Home     The Sentinel     Stargate SG-1     NCIS     Supernatural     SVU     Firefly    Awards

Glass Houses                      
by Kikkimax
 

At first appearance, Jake Kesler looked like a vagrant. His sandy blonde hair was a little shaggy, his face was clean shaven most of the time, but today he sported a day or two growth of beard. He hobbled down the hallway, using one crutch wearing worn jeans, used up boots, and a ragged Henley under his regulation camouflage field jacket, complete with KESLER sewn over one pocket and USARMY over the other. Stopping in front of apartment 307 he looked back down the hall and leaned his crutch against the wall before quickly picking the lock and ducking inside with his bag. After a second, he opened the door again to retrieve his forgotten crutch.

Ellison was gone, but he had already known that. He had seen him get into a beat up old Ford and drive away as he was coming up the street. Since he was too far away to be heard at the time, he hadn't shouted out to him but continued on his trek, and checked the address again just to make sure before letting himself in. Jimbo was not going to be very happy about the unexpected visit he was sure. But he needed a favor, and Ellison owed him. Owed him big time, and he was here to collect.

Kesler took a good look around, dropping his bag by the door and carrying the crutch in one hand. Stopping by the sound system, he noted that the CD's were not exactly what he thought Ellison would listen to. Smashing Pumpkins? Matchbox 20? Mozart? Certainly an odd collection. It had been a long time since he had seen Jim, and that was at the cop shop, not here. He checked the address again. This was it. Wait. There. Several Santana CD's were included in the eclectic mix. Ok, so maybe he was in the right place after all. Long unused training kicked in when he heard a noise coming from the room right off of the kitchen. He dropped his bulky frame silently behind the sofa and waited, reaching into a boot to draw out a large hunting knife.

From his hiding place all he could make out was a mop of curly brown hair as the occupant of the room shuffled down the hall, presumably to the bathroom and shut the door. A woman. Ellison had gotten married a few years back, or so Jake had heard, but he was sure that it wouldn't have lasted this long. Ellison could be one cold mother fucker when he wanted to and not a whole lot of women could actually deal with the silent type.

The toilet flushed and within a couple of minutes, the shower came on. Curiosity got the better of him, and Jake decided that he had to get a look at Ellison's woman. Creeping quietly towards the bathroom, Kesler stopped just outside the door and opened it a crack, once again catching sight of the luxurious hair and a tiny sliver of skin as a shirt was pulled off and thrown towards the hamper on the opposite wall. As Jake pushed the door open a little farther to get a better look, the object of his inspection reached an arm into the shower to test the water. A slightly hairy arm with well defined, male musculature.

"What the hell?" Kesler said as he forced the door open all the way. The young man jumped and looked around wild eyed for a weapon of some sort. As he reached for the plunger, Jake showed him the knife. "Don't even try it, boy," he murmured threateningly.

"What do you want?" the kid asked, setting his jaw in defiance. But his startling blue eyes betrayed fear to the man who knew fear so well, inside and out.

"What are you doing in this apartment?"

"I live here," came the surprised answer. "What do you want?" he asked again.

"I came to see Ellison," Kesler answered honestly.

The fear in the eyes remained, but the rest of the face was impassive. "Who?"

"You know who," Jake said with a feral grin. "So tell me what an uptight, ex-military, hardass cop like Ellison has to do with a pansy little fuck like you."

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" the kid replied as the fear disappeared completely from the expressive eyes.

Kesler smiled as he lowered the knife. "Hey, Jimbo. I didn't hear you come in," he said as he felt the cold steel barrel press against his temple.

"I guess not. Back up," Ellison growled. "You ok, Sandburg?" he asked the kid.

"Yeah," came the quick reply as the younger man grabbed a too big robe from the back of the door and slipped it on over his boxers. He followed as the other two men made a slow retreat from the tiny room. "Jim, who is this guy?" he asked.

"Jake 'the snake' Kesler. We, uh, served together," Jim said as he relieved his grinning prisoner of the knife and quickly patted him down for other weapons.

"Black ops?" Blair asked impulsively.

"You haven't trained your boy too well," Jake laughed keeping his eyes on Sandburg, amazed at the nervous energy that radiated from him. "Shh. We don't talk about black ops. We just say that we were in the army together."

"Shut up, Jake," Jim said impatiently as he put his gun away. "This is my partner, Blair Sandburg. Blair, Jake."

Blair nodded, but didn't take the outstretched hand. "Snake. That seems fitting. How'd you get in? What were you doing sneaking around out here?"

"No offense, kid. I saw the hair and figured you were Ellison's squeeze. I just wanted to get a peek."

"That's disgusting. I can't believe you just came out and admitted that," Blair said, repulsed by the nonstop leer from the raggedy man.

Jake grinned at Blair's discomfort and winked at him. Jim rubbed his face and sighed. "What do you want, Jake?" he asked wearily.

"I need a place to stay for a couple of days. I won't be any trouble, I swear. I'll sleep on the couch," Jake said.

"Sure," Jim answered tightly. "No problem."

"What?" Blair sputtered. "You know, if I'd have been a woman, or Carolyn for that matter, he might have..."

"No. He wouldn't have," Jim sighed again. "Make yourself at home," he said turning to his gloating houseguest.

Blair stared for a minute. He opened his mouth once to say something, but quickly closed it again. It was Jim's loft. He could invite anyone he wanted to to stay.

"I hope you know, you're running all the hot water down the drain," Jim said turning to Blair.

"Shit!" Blair exclaimed and darted back into the bathroom to shut off the water.

"Wow. He's got a lot of energy," Jake said, nodding towards the bathroom. "So what's the story with him? I don't exactly see you with pets."

"He's an anthropologist studying the social structure of the police force. He rides with me."

"I'll bet he does," Kesler smirked.

Jim frowned and leaned a little closer. "Jake, I'm only going to say this once. Don't fuck with Sandburg. If you do, I'll come down on you. Hard." Jim stared the man down with iced blue eyes. He grimaced as Jake gave in at last and used his crutch to retreat into the livingroom and settle on the couch.

