by Autumn Skies

Summary: Blair goes from apartment hunting to living at the loft. Missing scenes to The Debt and Cypher. Rated PG. Winner of the Burton 2002 Award for Outstanding Missing Scene.

Notes: References to Siege, The Debt, Cypher and the beginning of Night Train. Many, many thanks to Kathleen and Lisa for their beta and input.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Written for fun, not profit.

"Here ya go, hon."

Blair wrinkled his nose as the landlady rummaged in her sweater pocket for a key. He jittered behind her, eager to get out of the dark hallway that reeked of stale cigarette smoke. Finally the lock turned and she pushed the door open. Bracing himself mentally, Blair stepped inside the small, unfurnished apartment.

The smell of fresh paint still lingered in the air. The walls had been covered in an off-white color that didn't quite hide all the old blemishes, like the stain on the ceiling. Nail holes had been left unfilled. Small flecks of paint dotted the front windowpanes and he saw faint whitish footprints on the hallway carpeting where the painters had walked back and forth.

Turning around, Blair walked into the u-shaped kitchenette and opened a cupboard door that sagged a bit on its hinges. The laminate counters were worn on the edges and there was no dining area, just a breakfast bar. Inspecting the bathroom next, he saw several cracked tiles. There was no tub, only a shower unit.

Well, what did you expect, he thought. In actuality, he'd seen much worse. But after experiencing the spare but well-maintained space of Jim Ellison's loft, it was hard to contemplate living in a cramped studio apartment. Tough, he chided himself. Get used to it.

He opened the closet door and decided he could fit all his clothes inside, what little he'd been able to salvage from the warehouse. Nothing like a little explosion to pare down your belongings, he sighed.

Doris stood by the front window, examining her brightly colored nails. Blair was sure he'd never seen such a blinding shade of pink before. Suddenly she lifted her head and stared intently across the street. "There he is!" she exclaimed and walked quickly to the door. "I've gotta talk to the postman. You go ahead and look around. I'll be right back." She disappeared. Blair watched from the window as she trotted across the street. "Yoo hoo!" she called out, waving an arm at the mail carrier.

Suddenly there was a muffled thump. Looking up, Blair listened to the creak of footsteps above his head followed by the scrape of something being dragged across the room. There were disadvantages to being on the first floor. Although he'd only been at Jim's loft for a little over two weeks, he relished the relative quiet of living on the top story. He frowned at the scraggly bushes in front of the window. That would be another thing he'd miss: the view of the city from the balcony, especially at night.

He still remembered the evening he had gotten his first full look outside. It had been the day after he'd pleaded with a reluctant Jim to allow him and Larry to stay at the loft. After dinner, he'd helped clean up the kitchen and settled Larry in his cage before sliding the glass door open and stepping onto the balcony. Grinning like a kid, he'd leaned his elbows on the railing and stared out at the colorful lights dotting the tall buildings and outdoor boards. He had smelled the ocean on the breeze and watched the line of cars passing by below. Having a sweeping view of Cascade was a definite change from his old surroundings, not to mention having a wary detective for a new roommate.

Despite all the space at his old place, Blair had to admit, in all honesty, the warehouse had been less than ideal. Aside from being very drafty, he had to scrounge up space heaters to keep the interior bearable in the winter and set out traps almost nightly for the rats. But he'd learned to make do under almost any condition. His early years with his free-spirited mother had taught him that much. Homes were only temporary.

Soon, the night air had turned chilly. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Jim leaning back on the couch, watching a game on TV. The living room had looked warm, open and inviting. Returning inside, he plopped down on the other end of the sofa and together they'd watched the Jags narrowly beat the Lakers. Even Larry had watched sleepily from his cage. By now, Blair knew Jim, by nature, was not as talkative as he was. But the silence between them had been comfortable.

Caught up in his musings, Blair failed to see Doris enter the apartment. He started when she spoke up behind him.

"So, whatcha think?"

"It's um, nice," he hedged. "But you know what? I'd like to think it over."

She nodded back as she herded him toward the door. "Sure thing. But don't take too long." She shut the door and jiggled the lock. "You won't find a better deal for a space like this. I've got two more people stopping by for a look later today."

"I'll definitely keep that in mind. Thanks." He gave her a short wave and headed out of the building.

Once inside his car, he picked up the newspaper lying on the seat next to him and glanced up at his rearview mirror. The house across the street had two cars parked on the front lawn. Four or five teens stood around listening to the music blasting out of the speakers at mega volume.

Uncapping his pen, he crossed out the listing. He scanned the column again. Maybe the one on Milton would be more promising. He reached out and started the ignition.

******** ********

Jim glanced at the clock on the counter as he stood in front of the stove stirring a simmering pot of wild rice. His stomach had been growling almost nonstop for the past twenty minutes. "Hurry up, Sandburg," he grumbled, "I'm starving here."

His new roommate's sense of punctuality was erratic at best. How he managed to show up on time for all his university classes and appointments sans watch was a mystery to Jim. Opening the freezer, he pulled out a bag of frozen peas and carrots and poured some into a casserole dish. They weren't exactly on his list of favorite foods, but he knew Sandburg would insist on some sort of vegetable side dish. He could pop it into the microwave at the very last minute. Despite Blair's tardiness, cooking seemed much less like a chore these days. It was actually nice, having someone to share his meals with for a change.

A car door opened and slammed shut on the street below. Focusing his attention, Jim heard the now familiar sound of his roommate's footsteps as he entered the building and approached the elevator. "Oh no, not again," came the groan. The footsteps changed directions and headed for the stairs.

A few minutes later, there was a click at the front door. Jim half-turned from the simmering pot. "Hey, Chief, it's about time you got home."

"Hi Jim. Man, I can't believe the elevator's out again." Blair trudged in, closing the door behind him. He sniffed as he lowered his backpack to the floor and shed his floppy corduroy coat. "Hey, something smells good."

"I picked up some lemon chicken from the grocery store. The rice should be done in another ten minutes or so." Jim pointed at the dining table. "Want to get the plates?"

"Oh sure." Blair's tiredness began to fade at the thought of a hot meal. "What about veggies?"

