Disclaimer: The Sentinel is the property of Pet Fly Productions and UPN. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is exchanging hands.

This is the final part of the trilogy which began with "The Struggle" and continued with "For Sanity and Sense." This will make little sense to you if you haven't read the first two. The following story is from Jim's point of view and is dedicated to all the smarm-lovers. Yes, I did say smarm. What do you think all the angst in the previous stories (and in this one) would lead up to?? A special thanks to those of you who gave feedback, and yes, if you are so inclined, let me know what you thought of the trilogy's conclusion.

I am forever indebted to Joanne for beta reading this series! {{{{Joanne}}}} Your help has been invaluable!

Rated PG-13 

ABOVE ALL ELSE
by Tate

I couldn't believe Blair left without a word. The sound of the door and his retreating footsteps held me in place. But what had I expected? I'd practically pushed him away. I'd broken his wrist and then yelled at him. There was absolutely no excuse for what I'd done. He'd been trying to help me, and as usual, he paid for his dedication to one James Ellison--stubborn cop and ungrateful friend.

Hastily, I finished dressing and took the stairs a few at a time, letting my hearing follow his progress. By the time I made it outside, his car was about a block away. I thought I could catch up with him easily. Out of reflex, I dug in my pocket. "Dammit!" I cursed when I realized I'd left my keys back in the loft. I struck the top of my truck with my fist, not caring if I caused any damage. Shaking out my hand, I noticed I barely managed to redden my skin. No dents on the truck either. I'd inflicted much more damage on him. Much more. I sighed heavily and, in my best Blair imitation, I uttered, "You suck, Ellison."

Returning, to the apartment, I found our door wide open. I hadn't even bothered to close it when I'd stormed out after Blair. Locating my keys, I locked up and went back to the truck. I thought I'd still be able to hear his car and track it, but I was wrong.

I must have driven around for more than an hour, trying to pick up any sign of my partner with my heightened senses. It wasn't working. Either he just wasn't near enough to be found, or the anger and frustration I felt were keeping me from focusing. Resigned to the fact that I probably wouldn't find him on my own, I opted to drive over to the station. From there, I could make some phone calls and try to locate him.

Walking into Major Crimes, I felt alone without Blair at my side. Sure, I'd entered the bullpen many times on my own in the two years we'd been together. This time, though, I knew he wasn't with me because of something I'd done. Without a word to anyone, I headed straight for Simon's office. Knocking on the doorframe, I stepped in to find my superior and friend pouring himself a cup of coffee.

"Morning, Jim," he said, gesturing at me with the pot. "You want some?"

"No thanks," I said. Not knowing where to start, I waited for him to speak again.

The man seemed to have a sixth sense, asking "Where's your shadow?"

I replied with the first words that came to me. "He's missing, Simon."

"What?" The captain immediately put down the pot and stood. "What do you mean 'missing'?" As much as I knew Simon hated to admit it, the kid meant a lot to him too.

"Something went down this morning and . . . and he ran out." I averted my eyes as I spoke the last words.

Banks walked around his desk until he was standing right in front of me. "Jim, you want to tell me what's going on here?"

I recounted the events of the morning, leaving out the exact words I'd used when I'd shouted at Sandburg. I couldn't imagine saying them again, ever. As I spoke, the captain's face became grim. I think I wanted him to yell at me. God knows, I deserved it, but instead, he used a tone I'm sure he had with Daryl on many occasions. "You really messed up this time, Jim." He folded his arms in front of him.

"I know. Believe me, I know," I replied. "I'm going to make a few calls, see if I can track him down. If he has any sense, he's gone to the hospital."

"Why do I think it's not going to be that easy?"

"You and me both," I replied, sighing. I turned to leave and was almost out the door when Simon called me back.

"Jim, keep me posted, and let me know if there's anything I can do to help you."

"Will do, sir." I left the captain's office and made my way over to my desk.

Several phone calls and about an hour later, I was my wit's end. He hadn't gone to any of the hospitals in Cascade. He wasn't at his office. I'd even called another professor to check his door thinking he might just be ignoring the phone. The few friends of his I could recall and track down hadn't heard from him. There seemed to be nothing else I could do but go out again and look myself.

