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Jim Ellison shifted uncomfortably in his seat as the song started. The words coming over the speakers were quiet, the volume low, but they rang in his head. He risked a glance over at his partner, but Blair's eyes were fixed on the house they were watching. He sat straight and still, and Jim mourned the old Blair. He missed the wide-eyed anthropologist, he thought. The one that would have been curled on the seat, his eyes glued to some textbook that was lit by a tiny bulb. Or spouting a stream of consciousness that would have irritated Jim, but made him feel cared for, special, at the same time.

Suppressing a sigh, Jim turned back to his duty. That man was gone. And it was Jim's fault. The haircut, the weapons training... none of that would have made any difference if Jim had just believed in Blair Sandburg. So if the man he had wasn't quite the one he wanted, well, that was just too bad. He'd die before he let Blair even suspect that he regretted the changes. Not when they'd been made for him.

Closing the loft door tightly, Jim leaned against it for a minute before engaging the locks. Blair headed straight for his room, taking his jacket with him. Jim watched him go, biting back the protest. Looking around the loft, he sought in vain for something that wasn't there anymore.

Walking heavily to the couch, he sank down, cradling his head in his hands. Rubbing at his temples, he wondered how long this could go on. How long he could go on, living this way. The words of the song he'd been hearing so often echoed through his brain, increasing the throbbing pain. He looked over at the stereo, seeing the still-wrapped CD sitting on top. He'd had to buy it. It said so much, so much that he couldn't say.

Blair came out of his room and headed into the bathroom without a word, without even looking over at Jim. The Sentinel's eyes followed him longingly. He listened hopelessly to the water running, pulling his hearing back with an effort. He owed Blair so much. He could at least give him the privacy he so obviously wanted.

Standing with a grunt, he moved slowly over to the stereo, picking up the CD and studying it for a long moment before undoing the wrapper. Sliding the disk into the system, he punched play, putting the song on repeat. Sinking down beside the speaker, he wished dully that things were different.

Images of Blair pulsed through him. His Guide's warm voice and confident hands leading him through a golden haze, trusting him enough to believe his words when he himself was drugged. Why the hell hadn't he trusted Blair?

He felt again the utter panic and desolation that had rushed through him as he saw Blair floating in that fountain. For an instant it had been as if he was the one that had drowned. Even now he flinched as he thought the word, unwilling to face its reality. Blair had lain there, unmoving, unbreathing. Dead. Jim knew what had happened. Blair had chosen to come back, not because he wanted to, but because Jim wanted him to. And the Sentinel had felt his own chest expand as his Guide had gasped for air.

Standing under the hot water, Blair relaxed his guard. The walls he'd so carefully erected came down, here in this place of safety. The rushing water would drown out the sound of his weeping and wash the salty scent down the drain. Another night with no sense of connection, no feeling that he was wanted or even needed. Jim would never send him away, he knew that. Not again. But maybe they'd both be better off if he went on his own.

He missed the man who had been his friend. This Jim would never tease him, eyes laughing under mock solemnity. This Jim would never relax enough around him to be able to do that. Blair was desperately afraid that he knew why. Somewhere deep inside, Jim still didn't believe him, didn't trust him.

Snapping open the bottle, he began to work the lather into his hair. As the rich scent surrounded him, he released his tears, knowing that Jim wouldn't detect them. He rinsed carefully under the showerhead, face hardening as he came to his decision. This wasn't fair, not to either of them.

Jim said he trusted Blair, believed him when he said he'd had nothing to do with the fiasco. But on some level, there was still doubt. There had to be. Why else would Jim be so careful around him, so politely distant? Blair shook his head sadly. He couldn't go on like this.

Twisting the knob, he stepped out of the shower, drying off roughly. He smiled, bittersweet images running through his head of a time when Jim had trusted him. Had trusted him enough to follow him blindly, believing that Blair would Guide him through. His gut clenched as he realized that those days were long gone.

Another image came to him, a time when Jim hadn't trusted him. It had led to his death. But Jim had needed him, wanted him enough to come after him. And Blair had come back, willingly, eagerly. But now? There wasn't even that.

Countless images poured through Jim's mind, all of Blair as he had been. Before Jim had... changed him, damaged his life, destroyed his career. Then they were replaced by Blair as he was now, cold and distant, unwilling even to look at Jim, much less talk to him. The Sentinel moaned, needy and desperate. He wanted Blair, he needed Blair, and he'd take him any way he could. But, oh, God, he missed the bright-eyed man he'd been.

Blair stepped out of the bathroom, looking over at the couch. He might as well tell Jim tonight, get it over with. Puzzled when he couldn't see Jim, he walked over, stopping suddenly when he caught sight of the other man. Jim was huddled on the floor by the stereo, his eyes closed, his face wet. Blair's heart twisted, the obvious vulnerability eating at his newfound resolve.

Taking a deep breath, he crossed the room and squatted down next to Jim. Reaching out a hand, he touched the Sentinel's shoulder. Gasping, he was caught in the sudden fire blazing at him, his body held still and silent by Jim's eyes. The Sentinel's voice was low and steady.

"Blair, there's something I never told you. And I need to. But I'm no good at it, you know that. Just... listen to this, will you?"

Blair nodded, stunned by the change in Jim. What was going on? He watched as Jim turned the stereo volume up, then staggered as the words hit him. His eyes flew to Jim's, questioning, and met confirmation.

The words of the song drifted away, and Jim turned the stereo off. His eyes held Blair's, fear and love plain to be seen. Blair stared at him, open-mouthed.

Jim nodded slowly. "Yeah. It is. I know I've said some things, done some things, that I shouldn't have. I know you're angry with me. But, Chief, I need you so much. Please, don't shut me out."

"I'm angry with you?" Blair laughed suddenly, the genuine amusement making Jim smile weakly. "I though you were angry with me."

"What?" Jim stared at him. "No, Chief. Just... scared. You've been so distant. Almost like you weren't here any more. Like you," he swallowed hard. "Like you were getting ready to leave."

With careful movements, he reached out, pulling Blair to him. Settling his Guide against his side, he looked down at the smaller man, smiling as he saw the eyes clear of shadows for the first time in months. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you, Blair. I'm so sorry."

Blair grinned up at him. "So what are you going to do to make up for it, big guy?" he teased, then ducked the hand aimed at his head. "That doesn't get you any brownie points, Ellison!" His eyes turning more serious, he studied Jim's face. "I know you are, Jim. Just... talk to me next time, okay?"

Jim just grinned back, his heart finally relaxing, the doors locked, the world left outside.