"I've got some in the microwave."

After dumping his books and backpack in his bedroom, Blair returned to the kitchen and grabbed plates, flatware and napkins. As he began to set the table, Jim frowned.

"What?" asked Blair, looking down at the table. "Did I forget something?"

Jim shook his head. "No. I was just trying to figure out where you've been." Steam wafted up toward the ceiling as he tilted the pot lid up. "You smell like cigarettes and paint."

Blair tugged on his shirt and sniffed at the fabric. "Whoa! You could smell that all the way from there?" His eyes widened in amazement. He took a step closer to his roommate and stopped abruptly mid-bounce. "Oh! If it's really bothering you, I could change or jump in the shower."

"Don't sweat it, Chief. I'll live." Ellison turned the burner off and motioned with his wooden spoon. "The rice is done. Give me your plate."

The two men swiftly set the rest of the food on the table and sat down. Jim smiled inwardly as Blair eagerly reached for a drumstick. It was gratifying to have someone eat his cooking so enthusiastically, even if he hadn't roasted the chicken himself. "So, what were you up too?"

"I was looking at apartments."

"I see." Jim picked up his beer. For some reason the statement bothered him more than he expected. True, Blair had promised to be out of his hair in a week's time, but deep down, Jim had known the busy grad student was being overly optimistic about his schedule.

It seemed a recipe for disaster at first, allowing the young man and his Barbary ape to stay at the loft. Larry escaped his cage twice, leaving a trail of havoc in his wake. Blair had been dismayed and apologetic as he helped clean up the mess but Jim couldn't find it in him to be all that mad. The teaching fellow had just lost his home and a good deal of his worldly possessions, yet he appeared for the most part to take it in stride, as though he were used to picking up and starting over.

Although Larry eventually returned to the loft, Animal Control was set on taking the little ape. Blair was unable to prove ownership, since all the permits and paperwork from the university regarding Larry had been destroyed. Jim, seeing how distraught Blair was, took the control officer aside and quickly put in a word on his behalf. However, the video camera borrowed from Carolyn Plummer's department was another story. This time Blair returned the favor. Before the lieutenant could launch into a heated tirade about the destroyed equipment, Blair explained about the drug lab next door to him at the warehouse and how narrowly, he, Jim and Larry had survived the explosion.

"We wouldn't be here if it weren't for Jim," he said with the most sincere expression he could muster.

To Jim's amusement, not even Carolyn could resist the wide-eyed, almost waifish look. She finally relented, saying she'd requisition a replacement. In turn, she expected several free lunches from her ex-husband. "And no Wonderburger," she'd added firmly.

As the tumult from the first few days died down, Jim marveled secretly at his new roommate's unflagging energy. Dragging what was left of his belongings into the small spare room, Blair converted it into his new nest and continued writing his paper without skipping a beat. He accompanied Jim to the station, taught classes at the university and studied late into the night, pouring over textbooks and taking notes.

Granted, the intrusion took some getting used to, but despite the additional noise and smells, Jim found the company not unpleasant. Blair had taken to starting breakfast when he was the first one up, and making dinner on alternating days. It was nice to share cooking chores for a change. Blair had also grocery shopped that first weekend, saying it was the least he could do.

But on Sunday of that first week, Jim had woken up first.

******** ********

Sunday:

Padding downstairs, Jim paused for a moment by the doorway of the spare bedroom where Blair lay sleeping. Continuing on to the bathroom, he brushed his teeth and shaved before returning to the kitchen to start some coffee. Opening cupboard doors and the refrigerator, he ran the water and put dishes away as Blair continued to sleep through the clatter.

Wondering if he should wake the grad student, he pushed aside the curtain covering the doorway. Blair lay curled up on his side, facing the wall, snoring lightly. His laptop lay open, on top of one of his suitcases. A storage box, pushed next to the futon, served as a temporary nightstand. A small travel alarm sat on the lid, next to Blair's glasses and a penlight. Textbooks, files folders and magazines were stacked against the opposite wall. Cartons, shoes and other personal effects were piled haphazardly by the foot of the bed. Clothes were mounded over the back of a chair. Looking over the mess, Jim grimaced, his fingers itching to put things in order.

He needs to organize his stuff, he thought as he looked around the small space. We could start with a bookcase or a nightstand. Stepping back, he let the curtain fall into place. Then again, the kid might not even be around long enough to use it, he reminded himself.

Returning to the kitchen, he put two slices of bread into the toaster and poured some coffee into a mug. He thought about making pancakes, but opted instead for scrambled eggs and sausages. He ate leisurely, washed out his pan and plates and decided that Blair could fend for himself when he woke up. Shrugging on a jacket, he grabbed his keys and went off to do some errands. By the time he returned, it was well past noon. At the front door he stopped and listened for a moment. Everything was still and quiet inside. The low hum of appliances and Blair's steady breathing were all he heard.

Setting his purchases down on a chair, he peered into the small bedroom again. "Sandburg?" he called out. "You awake?"

"Urggg. Just a minute." Blair blinked groggily and yawned. "What time is it?"

"A quarter to one."

Sitting up, Blair ran a hand through the tousled thicket of hair that seemed to sprout in all directions like a dandelion head.

Jim dropped the curtain and went to hang his jacket up. A few minutes later, Blair wandered out, wearing an old green tee shirt over his sweat pants. Jim had no trouble reading the cracked, faded lettering on the front: "The truly educated never graduate." He shook his head as Blair padded off to the bathroom. By the time Blair returned to the kitchen to pour himself some coffee, Jim had changed into a work shirt and an old pair of jeans.

Carefully holding the mug between his hands, Blair sipped the hot brew as he leaned his back against the counter. He eyed the assortment of screws, nuts, washers, pliers and wrenches lined up alongside the sink. "What are you fixing?"

"The faucet. It was dripping practically all night." Hearing the intermittent plops of water hitting the sink had been annoying to say the least.

"Need any help?"

"No. There's only room for one of us here anyway." Picking up a screwdriver, Jim leaned over one of the handles.

