To Save The Day

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Detective Jim Ellison woke a brief second before the shrill sound of the alarm clock assaulted his sensitive ears. Wincing, he shut it off and lay in bed a moment, cataloging the sounds and scents that filled the loft. There was no smell of cooking food, and the kitchen was silent except for the low gurgle of the coffee machine. He sighed as he heard the water running in the bathroom. Sandburg had been late getting up... again.

Jim supposed he couldn’t blame the younger man too much. They’d just closed a nasty murder case that had kept both of them on the edge of no sleep for a week. On top of that, the man had two papers due and a huge pile of other people’s papers to grade. He’d already turned in one set, but there were three or four more still to do. Still... He rolled out of bed as he heard the water shut off. Grabbing a robe, he shrugged it on as he padded down the stairs to the main section of the loft.

Smiling slightly, he heard Blair muttering to himself. Suddenly the bathroom door flew open. Jim shied away from the warm, fragrant cloud of steam that rolled toward him, its tendrils curling around in the cooler air. Blair raced out of the bathroom, colliding with the Sentinel. Wet hair flew around his head, catching Jim in the face as they collided.

Wide blue eyes stared up at him. "Sorry, Jim! I know I’m late. Breakfast’ll be ready in just a second."

"No hurry, Chief." Jim reached up and pulled a wet hair out of his mouth. "Just get that mane of yours under control and I’ll be happy."

He headed into the bathroom, chuckling. His good mood lasted until he stepped into the shower. Jaw muscles tightening, he stared at the hair coating the bottom. Shaking his head, he muttered grimly, "We have got to have a review of the rules around here." Rinsing the hair into the trap, he stood under the tepid water. "And I need a bigger hot water tank."

Jim stepped out of the shower, lured by the tantalizing odor of eggs and bacon. Running the razor over his jaw, he decided to let the hair thing go. A gentle reminder later would probably be the best way to deal with it. They were both tired and on edge, and Sandburg really did remember to rinse the shower most days. Yawning, he stowed the razor and reached for his toothbrush. A few seconds later, he spat out a tangled hair.

Running footsteps answered the bellow, and apprehensive eyes stared through the quickly opened door. "What is it, Jim?"

Blair bit his lip, trying not to laugh at the expression on the sentinel’s face. It really wasn’t funny, he knew, but Jim just looked so... appalled.

"I’m sorry, man," he said. "I used this new shampoo and it’s like I’m shedding or something. My hair just won’t stay where it’s supposed to. I’ll go back to the old stuff tomorrow, I promise. I not sure I like the way this stuff smells anyway."

Blair yelped and spun, racing back to the kitchen. Jim grinned as he heard the toaster pop up and the hiss of aggravation from the grad student. Rinsing off his toothbrush, he tried again.

Dressed and ready for work, Jim headed back downstairs. Blair was placing the bacon on the table, with the toast and eggs already there. "Smells good, Chief."

"Just remember from now on. Especially with this new stuff of yours." Jim settled down to breakfast, the paper opened in front of him. Suddenly he spat out a bite of his eggs.

Silently, Jim pointed to the eggs. A long strand of curly hair wove through them.

"I am so sorry, Jim. Look, let me pack a lunch to make up for it and I’ll bring it down to you, okay?"

Jim shook his head. "I don’t particularly want a hair sandwich, Sandburg." He sighed at the kicked puppy expression in Blair’s eyes. "Look, Chief, it’s okay. How about we meet at that hotdog stand over in the park. Say about one."

Blair nodded and settled back to grading papers. He glanced up as Jim headed out the door, sighed, and turned another page.

Blair stretched as he turned over the last paper in the stack. Finally, he was done with this class. Only one more group of papers to grade and then he could write his own. Idly he looked over at the clock, then panicked as he saw the time. "Ten to one! Oh, man, Jim’ll kill me if I’m late!" Hurrying to get ready, he raced out the door and settled into the driver’s seat of the Volvo.

Pulling into the circle drive at the east end of the little park, Blair breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that Jim’s truck wasn’t there. He was ten minutes late, but Jim must be running behind. Couldn’t be too far behind, though, since he hadn’t called.

As he got out of the Volvo, Blair craned his neck around, scanning the street for any sign of Jim’s vehicle. Seeing none, he headed toward the bench they normally used when they ate at the stand here. Leaving the parking lot, he failed to notice the figure staring after him with surprise.

