Rating: erring on the side of caution I'm going to say PG-13.

Dark Wings
by Shelly

Jim Ellison rubbed tiredly at his eyes, trying to will the words in front of him to stop their dance across the page and fall into a coherent report so that he could go home.

He shook his head as 'the feeling' wrapped its questing fingers around his mind again and he shuddered slightly in spite of himself.

Strangely enough, he had awoken with the premonition, and it had been with him recurrently all day. It had become so acute as evening approached that he looked all around, wondering what was waiting or watching for him. If the feeling had only made itself more apparent physically, he might have been able to rationalise, foresee, and forestall. But it was nothing physical. It was ust a vague sense of something impending and it made him uneasy.

'Enough,' he thought. He pushed the report away and snapped off the lamp. This would have to wait until tomorrow.

Outside, the rounding moon rose like a bushfire through the air, incongruous In the winter-caught landscape. Again he felt the nudge of uneasiness, pushed it away and thought, 'Home. I should be at home.'

~*~*~*~

As Jim moved quickly up the stairs to the loft, he searched ahead listening for the familiar lilt of heartbeat that was his friend. And sure enough, there it was, strong.. relaxed. Eyes closed, he took a deep breath and laid his forehead against the door to the loft. This was crazy. There was nothing wrong.

Opening the door with infinite care, he smiled at the sight of Blair sitting cross-legged on the couch, books spread about him. His friend was totally engrossed in something, his face brightening over a phrase or word he was reading.

Jim stepped silently to the couch and dropped a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"Must be good, Chief."

Blair dropped his head back and smiled a welcome up at Jim.

"Hey! Yeah it is. It really is. I can't wait to tell you about it. You ready to eat?"

Over dinner, the young man enthused to his friend about his news of the day, underscoring points by waving his fork like a literary baton.

Jim ate slowly, letting Blair do all the talking, occasionally adding an "ah hah" as a prompt to another stream of ideas and chatter.

"So," said Jim, after the torrent of words had eased somewhat, "you are getting some old knife thing from Greece. That's great, kiddo."

Blair rolled his eyes with feigned exasperation, and started to clear away the dishes.

"It's not 'some old knife thing' as you call it, Jim. It's a bronze dagger. It was found at Mycenae in Greece about 25 years ago. It's been dated back to the second half of the 16th Century B.C. Man, don't you think that is just a blast?" Blair pushed the long curls back out of his face and waved his hands imploringly at Jim.

Hiding his smile, Jim played the game. "Uh..yeah, got it. So it's a really old knife thing?"

"Aagghhhhhh." Blair clutched his chest and staggered theatrically across the room. "You wound me. You wound me." He fell face down onto the couch and lay still.

Jim chuckled quietly. "Would you heal if I said I thought that it was amazing that you had arranged for this piece of history to visit Rainier University?"

Silence.

"How 'bout if I said that you were an Anthropologist extraordinaire?"

Blair flipped over and sat up, grinning. "Yep, that'll do it."

"Seriously, though, Chief. It's a feather in your cap. The University must be pleased."

Blair smiled at the compliment and accepted gracefully. "Thanks, Jim. Yeah. I think they are pretty rapt. The Museum of Archeology and Anthropology at Penn U are the ones who have it on loan from Athens, but it took a fair bit of wrangling to get them to loan it to us. It's going to be such a buzz to be able to show my classes when we are talking about Greek history. Man, that kind of thing just sings history...makes it so easy."

Gathering up his books and papers, Blair moved towards his bedroom. "I'm beat, Jim. I'm gonna make a few more notes then hit the sack. Night."

"Goodnight, Oh Great One," Jim intoned.

"At last, at last. The respect I deserve," laughed Blair, ducking into his room to avoid being hit with a flying pillow from his partner.