Blair watched him for a few minutes, turned and grabbed a half-empty bag of bran muffins. With his coffee in one hand and a muffin in the other, he walked into the living room. "Is the paper still around?" he asked.

"It's on the chair."

Setting the muffin down on the coffee table, Blair snatched up the newspaper and sat down on the couch. For the next several minutes, the only sounds in the loft were rustling paper and Jim's grunts as he tugged on the stubborn fixture.

After removing the handles, Jim carefully loosened the lock nut and removed the stem. Holding it up, he studied the components closely, set it down and picked up the small plastic bag containing the new washers. Papers rustled again behind him. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that Blair had donned his glasses and was peering down at a section of the Sunday paper spread over the coffee table. He took another bite of his muffin then circled something with a red pen.

Must be checking apartment listings again, thought Jim. As he searched for a pair of pliers, he realized the chatty grad student was being unusually quiet. "You okay out there?" he finally asked.

"What? Yeah. I'm still a little tired." Blair flipped over another page. "Guess this whole week kinda caught up to me."

Turning his attention back to the faucet stem, Jim reassembled all the parts before realizing he'd forgotten a piece. Patiently, he teased everything apart, added the missing disk then put it back together again. He repeated the process on the other handle. Once that had been done, he'd turned the water pressure back up and turned both faucet handles. Water flowed out for several seconds before he shut it off and watched the spout intently. No drips. Pleased, he dried his hands on a paper towel and began to pick up all the parts he'd left on the counter.

"Everything's in working order now," he announced. There was no reply. Hearing the sound of steady breathing again, he turned around. Blair was stretched out on the couch, eyes shut, the partially eaten muffin sitting on top of the classified section.

With a sigh, Jim continued to put his tools away and wiped off the counter top. The dramatic events of the past week had finally worn out the hyper young man. He walked over to the couch, gently tugged the glasses off Blair's face and set them down next to the muffin. "Oh what the hell," he muttered to himself, "I suppose having you around for another few days won't kill me."

******** ********

Blair stirred in his seat. He'd been sitting in the truck with Jim for a little over two hours. In response to Narcotic's request for additional help, Simon had assigned Jim to assist them in tracking Rick Santee, a drug smuggler. Unlike the movie version, stakeouts, as Blair quickly learned, could be quite long and tedious.

That evening they followed Santee to a two-story townhouse just outside the old business district. As the suspect parked near the front entrance, Jim pulled into an empty spot across the street. They both sat and watched as Santee quickly slipped inside. Narcotics had been tracking his movements for several weeks. They were especially interested in his newest supplier and when the next drug shipment would be coming across the border.

Blair glanced at the clock in the dashboard. It was after eleven. "So what's he doing now?" he asked softly.

Jim snorted in disgust. "Can you believe it? That sleazeball's watching a cop show." The detective sat one hand resting atop the steering wheel as he gazed up at the townhouse.

"Figures," grinned Blair. Observing how easily Jim was able to keep track of the drug smuggler, with his hearing, made putting up with the monotony well worth his while. "Okay if I read a bit?"

"Sure."

Rummaging in his backpack, Blair drew out a small flashlight and a newspaper. He stuck the light between his teeth and opened the paper. Aside from some minor grumbling about the state of his bedroom, Jim had said nothing about his continued presence at the loft. Feeling guilty, Blair was determined to honor his promise about moving out. If only he could find one that fit within his budget.

"Aha," he exclaimed softly.

"Aha what?"

Blair removed the flashlight from his mouth. "I think I've found something. There's a one bedroom on Thornton. It's unfurnished, but I can probably get by for a while with just some--"

"Thornton and what?"

"Huh?"

"What's the nearest cross street?"

"It doesn't say. Judging from the address though, I'd say it's close to Union." Blair snapped his fingers. "I know, it's right by Harding Plaza."

Jim stopped scanning the condo and turned his head. "Chief, do you realize there have been three drive-by shootings in that area in the past two months?"

"Oh." A bit deflated, Blair crossed out the address.

"What about Ridgecrest or Monte Vista? There are plenty of apartments on those streets."

Blair snorted. "Get real. The cheapest place in that area goes for well over nine hundred. I can't afford that." He ran a finger down the listings.

"Well, considering what you were shelling out for that warehouse, I'm sure you could find something close by. It's a good neighborhood."

"I know. It's just that I was hoping to pay less."

"Why?"

"Well, I figure if I can find a place for say, seven or seven fifty, I can save up some money to start replacing the stuff I lost. For starters, I need a bed, a dresser and a frig. Plus towels, sheets, chairs and lamps," Blair added, counting off the items on his fingers. "It all adds up."

"What about renter's insurance?"

"What insurance?" asked Blair with a sigh.

"You don't have renter's insurance?" Jim raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"On my salary? C'mon, I can barely afford medical and auto insurance as it is. Some of these companies are just unbelievable. How they can get away with charging the kind of prices they do is just beyond me." He stopped his rant when he noticed Jim staring at him. "Well anyway, I just need to watch my pennies for a while. That's all." Embarrassed, he clicked his little flashlight back on and held the beam over the listings.

The explosion at the old warehouse had wiped out practically every single major piece of furniture he owned, including his television. The rest were too badly damaged by smoke and fire to be salvageable. Although the majority of the items were acquired secondhand through friends and backyard sales, it was still a big loss. At least I have my clothes, well some of them, my laptop, my books, photos and keepsakes he thought. Thank goodness I left the masks back in my office.

Jim cleared his throat. "You know, Sandburg, if you need some cash, I can always float you a loan."

"Nuh-uh. I'm fine, man. Really."

"Okay. But if you need ever need it..."

Looking up, Blair smiled. "Hey, thanks. I appreciate the offer." Money was definitely tight, but the last thing he wanted was Jim thinking of him as a charity case. He refolded the paper and stuffed it into his backpack. I've been looking after myself since I was a kid. I can handle this.

Jim kept his head turned and narrowed his eyes. Frowning, Blair opened his mouth to speak then jumped slightly at the sudden tap on his window. It was Narcotics detective, Ron Ikeda. Blair hastily pressed the button on the door arm and lowered the glass.

