Shards Of Glass

Disclaimer: This story was written purely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of other fans. In no way do I make a profit off of it, and I recognize that the copyrights to the various characters belong to Paramount and Pet Fly Productions.
Rating & Warnings: [NC-17] For language and sexual content.
Acknowledgements: I'd like to thank my slash betas, Paulette, Eagle Eye and Michelle for all their hard work on this project and Christine for her work on the gen version. It is definitely a better story for their efforts. As for any remaining mistakes... screw 'em. I don't think any of us can bear to read this sucker again. Also, thanks to DawnC and TAE for their technical advice.
Summary : In the aftermath following his abduction, Blair's life takes a decidedly downward spiral.

Shards Of Glass
StarPlaza

James Ellison shuddered. Yes, he could have blamed it on the swiftly waning sun, or the breeze that gently wafted across his skin, but Jim knew there was a darker, more ominous reason for the coil of dread tying his stomach in knots.
Slowly opening his eyes, Ellison's forehead furrowed as he recognized the structure standing before him, the stable where Sandburg had been beaten, raped and brutalized. It was from within these seemingly innocent walls that the source of Jim's apprehension emanated. Almost palpable in its intensity, it drew him forward even as his heart and mind raged against the irresistible pull. One recalcitrant step followed another as the white-washed doors opened, seemingly of their own accord, to bid him entrance.
Stepping inside, Ellison immediately shrank from the stench assaulting his nostrils, the combined odors of moldy hay, blood, semen, urine and fecal matter so intense it triggered his gagging reflex. Covering his nose and mouth, the detective couldn't recall a stench more overpowering. Using the method Sandburg had devised, Jim turned down his sense of smell until the odors were manageable. It was then that he heard the raucous laughter and muffled sounds of distress. Distraught cries that called to the protector in him, but more importantly, to his heart and soul. For Jim knew without a doubt that those heartfelt cries belonged to Blair.
Sudden gut-wrenching fear was swiftly devoured by the anger swelling within. Anger which quickly blossomed into full blown rage as Ellison raced through the stable and out its back door. The sight that greeted him on the other side was the epitome of his worst nightmare. No, Jim hastened to correct, his most terrifying nightmares had revolved around the death of his best friend and guide, his soulmate. Even so, the scene he was witnessing threatened to rip away his last shreds of humanity.
Sandburg's naked body sported myriad signs of abuse. He was kneeling on all fours, tethered by the collar and leash he wore, to a wooden post. Surrounded by McMillan and Reynolds, shivers wracked his emaciated frame as the men hosed and scrubbed the huddled figure as if he were an animal.
Obviously on the verge of collapse, Blair's head slumped forward. Eyes narrowing maliciously, Reynolds lifted the long-handled scrub brush, and bringing it down full force, struck Sandburg across his bare flanks.
"Straighten up!" he ordered harshly, smiling as a red welt appeared.
Struggling to obey, Blair lifted his head, and as the long locks fell back exposing his face, Ellison gasped in shock. The vibrant blue eyes, once alight with inquisitiveness and a joy of life, were dull and lifeless. It was as if the soul behind those eyes had already perished, and only the body remained.
"NO!" Jim roared in anguish, collapsing to his knees.

Bolting upright in bed, eyes wide with a conglomeration of fear and anger, Ellison automatically sought his friend. Extending his hyperactive senses, it was then he realized that the sound he'd subconsciously cataloged upon waking as rain was, in fact, the shower. From beneath the cascading water came a softly muttered, misery-filled litany that propelled Jim from the bed and down the stairs.
Approaching the bathroom door, the sentinel's first intention was to barge right in, so tangible was his guide's distress. However, at the last second, Ellison's professional training kicked in, overriding his natural instincts. Over the past two weeks, Sandburg had been repeatedly raped and brutalized. He'd been stripped not only of his identity, but his dignity as well. With every nuance of his hellish imprisonment dictated by his captors, Blair had been denied privacy and any semblance of control over his own life, his own body. So, despite the overwhelming urge to rush in, to comfort and be comforted in return, Jim forced himself to stop. Raising a trembling hand, he knocked.
"Chief?" he called out, striving to keep his tone neutral. "Is everything okay in there?"
Shifting impatiently from one foot to another, Jim cocked his head slightly, waiting for a reply, but the only sound that reached his ears was the continual patter of the shower and a plaintive entreaty of "Clean, need to get clean."
Pain clenched at Ellison's heart and he was unable to bear the quiet, desperately uttered words any longer. Staggering beneath its onslaught, he gripped the doorknob, and giving it a twist, thrust open the door.
Steam billowed out obscuring his view, but as the swirling wisps cleared, Jim stopped, paralyzed by the poignant scene before him. Clearly oblivious to Ellison's presence, Blair stood beneath the flowing water, a bar of soap in one hand, and Jim's nail brush in the other. His skin, already beet red from exposure to the scalding water, was rubbed raw as spidery tendrils of crimson from reopened wounds were washed down the drain. And still Sandburg scrubbed. His movements, his entire countenance, bordered on frantic as once again he began murmuring, "Dirty... so dirty."
Horrified, Ellison sprang forward, nearly slipping on the wet floor in his haste. Wincing as the hot water struck his skin, Jim quickly shut off the shower and turning, grabbed Blair by both forearms, to still the younger man's obsessive motions.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?" he bellowed, fear making his tone curt. "ANSWER ME, DAMN IT!" he insisted, giving Sandburg a shake when no response was immediately forthcoming.
"I've tried and tried," Blair stuttered, not fully aware of Ellison's presence, "but I can't get clean!" The hysteria in the tremulous voice had risen another notch.
'Oh, God,' Jim groaned mentally, immediately aware that Sandburg wasn't talking about being clean in the physical sense. Easing his vice-like grip, Ellison fought for control over the tumultuous emotions that threatened to engulf him. Now was not the time to lose it. Not when Blair needed him to be strong. Expelling a pent-up breath, he released Sandburg's forearms, and reaching up to gently cup the smaller man's face, tilted it upward.
Slowly, red-rimmed eyes focused on Jim before widening in dismay as realization set in. "I'm sorry, so sorry," Blair mumbled, his expression a visage of horror and despair.
"Shhh, it's okay," the older man soothed, as his thumb unconsciously stroked the tear-stained cheek. "Everything's going to be all right. Trust me," he whispered, when Sandburg began to shake his head emphatically.
Anxiously searching his partner's face, Blair was reassured by the quiet confidence he saw reflected there. Swallowing, he gave a tentative nod and was rewarded with a brilliant smile from the sentinel.
"Come on, let's get you dried off," Jim said, gently coaxing Sandburg from the tub. Snatching a towel from the rack, he slipped it around the slighter man's waist, then shutting the lid to the toilet, he urged Blair to sit.
Ellison grabbed another towel and began to dry Sandburg's hair. Yet even as he fretted over his partner's apparently fragile state, an obscure part of him took delight in the simple task. Combing his fingers through the waves to remove the worst of the knots, finally satisfied, Jim laid the towel on the floor to soak up the water laying there and turned to the medicine cabinet.
Gathering the necessary items, he kneeled in front of the toilet, and lining up the supplies, he turned to Blair. "Okay, buddy," he said nonchalantly. "Let's get you fixed up."
Aware that the dull blue eyes were listlessly tracking his every move, Jim carefully examined and tended each wound, taking the utmost care not to aggravate the injuries. The entire time Blair remained eerily silent, malleable beneath the sentinel's gentle ministrations. Uncertain what to do about the inflamed skin surfaces, Ellison settled for a light coating of antibacterial spray.
"That should do it," he commented, settling back on his heels and glancing up at his partner. Frowning as he noticed the minute tremors that shook the slight frame, "I'll be right back," he said giving one bony knee a pat.
Rising, he quickly headed into Sandburg's room, and rifling through the dresser, came up with clean underwear and a pair of sweatpants. He hurried back to the bathroom and dumped the clean clothes on the hamper lid. As he turned, he was suddenly stricken by doubts as to how to proceed. "Think you can handle this part, Chief?" He finally settled on asking. Receiving an impassive nod in reply, Jim forced a smile. "All right then," he said backing out the door. "Just holler if you need anything."
Leaving, Ellison virtually fled into the kitchen. Allowing pent-up emotions to surface, Jim found his hands, his entire body shaking in response. In truth, experience should have warned him to expect something like this. However, expecting it was one thing, actually seeing it was another. He knew Sandburg wasn't going to bounce back immediately, nor did he expect the younger man to simply sweep his ordeal under the rug and act as if nothing had happened.
Gripping the counter top, Jim silently admonished himself to 'get his act together'. He couldn't afford to keep losing it like this, not if he wanted to help Sandburg. Blair was usually the strong one, deftly handling Ellison's senses and the occasional emotional crisis with compassion and apparent ease. Now it was Jim's turn to shoulder that part of their relationship, and unlike in the past, he couldn't simply 'let it go'. No, this was too important to screw up. Blair's well-being depended on it. Pushing himself away from the counter, Jim busied himself with making hot chocolate, all the while monitoring his partner's progress in the bathroom.
Sandburg emerged a few minutes later, still uncharacteristically subdued, a condition that did not go unnoticed by his partner. Taking in the bowed head and the nervous fidgeting as Blair stood staring at the floor, Jim couldn't help but wonder what thoughts were going through the younger man's mind.
Sandburg looked broken, shattered like so many shards of glass, and Jim yearned to hold and comfort the man standing before him. But would his love and support be enough to mend the fragile fragments, or had McMillan and his cohorts irrevocably destroyed his partner?
His jaw flexing in anger, Jim closed his eyes and bit back the rage surging within. A quick clean death had not been nearly good enough for McMillan and Anderson. They should have been made to suffer, as Blair had. Jim's thoughts grew darker. As Reynolds would.
Taking a cleansing breath, Jim forced the anger back down, knowing full well that it lingered just beneath the surface and could erupt again at any given moment. Opening his eyes, Ellison's crystal blue gaze fell on Sandburg, who was anxiously nibbling his lower lip and peering up at him with concern.
Jim felt a swell of emotion for the amiable, inquisitive and compassionate man; his expression, only moments before taut with anger, softened. "Perfect timing, Chief," he said, smiling gently. "The hot chocolate is almost done."
Responding with a tentative smile of his own, Blair moved closer. "Anything I can do to help?" he inquired, his voice nearly back to normal.
"Yeah," Jim replied with mock gruffness as he poured the steaming liquid into a couple of mugs. "You can get the bag of mini marshmallows I know you have hidden around here somewhere."
"Hey!" Blair groused, frowning indignantly, then spoiled the effect by smiling. "A guy's gotta protect his stash, you know. Especially when there's a sentinel sniffing, marshmallow monster around."
"Just get the goods, Junior." Jim growled threateningly, delighted to hear Sandburg's chuckle as he disappeared into his room.
By the time Blair returned, triumphantly brandishing the marshmallows, Ellison had moved to the couch, the two cups of hot chocolate sitting on the coffee table in front of him.
Carefully, Blair doled out the marshmallows, then quickly added a few more to Jim's cup when the older man emitted a low rumble.
"Let that be a lesson to you, Chief," Jim commented, smiling with satisfaction. "Never come between a man and his marshmallows."
"Or donuts," Sandburg quipped, hiding his own grin by taking a sip of the delicious brew.
"Oh yeah," Ellison purred, "can't forget the donuts."
For the next few minutes, the two men drank in companionable silence, but as five minutes stretched into ten, the cheerfully exchanged banter was forgotten as Jim sensed his guide's growing unease.
Purposefully setting his cup down, Ellison turned to face his partner. "Chief, about before..." he began uncertainly, and was disturbed to see Sandburg's gaze dart nervously away. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell. But seeing you like that, seeing what you were doing to yourself, well... it scared me. And as you've probably realized by now, a scared Jim Ellison is a loud Jim Ellison," he admitted with a wry grin.
"It's all right, Jim," Blair replied dully. Setting his own cup aside, he refused to meet Ellison's questioning gaze. "I know you would never intentionally hurt me."
So once again, Sandburg had unconditionally forgiven him, but Jim sensed there was something else. Something Blair wasn't telling him. "What is it, Chief?" he inquired softly, a slight frown marring his brow. "What's bothering you?" Grasping Sandburg's chin, Jim gently turned Blair's face to his. "Tell me," he insisted.
Blair closed his eyes and willed away the tears that seemed to hover just beneath the surface. With his jaw clenched to prevent a sob, he broke away from Jim's grasp and rose to pace, one arm cradling his still tender ribs.
"I just hate feeling so out of control," he finally replied, and Ellison couldn't help but notice the sense of self-loathing beneath the uttered words.
Rising, Jim silently moved to stand behind his partner. "Hey," he crooned softly. "Don't be so hard on yourself. Considering what you've been through, it's perfectly natural to feel the way you do."
"Is it?" Blair snapped. Pulling away, he whirled on Ellison. "Because this is so not me, man, and you want to hear the funny part? I don't know who I hate more, them for what they did to me or myself for letting it happen."
"Come on, Chief," Jim immediately protested. "It was three against one. I know for a fact that you fought them. What more could you have done?"
"I don't know!" Blair exclaimed. Turning away, he began to pace again. "I should have fought harder. I should have done... something."
"If you had fought them any harder, they might have killed you," Ellison interjected. Sandburg froze, and Jim felt his internal alarms go off.
"I wish they had," Blair whispered a moment later.
"NO!" Ellison bellowed. Grabbing the smaller man by the arm, he jerked Sandburg around to face him. "DON'T SAY THAT! DON'T EVER SAY THAT!" he roared, face flush with emotion. Then, with a choking sob, Jim pulled Blair to his chest, and wrapping his arms around the shorter man, and held on as if for dear life.
His head pressed against Ellison's shoulder, Blair could feel the tremors coursing through the sentinel. He could see the vein in Jim's neck throbbing as his heart beat a rapid tattoo, hear the hitch in the older man's breath as he tried to regain control of his emotions.
"I'm sorry." his voice broke on a sob. Wrapping his arms around Ellison's waist, Blair held on tight.
"It's okay," Jim whispered, voice gruff with emotion. "But I mean it, Chief. If anything were to happen to you, they'd have to bury me right alongside you. I can't do this without you. I wouldn't want to."
"Come on, Jim," Blair asserted pulling away. "You don't need me, you haven't for a long time."
"THAT'S NOT TRUE!" Ellison protested.
"And even if you did zone out for some reason," Blair continued unabated, "Simon and Megan know enough about this Sentinel business to bring you out of it."
"You think that's what this is all about?" Jim asked staring incrediously at his partner. "That you only matter to me because of the Sentinel stuff?"
Ellison took in the bowed head, Sandburg's inability to look at him. Dear Lord, the kid really believed it.
"Look at me," he demanded, gently tilting Blair's chin upwards when the smaller man refused to comply. Their eyes met. "Okay, so maybe at first." Ellison paused collecting his thoughts. "You once said that this was about friendship and you were right. But it's also about courage, loyalty and love. You call me your 'Blessed Protector', but from that first day when you threw yourself in front of a garbage truck, and countless times since then, you've always been there supporting me, protecting me. You're the best friend I've ever had, could ever hope to have. And even if I haven't always shown it, I trust you more than I've trusted anyone in my life. You're family, Chief, my family."
'Oh, God,' Blair thought. In spite of everything that had happened, Jim still cared about him. Aloud he said, "I don't see how you can even bear to look at me after what they did. I'm..."
"They might have abused your body, Chief, but the man I've come to know and love is still there on the inside."
"Is he, Jim?" Blair asked sadly. "Because right now I'm not even sure he still exists."
Pulling away slightly, Ellison peered down into the soulful blue eyes of his guide. "Yes, he is, and if necessary, we'll find him together."

Sandburg was cold. With a shudder, his hand snaked out, seeking the heat source to which he had clung during the night. Failing to find it, with a groan of dismay, his eyelids fluttered open. Sunlight filled the room, clearly illuminating what his sleep-dulled mind had already discerned. He was alone.
It had been wonderful, sleeping within the confines of the sentinel's embrace. Only there did he feel safe and secure. Freed from nightmares, he could almost convince himself that the last two weeks hadn't happened. But Jim was gone, and in the cold reality of day, Blair felt the icy tendrils of fear and self-recrimination stealing over him. 'Oh, God, where is Jim?' He needed Jim. He pushed himself upright, and a low moan inadvertently escaped as his body protested the movement. Hand gripping the arm of the couch, Blair's anxious gaze searched the loft.
"Looking for me?" came a slightly amused inquiry from behind him.
With a startled yelp, Blair whirled around, grimacing in pain as his ribs protested, to discover Jim standing there holding a breakfast tray.
"Christ, Chief, I'm sorry." Quickly skirting the couch, Ellison set the tray on the coffee table. "Are you all right?" he asked. His face a mask of concern, Jim sat on the edge of the couch and began to run his hands gently over the tender ribs.
"I'm fine," Blair replied, settling back down with a barely discernible moan.
Letting his hands fall away, Jim retrieved the breakfast tray and presented it to Blair with a dubious smile. "I thought you might be hungry," he commented with a shrug.
Truth be told, eating was the last thing Blair felt like doing. His head hurt, not to mention the other various aches and pains that were making themselves known. And quite frankly, his stomach felt tied up in knots. Opening his mouth, it was on the tip of his tongue to decline. One look at Ellison's earnest expression, however, and he found himself saying instead, "It looks great!" Seeing Jim's face light up, Blair knew he'd said the right thing. Now all he had to do was figure out how to eat enough to ease the over-protective sentinel's mind, without throwing up in the process.
Having situated some pillows behind Blair's back and the tray on his lap, Jim sat on the edge of the sofa and waited.
Breathing in and out through his mouth in an attempt to quell his queasy stomach, Blair bypassed the food and picked up the coffee cup. Pleased to see that the tremors in his hand were barely noticeable, he slowly sipped the fragrant brew.
"What time is it?" he asked a few minutes later when the silence became oppressive.
"Ten-thirty," Ellison automatically responded, not even bothering to glance at the clock.
Sandburg's eyebrows shot upwards. "What?" he sputtered, then immediately began coughing as the coffee went down the wrong pipe.
Moving swiftly, Jim rescued the cup from Sandburg's hand and began to pat Blair gently on the back. "Take it easy, Chief. There's still time before we need to be at the station."
"Sorry," Blair croaked, gaze downcast.
Setting the coffee cup back down onto the tray, Ellison eyed his partner with a look of concern. The numerous cuts and bruises stood out in stark contrast against Sandburg's ghostly pallor, and he didn't need his heightened senses to detect the minute tremors or sheen of perspiration dotting the stubbled upper lip.
Damn it! Sandburg was in no shape for this. The man had been through hell and back, and now they expected him to make a statement, to relive the entire ordeal, in vivid detail. NO! Not yet, it was too soon. Surely, they had enough evidence against Reynolds and the others. Blair's statement could wait.
Once so confident and outgoing, it broke Ellison's heart to see the changes Blair's experience had wrought. Now subdued and pensive, Jim ached to wrap his arms around the fragile soul and never let go. But the rigid posture and tension rolling off his guide in waves forestalled the motion. Instead, Jim contented himself with tenderly brushing the mahogany-colored strands of hair from Sandburg's face.
"It's okay," he murmured gently. "I'm going to call Simon and tell him you're not up to this," Jim said, starting to rise.
Sandburg's hand latched onto his forearm. "NO!" he exclaimed, vivid blue eyes pinning Ellison with their unspoken plea. "I'm going to have to do this sometime. I'd... I'd rather just get it over with."
"Chief, I don't think..."
"I'm fine," Blair insisted.
Despite the entreating expression, Jim knew Sandburg was anything but fine and yet the nonverbal communication emanating from his partner was too poignant to ignore. Would he ever win one of these arguments? Another glance at the determined young man told him that the answer was an unequivocal no.
"All right," he relented with a resigned sigh. "But I want you to promise that you'll tell me if it gets to be too much."
With an amused snort, Blair rolled his eyes. "Like I'd even have to. Knowing you, you'll be in 'Blessed Protector' mode the entire time."
Jim frowned sharply. "Does that thought bother you?"
A shadow of a smile appeared. "No," Sandburg admitted. "Actually, it's kind of nice knowing you're watching out for me."
Ellison's expression darkened.
"Don't go there, man," Blair warned. "It wasn't your fault!"
"I guess each of us has our own demons to deal with, Chief."
Sandburg sighed. He should have known Jim wasn't going to let this go. Prepared to argue the point, Blair opened his mouth to speak when Ellison pulled a classic avoidance move. Rising, he quickly said, "Since you insist on going in, I'd better grab my shower while you finish your breakfast."
The anthropologist's stomach rebelled at the reminder of food, his skin taking on a greenish hue. Ellison noticed the sickly pallor and sudden the bob of Sandburg's adam's apple. "Just try to eat a little bit. Please," he gently cajoled. "For me?"
How was Blair supposed to say no to that? The answer was, he couldn't. Silently, he nodded and was rewarded with a warm smile before Jim disappeared into the bathroom.
Picking up a fork, he eyed the food with disdain. He could do this. After all, Jim had gone to a lot of trouble to fix him breakfast. It wasn't as if Jim were forcing him to..."NO!" he cried aloud as unbidden images rose up before his mind's eye.
Hunger gnawed at his belly. It had been days since he'd last eaten. Not that McMillan hadn't offered him food. However, with acceptance came a catch. First, Blair had to suck him off. Determined to starve before demeaning himself any more, he had steadfastly refused. But the hunger had grown and was now overpowering.
Tied by McMillan's side, Blair sat mesmerized by the sight and aroma of the pizza the three men were devouring. Like a hawk he watched unblinking as another slice was removed from the box, raised to parted lips, and taken between pearly white teeth. A low keening whimper escaped the back of his throat as he saw the slice disappear bite by torturous bite.
Hearing the sound, Reynolds smiled. "Hey, Randy, I think your pet is hungry," he said with a nod in Sandburg's direction.
McMillan glanced down at his captive. "Is that right," he commented with a smirk. "Are you hungry?" he asked, the smile disappearing as Sandburg's attention remained riveted on the food. Grabbing a handful of the lackluster curls, he roughly yanked Blair's head back. "I asked you a question," he snarled. "Are you hungry?" Eyes wide with fear, Sandburg tried to nod and his captor's smirk returned. "You know what you have to do, don't you?"
Humiliation forcing his eyelids closed, Blair nodded again. He choked back tears as he heard the man rise. Then he heard the pop of a snap and a metallic rasp of a zipper being pulled down.
"Come on, quit stalling," McMillan spat. "And you'd better make it good, or my dick will be the last thing you wrap those lips of yours around."
With a shudder, Blair opened his eyes, and rising to his knees, came level with the younger man's cock. The partially erect member twitched, growing even fuller as McMillan stroked it.
"Don't forget to play safe," Reynolds chortled, tossing the blonde a foil packet.
Lips curling upwards, Randy held it in front of Sandburg's face. "Put it on me," he ordered. "NOW!" he barked when the leashed man hesitated.
His jaw clenched, Blair took the packet, and after several fumbling attempts, finally ripped it open.
"Hurry up before I change my mind," McMillan taunted.
With trembling hands, Blair sheathed the pulsating member within the condom. Bile rose in his throat at the thought of his mouth taking the same route. 'Oh, God! What am I doing?' Suddenly, he wasn't hungry any more and gagging, he turned away.
Large hands caught his hair, crudely jerking him face forward once again.
"ENOUGH OF THIS SHIT!" Randy bellowed. "You'll either do it, or my dick won't be the only thing that gets shoved up that ass of yours."
Tears streamed unnoticed as Blair leaned forward and wrapped his lips around the head of McMillan's shaft.
"Oh yeah," the larger man moaned. Tightening his grip, he thrust his cock even further into Sandburg's mouth. Fighting the urge to vomit, Blair slid his mouth and tongue over the throbbing member, stroking it thoroughly in his attempt to make McMillan come as quickly as possible. For once, his prayers were answered as the cock spasmed, and with a shout, Randy came.
Finally McMillan shoved Sandburg away, and with a self-satisfied grin, discarded the used condom. Grabbing a handful of napkins, he cleaned himself and pulled his pants back up.
"So, how was it?" Reynolds asked, the gleam in his eyes leaving little doubt that he too wanted to experience Sandburg's mouth on his cock.
Yanking up his zipper with a wide grin, McMillan sat back down. "Lets just say it's nice to know he can do something with that mouth of his besides rat out his students. Isn't that right, sweet lips?" he snidely commented, glancing down to where Sandburg laid sprawled .
"Oh man!" Dave exclaimed, his hand going to his belt buckle. "I got to get me a taste of that."
"That’s enough!" Craig shouted, unable to bear the sight of Blair’s humiliation any longer. "He did what you wanted, now give him something to eat!"
McMillan's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You going soft on my pet, Anderson?"
"No!" the sandy haired man quickly denied. "But he won't be of much use if he's weak or dead from starvation."
"All right," Randy replied in a conciliatory tone. Taking the remaining slice of pizza from the box, he held it out towards Blair. "So, you want something to eat?" he maliciously taunted. With a slight twist of his wrist the pizza slid from his hand to drop face down on the dirt covered, hay strewn ground. "Now you can eat."
With an anguished groan, Blair curled in on himself and silent sobs wracked his body.
Blinking, Sandburg refocused on the breakfast tray and felt vomit rise in his throat. Gagging, he set the tray aside and rose. Rubbery legs refused to support him, and sliding to the floor, his stomach spasmed again in prelude to the sour bile that appeared a few seconds later. Luckily his stomach was relatively empty, and with a moan, he sank back to lean against the couch, one hand coming up to wipe his mouth.
"Ah, Chief," came the compassionate sound of Ellison's voice.
Startled, Blair glanced guiltily upward at the older man before his gaze slid away, embarrassed.
Moving slowly, Jim crossed over to the sofa and lowered himself onto the floor beside his partner. "I'm going to assume this isn't a reflection on my cooking," he said softly, trying to keep his tone light.
"I'm sorry," Blair mumbled despondently.
"Shhh, it's all right," Ellison crooned, wrapping his arms around the trembling figure. Immediately, Sandburg stiffened within the embrace. Jim reached up and began stroking Blair's hair. Within minutes, was relieved to feel the younger man relax.
Knowing it wasn't the time to question his guide, Jim contented himself with comforting the most precious thing in his life, and silently cursed himself for not being able to do more.

