Note From The Author:  It was never my intention to post this. My friends however were of a different opinion. So you can thank, or blame, whichever the case may be, Denise, Aggie and Monica for this. After all, a girl can only take so much nagging. (Star ducks as cream filled pies are lobbed in her direction.) Aw, come on guys,I was just kidding... {]=====---SPLAT! ...Honest.

Special Thanks: To Agnes Mage for her quick and incisive beta reading of this puppy.

Banks gracefully maneuvered the gray sedan into the parking spot outside of 852 Prospect and with a weary sigh, turned off the ignition. Trying to ease the stiffness in his neck from the long drive, Simon rotated his head groaning softly as the movement resulted in pain. It had been an extremely long day. Up before dawn to tackle the long drive to Clayton Falls, eagerly anticipating some exceptional fishing. Only it hadn’t turned out that way. First, Ellison had been less than pleased with their sudden appearance on his doorstep. Then all hell broke loose as one after another the townspeople fell ill. Simon closed his eyes sending a silent prayer of thanks, that in reality it had all been a sham, a ruse perpetrated by a dozen or so men in order to stage a heist of a train load of currency on its way to be destroyed. Still, for awhile there, Simon had been scared. Especially when Sandburg also got sick.

Banks glanced at the figure curled up in the passenger seat and grimaced in commiseration at the uncomfortable position in which the younger man dozed. He had slept the entire way home, stirring only on occasion to mumble unintelligible words. Well, no doubt the kid would rest easier now that he was home. In fact, the thought of his own bed sounded very appealing to Simon at that point.

“Sandburg, we’re here.” He grasped Blair’s shoulder, shaking him gently, frowning when his touch garnered no response. Concerned, he reached out and pushing the long curls aside, felt the smaller man's forehead, noticing a slight warmth beneath his callused palm.

Blair murmured beneath his breath and tossed slightly in protest at the unaccustomed weight resting on his brow. Slowly he made his way from the dark imposing dreams tormenting his subconscious into the bright realities of consciousness. Long, dark eyelashes fluttered open to reveal glazed cerulean spheres. "Simon?" he questioned, still not completely awake and unsure of his surroundings."What? Where?" he stammered.

"We're at the loft Blair," Simon told the befuddled young man. He looked more closely at Sandburg, not liking the pallor of his complexion. "You feeling all right? You're a bit warm."

Blair straightened in the seat and impatiently brushed back his disheveled curls, tucking them behind his ear. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Banks wasn't buying it. Lord knows the kid had been through enough over the last sixteen hours. Not to mention the fact that for awhile there, Blair thought there was a good possibility that he was going to die. What if there was something to the virus after all? What if it wasn't all a ruse? Maybe he should run Sandburg by the hospital and get him checked out just in case. "Blair," Simon began, "maybe we should..."

Knowing full well what Simon was about to propose, Sandburg cut him off with a raised hand. "I told you, I'm fine." He gripped the door handle and flung open the door. Grabbling his backpack from the floor he turned towards the older man. "I'm sorry things didn't work out. Maybe next time, huh?" he said, summoning a weary smile.

"Yeah, maybe." Simon agreed doubtfully.

"I'll see you Monday," Blair told him, climbing out of the vehicle and slamming the door.

With a halfhearted wave in Simon’s general direction he entered the building and stepped onto the waiting elevator. Closing his eyes, he leaned wearily against the side of the lift. God, he was so tired, and the fact of the matter was, he hadn’t been entirely truthful with Simon. His body ached all over, no doubt from sleeping in such an awkward position on the trip home. Then there were the pin pricks of pain behind his eyes. 'Probably just stress,' he told himself as he stepped off the elevator and headed for the loft door. Digging the keys out of his pocket Blair’s vision suddenly blurred. “Damn!” he said, rubbing lethargically at his eyes. “I must be more tired than I thought.” His fumbling finally produced the appropriate key and Sandburg let himself into the loft.

With a plop, the familiar backpack landed on the floor. The keys went flying into the basket on the table beside the door moments later. Next Blair shrugged off his jacket and made to hang it on the coat rack. He missed and it fell to the floor. Bending over to retrieve it, Blair felt himself get lightheaded. "Whoa!" he exclaimed with some surprise. "Where did that come from?" Laying one hand on the wall for support, he slowly rose back into a standing position. "Sleep, I need sleep," he tried to convince himself, while rubbing at the pain growing in intensity between the expanse of his eyes.

Stumbling across the loft, Blair headed towards his bedroom. He made it part way when he felt his stomach rebel. Making a quick detour, he headed for the bathroom, barely making it in time before his stomach heaved up its contents into the toilet bowl. It was mostly dry heaves as he had eaten relatively little for over a day, but the cramping and heaving were persistent. Groaning in misery, he waited for the sensation to subside.