I didn't notice Simon hovering by my desk until he spoke. "No sign of him yet?"

"None." I filled that one word with as much anxiety as it could hold.

Simon's forehead creased. His own worry was evident. A sudden thought sprang to mind. If he was concerned enough, he might agree to an unconventional method of finding Blair. "You said if you could help, you would. Will you put out an APB on him?"

"Jim," Simon began, holding up both hands. "Wait a second, don't you think that's a bit extreme?"

"He's hurt."

"It's a broken wrist, not a bullet," the captain protested.

"Yes, but . . . look, he needs to get it treated and he's probably in a lot of pain. Even if the two of us can't work things out, I have to know that he's being taken care of." The thought of him wandering around Cascade with an injury I'd given him was more than I could stand.

It only took a moment for the words to sink in and Simon to come around. "Okay, consider it done."

It would be the third thing I'd done in one day that I'd regret. Not long after the APB had been issued, I saw Blair being ushered into the bullpen by a uniformed officer. Detective Rafe entered Major Crimes first, followed by McCleod, a man I'd only come across a couple of times in passing, who led my partner by one arm.

Blair shuffled through the door, looking down. By the way he moved, I could tell he was wearing handcuffs. The very idea struck a chord deep within. Though the tangle of his hair, I could make out a scrape on his forehead. When he finally looked up and over at me, I saw the bruise on the left side of his face. People were shouting, voices tumbling over one another in a battle for supremacy. I ignored them all, focusing every sense on Blair. I allowed the reality of what had happened to him after our own argument stir my anger into rage. This was my fault. He'd fallen into the hands of some good-for-nothing cop because I'd asked for the APB. I couldn't have felt any more responsible had I hit him myself.

I didn't realize I'd moved until I was standing right in front of him, holding his shoulders and pulling him away from McCleod. "What the hell is going on here?" I shouted. I turned Blair around. He offered no resistance, moving like a child in my hands. At the sight of the cuffs, my mind snapped. I lost it. "Get these cuffs off him!"

"The little shit kicked me. He ..." McCleod tried to explain, but I wouldn't let him.

"His wrist is broken," I said.

"I didn't know tha--how could you know that?" McCleod seemed stunned, but I wasn't about to let him off easy. From the marks on Blair's face, the son-of-a-bitch had beaten my partner. But then again, I'd hurt Blair too.

"Because I broke it." The admission cost me more of my composure, but I masked the near breakdown with another burst of anger. "Now get them off him or I'll have you brought up on charges!"

Just then, Blair said something about it not being McCleod's fault. I didn't want to listen to him, so I turned my anger on him. "Shut up, Sandburg."

McCleod produced the key and unfastened the cuffs. I turned Blair back around to face me and let all my frustration land on his shoulders. "What were you thinking! You left and you didn't even tell me where you were going. I can't believe you . . . and how could you let him handcuff you? What did you do? You're doing this just to spite me, aren't you?" I'd lost control and there was no going back. It was like I was watching myself from across the room, wondering at the mindless nature of my accusations, while Blair silently fell apart in my hands. His heart raced. He trembled beneath my restraining touch. But blind rage would let me stop. It moved me to shake him. "Answer me, dammit! Sandburg, say something!"

"Easy, Jim. We'll settle this. Just take it easy." Hands, Simon's, were pulling my own off my partner. It was like a light switching on in a dark room, revealing an ugly scene. I opened my mouth, but with a gesture the captain quieted me. "I'm taking the kid to the hospital. I want you to stay here and work with Rafe to straighten this out."

'Say something,' I told myself. "Simon, I . . ." I turned my eyes to Sandburg. He immediately looked away, but not before I saw despair in the blue depths. "Blair . . . god, I--"

"Save it," Simon barked, leading Blair out of Major Crimes.

Watching them go, I spoke in a low voice that threatened against any objections. "Make sure the charges against Blair are dropped. End of discussion."

"I'll see to it," Rafe answered. "Let's go, McCleod."

