Rating & Warnings: [NC-17] For language and sexual content. This story contains graphic depictions of rape.

Special Thanks To: My wonderful betas patl, Kelly and EagleEye for all their hard work. This is a better story for their efforts.

Dedication: For Angie and MaDonna, with love. Thanks for the support.
 

It's been ten days... ten days since Sandburg disappeared. And as each day passed, Ellison lost a little more of his already precarious grip on reality. I knew that the two men had grown close. That they shared an incredible bond. But it wasn't until the anthropologist disappeared without a trace that I finally understood the true depths and repercussions of that bond.

I'm not even sure Ellison realized it himself until the other half of his soul was so callously wrenched from his life.

It hurts to see my best detective and friend slowly self-destructing before my very eyes, knowing that the only way to stop the downward spiral was to find his missing partner healthy and unharmed. I had tried. Hell, every detective in Major Crimes had been putting in forty-eight hour days searching for some clue as to the the missing consultant's whereabouts. But as each day passed, hope began to wane. You could see it in their eyes, in the exhausted slump of their shoulders. Yet no one was more devastated than the missing man's friend and partner.

Helplessly I watched as Ellison ran the gauntlet of emotions, from beside himself with worry to downright paralyzed by fear. Snapping at anyone and anything as day after day passed without word.

He looks like death warmed over. I doubt that he's slept more than a few hours since this whole nightmare began. He doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, and whatever control he had over his senses disappeared with Sandburg .

I should relieve him from active duty. In his present state he's a danger, not only to himself, but to those around him. But I couldn't do that, not to Jim. He needs to be an active part of this investigation. At least this way I can keep an eye on him. Force him to rest, to eat something.

But I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to do that. Because slowly, but surely, Jim Ellison is dying. A little bit more with each passing hour that Sandburg remains missing.

Wearily I look up from the latest batch of Ellison's old case files, and glancing at the clock, note that it's going on 6:00 p.m. My stomach growls, reminding me that once again I've missed lunch. Despite its protest, the thought of food makes me ill. Still, I glance out into the bullpen and seeing Jim, realize that I should at least make the effort, if for no other reason than to entice Ellison to eat something.

Stiffly I rise, already phrasing in my mind replies to the argument that I know will ensue, when the phone rings, putting an abrupt halt to my mental deliberations.

"Banks," I reply none too civilly into the receiver, and the next words Ihear cause my legs to give way beneath me as I slump back into the chair.

They've found Sandburg.

In a daze I listen, part of me overwhelmed with relief. The other part is scared. Scared shitless that the nightmare for my friends has just begun.With a shake to clear my head, I issue a few directives into the mouth piece and hang up the phone, my eyes once again straying to Ellison.

Releasing a pent up breath I rise, surprised to find my legs still a bit unsteady. Squaring my shoulders, I move around the desk, grab my coat
from its rack and go to give Jim the news.

I make my way to Ellison's desk. It's not until my soft entreaty of "Jim" that he even realizes I'm there. Empty blue eyes slowly level towards me, blinking once, twice before recognition returns to the orbs.

"They've found Sandburg," I tell him and watch as stark, naked fear overcomes his features. Hurriedly, I add. "He's alive but it's not good."

"I... I need to... see him." The words, disjointed, come tumbling out, frayed as if he's not yet firing on all cylinders. Snagging his jacket, I lay a hand on his elbow and gently guiding him to his feet, point him towards the doorway.

Behind me I notice the others intently watching. I know they overheard the announcement, the worry reflected in their expressions assures me of that. They too want to come, their pent up energies fairly vibrate, filling the room. But if the sketchy details provided by the officer are true, this is something better dealt with as privately as possible.

Slowly I shake my head, refusing permission for them to follow. Ignoring their disappointed glares, I lead Ellison to the elevator.

En route, I relay what information I have, trying to prepare Jim for whatlies ahead. Stoically he sits there, a slight tick of his tightly clenched jaw the only telltale sign that he's even listening. Still, some of what I'm saying must have penetrated, because he shows no sign of surprise as we pull up outside the warehouse.

Climbing out of the car I note with relief that the paramedics have already arrived. "Thank God!" I breathe, relieved because I know we're going to need them. Slamming the car door, I look up just in time to see Ellison's head shoot up, his eyes searching. His nostrils flare and a expression of sheer horror drains what little remaining color he has. And with a guttural cry of "SANDBURG!", he's racing towards the building.

"JIM!" I bellow in warning, before following.

With unfailing accuracy, he makes his way through the labyrinth of crates and containers heading directly for his partner. Abruptly he comes to a halt and it's all I can do to keep from careening into the back of him.

"Jim, what the...?" I ask peering around him, only to have the question die on my lips. "Oh my God!" I whisper, "Sandburg."

Surrounded by the two patrol officers and paramedics, the kid has been
backed into a corner. Eyes wide with fear, upper lip curled in a snarl, he
brandishes a blood covered knife threateningly.

"Get away from him!" Ellison roars, and I barely manage to grab onto him before he has a chance to rush forward.

"Damn it Simon" he protests, struggling to break free. "Look at him!"

Reluctantly I do, knowing it's an image that will haunt me for as long as I live. Hair in wild disarray, clad only in a pair of loose fitting, gray sweat pants that hang precariously low on his hips, Sandburg bears little resemblance to the man I have come to know and respect. Gone is the
inquisitive, wide eyed innocence, in its stead stands an abused animal, cringing in fear, ready to strike out at anyone who dares to venture too
close. Slowly I take in his appearance, cataloging his visible injuries one by one until I know they will be indelibly imprinted on my mind's eye. The slight trail of blood leading to the small gash at his temple. A similar cut that graces a bruised and battered cheekbone. His lower lip is split and swollen. Moving downward, I wince at the sight of a choker chain pulled so tight that it appears embedded in his neck, and I feel my rage boil at the leather leash dangling from its clasp. His upper torso and what I can see of his abdomen are peppered with a myriad of dark, vivid bruises. On his arms I can actually make out individual imprints of fingers where someone grabbed him. Brands of raw, exposed skin encircle his wrist and ankles, and bloody footprints track the floor surrounding him. All clear, overt signs of the atrocities he had been forced to endure. But it's the wild gleam in his eyes, the uncontrollable shudders that speak so silently, yet eloquently of the injuries we can not see.

"Simon, please!" Ellison gasps, straining at my tenacious grip.

"Back off," I order the others, waiting until they comply before setting Jim free. "Be careful," I caution him as Ellison slowly approaches the feral creature before us.

Smiling gently, Jim holds his hands up in a non threatening manner.

"Hey Chief," he croons softly. "Just take it easy. Everything's going to be all right. I'm here now, you're safe."

Trying to press himself even further back into the corner, Sandburg's eyes dart nervously about, seeking escape. Seeing none, they settle on the man slowly advancing towards him.

I realize his intent mere seconds before he strikes out. Thankfully Ellison sees it too, his lightening quick reflexes the only thing that keeps him
from being skewered. Grabbing him by the back of his jacket, I yank him back even further.

"Jim!" I yell to gain his attention. "He doesn't recognize you."

"Just let me try, Simon," he pleads, trying to break free. "I know I can
reach him."

"Not until we find a way to calm him down first." My tone brooks no argument and with obvious reluctance Ellison complies.

Once again my glance unwillingly strays to Sandburg. His trembling hasbecome more pronounced. Dressed as he is, I know he has to be cold. Helplessly, I watch as his chest heaves and contracts with each panting breath. My God, he's so thin. Beneath the colorful bruises dotting his sides, I can actually count the individual ribs. Inspiration strikes.

"He's bound to be hungry," I quietly suggest. "Probably thirsty too."

Jim catches on quickly. "We could drug it."

"I wouldn't recommend it, guys." One of the paramedics says. "At least not until we've had a chance to check him out."

"At this rate, you're not going to get a chance to examine him," I point out the obvious.

Mulling this over, he reluctantly nods. As he heads off to get the sedative, one of the patrol officers speak up.

"We stopped for burgers just before spotting the kid. They're still in the car." He tentatively suggests.

I can tell from his compassionate expression that he too has been horrified by what he has seen and is anxious to help.

"Go get them," I say and he's off like a shot. Finally I turn my attention to Ellison. Grabbing him by the shoulders I turn him to face me. "Jim, you have got to get yourself under control. Sandburg needs you."

"Damn it. Simon," he growls. "Don't you think I know that!" Abruptly he stops, and taking a calming breath, apologies. "I'm sorry, Sir, it's just that..."

"I know," I say, forestalling the rest. "Don't you think it's killing me too, seeing him like this? But the kid is already frightened to death and you going off half cocked isn't helping matters any."

"I know, you're right," he replies, scrubbing a hand over his exhausted
features.

Just then the paramedic returns handing me what appears to be an innocent looking bottle of water. The look in his eyes informs me otherwise and I nod, accepting it. Seconds later the uniformed officer hurries in carrying a plain brown paper bag. Even without Jim's enhanced senses I can smell the food within.

"I'll take that," Ellison says reaching for the bag.

"Let me," I say, taking the bag before he can grab it. Confused, he looks at me, and keeping my voice low, I try to explain. "Look, Jim, the kid is smart. Once he figures out he's been drugged, he's going to be royally pissed. And quite frankly, I think you'd rather have him angry at me instead of you."

Seeing the wisdom behind my words, Ellison nods. If we are to ever stand a chance at reaching the man we once knew, getting him to trust us is paramount. If anyone stands a chance of getting through to Blair, it's
Jim.

Moving slowly I approach Sandburg, making sure to keep my voice calm and soothing. "You hungry? I've got some food. Water too." Stopping a few feet away, I place the items on the floor and back off. "It's all right, no one is going to hurt you."

Anxiously, his gaze darts from us to the food and back again. His nostrils flare slightly and I know the aroma's getting to him. In the stillness of the room his stomach growls loudly and his eyes widen in horror at its betrayal. With a cross between a groan and a whimper, he pushes himself even further back against the crates blocking his retreat.

"Come on, Chief," Ellison mutters so softly that I can barely hear him. "Take the bait so we can help you."

I can see the kid is torn. The naked hunger in his eyes is palpable. The only question that remains is which will win out; fear or hunger?

"Why isn't he going for it?" Jim impatiently asks.

"I don't know." I confess then offer up a possibility. "Maybe who ever did this to him drugged his food."

"Damn it!" Ellison growls. "We've got to do something."

"Well short of taking him by force," I snap and see Jim wince at my choice of words, "I don't see another alternative. Just give it some more time."

And so we wait. Having to watch Sandburg deliberate between trusting us and starving, ravages my soul. If it tears me up this much inside, I can't begin to imagine how Jim must be feeling. And in the meantime, the kid's trembling becomes more noticeable. Beside me Ellison's own body mirrors the tremors. Though his were not born of the cold, but of pent up emotions. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, Jim strips off his jacket and moving forward, wordlessly places it beside the still untouched food and drink.

Confusion mars the younger man's brow as he looks at the jacket and then at Ellison, who has resumed his former position. Silently Jim offers up a smile and a small nod of encouragement.

Just when I had decided he wasn't going to go for it, Sandburg moves. Slowly, his eyes never leaving us, he creeps forward and snatching up the coat, returns to his corner. With shaking hands, he inserts one arm into a sleeve, wincing slightly at the movement, then transferring the knife to his other hand, slips the jacket on. With a shuddering sigh of relief, he wraps the material tighter around himself.

This was good. Now if he would only accept the rest.

Once again his stomach rumbles, the smell of the food, drawing his hungry gaze. Please, came my silent entreaty and moments later my prayer was answered. Moving faster than I thought possible considering his condition, Sandburg darts forward and seizes the bag of food. I feel my heart sink when he leaves the bottle of water untouched.

"Don't worry," the officer whispers in my ear. "I made sure to put a lot of salt on it." Were the situation not so serious I would have smiled at his ingenuity. Instead, all I can do is nod my approval. In the meantime, crouched down in his corner, Sandburg has ripped open the bag and is wolfing down one of the burgers. I don't think he even takes the time to chew, and I am half afraid the kid is going to choke. Within minutes the first burger has disappeared and is soon followed by the second. It was only then that he started eying the water.

"That's it," I hear Jim mutter softly as Blair warily creeps forward and in a manner similar to the food, grabs the water, and scurries back into his corner. Clawing off the cap with fingers that I just now notice have been scraped raw, he raises the bottle to his lips and begins to drink. Without pausing he drains the entire contents and with an expression of dismay, eyes the now empty bottle. With a frustrated whimper, he tosses it aside.

"Do you have any more?" Ellison turns pleading eyes to the paramedic.

The paramedic's commiseration was obvious, but his medical training won out. "Look, I know how you feel, but in his condition it's not a good idea."

With reluctance, Jim nods his acceptance. His own medical training had told him this much was true. But that didn't make it any easier to accept in the face of his partner's overwhelming suffering.

"How long before...?"

I know he couldn't bring himself to say the rest. ‘How long before he realizes we've betrayed him?'

"With the shape he's in, it shouldn't take long before the drug takes
effect." The paramedic replies, softly.

And so, once again, we wait. Us watching Sandburg, the kid warily eying us, the knife still firmly clenched within his grasp, until the tension becomes unbearable.

Finally, some ten minutes later, Ellison grasps my arm and murmurs softly, "It's starting to work."

It was with a sense of trepidation that I watch as Sandburg's head slowly drops towards his chest, only to have it jerk upright seconds later, his
eyes gone wide. With laser precision, he turns those eyes on me, his brow creasing in an accusing frown. And from his throat a low, agonizing keening begins and grows in volume as Blair begins pacing, trying to keep awake.

"Oh God!" Ellison gasps beside me, and I know that his heart is being wrenched in two at having to witness this display. My own gut feels as if someone has stuck a knife in it, and it's all I can do to remind myself that this was for Sandburg's own good.

Without warning, the kid staggers and drops to his knees. Again his eyes rise to meet mine and in them I can see the unvoiced question of "Why?"

"I'm sorry." The words and emotions behind them choke me as I watch him pitch forward, unconscious.

It is the sound of the knife slipping from nerveless fingers and clattering to the cement floor that finally releases us from our paralysis. Within seconds, Ellison is beside the prostrate body. With infinite gentleness he carefully turns Sandburg over and onto his back. Then loosening the choker chain, slips it over Blair's head before tossing it and the leash away with a cry of rage.

"Let us take it from here, Detective," says the paramedic who had assisted us, kneeling beside Sandburg as his partner begins setting up their equipment.

"Jim, let them do their job," I order, hooking a hand beneath Ellison'selbow and pulling him away. He comes, with obvious reluctance, but his gaze refuses to leave the inert form.

One of the uniformed officers speaks up. "Is there anything we can do?"

Removing a handkerchief from my pocket, I bend and retrieve the bloody knife. Carefully handing it to the officer, I tell him to bag it for evidence.

"And take that obscenity too," I add, nodding in the general direction that Ellison hurled the collar and leash. Acknowledging my command, he hurries to comply.

"Could someone get the stretcher, please?" The dark haired paramedic calls back over his shoulder as he continues to assess Sandburg's condition.

"I'll do it." The remaining officer volunteers, quickly heading for the exit. Not that I could blame him. The pitiful sight that Sandburg presents tears at my own soul, dredging up all sorts of emotions that I never dreamt I'd have to deal with.

"How is he?" I hear Ellison inquire as I turn back to see him anxiously hovering nearby.

Setting back on his heels, his compassionate glance rising to meet our own worried gazes, the paramedic quickly gives us a rundown.

"He doesn't appear to have a concussion. Nor does there appear to be any serious damage to the larynx. I don't think any of the ribs are broken, but we'll need x-rays to determine if there are any hairline fractures."

"What about internal injuries?" Ellison questions, brow wrinkling in concern.

The paramedic looks back down at his patient before replying. "There aren't any obvious ones. The best thing we can do now is to finish
stabilizing him for transport and get him to the hospital."

As if on cue, the two officers return, maneuvering the gurney between them. There is no shortage of hands or volunteers as we gather round and carefully lifting Sandburg, place him on the stretcher. Recognizing Ellison's need to do something, an IV bag is thrust into his hands.

"Here, hang onto this." He is instructed as the paramedics quickly stow the rest of their gear.

I figure it's either going to take an act of God or a crowbar to pry Ellison loose from his partner, and I'm right. The argument however, is brief. One look at Jim's ‘You don't want to fuck with me' expression and the paramedics quickly relent, blatantly ignoring regulations by allowing Ellison to accompany his partner to the hospital.

"I'll meet you there." I call out as the rear doors to the ambulance are slammed shut. I doubt that Jim even hears me, so intent is his focus on
Sandburg. Then, after instructions for them to get the evidence to forensics, I head for my car.

Not wanting to leave Jim alone for too long, I use the siren and lights the entire way. Afraid of what I might find, I rush into the ER. As usual, the place is a hive of activity, but it doesn't take me long to spot Ellison slumped in the chair closest to the doors that lead to the examination
cubicles. Wordlessly, I take the seat beside him.

"They threw me out," he grumbles a moment later, shooting an angry glance towards the closed doors.

"Now why doesn't that surprise me?" I silently wonder. "Look, I know you want to be in there with the kid, but I'm sure they can do their job just as well without you hovering."

"I tried to listen," he comments absently and I wonder if he even heard me, "but there's too much noise. I couldn't block it out." A note of frustration and anger enters his voice, only to soften seconds later when he admits, "I can't do it without Blair."

"All we can do now is wait and be there when he needs us." I say, cringing
at the triteness of my statement. Despite our training, it has never struck this close to home before and I wasn't sure if either of us were ready or equipped to deal with the repercussions. But somehow we had to. Because this wasn't just some unknown name on a police blotter, this time it was Sandburg.

Several hours and two cups of coffee later, I've lost track of the number of times Ellison has paced the twelve foot expanse in front of me. And quite frankly, it's starting to bug me. My own anxiety regarding Sandburg has frayed my nerves to the breaking point, and I feel as if I'm going to snap. Fortunately, the doctor's timely arrival forestalls any inane, acerbic comments I was about to impart.

Short and somewhat stocky, he appears to be in his late thirties. His face is devoid of emotion, but his eyes can not hide the utter horror, the
compassion he feels for the young man he has just come from examining.

"How is he?" Ellison demands before the doctor even has a chance to introduce himself.

More from habit, than conscious effort, I quickly proceed to introduce myself and Jim, thus confirming our rights to be privy to the information the doctor is about to divulge. Glancing down at the chart in his hands, he begins reciting a detailed inventory of Sandburg's injuries.

"I'm pleased to report that Mr. Sandburg's head injury is superficial and only required a few stitches. Just to make certain, we ran a CAT scan and the results verified our diagnosis. His larynx has been severely bruised and the x-rays show that he has sustained hairline fractures along two of his ribs. Plus, there's the laceration to his cheek and multiple contusions to his upper torso and abdominal area. Thankfully there doesn't appear to be any internal injuries in spite of the severity of the beating. There will however be some permanent scarring around his neck, wrist and ankles..." The doctor's voice trails off and I know the worst is yet to come.

"What about... Was he?" Ellison begins, then pauses unable to voice the question uppermost in both our minds.

"I'm sorry," the doctor replies sincerely, crushing what little remaining hope we'd been so desperately clinging to. "The evidence indicates that
Mr. Sandburg has been..."

"Raped," Jim solemnly supplies when the doctor seemed incapable of saying the word.

Gravely, the doctor nods.

"Oh God," Ellison groans softly, looking away. Personally, I feel as if I've been sucker punched.

"There was some tearing, which we've managed to repair," the doctor continues. "The good news, gentlemen, is that initial test show no traces of semen, so my guess is that his assailant or assailants, wore protection."

"Thank God," I exclaim, unable to help myself and see a similar sentiment in Ellison's eyes.

"Just to be on the safe side, we're running further analysis checking for any sexually transmitted diseases," the doctor concludes.

However, something had been nagging at me and I voice my concerns.

"Doctor, you indicated that Sandburg didn't have a concussion and that his larynx was only bruised." Listening, he nods with my assessment, urging me to continue. "Sandburg, he didn't..." I stammer, "well, he didn't seem to recognize us. And about the only sounds he's uttered were more like those of an animal rather than a human being." There, I'd finally said it and immediately feel Ellison stiffen beside me.

Looking thoughtful, the doctor finally replies. "While speaking could prove painful until the swelling goes down, there isn't any physical reason for Mr. Sandburg not to be able to talk. It's not my area of expertise, but my guess is that his unwillingness or inability to talk or recognize you is a psychological manifestation of his recent trauma."

"When can I see him?" Ellison abruptly questions, his intense gaze pinning the doctor, daring him to protest.

"Well, at the moment he's still sleeping off the sedative," the doctor replies, shifting nervously beneath Ellison's penetrating glare. "Since we'd like to keep him under observation for the next twenty four hours, we'll be moving him into a room , then you can..."

"I want to see him now." Ellison demands shortly.

"Jim." I warn.

"Look, Detective, I know how you feel..."

"You don't know shit about what I'm feeling..." The tirade begins.

"JIM. That's enough!" I bark, my tone final.

"You've waited this long," the doctor continues appeasingly, "surely a few more minutes while we get him settled."

"We'll be in the cafeteria," I interrupt, clamping a hand on Ellison's shoulder.

Jim's burger sits uneaten as does my own tuna on whole wheat. Which is probably just as well since the mayonnaise looks a little suspect.
Apparently we're the last two customers of the night as around us the clean up crew is turning chairs upright on the tables as they mop the floor. With a disgusted sigh, I push the plate away, leaving the food untouched.

"I want the bastard." Ellison's comment comes out of nowhere, but I know how he feels. I too want the son of a bitch responsible.

"You'll have to stand in line," I tell him never meaning anything more in my life. "But unless Sandburg can identity his assailant..."

"Yeah, right." Ellison snorts sarcastically. "You saw him, Simon, saw the condition he was in." Wearily he scrubs a hand over his exhausted features.

"Jim, the kid's a fighter." I remind him. "He'll..."

"He'll what?" Ellison snaps, his eyes blazing. "Recover? Bounce back? Christ, Simon, how's he suppose to get over something like this?"

"With time and the help of good friends," I state with more convictionthan I feel.

"We done here?" He asks abruptly, signaling an end to the discussion.

"Yeah, we're done," I reply, rising from the table and silently vowing to myself to provide whatever support both my friends will need in the coming months.

Ellison sets a brisk pace through the hospital corridors retracing our previous route back to the ER. Were it not for my own expansive stride, I
would have had difficulty keeping up.

Not even halfway there Jim suddenly stops, a look of fear flooding his features. "What is it?" I ask, concerned. The words are barely out of my mouth before I realize that it must have something to do with Sandburg.

"It's Blair," Ellison stammers, confirming my supposition. "He's awake. He's... scared." And with that, Jim takes off running.

"JIM!" I yell a useless warning, then throwing my hands up in defeat, quickly follow.

Approaching the ER, even without Sentinel senses I can now hear Sandburg. His cries, a mingled conglomeration of fear and rage, echo along the bustling halls.

"Hey! You can't go in there," the receptionist on duty protests as first Jim, then I, barrel past her heading for the commotion.

Shoving the door open Ellison storms into the room. "Get away from him!" I hear him roar and arrive just in time to see an orderly flung against the wall and another backing away, hands raised in submission.

"Jim, what...?" I question, confused and then I see what has Ellison in such a rage. The fools, in their infinite stupidity, have used physical restraints on Sandburg. "Have you lost your minds?" I bellow, unleashing my own ire.

"He woke up and was freaking out on us. We had to..." The man backed against the wall begins babbling inane justification.

Frankly, I don't want to hear it. "This man has been severely traumatized and your solution is to tie him up?" I roar. "Now I suggest you get your buddy and get the hell out of here before I forget I'm a police captain."

Then without waiting to see if he complies, I turn my attention to Ellison and Sandburg. The heart wrenching wails are still emanating from the kid as Jim struggles to free Blair. Unfortunately, Sandburg's thrashing attempts to break free are impeding his efforts.

"Give me a hand here," Jim requests without looking up from his task, and quickly moving to the other side of the bed, I begin tackling that restraint.

"Shhh," Jim croons softly, trying to calm the terror stricken man. "We're not going to hurt you." His assurances however have little effect on Sandburg whose continued exertions chafe the already damaged wrists. "Damn it!" Ellison explodes, frustrated by his inability to undo the restraint's buckles. Suddenly abandoning it, he captures Sandburg's face in his hands and with a firm grip, stills its thrashing side to side motion. "Chief!" He addresses Blair in a voice loud enough to be heard above the constant keening. "We're trying to get you loose, but you're going to have to calm down first."

Abruptly, as if flicking a switch, Sandburg goes rigid and silence fills the room. My first thought was that the kid had passed out, but looking up I discover his horror filled gaze firmly locked on Ellison's face.

"That's it, buddy," Jim encourages, releasing one side of Sandburg's face to gently brush back his tangled locks. "We'll have you out of these in a minute."

I get my side undone first with Ellison's following seconds later. Set free, Sandburg wastes little time scooting backwards until he is firmly pressed against the bed's headboard. Nervously his glance darts between us, then towards the open door. Were it not for the crowd of people lining its entrance, I have do doubt he would have bolted right then and there.

