there was a knock at the door. He took a few deep gulping breaths, trying to still his racing heart. "Who's there?" he called, as he gingerly touched the couch cushion again. Cold.

"Package for Blair Sandburg," called the male voice from the other side of the door.

Blair gathered his wits and crossed to open the door, after checking the peephole to see the uniformed delivery man. "Hi there, " Blair said, forcing a smile as he signed for the parcel.

The man was eyeing Blair with uncertainty. "Are you OK sir? You look like you've seen a ghost," the delivery man said as he handed Blair the brown-paper wrapped package.

Seen? No.... Touched? Maybe..., Blair laughed lightly, or tried to. It came out more as a pained whimper. He quickly swallowed the sound and waved his free hand in a dismissive gesture. "I'm fine.... Low blood sugar, forgot my Wheaties this morning," Blair managed a genuine smile as the young delivery man chuckled.

"All right then, you have a nice evening sir!" The delivery man tipped his cap at Blair and went down the stairs.

"Thanks man!" Blair called without enthusiasm as he closed the door, cradling the medium sized package against his chest. He held the box up to study the address. To him, from..., Blair tried to make out the return address. It was considerably smudged; all he could make out was 'Museum of". He shrugged, and crossed to lay the parcel on the table. Probably one of the items he'd asked to borrow from Isaki, his Japanese friend. Most of the details of that trip were now very unclear. Blair went to the drawer in the kitchen and retrieved a pair of scissors. He was about to cut away the brown paper wrapping the package, when...

CRASH!

Blair dropped the scissors and whirled, one hand going to his chest. He gasped for air, turning his gaze toward the direction of the sound. Toward Jim's bedroom. Slowly, Blair moved across the floor to the foot of the stairs and paused, listening. "Hello?" he called softly. There was only silence in response. Blair went up five steps and froze again, straining his ears for any sound. That feeling of being watched had returned in force, and his voice quavered now as he called quietly, "Jim... are you here?"

Nothing. Blair sighed, and ran a hand through his hair again as he climbed the stairs to Jim's room. He stood beside Jim's bed and slowly scanned the area, looking for the source of the crash. What few belongings of Jim's that were still in the bedroom seemed undisturbed, and Blair was just turning to go back downstairs, when something in front of the dresser caught his eye. He crossed, and knelt to examine the object.

It was the remains of a framed photograph, now tattered and ruined, broken glass everywhere. As Blair stood with the photo in hand, he recognized it as the picture that Jim had kept on top of his dresser. Blair sat down on the bed as he studied the photograph; he and Jim being awarded medals for stopping Lee Brackett. Jim had his arm around Blair, smiling proudly at the younger man. Blair had his arms raised in victory, half looking at Jim, also smiling. A picture of friendship, plain and simple.

The image in front of Blair blurred as his eyes began to fill up again. Blair scrubbed the tears away angrily, then carefully extricated the photograph from the remains of the broken frame. He carried the photo downstairs with him and moved into his bedroom, where he propped it carefully against the lamp on his nightstand. Blair gazed at the happy people in the photograph for a moment more before returning to his unopened package.

"Now then, let's see what we have here," he said to himself as he picked up the scissors again. He moved the scissors toward the package. Movement from the kitchen counter suddenly caught his eye. He looked up just in time to see his juice glass slide across the countertop and smash to the floor of its own accord. Blair froze, eyes growing wide, feeling his pulse racing faster and faster. He had just watched an inanimate object come to life and move all by itself. With trembling hands, Blair put the scissors down again and moved to get the broom from its hook on the wall, eyes never leaving the shattered glass on the floor. He warily poked at the bits of glass with the broom, jumping back in case the thing started moving again. But the glass behaved itself, staying put as Blair swept it up and dumped it into the trash. As he replaced the broom on its hook, Blair began to seriously consider getting therapy. After all, losing someone as close as Jim could take a heavy toll on a person....

Blair began mentally to run down his list of therapists as he moved again to try and open his package. He reached for the scissors, then began to search the tabletop, then the floor. Where were the scissors? He'd just put them on the table, he was sure of it! Blair straightened and sighed, spreading his hands and looking beseechingly toward heaven.What's the deal, huh? he thought. He looked around once more, but the scissors didn't show themselves. Blair gave up on the scissors and decided he would just tear the parcel open with his bare hands. He reached out.

"Ungh!" Blair cried in alarm. His hands, he couldn't move his hands! He stood there, frozen to the spot, fingertips just inches from the surface of the brown paper. Blair stepped backwards away from the package, and sighed in relief as the strange numb stiffness left his hands. He shook his fingers, wiggling them to restore feeling. That was odd, almost like his hands had fallen asleep. Must have been from using the broom. Blair reached for the package again, and again his hands were grabbed and held by some unseen force.

