The wolf gazed at him, its cool dark eyes beckoning, patiently waiting for him to follow.

Tentatively, he took a step forward. Blue mist swirled and curled around him, its tendrils clinging to his arms and legs, seeping into the strands of his hair, weighing him down, holding him back.

The wolf moved away slowly. He followed, staggering through the thick mist, desperately trying to keep the wolf in sight. But the wolf kept walking further and further away, its shape getting smaller and fainter in the mist, and suddenly he was alone and lost and had no idea where he was or where he was supposed to go.

He was cold.

Sometime during the night, he had ended up near the edge of the bed, and somehow managed to lose most of the blankets. Only a single blue sheet covered his body, no match for the crisp coolness of the early morning air. Groggily, he turned, seeking out the warmth of blankets, blindly grabbing at the nearest piece of wool that encountered his questing hand, squirming his way across the bed.

Jim grunted, rolled over, lifted up the blankets, pulled him close, and in one sweeping motion, hooked a leg, an arm, and the blankets over him, tucking them both inside the covers, all without seeming to wake up.

Held securely against the heat of Jim's body, cradled by the now familiar weight and scent of his partner, Blair relaxed.

He wasn't alone, was he?

Sliding his hand down Jim's body, he curled his fingers around the soft weight of Jim's lax penis, enjoying the smooth, soft texture of its skin, the spongy feel as he rolled it gently across his palm.

Jim mumbled, again without quite waking up.

Lazily, Blair tugged at Jim's penis, loving the way it stretched and then bounced back when he let go. For some reason, it was more fun than playing with his own. He was still wondering whether this was because it was Jim's or because it was not his when he fell asleep.

The early fall breeze was crisp against his face, cool and clear, but not chilling. Sunlight played over the lawns and scattered off still-green leaves as they tossed and turned in the wind, warm but not scalding, bright but not blinding. The last remnants of summer mingled with the hints of things yet to come, of changes incipient in the blades turned yellow here and there, in leaves with tips just turning red and yellow, in the occasional gust of wind that made him pull in his shoulders ever so slightly.

Fall was a time of the year he had always associated with new beginnings -- new people, new classes, new books (well, at least a different set of used books), old faces returning afresh from prolonged absence, familiar faces made strange in new positions, unexpected strangers sitting behind desks once occupied by someone known.

Blair paused at the door of Hargrove Hall and looked back over the campus. Everything looked normal -- the students, the buildings, the lawn, and yes, the fountain. Everything was the same, nothing had changed, it was any other year at Rainier, another new semester, another new academic year.

The first time he had come to campus after... well, after Sierra Verde, he'd stood by the fountain for a long time, watching the water spray, marvelling at the normality of it, the very plain ordinariness of it all, and feeling vaguely uneasy that nothing had changed.

He'd gotten used to it, though -- found himself falling back into everyday routine, into the ordinary, normal rhythms of everyday life, and the nagging sense of displacement and unease he felt whenever he walked by the fountain had dwindled, and eventually faded away.

Now, he was here, at Hargrove Hall, at the beginning of a semester, like he had been for -- for god, half his life, really, and he was pushing open the door, and walking in, and walking through the hallway, like he had done countless times before, and he was turning the corner, getting closer and closer to his old office, the same hallway, the same bulletin board, different posters, same door, same window with...

window with...

with...

no wolf.

Blair stared at the standard-issue, opaque glass panel in the door of his old office, feeling completely lost, not knowing where he was or where he was supposed to be going.

"Blair," said Stoddard.

Startled, Blair turned to find Eli smiling at him, cup of steaming coffee in hand.

"Oh, hi, Eli." He managed not to squeak.

"You just got here?" asked Stoddard. "Want to get yourself some coffee?"

"Uh, no, I'm fine."

"Come on, then," said Stoddard, gesturing toward his office down the hall with his free hand. "We've got some catching up to do, don't you think?"

Blair smiled tightly, and followed Stoddard to his office. Opening the door, Stoddard politely ushered Blair in, then moved past him to the main desk by the window, while Blair remained near the door, surveying the room with its half-filled shelves and stacked boxes lining the sides.

"Unpacking is always such a chore," Stoddard smiled, following Blair's gaze. "The semester will probably be over by the time I get done."

Blair chuckled, finally moving into the room, toward the chair Stoddard pointed out for him. "I still have boxes in my room, from my office," he admitted.

"Ah yes, your office," Stoddard repeated, as he lowered himself into his chair. "Well, since you aren't receiving any fellowship this year, no teaching responsibilities, either."

"Ah yes, that's what I figured."

"So, no need for an office, right?" Stoddard grinned at him. "To tell you the truth, I've got most of my junk stacked up in that room. What you see here..." he waved a hand at the room in general, "...is the tip of the iceberg, I'm afraid."

"The rolling stone collects the moss, right?" Blair joked.

Eli chuckled. "Something like that, all right," he agreed. "But really, as I said, I'm ready to settle. This..." he nodded toward the window, indicating the campus, the city, even the state of Washington and perhaps the entire Pacific Northwest, "...is as good a spot as any. You seem to have settled here just fine."

"Ah yeah, well, I guess I have," Blair admitted, chuckling nervously.

"Well," said Stoddard, "I have to say I was a bit surprised when you turned down Borneo. It wasn't an easy decision for you, was it?"

"I..." Blair shrugged, "I did what I had to do, I guess."

"We've all had to make choices, Blair," Stoddard said, gently. "Sometimes it's one way, sometimes it's the other. I... sometimes wonder, you know, what would it have been like, if...." He trailed off, shrugging himself.

"I don't regret it, I really don't," Blair said. "I... it's been worth it. Every bit of it."

"Well then, that's what's important, isn't it?" Eli smiled. "So, you're registered? Got everything taken care of?"

"Yes," Blair grimaced, recalling Jim's stony face when he had found him filling out the student loan application forms.

"A loan?" Jim said, incredulous. "You're applying for a loan?"

"Well," he said, "It makes sense, you know. It was great of Simon to get me on the payroll at the PD, but this is still a big chunk of money to lay down at once..."

Jim grabbed the bill, rapidly scanning the numbers.

"So use your credit card."

"But the interest on student loans is less than on credit cards."

"Not if we pay if off in two or three chunks. And talking about interest, do you have any outstanding loans lying around accumulating interest?"

"We? You mean you. Look Jim, you aren't going to pay my registration fees. Or pay off my loans."

Jim sighed. "Come on, Blair. I have money sitting in my savings that will cover this," he waved the university bill, "and make payments to any outstanding loans you have that are accumulating interest. If all your loans are interest-free, that's one thing, but there's no reason to make some bank rich, when we could pay off your loans."

"We."

"Yes, we. Got a problem with that, partner?"

"Well... I mean, ok, I suppose I could pay you back..."

"What, and you going to pay me the back rent, too?"

"Jim, I... I just don't want to feel like I'm your dependent, man."

Jim stared at Blair for a long moment.

"Okay," he said finally, "How about... you pay me, but with something else?"

"Like what?"

"Like..." Jim paused, making a big show of mulling over the question. "How about... a blow job for every dollar?"

"A dollar!" Blair huffed, righteously offended. "What, am I that bad? At that rate, if I give you a blow job every day, I'll be clear in..."

"You're never going to be clear," Jim said, patiently, as if he were explaining something to a small child. "Because every time I give you a blow job, I'm charging you five dollars."

"What?" Blair sputtered. "Your blow jobs are worth five bucks? How come?"

"Hey, experience counts."

"No way. I hold this truth to be self-evident. All blow jobs are created equal."

"Only in your dreams, junior."

"Hey! Who you calling junior? Mine's as big as yours, you know."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is."

"This calls for an inspection."

"Fine. And while you're at it, I'm going to show you my blow job's as good as yours."

"Well don't try too hard, I wouldn't want you to strain anything."

"...Jim?"

"mmmm hmmmm?"

"Is my blow job really that bad?"

"Nope, mine's just better."

"experience."

"yup."

"I'll get experience, you know."

"Yeah?" Jim smiled. "Well, if you want to work your way out of being my indentured sex slave sometime in your life, I'd say you need lots and lots of practice. You have quite a bit of catching up to do, kiddo."

"'m not a kid."

"Nope. And you are putting your registration fees on that credit card."

"Jim..." Blair began, still trying to protest, but Jim covered his mouth with his lips.

In the end, he did put the registration fees on the credit card, and agreed to let Jim pay it when the bills came in. He still wasn't sure how he felt about it.

He wondered whether he could sneak his PD consultant fees into Jim's bank accounts -- after all, he did have Jim's account numbers and access codes. Not that it would ever cover everything that Jim paid for. Heck, Jim had never let him pay for much of anything. The rent payments he never made were a running joke between them. Blair tried to put in his share of the groceries, but somehow Jim managed to pay for the bulk of it.

At least he had held Jim off from paying his student loans, swearing on his mother's grave that he didn't have any interest-accumulating loans. Jim had just raised an eyebrow at that, quite deliberately refraining from pointing out that Naomi was very much alive, and let the subject drop.

"Registration that bad?" Eli asked.

"Ah... yeah, pretty bad," Blair managed to respond. "Crowded. Confusing. Long lines. Everyone trying to register at the same time. Some things never change."