"Whatever you say, Captain. I'd still follow you to hell and back. I won't mess with your little friend."

Jim moved to the kitchen to unload the groceries that he had just come back with. "Breakfast in fifteen minutes!" he called out, listening as the water came back on in the shower. He spared a small grin at the colorful language that his Guide used to describe the coldness of the water.

"How long you been in town?" Jim asked as he chewed his toast.

"Bout a week," Jake said before letting out a huge burp and pushing his empty plate away. He didn't offer any more information, but sat staring at Blair.

Blair looked up at him for a minute before returning his attention back to his own food, remaining uncharacteristically subdued.

"What's on your agenda today, Chief?" Jim asked, mostly to break up the uneasy silence that hung between the three of them.

"I need to go to the office for a while and catch up on some things. As a matter of fact, why don't I just stay there this weekend and you two can do some of that GI Joe, male bonding shit. Jake can sleep in my room," Blair offered, gesturing towards his room with his fork.

"No," Jim said quickly. "It's your room. Nobody's gonna kick you out of it. Not even for a weekend," he added, giving Jake the evil eye before he could accept the offer.

Kesler chuckled loudly. "Yeah, Chief. Jimbo don't want to spend anymore time alone with me than he absolutely has to."

"That's not true," Jim lied.

Blair's eyes got a little wider as he observed the interactions of the other men, but he didn't say anything. Kesler gave him the creeps, but Jim was adamant about him not staying at his office. So he once again concentrated on finishing his breakfast, his hair partially hiding his face from Jake's prying eyes as he kept his head down.

"Maybe we can get the kid drunk tonight and turn him into a man," Jake said suddenly. "Remember the old days when we'd get a cherry recruit and take him out to a bar and find the ugliest hooker..."

"The 'kid' is not a cherry, and he's a hell of a lot more of a man than you are," Jim answered hotly.

"Is that right?" Kesler challenged, rising out of his chair.

"That is right," Jim countered, standing as well, glaring back with venom in his eyes.

"Hey, guys! Chill out. Jeez, you can actually smell the testosterone in here. I'm leaving. Try not to kill each other while I'm gone," Blair lectured as he dropped his mostly empty plate off in the sink. He stopped at the door with a questioning gaze at his friend. Jim waved him on and took his own plate and Kesler's to the sink and began to fill it with water. "Later," Blair sighed as he left.

"Sorry," Jim muttered with his back to his unwelcome guest.

Kesler limped into the kitchen. "Well that was interesting. You're just a tad over the top when it comes to that kid, aren't you?"

"He's not a kid, he's almost thirty years old. What do you really want, Snake? I know you didn't just drop by for a visit. You only show up when you want something."

"Oh, you hurt me, Jim," Jake said holding his hand over his heart. Ellison shot him a dangerous look, so he dropped the antics. "I need a favor."

"No kidding," Jim deadpanned. "What else is new?"

"Greg Halstead is trying to kill me."

Jim narrowed his eyes and turned around to face the now serious man. "Why?"

"You know why. I'm an embarrassment. I don't fit the image of the elite force that we belonged to."

Jim gave him a look that clearly stated that he didn't believe him. "Bullshit."

Jake rolled his eyes before admitting the truth. "I pushed him for money, and he pushed back. He doesn't want me showing up on his doorstep anymore. I don't fit in with his new friends."

"I don't buy that either," Jim said shaking his head. "If Greg wanted you dead, you'd be dead. And I don't want you on my doorstep either, but here you are."

"I tried to blackmail him..."

"Kesler! I can't believe you!" Jim swore, slamming his hand down on the cabinet. "You know that I'm a cop. If you start confessing shit, I'll have to arrest you,"

"Poor choice of words, Jimbo," Jake backpedaled. "Emotional blackmail. That's not illegal, right? You'd really arrest me?"

"You can stay two days," Jim stated firmly. "Monday morning I want your ass out of here."

Blair poked his head in as he opened the door slowly. "Is it safe?" he asked jokingly, then noticed the unconscious form in the livingroom. "Damn, Jim. Did you knock him out?"

Kesler lay sprawled on his stomach on the couch, while Jim was busy in the kitchen starting dinner. "No, but it's not because I didn't want to," Jim confessed.

"Sorry I bugged out on you, man, but I did have a lot to do today. Is he really asleep?"

Jim tilted his head slightly and took in the prone man's vital signs. "Yeah, he's out cold."

"Ok, so what's the story here? You obviously don't care for the man. Why didn't you just kick him out?" Blair asked.

Jim shrugged and turned back to the chicken breasts that he was marinating. He looked... guilty.

"Name one redeeming quality that the guy has," Blair pushed.

"He doesn't snore," Jim smirked.

"Ok, that's one," Blair conceded. "Come on, Jim. What's really going on?"

"I owe him," Jim said at last, his face grim.

"You owe him?" Blair prodded carefully.

"He saved my life. And it pretty much cost him his." Jim turned and looked toward the sleeping man with a strange combination of admiration and disgust.

"That man? Jake the snake? Saved your life."

Jim nodded and picked up an all but forgotten beer off of the counter to take a swig. "He took a bullet for me."

Blair's mouth came open and he stared hard at the lump on the couch. Suddenly things took on a new light. "That's why he uses the crutch."

"Yeah. The bullet lodged in his spinal cord. He was paralyzed for a little while, but then it looked like he was going to be ok. Then his wife got pregnant and he went on a downhill spiral."

"I don't understand," Blair said.

"It, uh, also left him impotent. Couldn't have been his baby. He took it bad. Started drinking. I think there may have been some drug abuse. I mean I'm sure he was abusing prescription pain killers for a while."

"Oh, I see. But Jim, that's not your fault. I mean, the guy's an asshole. You can't tell me that he developed his whole personality just because he was shot."

"I know. I just try to help him out from time to time. I haven't seen him in a long time. Usually he just shows up at the station wanting money."

"So why does he want to stay with you now?"

"He thinks he needs protection. The dumbass thinks another old acquaintance of ours wants him dead," Jim snorted.

