The Gardener's Hand

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Jim Ellison exhaled slowly in satisfaction as he signed the last page of the report. Closing the file, he tossed it into his 'out' box, then stood, grabbing for his jacket. Blair had called two hours ago to tell the Sentinel that he was back in Cascade, and Jim was anxious to see his friend. The grad student had been gone for a week, camping by himself in the mountains (against Jim's protests, of course), and he missed his Guide.

Making it halfway to the door, he groaned inwardly as he heard Simon's voice calling his name. Taking a deep breath, he schooled his face to impassiveness and turned to face his Captain.

"Come in here for a minute, Jim." Simon looked troubled, and Jim frowned. He'd just come off some pretty nasty cases and he'd been hoping for a break in the criminal action. Looks like his hopes were futile, though.

"What is it, Simon?" Jim asked, making his way toward the other man's office. Simon shook his head.

Closing the office door, Simon moved behind his desk and settled into his chair. Gesturing Jim into the facing seat, he studied Jim intently. Jim met his gaze, wondering what was going on. Finally Simon sighed.

Jim nodded. "Yes, he is. Called to tell me so about two hours ago, in fact. What's going on here, Simon?"

Simon sighed again, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I don't know. I got a call this morning from a man named Tom Stone. Ring a bell?"

"Yeah." Jim smiled. "He and I were lieutenants together. Haven't heard of him in years, though."

"Hmm." The police Captain fiddled with some forms on his desk, then looked up at Jim. "Did you know he's Secret Service?"

Shaking his head, Jim shrugged. "No. But it doesn't surprise me. What'd he call about?"

"The one on the President?" Jim pursed his lips consideringly. "It leads to Cascade, then."

Simon nodded. "Yes. It does. One of the SS guys winged the shooter. Not badly, but enough to get a blood sample for a DNA match."

"That's what it looks like." Simon leaned back in his chair, his eyes unreadable. "Jim. Remember when Sandburg was accused of raping that girl last year? He gave a sample for a DNA analysis."

"Of course." Jim still felt a flash of rage at the thought that anyone could have believed his gentle Guide capable of rape. "It proved it wasn't him."

Jim's head snapped up and he stared over the desk at Simon. The bigger man's face was full of pain as he nodded in confirmation. The Sentinel shook his head in denial.

"The DNA matches. We emailed a picture of Sandburg to Washington this morning. He's been ID'd as the shooter."

"In a park, Jim? Someplace where he would've checked in with the rangers?" Simon's tone begged for an affirmative answer. Jim closed his eyes briefly, then shook his head.

"Do I, Jim? I'm not the only one who heard his comments during the campaign. I can think of one in particular that's pretty damning."

"Yes. You do, or at least you should. I don't care what he said, Simon, Blair's not a killer."

Knowing the statement Simon meant, Jim closed his eyes again. His voice barely above a whisper, he repeated the statement his Guide had made several times during the madhouse of the Presidential campaign and election. "Ordinarily I wouldn't believe in assassination as a valid political tool."

"And the context?" Simon's question was really a demand, and Jim hated himself as he answered.

"That this was an exception." He opened his eyes and stared at his Captain. "He didn't do it, Simon."

Standing, the Sentinel moved to the door. "I'll bring him down here tonight, Simon. We'll find out where he was, and then we'll find some way to prove it."

His hand on the door knob, Jim stiffened. There was something in Simon's voice... He'd heard the rapid heartbeat, but had put it down to the Captain not wanting to tell Jim that Blair was under suspicion. But this... He turned slowly and stared at Simon. The other man's eyes met his apologetically.

Simon flinched as Jim took three long steps forward to lean over his desk. Taking a deep breath, the other man looked up at him.

Jim stared at him for a long time, then reached into his breast pocket. Pulling out his shield, he tossed it onto the desk. "Good-bye, Simon."

"Don't do what? Don't stop working with someone who can believe Blair Sandburg to be a killer? Sorry, *sir*. I can't do that."

After a long moment, Jim sighed and picked up his shield. "I hear you, Simon," he said deliberately. "You hear me. If that man goes down for this, for something I *know* he didn't do, I'm gone."