"Guess not," Stoddard smiled. "So tell me, have you given any thoughts to what you want to do for your new dissertation topic?"

"Something on the police subculture, I guess," said Blair. "God knows I've done enough observing of that particular society. I just need to dig up some theoretical references on subcultures and closed societies, see what other studies have been done on the police, maybe from a sociological as well as an anthropological perspective, and just, you know, mix up the theory with my personal observations, shake it up and..." he mimed pouring drinks into a cocktail shaker, shaking it up, and pouring the finished product into a glass.

Stoddard watched the performance amusedly. "No doubt you don't need much guidance there," he observed. "You know the routine. Get a bibliography together, and a prospectus, say... in about a month?" He waited for Blair's confirming nod. "I've spoken to several other professors in the department. Bob Hendrick and Margaret Johansen have both agreed to be on your dissertation committee, if that's all right with you."

Blair nodded again, his throat suddenly tight. Both Hendrick and Johansen had been skeptical of his work on sentinels before...

"Nobody really believes your press conference, you know." Stoddard said, softly.

Blair's head snapped up.

"It was a very inspired performance, in every sense of the word, but," Stoddard looked straight at Blair, making sure he had his full attention, "I'm afraid your secret is out, at least among those who know you and Jim Ellison. And as for those who don't know you, well..." he shrugged. "It's not going to be easy. This thing will stay with you for the rest of your life, I'm afraid."

"I..." Blair forced the words out. "I knew that. When I... when I..." When I denied Jim, he thought. Denied his existence in front of the world.

"You did what you had to do?" Eli asked.

"Yes... yes, I did."

"Because you are his Guide?"

Blair stared at Eli. "Nobody uses that word. Not really."

"Why not?" Stoddard asked, "In the tribal societies that Burton documents, the sentinel always has a partner, and their role is described as 'watching his back' and 'helping' or 'guiding him in using his senses,' correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"And while Burton's studies have focused on the role of the sentinel within a tribal society, I've always wondered what part the sentinel's partner had to play in it," Stoddard continued. "Seems like you now have a first-hand knowledge of that, am I correct?"

"Well... I suppose," Blair shrugged. "I just never thought of it that way."

"Sometimes we are too close to a situation to see the big picture, aren't we?" said Stoddard. He opened a drawer, pulled out a key, and handed it to Blair. "In your old office, there's a box, marked 'yukara'. It's got some tapes and notes in it, from my field studies with the Ainu of Japan. I had wanted to show them to Donald Philippi," he said, referring to the eccentric Japanologist best known for his translations of Ainu songs, "but he passed away before I was able to get them to him."

"The yukara, that's epic songs, right?"

Stoddard nodded. "The Ainu have several different terms for their songs, and it's generally agreed that the yukara refers to songs about human heroes. In any case, I was able to record a telling of a yukara by an Ainu elder that's never been recorded before. Needless to say, it hasn't been published, even in Japan."

"Wow."

"I'm sorry I never got to show it to Donald. Translators of his caliber are rare. What I have in there," he waved a hand at the key, "is just a rough translation, plus some additional notes that I made of the things the elder told me about from his childhood. I have everything on tape, even some videotapes. Of course you need to know Ainu and Japanese in order to understand any of it, but most of the key material is covered in my field notes."

Stoddard paused to take a sip of his coffee. "In any case, I'm pretty sure that the hero of the yukara is a sentinel, and his companion, a guide. And if what the elder told me can be trusted, there was a sentinel / guide pair in his village, during his childhood."

Blair stared at the key in his hand. "Are you... are you saying you want me to..."

"Take a look at the thing, yes," said Stoddard. "It'll take a while to find an Ainu specialist we can trust, to make a clean and complete translation of everything, but in the meanwhile, you can work with what's there. Oh, and keep the key. There might be other material in that room that may be relevant to your research."

"You want me to keep working on the sentinel study?"

"Yes. Well, this time, I'd keep it secure where it won't get leaked to the press," Stoddard said, raising a warning finger, "but yes, I think you should seriously consider it. At least, take a look at the material. I'm sure you'll find interesting parallels between your experience and the accounts in the yukara, as well as what the Ainu elder had to say." Eli leaned forward. "I really feel you should keep a record of your work with Jim Ellison, Blair. Of both of you. Even if it cannot be published in your lifetime, it's... it's truly significant. It could shed light on both our past and our future. You do realize that, don't you?"

"I... I'll have to talk to Jim about this, Eli." The words had to be forced out of his painfully dry throat. "I can't risk Jim, I just... I've already come close to ruining his life once."

"You came close to ruining both your lives," Eli corrected gently. "Yes, safeguards must be taken. Encrypt your hard drive, think about getting a safe and a security system, or a safe deposit box at a bank.... Surely the police must have connections that can help you with things like this?"

"I suppose you're right," Blair said, finally managing to look up at Eli.

"Well, then, you've got a lot of work to do, haven't you?" Stoddard got up, signaling that the meeting was over.

Blair stood up and slowly followed Stoddard to the door.

Stoddard opened the door for him, and offered his hand. "Good luck, Blair," he said, as they shook. "And give my regards to that detective of yours."

Blair sat on the bench in front of the fountain, the box at his feet. Vaguely he wondered what Jim would say when he saw yet another box to be dragged home from the university. And what would he say when he heard what was in the box? He sighed, and stared at the water dancing over the fountain.

So fucking normal, he thought. Did everything have to be so... so... ordinary? His life was getting back on track. He'd gotten registered. He had a new dissertation topic, a new dissertation committee, and no teaching responsibilities. He even had a paycheck from the PD, coming in every other week. Yippee. An actual, regular paycheck. And he had a regular bed partner, too. That thought made him smile. Yup, it seemed like he had everything he ever wanted, handed to him gift-wrapped and on a silver platter, to boot.

And yet, sitting here, watching the water spray out over the fountain, he couldn't shake off the feeling of detachment, the nagging sense that everything was unreal, that this was all some kind of cosmic mistake.

Come on in, man. The water's nice.

The water, actually, had been too cold then, and was too cold now.

He tried to reach for that moment, when the wolf had collided with the panther, when he had felt himself be one with Jim, but it just wasn't there. What did it mean, that Jim had brought him back? Why was he here, for what purpose?

"...you are his Guide."

Eli's words. What the heck did it mean to be a sentinel's guide? Why hadn't he thought of it before? Of Incacha passing the way of the shaman to him? Was being a shaman part of being a guide, or vice versa? Yes, he'd been too caught up in Jim, in his fascination with Jim, to wonder what the heck he was doing in the picture, what role he was playing in this sentinel thing.

He'd wanted so badly to think that the merge meant something. Hadn't occurred to him that maybe Jim brought him back because he was his guide. Hadn't occurred to him that he wasn't just "one of the tribe." Oops. Major oversight. Nope, he wasn't "one of the tribe." No, sir. He was, in fact, Shaman of the Great City, as he had once jokingly dubbed himself. Guide to Sentinel of said city. God, it was so obvious, how could he have missed it? How oblivious could he be?

"You're thinking," said Jim. "That's always dangerous."

Blair turned. Jim stood beside the bench, looking down at him.

"I always think," he shot back.

"Must be why there's never a dull moment when you are around," Jim observed dryly. "Ready to go?"

"Yup," Blair got up, bending down to pick up the box. He grunted at the weight as he shifted the box into his arms.

"What's in that thing?"

"Bunch of paper, videotape, audio tape."

Jim shook his head. "What, did Stoddard give you an assignment already?"

"Yeah, he did. He certainly did."

Jim frowned at the tone. "You going to tell me about it?" he asked, as they began walking.

"Later. Where are we going for lunch?"

"Well, what are you in the mood for?"

"So how's Simon like being back at work?" Blair asked, as Jim took the box from him and turned to stow it inside the truck.

Jim gave the box a final shove to position it to his satisfaction, then straightened up. "Oh, he's his old self, all right," he said, grinning. "Kept pestering the brass until they let him come back half-time, but if that's half-time, well, a day has many more hours in it than I knew."

Blair frowned. "He's not overdoing it, is he?"

Just as Jim started to answer, the police radio crackled.

Minor requesting medical assistance, possible poisoning, the dispatcher said. Ambulance dispatched, need available unit to respond.

The address was a block away from where they were parked.

Both men jumped into the truck, and Blair picked up the mike to tell dispatch they were on their way even as Jim started the engine, hit the siren, and threw the light onto the dashboard.

Jim scanned the houses as the truck coasted down the street, not looking at the addresses, but reaching out with his hearing, seeking, focusing, honing in...

"There," he pointed to a house, slowing down the truck and beginning to turn it into the driveway. "I hear the boy. He's on the phone, talking to dispatch."

Blair reached for the radio. "Dispatch, this is Blair Sandburg, with Detective Ellison," he spoke into the mike as Jim put the car into park. "We are at the location. Tell the boy to come to the door, and tell him we are plainclothes officers."

Leaving the truck, they hurried toward the house. Jim paused at the door, listened for a second, then knocked sharply. "Police! Open the door! We are here to help you!"

A small, frightened face peeked out of the curtains in a window next to the door, peering up at Blair. "You're a policeman?"