I think the officer was too stunned by what he'd just seen to protest. Both he and Rafe were soon heading out of the bullpen. After they'd left, I looked around for the first time. Most eyes had reverted to different tasks at hand, but some glanced back at me with mixed emotions before cautiously looking away. I sighed, wondering if I could ever set things right again. I returned to my desk to spend the next couple of hours in quiet desperation, stumbling through some paperwork and taking care of Blair's car when I was notified that it'd been towed.

A call from Simon gave me a glimmer of hope. "They just took him in, Jim. When we're done here, I'm going to drop him off at your place and meet you back at the station."

"No, I can meet you at the apartment."

"I don't think that's such a good idea. The kid needs some time to process this, and I think you and I need to have a long talk."

I frowned.

"Are you there, Jim?"

"I'm here."

"Will you wait?"

"Yes, sir,"

"Good," he replied. "I'll be by soon."

Hanging up the phone, I returned to my paperwork. I lost myself in it for about another hour. When Simon pulled up a chair and sat beside me, I had to make an effort to refocus. It was as though my entire being had tried to become lost in the mundane in an attempt not to face the consequences of my earlier actions.

I leaned my elbow on the desk and rested my forehead in my hand as I felt myself succumbing to an overwhelming sense of weariness. "How is he?" I asked,

"He'll live," Simon quipped. "The question is how are you going to get past your anger enough to have a civilized conversation with him."

"I lost it, Simon," I admitted. "Something just snapped when I saw Sandburg standing there in cuffs."

"And he was the easiest target?"

I nodded, rubbing a hand over my face. "I should have stuck with McCleod," I said, only half-joking.

"From what the kid tells me, all McCleod has to be sorry for is some lame remark about Sandburg's mother."

"He put down Naomi?"

"And the kid kicked him," Simon replied, unable to repress a smile.

"He has spunk," I noted. I knew Blair had an incredible amount of love and respect for his mother. Having met her, I could understand why. Even if McCleod didn't strike him, the officer was still a creep. "What about the bruises on his face?"

"He tripped over his shoelaces," Simon explained.

Sighing, I straightened in the chair. "Laces he couldn't tie because of his wrist," I added. "How can he ever forgive me for what I did to him? For what I said?"

"Jim, this was all an accident. You know that Sandburg worships the ground you walk on."

I grimaced. "I am such an idiot."

"We've established that already. What we need to do is reopen the lines of communication--" Simon waved at the air between us with his hands.

"You're beginning to sound like Sandburg," I interrupted.

"Yeah, well . . ." Simon shrugged. "Get your coat, we're going back to your place."

"We?"

"Yes, 'we'. I'll follow you over and make sure you two are on track. I can't have my two finest men at each other's throats now, can I?"

"Thank you, sir."

He grumbled something even I couldn't make out, and started out of the chair.

A few minutes later, Simon and I met on the street and walked up the stairs to the apartment. Pausing momentarily outside the door. I listened for the sounds of Blair's presence, fearful he might have left again for parts unknown. But he hadn't; I could hear his heartbeat, slow in sleep. He must have been exhausted.

Simon noticed my hesitance. "He's in there, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he is. I think he's asleep." I replied, turning the key in the lock.

"Yeah, I suggested he take his medication and get some rest."

"Medication? You know Sandburg doesn't like to take drugs," I said as I opened the door and stepped inside.

Simon followed, answering in a softer voice. "He didn't say he wasn't going to take them. I imagine a broken wrist can hurt like hell." I must have made another face at him, because Simon quickly put me in my place. "Jim, stop it. You have to get with the program here. You know you didn't mean to hurt him, he knows it, so now you both need to deal with this, okay?"

"You're right," I admitted, setting the keys on the counter. I gestured at the refrigerator. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Well, seeing as I'm off duty now, a beer would be fine."

"Great," I replied. "I could use one too."

After I'd given Simon his beer and set mine on the table, I started toward Sandburg's room. "You're not going to wake him, are you?" the captain asked.

"No, I just want to check on him."

"I don't know how he ever got along without you, Jim." Simon joked.

I laughed softly at Simon's comment. But in reality, the thought that I didn't want him to have to get along without me was foremost on my mind. I hoped everything I'd done to him would be forgiven and he'd stay. I don't know how I'd take it if Blair decided to leave for good.

