Blair knew he couldn't keep running much longer. He wasn't really running at this point, more like staggering and even that stuttering form of locomotion would soon end. He'd run out of the energy to go on, and the hope that would have fueled the energy was gone as well.

When his body finally gave out, he would be caught and it would be over.

Who was he kidding? It was over already. Jim had told him to get out and made it clear he was no longer wanted or needed. His dissertation was a dead thing, twisting in the wind. He'd shelved all thought of actually publishing it when he'd realized what the cost would be to Jim.

But, of course, he hadn't told Jim that. Hadn't wanted to face the conversation in which he would be asked, "Well, Sandburg, if the dissertation is out, what are you getting out of our deal? Just why are you still here?"

The answer to that left him just a little too naked. Would it have made any difference if Jim had known he stayed because he didn't want to leave, couldn't bear to leave?

Last night, he'd sat in his office, sure Jim would call. He'd call, probably say something lame and tell Blair it had all been a mistake. He'd waited for the phone call, reluctant to fall asleep and be woken by the shrill ringing in his ear. Besides, he'd be back at the loft soon, why sleep here? But he had, falling asleep with his head on the desk, not waking until she was already in the office, behind him.

"You're going to get up and you're going to come with me."

He'd thrown himself backwards, had felt the knife slash in, sharp pain covered in warm blood. It didn't stop him. Panic at the idea of being forced to go with her fueled his resistance. Grabbing a mask from the bookcase, he slammed it into her, hoping for the sound that would tell him he'd connected with her head. Then he was out, running, putting distance between him and her.

Now, taking a risk, Blair stopped for a moment to try and get more air into his lungs.

He could hear her. She hunted him and although her Sentinel skills were erratic, she was close. Of course, she had handicapped him before the chase had even begun.

He was weaving now, barely making any progress and close to collapse. He stumbled and went down, hard. Pain shot through his body, but just before the darkness closed in, he whispered, hoping she would hear, "Fuck you, Alex."

Jim studied the small office. Before he'd even gotten to the first floor he'd smelled blood and here it was: all over the overturned chair. He'd been able tell it was Blair's blood immediately. He didn't quite know what component made it so easy to identify as Blair's, but after the first time Blair had been hurt and bled, he'd always known it. He knew Simon's, too, by the nicotine that permeated it. But what element allowed him to categorize Blair's, eluded him.

All this blood, Blair's.

There was a heavy ceremonial mask, cracked, on the floor and Jim assumed Blair had used it to make an escape. The trail of blood led to the back of the building and Jim followed it at a trot.

He was vaguely aware of Simon shouting orders and other people swarming around, but he ignored all of that as he focused on the drops of blood leading to his Guide. Down the stairs, across the parking lot, into the scattered trees and bushes, further into the preserve bordering the campus, along a foot-path....The drops were few and far between and Jim found himself tracking the scent and slowly realized that Blair's blood was mingled with the scent of Alex. She was hunting his Guide.

Jim was flat out running now, close to a sprint, not tracking on any specific spoor, knowing only that his Guide was ahead and hurt and in terrible danger.

Blair tried to focus his eyes, but they refused the assignment. Everything was hazy, the light forming halos around the desk and the chair, the only things in the room. His side hurt and he tried to bring his hand to it, but found he couldn't. His arms and legs were in restraints. Before he could make sense of any of this, the door opened and Alex came in. Some things became clearer.

"So, you're finally awake. Good. How're you feeling?" She moved toward the bed and Blair instinctively tried to back away.

The laugh that came out of her mouth was an unpleasant sound. It expressed both her displeasure with his reaction to her and her delight in the helpless position she had put him in.

Straddling the chair next to his bed, she leaned in.

"Let's get some ground rules straight. You're mine. You will help me gain control and expand my power. You will do whatever I tell you to do. Whatever I need you to do." She played with his hair, wrapping a curl around her finger and then trailing her fingers down his stubbled cheek.

"Why-" the word came out a croak and he realized how badly he needed water. "Why would-" he tried to work up the saliva needed to finish the sentence. "-- I do that?"

"Well, because you need certain things. Water, for instance. Notice how dry you are? Blood loss will do that to you." Standing up, she walked to the desk where she retrieved a glass of water, bringing it back to the bed.

"You want this, don't you?"

Blair licked his lips. He wanted the water. His tongue was swollen and it felt as if every molecule in his body cried out for replenishment.

"Yes, you want this water. Say please." She held the water up to the light, and it glistened with promised moisture.

There was no denying his need. "Please."

"Good boy." She put the water to her own lips and drank and then, leaning down, put her mouth on his, releasing some. Blair parted his lips, hoping for more and she slowly filled his mouth with the warm liquid. She repeated the action until she had emptied the glass.

"See how well you cooperate when you benefit? We're going to get along just fine."

Hating her and hating himself, he said, "More."

Alex frowned. "What did you just say?"

A slight hesitation, then, "More, please?"

"That's better. You want something from me? Well, isn't that just peachy, because I have some things I want, too."

Sitting back down in the chair, she said, "Go through that whole dial thing again."

The idea of her mouth on his, delivering the water, sickened him, but his need was overriding such fine considerations and making demands. "M-more water, please?"

"Yeah, in a minute. I gave you some, now you do your part."

Trying to stay on top of the pain, Blair began to lead her through the first simple exercise. His tongue tripped over the words and he had a hard time pushing them past his cracked lips. He didn't get very far before he drifted off, coming to when Alex poked him in the side. The flare of pain made him cry out and Alex smiled.

"You see, I have something else you need. I'll be right back."

Breathing as evenly as possible, Blair managed to remain conscious. Alex came in holding a syringe up, tapping it and watching the bubbles float to the top. Squirting a fraction of the drug out, she brought it to Blair's inner arm. Blair watched in fascinated horror, noticing the parade of bruised needle marks already there.

She traced fingertips up and down his arm, sending shivers through his body. "Look at the skin here, the fragile barrier between you and the outside world, between you and what I put into you."

Bending down, she licked his arm and when she looked up, her madness glittered right on the surface. His shivering was getting more violent and Alex took the syringe away. Blair's relief was short as she brought out rubber tubing and wrapped it tightly around is upper arm. Taking his wrist, she held his arm and tapped at his veins. "Perhaps an IV would make this process easier on you. But then, that's not really one of my goals."

Finally finding one she liked, she picked up the needle, plunging the drug into his system. It was done with alarming efficiency.

"Wh-what was that?"

"That was just a little pain reliever. I don't want my Guide in pain. "

The drug was having the immediate effect of making the room go even more out of focus, as well as dulling the burning in his side. He wondered idly if Alex had put stitches in and just how much blood he had lost. It didn't really matter. Floating above his bed, he watched as Alex picked up the glass, tubing, and syringe.

"You just take a little nap, darlin'. I'll be back before you know it."

Blair tried to call out, to say 'wait, tell me'...but no words dribbled out of his mouth. The floating sensation unmoored him and he found he wasn't thirsty anymore, or in pain, or worried. There were no questions he wanted answered.

What did it matter? He'd known it was all over when he couldn't run anymore: when time had run out, when running wouldn't work, when he'd been run over....There wasn't anything to go back to; there was no home to go to anymore, so if he was here, floating, it was just as well.

Later, when the drug had almost run its course, Blair wanted to cry. He couldn't; he didn't contain the moisture to create the tears. But he wanted to. He wanted Jim: to see Jim, to know Jim was okay, wanted to be forgiven, to have a cold beer, scratch his nose, go to the bathroom...he felt consumed with desire, though none so great as his need for water.

"Alex?" Her name came out a plaintive rasp and Blair grimaced at the way her name felt on his tongue.

There were sounds and then the door opened. Alex stood there, a pitcher of water in one hand, a glass in the other.

"Did you have a nice little trip?" She asked and Blair wondered what was in him, what had she put into him?

She didn't seem to need an answer but put the water on the bedside table and sat down in the chair.

"How's the Guide doing, hmm?" She paused, as if expecting an answer, but what could he say?

Alex reached down and pulled out a urinal and Blair's eyes widened in alarm.

"Oh, yes. I suppose you have no memory of our little routine. Relax, we've become pros at this."

Laying it on the bed, she lifted the blanket up and Blair realized he was naked beneath it. She fondled his penis and Blair held his breath. Nothing happened and he let it out. She laughed, knowing all too well what he was feeling. She scraped her fingernail across his belly, making it contract and bringing an awareness of pressure building.

"Need something?"

Blair nodded.

"And that would be?"

Blair realized he was going to have to beg to have even this basic need met.

"Need...need to take a leak."

Her fingernail trailed across again, but harder this time, leaving a long scratch.

"Please?"

"That's right. That's a good Guide."

Positioning his penis, she waited. As much as Blair was desperate to empty his bladder, he couldn't seem to let go. Alex chuckled.

"You need help with every little thing, don't you?"

She picked up the pitcher of water and the glass and poured. The sound did the trick and a stream of urine flowed out of him and into the pan.

"Better, now, love?" Alex bustled around, taking the pan into the bathroom he hadn't noticed before.

He could hear water running and his need for it came screaming to the forefront.

When she returned, she sat back down, a small smile on her face.

"Water, please?"

"Very good. It shouldn't surprise me that you're a fast learner."

She poured the water and Blair watched each drop avidly. Once again, she sipped, filling her mouth and then bent, dispensing it into Blair's. As she emptied her mouth of water, she would kiss, flicking her tongue into his mouth, knowing Blair dare not react or protest. This time she gave him two glasses of water and then once again demanded the exercises.

Blair took her through them, step by step, until he could barely speak. The weakness seemed to come from every direction. Hunger, thirst, pain, exhaustion...

At last she allowed him to stop and left the room. Blair drifted into sleep, dark and bottomless.

His stomach woke him, cramping with emptiness. Sniffing the air, he opened his eyes to the bowl of steaming soup that had brought him awake.

Alex sat in her chair, her elbows on her knees, watching him. His eyes were gummy and he had to blink several times to get them fully opened.

"Hungry, Guide?"

Alex reached over and put the bowl in her lap, stirring the thick, creamy potage, sending tendrils of aroma wafting towards Blair. Saliva kicked in and Blair swallowed convulsively.

"Yes." Remembering then, what was required, he added, "Soup, please?"

"Good." Blair sighed, happy he'd gotten it right.

A button was pushed, making the head of the bed rise. Blair hadn't realized he was lying on a hospital bed. Alex tilted his tired face to the spoon and he accepted it eagerly. All too soon the bowl was empty. Blair closed his eyes in disappointment; it had not been nearly enough.

"You're a bit of a pig right now. I think it's time you bathed and shaved that god-awful hair from your face." Alex began to undo the leather cuffs and then moved to release his legs.

"Get up. Everything you need is in the bathroom. This is a one time deal. When I come back, I expect to see a new man."

Alex left the room without a backward glance and Blair looked down at his free hands. Free. He swung his feet off the bed and nearly fell head first to the floor. Slowly he stood, the dizziness disorientating him and making him want to crawl back into the bed. The restraints had been a prop: a visual amusement for Alex. He was in no shape to leave this room and she knew it.

Stepping away from the bed, Blair watched as the room did a one eighty spin and then watched from the floor as the room righted itself. His side hurt in a way that made him think the knife could still be in there. But there was a white bandage around his ribs and no sign of blood.

Panting, he tried to climb out of the well of pain he'd fallen into. Time passed and Blair remembered there would be water in the bathroom. As much water as he could drink. He started to crawl. Many times he startled awake, realizing he'd passed out again, and panic would get him back on his knees.

Finally, he made it to the small oasis that promised so much. Pulling himself up onto the closed toilet, he ignored the pain as much as possible. He wanted the water. The sink was next to the toilet and he turned the spigot. Cupping his hands, he tried to drink that way, but very little made it to his mouth.

Standing, he lowered his mouth to the faucet and drank and drank and drank. Water had never tasted so good, so fresh, so elemental. The mirror over the sink showed him he'd been here awhile. He'd never let his beard grow like this, not even on an expedition. Blair estimated that at least a week, maybe two, had passed.