Blair smiled reassuringly at the boy, holding out his consultant's pass. "Actually, I'm just a consultant," he said, and pointed toward Jim. "He's the policeman."

Jim nodded, holding up his detective's shield for the boy to see.

The boy's eyes widened, and then the face disappeared. A moment later, scuffling sounds indicated that the door was being unlocked.

Blair pushed open the door and squatted in front of the boy. "You called 911?" he asked. The boy nodded, still wide-eyed and uncertain of the strangers in front of him. "It's okay. Take a deep breath. Tell us what's the problem?"

"Eric. I told him not to drink it. I did."

"Where's Eric?"

"Backyard."

Jim looked around, then took off for the side entrance leading directly to the yard. Blair straightened up and led the boy outside, letting the door swing shut behind them. Gently, he guided the boy toward the yard, talking to him as they walked.

"What's your name?"

"Bill."

"Bill, that's a nice name. How old are you?"

"Eight."

"And Eric, he's your brother?" The boy nodded. "How old is he?"

"Twelve."

They were at the fence now, and Blair could see Jim kneeling in the grass, checking out Eric, though from his angle, he didn't have a good view of the other boy, who appeared to be lying still on the ground.

"So Eric found something in the yard, and he drank it?" Blair asked Bill, squatting down again, unobtrusively guiding Bill into an angle that shielded him from seeing Jim work on Eric.

"Yes."

"What did he find?"

"He... he said it was beer. In... in a... a... keg."

"It's okay, it's all right, shhhh." Blair hugged the sobbing boy, running soothing hands down his back.

"Is... is Eric... is he gonna be okay?"

"We'll do everything we can to help him, okay? You did the right thing, you called 911, you did what you could." Blair said, still rubbing the boy's back. Pulling away a little, he looked into Bill's eyes. "You're very brave, you kept calm, you called for help, okay?"

Bill stared back at Blair, big round eyes trembling with tears.

"You did good, Bill, you understand?"

Slowly, Bill nodded.

"Good boy," Blair smiled.

"Chief!" Jim shouted, his voice tense and urgent.

Sparing one last pat on Bill's shoulder with a hurried order to "Stay right here," Blair tore open the gate to the yard and rushed to Jim.

"His heart stopped," Jim whispered as Blair reached his side. "You know your CPR?"

"I think I better do the breathing. Airway clear?"

Jim nodded. Kneeling beside the still figure, Blair tilted the boy's head back, like he'd learned in First Aid courses, pinched the boy's nose, and glanced at Jim.

"Now, Chief," said Jim.

Taking a deep breath, Blair bent over the boy and blew a carefully measured breath into the lax mouth.

"One... Two... Three... Four... Five... Breathe!" Jim counted, as he pressed down on the boy's chest.

Blair bent, blew again.

"One... Two... Three... Four... Five!"

Blow.

"One... Two... Three... Four... Five!"

Blow.

"One... Two... Three... Four... Five!"

Blow.

His lungs burned, his throat was dry. Breathe in. Blow. Breathe in. Blow. How long had Jim kept this up? Breathe in. Blow. Breathe in. Blow. Desperate. This was an act of desperation, blowing breath into the still, lifeless form. Cold lips. Nothing like a kiss. Even the dummy they used in First Aid class was warmer. Breathe in. Blow. Breathe in. Blow. What did it take to reach out and grab the spirit from the other side? Wasn't he supposed to be the shaman? What kind of shaman was he, what kind of ridiculously horrid ritual was this that he was performing? Breathe in. Blow. O come back to us spirit. Breathe in. Blow. Eric! Come back! Breathe in. Blow. Eric! Your time is not yet! Breathe in. Blow. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

Sirens, coming closer. In. Out. Wait for Jim. In. Out. How long could he breathe for two? In. Out. God, this was a waste, this was hopeless, they were never going to get the boy back. In. Out. Wait for Jim. So hopeless, so desperate. Oh, Jim. He hadn't known. Hadn't understood. Breathe in. Out. In. Out.

Come on in, man. The water's nice.

No, the water hadn't been nice. Not nice at all.

Footsteps. Bump and rustle of equipment. Feet moving around him, equipment being dumped on the ground next to him. Breathe in. And out. A hand reaching out to clasp the boy's head, a metal stick being inserted into the mouth to check the airway. He staggered back, knowing the paramedics would take over now. Firm hands grasped him by the shoulders, urging him up. Swaying, he got unsteadily to his feet, and let Jim lead him away from the lifeless figure, away from the hopelessness and desperation.

He leaned back against Jim, grateful for the solid strength of his partner's body. Every muscle in his body hurt from being in the cramped kneeling position so long. He breathed in harsh wheezing gasps, his body not quite able to remember how to breathe normally. Jim's hand gripped his shoulder, so hard, it was almost painful. He reached up to cover Jim's hand with his, and found what he meant to be a gentle squeeze turning into a death grip. Jim's attention was riveted to the scene in front of him, where the paramedics worked frantically over the boy, paddles out, trying to shock the small heart into beating again.

And Blair was at the fountain, for the first time seeing what Jim had seen, feeling what Jim had felt -- if it were Jim lying there like that --

Somewhere a wolf howled, echoed by the growl of a panther.

Off to the side, Bill stood, stricken, face white, staring at the ghastly scene being played out in the yard, at the increasingly desperate efforts to save his brother.

Peeling himself away from Jim, Blair staggered over to Bill, sank to his knees by the boy, and pulled him into his arms, not finding any words to offer. Bill leaned into Blair's embrace, his eyes still glued to Eric's still body. Out of the corner of his eyes, Blair saw Jim turning away, moving toward the back of the yard, saw Jim bend down, pick up a cup, using a handkerchief to keep from touching it directly, and sniff it.

And suddenly a paramedic shouted, "We have a pulse!" and there was organized frenzy as Eric was strapped to the stretcher.

Jim walked back over and tapped a paramedic on the shoulder.

"Cocaine," he said, handing her the cup. "He's ingested cocaine, I'm not sure how much."

The paramedic's eyes widened. She hesitated, then nodded, taking the cup, carrying it carefully so that she wouldn't lose the little amount of liquid left inside.

As the stretcher was wheeled away, Jim nodded toward one of the uniformed policemen who apparently had arrived along with the paramedics, and gestured him toward the back of the yard. Understanding that he was to keep an eye on the yard to see that it wasn't disturbed, the officer stayed behind, while the rest of the group followed the stretcher out to the ambulance.

Blair had just guided Bill out onto the driveway when a woman got out of a car that had stopped across the street, and strode quickly toward them. Chancellor Konoe.

"Auntie Lin!" Bill cried, rushing forward to meet Konoe, who caught the boy in her open arms.

"What happened?" she asked Blair, who trailed after Bill.

"Eric. He drank something. Jim thinks it had cocaine in it."

"Cocaine? My god! How could that..." she trailed off as Jim reached them.

"Chancellor," Jim said, "you know this family?"

"Margaret Villard's an old friend of mine."

Blair groaned. "These are Professor Villard's children? Oh, fuck."

Jim spared a glance at Blair before continuing, "The parents must be contacted immediately."

"Of course," said Konoe, releasing Bill and reaching for her purse. She took out a cell phone and pressed a button. "Hello. Lin. Listen, I need..."

A paramedic came over. "Is anyone coming with the patient?" he asked.

"Boy's name is Eric Villard," Jim responded. "We are trying to contact the parents," he nodded toward Konoe. "We'll meet you there. You taking him to Cascade General?" The paramedic nodded affirmatively and hurried away.

On the cell phone, Konoe said, "Yes, Cascade General. I'll meet them there," and hung up.

Just then, the ambulance sirens started, making everyone wince. Jim covered his ears. The ambulance pulled away, and Konoe turned to Jim as soon as the sirens faded enough for them to speak.

"I've asked my office to contact Margaret and George. They both teach at Rainier," she said. "I can take Bill with me to the hospital, if that's all right with you?"

"That's very good, Ma'am," said Jim. "I'll have the officers escort you to the hospital. If I may check one thing, though..." he turned toward Bill. "Bill," he said, bending down to look into the boy's face, "That cup Eric used to drink the beer? Did it come from your house?"

Bill nodded. "It's from the kitchen."

Konoe blanched. "Detective, you don't think..."

"I don't think anything at this point, Chancellor," said Jim. "Not until we gather the evidence." He turned toward the officer standing by. "Officer Gibson, will you please escort the Chancellor and Bill to the hospital?"

"Where do I call for information?" asked Konoe.

Jim punched a number on his cell phone and raised it to his ear.

"Chief," he said, "give her your card."

Sheepishly, Blair offered Konoe a freshly printed Cascade PD-issue business card as Jim turned away to talk to Simon.

Konoe took the card, looked like she wanted to say something, then decided against it. She left, holding Bill by the hand, with Officer Gibson in tow, but not before giving Blair a look that said, "We'll discuss this later."

"Come on Chief," Jim said, hanging up and starting to walk back toward the yard. "Let's go."

Blair ran to catch up with him.

"Keg of beer?" he asked, as he matched Jim's stride.

"Over there," Jim pointed toward the back of the yard. "Forensics is on its way to check the house, but I want to get a look at the keg first."