The minutes continued to slowly tick by, but eventually the heaving abated. Reaching up, he gripped the towel bar and pulled himself to his feet. Glancing up, he looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and groaned. "Great, just great. You not only feel like shit, but you look as bad as you feel. Well, at least there's no one here to scare with your appearance." He tried to chuckle at his own joke, but it came out more of a sob. Inadvertently, his thoughts turned to Ellison and he quickly brushed them aside. 'No, I'm not going to go there,' he thought. 'Jim wanted this vacation. He wanted time away from you.' Once again Blair’s gaze returned to his reflection. “Face it Sandburg,” he said aloud, “this time you’re on your own.”

Firmly resolved to handle the situation alone, Blair straightened. With minimal effort he washed his face and rinsed the vile taste of bile from his mouth. Then intent on sleeping through the worst of whatever *this* was, headed for his room. He made it as far as the French doors before the world around him started to revolve. Grabbing onto the doorframe, Blair slowly sank to the floor and into oblivion.

Simon got a total of seven blocks before the nagging feeling in his gut forced him to turn around. At the next intersection he checked for traffic, executed a u-turn and headed back in the opposite direction. Several minutes later his car screeched to a stop in front of the loft. Sliding out of the car, he slammed the door and hurried into the building. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was that had precipitated his near state of panic, but it had become too overwhelming to ignore.

Banks cursed upon discovering that the elevator was in use and rather than waiting for it to return to the ground floor, he flung open the door to the stairwell and took the stairs two at a time. His breath coming in quick pants as he finally reached the third floor and thundered down the hallway towards the loft door.

Simon knocked loudly, his knuckles rapping firmly on the wooden door. "Sandburg," he called aloud when several minutes passed and no reply came in response to his knocking. "Blair?" he tried again. Still no response. As his anxiety grew, Simon drew out his keys searching for the one to Ellison's loft. Finally he found it and inserted it into the lock. Swinging open the door, he stepped into the room, his gaze scanning the interior's expanse. "Sandburg?" he called again. Just then he spotted Blair crumpled on the floor, midway between his room and the hallway.

Quickly he crossed the room and knelt beside the anthropologist. Concerned eyes traveled over the inert form as Simon called out his name. "Sandburg... Blair, can you hear me?" He reached out, laying a large hand on the younger man’s forehead. Frowning, he once again detected the sign of a fever, but certainly not one severe enough to cause this type of collapse. Reaching out, he tapped Blair's cheek lightly. "Sandburg?"

The figure beneath his hand groaned softly. "Jim?" Came the plaintive cry and Simon felt something deep within his heart constrict.

"No Blair, Jim's not here," Banks softly replied with reluctance.

With a moan, Blair's eyes slowly opened and focused on the figure hovering over him. "Simon?" he croaked in confusion, his throat raw and sore. "I thought you went home."

Banks chuckled lightly. "I almost did. Looks like it was a good thing I changed my mind."

Sandburg looked up, blinking fuzzily. "Why? What's wrong? Is it Jim? Did something happen to Jim?" Struggling to rise, fear for the sentinel clouded his features.

'If that doesn’t beat all,'Banks thought, shaking his head in amazement. Here the kid was laying flat on his back and all he was worried about was Ellison. "Just calm down,” Simon told him, gently pushing Sandburg back down. “Jim's fine."

Blair laid back, obviously relieved. He took a minute to mull this information over in his mind and then looked up at Simon questioningly. "If Jim's okay, then what are you doing here?"

The captain let out a long, exasperated sigh. "In case you haven't notice, you happen to be laying on the floor."

With a confused frown, Blair took stock of his position and realized that Simon was right. Slowly pushing himself into a sitting position, he mentally reviewed the last few minutes he could remember and silently groaned. "Guess I was more tired than I thought," he told Banks, trying to make light of the situation.

Nonplused, Simon raised a censuring eyebrow. Glancing away guiltily, Blair scooted away from the towering figure and got unsteadily to his feet. Swaying as dizziness threatened once more, he quickly grabbed the doorframe for support.

Simon roughly gripped Sandburg by the shoulders, steadying him. "Okay, that's it!" he bellowed. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

"NO!" Blair protested, pulling from Simon's grip and backing into his room. "I don't need a hospital. I'm fine!"

"FINE?" Simon snorted in disbelief. "Fine is not finding you passed out on the floor."