The teaching fellow noticed that there was a new vendor as he passed by the stand. Hoping that Miguel had just taken a day off, he settled in on the bench, closing his eyes. Enjoying the sunlight’s warmth and the gentle breeze, he relaxed, waiting for his sentinel to arrive.

Suddenly he stiffened as cold metal touched his side. Eyes jerking open, he stared in surprise at the anger-twisted face of someone he knew. "John? What..."

"Shut up!" the young man snarled, pushing the gun into Blair’s ribs. "We gotta have a talk."

Blair felt a chill as he looked into John’s eyes. The Rainier underclassman was normally a soft-spoken, gentle person. Now madness shone through the glitter of his eyes, and hate filled his expression. Slowly, Blair nodded. "Whatever you say, John. What do we need to talk about?"

Blair shook his head. "I don’t," he said reasonably. "Why don’t you tell me?" Jim, he screamed inwardly, where are you?

Impelled by the pressure of the gun held to him, Blair stood slowly. They walked toward the parking lot side by side, the weapon still firmly placed between Blair’s ribs. The hot dog vendor looked up as they passed the stand, but the gun was hidden from view. Following John’s directions, Blair opened the passenger door of the Volvo, got in and slid across as John followed him into the car.

"You don’t have to do this, John," Blair tried as he started the engine. "We can go sit down somewhere over a beer and talk out whatever’s bothering you."

Blair obeyed, feeling his heart sink as they turned away from the direction Jim would be coming from. It got lower as they headed onto the highway south.

Jim Ellison snarled inwardly as he looked at his watch. It was nearly quarter of two, and he was still stuck in this meeting. Silently he hoped that Sandburg had lost track of time, and wasn’t sitting in the park waiting for him.

Finally the delegate from internal affairs who had called this meeting started wrapping up. As soon as his voice died away, Jim leapt for the door out of Simon’s office, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

Jim glanced over at his boss as he hit the speed dial for the loft. "I was supposed to meet Blair at one for lunch, sir. I’m hoping he’s running late."

"That little park over near Rainier." Jim frowned as the answering machine picked up. He let it run through, then hung up as it squealed. "He’s not at the loft. He’s probably sitting on a bench, getting madder and madder."

The black man shrugged, chewing on his unlit cigar. "So you’re late. What’s the big deal?"

Jim’s eyebrows shot up. "Are you kidding? After the number of times I’ve chewed him out for being late?" Putting an arm companionably around the captain’s shoulders, he propelled him toward the door. "I’ve got an idea, sir. Why don’t you come with me? That way you can explain why I’m late."

Laughing, Simon balked for a minute, then gave in. "Why not?" he said. "I’ve got to eat too."

Jim swung his truck into the only parking space left in the little lot. He frowned as he looked around for the Volvo.

"I don’t understand it," Jim replied, pulling the phone out. He listened to the answering machine again. "He’s not at home, and I know this was the only place he planned on going today. He’s got a ton of term papers to grade."

Simon shrugged, getting out of the truck. "Maybe he’s on route. Come on, let’s get some dogs."

Jim stepped out of the truck, looking around intently. "Maybe," he said. "But I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Simon."

"So call again after we eat. If he’s headed back there, he’ll be at the loft by then."

Nodding, Jim followed Simon to the stand. He ordered, surprised by the unfamiliar face. The two men collected their food, then headed to the bench on the top of the hill. Simon sat heavily on the bench, staring over the green park. "This is a great little place, Jim. How’d you find it?"

The Sentinel gazed over the peaceful view. "Yeah. He thinks I need to spend more time in tune with nature." Suddenly, his attention was caught by a strand of hair fluttering from the top board of the bench back. Reaching out, he pulled it gently from the cracked wood. "This looks like Sandburg’s," he said.

"Usually I can. That herbal shampoo he uses is pretty easy to pick up. But he used some new thing this morning, and I didn’t bother to isolate it. This might be his, but I can’t tell."

Uneasy feeling doubling, Jim pulled out the phone a third time. This time he hung up as soon as the machine picked up. "Something’s wrong, Simon."

"You don’t even know if that’s Sandburg’s hair or not. How can you be sure that something’s happened to him? Some Sentinel thing?"