Jim smiled and then began to move restlessly around the Loft, straightening books, rearranging things. The feeling of apprehension was back again. He threw a video into the machine and settled back to watch, trying to ignore the shapeless fear that had begun a slow, perfunctory circling around him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The dream jumped him awake from a place of weight and dread. The video was over and the television was hissing snow. Jim ran his hands over his short hair and then left them clasped behind his neck as he bent over trying to slow his ragged breathing.

"Get a grip, Ellison. You're losing it," he lectured himself. He stood up and opened the door to the balcony, inhaling the freezing, crisp air. In a world of one colour, just the sound of the wind. It felt good. Hands resting on the railing, he leaned into the night and whispered "Please..." with no idea to whom he was pleading, or even why.

Back in the warmth, he noticed a light sliding out from underneath the door to Blair's bedroom. Opening the door quietly, he saw his young guide sleeping peacefully on top of the covers, with the fingers of one hand splayed across a book he had been reading. Jim reached across to slip the book from underneath his hand and held very still as Blair sighed, rolled over and curled up again.

Glancing at the book, Jim looked at the illustration on the page and heard his own sharp intake of breath echo in the quiet room. He'd never seen the picture before yet it was strangely familiar. Again the feeling stirred around inside him, making itself known.

His long fingers ran over the illustration of Brueghel's painting "The Fall of Icarus". He'd never studied Greek mythology, but even he knew the story about Icarus, who flew too close to the sun with his wax wings and fell to earth.

Glancing down the page, past the picture, he saw a poem. And the lines that W.H. Auden had written about the painting leapt out at him.

"...the expensive delicate ship that must have seen Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky Had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on."

Deep within him, dark wings unfolded. And it was an almost physical pain.

~*~*~*~*~

At the station, everyone quickly got the idea that it was a good day to stay clear of Jim Ellison. He snapped when spoken to, threw papers from his desk looking for a missing deposition and slammed the phone down on a query from another detective.

The Captain stuck his head into Jim's office. "A word, Jim?"

Jim glared back, "What now?"

Simon stood there calmly, unoffended by the tone in Jim's voice. He spoke quietly.

"Jim...want to tell me what's going on with you? Something's obviously up."

The look in Jim's eyes softened in an unspoken apology. He started to pace the room.

"Jim?"

"I don't know. It's something. But I can't put my finger on it. It's on my shoulder all day. Something waiting to happen. But I don't know what it is. It's driving me crazy, Simon. It's like that falling dream you have and you are never sure if you are going to wake up before you hit the ground."

Simon studied his friend, not quite knowing how to help, or what to say.

"Do you want me to call the kid?"

Jim took a breath. "No. He's got lectures until 5 tonight. But I will talk to him then. I've left him a note.."

"Well. If anyone can fix it, he can. Try to take it easy on us till then."

Jim smiled wryly, "Yeah, Simon. I'll try."

~*~*~*~*~

Blair Sandburg locked his office, shifted the weight of the books he was carrying and then hurried outside. He'd spent the last hour conferencing a student who was having difficulties with an assignment and now he was late.

He'd wondered all day about the note that Jim had left for him on the table. "I need to talk to you tonight. It's important". A little frisson of worry creased his brow. Ever since he had begun to document Jim's heightened senses as part of the Sentinel study for his doctorate, he'd learned to read Jim more for what he didn't say, than what he said. Blair had felt that something was troubling Jim and he hoped that they could talk it out this evening.

He looked up at the wide night sky and the prickling stars and felt a little fall in his stomach. "Got to get home," he murmured to himself. And that was his last thought as something crashed him heavily into the side of the car and he fell into featureless dark.

He was lifted into a van. The engine roared and the vehicle shot away, accelerating rapidly, disappearing in a whine of sound and a fade of red tail-lights. ~*~*~*~

Noises rang strangely in his ears, like a ridiculous group of nonsense syllables. It was very cold, and very dark. There was no way of knowing time in darkness. The darkness was a block, and it stood still.