Sandburg turned away from Simon's concerned gaze. "I told you, I'm just tired,” he sighed, exhaustion punctuating very word. “I mean, we were up before dawn. Then there was all that stuff with the bad guys and the virus. Not to mention,” he continued, gesturing expressively with his hands, “a scene straight out of the movie, ‘The Great Train Robbery.’ It's been a busy day Simon,” he said wearily, “so just cut me some slack here, okay?"

"No, it's not okay,” Banks exclaimed. “Jim would have my hide if I knew you were sick and didn't do anything about it."

Blair sank down on the bed and rolled over onto his side, facing away from Simon. "Well Jim’s not here," he replied sulkingly.

"Blair..." Banks said in a softly conjoling tone, only to be interrupted by an outburst from the man curled up on his side.

"Damn it, Simon!” Sandburg retorted angrily. “I told you, I'm fine. Now I'm sure you know your way out," with that Blair reached out and pulled the covers to his shoulders, effectively dismissing Simon.

The older man retreated only as far as the living room. Pacing back and forth, he mentally examined his options: (1) He could hall Sandburg kicking and screaming to the hospital. 'Nah,' Simon thought. 'He'd fight me every step of the way ,' and quickly that idea was dismissed. (2) He could call an ambulance. Nope, Blair would raise just as much of a stink about that option as the first.. (3) He could stay here and keep an eye on Sandburg himself and make sure the kid didn't get any worse. 'Right,' he mused, 'and have Ellison kick my ass for not letting him know what was going on.' That left option(4) Getting in touch with Jim and letting *him* deal with Sandburg. Banks smiled. That was by far the best option yet. Besides, it was obvious that those two had some issues that needed to be settled between them. Decision made, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed information.

Quickly he punched in the number for the Clayton Falls diner, muttering expletives moments later as a recording explained that the number was out of service. 'Damn!' he thought, 'they must not have gotten the lines back up yet.' With a resigned sigh, he settled down on the couch to begin his lone vigil.

For the next several hours Simon periodically checked on the sleeping anthropologist, but eventually his own exhaustion caught up with him and he nodded off on the couch.

Simon bolted upright as a loud crash startled him awake. Automatically, he reached for his gun, only to recall that it wasn't there, but hanging on the coat rack by the door. Swiftly rising from the couch, he started towards the weapon only to pause mid-stride as the sound of a soft groan came from the direction of the bathroom. It was then that he realized it was Sandburg who had awakened him.

Concerned, he changed direction and headed down the short hallway. No light showed beneath the closed door. Thinking it odd, Simon knocked once, calling out Sandburg’s name. The answering moan prodded Simon into action. He turned the doorknob and finding it unlocked, pushed open the door. Reaching in, he flicked on the light. The action resulted in a cry of distress from Sandburg.

Blair lay sprawled on the bathroom floor, the contents of the medicine cabinet scattered around him. The younger man had thrown up an arm as if to ward off the offending light. "Turn it off," Sandburg pleaded.

"Blair, what?" Simon frowned in question, preparing to kneel beside Sandburg.

"Turn off the light," Blair begged again. "It hurts my eyes."

Quickly, Simon reached up and flicked the switch. "Is that better?" he asked.

"Yeah, thanks, man," Sandburg replied with obvious relief. "Sorry about that, but I've got a killer of a headache and the light wasn't helping."

In the dim light filtering in from the hallway, Simon knelt beside Blair. "What's all this?" he asked, waving a hand in the direction of the medicine cabinet's scattered contents.

Wearily, Blair ran a hand through his dark curls. "I was trying to find something for my headache. I guess I got a little dizzy," he reluctantly admitted.

That softly confessed admission scared Simon. Anytime Sandburg actually gave in and admitted to being in pain, well, you just knew it had to be bad.

Hooking one hand beneath the young man's arm, he said forcefully. "Okay, that's it. You're going to the hospital."

Abruptly, Blair pulled away and rose on shaky legs. "No!” he insisted. “I told you, I am *not* going to the hospital." Pushing past Simon he hurried into the hall, and preferring not to take the chance of being cornered by the angry captain, headed for the living room.

Thankfully only a small table lamp was lit. It’s golden glow acting as a soothing balm to Sandburg’s sensitive optic nerves. Making his way over to the couch, Blair sank gratefully into its cushioning embrace. Then grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch, he wrapped himself within its folds and stretched out.

Simon strode into the room, anger radiating in waves from every pore. "Damn it Sandburg. Why are you being so stubborn about this?"

With a Herculean effort, Blair forced his heavy eyelids open and squinted at the irate individual hovering over him. "Okay, so I don't feel so hot,” he finally admitted with a weary sigh, “but it's not worth going to the hospital over. All I need is a little rest and I'll be as good as new."