"I'm so sorry, Chief," Ellison apologizes softly, drawing Sandburg's gaze. "If I'd had any idea that they were going to... I never would have left you."

"What's going on in here?" The doctor demands as he pushes through the people gathered watching in the doorway.

"I'll tell you what's going on," Ellison turns on the man with a snarl. "I'm taking my partner and we're getting the hell out of here."

"You can't, Mr. Sandburg needs..."

"He's coming with me!" Jim roars so vehemently that even I am impressed. Summarily dismissing the doctor's presence I watch amazed as he turns back to his partner and all traces of anger instantly replaced by a protective countenance. "Whadda say, Chief, you ready to leave?"

Uncertain, I ask. "Jim, do you think that's a good idea?" But even I can't deny the faint flicker of hope suddenly evident in Sandburg's eyes.

"Yeah, I do," he responds, his gaze never leaving Blair's face.

"Really, Detective, I must protest." The doctor tries one last attempt.

"You can protest all you want," Ellison replies, lowering the bed's guardrail. "We're out of here."

Warily Sandburg eyes Ellison. I can tell the kid is torn between trusting Jim and his desire to leave. "Kid!" I silently snort. Going on thirty, Sandburg was anything but. Right now though he looked so fragile... so vulnerable that somehow the reference seemed appropriate. I have to hand it to him. Despite everything he's been through, the atrocities he has been forced to endure, Sandburg still has enough moxie left in him to fight.

Having reached the conclusion that this was one argument he wasn't going to win, the doctor finally acquiesces.

"Very well," he says with a hint of disapproval. "There will be several prescriptions that you can have filled at the pharmacy before you leave. In the meantime I'll have the front desk prepare the appropriate forms."

"You do that," Ellison replies shortly. "And take those damn gawkers with you."

Sighing, I shake my head. Jim really does need to work on his communication skills. At least he'd achieved his objective. With a huff the doctor departs, clearing out the crowd as he goes.

"Simon, could you..." Ellison begins, glancing up at me.

"I'll take care of it," I reply before he even has a chance to finish asking. Still, I'm concerned about leaving him on his own with Sandburg. "You gonna be all right here?"

Looking back down at his partner, Ellison's gaze softens. "Yeah," he says. "We're going to be just fine."

Being a captain with the Cascade PD does have some benefits, and I feel no remorse at using it to my advantage. In record time I've filled Sandburg's prescriptions. God only knows how we're going to convince the kid to actually take them. And without even blinking at the obscenely expensive final tally, I head back to collect the release forms.

Entering Sandburg's room I am surprised to see him sitting quietly on the side of the bed. Still dressed in the hospital gown, he is once again
wearing the gray tattered sweat pants, a pair of paper slippers adorning his feet. Granted, they aren't much but unfortunately they're all we have to work with at the moment.

"I'm not even going to ask how you accomplished that," I tell Ellison, nodding towards Sandburg's attire and relatively calm facade.

"Don't let appearances deceive you," he comments softly. "His heart's still pounding like a jackhammer." Shooting the kid a reassuring smile, he glances at me. "You get everything taken care of?"

"Got the prescriptions right here," I say, patting my coat pocket as I hand him the clipboard holding the release papers. "All you have to do is sign these and we can leave."

Taking the proffered forms, Jim hastily scribbles his signature and tossing the clipboard down onto the nearest counter top, turns back to Sandburg. "That's it, Chief. You ready to get out of here?" He asks, keeping his tone casual.

"Jim, you can't let him leave dressed like that!" I chastise as Sandburg climbs unsteadily to his feet. "It's thirty-two degrees outside."

Immediately Ellison begins to peel off his jacket. "Here, let him have mine." I say, forestalling the motion as I shrug off my own knee length coat. "It'll cover more of him." Wordlessly I hold it out towards Sandburg, yet despite his constant tremors, he seems reluctant to take it. Confused, I look to Ellison for help.

"It's okay, buddy, go ahead and take it." He gently encourages. Brows crinkled in a slight frown, Blair's gaze slides from me to Jim and then back again.

"Please." I entreat, knowing the kid has no reason to trust me after my participation in drugging him. Yet something in my tone must have reached him because I see a brief spark of emotion and then he's timorously taking the coat from my outstretched hand.

Unable to help myself, I'm practically beaming as Sandburg begins struggling into the coat. However, as I'm standing there grinning like a jackass, one of kid's arms becomes ensnared within the folds of the material. Automatically Ellison reaches out to help, only to have Sandburg flinch away from the touch. The pain reflected in Jim's eyes at that moment mirrors my own and just as quickly as it had appeared, my smile falters.

Unaided, Sandburg finally untangles himself and within moments stands entrenched in my coat. Several sizes too large for him, he looks like a kid trying on his father's clothes. Despite Sandburg's earlier reticence, I nod approvingly as Ellison's protective nature drives him to ask, "Can I give you a hand with those buttons, Chief?"

Blinking as if confused, Sandburg slowly glances downward and then back up at Ellison. Then, moving carefully so as not to startle him, I watch as Jim reaches out and begins doing up the buttons.

"There you go," he comments with a smile as he finishes fastening the last one. Looking up from the completed task, he asks, "Simon, would you mind getting the car? Blair and I will be out in a minute."

Readily agreeing, and with a final glance at Sandburg, I head out the door.

By the time I return with the car, Ellison and Sandburg are waiting just inside the sliding glass doors that lead to the ER. Spotting me as soon as I pull up, I see Jim lean over and say something to Sandburg. Then placing a guiding hand on Blair's back, he directs him towards the car. The kid looks terrified as he approaches the vehicle, and I find myself wondering if perhaps we aren't making a mistake.

Stopping just short of the car, Jim reaches around Sandburg and opens the door. "In you go, Chief," I hear him comment and look up to discover Sandburg frozen in place, his face devoid of all color. Between slightly parted lips, his breath escapes to create wisps of smoke in the cold night. Within seconds those wisps are coming more frequently and I realize the kid is beginning to hyperventilate.

"Jim." I barely have time to call out before Sandburg abruptly begins backing away, shaking his head in refusal. Immediately Jim blocks his retreat, his arms coming up to surround the younger man, holding on tight as Blair begins to struggle, lamenting his distress. Above the din I hear Ellison trying to calm him.

"I know you're scared, Chief, but I swear I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. I just need you to... Son of a... " Jim suddenly blurts as Sandburg's teeth latch onto his forearm, and I know the exclamation was more one of surprise than actual pain, considering the thickness of Ellison's jacket.

With concern, I observe as Jim wrenches his arm free and reestablishes his grip further down, holding on tightly to the bucking figure as Sandburg continues to cry out in fear. It was a sight I never thought I'd see and one I know will remain with me forever.

Despite Ellison's constant calming litany of uttered reassurances, it seems to take forever, but eventually Sandburg's struggles begin to lessen. Finally they subside altogether and he slumps, lax in Ellison's arms.

Maintaining his grip, Jim quickly bundles Blair into the car. Normally I wouldn't have approved of such strong arm tactics, especially considering Sandburg's present condition. But short of drugging him again, I can't see any other alternative. Releasing his hold on the kid only long enough to pull the door closed after him, Jim nods for me to drive.

"I'm sorry, Chief. Did I hurt you?" I hear Ellison ask. Glancing over I see his anxious gaze searching his partner's features.

"Jim?" I ask, raising an eyebrow question.

"He's still a little spooked." Ellison confirms. "But other than that he appears to be all right."

Firmly situated between Ellison and myself, I can feel the kid's tremors. Whether they are from fear, the cold or a combination of both, I can't say. Not knowing what else to do, I reach out and turn the heater's blower up another notch.

It is with a sigh of relief that I finally pull up in front of 852 Prospect, although part of me is dreading another scene like the one at the hospital.

"He going to be all right?" I inquire, shutting off the engine. It's apparent that Ellison has been monitoring the kid's vitals, for he
wastes little time in replying.

"He seems okay now, but you might want to..."

Even without him having to finish the sentence I understand what Jim is requesting. Swinging open the door, I climb out and wait. "Out you go, buddy." I hear Ellison's voice drift out from inside the car and a few seconds later, Sandburg appears, with Jim following right behind.

Consciously taking up positions on either side of the kid, just in case he should try to bolt, we start towards the building, our pace matching that of the man between us. Shoulders slumped, bowed face hidden by tangled locks, Sandburg walks as if resigned, or perhaps more aptly, like a man condemned.

Inwardly I fume, my anger keeping me warm despite the frigid temperature. Yet outwardly I strive to maintain a calm facade, one that radiates trust, understanding and compassion.

Stepping into the lift I glance towards Ellison and, with no great surprise, find his focus fully intent on his partner. His face too bears an unreadable expression, at least until one peers closely into his eyes. It is only within their depths that one can see all the reined in emotions. Hate towards whoever was responsible, guilt and anger at himself for not having been there to prevent it from happening in the first place. Lord knows he has no reason to feel guilty. But I know that there will be no way of convincing Jim of that, not now, maybe not ever. For while Sandburg may have been the one who had been beaten and raped, there was no doubt that his attack would have far reaching consequences, not only for him, but for us as well.

Lost in thought it's with some surprise that I find myself and the others outside the loft door with no conscious memory of how we got there.
Beside me I can feel the nervous energy pouring off Sandburg in waves. Shooting Ellison an apprehensive glance above the kid's head, I silently plead with him to hurry up and open the damn door.

Seconds later it springs open and he ushers Sandburg into the apartment. I follow the kid in with Jim bringing up the rear. Silently I watch as
Sandburg takes several hesitant steps into the room, only to see him whirl around, eyes wide with fear as he hears the door's lock click home.

"It's all right, Blair," I hurry to assure him. "Jim's not locking you in, he's locking the bad guys out."

"That's right, Chief." Ellison adds, quickly picking up on my intent. "See, the lock is on this side." Then, as if coming to a decision, Jim undoes the lock and opens the door. "I'm not going to keep you here against your will, Blair. You're free to leave any time you want to. I could stop you, but I... we," he quickly amends, "won't."

"We won't?" I question, mouth agape, eyebrows rising in surprise, thinking for certain that Ellison has lost his mind.

"No, we won't." He responds, his eyes trying to convey some unspoken message that I obviously have yet to pick up on.

Grimacing in my direction, he turns back to Sandburg. "But I'm hoping that you'll stay. That you'll trust us enough to let us help you."

Not even daring to breathe, I hover, anxiously waiting for Sandburg's decision. Pale brows knitted in a confused frown, his glance travels from
Jim towards the open door, before dropping to study the floor in front of him. My nerves are strung tight, like finely tuned piano wire when he finally looks up and gives a slight nod. Releasing the pent up breath, my relieved gaze lights on Ellison. His relief is almost palpable and it's then that I fully realize the extent of the gamble Jim took. Quickly turning away before I could decipher any more, he closes and latches the door. Shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack he heads into the kitchen.

"I'm going to make a pot of coffee. Simon?" he questions.

"Sounds good," I reply.

"Chief," he asks Sandburg in turn.

A vague shake of his head is the kid's response. Well, at least he's starting to communicate a little more, though I find myself longing for the times when he would talk on end about any given subject.

"Are you hungry?" Ellison tries another approach. "I could fix you something to eat."

Another negative response. Jim's panicked gaze seeks me out and I realize that he's at a loss as to what to do next.

"Why don't I start a fire," I suggest. "It's a bit chilly in here."

My comment spurs Sandburg into action. Immediately he begins fumbling with the buttons to his coat, well my coat actually, apparently with the intention of returning it.

Reaching out, I lay my hand on his, stilling the motion. "It's all right Blair, you can keep the coat." I tell him and the hands fall away from the buttons and my touch.

"Good idea," Jim readily replies and I catch a glimpse of approval? Appreciation? Or is it something else? Before he swiftly turns away to deal with the coffee.

Kneeling before the fireplace, I surreptitiously observe Sandburg as he begins to slowly wander through the room. His gaze languidly sliding from one object to the next. There should have been some spark of recognition or perhaps emotion, yet there was nothing. Just a dull, lifeless gaze. I had to wonder just how severe the physiological damage was. Does he realize where he is? Does he know who Jim and I are? Hell, for that matter, does he even know who he is? All valid questions and buried somewhere deep inside, lurk the answers.

Within minutes, the fire's burning brightly and I rise, wincing as my joints protest the motion. However, the minor ache reminds me of Blair's injuries, and I'm just about to remind Jim of Sandburg's medication when I see him stop before the bookcase. Finally, something has captured his attention.

Angling for a better view, I discover that it's a picture of the three of us taken on one of our numerous fishing expeditions. Mesmerized I watch as he reaches out and with his index finger, traces each of the figures in the photograph. Intently I search his face for any sign of recognition and am overjoyed to see a ghost of a smile appear. Encouraged, I dare a quick look towards Ellison to find that he too is carefully observing the proceedings. His expression of hope, mingled with desperation surpasses even my own.

"That was taken last summer." I blurt out in my excitement. "You were using some ancient tribal fishing bait and swore that you were going to catch the largest fish. Damned if you didn't do it too." I finish with a chuckle.

The smile widens just a fraction, then falters as Sandburg suddenly closes his eyes and sways on his feet. Even though I'm closer, Ellison is there before I can even react. At the last second he pauses, making certain to keep a respectable distance, yet remaining close enough should the kid collapse.

"Are you all right?" He inquires with a concerned gaze. Slowly Blair's eyes open and he offers a small nod.

"Maybe you should sit down." Jim suggests, indicating the nearest sofa. He proceeds to hover anxiously, ready to assist as Sandburg make his way over to the couch and gingerly lowers himself onto the cushions.

Wearily he closes his eyes, and I can tell from the finely etched lines surrounding them that he's bordering on exhaustion. Apparently Jim sees it too because he arranges a couple of the sofa pillows and giving them a pat, urges the kid to lie down.

After what appears to be a brief internal debate, Sandburg decides to comply and laying down, automatically begins to curl up on his side. However, his prescriptions, still hidden within the coat's pocket, provide a lumpy mattress. Sitting back up he reaches into the pocket and pulls out the white pharmacy bag. With fine tuned precision his eyes accusingly lock onto mine and I stand there, uncertain how to explain, when thankfully Ellison comes to my rescue.

"They're just some painkillers and antibiotics that the doctor prescribed, Chief. Remember, while we were at the hospital?"

I can tell Sandburg is searching his memory, when finally he nods, and I once again remember how to breathe. God, it's like walking a tightrope with this kid. One false move and any trust you might have established could be irrevocably destroyed.

It was then that Jim, admittedly a braver man than I, dares to venture out onto that tightrope. Crouching down beside the couch, patiently waiting until Sandburg's gaze turned in his direction he carefully suggests.

"I know you have to be hurting by now. Maybe you should take something..."

With more animation than I had seen all night, the kid grunts in protest and vehemently shakes his head. Holding up his hands in acquiescence, Jim immediately begins soothing him.

"Shhh, it's all right. We aren't going to force you to take them." Gently prying the bag loose from clenched fingers, Ellison deposits it on the coffee table. "We'll just sit them here in case you change your mind later, okay?" Another, softer grunt. But this time accompanied by an affirmative nod.

"Okay." Jim smiles softly in agreement before urging Sandburg to lie down again. "That's it." He encourages as the kid once again makes himself comfortable. Yet Blair's eyes remain open and fixed on Ellison.

"It helps if you close your eyes, Chief." Jim says with a small chuckle. "Don't worry," he adds, suddenly sobering. "You're safe here."

Slowly Sandburg's eyelids flutter closed, open, then shut once more.

"That's good," Ellison croons softly, then reaching out he tenderly brushes an errant lock of hair away from the kid's face. A strangely intimate gesture, I think as Jim rises and grabbing an afghan off the back of the couch, places it over the sleeping man. But then between these two it somehow seems appropriate.

"He should sleep for a while," Ellison comments turning to me. "There's no need for you to stay."

"Trying to kick me out before I even get my coffee, Jim?" I ask, crossing my arms and giving him my best intimidating glare.

"No, of course not!" He quickly denies and I smile, knowing I haven't lost the touch.

"Look Jim," I gruffly tell him. "If you think I'm leaving either of you alone tonight, well you can just think again."

His relief is obvious. "Thanks Simon."

"So, are you going to pour me a cup, or do I have to do it myself?" Iquestion with a raised brow.

"One coffee coming right up," he replies smartly and turns to the task.

The coffee is hot, yet despite its enticing aroma, it's tasteless and fails to banish the chill that seems to have taken up permanent residence in my bones. Quite a contrast to the heat I felt earlier. Logic tells me that it's not the coffee's fault, that the culprit is my concern for Sandburg. But that doesn't stop me from lamenting the loss of comfort I usually derive from the aromatic brew.

We sit in silence, Ellison watching the kid, me watching him, and I find myself wondering what he's thinking behind the austere mask he's currently wearing. A master of repression, Jim has never felt comfortable discussing his emotions. But this isn't something that he could just bury and pretend never happened, not with Sandburg's presence as a constant reminder. Usually I could count on the kid to get Jim to open up and discuss whatever was bothering him. Unfortunately, this time Sandburg was at the root of Ellison's problems and in even worse shape than Jim. Well, someone had to try, and while sorely lacking Blair's compassion and tenacity, I knew it had to be me.

"Jim," I begin, only to have him cut me off before I even get started.

"Not now, Simon," he interrupts, holding up a silencing hand. "I can't... I just can't deal with it right now."

"You're gonna have to talk about it sometime, Jim." I insist.

Eyes fueled with anger turn on me. "The only thing I have to do," he spits out in calmly measured words, "is get the son of a bitch that did this to him."

"You just worry about your partner," I snap. "And leave the rest to me."

"Damn it, Simon," he growls, rising and beginning to pace. "You can't expect me to just sit on the sidelines and do nothing."

"I can and I do. I mean it, Jim." I warn, deadly serious. "When we find those responsible, if you go anywhere near them, I'll pull your badge so fast your head will spin. I won't have you jeopardizing this case because of a personal vendetta."

"I want your word on this," I demand, vainly trying to extract a promise. Instead he just glares at me.

"I'm taking a shower," he announces suddenly before stalking off to the bathroom and closing the door none too gently.

Immediately my glance travels to Sandburg, and while he stirs slightly, I'm grateful to see that the noise hasn't woke him. It's not like I don't
understand how Jim feels. Hell, I want to castrate the bastard responsible, myself. But someone has to uphold the law and protect Ellison from himself. And since Sandburg isn't up to the task, the responsibility has fallen to me. Of course if we can't get any information out of the kid, it's all a moot point anyway. Because without him, we have no leads. Reaching up to massage the tension from my neck muscles, I dread the thought of questioning Sandburg. Not because he isn't talking, there are ways around that, but because of the additional trauma that recalling the incident might invoke. That is if he even remembers at all. I've seen too many cases of trauma where the memories were buried so deep that they never resurfaced.

Frustrated, I turn away from my thoughts. This was getting me nowhere. Until the kid woke up and I had a chance to question him, all the supposition in the world wasn't going to make a difference. I hate this feeling of helplessness. At the moment there isn't a whole hell of a lot I can do about it, except wait. Anticipating a long night, I refill my mug and put on a new pot of coffee to brew. That task done, I return to the living room and resume my vigil over the sleeping Sandburg.

Blair rubbed at the throbbing pain in his temple then, slipping on his glasses, started the Volvo. It had been a rough week and he was more than ready for some down time. Pulling out of the faculty parking lot, he headed towards home, thoughts of a hot shower, light meal and about ten hours of uninterrupted sleep uppermost on his mind. He really hadn't planned on running this late, but the meeting had gone longer than anticipated and then he had to get the final grades posted. It hadn't helped any that the university' s computer system had gone down for over an hour.

Anxious to be in the warmth and comfort of his own home, Blair drove carefully nonetheless. It had rained earlier and the plummeting temperatures had resulted in patches of black ice. Suppressing another shudder and figuring the car's motor had had ample time to warm up, Blair turned on the heater.

"Oh man," he groaned in disbelief when only cold air burst forth. "What else can go wrong?"

Already feeling frozen to the core, he decided to take the shortcut home along Narrows Road. The dark, two lane highway was deserted and Blair felt an uneasiness steal over him. Silently berating himself for such foolish notions, he determinedly pressed down on the accelerator.

Several miles down the road he spotted what appeared to be emergency flashers. As the Volvo moved closer, he was able to make out a car sitting haphazardly on the side of the road.

Thinking that the car's occupants might be in need of assistance, Blair carefully maneuvered the Volvo in behind the vehicle and shut off his engine.

Zipping up his coat, Blair stepped out of the car and approached the other vehicle. "Hello!" He called out to the figure sitting behind the wheel of the car. "Do you need any help?" It was then that everything took on a surrealistic feel of moving in slow motion.

Slowly the driver's side window lowered and the man behind the wheel turned to look at him. The man's features were distorted, and somewhere in the back of Blair's mind it registered that the man was wearing a rubber mask, the kind that costume shops sold for Halloween and New Year's Eve. Immediately an overwhelming urge to flee engulfed him, yet he couldn't move. It was as if some invisible force was effectively pinning him in place. Helpless, Blair watched as the nightmarish figure climbed out of the car.

"Well, look what we have here." Came the comment from behind the grotesque mask. Riveted in place, unable to even move his head to look, Blair suddenly sensed the presence of others behind him. He opened his mouth to scream only to have the urgent cry cut off as a surge of electricity shot through his spine, the stunning effect filtering outward to paralyze the rest of his extremities.

Blair felt himself falling, yet unable to move, could not cushion the impact. He hit the ground hard, his glasses tumbling off in the process. Powerless, he lay there, his body twitching with minute spasms. And while conscious thought no longer seemed possible, some part of his mind noted the numerous sets of feet surrounding him before his vision congealed and stole away to darkness.

The coffee sits untouched as my concerned gaze remains fixed on Sandburg. The kid, who only moments before had been sleeping peacefully, has grown restless. The slight tremors and twitches of his facial features tell me he's dreaming and while I pray it's not related to his abduction, his increasing agitation warns me it is.

Silently I debate waking him, yet hesitate, uncertain in case it might do more harm than good. But his distress is increasing and I feel this
overwhelming need to hold and comfort him. Even as I watch, his face scrunches up in apparent pain and a small whimper escapes. The most hardened of hearts would be hard pressed to ignore the pitiful cry, and I find myself rising, drawn to him almost as if against my will. Managing a few meager steps before the bathroom door crashes open and Ellison, clad only in a towel wrapped hastily around his hips, charges into the room halting my progress.

"How long has he been like this?" Jim glares in my direction before dropping to kneel beside the couch.

"Just a couple of minutes," I reply, finding myself slightly miffed by Ellison's attitude.

"You should have called me as soon as it started." He accuses and I feel my annoyance rise another notch.

"With your hearing, I didn't think I'd have to," I grind out between clenched teeth, regretting the cheap shot as soon as the words leave my mouth. Attributing exhaustion as the underlying factor for my short temper, I realize an apology is in order. However the words die on my lips as I'm captivated by the scene taking place before me. Any doubts that I might have been harboring that there was some sort of connection between Ellison and Sandburg are forever irrevocably erased.

Mesmerized, I watch as Jim cups the side of Sandburg's head and with his thumb, gently begins stroking Blair's forehead. Almost instantaneously Sandburg's trashing stills and the whimpers subside.

"That's it," I hear Ellison softly murmur to the still sleeping form. He continues his ministrations a few minutes more before rising and tucking the displaced afghan back around his partner.

Wordlessly Ellison turns, his feral gaze burning into me, and I actually feel pity towards whoever has done this to Sandburg. Then Jim blinks and slowly I see the man I know return. "I'd better get dressed." He calmly announces and heads for the stairs.

I nod, incapable of doing anything more and feeling my legs begin to tremble beneath me, sink back down into my chair.

By the time Jim returns a few minutes later, I've achieved some semblance of control and have half convinced myself that the untamed, proprietary glare that I saw reflected in Ellison's eyes, was all in my head.

Almost hesitantly, Ellison pauses beside me, waiting until I look up to stammer. "Simon, about before, I'm..."

"It's all right, Jim," I reply, holding up a hand to stay the proffered apology. "We're both tired and a little on edge."

"You're welcome to use my bed if you want to get some rest." He suggests.

"I don't think I'd be able to sleep," I admit, waving off the offer. "What about you?"

"I want to keep an eye on Blair," he replies. His gaze straying to the sleeping anthropologist.

"I could..." I begin, but one look from Ellison tells me exactly what he thinks of that idea and I clamp my mouth shut. For the next few seconds the tension increases until finally the growing discomfort urges us both to look away.

"Would you like something to eat?" Jim asks feigning a casual tone as he heads for the kitchen.

No, not really. But what the hell. At least it will give us something to do besides snipe at each other.

"I could eat something," I lie, rising to follow Ellison into the kitchen.

Swinging open the refrigerator door, Jim peers inside. His rummaging produces a blue Tupperware container. Prying open the top, the odor is enough to brings tears even to my eyes.

"WHOA!" Ellison exclaims, his face a mask of distaste as he quickly reseals the dish and sets it aside. Pausing only long enough to toss me a sheepish grin, he plunges back inside the refrigerator, this time reappearing with a red bowl.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" I inquire as he prepares to look inside.

My question halts the motion. "Not a good idea, huh?" He asks, his mouth set in a grimace.