"What... is going... ON?!!!" he yelled. Violently he yanked his hands away from the parcel on the table, and began to stalk around the kitchen. He consciously avoided the area where his juice glass had bungeed off the countertop, and moved around the table to try and approach the package from the opposite side. Maybe the emotional stress was creating some kind of mental block.A mental block against opening my mail? Yeah right, Blair. Psych minor my ass!

Determined Blair reached for the package again. This time, when he felt the odd stiffness beginning in his fingers, he increased his efforts to touch the package. Straining, sweating, feeling his hands beginning to burn, Blair lunged forward and wrapped both hands around the parcel. He gave a satisfied sigh, and began to rip the paper off.

"NO, BLAIR!!!"

As the disembodied voice bellowed through the loft, Blair screamed in terror and bolted for the door, the mysterious package long forgotten. Not bothering to grab his keys, or even shut the door behind him, Blair all but fell down the stairs to the street and ran. He ran as fast as he could, away from the possessed photograph and juice glass, away from the invisible force that had seized his hands...,

Away from Jim's voice.

Simon entered the loft and looked around. He didn't expect to see anything out of the ordinary, and his expectations were met as he entered and began to walk through the apartment. He moved into the kitchen and examined the countertop where Sandburg had apparently watched a drinking glass come to life. Simon began to grow irritated as he continued to investigate. His gaze settled on the boxes of Jim's belongings, and the Captain felt his eyes fill up with tears. He hastily brushed them away and turned to motion to Blair, who was peeking fearfully at him from around the doorway to the loft.

"Come on in Sandburg, there's nothing here," Simon called. He watched, pity welling up as the young man crept hesitantly into the apartment, eyes searching every corner. Simon made a mental note to have Sandburg checked out by the precinct's psychiatrist. Losing Jim had taken a terrible toll on the kid.

When Blair had called him from the pay phone, Simon had wondered if perhaps the Precinct's jokes about Sandburg and narcotics might not be justified. After calming the hysterical young man, Simon listened in shock to tales of invisible intruders, dancing juice glasses, and ghostly voices. At first Simon had tried to dismiss Sandburg's fears as part of his imagination, telling the young man he was just going through emotional stress. But the tearful begging and pleading that followed had forced Simon to agree to come and take a look at what Blair was now calling "The Haunted Loft."

Now he gestured for Blair to come over to him. He laid a hand on Blair's shoulder and guided him around the apartment, asking if Blair saw or felt anything out of the ordinary.

Blair said no. It was true; the presence he'd felt before was gone. Now there was no feeling left in the loft. Just a sense of loss and emptiness. The spirit that was Jim was gone. His friend, his love, was gone. Blair took a deep shuddering breath as he realized how foolish he must now seem to Simon.

Simon glanced down at the shaky breath. He turned Blair to face him. "You OK?" he asked softly.

Blair nodded, not looking at him. He was looking instead at the boxes of Jim's clothes. Blair's breathing began to hitch.

Simon's heart clenched up as he watched big tears forming in Blair's hunted eyes. With a sigh, Simon pulled the smaller man into his arms and just held him. He closed his eyes as the pitiful sounds of Blair's sobs reached his ears, small desperate hands clutching at the back of his long coat. "Shhhh," Simon soothed, reaching one hand to lay on the back of the curly head. "It's all right. Everything will be fine."

Simon held Blair as the sobs came to a snuffling, gasping end, to be replaced by deep, even breathing. The arms around Simon's waist went limp. The Captain looked down sharply, then smiled as a snore issued from the face pressed to his chest. Poor kid had worn himself out; he was asleep on his feet.

Very gently, Simon lifted Blair into his arms and carried him into his bedroom. He sat Blair down on the little bed and slipped the sneakers from his feet. Then he gently eased the exhausted anthropologist down to lay on the bed, and draped a blanket over him.

Simon just stood over Blair for a long time, watching him sleep, studying the tracks of tears drying on the innocent-looking face. Absently, Simon reached down to lay a hand on the smooth forehead.

"It's no wonder Jim loved you," he breathed softly. "You made him whole, Blair. You were his heart, his life...," Simon bit his lip as he felt tears pushing against the back of his throat. "I just don't know what you're going to do without him," he whispered.

Simon saw the damaged photograph on the nightstand, picked it up, and moved back out into the living room. He studied the photo of Jim and Blair and smiled at the memory of the day it was taken. He'd never seen Ellison looking prouder or happier than he had as the medal was draped over his partner's head. Simon sat down on the couch and spoke to the flat image of Jim.

"Well detective," he said, "What do I do now?" Simon sighed, and rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. It was hard enough for a captain to lose one of his men; it was worse when that man was a close friend. The fact that it was beginning to look as though Jim had been murdered made it especially difficult to cope. Forensics had found elements of what might have been a fire bomb in the basement of the shack Jim had been staked out in. What had been thought to be an accident now seemed intentional.