"Sandburg!" Simon ground out in frustration before catching himself. After all this wasn't some little kid he was talking to. Blair was an adult and certainly capable of making his own decisions, 'and mistakes', his subconscious reminded him. "All right, fine," he told Blair, "I can't force you go to the hospital, but if you think for one minute that I'm going to leave you here all alone while you're sick..." He sat down in the nearby chair. "Well, you just better think again," he said, crossing his arms in an act of finality.

"Thanks, Simon," Blair murmured gratefully as his eyelids drifted shut and sleep claimed him once more.

Seconds flowed into minutes, the minutes into hours as Banks maintained a constant vigil tending to Sandburg. Throughout the night, Blair’s fever had grown progressively worse, with the younger man becoming increasingly restless.

Concerned about the very real possibility of dehydration, Simon had attempted to get Sandburg to drink fluids, even going so far as to heat up a can of chicken broth he had found in the cupboard. But as time passed and Blair’s stomach consistently rebelled, it became painfully obvious that Sandburg wasn't going to be able to keep anything down. Finally he adamantly refused to accept fluids of any kind and Simon's concern grew.

As Blair once again slipped into a fever-ladened sleep, Simon gently bathed his face with a damp cloth and silently cursed obstinate anthropologists.

On several occasions he had attempted to reach Ellison, only to get the same annoying recording that said, "The number you have reached is not in service. Please check the number and try again."

Banks had begged, practically pleaded with Sandburg to let him take him to the hospital, but the stubborn young man had persistently refused all entreaties. As Blair's temperature rose yet another notch Simon’s patience finally snapped. He’d had enough of Sandburg’s nonsense and was going to drag his sorry ass to the Emergency Room whether he wanted to go or not.

Determination written in every line of his exhausted features, Banks headed towards the semiconscious figure huddled on the couch. Suddenly, the shrill ringing of the phone rent the somber silence permeating the loft. Intent on his mission, Simon ignored its summons. Two rings later the answering machine picked up and Ellison's voice filled the room. Breathing a sigh of profound relief, Banks hurried to the phone, snatching it from its receiver. "Jim!” he bellowed into the instrument. “Jim, it's Simon. You've got to come home. Sandburg’s sick." The words came out in a rush.

"What?" came Jim's startled exclamation. "Slow down, Simon, and tell me what's going on."

Banks took a deep breath and filled Jim in on the events of the last few hours.

"Damn!" Ellison cursed. "I had a feeling something was wrong."

"Jim," Simon pleaded, "you’ve got to come home. He won't listen to me and every time I try and force the issue of going to the hospital, he gets upset." He voice grew serious. "I'm worried Jim," Banks admitted. "Maybe he'll listen to you."

The urgency in Simon's tone finally penetrated the sedimentary layers surrounding Blair's subconscious. Shifting slightly on the couch, he turned to listen more intently to what Banks was saying. It took a few minutes to register, but finally he realized that Simon was not only talking to Jim, but asking him to come home.

Panic provided the impetus to propel Sandburg from the couch. "What are you doing?" Blair growled, stumbling towards Simon, hand outstretched. "Give me the phone,” he demanded." Banks turned sideways, keeping it from the younger man’s grasp.

"Damn it, give me the phone!” Sandburg yelled again as Simon continued to shield it with his body. "Jim," Blair called out. "I know you can here me, man. Don't listen to Simon. I'm fine. I want you to stay there and enjoy your vacation..."

"Simon, what the hell is going on?" Ellison bellowed as Sandburg's entreaties reached him across the phone lines.

Banks sighed. "Sandburg's concerned about ruining your vacation. He’s becoming quite upset about it actually.”

Ellison growled, his Guide's distress could clearly be heard over the phone. The sounds of a struggle followed. "Simon?" Jim called. "What's going on?"

Banks had his hands full. Sandburg, in his delirium, had tried to rip the phone out of his hand. Not wanting to hurt the young observer, Simon carefully snaked one arm around Blair's waist and held on tight. Having somewhat subdued the struggling man, Simon was finally able to turn his attention back to his conversation with Ellison. "Jim, I really need you here....now!" He said with a strong emphasis on the final word.

"Okay Simon, listen. I had a feeling that something was wrong so I'm already headed on my way back. I should be there in about an hour."

"Thank God!" Simon muttered.

"In the meantime," Ellison continued. "I want you to keep trying to get Sandburg to agree to go to the hospital."

"Jim, I've talked until I'm blue in the face. The kid won't budge."

Ellison audibly sighed. "Okay, then just keep a close eye on him. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Right," Simon replied and severed the connection.

"What did you do?" Blair screeched, yanking out of Simon's grasp and backing away. "I told you to tell him not to come home."

"Blair, listen to me..."