Opening the door to the kid's room, I found him curled up on his bed, dressed in the same green flannel shirt and jeans he'd had on since yesterday, the ones he was wearing when I woke him this morning. I couldn't believe it had only been hours since that awful scene had played out. Looking at Blair now, seeing the cast on his arm, the guilt surged forward and I wanted desperately to ask his forgiveness. But I wouldn't wake him.

I watched him for a few more moments. His hair had fallen over part of his face hiding the worst of the bruises. Brown strands stirred with each exhale. I could hear his heartbeat. It sounded a bit fast for someone sleeping, but I dismissed any misgivings. He was home and resting peacefully. Our talk could wait. I closed the door and returned to the captain.

Simon and I settled at the table with our cold ones. I wasn't sure how long we'd have to wait for Blair to wake up, but the captain seemed in no hurry. He asked me to recount our morning argument 'with details,' so I complied. It was his turn to grimace when I finally repeated the words I'd said to Blair.

Simon was relating his own conversation with Sandburg when my hearing picked up movement in the next room. The kid was coming awake and it'd be time for me to face the music, but a greater sense of dread threatened to overwhelm me when I heard the sounds of strained breathing and a forced whisper in the form of my name. "Jim?"

I sprang from the table without explanation. The captain shouted for me, but I ignored him, focused only on finding out what had alarmed my partner. I guessed it was probably a nightmare, courtesy of Jim Ellison.

I burst into his room with Simon close behind. The scene sent a shard of ice through my chest. Blair lay on his side, trembling slightly as though in the middle of a seizure. His eyelids fluttered. His breath was audibly impaired. I listened in horror as his heart rate increased dramatically. This wasn't a dream. A glance at the nightstand confirmed the bottle of pills Simon had purchased earlier. I nodded at them, "Simon, count them." The thought I had was unthinkable. Blair would never try to hurt himself, but regardless, it was my first assumption.

"Jim . . .?"

"Do it!" I shouted.

I gently turned Sandburg on his back and cupped his face. "Blair, can you hear me? Come on, buddy."

Blair's mouth moved and I could barely hear the breath pass between his lips. "Can't . . . can't . . ." His right hand clutched his throat. No, not an overdose--he was choking on something. But what? I pushed his hand away and tilted his head back. I reached a couple of fingers into his mouth, searching for whatever might be obstructing his airway. He started gagging. I took my fingers out of his mouth and started to pull him into a sitting position, preparing to administer the Heimlich maneuver.

"Only two missing, Jim," Simon announced, "but he still could be having an allergic reaction."

Behind me, Simon was on the phone dialing. From the tones, I knew it was 911. He was barking out our address. I set Blair back down and proceeded to touch the outside of his throat. Simon was right. Blair's airway was constricting, closing up on its own. This probably was an allergic reaction--possibly anaphylaxis. I could feel the tension, sense his struggle for breath and life. It was all too clear he'd lose the fight soon if we didn't get him to a hospital. He had minutes at the most.

"Simon, there's no time," I announced. Not waiting for a reply, I carefully gathered Blair in my arms. The weight of the cast on his wrist fell heavily against my chest, a grim reminder of the day. His other hand crossed his body and clutched weakly at my shirt. "I've got you, Chief. It's okay. It's going to be okay," I told him. My eyes met the concerned gaze of the captain who still held the cell phone poised near his ear. "Will you drive?" I asked.

"As fast as I can without getting us all killed," he replied. He spared a glance at Blair, then turned heel and rushed for the front door. I followed, barely listening as Simon redialed, canceling the ambulance, then alerting Cascade General we'd be bringing in 'one of our own.'

Simon jogged down the stairs and out into the night air. I was close behind him, monitoring the life signs of the man I held in my arms. His breath wheezed in his throat and his heart continued to pound wildly. 'Hang on, Blair. Just hang on.'

Banks opened the back seat door and helped me slide Blair in. I climbed in beside him, cradling Sandburg's upper body in my arms. Simon shut the back door and got in the driver's side. Before I'd even realized we'd backed out of the space, we were speeding toward General with a flashing siren in the front window.