Blair hummed happily as he finished pulling his dirty clothes out of the bag and shoved them into the hamper. He'd do laundry tomorrow, he promised himself. Grabbing his toiletry bag, he headed for the shower, then stopped, stripped and added the clothes he was wearing to the laundry pile. He could smell them. He didn't even want to think about Jim having to deal with them. Maybe he'd do the laundry after his shower, he thought.

Making his way to the bathroom, he adjusted the water temperature, then stepped under the flow, hissing as the warm water ran over the shallow gash on his arm. He'd slipped and fallen four days earlier, slicing his arm open on a sharp rock. Nothing dangerous, just painful. And it had bled like nobody's business, he thought ruefully. Cleaning it carefully, he soaped up and shampooed, finally just relaxing under the pounding stream for a few minutes.

Sighing regretfully, Blair turned the water off. Toweling dry, he returned to his room and threw on a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt. Picking up the loaded hamper, the student carried it to the apartment size washer and dryer set Jim had invested in a few months earlier, grateful that he no longer had to go all the way to the basement. Once it was running, he looked at the clock to gauge the time he had left. Not enough for lasagna, he thought. Wait a minute - hadn't he left one in the freezer before he went camping?

Swinging the door open, he grinned in triumph as he pulled out a loaded casserole dish. Turning the oven on, he popped the lasagna in to cook. The hour and a half until estimated Jim-arrival should be plenty of time to thaw and cook the small casserole.

Blair smiled wider as he thought of his Sentinel. He'd needed the time alone, he really had, but he'd missed Jim all the same. He was really looking forward to a quiet evening at home, reconnecting with his friend. He wanted to hear all about what had happened at the station, he wanted to tell Jim about the sights he'd come across as he hiked through the Cascade Mountains. It was going to be a good night, he thought happily.

Picking up the pile of mail that had come while he was gone, he shuffled through it rapidly. Tossing the junk mail, setting the bills aside to deal with later, Blair smiled fondly as he came across a postcard from Naomi. Keeping it to show Jim later, he wandered into the living room, snagging the latest newspaper as he went. Settling down on the couch, he unfolded it and stared at the headline. 'Shrub still in coma,' it read.

Shaking his head, he read of the attempted assassination that had left the President in a coma from a bullet wound to the head. He'd have died if a Secret Service Agent hadn't pushed him out of the way, it seemed. "Wouldn't want that job," he muttered. "Imagine having to save that man's life."

Blair immediately felt ashamed of himself. Sure, he didn't agree with the President's political views, and made no secret of it. But still, he was human. He didn't deserve to be gunned down as he was... Blair referred to the article. Oh, man! As he was taking a walk with his daughter. That was cold. Poor girl - she hadn't been hurt, but seeing her father shot couldn't be good for her.

Sighing, he laid the paper aside and leaned back on the couch. While he'd been communing with nature and restoring his balance, people had been dying, bleeding, hurting. It was sobering, he thought. Suddenly he felt cold. He couldn't wait for Jim to get home, he decided.

The quiet knock on the door was a surprise. Rising slowly, Blair opened the door. Staring at the two men who stood outside, he asked politely, "Can I help you?" The taller of the two men, a lean blond with a military haircut, smiled at him.

Blair frowned. From their appearance, he'd thought these two might be friends of Jim's. But if they were asking for him... "Yes?" he said cautiously.

"What's this all about?" Blair stepped backward, freezing as the blond pulled a gun and aimed it at him.

"You're being taken into custody, Mr. Sandburg. You are suspected of the attempted assassination of the President of the United States."

Numb with disbelief, Blair just stared at the other man as he showed his identification badge. The third man, the one who hadn't spoken, handcuffed Blair quickly.

"Mr. ... Stone, isn't it?" Blair finally forced past his throat. "How... what...?"

The Secret Service Agent studied him briefly, then shook his head. "You'll be told the evidence later. Please, Mr. Sandburg. Don't make this difficult. I'm handling this quietly out of respect for your roommate, but if it has to get ugly, it will."

"You know Jim?" Blair's voice sounded lost and confused, even to himself. The agent nodded.

Blair began to walk, then stopped as his mind latched on to one tiny, insignificant item. "The oven."