"NO!" Sandburg yelled in protest. Turning, he stumbled into his room, slamming the door.

Simon hurried after him and reaching for the knob, found it locked. "Sandburg!" he called, pounding on the door.

"Go away," Blair called out, petulantly.

"Blair, come on, open the door." Simon conjoled.

"NO!"

Simon rattled the knob. "Damn it, Sandburg, open the door."

"Go away, Simon," Blair replied. "I don't want you here. I thought you were my friend."

Banks suddenly felt as if he were dealing with a child, but then realized that it was the illness talking, not Sandburg. "I am your friend, Blair," he assured the younger man.

"If you were really my friend,” came Sandburg’s heart-wrenching reply, “you would have listened to me. You would have let me talk to Jim. Now his vacation is ruined....all because of me." The last part came out as a gasping sob and Simon felt something within his heart constrict.

"That's not true, Blair,” Simon relied softly. “Jim knew something was wrong. He was already on his way home.”

"I don't... believe... you," Sandburg replied, his voice sounding strange.

Banks immediately noted the difference and his concern grew. "Blair," he pleaded with urgency, “please, open the door.” Anxiously he awaited a reply, but none was forthcoming. "Sandburg, can you hear me?" He tried again, only to be met with the same ominous silence.

Uncertain what to do, Simon paced back and forth within the small expanse of the hallway, silently weighing his options. Should he break down the door or wait until Ellison gets home and let him decide?

"Sandburg," Simon bellowed in a final attempt, “if you don't open that door right this minute, I'm going to break it down." Banks paused, waiting. Hoping and praying for some indication that the young man inside had heard his threat. Several seconds passed with no response and Simon began counting out loud, "One.... two...."

"Go away," came a plaintive cry from the other side of the door. "I don't want you here."

"Blair, please," Simon tried again, but Sandburg remained adamant, refusing to acknowledge further entreaties. With a growl of frustration, Banks retreated as far as the living room and spent the next forty-five minutes pacing.

Fear and concern for his partner’s wellbeing combined to give Ellison a leaden foot. Instead of the hour he had quoted Simon, forty-two minutes later his pickup jumped the curb and pulled to a screeching halt on the sidewalk outside the loft.

Jim wasted precious little time leaping from the vehicle and racing into the building. Muttering curses beneath his breath regarding the slowness of the lift, Ellison’s senses subconsciously forged ahead, reaching out in search of Sandburg’s familiar heartbeat. Finally the door opened and barreling down the hallway, he swiftly entered the loft apartment.

Simon glanced up, startled at Ellison’s sudden appearance. "Thank God!" he exclaimed, releasing a pent-up breath.

Jim's face was a mask of concern. "Where's Sandburg?" he asked.

Simon shook his head. "The kid’s locked himself in his room and won't come out."

"We'll see about that," Ellison replied, stalking past Simon and to the doors of Blair's room.

"Sandburg, it's Jim," he called through the locked door. "Come on, buddy, open up." Receiving no response from within, Ellison focused his enhanced hearing, directing it towards his guide.

“No, please... Don’t... be mad, Jim. Not sick,” he heard Sandburg muttering. “Mustn’t ruin... vacation. Wanted time... away...”

Ellison had heard enough of Blair’s incoherent ramblings to know the younger man was not in his right mind. Taking a step back, he rammed the locked doors. It gave slightly beneath the assault, but did not open. "Simon, give me a hand here,” Jim instructed. Banks took up a position next to Ellison. On the second try the door gave beneath their combined strength and flew open.

Jim’s first sight of the pathetic creature curled up on the bed, nearly broke his heart. Rivulets of sweat ran down Blair’s flushed features. Even from a distance, Ellison could feel the heat pouring off his partner. Despite their noisy entrance, Sandburg seemed unaware of their presence. Jim crossed the tiny room and knelt beside the bed. With a trembling hand he reached out and swept the sweat-drenched hair from Sandburg's face. "Hey buddy, what say we get you to the hospital?"

Slowly, fever-glazed eyes opened to squint doubtfully at Ellison. "Jim?" he questioned. Not certain if Ellison were real or an apparition of his fevered state. With an unsteady hand he reached out and touched Jim's face to confirm the reality. "Oh God, no," he groaned as his hand connected with the warm skin of his best friend and partner.

"It's okay, Blair," Ellison tried to reassure him. "Everything's going to be fine."

"I'm so... sorry," Sandburg babbled an apology. "Told Simon I... was... fine."

"You're not fine Chief, you're sick."

With a slight shake of his head, Blair pulled away and forced himself to focus on the sentinel until Ellison’s blurry image cleared. “Don’t,” he gasped. His breathing growing harsher by the minute, “act as if you... care.”