"You don't really think Professor Villard had drugs in her house, do you?"

"How well do you know this Professor, Chief?"

"Took her Western Civ course in undergrad. Very inspirational, energetic teacher. She's a fav with the students."

"What of her husband?"

"Don't know him. He used to teach at a nearby community college, just got hired after Konoe came in. Economics or something."

They had reached the very back of the yard, where the keg of beer sat, hidden underneath the bushes.

"Wow," Blair commented. "You really have to be right next to it to see it. How did you know where it was?"

"Smelled it," said Jim. "Then saw the barrel."

"Sight on smell? Cool."

Jim grimaced. "We have a job to do, here, Chief," he said, pulling on his rubber gloves.

"However did the kids find this?" Blair wondered out loud.

"They were playing with the ball," Jim pointed to a ball a few feet away. "It rolled," he pointed to traces that only sentinel sight could see, "stopped there." Now that Blair could see, a dent in the soft soil not far from the keg.

"So where did this come from?" Blair nodded toward the keg. "Looks like somebody took some care to hide it."

"That they did," Jim reached for the keg and shook it slightly. "Feels pretty full -- it probably is beer."

"You can smell it?" Blair himself could only smell the slight cedarly smell of the keg. "How about the cocaine? Can you smell that?"

"Could, in the cup," said Jim. "Now... hold on a sec." He took out the handkerchief again, put it under the spout, twisted the handle just a bit to let a little beer soak into the cloth, and sniffed it.

"Yup, it's in here."

"Great, then we don't have to search the house."

Jim looked at Blair.

"Come on, these are good people. They are professors for god's sake. Oh right, I know I know," Blair backpedaled at Jim's bland look, "being an academic isn't guarantee that you don't engage in criminal activities. But, hey, if the cocaine is in the keg, it's in the keg. How likely is it that someone will keep cocaine in a keg in the yard and in their house at the same time? And anyway, why would anyone mix cocaine in beer? In such a large dose that -- how much did the kid drink of this anyway? Couldn't be much more than a cup, right? And that was enough to send him into cardiac arrest? How saturated is that stuff, anyway?"

Jim looked at his partner, mildly amused by the outburst.

"It's pretty heavily concentrated," he said, peering closer at the handkerchief. "I can see some undissolved grains on this."

"Well, there you go," said Blair. "Why would anyone dump so much cocaine into beer? And how in the world did they get it inside the keg?" he waved at the keg.

"Well, good questions, partner," said Jim. "So let's see if we can figure out where this keg came from."

Gesturing at the uniformed officer, who had been standing at a discreet distance, to watch the keg, Jim led the way into the bushes. He kept pointing out traces of disturbances in the earth and in the trees, some of which Blair could see, but most of which he couldn't. He did gather from Jim's terse comments that whoever had come through this way with the keg had done so within the last two or three days. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity crawling through the undergrowth, they emerged into a clearing.

"Shit," said Blair.

"Know that building?"

"It's the freshmen dorms."

"You ever live there?"

"Yeah. I had to live on campus until I was 18. Oh, shit. That keg. It's..."

"Yeah? What is it?"

"Well, see, at Rainier, there's this tradition for freshmen..."

"That involves hiding a keg of beer?"

"um, yeah."

Jim crossed his arms, waiting.

"But it never involved cocaine! Jim! I swear!"

1985:

Blair stared at the keg sitting in the middle of his room, and looked wearily up into the grinning face of his roommate.

"We are supposed to hide this?" he asked. "Where?"

"Oh, come on Blair, don't be a spoilsport," urged Kevin. "The hard part was getting this away from the Sigma Beta Kappa and smuggling it into this building. We've got the easy part, buddy."

"Whatever made you volunteer us for this job?"

"Hey, I know I can count on you to think up a good hiding place for this. You're the 'wunderkid,' after all."

Blair sighed, shut the thick volume of Levi-Strauss he had been reading, ran a hand over his short, unruly curls, and pulled off his thick-rimmed glasses, which had slid down his nose. Again.

"Okay, Kevin," he said. "Here's what we are gonna do..."

Present:

"So the idea was to steal a keg of beer from one of the fraternity houses, and hide it?" Jim asked, as they made their way toward the front of the freshmen dormitory building.

"Yup. The goal was to keep it hidden until midterms, and then we'd all get together and have an after-midterms bash."

Jim shook his head in tolerant amusement. "So where'd you hide it, genius?"

"I just kept it where Kevin put it."

"In the middle of your room? But anyone walking in would see it."

"Nope. We covered it with a tablecloth and put a wooden board over it. Looked like two poor students who couldn't afford to buy a proper table making do with a make-shift table. Nobody ever thought to look closer."

Jim snorted.

"In fact, the table worked so well, we grabbed the keg back after the midterms bash, and set it up again as a table."

Jim burst out laughing. "You have a criminal mind, Chief," he said. "And contrary to your protestations the other day, you didn't learn it from Cascade's Finest."

"No, I'm just ingenious," Blair insisted. "Give me a problem, and I come up with simple, elegant, and very practical solutions."

Jim chuckled. "That you do, Chief, that you do," he agreed, good-humoredly. "Seems like this year's freshmen didn't have a good practical thinker among them, huh?"

"If they lugged the beer through all that undergrowth to hide it, they must've been pretty desperate," Blair agreed. "I don't think we were supposed to hide it off campus, though I understand sometimes people hid it in other places on campus." He paused as they came up to the entrance of the dorm. "Are the students going to be in a lot of trouble?"

Jim thought for a moment. "If they aren't involved with the cocaine, stealing the beer is minor theft, and I doubt the fraternity they stole the keg from would press charges, especially if they've done it themselves when they were freshmen. There's probably some local ordinances against littering that would apply, so some fines..." he shrugged. "But if that boy dies?"

"He's going to be okay, isn't he, Jim?"

Jim turned away. "We can't know that, Chief."

"Jim. Did you feel...?"

"Not now, Chief, we've got some students to round up."

There weren't a lot of students in the dorm at mid-day, but the ones who were there were cooperative, once they learned that a boy had almost died from drinking the cocaine-laced beer. One student, pale-faced, said, "Jesus, what if we'd drunk that?" Blair couldn't agree more.

Having learned the names of the students who had been responsible for stealing the keg from a fraternity house -- which fraternity, none of the students at the dorm knew -- Jim made a call to campus security.

"Suzanne Tamaki is going to find those students and meet us at the chancellor's office. Let's go," Jim said, hanging up the phone. On their way over, he called Simon to update him on the situation.

"Any word on Eric?" Blair asked.

Jim repeated the question to Simon, then shook his head. "No word yet, Chief," he said. "Yeah, Simon," he concluded, "We'll call you when we find out. Bye."

They made their way into the administration building and up to the Chancellor's Office. Jim quickly explained to the secretary why they were there, and asked if they could get in touch with Konoe to update her.

The secretary nodded and picked up the phone. Jim indicated for Blair to take the call.

"Why me?" mouthed Blair.

"You know the situation with the students better," Jim whispered back.

Grudgingly, Blair took the phone from the secretary.

"Dr. Konoe? Blair Sandburg speaking."

"Mr. Sandburg. Have you found anything?"

"Please, call me Blair. And yes, we might know where the keg of beer came from, though we still have no idea how the cocaine got into it."

"I take it this has something to do with the university, since you're at my office?"

"I... I'm afraid so, Dr. Konoe," Blair answered. "How's Eric? You're still at the hospital?"

"They are still working on him. I just finished speaking to Margaret and George," Konoe responded. "I... Is there something I can do if I return to the office? There's nothing I can do here at the hospital, really."

Blair glanced at Jim, who nodded imperceptibly. "Yes, Dr. Konoe, we'll be here. We can talk when you get back."

"Good, I can be there in twenty. Talk to you then."

Returning the phone to the secretary, Blair went to stand by Jim, who was looking out a window. At the fountain.

Side by side, they stood, not talking. Water spilled cheerfully from the fountain. Students bustled by on their way to class, or stood around the fountain chatting, or sat on the benches, reading, waiting for someone, biting into a sandwich.

It was an ordinary day at Rainier.

Shuffling at the door drew the men's attention away from the window and back into the room, where Suzanne Tamaki, campus security chief, was escorting three students into the office. The students stood uncertainly by the door, nervously glancing around the room.

Jim turned to the secretary. "Can we use the Chancellor's office?"

"Actually, with this many people, the conference room down the hall will be better."

"Thank you, that'll be great. Gentlemen?" Jim gestured for the students to follow the secretary.

"Well," said Jim, looking around at the students once they were settled around the conference table, the students on one side and Jim and Blair on the other, with Suzanne choosing to remain standing near the door. "I'm Detective James Ellison, Cascade PD, and this is my partner, Blair Sandburg. Did Chief Tamaki inform you of the situation?"

One of the students swallowed nervously. "She said a boy drank from the keg of beer we were hiding."

"But we don't know anything about cocaine!" burst out another one.

"Calm down, gentlemen," Jim said raising a hand. "We aren't accusing anyone of anything at the moment. We are just trying to find out what happened. Now," he looked at each of the students in turn, "your names, please?"

"Steve Chao," said the one who had spoken first.