Agent Stone nodded, stepping into the kitchen and flicking the oven to off, then returned to Blair's side. His voice surprisingly gentle, he said quietly, "Let's go."

It wasn't until he saw Jim, standing silently outside his solitary cell, that Blair realized it wasn't a nightmare.

Naomi opened the door to her borrowed apartment, wondering who would be knocking on it at this hour. Her eyes widened and her vibrant smile lit the room as she saw the beloved figure of her son. "Bl...," she started, then she saw the eyes. Her smile disappeared. "Brian," she said flatly.

The voice was mocking, and Naomi flinched inwardly. The man standing at her door moved forward and she retreated before him.

Her son laughed and she flinched again. The tone was so like Blair's, and yet so wrong. The laugh was filled with ugliness, bitterness, not the sweet love of life that her boy's laughter carried. She shuddered. What had been done to this other son of hers, to twist him so? She was afraid to ask.

"I've come for a visit, of course." Brian walked around her into the kitchen. She turned to keep him in sight as he opened the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water. Downing half of it, he looked over at her. "Aren't you happy to see me?"

He laughed again at her silence. "I suppose not. You like to forget about me, don't you, Mother?"

"Brian, I..." Her voice trailed off. What could she say to that? It was the truth, after all.

"Yeah. I thought so." He finished the water. "It doesn't matter, though. You still have to take me in."

She stared at him helplessly. Gods, he looked so much like Blair. "Your hair..." she murmured.

"Yeah. They told me to start growing it about a year ago. It's not as long as his, yet, but long enough to fool someone at a distance. Fooled you for a moment, didn't it?"

He shrugged. "I'd imagine so he could pull the heat if I got spotted on a job. Good thing, too, apparently."

"What are you saying?" Naomi whispered, her mouth suddenly dry. Brian laughed again.

"I'm saying my twin is taking the rap for my latest endeavor." He shrugged, and for the first time she saw the bloody bandage on his arm. "I got a bit careless."

Her head shook as she stared at the man in her apartment. "And you're going to let this happen," she said. It wasn't a question, but he answered anyway.

"Of course I am, Mother dear." He stalked forward to stand in front of her, his eyes hard. "That was the plan all along. Surely you knew that."

He shook his head slowly. "He's my look-alike," he corrected. "He's the one who didn't get chosen, who lived his life with you rather than with the Consortium." He reached out, a surprisingly gentle motion, and touched her cheek. "He's the reason you got all that traveling money, Mother."

"Easily," he said. "We've kept tabs on him, you know. Gave him grants to keep him in school, made sure he got the offers we wanted him to get. He's been useful. A smoke-screen for me. But smoke eventually dissipates."

She stared at him, her eyes wide with horror, for a long moment. Finally he shrugged and turned away. "I'll be here for a few days," he said, heading into the bathroom. "Enough time to let things settle down."

"I know," he said. "Feel free to go. Just make sure that that's where you end up."

She shivered at the casual menace in his tone. That, and the fact that he'd known her plans, made her almost change her mind. She'd kept this secret for years, she thought. But... Blair. She packed quickly, taking only what she normally would for a retreat week. But another woman used her plane ticket, and Naomi took the train.

Jim Ellison stood at the observation room window, his eyes fixed on the men in the other room. His Guide sat slumped in the chair facing him, his eyes downcast, his body language defeated. Two men sat opposite him, and although Jim couldn't see their faces, he knew the expression they wore. He'd felt it on himself too many times not to. Suspicion, disbelief, contempt.

The man standing next to him sighed. "I know you want to believe that, Jim, but..."

"I don't *want* to believe it, Tommy. I *know* it. There is no way that Blair Sandburg would take a shot at anyone."

"I know he's your roommate, Jim, but put yourself in my place. Look at the evidence. You're a cop. What do you see?"

"He's not just my roommate, Tommy. He's my partner." Jim sighed. "I'd think he was guilty too, if I didn't know better. If I didn't know *him*."

He looked over at his old friend, seeing the years they'd been together. "But I do, Tommy. I know that man. And he didn't do it."

The blond Secret Service Agent looked back at him, his eyes sad. "Find me some doubt, then, Jim. Find me something convincing. And do it soon. The trial begins next week. With what we've got... it won't be a long one. And you know the penalty for treason."