Ikeda glanced at the young man briefly then nodded at Jim. "Ellison," he said, in a low tone. "How's it going? Anything new?"

"Not much," replied Jim. "Santee's been holed up in his place since nine. No one's entered the condo." He studied the detective's face. "What's up? You guys are early."

"Hemmings and I figured it was time we cut you a break. You've been on this since last week." He pointed back at a dark car parked several yards away. "Thought you should know we finally got another team to help out. They'll take over from here. You can go ahead and call it a night."

"Thanks. So when should I check in with you guys?"

A cool breeze blew by Ikeda, through the open window. Blair burrowed into his jacket.

"If something comes up we'll call you. Otherwise we'll give you an update at Friday's meeting."

"Sounds good to me," murmured Jim. "We'll shove off then."

Ikeda straightened, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and gave them a quick nod before walking back to his partner's car.

"Cool," said Blair as he raised the window. "This means you'll get a chance to relax tomorrow night."

Jim started his engine and reached up a hand to straighten his rearview mirror. "I had something else in mind, actually."

"Yeah? You have plans or something?"

"Got a pair of tickets to the Jags game."

"Hey, that's great. Who are you taking? Beverly?" Blair grinned impishly at Jim as he pulled the truck away from the curb.

"Actually I figured I'd be stuck on this stakeout for the rest of the week, so I didn't think I'd get a chance to use the tickets at all." Jim braked at the stop sign. "Besides, it's too late for me to call her tonight."

"You can still try tomorrow."

Jim huffed softly. "I don't think so. She's been pretty busy and doesn't like having things sprung on her at the last minute. Besides, she's not much for basketball. How about you? You want to go?"

"Me? Are you serious?" Blair's eyes widened in surprise.

"Sure, why not? You hung in there with me through this whole stakeout." Jim turned right, onto the main thoroughfare. He was silent for a while as they drove along the empty streets. "You know I wasn't sure at first I could pick Santee out of that crowd earlier and keep following him, but you kept insisting I could."

"You were able to spot him from a block away, easy. Told you it'd be a piece of cake," crowed the grad student. "See how much of an advantage your senses are?"

"I suppose."

"Hey come on. Just think of all the neat things you can do with them."

"Like what?"

Blair sank back against his seat. "Well, take that Jags game for example. You'll be able to follow the action on the court no matter where we sit. I'll bet you'll be able to hear the players, too." He sat up straighter. "As matter of fact, we could try a couple of experiments tomorrow while we're at the arena. I've got this idea for testing the range of your..."

With his right hand, Jim reached over and covered Blair's mouth. "Time out, Chief. No tests. Got it? And another thing, I want to beat the crowd out of the parking lot, so we're leaving at the two-minute warning. Agreed?"

"Jimmmmmmm."

******** ********

Gasping heavily, Jim lowered his gun and gazed over the edge of the broken flooring at the motionless body of David Lash. The shards of glass scattered around him glinted in the dim light like fragmented bits of the serial killer's tormented soul.

Jim took another deep breath. It had been close. Too close. Step by step, the cunning serial killer had invaded his city, his workplace and finally his home, taunting the detective to catch him as he slipped in and out his various personas. Seeing him hovering over a helpless, chained Blair had been the last straw.

"It's over you bastard," he said, holstering his gun.

"Jim! J-i-m!" The faint cry from above jerked his attention away from Lash's body.

Tilting his head up he shouted, "Blair! Hold on! I'll be right there." Picking his way carefully through the debris of the abandoned warehouse, he searched for a way up.

******** ********

There were only a handful people in the waiting area of Cascade Memorial Hospital during the early hours of the morning. Pulling off his knit cap, Ellison made his way toward a set of chairs against the back wall, unaware of the startled looks in his direction as he passed by.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Despite cautioning Blair that if he were to continue to work with cops he'd have to learn to control his emotions, the thought of the young, bright grad student suffering the same fate as the late Susan Frasier had struck a painful nerve in him. He rubbed his face wearily.

"Hey, Jim." A large body settled down in the seat next to him.

Turning his head, the detective blinked. "Joel? What are you doing here?"

Joel Taggert handed him a cup of coffee. "You look like you could use this. I got it from that all-night cafe down the street."

Jim accepted the hot drink gratefully. "Thanks," he said, opening the lid. The bomb squad captain was dressed in a jogging suit, as opposed to his usual suit and tie. In fact, he looked as though he'd thrown his clothes on in a hurry.

"Carolyn called me at home and told me what went down tonight," added Taggert quietly. "How's Blair doing?"

"Aside from a lump on his head, and a dozen bruises, he's doing okay." Warmed by Joel's concern, Jim wondered at how quickly his partner had managed to make friends with the bomb squad captain.

"Thank God for small favors," whispered Joel in relief. "She told me she wasn't sure you'd be able to find him in time. What happened when you got there?"

"Lash had him chained to a dentist's chair. He was trying to force some concoction down his throat. After that he was going to drown Blair, the same way he killed the other victims." Jim grimaced at the memory. "You should've heard him. He was scared to death, yet he kept fighting. He used his head and his wits to keep Lash off balance."

Joel smiled and shook his head slowly. "Why does that not surprise me? If he can talk his way around someone like Kincaid, Blair can certainly--" Suddenly his pager beeped. He pulled it out and checked the number. "I'll be right back," he sighed as he levered himself out of his seat.

Still holding the cup of coffee, Jim leaned back and closed his eyes. The same way he'd extended his senses to listen in on drug smuggler, Rick Santee, Jim repeated it down the hallway. A nurse was checking Blair's blood pressure. "The doctor will be by shortly," she said.

Jim slowly rolled his neck from one shoulder to the other.

He had constantly questioned Blair's methods and theories about his sentinel abilities, but down by the waterfront, he'd never been more grateful for his senses. Pulling up underneath one of the old piers on a hunch, a small voice inside had told him he was on the right track. Only years of training and discipline had kept him from succumbing to the fear he was too late. He had pressed on, combing the abandoned buildings with his sight and hearing for a sign of his missing partner.

