THE STREET

by Arcayne                mailto:KynkiKelli@aol.com

It wasn't raining. That's why Blair Sandburg had forgone the dubious luxury of taking his Volvo three blocks to get lunch. Instead, he had walked, basking in the rare warmth, tying his sweatshirt around his waist when (o wonder of wonders) it got a little too hot for comfort. It was shaping into a pretty great afternoon, actually, with a little breeze that ruffled his loose hair and carried mouth-watering aromas from the cluster of tiny shops he was passing.

Blair was so intent on the steaming loaves of sunflower wheat-berry bread being set up in one window display that he almost didn't hear the first child's cry. Distracted, he looked around, scanning his immediate area for signs of trouble and found none. With a shrug, he turned back to the window, and heard it again, a child crying, and then shouting adults.

Blair had never been the type to mind his own business. A childhood spent at Naomi Sandburg's side had taught him that "citizens of the world" get involved. Add to that upbringing enough curiosity for three men, and the results were Blair trying to track the sounds to their source, wishing for just a little of his partner's special abilities.

He managed to locate the disturbance in a nearby alley between two abandoned buildings, and he paused a moment to assess the situation. Two men, both larger than he, were shouting and shoving at one another. One woman, in rather garish finery for early afternoon, leaned against a damp brick wall, blood leaking from beneath the hand she held to her bruised and swollen cheek. Another woman knelt beside a crying toddler, her cap of coppery curls bent over him, murmuring nonsense in a soothing voice.

One man, the biggest of the two, made a charge at the bleeding woman, and the other shoved him back hard, landing a solid punch on the unshaven jaw. The apparent object of their fight joined the younger looking woman and the child, who began screaming again when he saw his mother's injuries.

"Tammy, you can't go back to him. For Ryan's sake, if not for your own." Clear gray eyes in a smudged face looked up and saw Blair, then glanced back at the fight, now escalating into a winner takes all brawl.

"Can I help?" Sandburg asked, and the red haired girl shook her head.

"It'll be all right, but you'd better go. I'd hate for you to get in...ARGH!!" A meaty hand with bleeding knuckles was dragging her back, fingers tangled in her short hair. Tammy's "boyfriend" had managed to daze his his current opponent. "You stay out of our business, you nosy bitch!" he hollered, and slammed the younger woman across the face.

That was all Blair needed to see. Without thought, he leapt into the fray, jumping on the bigger man's back with an angry shout of his own. The slight street woman broke loose, but she was staring at them with not quite focused eyes, slow to move. Her male companion shook off his own fogginess and dove past her into Blair's opponent, just as the hulking man clubbed the grad student off and kicked at him viciously.

The curly haired girl saw a glitter of metal, managed to focus on it, hollered "BeBop!! He's got a knife!" while she frantically searched for some kind of weapon. A battered garbage can lid, and a chunk of brick came to hand and she charged after her friend. He was already bleeding from a slash on his arm. The blade crashed on her makeshift shield and she smashed up at the twisted face with the sharp edged brick.

When the bruiser pulled back to avoid her hit, he tripped over Sandburg as the smaller man was trying to get to his feet. They fell together and the knife sank into Blair's flesh with a flash of white heat too painful to feel at first. Adrenaline gave him the strength to push his attacker away.

BeBop and the redhead came to his side as the hulk shambled out. Tammy and her son had fled during the fight, and now the two friends were alone with a bleeding Blair in the alley. They stared at each other, still panting, then, as the stranger groaned, the girl knelt beside him. She gently probed his side, finding the blade, and the blood that gushed from his wound.

"BeBop, he's bleeding really badly." Her grimy face had a smear of blood on it, her skirt and hands were becoming soaked with it. "We've got to get him to a hospital. I don't dare to touch that blade, it might be holding something important together."

The tall, slender man cocked his head, pale dread locks swinging around his face. An instant later, she heard the sirens too.

"No time," he said quietly. "Jazz, they're gonna think that we did it. If we leave him, the cops.."

"The cops may not find him in time. We can't let him die, he may have saved our lives today." Her gray eyes looked down into pain-filled blue ones, and she managed a reassuring smile. "We aren't going to leave you, mister. You're gonna be okay."

Too exhausted to question her, Blair nodded slowly. The last thing he was aware of was someone trying to lift him. The pain drove him into darkness.

___________________________________________________________

"C'mon, wake up now. Sonata said I can't give you anymore painkiller until you spend some time awake."

Blair dimly recognized that a voice was speaking to him, the words were somewhat familiar. Another hospital stay. Terrific. Jim was going to be pissed. He could hear him now. "If you have to jump into a fight, Chief, pick on someone your own size, will you?" Deciding that he was better off just facing the music, he opened his eyes...and stared.

He wasn't in a hospital room. And the person beside his bed wasn't Jim. He had to be there somewhere. "Jim?" he croaked, his voice hoarse from all the earlier yelling and someone held a glass and straw to his lips. Blair sipped cautiously and tasted...nothing. Cool water soothed the irritated tissues in his abused throat. After a few sips, the glass moved and he lay back, becoming aware of a radiating pain in his side. Experimentally, he probed the site, encountering a thick pad of bandage. The woman beside him gently lifted his hand away.

"Don't mess with that right now, you might start it bleeding again, and you've lost too much blood as it is. Would you like some more water?"

"Where's Jim?" he asked, confused, blinking up at her like a blue-eyed owl. Some kind of soft lighting behind her lit her cap of curls into a fiery halo as she sat on the edge of his bed.

"There isn't any Jim here. Is he a friend of yours? What's your name, anyway?"

"Jim's my roommate. I'm Blair, Blair Sandburg."

"I'm Jazz. Do you remember the fight in the alley?" At his nod, she smiled "Good. Sonata said that she wasn't too worried about that bump on your head, and as usual she was right. Doesn't look like it did much damage." She had a sharp little cat's face, too thin for beauty, sun flushed on her nose and cheeks. The loose knit sweater she wore over a t shirt was too big and obviously second, maybe third, hand. Her loose sweat pants had patches on the knees. Not a nurse.