For a moment he just leaned on the sink. The pain in his side was a knot of fire, making it hard to think. She had him, had had him for a while. Would Jim look for him? Would he notice he was missing?

Blair had tried to sort out what might have been happening with Jim. A combination of feeling betrayed and feeling territorial, perhaps. As far as the territorial thing went, from Blair's understanding, it would have made more sense that Jim would want to keep him close. Why would he exile one of his tribe? Unless his anger was so great that he no longer considered Blair to be part of his tribe. Arms trembling, he hung on. Jim would notice. Simon might look, if he thought there had been a crime. Had he bled there at all? He hoped so.

Even if they looked, it didn't mean they would find him. He had no idea where he was, whether he was in Cascade, far from Cascade, or even in Washington still.

Shaving implements had been laid out and Blair lathered his face. He noted how his hand shook as he held the razor, and tried to steady it with the other. The process of de-nuding his face was drawn-out and long before it was done, his arm ached from bringing the razor to his cheeks and scraping at the dense hair. When he was done, he barely recognized the face looking back at him. His eyes were rimmed with red and bloodshot. His cheeks were sunken, his lips cracked and swollen.

Sitting back down on the toilet lid, he picked up the washcloth, and soaped it. Avoiding the bandage around his middle, he tried to get himself clean enough. Clean enough? Clean enough to please Alex.

When he had done all he could do, he drank again from the faucet until his belly was bloated. Then he lifted the lid and sighed as he pissed some of it away.

The trip back to his bed ended in the middle of the floor, where he lay, shivering, until Alex came back in. She nudged him with her foot, bringing him awake.

"Uppsy daisy, Guide. Time for a little feel-good juice." She pulled him to his feet, being surprisingly gentle, and got him back into bed.

Blair panted, exhausted at a level he'd never experienced before. He watched as she went through the preparations and inserted the needle. She caressed his cheek, murmuring about the improvement. The drug was stealing over him, filling him with a lassitude and he leaned into her hand in gratitude.

"That's right, Guide, I'll take care of all your needs and you'll take care of mine."

A voice in Blair's head tried to articulate a protest, tried to say no, but in the swirling vortex of his drugged brain, no two words could come together and once again Blair floated.

Blair entered a new era of his life. Time no longer had meaning, the days and nights melding together and falling apart randomly and completely. There was only hunger and thirst, cold, pain, needles, and compliance.

When he resisted, Alex would simply withdraw any one or all of the things his body needed. Sometimes he went days without food, other times she provided food and water, but left him alone in a small closet, in darkness, without sound. Lying there, he knew that if she chose not to come back, he would die. He could feel his body dying, brought back from the brink by a cup of water or a bowl of stew, only to be sent back to the edge when he angered her.

She made sure he never had enough of anything. Never enough to eat, never enough water to truly quench his thirst, never enough blankets to stop the shivering. He was never addressed with a name, never allowed to wear clothes, afforded no privacy.

The drug she gave him made much of this bearable. It simply made food, water, warmth, dignity and identity have little importance. When he saw the syringe, he would begin to vibrate and turn his arm over, offering it to her. After the drug had run its course, he would cry, the grief he felt at the loss nearly unbearable. With its exit, the other things that hadn't mattered would surge forward, swamping him with their urgency.

Of all the ways Alex found to inflict pain on Blair, none was more precise in its aim, nor more lethal in its destruction, than her words.

"He didn't want you when you were whole and capable. He certainly wouldn't want you now." And she would drag him to the mirror and force him to look at what he had become, holding his chin when he would have turned away from his image.

"Look at you, Guide. Look at what you are now." Forced to look at himself, the mirror showed him shrunken, pale, hair limp and scraggly around his face, eyes, red and haunted, sanity just barely present. What would his Sentinel think of him now? What would Jim, think? No, she spoke the truth. Jim would not want this in his house, in his tribe, would not want this by his side.

"He sent you away, gave you to me. He didn't want you or need you, but I do. I want you very much. You are mine now and I will take care of you. Don't worry, Guide, I'll never throw you out." Her hand snaked through his hair and she pulled him to her and kissed him. Kissed his cracked lips, probed his mouth with her agile tongue, moaned and ground herself against him. When he remained limp, she screamed in frustration.

"You don't want my tongue in your mouth, Guide? Then you'll wear this." A leather gag was shoved past his clenched teeth and tightened until it cut the tender sides of his mouth. He preferred it infinitely to her kisses.

She didn't need much help with her senses as long as she was near him and she stayed very close to him, always, it seemed, just a room away. Each time he heard the lock turn in the door, he froze, assaulted by two contradictory emotions, both equally strong.

Her presence meant exposure, often pain, and the nerve-wracking work of trying to help her gain control. But it also meant company, and often water to ease his perpetual thirst, sometimes food, and most blessed of all, sometimes the drug.

Simon looked down at the sleeping form of Jim Ellison. The man had aged in the last six months. Even in repose, his face was a mask of tension and Simon wondered how deep any sleep Jim got was these days. He was grateful to have Jim unconscious for a few hours and he hoped against every expectation that Jim would sleep a full night.

Sighing, Simon fussed with the blanket and then headed downstairs. The loft reflected its owner's state. Dust coated every surface, the floors were dull and sticky in places, dishes were piled in the sink, giving off a stink that should have bothered Jim, but didn't.

Nothing bothered Jim these days. He was the anti-Sentinel. He went through his days cocooned in his grief, barely registering the most normal stimuli. For months, he had been unrelenting in his focus to find Blair. Every lead, no matter how improbable, had been meticulously tracked down. At the best of times Jim was not much of a diplomat and this was not the best of times. People who had had viewed his search with sympathy, eventually called it a wild goose chase, hopeless, madness. Pressure came to bear on Simon. 'The Cop of the Year' needed to expend some of his time and talent on the business of the city he had sworn to serve.

Reluctantly, Simon had begun to give Jim cases and, predictably, they sat on his desk. For a time, the rest of the MC detectives had routinely stopped and added Jim's files to theirs, trying to maintain the fiction that Jim was on the job. That only worked for so long. Jim had been on leave now for two months. Simon didn't know what he was using for money; finances had never been something they discussed. The few times Simon had tried to offer money, Jim had simply ignored him.

There was only one small corner of order and that was Blair's room. The room had been empty after Jim packed Blair up and sent him away. Now it was taken up with one large desk and three computers flanked by two monitors. .

Where Jim had acquired the expertise to do the kind of search he was conducting was one of life's mysteries. Jim had always prided himself on his ability to function just fine with only the most rudimentary computer skills. Somewhere along the last two months he had become-- become...this...this...machine, that ran the machine. Simon knew that almost everything Jim was doing was illegal and he did his best to stay ignorant

Simon had come by the loft, late, after a long day made longer by the absence of his best detective and one pesky observer. Knocking hadn't brought Jim to the door and Simon let himself in with his key. He put the bag of groceries in the kitchen and went into the war room. One lamp illuminated Jim's fingers as they flew over the keyboard. The rest of the room was pitted with shadows.

Jim didn't look up but said, "Hello, Simon." There were three half-filled coffee mugs on the desk and a plate with a dried up sandwich sitting on the printer.

"Jesus, Jim, you look like hell. Stop, go take a shower, eat something." Simon hit the stop button on the tape player and Jim looked up.

"Very funny, Simon." Jim's eyes were already back on the screen.

"Thought I'd save my breath." Simon move back into the kitchen and put the food away, knowing little of it would end up in Ellison's mouth unless it was put there by someone else. He didn't number the domestic arts as one of his skills, but since the end of his marriage he had learned a thing or two about satisfying hunger. The pan was hot and Simon slipped the sandwiches into the sizzling butter, turning the heat down. Keeping on eye on the pan, he started to peel and cut up the fruit. In no time at all, he was carrying the grilled cheese sandwiches over to Jim.

Jim's head came up when Simon entered. Even with his dulled senses, the smell of the melted cheese penetrated and Jim accepted the plate. "You're a good man to have in the kitchen, Simon. Thanks."

"Don't mention it." Simon pulled up a chair and they ate in companionable silence. When the last apple slice was gone, Simon asked, "Anything come up today?"

Jim shook his head. The man Simon saw looked very little like Detective Jim Ellison. His hair was long enough to fall into his eyes and Jim swept it back with impatience. The man who, once upon a time, had read a license plate two miles away, now wore reading glasses, his eyes strained from looking at the computer fourteen, sixteen, sometimes twenty hours at a time.

Taking them off, they hung from his neck by a simple string. Rubbing his eyes, he briefly rested his head in his hands. His body was hunched forward, engaged in battle with the machine he knew held the information that would lead him to Blair. Would lead him back to Blair.

Simon could see Jim was just about ready for his nightly collapse. "C'mon Jim, hit the shower. I have a few things I want to check out here. Give me a turn."

Jim nodded and got up, moving with the stiff gait of an old man. He was dressed in his boxers, wearing a shirt he hadn't bothered to button.

Simon took his place at the computer and checked out the call he'd gotten that afternoon. A few things came up and he put them in Jim's folder, then logged off. If he had his way, Jim would be heading to bed.

Simon had his way and now Jim slept.

Flopping down on the couch, Simon allowed his eyes to close. How long could this continue? Jim had hunkered down and looked to be in for the long run...and although Simon worried about Jim, he knew the man had the stamina and will to go for years, but then what? At what point do you stop? Admit defeat, move on? Simon knew better than to broach the subject. All he could do was stay the course and be a nag.

There was only getting it right.

Saying the words she wanted to hear, doing the tests and the exercises she needed to fully come online, and obeying every rule she set forth. When he got it right, there was food and water put in his mouth, a blanket at night, the drug delivered into his veins on time. When he got it wrong there was hell.

There was only one piece of himself he managed to hold onto, only one thing he always got wrong. He could not be aroused by anything she did to him. The punishments for his failure were inventive and sadistic.

It changed nothing.

She offered rewards. There was one that Blair wanted so badly that he would have done anything if it meant he would be given it.

He would have fucked her. But even with a phone call to Jim as bait, Blair was unable to get hard.

When she saw how he tried, tried until he was exhausted and covered with sweat, tears of frustration in his eyes, she finally relented, recognizing it was beyond his will to obey.

"There, there, Guide. Don't let this break your heart. I'll give you the phone call for the effort."

She gagged him, though he shook his head violently. He wanted to talk to Jim. She shackled him, to avoid any surprises, and then placed the phone call, putting the receiver up to his ear. It was picked up on the first ring.

"Ellison." Jim's voice was flat, businesslike, remote. Blair screamed into the gag, knowing Jim would be able to hear him.

In the barren room, the tiniest of sounds could be heard.

"Who is this?" Jim's voice was cold, impatient. "Speak up or I hang up." Blair screamed again, another small, gurgling sound emanating from the gag. The phone went dead and Blair slumped, denied the sense of connection he had believed would be there.

Taking the phone away, Alex patted the top of his head. She knelt down and cupped his chin, making him look at her.

"You see, you're not his Guide anymore. He didn't know it was you, couldn't hear you, couldn't sense you. You don't exist for him any longer. You exist for me."

Alex took the shackles off, and then unbuckled the gag, being almost kind in her actions. He didn't move, but sat, head down, unable to find the last vestige of himself that he had clung to tenaciously in the face of her massive assault. How could Jim not have known? How could he not have heard him? It must be as Alex said it was. He didn't exist for Jim anymore.

Alex took his hand and led him back to the bed. Solicitously, she tucked the blanket around him, petting his hair. She filled her mouth with water, but when she moved to give it to him, he turned his head. Maybe he wasn't Jim's Guide anymore, but he wasn't Alex's either. There was something in him that refused to give her the same allegiance he had once given Jim.

Leaving him, she returned, needle in hand. With quick, practiced motions, she injected him and watched with satisfaction as his eyes lost their haunted look and instead glazed over with indifference.