"Peter Roth," said the second one.

Jim turned to the one who hadn't spoken yet.

"I'm Patrick Hankel," said the student. "I'm a senior, and President of Sigma Delta Alpha. Chief Tamaki just informed me that these two," he nodded toward the other students, "had taken a keg of beer from our fraternity house."

"I see," Jim said, glancing toward Suzanne and nodding his appreciation at her for bringing in the fraternity house president. "Do you have any idea, Mr. Hankel, how cocaine may have gotten into your beer, if it is indeed your beer?"

"None at all," Patrick responded quickly. "We bought the beer from a local brewery, and it was one of the kegs that we opened for our beginning-of-the-year welcome back party. We had several kegs open at once, and I guess nobody noticed when one went missing."

"So you can't tell us if anyone at your party drank from that particular keg?"

"No, Detective, I can't."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. Suzanne opened it a bit and looked out, then held it open for the Chancellor.

Konoe looked weary, but she kept her shoulders erect as she took a seat one over from Blair.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," she said. "I just got in."

"Any word on the boy, Chancellor?" Jim asked.

"He's stabilized, though he's in ICU at the moment. The doctors are optimistic that he'll pull through. I... They said it was lucky that we knew what he had ingested. If we hadn't..." she trailed off, looking into Jim's eyes.

Jim nodded in acknowledgement, then turned to Blair.

"Chief, why don't you inform the Chancellor of this 'tradition' of yours?"

Konoe wasn't pleased to learn of underage students stealing and hiding beer in a somewhat organized fashion, but promised to be lenient when Blair argued that the students involved had been cooperative. After stepping out to check with Simon, Jim returned to the room, asked Patrick for the name and address of the brewery where the beer had been purchased, then thanked everyone for their cooperation, and assured them that no criminal charges would be filed.

"Unless, of course," Jim added, "we find that a student was involved in the placing of the cocaine in the beer."

"Is that likely, Detective?" Konoe asked.

"I certainly hope that won't be the case, Chancellor," Jim responded, "but we have to keep our minds open to all possibilities at this point. Mr. Hankel," he addressed the student, "I'd like you to come down to the station to see if you can identify that keg. Suzanne, can you spare an officer to escort Mr. Hankel to the station?" Tamaki nodded, and gestured for the students to rise and follow her.

"I..." Steve paused at the door, "I hope the boy is all right."

"Me too," Peter added.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Konoe said.

Once the students were gone, Blair turned to Jim. "So the brewery?"

Jim nodded. "Forensics opened the keg, and found a packet of cocaine at the bottom. It had split open, leaking the stuff into the beer."

Konoe frowned. "That doesn't make sense. Why would anyone hide cocaine in a keg full of beer? And why would they sell it to a fraternity house -- for the price of a keg of beer, according to Mr. Hankel?"

"A lot of things about this case don't make sense yet, Chancellor," Jim answered. "We'll know more when we investigate the brewery, I hope."

"Well, I shouldn't keep you then," Konoe said, getting up. "Detective, I really want to thank you. You saved Eric's life."

"Blair did, too."

"Yes, Bill told me," Konoe turned to Blair, "and I'm just very grateful to the both of you. But if Detective Ellison hadn't identified the cocaine..." she took a deep breath. "It's unfortunate what happened with your dissertation, Blair," she said. "If there is anything I can do... as long as I'm at Rainier, you'll have the support of this institution. You both will."

Blair exchanged a quick glance with Jim. "Thank you, I... appreciate that," he said.

"And what is this about being a consultant with the police? You did register with us for the semester, right?"

"I'm leading a double life, Dr. Konoe," Blair quipped. "Graduate student by night, and devoted sidekick to Lone Ranger Ellison by day."

"You're much more than a sidekick, Chief. In fact, this one runs the show," Jim said, affectionately whopping his partner on the head.

"Woof."

Konoe amusedly observed the interchange between the two men. "Well, gentlemen, carry on."

The sun felt bright and the breeze coolly refreshing as they left the administration building. Side by side they walked, their path leading them by the fountain, directly past the front of Hargrove Hall. Jim's feet slowed, then stopped. He stood, looking down at the grass, and Blair knew, with a sudden chill, where they were.

He couldn't look down at the spot Jim was looking. He couldn't. Then he was. Green blades swayed almost imperceptibly in the breeze. The afternoon sun was still warm, still bright.

Swallowing hard, Blair stepped close to Jim, hand brushing Jim's arm, and looked up into the grim, rock-hard eyes.

"You brought me back," he whispered.

Jim's hand came up, cupped Blair's cheek.

"You came back to me."

Blair bowed his head, wondering why in the world he had ever thought, even for a moment, that he perhaps shouldn't have come back.

"Come on," said Jim. "We have work to do."

Together, they turned and walked away from the fountain, arms entwined across each other's backs.

"The Hammer Brewery is located in the outskirts of Cascade, almost at the city limits," Simon explained, looking around at the officers and one civilian consultant assembled in the conference room. "The owner of record is one Dean Balantine. He has family ties to some organized crime rings, but he himself has never been implicated in any criminal activities. According to these papers," he tapped a folder, "Balantine purchased the brewery from its previous owner, B.S. Hammer, last year."

"'B.S.', Simon?" Jim asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"That's what it says," Simon said, to chuckles around the room.

"Hey!" Blair mock-protested, "Those are perfectly good initials!"

Simon scowled as the room erupted into laughter. "People! We've got work to do here!"

"Thank you," he said, once the room quieted down again. "Now. As we all know, forensics found an entire packet of cocaine inside the keg of beer. They also found that it was unlikely that the cocaine was placed in the keg after it left the brewery, since you need special equipment to seal the keg, and the only place you're likely to find them is at a brewery. Based on that, we've obtained a search warrant for the place."

Simon paused to take a sip of coffee before continuing. "Our prime suspect, of course, is Balantine, based on his family connections, but we can't discount the possibility that some employees of the brewery are running a drug operation without the owner's knowledge. I'm asking Detective Taggart to lead the search team, along with Detective Ellison and Consultant Sandburg."

"And if, during the course of this search, more drugs are discovered on the premises...?" Megan asked.

"Then the backup units, which will be stationed at strategic points around the brewery, will move in," Simon said, pointing to a schematic diagram on the bulletin board showing the brewery and the surrounding area. On it were marked the positions of the various units.

Simon rapidly gave out the assignments, then looked around the room. "Any questions? No? Well, get to it, then."

The Hammer Brewery consisted of a central building, which housed the offices and the main brewery, and several smaller buildings that appeared to be used for storage.

A man dressed in work overalls, rubber boots, and a heavy apron stepped up as the group -- Joel, Jim, Blair, and two uniformed officers -- piled out of a police car and Jim's truck.

"I'm Tom Nunann, plant manager," he said, peering warily at the group. "Is something wrong?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," said Joel. "I'm Detective Taggart, Cascade PD," he held up his I.D. "Are you in charge here? Or is the owner present?"

Nunann looked nervously around at the men who stood in a loose semi-circle around him. "What exactly is the problem?" he asked.

"Please," said Joel. "We'd rather speak to the person in charge. This is official police business."

Nunann frowned. "And what exactly is this 'police business'?" he insisted.

Joel traded a long glance with Jim before turning back to Nunann. "We have a search warrant to execute."

"A search warrant! What for?"

"We'll explain, if we can see the owner, please. Or in your office, if he's not present."

Nunann glared defiantly at the police officers before finally relenting. "This way," he said, preceding the group into the building.

The group passed through the main room, full of various brewing equipment, to the curious glances of workers scattered through the place. The owner's office was in the back corner. Nunann knocked on the door and said in a loud voice, "Dean! We got police here!"

Beside Blair, Jim tensed, cocking his head a bit, but shook his head at Blair's questioning look.

The sound of a chair scraping the floor was audible to everyone outside the office, then the door opened, and a tall, somewhat heavy-set man looking to be in his mid-forties or early fifties stepped out and surveyed the group.

"Hello, I'm Dean Balantine," he said. "What seems to be the problem?"

Joel stepped forward and introduced himself again. "I think it's best if we talked in your office," he added.

"I'd say come in, but I'm afraid the room is a bit small for such a large group."

"Joel, you go ahead," said Jim, "We can wait outside."

Balantine's eyes narrowed as he noticed Jim. "Wait a moment," he said, "I've seen you... you're the one that was in the news, that..."

"We are here on official business, Mr. Balantine." Jim's voice was ice, steel eyes leaving no doubt that the subject was off-limits.

Balantine swallowed nervously, then gestured for Joel to follow him into the office. Jim leaned against the wall next to the closed door, Blair beside him. The two uniformed officers took positions a few feet away, one keeping an eye on the door, the other on the main room.

Blair looked cautiously up at Jim, trying to gauge how much he was extending his senses.

"He's protesting that shutting down the brewery is going to spoil the beer," Jim whispered to Blair.

"What did you hear before?"

"Just a loud curse, as soon as he heard the word 'police'." Jim frowned, closing his eyes in concentration. "That Nunann... He's making a phone call."

Blair too, had noticed the plant manager slinking away.

"Where is he?"

"He went back outside... Shit, he's talking about torching the place!"