"Where am I?" Blair winced at the question from a thousand melodramas but Jazz took it in stride.

"You've probably guessed that you aren't in a hospital. You were bleeding so badly, we were afraid to leave you for the cops to find. They might not have done so in time. If we had gone for help," she glanced down at her comfortable, worn clothing and around at the dark shabby room. "We're street people, Blair. They'd have arrested BeBop, or me, or both of us for stabbing you. We couldn't risk that, we don't have any money, or anyone who could speak for us. So, we brought you here, where we live. Our doctor is really good, and I knew she could tell how badly you were hurt, could get you stabilized."

Blair took another look around, his eyes eager now. "Okay, so what is this place then? Who is 'we'?" Even flat on his back, the idea of being among a different culture got his interest going.

Jazz laughed. "Look at you! I was afraid you'd get all freaked out. We, well, we're this little group of runaways. Throwaways, homeless. America's Most Unwanted. Not all of us are illiterate, or crazy, or criminal, you know. Some of the others and I got to talking and we decided that if no one else wanted us, maybe we could take care of each other. You know, be like a family. A really dysfunctional one.. but family. It's crazy, but it works. We've got musicians, theater people, a doctor. A few people volunteer at Goodwill and the Salvation Army, they get to bring home the stuff not good enough to sell."

"And nobody notices this community within a city just existing here?"

"Of course they notice. We have to move when someone does, because we aren't licensed and trained and taxed and regulated. The cops would kick us out, or arrest us for something." The red-haired woman looked around the room with a fond smile. "This is a pretty good place, though. We've been here for months without a problem." Gray eyes, the colour of pewter in the soft light, silently pleaded with Blair to understand the significance of what he was being told. Pleaded for a promise of silence.

Before he could formulate an answer, a curtain moved and a large woman entered.

"How's our patient?" The stranger asked in a rich voice. As she came closer, Blair saw that her skin was a dark, dark brown, her eyes liquid ebony, and her hair was a startling silver-blonde cloud around her face.

Jazz stepped back, saying "Blair, this is Sonata, our doctor. Sonata, you were right, he remembered without a problem when he woke up."

The older woman nodded and smiled down at the anthropologist. Her soft hands were deftly checking the bandage on his side, and suddenly he realized that, although he was shirtless, he was comfortably warm.

"Are we subterranean?" he asked, peering around and Sonata raised a brow.

"Very good, young man." Her hands slipped up to his head, searching among the soft dark hair for the bruising she'd examined earlier. "Your brain hasn't suffered an injury from that hard knock, it would seem. Ah, that lump has gone down nicely." Finished, she touched his cheek gently, and brushed a few stray strands of hair off his forehead. "One of my boys had those pretty curls, too." Sonata said softly, and Blair saw that she was older than he had believed.

"Jazz, he needs to drink a lot of fluids, juice, herbal tea, water. Nothing with caffeine. I want you to sleep, Blair. It will heal you faster than anything I can do. We have some painkillers, but I'd prefer not to give you anything stronger than aspirin, if you can sleep without it."

His ears had perked up at 'herbal teas'. "Do you have willowbark tea? I'd just as soon have that as aspirin."

The doctor gazed at him thoughtfully, and, he thought, approvingly, for a long minute. "We have willowbark available. I'll send you a cup of it when it's ready. Are you an herbalist?"

"I'm an anthropologist, and a grad student at the U, and, oh MAN! How long have I been here?" Blair tried to sit up in his panic and nearly passed out. His face had gone chalk white as Jazz helped him ease back toward the quilted pillows.

She looked over at Sonata, worried, but the older woman calmly redressed the room and took his wrist in her strong fingers. She counted silently, and nodded to herself, then smiled at Jazz. "He'll be fine. I'll get that tea." And she left the room.

Jazz turned back to their guest. "Blair, what is it? Your family?"

He nodded. "My roommate. My partner. I'm a consultant for the Cascade Police Department and my partner's gonna be frantic."

"A cop?" Jazz caught her lower lip in her teeth, thinking. "Maybe I could call him for you. Let him know that you're okay. Would that help?"

Blair sighed deeply, wincing as it hurt his side. "A little. He's still going to freak, Jim has some major protective issues, but if you give him a message he'll know is from me...His business card is in my wallet, if you can give me my backpack."

___________________________________________________________________

Jazz examined the thin white card with its stark black printing. "James Ellison, Detective. Major Crimes Unit." She took a last look around through the scarred acrylic walls of the pay-phone booth, shivered, then resolutely took the receiver off the hook and dropped coins into the slot. One cold finger punched in the number, a woman answered for the Cascade Police department in a pleasant voice, and Jazz asked for Detective James Ellison. A moment of music, and then "Ellison." She couldn't speak.

"Detective Ellison. Hello?" The male voice barked.

"Um, hi, detective." Jazz's voice wavered and she took a deep breath. "I'm calling for a friend of mine, of yours, really. His name is Blair Sandburg?"

Something slammed down hard on the other end of the phone. "Sandburg? Where is he?"

"He's okay, really, he's fine. There was this..a kind of fight and he got involved. He got hurt, but he's gonna be okay. We just didn't have time to get him to a regular doctor.."

"Where is he?!" Jim's stern voice rose and Jazz faltered, almost hanging up.

Normally she avoided cops like the plague, especially angry cops. Steeling herself, she answered, "He's safe. He's in a safe place, with a good doctor and people watching out for him."

The soft voice quavered and Jim forced his anger and the fear for his Guide's well being down. If the woman hung up, he'd lose his only lead. "A doctor is taking care of him?" he asked carefully. "How badly hurt is he?"

"He sort of...got stabbed, but the guy fell on him, the knife caught him, Blair I mean, in the side. It was bleeding pretty badly, so we had to get him help fast. But, I swear, as soon as he can be moved, we'll bring him where ever he wants to go."