Blair walked wearily back to his cell, arms held tightly by the guards on either side of him. He'd laugh, he thought, if he could muster up the energy. It was better than crying.

His camping trip had been wonderful, the return to Cascade equally so. But in the days since, his life had become a nightmare of confusion and fear. They thought he'd tried to assassinate the President. They had evidence that it had been him. Solid, incontrovertible, unquestionable evidence. His blood had been found at the scene, he had been ID'd by an eyewitness. The only problem was that he hadn't done it.

Another day of questioning, though, and he might start doubting himself. How had blood matching his DNA gotten to Washington, DC? A look-alike he could explain. He shivered at the thought of David Lash, but it had happened before. Make-up, a wig on a body similar to his, those were easily enough done. But DNA?

Arriving at his cell, he went in silently, flinching at the sound of the door locking behind him. He was so screwed, he thought. And Jim... Jim hadn't been to see him since the first night. Even then he'd just stood there, outside the cell, and stared at him. He hadn't said a word. Blair collapsed on the bench against the back wall, leaning forward and resting his head in his hands. Did Jim think he'd done it?

He could take this, he could. But if his Sentinel thought him guilty? Blair knew he couldn't handle that.

He lost track of how long he sat there, ignoring the arrival of the dinner tray. He couldn't eat, anyway. Much later, a well-known voice brought his head up, his eyes wide.

"Jim!" He stood, swaying a bit, then crossed the cell to stand by the bars. His eyes clung to his Sentinel's face, afraid of what he might see, but unable to look away.

"I'm sorry it took so long for me to visit, Blair." Jim's voice was sad, his eyes dark. "I had to convince the Secret Service I wasn't going to help you escape somehow."

Jim smiled wryly. "He does, Chief. Why do you think it took so long to convince him?" He reached a hand through the bars and brushed it lightly against Blair's cheek. "He let me see you that first night, but only if I didn't say anything. I'm sorry, Blair."

Blair looked down. "It's okay, man," he said quietly. "As long as it wasn't that you..." he swallowed.

"That I what? That I thought you did it?" Jim's tone was incredulous. "Not you, Chief. Never. I just... I just don't know how to prove it."

"Yeah, well, that makes two of us." Blair looked back up, meeting his friend's eyes. "What am I gonna do, Jim?"

"Well, I do," a determined voice came from behind Jim. Startled, both men looked over, shocked at what they saw. Next to Agent Stone stood Naomi, her face hard.

"I'm here, sweetie." She glanced at the man standing next to her, then looked back to Jim. "Blair didn't do it. His," she swallowed hard. "His twin Brian did."

Looking around herself cautiously, Naomi got off the train at the Cascade terminal. Weaving her way through the crowd with the ease of long practice, she reached the cab stand within a few minutes. Smiling at the driver of the first one in line, she settled in to the back seat, sighing in relief as the car pulled away from the curb. She'd never have expected, she thought sadly, to be so glad to be going to a police station.

She was almost surprised not to have been stopped. Her ruse with the plane wouldn't have distracted Brian for long if he'd checked on her. Maybe he thought she was so frightened of him she wouldn't dare run. He'd have been right, too, if he hadn't involved Blair. Maybe she hadn't been the perfect mother, but Blair was still her baby and she'd protect him the best she could.

Ah, Gods, she thought. If only she'd known she'd borne two sons, if only she could have raised Brian too. It had been such a shock, the year Blair went off to Rainier, to find Brian on her doorstep. Shock, horror, and not a little fear had dictated she accept his offer. She'd provide a safe haven for him if he needed it, an alibi on demand, and he'd provide for her and Blair. She'd made only one demand. Blair wasn't to know any of it. His twin, eyes already hard and cold, had laughed and agreed without protest.

Now Naomi thought it had been planned that way all along. Blair was safe in academia, with grants and scholarships and expeditions galore. She was free to travel wherever she wanted, as long as she reported her location whenever it changed. And they both were tools of the men Brian worked for.

The cab pulled off the street in front of the police station and Naomi got out gracefully, tipping the driver generously. He smiled and drove away. Taking a deep breath, she faced the building and walked toward the doorway. They may have been tools, she thought. But if you didn't take care of your tools, they might slip and cut you. Smiling briefly, she headed for the man she thought would be the most help. She was right - Simon took her straight to Agent Stone.