Simon stood, moved quietly back into the little bedroom, and replaced the photograph where he'd found it. He gazed once more at the sleeping Sandburg, then turned and left, muttering, "Who's going to take care of him now, Jim?" As Simon was about to exit the loft, he caught sight of the parcel on the kitchen table. Recognizing it as the package Blair had been so upset by, Simon crossed the room and picked it up. He decided to keep it for Blair until the young man was more able to deal with the real world. Simon snatched a scrap of paper and pencil from beside the telephone, and scribbled a quick note to Blair, letting the young man know that he'd taken the package. He left the note in the package's place on the table. Tucking the brown paper parcel beneath his arm, Simon left, closing the door behind him.

The night passed without incident; Blair slept easy for the first time since Jim's death. Now, as the first rays of early morning light began to filter through the windows of the apartment, a shimmering glow appeared in the living room amidst the boxes of Jim's clothes. The glow coalesced into a human figure, who stood unsteadily for a moment, just looking around. After a while, the visitor began to explore, and was drawn to the open door of Blair's room.

Blair was oblivious, sleeping peacefully as the visitor came to hover over him. A glowing hand reached down to tenderly caress the side of the curl-covered head, drawing back as the young man stirred a bit. The hand gently pushed the hair back from the sweet face, and the figure studied Blair silently for a long minute. Then, with a final touch to the smooth brow, the visitor turned and moved back out into the living room, the silvery glow slowly fading.

The shimmering figure was drawn to one of the open boxes of Jim's clothing. A long coat on top of the pile caught the visitor's eye, and the glowing hand picked it up. The figure shook the wrinkles out of the coat, then shrugged into it, smiling in satisfaction. The glow faded completely as the fabric covered his body.

Blair was dreaming of Jim. A sweet smile crossed his lips as, in his dream, Jim's fingers lightly stroked the side of his face, pushing his hair back. He tried to lean into the touch, but Jim had vanished, to be replaced by a feeling of emptiness. A wave of despair crashed over Blair, then, and he moaned softly in his sleep. Suddenly, a sound from outside his dreams invaded, and the blue eyes flew open. Blair sat up on the bed, listening intently. There it was again; a funny sort of shuffling, rustling sound. Holding his breath, Blair stood and slowly moved toward the doorway of his room. The sounds were coming from the living room. Blair peered carefully around the door jam, squinting in the bright morning sunshine.

There was someone in the living room! Blair stared at the intruder, and his jaw dropped as he recognized Jim's long black raincoat. The guy was wearing Jim's raincoat! The tall figure kept his back to Blair as he pawed through one of the boxes of Jim's clothes, and Blair felt rage beginning to boil up inside him. How dare this person barge into his home! And who did he think he was, desecrating Jim's belongings?

Blair hovered in the doorway of his room, trying to decide what to do. His first thought was to bolt for the door, but that would move him into the intruder's line of vision. Blair could see the guy was quite large; he would be able to overpower Blair easily. Blair's gaze moved to the phone on the wall, and he briefly considered trying to call the police. Then he caught sight of his treasured baseball bat, once the property of Nolan Ryan, resting in the corner beside his bookshelf. Blair snagged it, and held it at the ready as he stalked toward the mysterious figure.

The intruder was unaware of the young anthropologist creeping up behind him. Casually, he selected a pair of black jeans from the box before him, and stepped into them. He pulled the jeans up, carefully zipped them, and smiled. They still fit! He felt much better with the jeans on; he'd been starting to feel like a flasher, wearing nothing but the raincoat. He readjusted the coat now, shifting his shoulders in discomfort. The new additions to his body were exciting and useful, but damned uncomfortable! He felt the raincoat was a necessity, though, for now. Blair was going to be shocked enough to see him as it was. It would be easier if he didn't need to explain his new... features.

Blair crept closer as the man straightened, fastening Jim's jeans and shrugging his extremely broad shoulders under Jim's raincoat. Blair drew back the bat, intending to bring it around against the back of the bastard's skull. The figure must have sensed him, because he suddenly whirled to face Blair. Blair stared.

"Hi Chief," Jim said softly. He smiled gently at the shocked expression Blair's face as the bat slowly slipped from the young man's grasp to clatter on the floor. Jim took a step forward, and Blair's eyes widened with terror, the expressive face paling.

"Jim... you're... you're...," Blair's mind was approaching meltdown. He thought he could actually hear warning klaxons wailing inside his brain. This was not possible. This was wrong! It had to be a trick, Jim was dead.

Jim held up his hands, keeping his voice soft. "Easy now," he said. He moved slowly toward his young friend, not wanting to frighten him any further. Jim's Sentinel ears could hear Blair's heart pounding; his Guide was rapidly approaching panic. "Everything's fine, Blair," he soothed, "Just relax."

"Relax... yeah sure," Blair mumbled, eyes glazing over. "That's a... good... idea...," Blair's voice faded as his legs turned to jell-o. The last things he was aware of was Jim rushing toward him, and the sensation of being swept up and carried. Then Blair's conscious mind checked out and blackness descended.

Continue on to Part 2