Surprisingly, Blair clung to consciousness. His body still trembled and his hand came to his throat again. His eyes opened entirely meeting mine and sending a silent plea across the distance. Again, I gently pushed his hand away, sliding my own behind his neck, straightening it in an effort to keep his airway open. "Easy, buddy, easy." I brushed my thumb along his jaw line, feeling the sound of his pounding heart thundering in my ears. His labored breaths began to grow faster, more desperate. I continued the caress, hoping my touch would provide a focus or some comfort. "Shallow breaths, Blair. Just a little at a time."

I clenched my jaw as I realized my words echoed the nightmare that had started this scenario. Closing my eyes tightly, I flashed on Veronica's taunts. 'He's dying, Ellison. He's dying and it's your fault . . .'

"No," I whispered. 'Don't do this. He needs you. More than ever, he needs you.'

I opened my eyes to meet his own again. They were awash with tears. "Shh, don't," I soothed. "Try to stay calm, Chief. I'm right here. It's okay." I knew he'd only manage to block his airway even more with the flood of emotion. 'Let me cry for you,' I thought strangely as my own eyes started to sting. This wasn't a nightmare. I couldn't wake from this. 'He can die, right here, right now and I can't stop it,' I thought. 'There is nothing I can do to stop it.'

Leaning forward until I could feel the side of his face against my own, I whispered, this time not caring how close the words were to those I'd spoken in my dream, "Stay with me, Blair. I need you. I didn't mean anything I said. I need you." Closing my eyes against the flashing red beacon, I concentrated on the moment, burning the reality of it into memory--the scent of his hair, the coolness of his skin, the warmth of tears. I didn't know if they were his or mine. But I knew this could very well be our final minutes together, the last time I would ever hold him. The sound of his beating heart slowing caused me to jerk back.

Blair's eyes were closed. His hand lay limply against his chest. I pulled my own hand from behind his neck to clutch his, intertwining our fingers. "I can't lose you. I'm sorry, Chief. I'm so sorry. Just stay with me." I'm almost sure Blair didn't hear me. He was unconscious, unresponsive.

"We're here!" Banks announced, hardly bothering to stop the car before he was out and pulling the back door open. He began to ease Blair out of my arms, cupping the back of his head in one of his large dark hands. Simon gasped and cursed as the lights illuminated the kid's features. Sandburg's face was white except for the dark bruises from his fall. His parted lips had taken on a bluish tinge, but he was still breathing. His efforts were painfully audible. "I need some help here!" he shouted, as I slid out holding up Blair's legs.

Two men appeared, helping us settle Blair on the gurney that was already moving toward the emergency room doors.

The rush of images and sounds must have overloaded my senses. Simon was explaining Blair's condition, handing over the bottle of pills to someone. Everything shifted around me, I felt the captain's hands on my shoulders steadying me as they wheeled Blair away. I desperately wanted to follow, but he held tight. "They'll do everything they can for him, Jim."

I turned toward my friend, dizzy and disoriented. "God, Simon, I could lose him. He could die and it'd be my fault. He . . ."

"Don't, Jim," Simon said.

"Don't? I broke his wrist. I practically ran him out of the loft and at the station . . ." I shuddered with the memory of the scene I'd caused in the bullpen. "He took those pills because of what I did to him."

"He took two pills because he was in pain, Jim. Because of an accident--an accident."

I shook my head. Raising my hand, I brushed it across my face, feeling the drying tear tracks with my sensitive fingers. How long had it been since I'd cried? I'd come close to crying when Incacha died. I'd revered the man and his spirituality. Inchaca had become my friend, but Blair--our relationship was deeper than that. I couldn't believe I'd dismissed his importance by calling his work 'hocus-pocus.' I didn't want to remember I'd shamed us both in front of the entire Major Crimes division. And now he hovered close to death because of some pills he never would have taken had he not been hurt by my hand.