More than once Ellison considered turning the truck around and going home. If he hadn't been certain that Sandburg would perceive it as a lack of confidence, Jim would have done just that, but Blair had been adamant about going to the station. It was almost as if he needed to prove something to himself. Hell, maybe he did. Looking at the stubborn set of Sandburg's jaw, no one would even suspect that just a short time ago he'd been a trembling mass of humanity seeking shelter within Ellison's arms. Even the group of predatory reporters waiting outside the loft hadn't been enough to deter the determined young man.
Recalling the startled, deer-caught-in-the-headlights appearance of his partner as the reporters descended, Ellison had been amazed that Blair hadn't lost it right then and there. In fact, he appeared to handle the incident better than Jim had, at least on the surface.
Sheltering Blair as best he could from the insistent reporters, Ellison had shoved, and when necessary, snarled his way through the small mob. Finally, he had resorted to threatening threatening them with harassment as he quickly hustled Sandburg into the truck and away from the scene. The incident had left Jim seething with anger, while Blair appeared impervious to the chaos around him. Yet, surreptitious glances at his silent passenger left Ellison wondering if perhaps this was merely the calm before the storm.
Turning into the station's parking garage, Jim was relieved to note the absence of reporters. One hurdle down. Now all they had to do was deal with the rest.
Pulling into his regular slot, Jim noticed a subtle increase in Sandburg's vital signs. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, turning off the ignition and pocketing the keys.
"No," Blair admitted, then grimaced. "But it’s gotta be done, right?" With a resolute expression, he popped open the door and slid out of the truck.
Ellison sighed in resignation and followed Sandburg toward the elevator.
Jim wondered if Blair was even aware of the interest his appearance at the station had attracted. More than one officer had stopped to stare blatantly, some even going so far as to mutter disparaging comments beneath their breath. Bristling in response, Ellison placed a hand on Sandburg's back and carefully guided him into the elevator. Turning, he glared at the offending officers and stabbed the button for the seventh floor.
Jim knew Sandburg's presence was resented by some of the people at the station, but where did they get off, staring at him and whispering ribald comments? Blair was the victim, not a perp! Simmering with anger, Ellison's scowl deepened.
"It's okay, Jim," the softly spoken comment and gentle touch penetrated the red haze of his anger. "I was expecting it."
"Well you shouldn't have to!" the detective snapped, ashamed that such people were even connected with the department.
Sandburg shrugged. He'd spent his life studying various societies and people in general. Being judged and convicted simply because of your race, religion or appearance was as much a part of the human condition as life and death. Intellectually he understood it, emotionally was another matter entirely.
He'd always known that some of the cops resented his presence at the department. They'd taken one look at the long hair, the earrings, and labeled him a fag. He'd even overheard a few of them speculating on the exact nature of his relationship with Jim. With that type of remedial mentality, they probably figured he'd only gotten what he deserved.
"I bet you're used to getting it up the ass." McMillan's voice came back to taunt him. "Is that why the cop keeps you around, Teach? He likes dick?" The thin lips turned upwards into a sneer. "Not that I can blame him. An ass like yours was meant to be fucked."
The strangled gasp tore Ellison from his mental deliberations, his gaze automatically straying to the man beside him. "Sandburg?" he questioned, seeing his guide's blanched skin tones and panic-stricken expression. Quickly thumbing the stop button, he turned and grasped Blair by the shoulders. "Talk to me, buddy. What's going on here?" he asked, peering anxiously down at his partner.
Blair tried to take another breath, but it seemed as if his lungs had seized and they weren't cooperating.
"Oh shit!" Ellison exclaimed, immediately surmising the situation. His hands moved up to cup Sandburg's face. "Come on, Chief, don't do this to me, please!" he pleaded. "Breathe, damn it!" he bellowed when the aforementioned breath was not forthcoming.
Trembling hands came up to claw at the front of Jim's shirt as panicked blue eyes met his, beseechingly.
Ellison's gaze fell to the slightly parted lips through which Blair was, unsuccessfully, trying to draw breath. Without thinking, Jim pressed his lips to Blair's and exhaled. Withdrawing, he took another breath and repeated the procedure until, finally, he heard Blair breathe out and then in on his own.
"That's it," Jim sighed with relief, unaware of the tremulous quality of his voice as he wrapped his arms around the younger man and drew him closer.
Sandburg had mentioned once in passing that he was susceptible to panic attacks. Yet despite all the harrowing situations they'd been involved in, Jim had never actually seen Blair experience one. Sure, the kid got scared, but he had always managed to overcome his fear and move on. At least until now. The unbidden memory of Blair toppling from his seat at the kitchen table, unconscious and apparently not breathing entered his mind. And now this...
"Damn it, Chief, you've got to quit doing that," he said a moment later when Blair's breathing finally evened out. "You scared the hell out of me."
"You're not the only one," came the shaky chuckle.
"Do you want to tell me what brought this on?" Jim gently inquired.
Blair shook his head no. Now was not the time or place to get into it. In fact, he wondered if he would ever be able to bring himself to tell Jim all the details of his captivity. A shudder coursed through the anthropologist as he imagined the sentinel's reaction. No, he couldn't tell Jim. Not now. Not ever.
Behind them the control panel buzzed. Someone was trying to summon the elevator.
"You know I'm here if you need me, right?"
Sandburg nodded in response, his hair brushing against the cotton fabric of Jim's shirt as the buzzer sounded once again.
"Are you going to be all right?"
Reluctantly Blair pulled away from the comforting embrace. Embarrassed, he refused to meet Ellison's concerned gaze. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said, addressing the center of Jim's chest.
His eyes smiling warmly, Ellison took Sandburg's chin and tilted it upwards. "Just remember, I'm here if you need me."
Slightly dazed, Blair peered up at the epitome of his dreams, the best friend he'd ever known. The buzzer rang once more, only this time it sounded as if someone were leaning against it. His lips curved upwards in a smile.
"Sounds like they're getting impatient," Blair commented, and with an answering smile of his own, Jim turned and pressed the start button.
The elevator rose to the fifth floor before stopping. The door slid open to reveal John Chase, captain of the vice squad, scowling with impatience.
"Well it's about time," he grumbled stepping into the lift. "Ellison, Sandburg," he acknowledged with a nod as Blair slid further behind the sentinel, partially obscuring him from the captain's view. "I was just on my way up to see Banks to find out why those reports aren't on my desk."
Ellison bristled at the curt tone. Straightening, his gaze grew hard. "Maybe because we haven't written them yet," he retorted sharply. "In case you've forgotten, not only were we up half the night, but my partner was injured. By all rights his ass should be in the hospital instead of here giving a statement. So back off!"
"Jim, it's all right," Blair quickly interceded, laying a staying hand on the older man's arm. "He's just doing his job."
"He's right, Ellison," Chase confirmed. "And I'm sure you don't want to see those bastards get off on a technicality any more than I do."
As the elevator came to a stop at the seventh floor and the doors parted, Chase stepped aside allowing the other two men to pass. "Just tell Banks I'm waiting on those reports," he said before the door slid closed again.
"Asshole." Jim muttered angrily before turning away.
Laying a hand on Blair's back, more for his own comfort than that of his guide, Ellison gently prodded him towards the bullpen.
"BLAIR!" Taggart's jovial voice rang out as he spotted the observer. Ellison noticed Joel's slight wince as he got his first good look at Sandburg. Quickly schooling his features, Taggart asked, "What are you doing here? We figured you'd probably take a few days off to rest and recuperate."
"Yeah, well, you know me," Blair replied with a nonchalant shrug.
Ellison marveled at the sudden change in Sandburg's demeanor. Were it not for the obvious injuries, no one would have had reason to suspect anything was amiss. However, Jim wasn't your ordinary observer, and while Blair might appear cool and collected on the outside, the detective knew just how much it was costing Sandburg to maintain the casual facade.
"Hey, Hairboy!" Henry Brown called out, grinning broadly as he and Rafe entered the bullpen. "It's good to have you back."
"Yeah," Rafe agreed. "It just wasn't the same without you around here."
Blair's smile faltered, his expression growing serious. "Um," he stammered, looking down. "Simon and Jim told me about all the long hours you guys put in while I was um, missing and I... uh, just wanted to say thanks."
"You'd have done the same for any of us, Blair," Taggart pointed out gently.
"Besides," Brown added. "We always look after one of our own."
Blair's head came up at the comment, his eyes unusually bright with emotion. Behind him, Jim mouthed a silent 'thank you' to the others.
"Sandburg, Ellison, get in here!" Banks bellowed from his office doorway, automatically sending the assembled detectives scurrying back to their various tasks.
Letting Blair set the pace, Jim followed him into Simon's office and softly closed the door behind them.
Indicating that they should be seated, Banks took a moment to study the unusually quiet consultant. The kid looked like hell, and suppressing a shudder, Simon doubted whether he would ever be able to look at Sandburg again without seeing the images of Blair, frightened and abused, cringing away from them at the warehouse, or of the stable where the young man had been forced to submit to and endure untold atrocities.
Dismissing the abhorrent memories, Simon moved to behind his desk, "Would either of you care for some coffee?" he inquired. Receiving a negative reply, he refilled his own cup then, and knowing he couldn't postpone it any longer, settled into his leather-backed chair before removing a cassette recorder from his top left desk drawer. Setting it on the desk, he saw Sandburg's gaze flicker towards the device before darting away to resume his perusal of the floor.
"I realize this is going to be difficult for you, Blair," he commented gently. "Are you going to be all right with this?"
Inwardly, Sandburg winced. Not at the softly spoken words, but at the knowledge of what the police captain had witnessed over the past couple of days and the exact nature of its cause.
Over the last few years, Blair thought he had come to earn the older man's respect, but over the course of ten days, all that had been destroyed. Sure, Simon had said that he'd considered Sandburg an asset to the department, but how could he look at Blair, knowing what he now knew, and ever respect him again?
'I should have fought harder!' Sandburg silently condemned. 'I should have... '
'What?' His subconscious cross-examined. 'Let them kill you rather than submit?'
"Blair?"
Roused from his inner contemplations, Sandburg looked up into concerned brown eyes.
'Shit!' he thought. 'Simon must think I'm some sort of basket case. The least I can do is try to get through this with my dignity intact. Yeah, right,' he mentally snorted. 'What dignity?' They'd stripped that away right along with everything else. Still, he had to try. He owed Simon and Jim that much at least.
"I'm fine," he replied, sitting up straighter. "I just want to get this over with."
His brow pleated in a frown, Banks glanced towards Ellison, who nodded subtlety.
"All right," Simon continued. "As you know, I'll be recording your statement, after which Rhonda will type it up for your signature."
At Sandburg's brief nod of understanding, Banks pressed the record button. "Why don't you begin by telling us what happened the night you were kidnapped."
Clearing his throat, Blair's gaze drifted past Simon to focus on a spot on the wall. "I'd worked late at the university," he began, "and I was on my way home when I noticed a car sitting along the side of the road with its emergency flashers on. I could see someone sitting behind the wheel, so I stopped to see whether there was anything I could do to help. I knocked on the window to get the driver's attention, and when he rolled down the window and turned to face me, I was surprised to see he was wearing a mask. Um... you know, like they sell in the costume shops," he elucidated.
Banks nodded in understanding. "What happened then?"
Blair gave an unamused snort. "Well, it really freaked me out, you know? And my brain was screaming for me to get the hell out of there, but it was as if I were rooted to the spot. I couldn't move..."
The quiet desperation in Sandburg's voice tugged at Ellison's heart, and he knew it was only going to get worse as the rest of the story unfolded. Steeling himself, he listened as Blair continued.
"And then, I don't know whether I heard them or just sensed their presence, but I realized someone had come up behind me and knew I was surrounded." The consultant paused, his lower jaw quivering as he fought for control over the memories threatening to engulf him. "The next thing I knew," his voice came as if from far away, "my whole body felt as though it were on fire. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think, just... feel."
"YOU STUBBORN LITTLE SHIT!" McMillan roared, thrusting the naked man away from him. "YOU WILL LEARN TO OBEY ME IF IT'S THE LAST THING YOU DO!" Hauling his foot back, McMillan kicked the already battered figure.
"Come on, Randy," Anderson exclaimed, grabbing the larger man's arm and jerking him away from the anthropologist. "Cut it out, you're going to kill him. Why don't you just drug him again," Craig suggested, desperate to stop the abuse.
His face suffused with anger, McMillan turned on the sandy-haired man. "Because the fucker still hasn't gotten it through his thick head that I own him, and when I order him to do something, he'd damn well better do it!"
"Well beating the crap out of him obviously isn't working." Anderson pointed out.
"What about the tazor?" Reynolds suggested with a malicious grin. "I bet he wouldn't be able to hold out long against that."
"Get it!" Randy ordered shortly.
Reynolds disappeared only to return a moment later with the dreaded item.
"Please, don't do this!" Craig pleaded, sorry he'd ever gotten involved in this mess in the first place. Sandburg wasn't looking to good as it was, and Anderson was afraid that the shock could kill him.
"Shut up!" McMillan sneered, taking the tazor from Reynolds. "Or do you want a taste of this yourself?"
Swallowing a lump of fear, Craig shook his head and backed away.
"This is your last chance, you little prick," Randy turned his anger on their captive. "Either you do what I tell you, or it's zap city."
Eyes widening with horror at the object in McMillan's hands, an involuntary whimper escaped Blair's lips. Fear-based adrenaline providing the impetus, he scurried backwards, oblivious to the various aches and pains throughout his body. The thought uppermost in his mind was to escape the torture he realized was coming.
"Guess you need a reminder." The put-upon sigh proceeded a pain which ripped away all rational thought as the grad student writhed in agony on the floor.
"Chief?" The sound of Jim's voice brought Sandburg back to the present. "I said it sounds as if they used a tazor on you," Ellison repeated.
"Yeah," Blair replied with a grimace. "It wasn't the last time either."
"What I don't understand," Simon spoke up, "is how they knew where to set the trap."
"Randy said they'd been watching me. That he'd been planning it for some time," Sandburg explained. "And I have a tendency to take that road when it's late and I'm tired."
"I see," Banks commented before proposing another question. "Jim indicated that the reason for your abduction was revenge?"
"I'd caught Randy hacking into the university's mainframe to change grades. He told me that, as a result, his father had cut off his trust fund."
"I can see where he wouldn't be too happy about that," Simon replied thoughtfully. "But what did he hope to achieve by kidnapping you? I mean, I could understand it if he had demanded a ransom, but why would he, um..." Banks faltered, suddenly at a loss for words. His gaze darted towards Ellison, seeking assistance. Unfortunately, the detective's expression was set in granite, giving away nothing.
"Rape me," Sandburg supplied. Yet, despite the monosyllabic tone in which it was delivered, Simon could hear the precariously contained emotions beneath the surface. "He said that his girlfriend dumped him when she discovered he'd lost his trust fund, and he felt that since I was responsible, that it was only fitting that I take her place."
"Was he the only one who... assaulted you?" Simon asked hesitantly.
Needing a moment to collect himself, Blair picked absently at his tattered jeans.
"Chief?" Ellison softly inquired, his concern evident.
"I'm all right, Jim. It's just hard..."
"Take all the time you need, Blair," Banks gently informed him.
Swallowing, the observer nodded and a moment later began to speak. "Craig didn't want to, but Randy told him to either..." Sandburg's lower jaw quivered as he tried to form the words, "fuck me or join me."
Ellison's eyes darkened at the revelation. He knew Anderson had been killed trying to help Sandburg escape. The man had obviously had a conscience. Although, formerly, it was a mystery as to why it had taken him ten days to find it.
"The other one, Dave," Blair continued. "He, um... couldn't wait to do it. Sometimes I didn't know which one was worse, him or Randy, they both..." his jaw clamped shut as tears threatened.
"It's okay," Simon hastened to assure him. "I think we get the picture." And it was an image that made the older man sick to his stomach. Even after all his years on the force, after all he'd seen, he never could understand how someone could do something like this to another human being. "We can get copies of your medical records," he added, trying to regain his professionalism. "So I won't ask you to go into detail about the nature of the assaults."
Blair breathed a sigh of relief. It had been difficult enough living through the experience, and he wasn't sure he could bring himself to recount the abuse in exacting detail. Not to anyone, and especially not to the two men he'd come to admire and respect.
"However, I will need you to clarify a few other things for the record. First of all, you previously stated that McMillan killed Anderson?" Simon asked.
A faraway look came into the anthropologist's eyes as he recalled the incident in question. "Craig was trying to help me escape. Unfortunately, Randy showed up and caught us. And then, before I even realized what was happening, Randy took out a knife and stabbed him." Unable to help himself, Blair shuddered.
"What happened then?" Banks gently prompted.
"Randy was really pissed, man. He came after me with the knife, and I tried to get away, but he caught me, and…"
Closely monitoring his partner, Ellison wasn't surprised to hear the younger man's respiration suddenly spike. "Take it easy, Chief," he cautioned, laying a hand on Blair's shoulder. The last thing Jim wanted was another one of Sandburg's panic attacks.
Taking a deep breath, Blair slowly exhaled and then repeated the procedure. "Sorry," he said glancing apologetically at his roommate.
Ellison's expression softened. "It's okay, buddy. We realize how difficult this must be for you." A hint of a frown appeared. "Are you going to be able to continue?" Jim asked. All it would take was one word from Sandburg, and they were out of there.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Closing his eyes, Blair collected his thoughts. "So, anyway," he proceeded a moment later, opening his eyes to reveal haunted blue orbs. "I was positive he would kill me. And then, the next thing I knew, my hand connected with one of the discarded beer bottles that were scattered about, and I hit him with it. He dropped like a stone. I can still feel the weight of him pinning me down." Blair's stomach lurched at the memory.
"How did you end up with the knife?" Simon inquired, knowing they needed to explain how Sandburg's prints ended up on the murder weapon.
"Somehow I'd managed to shove Randy off me and as I was getting to my feet I saw it lying there. I was afraid, and all I could think of was that Randy would wake up any minute and come after me again, so I picked it up." Finishing, Blair looked up questioningly at the captain.
"That's fine, son." Banks assured him, pleased when some of the tension drained out of the younger man. "Although we still need to clear up what happened at the loft when Reynolds abducted you."
"I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help there, Simon," Blair said with a shake of his head.
"Just tell us what you can, Chief," Jim gently prodded. "Connor can fill in the rest."
Sandburg's head came up. "How is Megan?" he asked.
"According to the doctor, she's doing fine," Banks replied with a hint of a smile. "She should be released in a couple of days."
The observer's relief was visible. "Thank God! I don't know what I'd do if Megan had been killed because of me."
"She was doing her job, Sandburg," the captain insisted. "Anyone of us would have done the same, and as I recall," Simon reminded him with a quirk of his brow, "you've risked your life for several of us as well. And you're not even a cop."
On more than one occasion, usually when the captain was adamant about Sandburg not getting involved in an investigation, he would remind the observer, 'You're not a cop!' Of course, that fact seldom deterred the persistent young man. In fact, Simon sometimes thought it would be easier to convince a pit bull not to bite him in the butt, than to talk Sandburg out of becoming involved. It never seemed to matter that Blair wasn't trained for it or that the situation could possibly get him killed, Sandburg simply saw someone in need and jumped in, feet first, without regard for his personal safety. He was the kind of man Banks was proud to call a friend, and yet how often had he dismissed Blair's contributions, his sacrifices, out of hand? Even now, the kid looked as if he expected censure instead of praise.
"However," Simon added, "if you ever decide to rectify that situation, I'll be the first to welcome you on board."
Sandburg blinked, uncertain he'd heard correctly.
"I mean it, Blair," Banks assured him with honest sincerity. "You're one of the finest cops I've ever had the privilege to work with, and I would be proud to be able to 'officially' list you as one of my men."
Sandburg blinked again, this time against the tide of emotions threatening to spill forth. Swallowing past the sudden constriction in his throat, "Um... thanks," he mumbled, somewhat embarrassed.
Concerned that he'd inadvertently added to Blair's distress, Banks' concerned gaze sought out Ellison's, only to find approval and gratitude reflected back at him. The slight nod of Jim's head assured Simon he'd 'done good'.
Relieved, Banks straightened his shoulders, and once again assuming his 'captains persona', got back to the business at hand. "So, what exactly happened at the loft?"
Forehead wrinkling in concentration, Blair sought the relevant memory. "I was sleeping when something, I'm not sure what, woke me up. I was sca... worried," he quickly amended, "and decided to find out what was going on, but just as I reached the door to my room, it flew open knocking me on my ass. The next thing I knew, Randy was dragging me up off the floor by my hair, and then he was choking me, and I tried to fight him off but he was too strong, and I could feel myself beginning to lose consciousness..."
"Whoa, just take it easy, Chief," Jim cautioned as the words, bordering on hysterical, tumbled forth. "It's all over now, they can't hurt you any more."
Mutely, Blair nodded and tried to regain his composure.
"What happened then?" Simon pressed a moment later.
"I must have passed out," Blair replied thoughtfully. "Because the next thing I remember is waking up in some sort of storage room at the club."
"Did Reynolds or anyone else... 'hurt'," Banks used for want of a better euphemism, "you?"
Shaking his head in denial, "Dave wanted to," Blair told them. "But the other one, Hawkins, wouldn't let him. Said he didn't want the merchandise damaged any more than it already was."
"I can't see Reynolds being happy about that," Jim commented with barely suppressed anger. Every time he thought about what Reynolds had done to Sandburg, he wanted to smash the punk's face in all over again.
"He wasn't," Blair said. "But Hawkins told him that any additional damage would come out of his end of the cut. After that he left me pretty much alone."
Satisfied, Banks pressed the recorder's stop button, concluding the session. He'd seen how difficult this had been for the younger man, and he didn't want to put Sandburg through any more than absolutely necessary. Besides, he still needed to talk to Ellison. "All right, Blair, that should do it for now, although there may be some additional questions at a later point. Meanwhile, I'll have Rhonda type up your statement for your signature."
Having been Jim's partner for so long, Blair had become very familiar with various police procedures. He also knew a dismissal when he heard one. Relief flooded his features, and rising, Sandburg started for the door with Ellison right behind him.
"Jim, could you wait a second?" Simon called out.
Not wanting to leave Blair alone, Ellison glanced questioningly towards his captain. Unfortunately, the larger man's expression was giving nothing away.
"I'll be out in a few minutes, Chief," he said, turning towards his partner.
"Yeah, sure," Blair replied, his confusion evident as he slipped out the door.
"What's this about?" Ellison inquired the moment the door closed behind Sandburg.
Sighing, Banks leaned back in his chair. "I heard from Reynolds' attorney first thing this morning. He's apparently decided to press charges against you for use of excessive force."
"WHAT!" Ellison exclaimed incredulously.
"Wait," Simon held up a staying hand. "It gets even better. He's also filing a lawsuit against you and the department."
"I don't fucking believe this!" Jim ground out. "He kidnaps and rapes my partner," Ellison said as he ticked off the offenses one by one. "He shoots a cop, kills McMillan and then tries to sell Sandburg off like a slab of meat, and he's bringing charges against me?"
"The man's in the hospital with a concussion, bruised ribs and possible internal injuries, Jim," Banks imparted.
Ellison jaw dropped open, his burgeoning anger growing by the second. "Don't tell me you agree with this?"
"I was there, Jim. You beat the shit out of Reynolds, and there is no doubt in my mind that you would have killed him if I hadn't stopped you."
"I don't believe this..." Ellison shook his head in disbelief.
"Look, I know how you feel, and I won't tell you that I wasn't half tempted to kill the bastard myself, but you know as well as I do that you totally lost it. You weren't a cop apprehending a suspect, you were a man bent on revenge."
"So, what happens now?" Although softly delivered, nothing could mask the underlying anger and sense of betrayal.
Rank had its privileges, but this was one part of being a captain that Simon hated. "You're suspended until further notice, pending a complete IA investigation into the incident."
His expression set in granite, Jim removed the billfold containing his badge and tossed it onto the desk followed by his service revolver. "Am I under arrest?" he asked, ignoring Simon's expression which pleaded for understanding, as Jim stood at attention and stared straight ahead.
"Not at this point," Banks replied, unable to hide his disappointment. "But I will have to ask you not to leave town."
"Will that be all, sir?" It was delivered clipped, precise and to the point.
'Damn Ellison and his uncompromising sense of righteousness.' Simon silently admonished. "Ill need your report on my desk before you leave." The words came out a weary sigh.
"Very well, sir." Oblivious to Simon's pain, Jim pivoted and rigidly left the office.