"No," I reply with an exaggerated shudder.

Wisely he sets the container down unopened. "Sorry about that. I haven't been to the store in a while," he ruefully admits and we both know why. Clearing his throat he makes a final foray into the refrigerator. "There are some eggs in here," he calls out a moment later. "I'm not sure how old they are though."

"Only a couple of days," I unwittingly supply.

Ellison's head pops back out of the refrigerator. "And you know this, because...?" he asks, brow rising in a question mark.

Sighing, I pull the door farther ajar and reaching past Ellison pull out the eggs, a loaf of bread and some mushrooms from the vegetable drawer. "Because I put them in there, along with a few other things," I gruffly admit while balancing my precarious load.

Refusing to meet his questioning gaze, I deposit the items onto the counter. Carefully arranging them, I can feel Jim's eyes silently boring into me. "What?" I demand, turning to find a disconcerted frown.

"Simon, I... I don't know what to say..."

Without thinking I reply. "Well someone had to look after you while..." And there it was again, that invisible barrier between us, Sandburg. Abruptly turning away, I busy myself rearranging the food. "So, how good are you at making omelettes?"

"Haven't killed anyone, yet." Jim dead pans, coming to stand beside me.

"There's always a first time," I reply with an amused snort. Unbuttoning a cuff, I begin rolling up my sleeve. "Better let a real expert show you how it's done. Now, make yourself useful and get me a frying pan."

"Aye, aye, Sir." Ellison snaps a salute. "Oh and, Simon," he calls, waiting until I look up before adding, "Thanks."

The omelettes are light, fluffy and seasoned to perfection as I slide them onto the twin plates. Moments later adding a couple slices of buttered toast.

"Here, you take these," I tell Jim, handing him the plates, "and I'll get the coffee."

Maybe it's the aroma, perhaps the fact that I haven't eaten since breakfast, but suddenly I'm ravenous and dive in with abandon. Several minutes later I look up to find Ellison merely pushing the food around on his plate. His gaze straying from the plate to Sandburg and then back again.

"Something wrong with my cooking?" I ask, trying my best to look and sound annoyed.

"No, of course not!" He quickly denies.

"Jim," I interrupt, knowing the root cause of Ellison's problem. "He's not going anywhere."

"I know," he admits, rubbing a hand over his tired features. "I just..." At a loss for words, Jim shrugs.

Setting down my fork, I wait until Ellison's eyes rise to meet mine. "Look Jim, I understand how you feel. But Sandburg is going to need you, now more than ever."

"Don't you think I know that!" Ellison's voice rises in volume. Aghast, his gaze darts towards the living room and I know he is afraid of waking Sandburg. Apparently the kid was still sleeping because Jim lets out a audible sigh of relief and turns back to me.

Having his attention, once again I press my advantage. "How do you expect to be there for Blair," I continue, as if the outburst hadn't occurred, "if you don't take care of you own self? You forget Jim, I was here. I've seen how these last ten days have affected you."

"I'm fine," he denies, as I knew he would. But at least he picks up his fork and begins eating.

Awareness returned slowly, bringing with it a multitude of aches and pains. Even his hair hurt, if such a thing were possible. Pushing past the discomfort, he sought to unscramble the disjointed montage of images spiraling across his mind's eye. Even this small effort left him nauseous and looking to quell the disturbing sensation, he inhaled deeply.

It was only as he breathed out that he discovered his mouth was blocked. Immediately, fear rose up from within him to cut off his breathing and further add to his distress. Automatically, his hands attempted to rise to clear the obstruction, it was only then that Blair discovered his wrists were cuffed behind him.

Deluged by instantaneous clarity, the images, along with his memories, fell into place.

Fighting the natural urge to struggle, he strove to overcome the crippling fear. Finally remembering how to breathe, he forced the trapped breath out through his nostrils, repeating the exercise of inhaling and exhaling until the urgency subsided and his breath came naturally once again.

By this time he had come to the realization that not only were his wrists bound, but that he was gagged and blindfolded as well.

"Okay," he thought. "I can deal with this. After all, it's not like this is the first time this has happened." And although the impromptu pep talk did little to reassure him, Blair mentally began assessing his situation.

The floor beneath him was hard, yet smooth. It's cold, slightly damp texture leading Blair to believe he was lying on concrete. The total absence of light from beyond his makeshift blindfold indicated that it was dark, perhaps still nighttime.

Recalling his abduction, Blair reflexively shuddered at the memory of being tazored. He had seen them used once or twice while working with Jim, but had never expected to be on the receiving end.

JIM! His mind latched onto the name, and the image of his partner that accompanied it. Did Ellison realize he was missing? Was Jim searching for him even now? Fervently the grad student prayed it was so. In the meantime though, he was on his own.

Trussed up as he was, there was very little Blair could do at the moment, except wait and wonder. Who had kidnapped him and why? And what were they going to do with him? Well, at least there was one bright spot to his current dilemma. He was still alive. It was the sound of a bolt being thrown back and the squeak of rusty hinges, that informed him things were about to change.

It is with smug satisfaction that I watch Ellison swallow the last bite of his omelet. "Not half bad." He grudgingly admits, then spoils the effect by smiling.

I'd missed that smile these past ten days. It is good to see it again, however brief its appearance. As I suspected, it doesn't last long. Within
seconds the smile falters, disappearing altogether as Jim's brows crinkle in a worried frown.

"What is it?" I question, instantly alert.

Immediately Ellison's eyes seek out the figure on the sofa.

"It's Sandburg," he replies, tossing down his napkin and rising. "His pulse and respiration just shot through the roof."

Concerned, I follow, arriving just in time to witness Sandburg's eyes shoot open, a panicked, disoriented gleam within their depths. At the sight of us his terror increases and with an inarticulate cry, he pushes himself further back against the couch.

Waving me back, Ellison kneels down near the sofa and begins murmuring a soft litany of reassurances.

"It's all right, Chief. You're safe." As he tells this to the younger man I find myself wondering how many times Sandburg will need to hear it before he will finally believe it to be true. I don't know whether it's the soothing tone of Jim's voice or the invisible bond they share, but within minutes the kid's gasping breaths subside and recognition returns to his panic stricken blue orbs.

"You going to be okay now?" Ellison asks, his worried gaze searching his partner's face.

Despite the tentative nod, there is no mistaking the adverted gaze or the fine tremors that shake Sandburg's hand as he brushes back the hair from his face.

Considering Blair's reaction I am surprised when Ellison suggests, "Why don't you lay back down and try to get some more sleep?" As I expect the suggestion is met with a negative response.

"Bad dream, huh?" Ellison comments softly and I see the fear return to Sandburg's eyes.

"Do you remember what it was about?" I gently inquire.

Immediately Sandburg's head shoots up, his shaggy mane fanning outward as Blair vehemently shakes his head, no. Yet the sheer look of terror reflected in his eyes, belies the very motion.

"Shhh, settle down, Chief." Ellison croons soothingly to the agitated young man.

I hate the thought of further upsetting the kid, but the sooner we get some answers, the sooner the bastard responsible for this will be behind bars.

"Jim, we need..."

"NOT NOW!" He growls in my direction, abruptly cutting me off. Jim Ellison in protective mode is an awesome sight to behold, but having the anger that accompanied it directed at me is another matter entirely. Raising my hands in acquiescence, I decide to back off, but only for now.

Satisfied, Jim turns back to his distraught partner. Eyes wide as saucers, the kid's gaze is fixed on Ellison's face.

"I'm sorry, Chief," he quickly apologizes. "I didn't mean to startle you. It's not you that I'm upset with." He adds with a pointed glare in my direction.

Never let it be said that I don't know when I'm not wanted. Leaving Jim to deal with Sandburg I head towards the kitchen and begin clearing away the remnants of our meal. Depositing the dirty dishes on the counter beside the sink, I find myself shamelessly listening to the one sided conversation from the living room.

"Would you like something to eat?"

"How about something to drink?"

Apparently both inquiries were met with a negative reply because I detect a note of desperation in Jim's voice as he asks, "Is there anything that I can do for you? Anything that you need?"

The muffled sob that follows nearly breaks my heart.

"Oh God, Chief. Please... don't." Comes Ellison's impassioned plea as I hurry into the living room. Sitting up now, arms wrapped tightly around his middle, Sandburg is rocking back and forth, his eyes, luminescent with tears that overflow their banks to glide silently down the ashen planes of his face.

Still sitting beside the couch, Jim's ravaged expression speaks of his inner turmoil. I can tell how much he wants, needs to reach out and comfort Sandburg. But at the same time, he's terrified to do so.

I understand his fear. Even, I want to wrap my arms around this pathetic creature and assure him that everything is going to be all right. To take away the pain and humiliation he must have suffered and wrap him in wool, protect him so that nothing bad can ever hurt him again. But as much as I desperately want to, it is not within my rights. Besides, Sandburg has already demonstrated that he can't stand to be touched by a man. Hell, it was a man that did this to him. No, not a man, I angrily correct, an animal. A sick, sadistic son of a bitch...

Taking a deep breath, I rein in my emotions. This isn't going to help Sandburg.

But what would? Arms still wrapped tightly around himself, Blair looks as if one false move could shatter him into a thousand tiny pieces. His lower lip trembles uncontrollably and I watch with horror as he bites down on it to prevent another sob from escaping. The resulting blood that dribbles down onto Blair's chin spurs a response. With an anguished cry, Jim lunges forward and gathering the startled anthropologist into his arms, holds on tight.

With a keening wail combined of fright, hate and rage, Sandburg lashes out. Mortified, I stand rooted to the spot as he bucks, flails and laments his distress. And through it all Jim holds Blair firmly, yet tenderly as one would handle a newborn child. Oblivious to the tears trickling unheeded down his own face, Ellison maintains a constant monologue of comforting reassurances until finally the thrashing subsides, and burying his face against Jim's chest, Sandburg cries.

Suddenly feeling like an interloper, I silently withdraw to the kitchen and pausing momentarily to wipe away my own unabashed tears, begin filling the sink with water.

I've washed, dried and put away the last dish. Cleaned the kitchen until it met with Ellison's rigid standards, and even made use of the facilities to wash away the day's grime. I just wish I could rid myself as easily of the images and memories this day has wrought. It has been some time since I've heard any sounds from the living room, and though I am still hesitant to intrude, I can't put it off any longer. With a weary sigh, I switch off the bathroom light and return to the living room.

They sit there, much as I had left them. Sandburg's head resting against Jim's chest, one hand tenaciously clutching the front of Ellison's tear
stained shirt. The poor kid's eyelids are puffy from crying and closed, as if swollen shut. Slow, even breaths escape through slightly parted lips, the lower one slightly red and swollen from the earlier abuse. The tip of his nose is bright as a cherry, the mounds of discarded tissues littering the coffee table, a silent monument to the volatility of Sandburg's cathartic release.

He appears to be asleep, no doubt worn out from the emotional upheaval. Ellison does too, for that matter. As if to belie my words, Jim opens his eyes and smiles wearily.

"How's he doing?" I inquire, resuming the chair I'd vacated earlier.

"Better," Ellison replies, looking down with fondness at the man in his arms. "I think he needed to do that."

"It certainly appears to have helped." I pointedly agree. A short time ago I couldn't even begin to imagine Sandburg letting anyone touch him, let alone see him resting comfortably within Ellison's arms.

Swiftly, his eyes rise to meet mine. Had Jim read something untoward in my tone? The inscrutable expression on his face leaves me no clue. Suddenly uncomfortable, I flounder for something to say.

"Surely you can't be comfortable like that?" I suddenly blurt out.

As I watch, his eyes glaze over with heated anger. "You got a problem with this?"

"No, of course not!" I vehemently deny. Truth to be told I envy the depth of the trust and compassion they share. "I'm just worried about you, Jim. You need to get some rest."

"I'm fine... Besides," he chuckles softly, a sense of pride overcoming his previous anger. "I don't think he'll let me go."

At my raised eyebrow, he demonstrates. Carefully shifting the bundle in his arms, Jim begins to move. Despite having been sound asleep, Sandburg's eyes pop open instantly. Muttering an incoherent protest, the fist clutching the front of Ellison's shirt grabs it tighter. Immediately, Jim settles back into place and Blair's eyes close, once again asleep within seconds.

"Well, if that don't beat all," I snort with an amazed shake of my head. "Jim Ellison, a security blanket."

"Whatever it takes, Simon." He whispers, suddenly somber. "Whatever Blair needs."

It is apparent, to me at least, that Sandburg has what he needs. "What he needs," I say instead, "is sleep. As do you, my friend."

"I'm..."

"Fine," I finish Ellison's lame protest. "Look, Jim, there's nothing more you can do tonight,so why don't you get some rest while you can. I have a feeling you're going to need it." And on that ominous note, Ellison nods and somewhat reluctantly closes his eyes. A few minutes later I am rewarded by a soft snore coming from the exhausted man. It is only then that I permit my own fatigue to allow me to join them.

I should have taken Jim up on his offer when I had the chance. Sleeping sitting upright in a chair is not conducive to getting a good night's rest. I shift yet again to try and find a more comfortable position and, with a resigned sigh I finally admit defeat. Stifling a groan, I open my eyes.

I am astonished to see sunlight filtering into the loft. Even more surprised to realize that I'd not been awakened as a result of Sandburg's nightmares. Inadvertently my eyes stray to the still sleeping figure, then travel upwards to discover Ellison looking back at me. An amused smile playing at the corner of his lips.

"Rough night?" He, not so innocently, inquires.

Shooting him my best sarcastic glare, I rise, trying valiantly to ignore the grievance heralded by my aching joints.

"I'll live," I grumble, pleasant person that I am before my first cup of coffee. "What about you? Did you get any sleep at all?"

"Enough." He replies with a dismissive shrug.

Stretching, I reach up to rub at the persistent stiffness in my neck. "How about the kid?" I ask with a nod in Sandburg's direction. "Any more bad dreams?"

"Not a peep." Jim says, smiling down with relief at his partner.

"Jim..." I begin, then falter. No, I couldn't be the one to squelch the tiny ray of hope I'd glimpsed in his features. "Coffee?" I offer.

"I'd love some." His petition is almost tangible. And while I realize that coffee is the least of what Ellison needs, at the moment it's all I have to
offer.

After a quick detour to freshen up, I remove the dregs from the coffee maker and, rinsing out the pot, brew a fresh one. My need is dire. Quickly filling two mugs, I return to the living room.

"Thanks," Jim sighs with gratitude as I hand him a cup, and the next few minutes are filled with silence as we allow the fragrant blend to work its magic.

Ellison senses it before I do, but the change in his expression alerts me to the fact that Sandburg is waking up. Apparently the coffee's aroma is the culprit, for even as I watch, his nose twitches. Amused, I glance up at Jim only to discover his attention focused solely on the man in his arms.

"Good morning, sleepyhead." Jim comments as Sandburg's eyelids flutter open, a gentle smile softening the gibe.

I tense immediately, subconsciously waiting for the kid to lose it. He surprises me though. Instead of the stark, naked fear I have come to expect, a slight answering smile plays at his lips. Still, I can tell that he's not fully awake by the slightly drooping eyelids. The hand that was previously encased within the folds of Ellison's shirt comes up to wipe away the last remnants of sleep.

"Coffee?" Ellison offers his cup to the younger man and my own hopes plummet as I witness a reticence return to Sandburg's eyes. "It's pretty good," Jim continues unabated, adding teasingly at my expense, "Even if Simon did make it." Purposely ignoring the glare I send in his direction, Jim continues to entice the kid to drink. "It's just coffee, Chief. Nothing else." He demonstrates by taking a sip.

Blair glances from the cup to Jim, his concerns apparently appeased by whatever he sees reflected in Ellison's face. Brushing the afghan aside, a shaky hand appears so that both can grasp the proffered mug. Eyes shuddering closed in appreciation of the heady brew, Sandburg takes a tentative sip. Presumably he likes what he tastes, for he opens his eyes and offering me a tiny smile, begins gulping the remaining contents.

"Whoa! Slow down, Chief," Ellison admonishes with a chuckle. "There's plenty more where that came from."

Immediately Sandburg complies, his pensive gaze straying to Ellison.

Smile crumpling, Jim reaches out to gently brush the younger man's cheek. "The coffee is hot. I just didn't want you burning yourself." He carefully explains and I find it promising that Blair hadn't shirked from Ellison's touch. Instead a look of astonishment comes over his features as he looks up at Jim in total adoration. Like Sandburg can't believe someone actually cares about him. His odd response sets off warning bells.

"Blair," I call softly. Granted, his eyes turn to me, but I still have my suspicions. "Do you know who we are?" I ask, point blank. Ellison looks at
me like I have lost my mind, but even he can't help but notice the hesitation in the kid's response.

"Chief?" He questions, studying Sandburg with concern. "You do know who we are, right?"

What begins as a tentative nod ends with a slight shake of the kid's head. Eyes downcast, as if expecting some sort of reprisal for disappointing us, Sandburg clutches the coffee cup with a white knuckled grip.

I don't think anything else can surprise me and the devastation written on Ellison's face, is so poignant, it's tangible. Yet, even as I watch, the
shutters come down until no trace of emotional upheaval remains.

"Hey, it's okay." Jim tells Blair with a casualness I didn't deem possible. "You're just a little confused right now. It'll come back to you, you'll see."

I have no idea if Jim actually believes that or if he is just trying to make the kid feel better. Whichever, his words have the desired effect and I see the tension drain from Sandburg's body. Almost shyly, he glances up at Ellison. The faith exhibited in his expression is humbling. Therefore I'm astonished to hear Jim ask the kid, "I'd like to clean up a bit. Will you be okay with Simon for a few minutes?"

The apprehension is back. Whether it's due to the thought of Jim leaving the room or fear of being left alone with me, I'm not certain. I pray it's not the later. Obviously unhappy about it, Blair nonetheless nods.

I can see that it causes him pain, but not a sound of complaint passes his lips as Sandburg struggles to sit up.

Considering how finely attuned Ellison normally is to the kid, I'm bewildered by the fact that he doesn't notice it too. Instead he seems eager to escape as he swiftly rises from the couch and heads for the bathroom.

"Jim!" I call in my confusion, causing him to pull up short. It's the pain filled eyes looking back at me that silently answer my question.
Wordlessly I nod, allowing him to continue. Knowing that behind the now closed bathroom door, Ellison needs time to come to grips with the latest revelation.

Carefully setting the coffee cup aside, Sandburg's uneasy gaze lights everywhere, except on me.

"Would you like some more?" I ask, with a gesture towards the now empty mug. With a shake of his head, the kid nervously tucks his hair behind one ear and once again his gaze is off and wandering.

"Blair," I call and wait until I have his attention. "Are you afraid of me?"His shrug is noncommittal, but the fact that he won't look me in the eye speaks volumes. After the way I tricked him back at the warehouse I understand his reticence. But I have to admit that knowledge doesn't make it hurt any less.

"Look, I realize you don't have any reason to trust me," I admit. "But I hope you know that I would never do anything to intentionally hurt you."

He's looking at me now, but doubt still lingers. Frustrated, I seek a solution. For reasons I can't begin to fathom, it is imperative to me that
the kid trust me. If only he remembered... My gaze falls on the photograph.

Rising, I retrieve the picture from the bookcase and going over to the sofa, gesture to the spot beside Sandburg. "May I?"

Immediately he scoots over as if to make room, but his wariness is still very much in evidence. Biting back my sense of disappointment, I sit on the couch and hold the photograph out towards Blair.

"You seemed fascinated by this picture," I tell him. "Do you remember?" Considering how screwed up the kid was last night, it doesn't surprise me when he shakes his head no.

"It was taken during one of our fishing trips last year. Jim," I say, pointing out Ellison, "Is a detective with the Major Crimes division of the
Cascade, P.D." Ignoring the quiet gasp, I hasten to add, "He's also yourbest friend and roommate. You live here with him at the loft. Now, this handsome fellow," I continue, pleased to see a tiny smile appear in response to my comment, "is me. Not only am I Jim's captain, but I'm also his friend." Solemnly I look down at the man sitting beside me. "I'd like to think that I'm your friend as well."

Teeth worrying his lower lip, I can tell Sandburg is mulling over his decision. Finally, he nods and I feel as if a weight has been lifted from my
shoulders. Unable to suppress my ear to ear grin, I go to set the picture on the coffee table, only to be stopped as Blair places his hand on my arm.

"What is it?" I ask, concerned by the confusion evident in the furrowed brow.

Slowly the kid reaches out and carefully outlining the image of himself, looks up questioningly, almost pleadingly, at me.

Oh God, how could I have been so stupid! I'd been so concerned about whether or not he remembers Jim and me, that it never even occurred to me that Sandburg might be confused about his own identity.

Although I know you're suppose to let amnesiacs remember things on their own, there is no way I can deny the beseeching entreaty of those soulful blue eyes peering expectantly up at me.

"Your name is Blair." I softly reply. "Blair Sandburg. You're a Teaching fellow and grad student at Rainier University working on your doctorate in anthropology. You also act as a consultant to the police department and as Jim's partner in an unofficial capacity." The last revelation has surprised him and he looks up at me with uncertainty. "You've been a major asset to the department over the past three years, Blair, and I consider it a privilege to count you as one of my own."

The cerulean blue eyes become misty with unshed tears as the kid's emotions are laid bare before me. It is then and there that I silently vowed to protect that which had been so innocently entrusted to me.

Swallowing past the lump that mysteriously manifested itself in my throat, I look away, unable to admit how deeply all of this has affected me. The kid though, obviously has other ideas. I sit rooted, powerless to stop him as his hand gently cups the side of my face, turning it until I look at him. It is with careful scrutiny that he searches my features, apparently approving what he sees instilled in them. Amazingly, he smiles and it is then that I fully understand what a truly remarkable man Sandburg really is.

Clearing my throat, "So," I rumble, more gruffly than intended. "You ready for that refill?" I ask, preparing to rise. Once again his hand on my arm stays the motion, his expression telling me what he can not say with words.

"You're welcome," I reply, patting the hand.

With a nod, he releases me. Retrieving our empty cups, I head to the kitchen dazed and exhausted, feeling as if I've overcome a huge obstacle, yet pleased, because the kid has followed me.

His movements are slow and precise. I can see that he is in pain, that his ribs are hurting, by the arm clutched around his middle. The other, more visible injuries he seems to ignore, almost as if they don't exist. I'm not surprised though, considering the way he's blocked out everything else pertaining to his abduction and assault. And as much as I'd like to allow him to hide, remain encased within the gentle folds of that shroud of fog, I know that I can't. A crime has been committed and everything that makes me who I am demands justice. And yes, retribution for the atrocities committed against my friend. Unfortunately that means making him remember. A thought I abhor, but one that is necessary if we are to apprehend those responsible.

Feeling his gaze on me, I refill our mugs and turning, hand him one. What I see rocks me to the core. Dear Lord! Despite the day old stubble, he seems so young and fragile, standing there in my coat, several sizes too large for him. Perhaps the questions can wait. At least for a little while.

"Are you hungry? I could fix you something," I offer. Normally I can read Sandburg like a book, but his odd expression baffles me. Disconcerted, I yank open the refrigerator door and peer inside. "Let's see what we have in here..."

"He likes French Toast," Ellison comments in passing as he reappears and heads for his bedroom.

"French Toast it is," I cheerfully agree and begin gathering the necessary staples. "You're going to love this." I proudly promise the kid as I begin whipping up the ingredients. "Daryl always insists that I make it for him when he spends the weekends with me."

"Daryl," I explain at Sandburg's confused frown, "is my son. He's with his mother this weekend."

"Any coffee left?" Jim inquires as he enters the kitchen buttoning up a clean shirt.

Immediately Sandburg offers his cup.

"Thanks, Chief," Ellison smiles, accepting the proffered mug and taking a drink. Looking up at Jim, the kid beams. There's no other word for it.

"You two, out." I order gruffly. "Go set the table or something."

Muttering something about temperamental cooks under his breath, Jim settles Sandburg at the table and with a gentle admonishment to stay put, begins setting the table.

With a flourish I set my masterpiece on the table and stand back, waiting for the proper show of appreciation.

"We're out of the preserves you like, Chief." Ellison informs the younger man. "Will syrup do instead?"

Humph! So much for the expected accolades.

Unable to suppress a glare while Jim drowns my creation with the maple concoction, I slide a couple of slices onto my own plate and wait, unlike Ellison who digs right in. Two bites later he pauses, looking up at Sandburg who, while wistfully watching him, has yet to begin eating.

"Something wrong?" Jim asks, and after some mysterious, non-verbal exchange between the two men, Ellison switches plates with Blair. I should feel insulted, but I don't. God only knows what the kid's been through. If it makes him feel better, safer, to change food with Jim, who am I to complain. Yet, Blair still hesitates. "Go on." Ellison gently encourages. "It's gonna get cold."

A tiny smile of gratitude emerges and actually manages to reach Sandburg's eyes. From beneath the table, his hand appears, reaching for the fork.

"Hang on a second, buddy." Jim says, reaching out to take the kid's hand. With meticulous precision he folds back the too long sleeve, then nods for Blair to continue.