"Miss, who is 'we'?"

The same question Blair had asked, but Jazz didn't trust this cop nearly as much as her instincts told her to trust the grad student. "My family and I. That's all. Look, I told Blair I'd call because he was worried about you being worried about him. He gave me this goofy message for you, okay? He says he wants tongue for supper his first night back.." And Jazz made a face at the receiver.

Jim felt a small knot of worry loosen inside him. Okay, Sandburg WAS alive. But, her Family? Like a cult?"

"I appreciate you calling, Miss, I really do, but I'd feel better if I could check up on Sandburg myself. If he can't be moved, that's all right, I'll come to wherever you are. I won't be armed or anything,"

Jazz bit her lip. "I'm really sorry, sir, but..I can't. It's not a bad place, but it IS a secret, and people are counting on me, on us..I probably shouldn't have called. They're gonna be so pissed at me..We'll take good care of your friend, and I'll personally make sure he gets back to where he wants to go when he's feeling okay. I have to go now.."

"WAIT!" Jim shouted, hearing the finality in her voice, and desperately added, "Wait, please. Will you call back? Can I have your name, so they can put you through right away?"

The street girl surprised herself then. "I'll call back." She promised faintly. The guy sounded frantic, and Blair wouldn't want that. It sounded like they were pretty good friends. "I promise." and she hung up. Her fingerless gloves wiped the hard plastic free of any prints that might have lingered, just in case they had managed to trace the call. She did NOT trust cops, and this one probably thought she was some loon who had kidnaped his partner.

Still, when she opened the door, it was another unseasonably beautiful day, and Jazz didn't let trouble fester in her mind. With a whirl to watch her patchworked skirt flare out over her knitted leggings and scuffed boots, she ran off to find some of the other street musicians. It was early yet, plenty of time to make some music and a few bucks before dark.

Blair woke in a soothing, lamp-lit darkness. His head ached less, his side more so, but not enough to keep him from taking fascinated stock of his surroundings. Music floated to him in tangled skeins of sound, also voices, soft and not distinct. Different rhythm tapped or pounded or snapped out, a silvery flute, followed by warm amber triplets spilling from a sun-mellowed guitar. The voices spun in song, rose in argument, and whispered in agreement as he became aware of the not unpleasant scent of woodsmoke and wax. Every instinct the anthropologist possessed was telling him that he was safe. Whoever these people were, they would not harm him.

"Are ya hungry yet?" A soft voice spoke from the curtained doorway, jolting him back to himself.

An elderly woman stood just inside the room, a deep mug in her hand. Its steam carried a fragrant, gut twisting aroma to his nose.

"I've brought ya some beef broth, and a bit of bread. Sonata doesn't want ya eating anything too hard to digest right now." She walked slowly toward him, her white hair in a long plait hanging down her back over two sweaters and a patched pair of jeans. Tattered Keds and socks knitted in bright stripes adorned her hesitant little feet.

Blair eased himself to a sitting position, ignoring the pain in anticipation of food. A grumble from his interior welcomed her approach and he grinned sheepishly.

The old woman chuckled. "Well, I'd guess you ARE hungry then. Eat it slow, boy, and dip that bread in the broth to soften it like."

He mumbled a "thank you" as he took the chipped mug from her delicate blue veined hands and accepted the large end of fairly fresh French bread in its paper towel napkin. Blair took a cautious sip, letting the savoury stuff slide into his hollow pit of a stomach. Another few sips and he forgot the white haired woman watching from a chair beside him and concentrated on his feast. Slowly, bite by bite, his yammering stomach was soothed with food, and he ate the last chunk of broth soaked bread with a sigh of contentment.

"That was great...uh.." The young man flushed. He hadn't even asked her name, but she smiled again as she took the heavy mug from his suddenly tired hands.

"Don't fuss, youngun. Y'had more important things on yer mind than lad di dah manners. I've been hungry m'self, and I know what it's like when ya finally get food. I'm Charleston, Charlie for short." Her pale blue eyes were clear in the seamed, tanned face, and full of good humor.

The anthropologist smiled back, enchanted with this strange tribe's Elder. He tried to thank her again for the meal, but was interrupted by a gaping yawn. Charlie got up, patted his hand and twitched the motley assortment of quilts comfortably around his shoulders.

"Y'get yerself a good sleep, hon, and we'll talk later." As she crossed the room with her small silent steps, he was already out.

__________________________________________________________

"You called a cop? Jazz, girl, what were you think?" Retro was pacing 'the quad', the large central area where their group of street performers did most of their busking. The sun gleamed off his fashionably bald head, and caught the brass armband on his bare muscled arm. The three days of sun had darkened his cinnamon brown skin, had tanned all of them except Jazz, who flushed under her light sunburn.

"He's not just a cop, he's the guy's roommate. Blair said that he'd be frantic, and he was, believe me." She shivered under her faded Rainier U sweatshirt. "And pissed, too. But I didn't stay on for long, and I made the call blocks away. I'll use a different pay-phone tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Cha-Cha shook her dark gypsy curls, blue lights glinting from the raven waves. "You're gonna call back? Jazz, girlchik, that's nuts. How do you know this cop isn't setting a trap for you?"

The smaller woman ran both hands over her short strawberry halo. "I don't. He can't stake out every phone booth in Cascade, can he? I'll pick a really bizarre, out of the way place, and beat feet out of there as soon as I tell him Blair's still okay."

"That's another thing, this Blair of yours. He doesn't sound too dumb. If he figures out where we live.." BeBop interrupted Retro's new speech.

"Jazz and I both decided to bring him back here, you guys. We owed him."

"He's an OUTSIDER!" Cha-Cha put in, "we owe him nothing."

"We were all outsiders before we found each other, Chachi." Jazz pointed out. "If we aren't willing to help someone in trouble, especially someone who got into trouble helping us?" She let the thought trail off, but they all got the point.