When he'd finally heard Blair's voice, the relief was almost overwhelming.

"You can't be me. Only I think what I think, feel what I feel."

The kid was still alive. Narrowing his eyes, he'd scanned the exterior of the warehouse and saw a flickering light coming from an upper story window. Racing quickly toward the building, he listened to the dialogue between Lash and Blair as he searched for a way inside. One of the doors was unlocked. Pushing it open, he looked around as his eyes adjusted to the dark gloom. Tilting his head slightly, he had made his way down the corridor.

"You think you know who I am? I know more about you. Poor little Homer."

Homing in on Blair's voice, he had carefully made his way up the stairs. Attaboy, Chief. Keep talking. Keep Lash distracted. I'm almost there. At the top floor, he made his way down the dark hall toward an open doorway. The lights inside flickered. He recalled the almost overwhelming smells of burning candle wax, drugs and fear -- Blair's fear.

A large, warm hand clamped down on his shoulder. "Jim?" said a low, deep voice.

Opening his eyes, Jim let out a long exhale. "Simon."

"Hear anything from the doctors?"

"No, not yet." He twisted around and set his cup down on the small stand next to him. "No, wait, someone's coming now."

A few seconds later, a stocky man with dark hair carrying a folder under his arm, walked up to the waiting area and looked around. "Is there a Detective Ellison here?"

"That's me." Jim stood up as Simon stepped in closer. The doctor looked up at the two tall men.

"I'm Dr. Mowbray."

Jim motioned at Simon. "This is Captain Simon Banks."

Simon gave the doctor a quick nod. "Sandburg's been working as an observer in my department."

"I see. Well, from what I gather, he's a lucky young man."

"How's he doing?" asked Jim.

"He has a mild concussion, nothing serious, and some bruises. Other than that, he's fine."

"What about the chloral hydrate? He was forced to swallow some."

"Yes, but he says he managed to spit most of it out. He's still feeling a little woozy, but it should pass out of his system in a few more hours. I suggested that he stay overnight, but he's insistent about going home. Will someone be around to keep an eye on him?"

"Yes, me."

At Jim's short but emphatic answer, the doctor continued giving him a few basic instructions. Joel Taggert walked up and joined the small group. Giving all three men an appraising look, Mowbray smiled. "I'd say Mr. Sandburg's in good hands. Good night gentlemen." He turned and walked away.

"He's going home?" asked Joel.

"Yeah. The doc said he could be released," replied Jim.

"I'm just going to stick my head in and see how he's doing." Simon and Jim watched as Joel ambled off to find the young observer.

Jim leaned over and picked up his cup of coffee. He noticed his captain studying him out of the corner of his eye.

"How about you, Jim? You doing okay?" asked Banks softly.

Jim took a swallow of the now lukewarm coffee. "Yes, sir. A little banged up, but I'll be fine." His shoulders and hip ached from the impact of landing on old crates and sheets while wrestling with Lash. Thankfully his jacket had protected him from the flying glass.

"Good. IA will want to meet with you as soon as possible, but considering the circumstances, there shouldn't be a problem."

Feeling the exhaustion creeping up on him, Jim nodded.

"You did really good tonight," added the captain.

Dropping the cup into a trashcan, Jim sat down again and rested his elbows on his knees. "I don't know, Simon. I almost blew it."

"What are you talking about?" frowned Banks. "You're the one who figured out where Lash's little hiding place was."

"But the creep was always one step ahead of us. I should've been suspicious of him from the moment he walked into your office, posing as Dr. Bates. The constant news leaks and that incident at the Maritime Museum -- once we figured out who he really was, I should've known he'd go after Blair next."

"Don't start with that, Detective." Simon sat next to him. "Look, if anyone gets the blame, it should be me. I'm the one who called Bates in the first place. You're still the one who figured out where Lash took Sandburg and you got there in time to stop him. You heard the doctor. The kid's going to be okay, thanks to you."

"Yeah but--"

"No buts," said Banks firmly. "I want you two to go home and get some sleep. I'd give you the day off, but I'll need both of you to sign off on all the paperwork." He rose from the chair, stifling a yawn. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

Jim sat quietly for a moment. "Hey, Simon."

"What?"

"Thanks for backing me up this evening."

The captain smiled. "My pleasure. Now you know why I get paid the big bucks."

All during the drive back to the loft, Jim kept an eye on his partner. Blair's continuing silence was unsettling.

"Oh man, what a mess," Jim heard him sigh as he picked his way through the living room.

"Don't worry about it, Chief." Summoning up his energy, Jim began to right the overturned furniture. The more quickly things were put back in order, the less they both would fret. "I can handle this. Why don't you take a shower?"

"Are you sure? I should give you a hand here."

"No, I'm fine. You go ahead and get cleaned up." He nudged Blair toward the bathroom. "Go on. By the time you get out, I'll have everything back in order." He folded his arms and put on his best glare until the grad student finally retreated, mumbling under his breath.

After hearing the bathroom door close, Jim went over and picked up the chairs and seat cushions. He righted the little table by the door and gathered up all the books and papers strewn on the floor. Better call the insurance company tomorrow, he reminded himself. The door, locks, television set, lamp and a few other items needed to be replaced in the next few days. As he picked up the window shade that had gotten torn off its rod, he kept half an ear tuned into Blair. After a few more minutes, he frowned.

Tossing the shade aside, he quickly walked to the bathroom. Tapping on the door he called out softly, "Chief? You okay in there?"

There was no answer.

He tried the door. It was unlocked and he opened it slowly. The water in the shower was running. Gazing down, he spotted Blair jammed into the farthest corner of the bathroom, his eyes screwed shut. He had his knees pulled tightly to his chest and his breath hitched in short gasps as his pulse raced.

The night's events were all hitting him at once. Jim quickly poked a hand into the shower and turned the water off before kneeling in front of Blair. He reached out cautiously to put a hand on Blair's arm. "Hey, Chief. It's okay. You're home now. You're safe."

Blair rocked silently, his face tucked into his arms.