His first bite is tentative, cautious. Then his eyes widen with surprise and, I add with some pride, pleasure. Within seconds he's diving in and eating like there's no tomorrow. Silently I watch him, my own food forgotten until Jim nudges me, urging me to eat.

Between the three of us we make short work of the food and finally sit back, thoroughly sated. Refilling our mugs, I resume my seat at the table and knowing I can't put it off any longer, abruptly ask, "Blair, do you remember who did this to you?"

"NOT NOW DAMN IT!" Ellison protests, as I knew he would.

"Look, Jim," I say, turning to the distraught man. "We can't keep putting this off forever and the kid's the only one that can help us."

"I realize that Simon, but look at him..."

And I do. So does Jim for that matter, and we're both shocked speechless. All the color has drained from Sandburg's face and he seems on the verge of passing out. The fact that the kid appears to have stopped breathing could have something to do with it.

"Sandburg, Chief!" Ellison roars, lunging for Blair as he topples from the chair, unconscious.

A soft click heralded the arrival of light just beyond the periphery of the blindfold. Heavy footfalls, brought with them the knowledge that he was no longer alone. Unable to squelch the fear flooding through him, Blair's breathing increased, his nostrils flaring with each exhalation.

" ‘bout time you woke up." The tone sneering. The voice, vaguely familiar, yet unplaceable.

The impact to Blair's ribs was unexpected, forcing the air from his lungs, a grunt of pain from beneath the gag. His tormentor laughed. "What's the matter, Teach, don't you like the accommodations? Well that's too bad because you're going to be staying a while."

The ebbing pain was suddenly reignited as Blair was hauled to his feet. "Take the blindfold off." His captor ordered.

"WHAT! Are you crazy?" Came a voice directly to his right. Probably one of the men supporting his weight, Blair surmised, still to shaky to stand on his own. "He'll be able to identify us."

"Who's he going to tell," was the sarcastic reply. "I want to be able to see the fear in his eyes. Now, take it off."

Abruptly the blindfold was removed, taking strands of hair caught in the knot with it. Reflexively Blair flinched away from the pain, then slowly opened his eyes.

Blinking against the harsh light from the naked bulb hanging overhead, it took a moment for his vision to focus. When it did the grad student's eyes widened in recognition.

"I see you remember me," said the man standing before him. "But then again it's not everyday you're responsible for getting someone expelled from school. But I knew if I waited and watched long enough I'd get my chance for revenge. "

Heart beating rapidly in his chest, Blair recalled the incident. Three months ago he had caught Randy Mc Millan hacking into the university's mainframe with the intention of changing his grades. And although his father's money had ensured that no formal charges were brought against the offender, he was subsequently expelled from the university. He had, of course, blamed Blair and threatened retribution. But one thing had led to another and as the months slipped by, Blair had all but forgotten Mc Millan's threats.

"Got nothing to say?" Randy taunted. "Maybe this will help." Before Blair's mind could even register the motion, the younger man's knee came up striking Blair in the groin.

A red haze of pain flared across his vision and were it not for the two men holding him up, Blair would have crumpled to the ground. Fingers laced themselves in his hair and Blair's head was jerked backwards. Eyes filled with hatred bore down on him.

"Because of you," Randy spat, his heated breath wafting across the anthropologist's face, "the old man cut off my trust fund. You just couldn't mind your own fucking business, could you? Well you're gonna regret that little mistake." The green eyes narrowed and Blair felt is blood run cold.

"What are you going to do to him?" The man to his left inquired.

Mc Millan smiled. It was cruel in nature, a foreboding of things to come. With contempt he eyed his captive.

"Mr." he spat the word, "Sandburg here seems to think he had the right to control another person's life. I think it's only fair that he gets a little taste of his own medicine." Randy's other hand came up, his fingers digging into Blair's jaw. "From now on you don't eat, sleep, take a piss unless I say it's okay. You belong to me now. To do with what I want, when I want." Mc Millan's smile widened as humor stole into the malicious gaze. "You know, I've always wanted a pet." He commented to the others with a smirk, before turning his attention back to Blair. "You gonna be a good little doggie for me, hmmm?" The fingers tightened. "Answer me when I talk to you!"

Gagged as he was, Blair realized that he wouldn't be able to talk his way out of this one, nor could he hope to overcome three much larger man with his hands cuffed behind his back. So, helpless at this point to do otherwise, Blair nodded.

Abruptly Randy released him but the respite was short lived. Without warning Mc Millan backhanded Blair across the face.

"You're going to have to learn to do better than that." He severely admonished. With a tisking sound Mc Millan shook his head. "I guess you're going to need obedience lessons after all."

And so the beatings began.

The kid scares the shit out of me, taking a header like that. But even that is nothing remotely akin to Ellison's reaction. His face a mask of sheer terror, he catches Sandburg and gently lowers him to the floor.

His head going to the kid's chest, I stand, stunned as Jim listens for a heartbeat.

Time weighs heavy on my conscience as Ellison continues his ministrations. His heartfelt entreaties to the unconscious man are daggers impaling my heart, my soul.

"Come on, Chief, don't do this." He pleads. "I need you to wake up."

It is then that the kid gasped and began coughing. Oblivious to my presence, Jim gathers Sandburg into his arms, one hand stroking Blair's hair, the other supporting the younger man's dead weight.

"That's it, buddy. Nice even breaths." Ellison murmurs softly into the ear mere inches from his lips.

The kid stirs, immediately stiffening within the embrace. Undaunted, Jim holds on, uttering a constant stream of reassurances until finally the tension filled body relaxes and Sandburg opens his eyes.

"Welcome back, Chief." Ellison smiles down at his partner, his relief apparent.

Wordlessly Blair reaches up, his thumb smoothing the worry lines still creasing Jim's forehead. "I'm all right," Ellison assures his partner. "Just don't ever do that again, okay?"

Obviously confused, the kid frowns, but nods nonetheless.

"How's he doing?" I ask, venturing closer.

"YOU JUST STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!" Ellison roars, clutching Sandburg closer.

Inadvertently I step back, startled by the sheer vehemence in his tone. Were it not for the fact that Blair is tugging at Jim's sleeve, demanding
attention, I think Ellison would have taken a strip out of my hide right then and there. The persistent tug came again and I find myself grateful to the kid for diverting Jim's attention away from me.

With a final glare in my direction, Jim looks down and I find myself amazed at the immediate change in his countenance. In the blink of an eye his expression changes from extremely pissed off, to marred with concern.

"What do you need, buddy?" He asks softly.

A gruff rumble escapes Sandburg's throat and I can plainly see the kid's frustration at not being able to express himself. Finally he reaches up, placing a finger against Ellison's lips. His hand then drops down to place itself over Jim's heart, the azure eyes silently pleading for the older man to understand.

I swear, the hairs on the nape of my neck stand on end as the two once again converse in their special brand of nonverbal communication. Suddenly Ellison balks, his face suffused with color.

"NO!" He adamantly refuses. "You don't understand, Chief. You passed out. Your heart was going like a jackhammer."

I have to admire the kid's spunk. Face set with a determined expression, Blair shakes his head. Then the hand still placed on Ellison's chest thumps it twice in rapid succession to emphasize his point. Staring at one another, a silent battle of wills ensues, personally I place my money on Sandburg. My faith is justified moments later when I heard Jim sigh and reluctantly say, "You don't blame Simon and you don't want me to, either."

"Hmp!" Blair grunts with a nod of agreement.

I could tell Jim isn't happy about it, that he still holds me personally responsible for what had happened. But where Sandburg is concerned, Ellison always was a softly at heart. Besides, who in their right mind could possibly refuse the kid anything. The pleading expression combined with eyes as large and pleading as a puppy dog's gets to you every time. Well, at least they did me. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud. Apparently Jim was just as susceptible.

"All right, buddy. You win." He grinds out, none too pleased. But Sandburg's relief is obvious as he gazes up with satisfaction at his partner.

Loudly clearing my throat to remind them of my presence, "I'm sorry, Blair. I had no idea..." But already the kid is waving aside my offered apology. Incredibly he really doesn't hold me responsible. I wish I felt the same, but my own guilty conscience refuses to let me dismiss my part in the kid's collapse.

"Should I call an ambulance?" I ask, shaking off my mental meanderings.  Automatically Sandburg begins shaking his head in protest. "Jim?" I question, deferring the decision to Ellison.

Wordlessly the detective eyes his partner and I know he is using his senses to give the kid a thorough once over. "He seems to be all right now." Jim reports moments later and I let my pent up breath escape.

"You want to try and get up now?" He asks the younger man. At Blair's nod, Jim repositions his grip. "Nice and easy." He cautions, helping Sandburg to stand. Yet despite the careful handling and subsequent warning, a soft gasp escapes the kid's lips, his hands coming up to wrap protectively around the injured ribs.

"Blair!" The detective exclaims, his distress unmistakable. In a move that is typically Sandburg, the kid reaches out to gently pat Ellison's arm. He always was more concerned about others than himself.

"I really wish you'd take your meds, Chief. I hate seeing you in pain." Sandburg however is already shaking his head in refusal. "Well, at least let me take a look. Make sure everything's okay."

There is an underlying exasperation to Ellison's tone and I know he isn't going to let this drop. Apparently the kid realizes it too because, with a resigned expression, he begins unbuttoning the coat.

Carefully slipping the garment from Blair's shoulders, Jim thrusts it in my direction. Then grabbing a kitchen chair and turning it around, he urges the younger man to sit.

"Okay, let's see what we've got here." Kneeling beside the chair, Jim reaches up to untie the hospital gown.

With a moan of protest, Sandburg's hand shoots up to clutch the front of his gown. Eyes firmly fixed on the floor, the long locks bounce as Blair adamantly shakes his head, no.

"It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you." Ellison softly croons. "I just want to..." A teardrop splashes on Jim's arm, the plaid material absorbing it within seconds. "Chief? Come on, look at me, buddy. Please." He begs as Sandburg continues to study the floor.

Slowly Blair's head comes up and I gasp at the pain and humiliation I see reflected in the moisture filled orbs. Oh God! I can see it in his face. The kid knows, he's remembered. It's what I wanted, what we needed in order to arrest those responsible. So why then do I feel like I just raped the kid myself? Perhaps because in a way I have. Because of my questioning, the protective chrysalis he had taken refuge in was now shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. Suddenly I feel dirty and I have never hated my job or myself more than I do right at this moment.

The abstract portion of my brain wishes I could take it all back. But the rational portion of my mind knows it's already too late; there's nothing I can do to fix it. Totally out of my element, a sense of helplessness steals over me.

Automatically my gaze searches out Ellison and I receive another shock, The anguish I see etched on the detective's face is so raw it's painful to view. Yet the massive hand gently cupping Sandburg's cheek, the thumb carefully wiping away the tears that silently continue to fall, are achingly tender in their ministrations.

"I'm so sorry, Blair." He murmurs softly. "Shhh, don't. None of this is your fault. NO, IT'S NOT!" Jim growls when the kid tries to insist otherwise. "You're the victim here, Chief, and I swear to you I'm gonna make the bastards pay for what they've done to you."

Even without the determined expression I know Jim means it. I knew Ellison loved the kid, hell, I've come to care for Blair too. What I didn't know, what I don't think Jim even realizes himself, is the depth of that emotion. I don't know, maybe it's part of this sentinel/guide thing that they share. What I do know is that I've never seen Jim care more deeply for, or felt the need to protect as adamantly as when it comes to Sandburg. And if the look of total adoration on the kid's face is any indication, the feeling is reciprocal.

Damn if that don't beat all.

On the one hand it comes as a complete shock. But if you think about it, I mean really think about it, it's not so surprising after all. They not only live and work together, but have saved each other's lives more times than I care to count. That sort of thing tends to create a special bond that, unless you've experienced it yourself, is sometimes hard to explain with mere words.

They're as opposite as two individuals can be and yet they compliment each other in ways I never would have dreamed possible. It's like they're two halves of a whole and it's only when they're together, that they're complete. I can't even begin to imagine what it must be like for them. Sharing something so special, a friendship so unique. But then again it might turn out to be the only saving grace in this whole sordid nightmare, at least if the way they are clinging to one another is any indication.

Blinking past the tears that have suddenly clouded my vision, I notice Jim watching me.

"Simon, would you mind..." And I know what he is asking.

"Yeah," I reply, clearing the lump from my throat. "I'm gonna run by my place to change and then I want to stop by the station." Ellison nods and I head for the door. Pausing, I turn. "I will be back, Jim." My tone brooking no argument.

Ellison sighs, but at least the anger has abated, to be replaced by a profound sadness.

"I know, Sir. We'll be waiting."

Approaching the door, I square my shoulders and knock. It feels strange considering Jim usually answers before I even have a chance to raise a hand. Shrugging off the disconcerting sensation I wait, greeted moments later by a morose Ellison.

"Simon." He acknowledges, letting me into the loft.

Promptly my gaze begins to roam, searching for the kid.

"He's in the bathroom cleaning up." Jim informs me.

"How is he?" I ask, half expecting to find myself pinned beneath the laser blue precision of Ellison's eyes for my earlier transgression. What I see instead is a plethora of emotions playing across the haggard features; frustration, anger, despair.

"I honestly don't know." Ellison concedes, running a hand through his short cropped hair.

"One minute he seems fine and the next... " His sentence tails off. We'd both been witness to 'what came next', so there was no need to elaborate.

Still, guilt once again reared its ugly head. "Jim, about before..."

"It's all right." Ellison interrupts, wearily. "I realize you were just doing your job. This just strikes a little too close to home, you know? And I didn't expect him to react so..."

"Yeah," I sigh, remembering the severity of Sandburg's reaction. Forcing the memory aside. "Has he said anything yet?" I ask.

"No." Jim reluctantly admits. The accompanying grimace telling me that Sandburg's lack of verbal communications troubles Ellison as much as it does me. It just seemed so... unnatural.

"But he knows who we are now, and he's not afraid to let us touch him anymore, so it's only a matter of time, right?" He asks hopefully, the unspoken plea nearly breaking my heart.

"I'm sure it is," I reply, reaching out to give Jim's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Beneath the grip I feel some of his tension ease. The gratitude I  see written on his face makes me hate what I now have to do. Letting my hand fall, I step away.

"You know that I have to question him."

His jaw muscles tightens perceptively, but to Ellison's credit there is merely resignation in his reply. "I know."

"Don't worry." I tell him with more assurance than I feel. "We'll get him through this."

I can tell Jim isn't buying it but he nodded anyway. Now to drop the other bombshell. "Um, Jim, there's one other thing." I say, taking the newspaper I'd tucked beneath one arm and opening it to the front page. Wordlessly I hold it out to Ellison.

"Aw, Christ!" Jim groans at the sight of Sandburg's picture prominently displayed. Silently he scans the accompanying article and I wait for the explosion. I don't have long to wait.

"I'LL SUE THE FUCKING BASTARDS!" He roars, tossing the offending article aside. His face is so suffused with color that I'm afraid that he'll blow a gasket."

"Will you keep your voice down!" I hiss an admonishment with a pointed glance towards the closed bathroom door. Sensing another tirade coming, I quickly usher him out onto the balcony.

"How the hell did they find out about this?" He growls the minute the door closes behind us.

"I don't know, Jim. But there's nothing you can do about it now."

"The hell I can't!" Ellison snarls. "Those bastards know better than to reveal a rape victim's identity."

Wearily, I sigh. "You read the article, Jim. They only alluded to the possibility of rape. Legally, there's nothing we can do."

His shoulders slump. "It's not fair, damn it." Ellison replies, the underlying anger still evident in his tone. "Sandburg shouldn't have to deal with shit like this, he's been through enough."

"Look, Jim, you better than anyone know that life is seldom fair." My comment seems so trite and unhelpful that I feel compelled to try again. "He's a lot stronger than you're giving him credit for, Jim. Blair will survive this."

"How?" He asks, turning to me with what could only be described as a ravaged expression.

"With love and support." I tell him.

Suddenly, his eyes widen slightly, his mouth drops partially open and I turn to see what has caused the abrupt reaction. Sandburg, now dressed in light tan slacks and a pale blue pullover sweater, has found the discarded
paper.

"Shit!" Jim softly exclaims, before rushing past me.

My sentiments exactly, I think before following him inside.

A bone numbing chill invaded Blair's subconscious, persistently nudging him towards waking.

Another shudder coursed through his body, this time accompanied by waves of pain, and the young man, unable to help himself, groaned in misery. On the heels of the pain, memory returns and Blair's eyes shoot open, wide with panic.

Much as he had awaken before, the room was once again dark, his hands still cuffed behind his back. Unlike before, he was no longer gagged and the cold seeping into every joint was the result of laying on the concrete floor without the benefit of clothing to keep him warm.

"Oh God!" Blair moaned as the full impact of his nudity struck home. Choking back his fear, the grad student mentally assessed the myriad of aches and pains permeating his body, breathing a sigh of relief when his worst fears proved unfounded. So, at least they hadn't raped him... Yet. His thoughts silently taunted. Why else would they have taken his clothes? But even before Blair had finished asking the question, his mind provided the answer; it was all about control. His forced nudity added to the sense of vulnerability that Randy was trying to impose upon him. And it was working.

Another shudder tore through him, this time laced with fear as the sound of approaching voices reached his ears.

"No, please, not again." The silent petition going unanswered as the door swung open and light flooded the room.

Eyes shut tight against the sudden glare, Blair curled in on himself. A feeble attempt at best to protect himself from further abuse.

From above him, Mc Millan's cruel laughter floated down. "I would have never taken you for the shy type. What's the matter, Teach, ashamed of your attributes?"

"Are you kidding!" Another, unfamiliar voice exclaimed. "You saw him, the man's hung like a horse."

"Shut up, Dave." Mc Millan growled, annoyance coloring his tone.

"Get him up," he ordered abruptly, and Blair was hauled to his feet.

Unable to avoid it any longer, Blair opened his eyes and looked at his tormentor.

"You're looking a little rough there, Teach," Mc Millan taunted. "But I've brought you a little something that should cheer you up."

"Randy, please," Blair rasped out through parched lips. "Don't do this, man."

A blow to his abdomen abruptly cut off any further entreaties.

"That's better," the tall, intimidating blond smirked as Blair gasped for breath. "For someone who's supposed to be so damn smart, you sure are a slow learner."

With a contemptuous glare, he reached into the brown paper bag he was carrying and withdrew a metal choker chain and leather leash. "Maybe these will help remind you who's in control here." He said, tossing the empty bag aside.

Blair's eyes widened in horror. "NO!" he moaned, shaking his head in denial.

At a nod from Mc Millan, Blair's bound arms were roughly shoved upwards. Crying out as pain shot through the abused limbs, the grad student's vision began growing black. He was on the verge of passing out when suddenly the pressure abated. Hanging limp in his captor's grasp, Blair felt the cold metal placed over his head and heard the soft click as the offending leash was attached.

"Much better," Randy crowed, standing back to admire his handiwork. "Let's go."

Abruptly Blair was released and ruthlessly jerked forward. The sudden movement sending him to his knees. The collar drew tight, restricting his flow of oxygen.

"Get up!" Mc Millan harshly ordered. "Or I'll drag your sorry ass out of
here."

Summoning an inner reserve, Blair lurched to his feet, staggering after Randy as the other two men followed them out of the room.

He was led down a short hallway and into what appeared to be a barn. No, a stable, a remote corner of Blair's mind corrected as he vaguely took note of his surroundings.

Sunlight filtered through the slotted walls, their rays highlighting the dust motes floating gently on the late afternoon breeze. The smell of moldy hay tickling his nostrils went unnoticed as Blair longed for the promise of freedom that existed beyond the aged walls.

Suddenly Mc Millan stopped and turned, reeling Blair closer. "Thought you were smart fucking up my life, didn't you?" He sneered.

"No!" Blair tried to protest.

Mc Millan jerked the chain. "Did I say you could speak?" He hissed.

Unable to talk past the metal biting into his neck, Blair shook his head.

"Very good." Randy replied, reaching out to pat his captive on the head. "You're finally learning." The pressure to his throat eased.

"Did you know that the trust fund wasn't the only thing I lost because of your interference?" Mc Millan asked, continuing when Blair wisely remained silent. "When my girlfriend found out that I didn't have the big bucks anymore, that my rich old man had all but disowned me, she left." The former student's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I lost a mighty fine piece of ass thanks to you. Now, what do you think I ought to do about that?" He questioned with a leer, grinning when Blair began trembling uncontrollably.

The man to Blair's right shifted nervously. "What are you going to do?" He asked Randy.

"A man has certain needs, you know. And since I don't have Shelly anymore thanks to Sandburg's interference, I think it's only fair that he take her place. Whadda say, pretty boy." Mc Millan leered. "Want me to fuck that skinny ass of yours?"

"No," came the strangled croak as Blair automatically tried to pull away, his efforts proving ineffective.

"Come on, Randy." The sandy haired man behind him protested. "You can't be serious. I didn't agree to this!"

"Shut up, Craig." Mc Millan snapped. "You're in this just as deep as the rest of us."

"Yeah," Dave agreed, running a hand over Blair's exposed buttocks, grinning when the consultant shrank from the touch.

"You may not want a piece of his ass, but I sure do. Makes me hard just thinking about it." He glanced at Randy. "You are going to share, right?"

Mc Millan shrugged. "Sure, why not. But I get to do him first." Suddenly he chuckled. "Who knows, maybe when I get tired of him, I'll even sell his ass on the streets. Recoup some of the money he's cost me."

"Oh, God, please don't let this be happening!" Blair's mind screamed in denial. Yet even now Randy was advancing on him, a predatory gleam in his eyes. A tide of terror swelled, overflowing its banks as Blair fought the natural urge to back away. Instead he suddenly lunged forward, barreling into Mc Millan and sending him crashing to the floor.

Abstractly noticing that Randy has lost his grip on the leash, Blair wasted little time vaulting over the prone form and racing towards the door. Freedom mere inches away, he was abruptly taken down from behind. The air was forced from his lungs as he hit the ground hard, his hands chained behind his back preventing him from being able to cushion his fall. Then rough hands were turning him over to reveal Mc Millan, flanked by the other two men, glaring down at him.

"Going somewhere?" Randy snarled as he knelt, straddling Blair's chest. Grabbing a hold of the leash, Mc Millan wrapped it around his hand until no play remained. "You're going to pay for that, you little shit." He calmly announced, then began striking Blair repeatedly across the face, the anthropologist's head snapped back and forth with the force of each blow.

Silently, Blair prayed for unconsciousness, not fighting when the peripheral edges of his vision began going gray.

"STOP IT!" came Craig's harsh cry and the beating abruptly halted.

Breathing hard, Mc Millan lowered his arm. "Yeah, you're right," he rasped. "I want him conscious when I fuck his ass." Angrily he glared down at Blair. "Try anything like that again though, and I'll kill you."

"Go ahead." Blair choked out. "I'd rather be dead than have you touch me."

"Oh really," The blond man replied mockingly. Pulling a knife from his rear pocket, Mc Millan extended the blade and held it to Blair's throat. "You sure about that?" He asked, tauntingly.

Eyes narrowed with defiance, Blair summoned up what little saliva he could muster and spat it at the man hovering over him.

"What the fuck!" Mc Millan exclaimed, reaching up to wipe the spittle away. Eyes growing cold, he raised the knife, it's downward arc halted when Dave grabbed Randy's wrist.

"Don't, man, he's trying to goad you into killing him."

Yanking his arm free, Mc Millan drove the knife blade into the ground beside Blair's head. "Almost, Teach," he snarled. "But not quite." Silently he assessed his prisoner. "You're going to fight us on this, aren't you?"

Stubbornly Blair remained silent.

"Well, we'll just have to see what we can do about that, won't we." Looking up at the other men, Mc Millan began issuing orders. "Craig, go get me some of those stakes we saw out back. Dave, grab that rope hanging over there, then pull one of those hay bales out here."

"What are you going to do?" Craig anxiously asked as Dave eagerly went to retrieve the rope.

"Just do as you're told," Mc Millan snapped. "You'll find out soon enough."

Within a matter of minutes, the two men returned from their appointed tasks.

"Get up," Randy ordered, jerking the leash when Blair refused to comply. "Fine," the younger man snorted, then reestablishing his grip on the leather, began dragging the prostrate form across the stable floor.

Maliciously, the cold steel dug into Blair's neck. The flow of oxygen nearly cut off, the grad student was on the verge of blacking out when he vaguely felt himself lifted and positioned, face down, over the prickly surface of the hay bale. The pressure on his throat eased and he automatically began sucking in the previously deprived oxygen.

A pounding reverberated in his skull. Forcing his eyelids open, Blair tried to shake away the disorientation and resulting lethargy. The pounding continued and he raised his head to locate the source. Dave was hammering a stake into the ground.

Sudden clarity flooded through Blair and he began thrashing, trying to wrench free. But the combination of a knee firmly planted on his back, the sudden tightening of the choker collar and his already weakened condition, impeded his efforts. Exhausted, he slumped forward. Behind him, his hands were released. The sensation of pins and needles flowing throughout the limbs as his arms were wrest in front of him, and reshackled.

"Tie his hands to the stake," Mc Millan ordered. "And when you're through there, get his legs."

His hands secure, the now familiar pounding came from behind Blair. But it wasn't until his foot was grabbed that the older man struck out, kicking backwards with all his might.