The gypsy girl made a face. "Chachi? Like Scott Baio?" and wrinkled her tanned nose. "Please."

They all laughed, but the conversation was over. Blair would be cared for as long as he needed help. There would be no repercussions for the two that had brought him into their sanctuary.

"I want to be able to start the trace the minute I know it's her!" Jim demanded and the communications technician sighed.

"Yessir." The equipment itself wasn't that difficult to set up and install, but the looming, glowering giant of a detective made her fidgety. With relief, she caught a whiff of Captain Banks' expensive cigars. Carefully keeping a straight face, she grinned inwardly, kept her head down, and thus missed the last glare Jim threw in her direction as Simon dragged him off. Finally. Now she could work.

"Jim, I know you're worried about Sandburg, but harassing Blake isn't going to do anyone any good." Simon banks sat behind his desk and watched one half of his best team pace. Ellison looked ready to take something, or someone, apart. "Anyway, the woman said that he was safe, right?"

"Yeah, and she said that he'd been knifed. She said that he'd lost a lot of blood. She said that her "family" was taking care of him, Simon!" And Jim looked away, jaw clenched.

"We'll find him, Jim." and Bank's voice was a lot more certain than he felt.

Fortunately, Officer Roberta Blake really was as good as her reputation and the taps were well in place when a hesitant voice called to ask for Detective Ellison. Blake nodded at Jim, and he punched the hold button. "This is Ellison."

"Oh, hey, hi detective."

"You know, I never did get your name. I appreciate the updates here, and I'd kind of like to know who to thank." Jim made his voice as friendly as he could, focusing on hers and hearing how fast her breathing was. She was scared. Damn! What had she done to Sandburg?

"Jenn" shot out of Jazz's mouth before she could stop it, the name she hadn't used in six years. The name no one knew anymore. She panicked, then thought swiftly, and realized that no one who'd ever used her righteous name was anywhere near Cascade. It was okay.

"Jenn, thanks. How is Blair doing today?"

"He's doing okay. Running a low grade fever, which Son..our doctor says is very normal for this sort of thing. If he rests a lot, he'll be able to move in a couple of days. She says that he's a really fast healer."

"He'd have to be." Jim muttered to himself, then concentrated. Had to keep her on the line. Had to LISTEN, filter out the traffic. Some kind of motor, maybe. Too noisy for a car, too loud for a lawnmower. Not a motorcycle...

"Jenn, you said that Sandburg had been in a fight, but you never told me how he got involved."

"Didn't I?" The girlish voice relaxed a little, in response to the lack of anger in his tone. "BeB- a friend and I were involved in a domestic fight, a guy was beating up another friend of ours in front of their kid, and when the jerk jumped me from behind, Blair tore into him."

Jim listened to her enthusiastic praise of his roommate's action with chagrin and some grudging pride. Damn, but Sandburg had guts. He could no more watch a woman get hit than Jim himself could. It sounded like he'd handled himself pretty well against a much larger opponent too. Some sort of low, deep sound in the background of Jenn's story and Jim focused on it.

"Detective, we've got it!" Blake hollered, and Jenn heard her.

"You've been tracing me? I should have guessed, can't trust cops. The others were right about you." and Jim winced as his only direct lead to Blair slammed the phone down in his ear. He didn't waste breathe berating the communications officer, he simply snatched the paper out of her hand and ran for the Ford.

The old Ford careened around corners, the flashing light clearing a path through the afternoon traffic as Jim sped to the trace location. A pay phone, near the Cascade marina, right on one far edge of the city. He knew black and white units were at the scene, he knew that Simon had given orders not to touch anything until he got there, but he cursed anyway. The caller, Jenn, would be gone. And she was his only link to his Guide.

The marina was upscale, the direct opposite of the gritty docks downtown. The uniformed police had already talked to several people who remembered seeing a young woman who looked "out of place" hanging around, but they couldn't get a good description. In layers of clothing so maybe a medium build, medium height, somewhere between fifteen and twenty-five, with a gray knitted hat/ faded blue scarf/ dark baseball cap pulled over her brown/blonde/bald head. Jim wisely left the citizens to the uniforms and walked over to where one officer guarded the phone booth.

"No one's been in since I got here, sir, per Captain Banks' orders. I can't vouch for before I arrived though." The younger man looked worried and Ellison spared him a nod meant to be reassuring before entering the booth.

The big man stood in the cramped space and tried to imagine Blair walking him through the crime scene. He KNEW how to investigate, but his partner's habit of thinking out loud not only anchored Jim's senses, it often triggered his hunches. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, sifting the scents of diesel fuel and harbour water out, dismissing the roar of the motorboats in an instinctive pairing with the engine he'd heard in the background before. There was a familiar..why was it familiar? And why did he associate it with Blair? Warm, and childhood memories, and candlewax. Candlewax and.. woodsmoke. Woodsmoke? Not a city dweller's scent at all.

He swept the phone booth visually as well, hoping that in her rush to leave, the mysterious Jenn might have forgotten something. The black receiver had obviously had a recent polish, by the looks of it, maybe a sweater or a glove. There was nothing else. Damn.

Ellison stepped outside, and called Simon on his cellphone, to give him the bad news. Without an accurate description, Jenn was gone.. and Blair was gone with her.

Jazz threaded her way through the late afternoon pedestrian traffic. She wasn't running, running would attract attention, but she was shedding layers of clothing as she went. The faded beige knitted hat was first into a garbage can, she dumped a deliberately baggy dark green sweater into a Goodwill box, and got rid of her equally large long print skirt two blocks away. This left her in an oversized Henley worn over dark leggings, socks and fourth hand Doc Martens, patched with electrician's tape over the toes. She wrapped Cha Cha's yards of lavender babushka style scarf around her waist, letting the fringe hang almost to her knees, and fluffed her bright cap of hair. In a storefront window, Jazz could tell that she was passing again, a really eccentric college student from the U, or a starving artist. Then she set off at a trot for home. Blair had to know, she couldn't call his friend again.

