The chaos had nearly dispersed by the time Jim returned from saying good- bye to Akiko. His lips still tingled from the kiss, and he brushed his fingertips across them with a small smile. It would never work out between them, he knew. Still...she was something.

Blair was leaning against the truck, waiting for him. The not-quite-hidden smirk on the anthropologist's face indicated that he knew exactly what his partner and Akiko had been up to during their brief disappearance. Ellison held up a hand as the young man opened his mouth. Blair paused, then comically closed his mouth, mimed locking his lips and threw away the imaginary key. Jim chuckled.

The ride back to the loft was relatively quiet, with both men going over the events that had led up to the death of a good cop. Mike had wanted to rid his city of gang violence. His motives had been good, only his methods were wrong. He'd tried to compensate for his wrong doings in the end, by saving Akiko's life. In his final action he had fulfilled his sworn duty to protect and to serve.

Jim's stomach was churning uneasily, and he winced as he rubbed a hand across his belly. Blair looked over at him anxiously, but the big man just waved him off, shaking his head. As they pulled into the parking space in front of the loft, his ulcer began to burn.

It was turning out to be a rough year, Ellison reasoned. Confirming the death of his old partner, Jack. Having his captain shot and nearly killed by a psychotic small-town sheriff. Earlier in the year, he and his partner abducted by a rogue CIA agent. The whole strange, new world that opened up when his senses came back online. Losing Danny. Almost losing Blair.

Funny enough, as he had lain his hand on Mike's forehead after the arrest, the person he'd been thinking more of was his young partner. It hadn't been all that long ago that David Lash had nearly killed Blair. And just yesterday, getting himself involved in that deadly chase. It could easily have been Blair laying on that stretcher, in the black body bag.

The thought chilled him, and he shuddered as he pushed open the door to the loft and ushered Blair inside. His stomach let out another acidic burble, and he headed for the bathroom. He heard his Guide following as he opened the medicine cabinet and retrieved a bottle of antacids. The sentinel smiled as he saw that the bottle was nearly half-empty.

/Does a pessimist see the bottle of antacids as half empty or half full?/ Jim thought, amused. He was about to share his thoughts with Blair, when the young man turned and went back into the living room. The detective tossed a couple of the chalky, citrus-flavored tablets into his mouth and chewed them up, rinsing them down with a cup of water from the tap. Then he left the small room to join his roommate.

Blair was seated on the couch, shirt raised, apparently looking at his abdomen. He quickly pulled the shirt down as Jim came to stand by his side.

"What's up, Chief? Did you find your belly-button?" the detective asked with a grin, laying a hand on Blair's shoulder.

"Funny Jim," Blair replied, chuckling.

Jim leaned over and playfully patted Blair's stomach, drawing back quickly when the young man gave a gasp of pain. It was only then that the sentinel noticed that the front of his partner's shirt was ripped. Heedless of Sandburg's protestations, the older man eased up the hem of the shirt. He winced as he got a look at what Blair had been trying to hide from him.

"It's nothing, Jim," Blair insisted, seeing the look on his friend's face. "I'll take care of it." He pulled his shirt down again with one hand, motioning to Ellison's bedroom with the other. "Why don't you go to bed man, you look beat," he added, trying to distract the big man.

Ellison ignored him, gently pushing Blair's hands aside so he could lift the shirt again. His partner's graceful dive to catch the detonator had saved the lives of everyone in the vicinity of the bomb. It had also left him with a torso covered with bruises and abrasions, some spots rubbed raw and bleeding. Tiny slivers of glass and bits of gravel were stuck here and there. It hurt just to look at it, and the sentinel turned an accusing eye on his young partner.

"Jesus, Blair," he muttered, getting up and heading back into the bathroom. He called out to his young friend as he opened the medicine cabinet and began rummaging inside. "Why didn't you say something? Those are nasty little injuries you got there." He picked up the antibacterial salve, medical scissors, tape and bandages, then moved to retrieve a clean washcloth and towel from the cabinet. He then went to the kitchen and got a bowl, filled it with warm tap water, and returned to the living room. Blair was sulking on the couch.

"I'm sorry Jim, I didn't want to worry you." The anthropologist's voice was soft, gentle. "You had so much to think about at the scene, and then you didn't seem to feel well when we got home...I figured I deal with it myself." He turned pained blue eyes up at his partner as the big man knelt before him, setting the first aid products on the coffee table. Ellison motioned for him to lie down, and Blair obeyed with an impatient sigh. "You really don't have to...,"

"Shut up," Jim said, but kindly. He flashed a brief smile at his roommate as he carefully unbuttoned the few buttons left on the tattered shirt. "Let me take care of you, OK? At least that's one thing I can do." The self-deprecating statement hung in the silence that followed, and Ellison focused his attentions on the task at hand.