A garbled grunt could be heard as his foot connected with a solid object. "You son of a ..." The dark haired Dave growled, capturing the flailing foot and forcing it through the looped rope tied to the stake. Quickly, the remaining foot was similarly restrained, and Blair lay there bound, legs spread, helpless to prevent what was coming.

The weight pressing down on his back suddenly disappeared as Randy rose and came around to squat in front of him. Grabbing a handful of the long, dark curls, he viciously jerked Blair's head upwards until the bound man's
terror filled eyes met his own.

"Now the fun begins," Mc Millan leered tauntingly. With his other hand, he reached down, and undoing his jeans, withdrew his already erect member. "First though you're gonna suck me off."

"You even try to stick that thing in my mouth," Blair rasped, his voice hoarse from the abuse to his throat, "and I swear to God I'll bite it off."

"Feisty little thing, isn't he." Dave crowed from the side lines.

"I think it's about time he was reminded of just who is in control here." And with that ominous warning, Mc Millan stepped behind Blair, kneeling between the splayed thighs.

"NOOO!" The wail sounded nearly inhuman as Blair struggled against the restraints, pulling them taut.

"Shut him up!" Mc Millan ordered as his hands roughly kneaded Blair's
asscheeks.

Nearly insane with fear, denial and a rage so overwhelming that he shook with the intensity of it, Blair sunk his teeth into the hand that suddenly appeared in front of his face.

A hiss of pain rang out as the hand was hastily withdrawn. "The mother fucker bit me!" Dave exclaimed, cradling the injured appendage. Incensed, he struck out kicking the restrained man along the side of his face. The toe of his boot slicing Blair's cheek open in the process. Stunned, the grad student went limp, but did not tumble into the blessed oblivion he so desperately craved.

"Damn it, Dave, I wanted him conscious." Mc Millan spat.

Twisting his hand in the mahogany strands, the swarthy man yanked Blair's head upwards. "He's awake," Dave reported. "I just knocked some of the fight out of him."

"It's a good thing for you he is," Randy replied, menacingly. "Still, it might be better if we gag him after all. Besides, we can't risk him screaming his head off, someone might hear him. Craig," he addressed the other man. "Find something to gag him with and make it quick," he growled when the man appeared to hesitate. "I can't wait to fuck his tight little asshole."

"Me either." Dave readily agreed, anticipation burning brightly in his dark blue orbs. "But you know, it might be best if we use condoms. After all, you never know who the professor here has been doing."

"You got any?" Mc Millan inquired after a moments consideration.

Grinning, Dave reached into his back pocket pulling out his wallet. Opening it he withdrew a number of foil packets.

"Shit, Dave," Randy exclaimed, amused. "What were you planning on doing, screwing the entire football team?"

"Nah, just one scrawny anthropologist, repeatedly." The other man replied with a smirk.

"Yeah, well you're gonna have to wait your turn. Now, give me one of those."

As Mc Millan rolled the condom down the length of his cock, Craig returned with the tattered remains of Blair's blue flannel shirt.

"What are you waiting for?" Randy growled, "muffle the bitch. And make sure you do it right."

Tearing off one of the sleeves, Craig ripped it in two, wadding up one section of it and stuffing it into the semiconscious man's mouth. The
remaining part he slipped between the parted lips, and winding the ends around Blair's head, tied it securely.

Still dazed, Blair's mind barely registered the hands on his ass, forcing the cheeks apart. It was the searing pain slicing through his rectum that chased away the remaining shadows, returning him to full consciousness.

Bile rose in his throat only to be trapped, as his cry of pain had been, by the gag stuffed in his mouth. His limbs grew taut, the ropes' coarse fibers sawing into his ankles, the cuffs digging into his wrists. Yet none of it registered through the young man's rising hysteria. Not the caustic sensation of the hay as it scraped across his abdomen, nor even the blood as it trickled down his ass. His world existed solely of the excruciating pain as Mc Millan repeatedly slammed into him.

"Oh yeah, do it!" Dave cheered excitedly from his vantage point as Randy grunted with each thrust.

Eyes closed, head thrown back, Mc Millan ruthlessly pounded into Blair. The sensation of power was exhilarating. Unable to dampen the building culmination, with a shout he came.

Sinking back on his haunches, his now limp penis slipped free of Blair's abused ass. "That was fucking incredible!" Mc Millan exclaimed, his face flush with perspiration. "Best piece of ass I've ever had."

"Come on, man," Dave said, nudging Randy aside. "It's my turn." He said,
undoing his pants and shoving them, and his briefs, down his thighs. Ripping open the foil packet, he quickly sheathed his pulsating member.

Doing up his own slacks, Mc Millan pulled a beer from the nearby ice chest, then leaning against the paddock door, watched as the stocky man knelt behind Blair. "Christ, Randy," Dave exclaimed upon seeing the blood seeping from the abused opening. "What'd you do, rip him a new one?"

Unconcerned, Mc Millan shrugged. "Ain't my fault he's got a tight ass."

"Give me his shirt." Dave instructed Craig, nodding towards the blue flannel. Then with a grimace of distaste he used it to wipe away the blood. Tossing the garment aside he grabbed Blair's asscheeks and forcing them apart, drove his cock into the tiny opening.

Mercilessly he rode the older man, plunging deeper and deeper. Caught up in his own pleasure, Dave was oblivious to the muffled sobs emanating from his victim.

By the time Mc Millan had finished with him, Blair's world consisted solely of the unrelenting waves of agony in his lower regions. He'd prayed that the ordeal was over. That Mc Millan, having extracted his revenge, would end the suffering. Instead another had taken his place and he was once again ruthlessly impaled.

The first brutal thrust had stolen his breath. The succeeding ones, his sanity. Like a wounded animal, he keened in terror, ready to strike out at anyone, anything venturing too close. He fought the bonds that tethered him like the beast he was becoming. His heart pounding in a frenzied tattoo, his nostrils flared wildly with each exhalation, the shrill keening continued unabated. Unable to wrest free, physically, Blair accepted the only other available refuge. Willingly, he embraced the encroaching insanity, and with a final whimper, slipped over the precipice.

Hands tightly gripping the paper, each breath is clearly audible as Sandburg's chest rises and falls with exaggerated emphasis. His gaze is unfocused, evidence that he is no longer seeing the printed page before him, but is instead trapped within the folds of some inner reminiscence.

Momentarily pausing a few feet away, Ellison proceeds cautiously towards Blair.

"Chief?" He questions softly, concern intermingled with confusion marring his chiseled features.

Slowly the kid's head comes up, his face devoid of color. I find myself stunned by the depth of emotion simmering within the stormy blue eyes staring back at us. Hearing the quiet gasp from beside me, I realize that Ellison too has been taken aback at the sight. Again Jim pauses, eyes scanning the hunched figure of his partner as if searching for some sign on how to proceed.

"Blair, I'm sorry, I have no idea how the press got a hold of the story." I feel the need to explain, to apologize despite the fact that I had nothing
to do with it.

His gaze travels back to the newspaper and with deliberate precision, he places it on the table.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and I can almost feel an electrical current in the air. Disconcerted, I glance at Ellison whose enhanced senses have no doubt registered the strange phenomenon more accurately than my own. His obvious concern augments my ever increasing uneasiness.

Suddenly an incensed cry rents the air. Startled, I turn just in time to witness Sandburg grab the side of the dining room table and, with more
strength than I imagine possible in his weakened condition, overturn it. I've seen Sandburg angry. Hell, I've seen the kid totally pissed off, but nothing has prepared me for the sheer hatred and rage I feel emanating from him.

The loud crash has released Ellison from his paralysis and with a strangled cry of "Blair!" he starts forward.

Shaking his head, hands raised as if to ward off the advancing man, Sandburg backs away, only coming to a halt when the living room shelves block further retreat. With a keening wail born of untold anger, he turns and grasping the shelves, shoves them over.

Books, nick-knacks and photographs all tumble to the floor with a resounding crash, but still the kid's anger has not been sated. Wildly he glances around searching for another victim on which to vent his growing rage.

Stunned, I remain rooted to the spot as Jim quickly skirts the shattered debris. Grabbing a hold of the kid's arms, he calls Blair's name, demanding
that Sandburg look at him. We're both unprepared when the kid wrenches free to lash out, striking Ellison repeatedly.

Arms dropping to his sides, I watch awed as Jim simply stands there, making no effort whatsoever to defend himself from the vicious attack. Wincing in sympathy, I start forward only to have Ellison issue a clipped, "Leave it be," in my direction as he stoically stands there accepting the repeated blows.

Then, as abruptly as it started, with a final sob the kid pitches forward into Jim's waiting embrace.

"It's all right, I've got you." I hear him softly murmur as Sandburg's arms come up to encircle the larger man.

For the next several minutes, only the sound of Blair's labored breathing can be heard as the two men stand entwined, each seeking and giving comfort to the other. Feeling as if I'm encroaching on a private moment I turn away, only to whirl back around at Jim's anguished shout.

Dear Lord, the kid's got Ellison's gun!

Backing away from Jim, Sandburg appears mesmerized, almost comforted by the cool metal in his grasp. "Jim?" I question, fear coursing through my veins. I doubt he hears me, his focus solely intent on his partner.

"Come on, buddy, give me the gun." Jim softly appeals, taking a step forward.

The movement draws the kid's attention. Looking up, at first he seems surprised to see Ellison standing there. Then a determined expression steals over his features and he grips the gun tighter, backing away. Nervously his gaze darts between us and the door.

"Jim, what the hell is going on?" I bellow in my confusion. I thought the kid had started to trust us. And truth be told, the wild gleam in Sandburg's eyes scares me more than I care to admit.

"He wants revenge," Ellison comments, knowingly. "Don't you, Chief?" heasks, taking another tentative step forward. "Believe me, I understand how you feel. Don't you think I want to rip them apart with my bare hands for what they've done to you. But this," he gestures towards the gun, " is not the way. It's not who you are." His voice grew gruff with emotion. "Don't let them take that away from you, Blair. They've taken enough all ready."

I can see Jim's words are having an effect. As he speaks, Sandburg's determined visage crumbles to be replaced by an assortment of conflicting
emotions. Frustration, rage and grief intermingle, as Blair rocks back and forth, clutching the gun like a lifeline to sanity.

"Please." Ellison implores, holding out his hand. "I swear I'll get the bastards, Chief. Just give me the gun first."

The kid hesitates, obviously torn between trusting Jim and his desire for revenge. And this, I think is perhaps the most tragic repercussion of all. The events of the last ten days have irrevocably changed Blair Sandburg... forever.

"They'll pay for what they've done, Blair." I say, moving to stand beside Ellison, adding my voice of conviction to his own.

A rumble emerges deep from within his throat, a final cry of the anguish ravaging his soul. But for now it appears as if he's decided to trust us, and as he gives Jim the weapon, I silently vow to do everything within my power to justify his faith.

Wordlessly Ellison hands me the gun, then gently gripping Sandburg by the upper arms, quietly surveys his partner's face. "Thank you." He tells Blair, softly. Two simple words, yet uttered in such a manner that they express so much more than their face value. "You going to be okay now?"

Lips pursed, body literally vibrating with pent up anger, the kid gives a quick nod.

"Blair," I address him, gently. "You do realize we're going to need your help?"

For an instant his eyes meet mine, then flicker away.

"Are you going to be all right with that?" I hesitantly inquire, aware of the precarious grip he has on rationality.

Still unable to look at me, he nods.

"Let's sit down." Ellison suggests, motioning towards the sofa. Instead, the kid refuses to budge, his forehead furrowing as he glances at the scattered wreckage.

With a sudden cry of distress, Blair drops to his knees and picks up the photograph of the three of us. It's frame is now broken, the glass shattered.

Kneeling beside the distraught young man, Jim tenderly cups the kid's face and gently forces Sandburg to look at him.

"It doesn't matter, Chief. It can be replaced... you, can't. And that's the only thing I... We," he corrects with a glance in my direction, "care about. Okay?" Ellison asks, a warm smile softening his features.

A tremulous smile is the kid's response and carefully, almost reverently replacing the photo, he allows Jim to help him to his feet. A grimace steals over Blair's features, his arm coming up to wrap around his middle.

"Are you all right?" Ellison asks, immediately concerned.

Breathing through the pain, Sandburg nods.

"Better let me check, just in case." Jim says, starting to tug up the kid's sweater. Stopping when Blair lays a restraining hand on Ellison's arm, a censoring frown pleating his brow.

Blue eyes meet blue, an unspoken appeal hovers in the air. With a sigh Jim lets his hand drop, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Sorry, Chief, guess my Blessed Protector mode is operating on overdrive."

The frown disappears, replaced by a sentient acceptance and the moment is suspended in time. Suddenly Ellison clears his throat and suggestingSandburg go sit down, mutters something about fixing coffee before we get started.

Still more than a little disconcerted over the incident, I follow him, feeling the need to talk.

Leaning against the counter, I wait as Jim puts on the coffee. Making sure to keep my voice low, I release a pent up breath, and unable to contain my tumultuous thoughts anymore, blurt out, "Jesus, Jim. For a minute there I was afraid the kid was going to..."

"He wouldn't do something like that." Ellison asserts, cutting me off.

"Yeah, well, until five minutes ago I wouldn't have believed that he would ever want to kill someone either." I retort.

Setting three mugs on a tray, Jim scours a hand over his face. "Point taken." He finally admits. "Christ, Simon, how do you deal with something like this?"

I could hear the fear and frustration in his tone, see Blair's pain reflected in his countenance.

"Jim," I address him with the utmost sincerity, "If anyone can help the kid through this, it's you. All either of you can do is take it one step at a time."

"But what if I screw up?" He asks, uncertain.

"Then I'll just have to kick your butt from here to China." I rumble, not entirely kidding.

"Message received, sir." He stiffly replies. Then, closing his eyes, expels an exasperated sigh and opens them a moment later, the tension in his body depleted by the exhaled breath.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, I give it a bolstering squeeze. "I know I haven't always shown it," I freely admit. "But I care about the kid too."

"I know," he concedes with a tiny smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"It's all right, Jim." I interrupt, forestalling any further apology. "Just remember that I'm here for both of you."

Swallowing, he merely nods then turns away to pour the coffee. I understand though, his silence more telling than any eloquently spoken words.

"Let's get this over with," Ellison says with a resigned sigh, picking up the tray and heading for the living room. Straightening my shoulders, I follow, my steps laden, my heart burdened.

Carefully setting the tray on the coffee table, Jim mutters an "I'll be right back," and disappears into Sandburg's room. Reappearing a moment later with a writing tablet and pen. "I thought you might need these," he explains to Blair laying them beside the tray.

Eyes softening, a tiny smile of gratitude appears. Then Sandburg pats the sofa beside him. An invitation that is immediately accepted by Ellison.

Carefully leaning forward, Blair reaches for the paper, pausing suddenly when the sweater's sleeve rides up to reveal his abused wrist. Quickly, he reaches, tugging the material back down.

"Don't." Jim orders softly, laying a staying hand on Sandburg's arm. Looking up, the kid searches Ellison's face for clarification.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of, Chief," he explains. "You don't have to hide your injuries, especially not from us."

"He's right, Blair." I immediately agree. "If anything they indicate how hard you resisted."

Immediately Sandburg begins shaking his head in denial, his eyes glistening with unshed moisture.

"YES!" Ellison growls, his gaze daring the younger man to contradict him. "I know you Chief. You're quick, strong... passionate, not to mention that your ingenuity scares the shit out of me sometimes." He adds with a teasing smile, then sobers once more. "I know you fought with every fiber of your being." Jim pauses, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. "There was more than one, wasn't there." Not a question but a statement.

Studying the hands now clenched firmly in his lap, Sandburg nods.

"Can you tell us who they are?" I carefully inquire.

Teeth worrying his lower lip, once again the kid reaches out, this time picking up the paper and pen. Minute tremors add a shaky quality to the normally fluid script as he writes down a name.

"Randy Mc Millan," Ellison reads aloud, scowling with concentration. "Wasn't he that student you turned in a while back for computer hacking?"

A slight nod from the kid confirms Jim's statement. "Son of a..." Ellison utters, cursing.

"So you're saying this happened because this Mc Millan wanted revenge?" I ask then listen as Jim quickly fills me in on the details.

"You said there were others?" I prompt when Ellison finishes explaining. "Did you know them as well?"

A slight shake of the head and Sandburg begins scribbling, furiously. By the time he finishes we had two more first names at least and a description to go with them.

"You're doing great, Chief." Ellison smiles down at his partner as I propose the next question.

"Do you remember where you were held?"

The tremors in the kid's hand escalate, fanning out to encompass his entire body. "I know it's hard, Blair." I say, leaning forward to place a
reassuring hand on the younger man's knee. "Just take your time."

Swallowing, his adam's apple bobs and I can see the shutters come up as he clamps down on the unbridled emotions. ‘Stable,' he writes. ‘Don't know
where."

"Do you remember how you got to the warehouse district?" Jim gently prods.

A blank stare meets Ellison's inquiry.

"That's okay, buddy." Jim reassures the kid when Blair's face crumples with despair. "Thanks to you at least we have a place to start."

"I'll call it in," I say reaching for my cell phone. It only takes a few minutes to relay the information Sandburg has given us. Instructing Brown to get back to me the minute something turns up, I pocket the phone and turn back to the two men, my gaze carefully scrutinizing as they sip their now tepid brew.

The normally stoic facade Ellison wears is in tatters, his anger almost palpable. Yet it pales in comparison to the conflicting emotions evident in his every glance at Sandburg. Like the bold strokes on an artist's canvas, anxiety, fear and uncertainty mingle to create a eclectic portrait of his inner turmoil.

Were Blair not so decimated by his own demons, I've no doubt he would have immediately recognized Jim's state of mind and moved heaven and hell to help. For that is the kind of caring individual Blair Sandburg is ...was. Shit! How could those bastards have done this to him?

Perhaps though, all is not lost. Because despite the drastic changes wrought by his ordeal, every once in a while a glimmer of the old Sandburg peeks though, bringing with the brief glimpse; hope.

As if sensing my scrutiny, Ellison looks up. His feelings lay bare, so tangible I could physically reach out and touch them. Unable to tear my gaze away from the intensity of his emotions, I nod, knowing I have just been granted the honor of becoming one of the few people James Ellison has ever allowed to see this part of his soul. A part that has been indelibly marked by the man named Blair Sandburg.

With a sad smile, he releases me to once again look down at his partner... friend... soul mate, and my own gaze is inadvertently drawn to the object of his attention.

Way too thin, the dark circles beneath his eyes stand out vividly against the ghastly pallor of his complexion. Eyelids drooping with fatigue, the mug in his hands begins to tilt at a dangerous angle.

"Whoa there," Ellison gently warns, rescuing the mug and setting it on the coffee table. "This could take a while. Why don't you lay down and get some rest." He softly suggests.

Heavy laden lids blink groggily as blue eyes glazed with exhaustion peer back at Jim. Slowly the kid nods, slumping sideways to lean against the larger bulk of his partner. Carefully sliding an arm around the younger man, "This isn't exactly what I had in mind, Junior." Ellison murmurs. "I think your bed would be more comfortable, don't you?"

Despite a small muffled protest, Sandburg's eyes slowly open. Considering his bruised and sleepy, almost waif like appearance, it's little wonder that Ellison's expression softens at the sight. I even find myself fighting the urge to cradle Blair in my arms and tuck him into bed like a small child. No doubt Sandburg would be appalled at the thought. And he's proven more than capable of taking care of himself on more than one occasion. But there's just something about the kid that brings out my protective nature. Silently I snort. No wonder Jim acts like a bear protecting it's cub when it comes to the kid.

Helping Blair to stand, Jim largely supports the younger man's weight as they make their way into the downstairs bedroom.

Feeling the need to do something, I rise. Surveying the destruction, I upright the overturned shelves and begin returning its scattered contents to their former positions. Kneeling, my hand hovers over the shattered picture frame.

"I'll need to get that replaced," Ellison comments, startling me at his silent approach.

Carefully I lift the object, laying it on the nearby table. "How's he doing?" I ask, brushing the dust off my slacks as I rise.

"Sleeping at the moment." Jim replies. "Although for how long, I don't know." His gaze encompasses the living room. "Thanks."

"Come on, I'll give you a hand with the table." I say, heading for the  overturned object. Silently Jim grabs one end while I take the other. "You know," I casually comment as we upright the table, "when we get the information on Mc Millan someone's going to need to stay here with Sandburg." There was never any question as to who would be going after perpetrator.

"Damn," Ellison curses with a sigh. "I never even gave that a thought."

"There's also something else we have to consider." I add, disclosing my train of thought when Jim raises a questioning eyebrow. "If Mc Millan's seen this morning's paper then it's quite possible he might decide to come after Blair." The implication was obvious.

"Then we'll just have to find him before he does." Ellison comments, low and dangerous.

"The question still remains," I remind him. "What are we going to do about Sandburg?"

Absently, Ellison rubs at his temple and upon closer inspection I can see the fine lines of pain etched in his forehead.

"I don't know." Jim admits. "He's in no shape to come with us and we obviously can't leave him alone. But he's just gotten used to us, I don't know how he'd react around anyone else."

"What about Connor?" I suggest.

Considering the possibility, Jim finally nods. "Yeah, that might work." Wordlessly he turns, his gaze straying to the bedroom.

"Go on," I gently urge him. "I'll call Connor."

"Connor's here." Ellison suddenly announces as he appears in the doorway to Sandburg's room.

"How'd you...? Never mind," I grouse, finally remembering about his enhanced hearing. "I'll get it," I tell him, heading for the door. Opening it, I take perverse pleasure upon seeing Connor's startled expression, since it's usually me standing there with my mouth agape; and I know better.

"Captain," she acknowledges, lowering the hand that was raised to knock. "Here are the reports you requested."

Taking the files I step back, allowing her to enter the apartment.

"Jim," she greets Ellison as he enters the room. With a nod towards Megan, he quickly moves to my side and begins reading the file I have already begun to peruse.

"Damn!" I mutter. "Mc Millan's got a rap sheet a mile long. No convictions though. Looks like Daddy's money was responsible for getting him out of more than one jam."

"Henry also ran a search for known associates based on the other two names you gave us." Connor reported. "We came up empty on Craig, but hit pay dirt with the other one."

Opening the second file, "David Reynolds," I read aloud then whistle. If anything, Reynolds record was worse than Mc Millan's. What was more disturbing though, was the violent nature of the crimes. Reynolds made Mc Millan look like a choir boy.

"And these are the bastards that had Blair." Ellison mutters.

"Don't worry, Jim. We'll get them." I assure him.

"How is Sandy?" Megan asks, her concern evident. The question punctuated by a harsh scream that rents the air.

"Shit!" Ellison exclaims, racing for Sandburg's room.

With a sigh, I turn to Connor. "Does that answer your question?"

Laying on his side, curled into a fetal position, Blair Sandburg shook. Each tremor sending a searing pain throughout his lower back and
abdomen. He'd prayed for unconsciousness. Anything for a respite from the blinding agony. Yet his prayers remained unanswered as the
surrounding cold crept into the furthest recesses of his body.

Another shudder coursed through the prone form. Eyes clenched tight, another cry was wrenched from his lips. The inhuman wail concealing the metallic click of the latch, the soft whoosh as his prison door opened.

"Shhh." A gentle voice crooned as something soft and warm was draped over his nude form.

"Jim?" Blair rasped as a hand was pressed to his forehead.

"You're burning up." The voice came again and seconds later a wet cloth bathed his face.

"Jim?" Blair questioned again, struggling to open his eyes.

"Who's Jim?"

This time the voice penetrated Blair's pain induced haze and his eyelids flew open. Seeing Craig looming over him, with a gasp the anthropologist tried to scoot away. The effort aborted as another shooting pain shot through his body.

"Please, don't." Craig anxiously cautioned as Blair bit back the cry threatening to burst forth. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Pain shrouded eyes opened to peer uncertainly at Craig.

"Don't be afraid. I just want to help."

"Need... Jim," Blair croaked, his voice nearly gone. But already the younger man was shaking his head.

"I can't," he tried to explain at Blair's crestfallen expression. "The others would kill me."

"No offense, Mr. Sandburg, but whoever this Jim is, even he can't help you." Craig replied, reaching to help Blair into a sitting position.

"DON'T!" The older man grated, scrambling away from the touch.

Disconcerted by the violent reaction, Craig nervously reached for the bottle of water he'd brought along with some other supplies. "Are you
thirsty? Would you like a drink?" He asked. "It's all right," Craig assured him when Blair eyed the bottle with suspicion. "See, it hasn't even been opened." He demonstrated, twisting off the cap.

With a trembling hand, Blair brought the bottle to his lips.

"Not too fast." Craig cautioned. "You don't want to get sick."

"Aw, isn't that sweet." Came Dave's sneering comment from the open doorway.

Startled, Craig whirled around as the water slipped from Blair's suddenly nerveless fingers.

"What do you think you're doing Anderson?" Mc Millan demanded, his face suffused with anger.

Casting a frightened glance at Blair, Craig rose. "This isn't right," He told Randy. "He's a human being."

Mc Millan eyes narrowed into green slits. "What are you suggesting we do, let him go?"