"But you don't think so," Blair surmised.

"No, I don't think so. The man that he thinks is after him would have already disposed of the body, and I guarantee that no one would ever find it. He's that good. Or he used to be. He's a businessman now, and a damned successful one."

The phone rang, and Blair snagged it on the first ring, not wanting to wake the 'guest'. Jim in turn snagged the phone from Sandburg. "Ellison," he said into the receiver, pushing away Blair's hand as he fought him for control of it, finally capturing his smaller friend in a headlock. Suddenly he stilled and dropped his arm. "We were just talking about you," he said quietly.

Blair backed out of Jim's grasp and grew solemn, waiting anxiously for the conversation to be over so that he could find out what was going on. Jim listened for a minute, looking from Blair to Kesler. "Ok, I'll meet you there," he said and hung up the phone.

"What?" Blair asked.

"That was Greg Halstead. He's looking for Kesler."

"Where are we going?"

"We are not going anywhere," Jim said. "You are going to stay here and baby-sit the snake while I go hear Greg's side of this little drama."

"You don't think this guy will try anything, do you?" Blair asked. "You said he was good. I assume you meant that he's good at killing people."

"Don't worry, Chief. I like Greg. And he's long since retired from that game. You've got the hard part. I'd let you come with me, but Jake would probably clean us out while we were gone."

Blair groaned, clearly not liking the idea of Jim going off alone to face this guy. "Ok. But be careful," he cautioned.

"Yeah, I will. You too." Jim stopped in the doorway and stared at Kesler briefly. Blair could handle him. No problem. He'd be fine, he told himself, but made a mental note to get back as soon as possible.

Jake woke up and rolled over, stretching sumptuously as he went. There was a delicious smell wafting around him as he struggled into a sitting position. The kid was in the kitchen taking something out of the oven. "Hey, you," Jake said. "What's your name again? Sandburg? Is that like Jewish or something?"

"Yeah, so?" Blair said deliberately as he sat the dish on top of the stove.

"What are you cooking?" Jake grabbed his crutch and made a beeline for the kitchen. "Smells good, let's eat, Chief."

"Jim will be back in a minute. Let's wait for him," Blair said, slapping Jake's hand away as he tried to pick a piece off of one of the breasts. "And don't call me Chief."

"Hey, you little faggot. Keep your hands off of me. I could gut you in about thirty seconds."

"No shit?" Blair mocked, placing his hands on his hips. "Why don't you? Go ahead." Jake studied the face intently. There was no sign of the earlier fear. The kid was tougher than he had given him credit for.

Jake laughed and retreated to the other side of the island. "Get me a beer. What kind of host are you, Chief?"

Blair rolled his eyes, but retrieved a beer from the fridge anyway and popped off the lid before handing it to the big man across from him.

"Jim said that you saved his life," Blair stated. "Thank you."

"What's it to you?"

"It's a lot to me. If you hadn't taken that bullet for Jim, then I wouldn't have him in my life now. He's a good man. A good cop. He's saved a lot of people, including me. So... thank you."

"Huh," Jake grunted uncomfortably. It had been a long time since anyone had thanked him for anything. Ok, it had been a long time since he had done anything thank worthy. Jim had said his thanks way back when. And he had meant it, but after all these years of manipulation and guilt, Jake thought that maybe Jim wasn't all that thankful anymore. "Well where is the good man now?" he asked sarcastically.

Blair just shrugged, knowing that Jim would tell Jake about going to see Halstead if and when he was ready for him to know. "He'll be back," Blair said as he went to the fridge and began pulling out the makings for a salad.

"What are you gonna do with all that rabbit food? You need some steak and taters. Eating that shit's probably what stunted your growth, shorty."

"I'm not short," Blair answered easily, looking up at the much taller man. "Just all of Jim's friends are mutants."

Jake boomed out a belly laugh, eliciting a small surprised smile from Blair. Jake hadn't seen too many real live smiles in a while, and this one was kind of nice. He realized why Jim kept the kid around. He grew on you.

"So what was Jim like when he was younger?" Blair asked as he began to wash the vegetables.

"Working kind of late for a Saturday, aren't you, Greg?" Ellison asked as he was ushered into Halstead's plush office.

"You don't get very far in my line of work without some serious overtime, my friend," Greg said as he rounded his large mahogany desk to accept Jim's outstretched hand. He used it to pull the detective in for a manly hug as he patted him on the back. "You know, we live in the same city and never see each other. You look good, Jim."

"Thanks, you too."

"Have a seat. Leslie, why don't you get us some coffee?" Halstead said to the secretary more or less to get rid of her. She smiled charmingly and left, closing the door behind her. The men sat next to each other in the visitor chairs in front of Greg's desk.

"So what's the deal with Kesler?" Jim asked without preface.

Greg groaned in reply and ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "He's gone off the deep end this time, Jim. I caught him in my house last week. Disability or no, he still got through my security. If I hadn't caught him myself, I don't know that my security staff would have."

"Yeah, he broke in on me this morning," Jim said. "He just about scared my roommate half to death," he added remembering the moment of fear he had had himself when he had returned home to realize that someone was in the loft, and had Sandburg cornered in the bathroom.

"The man is trouble. We've got to do something about him."

"Like what?" Jim asked suspiciously.

"I don't know exactly. I've placed some calls to the Veterans Administration. I thought maybe we could get him some help."

"Oh," Jim said thoughtfully, then chuckled slightly. "Jake thinks you're trying to kill him."

"What? And you believed him?" Greg asked, dumbfounded by the idea.

"Of course not, Greg. But he said that he tried to blackmail you. And what with your past..."

"Wait a damn minute, Ellison," Halstead said, jumping up from his seat. "Not now, Leslie," he barked at his secretary as she returned with the requested coffee. She turned on her heel and headed right back out the door without missing a beat, silently closing it behind her. "How dare you," Greg continued. "You know, you've got as many skeleton's in your closet as I do, Mr. Cop of the Year. They say that people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw rocks. I don't rely on my old job skills in my current work. Do you?"