"What if Jazz hadn't been prepared, man? Your buddy would have caged her and tried to muscle your whereabouts out of her!" Retro was furious, pacing Blair's small room.

Sandburg struggled to sit up. "Look, Jim's a cop but he's a good guy. He wouldn't have hurt her, you, Jazz. You gotta believe me."

She was sitting on the edge of his pallet, one leg curled under her, and now the red-haired girl leaned over, put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Charlie sat on his other side and pushed the pillows up behind him so he could sit more comfortably. "No one is blaming you, Blair." and she turned a steel gray glare at her posturing friend. "I'm sure your partner's a good person. But I can't afford to get arrested. None of us can. We don't have good ID, some of us have records for petty stuff, but that's the sort of things that cops use against us.

Retro saw how pale their guest was, and came over, crouched beside the others in a reconciliatory way. "No, man, I ain't blaming you. But, the truth of the matter is, he set her up. He's going to have to hold for a couple of days until Sonata says you can move. Then we'll get you back home or wherever and trust you not to rat us out." Cha Cha moved restlessly on the three legged stool she perched on, pushing her black hair off her face, tying it back with a bit of red cloth. Her expression was unusually serious. "You understand what we are trusting you with, don't you? Our freedom, our lives. Our family. This is no game to us." And the dark eyes in the tanned face were fierce.

Before Blair could reassure her, Sonata walked in and scattered them, asking just how they thought her patient was ever going to get well enough to leave if they kept him from sleeping? She carried two mugs, one of willowbark tea and another of soup, substantial soup, that sent the rest of the crowd scrambling for the other room. Handing him the willowbark first, the older woman took his pulse again, and smiled down at him.

"You don't mind them, child. They can see the goodness in you as clearly as I can. What happened today just scared them, scared Jazz. We've gotten used to each other, used to our world. Used to this place, I reckon. If we have to move on, it won't hurt us any in the long run. We'll have each other, and family is all that counts at day's end."

A sudden impulse moved him. "What happened to your family, Sonata?"

She closed her eyes a moment, her large expressive face going blank and impassive. When she spoke, it was from far away. "My husband was a doctor, one of the best colored doctors in the city we lived in, too. Our boys, I had three boys, and a little girl too. My husband and our oldest boy died in Korea. My youngest two went to Vietnam..and came home in plastic. My baby girl..she picked the wrong man to fall in love with. One Christmas, he beat her to death before killing his sorry self with his service revolver." The dark eyes were suddenly very bright in the dim light, and Blair groped for her work hardened hand.

"That was a long time ago, child." Sonata told him. "My parents wanted me to have opportunities and I did. I met my husband in medical school, and when he died, I went back. So I could always support my children, and now, I can take care of my new family. Life isn't easy, Blair, but it's always precious, at least to me. You eat that soup now, and you get some sleep." And, like before, she brushed the soft hair back from his forehead and left him alone with his meal, and his thoughts.

So much pain, and no bitterness. How many people have that kind of heart? His mind was racing as he slowly ate, imagining Naomi in those circumstances, thankful that her losses had never been that great.

__________________________________________________________

BeBop and Jazz were headed for the quad late the next morning when Jazz stopped short. Her companion traveled half a block before he missed her, turned, and saw her sitting on a bench. With a somewhat patient sigh, he retraced his steps. "Now what?" he asked, taking a seat beside her and resting his battered guitar case on the grass.

"If you were a sneaky cop who thought the worst of everyone, and your partner was missing and you thought that he had been kidnaped..What if you traced the person who called about him and then didn't catch them? What would you, with your narrow cop mentality, believe was going to happen to your friend?" Her bright curls were in wild disarray as she ran both hands over her head. "I swore I wouldn't call him again, but it's inhuman to let someone think a person they care about is hurt or dead."

"Aw hell, Jazz, you WOULD think of that." He stretched his long legs, covered by faded fatigues and boots from the Army/Navy store, out straight and put an friendly arm around her shoulders. "You're gonna call him, aren't you?"

She sighed. "It's less risky than leaving a note for him at the police station."

"You're not going anywhere NEAR the police station!" BeBop was startled out of his habitual feigned indolence. "Are you nuts?"

"No, but he's expecting a call. He's not expecting a note. You know?"

"Okay, I can see what you mean, but, C'mon Jazz. Tell me you won't go there."

"Are you kidding? Me? Go near that place? Let's find a pay phone away from the quad, just in case." And the pair loped off the way they had come, hand in hand.

_____________________________________________________________

Jim was looking rather worse for wear after the last three days. He snatched up his desk phone when it rang, and barked "Ellison, Major Crimes." into the receiver.

"Detective Ellison?"

It was her. "Jenn! Look, about yesterday.."

"Stop! Don't bother. You are just completely, in that warped little cop brain of yours, convinced that I have to be lying about your partner, so you were completely justified in trying to trap me when I call to make you feel better. You're wrong, but I'm not gonna waste my time trying to convince you otherwise." Jim heard a muffled laugh in the background, and a soft *thwap*. "But, because you pulled that stupid stunt, and because you have a nasty suspicious mind and believe the worst of everyone, it occurred to me that you might think we were going to hurt Blair. We're not. We never were. He's not a prisoner, and if he wanted to get up and walk out, bleeding and all, he could. But HE believes that we're trying to help him. So if you possibly can, just relax. A couple days at the most, and your little world will be complete again."

"Sandburg's okay?" Jim's mind, whirling, focused on her most important words, and it sounded as if Jenn's voice softened a little.

"He's fine. He's eating some more solid type food, staying awake longer. No hint of infection at all. I know this is scary and all, but you need to chill out a little. I'm not your enemy or anything."

A hissed "Hurry up, already, will you?" broke through her words, and she sighed. "Okay, I'm outta here. Bye."