"Yeah, right." Dave snorted sarcastically.

"Well let me tell you something," Mc Millan continued. "That guy Jim he mentioned, well he's a cop. Yeah, that's right," Randy sneered at Craig's surprised expression. "Sandburg not only lives with him, he also works with him."

"You kidnapped a cop's roommate?" Craig stammered. "Are you crazy?"

"We." Mc Millan corrected, looming closer. "You were there too, remember." Anderson paled. "Of course," Randy added speculatively. "We
could always just kill him. Then we wouldn't have to worry about him identifying anyone. But," his voice took on a menacing quality, "I'm not through with him yet."

"Me either," Reynolds chimed in, pointedly rubbing his crotch. "He's got the sweetest ass I've ever had."

Abruptly Mc Millan smiled and Craig felt his blood run cold. "But since you're so concerned about my little pet here, it'll be your responsibility to take care of him." With distaste he eyed the battered figured sprawled on the floor. "I want him kept clean, relatively healthy," He added with a unconcerned shrug, "and ready for use at all times. Is that understood?"

Numbly, Craig nodded.

"Good." Mc Millan smiled approvingly. "But there's one thing I want you to do first."

"What?" The slightly built, sandy haired man nervously inquired.

Laying an hand on Anderson's shoulder, Randy's expression grew malignant. "I want you to fuck him."

"WHAT?" Craig's startled exclamation drowning out Blair's whimpered protest at the announcement. "Why?"

Mc Millan shrugged, "Let's just call it an insurance policy. If you're in this as deep..." Reynolds snickered at the pun, "as the rest of us, you'll be less likely to want to help him escape."

"I wouldn't!" Craig protested.

"DO IT!" Mc Millan snapped. "Otherwise I'll let Dave have you. You'd like your own pet, wouldn't you?" He questioned, turning to the other man.

"Yeah, I could get down with that." Reynolds replied, smirking.

"So," Mc Millan asked. "What's it going to be, you going to fuck him or join him?"

Reluctantly Craig turned to the figure huddled on the floor to see horror filled eyes staring up at him.

"No, please." Blair pleaded, his face contorting with pain as he tried to move away.

"I'm sorry," Craig softly replied, a shaking hand reaching for his zipper.

"Don't forget to play safe." Dave snorted with amusement, holding out a foil packet.

Snatching it out of the other man's hand, Craig pushed down his jeans
and shorts. His cock lay limp between his thighs.

"Looks like you're going to need a little help getting it up." Mc Millan commented with disgust.

"You let me worry about that." Anderson snapped back. "You just deal with holding him down."

"With pleasure," Dave replied, advancing on Blair.

Heart threatening to pound its way out of his chest, Blair's eyes darted frantically about, seeking an avenue of escape, a weapon of some sort.
Anything that would prevent this from happening again. Rough hands  seized him, dragging him into the center of the room.

"NO!" Blair's harsh, guttural cry rang out, as agony pulsed through his abused body. Pushing the pain aside, he lashed out in blind terror, limbs flailing, striking at everything within reach.

Fingers entwined themselves in his hair, yanking Blair's head brutally upwards. A fist connected with his face, a foot with his mid section.
With a grunt, he went limp.

"Give me the cuffs." Reynolds growled in Randy's direction. "The little prick still hasn't learned to play nice."

Amusement adorning his features, Mc Millan tossed him the handcuffs. "Want some help?" He inquired.

"Nah, I'll break the fucker if it's the last thing I do." Dave sneered as he wrenched Blair's arms behind his back and latched the cuffs.

Abruptly the dark haired man was hauled to his feet. "You're forgetting  something Reynolds," Mc Millan snarled, his face flushed with anger. "He's mine. If anyone's going to break him, it's going to be me. So back off."

Shoving Dave aside, Randy glanced down. Freed from Reynolds punishing  grip, Blair was frantically trying to wrest free, a low, almost inhuman keening accenting his struggles.

Kneeling beside the prostrate form, Mc Millan grabbed the choker chain  and jerking Blair upwards, backhanded him across the face. "SHUT UP!" He barked, only to have the sound start again seconds later. Gripping the chain tighter, he pulled until the metal's teeth bit into his victim's throat. Yet despite his malicious efforts, the sound continued. Unnerved by the calm acceptance in the startling blue eyes staring back at him as he slowly choked his captive, Mc Millan loosened his grip and in a burst of anger, shoved Blair back to the floor.

"Stubborn son of a..." he growled, rising to pace the tiny cell. "This isn't going to work. The bastard wants me to kill him."

"I've got an idea." Dave suddenly spoke up. Reaching into his front pants pocket, Reynolds withdrew a small polyethylene bag containing several light blue capsules. "These should make him more manageable." He said, brandishing the bag with a grin.

"Yeah." Mc Millan replied, snatching the object from Reynolds outstretched hand. Almost eagerly, he withdrew one of the capsules and once again knelt beside Blair. One hand grabbing he older man's chin to hold his head still, Randy forced the pill between the clenched lips.

Suddenly Blair bit down and with a strangled cry, Mc Millan withdrew his hand. Defiantly Blair spit out the capsule.

"You little mother fucker..." Randy raged, drawing his hand back to strike Blair repeatedly. " Now, we're going to try this again." He sneered angrily. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll swallow it."

Once again the pill was inserted between the battered lips, only to be expelled seconds later.

"Son of a..." Mc Millan roared, his anger mounting. Frustrated, he turned to Craig. "You got any more of that water left?" Silently the other man nodded. "Get it!" Randy commanded harshly.

Pulling his underwear and jeans back up, Craig went to the bag containing the supplies he'd brought and withdrew another bottle of water. Wordlessly, he undid the cap and handed it to Randy.

"Craig, get over here and old his head still. Now hold his nose," Mc Millan ordered when the stocky man had moved into position.

Beneath their manipulations, Blair struggled, a wail of protest forcing its way past the lips stubbornly pressed together. His lungs screaming
for oxygen, blackness encroaching on the periphery of his vision, Blair lost his struggle. Mouth opening, he gasped for breath. Immediately the
capsule was inserted, followed by a mouthful of water. His jaw was then rammed shut and held closed. Choking, there was no other alternative but to swallow.

Smirking with satisfaction, Mc Millan released him. "It shouldn't be long now."

Coughs erupting from his abused throat, Blair curled miserably onto his side. Closing his eyes against the inevitable, he was oblivious to the
tears tracking down his face.

Within what seemed like mere minutes, Blair felt a sense of lethargy steal over him. And as much as he tried to fight as hands turned and
moved him into position, his limbs refused to respond.

"Do it!" He vaguely heard Mc Millan demand.

"I'm sorry." Craig whispered into his ear. The words providing little comfort as Anderson slowly worked his cock into Blair's ass.

"NO!" his mind howled its denial and in the bright light of day, Blair started awake in his bed at the loft.

Exchanging uncomfortable glances, Connor is the first to look away. It's impossible not to hear the uttered reassurances emanating from the bedroom as Ellison tries to calm Sandburg. The kid's anguished wail, so full of pain and despair, had shaken me to the core. Connor blanched visibly and I questioned the wisdom of leaving Blair alone with her. Not that I thought she'd intentionally hurt the kid, it's just that I don't know how well equipped she is to deal with someone in Sandburg's condition. Still, it's not like we have a choice. He's in no shape to come with us and considering how demoralized and ashamed he feels at the moment, I doubt he's ready to face any of the men from the department. It's absurd really. Taggert, Rafe, Brown... they all consider Sandburg a friend and certainly wouldn't think any less of him because of what has transpired. But I doubt the kid will see it that way, considering his current frame of mind. It's going to be hard enough to get him to accept Connor's presence, and I don't even want to think about how he's going to react when he finds out Ellison is leaving.

These thoughts in mind, I'm just about to fill Connor in when Jim bursts from the bedroom carrying Blair, and rushes into the bathroom. The door is slammed shut and moments later, violent retching can be heard. Damn! It sounds like the kid's trying to throw up a lung and I find myself having to fight my own gagging reflex. Finally it stops and the flush of the toilet is followed by the squeak of a faucet and running water.

"Poor Sandy." Megan comments and I turn to find her brow knitted in a frown.

Realizing that time is growing short, I set my own emotions aside and quickly bring Connor up to date on Blair's injuries and emotional state.

"I understand, Captain," she replies in a crisp, professional manner. Her rigid posture and controlled expression revealing nothing of her personal thoughts. That is until you look into her eyes. It's what I see reflected there that finally reassures me that we've chosen the right person for the job. Her soft assurance of "Don't worry, sir, I'll take good care of him." merely cinches my opinion.

At the sound of the bathroom door opening, both of us turn, startled like two naughty children caught doing something wrong. Our embarrassment immediately falls by the wayside as Ellison leads an ashen, disheveled Sandburg into the room.

Despite my efforts to prepare her, Connor gasps, "Oh Sandy!"

Although softly uttered the kid's head shoots up like a bullet. Eyes widening in dismay, a strangled sound escaping his lips, Sandburg turns and wrapping his arms around Ellison's waist, buries his face in Jim's chest.

Without reservation, the larger man's arms pull Blair closer. "Shhh, it's all right," Jim croons, one hand coming up to gently stroke the mahogany curls. His face etched with concern, Ellison peers helplessly at us over the top of Sandburg's head.

Uncertain, Megan glances at me, but this is her show. What she does in the next few minutes will determine whether or not the kid accepts her. Encouragingly I nod and she takes a tentative step forward.

"Blair," she begins, softly. As if addressing a frightened child or wounded  animal. "I realize you're probably scared and more than a little confused right now. But I want you to know that I understand how you feel because... I was raped once too."

Shocked by the admission, Jim and I exchange startled glances. While Sandburg's reaction is more pronounced. Still within Ellison's grasp, he begins trembling uncontrollably.

Undaunted, Connor moves closer. "It happened when I was seventeen," she quietly continues. "I was on my way home from school and there was this gang of boys..." Pausing, she swallows. "I'm sure I don't need to go into details. The point is, I understand what you're going through because I've been there. The only difference is that you have friends who want to help. You see, I never told anyone about what happened to me. Until now, that is."

Stopping behind Blair she looks to Ellison, requesting and receiving unspoken permission before reaching out and laying her hand on Sandburg's shoulder. Automatically he stiffens beneath the touch and tries to burrow deeper into Ellison's embrace. Eventually, at Jim's quiet urging, he finally turns to face Megan.

Still unable to look Connor in the eye, the kid's gaze settles somewhere midway between her face and the floor.

Gently she cups his chin, tilting his face upwards until their eyes meet. "I'd like to help, if you'll let me."

A slight frown marring his brow, I can tell Blair is silently assessing  Connor's sincerity. Apparently satisfied at last by his conclusions, his almost imperceivable nod causes Megan to smile.

"Good," she replies, releasing him and taking a step back. "Actually," she continues, "the rest of the guys were more than a little put out that Captain Banks requested me for this assignment." The kids' face flickered in confusion. "You have a lot of friends, Sandy. They all wanted to come." Connor concluded.

"It's true," I add at Sandburg's disbelieving expression. "I've never seen a harder working group of individuals than when you were missing. We're all happy to have you home, son."

Embarrassment adds a flush of color to Blair's formally wan cheeks. The first true hint of color I've seen since we found him.

Satisfied that the kid is in capable hands, I purposely clear my throat, a reminder to Ellison of the matter at hand. Namely going after those
responsible.

Nodding, Jim turns Sandburg to face him. "Chief, Simon and I have to go out for a while. That's why we've asked Conner to come stay with you."

The grunt of protest is immediate as Blair tightly grips the sleeves of Ellison's shirt.

"I won't be gone long. We just need to check out a couple of leads," the taller man patiently explains. "And no, you're not coming with us." He hastens to add as Sandburg peers pleadingly up at him.

Thank heavens he didn't try that on me. Cream puff that I am I probably would have caved despite my common sense. As if sensing my thoughts, he turns to me. Oh shit! "Sandburg... Blair," I stammer, beneath the intensity of his imploring gaze. Disconcerted, I turn to Ellison.

Expression set in granite, Jim raises a threatening brow.

Grimacing, with a sigh I concur. "Blair, he's right. It would be best if you stayed here."

To say the kid was not pleased would be an understatement. Lips pursed in a pout, I've seen less mulish expressions on the pack mules at the Grand Canyon. Pulling free from Ellison's grip he gingerly walks over to the sofa and flops down on the couch, a hiss of pain accompanying the motion. Then crossing his arms across his chest, refuses to look at any of us.

I could tell the kid's reaction was tearing Jim apart.

"Please, Chief." He pleads, moving to sit beside Blair on the couch. "Try to understand. I barely survived losing you once." He pauses and I can see the jaw working as he tries to rein in his emotions. "I can't go through that again." He continues a moment later, voice gruff. "And I'm not about to risk letting those bastards get anywhere near you. So please, just stay here with Connor, all right?"

The mention of his abductors has given him pause as a nervous sheen breaks out on Blair's forehead. The idea of possibly coming face to face with his attackers must scare him shitless and yet Sandburg refrains from complying. Confused as to why he seems so determined, my curiosity is assuaged moments later when he finally turns to Jim, apprehension for the older man evident in his expression, and I realize that Sandburg's concern isn't just for his partner's safety, but that he's afraid of what Ellison might do when confronted with Reynolds and Mc Millan.

"I know you're my backup," Jim responds to the unspoken plea. "But. Not. This. Time."

Clear, precise and to the point. Damn, Ellison can be a hard ass when he needs to.

"Don't worry, Blair," I tell the kid, moved to speak by the dejected slump of his shoulders. "I'll watch out for Jim." And make sure he doesn't do anything stupid, I mentally add and hope my tone conveys what's left unsaid.

Searching my features, he nods seemingly satisfied, but still unhappy about being left behind.

Tension lays heavy in the air as Ellison peers at Sandburg, expectantly, the younger man refusing to respond to some unspoken need. With a heartfelt sigh, Jim rises.

"I guess we'd better get going." He comments needlessly and heads towards the door only pausing briefly to grab his jacket and shrug it on.

Connor accompanies us and I use the precious minutes to fill her in on our agenda. "We'll be checking out Mc Millan last known address." I tell her, surreptitiously aware of the emotion filled glances being exchanged between Ellison and Sandburg. "In the meantime I'll have Rafe and Brown check out Reynolds. There's also a possibility that they might try to come after the kid. So whatever you do, don't let him out of your sight."

Understandingly she nods and there's nothing left to do but open the door.

The action spurs Sandburg into motion. With a cry of distress he rises from the couch and covering the short distance between us, fairly launches himself into Ellison's arms. His white knuckle grip conveying what he can not communicate with words.

"I'll be back, Chief. I promise." Jim vehemently swears, hugging the smaller man close.

Sandburg nods but seems reluctant to let go. Beseechingly, Ellison glances at me.

It's at this point Conner steps in. "Sandy, I could really use a cup of tea. Would you mind?"

The ploy is obvious but the kid relinquishes his hold on Jim and with a final glance, shuffles off towards the kitchen. Watching Blair go, Megan then turns back to Ellison.

"Sit on him if you have to," Jim issues a final warning. "Just make sure you keep him here."

"I understand," she solemnly replies.

With a final, heart wrenching glance at Sandburg, Ellison stalks out the door.

Silence reigns in the sedan as we head towards Mc Millan's last known address, namely that of his parents Vivian and Randall Mc Millan senior. Located in the more affluent suburbs of Cascade, I find myself wondering why the son of a prominent banker would resort to kidnapping and assault. But then again maybe that was the problem. Rich people often thought themselves above the law. How different might Randy Mc Millan have turned out if his father hadn't bought his son's way out of every scrape since adolescence? Well this time it's going to be different. I'm going to make sure the bastard pays if it's the last thing I do.

Finally I can't take Ellison's brooding silence any longer. "Want to talk about it?" I ask.

His brow furrows in thought. "I can't help but feel he'd be better off if he'd never met me."

"WHAT!" I sputter. "Come on Jim, you can't be serious. The kid worships the ground you walk on."

"Yeah," Ellison fires back. "And how many times has he nearly gotten killed because of his association with me?"

"He's a grown man, Jim and quite capable of making his own decisions. He's there because that's where he wants to be."

"I don't know why. He once told me he has enough information for ten dissertations. So why does he stay?"

He is honestly confused. God, Ellison can be so dense at times. I decide to clue him in. "Because you're his best friend."

Turning, Jim pretends to study the passing landscape. Yet I know his thoughts are not centered on the beauty surrounding us, but focused somewhere deeper within himself.

"If he stays with me, he'll only wind up getting himself killed."

"Damn it, Ellison," I bellow. "If you even think about cutting that kid loose now it'll kill him. Is that what you want?"

"Of course not!" He retorts, incensed. "Is it so wrong to want to protect him?"

"I'd kick your ass if you didn't." I growl. "But that doesn't give you the right to make his decisions."

"Why not?" Jim replies, peevishly. "I'm bigger than he is."

"And I'm bigger than the both of you." I rumble, turning to face him. "So you can get that thought right out of your... " Damn if the little shit isn't smiling. Okay, so I walked into that one with my eyes wide open. "You know, you're not to old to be spanked," I grumble.

"Oh?" His eyebrows rise. "And would that be a personal kink of yours, sir?"

"You just leave my kinks out of this," I tell him, scowling.

"If you say so, sir."

"As for the rest of it," I tell him. "If there's one thing I have complete faith in, it's that together you and Sandburg can overcome anything."

"Thanks, Simon."

Ten minutes later I turn onto the paved driveway that leads to the Mc Millan home and beside me Ellison stiffens. "Look," He says pointing. And there, approximately five hundred yards from the house sits a stable.

"You don't think...?" I ask, eyebrows rising.

"There's only one way to find out." His tone is serious, bordering on deadly.

Stealing myself for the approaching encounter, I nod and step on the gas.

Left to cool our heels in the foyer of the palatial home, beside me Ellison is coiled as tight as a spring. At last, the all too proper butler returns. "Mr. Mc Millan will see you now."

We're led down a short hallway to what appears to be a study. "Captain Banks and Detective Ellison." The butler announces.

The man behind the desk rises. Balding, a mustache lining his upper lip, the man's heavy jowls and rotund shape are a silent testament to too much indulgence in the good life.

"Captain," he acknowledges with a slight nod of his head. "If this is about the policeman's ball, I've already purchased my standard block of tickets."

Jim stiffens. "Actually, Mr. Mc Millan," I rush in, "we're here about your son."

"What's he done now?" He questions with a long suffering sigh.

"He's wanted in connection with the kidnapping and assault of one of our consultants."

"I see," he replies, obviously not surprised by the revelation. "I wish I could help you out, Captain, but after that last little fiasco at the
university I cut off Randall's trust fund. I haven't seen him since."

"It's a little late, don't you think?" Ellison harshly interjects.

"I beg your pardon, Detective?" Mc Millan says, his demeanor every inch the snob.

Jim steps forward, the force of his intimidating glare forcing Mc Millan backwards despite the massive oak desk separating them.

"Your son," he growls, "has been in and out of trouble with the law since he was eleven. Don't you think it's a little late to finally do something about it other than to buy his way out of trouble?"

"What transpires between me and my son is none of your business." Mc Millan sputters with righteous indignation.

"He made it my business when he and his friends kidnapped and assaulted my partner, Blair Sandburg. You might remember him from the incident at Rainier University." The banker pales.

"Jim," I quietly warn before once again taking control of the conversation. "Do you have any idea where your son is?" I ask. "Perhaps he mentioned staying with friends..."

"I wouldn't know, Captain. Randall knew I didn't approve of his choice of friends so he rarely, if ever, spoke of them."

I can see this is getting us nowhere. "We'd like permission to search his room." I tell him.

Mc Millan shakes his head. "I'm afraid it wouldn't do any good. When Randall left he took everything that wasn't nailed down. Including several thousand dollars that I kept in the safe."

"We'd still like to see it." Ellison tells him. Even someone who doesn't know Jim as well as I do could tell he was barely keeping his anger in
check.

"Of course, Detective." Mc Millan quickly responds, stepping around the desk. "I'll have Peters show you the way."

"We'd also like to examine the stables." I inform him.

"The stables? I don't understand..." His surprise and confusion seem genuine.

"Mr. Sandburg reported being held in a stable during his captivity." I answer.

"And you think Randall kept him here on the property without my knowledge," he replies thoughtfully.

"It's a distinct possibility." Ellison answers, his tone daring Mc Millan to argue.

"It's been abandoned for years," he replies, "but you're certainly welcome to look all you like."

"Thank you." I reply, casting a sideways glance at Jim.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Peters appears. "These gentlemen would like to see Randall's room." Mc Millan instructs.

"Very good, sir," Peters properly responds before turning to address us. "This way please."

True to his word, the search of Mc Millan's room proves futile. Even with Jim's heightened senses we can't find anything that might indicate the young man's current whereabouts. I pray that our inspection of the stables might be more forthcoming.

The aged wood creaks as Peters throws the latch and swings the double doors wide open. We are barely inside when Ellison sniffles, then sneezes. The smell of rotting manure and molding hay aggravating his sinuses.

"You going to be all right?" I ask, previous experience making me aware of his difficulty in overcoming the noxious scents.

"Yeah," he sniffs. "Just give me a minute."

Quietly I wait as Jim adjusts the imaginary dials he uses to control his enhanced senses. Suddenly his head snaps up, nostrils flaring.

"You got something?" I inquire.

Without answering he rushes forward to kneel beside a stake which had been pounded into the ground, frayed rope, encrusted with blood, tied to its base. Silently and with precision he points out several more.

Dear Lord! The implication is obvious and I shudder at the mental picture of Sandburg being tied spread eagle while his attackers... Shaking off the abhorrent image I glance at Jim. Fear courses through me at the intensity of the rage reflected in the blue orbs staring back at me.

"Jim." I begin. But what can I say to the man in the face of such irrefutable evidence. Somehow ‘Check your emotions at the door' seems inadequate. Yet even as I try to summon the appropriate words, I can see Ellison attempting to gain control. His jaw clenches tight, the vein in his neck throbbing from the effort. And just before his gaze wavers I see the curtain on his humanity drawn, leaving only a cold unemotional gaze in its stead.

Climbing to his feet, Jim scans the interior of the stable. Carefully observing, I'm immediately aware the second he spots something.

"What is it?" I ask, then wait patiently as Ellison enters a nearby stall. Slipping on the standard rubber gloves, he brushes some hay aside with his foot and bends to retrieve a blue checkered flannel shirt. Despite the dirt and blood stains, even without the man adorning it, I'd recognize it anywhere.

Gripping the garment tightly, Jim's lower jaw begins to tremble with suppressed emotion.

"Jim?" I question, and in my concern lay what I hope is a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Clearing his throat, Ellison glances away. "I'm all right." He insists, although I can see otherwise. "It's Sandburg's," he states confirming my
own deduction.

"So we know for a positive fact that this is where they..." My voice trails off.

"Yeah."

The quiet anguish tears at my heart, both for the man standing before me and the one forced to endure such degradation.

"We still need to connect Mc Millan and Reynolds to the scene." I remind him, banishing the unprofessional thoughts that insist on cropping up.

Jim nods, and carefully laying the tattered cloth over a rail, resumes investigating the stable. The slight wrinkling of his brow informs me
he's onto something else.

Wordlessly he leads me towards the rear of the structure. Passing a closed door whose tarnished brass nameplate reads 'Tack Room' he pauses
before a similar door marked 'Feed Room'. The look he gives me just before throwing back the bolt is disconcerting, and I consciously steel myself for what lies beyond.

The stench is nearly overwhelming as the door is swung open. Immediately Jim steps back and begins coughing and even I am forced to cover my nose and mouth with a handkerchief. Within a few minutes Ellison is sufficiently recovered and is peering into the room's dark interior. I'm assuming he's dialed his sense of smell down to almost nonexistent and at this moment I envy him that ability.

"I can't see a damn thing," I grumble.

"There should be a switch," Jim says reaching inside and a soft click heralds the room being flooded with light.

"Oh shit!" I involuntarily exclaim. Rooted to the spot my mind tries to sort out the scene before me. Ellison however quickly enters and kneels beside the body.

"The mysterious Craig, I presume," I comment, the words releasing me from my self-paralysis.

"That'd be my guess." Jim replies before examining the fatal wound more closely. "Looks like he was stabbed."

Suddenly the room seems to lack oxygen as the implication of Ellison's words sink in. My mind flashes back to the warehouse and a half crazed Sandburg brandishing a bloody knife.

"Come on, Simon. You don't honestly believe that Sandburg did this?" Jim asks, glaring angrily up at me.

"Look, Jim, even if Blair did do this he certainly was justified."

"NO!" Ellison bellows, rising. "No fucking way! I know him, he couldn't. He wouldn't."

I understand where Ellison is coming from and normally I'd agree. But I just can't get the image of Sandburg standing there with Jim's gun out of my mind, apparently Ellison remembers it too.

"No..." he whispers another denial before turning away, and I know that Jim's pain is not for himself but his partner. As if Blair hadn't already suffered enough trauma, now there was the distinct possibility of him needing to deal with having killed someone.

"DAMN IT!" Ellison explodes. "How much is Sandburg expected to take? I mean look at this place!" He demands, arms splayed, cobalt blue eyes beseeching.