"Sorry, Greg! I didn't mean to insinuate that you wanted him dead. Hell, I know he needs help," Jim placated. "What was he trying to blackmail you with? Or can you tell me?"

Halstead leaned on his desk as his indignation faded as quickly as it had come. "Nothing really. Just vague threats that if I didn't give him fifty thousand dollars that I would be sorry. I threw him out and told him that if he ever darkened my doorway again that I would kill him with my bare hands. I didn't mean it, Jim. I was angry. I'm sorry he's dragging you into the middle of this."

"It's ok. I'll handle it from here," Jim assured as he rose to his feet.

"Jim, you've paid whatever debt you think you might owe him. The man is unstable. Wash your hands of him," Halstead urged. "It's very liberating."

Jim nodded and shook his old friend's hand. "Join me for dinner?" Greg asked, his mood lightening considerably.

"Not tonight, Greg. I've got a feeling that I need to get home."

Tears streamed down Blair's face and his sides burned and ached. "Stop it, man. You're killing me," he ground out between sniffles.

"So then, we snuck around back and ol' Jimbo sets off a flash bang right under the bedroom window, yelling 'incoming' as he retreated..."

Blair burst out laughing again, in spite of his already abused intercostal muscles. He never would have thought of his anal roommate doing the things that Kesler claimed he did. He laughed anyway, vowing to ask about the veracity of the stories as soon as he could get Jim alone. Jake was a jerk, but he was a damned funny one.

"....so the naked general runs out into the street just about the time the Life photographer arrives..." Jake chuckled, dropping his crutch into the floor as he gestured wildly.

"Oh, man. You're lying," Blair accused as he stooped to pick up the wooden support with a dirty old towel wrapped around the pad.

"Jim has pictures. I swear," Jake said as he put a foot on the rubber piece on the end of the crutch to pop it up, not seeing that Blair was reaching for it at the same time. Blair's nose collided with the crutch as it came sailing upward.

"Ow!" Blair gasped as he pulled back and grabbed his face.

"Shit! I'm sorry kid, I didn't know you was gonna bend down like that. Nobody ever tries to help me when I drop the damned thing. Let me see."

"It's ok," Blair said, trying to pull away as the blood began to flow from his nose.

"Hold still," Jake ordered, catching his accidental victim by the hair at the back of his head to stop his escape. "Let me see," he said again. "Put your head back."

"No," Blair argued, "I don't want to have to swallow the blood."

Jake gently but firmly forced Blair's head back by pulling on his hair. He pushed Blair's hands away and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other hand, but Blair grabbed at his wrist with both hands.

"You're choking me," Blair complained. "Let me go."

"Say uncle," Jake teased just as the door burst open to reveal an angry, overzealous blessed protector.

"Get your hands off of him," Jim shouted loud enough to make Jake jump and relinquish his hold. Ellison moved forward quickly, ready to punch out the snake, but Blair caught his arm and hung on to it with his bloodied hands.

"It's ok, Jim," Blair soothed. "It was just an accident."

"Yeah, I know about Kesler's accidents," Jim growled as he grabbed the paper towels that Jake was unraveling from the roll. Handing them to his Guide, he gently pushed Blair's head forward and took up the pressure on the bridge of his nose, glowering at Kesler the whole time. "What were you trying to do? Drown in your own blood?" he grumpily asked Blair as he tried to calm himself down.

"It wasn't my idea," Blair grumbled back as he wiped at the blood off of his chin with the paper towels. "Jake, why don't you go sit at the table. Supper's ready," he added, mostly to get the man to stop staring at him like he was a puppy that he had just kicked.

"I want you out," Jim said as Kesler moved towards the table.

"Jim, it was an accident. He didn't hurt me on purpose. Don't kick him out because I was clumsy. That would just make me feel bad."

Jim sighed for what seemed like the hundredth time since Jake's arrival. "Monday then," he said, rubbing the back of Blair's bent head, as he continued to apply gentle pressure to his nose. "Early Monday morning."

Kesler took in the scene with a great deal of interest. He had seen Jim like this one other time, but he remembered it like it was yesterday. When he had been shot, Jim had held him in his arms, whispering encouragement and trying to hide his fear. It was the only time he had ever seen Ellison afraid. Jim had tried to show support in the early days, but Jake had been too stubborn to accept his pity, and through the years, Ellison had grown cold. Now he watched as the iceman gave such tender compassion so easily to this uninhibited bundle of energy. Snake frowned as he seated himself at the table, an unfamiliar twinge in his gut, knowing that he was capable of neither giving nor receiving such attention.

"Well, not that you ladies aren't fine company," Jake said as he rose from the table, "but I feel the need for a little female companionship. Got any ideas?" he asked. "Oh that's right, Officer. You wouldn't know anything about anything like that. Maybe I'll go down to the library instead." Kesler laughed at his own joke as he grabbed his jacket and let himself out.

"I thought you said he was impotent," Blair said as soon as the door was closed.

"He is. He just talks a good game. I'm sorry I left you alone with him, Chief," Jim apologized sincerely.

"I'm not gonna lie, Jim. The man has issues, but he tells a good story." Blair smiled knowingly as Jim helped him clear the table. Jim stopped dead in his tracks and turned back to the smug anthropologist.

"What kind of stories?" Jim asked guardedly.

Blair shrugged with a grin. "Oh, you know. About bar fights and hangovers and naked generals," he said.

"Oh no," Jim murmured and closed his eyes briefly. "Listen, when I first met Kesler, I'll admit, I was a little wild. We went through Ranger school together, and I was young and dumb. Then a couple of years later, Kesler was assigned to my unit. He still wanted to play games and pull stupid stunts and I didn't. So we sort of grew apart."

"I can see that," Blair agreed.

"Kesler ended up with several article fifteens and damned near a court martial. It's a wonder he never got kicked out of the army. He was good at his job, but not great. I worked with a lot of men who were much better than him. He was undisciplined and lazy. It nearly got him killed more times than I can count."

"So how did he get shot?"