Frustrated, Jim sat back on his haunches and wondered what else to say because after an encounter with a psycho like Lash, anyone in their right mind would be thinking about packing and fleeing for the next county or state.

He was upset, too, but for different reasons. Up until recently, he hadn't a clue about his heightened senses, let alone sentinel abilities. If it were not for Sandburg, he'd still be seeing doctors, convinced he was losing his mind. Instead he had come close to losing the only person who seemed to have any sort of understanding of his condition.

One thing he hadn't expected was that that one person would be someone like Blair.

Blair was different. Very different. On the outside, he looked like a young brash kid, and yet inside, there were depths of determination and bravery he'd only seen in guys older and more experienced.

Words of comfort were never his strong suit, but he'd be damned if he let David Lash have the last say. He scooted next to Blair, leaned against the wall and just let his presence soak into the body next to him. Feeling Blair shiver, he shifted even closer so that their bodies were pressed against each other. Lifting his arm, he put it around Blair's shoulders and squeezed firmly. Eventually, he felt the Blair's tight ball relax, little by little.

"It's over. He's dead," he whispered, hugging Blair tightly. "Lash is never coming back."

Sighing, Blair turned his head and pressed the side of his face against Jim's chest. Jim felt the soft puff of air through his shirt. "Promise?" came the shaky voice.

"Yeah, I promise."

"Okay." They sat together quietly. Jim waited patiently, his arm around the young man's shoulder until Blair's heart stopped racing and his breathing calmed.

Finally, Blair pulled back a little and managed a weak smile. "Sorry. I didn't mean to freak out on you."

"I'd be more concerned if you didn't."

Blair stiffened and pulled away further. "Why? Because I'm not cop like you?"

Kicking himself inwardly, Jim tried again. If nothing else, tonight's ordeal had shown him the extent of Blair's fortitude. "No. You just went through a traumatic experience. Of course you're going to feel it. Anyone would. Even a cop." Even me.

Grabbing his arm, Jim gently tugged him up. "Come on." He steered his charge toward his bedroom. "Sit," he ordered.

Blair sat on his futon and wrapped his arms around himself. He still looked uncertain and a bit lost.

Jim eased himself next to him. "You know you did everything right, Chief."

Blair sighed and closed his eyes. "Are you sure? Or are you just saying that?"

Reaching over, Jim gently ruffled the soft curls. "I mean it," he said firmly. "Now go get some sleep. Simon's expecting us at the station later."

******** ********

Blair shuffled his pile of index cards and watched the last student leave the room. He shook his head ruefully. On the one hand, he enjoyed immersing himself into his teaching schedule at the university. On the other, someone was always clamoring for his attention -- like Jody Franklin, pleading for another extension on her assignment.

She had been most insistent, but in the end, Blair stood his ground. "Sorry, Jody. I'm expecting your paper on Monday," he said firmly as she pouted.

"Fine. Whatever." Glaring, she grabbed her satchel and stormed out of the lecture hall.

Shaking his head, Blair stuffed his notes and textbooks into his backpack and headed to his basement office. Dozens of students stood in small clumps near the stairway. He heard little snatches of their conversations as he passed by.

"...so how'd you do on Wilson's quiz yesterday?"

"...nah, I'd rather go see Kurosawa's Hidden Fortress. I hear it's playing again at the Bijoux."

Little did they know anyone one of them could have ended up a target for David Lash. He shuddered a bit and walked faster. Despite telling everyone, including Jim and Simon, he was okay, Blair still felt jumpy. He unlocked his office and peered inside first before entering. Dropping his backpack on the floor by his desk, he checked his voice mail. There were no appointments or meetings scheduled for that afternoon. Normally he kept his door partially open in case one of his students or fellow TAs wanted to drop by unannounced. Now he made sure it was closed and locked until he was ready to leave. If someone wants me, they can knock, he thought as he booted up his computer.

Answering e-mails, coordinating his notes for the next lecture and formulating questions for an upcoming test kept his mind occupied for the next few hours. As he began to scribble a list of reference materials he wanted to check out at the library, he heard a set of footsteps in the hallway coming closer and closer. He swallowed and fiddled with his pencil nervously.

"Just calm down," he told himself. Suddenly the doorknob rattled and he froze in his chair, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest as he recalled hearing Lash testing one of the loft doors the night he broke in. He gripped the arms of his chair hard, until the rattling stopped and footsteps continued on. "Shit!" Blair slumped back, letting his pencil drop to the floor. Yanking his glasses off, he rubbed his face. "It's over, dammit. Why am I still freaking out?" he muttered angrily as he leaned over to pick up his pencil. "That's all Jim needs. A basket case for a partner."

The phone rang.

Taking a deep breath, he sat up, picked up the receiver and answered. "Hello, Blair Sandburg speaking."

"Chief? It's me."

Relieved at the distraction, he let out a shaky breath. "Oh hi, Jim. What's up?"

"I'm about to head home. Thought I'd stop and get some takeout."

"Sounds good to me," said Blair. "Not in the mood to cook, huh?"

"No, not especially. But you're always welcome to."

"Yeah? You know there's this great vegetarian dish I've been dying to make. It's spinach and chick peas in spiced yogurt and... oh, okay. Chinese it is then. I'll see you in about half an hour." Shutting his computer down, Blair quickly gathered his research materials and stuffed them into his backpack. He flipped the room light off and locked the door behind him.

After pulling into a parking spot on Prospect, Blair paused for a moment to gaze up at the third floor of the building he'd come to call home.

Truth was, he liked living at the loft. It had been an easier adjustment than he would've thought possible to go from a large warehouse to having a small, spare bedroom. He liked the airiness, the hardwood floors, the balcony view and the other tenants. Mrs. Parnkopf had been the first to take a shine to him. After seeing her struggle with some heavy grocery bags, he volunteered to carry them to her place on the second floor. The next day, she rapped at number 307 and handed him a plate of still-warm oatmeal cookies.

"You're too skinny," she scolded. "You need to eat more."

"Thank you," grinned Blair. It was nice change from avoiding the occasional junkie or gangs that inhabited his old stomping grounds.