Blair moved to sit up and a thin, hoarse wail sounded loudly in the heavy silence. It took a moment to realise that it was him that was crying out. He was fused in the vice of a double pain...his head and his arm. He could feel his left wrist shackled to some kind of pipe, and his right arm was the one sending excruciating tremors through him.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark he saw why. A piece of bone in his forearm was sticking out from his torn coat. His stomach lurched and he leaned over and weakly vomited onto the floor. Shivering, he lay back down and tried to work out what had happened. The last thing he remembered was talking to Jordan Sloan about his assignment. How had he ended up here? His head hurt with a thudding intensity and he knew that he must keep awake in case he had a concussion.

Trying to push past the pain, he focused on his surroundings. Looking at the looming shapes around him, he realised that he was in a boat shed. Upturned canoes rested on trestles, ropes hung from the ceiling and oars leaned against one side of the shed in a jumbled calligraphy.

He felt the steady pulse of waves beating at the pylons beneath him. The only other sound he could hear was the small madness of a cricket's call. Pain circled, weaving tighter. And on the damp floor of the boathouse, Blair Sandburg whispered into the darkness to someone...to anyone... to Jim..."Please...."

~*~*~*~

Jim stood on the balcony shivering slightly. The cold was an ache in his blood and the hard, inquiring wind struck him to the bone. He was glad. He wanted to feel....to feel something.

Simon had sent him home, in case the call had come. They knew that someone had Blair. There had been a note stuck under the windshield wipers of Blair's car. Ellison. Tomorrow...from the bow... That was all. He had turned the words over and over trying to find a meaning in them..but nothing.

Looking up at the cobwebbed tapestry of stars above him, his heartbeat shifted to dead centre under the breastbone, swinging the weight of a clock. The silence inched along with the minute hand. And he knew that the waiting was going to be hard.

Jim wrapped his arms around himself, moved back into the loft and sat on the couch. The place felt so empty...so quiet. Blair's world was defined by noise....music...chatter. Tonight, countless times, Jim had half started up, half spoken, but even that half was made out of the knowledge that Blair was not there. There was silence between the silences.

The book on Greek Mythology that Blair had clutched in sleep lay on the table. Jim reached for it and held it against his chest. He heard something. No voice called him, but it was almost sound...almost sound. He dropped his head into his hands, letting the book fall. "Blair?"

~*~*~*~

Combs of light wrinkled sideways through the cracks in the walls of the boat shed. Blair lay on his back, his clothes sodden. His broken arm lay across his chest. By sheer force of will, he had endured the pain through the night, and kept himself grimly, although confusedly, conscious. He still didn't know why he was here.

The door to the shed was pulled open, and a triangle of light hit the ground. Blair turned slightly to see who was there, squinting against the glare, and moaning quietly at the pain even this small movement gave him.

A figure stepped into the light and chuckled, " Well...well...well...look what we have here!!" The man looked down at Blair noting the burning face, the clouded eyes and the lids drooping heavily.

"Not feeling too good are we, Bucko? That's too bad..." and he shoved the toe of his boot against the young man's ribs and pushed hard. Blair screamed.

"Now, now, my friend...that's very well done. That should send Ellison just the right message."

Flipping open a cell phone, the man dialled a number and waited, smiling down at Blair who was fighting to get a breath over the waves of pain.

"Ellison? It's today. It's the bow. No, I'm not going to wait for you to trace this call. Just a little message for you."

The laughing man reached over and casually knocked Blair's arm. Once again the young man screamed, pain scything through him, becoming his world.

"Bye bye. See you there." The man closed the cell phone and kneeled down beside the writhing kid. Putting his hand over Blair's mouth, he whispered, "Enough!" He watched as fear rose in the blue eyes, and felt the ragged breathing against his hand as the young man struggled to gain control of the pain.

"There. All done. Now we wait." The man's lips snarled back from his teeth in a frightening smile, and he patted the shaking figure on the ground.

"And now we wait."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Simon sat with Jim as the tape of the telephone conversation played again. Jim filtered the voice out...it meant nothing to him. But the other sounds... water slapping against wood, creaking, a hum of a motor boat...and over all this, the breathing of Blair and the scream...the god-awful scream.