Jim motioned for Blair to join him at the table. When they were seated, his expression darkened and he started to talk uneasily, folding and unfolding his hands in front of him. "We were in this fire fight, doesn't really matter where. I couldn't tell you even if it did. It was dark and I got separated from the rest of my squad. A rebel soldier jumped me and we started fighting hand to hand just over the ridge from the action. I lost my weapon and was flat on my back on the ground. The other guy picked up my gun and was aiming it at me when Kesler came charging over the hill. I don't know how he knew I was in trouble, but he threw himself between me and the gun just as it went off.

"He turned and looked at me with the oddest expression of fear and surprise. Almost like he had actually believed up until that moment that he was bullet proof. I'll never forget it. Everything happened at once. He fell on top of me and I grabbed his weapon and shot the enemy before he could fire again. But it was too late for Jake.

"I tried to help him after he got out of the hospital, you know, to be there for him, but he didn't seem like he wanted me around after his medical discharge. Then when his cheating wife got pregnant, he acted like he thought that it was me because he couldn't figure out why else I was always hanging around. But the baby's real father confessed and married Jake's ex-wife right after the divorce, even though Jake begged her to stay and raise the baby as his.

"I lost track of him for a while after I went to Peru, but he eventually found me again. Said he used his covert ops training to locate me, but I'm pretty sure he just looked me up in the phone book. He was never as good at the secret stuff as he thought he was. Now he drops in whenever he wants something. He has a way of saying that his screwed up life is my fault, without really saying the words." Jim ended with an embarrassed grin, surprised how much he had gotten out without being interrupted by his talkative roommate.

Blair nodded grimly. "Wow, no wonder you do guilt so well. You've had lots of practice."

Jake eyed the woman hungrily, not bothering to hide his lust, even though he knew he couldn't back it up.

"You are worthless," the woman accused. "I hired you for a job, and it's still not done. You couldn't do it yourself so you thought you could talk that cop into doing it for you. But still, Gregory Halstead continues to draw breath." She paced around the trashy motel room in her designer suit, yet not so very far out of place as she took a long drag off of her cigarette.

"It's just going to take time," Kesler said at last, unscrewing the lid off of a bottle of JD and taking a swig.

"I don't have time. That son of a bitch is getting ready to take over my company. If I can get rid of him, I can rally enough support to save my business. I want him dead and soon."

"I need some information," Kesler said as though he hadn't heard her. "See what you can find out about Blair Sandburg, Ellison's roommate."

The woman pulled out a pad and wrote down the name. "I'll see what I can do. But you've got less than a week. If Halstead's not dead by Thursday, you will be. Got that?"

"Got it," Jake said with a doubtful smirk, playing the part of the fearless merc to the hilt.

"Good," she said and slammed the door as she left.

Jake banged loudly on the loft door at a quarter to three, reeking of alcohol, which Jim could smell practically from his bed. He answered the knock with a grimace as the odor almost did him in. Under the predominant smell of hard liquor and Jake's particularly foul body odor, Jim detected perfume. He tried not to imagine what perverse kind of pleasure Kesler might find with a prostitute and turned without a word to go back to bed.

"Night, Jimbo," Jake drawled as he headed directly for Sandburg's room.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Jim asked trotting to catch up with the besotted man and head him off before he could disturb Blair.

"I just want to say 'night to the kid. Maybe tell him a bedtime story. He listens real good," Jake answered, stopping to look over his shoulder at his old buddy, registering Jim's response calculatedly.

"Damn it, Snake. Why are you taking such an interest in Sandburg? Is it just to piss me off?"

"Not at all," Jake slurred. "I like him. Maybe if I had ever been able to have a kid, he might have turned out like that one."

Jim didn't miss the slam, and he didn't quite believe that Jake wasn't just pushing his buttons, having already figured out that he had a protective streak towards Sandburg. "Let him sleep. Lay down on the couch or get the hell out," Jim told him evenly.

"You really do care about him don't cha? Maybe he's the kid you never had," Jake pondered drunkenly. "I need to think about that."

"Think about it on the couch," Jim ordered.

Kesler dropped his crutch as he wheeled around and stumbled the last several feet to the couch. He hit it with a grunt and passed out almost immediately. Although the afghan was within arms reach, Jim didn't bother to cover him up. Instead he climbed the steps to his bed, stopping at the top to listen, just to make sure the man was really out.

Jim was up first, though in no way could it be construed as early. He hadn't been able to go back to sleep for a while after his rude awakening in the middle of the night. Kesler had always had a way of making him feel uncomfortable. Something that Jake reveled in, knowing just how far to push him before backing off. And now he was using Sandburg as a weapon against him. Ordinarily, Jim would have just acted like it didn't bother him, but Jake had already made the connection, and he was using it for all he was worth. Jim made coffee as he tried to determine what lengths Kesler would actually go to to make him feel bad. But enough was enough, and the fifteen plus years already served was all that Jim could stomach. He decided to take Greg's advice and wash his hands of Jake Kesler.

The smell of coffee roused the sleepyhead from the bedroom, but did nothing to spur the mound hunkered down on the couch. "Hey," Blair greeted drowsily as he came through his door already dressed.

"Did you sleep in your clothes?" the detective asked with a lifted eyebrow at the rumpled appearance of yesterday's shirt and jeans.

"Yeah," Blair admitted sheepishly. "After listening to all the mean things that you and Jake used to do to innocent people who were just trying to sleep, I decided to play it safe."

"You know I would never let him do anything to you, don't you?" Jim asked, a little hurt that Blair thought he might let Kesler harass him.

"I know. But he is kind of sneaky. I just don't trust him," Blair said as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

"I take back what I said about you being naïve," Jim teased.

"He's a lost cause, isn't he?" Blair asked tentatively as he leaned against the counter, cup in hand.

"I'm afraid so," Jim answered softly. "Even if he had never been shot, I think that he would have ended up as a mercenary, or worse."

"Not snoring isn't really much of a redeeming quality. Is it?"

Jake slept until early afternoon, then, after raiding the refrigerator, he made a lame excuse and left the loft to meet with Ms. Godwin again.

