"I'm sorry mommy, I'm so sorry...."

"Shhhh...."

Ellison watched the reunion between mother and daughter from the doorway, blinking as rain water ran down his forehead and into his eyes. His sensitive nose was twitching with the smell of singed hair and flesh, and he tried to dial the stench down as Blair had shown him earlier that evening.

Blair!

With a start, he remembered coming down the stairs, hearing the painful sound of gun metal striking flesh, followed by Blair's cry.  Then again later, when Sandburg bravely tried to wrestle the gun from the bastard's grasp, providing the distraction that saved Angie's life. The rage he had felt then bubbled up fresh, and he felt relief that Weston had fried himself on the scaffold. It saved Jim the trouble of killing him.

He pondered that as he moved into the house and stood before his groggy partner. It was almost scary at times, the intense protective urge he felt over the young anthropologist who had tumbled into his life a year ago. Not even Carolyn had produced such feelings in him. Jim knew, without a doubt, that he had the capability to kill anyone who dared to hurt his Guide.

"Do I look that bad?"

The soft, weary voice pulled Jim out of his thoughts, and he grinned. Blair's bloodshot blue eyes were dimmed with pain, but they still sparkled as the young man gazed up at him. Jim gently held Blair's face in his hands and angled it up so he could check for concussion. Sandburg blinked up at him, eyes wide as Jim stared into them. He reminded Ellison of a baby owl he'd once found in his father's backyard, and a wave of affection washed over him.

With a pat to Blair's cheeks, the detective turned to check on Angie and Pam. The child's tears had been reduced to an occasional sniffle. Jim laid a hand on her head and made eye contact with her mother. He motioned up the stairs with his head. The woman nodded in understanding, and began to quietly coax her daughter that it was best to go back to bed.

"So? How bad is it?" Blair asked, reaching up toward the stinging, aching spot on his brow.

"No, don't touch." Jim caught his hand before he could infest the open wound with germs. He tugged his partner over to the couch, and pushed him to sit. "Stay here, and don't touch your head," he ordered. The big man went into the kitchen, pulling out his cell phone en route, glancing toward the front door. Angie smiled at him gratefully as she guided Pam upstairs. Jim returned the smile before dialing.

"Banks," Simon's voice was fuzzy, but audible to the sentinel. The storm plus the distance combined to create a poor connection.

'Simon, it's Jim," the sentinel said, holding the phone between his shoulder and ear as he opened the fridge. He removed a tray of ice cubes from the freezer, and cracked a few out onto the countertop. "We uh, had a little visit from Weston."

"WHAT?!"

Jim winced and held the phone away. "I said, we had a visit from Weston," he repeated, wrapping the ice up in a towel. "He's been eradicated, so we're gonna need the coroner up here. " he rattled off the address, then headed off another string of questions from the perturbed captain. "Listen, Simon, I'll tell you the whole story tomorrow. Right now I gotta tend to Sandburg."

"Blair? Is he all right? What happened? Do you need an ambulance?" A note of panic crept into the captain's voice.

"No, he's fine." Jim grinned as he finished preparing the cold compress. "Careful there, sir. I almost got the feeling you like the kid." He chuckled at the soft growl that came over the phone lines. "I could be wrong, of course. This connection isn't too clear."

"Exactly," Simon replied, "You're hearing a distortion. It's the only explanation."

Jim could hear the smile in the big man's voice. "Of course, sir." He gave his captain a very brief run down of Sandburg's latest adventure before disconnecting. Then he scooped up his ice pack and headed back into the living room.

Angie was sitting on the couch beside Blair, who was now stretched out on his back. The singer was gently stroking the dark curls back from Sandburg's face, and crooning one of her love songs in a soft voice. Blair was gazing up at her, goo-goo eyes at full throttle, a dopey smile on his face.

The sentinel chuckled as he knelt beside the couch. "OK, break it up," he growled, good-naturedly. Angie smiled, and Blair made a disappointed sound, glaring at Jim. Ellison noticed that the woman had retrieved the first aid kit, and he pointed to it. "Could you get me out some peroxide, gauze, and a butterfly bandage?"

Angie did as she was told, handing the items over. Jim cut off a piece of gauze and soaked it in peroxide. He saw Blair's eyes widen, and the young man tried to shrink into the couch as Jim brought the saturated cloth toward his forehead. As the disinfectant touched his wound, his pain receptors kicked into overdrive, and he flinched.  He sucked a breath between his clenched teeth with a hiss, and tried to turn his face away from the unpleasant burning sensation.

"Shhh," Jim soothed, reaching down to cradle the curly head in his free hand. It prevented the young man from pulling away, plus it allowed Ellison to weave his fingers through the dark curls, which had been proven to be a sure-fire way to calm his partner. Sure enough, as the detective's strong fingers gently caressed his scalp, Blair's eyelids drooped, and he sighed in contentment.

Jim finished cleaning the wound, and reached out his hand. Angie obediently placed the butterfly bandage on his palm, folding his fingers over it briefly. He did not fail to notice the way her fingertips stroked across his knuckles, and he smiled at her. Then he turned his attention back to his Guide. He removed his hand from the nest of curls, chuckling at the little groan of from the young man.