He drifted, just out of reach of the hands that kept trying to snag him from his cradle of comfort. His gaunt frame slowly relaxed on the bed, his head lolled to the side of the pillow. The shivering was near constant but unimportant, as he allowed the drug to tug him along in its gentle and undemanding wake.

"Dammit, I hate hang-up calls." Jim was muttering to himself, Simon had gone home to change and then on to work.

He entered a series of numbers and moved onto the next screen. There he encrypted a message that he sent to a contact in Argentina. Turning back to the first screen, he cursed when he saw that access had been denied. He knew he was close on that, and spent the next twenty minutes redoing the math that would give him the key.

Somewhere in all the numbers floating in his head, the phone call re-emerged. He had heard nothing on the line. Not even breathing. His hearing was less than normal these days and he realized that the call might have meant something. Might have information embedded in it. A call to Simon and then he dug out the tape he used to record all phone calls and grabbing his jacket and keys, heading out.

At Major Crime, he was met with the usual mixed reaction. A lot of tentative smiles, a few glares, some genuine warmth. People kept the chat to a minimum, knowing they would have heard if there had been any news. Jim's momentum served to create a natural parting of the tides and he reached the lab.

Trish looked up, holding her hand out for the tape.

"Simon said this came in around 11:00."

"Yeah. It's probably nothing, but-" Jim hesitated, realizing how little it took to make him race across town. He was handing over a blank tape to be anaylzed. Everyone at MC was humoring him, full of pity for the man who'd kicked his best friend out and then lost him before he could apologize.

Because, dammit, that's what would have happened. He'd have found Blair at his office and told him he was sorry, he was an idiot; they would have moved all the stuff back and Blair would have held it over his head for awhile. Made him do more tests. Teased him about being a territorial asshole. Made him give up Wonder Burger for a month. Jim would've grumbled, but inside he'd have known he was getting off easy and he would've gone along with it.

"Hand it over."

When Jim didn't put it in her hands, she stood up and walked over to him.

"Give it to me, Jim. If there's a chance in two million that there is something on here that will help us find Blair, it's worth the trouble to check it.."

Putting it in her hand, he curled her fingers up around it.

"Thank you."

"I'll call you when I know something." When Jim didn't move she made a face. "You know I don't play well with others. Scoot."

Walking back to his car, Jim put the tape out of his mind. There were other threads to track on. The one thing he had learned months ago was the folly of allowing himself hope. Every promising lead that petered out had the potential to pry one more of his fingers off the ledge of sanity he was barely hanging onto. And if he fell, there would be no one left to look for Blair.

Jim had spent a great deal of time in the first months looking down, contemplating the whirling miasma of guilt, grief, doubt, and fear. As punishment, it served, but soon it became clear that it was interfering with his efficiency. His efficiency, his sleep, his dreams, his calorie intake, his manners...hell, just about every thing. He'd boxed it up and marked it for later. For now, there was only the job at hand.

It wasn't until late in the afternoon that Trish called.

"I think we have something."

"What?" Jim pushed back from the desk so hard he nearly toppled the chair backwards.

"Captain Banks is bringing the enhanced tape to you right now. But I'm pretty sure it's Blair, yelling your name."

His hand tightened on the phone. Standing, he pushed his hair back. "Yelling my name? I'm not that hard of hearing."

"He's gagged, probably a ball gag, that's that the best sound dampener."

Absorbing that information, his grip on the ledge strengthened a great deal. Blair lived. Oh god, he lived. He was alive. Jim leaned against the wall and slowly slid down. He choked out a thanks and let the phone fall to the floor. In all this time there had not been one piece of information telling them that Blair was alive.

He was gagged. Okay, but he could yell. Good news, all things considered. And for some strange reason, it had suited Alex to make that call. Why would she do that?

Pacing the loft, Jim waited for Simon to bring the tape; to bring Blair's voice back into the loft.

Sometime after the phone call, Alex started to freak out. How long after, he couldn't tell. It never even occurred to him to try to tell, as time had become a fluid beast, capable of many manifestations. The time when he was on the drug went by in a blink, carrying him from one point to the next like the Transporter on Star Trek. One moment in misery, then beamed to bliss, and finally, slammed back into his body.

She would wake him in the middle of the night, begging him to help her with the pain, the sounds, the smells. He would try. Screaming that nothing worked, she would shove him into the shower and make him wash until the water turned cold, then bundle him back to bed and urge him try again. Teeth chattering, he would try to bring he back from the spikes. Often, he would wake up with her lying in the bed with him, whimpering.

Time spent working with Alex dragged by, as echoes of the same words spoken to someone else, someone-another-Jim...haunted him with remembered sweetness.

The one kind of time he no longer experienced, was time spent waiting. He no longer waited for the thirst, the hunger, or the cold to go away. He no longer waited for morning to come when he couldn't sleep, or sleep to come when he was put in bed. None of it was ever ending, and the longing for that had been its own torture, the worst torture.

So time was untellable except for one slim line of demarcation. Before the phone call and after the phone call. Before, he had managed to hold on to something. Not quite as solid as hope, but something that made tomorrow seem like a potential haven. Yesterday was hell, today was hell, but, tomorrow...tomorrow had possibilities. Tomorrow could bring something new into the equation.

After the phone call, he realized that that was wrong and he no longer allowed his mind to travel ahead of him to the next day. He made it stay, locked into real time. In some ways, that made it all worse. In some ways, it took away the exquisiteness of the pain. Now, when she taunted him about what he no longer was, what he no longer had, he felt nothing.

Before, in the pit of the night, he had always secretly crawled back to his life before, back to Jim and the loft, back to sunshine and laughter and thought, back to when he was a teacher, a student, a son, a friend... The memories had wrapped around his shredded nerve endings, his sorrow, his sanity...and had helped him get through the next day.

Now...all gone, out of reach. They couldn't tantalize and they couldn't hurt. He was, in truth, now stripped bare, naked as a newborn without memories.

And Alex was freaking out.

She was uniquely unteachable in some ways. She couldn't seem to make room in her head for the information. Like a person with no long term memory storage. Every spike required his voice, every attempt to control called for his hand on her arm, his words in her ear. When he thought at all, he thought it ironic that she was as shackled to him as he was to her. There had been a time, BEFORE, when he had hoped she would outgrow him, and set him free. That wasn't going to happen.

Mornings would come, and she'd haul him out of bed. The routine of being fed and watered and cleaned would be the same. It had been months since he had resisted her total control. He'd stopped resisting when she punished him for refusing the urinal.

"Can I please use the toilet? You must be as sick of this as I am."

"Sick of looking after you? Sick of taking care of you? Never. You need me."

"I don't need your help for this." Her anger would be worth it if he could only change this one thing.

"So you won't accept my help?"

"Please, Alex, let me go to the bathroom."

"Listen here, Guide, I have been goddamned patient with you. I've bent over backwards to make this transition as comfortable as possible. You think it's easy looking after you all day, every day? Well, you don't want my hands on your body," she threw her hands in the air for effect, " you won't have them."

She'd shoved him into the closet. It was light tight and empty. He had no way of knowing how long he had stayed in there. Twice she brought him water. Nothing else. He heard her sometimes, screaming in pain from the headaches, the feel of the air on her skin, the noise that was assaulting her. But she left him in the dark. By the time she finally released him, they were both a mess. He was filthy, dehydrated, and starving; she was bloody from scratching at her skin and gibbering, so great was the need to pull her senses in.

It had been pathetic and even a little humorous. Alex couldn't come near him for help because of the smell, but she had strictly forbidden his use of the bathroom. She had to relent and give him one of his most cherished desires. Although the entire time he was in the shower she screamed for him to hurry, it had still been a glorious experience.

After that, he ceased trying to hold on. And now he didn't resist her mouth on his, bestowing the water, the life-giving water. He didn't turn away from the spoon that held the food, or the hand that held the razor that scraped across his jaw.

Memories were leaving him now, like a person who has gone blind and can no longer remember what blue sky looks like. He'd forgotten the way the sun felt on skin, what it was like to get a laugh, how to play chess. Forgotten how fast Jim drove, what coffee tasted like, the thrill of being right. His mother, being a child, having faith, the words to any prayer.

There was only this, there was only now. There was only Alex and what she wanted next and what she was prepared to give.

Alex slapped him again, hard. His eyes fluttered open and he put his hand on her arm. She sighed and then stiffened. "Make it work!"

"It's not working?" He was surprised but uncurious about why it wasn't working.

"NO! It's not-it's not-what are you doing wrong? Make the noise go away. Now."

His eyelids drifted back down over his blue eyes. A vicious pinch made them open again and he started the drill.

"Imagine a set of dials. One for each sense. The one marked hearing is at eight. Turn it...bring-Ow!" She'd slapped him again.

"Wake up, goddamnit!"

He seemed to fall asleep randomly and would nod off in mid-bite, mid-sentence, mid-step. It was most curious and he gave it no thought.

He was vaguely aware of her growing hysteria, and her attempts to get him to respond to something, but it all seemed far away. Each day he drifted further from her reaches and each day she tried to find a way to force the attachment. She kept talking about Jim and each time she said the name, it stirred something in him. Stirred, but not shaken. Where did that come from, he wondered? She shook him and he laughed, stirred and shaken, that can't be right...He looked at her with his one good eye, the left one was swollen shut from all the times she'd hit him.

"What is so goddamned funny? I swear, if you don't give me some cooperation, I'm going to kill him."

"Kill him?"

"Yes! I will kill Jim Ellison, Jim? Remember? Your friend, your roommate, your Sentinel?"

"Oh." He didn't think that was good, but nothing was and in any case, what could he do?

She paced up and down in front of him.

"Fuck. I managed to break your bond with Ellison, but you haven't attached to me. So now you're just fucking broken."

Broken. Well, yes...

Soon after that-- soon? An hour later, a day, a week....she bustled into the cave of his room, flipping the light on. Carrying a plastic bottle over to him, she lifted an eyelid. As she put drops into his eyes, she said, "I'd give you a little happy juice, but then you wouldn't be able to appreciate being outside." Outside. Outside?

The drops rendered him close to blind, able only to make out shapes.

"It'll wear off. What good would a blind guide to me, eh?" She laughed a long time at that idea and he stared at the room, silently identifying each piece of furniture by shape and position. She came back with clothes and helped him dress. They felt funny on his skin and he shivered inside them, afraid to get used to the protection. Sunglasses were placed over his eyes, narrowing his field of vision to almost nothing.

Placing one half of a cuff on her wrist, she put the other one on his, tugging down his long sleeve to cover it.

She took his hand in hers. "There, we just look like two people in love now." Her hand was cool and her fingers snaked around his hand, claiming him, sickening him.

As soon as he stepped outside, he wanted to go back and tugged at her hand in panic. She ignored him and went forward. The sun was too bright and hurt his eyes, the wind smelled funny, the street was uneven, making him stumble. Shapes surged towards him and then faded away, disorientating him. He bumped into people and tried to apologize, but his mouth wouldn't work.

Finally there were no people shapes around, just trees and shrubs and Alex sat him down, putting his back to a tree. He let his hand touch the grass, closed his eyes and tilted his face to the sun. The warmth felt good and he let it soak in, wishing he could stay cloaked in its yellow blanket. He must have dozed because when he opened his eyes, the yellow warmth was gone, replaced by a dark, blue chill.

.

When Alex saw that he was awake, she leaned in close. He fought the urge to push her away. He was thirsty, hungry, and cold and if he made her mad, he would be thirsty, hungry and cold for a long time.

"You look a little better. My mother always said the sun was natural medicine. You look really good, you have the beginning of a tan. Come on, time to go home."

Home. Home. Walking alongside her, he let his mind drift to home. The way it smelled when Jim was cooking roasted chicken, the way it sounded when the guys were over for a game, the way it looked, bathed in moonlight, just before bed. The memories shocked him; it had been so long since any had drifted by in his mind.