"You're late," she berated him as soon as he let himself into the ratty room.

"Did you get what I asked for?" he grunted.

"Here," Godwin said, shoving a handful of papers towards him, careful not to touch him.

Kesler read over the printouts as he dropped down to sit on the bed.

"So, the cop agreed to kill Halstead? That must be some debt that he owes you."

"Hmm? No. He won't do it. I should have known better," Jake admitted.

"You're wasting my time," Godwin declared and grabbed her purse and headed for the door.

"Wait! Wait a damn minute," Jake said positioning himself in front of the door. "I'm working on another angle. The kid is the key."

"Sandburg? How?"

"See, Ellison is real protective of the kid. All I've got to do is figure out a way to use Sandburg to get Jim to do the deed."

"He really cares about him?"

"Yeah, it's kind of strange."

"So kill the kid instead and frame Halstead. Even if Ellison does seek revenge, it'll get Halstead out of my hair long enough to save my business."

"Kill Sandburg?" Jake asked. The thought bothered him a lot more than he thought it would. It was harder and harder to think straight these days.

When Kesler returned to the loft, Blair was gone and Jim invited him into the livingroom for a beer.

"This doesn't bode well for me, does it?" Jake asked as he took the offered beer and sat glumly in the middle of the couch.

Jim sat in a chair and cleared his throat. "I need to talk to you, Jake. Man to man."

"Here it comes. Do you know how many times I've heard this speech over the years?" Jake asked with a whine to his voice. "It goes like this: Look, I know that we were friends and all, but I don't want you coming around anymore. Or If I see you hanging around my place, I'll call the police. Or, my favorite so far, If I ever see you again, I'll kill you with my bare hands. I never expected it from you though, Jim. I always thought that I could count on you no matter what. I always thought that you were a stand up guy."

"Jake, you're a user. I know that. I've always known that. It's got to stop. I've bent over backwards for you for years..."

"Because you felt guilty," Jake accused acidly.

"Yes, partly," Jim admitted. "But also out of gratitude, and friendship. I never turned my back on you. Not in the early days, and not when you became such a huge pain in the ass. But I have nothing left to give you. In the last ten years, all you've done is take from me. You stopped being a friend a long time ago. And I've had all of the one-sided relationships that I intend to have in this lifetime. I'm sorry. We're through."

"You're just going to kick me out? Knowing that Halstead will kill me."

"Stop being paranoid. Greg is not trying to kill you. This is the real world, not covert ops," Jim ground out. "I went to see him..."

"You what?" Jake asked in shock, suddenly very angry.

"He called here yesterday. I met him at his office.

"You went to the enemy behind my back?" Kesler exploded, coming off the couch and plowing into Jim as he sat in the chair. It overturned, sending both men sprawling to the floor. A short struggle ensued, with Jim quickly ending up on top. He pinned Kesler easily.

"Calm down, Jake!" he whispered urgently. "Calm down and I'll let you go."

"You son of a bitch. I can't believe you turned on me. I'll get even with you, Captain. I will if it's the last thing I ever do. You'll pay," Jake sobbed, shuddering beneath Jim's hands.

"Please, Jake. Settle down. You need help. Let's go over to the Veteran's hospital, get you checked out. You've been out on the streets too long. It's time for you to stop running."

"You don't understand," Jake cried. "Nobody understands." His whole body shook as he cried out his anger and his pain. Jim tried to console him as best he could without actually releasing his hold. After some time, the man tired sufficiently that Jim felt it was safe to let go. Kesler pulled away and crawled over to rest against the couch where he sat without speaking for a long time, wiping his runny nose on his shirtsleeve.

"I'm sorry," Jim said at last, knowing that it was inadequate, but sticking to his guns.

"You were always better than me," Jake hissed through clenched teeth. "You always had to be the good guy, do the right thing. And now.... now you've got everything and I have nothing."

"I don't have everything," Jim objected. "How can you say that?"

"Sandburg thanked me for saving your life," Jake whispered after several long moments of silence. "You have no idea what that made me feel like."

"No, I don't," Jim said, clearly confused as to the turn of the conversation. "Tell me."

"He made me feel like such a fraud. His sincerity, those trusting eyes. Have you ever noticed that you can see his soul right through his eyes?"

Jim stiffened. He didn't like wherever it was that Jake seemed to be headed. "Why do you feel like a fraud? You did a brave thing."

Jake sobbed again for a minute before finding the words to continue. "I almost believe that myself. But deep down inside, I know better," Jake rambled.

"I don't understand."

"Captain Ellison, I didn't save your life on purpose," Kesler said with a clarity that Jim had not heard from him in years.

"What do mean?" Jim asked, concerned by the sudden formality. "You're not making any sense here, Jake."

Kesler laughed a hollow, mirthless laugh. "I was scared. I was running away from the action. I didn't know that you were there. It was my own stupidity that got me shot when I stumbled into the path of that bullet. I was a coward then, and I still am. You're right. I did use you. I used you up just like I did everyone else in my life. I don't have any connections, Jim. I haven't seen my family in years, and I ain't got any children. I don't have anything to offer a woman, so I never tried again after losing Cybil. I've spent my life wandering from one old army buddy to the next, until they tire of me and throw me out. And these days, it don't take a hell of a long time to wear out my welcome. I don't have anywhere else to go. I don't have anyone."

Jim sat for a minute and tried to assimilate the information. Although the confession astonished him, it did nothing to ease his feelings of culpability. Regardless of the situation, the bullet that ended Jake's military career was meant for him. No matter how unappealing the snake's personality, his body had absorbed the devastating blow, and Kesler paid the price every single day.

"Do you know how awful it is to be completely alone in the world?" Jake asked with a small, sad voice, one last tear finding it's way down his ruddy cheek.

"I can't imagine anything worse," Jim agreed.

Blair knocked softly on the door as he opened it and peeked into the loft. Once again, Jake was resting on the sofa, this time with an arm thrown across his face, his grungy boots on the cushions. The lights were dim, and everything seemed eerily still. Although the furniture had been set back into place, Blair could tell there had been some type of struggle.