The door closed softly behind him, and with a backwards glance, Blair couldn't help but wonder and worry about what it was that Simon had wanted to talk to Jim about in private. It was unusual for the captain to exclude him, so Blair could only surmise that it had something to do with him. He had an uneasy feeling that the 'something' wasn't good.
Resisting the urge to storm back in and demand to know what was going on, Blair instead headed for the men's room. Although the session with Simon hadn't been as bad as he'd imagined, it had still left him decidedly shaken and slightly nauseous. Lost in thought, he didn't see the concerned glances in his direction, or the uncommon interest of an unfamiliar visitor to Major Crime dressed in a pristine three-piece suit.
Upon discovering the restroom was empty, Sandburg breathed a sigh of relief. It had been hard enough to face the shuttered glances and whispered comments with Jim at his side, and Blair wasn't sure he was up to dealing with it on his own.
Walking over to the sink, he turned on the cold water faucet and held his hands under the flowing water. Then, mindful of his injured ribs, he bent and splashed the crystal clear liquid on his face. The cool water felt good against his flushed skin, but it had been so long since he'd actually felt clean that Blair had to fight the need to keep from scrubbing his skin raw. Recalling Jim's reaction to the incident in the shower, he shut off the water, and grabbing a paper towel, dabbed his face dry.
"Mr. Sandburg?"
Startled, the anthropologist whirled. Unnerved by the man's sudden appearance, Blair unconsciously backed away. "Yeah," he cautiously admitted. "I'm Blair Sandburg."
"I'm sorry if I frightened you," the man replied, reaching into his breast pocket.
Seeing the move, Blair's anxious gaze darted towards the door, judging his chances for escape.
"My name is Howard Epstein," the man said, pulling out a business card and extending it towards Sandburg.
Taking the proffered card, hesitation turned to surprise as Blair discovered the man was a lawyer. "What do you want?” he asked suspiciously.
"I represent Mr. David Reynolds."
"What's that got to do with me?" Blair demanded, his breath quickening.
Epstein's expression became one of smug superiority. "Tell me, Mr. Sandburg, were you aware that my client has filed criminal charges against Detective Ellison?"
"WHAT?" Blair squeaked. "You can't be serious!"
"On the contrary, I'm quite serious. Detective Ellison used excessive force in the apprehension of my client, and as a result, Mr. Reynolds sustained serious injuries."
Blair felt as if his world had suddenly titled on its axis. "Why are you telling me this?” he asked through the riot of confusion battering him from all sides.
The shark's smile grew. "It's quite simple really. My client is prepared to drop the charges provided you refuse to testify against him."
Sandburg's eyebrows shot upwards. "I can't do that, they'll issue a subpoena."
"I realize that, Mr. Sandburg. All we need you to do for now is to refuse to sign your affidavit, and the rest will eventually sort itself out. In fact, there's a very real possibility that my client may not even go to trial, provided you cooperate."
"I've already given my statement. I can't take it all back now," Blair insisted.
Epstein's expression hardened. "You can, and you will. Otherwise, Detective Ellison will pay the price."
Shaking his head in disbelief, Blair felt bile rise up to choke him.
"Which is more important," the lawyer persisted, "your reputation or Detective Ellison's career? Plus, you wouldn't have to deal with the added publicity a trial would generate." The grad student flinched, and sensing victory, Epstein moved in for the kill. "Think about the publicity, Mr. Sandburg. All the sordid details, out there for everyone's perusal. All the stares, the innuendoes. Then there will be those who will think you asked for it." At the younger man's strangled gasp, Epstein smiled. "Then again," he said shrugging, "perhaps none of that will bother you. But what about Detective Ellison? I understand that the two of you live together. Considering the nature of your claims against my client, I can just imagine the field day the press will have with that little tidbit of knowledge, not to mention his fellow officers." Epstein smugly added.
"Oh, God," Blair groaned. Face devoid of color, he leaned back against the tiled wall, and as his legs gave way, he slid to the floor.
"And I'm sure the university wouldn't be to pleased about the adverse publicity..." The lawyer trailed off, allowing his prey to fill in the blanks. "Just think about it, Mr. Sandburg. That's all I ask." And with that, the man was gone as silently as he'd arrived, confident that the thoroughly shattered individual he'd left behind would do as requested.

Angrily, Jim Ellison stabbed at the computer's keyboard. The report he was working on was his last official duty for the Cascade PD. That the report concerned the abduction and subsequent rape of his partner made the task all the more distasteful. And to top it all off, he was suspended pending an IA investigation. Rationally, he knew that Simon didn't have a choice in the matter. Emotionally though, Jim bristled at what he saw as an act of betrayal.
"I should have just killed the bastard," he grumbled beneath his breath, not surprised to realize that he meant it. Every time he thought about what Reynolds and the others had done to his partner, even the slowest, most painful of deaths didn't seem to be enough of a retribution. 'Maybe it's not to late,' Ellison thought.
Oh, God, what was he thinking? He was a cop. He couldn't just take the law into his own hands. To do so would make him no better than Reynolds, not to mention that it went against everything he believed in. Simon had been right to suspend him. As suddenly as it had appeared, the anger Jim felt towards his friend waned, and knowing he owed the captain an apology, Ellison's gaze traveled toward his superior's office. Rhonda, Simon's secretary, was just leaving, the tape containing Sandburg's statement clutched in one hand.
Speaking of Sandburg, where the hell was he? When Jim had first left Simon's office, he'd inquired into his partner's whereabouts and had been told by Brown that Blair had last been seen going into the men's room. Figuring Sandburg might need some time alone, Ellison had fought against his natural instinct to check on his guide, and had instead started working on the dreaded report. That had been nearly ten minutes ago. Concerned that something was wrong, Jim rose purposely from his chair, stopping short as the young man in question entered the bullpen and headed straight for Rhonda's desk.
It was immediately apparent that something was seriously wrong. Decidedly green around the gills, Sandburg looked as if he might pass out at any moment. Concerned, Jim moved swiftly to his partner's side, arriving just in time to hear Blair ask the blond secretary, "Is that my deposition?"
"Yes, it is," Rhonda replied, worry marring her normally attractive features.
Suddenly, her slight frown turned into a gasp of surprise, as Blair snatched the tape from her hand and immediately set about destroying it.
Ellison stared in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, shocked by the observer's actions.
"Nothing happened. I never gave a statement," Blair insisted as he ripped the last of the mangled tape from its housing. Dropping the components to the floor, he crushed them beneath his boot.
All activity in the bullpen ceased, its inhabitants confused by the observer's actions. However, no one was more so than James Ellison. Sure, he knew that having to give a statement hadn't been easy for Sandburg, but Blair had seemed fine when he'd left Simon's office. Okay, so fine might be pushing it a bit, but there had been nothing to predict this type of behavior, unless...
Breathing heavily, Sandburg's gaze met Ellison's.
The truth hit the detective like a sledgehammer. 'Oh, God, he knows.'
"What the hell is going on here?" Banks bellowed, striding into the room. "Well?” he demanded when no one answered right away.
"Blair knows," Jim finally supplied, his gaze never leaving that of his partner. "He just destroyed the tape containing his statement."
"HE DID WHAT?" Simon sputtered incredulously.
"You should have told me," Blair heatedly accused.
"It's not Jim's fault," Banks interceded. "I just told him a few minutes ago." Aware of the continuing stares, he lowered his voice and suggested, "Look, why don't we go into my office and discuss this."
"There's nothing to discuss." Sandburg replied, still looking at Jim.
"So, that's it? You're just going to let them get away with it?"
"Guess what, Jim," Blair exclaimed, arms spread wide in gesture, "they already did!"
Pole-axed, Ellison stood speechless as Sandburg turned and headed for the elevator. Blair was right. For though the cop in him demanded justice, and the man cried out for revenge, neither could change the past.His best friend had been raped, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
"Well, aren't you going to go after him?" Banks demanded.
Jim's head came up, his anguished gaze met by a reciprocating look from his partner. Taking a step forward, "Sandburg!" he called out. But it was already too late as the elevator doors closed and Blair was whisked away.
Fear kicked in, its basis rooted in Sandburg's abduction nearly two weeks ago. He couldn't let it happen again. Not again. "Simon," Jim gasped, his distress palpable as he stared at the closed doors.
The unspoken plea was recognized and acknowledged. The report could wait. "Go," Banks told him, and released from his duties, Ellison tore out after his guide.
Unwilling to wait for the elevator, Jim took the stairs. His pounding footsteps echoed in the empty stairwell as he raced down the steps. Breathing hard as he reached the ground floor, Ellison burst through the door and entered the lobby. Stopping, he scanned the area, the gut-wrenching fear that had taken up residence in his stomach grew substantially as no sign of Blair could be found.
Biting back a sob of dismay, Jim listened, searching for the one heartbeat among dozens that he knew above all others. There! A faint trace coming from somewhere outside. Barreling through the assemblage of cops and civilians, Ellison raced out of the building, desperate to catch up with his partner, but the street was bustling and the heartbeat was drowned out by the city's traffic. Frantically, he searched up and down the street for some sign of the observer. Finding none, Jim threw back his head and lamented his distress. The name on his lips... Blair.

"End of the line, pal," the burly bus driver called, heaving a weary sigh when the passenger in question failed to respond. "Come on, buddy, I haven't got all day," he tried again.
Slowly the passenger's head rose until his gaze met that of the bus driver. Taken aback by the pain and devastation he saw reflected there, the driver issued a soft gasp. Then the man blinked, and standing, started towards the front of the bus. Oblivious to the stares of the other passengers, he neither noted nor acknowledged their presence.
'He moves like a zombie,' the driver thought, disconcerted by the anguish he'd seen in the brief glimpse of the young man's eyes. As the passenger drew level, "Are you all right?" the driver asked, compassion for the unknown man making his voice unusually gentle. "Should I call dispatch and get you some help?"
"No, thank you. I'm fine." The flat, lifeless reply was delivered with a parody of a smile. Then turning, Sandburg stepped off the bus, and without conscious thought, turned left and started down the sidewalk.
Blair knew his anger had been misplaced. Jim would never have bowed down to blackmail even if it cost him his job, his freedom. In fact, Blair was certain that once Ellison had gotten over the initial shock, he would be royally pissed by the fact that Sandburg had recanted his statement.
He owed Jim not only an explanation, but an apology as well. However, still in shock after his chat with Reynolds’ lawyer, he had fled, unable to deal with the expressions of bewilderment and silent accusation his mind had conjured on the faces of Ellison and Banks.
It had grown colder. Pausing to zip his jacket higher, Blair, for the first time since getting off the bus, took stock of his surroundings. What he saw made him shiver even more. Somehow he'd ended up in the seediest part of town. A place where not even the most hardened of cops dared to venture alone after dark. Even now, in the light of day, the drug dealers and prostitutes readily plied their wares in full view of anyone present.
'Oh man!' Sandburg silently groaned. How in the hell had he ended up here?
"You lost, pretty boy?" came a husky voice from a nearby doorway.
Startled, the anthropologist whirled as the speaker stepped out into the sunlight. Despite the heavy makeup and flamboyant style of dress, it was the prominent adam's apple that caught Blair's attention. "No…thank you" he stammered over the sudden pounding of his heart.
Backing away, he stumbled over the unseen curb and tumbled into the street. A car horn blared, and the sound of screeching tires could be heard. Looking up, Sandburg saw a car bearing down on him. With no time to get out of the way, Blair closed his eyes and awaited death.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" an angry voice questioned, followed by the slam of a car door.
Realizing he wasn't dead, Blair opened his eyes to discover the car's bumper a mere hairsbreadth away. Releasing the breath he'd been holding, the anthropologist scrambled backwards, his breath now coming in quick, harsh pants as he looked up, eyes wide, at the seemingly furious black man hovering over him.
"I asked you a question, boy!" the man bellowed.
"Stop it, Tyrel," the smoky-voiced transvestite from the doorway reprimanded, moving to kneel beside Sandburg. "You're scaring the child. Don't you worry none about Tyrel," she assured Blair, casting the other man a disapproving glare. "His bark is a lot worse than his bite."
Had his heart not been trying to beat its way out of his chest, Blair might have found it amusing that a man large enough to be a fullback, seemed to wither beneath the platinum blonde's angry glare.
"Aw, come on, Sylvie. I wasn't gonna hurt him none," the man protested with a pout. "But the damn fool should know better than to step in front of my car."
"You and that damn car!" Sylvie snorted. She turned away in disgust. Soft, heavily made-up eyes framed by ridiculously long lashes studied the trembling figure beside her. Wordlessly, Sylvie frowned. It was more than nearly being run over that had this painfully thin white boy shaking like a leaf. And judging by the signs of abuse evident, she had a good idea of what that 'something' was. "Are you all right?" she gently inquired, not wanting to spook him any more than he already was. "Do you think you can stand up?"
Nervously, Blair's gaze darted between the two nearby figures. "Yeah, I... I'm fine," he stuttered.
Knowing better than to offer assistance, Sylvie backed away, allowing the young man to rise on his own. "Oh dear, you're hurt!" she exclaimed, unconsciously moving forward as the man issued a soft moan, his arm automatically coming up to cradle his ribs.
"NO! No, I'm fine," Blair insisted backing away.
"It's all right, honey," Sylvie crooned softly. "I won't touch you if you don't want me to. But I really think we should get you to a hospital."
"No, no hospital!" Blair felt his panic increase. "I'm fine, really. I just need to..." and turning, he fled.
"You can't catch it you know," Tyrel yelled after him.
"Shut up you insensitive oaf!" Sylvie snapped, swatting the larger man. "Can't you tell someone hurt that boy bad." Her concerned gaze followed the fleeing figure. "I just hope he's going to be all right."

Exhausted, his lungs threatening to burst, Blair stumbled to a stop and leaned panting against the brick facade of a storefront.
'God, I'm pathetic,' he silently berated himself, while trying to catch his breath. Tyrel, despite his enormous size and tough demeanor, proved to be about as dangerous as a teddy bear. And as for Sylvie, she had exhibited nothing but caring and concern. Before his abduction, Blair would have delighted in meeting such diverse individuals. But now, he'd fled like some pitiful, frightened rabbit running until only sheer fatigue had forced him to stop. That was all he seemed to be doing lately, running away. From the memories. From Jim.
With a trembling hand, Blair pushed back his wild disarray of curls and looked around. He knew he should call Jim. No doubt the other man was beside himself with worry by now. Spotting a phone, he made his way over to it, and after digging in his pocket for some change, deposited two quarters into the slot. Halfway through dialing the number, he disconnected the call and listened as the coins fell into the return slot. He couldn't call Jim, not yet. The detective would demand to know where he was and would insist on coming to pick him up. Granted, Jim had been nothing but understanding and supportive since this whole thing started, but Blair couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before Jim realized his mistake; before he realized that he'd saddled himself with damaged goods. In his current state, Blair even doubted his ability to act as Jim's back up, his guide. How long would it be before his inability to function cost Ellison his life? How long before Jim realized he was useless, a liability, and threw him out altogether? Memories of heated accusations and veiled insinuations from the past rose up to haunt him. No, he needed to get his shit together and do it now, before he lost the one thing in his life that still held some meaning... Jim. Fishing the coins from the return, Blair reinserted them and called for a cab. First, he'd head over to Rainier, and try to salvage what, if anything, was left of his academic career. He'd deal with Jim later, much later.

Extracting the last fifteen dollars from his battered wallet, Blair glanced at the meter, and with a slight grimace, handed the driver the entire amount. With a murmur of thanks, he climbed out of the vehicle and slammed the door behind him. As the cab sped away, he stood motionless, staring blankly at the hallowed halls of academia.
Swallowing past the lump that had suddenly manifested itself in his throat, Blair propelled himself across the quad and towards the administration building. Head down, he moved quickly through the bustling throng while studiously ignoring the speculative looks and muttered comments from student and faculty members.
Had Epstein been right? He'd been kidnapped and held against his will. Surely, the university couldn't hold that against him. Taking a deep breath, Blair slowly exhaled. Well, he was about to find out one way or another.
Entering the administration office, Blair headed over to the counter, subtly clearing his throat as he approached.
The clerk looked up from her paperwork. "Blair!" she exclaimed, her tawny brows rising in surprise. "What are you doing here?"
"The last time I checked, I worked here." He'd tried for glib, but uncertainty crept into his voice. A feeling that grew more prevalent as he realized the young woman was avoiding making direct eye contact. "I just thought I'd stop by and get a copy of my schedule and the work assignments I missed while I was... gone," he finished lamely.
"Oh, yes, of course," the blonde responded with a bright cheeriness that rang false.
"Is there a problem, Leeann?" Blair questioned, as the clerk started sorting through her paperwork.
The busy hands stilled and apologetic hazel eyes looked up. "I'm sorry, Blair, but I think you'd better talk to the chancellor."
"Okay," the grad student judiciously replied. "Is she in?"
Leeann nodded. "I'll ring you through," she said picking up the phone.
Wiping suddenly sweaty palms on his slacks, Blair knocked on the imposing oak door, and upon hearing a command to enter, took a deep breath and stepped into the chancellor's office.
"Mr. Sandburg," Chancellor Edwards greeted him warmly as she came around the desk and extended her hand. This is a pleasant surprise."
"Thank you," Blair replied, unable to forestall a frown of suspicion as he returned the chancellor's handshake.
"Please, have a seat," she said indicating the nearby chair as she leaned back against the front of her desk, arms crossed. "Now, what was it you wanted to see me about?" she asked, once Blair was seated.
"I... um, stopped by to get a copy of my classes and Leeann indicated that there was some sort of problem..." The words trailed off, as fear blossoming deep within.
"Ah, yes," the chancellor enigmatically replied. Pushing away from her desk, she moved around to stand behind it. "You've missed a substantial amount of time, Mr. Sandburg, and while we understand that circumstances were through no fault of your own, at the time we felt it was in the best interest of the university to replace you."
"WHAT!" Blair croaked, his fear given definition.
"Just for the remainder of the semester," she hastened to assure him. "After all, we did have the welfare of our students to consider. I'm sure if you think about it you'll realize it's all for the best. You'll have sufficient time to recuperate from your... um, experience, and in the meantime it will give the press a chance to die down."
Blair's expression hardened. "That's what you're really concerned about, isn't it?"
The chancellor's pleasant demeanor vanished. "Mr. Sandburg, surely you've been in the business long enough to comprehend that any sort of adverse publicity could prove detrimental not only to the university's social, but also financial status within the community. We simply cannot afford to jeopardize..."
"Maybe I'm naive," Blair interrupted, rising from the chair, "but I thought we were in the business of education." His eyebrows rose. "Guess I was wrong." And with that parting shot he left, softly closing the door behind him.
'Epstein was right,' Blair thought bitterly as he stepped out into the fading daylight. Concerned more by prestige and bank balances than imparting knowledge, the bottom line was that Rainier now considered him a liability. An embarrassment to be swept under the rug.
'Damn it! When had his life gone to hell in a hand basket?' Blair snorted. He knew exactly when it occurred. That night on a dark, lonely stretch of road.
With a disheartened sigh, he started across the campus. Lost in thought, his feet unknowingly carried him in the direction of Hargrove Hall. So, it was with a bit of surprise that Blair found himself standing outside the impressive stone structure.
The building held many memories. Some good, some bad, but it had always been a place where he felt he'd belonged, a place where he thought he was making a difference in the lives of his students. Only now, he wasn't so sure.
A yearning for answers, for some semblance of normalcy, propelled him up the steps and into the building. Perhaps in the familiar confines of his office he could sort through the myriad of emotions threatening to tear him apart. Maybe pick up the pieces of a life that had been shattered beyond recognition.
The need for solitude quickened his stride, and turning the corner, Blair literally ran into Tina, the young woman who had been acting as his TA this semester.
"Sorry, I didn't see you," he stammered, stooping to help gather the stack of papers dislodged in the collision.
"No harm done," Tina replied. Smiling warmly, she kneeled to help. "In fact, I'm glad I ran..." the smile widened at the pun, "into you."
"Oh?" Blair questioned.
"Your friend, Detective Ellison has been looking for you." The smile faltered as she took in Sandburg's appearance for the first time. "He seemed really worried about you."
'Damn!' He should have known this was one of the first places Jim would look.
"Yeah, well, I'll be sure to give him a call," Blair replied. Thrusting the last of the papers at Tina, he stood. "At the moment though I'm running late, so if you'll excuse me…" With that, he stepped past her and hurried down the hall.
"Blair, wait! There's something I need to tell you," Tina called after him.
Pretending he hadn't heard, Blair quickened his stride, the promised sanctuary of his office beckoning.
Behind him, the TA's concerned frown grew, instinct telling her something wasn't right. Removing the business card from her pocket, she fingered it uncertainly. 'Detective Jim Ellison' it read. Recalling the older man's expression, pinched from worry, Tina headed for the nearest pay phone.
It was with a profound feeling of relief that Blair finally reached his office. A feeling short lived as, inserting his key into the lock, he discovered the door already open. Although the office appeared empty through the etched glass, he cautiously pushed open the door and stepped inside.
"Can I help you?" Came an inquiry from his left, startling him.
"Who are you, and what are you doing in my office?" Blair demanded, his false bravado betrayed by the slight tremor in his voice.
The man filed the manila folder he was holding and shut the drawer. "Ah, you must be Blair Sandburg," he said extending his hand. "I'm Scott Swanson. Rainier hired me to fill in during your absence."
"That still doesn't explain what you're doing in my office," Blair retorted ignoring the outstretched hand.
Swanson appeared confused. "The department head assured me it would be all right for me to use the office."
Dear God, how much was he expected to take? He'd already been stripped of his dignity and his perception of self worth. Any hope that Reynolds might pay for his crime had been irrevocably flushed down the toilet by the threat of Jim being charged for the use of excessive force. The university had taken away his livelihood, and now they wanted his office, the last bastion of normalcy in a world suddenly gone mad.