Jim hunched his shoulders and relaxed them as the tape finished. There was sickness of fear in his belly and he wrapped his arms around himself, leaned forward and began rocking slightly as he processed the information.

Simon waited, watching his friend struggle.

"It's by the river. I could hear boats, and I think the sound of water against pylons...so maybe a boathouse. And I could hear Blair...." Jim looked over at Simon with eloquent desperation in his eyes.

"I've got to find him, Simon."

Jim stood up and started pacing up and down. Unbidden, the image of the sky-fallen boy in the water, the illustration from Blair's book, came flashing into his mind with frightening clarity.

"Jim, we're running out of time..." Simon put his hand on Jim's shoulder and gently disentangled him from his thoughts.

Jim spun to the sound of Simon's voice. "I think I know where he is! From the bow. From the beau. Beaumaris Bridge. It's gotta be. He wants us to find him!" His voice rippled with sudden hope.

Simon was on the phone in an instant, barking instructions....roadblocks... ambulance....a squad of men both sides of the river. He hung up and smiled at Jim. "Come on, let's go bring him home."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair balanced carefully on the periphery of consciousness. There was no way that he was going to let himself fall asleep but the pull was becoming stronger and his energy was just about spent. His throat was hurting and he desperately needed a drink. He tried not to listen to the voice of the water as it flowed and fell beneath him, swirling around the pylons. All that water. Swallowing painfully, he turned his eyes to the door. The man was coming back.

The door creaked open and the figure in the doorway was backlit by the morning streaming in. He strode towards Blair and looked down at him, smiling strangely.

"How are you doing? You thirsty?"

Blair nodded.

"Well...can't oblige. You'll get plenty of water soon." The man laughed with quick malevolence and then stopped. "Hey, sorry, man. I'm not normally like this. I'm not gonna hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

Blair tried to ignore the pain stabbing through his arm. He lifted himself up to a sitting position. "Yeah. I know that. You're a real prince. In fact, I'd probably name my first child after you, but asshole doesn't go so well with Sandburg."

The smile fell from the man's face and he backhanded Blair so hard that his head snapped back.

Blair forced a laugh. Another backhand silenced him.

The man unlocked the handcuffs that had chained Blair's left wrist to the pipes and dragged him upward. The young man drew blood as he bit his lip against the pain.

"Show Time, Mr Sandburg. Let's make it a good one."

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was a beautiful day. Freezing, but clear and bright. Moving sunlight drew copper fingers through the trees beside the river, the water sparkling in braids and tumbles, sailboats trapped like pale moths in the amber of the morning light. Jim Ellison saw none of this as he stood hidden and let his senses reach towards the bridge. Listening low, he moved past the noise the air makes against earth surfaces, past the cadence of water stuttering in its race, and past all the slow music of the morning. He stretched his senses further and further, seeking out that one song he wanted to hear...the heartbeat of his friend.

With all the other noise loosening, disentwining, falling away....he came at last upon Blair. His guide's heart was hammering, but strong and steady.

Jim nudged Simon. "They're here. Look to the left of the bridge."

Blair walked before his kidnapper, cradling his hurt arm, occasionally stumbling as he was pushed from behind. They made their way to the middle of the bridge and the man faced the river and yelled, "I know you're here, Ellison. Show yourself. Step out and bid welcome to your nightmare!!"

Simon put a restraining hand on Jim's arm. Jim shrugged it off and glared. "I can handle it, Simon."

Jim stepped onto the bank of the river.

"I'm here. Who are you? " Jim's voice rang out clearly.

The man laughed, "You may not remember me now, Ellison...but you will...trust me ...you will!"

Jim focused in on Blair. He could see the sheen of sweat upon his guide's brow. He saw the tremors shaking his body, the eyes clouded with pain but blazing with trust nonetheless. Helpless anger rose in him.