Soon, they crossed over the threshold and into the dark interior. Climbing the steps was a slow process, as Alex had to wait for him to catch his breath at every landing. Back in the apartment, Alex took the cuff off and then started to undress him. He put his hand over hers as she unbuttoned the shirt. The memories had made him bold. He'd remembered a little of what it had been like before.

"Please?"

"You want to keep this on?"

He nodded and then added, "Yes-please?"

"No."

He let his hands fall to his side and she finished the job of stripping him.

"Go wash yourself and then it will be time for dinner."

She had said that casually, as if it were the most common routine. It was a rare boon and some part of him knew she granted it only to reawaken his desires, then she would use the things he craved to torture him. He knew it, but was helpless to contain the surge of yearning that swept through him. To be the one directing the sponge, to drink the water, cold water....to stand over the bowl and pee...He clamped down on the longing, knowing the pain it would cause.

He went into the dingy little space. First he drank. And drank and drank.. The water felt so good in his mouth. Not warm, not second hand, not begged for.

Once his stomach was bloated, he brushed his teeth, noticing a few were loose. He got the water running in the tub, setting out the things he needed to shave. It had been a long time since he had shaved himself. Alex seemed to enjoy doing this chore more than any other. He hated that, the way she handled him, like a dog she was grooming.

His first glimpse in the mirror surprised him. His cheeks where ruddy, he'd gotten sunburned. It made the white under his eyes all the more stark. His eyes were red and rheumy, partially from the drops, mostly from the drug. His hair was stiff with dirt. Leaning in, he confirmed his suspicions. He had indeed begun to go gray. He looked old, infinitely old. Like the kind of drunk who knocks back rubbing alcohol and sleeps in the middle of the sidewalk. Leaning in, he studied his face and found a laugh bubbling up. He was dying. It was clear to see if you looked. And Alex thought a little sun would perk him right up. She must be really worried to risk taking him outside.

Thinking hard, Blair tried to remember if anything had seemed familiar. He had never wondered where he was before, but now he did. Nothing came to mind.

By the time he'd finished with the bath, he was nearly asleep. That happened a lot these days. He fell asleep as Alex fed him breakfast, as he tried to teach her some new technique, as he waited for the drug to come to him. Now he moved, his limbs heavy, toward the bed. Halfway there, he sank to the floor, unable to complete the journey. It felt good to rest. The hardness of floor, the coolness of it, felt righteous against his nakedness.

He barely woke as she put him in bed. His eyes fluttered open as she pulled the sheet out from under him.

"I want to work on hearing. I want to go over the part about filters."

"You need to-" his voice was threadbare but he pushed on, " pay attention first, to the sounds you don't want."

"But I don't want those sounds." Her frustration made her voice high and sharp and he put his hands to his head to try to block the shards of pain it caused.

Pulling at her hands, she made him take them away and repeated, "I don't want those sounds."

"I know, Alex, but in order to control the filter you have to know the sounds."

"Fuck that. Make the sounds I don't want, go away."

"I-I can't." He resisted the impulse to bring his hands up to his head and took the blow squarely on his sunburned cheek.

The battering didn't get her what she wanted and eventually she tired of it and went away.

When she came back, her smile warned him that she had thought of something new.

For first time in a long time, she put the restraints on and tried to shove the ball gag into his mouth. When he didn't open wide enough, she dug her fingers into his jaw, forcing him to allow it access. Once it was in, he just leaned back and drifted. Being held in place didn't really matter anymore.

It was neither here, nor there.

He was neither here, nor there.

Waking, he saw that she was putting the phone to his ear. It was ringing, and answered in short order.

"Ellison."

Ellison. A name, a voice...

"Blair? Is that you Blair?"

Blair? A name...his? What did he need a name for? To identify who he was? He wasn't anybody outside of this room and inside of this room he was Guide.

"Blair, say anything, tell me you're all right."

Alex was watching, tight with hope. When he didn't say anything, she nodded at him. What did she want him to do? She nodded again and said, "It's Jim."

He shut his eyes, it was just too hard to keep them open in the face of all that naked hope.

The phone dropped down on his legs and his head was jerked around as she unbuckled the gag. She tugged on it, saying, "Open your mouth." He did and she pulled it out.

Putting the phone back to his ear, she hissed, "Go on."

He looked at her, the voice on the line had been exhorting Blair to speak to him, is that what she wanted? If he guessed wrong...

"Talk to him!" She was impatient for him to speak...

Baffled, he tried it. "Hello?"

"Blair! Thank God! Are you all right?"

He wanted to know if Blair was all right. He looked at Alex, wondering what she wanted him to say. She motioned with her hands. He was to answer.

"Yes."

There. Maybe that was enough. He didn't like this, it wasn't clear at all what he was supposed to do, what the rules were. He didn't want to get it wrong. Not again.

"I know you can't talk. I'm going to find you, Blair. Just hold on. I haven't stopped looking. You'll be back home soon."

Alex hissed and he le looked at her in alarm. Her eyes sparked and she grabbed the phone, screaming into it.

"He's mine, Ellison. There isn't any Guide left for you to find, so don't bother."

Slamming the phone down, she crawled over the railing and into the bed. Legs straddling him, she took his face in her hands, leaned in and kissed him, hard and possessively, as she had in the beginning.

She licked at the blood trickling from his mouth. Instinctively, he tried to turn away, and then froze in horror that he had. Normally, she was acutely attuned to any resistance, but she ignored this, continuing to explore his mouth. Holding himself as still as possible, he waited for her to stop, which she finally did, leaning her forehead against his and panting.

"If you don't do what I want right now, I will kill Jim."

"Kill Jim?"

"Yes, you idiot. Jim! The man you just talked to. Jim Ellison."

"Oh."

Trailing kisses down his chest, she said, "All you have to do is make love to me, Bl-Guide."

"Love?"

"What are you? A fucking parrot?"

"I don't-don't understand. Do you want to fuck? Is that what you want?" That's all it could be, if it could even be that.

"No, damn you. I want you to make love to me." Looking at her, all tan and tallness, her hair a causal jumble, green eyes flashing, he tried to find a response.

Shaking his head, he said, "I think that's broken, too."

"Nooo," she moaned, back to kissing him. He was used to her mouth on his but not her tongue inside. Sitting up, she unbuckled the leather cuffs. She lifted her shirt and placed one of his hands on her breast. It was small and heavy, both soft and firm, and he marveled at it. So full. What would such fullness feel like? It was like a fruit, ripe with juice, and he squeezed it. She groaned, "yessss," and guided his mouth to the nipple. She wanted this?

"Suck it!" Her hands were in his hair, kneading like a cat, and she rocked back and forth. He sucked. The tiny nub in his mouth was hard and he sucked. Her motions became more frantic, her hands moving his head, hands twisting in his hair. Then she froze, and he was glad she'd finally stopped. Crying out, "Oh, God," she started rocking again, then shuddered and jerked, finally coming to a rest. Letting go of the grip she had on him, she laid her head on his chest, and sighed.

He felt an odd flash of dj vu. All these actions and sounds had meaning but he couldn't connect them. There was a tiny piece left that cried out against everything being lost, everything being stripped of meaning. Most of him knew how good it was that this was so. Meaning made it all unbearable.

"Next time, Guide, you'll do better."

His head lolled to the side and she placed it back in the center of the pillow.

"Next time, you'll enjoy it."

Getting off the bed, she stood looking down at him. He was already sliding away, his eyes closing.

He woke to her hand on his cheek. She had a glass of water that she handing to him. That made no sense and he waited to see what she would do, what she wanted.

"You pleased me and I've brought a gift for you. Take it."

He took it. It was cold, with ice in it.

"Go on, drink it."

He looked at her carefully, trying to understand. He had not held a glass in his hand for a long time, had not drunk from a glass for a long time.

She frowned at his hesitation and he quickly brought it to his mouth and drank. Too fast, he choked, spewing water out, coughing.

She took the glass and he watched her walk away with an unfamiliar ache. When she returned, the glass full again, tears came to his eyes, and he took it from her carefully. This time he sipped and let the cool liquid trail down his throat. When it was all gone, he handed her the glass and shut his eyes, bewildered by the day's happenings.

He barely felt the needle as she slipped the drug into him. He hardly needed the drug anymore to slide into the floating state.

The dreams had once been elaborate and painfully full of details, each one sharp and hurting. Slowly the sharpness had blurred taking the pain with it. Now the dreams were usually the same. There was sunlight through trees. A man who was his friend. A space above the ground. A room with windows. Simple things, containing comfort and a resting place. He no longer looked out the windows in this place, or tried talking to his friend, but was content to simply be.

He was there, in his dream, when he heard noises, loud, shouting, a scream. Forcing his eyes open, he saw the door between the two rooms open and someone big filled the space. Not Alex.

Where was Alex? Who would take care of him if she left? Voices, a voice he knew, hands on him, moving him, whispers...

His voice over the phone had sounded so.tentative, and un-like Sandburg. And nothing but that hello, and yes, until she came on, raving. The phone slammed against something, but then miraculously, it didn't hang up and I had her.

Simon arranged for the Seattle PD to keep watch and we got there three hours later. I don't know how we managed to take her by surprise, it's not like you can keep the approach of six men quiet to a Sentinel, and yet we did, bursting in on her as she was shimmering into her clothes. She screamed like a banshee and it made my blood cold; there was so much madness in that voice. Even after she was cuffed, she kept lunging toward the closed door and I knew that was where I'd find Blair.

I approached it slowly, fear and longing at war, dragging my steps. Opening it, I saw him immediately, lying in a hospital bed.

"Blair!"

I was at his side in two steps, looking down at him, my friend.Blair.

"Simon! Get an ambulance here."

He was drugged, I could smell the chemical taint in the air. It explained the curiously passive way he looked at me through one sleepy, red-rimmed eye, the other being black and swollen shut. Taking his hand, I stroked his arm. It was as thin as a boy's. I could see he was naked, only a sheet covering him and his skin pebbled with goosebumps. I let go of his hand and took my jacket off, covering him. His eyes opened a little wider at that and then he sighed, closing his eyes.

Sitting down on the chair next to him, I was grateful that the others stayed in the first room. Blair was all angles and planes, starvation having eaten away everything else. His hair was long and lank and some of it was gray. The arm closest to me had track marks tattooing it. The phone lay on its side, half under the bed, still connected to Cascade and the loft.

I could feel my heart slowing down, calming, and beginning to match the slow thud of Blair's heartbeat. We were in time and he was going to be all right. The EMT's came in with a clatter and moved me away from him. They took his vitals and every number they called out was bad, ominous. They didn't move him until he'd been hooked to an IV of Lactated Ringers. They took their time, being inordinately gentle with him and left my jacket in place.

Simon blanched as they wheeled Blair by and he looked back at me with shock.

"Jesus, Jim, what the hell did that crazy bitch do to him?"

I was trying to listen to them put Blair in the ambulance and didn't answer. Sitting down on the bed where he had just been, I expected to feel his residual warmth, but there was none. There were restraints on the rails, two different gags on the table. This room was small, windowless, with nothing but this bed, a chair and a table. He'd been here either some of, or all of, the eight months he'd been missing. Eight months of only this room and her company.

The forensics team had waited, but were impatient to get in. Simon and I left Blair's prison and got downstairs just as the ambulance was pulling away. We followed, neither of us saying anything, just concentrating on keeping Blair in sight.

I watched as they unloaded the gurney and wheeled it into the hospital.

"I'll park, you go in. Don't want the kid to wake up to strangers."

Nodding, I got out, trying to focus on what was being said about Sandburg. I couldn't hear anything and consigned myself to getting information the old-fashioned way.

Approaching the desk, I flashed my badge, saying, "Sandburg." She pointed the way to the ER and I went through the doors. I showed my badge and said his name a few more times, finally rewarded with having the cubicle he was in, pointed out to me. A nurse was collecting blood, more than it looked like he had to give.

"Jim Ellison, Cascade PD."