'NO!' They expected too much.
The red haze of anger that slowly built during Swanson's explanation suddenly erupted. "They were wrong," Blair ground out through clenched teeth. "Get out, now!"
Swanson bristled. "Now just a minute..." he began, the words unexpectedly cut short as Sandburg grabbed the front of his shirt, and propelling him backwards, rammed Swanson against the window.
"This is my office. MINE!" Blair roared, slamming him backwards once again. The man's head snapped back, connecting soundly with the glass, and as the shattered fragments rained down, Swanson went slack within Sandburg's grasp.
"Oh my God!" Blair gasped, the realization of what he'd just done snapping him out of the blinding rage. Releasing the limp form, the grad student stared uncomprehendingly at his hands as Swanson sank to the floor, blood covering the back of his head. Sandburg's dazed stare slid to the still figure. "Oh, God! What did I do? What did I do?" he cried out, backing away in horror.
"Blair? What is it? What's wrong?" Tina's anxious inquiry came from the doorway. Her concerned gaze lighted on Swanson. "What happened?" she gasped, confused. With a strangled gasp, Blair barreled past her and ran.

Ellison topped off his gas tank, and returning the nozzle to its cradle on the pump, climbed into the Ford pickup.
He'd already checked the loft, the university, and all the regular haunts Sandburg had been known to frequent. He'd even asked Simon to put out an unofficial APB, and yet, hours later, there was still no sign of the missing observer.
"Damn it, Chief, where are you?” he growled in frustration. Uncertain where to look next, he started the engine and pulled out into traffic.
Blair had just sacrificed what little remained of his shattered soul to ensure Reynolds wouldn't press charges, and that renouncement had freed Ellison from the possibility of prosecution. Earlier Simon had called to tell him that all charges had been dropped and that, while IA was still conducting their investigation, his suspension had been lifted. For Jim, the news held little consequence. The only thing that mattered was finding Blair, and ensuring that he was all right. The rest they could, and would, if Ellison had any say in the matter, deal with later.
In deference to the red light, Jim eased the truck to a stop and was debating where to look next when his cell phone rang. Extracting it from his pocket and thumbing the button, he barked into the receiver, "Ellison."
"Detective, this is Tina Williams. Mr. Sandburg's TA from the university."
Hope soared. "Yes, Miss Williams, what can I do for you?"
"It's about Blair. He's here, in his office," she replied, something in her tone setting off the sentinel's warning signals. Her next words confirmed it. "I'm worried about him, Detective. I've never seen him like this. I..."
"Tina," Ellison interrupted, "I want you to listen to me. No matter what it takes, I want you to keep him there. I'm on my way."
Waiting only long enough to hear the brief acknowledgement, Jim snapped the phone shut, and slipping it in his pocket, hit the lights and siren. Stepping on the gas, the pickup tore through the intersection and sped towards the university.
Screeching to a halt outside Hargrove Hall, the sentinel leaped out of the truck and raced up the steps into the building. Traveling the familiar halls, he headed towards Sandburg's office. His nostrils flared at the faint coppery smell of blood, and the agitated voices raised in shocked disbelief quickened his stride.
Forcing his way through the small crowd gathered at Sandburg's office door, Jim stopped. Relief, fear, and confusion battled for dominance as he took in the scene before him.
A man, in his mid to late twenties lay face down, bleeding profusely from a scalp wound, as Tina fought in vain to staunch the steady flow of blood. Around them, fragments of glass from the broken window littered the carpet.
"What happened here?" Ellison grilled the distraught TA. Kneeling beside the prone form, he checked for a pulse, confirming with touch what his heightened sense of hearing had already relayed-- the man was merely unconscious, not dead. Vaguely aware of the arrival of police and emergency vehicles, Jim turned his attention to the young woman. "And where in the hell is Sandburg?” he growled, a sense of dread invoking the harsh remark.
"I'm sorry, Detective," Tina stammered, her face flush with tears. "I know you told me to keep him here, but I was so shocked, and he rushed right by me, and I..."
Heaving a sigh, Ellison sought patience. "It's all right," he said in a gentler tone. "Just calm down and tell me what happened."
"Well, I'd just gotten off the phone with you and was on my way here, when I heard Blair yelling at Mr. Swanson to get out."
"Wait a minute," Jim interrupted, pulling Tina aside as the EMT's arrived and began treating the victim. "Who's this Swanson character?"
Suddenly uncomfortable, the young woman's gaze turned to the unconscious man. "The university hired him to take over Blair... Mr. Sandburg's classes."
Closing his eyes Ellison muttered a silent curse. No wonder the kid was upset.
"I'm sure it's only temporary," Tina offered, trying to soften the blow.
"What happened then?” he asked, opening his eyes and fixing the TA with an authoritative glare.
"I heard this loud crash, and when I got here, Mr. Sandburg was standing over the bod... Mr. Swanson," she quickly amended, at the fierce scowl from Ellison, "yelling, 'What did I do? What did I do?' When I asked him what happened, he just brushed past me and took off."
"So you have no idea where he is now?"
"Sorry, Detective," she replied with a helpless shrug.
"It's all right," he responded, unable the keep the disappointment out of his voice. "I want you to tell this officer everything you just told me," he said, thrusting her towards the nearby patrolman. Then, without waiting for a reply, Ellison hurried out of the building.
Pausing on the stone steps, Jim used his heightened senses to scan the surrounding area, hoping against hope for some sign of his partner. "Damn it!" What good were these sentinel senses if they couldn't even help him find the one person that meant more to him than life?
Reluctantly realizing he needed help, Jim pulled out his cell phone and punched in Banks' number.
"Yeah, Simon, it's Jim... No, I haven't found him yet, but we might have an even bigger problem. It seems he attacked one of his colleagues at the university."
At his captain's insistence, Ellison quickly brought Banks up-to-date.
"Yes, sir, I realize that," Jim replied when Simon declared he had no choice but to make the APB out on Sandburg official. "But he's scared and confused. There's no telling what he's capable of right now..." Ellison sighed in frustration. "All I'm asking is that you add the stipulation that if they should spot him, just to keep him under surveillance and call me. And under no circumstances are they to try and approach him."

Silent tears of grief tracked their way across translucent flesh as Blair wove his way down the sidewalk, unaware of the curious stares of the other pedestrians. Despite his body's demand for a reprieve from the pain and exhaustion, disbelief and the horror of what he had done drove him on. The repetitive litany of "Oh, God, I killed someone," accompanied his steps.
Even now, with the image freshly embedded in his mind, Blair couldn't conceive himself capable of such an act. And yet, that's exactly what he'd done. What on Earth had possessed him to shove the man? But even as he asked the question, he already knew the answer. Seeing Swanson comfortably at home in 'his' office had been the straw that broke the camel's, or in this case, 'the anthropologist's', back. Having been stripped of everything else, his rage, no longer reigned in by conventional barriers, had been free to strike out. And in doing so, he had not only taken a life, but had also destroyed what was left of his own.
No doubt, he would be arrested and convicted, which was only right, for he was undeniably guilty, but Blair hated to think of what this was going to do to Jim. It wasn't bad enough that his abduction and rape had become headline fodder for the tabloids, or that his association with Ellison had led people to speculate on the exact nature of their relationship. Now they, the naysayers, had viable grounds for their malicious innuendoes. By act and deed, Blair Sandburg had proven that he wasn't good enough--man enough--to be James Ellison's partner. And he never had been. It was this realization, more than the beatings, the degradation or the assaults that cut the young man to the quick.
"Jim..." he breathed the name on a wistful sigh and his heart ached for what once was. But fate, which had promised him so much, had taken a cruel twist, and now his life lay shattered.
Blair's heart beat with such ferocity that surely, any second now, death would come to claim him, only to find an empty husk in its stead. The pain was not for himself, but for Jim, the man who had let Sandburg into his life and finally, his heart. No doubt, the older man would see Blair's actions as just another betrayal in a long list of betrayals. Proof that he had been right all along, that trust was merely an illusion, and to love left one vulnerable to the whims of others.
The imagined hatred and anger he saw on Jim's face caused the anthropologist to wince, and a soft keening whimper escaped. Coward that he was, Blair knew he could not bear to see that expression in reality.

Carefully balancing the tray containing two cups of coffee, Officer Ben Chevez exited the fast food restaurant. Night had fallen, and with it, the temperature. Shivering, Ben crossed the sidewalk, and placing the tray on the roof of the car, opened the door.
"Hurry up, you're letting the cold air in," his partner, veteran cop Pete Wilson grumbled from the driver's seat, as Chevez picked up the tray and slid into the vehicle.
Snagging one of the cups, Wilson scanned the area beyond the windshield. "Well, I'll be damned," he muttered, as his gaze fell on the man staggering down the sidewalk. "That's Ellison's partner."
Chevez looked up with interest. "The one we've got an APB out on?"
"Yeah," Wilson replied, setting his coffee on the dashboard. "And from the looks of it, he's under the influence. I never did understand why Ellison let the little fag hang around all the time," he mused aloud.
Chevez scowled, for while Wilson might be a good cop, the man also tended to be a bigot. More than once, Ben himself had been on the receiving end of some of the older man's insensitive remarks. "I'll call it in," he said reaching for the mic.
Wilson popped open his door. "Don't bother, we can handle the pansy on our own," he commented stepping out of the car and slamming the door.
Shaking his head in disgust, Chevez proceeded to place the call while remaining alert for signs of trouble, as his obnoxious partner approached Sandburg. Seconds later his instincts paid off, as the observer looked up, his eyes went wide with fear, and he bolted. Wilson took off in pursuit, and after quickly relaying the latest development, Chevez followed.

'This is hopeless!' Ellison thought, as the blue and white Ford slowly cruised down yet another street. 'Sandburg could be anywhere.'
Torn between hurt that Blair hadn't turned to him when in trouble, and fear that something had happened to the younger man, Jim felt the tug of weariness the day's events had wrought. Giving up, however, was not an option. Not while Sandburg was still out there, somewhere.
The trill of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. Hoping it was news of his missing partner, Jim quickly answered. "Ellison."
"Jim, it's Simon," came Banks reply. "A couple of uniforms have Sandburg cornered in an alley on the twelve hundred block of Crestview Avenue."
"What do you mean they have him cornered?" the detective snapped angrily. "They weren't supposed to go near him!"
The captain sighed. He'd known what Ellison's reaction would be. "I don't have all the details, but I suggest you get over there right away. Apparently, the kid's freaking out and won't let anyone near him."
"I'm on it," was the terse reply, as Jim activated the vehicle's siren and lights.

Ellison reached his destination less than fifteen minutes later. Alarmed to see an ambulance already on the scene, he anxiously pushed his way through the onlookers.
"What's the situation?” he gruffly questioned the two uniformed officers poised at the alley's entrance.
"The situation," Pete Wilson snidely replied, "is your partner's a fucking fruitcake and should have been locked up a long time ago."
Eyes blazing with anger, Jim grabbed a fistful of the man's jacket and rammed Wilson back against the brick wall. "Even on his worst day Sandburg is a better man than you'll ever be. And if I find out you've hurt him in any way, there won't be a hole deep enough for you to hide in. Am I making myself clear?" Ellison snarled dangerously.
"Detective, please." Came a soft entreaty from behind, even as Wilson continued to stare mutely in defiance.
"Get him out of my sight," the sentinel growled disgustedly, thrusting Wilson aside.
Turning, he glared down at the younger man who had pleaded on Wilson's behalf.
"I'm sorry about that, Detective." Chevez apologized. "Wilson can be a real ass at times."
"Just tell me what happened," Jim demanded.
"Your partner spotted us and bolted. Pete went after him, and we ended up here," he finished with a wave of his hand. "If the alley hadn't turned out to be a dead end, we'd probably still be chasing him. When we tried to go in after him, he started yelling and throwing anything he could get his hands on at us."
"Is that how you got the bruise, Officer...?" Ellison asked, noting the darkening patch on the younger man's forehead.
"Chevez," Ben supplied, introducing himself. "Yeah," he admitted with a wry grin as his hand went up to probe the tender area. "Your partner's got one hell of a pitching arm." Instantly sobering, Chevez frowned. "He seems terrified, Detective. Kept calling us Randy and Dave, and yelling for us to keep away from him."
"Damn," Ellison softly exclaimed. Aware that his partner was probably suffering from a flashback, Jim's worried gaze penetrated the dark recesses of the alley, until finally, he spotted Sandburg huddled behind a dumpster. Piggybacking his hearing to sight, Ellison noted Blair's rampant heartbeat, the rapid, almost breathless, exhalations.
"Okay," he said, turning to Chevez. "With the exception of the ambulance crew, I want you to get everyone else out of here."
"You've got it," the officer acknowledged with a quick nod and hurried off.
Not wanting to spook his partner further, Ellison slowly proceeded into the alley. His hearing attuned, the slight rustle of clothing warned Jim mere seconds before a broken brick was lobbed in his direction, accompanied by a hysterical shout to 'Keep back!'.
Barely successful in dodging the projectile, Ellison decided it was time to make his identity known. "Whoa, take it easy, " he said, raising his hands in a non-threatening manner. "It's just me, Jim."
"No! No, it's a trick." He heard Sandburg mutter disjointedly.
"It's no trick, buddy." Jim calmly replied. "McMillan and Reynolds are gone. They can't hurt you anymore."
The deafening silence that followed threatened to stretch Ellison's already frayed nerves to the breaking point. Then he heard it, uttered sentinel soft. "Jim?" came the tentative inquiry.
"Yeah, Chief, it's me," Jim said, placing emphasis on the affectionate nickname he'd dubbed Sandburg with. "I'm going to come back there, okay?"
" 'Kay. But only you. No one else!" The tremulous quality in Sandburg's voice tore at Ellison's heart.
"Just me. I promise."
Moving carefully, Jim made his way towards the back of the alley and around to the side of the dumpster, behind which his partner had taken refuge. Pressed back as far as he could go, Blair sat crouched as shudders wracked his thin frame.
Keeping his voice low, Ellison asked "Hey, buddy, how you doin'?" as he kneeled beside the shivering form.
"Jim?" Blair questioned, squinting as he tried to make out the other man's face. "Jim!" Sandburg cried with relief, launching himself at the detective as he finally recognized the familiar features. "It really is you!"
Ellison caught him, and wrapping his arms around the quaking man, held on tight.
With his face pressed against the broad expanse of the sentinel's chest, Blair murmured in distress, "They were here, Jim. They were gonna..."
"Shhh, it's all right." Ellison crooned reassuringly. "I'm here now, and I'm not going let anyone hurt you ever again."
Another shudder coursed through Sandburg, and frowning, Jim realized his partner's skin felt like ice. "Hey, buddy, what do you say I take you home and we get you warmed up."
"Home." The word held a wistful sigh. How many times while they were using him, debasing him, had Blair thought about the spacious loft he'd come to call home? The first 'real' home he had ever known. Yet, even as the thought crossed his mind, Blair knew it wasn't the place, but the man holding him that constituted the epitome of the word 'home'. "I am home," he murmured, unconsciously snuggling closer to Ellison.
The softly spoken words warmed the detective's heart before uncertainty crept in, causing him to wonder, 'If that's true, then why didn't he come to me when he was in trouble?' ' Probably because you've let him down in the past.' His subconscious supplied. Silently vowing it would never happen again, Jim pulled the shivering form closer. "Come on, let's get you home." Voice gruff with emotion, he carefully helped Sandburg to his feet.
"Whoa!" Blair moaned, suddenly dizzy. Closing his eyes, his grip on Ellison tightened as confusing images whirled within his mind's eye.
"Are you all right?" Jim asked, eying his partner with concern. He hadn't noticed any injuries.
Barely aware that a question had been asked, Blair tried to sort through the chaos in his mind. What was wrong with him? The nightmare was finally over. He'd go home with Jim, forget this ever happened and get on with his life. His life..."Oh God!" he gasped, as the day's events suddenly fell into place. The only place he would call home from now on was a prison cell. How could he have forgotten? After all, it wasn't every day you killed someone.
"What is it?" Ellison questioned, alarmed when he felt the smaller man stiffen within his grip.
"Oh, God, Jim, I remember." Stricken orbs of blue looked up at him. "I remember, everything," he cried, backing away.
"Just settle down, Chief," Ellison said, keeping his voice even. "Everything's going to be all right."
"How can you say that?" Blair gaped, incredulous, his tone bordering on hysteria. "I killed him. I killed someone!"
It took a moment for the words to register, words he never conceived coming out of Sandburg's mouth. "Who?" Jim ground out through clenched teeth. "Who did you kill?"
Sandburg took in Ellison's rigid stance, the harshly uttered words, and despair rose to crush what little hope had still existed. Unable to meet the censure he knew he'd see reflected in the sentinel's eyes, Blair looked away. "I'm so sorry, Jim." He choked out, retreating inward, away from the accusing glare. Away from emotions he couldn't bear to deal with. "I didn't mean to do it." His tone was now dull, his eyes lifeless. "But he'd already taken my job, and when I found him in my office..." The words trailed off as Blair replayed the scene in his mind.
Certain that his initial reaction hadn't helped, Jim noted the shoulders bowed by defeat and expected condemnation, and the haunted, faraway look set amongst battered and bruised features.
Just how many different kinds of hell would Sandburg have to endure because of one man's obsession for revenge? McMillan and Anderson deserved to burn in hell for what they did, and right now, Jim was regretting his decision not to send Reynolds there as well.
"He's not dead! Do you hear me?" Ellison exclaimed, grasping Blair by the upper arms and giving him a gentle shake. "Swanson was alive when I found him."
"But the glass... All the blood..." Blair murmured, still in a stupor.
Capturing Sandburg's chin, Jim tilted it upwards until pain-filled blue eyes met his own. "I won't lie to you, Chief, it's not good. The last time Simon checked, Swanson was still in a coma."
Sandburg's softly expelled gasp was visible in the cold night air, as his trembling became more pronounced.
"But he's alive," Ellison repeated, more forcefully.
"Thank God!" Blair sobbed in relief as his eyelids shuttered in a futile attempt to stay threatening tears. "I was so afraid... I didn't mean to hurt him, Jim. I swear!"
"I know, buddy," Ellison softly assured his partner, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled tenderly, and reached up to gently brush away the tears that had managed to escape Sandburg's guard.
The wet lashes fluttered open. "I'm still in trouble though, aren't I?"
The misery in those softly uttered words tore at Ellison heart. Somehow, he managed to summon a reassuring smile before replying, "Let's worry about that later. Right now all I'm concerned about is getting you home, okay?"
Numbly, Sandburg nodded. Too weary to deal with the possible repercussions of his actions, Blair hid his face against Ellison's chest, and trusting that he was in capable hands, retreated to the furthest recesses of his mind. A refuge where he didn't have to think, worry or feel.
Arms braced around the trembling figure beside him, Jim kept up a constant litany of softly murmured encouragement and reassurances. Yet, he couldn't help but worry. Sandburg was right, he was in trouble. Serious trouble. He was facing charges of assault, and quite possibly, time behind bars.
The irony of the situation struck Ellison full force. Blair had sold what little remained of his soul to ensure that Jim wouldn't go to jail for assaulting Reynolds, only to be faced with the very real possibility of ending up there himself. In the meantime, Reynolds had virtually been handed a 'get out of jail free' card, also at Sandburg's expense. Where was the justice? It was then Ellison realized that 'justice' seldom had anything to do with the law and vowed to do anything necessary, within or outside of the law, to ensure that Sandburg would never see the inside of a jail cell. It didn't matter that he was a cop, sworn to uphold the law. The only thing that mattered was Blair.
Unconsciously gripping Sandburg tighter, Ellison stepped out of the alley in full 'Blessed Protector' mode, ready to take on anyone or anything that dared to threaten his partner.
Blinking against the harsh glare cast by the overhead street lights, Jim was relieved to see that with the exception of the ambulance crew, Chevez and Simon (who had apparently just arrived) were the only ones left.
Seeing the two men emerge from the alley, Banks started forward, only to be brought up short at the barely perceivable shake of Ellison's head as he led Sandburg towards the ambulance. Concerned, but trusting Jim's instincts, Simon leaned back against the side of his car and waited.
Sensing that they were dealing with a traumatized individual, the EMT's kept their distance as Ellison carefully settled Blair onto the rear of the ambulance.
Snagging a blanket off the gurney, Jim quickly draped it over his partner's shoulder. Kneeling before the shivering man, he waited patiently until Sandburg's dazed blue eyes eventually focused on him.
"Hey," he began, smiling gently. "I know you probably don't want to go to the hospital, but I'd feel a lot better if you'd at least let these guys check you out. Would you do that for me?"
Blinking, Sandburg's lackluster gaze roamed, searching, until finally lighting on the nearby men, Blair nodded dully.
With a gentle pat of approval to Sandburg's leg, Ellison rose and waved the waiting EMT's forward. Then stepping aside to allow them room to work, Jim made his way over to where Simon waited.
"How's the kid?" Banks asked immediately upon Ellison's approach.
Scrubbing a hand over his weary features, Jim turned to monitor Sandburg before answering, "He's scared, confused and half-frozen. Other than that, I think he's all right."
"What the hell happened, Jim?" Simon asked, frowning.
"Blair thought he'd killed Swanson," Ellison replied distractedly. "He must have been wandering around for hours, dazed and confused. Then, when Chevez and his asshole of a partner cornered him in the alley, he apparently had a flashback. He thought the officers were McMillan and Reynolds."
"Dear Lord!" Banks hissed. "No wonder the kid lost it."
"He's afraid, Simon." Jim said, turning to his superior. "I convinced him that Swanson was still alive..." Banks nodded at Ellison's unvoiced question. "But he knows he's still in trouble." The sentinel's expression grew grave. "He can't handle this right now, Simon. Not after everything he's been through, and unfortunately, I haven't been much help," he finished with a disheartened sigh.
"I think he's a lot stronger than you give him credit for, Jim, but perhaps you and Sandburg should seek some professional help to aid you in dealing with this. Meanwhile, it's late and the kid's got to be exhausted. So, why don't you take him home, and we'll worry about this mess in the morning."
"Right," Ellison sighed in reply. With a heavy heart, he trudged back towards the ambulance, Simon following in his wake.
Having finished their cursory examination, the paramedics were packing up their gear as Sandburg sat sipping what smelled like coffee from the lid of a thermos.
"Hey, Chief, how are you doing?" Jim asked, and although the question had been directed to his partner, Ellison's questioning gaze sought out the EMT's.
"I suggest you take him home and get him warmed up as soon as possible," one of them supplied. "And try to get some food into him, although I'd recommend something light, like soup. The best thing you can do for him is make sure he gets some rest."
"I'll do that," Jim replied with a nod of thanks. However, considering everything that had happened to Sandburg over the past few weeks, Ellison had serious reservations about the younger man's ability to get the rest he so desperately needed.
"You hear that, Chief?" Jim commented, keeping his tone light. "You've been sprung."
With a softly murmured, "Thanks," Blair handed the empty thermos lid back to the paramedic. Then, clutching the blanket tighter, he rose and turned to face Ellison. Only then did he realize that Banks was there too.
Swallowing nervously, Sandburg's heart rate increased to alarming proportions. "Captain," he acknowledged the older man's presence. "I suppose you're here to arrest me."
Having heard the sudden acceleration, Ellison anxiously eyed his partner.
There had been no mistaking the sudden rush of alarm in Sandburg's eyes or the averted gaze as the fear was replaced by overwhelming shame. Simon's heart went out to the younger man.
"No, Blair, I'm not," he gently replied. "I'm here because I consider you a friend, and I was worried about you."
Astonished blue eyes rose to meet brown ones, filled not with the expected disappointment, but with compassion.
"But I hurt someone, bad," Blair insisted, voice rough with emotion.
Reaching out, Simon gently gripped the smaller man's shoulder. "I'm aware of that, son. I also know that there are extenuating circumstances, and I want you to know that I'll do everything within my power to make sure those circumstances are taken into consideration. In the meantime, I want you to go home and get some rest."
"Thanks, Simon," Ellison gratefully replied, when Sandburg appeared unable to respond.
With a nod, Banks gave Blair's shoulder what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze and stepped back.
Wanting to make certain that Sandburg was going to be all right, Ben Chevez had chosen to remain behind when Wilson headed back to the station. Now, realizing that Ellison and his partner were about to leave, he stepped forward. "Mr. Sandburg," he cautiously ventured.
Unconsciously moving closer to Jim, Blair eyed the young Latino with confusion.
"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," Chevez continued, his sincerity apparent. "And to apologize on behalf of my partner and myself."
Brows knitting together in a frown, Blair glanced up at Ellison. "Jim?” he questioned.
"Officer Chevez and his partner," Ellison grimaced at the memory of Wilson, "were the ones pursuing you."
His gaze straying back to the officer, Sandburg sorted through the muddled images in his mind, but it wasn't until he noticed the stark white bandage above the Latino's eye that the images fell into place.
With a soft gasp, Blair's eyes widened in horror. He remembered throwing anything he could get his hands on at what he thought were McMillan and Reynolds, and hearing a cry of pain as one of his projectiles found its target.
"Oh, God," he groaned. "I'm the one responsible for hurting you!"
"You mean this little thing?" Chevez responded nonchalantly, indicating the bandage. "It's nothing. Although," he added, grinning, "if you ever decide to change precincts, I hope you'll consider the 86 th, because we could really use a pitcher like you on our baseball team."
"Oh, man, I am so sorry," Blair apologized, shocked by what he had done.
"Hey, it's all right, really," Chevez insisted. "Wilson and I had no business being in pursuit in the first place."
"Speaking of which," Ellison interrupted, anger evident in his tone. "Where is your partner?"
"Our shift was over, so he headed back to the station," Chevez replied, obviously embarrassed by Wilson's actions.
Sensing an underlying anger emanating from Ellison, Banks decided to intervene. "Jim, you take Sandburg home. I'll make sure that Officer Chevez gets back to his station."
Deriving some satisfaction in the knowledge that his captain would no doubt have a few choice words with Chevez about disregarding orders, Ellison replied, "Thank you, sir." Then, placing a hand on Blair's back, he gently prodded his partner towards the truck.