Blair watched his partner, heart aching for the big man. Jim had been through so much; it was amazing he was still as kind and caring as he was. An ordinary man would have turned harsh and cold by now, concerned only with himself, his own life. Ellison was the opposite, at least when it came to his Guide.

The former Army Ranger peeled open Blair's shirt, and carefully brushed away the gravel and glass. The young man hissed and Jim lightened his touch, using his sensitive fingertips to seek out the tiny bits of foreign material. When the worst of the dirt was gone he picked up the washcloth, dipped it in the water, and stroked it softly across the damaged skin, wiping away dried blood and the rest of the dirt. Then he laid the cloth aside, picked up the towel and gently dabbed away the moisture, drying without further irritating.

When the affected area was clean and dry, the detective picked up the tube of salve and squeezed a little onto his fingertips. With the gentleness of a trained medic, he dotted the viscous gel onto each cut and scrape, then rubbed it into the bruises. After all the areas of broken skin had been tended, the big man began to check Blair's ribs. The anthropologist had landed like a ton of bricks after his leap, and injured ribs were a definite possibility. As he ran his fingertips along the base of Blair's ribcage, the young man gave a little gasp. Jim froze. "I'm sorry," he said. "Does that hurt?"

"No," Blair replied with a small grin, "Tickles." He blushed as Jim chuckled.

"Ooookay," the sentinel muttered as he continued inspecting Blair's torso. "But you tell me if I hurt you, all right?" There was silence from his patient. "Blair...did you hear me?" he asked firmly.

Sandburg sighed wearily. "Yes, mom." He was rewarded with a deliberate brush of finger pads across his ribs. "Stop it!" he giggled, pushing at Jim's hand. "I promise, I'll tell you! OK?" The big man smiled down at him as he reached back and wiped his hands off on the towel.

The gauze came next. Each area of broken skin was covered with a square of the sterile, protective material. Ellison used the barest minimum of adhesive to attach each bandage. With Blair's body hair, removing tape would be a nasty experience.

Blair lay perfectly still as he was treated, watching Jim's face. There was a look of deep caring and kindness in the rugged features that touched him. It wasn't often that he got to see this facet of his partner's personality. Most of the time, Ellison was a cast-iron cop, rock solid, unemotional. But there were other times, whenever Blair was hurt or frightened, when a gentle giant, caring and tender replaced that stoic figure. The medical training combined with a surprisingly soft heart gave Ellison the gift of a healer. Sandburg couldn't help but think the big man had missed his calling as he observed the attentive gentleness with which Jim treated his injuries.

"What are you looking at?"

The low voice jerked Blair out of his pondering, and he glanced up to see the detective grinning down at him in amusement. He returned the smile and gave a little shrug. "Nothing, just thinking," he said. He shifted a little as Jim finished with the last bandage, then allowed the sentinel to help him sit up. He obediently held his arms out as Jim stripped off his shirt.

"I think this thing has had it, Chief," Jim said as he stood and crossed to the kitchen. "Rag bag?" he asked, holding it up. When Blair nodded, he tore the shirt into three large pieces and stuffed them into the bag under the sink. Then he washed his hands and returned to the living room, shaking the water from his fingers.

"Did you ever think about being a doctor, Jim?" Blair asked as he inspected his new bandages. He picked idly at the edge of one, and frowned as his fingers were gently slapped away.

"Leave that alone," Jim mumbled, before replying, "Yeah Chief, actually I did." Blair looked expectantly at him, waiting for him to continue. "I just decided it wasn't right for me." he added vaguely.

"Not right? How could it not be right? You have a real talent for giving comfort, man." Blair leaned forward as Jim sat down on the edge of the coffee table. "I mean, I can totally see you as a pediatrician. God knows, you're sure good at taking care of me, right?" His grin was met by stony silence. "Sorry," the young man mumbled, sitting back against the cushions, wondering what sore spot in Jim's life he'd trodden upon this time. There was so much about the big man he didn't know.

"No, it's OK," Jim said, after a long pause. He smiled a little, sadly, then sat up and ran a hand over his face. "I appreciate your compliments Chief. You aren't the first person to tell me that I could have been a great doctor. Even my father...," Jim abruptly shut his mouth.

Sandburg waited, but the big man didn't continue. "Your father?" he prompted.