Jim looked at the strand of hair held between his fingers, twisted his mouth in resignation, and popped it into his mouth. Simon stared at him as he rolled the hair around, then spat it back out. "It’s his. He was here today."

The detective looked away for a minute, then looked back at Simon. "Yeah," he said. "I got his hair in my mouth this morning - a couple of times."

"How did you... No, never mind," he interrupted himself, holding up a hand. "I don’t want to know how."

"He got some in the eggs, Simon." Jim rose, tossing his uneaten hotdog into the nearby wastebasket. "Let’s go."

"Where are we going?" Simon looked at his lunch with regret, took a bite and followed suit, keeping pace with the Sentinel down the gentle slope.

Blair drove cautiously, a careful three miles over the speed limit. He’d tried to go faster, to attract police attention, but all that had gotten him was a bloody lip. He still had no idea why his captor had taken him, or where they were going. He decided to try again to get him to talk.

"John, what’s going on?" Encouraged by the lack of immediate silencing, he continued, "Whatever it is, it can’t be worth what’ll happen once the police catch up to you. Tell me what it is, and we’ll work through it."

He risked a glance over at his kidnapper. The college student sat stiffly, eyes glaring in rage. "C’mon, man, talk to me."

Slowly words began to come from the younger man, their pace picking up quickly until he was stumbling over them. "All my life," he said, "all of my damn life, I’ve been told that there was only one thing I would be good at. Only one thing any of my family has ever been good at. Only one thing that would make my life worth anything. I waited my whole life to start, you know? I finally had my chance, to show them all I could be good at it, that I was worthy to be in the family. And you took it away from me.

Suddenly his voice twisted with insane rage and hatred. Cocking the pistol, he aimed it at Blair’s head. "You. Took it. Away from me!"

John held his position for a minute, then moved the gun away. Blair relaxed slightly as it was uncocked. Driving silently, he waited a little while, then spoke softly. "I don't think you want to kill anyone. But if you do, if you are going to kill me, I'd like to know why, John."

The student laughed briefly. "Yeah, I guess you deserve that much. You ever heard of Michael and Amanda Miller?"

"Of course," Blair responded, wondering where John was headed. "They were on the path to figuring out some of the rituals used by the Yanomamo's when they disappeared, what, about ten years ago?"

"Yeah, about that." John's voice seemed calmer now, and Blair glanced over to see a bitter, longing expression on his kidnapper's face. "What about Duncan Ramsey?"

"Whoa. Now there's a name to conjure by," Blair said, even the danger of his situation unable to suppress the admiration in his voice. "First European to be adopted into a Bornean tribe. She was the one who got Eli Stoddard permission to take his first expedition in. I've met her."

The student fell silent. When he spoke again it was only to direct Blair to take the next exit, then to get on a different highway. When they were headed east, he finally continued, so quietly that Blair almost didn't hear him.

Studying the maps of Cascade and the surrounding area, Jim paced impatiently. Simon watched from across the room, staying out of the detective's path. Suddenly, Jim stopped pacing and looked at the door. A few seconds later, Rhonda poked her head in. She sighed at Jim's barked question.

Simon pushed himself away from the wall and headed to the door of the briefing room. As he passed Jim, he stopped, putting a hand on the Sentinel's shoulder.

"How, Simon? We don't have a single lead, except for Miguel's son seeing him 'go off with a friend'."

"Someone will see that car, Jim. And if not, well, Sandburg's smart, detective. He'll find a way to let us know where he is."

Watching his boss leave the room, Jim turned his attention back to the maps pinned to the wall. Running his eyes over them, he sought in vain for some idea of where his Guide could be.

Blair drove in silence, his efforts to get John to continue speaking a complete failure. More like disaster, he thought, wincing as he shifted gears. Blood trickled down his arm from the gash the student had called a 'warning'. Blair bit back a curse as he felt muscle tearing further. At least John had pulled a knife rather than using the gun.

The headlights picked up a sign along the side of the road. Automatic habit made Blair check the gas gauge. He sighed.

"We're almost out of gas. And even if you don't have a full bladder, I do. We have to stop."

The kidnapper considered, then shrugged. "Okay. But no talking to anyone. That clear?"

Swinging into the turn lane, Blair pulled gently into a parking spot. As the car left the highway, a state patrol car came around the curve behind them, passing the rest area without catching sight of the Volvo. Blair tracked the cop car wistfully, knowing that by now Jim would have an APB out.