Shrugging off his jacket, Jim hung it on the coat rack and turned to help Sandburg. "Here, let me give you a hand with that," he said gently, and as Blair stood docilely beneath his ministrations, he unbuttoned and removed the woolly garment, hanging it beside his own.
Sandburg's lifeless gaze and unnatural silence worried the detective more than he wanted to admit. Perhaps it would have been wiser to take him to the hospital after all, but even as the thought crossed his mind, Jim dismissed it. The last thing Blair needed right now was to have strangers poking and prodding him. No, Sandburg would be better off in familiar surroundings, someplace where he felt safe and secure. With someone who cared about him. The question was, would it be enough?
Sentinel and guide. Partners, best friends, family. Together there wasn't anything they shouldn't be able to overcome. However, viciously violated, stripped of his dignity and profession, devastated by the knowledge that he'd nearly killed another human being and faced with the possibility of going to jail, the tenacious Blair Sandburg he'd come to know no longer existed. For, while the body remained, it was hollow. The insatiable quest for knowledge, the joyous celebration for life, his very heart and soul were gone. How long would it be before the empty shell that remained deteriorated as well? Before he lost Sandburg altogether? No, damn it! He wasn't going to let that happen. Blair might have lost the will to fight for himself, but Ellison hadn't.
Overwhelmed by the need to hold, comfort and protect, Jim moved cautiously forward, and meeting no resistance, pulled Blair into a hug.
"It's going to be all right," he whispered into the ear a hairsbreadth away and felt Sandburg stiffen.
"Chief?" he questioned, pulling back to peer anxiously down at the shorter man.
Slowly Blair's head came up. "I know you mean well, Jim, and I appreciate it. But let's face facts, man, I fucked up. Big time."
"NO!" The larger man's bellow shook the nearby lamp.
"It's true," Blair insisted. Pulling from Ellison's grasp, he backed away. "You have to let it go, Jim. Let me go. Please," he implored. "I don't want to drag you down with me."
"It ain't gonna happen, buddy." Ellison replied, his tone and granite expression brooking no argument. "I'm in for the duration, whether you like it or not. Now why don't you go take a shower? While you're thawing out, I'll fix us something to eat."
Overcome with emotion, Blair merely nodded and headed for the bathroom.
"Oh, and Chief..."
Sandburg paused, not looking back.
"Don't lock the door."
Closing the bathroom door behind him, Blair leaned against its hard, wooden surface as tears streamed unencumbered down his face. He knew the older man had meant every word, and it was for that reason he had to find the strength to let Jim go. An agonizing pain ripped across his chest at the thought, bringing Blair to his knees with a sob. How ironic. After all the pain and humiliation he'd been forced to endure, it was only now that he discovered the one thing that could crush him beyond all repair. The thought of a life without Jim Ellison in it.
A soft rap came at the door. "You okay in there, Chief?"
Hands wrapped around his middle, Blair straightened. "Yeah, Jim, I'm fine." How strange that his voice sounded almost normal when his heart lay shattered in a thousand tiny fragments.
Forcing himself to his feet, Blair went over to the tub and turned on the shower. Mechanically, he began stripping away his clothes, his mind occupied with torturous images of his future. Of Jim ostracized by his fellow officers because of his connection to Blair. Of a stark cell with iron bars. Jim religiously coming to see him on visiting day, while the rest of the time...
He knew what happened to people like him in prison. If he was lucky, someone would stake a proprietary claim on him and he'd only have to worry about being fucked by one inmate. Otherwise, he'd be fair game for the general population, to be used at will. The time he'd spent with McMillan would seem like a walk in the park by comparison. No! He couldn't go through that again. Not again. And how long would it be before Jim would come to despise him for it? Little by little any feelings Jim had for him would die until only a sense of duty remained. Better that he should betray Jim now than to slowly destroy the man's life. His future. The decision made, Blair stepped beneath the cascading spray, and as silent sobs shook his body, began to wash.
Turning down the heat beneath the bubbling mixture, Ellison's attention returned to Sandburg. Despite the continual drumming of the shower and the younger man's attempts to muffle the sound, Jim had been aware of his guide's distress. Torn, he had started forward only to come to an abrupt stop. Blair was entitled to his privacy. More than that, Ellison suspected he needed it. Needed some sense of control over his own life. Still... Unable to help himself, the sentinel extended his hearing. The shower had stopped, and he heard the soft rustle of cloth as a towel was pulled from its rack and wrapped around Sandburg's waist. Heard the squeak as steam was wiped from the mirror. Heard the soft click as the medicine cabinet was opened, and then... silence.
Alarmed, Ellison's head shot up. 'He wouldn't, would he?' Jim wondered as images of sharp objects and neatly aligned rows of bottles played across his mind's eye. Quickly, he strode towards the bathroom, fear providing the impetus. His hand on the doorknob, Jim paused. What if he was wrong? Ducking into Sandburg's room, he grabbed a clean pair of sweats and some underwear. At least now, he had an excuse. Garments in hand, Ellison raised a tentative hand and knocked. "Chief?"
Startled, Blair dropped the razor he'd silently been contemplating, and as it clattered into the basin, wondered what in God's name he'd been thinking. There was no way in hell he'd ever put Jim through something like that. Especially not here in his own home. Aware that the older man was expecting a response, he took a shuddering breath and replied, "Yeah?"
"I brought you some clean clothes." The concern in Ellison's voice was unmistakable.
Carefully schooling his features, with a trembling hand, Blair opened the door. "Thanks," he said, the forced smile never quite reaching his eyes as he accepted the bundle of clothes.
Tension hung in the air like a viable entity between the two men. Each was uncertain and afraid. "Well," Jim finally interjected into the unbearable silence. "I'll let you get dressed. You might want to hurry though, before the soup gets cold."
"Right," Blair replied, his gaze darting uncomfortably away. "I'll be out in a minute." And with that, he closed the door, placing a barrier between himself and the sentinel's intense scrutiny. This was going to be a lot harder than he thought.
Scraping the last of the soup into the bowl, Jim returned to the kitchen and put the empty pot in the sink to soak. The mundane task did little to alleviate his concern. It wasn't until the bathroom door opened, and he heard his partner quietly pad into the kitchen that Ellison finally felt himself relax.
"You're just in time, Chief," he said, snagging a box of crackers and heading for the table.
Wordlessly, Blair followed, sliding into his usual seat. "Smells good," he declared, the forced enthusiasm falling short of its desired goal as he picked up the spoon and dipped it in the steaming broth.
Jim shrugged. "It's just some canned stuff I found hibernating in the back of the cupboard," he replied, frowning as he watched Sandburg absently swirl his spoon through the soup. "You know, it works better if you actually eat it."
Blair's gaze darted to Jim and then guiltily back down at his bowl. Minute tremors shook his hand as he lifted a spoonful of the broth, and pushing it past his lips, forced himself to swallow.
Sighing, Ellison was not fooled by the ploy. "Look, Chief," he stated gently. "I realize you probably don't feel like eating right now, but you need some nourishment." His lips quirked upward into a cajoling grin. "And personally I'd feel a whole lot better if you eat just a little."
Sadly, Blair looked up into the concerned features of his partner. "I can do that," he softly responded, knowing in his heart he could never deny Jim anything. Determined not to spoil their last evening together, Blair began to eat, forcing down spoonful after spoonful until, nauseated, he finally pushed the empty bowl aside. Seeing Ellison's relieved expression, he decided it had been worth the effort. "Thanks, Jim," he said, summoning a slight smile. "I guess I was hungrier than I thought."
"You can have the rest of mine if you're still hungry," the detective offered.
Panic flared. "No, thanks, I'm fine," Blair quickly declined as his gaze fell on Ellison's still untouched bowl of soup.
"If you're sure..." Hiding his disappointment, Jim shoved the bowl aside. "At least you're looking better." His brow furrowed in memory. "I gotta tell you, Chief, you had me worried there."
"I know, Jim, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose it like that."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Ellison gently inquired.
Snorting in disgust, Blair pushed himself away from the table, and rising, wandered over to the balcony doors. "What's there to talk about?" he bitterly replied, looking out at the city's glimmering night skyline. "The university replaced me, and I almost killed the man who took my job. End of story."
"What about what happened at the station?" Jim asked, moving to stand behind his friend.
"I don't want to talk about it." There was a tone of finality in the harshly uttered words.
"Well I do," Ellison growled, unwilling to let it go. Lips pressed together, he bit back the rising anger. "I realize you only did it to protect me, and I appreciate it, but not at the risk of letting that bastard get off scot-free."
"Come on, Jim," Blair angrily retorted, spinning to face Ellison. "You and I both know that people like him don't do jail time."
"And he's not going to if you don't pursue the matter," the detective pointed out.
"So I'm supposed to risk your going to jail on the off chance that Reynolds might be convicted." Sandburg shook his head. "I don't think so," he said stepping past the larger man. "One jail bird in this partnership is enough."
Capturing Blair's arm, Jim spun him around. "I swear to you, Chief, I am not going to let that happen," he insisted.
Anger welled from where it lay festering just beneath the surface. Suddenly furious, Sandburg lashed out. Not with fists, but with words. "Yeah, well if you had just checked your emotions at the door like you're always telling me to do, we wouldn't even need to be discussing this," he shouted, then realizing what he'd just said, Blair slapped a hand over his mouth, eyes going wide in horror.
Shocked by the animosity aimed at him by his normally amiable roommate, Ellison took an involuntary step backwards. Yet, even as the words registered and the meaning behind them sank in, Jim realized the accusation couldn't be denied. Oh God, Sandburg was right. If he had just conducted himself like the cop he's supposed to be instead of an enraged vigilante bent on revenge, Reynolds wouldn't have had grounds for pressing charges in the first place.
Pain-shrouded eyes rose to meet those of his partner. "Chief... Blair, I..." he stammered, aghast by the knowledge of what his actions had wrought.
Having instantly regretted the hurled allegation, Blair watched with dismay as Ellison, true to form, began closing himself off. As quickly as it had appeared, the anger vanished. "Jim, please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it," he pleaded.
Ellison held up a staying hand. "No, you're right. It is my fault. Damn it!" he hissed. "Why is it every time I screw up, you're the one that ends up paying the price?" Angrily, he shook his head. "Well not this time. There's no way in hell you're going to jail."
"You can't promise me that," Blair replied softly. "It's beyond your control."
"Oh God, Chief, don't say that." His anguish clearly evident, Ellison wrapped his arms around Sandburg, hugging him close. "I don't care what it takes, but I am 'not' going to lose you."
Blair knew this was wrong. Knew he should pull away. Instead, he clung tighter, needing the memory of this, their last time together, to give him the strength to do what must be done.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he whispered sentinel soft, fully aware that he was about to betray Jim's trust. "Don't ever forget that."
"I won't have to, because you're going to be here to remind me."
A heartbroken sob lodged itself within Blair's throat, preventing a reply.
Ellison felt the uncontrollable shudder that coursed through his guide's body. Pulling back, he gazed down with concern. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah," Blair replied, having swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I think the day's just starting to catch up with me."
"Why don't you head for bed while I take care of the dishes," Jim suggested.
Wearily, Blair nodded, and reluctantly leaving the bittersweet embrace of his sentinel, started towards his room.
Unable to shake an ominous sense of foreboding, Ellison quickly dealt with the dishes, and after securing the loft for the night, headed upstairs.

James Ellison was a man of integrity and compassion, humor and intellect who had, on a number of occasions, risked his own life to help another. More often than not, that 'someone' had been Blair, and despite his often hard-ass, gruff exterior, the former Ranger had an unrivaled protective streak. Especially when it came to his partner. It was for that reason Blair knew he had to leave.
Brushing away the tears that refused to stop falling, Blair inserted the letter into an envelope and propped it against the coffee maker. Time was of the essence. He'd waited for hours, until he was certain Jim had fallen asleep, before switching on the white noise generator and turning off the alarm clock.
Picking up his hastily stuffed duffel bag, Blair headed for the door. Pausing to disengage the lock, he allowed his gaze to roam wistfully across the first place that had ever truly felt like a home. His vision, blurred by tears, was drawn upward towards the loft bedroom, and after a final, longing glance, Blair stepped into the hallway, softly closing the door behind him. Almost tenderly, his fingertips traced the raised numbers that denoted his home's address. Former home, he sadly corrected, turning away. Hitching the duffel bag higher onto his shoulder, he headed for the stairs.

Slowly, the shaft of sunlight crept across the sculptured planes of the well-defined body lying beneath the covers, eventually making its way to the finely etched features relaxed in slumber. Although not quite awake, the man sensed the additional warmth, the brightness beyond his closed eyelids. Groaning in protest at the intrusion, Ellison rolled over onto his side, automatically he sought the familiar heartbeat of his guide. The exploration proved futile, and as that knowledge sank into his sleep-befuddled brain, Jim bolted upright, his heart pounding.
Breathing heavily, he immediately used his hearing to scan the entire loft. The effort proved pointless when his hearing refused to cooperate. A growing sense of dread caused his stomach muscles to clench as he tumbled from the bed and raced down the stairs calling Sandburg's name. Checking the bathroom first, Ellison was relieved to find it empty, until a check of Blair's room also proved fruitless.
"Damn it, Chief, where are you?" he growled, glancing around the loft for some sign, some indication of the anthropologist's whereabouts.
Finally, his gaze fell upon the coffee maker, against which an envelope bearing his name in Blair's handwriting sat propped. Suddenly, Jim's feet felt as if they were encased in lead, and somehow he 'knew', without reading its contents, that Sandburg was gone.
"NO!" The bellow of denial burst forth, releasing Ellison from his paralysis. Striding into the kitchen, he grabbed the envelope, and removing the neatly folded letter, he began to read.

Dear Jim,

By now you've probably realized that I'm gone. I'm sorry I had to do it like this, but I knew you wouldn't let me go any other way.
Let's face facts, man. I screwed up big time, and if I stay, I'll only be dragging you down with me. I can't, I won't, let that happen. You deserve better.
I realize you'll try to find me, but please don't, for both our sakes. Trust me, it's better this way. I know you don't think so now but I hope, in time, you'll come to understand and forgive me.
Blair
Dazed, mouth agape, Jim read the letter again. "You son of a bitch!" Ellison hissed, crumpling the sheet of paper in his hand. "I trusted you and this is how you fucking repay me!" Only one other time could he remember feeling this betrayed. The day his mother left and never came back. "Well to hell with you!" he bellowed, and in a blinding rage, swept the contents of the counter top onto the floor.
Simon had just stepped out of the elevator when he heard a loud crash from Ellison's apartment. Cop instincts kicking in, he drew his gun and swiftly made his way down the hall. Taking up position on one side of the door, weapon ready, he announced loudly, "Cascade PD! Open up!"
A few seconds later he heard the door being unlocked, and it opened to reveal Ellison glowering angrily. "Is everything all right, Jim?" the captain cautiously inquired while trying to peer into the loft.
"You might as well come on in," the detective morosely replied, and stepped aside.
Holstering his weapon, Simon entered, his trained eye quickly taking in the debris littering the kitchen. "What's going on here?" he asked, his forehead pinched in a concerned frown.
Ignoring the question, "Do you want some coffee?" Ellison inquired, striding past his superior and towards the coffee maker.
"What I want are some answers," Banks retorted as the surly detective set about making the coffee.
Finishing the task, Jim turned, the slight twitch in his jaw informing Simon that, despite the calm facade, Ellison was barely keeping his emotions in check. Intent on his observation, Simon nearly missed the detective's reply.
"Sandburg's gone."
Even as Banks frowned, an uneasy feeling began to develop. "Gone. What do you mean he's gone?"
"I mean gone. As in he packed some clothes and snuck out in the middle of the night," Ellison retorted, barging past the taller man and into the living room.
"Are you sure?" Simon asked, confused. "That doesn't sound like something Sandburg would do."
"Oh, I'm sure," Jim spat contemptuously as he turned away from the glass doors leading to the balcony. "The little prick even left me a note."
Banks bristled. "Now just a damn minute, Jim. I don't know what bug crawled up your ass, but you and I both know that there's no way in hell Blair would ever leave. Unless he thought that's what you wanted or..." Simon mused, "he thought it was in your best interest. That's why he left, isn't it?"
"So he says," Ellison snidely responded.
The older man's patience snapped. "Jim, what the hell is the matter with you? Any fool can see you're the center of that kid's existence."
"Only because I'm a sentinel," Jim perversely replied.
Banks was astonished. Shaking his head sadly, "If you really believe that, then you're not the man I thought you were."
"What the hell else am I supposed to think?" The detective cried in barely concealed anguish. "He left me, damn it. Just like..." Abruptly clamping his lips shut, Ellison turned away.
"Damn it, Jim," Simon growled. "I realize you're still carrying around a lot of emotional baggage, but just once I'd like to see you put Sandburg's feelings ahead of your own."
"What the hell are you talking about?" Ellison snapped.
"Every time something goes wrong in your relationship with the kid, your first thought is how it affects you. Automatically, he's the one who screwed up. He's the one who betrayed your trust. Well you know what, Jim, it takes two people to make a relationship work."
"I know I've screwed up in the past," Ellison admitted, immediately on the defensive.
"And yet, you still haven't learned from your mistakes," Banks inserted. "Think about it, Jim. Sandburg's still hurting from his injuries. His abduction and assault have become fodder for the tabloids. He's lost his job and is facing possible assault charges. The kid's sinking fast, and instead of holding onto the one good thing he has left in his life, he leaves. Why? Because he doesn't want to take you down with him. Now if that isn't an indication of just how much you mean to him, I don't know what is."
"Oh, God," Ellison groaned softly as the truth of Simon's words struck home. "What have I done?"
"Behaved like the self-centered jackass you sometimes are." Banks retorted, a smile softening his jibe. "The question is, what are you going to do about it?"
"I've got to find him," Jim anxiously replied, heading for the stairs. "I'm not going to let him go through this alone." Trying to think of where Blair might go, who he might turn to, Ellison took the stairs two at a time. Arriving at the top, his gaze fell on the white noise generator sitting on the nightstand. It was only then that he realized why his hearing had gone on the fritz. Blair had obviously been determined to leave, but not half as adamant as Jim was to find him.
Shutting off the electronic gadget, he quickly changed and headed back downstairs, stopping short at the foot as he realized Simon was still there. "I'm going to need some time off," he told the older man as he began strapping on his gun.
Banks hesitated. "Jim, there are some things you should know. The good news is that Swanson is out of his coma, and the doctors expect him to make a complete recovery."
Sensing there was more, "And the bad news," Ellison asked.
Simon sighed. He really didn't want to tell Jim this. "The DA's office has decided to drop the charges against Reynolds for kidnapping and aggravated assault."
"THEY CAN'T DO THAT!" The detective's head shot up, eyes blazing with anger.
"I'm sorry, Jim, but without Sandburg's statement, they feel there just isn't enough evidence to go to trial."
"What about the attempted murder of a police officer"?" Ellison growled thinking of Connor.
"Reynolds claims it was McMillan who shot Megan, and since she can't remember..." Banks trailed off allowing the detective to come to his own conclusions.
"I don't believe this!" Exasperated, Jim scrubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. "What about the fact that they were trying to sell Sandburg like a slab of beef?"
Simon grimaced with disgust. "Both Reynolds and Hawkins' lawyers are claiming entrapment though the use of illegal listening devices."
"THAT'S BULLSHIT AND YOU KNOW IT!" Ellison spat angrily.
The older man held up his hands in a placating gesture at the onslaught. "I know, and the DA's office is still pursuing that avenue of the investigation, but the way it looks now, that may be the only thing we can nail them on."
"I don't fucking believe this!" Incredulous, Jim began pacing. "The bastard kidnaps, tortures and rapes my partner and you're telling me that they're not going to do a damn thing about it."
"That about sums it up," Simon replied, sighing heavily.
Snagging his jacket off the coat rack, Ellison slipped it on. "Well if they won't, I will."
Banks heard the conviction, saw the angry, yet determined, expression. "What are you going to do?" he demanded, grabbing the sentinel's arm. Cold orbs of steel turned on him.
"First I'm going to find my partner, and then I'm going to make sure that bastard pays for what he's done to Sandburg." And with that, Jim shook off Simon's restraining grip, opened the door and stalked out of the loft.
Never before had Banks considered Ellison capable of cold-blooded murder. But having seen the icy, barely controlled rage in the detective's eyes, Simon thought he might have to revise that opinion. Worried now, not only for Sandburg but Ellison as well, he hurried out of the loft calling Jim's name.