"He must be a victim, he certainly doesn't have the strength to be a perpetrator."

"Yeah," I answered absently, my hand on Blair's forehead, checking for fever.

She looked up from her clipboard. "It's at 100.1. A little elevated. You going to wait until a doctor can come in?"

"Yes, I'll stay."

She hauled a chair over and then flipped the chart closed. "Okay, I'll let them know." She left, sliding the curtain closed.

Blair slept. He'd been put in a hospital gown and was covered with a light blanket. My jacket was in the corner and I retrieved it, covering Blair with it again.

I'd seen a scar, jagged from crude stitches, on his side, and I imagined the blood in his office had come from it.

His breathing was even, a little shallow, and I knew anyone who came in losing blood would be placed ahead of him in the triage. It might be awhile. Turning the chair around, I straddled it and put one hand on Blair. His skin felt cold under my touch. I waited for it to warm up, but it didn't. I studied his face. There was his usual 5 O'clock stubble covering his cheeks. Underneath the beard his skin was gray and underneath his eyes, it was blue. His lips were cracked and dry. I knew he was being filled with water but I had to do something. Wetting a paper towel, I dabbed at his lips. He turned to the moisture and opened his mouth. Filling a cup with some water, I held it him. He wasn't conscious enough to drink, so I took it away. He sighed and when I looked down, his eye was squeezed shut.

"Blair? Can you hear me? Open your eyes, Chief."

It opened and shut, opened and shut, and finally opened, taking in the cubicle.

"You're in the hospital. We got Alex and she's in jail."

He moved his head so he could look up at me and my stomach clenched. There was no recognition in his eyes.

"Blair? Do you know who I am?"

"Jim." He said it promptly, but his voice was rusty, from the dehydration or lack of use, I couldn't tell.

But he knew. He knew me.

"What's your name?"

"Name?" He could remember me, but not his own name?

"Yeah, Chief, your name."

A long hesitation, then, "Guide."

"No, no, that's sort of what you do, not your name."

"Oh." Another long pause. " Blair."

"Yes! Blair. Blair what?"

"Sandburg." The way he said his name was odd, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it and I was just so damn glad he didn't have amnesia.

Just then, the doctor came in and started in on his introduction. Blair immediately closed his eye and seemed to go back to sleep, so the doctor spoke to me.

"What can you tell me about him?" He had his professional face on but every time he looked at Blair, the muscle in his jaw spasmed. He kept one hand on Blair's shoulder and listened intently to what i knew.

"About eight months ago he was kidnapped by a woman who's insane. I think she wounded him somehow-there's a scar there, on his right side." The doctor gently lifted up Blair's gown and it was horrifying to see the evidence of his time with Alex. His skin was sagging and gray, covering sharply defined ribs and jutting hipbones.

"It looks like a knife wound, and it looks like she sewed him up herself. I take it she hated him? Some sort of love gone wrong?"

"Yeah, something like that." I took my eyes away from Blair, feeling like I was violating him somehow by seeing him this way.

"Do they know what was in the drug she was giving him?"

The doc nodded. "The lab report came back. She was giving him haloperidol."

"Is that addictive?"

"No, it's an anti-psychotic, used to treat hyper-activity and schizophrenia. "

"Why would she give him that?"

"Hard to say. It would make him passive and so filled with a lassitude that it might have made him easier to handle. Given over this long of a time, it would have started to affect his sense of reality. It would most certainly have made him somewhat oblivious to his state as long as he was high on it. I'm worried about kidney damage from being on it and being dehydrated. They'll be drawing more blood in a minute and we'll get the tests going."

He pulled the gown back down and the blanket up. Blair hadn't paid any attention to what the doc was saying. He was shivering and I put my jacket back across his chest.

"I'll have the nurse bring in some heated blankets."

"I want to stay with him."

The doc looked up from his forms, surprised by the request. "You know this man?"

"He's my partner. On the force."

"He's a cop?" The doctor didn't bother to hide his incredulity.

"No, an academic. A police observer."

"Oh. Yeah, well, of course you can stay with him, I'll make a note of it. He could use a friend close by."

As they prepared to take Blair upstairs, I went in search of Simon, finding him pacing the waiting room.

"How is he? Has he said anything yet?"

"They're admitting him." Simon grimaced, but I, for once, was happy to see him here, surrounded by people who understood how to make him better.

"Simon." Rubbing my eyes, I tried to get the image of Blair's body out of my mind, "He looks bad, like a shell of Blair, and when he looked at me. it was like he didn't know me, except he did."

"So he said your name?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Jim, trauma like this, this kind of long term abuse-it's gonna mess with his mind. Just give it some time."

"You're right, I know, but after everything he's been through I wouldn't blame him if he was done with me and with every fucking, throwback Sentinel."

"Hey, I know Blair, and he's not blaming you for this."

"He should. It started when I kicked him out. She was able to get to him because I threw him out."

Simon shook his head and actually put his hands on my shoulders as he said, "Look, we had no idea she would do something like this. She could have gotten him at any point, whether he was staying in the loft or not. None of us were prepared for this, Jim."

Shaking him off, I headed to the admitting desk. "That's cold comfort, Simon, and no comfort at all for Blair." Enough time has passed that Blair must be in his room by now. Simon and I checked in at the nurse's station. Blair had been assigned to room 223. Not ICU and it was private.

Simon was smiling and I looked at him. He nodded, "Department's picking up the tab. It's all arranged."We entered the room to the soft beep that represented Blair's heart filling the room. IV's stood next to the bed, slowly dripping nutrients and fluid into Blair's decimated body. I watched the drip, drip, drip, with no fear of zoning. All my senses remained leashed.

I felt Simon's hand on my shoulder and I looked at him expecting to see shock or revulsion and instead he was looking at Blair with affection and pride.

"He did it, he survived this, and we have him back now. He's going to get better, Jim. Trust me on this one."

I nodded, unable to get words out. He said what I longed to hear and my gratitude to him grew.

"Simon, go home. We're going to be here awhile. Come back this weekend with some clothes, maybe. Okay?"

Simon turned his attention from Blair reluctantly and faced me. "Mind if I stay? It's been a long time since we saw him."

Simon being sentimental was a rare state and I found my mouth hanging open. Snapping it shut, I invited him. "Then pull up a chair."

He did and we sat there, in silence, watching Blair's chest rise and fall with each breath, letting the beep, beep, act as a lullaby. I woke up with a miserable pain in my neck and Blair's solemn eye upon me.

"Chief? How long have you been awake?" He looked from me to Simon, who was sprawled, inelegantly in the other chair, his glasses askew. Hearing my question, Simon snorted himself awake.

"Wha--? Wha-?"

"Blair's awake, Simon."

"Oh...yeah, great-it's great to see you again and awake-even if I'm not." Simon put his glasses back on his nose and rubbed his face. Blair watched us both without a smile. Waiting.

"Can I get you something? Water? A doctor?"

He shook his head, but I knew he wanted a glass of water, so I got up and brought him one. He looked at me warily and I couldn't figure out what was going on in his head. When he didn't reach for it, I brought it to his mouth and tipped some in. He drank it, slowly, never taking his eyes off my face or his mouth from the glass. When it was gone, I started to put it down, but instead, stopped and asked, "Want another?"

He just looked at me so I fetched another one, which he drank again in one long, slow pull, his eyes glued to mine.

"Better?"

I might have been speaking Chopec for all that Blair acknowledged the question.

Simon approached the bed and said, "God, Sandburg, you had us worried. Jim's been out of his mind trying to track down where Alex had taken you."

Blair didn't reply to that and it started to get down right spooky, the way he watched us, eyes flat, and no reaction.

The nurse swept in with Blair's breakfast and set the tray up, uncovering the most awful looking food as if it was actually edible.

"There you go. I want to see a clean plate when I come back. The doctor will be in shortly."

Blair looked at the food and then to me and I knew he expected me to feed him. I moved my chair in closer and scooped up the scrambled egg. Blair opened his mouth like a baby bird and I popped the egg in. Simon looked on a little puzzled, but I was happy to be part of the process of getting weight back on Blair. It wasn't long after we finished that Blair fell asleep again and Simon left for home.

I wandered the corridor just outside Blair's door, too restless to sit, anxious to have the doctor's opinion on what was going on with Blair. It wasn't until late morning that a different doctor arrived. Blair was awake and looked confused.

The doctor wore blue scrubs and looked up at my entrance, "Yes?"

"Jim Ellison, Blair's friend."

"Dr. Joseph Weinlander. I've been assigned to Mr. Sandburg's case. I'd like to speak with him alone if you don't mind."

I did, I didn't like the guy. He was one of those men who walk around with their chin jutting out, daring you to challenge him. Bald with the fringe of hair and sure that if you have any muscle you can't have any brain.

Looking over to Blair, I expected to get a clue to what he wanted, but he looked from the doc to me with the same indifferent gaze.

"All right. I'll just be outside."

I was more than tempted to listen, I tried to listen to what he was saying to Blair, but my senses remained leashed. I moved in closer to the door and leaned my head close to the crack, trying to make it look casual.

I could hear that Weinlander's voice, demanding and impatient. "----really, we need to know just what has gone with you and your girlfriend these last few months-"

"Girl--girlfriend?"

That's it, I'd heard enough.

"Just what the hell do you think you doing? What kind of question was that?" I put myself between the doctor and Blair.

Weinlander had jumped back when the door had crashed open and now his mouth opened and closed like an angelfish.

"You-how dare you! You can't-- I'm calling security, mister, and-"

"That's Detective, Doctor. What the hell kind of question was that anyway? Did you read his chart?"

The guy looked down at it and then waved at it dismissively.

"Look, this reads like a syndicated TV show. Real life is not like this. Chances are Mr. Sandburg entered into some kind of consensual sub/dom game and it got out of hand."

Looking at the traumatized form of my friend and partner, I cannot believe the guy thought Blair had come to this state voluntarily.

"I want to speak to the Administrator right now and then I'll be calling my lawyer."

"Lawyer? Well-whatever for? Look, just what is your problem?"

"I know it's in his chart that Blair was knifed and kidnapped. A woman is in custody in Seattle for this crime, not game. I want you out and right now, or be prepared to give a deposition."

He backed away, the little blow, suck, blow action of his mouth trying to convey his outrage.

"And send in another doctor-- a real doctor." I called to his back as the door swung close.

Sandburg had startled when I came in and flinched at my shout, but mostly he watched the whole thing as if he didn't understand English. Already his eyes were shutting and he looked like he was drifting off to sleep.

"Chief?" Putting my hand on his arm, I gave a little shake. His eye opened.

"The guy's an asshole, don't pay any attention to him."

He regarded me gravely and then nodded.

"Why-why are you still here?" That made me take a step back. Though his tone had been mild, it felt like I'd been slugged.

"I'm here because I care about you."

"It's okay, Jim. You can go."

"I don't want to go."

Sandburg's head tilted back on the pillow so he could look at me without holding it up.

"I'm not-you told me to go. And back then I could make it work-but now it's broken. So, really...I'm sorry, but-I can't do it."

"Do what? What are you talking about?" Before he could answer, I rushed on, wanting to get something straight. "And about telling you to go-I was crazy, I was seeing things and hearing things and I told you to move out, but I didn't mean it."

"Yes, you did."

I shook my head at his utter conviction that I had meant that stupid, insane impulse.

"I think-" Blair halted and I picked up the glass with water, handing it to him. Once again he didn't take it, and I held it up to his mouth. He drank it all and then continued. "I think I broke something when I tried to help Alex. I think the bond between Sentinel and Guide is exclusive, and when I-worked with Alex-offered her my services in a Guide capacity so to speak, I broke us."

"We're not broken."

"I am."

"No. You're going to be fine. You'll make a full recovery and be back at the loft and at the PD..." I stopped talking when I saw the tears seeping down Blair's face. He made no noise, his expression didn't change, there were just the tears running in rivulets.

"Please, go. I know you feel pity for me, but as you said, I'm going to be fine."