Ellison flinched as if struck. Oh God, what had he done! Surely Sandburg couldn’t honestly believe that he didn’t care. Pursing his lips in thought, he remembered the harsh words he’d thrown at Blair, the look of hurt and disbelief in his friend's eyes. Even though the virus had turned out to be a fake, he hadn’t even thought to check on the younger man’s condition before he’d left with Simon.

"Okay," he admitted, "I guess I deserved that, but we can work that out later. Right now we need to get you to the hospital."

"Don't wanna go ..." Blair objected, but the protest was cut short as his eyes rolled back and he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Damn it!" Ellison muttered. Quickly wrapping the sweat-laden blanket around the unconscious form of his partner, he lifted Blair into his arms and carried him out of the room. "We don't have time to wait for an ambulance," he told Simon, heading for the door. "We'll take my truck. You drive."

Siren wailing, Banks checked both directions before barreling through the intersection. Daring a quick glance at his passengers, he was touched by the solicitous way with which Ellison cradled the unconscious man in his arms. With one arm wrapped around his partner, Jim tenderly brushed back the moist curls from his partner’s face. Intensely repeating a gut-wrenching litany of “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

En route, Banks had contacted dispatch, requesting that they notify the hospital of their impending arrival. So as Simon drove onto the hospital's driveway, it was with great relief that he saw an ER team waiting for them.

As the truck screeched to a halt, hands immediately opened the passenger door and reached for Sandburg. However, Ellison fairly growled and they backed off. Carefully maneuvering Blair out of the truck, he personally laid Sandburg on the waiting gurney. His entire focus centered on the unconscious man being wheeled into ER, Ellison mutely followed.

At the doors to one of the examination rooms, a large orderly blocked his attempt to follow the gurney. The man placed a halting hand on Ellison's chest. "I'm sorry sir, you'll have to wait out here," he told Jim.

Ellison glared menacingly at the hand on his chest and then turned those steely blue eyes on its owner.

The man blinked beneath the raw emotion he saw reflected in those eyes and took a step back. "Someone will be out to talk to you shortly," the orderly stammered and backed into the examination room.

Rules and regulations be damned, Ellison was just about to follow when someone hooked him by the elbow and turned him from the door. Jim turned, a snarl of anger ready to burst from his lips when he realized it was Simon who had a hold of him.

"Let them do their job Jim," the captain implored. "There's nothing more you can do for him."

Ellison shook off the restraining hand and paced a few steps away. "Damn it, Simon,” he quietly exclaimed, “this is all my fault. What was I thinking, letting him go off like that without even checking to make sure he was okay. If Sandburg.... dies, I'll be the one who will have killed him."

"Come on, Jim," Banks protested. "We don't know that the virus has anything to do with this. It could be something totally unrelated. Besides, the kid seemed fine when we left."

Ellison snorted. "You don't think it strange that he got sick right after that little fiasco?"

"I'm saying it could be a coincidence.”

"Well there's one way to find out for sure," Jim replied thoughtfully.

"What do you have in mind?" Simon asked.

'We need to get a copy of the analysis that Doctor Conway ran on the water sample. In fact, an actual water sample might even be better."

Banks nodded. " I'll contact the sheriff's department and arrange for them to have the report and a sample flown in." Simon turned and headed for the bank of phones hanging on the wall, pausing as Ellison reached out and laid a hand on his arm.

"Hurry, Simon, Sandburg's life may depend on it."

Two hours later found both Banks and Ellison anxiously pacing the ER waiting room. Several times the doctor in charge, or a nurse, had come out to speak with them, but each time the news got progressively worse. Sandburg's fever had reached a critical high and they were failing in their attempts to get it lower. As a result the young man was also beginning to experience cardiac and respiratory problems.

"Where the hell is that sample!" Ellison bellowed, turning away from the observation window and the heartbreaking sight of his friend and guide, laying motionless on the other side.

Simon checked his watch. "It should be here any minute, Jim. Just give it time."

"Blair doesn't have the time to spare, Simon. He's dying."

"You don't know that!" Banks exclaimed, glaring heatedly at the other man.

"Yes, yes I do," Ellison responded softly. He touched his heart. "I know it in here." Jim's pain-filled, blue eyes turned to the taller man. "I don't know what I'd do if I lost Blair, Simon. He's become such an integral part of my life."

Banks felt his own eyes become misty as he took in the sheer look of sadness and misery etched on Ellison's face. Reaching out, he placed a hand on Jim's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, Jim. It'll be all right."

Ellison sighed and turned back to stare through the glass separating him from his friend. "I hope so, Simon," he replied sadly, "because I'm not sure I can survive without him."