John's voice was agitated, and Blair raised his hands. "I'm coming, man. Just a little stiff." The two men walked to the main building, John moving closer to Blair as they entered the doorway. Blair moved carefully, well aware that John was carrying the gun underneath his jacket. The last thing he wanted was to set the other man off in a building full of people.

Finally in the men's room, Blair headed for a stall, breathing a sigh of relief as John let him go. Locking the door behind him, he dug through his pockets frantically, biting back a curse as he came up empty. He'd hoped to find a pen, something he could use to leave a note for the next person in the stall to find.

The sound of running water made him jump, and he quickly took care of his own needs. Finishing, he sighed quietly. He didn't have much of a choice.

Biting his lip to keep himself quiet, he pressed his fingers into the still-bleeding wound. Using the bright liquid, he wrote swiftly on the wall, hoping it would be believed. As he finished the last line of Jim's phone number, John's impatient voice sounded.

"Yeah," Blair answered quietly. "I'm done." Wishing he dared just refuse to go with his kidnapper, he unlocked the door and stepped out. There were children in the building. He couldn't take the risk to them.

They left the building, John walking right behind Blair. Getting into the Volvo, Blair glanced over at the building, wondering if Jim would ever see his note. Moving the car to the gas station, he sat tensely as the attendant filled the tank, feeling cold metal at his side. Even if Jim saw it, he thought, it might be too late.

Jim sat stiffly at his desk, his eyes flicking between the computer screen and the notes at his side. He was off duty, really, but anything was better than going home to pace about the empty loft and fret. Even the dreaded paperwork he'd been putting off.

Actually, he thought absently, it wasn't as bad as it had been. He could type without looking at the keyboard now, a skill newly developed when Blair had insisted that he ought to be able to tell which key he was on by feeling the thin paint that formed the letter. Jim had scoffed, telling Blair that there was no way he'd be able to touch type. If Mrs. Gorga hadn't been able to drill it into him in all those hours in high school, he'd said, there was just no way. But Blair had insisted.

Jim smiled at the memory of his Guide, the reasoned arguments and logic giving way to cajoling, wheedling, and finally those irresistibly pleading eyes. He'd argued mostly to see that, he mused, giving in as soon as they were turned on him. Sitting at the kitchen table, prepared for failure, he'd been amazed to find that Blair was right.

He shouldn't have been, he thought. Blair was almost always on track if he thought Jim could do something. Sometimes it was like he thought Jim could do anything, and Jim found himself trying to, just to please his Guide.

"But I can't, can I?" he muttered to himself, his voice dark with worry, his smile fading. "I can't find you. Where the hell are you, Chief?"

His cell phone buzzed and he grabbed for it, flipping it open. "Ellison," he rasped out, hope dashed as an unfamiliar voice responded.

"Oh, sorry, Detective. This is Captain Roberts, State PD. A couple of my boys were called out to a rest stop on Highway Twelve about half an hour ago. The one near Rimrock."

Jim kept his voice even. "I know where it is. About two hours from Cascade, right?"

"Yes. There was a message written on a rest room wall for you, Ellison. It said 'Help. Kidnapped. Call' and your name and number."

"I see." The state cop paused, then went on, his voice a bit gentler. "In that case there's something you need to know."

Following John's directions, Blair pulled into the motel parking lot, shutting the engine off. Dizzy and exhausted, he leaned his head back, closing his eyes. His arm ached dully, but at least the bleeding had finally stopped. He heard John reach over and pull the keys from the ignition.

"I'm going to go in and get a room." The student hesitated. "You're not going to try anything stupid, are you?"

Blair opened his eyes, shaking his head slightly. He almost laughed at the expression on John's face. His kidnapper looked concerned about him. "No," he said quietly, shutting his eyes again.

Hearing the door close, Blair slitted his eyes open again, watching as John entered the building. The Volvo was parked right in front of the office's glass front, and John would have a clear view of any escape attempt. Not that Blair planned one at the moment. He wasn't sure he could stand up, let alone run.

Now would be a really good time for Jim to show up, he thought. But he knew it wasn't likely. He was on his own.

John exited the motel office, heading back to the car. Sliding in, he handed Blair the keys. "The room on the end," he said. Blair fumbled the keys into the ignition and moved the car to the spot in front of the rented room. Getting out again, John came around to the driver's side, opening the door. Blair took a deep breath, then swung his legs out, standing up carefully. Stepping away from the car, he staggered as John closed the door.