"Is that what you think? That I'm here out of pity?" I wanted to scream that in his face, but it came out a shocked whisper.

"What else is left?"

I sank down onto the chair and lowered my head to the bed, suddenly exhausted by the question.

"We still have our friendship." We do, don't we?

He didn't say anything and I didn't have the strength to get up or to argue. I thought he had probably completed his journey back to sleep, when I felt his hand on my head, touching my hair. He stroked it in a tentative way, and I thought maybe there was some hope after all.

"You let your hair grow."

"Couldn't be bothered to get it cut."

"That's my shirt you're wearing."

I was wearing one of his flannel shirts, the blue one. It was kind of small, but I liked it next to me.

"I'll give it back." His hand felt great on my head. I was feeling relaxed and ready to join Sandburg in a nap when the door opened. In came a tiny woman with a big clipboard.

"Mr. Sandburg? I'm Eva Hass. Dr. Weinlander asked me to take over your case. Is that all right with you?" Blond and all things Swedish, I'm hoping to see some old Sandburg in action.

"I want to go home." He looked at me and hastily amended his request. "I want to go back to Cascade. There's a doctor there who knows me and can treat me. Doctor De LaSalle."

"Of course our goal is to get you well enough to travel home but I'm afraid you aren't ready to leave this hospital yet."

"How soon could he go?" I jumped in.

She looked at me, the tightening of her mouth telling me she'd been told about me by Weinlander. Wisely, she doesn't try to avoid the question.

"By tomorrow Mr. Sandburg's electrolytes will have stabilized, as well as his blood sugar. I imagine by the day after he'll be able to go back home."

Sandburg looked at me and I knew he needed to get home sooner than that.

"Mr. Ellison, I need to examine my patient now, if you could give us some privacy?" This time the look in Blair's eye's is different. Not indifferent. Afraid.

"Have you read Mr. Sandburg's chart?" She looked down at it. "Yes, I've looked it over. Never fear, Detective, I'm quite aware that Mr. Sandburg is the victim here." Blair winced at that and I knew I needed to do something.

"Chief, I just have some phone calls to make. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Blair bowed his head in resignation and I left him feeling like a total heel. But I didn't have any kind of standing here and I didn't want them kicking me out for good. I spent the time making arrangements and phone calls and when she finally came out, I waylaid her.

"How's he doing?"

The look she gave me was a little less chilly. "He needs a lot of care and he needs a good therapist. But I believe he's going to get through this. His kidney function looks good, his heart is undamaged."

I let my breath out and nodded my thanks.

Blair was back in la-la land and I sat down to wait. Two hours later the Medvac people came. Blair woke up and signed the forms and the crew handled the rest, getting us in the air in less than an hour and back to Cascade in twenty minutes Dan Wolfe met us and facilitated the trip to Cascade General. His first look at me had been one of questions and dismay as he took in Blair's condition. The look he gave to Blair was filled with affectionate concern.

The paperwork had been completed by Dan and the room readied. No sooner than Blair had been placed in the bed than Marvette came in.

"I heard we had you back. 'Bout time, we have some new nurses who you've yet to meet, Blair. Gotta warn though, we have a new policy, only one date per shift," she chided, wagging a finger.

Blair barely smiled, but did say, "Hey Marvette, never thought I'd be so glad to be here." He looked like he was barely hanging on, his exhaustion evident in the way his lips trembled and his eyes kept shutting.

"I can beat that. Never thought I'd be so happy to see you back. But now you need to rest."

I pulled up a chair and Marvette raised an eyebrow at me.

"I suppose you think you're staying?" I nodded. "I suppose you think because you are a big, bad, detective I'm going to let you stay?" I nodded again.

"Well, you got the staying part right, but not the big and the bad. You can stay because you're such a pussycat, Ellison."

"If you repeat that, I'm gonna have to kill you." I glared, knowing the Cascade nurses had some secret inoculation against it.

Marvette smiled, saying, "You can try, Ellison," as she left.

Our little by play had lacked an audience, Blair was out of it. I pulled the blanket up a little higher and pushed his hair back. He wanted to be home. This was as close as I could get him to home for now. Thinking of that, I realized I needed to take care of some things. I made phone calls, offered bribes, which were duly scorned and set in motion Blair having a home to come back to.

Simon came in as I hung up from the last call.

"Mighty thoughtful of you, saving me a trip back down to Seattle. Bit extreme though."

I think I smiled, or I meant to smile, but even the muscles in my face were tired and I don't think I actually did. Simon tugged on my shirt and said, "Come on, you need to go home and get some real sleep, not that diet-lite shit you've been substituting."

Shaking my head, I snaked my foot around the leg of Blair's bed. "Naw, that's okay, I'll be fine here."

He looked down at my leg and the grip I had on the railing. "You're starting to scare me here, Jim. You do know how close you are to the edge?"

"The edge? I'm nowhere near the edge anymore. I'm not going anywhere near the edge ever again."

Simon's eyebrows lifted and he said, "Riiight. You do know you need to eat and sleep?"

"I will."

"It's not a future concept, Jim, it's a right now need. And a shower, you really need a shower. Now."

"Yeah, in a minute." I waved my hands at him, hoping he'd go away and voila! He did.

A rattling noise woke me and I looked up to see an orderly wheeling a cot into the room, Simon right on his heels.

He didn't say anything to me, just loosened my grip on the bars and knocked my foot away from the bed that held Blair. Then he pulled me up and steered me to the cot, pushing me down onto it. Afterwards, it seemed clear he took off my shoes and covered me up, but I didn't feel any of that at the time.

The next time I was aware of any sensations it was light in the room. I got up. Blair was moving restlessly, not awake, but thirsty and in need of-in need-the need was so great I almost fell to my knees. I got a glass of water and brought it to him. He woke when I gave his arm a little shake. The hand that wasn't weighted with an IV reached for it and then he froze, hand in mid-air. I put the glass in it and he slowly brought it to his mouth, watching me. When it was all gone, I brought him another and when that was all gone, the need was still there.

"Hey. You look better. Can I get you anything?"

"No... thanks-- I'm good."

But he wasn't good. His hand clutched at the blanket, pleating it, then smoothing it. His eyes darted around the room, looking, looking...

"Um, where's Alex?"

"She's back in Seattle. Don't worry, she's in jail and she'll stay there until trial."

"In jail? Locked up?"

"Yes. She's pleading insanity. She won't be given bail."

He was not reassured. His eyes were wide with fear and he asked, "But where will I live, what will I do-who-who will look after me?"

The implications of that question made the room shrink and the light fade and then I was abruptly sitting on the chair next to the bed.

"You'll live with me."

He looked at me then, all puzzlement and questions.

"It's broken. I broke it. I can't guide you anymore."

"Don't need a Guide."

"Oh." He lowered his head, hiding behind his hair. "I thought that might be the case."

A nurse came in just then, one of the new ones.

"Good morning. I'm Debra. Doctor De LaSalle will be in very soon. Breakfast is on the way." She checked his IV bags, taking down an almost empty one and putting a full one in its place.

She looked at me, but didn't seem to know where I fit in and left it. I hate breaking the new ones in.

"Can I get you anything? Are you in pain?" Blair was looking at me. He needed something, but what?

"Blair? She can get you whatever you need. Tell her."

She looked at me and then back to Blair and when he remained mute, she said, "You know where the call button is. Use it."

My skin was getting itchy and I knew I needed a shower. I could smell breakfast coming our way and I was famished. So hungry, my stomach cramped and I doubled over with a groan.

"Jim? What's wrong?" It was the first animation I'd heard from Blair.

"I'm s'kay, just hungry I guess." I sat back down, clutching my middle. Blair, in sympathy clutched his.

Looking at him, I felt foolish. I missed a few meals, Blair had probably missed hundreds.

The aide brought in two trays and set one on the hospital table that he pulled up to Blair's bed. Mine, he just handed over and I balanced it on my lap. Scrambled eggs and limp toast, fruit cut up so little it was hard to make out what it was. Blair looked at it and then at me and then back at the food.

I knew he was hungry, so what was he waiting for? Grace?

"Dig in, Chief."

He picked up his fork, and I could see it shake as it made its journey from plate to mouth. Before it completed the path, he set it back down.

"Blair? What's wrong? Do you hurt?" It seemed like he must to bypass food when he was so hungry.

"No, just not hungry, I guess."

Standing up, I set the tray aside and went to Blair's bed. He was hungry, the food looked so good to him he was practically salivating and yet he wouldn't eat.

"Did she punish you when you ate?" At the word she, his head had snapped up, but he shook his head.

"Did she do something horrible to the food?" Another negative.

Something had happened to make him not want to eat when his body was crying out for nourishment.

I gathered up a bite of egg and offered it to him, astonished when he immediately opened his mouth like a baby bird. I fed him almost the whole breakfast that way, including the toast. He ate with surprisingly little self-consciousnessness. The last bite I put on the fork and held to him. Hesitatingly, he reached for it, his heart speeding up. There was fear and there was more than fear. His confusion was heartbreaking and for a moment I regretted bringing him back to Cascade. If we were still in Seattle, I could've gone and interrogated the bitch, made her tell me what she'd been doing to Blair all these months.

When he was finished, I handed him the glass of juice. He accepted it, looking at me with gratitude and took a sip. His face lit up with bliss.

"Orange juice," he breathed, and carefully finished the glass.

Walking to the window, I look out over the city.

"Did you see how that Damlier Building is almost done?"

He doesn't even glance toward the window and my suspicion that he hasn't looked out since he got here was confirmed.

I got a tissue from the box and handed it to Blair. He sneezed.

"Bless you."

"Thanks."

Moving around the room, I tried to quiet my fears. They were making me jumpy. I could feel my skin again, the itchiness insistent. Crossing to Blair's bed, I pulled the covers up and then added my jacket on top.

Over and over his eyes would close and then snap open, confusion and alarm, evident.

They closed one last time and his breathing evened out.

He woke when the same aide came in with lunch. This time Blair didn't even pretend to start to eat, simply looked at it.

"It won't get into your mouth by magic, Chief." The look he gives me is baffling, confusion and desperation mixed in equal measures. Sighing, I put my tray aside and offered him the spoon with applesauce on it. He didn't take it, just opens his mouth, but this time I don't go there. I wrapped his fingers around the spoon, nodding my head. Slowly he brought it to his mouth, watching me the whole time.

As soon as it was in, I went back to the chair and took up my lunch, which, thankfully, didn't contain applesauce. The chicken was colorless, the green beans limp. The potatoes came from a can. I ate it all, and wished for more.

When Blair had seen my interest was elsewhere, he'd taken another bite, this time, quickly. The next three bites were eaten in a small feeding frenzy with utter concentration and I found myself watching out of the corner of my eye, saddened by his need and fear. Finishing the applsauce, he looked up and once again froze.

"Good, huh? Try the pudding next." The causal words seem to calm him, but he doesn't pick up the bowl with the pudding in it.

He shook his head. Pushing the tray aside, he pulled the covers up.

I was lost; I needed help with this. It didn't help that I couldn't shake the restlessness that churned inside me, that made me feel itchy and tense. It was like a hole had opened up inside me, a hole that was screaming to be filled and there was nothing to fill it with.

Standing up, I knew I had to get out of there, if only to get one clean breath of air into my lungs.

"I'll be right back."

For one moment, Sandburg looked disappointed and then that quickly changed to indifference. He dropped his eyes and I hesitated, but the restless pressure demanded I go.

Once out in corridor, I felt shocked by the lights, the movement, the people, and I rushed to find the stairs and get out.

Moist, cool air hit my face and I embraced it, breathing it in, letting it cleanse me. Walking around the building, I started to burn off the restlessness, started to feel a little more sane.

What the hell was going on with Sandburg? He'd been traumatized, I got that. And then I wondered if I really did. I started to list what I knew. We found him isolated, starving, and dehydrated...and naked. And cold, no blankets in that room. Restraints and gags, clearly used, but not when we got to him.