"Jenn..JENN??" the phone buzzed gently in his ear, and Jim slammed it down, but a little of the tension knotting his stomach had eased. At least he hadn't gotten Sandburg killed. That's all that really mattered.

_____________________________________________________________ The dancing was what drew Jim's attention to the quad. He'd gone over to the university to check on Sandburg's Volvo, still parked in the faculty parking area. Jim had decided to leave it there, Rainier security was tight enough to keep the car from being stolen, and it gave him one less problem to deal with. But, Jim being Jim, he had to make sure it was still there personally. He couldn't check on Blair, but he had a measure of control over Blair's car.

The detective was driving away from the parking lots when unusual movement in the quad near the school caught his eye. Rainier had more than its share of free spirits, and apparently they had decided, en masse, to celebrate the continued good weather with an impromptu dance party. Jim pulled over and walked toward the place, drawn to it by the vague notion that Blair would have gone. "He would have had some long-tailed theories about why they picked today to dance," Jim thought, with grim amusement, "and probably pulled the name of some remote tribe that used to do the same thing out of his hat."

Students in jeans, in shorts, in skirts, older folks out enjoying a walk in the sun, somehow they'd all converged on this spot surrounding a group of street musicians. Onlookers were laughing and clapping in time with a guitar, a flute and some other kind of wind instrument. The scene had a festival feel, and the musicians seemed to be playing at least as much for the fun of it, as for the money being dropped in an open guitar case.

Jim edged closer to the trio, being guided by instincts he wasn't quite aware of. They were a motley group, with a young man in a stained red t-shirt, fatigue pants and Army boots playing guitar, his fair hair hanging in odd dread locks around his face. An older woman was playing the flute, long silver-threaded brown hair spilled down her back from a leather thong at her nape. The long Indian print skirt and white peasant blouse she wore suited her, gave her the appearance of a gently aging flower child.

The third player had most of his attention. She was closest to him, her coppery, boy-short curly hair glinting in the sunlight. She had the figure of a half grown boy too, adolescent in her baggy green t-shirt and patched cargo pants, but she worked her slender wooden recorder with an adult's authority. The work hardened hands were covered with fingerless gray gloves while slim fingers flitted over the holes of the simple instrument. When she noticed him watching, she flashed a quick grin up at him, then concentrated on the harmony she was coaxing out of her pipe.

Something nagged at him, and Ellison cautiously extended his senses, one at a time, all too aware how easy it would be to get caught up in the intricate music, the noisy crowd. How easy it would be to zone out, without his Guide to bring him back. Scent..his head turned, sampling the light breeze, catching hints of perfume, food, the warm wood of the guitar, candlewax, woodsmoke..Sandburg.

Jim reacted before his forebrain had kicked in, stepping forward and taking the redhead by her arm, disrupting the music. "Jenn." It wasn't a question.

"Jenn." He repeated, and saw the colour drain out of her sharp little face, heard her heartbeat accelerate.

Then, her shoulders squared and her chin came up. "Nope. You've got the wrong chick, mister." Jazz's voice was rock steady, and her eyes were clear and full of apparent innocence as they met his.

"I'm Jim Ellison. Detective Ellison."

Cool gray eyes looked him over, and then she shrugged. "So? There's no law against playing here, Detective, and everyone was having a good time." Adroitly, she left the "until you came along" hanging unspoken in the air.

The crowd had begun to gather, but the sight of the gold badge on the big man's belt kept them from interfering. A cop, a street person, not anyone else's business. Excepting, of course, the other players. BeBop was frozen in place, watching his friend try to bluff the detective. This was serious trouble.

Jim ignored BeBop and Hush, he was completely focused on Jazz, and on Sandburg's scent. "I want to see him, now."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Detective, but I'd suggest that you let go of me." Her face was stone, her words were ice, and Jim was losing his temper.

He grasped both of her upper arms, gave one good "I mean business" shake, and leaned down to emphasize his next words. "I am NOT playing games with you, lady. Kidnaping is a federal crime, and kidnaping my partner..." That sentence didn't need finishing. "So, you can take me to where he is, now, or I can take you to jail, charge you, and watch the Feds throw away the key."

She struggled against the punishing grip of his hands. "Sure, lock me up. That will help a lot..NOT. Look, this is not my decision, okay? If it were just my hidey hole, I'd take you there and find me a new one. But I am NOT going to betray my family, especially not to a cop." Jazz spat the word like a curse at the square jawed face so close to her own. "A bully of a cop at that! You're a big tough guy, Jim Ellison, you're hell on wheels against women a foot shorter and a hundred pounds lighter than you. Does Blair know you like to manhandle chicks like this?"

Stung, Jim loosened his grip a bit. He wasn't trying to hurt the girl, after all. But her words had covered the sound of someone coming toward him, a body stumbled and fell heavily against his back, and the detective staggered. It was BeBop, who had given his guitar to Hush and made her leave while Jim had all his attention on Jazz.

The younger woman had seen the whole thing, and when Jim faltered, she tore herself free and ran. The pair took off in opposite directions, and Jim swore. He could track her for a while, but she'd lost herself among the late afternoon pedestrians. He didn't dare open his sense of smell wide enough to sort her out from among them. Not without his Guide.

______________________________________________________________________

"You should have seen her!" BeBop enthused, telling Blair and the others about their adventure. "She looked that cop right in the eye and stared him down." he glanced over at Blair, and ducked his head, "I don't mean anything against your friend, bro, but the guy is HUGE and little ol' Jazz is just standing there, cool as a cuke, giving him static."

"Don't think I could do that with any giant goombah who wanted to pulverize me, BeBop. I wouldn't have been able to do it without Blair's help." Jazz said and their guest looked puzzled. "You've been telling us all along that he's a good guy, right? Well, a nice guy, who's built like that, he worries about hurting other people. Probably has been told to pick on people his own size too. I used that against him."