I took a deep shaky breath, dropping my hand and looking back into the concerned eyes of another friend. Simon reached for my arm and, without comment, led me to the waiting area. I sat beside him, leaning forward in my chair and sending out my hearing, hoping to learn what was happening to my partner, but I couldn't find him in all the chaos. As much as I wanted to know if he still lived, I'd lost my focus. 'Maybe he is my focus,' I thought. 'Maybe he's already gone.' My chest ached with the possibility I'd never see him alive again. My whole body became a high tension wire. 'How can I go on being what I am without him?' I asked myself. 'How can I live with myself knowing I destroyed him?'

I wondered how one dream--one nightmare could have changed our lives entirely. It had embodied all my fears about not being able to keep Blair safe, about constantly putting him in danger. Then, the trance Blair put me under lead to the revelation that I hadn't heard his cries for help on the bus. I closed my eyes as the sound of his shouting echoed in my head. I imagined how his wrist must have felt in my hand as I broke it--the beating of his pulse and the grinding of his bones. God, I'd hurt him. And then, I turned around and did it again with words. And, again, one more time for good measure at the station. 'Damn you, Jim Ellison. Now he could die because of your fears and careless words.'

I hadn't noticed Simon leave my side, but he must have. When I looked back at him, he held a clipboard in his hands and was scribbling on it. His eyes rose to meet mine. "I thought I was going to have to wait for the kid to bring you out," he remarked.

I couldn't answer him. His words assumed Sandburg would survive this. I'd already started to grieve for him.

"Jim, listen to me," Simon said, placing the clipboard on the seat beside him. "You need to keep it together. You have to understand that this isn't your fault. Blair--"

Simon was interrupted by another voice. "Gentlemen, are you waiting for news on Mr. Sandburg?"

I looked up to see an older man in a white coat walking toward us. Both Simon and I stood to meet him. "Yes, Doctor," Simon replied. "How is he?"

"He's responding well to our treatment for his allergic reaction, but he hasn't regained consciousness. I'm not too concerned about the possibility of brain damage since he only stopped breathing for about two minutes, but of course, we don't take that lightly."

"He stopped breathing," I repeated the words aloud.

"Yes, but we were able to get him started again."

"Then it was anaphylactic shock?" I asked.

"No, if it had been, he probably wouldn't have survived the trip here," the doctor explained. "Don't get me wrong, he had a severe allergic episode, not common, especially not with this drug. Typical adverse reactions to this one are usually no more serious than vomiting, but respiratory distress like Mr. Sandburg's has been noted on extremely rare occasions." The doctor lifted a file he'd been holding at his side. "He didn't list any allergies to drugs so the attending physician didn't think anything of prescribing this particular painkiller."

"He wouldn't know what he's allergic to," I said. "He doesn't usually take prescription drugs, hell, not even over-the-counter stuff."

"The kid's into herbs and teas," Simon chimed.

"My daughter's the same way," the doctor said. "Sometimes I think she has the right idea, especially when I see cases like this one."

"When can I see him?" I needed to hear his heartbeat as much if not more than I had that morning. I wanted to confirm he was alive with every sense available.

"He's being moved into a private room right now. As soon as he's settled, I'll send someone for you."

"You're not putting him in ICU?" I asked, wanting to know that he'd be monitored constantly even if they didn't let me stay at his side.

"No," the doctor replied. "He's still listed as critical, but his vital signs are strong. I have no reason to believe he won't wake up. He's been through a traumatic event. I'm not surprised he's taking his time."

'You don't know the half of it,' I thought. "Thanks, uh, Doctor . . ."

"Oh, excuse me, Doctor Jacobs," the man said, extending his hand to shake both Simon's and mine. He looked down at his coat and frowned. "I seem to have lost my name tag."

The words echoed from the past, making me smile slightly at the memory as I released his hand. Almost two years ago, Blair had "borrowed" the name tag from a Doctor McCoy to masquerade as a physician to initiate his first contact with me. I'd wanted nothing more than to get the punk kid out of my face at the time. Now, I couldn't imagine my life without him.

A few minutes later, a nurse led me to Sandburg's room. Simon stayed in the waiting area, opting to let me spend time with my partner alone. I was grateful. Whether or not Blair was awake, I needed to say things to him. I didn't really want an audience.