Apparently she wasn't the only one who thought he needed to gain a little weight. As much as Jim grumbled about his algae shakes and the assortment of organic vegetables taking over the refrigerator, he grumbled even louder whenever Blair skipped a meal.

Blair wasn't used to being fussed over.

Trouble was, there had been a whole slew of people, including relatives and even old boyfriends of Naomi's who had liked him. In his experience though, being liked didn't guarantee any sort of permanency, especially when it came to living arrangements. It probably never would. At some point in time, someone would point out he was too loud, too talkative, too energetic and too annoying.

Which was all the more reason he should start looking again for his own place. Better do it now, before I wear out my welcome, he thought as he entered the building.

"Hi Jim," he called out as he stepped through the front door. Jim turned to face him, holding the phone to one ear. He gave a short nod then returned to his conversation.

"I gave Simon an update before I left. Did they fax you the names of their recent hires? How many were on the list?"

Blair noted the bags of food from The Wok Express sitting on the counter as he made a beeline for his room. Brushing aside the curtain, he stepped inside, dumped his backpack on the futon and toed off his shoes. He hoped Jim remembered to ask for some spring rolls and extra dipping sauce.

"Yeah? Well what about the phone records? I made a list of the dates..."

Blair brushed aside the small mound of shirts on the floor with his foot. Time to do some laundry. Just wish I had somewhere to put all this stuff, aside from my bed. He stopped and stared at the object sitting on the chair.

It was a round, plastic laundry basket. Not only that, next to the bed was a nightstand. It was made of pine, with a top drawer and an open shelf underneath. A small desk lamp sat on top.

Blair flicked the switch on and adjusted the shade. "Cool." He liked to read before going to sleep but had stopped after wearing the batteries out on his little penlight. Glancing at some of the books on the floor, he calculated how many would fit on the bottom shelf. Smiling to himself, he quickly gathered up his clothes and dumped them in the basket before returning to the living room. Jim had hung up the phone and was pulling cartons out of the bags.

"Who was that?"

"Henri. He's working with me on that break in at Data Line Products. He just had a couple of questions."

Blair went to the kitchen and pulled out some plates and flatware. He set the table and leaned forward, putting his elbows on top of one of the dining chairs.

"Hey, thanks, man." He gestured with his head toward his bedroom.

Jim shrugged. "It's just some old stuff I had in the basement. Nothing fancy. Thought you might be able to use them."

"It's exactly what I needed. Add a bookshelf and a desk and I'll be in busi..." Blair stopped and mentally smacked himself. Way to go, genius. Just because he pulls out some furniture doesn't mean he wants you as a permanent house guest.

Jim looked up as he scooped fried rice onto the plates. "What?"

"Never mind. Nothing. My mouth works faster than my brain sometimes."

"Really? I hadn't noticed," Jim replied dryly.

"Very funny." Blair opened the refrigerator. "What do you want to drink? Beer?"

"Sounds good."

Blair pulled out two bottles and set them down on the table. Grabbing a pair of chopsticks, he reached out and snagged a spring roll. Jim followed suit, dunking one end into a container of dipping sauce. Only one small carton remained unopened. Smiling, Blair pulled the flaps out. It was packed with mushrooms and snow peas.

"Try some," he said, pushing it toward Jim.

"Got broccoli here," muttered the detective between bites.

"Really? Where?" Blair squinted suspiciously at the plate mounded high with stir-fried beef and rice.

"It's in here, somewhere."

"I'll bet."

One by one, the cartons were emptied.

As he reached for the last of the spring rolls, Jim said casually, "I've also got a small bookcase downstairs."

"You don't have to go all that trouble."

"Why not? It'll be better than having your stuff all over the floor." Glancing across the table, Jim saw Blair toying with the rice on his plate. "What's the matter, Chief?"

Setting his chopsticks down, Blair shifted uneasily. "I know it hasn't been easy having me underfoot here all the time. I can tell you're the kind of person who likes order and quiet, and I'm, well, kind of the opposite."

Jim snorted. "So?"

"So, I promised I'd be out of here in a week." He waved a hand. "Unfortunately I haven't kept that promise. But I'll start looking for an apartment this weekend."

Jim scraped the remainder of the beef onto his plate. "Are you on some sort of timetable here?" he asked.

Blair paused and shrugged his shoulders. "No, not really. It's just that I know I haven't kept up my end of the bargain."

Jim rubbed his chin contemplatively for a second. "Seems to me you've been holding up your end just fine, especially with my senses and all."

"I have?"

"Sure. Look, if you're really hot to move, I'm not going to stop you, but there's no hurry is there? I mean there are some advantages to you staying here."

Blair raised his eyebrow. "Such as?"

"Well, for one thing, I know you're on a tight budget." He raised a warning finger as Blair frowned at him. "If you move out, you still have to come up with first and last month's rent plus a security deposit, right?" Blair nodded back wearily. Not only that, some of the places he'd checked out also demanded an application deposit and a non-refundable cleaning fee as well.

"This'll give you a chance to save up your money and at a faster rate. Plus you can use the laundry room anytime you want."

That's true, thought Blair. I could replace the stereo and my CDs. It'd sure be nice not to have to drag my clothes all the way to the laundromat for a change.

"Besides, you'd break Mrs. Parnkopf's heart if you left now."

Blair shook his head in disbelief. "What makes you think she cares one way or the other?"

Jim stared back with a hint of amusement on his eyes. "In all the time I've been here, she's never offered me any cookies."

"It's just a grandmotherly thing."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Okay, you want to hear the truth?"

"What?" Blair stared back a bit warily. "Um, sure."

Jim frowned a little as he leaned forward, putting an elbow on the table. "I'm glad you're not living in that rat trap of a warehouse any more. I don't care how much square footage it had or what kind of a deal it was. That so-called landlord had no business renting it out in the condition it was in."

"Okay, okay." Blair smiled as he put up a placating hand. "Point taken."

"Believe it or not, this is a far safer neighborhood than the one you used to live in."

Blair laughed. "Man, I don't believe you."

"Hey, you're the one who called me your Blessed Protector."

"I did, didn't I?" Blair grinned back.