Jim looked up at the other officers. "Stay here, and don't let him get away," he said pointing back to the door, indicating Balantine. "Chief, call Megan, tell her to be on the alert."

With that, he jogged off. Blair followed at a slower pace as he took out his cell phone and dialed.

By the time Blair caught up to Jim after getting off the phone with Megan, Jim was standing at a corner of the main building, watching Nunann make his way toward one of the storage buildings.

"What do you want to do?" Blair asked.

"Watch him, and hope he leads us to the cocaine."

"So we wait until he's actually about to set the fire? That's tricky."

"Well, we only have a search warrant. We need to have evidence that he knows where the cocaine is stored before we can arrest him." As they watched, Nunann turned into one of the buildings. "Let's go, Chief."

They quickly made their way over to the building where Nunann had disappeared and plastered themselves to its side.

"Do you hear anything?" Blair whispered.

"He's dragging something heavy, muttering what a waste this is." Jim sniffed. "He just opened the gasoline. Let's get in there."

Nunann turned in surprise as the door burst open, then froze as he saw Jim's gun pointed at him.

"What's the meaning of this, officer?" he said.

"Well, looks to me like you are about to commit arson." Jim nodded toward the can of gasoline in Nunann's hand, and the gasoline that was already spilled on the row of kegs against the wall.

Nunann swallowed nervously. "I... I was just moving this can. The lid fell off, and it spilled."

"Onto all those kegs? Well, you can go before a judge and see if he believes you. Put that can down, slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them."

Nunann bent, as if to comply with the order, then twisted, flinging the can toward Jim. The can was still so full of gasoline that it was too heavy to travel far, but Jim had to cover his face to avoid the splash of gasoline from the can. Nunann took off, with Blair right on his heels. As he ran, Nunann grabbed a keg and tumbled it into Blair's path. It rammed into Blair's knees, and he fell on top of it, hard. Stunned, Blair gasped for breath, and suddenly found himself coughing hard as flecks of some powdery substance filled his nose and caught in the back of his throat. Shit! The cocaine.

He heard Jim coming up to him. "Chief? You all right?"

"Not sure. The cocaine..."

Jim looked at the white powder spilling out of the keg. "Did you swallow any?" he asked.

Blair nodded. "Not much, I don't think, but... Hey, man," he waved Jim away. "Stay away from the stuff. Where did Nunann get to?"

Jim listened. "He's trying to get the back door open, seems like he can't find the key."

"Go get him. Did you call Megan?"

"Yup. They are moving in. You sure you're all right?"

"Yeah. Go."

Jim took off. Blair wheezed. He swallowed, trying to clear his throat, then remembered that he should spit out as much of the stuff as possible. He felt a bit light-headed, but wasn't sure if it was the effect of cocaine or just his imagination. He really should find some water.

He had just pulled himself up off the ground and was wondering whether he should try to go back and see if Jim needed any help, or go outside and wait for Megan, when Jim appeared, pushing a handcuffed Nunann ahead of him. Well, one guy under wraps without much incident. So far, so good.

"Chief, can you walk?" Jim asked, as he came up to Blair.

"Do I look that bad?"

Jim studied him. "Not too bad, but you should get checked out."

"Nah, I just need to sit and get some water. You sure you didn't inhale any of it?"

"I'm sure, Chief. Let's get out of here."

Jim marched Nunann out of the building, with Blair stumbling along, pausing every so often to wheeze and spit.

They were halfway back to the main building when suddenly there was a squeal of tires, and a police car came flying toward them at high speed. Jim shoved Nunann into Blair, pushing both of them out of the car's path, flinging himself right after them. The car passed by with only inches to spare, and kept moving without any sign of slowing down. Blair heard Jim curse, saw that the car was headed toward a group of brewery employees who were crossing the street with a laden cart, saw Jim grab for his gun, raise it, and fire --

The car jerked, swerved, and slammed into the building they had just left.

Blair threw himself over Nunann, knocking them both down to the ground, and hoped that everybody else had time to do the same, as --

The car exploded.

The stench of burning gasoline quickly filled the air. Blair coughed, and made sure that he was sitting on top of Nunann, knowing that he was in no condition to run after the guy if he decided to take off, as Jim hurried toward the brewery employees who were slowly picking themselves off the ground.

"Sandy?"

"Geez, Megan. What happened?"

"Balantine slugged one of the cops and tried to take off."

"Figures."

"Sandy, you look bad. What's wrong?"

"Cocaine."

"Cocaine?"

"Got some in my face. I..." he wheezed, "I swallowed some."

"We should get you to the hospital, mate."

"No, just need some water."

"Actually, we do need to get you to the hospital, Chief," Jim said, returning.

Police personnel were now swarming the area, one officer coming by to pick up Nunann, others looking after the brewery employees who had been thrown down by the explosion.

"I don't need a hospital, I didn't swallow that much."

"Yeah, I know, but see, Chief," Jim gestured at the building that was now cackling with flames. "you're evidence. Maybe the only one we have."

Blair groaned. "Oh, come on. Do I have to go? Isn't there some on my jacket or something?"

Jim looked closely at Blair. "Nope, I don't see any," he said. "Not much of that stuff got into the air when it spilled. You just inhaled it because you stuck your nose in it."

Blair stuck his tongue out at Jim. Jim just chuckled.

"Well," said Blair, glaring at Jim. "In that case, I better wash my face before you manage to stick your nose into it. Do I have any in my hair?"

"Not really. Just some in the front."

"Right. Megan? There must be a sink around here somewhere, right?"

Blair fidgeted in the hard chair, wondering why chairs in hospital waiting rooms couldn't be more comfortable. Having still-damp hair clinging to his neck wasn't helping. He glanced at Jim, who was sitting beside him, staring vacantly at the room.

"Jim," he said.

Jim turned.

"You sure you didn't get any of that stuff into you?"

"Will you quit it? If I did, you'll be seeing the effects."

"Hey," Blair raised his hands. "Just checking. I mean, with the Golden, and the opium..."

"Yeah, yeah. Gotta be careful. I know. But we've established that cocaine doesn't affect me unless I actually put it into my mouth. Or my nose."

Blair grunted. "Well don't go around kissing me, man, until we're sure it's out of my system."

"Just rinse your mouth, and we'll be fine. You've probably ingested everything by now anyway."

Blair was about to retort to that, but Jim held up a hand and dug for his cell phone, which had apparently started vibrating, and flipped it open. "Ellison," he said.

Blair sighed and stared at the other people in the waiting room while Jim talked.

"Well, Chief," Jim put away the phone and turned back to Blair. "Good news for you. They managed to put the fire out, and there was another stash of cocaine in the cellar that hadn't been burned. Plus, Nunann's singing like a canary, giving up everybody involved, including some prominent members of Balantine's family, as well as all the details of their drug operation. We don't need you for evidence."

"Yes!" Blair whooped. "So can we go home now?"

Jim looked over his partner very carefully. "Well, you seem ok," he allowed. "How are you feeling?"

"A little light-headed. Maybe a bit dizzy. Not that diff from having had a few too many drinks."

"Yeah, okay," Jim relented. "Let me tell the receptionist we are heading out."

"Oh, Jim?" Blair stopped Jim as he was about to get up. "Think you can find out how Eric's doing?"

"Sure, Chief," Jim agreed. "Stay right here."

"Woof."

"Is this getting to be a habit, Toto?"

"Giddyup, Ellison."

Jim laughed and threw up his hands. "I'm going, I'm going."

It took a while, but when Jim came back, it was with good news: Eric had been moved out of the ICU into a regular room.

"Visiting hours are over," Jim said, "but the nurse said we can go up and see him, if we want."

"What did you do, throw the ol' Ellison charm at her?"

"Well, not that I don't think the ol' Ellison charm is up to the task, but no. I just mentioned that we were involved in treating Eric when he was first found."

"Okay, whatever," Blair grinned. "Let's go."

Eric lay quite still in the hospital bed, his face pale, an I.V. and a heart monitor attached to his body.

"Has he regained consciousness at all?" Blair asked.

"Not yet, they said," Jim answered.

Together, they looked down at the boy, silent.

"I hope he's all right," Blair said, finally. "Hope he doesn't have brain damage, or anything like that."

"He's alive, Chief," Jim said, his voice strained. "That's all... all I wanted, when..."

"Jim."

Jim blinked hard, rubbing a hand over his head.

"You know," he said slowly, "when we were working on Eric today... I thought, not very different from Incacha chanting for a sick guy, you know?"

"You thought that too?"

Jim looked up, startled, and groaned. "God, Chief, are we starting to think alike?"

"Before long, we'll look alike."

"Am I going to grow back my hair, or are you going to lose yours?"

"Keep dreaming, Ellison."

Jim reached out and tugged Blair's hair. Blair ducked, raising a hand in protest, and suppressed a squeal in deference to their location.

Just then Eric stirred. The two men froze, their attention riveted to Eric. The boy scrunched his nose, then his eyes slowly opened.

"Eric?" Blair called softly.

The boy blinked -- his eyes slowly focused on Blair's face. "Hi," he said.

"Hi," Blair responded, moving close to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Jim signaled that he would go get the doctor, and slipped out.

"Tired," said Eric.