He wasn't awake. And his stillness scared me. When I'd found him in the early morning hours sleeping on the couch, I immediately knew he was alive and in no danger. Though I'd used other senses to confirm that knowledge, once I'd left the nightmare and seen him, I'd felt an overwhelming sense of relief. This wasn't the same.

Blair's face was turned toward me. The bruises and scrapes stood in stark contrast to his pale features. A breathing tube had been strapped around his head, feeding oxygen through his nose. His left arm was visible above the sheet, the cast a reminder of my blind strength. IV tubes trailed from his right arm, and some wires connected electrodes hidden beneath his gown to a heart monitor.

Everything that had happened to him was a result of my actions and words. I set the wheel in motion and it almost crushed him.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, leaning over him. I opened myself up completely--sight, sound, touch, every sense blown wide as though I could absorb his presence. He was alive. Laying careful fingers against his chest, I could feel his heartbeat. Both the electric sound of the monitor and the real living sound of his heart echoed in my head. I brushed the side of his face with the back of my fingers, hoping he'd open his eyes. He didn't.

I sighed heavily and drew back. Glancing around the room, I noted a chair in the far corner. I pulled it over to the bedside and sat down, ready to wait for as long as I had to.

I must have drifted off because suddenly I was back on the bus searching for the bomb Veronica had planted. Behind me Sandburg was screaming my name. The gun went off. Its sharp crack followed me back into the waking world. I nearly lost my seat and did lose all my breath when I noted the change in Blair's heartbeat and breathing. Both had become more rapid, but his eyes were still closed. Alarmed, I moved to ring for a nurse, but the sound of his voice stopped me, froze me like the sound of the closing door had hours ago.

"Jim?" It was barely a whisper. Surprised, I looked over at him again. Blue eyes stared up at me with confusion. He lifted his hand with the IV to his face and touched the breathing tube.

I pulled his hand away from the tube, holding it in my own. "Hey Chief, you're going to get yourself all tangled up." I smiled and continued in a soft voice, "You're fine, buddy. Everything's okay now."

"What happened?" The two words seemed to take a great deal of effort. His voice sounded raspy.

"The pain pills," I explained. "You had an allergic reaction to the pain pills, but you're fine now. Just rest, okay?"

His forehead wrinkled. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Hey, no." I whispered. Still holding Blair's hand, I used my other to brush his forehead. "None of this, absolutely none of this was your fault. I lost control. I deserve the blame here . . . for everything."

He shook his head on the pillow. "I walked . . . out," he managed to utter, closing his eyes on the last word.

"Why don't we save this for later, huh?"

He opened his eyes and tried to talk again, but only managed to cough. His heart skipped.

"Easy, buddy, easy," I cautioned. "Calm down. We're okay here, all right?" I smoothed his hair back. "All right?"

He nodded, closing his eyes and swallowing hard.

"Shh, just rest. I'm staying right here if you need anything," I said. I sat down while still holding his hand. I don't think he would have let me let go. His grip had tightened as though he needed to feel my presence. I couldn't fault him for that. I needed to feel his just as much.

In a few minutes, his hand went limp in mine as he drifted off to sleep. "That's it, Chief."

I left Blair's side to give Simon an update and see him to his car. He promised to return later to check on us once he was done for the night at the station. As I watched him go, I wondered what I'd done to deserve such a friend in my superior. If it weren't for him, I couldn't imagine how either Sandburg or myself would have gotten through this ordeal.

On my way back into the hospital, I alerted a duty nurse to the change in Blair's condition. She promised a doctor would be in to check him out thoroughly before the night was over.

Satisfied, I returned to Sandburg's room and made myself comfortable in the chair. This time, I was determined not to fall asleep. My waking situation was bad, but I didn't want to find out what my unconscious mind had in store once it began to process the day's events.

About three hours after Simon left, Sandburg woke again. I heard him blow air forcefully through his nose, and his hand came up again to the tube around his face. All this before he even opened his eyes.

Standing, I leaned over and pulled his hand away. "They put that there for a reason, Chief. I know it's not comfortable, but you have to leave it," I said softly.