A wave of dizziness rolled over him, and Blair swayed. He heard a dim curse, and strong hands wrapped around his arms, supporting him. As John's grip closed over the knife wound, Blair cried out, the pain chasing the dizzy feeling away.

"Come on," John said, pulling Blair toward the room. Blair walked almost blindly, following his kidnapper, all his concentration on not falling down. Leaning against the wall as John unlocked the door, he held on to the jamb as he entered the room, collapsing gratefully into the chair near the door. As he sat, he felt the dizziness return.

Leaning his head back, he fought to clear his head. Taking breaths as deep as he could manage, he swallowed carefully, forcing down bile. He could hear John moving around the room, but for the moment he ignored the other man.

Suddenly he felt hands on his shoulder and heard the sound of cloth tearing. Forcing his eyes open, he watched in bemusement as John ripped open his sleeve to expose the gaping wound.

"Shit, man. Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?" John pulled the cloth away from Blair's arm, pulling his knife out and cutting the sodden material free from Blair's shoulder.

Blair shrugged, regretting it instantly. "I kind of thought that was the idea, John."

"No! Yes. It was." John scowled, standing and disappearing into the bathroom. Returning with a stack of towels and the ice bucket, he knelt beside the chair. Dipping the corner of a towel into the steaming water in the ice bucket, he began gently dabbing at the dried blood. Blair bit his lip as the pain hit him.

"I don't know. But I never meant this," the student said, grimacing as he rinsed the bloody towel. "I just..."

His voice was quiet, holding more sanity than it had all day. Blair breathed shallowly, turning his eyes away from the reddened water. He debated with himself, then decided he had nothing to lose.

"John? You want to tell me what's going on here?" Silence was his only answer. "We've been driving around in circles all day. I don't think you want to do this, man. So why are you?"

John stood abruptly, returning to the bathroom. Blair listened to running water, hoping he hadn't made a mistake. When the student returned, he resumed his position by the chair, continuing to clean away the blood. He spoke after a long moment.

John finished cleaning the knife wound, then wrapped a towel over it tightly. Taking the soiled towels and the bucket back into the bathroom, he returned, sitting on the edge of the bed nearest Blair. He looked over at the man he'd kidnapped, his eyes full of pain.

"Neither did I," he said. "Not for the longest time. But when my parents disappeared and Uncle Duncan got custody of me, he changed my name. I thought it was because he loved me. But I think now that it was because it hurt Aunt Jessie."

"Wait a minute," Blair said slowly, finally putting the pieces together. "Michael and Amanda Miller were..."

"My parents. They left me with Mom's best friend while they went on expedition. Aunt Jessie. But they didn't make a will, and when they disappeared, the courts gave me to Mom's brother, because he was next of kin. Aunt Jessie and Uncle Duncan hated each other. Still do. I haven't seen her since I was ten."

The young man breathed out heavily. "But there was one thing they agreed on. I was going to be an anthropologist. I was going to pick up where my parents had left off. They both told me that, over and over again, until it was the only thing I could imagine doing. I waited years to start."

Blair sat quietly, not wanting to distract the other man from his story. John looked over at him.

"I started with your class. Intro to Anthropology. And I liked it, I really did. But I just couldn't keep it all straight, Mr. Sandburg, I couldn't."

Blair's heart jumped as his kidnapper used his name. First rule, he thought. Make them recognize you as a person. He listened intently as John went on.

"I tried. You don't know how hard I tried. But I couldn't do better than a C." John's face crumpled. "How can I do what my Mom and Dad were doing if I can't get better than a C?"

Blair felt unexpected pity as he watched the other man. John sat on the bed, shaking with suppressed emotion. He'd been pushed too far, Blair thought distantly, pushed down a path he wasn't meant for. Finally, he spoke.

"No," Blair corrected. "It's what you were told you had to do. What do you *want* to do?"

John stared at him, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I have to be an anthropologist. So you have to change my grade. You see that, right?"

"No." Blair shook his head. "I don't. And you don't have to be an anthropologist. What do you *want* to be, John?"