Blair nodded enthusiastically, unable to resist a good discussion of human behavior."Jim normally wouldn't lay a rough hand on a woman, unless she was resisting arrest or something. The fact that he grabbed you shows that he's under a lot of stress, Jazz."

"Don't I know it? The look in his eyes..." She shivered, "I wasn't looking forward to making him belt me one."

"What?" The anthropologist yipped, sitting upright with a grimace. "You're totally off base there. There's no way he would have hit you." "I know you think so, Blair, but you weren't there. You didn't see the look on his face. And I was deliberately pushing his buttons. Had to, I figured that hitting a woman would freak him out enough to make him let go." Jazz laid her bowl aside and stood up, pacing the room thoughtfully. "What I can't figure out is how he knew it was me. I wasn't singing or anything, so he couldn't have recognized my voice.. and there's no way the cops got a good description of me from that traced phone call." She looked suspiciously at Blair, who shrugged innocently. With a sigh, she let it go.

When Sonata shooed them out for the night, Blair kept Jazz back a minute. "I'm glad you got loose from Jim, Jazz. I know the secret is important to your family."

"It's more important than anything..except maybe saving some silly grad student knight in shining armor's life." She smiled down at him in the dim lamplight and Blair laughed with her, then got serious.

"What I wanted to say was, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that he scared you, and I'm sorry that I'm the cause of all this trouble for you guys."

"You just keep getting better. I'm sorry, too. I don't mean to keep putting your friend down. "

"You should hear my mother. Naomi is rabidly anti-establishment, and when she found out I was working with 'the pigs'..." He rolled his eyes and was pleased when she giggled.

She ran a hand over her hair and shook her head. "You guys, you and Jim, you're really close, huh?"

Blair nodded, and waited for the inevitable question, but she surprised him.

"That's good. The family you find for yourself...is he more mellow when he's not frantic over a missing roommate?"

Blair held up his hand, index finger and thumb about an inch apart. "A little. I'm working on him." and they laughed again.

"Well, keep it up. He looks like he can use all the mellow he can get. Goodnight, Blair."

"Sweet dreams, Jazz."

Blair was definitely feeling better by the next morning, getting up with Sonata's help and moving around the little room, taking care of his own personal needs. For the first time, he went past the curtain and discovered that the next room was large, with a few smaller rooms like his branching off of it. The interior looked like a space age room, all stainless steel except for the concrete floor. A big pot of stew sat almost constantly on the back burner of the stove, it smelled wonderful as he sat at the long table and sipped the mint tea Hush had brewed.

Her four year old twins were playing with battered dolls on a braided rag rug, their small yellow heads bent close to each other, and Hush was sewing at the other end of the table. She didn't speak at all, except when she had offered him the tea in a whisper, but her gentle smile was warm and friendly. Fascinated, he watched as a small shirt took shape in her skilled hands, one straight seam after another.

When Charlie came in from one of the recesses, she smelled like sunshine and wind, and a leaf was caught on her long white braid. She went immediately to the stove and warmed her thin hands at the burner in use , then poured her own tea and added a generous dollop of honey to it. Carefully stepping around the little "house" the twins were creating, she sat down next to Blair and spoke to him in her honest, unvarnished manner. "I think the warm weather be aheadin' out, these next few days, Best be thinking on getting you back, don't want you getting sick from being hurt and drenched in that cold rain we get."

"If Sonata will agree, I think so too." Jazz said from the entrance of another room. "We can't wait much longer, Blair."

He nodded, and Charlie smiled her gap toothed grin at him. "Sounds more harsh-like than we mean it, boy. Yer welcome, an' we don't regret you being here one bit. I'll miss seeing ya in there, an' talking with ya, but you got other people missin' ya too."

Putting his cup aside, and moving slowly because of his wound, Blair hugged the elderly woman, which pleased her greatly. He could tell, because she stood up and ruffled his hair, then headed back out without a word. In only a few days, he had learned that Charlie disliked sentiment, and had no patience with obfuscation of any kind. She was very much an Elder in her family.

"We'll need to arrange a meeting place with your friend, because Sonata's going to want you to go to a doctor first thing. I don't want you to have to walk too far, if Jim can pick you up." She Jazz groaned. "Which means I'll have to call him again. I don't know if I can do it." And she leaned against the table in exaggerated distress.

Blair got a mischievous glint in his eye. "Call him at home. He won't be expecting that."

"You think?"

"Jim really is Mr. Routine. If you've been calling him at work, I'll bet he won't have bothered to set up a home tap. Even if he has.."

"I won't be on long enough for it to matter." She gave him a speculative look. "You're helping me catch him off guard."

Blair shrugged eloquently. "It's good for him. And, I feel like I need to watch out for you too."

"You're a good friend, Blair Sandburg. I hope Jim Ellison appreciates you."

"After this? I'll bet the House Rules are relaxed for a month." Blair realized as he said it that, as charming as these people were, he wanted to be back at the loft. He wanted to be back with Jim. To go home.

"Great. We'll get Sonata to give the okay, call your partner with the plan, and get you the hell out of here." and the pair shook hands solemnly. Then Jazz helped him back to his couch.

___________________________________________________________

Jim sat alone in the loft, staring at a ball game he wasn't watching and holding a beer that had gone warm in the bottle. Simon had ordered him home, or at least out of the squad room, for at least twenty-four hours. When the phone rang, it took four rings for him to answer it.

"Yeah, Ellison."

"Detective, this is Jenn."

Jim sat up straight on the couch, phone clamped to his ear. "Jenn?"

"Detective...Jim. We need a truce here. Sonata is willing to let us move Blair, but not too far. He wants to get back to his life, and we want to help him do that."

"I'm listening."

"Okay, then." He heard her take a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Blair says that he'd trust you with his life. He's asking me to trust you with mine. Please...tomorrow evening, seven p.m. Do you know where Martin's café is? "

Jim nodded, then smiled to himself as he answered, "Martin's with the outside patio?"