"Well, you've been through a lot," Blair said.

Eric looked up into Blair's face.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I..." Blair hesitated. "I'm just passing by, Eric. Just wanted to see if you're all right, you know?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Am I... all right?"

"I think... yes, you are." Blair heard the door open behind him. He glanced back to see a doctor and nurse entering the room. "Listen, Eric, the doctor is here, she'll check you, make sure you're all right, ok?"

The boy nodded sleepily.

"Bye, Eric," Blair said, touching the boy briefly on the arm. "Take care."

"By the way, do we know how that keg got sold to Sigma Delta Alpha?" Blair asked, as he pulled on his seatbelt.

"As far as we've been able to figure, some unsuspecting employee accidentally picked it up and put it into the production line," Jim replied, as he drove the truck out of the hospital parking lot. "Seems only a few of the brewery's employees knew about the drugs."

"Are they going to be out of a job, now?"

Jim shrugged. "Who knows? Somebody else might buy the place. It's a good business, apparently."

"Whose owner was using it as a front for a drug operation, and just died in a fiery explosion while he was trying to escape arrest."

"They'll figure something out, Chief."

They drove in silence for a while.

"You know," said Blair, finally. "That was nice, to see him wake up."

Jim grunted.

"Jim... This shaman thing, do you think there's anything to it?"

"What shaman thing?"

"I mean... Incacha said he's passing on the way of the shaman to me. But I've never really figured out what that was about."

"You and Incacha... Well, I'm not an expert on shamans or anything..."

"Yeah?"

"But if I understand correctly what qualities in Incacha made him a shaman, well, I'd say you have them, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And which qualities would that be?"

"Well, you both spill enough mumbo-jumbo to confuse anybody..."

"Hey!"

Jim laughed as he blocked Blair's playful punch.

"Seriously. It's... it's convincing people that things can be better when they look hopeless, prodding people into being better in spite of themselves..."

"I do that?"

"For me, you certainly have."

"So... you don't think being a shaman has anything to do with like, mystical powers?"

"What do I know about mystical stuff?" Jim shrugged. Blair stared, pointedly wide-eyed. "Well, ok, so I see ghosts and spirit animals. It doesn't make sense to me, ok? I need you to figure out what all that stuff is about, and bug me into doing something about them, because left on my own, I'd rather just ignore that stuff."

"So I make you face the spirit world in spite of yourself?"

"Well... Remember that day you made me go give a lecture to your anthro class, and I wanted to do that like I wanted to have a root canal?"

"Yeah."

"You made me go give that lecture anyway. Well, I never actually did give the lecture, because of Brackett, but somehow you got me to go along with the idea. If that isn't a mark of a shaman, I don't know what is."

"You make being a shaman sound so mundane, Jim."

"What, you expect magic? Miracles?"

"Well... I dunno. Like Eric waking up while we were there... Yeah, coincidence, probably, but..." Blair looked out the window.

Jim pulled the truck into its parking spot at their building. "I can't deny that mystical stuff exists, Chief," he said. "But... to me, simply being able to sense that kind of stuff doesn't make a shaman. It's... more. Different." He looked at Blair. "So Incacha said you're a shaman. I'll take his word for it."

"Yeah... But what does it mean?"

"Not going to find any answers sitting here all night," Jim said, opening the truck door. "Come on Chief, let's go."

Blair got out, watched as Jim hauled Stoddard's Ainu box out of the truck, and followed him to the elevator. His talk with Eli seemed like something ages in the past instead of just that morning. He really needed a nice, hot shower, he thought, then bed. Yes, definitely bed. He could think about all this sentinel, guide, and shaman stuff some other time.

Getting off the elevator, he unlocked their apartment door and held it open for Jim, then shut the door and turned to tell Jim to put the box in his room --

And froze.

There, on the window of his room, was the wolf.

His wolf. Designed by him, created by a grateful student. That had used to be in the door of his office at Rainier.

He blinked.

Slowly he walked up to it, noting where the glass had been cut and joined, its size cleverly changed to fit this window.

He raised a finger and brought it close to the glass, cautiously, hesitantly, unreasonably afraid that the glass would crumble -- or simply melt away into thin air -- at his touch.

But the glass was solid under his finger, and he pressed his hand flat against it, then the other one, and then his face -- the glass was cool against his cheek as his fingers reverently traced the etched surface.

His wolf. Here. In his home. In their home.

"how?" he asked.

Jim left Stoddard's box by the door and came up behind him. He placed his hand over Blair's, his fingers entwining with Blair's as he too felt the glass surface.

"The other day, when you had that dream... of the wolf... It reminded me of this." Jim moved his other hand to rest on Blair's shoulder. "I talked to custodial services at Rainier. They let me have this, on condition that I pay for the replacement glass for the office door. I found a glass place that does stuff like this -- got them to resize this glass to fit this window..."

"Did you know they were coming today?"

"Yeah. I thought I'd surprise you. I... I didn't know you'd be going to Rainier today, though, when I arranged for the delivery."

"Why here?"

"It... It's not for you, really. Well, I hoped you'd like it, but really, I needed it..."

"You need it? What for?" Blair turned back toward Jim, curious.

Jim didn't let go of Blair's hand, shifting the clasp to be comfortable as they faced each other. He let his other hand drift up to Blair's hair, stroking the nearly dry strands.

"To remind me..." he said, softly.

"Of...?"

"I..." Jim's voice broke. "I lost you once, because I was afraid of my dreams."

"What are you talking about?"

"The wolf... I dreamed about the wolf..."

"When?"

"Before I... kicked you out."

Blair closed his eyes and sighed, sinking back against the glass. "Oh, man. There's quite a story there, isn't there?"

"Yeah."

"Let's sit." Blair said, pushing himself off the window and pulling Jim along with him to the sofa. "I'm wiped."

"It was kind of a long day."

Blair rolled his eyes. "You can say that again," he snorted, as he settled back into the sofa. "So, about this dream...?"

"I shot the wolf. It turned into you."

Blair blinked. "Whoa."

"Yeah."

"No wonder you were so freaked out. You dreamed that you shot me? My god."

"I... I should have told you. I-I'm still not clear on what that meant. But whatever it was, shutting you out was a mistake." Jim glanced at the wolf in the window. "I want that there... to remind me, you know."

"To remind us both," Blair said, leaning forward and pressing himself against Jim. Jim's arms came up around him, molding them together. "I... We didn't communicate very well that time."

"No." Jim pulled away a little, so he could look into Blair's eyes. "But you still came back to me."

"How could I not?" Blair whispered. "You came after me, man. I felt it. You love me. I knew it then."

Jim opened his mouth, tried to get the words out, failed, tried again.

"After... in the hospital... I said..."

Blair waited.

"...not ready... to take that trip..."

Blair closed his eyes, remembering that moment, the crushing sense of disappointment, humiliation, desperation...

"I..." Jim's fingers brushed his cheek and worked their way up his face, ending up tangled in his hair. "I should have said... should have known... I was always on that trip with you, Chief, from... well, from the moment you walked into my hospital room."

"Oh."

Blair blinked. Found a lump in his throat he just couldn't swallow. Felt the light well up from somewhere deep inside himself. The wolf and the panther rushed toward each other, jumped, merged into one...

...and they were molded against each other, kissing, slowly, deeply, their tongues sliding softly against each other, drinking in the other's taste.

Blair moaned as Jim pulled away.

"Don't know about you, Chief," Jim said, grinning, "but I could use a shower."

Reminded that that had been exactly his thoughts when he'd walked in the door, Blair burst out laughing.

A long, hot shower was exactly what was called for at the end of a long, exhausting day like this. A long, hot shower with Jim's strong fingers massaging his head, working the shampoo thoroughly into his hair -- well, he had died and gone to heaven. He had died, and gone to -- hey, this was better than heaven. Jim waited patiently as Blair bent over doubled, laughing hysterically.

"You're in a real laughing mood tonight, Chief."

"S...so...sorry," Blair gasped, not even attempting to explain.

"You never did tell me how your meeting with Stoddard went," Jim said, as he pulled Blair back up and turned him into the shower spray to rinse off the shampoo.

"Oh, Eli? Yeah, he, um..." Blair paused, uncertain.

Jim frowned. "What is it?"

"Well, um..." Blair threw his head back and rubbed his hair vigorously under the water to rinse out the shampoo. Pulling out of the spray, he reached for the conditioner and started massaging it into his hair. "It's just that, Eli... well, um, he..."

"What? Out with it, Chief," Jim mock-growled, as he grabbed the soap.

"Well, he thinks I should continue working on the sentinel stuff."

Jim paused in the middle of soaping up Blair's chest. "Doesn't believe your press conference, does he?"

"um... no."

"Well," Jim said reflectively as he turned Blair around and started soaping his back. "I suppose it's to be expected that not everyone would believe it. Especially people who know you."

"That's what Eli said."

"You said you don't regret it, but..."

"I don't, Jim. Everything happens for a reason, you know."

"Yeah? I wish I knew what those reasons were."

"Life is about searching for answers, man. It's the journey that's important, not the... oh."

Jim caressed Blair's balls, rolling them gently in a soapy hand.

"Why did we wait so long?" he whispered, kissing Blair's shoulder.