Jim listened to Naomi's tale in silence, his attention divided between her words, Tommy Stone's reaction, and Blair. His Guide stood behind him, his hands gripping the bars of his cell, his breathing rapid and shallow as he heard his mother speak of a brother he'd never known he had. Hearing the story, Jim wished he'd never had to know.

His Guide's brother was not a nice man, it seemed. Naomi's voice shook as she described the first time she'd met Brian, the year Blair started at Rainier. His twin had appeared at her door with a list of demands, countered by seductive promises. Naomi'd given in easily, Jim thought. But then, who was he to say it hadn't been the wisest move? Jim had his own knowledge of what could have happened if she refused.

So did Tommy, it seemed. The Secret Service Agent had listened politely, if disbelievingly, at first. His disbelief had faded rapidly, giving way to concerned surprise as Naomi described Brian's companion on that first visit - an older man with eyes of ice, and a taste for cigarettes. His heart had sped up to match Blair's.

Finished, Naomi looked at the three men, her face questioning. "You believe me, don't you? Blair didn't try to shoot the President."

Tommy Stone sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes, Ms. Sandburg. I believe you. I'm sure Jim and your son do too. The problem is still proving it."

"Tommy's right, Naomi." Jim turned to look at Blair, his heart aching to see the grad student behind bars. Blair's face was pale, his eyes shocked-looking. "Chief," he said gently. "You okay?"

Jim pursed his lips, then nodded. "All right. Tommy? You have any ideas about where to go from here?"

The agent sighed. "Not good ones," he admitted. "The men we're dealing with? Bad news. I have a friend - well, kind of, he's not really anybody's friend - in the FBI. Anyway, he's tangled with them a couple of times. He might have some ideas, but..." He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Check," Jim ordered. "Naomi, we need to get you someplace safe - we'll talk to Simon about getting you into a safe house." He paused, then said reluctantly, "Blair. You're going to have to stay in here, I'm afraid."

"I will." Jim reached through the bars to touch Blair's shoulder. "I'll get you out of here, Blair."

Blair turned away and walked to the bench. Sitting down, he looked up at Jim. "Just get my mom someplace safe, Jim. We'll deal with the rest of it later, all right?"

Jim sighed. "Yeah." Crossing the room, he touched Naomi's arm and gestured to the door. As they exited the isolation area, he looked back, seeing Blair over Tommy's shoulder. His Guide looked defeated, sitting there against the wall. Jim felt his face harden. He'd get Naomi to a safe house. And then?

Hearing the door close tightly with a sharp click, Blair shivered. It sounded so... final. And it might be, he thought. Even though he hadn't shot the President, the evidence all said he did. And now he knew why.

A brother. A twin. He'd have given so much, been so delighted, to have known he had a brother when he was growing up. Now he just wished it wasn't so. He laughed harshly. Jim was his brother. Brian... Brian was an accident.

But he was an accident that showed every sign of taking Blair's life. If they couldn't prove his existence (and how could they, if he was really part of some secret, hush-hush organization?), then Blair was screwed royally. Death Row, he thought dully. Wasn't that where he'd go?

Leaning his head backward against the wall, he closed his eyes. His mother's face flashed before him, her eyes anxious as she'd glanced over at him during her tale. He didn't blame Naomi. At least, he didn't think he did. But... how could she have not told him? He shrugged. That was his mom. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Sighing, he opened his eyes and moved over to lie on the cot in the cell's corner. Curling up in a ball, he waited and hoped that Jim could find something, anything, to save him from what he feared was inevitable.

Naomi flinched as she met Jim Ellison's eyes. They were full of a cold fury, and she shivered at the thought that it might be aimed at her. "Jim..." she started.

"I know you didn't. And for what it's worth," he shrugged. "Well, in the circumstances, it probably was the safest choice." He turned the key in the truck ignition and pulled out onto the street.

"Maybe." She looked out the window at the passing buildings. "What will happen to Blair?"

His voice was flat and hard, uncompromising as it laid out Blair's possible fate. She swallowed hard. "Well, then. We'll just have to prove it wasn't him, then."