And I do.

The room is littered with discarded trash and, much to my disgust, used condoms. It reeks with blood, sweat and human waste around which the flies merrily buzz. But I think perhaps the most heart wrenching sight is the gouge marks and traces of blood on the clapboard walls where it appears someone had tried to claw their way out. Sandburg, no doubt.

"I know it looks bad, Jim. But I think Blair is a lot stronger than you're giving him credit for." I tell Ellison. "He managed to escape."

"It shouldn't have happened in the first place." Ellison bemoans. His thoughts turn inward and I realize that guilt is once again rearing its
ugly head.

"It's not your fault." I insist. "There was nothing you could have done to prevent this from happening. And while he was missing you did
everything within your power to find him. We all did."

"It wasn't enough." Jim persists. "What good are these sentinel abilities if they're useless when it really matters?"

Mouth pressed in a grim line, I raise a censuring eyebrow and am pleased when Ellison shifts uncomfortably beneath my gaze.

"All right." He concedes. "So that was a pretty stupid remark. But, damn it, I just feel so helpless!"

It took a lot for Jim to admit that. The Jim Ellison I knew pre-Sandburg days never would have been able to.

"You can be there for him now, Jim. Not the sentinel, but you. So I suggest you concentrate your efforts on that instead of things you can't change."

"You're right." He agrees. "And the first thing I'm going to do is nail their hides to the wall."

"I'll hand you the hammer," I tell him, withdrawing the cell phone from my pocket. "I'm going to get the forensic's people down here. In the
meantime why don't you put those senses of yours to use and get us the evidence we need to convict those bastards."

"You got it." Ellison comments and turns to do just that as I place my call.

It doesn't take long for the forensics team to arrive and their people to cordon off the area. Serena Chang, fully aware of the significance of
the crime scene we're investigating, meticulously notes and tags each piece of evidence Ellison points out.

"Don't worry, Jim. I'll handle this personally," she assures him.

"Thanks," he replies, offering her a slight smile of gratitude before joining me by the car.

"Any word from Rafe and Brown on Reynolds yet?" He inquires, leaning against the sedan.

"Not yet." I'm forced to admit, then go onto suggest, "I thought we'd go by the university next, question some of their friends."

Concurring, Ellison nods. "Just give me a minute to call and check on Sandburg."

Just then my cell phone rings. Whipping it out, "Banks," I reply.

The news is not good and I have no doubt my skin tone's grown a few shades lighter because Jim is staring at me with concern.

"We'll meet you there." I tell the disembodied voice on the other end of the line, and snapping the phone closed, wonder how in the hell I'm going to tell Ellison what's happened.

"Let's go," I bark with urgency and start climbing into the car.

"What is it?" He demands, refusing to budge.

I decide to give it to him straight. "That was dispatch." I gravely tell him. "They have a report of shots being fired at your address. Not only
that, but all attempts to contact Connor have failed."

As I relay the information, the color has drained from Ellison's face and his jaw grows as taut as a bow string. "Blair!" he utters a strangled gasp and racing around to the other side of the car, yanks open the door and climbs in.

Within seconds the sedan's tires are kicking up dust and with the siren blaring, we break all speed limits racing to the loft.

Ellison is a barely contained bundle of anxiety as we screech to a stop outside of 852 Prospect. And before I even have a chance to put the car
in park, he's bolted out the door and forcing his way through the crowd of onlookers, cops and medical personnel that arrived before us.

Concern adding wings to my own feet, I am only a few steps behind as Jim races up the three flights of stairs.

"SANDBURG!" He bellows, barreling through the open doorway to the loft, pausing only briefly to note the paramedics working on Conner and Mc Millan's dead body laying beside the balcony door.

"Chief?" He yells again, quickly checking both the kid's bedroom and the bathroom before finally becoming convinced that Blair is gone.

Like a man possessed, he storms through the occupants in the room to loom over Megan's bleeding form. "Where the hell is he?" Ellison roars,
his face suffused with anger and fear.

"I'm sorry, Jim," Connor gasps as the medic applies a pressure bandage the shoulder wound.

"DAMN IT, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO PROTECT HIM!"

"Jim!" I growl in warning. I know he's worried about his partner, but that's no reason to browbeat Connor when she's down.

"What happened," I gently inquire as the paramedics continue their ministrations. Thankfully the wound doesn't look too serious.

With a grimace of pain she explains. "Sandy was sleeping and I had just come from checking on him when they broke through the front door."

That was an understatement. Even the frame had splintered in places due to the force of the impact.

"I'm sorry, sir." Connor reiterates. "But I didn't even have a chance to draw my weapon before they shot me."

"What happened to Sandburg?" Ellison demands, impatiently. Then was forced to wait for an answer as Megan was loaded onto a stretcher.

"I was pretty much out of it at that point," Connor continues with a grunt as they strap her in. "But they seemed to be arguing over Sandy.
The one, Mc Millan I think,wanted to kill him straight off. But then the other one said something about Blair being worth an easy half a grand." She pauses, frowning. "I must have have passed out because the next thing I remember is some copper telling me that help was on the way."

"That's enough for now, gentlemen." One of the medics tells us. "We need to get her to the hospital."

Pulling Ellison aside, I nod for them to proceed.

"Damn it!" Jim exclaims as she disappears out the door, "I knew I shouldn't have left him alone."

"He wasn't alone," I angrily retort. "He had a trained officer protecting him. Even if you had been here, it would be you on that stretcher instead of Megan. So I suggest you get it together and, instead of bitching about what's happened, work on finding your partner.

For a minute I honestly think Ellison is going to hit me. Hands clenched in tight fists at his side, eyes blazing angrily, he reminds me of a wild animal ready to strike. Instead his entire body shudders. Turning he walks over and, crouching down, begins to examine Mc Millan's body.

Thinking it best if I were to give him some time to come to grips with what's happened, I call the nearest officer over and begin issuing
directives.

"I want this entire building and the surrounding neighborhood canvassed." I tell him. "Someone has to have seen something. I don't care how insignificant it may seem, I want to know about it immediately."

"Yes, sir." He acknowledges quickly scurrying out the door.

Pulling out my cell phone I'm just about to contact Rafe and Brown when movement from Ellison draws my attention. Rising from his inspection of the body, I'm not even sure I recognize the man looking down at the body with such unbridled hatred. If you ask, me the kid got off easy with a single bullet to the chest. Because, had he still been alive, I have no doubt that Jim would have ripped Mc Millan to shreds. Callously Ellison steps over the prostrate form and opening the sliding glass doors, goes out onto the balcony.

With a white knuckled grip he grasps the railing, eyes staring straight ahead. And in a moment of pure anguish all of his anger, fear, grief and
rage comes pouring out in the form of a heart wrenching scream. The name on his lips; Sandburg.

It's been ten hours since Reynolds took Sandburg. However, unlike the last incident, this time there are leads. Reynolds car had been identified by witnesses and was later discovered parked outside a seedy nightclub on Cascade's lower east end. This information coincided with the thorough background check that Detectives Rafe and Brown ran on our suspect. According to acquaintances, Reynolds was known to frequent the club.

Ellison was all set to go storming in there, unfortunately this is where we hit a snag. Vice somehow got wind of our operation and using their influence with the police commissioner, pulled the plug.

It turns out that the nightclub's owner, Richard Hawkins, is suspected in connection with a white slavery ring and has been under surveillance for the past several months. At least this information ties in with what Reynolds said about Sandburg being worth a half a grand.

To say that Ellison was not pleased would be a gross understatement. He had to be physically restrained from going after the vice squad's captain when the word came down. Thankfully, John Chase is an old friend of mine and we were able to work out a suitable compromise.

Their man on the inside not only confirmed that Sandburg was indeed being held on the premises, but also informed us that a buyer for the Moroccan slavery ring was expected tonight after the club closed.

Assuming that Blair was the merchandise being sold, it was agreed upon to wait until after the transaction took place to stage a rescue attempt. That way Vice would get the incriminating evidence they needed and we'd still get Sandburg back.

Their proposal was of course met with a string of muttered obscenities from Ellison. Who basically told both John and the police commissioner that they could go fuck themselves because he was going after his partner. It was only after John adamantly assured Jim that his man would pull Blair out at the first sign of trouble that Ellison finally agreed to wait. I could tell the wait was slowly killing him though, so it was with great relief that we took our positions on the roof of the building and waited for the establishment to close.

"Black limo pulling up at the rear entrance." John reported over the headset. "All stations report in."

I confirmed our positions, and now there's nothing for us to do but wait and listen. Fortunately, John's man was able to plant a listening device in the manager's office, yet tensions run high as the meeting gets underway.

"I understand you have something special for me this time," the Moroccan says after pleasantries are exchanged.

"Yes," a voice I assume was Hawkins, replies. "I think you'll be very pleased with the item we have for sale. David, would you please go and get the merchandise?"

"Sure thing, boss." Reynolds answers. A door opens and closes.

"I sincerely hope you don't intend to disappoint me again Mr. Hawkins. Our last transaction was less than satisfactory."

"I was sorry to hear about that," Hawkins said. "But there was no way of knowing she had a preexisting medical condition."

"I don't like having to refund my clients' money." The Moroccan sneers.

"I'll make it up to you on this one." Hawkins promises, and I find myself growing queasy at the callous way they are discussing Sandburg as if he were a side of beef. But even that reaction was mild in comparison to Jim, who is so angry that I can literally hear his teeth grinding together.

I feel for the man, I honestly do. There is nothing I'd like better than to go busting in there now and take the slime buckets down. But if there is any chance of preventing Reynolds and Hawkins from selling any more people, like they're about to do to Sandburg, like they've no doubt done to countless others, then we have to make sure this goes down by the book.

At the sound of Reynolds' return, Ellison stiffens and his entire countenance reflects intense concentration. No doubt he's trying to monitor his partner's condition. I just hope he doesn't pull one of those zone outs that Sandburg's always talking about.

"Jim?" My concern for the kid prompts me to question.

"He's scared, Simon." Ellison replies then abruptly growls in frustration. "I can't tell anymore than that. I have to see him. I need to know he's all right."

Rising, he starts towards the roof's access to the stairwell. Quickly following, I grab his arm, spinning him around.

"Jim, you can't. You go down there now and you'll blow everything. Just give it a few more minutes, that's all I ask."

Shaking off my grip he glares defiantly up at me. It's then I decide to play my trump card. "What would Sandburg want you to do?" I ask him. Okay, so I don't play fair. But I know Blair would want these jokers taken down no matter what the cost. Fortunately Ellison knows it too and grudgingly agrees to wait.

"Well," Hawkins' questions come through the headset, "what do you think?"

"You're right," the Moroccan says. "He's quite exquisite. The hair, his eyes, those lips. Considering the circumstances though, I'm surprised he isn't gagged. Not that I'm complaining." He adds in a leering tone.

"He doesn't talk much," Reynolds comments with a chuckle.

"So, do we have a deal?" Hawkins asks.

"Not so fast." The Moroccan warns. "While I will admit he's quite lovely, it's also obvious that he is in less than pristine condition."

"He was a bit uncooperative at first," Reynolds replies. "But he's learned his lesson now. Haven't you, baby?" The laughter in Reynolds' voice turns into a yelp of pain. "Why you little prick..." The sound of a slap could be heard followed by a thud.

"Don't even think about it." I tell Jim as he tenses beside me.

"It would appear that you do not have him quite yet domesticated." It was the Moroccan's turn to be amused. "Still, the client I have in mind for him likes a bit of a challenge. He enjoys breaking them, so to speak. I'll give you twenty five thousand for him."

"WHAT!" Hawkins exclaims. "That's only half of what we agreed upon."

"As I said, he is damaged. Besides, you still owe me from our last transaction. You should consider yourself grateful I'm offering you anything at all."

"You can't do that!" Reynolds angrily protests. "I need that money to get out of town."

"That is not my concern." The Moroccan states.

"Look," Reynolds retorts, "his injuries will heal and I promise you he's worth every cent." His tone grew cocky. "I ought to know, I fucked him enough."

"THAT SON OF A BITCH!" Ellison explodes.

"We're going to get the bastard, Jim." I quickly assure him. In fact, the more I hear, the more inclined I am to hold Reynolds down while Ellison rips the man's balls off. I'm about to tell Jim as much when the Moroccan speaks again.

"Is that so?" He comments. "Well then, you won't mind me sampling the wares then. And if I agree with your assessment, I'll raise my price to sixty five thousand, but not a penny more. In fact, I admit to being quite taken with him, and if he pleases me, I may just decide to keep him for myself. Agreed?"

"You've got yourself a deal," Hawkins replies.

"Come now, don't be shy." The Moroccan mocks in the face of Blair's guttural protests. "Don't struggle and I'll be gentle with you. Fight me and, well, I guarantee you that you won't enjoy the experience."

"All right, that does it!" I bellow into the headset. "This ends right here and now. John, you'd better get your people stationed at the exits because we're going in whether you like it or not. You ready, Jim? ... Jim?" I question again, only to turn and discover him already gone. Aw shit! "Damn it, Ellison," I grumble, rushing after him.

Catching up with him at the foot of the stairs, a dark headed man in his early twenties dangles from Ellison's crushing grip. "Jim," I hiss in an authoritative manner and his captive is released and allowed to slump to the floor.

"Chill out, Rambo." The man grates through his abused larynx. "I'm Giovanni, Chase's man."

Without warning, Ellison reaches down and hauls the man to his feet. "They're about to rape my partner," Jim snarls, shaking him, "and I find you lurking in the hallway with your hands up your ass!"

At least Giovanni has the good sense to be afraid, although he is trying his damnedest not to show it. Quite frankly I'm surprised he isn't pissing his pants by this point. To witness Jim Ellison in a frenzy is a sight to behold, to be the object of that rage is down right terrifying.

"Look man," he tells Ellison, "The Moroccan's bodyguard is standing right outside the office door. You're going to need me to distract him if you expect to get the drop on the others."

"Let him go, Jim. We're wasting time Sandburg doesn't have." I remind him.

Once again the man is abruptly released. "You've got ten seconds." Ellison growls. "After that I'll go through you, the bodyguard and anyone else that gets in my way. You got that?"

Not bothering to reply, the kid pulls a cigarette from his breast pocket, rounds the corner and starts down the corridor. Passing the guard, Giovanni pats his pockets as if searching for a light. Turning he asks the Moroccan for a match.

That was all Jim needs to slip up behind the larger man and stick a gun in his back.

"One sound and you're dead." Ellison whispers in warning as Giovanni takes the opportunity to relieve the man of his weapon. Shoving the bodyguard at the kid, Jim motions for the young Italian to get him out of sight. Then taking up positions on either side of the door, we count down from three.

Busting open the door, I've only got a second to take in the situation before all hell breaks loose. But in that second, a number of things register; the terrified, yet defiant expression as Sandburg struggles, hands tied behind his back, within Reynolds' grasp; the Moroccan, his hands thrust down the front of the kid's gaping slacks turning, startled; and from the corner of my eye, Hawkins making a move for his gun.

"Police, freeze," Ellison bellows, his weapon trained on Reynolds and the Moroccan, as I draw down on Hawkins. Wisely the later moves away from the open desk drawer, his hands raised. The Moroccan, removing his hand from Sandburg's pants, also steps back. Reynolds however, is another matter entirely.

One arm slung around Blair's throat, he reaches in his waistband and pulls out a gun, pointing it at Sandburg's head.

"Back off," he yells, "or I'll blow him away."

"Let him go, Reynolds." Ellison delivers, cool, precise and deadly.

"I don't think so, cop." The younger man sneers. "Blair baby is my ticket out of here. Now I suggest you both drop your guns unless you want to see his brains splattered all over the floor."

It is a standoff of the worst kind. If we put down our weapons we are as good as dead. If we don't, Sandburg is. The stench of a cornered animal left little doubt that Reynolds would follow through on his threat.

"Even if you get past us," I try to reason with him, "this place is surrounded."

"Yeah, well even if that's true, at least I'll have the satisfaction of taking Teach here and some of you, with me. So what's it going to be?"

The entire time Sandburg has continued to struggle against Reynolds' punishing grip. Yet even as we watch and debate, his efforts grow weaker. Choking sounds emanating from blue tinged lips, he appears on the verge of collapse.

"All right," I concede, my fear for Sandburg's life taking precedence over procedure. "Just loosen your grip. You're killing him."

"First the guns."

Trepidation swelling within, I bend and lay my weapon on the floor.

"Kick it away." He instructs and I do so.

"You too, cop." Reynolds tells Ellison.

"JIM!" I bark. Barely keeping his rage and fear for his partner in check, I can see minute tremors coursing through him.

"I'm not going to let you take him." Ellison's tone is angry with a hint of challenge.

Reynolds merely smiles and I feel my blood run cold.

"Damn it, Jim. Put the gun down." I order and still Ellison hesitates.

"You'd better listen to the man." Reynolds taunts, pressing the barrel of the gun closer to Sandburg's temple.

Blue eyes meet green in a silent battle of wills, then Jim's gaze settles on the kid and the defiance crumples. Growling in frustration, Ellison tosses the gun away.

"Wise decision." Reynolds smirks, loosening his hold on Sandburg. Immediately Blair gasps for air, his efforts impeded by a wracking cough.

"Now what do we do?" Hawkins questions as soon as the coughing dies down. "If he was telling the truth, we'll never get out of here."

"Don't be sure about that." Reynolds cockily replies. "Seems to me there's three of us and three of them. We'll each use one as a shield and walk right out of here. Then once we're free and clear, we'll kill the cops and dump their bodies."

I'm not really sure what happened next. One minute I see Sandburg's eyes widen in fear, and the next the most God awful scream erupts from his lips. Then forcibly flinging his head backward, he strikes Reynolds in the face.

Uttering a surprised grunt of pain, the dirt bag stumbles back, releasing his hold on Sandburg. More concerned about his now bloody nose than his hostage, Reynolds is caught off guard when Blair pivots and lowering his head, rams into the gunman's midsection.

Reynolds isn't the only one taken by surprise. Shocked by the completely unexpected explosion from Sandburg, it's several seconds before Jim, or even I for that matter, react. Seeing that Hawkins is once again going for his gun, I lunge, my flying tackle taking him to the floor while Ellison dives for the Moroccan.

Quickly subduing Hawkins, I rise from behind the desk in time to note Jim's adversary out cold on the floor and Ellison climbing groggily to his feet.

"It's all your fault, you stupid little prick!" I hear Reynolds yell and turn to see him sitting on Sandburg's chest, his hands brutally gripping the kids' hair as he repeatedly slams Blair's head against the hardwood floor.

"Let him go!" I bellow, grabbing Hawkins' gun from the desk drawer and aiming it at Reynolds.

Stumbling into my line of fire, Ellison grabs Reynolds by the back of his jacket, jerking him upwards. With a roar, he swings the kid around and begins striking him repeatedly. Despite knowing what Reynolds had done to Sandburg, after a few minutes even I could not stand to witness the sheer brutality as Ellison continues to mercilessly pummel him.

"JIM!" I holler, striding swiftly to his side. "Let him go." I demand, capturing the upraised arm, poised to strike yet again.

"I'm going to kill the fucker." Ellison rasps, literally shaking with anger.

"I know how you feel." I tell him, my mind quickly scrambling for some reason for him not to kill the bastard. "Think of Sandburg," I say. "Who's going to watch out for him if you're in prison for killing Reynolds?"

"You will," he growls, shaking off my grip to strike again.

"I'm not who he needs." I angrily return. "You are."

Grabbing Reynolds by the shirt front, he yanks the man close. "You're not worth it." He snarls at the barely conscious man, before roughly shoving him in my direction. Stumbling, Reynolds collapses to the floor.

"Sandburg... Chief?" Jim calls, kneeling beside the anthropologist. His features etched with concern, he searches his partner's face. "Come on, buddy. I need to know that you're all right." He pleads, carefully checking for injuries.

"Jim?" I question as Ellison gently probes the back of Sandburg's head.

"There's some slight swelling." He informs me. Quickly and efficiently he continues his examination then proceeds to lift Blair's upper torso.

"Is that a good idea?" I ask apprehensively as Jim rests Sandburg against his chest.

"I need to get him untied." Ellison explains, deftly working at the rope binding the kid's hands behind his back. Freed, Blair's arms fall limply to his sides, a small groan of pain accompanying the motion.

"Blair?" Jim questions softly, brushing aside the unruly locks to peer anxiously at the man in his arms.

Fine lashes flutter, almost invisible against the dark circles beneath Sandburg's eyes. Slowly they open, as if the simple task takes more energy
than he can spare. The dazed orbs filled with fear relax as Ellison's presence sinks into the befuddled brain.

"Welcome back, Chief," Jim says warmly.

"J...im."

It's barely audible and so raspy in quality that it's almost painful to listen to. And yet, I think perhaps it's the most beautiful sound I've ever
heard.

"What did you say?" Ellison asks, his surprise unmistakable.

"J...im." Sandburg repeats, forcing the name out.

"I thought that's what you said," Ellison replies and for the first time since this whole mess started, Jim's face, his entire countenance, lights up.

A disruption at the door causes us both to turn as Ellison pulls the kid closer, ready to defend him against any threat. Thank heavens it's only
Giovanni back from securing his prisoner.

"You guys okay?" He asks anxiously, scanning the room. "We lost communications shortly after the fight started."

"We've got the situation under control," I tell him, stepping in front of Ellison and Sandburg. "Tell John he can haul out the garbage any time now. And while you're at it, get the paramedics up here."

"Yes, sir!" Giovanni replies grinning before darting from the room.

"Shhh, it's all right." I turn to hear Jim softly croon. "They can't hurt you anymore." Apparently startled by Giovanni's abrupt entrance, the kid is shaking like a leaf.

"Damn rookie," I mutter, cursing the Italian.

Slowly the shudders subside, aided by Ellison's soothing tone as he strokes the younger man's back.

"Hey, kid, how you doing?" I ask softly, not wanting to further startle him.

Head resting against Jim's chest, at my inquiry Sandburg opens his eyes. Seeing me, he summons a tiny smile. " ...'m okay," he struggles to say in a scratchy whisper of a voice.

Pleased, I nod. "That's good to hear. Still, I think we ought to get you get checked out at the hospital."

"No..., I'm all... right," he says shaking his head. The movement causing him to wince.

"Take it easy, Chief." Ellison cautions. "How about we see what the paramedics have to say, then decide. Okay?"

I could tell Sandburg wasn't happy about it. Yet it was what Jim wanted so of course the kid agrees, if somewhat reluctantly.

A commotion in the hall warns us mere seconds before John, his men and the paramedics arrive. One of the EMT's immediately going to check on Reynolds as the other veers towards Sandburg.

"I'm sorry we missed the party," John grouses as Hawkins and the Moroccan are escorted from the room.

Leaving his partner in capable hands, Ellison rises, his expression infused with anger. "I hope your fucking evidence is worth it, Chase, considering what they've done to my partner."

"Jim." I warn, only to have John stop me.

"No, Simon, it's all right. I understand how Ellison feels."

"You don't know jack-shit!" Jim growls.

Chase straightens, refusing to be intimidated. "I do know this, detective, you've got yourself one hell of a partner there. You should be very proud of him."

"I don't need you to tell me that," Ellison rumbles. "Sandburg may not be a cop, but he's the best damn partner I've ever had. You just make sure you do your job and take these bastards down."

"I'll do that," John replies with a nod before heading over to check on Reynolds.

Dismissing Chase, Ellison returns to his partner's side where the paramedic was just finishing up his examination. "How is he?" Jim asks, his concerned gaze traveling over the younger man.

"There doesn't appear to be any additional damage to the ribs." The EMT relates. "I suspect he has a mild concussion though." He adds, rising. "Detective, could I speak with you a moment?"

Ellison nods. "I'll be right back." He assures the kid before moving a few feet away.

I don't mean to eavesdrop but I can't help but overhear their hushed
conversation.

"I've checked him out as thoroughly as he'll allow." The man tells Jim. "However, considering the circumstances I'm concerned about the likelihood of sexual assault. He's denying it of course and is adamantly refusing to allow me to examine him for the possibility. I was hoping you could talk to him." He concludes with a quick glance towards Sandburg.

Grim faced, Ellison nods. "I'll see what I can do."

"Hey, Chief." Jim smiles gently, kneeling beside his partner. His expression sobers. "Blair... I know how hard this is for you, but we need to know if you were... If they..."

Immediately the kid begins shaking his head. "No. You stopped them... in time."

Ellison's shoulder slump with relief.

"Want to... go... home." Sandburg rasps, peering hopefully up at Ellison.

"I don't think that's a such good idea, Chief," Ellison replies with a frown. "You might have a concussion. I really think it would be best if
we let the hospital check you out."

"Please."

This time it's Jim's turn to cave. Okay, I admit it. I wouldn't have been able to refuse the kid either. Disconcerted, Ellison glances at the paramedic who holds up his hands in defeat. With a sigh Jim turns back to his partner.

"All right, but at the first sign of a problem, I'll haul your ass there personally if I have to. You hear what I'm saying?"

Not fooled for a minute by Ellison's gruff demeanor, Sandburg smiles. "Deal," he says, the smile immediately crumpling into a frown.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Jim questions, immediately concerned.