"In here," Jim said quietly from Blair's bedroom door. "Sorry, I just wanted to give him a little space, but I didn't want him in your room," Jim explained as Blair joined him.

"I guess it didn't go too well?" Blair asked with concern as he sat cross-legged on the bed. Jim took a seat on the foot of the bed, but didn't answer right away. Blair glanced at the cover of the anthropological journal that Jim was paging through. "A little light reading?" he teased to lighten the mood.

"For you maybe," Jim grinned. He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

"I especially enjoyed the article on the correlation of myopia and intelligence," Blair pointed out.

"What?" Jim asked looking at the cover for a clue.

"Nerds wear glasses."

"Oh," Jim said. He sighed and after a minute of reflection returned to Blair's original question. "No, Jake didn't take our little talk too well. Damn, that was hard."

"I know," Blair said. "I'm sorry. For both of you. What's he going to do?"

"I'll buy him a bus ticket back to Ohio in the morning. He has some family there. He's going to buckle down and try to do something with his life. Or so he says."

Blair nodded, but his doubt was as clear as Jim's.

"He likes you," Jim said with a touch of awe. "How do you do that? I mean, it's not natural. I can see you winning over one hard headed ex-covert ops prick, but two?"

"Two?" Blair asked with a smirk. "Who's the other one? You? Oh, so you finally admit that you like me," Blair baited.

"Don't push your luck," Jim said, turning his attention back to the magazine.

"You like me! You really like me!" Blair taunted in a good Sally Field imitation.

Jim rolled up the magazine and moved in for the kill just as Jake appeared at the door. "I hate to interrupt," he said flatly. "I was just wondering, what's for dinner?"

Monday passed quickly, and evening found Blair at his desk trying to finish up the last few essays that he needed to grade. He swore under his breath that someday he would cave and go to multiple choice tests, but he knew in his heart that he never would. Since he had worked on them Saturday and then again on Sunday when he had left so that Jim could talk to Jake, he was almost through. It would be nice not to have papers to grade hanging over his head for a change. Jim was on a stakeout with Brown, since Rafe was on vacation, so Blair wasn't in a big hurry to get home to an empty loft. He was thankful however that Jake wouldn't be there, not that he really disliked the man, but the big guy did make him nervous. Dinner last night had been the worst. Although Jake didn't say anything at all while they were eating, he had watched Blair continuously. Eventually Jim had commented on it, not exactly kindly, and Kesler had stopped.

Lost in thought, Blair jumped as a movement caught his eye. "Jesus Christ! Jake, what are you doing here?" he swore as the snake swooped down on him with an unwelcome hug. Blair shook himself free and moved away, noticing that the crutch was nowhere to be seen, and that Jake was wearing a knit cap and gloves as if he were cold.

Kesler laughed. "I just wanted to see where you worked. Not a problem is it?"

"No," Blair lied, sitting back at his desk. "I thought Jim dropped you off at the bus station this morning."

"He did," Jake shrugged. "I just wasn't ready to leave yet."

"Oh," Blair raised an eyebrow, trying to remember the exact location of his cell phone in case he needed it. "Where's your crutch?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Kesler shrugged with a grin. "I don't really need it. It's just a prop for when I visit my chums. It helps to stir up things."

"Oh, so the crutch was just a ... crutch. That's the saddest thing I've ever heard. You really are manipulative, aren't you?"

"Jim tells me that you're a bastard," Jake said conversationally, shoving the remaining ungraded essays out of the way and sitting on top of Blair's desk.

"He didn't say that," Blair said acrimoniously as he glared up at the man once again staring at him with a predatory glint in his eyes.

"No, he didn't use the word. He just said that your momma was a whore and that she didn't have any idea who knocked her up. But that does make you a bastard, right?"

Blair held his tongue. He wanted to get Jake out of his office as soon as possible, but was determined not to let him get another rise out of him. "What can I do for you, Jake?" he asked coldly.

"Bleed," Jake answered, almost with remorse.

Blair looked up quickly as he saw the light bouncing off the blade in Kesler's hand. He threw up an arm to protect his face and heard the soft splat of his blood hitting the shelf behind him at the same instant he felt the burn in his forearm. He cried out involuntarily as he fell backwards out of his chair to the floor. Jake was on him in an instant, resting the knife tip just below his left ear. Blair stared into Jake's face, panting rapidly, unable to tear his eyes away. Kesler's hand shook, and his face was a perfect mirror of Blair's fear.

"Why?" Blair managed, grasping at the wound on his arm. "Are you hurting me to get back at Jim?" He watched as Jake stared at him for several long minutes, anger, concern, then resolve crossing the big man's features as he battled some internal conflict.

Suddenly Blair was wrenched from the floor by his shirt and roughly turned around, his back held against the large chest. The knife clattered to the floor and beefy arms circled his chest and neck and slowly began to squeeze. "This is a sleeper hold," Jake explained. "It's kind of painful, but doesn't cause any permanent damage. Usually."

Blair fought for breath against the crush of the arms locked around him. Slowly his vision began to gray. Blood continued to drip and splatter from his arm as he struggled against the grip of the mountain of a man that held him. As he lost the battle for oxygen, he slumped against Kesler, who lowered him gently to the ground.

Jake had already visited Halstead's limo, and found the bag that Greg always kept there for emergency out of town meetings. It provided Kesler with enough evidence for the desired set up. Jake took a baggie from his pocket and dropped the pieces into place; a jacket button, a select few dark and gray hairs, and a business card. Perhaps not sufficient for a conviction, but certainly enough to send Ellison in the wrong direction. However, the most damning evidence would not be found, for Jake couldn't bring himself to leave the body.

Jake took off Blair's outer most shirt and punched it full of holes with the knife before wrapping it loosely around the wounded arm until it was saturated with blood, then dropped it to the floor with a wet plop. He tied his own bandana around the arm, tight enough to stem the flow and keep the edges approximated. He walked around on the bloody floor briefly in Halstead's stolen shoes, just enough to leave good quality prints for a few yards. Putting his own jacket on Blair, he hoisted the limp body over his shoulder and made his way stealthily back to the parking lot where a stolen car waited, dumping the shoes in the bushes on the way.