His voice was low, calm. It was almost the same tone he used to bring Jim out of a zone. He felt weak, tired. All he wanted to do was sleep. But this was important, he thought dimly. He was a teacher, at the very heart of himself. And this lesson was the most important one of them all. He looked over at John, who sat staring into space, his face stunned as he looked down roads he'd never thought were open to him.

Jim was out of the car as soon as Simon swung it into line with the state cruisers and shifted into park. Standing on the curb, he waited impatiently for Simon to join him. He knew that if they had found a clue to Blair's location, the state police would have notified him, but.... They weren't Sentinels. And Blair wasn't their Guide. He was sure he could find something. He had to.

Although he knew Simon was moving quickly, it seemed like forever before he stood beside Jim. Jim turned without a word, heading inside the rest stop. Simon followed without protest. Stepping into the building, Jim spotted the knot of cops off to one side. He smiled briefly as he saw that they were standing right by the donut shop. Blair would have loved it.

His smile fading, he headed toward them, Simon right in step. As he reached them, a gray head turned, its owner standing with a hand outstretched.

Jim took the hand, shaking it firmly. "Yes. Captain Roberts?" At the man's nod, he indicated Simon. "This is my boss, Captain Simon Banks."

Roberts nodded to Simon, "Nice to meet you, although I'd be happier if it wasn't this way. This partner of Ellison's must be something, for you to come down with him."

Simon smiled. "He is that," he agreed wryly. "Sandburg's a civilian consultant."

The state policeman shook his head. "Just the message. It was dry by the time it was found, so we don't know when it was written except that it had to be after 6 pm. That's when the place had been cleaned last. It was found about 7:30."

Jim shifted his weight slightly, looking around for the restroom entrance. Finding it, he spoke abruptly. "Mind if I take a look?"

Roberts shrugged. "Go ahead. Forensics has been all over it, so I doubt you'll see anything new."

Jim nodded curtly and headed toward the open doorway. Behind him he could hear Simon apologizing for him and Roberts' easy assurance that he knew all about men and their partners. He felt vaguely bad about his behavior, but not bad enough to slow down. Not while Blair was missing.

Without conscious planning he opened his senses, extending them to the limit of what he considered safe in Blair's absence. Stepping into the small hallway leading to the men's room, he recoiled, gagging and sneezing. Simon came up behind him as he leaned against the wall outside the door, his eyes streaming as he gasped for breath.

"The smell, Simon. It's..." Jim shrugged, wiping his face. "It just hit me, and I couldn't breathe."

"He's got allergies," Simon interposed. "Is there some kind of perfume or anything in there?"

Roberts shrugged. "Probably. Most of these places have some deodorizer thing these days. I can't say I noticed. You must be pretty sensitive," he added to Jim.

Jim breathed deeply, then straightened. "I'll be fine, sir." He stepped forward, turning to head in to the hallway again. Blocking the scent of the sanitizing deodorizer being emitted into the air, he walked through into the main section of the restroom. His eyes were drawn immediately to the one open stall.

Blair's blood, he thought. Those words were written in Blair's blood. As he drew closer, he began to see a flickering, as if the light in the room was dimming and brightening randomly. Stepping into the stall, he cried out and doubled over, his hands covering his ears as they were hit with a high-pitched hum.

Dimly he felt Simon pulling him backwards. He stumbled, catching himself on the sink. "M'okay, Simon," he said.

Jim looked over at the concerned face of his friend. Smiling weakly, he glanced up at the fluorescent light above the stall Blair had been in. The flickering was minute, but there. He nodded.

"I wasn't paying attention, Simon. All I wanted was to see if Blair left some other message." Jim shrugged. "It hit me when I wasn't prepared."

"Fluorescent light bulbs lose power when they start to go bad. They flicker." He shrugged again. "They hum. Haven't you ever wondered why Major Crime never has dim lights anymore?"

Simon thought for a moment, then nodded to the door. Steeling himself for another passage through the perfumed hallway, Jim followed his Captain as they rejoined the state cops. Simon started to speak as his cell phone rang. Pulling it out, he answered gruffly. Then he smiled grimly.

"Thanks, Joel," he said, and snapped the phone closed. Nodding to Captain Roberts, he said their good-byes, asking to be kept posted on the situation before he headed for his car. Jim's eyes narrowed, but he followed Simon's lead. Climbing into the passenger seat, he closed the door and looked over at his Captain.