He nodded, swinging the truck around a sharp corner. "If we can. Barring that," he shrugged. "I've got some contacts, some strings I can pull. It's worth a try."

They drove on in silence for a while, then he pulled to a stop in front of a small yellow house. Unfastening her seatbelt, she looked over at him. "Jim? Can we do this?"

He met her eyes again and she gasped at what she saw in them. The previous rage was as nothing compared to the fire that burned there now. "We have to."

Jim stalked into the bullpen when he returned from the safe house, his face closed and unreadable. As he neared his desk, he spotted Simon in the door to the Captain's office. Shaking his head slightly, he sank into his chair and picked up the phone. Simon stood there for a second, then turned and headed back to his own desk. Jim almost smiled as he heard the Captain's quiet "Tell me what happened when you get off the phone, Ellison." Nodding slightly as he caught the other man's eyes, he returned his attention to the phone. Taking a deep breath, he punched in a sequence of numbers memorized long ago.

He heard a long whistle. "Okay, might be harder than I expected. From what I heard, they have the guy dead to rights - DNA evidence."

He heard the other man's fingers tapping on a keyboard. "You've got a lot of credit with us, Captain. But this... trying to pull this off will eat up most of it, if not all. You sure you want to go up against that group?"

"I won't." Hanging up the phone, he sagged in his chair. He'd hoped for more, for a positive answer. But at least they were willing to try. For perhaps the first time, he blessed the shadowed deeds he'd done in his country's service. If they'd given him the pull to clear Blair, they'd been worth the anguish of doing them.

Blair sighed wearily as he heard the door to the room his cell was in open. Steeling himself for the beginning of another day of interrogation by Secret Service goons determined to make him admit to the shooting, he looked up. And smiled uncertainly.

His Sentinel stood just inside the door, a wide smile lighting his face. Agent Stone stood just behind him.

"Yeah, Chief." Jim's voice was calm, but Blair could hear the underlying emotion. "I thought you might be sick of this place by now. Ready to come home?"

Blair's eyes widened and he stared at the detective, then flicked a quick glance at Stone. The Secret Service agent smiled and nodded. "I'm not sure how Jim did it. I don't think I want to know, either," he said, "since I have a pretty good idea of what it took. But we got orders from DC this morning, Mr. Sandburg, to release you. It seems there was an error in the DNA matching program. And apparently the eyewitness was confused."

"Not quite," Stone said. "We're to offer you the apology of the government for the mix-up, and get you to sign some release forms stating that you don't hold the government responsible for any of it." His eyes were apologetic. "I am sorry, Mr. Sandburg. For all of this."

Blair stood, moving to the front of the cell. "You were doing your job, man. I know that. Can we get this over with?"

Nodding, Stone opened the cell door. Blair stepped forward, holding Jim's eyes with his own. "It's over, Jim?" he whispered. "Really over?"

As Blair signed the release forms, he knew it wasn't, though. He had a brother out there. Somewhere.

Naomi looked around the loft happily, glad to be out of the safe house, even more glad that her son was home. With Blair cleared, there was no reason for her to be in hiding. Jim had agreed with that nice man Tommy that Brian and his employers would not come after her now. She hoped they were right.

Shivering as she thought about her other son, Naomi wished once again that she'd been able to raise him. Unaware that she'd voiced her wish, she jumped when Jim spoke from behind her.

"It is a shame, Naomi," he agreed. "But look at it this way. If you'd had him, he'd probably be a lot like Blair. And I'm not sure the world could take two of him."

Naomi smiled as she heard the indignant protest coming from her son's bedroom. "You may be right, Jim," she said, deliberately loud, and grinned as the protest doubled. Jim grinned back at her.

Blair emerged from his room, still pulling his shirt over his head. "The two of you ought to be begging for two of me," he scowled. "Hmmph."

"Don't hold your breath, Sandburg," Jim advised. Heading to the door, he looked over at Naomi and Blair. "I need to run down to the store before I can finish dinner. You need anything?"

"Okay, I'll be back in a few minutes. " His eyes were sober as he studied Blair. "You sure, Chief?" Somehow Naomi knew, as her son shooed the detective out the door, that Jim wasn't talking about groceries. Hearing the door click closed, she smiled at her son.