For eight months the only voice he'd heard was Alex's-oh, and for just a moment mine. The only information he got came from Alex. Let's face it, he only got what she gave him. Total and utter dependence. What would that do? Would it make you so depressed you would stop eating? Because that was the piece that had me totally flummoxed. A starving man refusing food.

I started on a second lap around the hospital. The damp air had turned to drizzle and that felt good, too. It made the whole world look slightly surreal, a haze of water softening the edges.

Okay, we had deprivation and dependence. That generally got you the Stockholm Syndrome. Had Blair found his sympathies were now with Alex? What had he said when I told him she was in custody? "What will I do, who will take care of me?"

God-- who will take care of me? I imagined it had been a long time since Blair had worried about that. Although he didn't have many resources, he always landed on his feet and made do with what was on hand. In the three years we'd lived together, he'd only asked for a ride once, and never money. Hadn't really thought about how he did it-how he met his expenses, found the time to do it all, got from A to B. He just did.

Now he didn't. Didn't lift the fork, didn't ask for the water, didn't articulate being cold...

What was the antidote for her poison? Dialing the cell phone, I got Mandy on the line. She provided research for Major Crimes and I set her to digging up a few things. A psychologist was sure to be called in on this, I wanted to come to some understanding before that. When I hung up with Mandy, I had her re-direct me to Joel. After that conversation, I headed back in.

As soon as I entered the room, I was hit with the hole, the ache, the restlessness...Blair was awake, but huddled under the covers. My jacket had fallen off and I could see the tremors from here.

Retrieving it from floor, I covered Blair. I pushed his hair away from his eyes, which looked at me without interest. He expects nothing, I realized. Stroking his cheek with my thumb, I kept his gaze. I let my fingers explore the ridge of his eyebrows, the curve of his cheekbone. I massaged his jaw, only satisfied when his mouth slacked open. There was no indifference now. He rubbed his cheek against my hand, in clear communication. He allowed himself to desire something and I exalted. His eyes had closed, but not before I saw a stirring in their deep blue depth. Some part of him was coming back to life.

Joel came in, carrying a bag and tiptoed over to us. Blair's eyes flew open in alarm and he lurched sideways, kept in bed only by the rails.

"Oh, man, Blair, sorry, didn't mean to alarm you." Joel spoke barely above a whisper and reached out to pat Blair's arm. Easing back, Blair nodded that he accepted the apology, but said nothing else.

"I thought you might like to get dressed, so I had Joel pick up some clothes."

"Clothes? I should wear clothes?"

"Not should, Blair, just thought you might want to."

Now that I've thought about it, Blair's expression made more sense. He couldn't seem to process the idea of wanting something.

"Come on, Chief, you'll be warmer in some clothes." It was a little tricky to deal with the IV line, but with Joel's help, we got Blair dressed in an soft, old set of sweats and settled back in bed. Blair looked down at himself and touched the soft nap of the worn sweatshirt.

"Warmer?"

He nodded, pulling my jacket back up to his chin.

I could see the nurse had been in, the IV bags, which had been low, were filled now, dripping into Blair's veins, giving him back some of which had been lost.

"While you're here, Joel, I'm going to track down Dr. De LaSalle and find out when Blair can be released."

"Sounds good, I'll watch over Blair."

It's true I wanted the information, but it was also true that it was becoming harder and harder for me to be in the room with Blair. The phrase-- jumping out of my skin-- had never seemed so real and I didn't know what to do about it. Was it the guilt I felt in kicking Blair out? In not finding him sooner? Guilt over what a Sentinel was capable of doing to a Guide? Something was eating away at me. It was making me hungry and twitchy. The ache in my stomach radiated up through my veins, pulsing a sense of need, a yearning.

De LaSalle found me in the lounge, where I waited after I had him paged. Over the course of three years, he'd become our doctor of choice. Average in every way except for his green eyes, which spark with intelligence and clarity.

"Hey, Jim. You rang?"

"Yeah, Russell, thanks-I was hoping to get your thoughts on Blair-I know you said the only real worry was kidney function and those tests came back fine. But-" Russell interrupts.

"He's off, he's not Blair-is that what you were going to say?" Russell had Blair's chart with him

"Yeah, you nailed it. I know she was injecting him with Haloperidol , but they said that wasn't addictive."

"It's powerful sedation and we don't know how high a dose he was given. So while he isn't in withdrawal in the traditional sense, he is experiencing the lack of that drug in his system. Put it another way...for the first time in eight months, he's experiencing the world without the Haloperidol as a buffer. And he has eight months of abuse and memories that were made tolerable by the drug, to assimilate. I'm recommending that Blair see a psychiatrist as soon as possible."

Good, I wanted the Calvary called in on this one. I wanted and needed answers to what was going on with him and how best to connect the dots.

My feet dragged as I went back to Blair's room. As soon as I entered it, I felt it. And as soon as I felt it, I knew Blair felt it as well. He watched me come in, face blank, but as I approached him, his body made a minute adjustment. Towards me, not away. The glass of water was there and I offered it to him. This time he leaned in, participating in the act of hydration. When it was empty, I set it back down. I knew what I wanted and needed. I think Blair needed it to. Pouring lotion into my hands, I warmed it and massaged it into his dry skin. Immediately the itchiness that had plagued me started to ease.

Taking my time, I covered Blair's entire body with the lotion, fascinated by the way his skin seemed to suck it up and ask for more. His body was an alien, holding his soul for us until we could restore the old one. The skin was so delicate, I feared ripping it by accident and was most careful. His eyes would close and open at random intervals, his body swaying to the rhythm of my hands over the desert of his body. I finished with his feet, shocked at how cold they were. Rubbing the lotion in, I tried to warm them and when I was done, I sat down, took my socks off and got them onto Blair's feet.

I felt better, but still restless. Taking his stocking-clad foot in my hand, I moved it gently toward him, mimicking the motions the physical therapist had done with me after the car accident. Rotating his leg out, I gently stretched the muscles along the hip, the inner thigh, flexed his knee...Blair moaned, a little sound, full of pleasure with an ache of pain in it.

"Is this all right?"

A nod. He flexed his foot, urging me to continue and I did, switching to the other leg. Finally, he lay, arms and legs akimbo, sated, relaxed, warm. Asleep.

Sitting down, I realized the restlessness had now eased.

Night came and Blair slept on. He slept through IV changes, dinner, and Russell coming by to give me the name of a therapist he trusted.

Marvette came in and started to turn on the light.

"Don't, please."

"Ellison? What are you doing sitting in the dark?"

"Shhh, Blair's sleeping."

"Honey, I can see that. And you aren't. You staying or going?"

"Staying."

"You sure? Because I can tell you right now, Blair will probably sleep through the night and you could use a little freshening up-that's hint, hon" I didn't need to look up to know she had her hands on her hips, waiting for a reply.

"Can I shower here?"

"And what, change into scrubs? Look, Jim, I know you're concerned, but Blair is doing very well and there's the long haul to consider. Go home. Come back in the morning."

I didn't answer and she left, shaking her head.

Truth was, it wasn't worry that kept me by his side. I wanted to go home, take a long hot, shower, sleep in my own bed. And I knew Blair was improving and safe. But I still didn't get up, and after the last shift change, I finally crawled into the narrow cot next to Blair and fell asleep.

The morning brought Simon, along with breakfast. He was adjusting the tray over Blair's bed and uncovering the offerings of the day.

"If you think I'm going to play airplane with you, kid, think again."

I threw the covers off and stood up, earning a glance from Simon, who kept his attention on Blair.

"Morning, Simon. Hey, Chief, sleep all right?" The itchiness was back in full force and I knew by the face that Simon made, that a shower was long overdue. In contrast to last night, I couldn't wait to leave Blair's room.

"You going to be here awhile, Simon?"

"Yeah, I could be."

"I'm going to run home and take a shower. Change clothes." I swiped at my face, feeling the bristles. "Shave."

Blair's head shot up, listening. He said nothing, just went back to studying breakfast.

I took a step toward the door but stopped. My stomach pitched and a bizarre sensation of vertigo and darkness rushed toward me.

What the fuck was wrong? Simon hovered at my elbow, but I shook my head. "I'm fine." Said through clenched teeth, it sounded like the obvious lie it was, but I didn't care. I kept moving until I was out of the room, although the spiraling darkness fought every step I took. Once out, the world righted itself and the shadows fled. Leaning against the wall next to Blair's room, I fought the urge to go back in.

No, I needed to wash the grime away and get these sticky, smelly clothes off me.

Every step away was better, the itch and the jumpiness fading as I put distance between myself and Blair. The relief was so great, I ignored the implications, refusing to look at them.

The loft is awash in early morning light, illuminating the dust in the air and on every surface. The center of the living room now holds all the machines that once looked for Blair, and in his room, all is as it should be.

Joel and the guys came through, retrieving all of Blair's belongs and getting them back in place. Standing in the doorway, I looked at his stuff. Stuff he cared about, but seemed like goofy bits and pieces of old tourist souvenirs to me. Stuff that had meaning to him...that he carried around from one place to another--and I threw it all into boxes and shoved it away...the way I did with all the things that I didn't understand and didn't want the discomfort of trying to understand.

The machines behind me were testimony to what I could comprehend when I really wanted to. Blair can't be that much more complicated, can he?

The heat of the water soaked through the days of being in the hospital and the aches from the lumpy cot. Dressed and clean, I made three sandwiches and snarfed them down, then grabbed an apple and headed back. As good as it felt to leave and to get clean, I was anxious to be back with Blair.

As I entered the hospital, I unconsciously tried to extend my hearing to Blair's room and was shocked when I hit a blank wall. It had been like that since I'd lost Blair's trail on that morning she took him, and I'd grown used to it, but now it felt all wrong. I pushed, fighting to get my senses to his side before I did, wanting to be connected as soon as possible. Nothing. I realized I was running when I saw the shocked and disapproving faces flash by me.

My feet slowed as I neared his door, I didn't want to scare him by bursting in. It was open and Blair was lying curled up, facing the door, his eyes open.

It hit me, the blanket of hunger and misery that permeated the room. I clamped my lips shut, but not before the sob escaped. Blair was soundless, watching me without expression. I made it to his bedside without collapsing and took the IV out. My hands shook as I lowered the railing. I got my arms under Blair and lifted him up. He was light and all angles.

Wrapping a blanket around him, I carried him easily down the hallway and out the side door. The entire time Blair was silent, his body rigid in my arms as if expecting to be dropped. Stopping for a moment, I took his arm, and hooked it around my neck. There was an incremental relaxation after that. The door led to a courtyard, which contained a few benches, a few shrubs and no people. I settled on one with Blair on my lap and tugged the thin blanket tighter. Why were hospital blankets always so stingy with their blankets? No sense of comfort in them at all. The day was mild and my body heat helped keep Blair from getting chilled.

The hole was still present, still dark and bottomless...the hunger was there, but for the first time I recognized it was bigger than I'd thought.

She'd emptied him.

Looking down into his darkly blue eyes, I saw and recoiled at the sight. Out here, in the light of day, with the breeze lifting his hair away from his cheek, the sound of birds singing and smell of the earth rich with possibilities, Blair was like a collapsed star, all energy moving to an infinite center. Falling away from me, from himself, cut loose from the tether that had connected us from the moment we met.

I held him close, careful not to hurt him, but wanting....

"Oh, Chief, how do I fix this?"

I hadn't expected him to answer and he didn't, but the arm around my neck tightened. His hand groped the back of my neck and entangled in my hair and he sighed. We sat out there on the bench for a long time, finally dozing.

Russell tracked us down and woke us up. "Blair needs to be back in bed, Jim. Come on."

Blair woke up slowly and I could tell what an effort it was for him to lift his head. His heart was beating slowly, all vitality flattened by the emptiness.

"Recess is over." I told him and stood, finding it took no effort at all and followed Russell to Blair's room. Back in bed, with the IV lines all doing their job, Blair blinked sleepily at me. I could hear De LaSalle telling the nurse at the station to leave us be.