Blinking against the harsh, bright sunlight, Blair wearily took stock of his surroundings. Somehow he'd ended up in the same seedy neighborhood as the day before, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was some unconscious reason that brought him here.
The flickering of a neon sign drew his attention upward. It read 'The Endive'. Snorting at the irony, Blair hitched his duffel bag higher and entered the establishment.
As the door opened, a long-legged, platinum blond perched on a stool at the end of the bar looked up. 'Well I'll be damned,' she thought, instantly recognizing the young man who entered. "Can I help you, sugar?" she asked as he hesitated and glanced anxiously about.
"Um... yeah," he stammered in a rough but very sexy, in her opinion, voice. "I was wondering if you were doing any hiring?"
Sylvie turned from the bar, allowing her gaze to roam freely over the man's painfully slim and battered body. "Depends on what you're looking for," she purred.
Adam's apple bobbing nervously, he stepped forward. "I can wait tables, tend bar, do the dishes. Whatever you need..." His voice trailed off.
The transvestite eyed him worriedly. Despite his earnest expression, the young man didn't look well. "Are you sure you're up to it?" she asked.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine and the truth is I could really use a job," he quickly replied, shifting anxiously beneath the silent scrutiny.
Coming to a decision, "Seventy-five a week under the table," she told him. "Including room and board if you're interested. The room's not much but it does have its own bathroom."
"I don't need much. I'm sure it'll be fine."
"Good." she replied, pleased. "I can use the extra help around here."
"You run this place?" His surprise was evident, obviously remembering their encounter from the day before.
A large hand with long painted nails was extended. "Sylvie," she said, introducing herself.
"Blair," he returned, shaking it without hesitation.
"I'll show you to your room," she stated, rising from the barstool. "You can start this evening."
"Sounds good," he replied, trying to show some enthusiasm and failing miserably.
It wasn't that he was ungrateful or thought the type of work he would be doing demeaning. It just wasn't what he pictured his life would be like. "No!" he silently admonished as images of his life with Jim played before his mind's eye. That life was gone forever and since there was no turning back, Blair followed his new employer.
"Like I said, it's not much," Sylvie commented as she watched Sandburg wander around the dilapidated, sparsely furnished room painted in a hideous shade of green. Aside from a bed that had seen better days, the only other piece of furniture in the room was an old desk, sans the chair, upon which a gaudy table lamp sat. Rather than a door, the closet's opening was covered by a threadbare curtain that matched the one hanging over the room's only window. What Blair could see beyond the open bathroom door made him shudder.
"It's fine," he assured her, dumping his duffel bag onto the bed.
"Well then, I'll just let you get settled in," she said, "You'll start at five."
Numbly he nodded, and the transvestite found herself hesitating in the doorway. Her mysterious new employee was obviously exhausted, not to mention in pain, and yet not one word of protest had passed his lips. Jaded by life, never before had she felt so affected by the suffering of another. But there was something about this particular man that had crept past her cynical walls and made her want to help.
"Why don't you come down early and we'll get you something to eat before you get started," she suggested, noting the way his clothes hung on the too-slender frame.
"Um... yeah, thanks," he replied, anxious for her to leave.
Sylvie picked up on the unvoiced hint, and with a gentle smile, backed out the door, closing it behind her.
Alone, Blair once again looked around his new home. While larger than his room at the loft, it lacked the one essential element that made it feel like home. Jim. 'Hey, look at the bright side,' he told himself. 'At least it's better that the accommodations you had at the stable.'
A sob escaped, and he sank down onto the lumpy mattress. Rolling onto his side, Blair curled himself around the meager possessions contained in his duffel bag, and closing his eyes, he let the tears come.

Resuming her former perch at the bar, Sylvie didn't look up as the cafe-style doors that led to the kitchen swung open and a large man stepped out. "It's not like you to take in strays," he commented, wiping his hands on his already grease-stained apron.
"Yeah, well, you just deal with the cooking and I'll worry about our new employee."
"He could be trouble." The man known as Tyrel pointed out.
"More like 'in' trouble," the blonde retorted. "But I just couldn't bring myself to turn him away, Ty."
"Yeah, I know what you mean," the rotund man admitted with a sigh as he leaned against the counter. "Damn white boy reminds me of a kicked puppy."
"No, I have a feeling he's stronger than that," Sylvie replied thoughtfully, then smiled teasingly up at Tyrel. "I always knew you were a marshmallow deep down inside," she taunted.
"Yeah, well, don't let it get around," he replied gruffly, "or you'll ruin my reputation." With a huff, he returned to the kitchen.

Reminded by his superior just how ineffective his previous search efforts were, Ellison decided to head to the station. Unfortunately, since he was over eighteen and had left of his own accord, a missing persons bulletin could not be put out on Sandburg. However, like before, Banks had requested that an unofficial APB be placed on the observer and his car.
Like most closed societies, the news that Blair was once again missing had spread like wildfire through the bullpen. The subject of worried glances and concerned inquires, Ellison was barely hanging on. Simon had been right. He was at times a self-centered son of a bitch. How could he have lashed out at Sandburg that way? True, the anthropologist hadn't been there to hear his tirade, but Jim knew he would never be able to forget the cruel words he'd hurled, let alone thought. That he'd been hurt by Blair's sudden departure and was only lashing out in pain seemed petty and shallow when he stopped to consider the reason the younger man had left.
More times than Ellison could count, Sandburg had put his life, his career, even his own needs on hold in deference to Jim's. Well all that was about to change. Provided, he could find his missing partner and convince Blair to come home. Ellison stopped short when he realized the direction his thoughts had taken. Once again, he'd automatically assumed that Sandburg would simply fall in with his plans. Not this time, Jim decided. He would find his partner, find out what Blair wanted, what he needed, and then 'they'd' decide where to go from there. If that meant he had to give up his life in Cascade or even his career, then so be it. Because when all was said and done, none of that really mattered, not if Sandburg wasn't by his side.
His first break in the disappearance of the grad student came just before noon. A patrol car had spotted Sandburg's Volvo in a lot at the Harbor Park Mall.
Aware of Ellison's state of mind and his propensity for wrecking vehicles, Banks had insisted on driving. He'd barely pulled up beside the green classic before Jim was out of the car and inspecting the Volvo. Solemnly, Simon followed.
"Anything?" he questioned when Ellison finished.
"Nothing," the detective admitted with a frustrated growl. "There's no sign of a struggle or forced entry. It's as if he just left it here and walked away..." His voice trailed off.
"What is it?" Simon asked, noticing Ellison's attention had wandered.
"That ATM over there," Jim responded with a nod towards the machine that stood about fifty feet away. "Its surveillance camera is pointed in this direction. There's a good possibility it caught Sandburg on tape."
"Then let's check it out," the captain replied and began heading in the direction of the bank.
The branch manager not only proved exceedingly helpful but allowed them access to the surveillance tape without the necessity of a court order. The tape itself had not only caught Sandburg on film but also revealed that he'd conducted a transaction at the ATM. A quick check of the bank's records showed he'd withdrawn the maximum
$ 200.00 allowed before simply walking away. Ellison had been right. Blair had abandoned the Volvo, and in doing so, decreased their chances of finding him.
"Guess the kid learned a trick or two during his time with us," Simon observed as Jim rewound the tape and played it again.
"This means I'm going to have to check the airport and bus terminals," the detective absently replied as his eyes tracked the movements of his partner on the tape.
"I've already got Taggart and Brown calling the airlines and Rafe checking out the bus terminals," Banks informed him.
Ellison looked up, his surprise genuine. Simon merely shrugged. "We care about the kid too, Jim. Although," the captain added frowning, "with the backlog of cases we've got, I'm not going to be able to spare them much longer."
"I understand."
The older man laid a comforting hand on Ellison's shoulder. "Maybe we'll catch a break and have Sandburg home before you know it."
"I hope so, Simon," the sentinel sighed.
'Don't we all,' Banks silently echoed the sentiment.

Tyrel watched The Endive's newest employee with growing concern. Sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, beads of perspiration caused by the steam rising from the sink full of hot water dotted the younger man's pallid complexion as he relentlessly tackled the stack of dirty dishes. And when he wasn't doing that, he was either cleaning out the grease trap, taking out the trash or restocking supplies. In fact, to Ty's recollection, he hadn't seen the kid stop once in the past nine hours. 'If only all of The Endive's employees were that conscientious,' the cook thought, then snorted with amusement at the possibility of that ever happening. One thing you could say about the white boy, he wasn't lazy. Wasn't much of a talker either. Just asked questions when necessary and silently went about his work. Still, Ty couldn't help notice the frequent grimaces of pain or careful way the long haired man had moved all night. Truth was, the kid looked about ready to drop.
Shaking his head, the cook found himself taking a tub of clean dishes out of the shorter man's hands and depositing them on the counter. Then, carefully spinning the kid around, Tyrel guided him into the back of the bar and gently pushed him into a chair. "Stay," he ordered gruffly when Blair tried to issue a protest and rise.
Confused, the anthropologist sank back down into the seat.
A few minutes later, the larger man returned with a cup of coffee and a turkey sandwich, setting them in front of the exhausted employee. Then, with a stern glare, he crossed his arms, leaned back and waited.
Flinching beneath the silent scrutiny, Blair picked up half of the sandwich and forced himself to take a bite.
With a satisfied grunt, Tyrel returned to the kitchen.
Expelling a sigh of relief, Blair set the sandwich down.
"He's right you know," came Sylvie's comment from behind, startling Sandburg. "You really should eat something." Moving closer, she sat down beside him. "I noticed you didn't eat anything for supper either."
"I'm just not very hungry," Blair replied, suddenly finding his coffee cup intently fascinating. "Besides, I've got work to do."
Pearly white teeth stood out against the backdrop of mocha colored skin as the transvestite smiled. "You don't have to earn the whole $ 75.00 in one night," she gently chided. "People will start thinking I'm a slave driver." The smile faded. "Besides, you've done enough for one night. The bar is about to close anyway, so just leave the rest until morning."
Unable to bear the compassion he heard in Sylvie's voice, Blair rose. "I'd rather finish up tonight if you don't mind," he replied, and without waiting for an answer, hurried into the kitchen.

Carefully setting the phone back in its cradle, Simon Banks removed his glasses and tried to rub away the headache situated between his eyes. Having struck out with the airlines and bus terminals, the prospect of finding Sandburg anytime soon was diminishing. And now he'd just received some news he knew was going to send Jim ballistic. Sighing, he replaced his glasses and decided he might as well get it over with. Rising, he went to the door and called Ellison into his office before resuming his seat behind the desk.
"Shut the door," he instructed when the detective appeared.
Silently, Simon assessed the man standing before him. His concern grew as he noted the fatigue and anguish lurking in the normally vivid blue eyes.
"You wanted to see me?" Jim prompted, growing impatient with the delay and anxious to resume the search for his missing partner.
"I just spoke with the DA's office," Banks began and braced himself for the tirade he knew would soon follow. "Reynolds cut a deal on the remaining charges. In return for his testimony against Hawkins, he receives two years probation."
His jaw clenched tightly with anger, Ellison wordlessly removed his gun and shield and placed them on his superior's desk.
His brow wrinkled in confusion, Simon looked up. "What's going on here, Jim?"
"Just what it looks like," the detective ground out, his posture rigid as he stared at some point over Simon's shoulder. "I resign."
"Come on, Jim, I know you're pissed. Hell, I am too. But this isn't going to solve anything."
Staring straight ahead, the sentinel remained stubbornly silent.
Sighing, Banks leaned back in his chair. "I refuse to accept your resignation. Effective immediately you're on two weeks personal leave."
Dismissed, Ellison pivoted and headed for the door.
"Oh and Jim," the captain added in warning. "If I find out you've gone anywhere near Reynolds, I'll throw your ass in a cell so fast you won't know what hit you."
At least that got a response. Stiffening, Ellison yanked open the door, and passing through its threshold, slammed it behind him. The sound and anger behind the gesture caused Simon to wince and wonder if perhaps he hadn't just irrevocably destroyed his friendship with Jim.

Curling tighter, Blair fought the encroaching consciousness as another shudder wracked his emaciated frame. Perhaps he should be grateful for the cold, for eventually his body would go blessedly numb, easing the horrific pain radiating from places he'd just as soon not think about. But relief, it appeared, was not on the agenda as the subtle 'click' of a lock being turned propelled him awake and back into the nightmare his life had become.
Flinching as the bright, overhead light suddenly flared, Blair tried to scuttle backwards, away from the impending threat, only to be jerked to a halt when Reynolds stepped on the end of the leash attached to the choker chain encircling the grad student's throat. More than once, Sandburg had removed the offensive object only to be severely beaten in retaliation. But now, as it prevented him from escaping his tormentor, he cursed his eventual capitulation in wearing it.
"Going somewhere?" Reynolds inquired with a drunken slur.
Despite the overwhelming stench, the distinct odor of alcohol now permeated the room. Dave had already proven himself a sadistic son of a bitch, and unfortunately, Blair knew from experience that liquor only made Reynolds meaner. Immediately terrified, he was unable to prevent a whimper from escaping. "No. No more," he pleaded.
Suddenly, a fist entwined itself in his stringy hair, hauling Blair brutally upright.
"But I ain't through with you yet, Teach. Not by a long shot." Reynolds sour breath wafted across Blair's face. "I've got plans for that sweet mouth and tight ass of yours, and as soon as Randy gets tired of playing his games, you're going to make me a whole lot of money."
"No. Jim'll stop you," the words thick as Blair forced them out through bruised and lacerated lips.
"Do you honestly think your cop friend will want to have anything to do with you after this?" The dark-haired man snorted with amusement. "If he doesn't decide to fuck you himself, he'll probably throw your ass out on the street." Reynolds loomed closer, a sneer marring his features. "Guess it's a good thing I've got other plans for you. In the meantime though..." Reynolds hand went to his fly. "It's time for you to earn your keep."
Eyes closed, head bowed in resignation, Blair waited as the larger man released his straining cock.
"He's right you know."
JIM! Blair's eyes shot open. There, standing in the room's doorway, was Ellison.
"I need a partner who can back me up," Jim continued. "Someone I can be proud of, not some ass wipe that can't even defend himself." The detective shook his head disappointedly. "You're an embarrassment, Sandburg. A liability..."
The harshly uttered words cut deep. "Jim, please," Blair pleaded, unable to believe what he was hearing. "You don't mean that!"
The sentinel's expression changed to one of disgust. "Look at you," he berated. "On your knees, face in another man's crotch. So what are you going to do this time, suck him off or let him shove it up your ass?"
Devastated by Ellison's behavior, "No, it's not like that!" Blair protested. "Please, Jim, you've gotta help me!"
"Help you?" the detective scoffed, backing away. "I can't even stand to look at you."
"Jim, please," Blair wailed, the plaintive cry cut off as Reynolds once again maliciously grabbed Sandburg's hair and forced his head around until the parted lips were aligned with the larger man's weeping cock.
"Suck me off, pretty boy," Reynolds commanded. "Show me how good that mouth of yours really is."
"You're such a disappointment," Ellison said, his voice coming from further away.
Bordering on hysterical, Blair called out, "Please, Jim, don't go!"
"You make me sick." With that final condemnation, Ellison faded from view.
"NO!" Blair cried out in anguish, the sound jarring him awake. "Oh God," he moaned, hiding his face in his hands. "It was a dream. Just a dream."
As Blair tried to calm his rapidly pounding heart, outside his door stood Sylvie, one hand raised poised to knock.
Across the hall a door opened to reveal Tyrel irritably rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I hope to hell he doesn't plan on doing that every night," the bulky man groused.
"Hush," Sylvie hissed in a whisper. "He'll hear you."
"Okay, fine," Tyrel grumbled. "You deal with it. I'm going back to bed."
"Men!" The transvestite huffed, annoyed as Tyrel disappeared back into his room. Dismissing the cook with a glare, she tapped on Sandburg's door. "Blair, sugar, it's me, Sylvie. Are you all right?" she called softly.
Inside, Blair brushed hastily at his tear-stained cheeks. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," he eventually replied. "I'm sorry if I woke you."
"Don't you worry none about that," she quickly assured him. "Are you sure you don't need anything?"
The tiny gasp was unmistakable through the thin door.
"No. No, I'm fine."
"All right," Sylvie responded, frowning with concern. "I'll see you in the morning then." Yet, even as she waited for a reply, she knew one would not be forthcoming. Strangely disappointed, she returned to her own room, silently wondering at the cause of the nightmares haunting the tragic young man who had mysteriously entered her life.

"NO!" The cry reverberated through his mind, startling Ellison awake. Sitting up, he grabbed his head, groaning in misery as the persistent throbbing intensified. It was some time before he realized that not all the pounding was confined to his head. Someone was at the door, and from the sound of it, growing impatient.
"All right, I'm coming," he bellowed, immediately regretting it as the sound drove shards of pain through his skull.
His body was stiff from sleeping on the couch, and an involuntary moan escaped as he rose and staggered to the door. Since his brain and fingers appeared not to be working in sync, it took a few minutes to undo the locks. Finally, he opened the door to reveal Simon.
"Christ, Jim," the captain exclaimed entering the loft. "You look like shit."
"Good morning to you too, sir," Ellison replied with a hint of sarcasm.
"Well, at least that explains it," Banks commented, noting the empty beer bottles littering the coffee table.
Expelling an irritated sigh, Jim shut the door, and ignoring his piqued superior, went into the kitchen and began fumbling with the coffee maker. Finishing the task, he turned, and with arms crossed, he leaned back against the counter.
"Was there something you wanted?" he asked. "Or did you just stop by to comment on my housekeeping skills."
"You can knock it off with the attitude," Simon snapped. Pausing, he reigned in his temper. "Look, Jim, I realize you're pissed about this thing with Reynolds, but do you really think that this is the answer?" he asked waving a hand towards the discarded bottles.
"Why not?" Ellison challenged. "Nothing else seems to be working. First, Sandburg disappears off the face of the earth and now that bastard's getting off with barely a slap on the wrist. I've tried playing by the rules, Simon, and look where it's gotten me. Now it's time to make up my own rules."
"And by that I assume you mean to go after Reynolds on your own."
Turning away, Jim busied himself pouring a cup of coffee, and after a moment's consideration, poured one for Simon as well. Handing the captain his cup, Ellison took a sip of his own and moved past the larger man and into the living room.
"Damn it, Jim." Banks growled, annoyed by Ellison's avoidance tactics. "Sandburg refused to press charges against Reynolds to protect your ass, and this is how you plan on repaying him?"
Cold, expressionless eyes rose from the coffee cup to meet Simon's. "Blair's not here," he pointed out.
Banks was livid. "So you're just going to throw away everything Sandburg tried to do." He shook his head sadly. "You know, Jim, I think it's about time you stopped feeling sorry for yourself and tried to think of a way to help Blair."
Receiving no reply, Banks set his untouched coffee down and let himself out of loft. He hoped that with time and a little introspection, Jim would come to his senses. In the meantime though, Simon was determined to do everything he could to help the missing observer.
'Okay,' Ellison thought staring at the closed door, ''so I can't rip Reynolds' dick off and shove it up his ass like I want to.' As much as he hated to admit it, Simon had a point. Sandburg had sacrificed his only hope of receiving justice when the observer had recanted his statement in order to protect Jim from prosecution. However, the idea of that bastard getting away with what he'd done to his partner ate at Ellison. Somehow he would make sure Reynolds paid, and since his captain had insisted Jim take two weeks off, the detective had plenty of time to figure out how. Oh, he'd keep it nice and legal for Simon's sake, but there was no mistake about it, Reynolds was going down, hard.
Recalling that he'd left his badge and service revolver on Banks' desk, Jim retrieved his backup piece, and securing the clip, tucked it into his holster.

Sometimes it paid to be on a first-name basis with many of the personnel that staffed Cascade General. One quick phone call was all it took to find out when Reynolds was being released. Twenty minutes later, Ellison was sitting outside the hospital watching as the man in question climbed into a gray sedan driven by a smarmy-looking character the detective immediately pegged as a lawyer.
Allowing them an ample head start, Jim pulled out and followed his prey. Ironically, five minutes later, Simon Banks pulled into the lot and parked in the same slot Ellison had recently vacated.

Knocking, Simon waited for the "Come in" before entering the room. "I'm Captain Banks with the Cascade PD," he said introducing himself to the man in the bed.
Scott Swanson sat up straighter. "Oh, are you here to question me about the attack?"
"Not exactly," Simon admitted. "Actually, I'm here to see whether I can convince you not to press charges."
"You're kidding me, right?" Swanson responded, confused by the request. "The man almost killed me."
Well, he knew this wasn't going to be easy going in. "I realize that, sir, and I'm not saying what Sandburg did was right, but there are extenuating circumstances. All I ask is that you hear me out, and then if you still want to press charges, well, I'll take your statement personally."
After briefly considering it, Scott nodded and waved the older man into a nearby chair. "This had better be good, Captain," Swanson commented, his tone hard and unyielding.
So, grimly, Simon began telling Swanson about Blair Sandburg. The captain talked about the various cases Sandburg had assisted with and how he'd become a valuable asset to the department. About the numerous times Blair had risked his life to help others, Simon himself included, and finally, what had led up to and precipitated the attack on Swanson. For over two hours, Banks talked before eventually falling silent.
"I had no idea," Scott responded, shaking his head in disbelief. Solemn hazel eyes rose to meet Banks'. "I don't think I could have survived something like that. Sandburg sounds like an incredible individual, and from what you tell me, he's probably being harder on himself than the courts could ever be. All right," he said coming to a decision. "I'll honor your request."
Simon felt as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank you," he told the man gratefully. "You won't regret it."