Both men looked up as the phone rang. Jim sighed as he got up to answer it. "Ellison."

Blair took the last of the snow peas and popped it in his mouth. He rose from his chair and began to clear the table. The cartons were rinsed out and put in the trash can before he filled up the sink with hot water.

"Listen, I've got to go the station." Jim stood next to him, holding his jacket in one hand.

"Need me to come along?"

"No. Henri says forensics has something for me to look at. It should only take an hour at the most. When I get back, you can give a hand with that bookcase."

"Okay," grinned Blair. "I'll be here."

******** ********

"Oh man, this weather sucks," Blair complained as he stumbled into the building elevator, Jim right on his heels. Chasing down a perp in the pouring rain had not been easy. After spotting the fleeing man, Jim had immediately taken off on foot. Blair followed in the truck and after seeing the suspect run into an alleyway, immediately raced around the block to cut off his escape.

As the perp ran, he skidded on a patch of oil, stumbled and went down. By the time Blair slipped out of the truck to join Jim, the man had been handcuffed. Two patrol cars pulled up next to them, in response to Blair's call. With the rain pelting them steadily, both men were soaked to the skin.

Jim grabbed a towel he kept stashed behind his seat and wiped himself off as best he could. Blair tried to do the same. The heater helped take the chill off, but the humidity inside the cab kept fogging the windows. Gritting his teeth, Jim carefully drove back home.

Blair sighed in relief as they entered the loft.

"Ah, ah!" warned Jim as he peeled off his wet field coat. Toeing off his boots, he walked into the hall, opened the linen closet and grabbed more towels. "Here, catch." He tossed one to Blair who dropped his rain spattered backpack on the floor.

"Good thing I Scotch-Guarded this puppy the other day," he muttered as he bent down to unlace his boots. All wet outer clothing were dumped into a laundry basket and set aside. Jim padded upstairs to change into some dry clothes as Blair entered his bedroom to do the same.

"Aa-achoo!" A loud sneeze sounded from above.

Jim finally appeared, looking drier, but tired and red-eyed.

"You sound like you're coming down with a cold," Blair noted as he stirred the soup.

"I'm not sick," Jim muttered nasally as he sat at the table. He looked over at the stove, sniffed and brightened.

"Hold on, it's just about done." Blair turned the stove off. Carefully pouring the beef barley soup into two bowls, he set one down in front of Jim. Then he opened the toaster oven and brought over the toast, covered with melted cheese.

"Thanks," mumbled Jim between bites. "This really hits the spot."

"Mmm hmm," agreed Blair. "Want more?"

"Sure."

"I've also got some stuff for you to take that'll help your cold. Have you ever tried echinacea?"

"No, and I'm not about to."

Unfazed, Blair picked up his mug of tea. "You know, you'd be surprised at how well natural remedies work. I've seen it for myself. In fact, I've got this really cool stuff from a tribe in..."

"No thanks. I'm perfectly fi--achoo!"

"Suit yourself."

By morning, Jim felt as though someone had coated his throat with hot sauce. Ignoring Blair's I-told-you-so look, he downed a glass of orange juice and sat at the dining table while Blair turned the blender off and poured out his algae shake.

"You really should give this a try. It'll help boost your immune system," he said after a gulp.

Jim made a face. "I'd rather not."

Blair rinsed out his glass and set it in the sink. "I left you some toast. See you later."

Jim just sat back and watched as his partner, the whirlwind, gusted out the door, backpack in hand. No wonder Blair didn't get sick. He rarely stayed in one place long enough for a virus to stick to him.

Eggs didn't sound appealing so Jim ate a bowl of cereal instead and got ready for work. By two o'clock, he'd gone through half a box of throat lozenges and most of Rhonda's tissue box. The other detectives were giving his desk a wide berth.

"Go home, Jim," said Simon, eyeing him distastefully, "before you infect the rest of us with whatever nastiness you've got."

For once, he was happy to comply.

Fishing out his key, Jim stood in front of his door. The variety of sounds he'd come to associate with home were missing. There no footsteps, drawers rattling, papers rustling, or clicking of the laptop keyboard. Sandburg was still at the university. He unlocked the door and entered. In the space of a few weeks, unusual objects had begun to appear in areas of his living room: an Indian cushion on the couch, a thick tome on Copan on the coffee table. A tribal hunting mask leaned against the wall.

New CDs had popped up as well, mixed along with Jim's collection. With the money he'd saved, Blair had slowly begun to replace the items he'd lost. Jim recalled the huge grin on the young man's face the other weekend as he'd staggered in with a large box containing a brand new stereo.

"I missed this so much," he'd said as he plugged the unit in and unwrapped a CD. Soon the sounds of a Javanese gamelan filled his bedroom. It had all sounded like gigantic windchimes to Jim. He'd opened his mouth to say something but stopped. The look of happy concentration on Blair's face as he sorted through his purchases reminded him of a kid opening gifts at Christmas.

Funny, how much that expression had moved him. He hadn't seen that kind of enthusiasm since the time he and Steven had both gotten those new...

Well, that had all happened a very long time ago.

After a hot shower, Jim went back upstairs to his bedroom. Yeah, a short nap would do the trick. A little rest and he'd be as good as new. Yawning widely, he stretched out on his bed, closed his eyes and drifted off.

Boom da boom. Boom da boom da boom.

What the hell? Jim's eyes snapped open. Someone was playing tribal music and banging on a drum. Loudly. He could feel the vibrations of the driving rhythm through the mattress. Twisting his head, he looked over at the clock on his nightstand. He'd been asleep for two hours. Reaching out to grab a tissue, he wondered if it was too late to put the genie back into the bottle. Preferably with a very tight cork on top and a little sealing wax.

Too late, said a little voice.

He sat up and sighed. Pulling the belt on his bathrobe tighter, he steeled himself for the audio assault downstairs.

Boom da boom. Boom da boom da boom.

Damn witch doctor.

"C'mon, man. You're killing me..."

*~The End~*

dulce domum: a sweet thing, home.

Comments welcomed. AutumnSkies1@aol.com

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