"Now then," Jim murmured softly. "This is going to hurt a little. Hold still for me, OK buddy?" His heart tightened as Blair swallowed, then nodded, wide blue eyes watching the sentinel's every move. Ellison peeled the backing off the bandage and fastened one tab to the skin above the ugly gash on Blair's brow. Then he slowly tugged, easing the edges of the wound closed, trying not to zone on the sound of Blair's racing heart.

Blair bit his lip and fought not to furrow his brow. He breathed rapidly through his nose, using the rhythm to distract himself from the pain. Cool fingers clasped his, and he looked down to see Angie holding his hand. He squeezed in gratitude, then closed his eyes in relief as Jim finished the job.

"There we go," Ellison said in satisfaction. That was always the hardest part of being a medic, having to hurt the patient in order to heal. When the patient was someone as dear to the medic as Blair was to him, it made it even more difficult. He patted his young friend on the shoulder, then reached around for the ice pack and placed it lightly on the darkening bruise.

Blair reached up, eyes still closed. Jim grabbed his wrist and guided him to the compress, holding the smaller hand under his own until he was sure Blair would not let the ice pack slip and dislodge the bandage. Assured that his friend was comfortable, the big man pointed to an afghan draped across the chair next to the couch. Angie snagged it and handed it across to him. With infinite care, he draped the wool blanket over his partner's body, tucking it in, creating a cocoon of warmth.

Blair opened his eyes and gazed up at Jim and Angie. He looked from one to the other, his glance coming to rest on his partner. A knowing smile ghosted across his lips just as his eyes drifted shut. A few moments later, his breathing settled into the deep, slow pattern of a sleeper. The hand holding the ice went limp, drooping down to curl against his cheek.

Jim grabbed the compress and settled it more securely, balanced on the smooth forehead. Then he gently took hold of Blair's wrist and guided the cold hand down to rest on his chest. Reaching across, he snagged a throw pillow and carefully eased it under the curly head. Sandburg sighed in contentment, and snuggled down into the cushions. He began to snore softly as Jim laid a hand on his cheek. Ellison didn't intend to let Blair sleep for more than an hour. He wasn't convinced the anthropologist did not have a concussion. He had toyed with the idea of keeping his Guide awake, but didn't have the heart. The way the kid slipped so easily into sleep made it clear that rest was what he needed.

"You love him, don't you?"

Angie's voice startled Jim, and he turned to see her smiling radiantly at him. He turned to gaze down at his sleeping partner again, and ran his knuckles lightly over and down Blair's cheek. When he turned back to Angie, there was a smile on his own face as well.

"Yes, I do," Jim whispered, not wanting to wake the exhausted young man. "He's like this missing piece of me." He paused to think over how his life had changed since Blair had become a part of it. "Did you know that it's possible to be missing an entire half of your soul, and not even realize it?" Ellison tuned from his place on the floor to study Angie's face.

"Yes," the singer replied, running a coffee-colored hand through her hair. "And some people never do find that other half." Her voice was soft, her dark eyes sad. Jim could tell she was deep in thought, probably reliving her past with Weston. Jim reached out to lay his hand on her arm.

"He saved my life," Angie continued, moving forward in her spot beside Blair. "Pam's too, I guess." She reached down and tugged a stray curl away from where it had caught on the sleeping man's lip. Her fingers lingered briefly in his hair, lightly scratching his scalp, and she and Jim both chuckled quietly as Blair leaned into the contact. "Love's having his hair played with, doesn't he?" she asked, light reappearing in her eyes.

"That he does," Jim concurred, reaching down himself to tousle his Guide's locks. "It's the only thing that he's even the least bit vain about. The first day we met, he insisted that if I wanted him to join the Academy, he wouldn't cut his hair."

"I don't blame him," Angie said, standing up and stretching. "Well, I think I'll go upstairs and pass out for a few hours. Any objections?" She bounced on her toes, increasing the stretch.

Jim was still watching Blair sleep. Without taking his eyes off his Guide, he nodded and replied, "Yeah, sure. Go ahead. I think I'm gonna stay up for a bit." He looked up at her, grinning as she fixed him with a inquisitive glance. "Wired," he replied simply. She nodded in understanding and turned, waving over her shoulder.

Jim watched her go, instinctively tracking her with his hearing. He heard her climb the stairs, then the soft sounds of her robe sliding off to pool on the floor. The sound of smooth skin easing between clean sheets was followed by the click of the upstairs light. When all was quiet except for the close breathing of his Guide, Jim was able to relax a little. He raised his watch and checked the time, then set the alarm to go off in one hour.

Leaning forward, he rested the side of his head on the couch, inches from Blair's ear. He tuned into his partner's life sounds, the respiration, heartbeat, the little whistle as the air went in and out of his nose. That would probably turn into a snore later, he reasoned. For someone with such a little nose, Blair could rattle windows with the best of them.

The memory of seeing his partner sprawled face down on the carpet, after being struck by Weston, sent a shiver through Ellison's backbone. He inched closer to the couch and reached up to wrap an arm around Blair's chest. He folded his other arm to form a makeshift pillow, and rested his cheek on it. He watched his own breath shift and flutter the sable curls over Blair's ear. It was soothing to be close to his Guide, and Jim felt himself slowly succumbing to sleep.

"Goodnight Chief," Jim breathed, rapidly drifting away into slumber. "Keep my half of the soul warm for me."

THE END