"Why are you here?" Blair drawled, his eyes at half-mast. "Guilt? Pity?"

The cot was still up and I looked at it longingly. I was exhausted, but Blair's question deserved to be answered.

"Yeah, I feel those things." Blair nodded, his whiskers scraping across the pillow.

"But that's not why I'm here."

"No?" His mouth quirked a little, a parody of a smile ghosting through.

"No."

Blair deserved the truth, no matter how it made me look in his eyes.

"It's true, if I felt nothing else, guilt and pity would keep me here."

The smile was gone and his eyes were shutting. "I want you to go. Now. Please."

"I said, IF I felt nothing else. In all the things I feel right now, guilt and pity are the least of them." Pulling up the chair, I leaned in and cupped his fuzzy cheek.

"We're friends, Blair-- and Sentinel and Guide."

"Both of those things are broken."

"No."

Blair rocked a little, his arms around his middle. He started to say something, stopped and then went ahead and asked, "Then why, when I screamed your name, did you hang up?"

Oh, fuck. Busted. "I didn't hear you, Chief."

"Come on, I've done all the tests, I know what you're capable of hearing."

"Not any more. In fact," I reached into my pocket and brought out my glasses, "I even need these now."

Blair's hand came out and he took the glasses from me. "These are yours?"

"Yup."

Looking from the glasses to me, he smiled, and then a funny little sound came out, like a gurgle and that turned into a giggle.

"A sentinel that needs glasses?" The chuckle turned into a real laugh and he laughed until there were tears streaming down his face, and then there was no more laughte, but the tears kept coming, and I put my hand on his shoulder and rocked him a little.

"It's okay, Blair, you're just releasing stress hormones, Megan explained it to me."

Slowly he brought himself back under control. "I'm broken, you're broken, we're broken. I'm sure there's some Latin that covers that. Final proof."

The bitterness in his voice scalds over me. "No, Darwin. Apart you're broken and I'm broken. Together we're fine."

"You've lost your senses and at the end, nothing I did helped Alex control hers."

"Of all the things I lost when you disappeared, my senses were the least of them. I don't care if I need glasses and hearing aids and hot sauce to taste anything, as long as I have you back in my life, back as my friend. Because, let's face it, with some mechanical help, I can get by. Without you, I can't"

"Jim..." he sighed,

He'd said my name. HE"D SAID MY NAME!

"It's more complicated than that."

"No, it's not."

"God, you're stubborn."

"I can hear the nurses debating which one of is cuter."

The toll of the last eight months was evident as Blair took a full minute to process that.

"You can hear them."

I nodded. He looked at me, a slow smile beginning and blossoming into a full-fledged grin.

"Who won?"

"It's split, right down the middle." I tilted my head, unused to doing this after all these months, "Oh, wait, the tie has been broken, Roberto just weighed in, coming down firmly in your camp."

Blair groaned. "Great."

"Don't be a poor winner."

Blair's face grew thoughtful. "You really want me back?"

"Yeah, I really want you back."

"Why'd you kick me out?" Blair's words came out haltingly, as if he feared the answer.

I hated this. I hated the lame excuse I was about to offer. But it was all I had and after all, it was the truth. It was a truth I didn't understand and I thought if someone else had done the same to me, with this as their defense, I'd deck 'em. But you could only play the hand you had and so I told him.

"I had a dream. The jungle was all around, the light coming through the leaves making everything look watery. I hunted a wolf... I hunted with all the cunning and skill I'd learned as Chopac warrior. I could tell the wolf was tiring, and I sped up. When I was close enough, I took aim and shot my arrow. It flew true and hit the animal, taking it down.

All that speed and beauty halted by the pull of my arm and my sure aim. I ran up, feeling victorious, but as soon as I saw the wolf lying in its pool of blood, I knew I'd made a terrible mistake. And as I approached, the wolf changed-- into you. You were lying there, naked and bleeding and dead and I'd just killed you. I woke up and there was no thought. None, just impulse and sensation. An overwhelming need to get you away from me. Away before I hurt you."

I sat down on the cot and put my head in my hands.

"Oh, wow. That explains a lot." Blair was about to go into full professorial battle.

I put my hand up to stop him. "It explains nothing, Chief, except that I'm a throwback and an asshole."

"Don't you see, Jim-" (My name, he said my name again.) "-Alex was triggering a territorial imperative. You couldn't help but-"

"Don't say that-"

"Say what?" He was confused by having his momentum interrupted.

"Do not tell me I couldn't help it, or that somehow this is understandable."

"But it is. It has to be...or-"

"Or, what?"

"Or we can never get unbroken.."

Oh, God, that stopped me. I had two choices. Refuse to be let off the hook and consign us to the hell we've been in...or accept Blair's view, no matter how wrong it was, and have a way to come back together. Not really a tough choice, when put that way. I just had to admit that Blair had been right with that throwback crack in the beginning.

"You think we can get unbroken, Chief?"

He didn't say anything for the longest time and I thought he must've fallen asleep.

Finally, a huge yawn cracked his face and he turned his sleepy eyes my way. They were different, the blue, lighter. They were Blair's eyes and they looked at me without fear, without hunger. With trust.

Leaning on the railing that contained him for now, I brushed his tangled hair away from his face. He was closing in on sleep as he whispered, "Anything is possible," shutting his eyes.

The air in the room shifted, a breeze somehow made its way in from the outside, shifting the shadows that had been sticking to the corners. "Anything. Everything."

The End

Epilogue to Down to the Bone

I found myself on the balcony a lot, and reluctant to come in for any reason. Jim brought me supper out here and had even rigged a little canopy so that I didn't get wet when it stormed. It was peaceful out there. Day by day, I absorbed the sun, the wind, the rain...I absorbed sounds, delighted in the subtle variances of light from hour to hour, tracked on the boats in the harbor.

Jim took it all in stride, didn't try and make me feel like I should be doing something else. After work, he would join me and we'd drink beer and watch the sunset. Well, Jim drank beer, I had to stay away as I was slowly weaned off the haloperidol.

Every time I had to take one of those little pills, I lost a little of ground I was making away from Alex. These days I took them just once a day, but I dreaded the moment when Jim put it in my hand. He had too, I just couldn't do it myself.

Once swallowed, it was all anti-climatic. The dosage was nothing close to what Alex had been injecting me with. I could stay awake. I didn't float. But sometimes, after I took it, I would drift off anyway, and find myself surprised when I could move my arms, so clear was the sensation of being restrained. It was disconcerting.

The marks on my arms itched on and off. They were purple, reminding me of the dye used to mark the grades of meat. I wore long sleeves a lot.

I hadn't been able to sleep in my room yet. The couch worked fine. When I came home and saw everything back, I surprised myself by the feelings of anger that washed through me. It seemed so fucking wrong to come back to the loft as if nothing had ever changed. I knew Jim had gone to a lot of trouble to get everything back in place, so I kept my reaction to myself. But he had given and he had taken away and now he had given again...

I was thinking about moving out. I needed something that was mine and that couldn't be taken, no matter what blew into town.

It would be good for Jim and me, I think, to separate a little. Before all this happened he'd made references to needing his space now and then, and I understood that.

But for now, I sat on the balcony and absorbed.

The cabin we had stayed at belonged to Steven's boyfriend and it was the antithesis of a cabin. It was light and open, with windows that overlooked Cedar Isle Lake. For the first time I was sleeping in a bedroom and only got up a few times a night to look out the window at the dark and infinite sky. We fished, we hiked. Okay, we walked around a little. I was still recovering, and my stamina sucked. It was a great two weeks.

When we were almost home, Jim took a different turn and we ended up on the east side of town.

"What's up, Jim?"

"We've got an appointment."

I groaned. Another fucking therapist.

"Damnit. I don't want to do this."

"I know, but trust me. This is necessary."

This was the fourth one and I had no illusions that this one would be the answer. It was no surprise that none of them seemed to understand the nature of my relationship to Jim and I couldn't really tell them. That left them with very little go on and all three had called us enmeshed. Well, duh.

It was a third floor office and I was winded by the time we got there. I hated that, the weaknesses that Alex had left me with and the weaknesses she had exposed.

Jim had the door open and I walked into a small, battered office, nothing like the ones before. No receptionist, just some comfy chairs and sofas, gaily colored in their time, now sedate.

An older man came out of the office, throwing up his arms in greeting and embracing Jim in a big bear hug. This was new.

"Jim, good to see you, and this must be Blair."

He held out his hand and I was glad he wasn't an equal opportunity hugger. I was in no mood.

"Come on in, let's get started." I held back a groan. The second one had wanted Jim present and it had been impossible. No way could I say out loud what she had done to me in front of Jim. He already knew enough to help me deal with it.

I almost left but didn't because, for one thing, I had no car, and no idea where a bus stop was. Having my dependence illuminated one more time did nothing for my mood. I sat in the chair with my legs swung away from Jim and my arms crossed and double dared the therapist to read my lips. No way.

"Jim, I did as you asked. The new deed is now a joint tenancy. Whichever of you survives the other will own the loft. I just need both of your signatures, and then I'll witness as the notary public."

To say I was stunned would be an understatement. This was so not what I had been expecting.

"Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief?" His head was bowed over the papers, signing and dating.

"What? Why?"

He looked up, pushing the papers in front of me.

"It's your home, Sandburg. As much as mine. And nothing and no one is ever going to have the power to make you leave it. Sign there."

He put the pen in my hand and I looked down at all the tiny ant words that declared me the co-owner of the loft.

"This isn't necessary."

"Yeah, it is."

"You can't do this. People will say things....this is your home, I'm a roommate."

"Look, Sandburg, one, people already say things; two, it's none of their business; and three, you are no longer a roommate. You are now a proud owner of some real estate, get used to it."

"I can't."

Jim sighed and pushed his hair back. It was hard getting used to him with it longer but I liked it.

"Okay, Marv, how soon can you list it?"

"What?"

"If you won't co-own it, I'm selling it."

"Jim! You're nuts--sell and do what?"

"Sell and find an apartment to rent that we both like. I'm remaking the playing field, Chief. Wanna play?"

"You're sure about this?"

"Oh, yeah."

I signed. If it made him happy....I didn't want to see him lose his home out of some kind of weird loyalty to me.

We were silent going home. I honestly had no idea what to say. Entering 852 felt-different. I pushed that aside. This was an on-paper deal and if it made Jim feel better, fine, but it was still his loft.

The elevator ride was in silence also. Jim pulled out a set of keys and handed them to me.

"I have keys, Jim."

"These are your new keys."

They were on a key chain that had a charm of a wolf and one of a panther.

"Open the door, Chief."

I did and opened my mouth as well. Stepping into the space I knew as well as any on earth, I gazed at the room that was mine. In the two weeks we'd been gone, Jim had had a huge picture window put in next to the fire escape. He'd also had bumped the walls out, so that my room was now double in size.

"Jim...."

Jim came up behind me and put his hands on my back. Swinging me around, he said, "Home. Mine.Yours. Ours. No more house rules, we'll put together a working plan."

Jim looked at me and must have seen that I was having a hard time taking this in.

"Look, I was stupid. I forgot one of the oldest and wisest of sayings. And it's one with important military consequences." He paused. "Together we stand, divided we fall. And I ain't ever going that close to the edge again."

I walked into my "room", sat on my "bed", (new, double, semi-firm) and stared at Jim. Swept my hand across the handmade quilt, noted the bookcases that were big enough to hold all my books, took in the man who was standing in my doorway, waiting.

"You didn't have to do this. I was okay with the way it was."

"No, you weren't, and even if you were, I wasn't. Look, Chief, I know this seems like I'm giving you a lot. I'm not. I'm redistributing what lies between us. It's just the way it is, we're in this together, and you can't stay the junior partner forever."

"Naomi is going to have a cow."

"I'm already ahead of you there, I bought the sage."

"Man, you think of everything."

"Gonna try."