With a sense of macabre ceremony, the kidnapper waved a tin in the air. Suddenly Blair spluttered, and Jim saw the man spilling liquid over his guide until it ran freely in rivelets all down his body. Gas.

The maniacal laughter echoed. "Ashes to ashes...dust to dust...Ellison can't have you...the devil must."

Jim began to run.

The man set the match. And in slow motion, Jim saw how the fire began. A wince, a flicker, blue, the full gold at the core, drawing air like breath. The kidnapper stepped toward Blair, waving the match ahead of him. Blair took a breath and then pushed back with all his might using his left arm. The man lost his footing and stumbled back, dropping the match.

The young guide raced across the bridge, running awkwardly, his sense of balance affected by the way he held his broken arm. Looking back, he saw the man following him...gaining. Blair stopped. He climbed onto the railing of the bridge using his left arm to haul himself up.

"Jim..." It was loud enough only for the Sentinel's ears. It was a question, an apology, a plea. And then Blair, cupping his fear of heights, flung himself into the sky. In the fist of the moment, it seemed as if he was hanging from a filament suspended from the sun...then he fell.

Jim howled....a black 'NO'. The denial knifed through him and he dived into the river. It was freezing. He kept his eyes focused on the spot that Blair had disappeared and his strong arms churned powerfully through the water. The minutes seemed to hold him. He could hear Blair's heartbeat slowing down and despite the intensity of his stroke, he felt as if he were moving in slow motion. Every fibre of his being was reaching towards the fading life o f his friend.

When he reached where he thought his guide might be, he slipped below the cloudy and opaque water. Blair had been under five minutes now. Jim searched for the guide's heartbeat but heard nothing except the rush of disorienting water. He began moving his palms systematically in a zigzag motion.

Something brushed against his foot. Jim's lungs were aching and he was desperately short of air. He shot back to the surface, gulped for air and then he dived down again. Seconds later, his hand clutched onto Blair's coat. He felt the sinews in his own wrist assert as he pulled with all his might for the surface.

Treading water, with Blair's head cradled in the crook of his arm, Jim felt halfway up the kid's neck for his carotid pulse, and pressed gently for five seconds. Nothing.

Jim could hear commotion above him on the bridge, but his full attention was on Blair.

He pulled strongly to shore, his mind chanting the whole way, "Don't do this to me, kid. Come on. Come on."

He lifted Blair into his arms as his feet touched the bottom and he waded to the riverbank. Blair's curls were matted with leaves and muck from the river, his eyes were open, staring sightlessly. His face and lips were tinged with blue. His legs, with one shoe almost hanging off, flopped lifelessly as Jim passed him to the waiting paramedics. The shoe fell, and Jim picked it up.

The paramedics suctioned Blair's airway and hooked him up to a portable heart monitor. There was no heartbeat. One paramedic began CPR as Blair was raced towards the waiting ambulance. Jim followed, only to be pulled away by Simon.

"Jim, let them do their work. I'll drive you to the hospital. Come on." Simon threw a rug around the detective who had begun to shiver uncontrollably, and led him back to the car.

On the 15 minute journey to the hospital, Jim was silent. Simon glanced across at him, worriedly.

"Jim?"

"No." Jim's voice cracked, "I can't. I can't" They were moving so fast that the trees and buildings were a blur of light and shadow. The Sentinel turned his head to look out of the window...and he clutched the shoe.

~*~*~*~

Simon drove up to the entrance of the hospital and Jim leapt out of the car without a word, running, scanning ahead with his senses. And above his trumpeting fear came wordless music, the steady beat of Blair's heart.

Jim collapsed into a chair, bent over , breathing hard, and he tried to quiet his own heart. "It's okay. He's okay. He's gonna be okay." And he repeated the mantra over..and over..and over.

"Detective?" The doctor spoke in a clipped, no-nonsense manner.

Jim brought himself slowly upright and stood. "Doctor? How is he doing?"