"That's the one. We'll meet you there, Blair and I. Please come alone." She hesitated a minute."I KNOW you're going to set a trap, call the other members of your team and have them waiting to arrest me. Blair says that you won't. He can't walk there by himself, Jim. One of us has to be there." And then she sighed. "So I guess it will be me. I'll see you tomorrow evening."

"Jenn, wait!" He wanted to respond to the lack of hope in her voice, to the fear he heard underneath it, but words had never been his strength. Still, he tried to put it all into his voice. "Thank you."

"For helping him?"

"For not leaving me hanging, even after the traced call."

"What can I say, Detective? I'm too nice for my own good."

And the connection broke, was replaced by a buzzing sound. Jim punched the off button decisively, and tossed the phone onto the couch. He had plans to make.

Jazz returned to find the whole family gathered in the large outer room, lamps and candles burning all around. The twins were drowsing in Sonata's and their mother's laps, and BeBop was playing Bach on his guitar. Blair was sitting behind the long table, his eyes dark blue in the dim light, tiny echoes of flame shining gold in them. The triplets rippled from the street man's flashing fingers on the strings, and Blair was nodding in time to the music, a dreamy smile on his face.

With a smile of her own, Jazz slipped her recorder free of the loop on her braided belt and came in with the melody of the piece being played. She stood in the doorway and the soft piping slid along the waves of sound. When they had finished, Retro took over the guitar, and Hush handed Allegra to Jazz, took up her flute. Charlie told a handful of tall tales when they were tired, and Sonata spelled her with poetry, some recited from memory, some read aloud from a well thumbed volume.

Blair shook his head when Sonata paused. "I wish...I can't sing outside of the shower, and I don't play anything but drums. I know a couple of chants, I picked them up when I was on a study on Borneo. There's this village, where.." The others encouraged him with questions, and the anthropologist found himself contributing after all. Not with chants, but with the stories of his travels, the stories of the people he had met. Great respect and humour touched his tales, and he told them with endearing charm and enthusiasm. His listeners were fascinated, and it was late before they ended the evening and went to bed.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blair was relieved when they finally stood in a vacant lot, back out in the fresh air. The sun was just setting, and even the overgrown weeds had a richness to them as he looked around, his wound on fire.

Sonata was checking the bandages, shaking her head over the fresh blood seeping through. "You tore this open again, climbing the ladder. You should have let the boys carry you, Blair. Your friend is to take you to a hospital first thing. Do you understand me?"

Blair had NOT wanted to be carried up the escape hatch ladder of the abandoned bomb shelter, and he didn't want to delay his return. "I promise, right to the doctor." And he leaned forward, carefully hugged the older woman. "I don't know how to thank you, Sonata. You saved my life."

"You go on, child. You live your life, and you take care of your family. That's all the thanks anyone needs." She pushed the dark curls off his face for the last time. "Go on now."

"Jazz, I'll take him back." BeBop, then Retro stepped forward.

She frowned. "Don't be stupid. He's already seen me, and I don't think I have any current warrants out on me. Just because I'm a damn fool, I don't want you guys to be fools too. We're going."

Blair shook hands with BeBop and Retro, and Cha Cha kissed his cheek, then rubbed her scarlet lipstick off his skin with her thumb. Jazz stood waiting, and when he turned to go, he leaned heavily on her, his arm around her waist. He took a deep breath, and she grinned at him.

"You ready?" She asked, and he nodded.

"Not too fast, okay?"

"No problem. I'm not looking forward to this myself."

end part seventeen

Jim heard Blair before he saw him come around the corner in the fast falling twilight. He felt his Guide heading toward him, heard his heartbeat, and he was on his feet and moving toward Blair on pure instinct.

Sandburg looked good. He was clean, wearing an unfamiliar sweatshirt and his own jeans. He was obviously in pain as he moved slowly down the sidewalk, the slight figure beside him supporting his weight. But the big, open smile on his face was pure Blair. "Jim!"

"Chief." And the older man was there, his hands skimming over his partner's face and head, his shoulders, stopping at the bandage that smelled of fresh blood. He couldn't stop the grin that stretched across his own face when Blair grasped both of his forearms in a familiar "hey man, slow down" gesture.

"You gonna be okay from here, Blair?" Jazz asked her question quietly, observing the reunion with a smile of her own. There was love here, and commitment, and the kind of trust she only had with her own family. It was good to see.

Both men looked at her, and she met Jim's gaze squarely. "I kept my word, Jim. Our doctor told me to tell you, he needs to go to the hospital tonight. You don't want to risk any kind of infection on this sort of hurt."

"Jazz..." The young man and woman stared at each other for a long minute, then leaned in for a long embrace. "I.."

"Me too, Blair. I'll see you around." and her gray eyes flashed a question at Jim. To her surprise, and Blair's, the big man gently put an arm around her shoulders. He couldn't give her a proper hug without letting go of his Guide, and he had no intention of doing that. Still, a two armed hug might not have been as appropriate as the light embrace he gave her.

"Thank you, Jenn." The detective's voice was soft, and she responded with a smile of her own, a real smile.

"I'll see you around too, Jim."

Jim shifted Blair's weight onto his own shoulders, and she was gone, fading into the twilight.

Epilogue

A month later, Jim and Blair pulled up in front of St Anne's church. The Guide was almost back to normal, and his Sentinel was just starting to let up on his hovering protective stance.

"A bomb shelter, Chief? Under a church?"

"They don't know it's there anymore. Jazz told me that it was bricked up and behind plaster on the church side. There's an old bolt hole that they use to get in." He stared up at the stately old building. "I haven't seen any of them on the quad, Jim. Do you think they're still there?"

"I think they trusted you, Chief. They may be a bit less visible for a while, but they're there. I've got a good feeling about it."

And Jim pulled back out into traffic, and they went home.

The end.