"I didn't think you'd want them involved." Simon stared straight ahead. "If I'm wrong we can go back in and tell them I got another call."

Blair drifted hazily, vaguely aware of John still sitting on the bed. He knew he should be doing something. Now if only he could remember what it was.

Looking over at the younger man on the motel bed, Blair had trouble believing that this was the person who had forced him into his own car at gunpoint and made him drive all those hours, that he had used a knife to "prove a point". But it was, and Blair knew he had to be careful. John was calm now, but he could revert.

"John? Hey, man, do you think I could have a glass of water? I'm feeling kind of dry."

That was an understatement. Blood loss and anxiety had combined, and Blair's mouth felt like a desert. He desperately wanted that drink. It was more than that, though. It was another chance to keep John thinking of him as a person, not a victim.

The student looked over at him in surprise. "Oh, yeah, Mr. Sandburg," he said. "I didn't think of that." He stood easily, moving towards the bathroom. Blair smiled gratefully as he reappeared carrying a tall water glass. Gulping it thirstily, he handed it back.

"Yes, please," Blair answered. As John brought the second glassful back to him, he shifted in the chair, wincing as he moved his injured arm.

John looked at him in concern. "That's got to really hurt. I've got some aspirin, I think."

Digging through his jacket pockets, John tossed the contents onto the bed as he looked for the pain-killer. Blair flinched as the loaded gun bounced off the mattress. A small tool kit followed, and then John pulled out a small bottle. Opening it, he handed Blair two pills.

As Blair swallowed them, John settled back on the bed, this time looking at him. After a moment, he spoke.

"I'm really sorry about this. I know that sounds stupid and all, after what I did, but it's true. I didn't mean to hurt you. I just..." He shrugged helplessly.

Blair chose his words carefully. "You felt trapped, and it seemed like I was the one who had slammed the door shut?"

"And now?" He kept his voice quiet, the tone even. If he was right, the whole thing was over. But if he was wrong... Blair shivered.

"No, I'm okay." Studying his one-time student, Blair made a decision. "John, do you want out of this mess?"

Hope flared in the brown eyes, then quickly disappeared. "I don't see how." The younger man gestured at Blair's arm. "I mean, look what I did to you."

Blair shook his head, fighting back the immediate wave of dizziness. "That won't matter if I don't press charges. John, I can fix this, I think. And I will, if you let me."

"You will?" There was wary disbelief in the other man's voice, but it covered wistful hope.

"Yeah. But you have to promise me something. Well, three things, actually," Blair amended.

"You stop letting your family tell you what you want to do with your life. You get some counseling. And you never, ever, do something like this again."

John looked at Blair for a long moment. Blair held his eyes firmly, sincerity and compassion uppermost in his mind. Finally John smiled.

John reached to the bedside table and picked up the phone. He shook his head. "No dial tone."

Blair watched John jiggle the phone line. He sighed as John shook his head again. "I have got to start carrying that cell phone," he muttered. Looking over, he caught sight of the tool kit from John's jacket. "Hmmm. I wonder?"

Cradling the phone upside down in his lap, Blair awkwardly removed the bottom plate, wincing as the motion jostled the other arm. He hissed in satisfaction as the wiring system was revealed.

"The older telephones were all made the same way," Blair explained, stripping out the old, frayed insulation. "That's because they were made by Bell before the government split it up. This motel's old enough to have old phones."

One-handed, it took him longer than it should have, but within a few minutes Blair had rerouted the wiring, splicing segments together to provide a connection. John watched in fascination as Blair up-ended the phone and picked up the receiver. The dial tone rang through the room.

Leaning forward in his seat as Simon made the turn, Jim exhaled slowly as he spotted the familiar green of Blair's Volvo. It was parked at the farthest end of the motel's lot.

Simon grunted, pulling to a halt by the office. "Town cop does a sweep of the motels, Joel said. Apparently this one's pretty much a local hangout, so when Blair's car didn't look familiar, he ran the plate."

Turning the ignition off, the Captain looked over at Jim. "Can you tell anything?" he asked, gesturing down towards Blair's car, and, presumably, Blair.

Jim shook his head. Simon grimaced in disappointment. "I was hoping you could, I don't know, pick up the kid by his heartbeat or something."

Jim snorted. "I wish I could," he said wryly. "If I could ID Sandburg that way, I could get him out of some of these messes easier. But a heart sounds like a heart, Simon. Nothing special about the way his sounds. Maybe if he had a murmur or something."