There was a little catch of silence before the Doctor answered. "He's stabilized...but critical. They got his heart going on the way in. But we estimate that he'd stopped breathing for over 10 minutes."

Jim glared at the doctor, daring him to deliver the next lying truth.

The doctor cleared his throat uncomfortably. "He could be brain damaged... we just don't know. The next twenty four hours will be critical. If I'm being honest, I'd have to say to be prepared for the worst..."

Sitting down heavily, Jim thought, 'There should be classes in this shit. I'm not ready. I can't do this.'

"Detective? There are some positives here. The cold water could have caused what we call "dive reflex" where the blood from the other organs is pumped to the brain...we just don't know if it was enough."

Jim looked up wearily but didn't comment.

The doctor sighed. "May I suggest that you inform his next of kin? There's paperwork, you see."

Jim smiled softly. "I'm his next of kin. He's my responsibility. His mother is always hard to get a hold of, so it's me. I'll do the paperwork."

When Simon entered the Waiting Room with a bundle of clothes for Jim, he found his detective leaning up against the glass of a window, staring out over the buildings to the sky. Luminous fields of sunset blurred the focus of the day and lit Jim's face.

"How is he, Jim?"

The Sentinel turned, pain etched plainly upon his face. Blair's shoe was still in his hand. "They don't seem to know, Simon. It's a waiting game. They think he may have been not breathing for too long...brain damage, maybe. They need to operate on his arm but they can't until they are sure it is free of infection from the gunge in the river."

There was a silence between word and word. Then very quietly..."They've got him on a respirator."

Simon lay a comforting hand on Jim's shoulder. "I've bought you some clothes. You need to change. I've seen the nurse at admittance and explained that you would be staying with the kid and she said you could use the shower in his room."

"Thanks. I'm just waiting until they say I can see him. Simon, who the hell was that guy? He knew me...but I'm sure I didn't know him."

Simon wrestled with the answer for a moment. "Before I say anything, Jim. It's NOT your fault. I know you are going to want to take the rap for this, but it is just not your fault."

Jim turned back to the window. "I want to know, Simon."

"His name is Henry McAlister. He's disturbed...obviously. You arrested his brother and when he was being flown in for the trial, the plane went down. You remember....we lost Dave Boneham in the same crash...he was a damn good detective too."

Simon waited for some reaction from Jim, and then continued "He's told us that if you hadn't arrested his brother then his brother wouldn't be dead. That's what he was trying to do with Sandburg...make him fly and burn."

Jim felt the bile rise into his throat and he swallowed hard against it. "Jesus..."

~*~*~*~

While Jim showered and changed into clean clothes, Blair was wheeled into the room and connected to a cacophony of machines. His right arm was immobilised and strapped to a board. Tubes dripping antibiotics fed into his left arm. The respirator tube was taped to his mouth, and a tangle of wires were attached to his chest.

Jim emerged from the small connecting room and stopped still. He saw the face on the pillow; bruised, smeared with a faint pearlescent sheen of sweat, pale as marble.

The Sentinel shuffled his feelings like a pack of cards....anger...disbelief.. fear...finally settling on grief. He moved a chair to the bedside and sat down. There were so many bits of paraphernalia surrounding the young guide that Jim wasn't sure where he could touch him...make sure that he was warm...feel his life.

He slipped his fingers under the tube running into Blair's left hand, and with his own large hand, circled his guide's wrist. And that was where it stayed.

Beyond the window, the dance of stars across the sky marked the hour. And night soothed softly on.

Jim talked to Blair. The Sentinel supplied the words, and the Guide supplied the silences. Nurses came to check charts, and replace intravenous drips, and still Jim talked on. Doctors came to shake their head over the unconscious man and still Jim talked on.

When the white-gold morning spilled across the hospital room, it found Jim asleep, his hand still sheltering his guide's wrist. There was a little sound, only a little sound, and the Sentinel was immediately awake. Blair's eyes opened, widened in confusion, and he struggled at the tube in his throat, trying to cough against it.