Yawning broadly, Tyrel stepped into the kitchen, blinked and then scratched his head in confusion. There was not an ounce of grime or a crumb to be found. The place was immaculate. "What the... His voice trailed off in amazement.
"Oomph!" Sylvie exclaimed as, eyes half closed, she careened into the motionless figure. "Outta my way you big lug," she groused. "I need a transfusion of caffeine."
Wordlessly, the cook stepped aside, allowing his boss, and long time friend, to pass.
Unerringly, she headed for the coffee pot, but it wasn't until she poured a cup and took a healthy sip that she actually took in her surroundings. "What in the world..." she gasped in surprise. Pointedly, she turned to Tyrel. "Either you hired 'Merry Maids' without telling me or we've suddenly inherited some very conscientious ghosts."
"Well it sure as hell wasn't 'Merry Maids'." The cook looked around in wonder.
Just then the rear entrance door opened and their newest employee entered carrying several large empty boxes. "What?" he asked, stopping as he realized they were eying him questioningly.
"We were just wondering if you knew anything about this," Sylvie said with a brief wave at the spotless kitchen.
"It's all right, isn't it?" Blair replied, uncertain.
Sylvie's heart went out to the insecure man. "Of course it is, sugar," she quickly assured him. "I just never realized the old place could clean up so nicely. What I want to know is, when on earth did you find the time to do it?"
"Um... well," suddenly uncomfortable, Blair busied himself with the boxes, placing them in a neat row beside the back door as he explained. "I was up kind of early so I thought I'd just clean up a little bit."
"A little bit," Sylvie snorted. "The place didn't look this good when I bought it." She'd meant it to be a compliment, an acknowledgement of Blair's hard work. Yet, even as the words left her mouth, she was aware of Blair's increasing unease. "So," she asked, deliberately changing the subject. "What gives with all the boxes?"
Immediately, Blair became more animated. "Do you have any idea how much of the stuff we're throwing out could be recycled instead of ending up in a landfill? Not only are we unnecessarily destroying the earth, but more and more landfills are closing each day. Pretty soon, we're going to run out of places to put the trash. So I thought if I set a couple of boxes here by the door and labeled one each for bottles, cans and paper, it wouldn't take that much more effort to sort the stuff into the appropriate box. Then once a week or so I could take them down to the recycling center."
Sylvie couldn't help smiling. The short, impassioned speech was the most she'd heard the mysterious young man say since she'd hired him. It was obvious he cared about the environment. Hell, it would be worth the extra effort just to see him excited about something.
"I think it's a wonderful idea," she told him and was rewarded with a small smile. "What do you think, Ty?" she asked, turning to the cook.
"I suppose it won't hurt nothing," he grudgingly admitted.
"Great!" Blair replied somewhat subdued. "I just need to run an errand, but as soon as I return I'll start sorting through the trash out back."
"Why don't you eat some lunch before you go," Sylvie suggested, certain that Blair hadn't bothered to eat breakfast.
"Maybe later," the anthropologist tossed back over his shoulder and quickly hurried out the door.
Turning, the blond swatted Tyrel on the chest. "You could have shown a little more enthusiasm," she scolded. "After all the man did just spend all morning cleaning your kitchen."
"I just can't help but wonder what that white boy is doing here," the cook speculated. "What does he want from us?"
"A place to hide and lick his wounds," Sylvie replied, sadly eying the door through which Blair had just departed.
Fortified with coffee, the bar owner went upstairs to change and returned a half an hour later to discover Tyrel digging out stacks of old newspapers from behind the bar. Amused, she cleared her throat, alerting the cook to her presence, and took great delight in seeing the man start guiltily.
"What's all this?" she asked, unable to hide her amusement.
"Well, since the kid didn't leave me anything to do until the lunch crowd arrives, I thought I'd just..." his voice trailed off, in embarrassment.
"I'm sure Blair will appreciate your effort," she chortled, patting the rotund man on the arm as she passed.
"Yeah, well..." Tyrel stammered returning to the task. "Oh shit!" he muttered a few moments later as a headline caught his attention.
"What is it?" Sylvie inquired, curious.
Solemnly, Tyrel handed her the paper, the cover of which was adorned by a photograph of their newest employee and a bold-face headline declaring 'POLICE OBSERVER VICTIM OF KIDNAPPING AND ASSAULT'.
Quickly, Sylvie scanned the article. "I suspected something like this. At least now we know for sure," she commented, setting the paper on the counter. Suddenly snatching it back up, she thrust it at Tyrel. "I don't care what you have to do. Burn it if necessary. Just get rid of it. The last thing Blair needs right now is to find out we know about this."
Wordlessly, the larger man nodded. Turning, he started towards the kitchen.
"Oh, and Ty," Sylvie called out.
Stopping, he looked back.
"Try to take it a little easier on the kid, all right?"
"You got it, boss," the cook agreed and went to destroy the evidence.

Shifting to ease cramped muscles, Ellison observed what promised to be the first of many arrivals. Upon returning home from the hospital, Reynolds had wasted little time in arranging what he, amusingly, referred to as a 'Get out of jail free' party. Now, a little after 8:00 that evening, it appeared as if the first guest had arrived.
Over the next hour and a half, Jim studiously made note of each guest as well as the make, model and license plate number of each of their vehicles. During a lull in the action, he retrieved Sandburg's laptop from the passenger seat of his truck, and accessing the precinct and DMV databases, began running background checks.
While most of the vehicle's owners appeared to have no record or merely a collection of misdemeanors, Ellison was surprised to discover that a few heavy hitters had also been included on the guest list.
The first was Rocco Aliberti. Well-known for trafficking in the drug trade, the department had been trying unsuccessfully for years to take the drug lord down. The other man that caught Ellison's attention was one Jackson Brown. Suspected of running a stable of prostitutes on the lower east side of town, he too had proven elusive.
Apparently, this college student was into more than kidnapping and assault. The detective's smile was cold and calculating. If this was an example of the type of company Reynolds kept, then sooner or later he was going to screw up, and when that happened, Jim was going to be there to take him down.
Saving the information, Ellison closed the laptop and focused all his attention on the third floor apartment. The blaring music caught him unaware causing him to wince. Envisioning a dial, which he hypothetically labeled music, Jim turned it down until only voices remained. 'Much better,' the sentinel thought and began scanning the various conversations, tuning each one out until only Reynolds' voice remained.
"It was a piece of cake," the man was boasting. "All Epstein had to do was threaten Sandburg's friend the cop with prosecution and the little faggot couldn't recant his statement fast enough."
"You were a fool to screw around with a cop's partner in the first place," a male voice censured.
"Hey, it was McMillan's idea. I just went along for the ride." Reynolds paused taking a drink before continuing. "I've always been one for the ladies, you know. But after getting a taste of the professor's ass... well, lets just say I ain't through with him yet."
"You're crazy, man," another voice chimed in, the owner's amusement evident.
Reynolds tone turned nasty. "As far as I'm concerned that little prick still owes me. I lost a lot of money when his cop buddies shut Hawkins down. Besides," he added, "I can't think of a better way to settle the score with his friend Ellison."
"So you lost a few thou," one of his companions stated. "That's got to be a drop in the bucket compared to your inheritance."
"Unfortunately, I don't get the bulk of the estate until I turn twenty-five," Reynolds explained. "Until then I get a measly thirty thousand a year."
"What are you going to do?" the first man asked.
"I've still got a few contacts left," Reynolds replied. "All I have to do is find the right buyer, and Sandburg should net me a tidy sum, but first I've got to find him."
"What do you mean?" the second voice inquired.
"According to Epstein, the professor went postal. He attacked some guy at the university and then just took off."
"If that's true, then how do you expect to find him?"
"Ah, well see, that's where you guys come in," Reynolds replied. "I want you to put the word out on the street."
"Why should we? What's in it for us?" one of the men asked.
"A tidy little finder's fee for starters," Reynolds said. "And if you like, I'll even let you sample the merchandise."
"Over my dead body," Ellison growled from his position in the truck. There was no way those bastards were going to get their hands on Sandburg. He'd make sure of that.

The shrill ring of his cell phone startled the detective awake. Cursing at the realization that he'd fallen asleep and that it was now morning, he snagged the object and flipped it open. "Ellison," he barked into the receiver.
"Jim, where the hell have you been?" Simon Banks irate voice replied on the other end. "I've been calling the loft all night."
"Has there been some word on Blair?" Ellison requested, suddenly alert.
"I'm sorry, Jim," Simon responded with a sigh. "I wish I did have something to report. However, I did manage to convince Scott Swanson not to press charges."
"That's great news, sir," Ellison replied trying to mask his disappointment. "I'm sure Sandburg will appreciate it."
"You know you never did tell me where you were all night or is this a case of the less I know the better? I see," Simon commented as his question was met with silence. "Just remember what I said, Jim. You and I both know that the kid wouldn't want you to do anything crazy."
"Trust me, sir, whatever goes down will be strictly by the book."
"It had better be," the captain said. "Because I don't want to be the one to explain it to Sandburg if something should happen to you."
"Provided we ever find him."
Simon couldn't fail to recognize the hopelessness in Ellison's tone. "We'll find him, Jim. Something's bound to turn up."
"I hope you're right, sir," the detective responded, and with a heartfelt sigh, Ellison disconnected the call.
His gaze returned to the third floor apartment. Sooner or later, Reynolds would make a move and when he did, Jim would be ready.

Simon Banks was pissed. It had taken him two days to get an appointment with the chancellor, and now she had him cooling his heels in the outer office. Suspecting she was doing it deliberately, Simon was about to storm in unannounced when the chancellor's secretary told him he could go in.
"Captain Banks," Edwards greeted him cordially. "My apologies for keeping you waiting. Unfortunately, an unexpected emergency came up and had to be dealt with immediately." Waving him into a chair, she settled into the upholstered seat behind her desk. "Now, how may I help you?"
Tamping down his anger, he began, "As I mentioned on the phone, I'd like to discuss Blair Sandburg."
"Ah, yes. An unfortunate incident," she replied with a tisk. "However, I can assure you, Captain, that Rainier does not condone his actions and disciplinary measures are already in the works."
"And what might those be?" Simon inquired.
"Well, aside from the legal ramifications of which I'm sure you're better versed than I, the university has requested Mr. Sandburg's immediate dismissal."
"I see," Banks commented thoughtfully. "And might I inquire as to what measures have been taken regarding David Reynolds involvement in this incident?"
The chancellor stiffened. "I'd have to check my records, but I believe that Mr. Reynolds was suspended for the remainder of the semester."
Simon had heard the expression 'seeing red' but thus far had never personally experienced the phenomenon. "Let me see if I understand you correctly," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Blair Sandburg, under severe emotional distress, shoves a colleague into a plate glass window and you fire him. David Reynolds on the other hand kidnaps Sandburg and brutally assaults him. Not to mention the fact that the man is suspected in the attempted murder of a police officer, and the death of a fellow student, and you've merely suspended him. And of course your decision has nothing to do with the fact that Reynolds' parents left Rainier a healthy endowment contingent upon his remaining in school."
"Might I remind you, Captain," the chancellor haughtily replied, "that the charges against Mr. Reynolds were dismissed."
"Only because he turned over on the rest of the white slavery ring he was involved with," Banks angrily retorted.
"Whatever arrangements Mr. Reynolds might have made are of no concern to this institution. The bottom line is no formal charges were made."
Simon rose to his full, intimidating height. "Well then, Chancellor, let me be the first to inform you that any pending charges against Blair Sandburg were also dropped." Noting the woman's surprised expression, Banks closed in for the kill. "You know, I bet the papers would love to get their hands on this story. I can see the headlines now 'RAINIER CONDONES ACTIONS OF MURDERER/RAPIST WHILE FIRING VICTIM'."
"That's blackmail!" the chancellor heatedly accused.
Simon shrugged, unconcerned. "No Ma'am, that's a promise. Either Blair Sandburg is reinstated immediately, or I start making some calls. Considering all the adverse publicity the university has had of late, do you really want to go there?"
Edwards was livid with anger. "Very well," she ground out. "However, I must insist that Mr. Sandburg be suspended for the remainder of the semester. He did, after all, attack and injure a colleague."
"Agreed," Banks grimly replied. Now all they had to do was find the missing grad student before the start of the next semester.
"I don't understand, Captain. As an officer of the law I would think that you, above all, would want to see justice prevail."
"Chancellor Edwards, you and I both know that justice had nothing to do with your decision. If it had, David Reynolds would have been expelled from this institution long before he abducted and assaulted one of my men."
"Of all the nerve," the woman sputtered with the proper amount of righteous indignation.
Simon held up a hand. "Save it for somebody who gives a damn, lady. Personally I could care less about you or this university."
"Then why are you doing this?" she demanded.
Banks looked her square in the eyes. "Because it 'does' mean something to Sandburg." And with that parting comment, Banks left.

Having returned from his errand, Blair was surprised, yet pleased, to discover the head start Tyrel had made on their recycling venture.
"Thanks man," he'd said softly, only to receive a brisk grunt in reply. But from that moment on, Blair sensed a change in his relationship with the burly man.

Sylvie watched as her newest employee worked in tandem with Tyrel. With the Jags in the playoffs, they were expecting a larger than normal Friday night crowd as people gathered to watch the game on the bar's big screen TV.
Although still fairly quiet and withdrawn, she'd been amazed at how easily Blair had insinuated himself into their lives and workplace. He'd even managed to win Tyrel's grudging respect to the point that the cook had even allowed the young man to, not only help with, but offer suggestions in regards to the food preparation. Unfortunately, he still worked way too hard and was prone to nightmares that left him prowling the bar at all hours. Sylvie hoped that, with time, Blair would be able to let go of the demons haunting him and overcome the prevailing sadness which seemed to be his constant companions.
Deep in thought, a frown creased her brow.
"Is something wrong?" a quiet voice inquired.
The bar owner looked up to discover the object of her thoughts eying her worriedly and summoned a smile for his benefit.
"Nothing a new bartender wouldn't fix," she replied. "Ray just called in sick."
"Can't you or Tyrel do it?" Blair asked.
The transvestite chuckled. "Sugar, what I know about tending bar wouldn't fill a shot glass and as for Tyrel, it would take a stick of dynamite to blast him out of that precious kitchen of his." Forlornly, she sighed. "Why did this have to happen tonight of all nights?"
Pausing, she eyed him speculatively. While always a hard worker, it hadn't escaped her notice that Blair tended to avoid contact with the customers at all cost. Still, desperate times called for desperate measures. "Didn't I hear you tell Ray that you had done some bartending?" she blurted out, regretting her bluntness as she watched the color drain from Sandburg's face.
"Yeah," came the hesitant response. "I spent a few summers putting myself through school that way, but--"
"You know I wouldn't ask unless it was important. Please, Blair. You won't even have to come out from behind the bar," she pressed. "Clairesse and I will wait the tables."
His initial instinct was to refuse. Uncomfortable around strangers, men specifically, it was recognition Blair feared most of all. He'd made a place for himself here at The Endive, and although a far cry from the life he'd shared with Jim, he was hesitant to lose it. But if Sylvie and Tyrel were to discover what had happened to him, Blair knew he wouldn't be able to stay. Shame would once again drive him out into the streets, and this time he doubted he'd have the strength, or courage, to start over.
What if he were recognized and word somehow got back to Jim regarding his whereabouts? He knew the detective would come for him and that was the one thing Blair couldn't allow to happen. The mere thought of his sentinel caused the anthropologist's heart to clench and his eyes to sting with unshed tears for what was lost forever. Yet, how could he, in all good conscience, refuse Sylvie's request? She'd taken him in off the street, and without questions, had provided him with a job and place to sleep.
"All right, I'll do it," he heard himself say, and prayed that he hadn't just made a big mistake.
"Thank you!" Elated, the transvestite threw her arms around the shorter man, hugging him tightly until he stiffened within the embrace. "Sorry," she apologized and immediately released him before stepping back.
Trembling, Blair forced himself to smile. "No problem. Well, if I'm going to be tending bar tonight, I'd better go get cleaned up and changed." And with that he brushed past her and hurried up the back stairs.

"Captain Banks?" A knock sounded at his office door. Looking up, Simon was surprised to discover Scott Swanson standing in the open doorway. Fearful that the younger man had changed his mind regarding Sandburg, Banks rose hesitantly to his feet.
"Mr. Swanson," he acknowledged, coming around from behind his desk. "What can I do for you?"
"Actually, I was hoping I could help you."
"Oh?" Banks eyebrows rose in question.
Swanson removed an envelope from his pocket, "I received this in the mail today," he said, handing it to the taller man. "It's from Blair Sandburg."
Snatching it from the outstretched hand, Simon lifted the envelope's flap and withdrew its contents. The first item was a money order made payable to Scott Swanson for $175.00. The second was a letter penned in Sandburg's unmistakable scrawl.
"Go ahead." Swanson encouraged, as the captain's anxious gaze sought permission to read it.
With a brief smile of gratitude, Simon looked down and began to read.
Dear Mr. Swanson,
I realize I'm the last person you expected to hear from, but I wanted to express how deeply sorry I am for what happened. I could try to make excuses, but the truth is, nothing can justify my attack on you. All I can do is apologize and hope that, some day, you can find it in your heart to forgive me. I know I'll never be able to forgive myself.
I know the enclosed money isn't much and can't even begin to make up for the pain and suffering I've caused you, but hopefully, it will help with any expenses that you might have incurred as a result of my actions. I promise to send more as I'm able.
Sincerely,
Blair Sandburg
At a loss for words, Simon looked up.
"You were right, Captain," Swanson told him. "Your Mr. Sandburg is indeed a unique individual. Most people wouldn't have bothered."
"Yes," Simon replied, emotions necessitating the clearing of his throat before he could continue. "He certainly is, and I appreciate your coming down here to show me this."
"Well, you mentioned the other day that you were concerned about Mr. Sandburg, and I thought that maybe there was something here that might help you locate him."
"That's a distinct possibility," Banks responded thoughtfully. "Both the money order and canceled envelope could be traced giving us a place to begin our search." His gaze returned to Swanson. "Can I borrow these a few minutes in order to make some copies?"
Scott held up his hand. "Please, feel free to keep them. Since I have no intention of keeping Mr. Sandburg's money, this way you can return it to him when you find him."
"I can try," Simon told him. "But I think that this is something Blair feels he needs to do. Thank you," he added with sincerity, while he shook Swanson's hand. "This is the best lead we've had in days."
"I hope you find him, Captain," Scott replied before departing.
"So do I," Simon softly returned. "So do I."

Taking a sip from an insulated cup adorned with golden arches, Ellison grimaced at the now tepid brew. He set his cup on the dashboard and returned his gaze to Reynolds' apartment. "Come on you bastard, make a move," the detective growled, having grown tired and irritated by the continual surveillance. He'd been sitting here for three days, and other than the conversation he'd overheard the first night, had 'squat' to show for his efforts.
His thoughts, as they had many times over the past seventy-two hours, turned to Blair. Jim had suffered many losses over the course of his life, his mother, friends, his unit in Peru. All tragic, and yet they paled in comparison to the disappearance of one hyperactive grad student. Suddenly, it was as if someone had ripped away a part of his heart, his soul. He felt incomplete, and at that point, his life had ceased to continue, stalled until Sandburg resumed his rightful place by Ellison's side. While he now understood the reasoning behind Blair's departure, thanks in part to Simon, there had been one fatal flaw in the younger man's decision to leave. What his partner failed to realize was, that without Blair Sandburg in his life, there was no future for Jim Ellison. Oh, he'd survive. But the existence would be an empty one. Endless, repetitious days devoid of laughter and light.
The ringing of his cell phone halted the mental meandering.
"Ellison," he barked into the receiver.
"Jim," Simon began without preamble. "We've got a possible lead on Sandburg."
"I'm on my way," Ellison crisply responded, before snapping the phone shut and stowing it in his pocket.
He turned the key in the ignition, and the blue and white Ford roared to life. Reynolds would have to wait. Right now, the only thing that mattered was finding Sandburg and bringing him home where he belonged.

"Blair." The name escaped sentinel soft, and with it came a yearning so profound its presence was tangible.
"At least now we know for sure that the kid's all right and is still in the area," Simon commented as Jim looked up from the letter he'd just finished reading. "I've already got Taggart running a trace on the money order. Between that and the postmark, we should be narrow down his location."
"Maybe." Ellison didn't sound convinced. At the captain's confused frown, he went on to elaborate. "Blair went to a lot of trouble to cover his tracks and he's worked with us long enough to understand how we operate."
"So," Banks nodded with sudden understanding, "he probably bought and mailed the money order from a different location."
"That's what I would have done," Jim concurred.
"The question is, how far did he go?" Simon mused. "Well, he doesn't have the Volvo and he's certainly in no condition to walk very far, that leaves a only a cab or a bus."
"We know he only got $ 200.00 out of the bank," Ellison replied thinking aloud, "and he sent Swanson most of that..."
"The bus it is then," Banks agreed. "So once we have a starting point all we have to do is conduct a search grid based on the bus lines in the area." The older man shook his head doubtfully. "I don't know, Jim, that's still a lot of ground to cover."
"Oh, I'll find him, Simon," the detective replied with confidence. "One way or another."

Sylvie marveled at the ease with which Blair handled the various drink orders over the noise generated by the game being aired on the big screen TV. He was not only proficient, but had a style that their regular bartender, Ray, could only hope to one day emulate.
His looks hadn't hurt business any either. His hair was pulled back by a leather tie, and well worn jeans hugged his slim frame. A blue flannel shirt, buttoned securely at both neck and wrist, completed the simple ensemble. Even the still visible cuts and bruises had failed to detract from the innate sensuality the young man possessed, which seemed to attract men and women alike.
However, although polite and professional, there was no mistaking the reserved behavior, or the anxiety lurking within eyes dulled by fatigue. Once again regretting the necessity of having to put Blair through what was clearly an uncomfortable situation, her gaze strayed to the clock behind the bar. Only a few more hours and they could close up shop, thus ending the young man's ordeal.
Maybe tonight he would be able to sleep, his obvious exhaustion putting an end to the recurring nightmares and his perpetual nocturnal wanderings. Somehow though, Sylvie doubted that would happen. There was more haunting Blair than his abduction and subsequent rape.
To all appearances, he was a living, breathing human being, but if you took time to look past the facade he presented to the rest of the world, there was no mistaking the despair, the regrets. She suspected that it had something to do with the mysterious 'Jim' that Blair often called out for, on those rare occasions when he actually managed to get some sleep. Sylvie could only hope that one day the two men would somehow be reunited.
The thoughtful frown turned to an expression of distaste as the bar's door opened allowing Jackson Brown and his entourage to enter. While she didn't particularly like the man, as long as he didn't conduct business on the premises, there was little she could do about it. Still, her eyes followed him as he and his group settled around their regular table, and with a lewd remark, called Clairesse over to take their orders.
Like most predators, it didn't take Brown long to sniff out fresh game and within minutes, his gaze unerringly settled on Sandburg. From the calculating gleam in the man's sly smile, Sylvie knew they were headed for trouble. Her perception was confirmed a moment later as she watched Jackson make a comment to the table at large and then rise, his destination evident. Thankfully, he didn't get far. As if out of nowhere, Tyrel suddenly appeared, baseball bat in hand, to block the pimp's route.
The minute he'd seen Brown enter, Ty knew there was going to be trouble. So grabbing the bat he kept handy in case of an emergency, he waited and watched. True to form, it hadn't taken long before Jackson was slithering in Sandburg's direction.
"Don't even think about it," he warned, brandishing the bat threateningly. "The kid's off limits."
"Whoa, chill out, my man," Jackson replied smiling. His golden tooth flashed like a beacon in the bar's subdued light. "I just wanted to meet the man."
The cook however refused to move. "Like I said, he's off limits. You get near him, you even look at him, and your friends will be scraping your sorry ass up off the floor."
"Okay, okay." Brown held up his hands in surrender. "You want me to leave the man alone, I'll leave him alone." Wisely, Jackson resumed his seat. However, when Clairesse appeared a few minutes later with their drink orders, the implied threat didn't keep him from pumping the waitress for information on The Endive's newest employee.
"Blair." He mulled over the name he'd acquired. Hadn't Dave been going on about some guy named Blair the other night? Surely it couldn't be the same person. Well, there was only one way to find out. Taking out his cell phone, he punched in Reynolds' number.
"Hey, man, it's me, Jackson. You still looking for that guy? … Well, I think I may have found him. ... Yeah, kind of short dude with long, curly hair, blue eyes and a mouth just begging to be fucked. ... At The Endive over on Broadway. ... Nah, there's too many people here right now. Besides, if he spots you, he's liable to rabbit. Your best bet would be to wait until the place closes. ... I don't know, man. I don't like the idea of messing with a cop's roommate. Otherwise, I'd be tempted to make a move on him myself. ... Oh yeah? ... All right, my crew and I will meet you out front after the joint closes."
The arrangements made, Brown snapped the cell phone shut, his gaze once again settling on the man tending bar. Too bad this Sandburg dude was connected with the cops. He really would have made a damn fine addition to Jackson's stable. Oh well. In return for his help, Reynolds had promised he could sample that lily-white ass. Not much in the way of compensation, but it would have to do. Anticipating the event, Jackson tossed back his drink.