Banks was taken aback by the sheer intensity of Ellison's words. His reply however was cut off as Rafe and Brown raced through the doors of ER carrying a package. Spotting Ellison and Banks, they hurried over. "Here it is," Rafe told them, breathing in quick gasps.

“Thank God!” Simon exclaimed. Taking the package he hurried over to the nurse's station and had the doctor on call paged.

Handing the water sample and analysis report to the doctor, Simon carefully explained the situation and their suspicions as to what may have caused Sandburg's illness. The doctor, grateful for the information, promised to have it analyzed immediately.

As the doctor hurried off in the direction of the labs, Simon turned back to find Ellison standing in the same spot. His gaze still intent on his partner. From Rafe and Brown’s confused glances, it was obvious that Jim hadn’t heard either of the men when they had spoken to him. "We could use some coffee," Simon told the two detectives. "I'll take care of Jim," he added at the concerned gazes directed towards Ellison.

As the two men attended to their errand, Banks turned to the silent sentinel. "Jim," he called softly. Receiving no response, Simon shook Ellison's shoulder. "Come on, Jim, now is not the time to zone out. The kid needs you."

Apparently those were the magic words. Beneath his hand, Simon felt Ellison suddenly jerk and awareness trickle back into the dazed, blue eyes. "What?" Jim asked, still partially out of it.

Rafe and Brown just brought the water sample." Simon explained, bringing Ellison up-to-date. "Maybe now the kid’s got a chance."

Suddenly Jim stiffened and turned towards the room where his partner laid. "I need to be with him," he said and pushing past Simon, entered the room.

For hours Ellison kept a lone vigil beside Blair’s bed, his hand gently resting on the unconscious man's arm. For a time he had kept up a mantra of verbal pleas begging Sandburg to get better, until finally the words ran out and he only had silent prayers to offer.

Several times, Simon had tried to convince Ellison to take a break, if only to get a cup of coffee, but the few times Jim had tried, Sandburg would suddenly become restless. His breathing and heartbeat, unstable. However, as soon as Ellison moved back within close proximity, the younger man's vital signs would stabilize.

At one point, a young nurse had come in to advise Jim that visiting hours were over. His eyes had narrowed in defiance. "I'm not leaving," he had told her.

"But Detective, the rules specifically state...."

"I don't give a rat's ass about your rules," he roared at the nurse. "My partner may be dying and I'll be damn if I'm going to let him do it alone."

More than a little intimidated by Ellison's surly nature, she quickly backed out of the room, returning only periodically to check on Sandburg's condition.

Ellison turned his attention back to the young man who had come to mean so much to him. Little by little, Blair Sandburg had wormed his way into Ellison's life, workplace, and eventually his heart. Jim closed his eyes and wondered in amazement how such a cold-hearted bastard had been lucky enough to end up with a friend like Sandburg. "I'm sorry, buddy," he whispered aloud. "I know I let you down when you needed me. If I could take it all back, I would. If I could trade places with you, I'd do in in a heartbeat, but it doesn't look like it's going to go down that way. So please, Blair, promise me that you'll hang in there. You've got to. I don't think I can do this without you." Raising one hand to brush the long hair from his friend's face, James Ellison, hard-nose cop, bowed his head and prayed for a miracle.

Simon watched with growing impatience as Rafe and Brown crisscrossed the carpeted floor of the lounge for the hundredth time. While they waited, he had filled them in on the events that had transpired during their trip to Clayton Falls. Concerned that there might be something more to the virus then first thought, both men had opted to remain and await the test results on the water sample that had been flown in.

Still, that had been hours ago and the prolonged wait was beginning to get on everyone’s nerves. Banks had just about decided that if he had to watch his detectives cross the room once more, he wasn't going to be responsible for his actions. Thankfully, the timely arrival of the doctor prevented him from wringing the necks of two of his detectives.

At his arrival, three heads shot up in expectation. "I'll get Jim," Brown offered and hurried to get Ellison. Preferring not to have to repeat himself, the doctor waited until all of the concerned party were assembled.

"Did you find out what was wrong?"

"Is it the virus?"

"Is my partner going to be all right?" Came the barrage of questions.

The doctor held up his hand for silence, then went on to explain. "Mister Sandburg is suffering from a particularly nasty strain of the flu that is going around."

"WHAT?" Simon exclaimed in surprise.

“Wait a minute,” Jim interrupted, confused. "If all he has is the flu, then why were you having such a hard time figuring out what was wrong with him?”

"And how come he's in such serious condition?" Simon added.

“Mister Sandburg’s exposure to the pseudo-virus radically weakened his immune system,” the doctor explained, “therefore the flu virus met with virtually no opposition and was allowed to flourish.”