"There's a time for everything," Blair said. "We had to go through everything we did to get to where we are."

"Yeah?" Jim said, "I just wish it hadn't been so... difficult."

"Nothing worthwhile is easy, Jim. Isn't that what you said?"

Jim turned Blair around, gazing deep into his eyes. "Yeah, I did say that," he said, finally. "Come on, let's get out of here."

Jim would, of course, remember to lay out a fresh towel on the pillows, Blair thought, as he wiggled his damp hair into the towels, enjoying the soft plushiness of the thick cotton strands. Jim did have nice towels, which compensated for his somewhat anal protectiveness toward his pillows.

He watched as Jim finished draping their used bath towels over the railing, then turned to reach for the bedside drawer. He paused, hand on the handle, and looked at Blair -- who looked steadily back. Opening the drawer, Jim pulled out condom and lubricant, eyes still fixed on Blair.

Blair slowly extended an arm toward Jim, and Jim slid in. The embrace was gentle, reverent, and almost tentative. Blair felt his skin mold itself to Jim's, felt their even breaths settle into a matching rhythm, yielded to the subtle pressure pushing him onto the bed.

It was finally happening -- after all the careful explorations, of taking the time to get to know each other physically, they were finally ready, and they both knew it, felt it in the silent but eloquent language of their bodies, in the still depths of their entwined souls.

Blair gasped as Jim slipped down his body and sucked in the whole of his soft penis. Jim cradled it in his mouth, gently rolling the tip back and forth with his tongue, the soft-wet lapping motion so good, so tender...

Dimly, Blair was aware of Jim reaching for the lube, even as his skillful tongue continued to work over him. He felt, more than heard, the snap of the cap being opened.

"You know," Blair said, breathless, "Eli said..." His voice choked as Jim's finger slipped in.

"Eli said... what?" Jim asked, sliding the single finger slowly in and out.

Blair swallowed hard, bracing himself against the assault of the still unfamiliar sensation, so strange and grating, yet so intimate.

"He said..." his voice broke as Jim's finger thrust in, a little deeper than before, "said... I'm your... Guide."

"Did he, really?"

Jim pulled out his finger, and quickly thrust in with two.

Blair gasped. Jim kept the fingers still, running his other hand up and down Blair's chest and along his arm. Blair shut his eyes tight, concentrating on the feel of Jim's fingers inside him, the unrelenting solidity of the foreign presence, the way they intruded into him, stretched him and held him open. He wondered once again why the slight discomfort was the very thing that made this so... so...

penetrating

"I'm... your guide," Blair managed to choke out. "Does that mean you're my sentinel?"

"Always was, Chief," Jim murmured.

"oh..." Blair closed his eyes, relaxing under Jim's caress, letting himself drift in the pleasure that washed over him as Jim returned his attention to his penis. Slowly, with infinite care, Jim lapped the hardening shaft, and just as carefully, his fingers wiggled inside Blair, infinitesimally at first, then gradually increasing their movement, until they were sliding smoothly up and down, each stroke a firm but tender caress against the inner walls of Blair's rectum.

Blair moaned, shifting, his legs sliding open to take Jim in further.

Jim slid up to kiss Blair, softly sucking at each of the full lips in turn before dipping his tongue in to tangle with Blair's.

Blair clutched Jim's arm in protest when the fingers slipped out. Soothingly, Jim nuzzled Blair's cheek, kissed his way down his arched throat, then reached out to grab the condom he'd left on the drawer and handed it to Blair.

Eyes locked with Jim's, Blair slowly brought the condom packet up to his mouth, clasped the edge between his teeth, and with trembling fingers, tore it open.

Jim plucked the wet springy condom from Blair's fingers, and Blair watched, mesmerized, as Jim rolled it onto his hard, erect penis.

Then Jim looked up and smiled, a soft, shy smile that penetrated Blair's soul and filled his being, and he reached up and pulled Jim down, seeking his lips, kissing him deeply.

The panther and the wolf rushed toward each other...

Jim turned him, urging him to lie on his side, facing away, and Blair let him guide, let him arrange his body however he wanted, felt Jim spoon up behind him, felt him shift, position himself, felt the round, smooth-hard tip of Jim's penis pressing against him...

And felt the pressure, felt it grow, insistent, demanding -- and suddenly, his body gave in, and Jim slid in, in one smooth burning stroke.

Blair cried out, grabbing desperately at Jim's arms, which clenched convulsively around him, wrapping him in a tight, gripping embrace. He pressed back against Jim's chest, molding themselves even tighter together, felt the shock gradually abate, found himself able to breathe again, felt the heave of Jim's lungs against his back, the pulse of Jim's blood coursing through the body that surrounded him, inside and out, felt his own heart beating against Jim's hand, craned his neck, desperately wanting to be kissed.

Jim complied, angling his face to meet Blair, and they kissed, gently, tenderly, slowly, until Blair couldn't hold his neck up anymore and dropped back down onto the pillow. Jim squeezed his arm once, slid the hand down, clasped Blair's hand, then brought the joined hands up, pressing them against Blair's chest. His other hand slid down Blair's side and gripped Blair's hip.

Then Jim moved.

The soft, tentative motion sent a jarring jolt through Blair's body, drawing an involuntary gasp. Jim buried his head against Blair's neck, shifted down a bit, and thrust again, rubbing against that place deep inside Blair, and Blair jerked back, shuddering as the pleasure seeped through his nerves.

Jim's hand slid from Blair's hip to fondle his hardening penis, rolling it between teasing fingers, cradling it in a loose grip, tugging it gently, pumping it into full hardness. He moved again, rubbing long and surely against that spot. Blair threw back his head and moaned.

Then Jim was moving, thrusting steadily, with increasing force, and Blair was floating in a sea of sensation, immersed in Jim, and he was gone, Blair was gone, he wasn't here anymore, just this mass of motion and rhythm and pressure, steadily building pressure, tugging, pushing, drawing, pulling, filling...

Suddenly, Jim's rhythm broke, fell apart into erratic jerks, and Jim's hand came down to grasp his penis, pumping it hard, urgently.

The wolf and the panther jumped toward each other, met midair, merged...

And Blair tumbled out of himself and lay panting on the bed, Jim's lax limbs pressing him down into the mattress, feeling Jim's harsh breath calming gradually against his ear, listening to his own body drifting toward the slower, deeper rhythm of sleep.

Oh yes, this was better than heaven.

"Blair?" Jim's voice was soft and drowsy. "You here?"

"No," Blair murmured. "I've gone to the stars."

Jim chuckled weakly. Pushing himself up, he pulled out, the grating feel drawing a soft grunt from both of them. Quickly chucking away the condom, he grabbed some tissues, cursorily wiping them down before snuggling back into Blair and tugging up the covers.

The wolf gazed at him, its cool dark eyes beckoning.

He moved toward it, and it stepped forward. Blue mist parted as they moved toward each other, the tendrils curling and trailing away into thin air. Face to face they stood, the light of the moon casting cold blue shadows around them.

Deep dark eyes glowed even darker as the wolf's form wavered, shifted, altered -- and the shape that solidified in front of him was him, but not. The now-human figure shimmered in the moonlight, its face framed by the flowing halo of dark wavering hair, naked except for the beads of semi-precious stones that hung from the neck and down the chest. Beads that he recognized as symbols of life, of spirit, of essence.

He himself was totally naked. Shivering, he faced the other, whose dark demanding eyes tore into the core of his being.

"Who are you?" it asked.

"Blair Sandburg," he replied.

"Who are you?" it repeated.

"I'm Jim's partner. His guide." The unfamiliar acknowledgement caught in his throat.

"Who are you?"

"I..." He was a great many things. He was a police consultant now, a graduate student writing a dissertation on police society, an anthropologist, son of Naomi, friend to Simon and Daryl and various other people... But none of it was what was being asked.

"Who are you?"

"I..." He was who he was. Him. Blair Sandburg, son of Naomi, partner and guide to Jim Ellison, consultant to the Cascade Police Department, Ph.D. candidate in anthropology at Rainier University, friend of Simon, Daryl, Megan, Joel, Henri, Rafe...

"I'm Blair Sandburg."

"Who are you?"

"Jim's guide and partner."

"Who are you?"

Apart from everything else, apart from being Jim's guide and partner, from being a graduate student, a consultant, a son, a relative, a friend... Apart from anything he did or owned, apart from all connections he had with anything and anybody...

"I am who I am."

And suddenly, he was wearing the beads, the beads of life and power, the beads of the shaman, around his neck, and the figure in front of him was the wolf once again, and it gathered itself as if to jump...

He opened his eyes. The room was dark, filled with shadows, the faint ambient light from the windows just enough to throw the darker corners into even deeper gloom.

His hands clenched convulsively over his chest, as if he could grasp the shaman's bead. Who was he, really? Did the dream mean anything, or was he simply projecting?

He turned, looking into Jim's face, relaxed in sleep, open and vulnerable as it never was when he was awake. Tentatively, he reached a finger to trace the contours of the so-familiar face.

Jim grunted, pulled him close, and tucked him snugly against his body, without quite waking up.

Held securely in Jim's arms, cradled in the comforting presence of his partner, Blair slept.