"I've got it!" Joel Taggart announced as he burst into Simon's office with detectives Rafe and Brown following two steps behind. "The money order was purchased at a convenience store over on the east side. Mel's Mini Mart on Cypress, and listen to this, the post office is only two blocks away."
Already sliding into his coat, Banks accepted the proffered slip of paper containing the address. "Jim, hold up," he called after Ellison, who was already heading for the elevators. "I'm driving."
"What about us, Captain?" Rafe inquired as he and the others followed Simon from his office.
"If I recall correctly, you all were off duty hours ago," Banks replied stepping into the lift being held by an impatient Ellison.
"If there's a chance of finding Hairboy, we'd like to help, sir," he announced for the group at large.
Simon knew their concerned expressions were reflected in his own. "All right," he agreed. "Let's find the kid and bring him home."

"I still don't see what good you think they can do," Ellison groused as, twenty minutes later, they parked outside the convenience store, the two other vehicles pulling in alongside Simon's sedan. "This late at night I seriously doubt we'll spot Sandburg simply strolling down the street."
"Stranger things have happened," Banks retorted, instantly regretting his sharp tone. "Look, Jim, I realize it's a long shot. But you saw them and after all the hours they put into trying to find Blair, I just didn't have the heart to tell them they couldn't come."
Sighing, Ellison scrubbed a hand over his weary features. Simon was right. Everyone in Major Crime had gone above and beyond the call of duty trying to find the missing observer. First, when he had been abducted by McMillan, and more recently, when Blair had chosen to disappear on his own accord. "You're right. I'm sorry, I'm just tired."
Banks expression softened. "I know, we all are. But hopefully we'll find Sandburg soon and things will get back to normal." Simon chuckled. "Or whatever passes as normal for you two."
Snorting at the intended jibe, Ellison climbed out of the car and headed for the store.
Unfortunately, their inquiries met with a dead end. The night clerk, when shown Sandburg's picture, couldn't recall seeing the young man. Of course, that didn't necessarily prove anything since Blair could have purchased the money order during one of the other shifts. Disappointed, yet determined, they rejoined the others waiting outside.
"I take it you didn't have any luck?" Joel questioned, noting Ellison's dour countenance.
It was Banks who supplied the answer. "He couldn't remember seeing Sandburg but promised to check with the other employees."
"So, now what do we do?" Rafe wanted to know.
"We'll start here and spread out," Simon instructed. "Rafe, you and Brown head south. Joel, you take north. Ellison and I will check out the east side. If none of those directions pan out, then we'll try the west end. We think Blair probably traveled by bus, so for now, confine your search grids to the main bus routes. Any questions?"
Since there were none, the group dispersed to their various vehicles. True, thanks to Ellison's abilities, he and Jim had the best chance of finding Sandburg, but you never knew. Maybe, just maybe, one of the others would get lucky. One thing was certain, they needed to find the kid. Not just for Jim's sake, but for the rest of them as well.

"Thank goodness," Sylvie exclaimed, kneading the ball of her foot as Tyrel ushered the last of the bar's patrons out of the door and locked it behind them. "My feet are killing me."
"Well if you didn't insist on wearing four inch heels..." the cook retorted, picking up on the age-old argument.
With a pout, the transvestite examined her lower limbs. "But they make my legs look longer."
Ty shook his head in amusement. "Sylvie, honey, you're six-two in your stocking feet. Your legs get any longer and we're going to have to raise the ceiling in here."
Listening to the comfortable banter, Blair found himself once again speculating on the relationship between the two of them. While obviously not romantic in nature, the love and affection were clearly evident. "Oh well," he thought. "Stranger things have happened." After all, look at what happened between Jim and him. A stranger combination never existed. And yet, they'd become best friends. A tiny gasp escaped as pain lanced through the vicinity of his heart.
"You all right, sugar?" Sylvie inquired, concern marring her finely arched brow.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Blair replied. Unable to deal with the questioning looks he knew were being aimed in his direction, he busied himself with wiping down the bar.
Glancing at Ty, Sylvie saw the barely perceivable shake of his head. And he was right. Blair obviously wasn't ready to talk about whatever was bothering him. Perhaps in time he would come to trust them enough to open up, but until then, she would just have to be patient.
"Well, I don't know about the two of you, but I'm beat. This mess can wait until morning." She slid off the bar stool and knelt to retrieve the offending, discarded footwear.
"Are you coming?" she asked Sandburg as Tyrel joined her by the foot of the stairs leading up to the apartments.
"In a little while," Blair responded to the inquiry, as he retrieved a tub of dirty glasses from beneath the counter. "I just want to clean up a little bit first."
Frowning, Sylvie started to protest, only to be quieted by Ty's gentle grip on her arm. "Don't stay up too late," he tossed back over his shoulder before prodding the bar's owner up the stairs.

Leaning against his caddy, Jackson watched as the white Corvette pulled up. Straightening, he flung the butt of his cigarette into the gutter and waited as Reynolds got out of the car and joined the assembled men.
"He still in there?" Reynolds asked upon approach.
"Yeah, man, and you lucked out," Brown replied. "The others have either left or gone to bed. Sandburg's in there all alone cleaning up."
"What others?" Reynolds wanted to know.
Jackson shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "Just the bitch that owns the joint and the cook. They live in a couple of apartments above the bar."
"They gonna be any trouble?"
"Tyrel might present a problem," Brown admitted. "But Sylvie would be more concerned with breaking a nail than coming to Sandburg's rescue."
Reynolds nodded. "Still, I don't want to take any chances, and if we do this right, we won't have to disturb hers or the cook's beauty rest."

With a final swipe, Blair returned the mop to the bucket, and ignoring his tortured body's protest, looked for the next task to be accomplished. In truth, he almost welcomed the pain, the consistent reminder of the events that had lead him here. It served to strengthen his resolve and reassure him that he had made the right decision.
So why did the mere thought of never seeing Jim again hurt more than all his physical injuries combined? Why were his nightmares filled with visions of his sentinel lashing out with anger and accusations of betrayal? Around and around his thoughts whirled, a maelstrom of confusion. His only respite was to escape through exhaustion and mind numbing pain. But even that was beginning to lose its effectiveness as it became increasingly harder to ignore the one ache that not only refused to heal, but grew progressively worse with each passing day. The ache in his soul that longed for one James Ellison.
"No!" he cried out, releasing a small portion of the anguish contained within. Jim was better off without him. He'd become a liability, an embarrassment to the detective. Giving the older man his freedom had been, in a sense, Blair's final act of love. Without the anthropologist around, the detective could rebuild his life unfettered by the problems created by Sandburg's presence. Now, if he could only convince his heart and mind of that fact, then maybe it wouldn't feel as if he were being ripped in two.
Desperately, he looked around for something, anything, to occupy his mind and body. It was then that he heard it. A noise at the front door. Frowning, he crept forward and peered around the wall that divided the kitchen from the rest of the bar. What he saw twisted Blair's world. Once again, he had become enmeshed in a nightmare. 'NO! THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING!' his mind screamed in denial as he backed into the kitchen, his breath coming in rapid pants. It was impossible. There was no way Reynolds could have followed him here. But another quick peek not only confirmed the other man's presence, but revealed that he and someone Blair recognized as one of the bar's patrons, were trying to break in.
Reacting on instinct, he ducked out of the kitchen, and crouching low behind the bar, made his way towards the phone. His intention of calling the police was cut short as he heard the front door finally give way and the two men enter. His mind raced for an avenue of escape, and Blair automatically bolted for the rear door. His flight however did not go unnoticed.
"There he is!" someone shouted as he fumbled with the various locks hampering his frantic bid for freedom.
"Come on, come on," he pleaded desperately as Reynolds and the other man made their way through the obstacles in the dimly lit bar. At last, the final latch sprang free, and throwing open the door, Blair raced into the alley.
Automatically, he turned right, stopping short as he spotted a car around which several men lingered, blocking the alley's entrance. Spinning, he discovered the other end cut off by a garbage truck in the process of emptying a huge rolloff. Trapped, that left only one direction, up.
Driven by fear, Blair hauled himself up onto the lid of the bar's dumpster, and taking only a second to judge the distance, leapt for the ladder to the building's fire escape. Grunting in pain as his ribs protested the strain, he began to pull himself up, one rung after another until, finally, his feet could reach the bottom bar.
Behind him the bar's rear door crashed open as Reynolds and his companion burst into the alley.
Clutching the ladder with a vice like grip, Blair froze. 'Oh, God, please don't let him look up.' Blair silently pleaded, but even as his gaze was drawn inexplicably downward, Reynolds peered upward.
"Going somewhere?" he sneered at the anthropologist.
Terror induced adrenaline propelled Blair up the fire escape.
"Son of a..." Reynolds broke off the expletive as Sandburg bolted. Starting towards the dumpster, "Come on, let's go," he told Jackson.
Brown held up his hands in refusal. "Not me, man. It's your bird that's flown the coop. You want him, you go up and get him."
"All right," he spat angrily when Jackson refused to budge. "But if you still expect to get a piece of his ass, you'll have your boys surround the block. I don't want to take the chance that the little fucker might get away."
The pimp nodded. "That's doable," he agreed.
"Good," Reynolds retorted. "Now help me push this closer to the fire escape and give me a hand up."
Between the two of them, they soon had the dumpster in position, and with Brown's help, Reynolds climbed on top and up onto the fire escape. A quick glance upward revealed Sandburg just disappearing over the top of the building. "The bastard's gonna pay for this," Reynolds muttered beneath his breath and started the chase.
His face etched in agony, Blair climbed over the ledge and collapsed onto the rooftop, breathing heavily. "Gotta move," he gasped as he pushed himself into a kneeling position. A cry escaped as pain, so intense it took his breath away, flared throughout his ribs and lower back. "No," he moaned in protest at his body's betrayal, and by the sheer force of will, staggered to his feet.
Automatically, he stumbled towards the far side of the building, anxious to put as much distance between Reynolds and himself as possible. Unfortunately, the roof of the next building sat at least fifteen feet higher than the one he was currently on and he had no visible means of access.
Desperately, his eyes darted about for another means of escape. A loud rumble from the garbage truck in the alley below drew him towards the rear of the building. Arriving just in time to see it pulling out, the grad student felt like crying in frustration.
"There's no place left to run," Reynolds commented smugly from a few feet away.
Whirling, fists rising automatically in defense, Blair backed away from his nemesis. "I did what you wanted," he heatedly accused, oblivious to the underlying panic evident in his voice. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"
"It cost me a lot of money when the deal with Hawkins went bust, and I mean to make it back," Reynolds explained. "Besides, I can't think of a better way to get even with your cop buddy for putting me into the hospital."
"No," Blair exclaimed as the implication sunk in. "Not again. Never again."
"Even if you were to somehow get past me," Reynolds scoffed. "Brown and his boys have this place surrounded. Face it, there's no way out."
A sudden calm settled over the anthropologist. "I can think of one," he replied emotionlessly as his gaze unconsciously darted towards the edge of the building before returning to Reynolds.
The smug expression Reynolds had been wearing slipped a notch as a seed of doubt began creeping in. "You don't have the balls," he sneered contemptuously. "I was there, remember."
And remember he did. Every degrading, torturous moment he had suffered at the hands of this man and the others. There was no way he would survive that again. Maybe it was for the best. He was tired of the pain, of the longing for things he could no longer have. Drawn by the promised respite, Blair staggered towards the edge of the building.

Simon was just beginning to question the futility of what they were doing when he felt the sentinel stiffen beside him. "You got something?" Stepping on the brakes, he cast an anxious glance in Ellison's direction.
"There!" Jim pointed to a rooftop two blocks away. "Sandburg's on the roof, and from the sound it, Reynolds is with him."
Alarmed, Banks paused only long enough to hit the siren and lights before stomping down hard on the gas pedal.
Jackson Brown was leaning against his caddy, silently assessing his latest manicure, when all hell broke lose. Nearby a siren suddenly rent the stillness of the night. Looking up he spotted the sedan, lights flashing, racing in his direction. "Shit!" he exclaimed, startled by its sudden appearance. "Let's get out of here!" Quickly piling into the caddy, Jackson and his cohorts sped off.
Tires squealed in protest as Simon made a hard left into the alley, and slamming on the brakes, brought the car to a stop beside the dumpster.
"Call for back up," Ellison hastily instructed as he slid out of the vehicle. Quickly scrambling onto the hood of Simon's car and then onto the lid of the dumpster, Jim paused, head cocked, listening.
"I did what you wanted. Why can't you just leave me alone?"
"It cost me a lot of money when the deal with Hawkins went bust, and I mean to make it back. Besides, I can't think of a better way to get even with your cop buddy for putting me into the hospital."
"No. Not again. Never again."
"Even if you were to somehow get past me, Brown and his boys have this place surrounded. Face it, there's no way out."
"I can think of one."
"You don't have the balls. I was there, remember."
"Oh, God, no!" the exclamation escaped, as Ellison's gaze was drawn towards the rear of the building.
"What is it?" Banks demanded, suddenly, inexplicably, terrified by the softly spoken words.
The spell was broken by the sound of his captain's voice, and the detective began scurrying up the fire escape.
"JIM!" Simon barked in annoyance from below, as no answer was forthcoming. What had Ellison overheard? With only one way to find out, Banks began climbing.

Despite his injuries, Sandburg was quick. Unfortunately, not quick enough as Reynolds grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked him brutally backward from the edge of the building. Caught off balance, Blair hit the roof's surface hard and rolled a few feet away before coming to a stop.
'YOU STUPID FUCK!" Reynolds raged, placing himself between the ledge and the anthropologist who lay panting on the ground. "You were really gonna do it! Did you honestly think I was gonna let you get away from me that easily? YOU'RE MINE, SANDBURG. I DECIDE IF YOU'RE GOING TO LIVE OR DIE!"
"I don't think so." Delivered with deadly intent, James Ellison stepped out of the shadows, weapon raised and pointed directly at his adversary's chest.
Eyes widening in shock, Reynolds hesitated, gauging his chances.
"Don't even think about it," the detective warned. "You'd be dead before you took the first step."
A soft moan from his left drew Jim's attention. "You all right, Chief?" he asked worriedly. It was in that brief moment of distraction that Reynolds made his move. Striking out, he batted the gun from Ellison's hand. Then, as he weapon went flying, he followed through with a roundhouse kick, the force of the blow knocking the detective sideways. As the sentinel went reeling, Reynolds seized the opening and dove for Sandburg with the intention of using the observer as a hostage.
With a primeval roar of rage, Jim launched himself at Reynolds, knocking the man away from his downed partner. Separating as they hit the tarmac, they rolled away from each other and came up fighting.
Apparently having aggravated his bruised ribs in the tussle, Ellison noted the careful way the other man was moving and a feral grin appeared. Unnerved by the sight, Reynolds staggered backwards, and slipping a hand in his back pocket, produced a switch blade, brandishing it threateningly at the cop. "Come on," he taunted with an evil sneer, "and I'll gut you like the pig that you are."
Somehow, Sandburg had managed to regain his feet, and with an enraged cry, charged at Reynolds.
"Chief, no!" Ellison called out in alarm as the grad student rammed into Reynolds, thrusting them both backward. Like the gun mere moments before, the knife went sailing to land with a clatter on the rooftop.
"YOU LEAVE HIM THE FUCK ALONE YOU BASTARD!" Blair screamed as he began mercilessly pummel the other man. Reynolds however quickly recovered, and with a thunderous backhanded blow, sent the anthropologist flying.
Jim watched in horror as Blair went down. With a growl, he snagged the back of Reynolds' jacket yanking him away from his partner. Then, hauling his arm back, Ellison delivered a fierce blow to Reynolds abdomen, propelling the man backwards. Reynolds stumbled over Sandburg's inert form, fell onto the roof's ledge and disappeared over the side. His cry of terror was cut short as his body impacted with the ground below.
Simon, who had just arrived on the scene, hurried to the building's edge, peering down. With a grimace, he turned back to Sandburg and Ellison. "You two all right?" he asked as Jim moved to kneel beside the observer.
"Chief?" The detective inquired, seemingly oblivious to the captain's presence as he anxiously examined his guide.
"I'm okay," Blair insisted despite the pain evident in his voice as he maneuvered himself, with Ellison's help, into a sitting position.
Blue eyes met blue as, wordlessly, sentinel and guide gazed at one another, each drinking in the sight of the man neither thought they would see again.
In the distance, Banks heard the distinctive wail of sirens. "Looks like the backup is here," he commented, once again being ignored by the two men totally absorbed in each other. With an amused shake of his head, Simon smiled. "Don't let it be said that I don't know when I'm not wanted," he remarked with a chuckle and headed for the fire escape.
"Oh, God, Chief. I thought I'd lost you," Ellison finally broke the silence.
Blair winced at the pain filled words. "You know why I had to leave," he gasped, looking away.
Reaching out, Jim brushed aside the disheveled locks Sandburg took refuge in hiding behind, and gently cupped his face, forcing Blair to look at him. "Don't you see, none of that matters-- "
"I'm sorry, but I can't do it, Jim." The younger man interrupted mid-sentence and Ellison felt his insides lurch.
No! This couldn't be happening. To finally find Blair, only to lose him again? Vaguely, the rest of Sandburg's words slowly filtered through Ellison's panic-stricken thoughts.
"I know I should pay for what I've done, but I can't go to jail, Jim. I just can't."
'He doesn't know.' Ellison realized upon hearing the desperately uttered words.
"Shhh, it's all right," he crooned softly. "You don't have to worry about that, it's all been taken care of. Swanson's not going to press charges."
"He's not?" Blair peered incredulously up at his partner. "I don't understand."
Ellison smiled. "Simon paid him a visit at the hospital and explained the circumstances that precipitated the attack."
"So he dropped the charges out of pity." There was a hard edge to Sandburg's voice.
The detective frowned. "I prefer to think it was due to compassion and understanding."
Blair snorted. "Yeah, right. And I'm sure the university will be just as forgiving."
"Not quite," Jim replied, confused by the underlying anger evident in Sandburg's tone. "They felt some sort of disciplinary action was required, so you've been suspended for the remainder of the term."
"That's it?" Blair questioned, confusion marring his brow. "Let me get this straight. I attack and nearly kill a fellow colleague and all they're going to do is suspend me."
Ellison shrugged. "What can I say. When Simon talks, people listen."
Simon again. And what was Jim doing while the captain was hauling my butt out of the proverbial frying pan?
"So there's nothing to keep you from coming home, Chief." Ellison concluded, eying his partner with a combination of fear and expectancy.
Home. How often had his heart ached at the mere thought of the word? Of the images it conjured up? This was everything he'd been praying for, so why did his heart still feel as if it were about to break?
"I can't," he whispered, and felt his heart shattering into a tiny thousand fragments.
"No!" Came the anguished reply as Jim latched onto Blair, pulling him into an unrelenting grip. "I can't lose you again. Not again."
Blair could have wept for joy at the feel of being held, safe within his sentinel's embrace. Instead, he hardened his heart to the desperate plea.
"It's for the best. I've become an embarrassment, a liability to you at the station."
"That's not true!" the detective protested vehemently, but already Blair was shaking his head.
"I heard what they were saying about me, about us... I know I said it didn't matter, but it does. They can say what they want about me, but I won't let them do that to you, Jim. I can't."
"Then I'll resign." The words, though softly spoken, held conviction.
Pulling slightly away, the anthropologist peered up at the older man. The conviction he saw gazing back at him nearly stripped Blair of his resolve. It had been hard enough to walk away once. He wouldn't survive it a second time.
"You can't. Your job's too important. Not to mention your role as the sentinel of a great city."
Ellison however could not be deterred. "So, I'll become the sentinel of Borneo or wherever else we end up. And I don't have to be a cop in order to help people." A smile suddenly graced his lips. "You're not, and you help people all the time."
"But your home is here! Your family and friends." Blair persisted.
"I'm not saying I won't miss them, Chief." Ellison replied. "But you're wrong about Cascade being my home. My home, my family," he went on to explain at Sandburg's confused frown, "is right here. I'm looking at it."
Choked with emotion, Blair buried his face against the older man's chest.
"I won't survive without you, Chief." Ellison whispered. "Please don't ask me to."
Sniffling, Blair shifted his position. "You're not going to let this go, are you?" he inquired softly.
"Nope." Jim readily agreed. "In case you haven't figured it out by now, we're a package deal. Whether we stay or go doesn't matter as long as we do it together."
Still plagued by doubts and self recriminations, Blair knew he should continue his protests. He should somehow convince Jim that he would be better off without him. But even as his mind registered the other man's warmth, as he felt the gentle, barely perceivable heartbeat beneath his ear, Blair realized that to walk away now would destroy Jim far worse than anything that could happen should he remain.
"I say we stay." The words escaped before he even realized he was speaking. Beneath him, Ellison stiffened.
"You sure?"
"Nope," Blair candidly replied. "But whether you want to admit it or not, being a cop is a large part of who you are."
"I can be a cop anywhere, Chief." Jim pointed out.
"Yeah, but who else besides Simon would put up with us?"
"You've got a point," Ellison ruefully admitted. "So, whaddaya say we go home?"
Snuggling deeper into his sentinel's embrace, Blair sighed. "I am home, Jim. I am home."

Epilogue
Forehead furrowed in a frown, Simon Banks gazed silently at the man laying unconscious beyond the glass enclosed cubical in ICU. There was no way Reynolds could have survived a fall from that height and yet, somehow, he had. Perhaps the man would eventually succumb to his injuries. Then again he might once again defy the odds and live. Simon could only hope that the fates believed in justice. Either way, Ellison and Sandburg believed Reynolds was already dead, and taking a final look, Banks vowed to do anything necessary to keep it that way.