"Okay," Ellison said, “I can understand that, but why did it take so long to diagnose?"

The doctor sighed. “Our initial test results were affected by trace chemicals found in Mister Sandburg’s system. It wasn’t until we received the water sample and we were able to identify and factor out those elements, that a proper diagnosis could be determined.”

"So Sandburg's going to be okay?" Rafe asked hopefully.

"We've begun the process of flushing the trace chemicals out of Mister Sandburg's system. Once that’s been accomplished we can begin treating him with a round of antibiotics."

"But Sandburg is going to get better, right?" Ellison asked, his concern still evident.

For the first time in hours, the doctor smiled. “Now that we know what is wrong and can begin treating him, I think Mister Sandburg is going to be just fine."

"Thank God," Ellison sighed, profoundly relieved. His sentiments strongly echoed by the others.

Blair laid poised on the periphery of consciousness. The comforting embrace of gentle twilight where one is not asleep, and yet not totally awake, but eventually, the sounds of everyday life began to penetrate this peaceful haven. They tickled his subconscious mind, teasing him into full awareness.

The dark eyelashes fluttered, slowly opening to reveal cerulean blue irises which fixed on the blond nurse adjusting his IV drip. Smiling, she raised a finger to her lips in warning and with a shushing sound, nodded towards the silent figure asleep in the chair. Head cradled upon crossed arms, which rested on the side of Sandburg’s bed, James Ellison slept.

Full lips, gently curving in a smile, Blair quietly studied his friend and roommate. The smile faltering as the events of the last few days came rushing back. What if it was true? What if Jim really was tired of him being around all the time? What if.....?

“Hey, partner,” came Ellison’s voice, deep from his resent slumber.

Blair’s eyes snapped up to find Jim’s blue ones baring down on him. Swallowing cautiously, he responded, “Hey.”

Several uncomfortable minutes passed as the two men stared at one another, uncertain where to begin.

“Jim..., Blair...,” They broke the silence simultaneously.

“No, let me,” Ellison said as Sandburg opened his mouth to speak. Brow furrowed in thought, Jim began. “Blair, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.” He held up a staying hand when Sandburg would have interrupted. “I don’t know what I was thinking, letting you go off with Simon like that without making sure you were okay. If you had died I...” Choked with emotion, Ellison paused, eyes downcast, unable to meet the guileless gaze of his guide. He felt the gentle grip of a hand covering his own and looked up to find Blair watching him with worried eyes.

“It’s all right, Jim,” Sandburg told him. “I’m fine. Besides, it’s not your fault. If I hadn’t followed you up there...”

“Now wait just a minute,” Ellison protested. “None of this is your fault. If I had been honest with you from the beginning, then none of this would have happened.”

“You mean the fact that you’re sick of me being around all the time,” Blair whispered.

“NO!” came the vehement objection. Ellison paused, scratching his forehead in frustration. How could he word it so his friend and partner would understand? “Listen to me, Chief. When you get stressed out you meditate, right?” Blair silently nodded. “Well, this trip was my way of meditating. My way of getting away from it all and rediscovering who I am.”

“I can understand that, Jim,” Blair replied, “but...”

“But you would have preferred if I explained it to you first rather than just dumping it on you and walking out the door.”

“Well, yeah,” Sandburg responded, more than a little indignant.

“I’m sorry, buddy. All I can say in my defense is that I let it all build up until I wasn’t thinking straight.” He captured Blair’s eyes with his own. “I never meant to hurt you, Chief, and I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.”

“So you really don’t want me to move out?” Blair asked, still a little uncertain.

Ellison grinned. “Just try it and see how fast I handcuff you to your bed.”

Sandburg’s eyebrows shot skyward. “Whoa! Is there something you’re not telling me, big guy?” he questioned, a hint of mischievousness showing.

Chuckling, Jim reached out and playfully cuffed him on the side of the head. He pulled back and eyed Blair appraisingly. “Well maybe if you were a red head...” his voice trailed off speculatively.

Blair held up his hands in protest. “Don’t even think about it. I am *not* dying my hair.” He couldn’t maintain the outraged expression any longer and smiled.

“So, are we okay with this?” Ellison asked, growing solemn.

Blair nodded. “Just promise me that the next time you feel the need for some space, I won’t be the last person to find out.”

“Only if you promise not to keep it to yourself when you’re feeling sick,” Ellison retorted. “You really scared the hell out of me this time, buddy.”

Considering the worry lines still etched on Jim’s face, Blair had no doubt his friend was telling the truth. He stuck out his hand, “Deal?” he asked.

Ellison larger hand encased his own. “Deal.”