Blair looked back at her soberly. "I don't know, Mom." Moving restlessly, he paced over to stand by her. Together they looked out the balcony doors, seeing Jim climb into his truck and pull away before Blair spoke again. "Mostly, I'm good. I know why you didn't tell me about him, you know? There's just a part of me that wishes I'd known. That wishes..." he laughed, a tight strangled sound. "I don't know. That I really did have a brother. That Brian was here, now. That we were friends, I guess."

Naomi gasped as the cold voice came. Turning quickly, she moaned denial as she saw the figure standing just inside the open loft door. Brian ignored her, his eyes focused on Blair. "I am here," he said.

Jim ignored the little voice niggling at him that he shouldn't leave Blair alone. He pushed it down, knowing that it was just left over from the week spent without his Guide at all, followed by the nightmare of seeing him only behind bars. Blair was fine, safe at home. Jim could make a grocery run without him.

Pulling into the tiny parking lot in front of the little deli that had the *best* bread, he growled softly in frustration as his worry rose up again to confront him. It wasn't rational. But he swept through the tiny store quickly, on his way back to the loft within five minutes. As he turned the truck's ignition off, he relaxed minutely and opened his hearing up to find Blair.

There were three heartbeats in the loft. Two were fast, one slow and even. He swore as he slid from behind the wheel, his attention locked on the sounds from three stories up as he ran for the building's door.

"Why are you doing this?" he heard his Guide say. Blair's voice was fraught with tension and Jim moved faster, taking the stairs automatically to avoid the elevator's chime on the third floor. The answer came slowly, and Jim almost stumbled as he heard it. The voice was almost Blair's.

"I'm not really sure," the other man said. "But mostly, I think, because I want to. You got me reprimanded, you know."

"Brian..." Naomi's voice shook. Jim snarled as he heard a thud of flesh on flesh.

"Why? Because she's been such a good mother to us both? Brother?" Brian's voice was light, sounding almost amused as he spoke to Blair. "I don't think so."

Jim moved more slowly as he approached the third floor, taking no chances that the assassin might have his own back up. Dividing his attention between his own movements and the scene in his loft, he approached the doorway silently.

"I like what I do, you know," Brian said. "I get rid of the deadwood. Almost like pruning the shrubbery." He laughed. "I like that. I'm a gardener."

"Well, yes. That too." Jim could hear Brian's breathing, his footsteps as he moved around in the loft. Positioning himself carefully, he stole a glimpse in to the apartment. Naomi was sitting on the couch, Blair standing before her protectively. Brian was in front of them, a gun held loosely in his hand. Jim drew in a deep breath as he saw his Guide's twin. He'd known intellectually that they were identical, but seeing it was another matter. Blair's face with those eyes... he shook his head. That was so very wrong.

"You've caused me trouble, brother dear," Brian said. "And you've been placed off limits to the Consortium. That takes a lot of pull. You must really know somebody." He lifted the gun and pointed it at Blair. "But you're not off limits to me."

Jim moved rapidly, his gun rising to focus on Brian. "Freeze! Cascade PD," he spat out, force of habit too strong to resist. Brian laughed, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"I *so* don't think so," he said. Jim pulled the trigger, exhaling as he saw the gun fly out of Brian's hand. The assassin cried out in rage, then pulled a knife, aiming it at Blair. As the point descended toward his Guide, Jim pulled the trigger again, watching as Brian's body flew backward, blood blossoming on his chest. Naomi sobbed in shock as the knife fell out of suddenly loose fingers, it's point grazing Blair's arm before the trajectory landed it in her lap.

Stepping forward, Jim knelt by Brian's side to confirm what he already knew. He'd meant to shoot the man in the shoulder. At least, most of him had. But the part that screamed to kill anyone who threatened Blair had won. Brian was dead, Jim's bullet in his heart. He looked up to meet Blair's eyes briefly, then looked away.

Blair laughed, that tight sound that Jim hated. He moved forward to stand by his brother's side, looking down at him for a long moment. Jim knelt there, unable to look at his Guide.

Compelled, Jim raised his eyes to his Guide's face. Sorrow and pain showed clearly, but there was forgiveness there too. Jim shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said again.