He rolled his head toward me and opened his eyes. "Hey, man," he whispered.

"Hey, yourself." I smiled.

"I feel pretty crappy," he announced.

"I'm sure you do." I wanted to say more to him, apologize again for what had happened, but I thought it'd be better if we saved our much needed discussion until after he was out of the hospital. He didn't need any added stress.

He squinted at my face. "You look tired, Jim. You should go home." He dropped his gaze from my own and continued almost inaudibly, "I might feel crappy, but I'm okay now."

My chest ached. I touched his shoulder, wanting him to know how much I cared and how desperate I'd been when I didn't know if he'd be okay. "Who's going to keep you from yanking that thing off your face?" My tone started as light, but suddenly became serious as I said words I couldn't suppress. "God, Blair, if something had happened, if you

had . . . I don't know what I would've done, gone crazy maybe . . ."

He looked back at me as I spoke. I could see in his eyes that he believed what I'd said. When I lapsed into silence, he began to speak in a tone I'd come to know so well. He used it whenever he needed to reach me, really reach me. "Listen, Jim. We both have regrets and we can't go back and change anything. I'm all right." He managed a slight smile. "Let's move on, okay?"

I smiled back at him and gave his shoulder a gently squeeze before letting go. "When did you get to be the mature one?"

Blair raised his eyebrows. "You mean you only clued into the fact that I was the mature one? Geez, it took you long enough."

I laughed. I could almost feel the warmth of the moment flowing between us.

"Uh, hey, Jim?"

"Yeah, buddy?"

"Could you go ask them when they plan on taking this contraption out of my nose? It really itches, man."

"Sure, Chief." I tapped the tip of his nose. "I'll be right back," I said and left to hunt down a duty nurse.

EPILOGUE:

Blair and I didn't talk again seriously about what had happened between us until almost two weeks later. He'd returned to work and school, all the while tolerating my need to be apprised of his whereabouts. Like a good kid with an overprotective parent, Blair humored me.

But like even any good kid, he got tired of it. We were sitting in the park on a bench having hot dogs on a crisp Friday afternoon when he brought up the subject.

"You know, man--" he began, munching on his hotdog.

"Swallow first, speak later, Chief," I said.

He glared at me, but complied. "You know," he started again, "I think you need to take a step back and reevaluate what's gone on here."

I expected anything but that comment. "What do you mean?"

He rolled his eyes. "Jim, I'm not going to disappear on you again, and I don't plan on taking any more prescription pain pills."

I didn't know how to answer him. Just then a stray dog came up and nudged my leg. He'd probably smelled the food. I looked over at him. He seemed to be the same one that had asked for a handout right before Sandburg and I took the Golden case. I didn't need this kind of déjà vu. Regardless, I fed him the rest of my meal, while my friend's words sank in along with the idea I could have lost him for good.

"Jim, did you hear me?"

I looked back into his eyes, trying to ignore his sling and cast. "I hear you."

He nodded his head toward me and his eyes widened, expecting me to reply. Blair could say more with his face than most people could with a five-minute speech.

"Look, I'm sorry if I've been hovering lately, but I can't seem to shake what went down." He deserved to know it all. "Every time I look at you, I see how much I hurt you. I just need to know . . ." I paused, looking for the right words, absently patting the dog.

"Know what, Jim?" The blue eyes staring into mine searched for what was troubling me. God, the kid could be so selfless.

I took a deep breath. "To know that you forgive me."

"Oh, hey, man," he said, in a voice deeper than usual. He reached for me, laying a hand on my shoulder. I could feel the warmth though my shirt and the light jacket covering it. "That's a given. I'm only sorry I let it go as far as it did. You know, walking out and all."

I laughed. "We're just two sorry schmos, huh?"

"Speak for yourself," he said, grinning. "You want another hot dog you can share with your new friend?" Blair nodded at the dog.

"Yeah," I replied. I started to stand but he waved me down.

"I'll get it." He stood and walked back to the hotdog stand. Following Blair with my eyes, I wondered at the life that had become such a part of my own, one I valued above all else. I prayed I would never find out what it would mean to live without him.

THE END