Ellison sighed. "Chief, my dad wasn't the easiest person to get along with, OK? He wanted me to become a doctor. No, correction; he ordered me to become a doctor. He was going to pay my way through medical school and everything, but...," Jim's voice trailed off, his eyes far away.

Blair was silent, waiting. It wasn't often his partner talked about his past, and he didn't want to ruin things by prying.

"I dropped out," Jim whispered, at last.

Sandburg reached out and laid a hand on the big man's shoulder. Finally, something he could help with. "Jim, lots of people drop out of school. It's not the end of the world. Some young people just don't adjust well to college life, and...,"

Jim shook his head. "No! You don't understand," he growled. "I...I was doing great. I had a near-perfect GPA. I dropped out...to spite him." Ellison remembered, with perfect clarity the look on his father's face when he was told the news. "I was angry at him for some dumb thing," Jim continued, "And I wanted to hurt him. So I dropped out of med school and joined the army. It wasn't a totally off the wall decision, really. I had spent two years in a military academy already, after a little incident involving dad's car." The sentinel's stony expression hardened further as the memories of his traitorous younger brother surfaced.

Blair watched the range of emotions flow over his friend's face. Anger, regret, sadness, then a deep loneliness that chilled him. Tentatively, Blair reached out and laid a hand on his partner's shoulder. After a moment, Jim reached up, cupped his hand over Blair's and gave him a tiny smile.

"You OK?" Sandburg asked softly.

Jim took a deep breath, bowing his head and nodding, running his free hand over his cropped hair. "Yeah, buddy," he replied quietly, "I'm fine. Just dredging up some bad stuff, you know?"

Blair nodded sagely, pursing his lips. "I hear that," he murmured, squeezing the muscular shoulder under his fingers. "I don't know who my father is. Mom says she does, but that there's no reason for me to know." He took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. "Apparently he wanted no part of fatherhood. I can't help but wonder, though, you know?"

Ellison just stared at his partner. /He complained about not knowing enough about me. But there's so much more I don't know about him./ "Well, Chief," the big man began, worried that he would sound too sappy, "It's his loss, trust me. If you were my son, nothing anyone could do would make me want to hide it." He smiled at the look of surprise on his young friend's face, and the way his cheeks reddened.

"Really?" Blair asked, gazing up at Jim with big blue eyes. "You mean that, Jim?"

"I do," the sentinel replied, realizing that he did, indeed. "I never had a son, Chief. Caro and I were together less than a year." He swallowed hard, trying to find the courage to say what was on his mind. "But Blair, I honestly don't think I could love my own son any more than... /Oh say it, chickenshit/ ...Than I love you." The declaration echoed in the silence that followed.

Blair just looked up at his partner, his friend. He tried to speak, but his vocal cords seemed to be frozen. He finally gave up on words, and slid forward to seize Ellison in a bear hug. He felt tears form in his eyes as the big man returned the embrace.

Jim held tight to his Guide, a beatific smile on his face as he stroked the curls under his chin. The young man maintained the contact for a few moments, then patted Jim on the back and pulled away. Ellison let him go, giving one last tousle to his friend's hair. Blair's eyes were shiny with unshed tears, but he was smiling. Sandburg still didn't trust his voice enough to tell Jim how much that little speech meant to him. He settled for just smiling up at the big man, hoping his emotions were readable in his eyes. After a few quiet moments, he looked up at the clock on the wall, and yawned.

"Well," Blair said, standing up and stretching, "I think it's time I hit the sack." He paused and looked curiously at his roommate. "Unless you wanted to talk about fathers some more?" He grinned as Jim stood up, shaking his head.

"No Chief," the big man said, with a sad smile. "I have to deal with that part of my life in small pieces. Tonight's quota's already been met." He patted Blair on the back and headed toward the stairs.

Blair watched him ascend, and listened to the sounds of the sentinel getting ready for bed. When he heard Jim sliding between the sheets, he turned and went into his own room. He put on his sleeping clothes, carefully pulling the tank top down over his bandages, and slid into bed. As he lay there in the darkness he thought about his partner.

"Jim," the young man said softly, knowing his friend would hear, "I just want you to know, that I'm sorry you didn't have a good relationship with your dad." The young man took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to continue. "I never knew my dad. I still don't know who he is. But if I could choose, I would want someone just like you, Jim." With that, Blair turned onto his side, tugged the covers up to his chin, and went to sleep.

And upstairs in the loft, silent tears rolled down Jim Ellison's chiseled face, and a serene smile touched his lips. He focused his hearing, picked up the soothing rhythm of his Guide's heartbeat below, and followed his young friend into slumber.

THE END