He looked down the long lot again. "I can hear people down there, but nobody's talking, so I can't make an ID."

Simon nodded, then opened his car door. "I'm going to see about getting a pass key. Then we'll head closer and see what you can pick up. Maybe they're asleep and we can just let ourselves in."

Opting to walk rather than risk alerting Blair's kidnapper with the sound of the truck in the almost empty parking lot, the two cops moved quickly once Simon returned with the pass key. Two thirds of the way there, Jim's cell phone rang.

"Sandburg?" Jim glanced up at the room ahead of them, hearing the echo from within it. "Are you all right?"

Simon jerked to a halt, looking over at Jim in surprise. "Is he there?" he mouthed. Jim nodded.

// Yeah, Jim, I'm fine. Well, mostly. But it's cool. It's all straightened out. But I don't think I should drive, and John says he can't drive stick, so I need you to come get me, okay? //

Jim smiled grimly, moving closer to his Guide. "That won't be a problem, Chief. Who's John?"

The two cops moved into position on either side of the doorway as Jim answered. "Yeah, it is important. He the one who kidnapped you?"

"I don't think so, Chief," Jim replied, tucking the phone into his pocket as Simon slid the key into the door. Moving quickly, they burst into the room, Jim's gaze covering the scene quickly. Blair sat in a chair just inside the door, a clunky old telephone cradled in his lap, his mouth open in surprise. A second man sat on the bed near him, his eyes wide. Jim growled almost noiselessly.

His nostrils flaring as he caught the scent of Blair's blood, Jim moved, his actions blindingly swift. Within seconds the man who had taken Blair hung in a steel grip, his back shoved hard against the wall. Jim growled again, enjoying the fear he saw in the brown eyes before him.

This close, he *could* tell the difference between their heartbeats, and the staccato rush he heard from the man before him beat a savage counterpoint to the sweet evenness he heard from Blair. His eyes glaring, the Sentinel savored the moment before him, the brief time before the punishment began. There was no mercy in him.

He was aware of Simon, telling him to let go as his hands began to tighten. He ignored the other man, delighting in the panic he saw.

He shook his head, not in denial but in shock. They had spent long days training him to respond to that voice, and he thanked God that they had. Dropping his hands from the neck he'd been about to crush, he turned to Blair.

Blair's eyes held understanding and compassion. "Yeah, Jim," he answered. "It's okay."

Simon moved behind him, cuffing the stunned prisoner and reading him his rights. Jim ignored them, studying Blair.

Blair stood before him, swaying a little from the effort of standing to get to him. His face was pale and beaded with sweat. He nodded.

"Yeah. But if it's okay with you, it's been kind of a hairy day. I think I'm gonna faint now."

Diving for him, Jim caught Blair just as his eyes rolled back and he crumpled. "Simon," he called, holding out his hand to catch the keys as they were thrown to him, grateful for the years that he and Simon had worked together, the years that let his Captain know without words what was needed. Cradling Blair carefully, he moved quickly to the other car, spitting long curls out of his mouth as the wind pushed them right back in. Sliding the unconscious man into the passenger seat, he slid behind the wheel, flipping the lights on as he headed for the hospital they'd passed on their way into town.

Behind him, Simon sighed, and motioned John toward Blair's Volvo. It would be a long trip back to Cascade.

Jim flushed, pulling his hand back from the blanket he'd meant to pull higher on Blair's shoulders.

"Yeah, Chief. You are," Jim said quietly. "I just wish you would press charges."

Blair just shook his head, not bothering to go through the reasons yet another time. Jim sighed.

"The whole time we held that kid, all he could talk about was you fixing that phone. And how now he wants to be some kind of engineer."

Blair looked surprised. "Is that what he decided on? Hmmm." He thought for a minute. "He'll probably do well, judging from some of his paper topics."

Jim shrugged. "I don't really care. I still think he belongs in jail, not back at Rainier with probation and counseling. But Chief? When'd you learn how to fix phones?"

"The summer I was eighteen. Did a stint working for Bell Atlantic as a repairman." Blair shook his head. "The only thing I didn't like about it was climbing the poles. Why, Jim?"

Blair snarled half-heartedly, making Jim laughed as he fended off the pillow coming his way.