"Megan... " the kid grates, as memories begin flooding to the forefront, "was hurt."

"She's going to be fine." I rush to assure him. "Actually she's been more concerned about you, the doctors practically had to tie her down to keep her there."

"Sounds like Megan." The smile returns, his relief evident.

Packing up their equipment, the EMT that examined Sandburg comes over to us, clipboard in hand. "You're sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" He asks Blair one final time.

"Positive," the kid replies, struggling into a sitting position as if to prove his point. Automatically Jim moves to assist, his arm snaking around the smaller man's back.

"All right," the paramedic replies, "but I'll need you to sign this release form."

Taking the proffered clipboard, Ellison hands it to his partner. Hastily scribbling his signature, Sandburg hands it back with a quiet, "Thanks."

With a nod, the man joins his partner and together they wheel out the stretcher containing Reynolds. Can't say I'm sorry to see the bastard go.

"I'll need your reports on my desk first thing in the morning." John addresses me, his comment pulling me from thoughts of inflicting bodily harm.

My gaze strays to Ellison and Sandburg, then back to John. "You'll have them by noon." I tell him, my tone brooking no argument.

A slight pause. "By noon then." He agrees before following the stretcher out the door and we are once again alone.

"You ready to try and get up?" I hear Jim question and turn to watch as he helps Sandburg to stand. A soft moan escapes and Blair sways slightly, a hand going to his head. Instinctively I reach out to help only to discover my assistance is unnecessary. Jim has the situation and Sandburg, well in hand. Left arm wrapped around the kid's middle, Ellison peers anxiously at his partner. "Chief?" He questions.

"I'm... okay." He assures Jim, offering a small smile as proof.

"What do you say we get the hell out of here." I suggest, knowing that these two need time to rest and recuperate.

"Whadda say, Chief. You ready to go home?" Ellison asks.

"Sounds... good."

Weariness has crept into his tone. Not surprising considering all the kid has gone through. Unconsciously, he grips the front of Ellison's jacket, like an anchor grounding him to reality. It's then that I realize the nightmare is not yet over. Who knows what repercussions there might be as a result of Blair's ordeal. The repeated sexual assaults, the imprisonment and degradation, are bound to have far reaching consequences. My mind flashes back to the image of Sandburg, choker chain around his neck, leash dangling. To the tack room where... Oh hell. In the aftermath of Sandburg's abduction I'd completely forgotten about Anderson.

Inadvertently my gaze travels to Blair and once again I catalog the various injuries inflicted by Mc Millan and his cohorts. The cuts and bruises, the flayed skin encircling his throat and wrists; and they are only the visible signs. What demons have lodged themselves within Sandburg's heart, mind and soul? And is Blair capable of killing someone?

Watching as Jim adjusts Sandburg's disheveled clothing, I silently debate the issue. As their friend, I want nothing more than to forget the evidence's implications and yet, as a police officer, it's my duty to investigate. Have I mentioned that sometimes being a cop sucks?

Shrugging out of his jacket, Jim places it over Sandburg's shoulders. Gently freeing the curls trapped from within its confines, touch maintains the vital contact between them. Eyes lined with exhaustion, the dark stubble of the kid's beard stands out in dark contrast against the paleness of his complexion. This is the last thing Sandburg needs right now and I damn myself for having to ask.

Pushing myself away from the desk, I move to block their path. "Blair," I say, ignoring the questioning glance Jim casts in my direction. "There's something that I need to ask you. When we found where they were keeping you, we discovered something else..."

"Damn it, Simon." Ellison barks. "Not now!"

"Look Jim, I don't like this any better than you do. But you know I have to ask."

"And what are you going to do if he says he did it. Arrest him?" Ellison challenges and I find myself suddenly unable to respond.

"WHAT!" Sandburg croaks, fear and confusion running rampant across his expressive features. His gaze fixes on Ellison, demanding answers. "What's he talking... about?"

"It's nothing." Jim tries to assure him. A pointed glare in my direction dares me to contradict him. But the kid's not buying it.

"Tell me." He asks, hoarsely.

Ellison scrubs a hand over his mouth before replying. "We found Anderson. Craig," he clarifies at Blair's confused frown. "He'd been stabbed to death."

Suddenly the kid sways. Clutching at Ellison for support, his gaze becomes distant and unfocused.

"Chief!" Ellison cries out. But already it's too late. Once again Sandburg is in another place and time.

Something was nudging at his subconscious. Persistent in its entreaties, it refused Blair the oblivion in which he sought shelter from the pain, humiliation and cruelty that had become his entire existence.

For so long he had held out hope that Jim would find him, would rescue him from the malicious intentions of those who had kidnapped him. But as each day passed, as his suffering continued, despair had crept in to replace, then finally crush, all hope. His only refuge now, a tiny corner of his mind where pleasant memories surrounded him in a never ending loop. Where the sun shone bright, its warmth enveloping him. And the food and water were sweet and plentiful.

Yet the voice calling him was insistent, pleading in quality and Blair found his heart could not refuse. Drawn, despite his fear, Blair left the tiny haven which he'd created and returned to the place where nightmares became reality.

The soft glow of a flashlight alerted him to the presence of another. With a small cry, Blair scuttled backwards, away the the figure.

"Shhh, it's all right. It's me, Craig." Came a voice from beyond the periphery of the light and Blair felt himself relax.

Yes, Craig had taken him that one time when forced by the others to do so. But even in that, he'd been reluctant. Moving gently instead of the pounding thrust of Randy and Dave. And it was Craig who had been responsible for the blanket now wrapped around him. Craig, who bathed and shaved him, brought him food and water, when permitted.

In his own way, Craig was as much a victim as Blair. Only instead of a locked door, his cell was sealed by walls of fear. Fear for his own safety should he betray Mc Millan and Reynolds. And yet it appeared as if all that was about to change.

"Here, put these on," Craig said, thrusting a pair of gray sweatpants at Blair. "We're getting out of here."

There was a sense of urgency to his tone. An exigency that went unheeded as the dazed anthropologist merely sat there gaping incoherently. "

We don't have time for this," Anderson hissed, making a grab for the blanket which Blair clutched around him.

Immediately the older man balked, pressing himself further back against the wall, kicking out with his feet as Craig moved closer.

"No, it's all right. I'm not going to hurt you." Craig said, raising his hands and slightly backing away. "You want to get out of here, right?
Leave... go home." He tried again when Blair continued to stare at him blankly.

Home... What was it about that word that brought with it a sense of comfort and security?

"Damn it, Blair. Are you listening to me?" Anderson snapped. Regretting the outburst his voice softened. "Look, I overheard Dave on the phone and he's got plans for you that Randy knows nothing about." Involuntarily he shuddered. "I won't let that happen. I've got to get you out of here." Taking in the void expression, Craig sighed. "You don't understand any of this, do you?" It was a rhetorical question.

Anderson looked at the shivering figure before him,and as it had on numerous occasions over the past ten days, his heart went out to Blair. If only he had realized what Mc Millan's plans were from the start. Then maybe he could have done something to prevent all this. Craig snorted at the irony. Even in captivity, through all the suffering and degradation, Blair had shown more courage than he ever had. And while he couldn't go back and change what had already occurred, he could put an end to it here and now. He could stop Reynolds from selling Blair into God only knew what kind of hell. Another snort. As if the man hadn't already been living it.

Another shudder coursed throughout the frame that had grown entirely too thin. "

I know you're cold," he told Blair gently. Once again he picked up the sweatpants and offered them to the huddled figure. "These will help keep you warm." Finally a flicker of a reaction. Cautiously a hand snaked out from within the folds of the blanket. "That's it," Craig said encouragingly when Blair finally took the sweats and began the arduous task of putting them on.

During the process his blanket had come dislodged and without thinking, Craig reached out to resettle it on the older man's shoulders. With a quiet gasp Blair's eyes went wide, his entire body going taut. Summoning a reassuring smile Craig continued, tucking the blanket securely around Blair. "Better?" He asked. Pleased when he received a small grunt of acknowledgement in return.

Aware that time was growing short, he sobered once more. "Blair," he said softly. "I realize that you have no reason to trust me but I want you to come with me. I'm going to take you somewhere safe. Some place where Randy and Dave can't hurt you anymore. Would you like that?"

Confused and uncertain, Craig could see that the grad student was having trouble processing the question. How sad that such a brilliant mind had been reduced to this. Precious seconds were wasted when finally Blair offered a tiny nod.

"Good. Here, let me help you up," Anderson said, reaching for Blair. Only to have his hands batted away with a small grunt of rejection.

"All right, I won't help," the sandy haired man responded, backing away. "But we have to hurry."

Face a set mask of determination, brow furrowed by pain, Blair struggled to his feet and stumbled forward.

"Whoa there, take it easy," Craig cautioned, his hands coming out to steady the anthropologist. "Look, whether you like it or not, I think it would be best if you leaned on me for awhile. At least until you're feeling a little stronger, okay?"

"Please," he added, seeing Blair's hesitation. Not bothering to wait for an answer, Craig wrapped an arm around the smaller man's waist and propelled him towards the door. Suddenly the overhead light snapped on, momentarily blinding them both with it's brilliance.

"Going somewhere?" Mc Millan sneered, blocking the doorway.

"This has gone far enough," Anderson replied, shaking almost as much as the man he held. "I'm taking him out of here."

"That's what you think!" Randy snarled, and in a blur of motion, he stepped forward and thrust the knife he had been hiding behind his back into Craig's abdomen. "He's mine," Mc Millan growled, jerking the blade upwards, "and no little shit like you is going to take him away from me."

Withdrawing the knife, he thrust Anderson aside, and as the body crumpled to the ground he whirled in anger on Blair who stood several feet away, gaping in shock.

"So, you were going to leave, were you?" Cruel green eyes seethed with outrage. "Looks like you need another lesson in obedience." He said starting forward, the upraised blade stained dark with Anderson's blood.

Crying out, Blair grabbed the blanket from his shoulders and flinging it at Mc Millan, raced out the door. The myriad of aches and pains forgotten in his terror and flight for freedom. Into the darkened stable he ran, aware of the muttered curses raining behind him. His only guide, the thin shafts of moonbeams filtering through the clapboard walls.

Adrenalin spurring him on, Blair headed towards the end of the building, sounds of pursuit nipping at his heels. Abruptly hands entwined themselves in the long locks and yanked him brutally backwards. "

You little fuck!" Mc Millan roared, striking Blair across the face and knocking him to the ground. "The only way you're getting away from me is in a body bag. You got that?"

Dropping down to straddle the older man's chest, Mc Millan grabbed the leather leash and wrapping it tight around his hand several times, jerked the choker chain tighter. Brandishing the knife he ran the tip of its blade down Blair's cheek. "

By the time I'm through with you. you'll wish you were dead." Randy taunted, his eyes glowing with malicious intent. "But I ain't through with you yet."

The weight of the larger man pinning him to the floor, chain pulled taut, Blair found it difficult to breathe, let alone struggle. And yet, terrified beyond belief, he tried. His feeble attempts having little effect as Mc Millan continued to beat him unmercifully.

A streak of red flared across Blair's vision, stark in contrast to the black void slowly encroaching on it. With a small grunt of pain his arms fell uselessly to his side, his left hand striking one of the many discarded beer bottles laying scattered about. Without thinking, Blair grasped the bottle and smashed it against the side of Mc Millan's head.

The larger man dropped like a stone, falling sideways. The pressure on his throat easing, Blair sucked air into his lungs. Eventually the blackness threatening to engulf him faded, leaving in its wake an overwhelming urgency to flee.

A softly uttered moan from the man laying beside him propelled Blair into action. Rolling over onto his side, he pushed himself up into a kneeling position. One hand braced against the aggravated injury to his ribs, he waited for the feeling of nausea to subside. Another groan from Mc Millan and Blair's eyes snapped open, his gaze falling on the knife laying discarded in front of him. Unconsciously he picked it up, clutching it to himself as one would a protective barrier, as an inert sense of danger forced him to his feet. Grasping the paddock railing to momentarily steady himself, he pushed off and stumbled towards the stable door. Throwing his weight against it, the door swung open and Blair staggered out into the night.

"Sandburg!" Ellison's panicked voice calls again as he gently shakes the man in his arms.

Blinking several times, awareness returns to Blair's eyes. "I'm all... right," he rasps, his gaze seeking and finding mine. "It was... Randy." He tells me. "Cr... Craig was trying to help me... escape and..."

"Mc Millan caught him," I say, holding up my hand to forestall any further explanation. Sadly the kid nods and I see Jim frown at his reaction. Granted, it's not unheard of for kidnap victims to, in time, identify with their abductors, but under these circumstances... I let the thought trail off, doubting that we'll ever learn all the details of Blair's captivity.

"I'm sorry," I apologize, "but you understand, I needed to ask."

Wordlessly the kid nods. Exhaustion weighing him down, he leans even further into Ellison's embrace.

"If that's all, sir, I'd like to get Blair home." The hostility in Jim's tone is unmistakable.

"I'll drive you," I reply, stepping aside to allow them to pass.

"Let's go, Chief," Ellison says, gently pressing a hand against the younger
man's back.

The kid hesitates. "Jim?" He questions and it's obvious there's something on Sandburg's mind.

"What is it, buddy?" Ellison asks, peering anxiously down at his partner.

"Did you mean... what you... said?" Blair wonders, uncertainly.

"About what?" Jim probes, confused.

"What you said to... Chase." Sandburg explains.

Expression softening. "I meant every word I said, Chief."

"And I'll second that, Blair." I pipe up, adding my unsolicited opinion. "You've become a real asset to the department and I'd trust you with my life."

Suddenly Ellison grins, my earlier transgression forgiven. "You have." He's quick to remind me.

"You want a ride or not?" I grouse, trying my best to look annoyed.

"Whadda say, Chief," Ellison questions, smiling down at his partner. "You trust this joker to get us home in one piece?"

"Considering... the way you drive," Sandburg beams wearily up at the older man with a hint of mischievousness. "I'll take... my chances."

All my life I've felt as if a vital part of myself was missing. When I was young, I thought perhaps it was because my mother had left us. Or maybe because I never could seem to gain my father's approval. Unconsciously, I sought to fill the void by excelling at my schoolwork and sports.

As I grew older, my attempts led me from one meaningless affair to another. Hell, I even tried marriage once and yet the sensation of loss remained... Until Blair.

To say our first meeting was auspicious would be a slight obfuscation. The last thing I wanted in my life was some long haired, wide eyed, hyperactive grad student. Especially one that was trying to tell me that I was some kind of throwback to pre-civilized man. Turned out the kid knew what he was talking about, and somewhere down the line my original intention of discarding him when I had this thing with my senses under control became inconceivable.

Never before has someone accepted me, faults and all, so unconditionally. He's given up career opportunities and at times worked himself into exhaustion trying to juggle his responsibilities at the university and as my partner. He's been beaten, kidnapped, shot... and yet remains steadfastly by my side.

I've lost track of the number of times he's risked his life to assist me on a case. I've seen him stand up to men twice his size in my defense, and yeah, he's even kicked my butt a few times when I've been a total ass.

He's intelligent, resourceful, brave and the best friend anyone could wish for.

I cringe at the thought of all the times I've dismissed him or one of his ideas. I've accused him of betraying my trust, but if anyone's been at fault this relationship, it's me.

He deserves better but, God help me, I can't let him go. All I can do is try to make up for all the past hurts and vow to protect that which has been so graciously entrusted to me.

It feels so right, holding him in my arms. It's as if he belongs there. The trust he exhibited as he gently dropped off to sleep amazes me.

Were it not for the physical evidence of his abduction, one could almost forget the events of the past twelve days, so innocent and unassuming he appears. And yet, I know every second of that time will be indelibly branded into my heart and mind.

My own suffering pales in comparison to what Blair has already endured and the rough road that lies ahead. I can only pray that he will find solace in the fact that I will be by his side every step of the way. When he hurts, I will cry with him. When he feels frightened or insecure, I will hold and comfort him. I offer him my heart, mind, body and soul and know that they are in capable hands. I only hope that I am equal to the task.

The motion of the car stops, and I look up to find Simon's eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. Part of me regrets snapping his head off earlier, I owe the man a great deal. He's the one who kept me from totally losing it while Sandburg was missing.

"You need any help getting him upstairs?" he asks, his gaze sliding down to encompass Sandburg.

"Thanks," I tell him, "but I think we can manage."

Ignoring the fleeting expression of hurt that traverses his features, I look down at the man I securely hold.

"Hey, Chief," I say, nudging him gently. "We're home."

Slowly he stirs, the long lashes fluttering before opening to reveal eyes clouded with sleep. Seeing me, he smiles softly and I'm reminded all over again just how close I came to losing him. "Sorry," he apologizes, one hand coming up to wipe the sleep from his eyes as he sits up. "Must have been more tired... than I thought." His voice is still rough, but it's music to my ears.

"It's okay," I gently assure him. "You needed the rest. Whadda say we get you upstairs where you can sleep in a real bed?"

"Sounds... good." It comes out sounding like a purr.

Smiling, I turn to Simon. "We'll be in later this morning, sir."

"Take all the time you need," he tells me. "John can wait."

With a nod, I pop open the car door.

"Thank you for... everything," Blair adds sincerely before sliding out of the car after me.

One arm draped across his shoulders, we watch Simon drive off.

"He's a good friend," Blair comments softly as we enter the building, and I find myself in complete agreement.

Eyes closed, he's silent as we take the elevator, seemingly content with the contact between us. And yet, I feel an underlying tenseness beneath my touch. What's going through that brain of his? Is he thinking about the ordeal he was forced to endure, or is something else exacerbating his anxiety?

Cursing silently, I rip away the yellow police tape barring our door, then turning the key in the lock and pushing it open, usher him inside.

Turning on the light, I toss my keys into the basket and slipping my jacket from his shoulders, hang it on the nearby hook.

One arm wrapped protectively around his middle, Blair moves into the living room. His eyes first straying to the chalk outline of Mc Millan's body and then to the patch of now dried blood where Conner had lain bleeding. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

"Chief, maybe we should spend the night somewhere else," I suggest.

Haunted blue eyes turn to me, and I find myself taken aback by the sheer amount of pain and misery reflected in them.

"I thought it was... finally... over. But it isn't, is it?"

The quietly spoken words tear at my heart and my first inclination is to lie. To assure him that everything's going to be all right. But I can't do that.

"No, it isn't," I solemnly reply.

"I need a shower," he stammers, backing away. I freeze, fear swelling within at this new development. I though we'd gone past this stage.

Striving to keep my voice even. "Sure, Chief, why don't I fix us something to eat while you're in there."

"You go ahead... if you want," he grates. "I'm not very... hungry."

"How about a cup of tea then?" I ask, keenly aware of the fact that he's avoiding my gaze. "It might help soothe your throat."

He smiles, the light of it never quite reaching his eyes. "I'd like... that. I won't... be long."

"Take your time," I call to his retreating back as he heads for the bathroom.

Whatever appetite I may have had fled with Sandburg's strange behavior. All of a sudden there's this distance between us and I don't know why.

Setting about making his tea, as it has become second nature, I automatically tune into Blair. The soft rustle of cloth against skin as he discards his clothes and stuffs them into the hamper. Running water and the sound of shaving cream being dispensed. Normal, everyday sounds that I use to take for granted mean so much more to me now. Several minutes later the water goes on, and I hear the shower curtain being opened and closed as he steps inside.

Beside me the tea kettle whistles. Turning off the burner, I pour the steaming liquid into the cup and allow it to steep. Placing the pot back on the burner, a muffled sob grabs my attention.

Oh, God, he's crying.

Immediately I start forward, then stop, unsure. It's obvious he doesn't want me to know. Standing there I vacillate, part of me wanting to hold and comfort him, the rest afraid it might do more harm than good.

Another soft cry puts an end to my internal debate and I'm drawn inexplicably forward. My hand grips the doorknob and giving it a twist, I find it locked.

"Chief?" I call out, loud enough to be heard above the running water, concern adding emphasis to my plea.

"Go away... Please." Comes the heartfelt sob.

"I can't do that." I reply, my voice gruff with emotion.

"I'm all right." He lies, trying to compose himself. He should know better. You can't lie to a sentinel.

"No, you're not."

Seconds later I hear the water shut off, the sound of the shower curtain being drawn back. The door opens and he stands there clad only in a towel wrapped around slim hips. Refusing to meet my eyes his gaze centers on the floor. Dark bruises stand out against his unnaturally pale complexion and, unable to help myself, I wince at the sight.

A soft hiss accompanies the reflexive action and hearing it, he stiffens. Jaw set in a tight line, he pushes past me with a muttered, "I need to get dressed."

Oh God, please don't let me fuck this up. I send a silent petition as the door to his room is shut firmly behind him.

Lord knows I don't have the best track record when it comes to relationships, but this is one I can't afford to screw up. He means too much to me.

I've never been very good at expressing my feelings, and when it comes to dealing with emotional issues, well, lets just say that repression is my middle name. But, if there's one thing I've learn to do over the years, it's how to fight for something I believe in, for something or someone I care about. And if ever anyone needed me, it's Blair.

Wandering into the kitchen, my attention is captured by the untouched cup of tea sitting abandoned on the counter. Popping it into the microwave to reheat, I grab myself a beer from the fridge. Twisting off the cap and taking a swig, I wonder what is taking Sandburg so long.

Once again I do the unconscionable, I listen in on his privacy. Yeah, I realize I shouldn't do stuff like that. But I only have Blair's best interest at heart. That makes it all right, doesn't it? Actually it's become so second nature to me, I don't think I could stop now even if I tried.

His heart rate is slightly elevated but not enough to cause concern. However it breaks my heart to hear the softly uttered admonishments he's directing at himself.

His door opens and the sound of socks padding against hardwood floors heralds his arrival.

Hesitantly, he pauses.

"Hey, Chief," I greet him gently. "Why don't you to curl up on the couch and I'll bring you your tea."

"I can get it," he's quick to assert, starting towards the kitchen.

"It's not a problem." I assure him, laying a hand on his shoulder. Sheepishly, I grin. "Besides, the sentinel part of me has this overwhelming need to hover. So humor me, okay?"

The admission causes him to smile. "Whatever, man." He replies, holding up his hands in a gesture of defeat. "I know how you get when you're in mother hen mode."

Shooting him a mock glare, I prod him towards the living room. "Enjoy it while you can, junior," I call to his retreating back. "Things will be back to normal soon enough."

A soft gasp, underscores my comment and I hear Blair's heartbeat intensify. "Just great, Ellison," I silently berate myself. "Remind the kid why don't you." Yeah, right, I snort. As if he needs me to remind him. No doubt the memory of what he went through will be the cause of nightmares for a long time to come.

The tea forgotten, I follow him into the living room where he stands staring blankly out the patio doors.

Silence lengthens between us. The tension in Blair's frame almost a palpable entity as I wonder how to broach the subject.

Without warning he turns, his arms snake around my waist, clinging tightly as he buries his face in my neck. Automatically my arms come up to embrace him, and unable to help myself, I reach up to gently stroke the damp locks.

"Damn it, Jim, why?"

How am I supposed to answer that? Because they were sick, sadistic bastards and I hope they rot in hell.

"I don't know, Chief." I'm forced to admit. Why do bad things happen to good people?

Abruptly he pulls away, eyes downcast as if ashamed of his tears.

"Don't," I tell him. Cupping his chin, I force it upwards until his red rimmed eyes meet mine. "It's all right to cry."

"You wouldn't," He sniffles, defiantly wiping away the telltale moisture.

"That's where you're wrong, Chief." It is then that all the pent up anger, guilt, fear and relief of the past twelve days rise to the surface and overflow my own tightly reigned emotional barriers. Unheeded, my own tears fall as I stare down at the other half of my soul, battered, bruised and ruthlessly violated.

Eyes wide, he stares at me, speechless. "Jim?" He finally stammers, his grief forgotten when confronted with my own.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, turning away. I don't deserve his sympathy.

"Don't!" He commands, taking me by the arms and forcing me to look at him. "None of this is your... fault."

Eyes alight with fire, he looks so fierce. Ready to take on the world or more specifically, one guilt ridden Blessed Protector. Sadly, I smile.

"My head knows that," I tell him. "It's my heart, my conscience that I'm having trouble convincing."

Knowingly, he nods. "It's the sentinel thing, the need to protect the tribe."

"No!" I growl in protest. "It's strictly a Sandburg thing." Closing my eyes, I try to find the words. How can I explain this to him? Opening my eyes, I look down, surprised to see honest confusion staring back at me.

Taken aback I find myself wondering if, by my actions, I have contributed to his confusion. Does he really believe I think so little of him? Suddenly I recall hurled accusations of him betraying my trust, of using me as a lab rat for his dissertation... I've questioned his friendship and loyalty, and yet he's remained by my side. God, I'm such an ass.

"You're my best friend, Chief, and I love you."

His adam's apple bobs. My admission bringing a fresh onslaught of tears. Wordlessly I embrace him, pulling him close, hoping to express through touch what I am unable to convey with words.

"I'm going to be all right." He mumbles against my chest.

I can only pray that he's right, that somehow he'll be able to overcome the devastating events, the brutal violation of his body and soul. The one thing I am certain of is that I will be by his side every step of the way.