Pressing the call button for the nurse, Jim leaned over Blair reassuring him. "It's okay, Chief. Shhhhh. Settle down. You're okay." A litany of comfort to soften the distress.

A crush of medical personnel entered the room to assess the situation. They conferred briefly.

"He's uncomfortable. I think we'll extubate and see how he goes. Detective, you can help here." A doctor gestured towards Blair who was arching and straining against the tubing.

"Hold his hand, talk to him."

As the doctor cut the tapes and pulled the long tube from Blair's throat, Jim encompassed his friend's hand and spoke quietly, answering the mute appeal in the blue eyes.

"You're going to be fine. Relax. Let them get it out. There ya go."

With a last cough, the tube was out. Blair relaxed back against the pillows, worn out by his struggles. Jim waited, and smiled as the ebb and flow of Blair's breathing settled into a rhythm.

"Hey, Chief. Welcome back."

"Jim," the voice was very croaky, and tears lay unshed on his eyelashes.

"You know what happened, kiddo?"

Blair nodded, "I flew...and I fell."

Jim beamed. "You did that, my friend. You did just that." He looked across at the Doctor who gave him the thumbs up sign. "Okay. Sleep now. We'll talk later. Shhhh."

Blair's eyes were already closed and he stirred and sighed, slipping into healing sleep.

Jim sat back down, exhausted, spent. He turned and stared at the green blips monitoring Blair's life. He couldn't see them clearly because his eyes were filled with tears.

~*~*~*~*~

Blair came awake with a rush, eyes flicking around around the room, until they came to rest on Jim, asleep on the chair next to the bed. The guide felt the circle of the Sentinel's fingers around his wrist, and the weight on his heart lifted. He was safe.

He looked past Jim, out the window, and watched as the moon's edge grazed the throat of darkness. Night. He wondered how long he had been here. How many nights? And he shuddered as he remembered the man...the man, the fire and the bridge.

The slight tremor woke Jim. He raised a querying eyebrow. "Chief?"

Blair's grin was shaky, like the awkwardly curved line in a child's drawing of a smile. "I feel like shit, man."

Jim smiled, "Trust me, kid. You've already done the hard part. Let the antibiotics clear away that infection in your arm. They'll operate to put a couple of pins in...and you're back on deck. Goin' easy."

"The man?" Blair gave voice to whispering fear.

"We've got him. He won't be playing games again. He'll be senile by the time he gets out." Jim smiled encouragingly.

Blair sighed. "I want to go home, Jim."

"And you can. Be a good little guide and take all your antibiotics and you'll be home in no time." Jim chuckled as Blair screwed up his face.

"I don't think the antibiotics are working, man. Get me some pro-biotics. I want outa here." And the familiar mischief glinted in the blue eyes.

~*~*~*~

Jim Ellison sat at the back of the lecture hall watching his partner lead his students on a journey through ancient Greece. The young anthropologist's words were winged and feathered; wheeling over ideas, circling images, gliding around perceptions and theories.

He held aloft his pride and joy, the bronze dagger from Mycenae, and blew softly on the embers of history.

Holding the audience spellbound, Blair led them through the story of Icarus and Daedalus till they were all bystanders at the death of the luminous boy in the halcyon sea.

Something stirred within Jim like a phantom of a bygone storm...and he let it settle into soundless space.

The lecture over, Blair was surrounded by students clamouring for his attention. His eyes locked with Jim's and he smiled and shrugged. Jim returned the smile, and waited.

Walking out under a sky of brushed, uncertain gold, the two men stepped in companionable silence.

"So...all done?" asked Jim.

"Yep. The whole week off. Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise, Chief. A little relaxation trip."

"Uh...it doesn't involve flying, does it, Jim?"

The Sentinel grinned and put a hand on his guide's shoulder. "No, my young Icarus...it most certainly does not!"

And the laughter of the two men was a chord, the intricate unison of one and one...the music of friendship.

~fin~