Jim's cell phone rang, and he lowered the binoculars that he wasn't actually using to answer it. Brown reached over and took them without a word and went back to watching the small house across the street. Both men were bored, and Brown was long past trying to bring Ellison out of his funk.

"Ellison," Jim said into the phone.

"Jim, take Brown and get over to Sandburg's office," Simon said in a rush. "Apparently there's been some kind of trouble."

"H, we've got to go to Blair's office," Jim relayed, not waiting for an explanation to get the car in motion.

Brown dropped the binoculars and turned the key in the ignition without question.

"What happened?" Jim asked Simon fearfully.

"I don't know yet, I'm on my way over there now. The security guard found some blood, but he couldn't find Sandburg. When he called it in, the dispatcher recognized the name and notified me."

"Step on it, Henri," Jim stated, wishing that they had taken his truck instead of Brown's sedan on the stakeout.

Blair woke slowly and felt a dull throbbing in his arm and noted the large dressing there. He was lying on a cushion or seat of some type, covered by a familiar afghan. He knew it by touch from many nights huddled under its comfort. It came from the couch in the loft.

"You were out for a long time," Jake's voice said, very close by as he lit a match and touched it to a candle to throw a small circle of light around the two of them. Blair realized that they were in the back of an old VW van as he squinted his eyes to look around. "I thought maybe I squeezed you too hard or something."

"That's my candle," Blair said distractedly as the soft scent of vanilla reached his nose. "And this is Jim's afghan."

"Yeah, I borrowed a few things while you guys were at work today."

"Why did you cut me?" Blair asked softly.

"It's not too bad, considering that I went to your office to kill you. But it'll all work out. With all that blood, Jim will think you're dead."

"He won't fall for it," Blair advised, shaking his head. "Why didn't you kill me?"

"I got to thinking how nice it would be to have somebody to hang out with. I just don't want to be alone anymore, you know. I need a friend."

"Why me? Why not Jim? He's your friend."

"Because Jim can kick my ass," Jake snorted. "Besides, me and Jim have too much history. It's better to start new."

"Oh," Blair said with a sigh.

"Yeah, I never would have been able to kidnap Jim. He was always better than me. Stronger, smarter," Jake said with a touch or resentment in his voice. "Now I have the one thing that he wants. Don't take it so hard, little fellow. I like you. You like me, too. Right?"

"Well, uh, like is a strong word. But I don't dislike you, exactly," Blair hedged.

"And besides, I always wanted a son and couldn't have one, and you being a bastard, never had a father, I figured it would work out," Jake rambled.

"This is crazy," Blair stated. "You're a few fries short of a happy meal."

"You know what's crazy?" Jake asked in a conspiratory tone. "Telling the guy who didn't kill you because he wanted to be your father figure that he's crazy. That's crazy."

Blair thought about Jake's words for a minute. "Good point, Dad."

"That's better," Jake smiled. "Now we wait and see if my plan works. If it does, I collect fifty thousand dollars and we take off for Mexico."

"Oh, good," Blair replied as he pulled the afghan up over his shoulder to ward off the sudden chill. "I'm so glad you thought this out."

"I know it looks like a lot of blood," Brown consoled. "It's just spread around, that's all."

Jim ignored Henri's attempts to comfort him and kept probing the carnage, pointing out another hair to the forensic team. After two days close quarters with the snake, he could easily smell him in the room. He had no physical proof of Jake's presence, and supposedly, Jake was on a bus back to Ohio. And the footprints were made with steady, equal steps, not by someone with a definitive limp. Still, Jim was convinced that Kesler was to blame for Blair's injury and disappearance. It was a set up, and not a very convincing one.

Serena had already told them that Blair's shirt was not being worn at the time the holes were punched in it. The tears on the front and back matched perfectly, which would have been impossible if there had been a body between them. And as Brown had noted, the blood was wide spread, but all in all, not nearly enough to conclude that someone had bleed to death. On top of all that, the Sentinel felt his Guide, and knew that he was not dead.

Simon finished talking to the security guard who had found the mess, and carefully entered the blood splattered office. "Jim, who would do this?" he asked.

"Jake Kesler," Jim said with certainty. "He was staying at the loft this weekend. I knew he was troubled, but I had no idea that he would try to hurt Blair."

"Is he a student?" Simon asked.

Jim shook his head ruefully. "No, he was in the service with me. He drops by every now and then. He's a real head case. This is my fault. I should have kicked his ass out the minute he showed up."

"What about the business card? Who is Greg Halstead?"

"He's an old friend, too. I'm guessing that Jake tried to set this up to look like Greg killed Blair."

"That doesn't make any sense," Simon argued. "What does he have against Halstead?"

"I'm not exactly sure, but somewhere in his twisted mind he thinks that I'll go after Halstead now. So maybe that's exactly what I should do."

"I have to leave you for a while," Jake said as the first rays of sun breached the dirty windshield. The back windows were already covered, and Jake pulled the curtain that separated the back of the van from the cab, shutting out the sun. "I'm sorry about this," he added as he produced a pair of handcuffs and forced Blair's good arm up over his head to secure it to the rail under the folded down seat that he was laying on.

Blair felt stiff and sore, and his mouth was dry, so he didn't bother to answer. Jake pushed his bag towards him. "The stuff you packed for me for the bus ride is in there. Help yourself," he said, pulling out a bottle of water and opening it for his prisoner, placing it into Blair's hand. Blair just looked at it, since he couldn't really move either arm. Jake jumped out of the van in a haze, never noticing his predicament.

"Jake! Wait! I can't reach it," Blair called after him, but got no response as the door slammed shut. With a great deal of effort, Blair bent his bandaged arm to drink the water, feeling the wound open as he did. Fresh blood quickly soaked the already dirty dressing, so Blair pressed the arm to his chest to try to slow the bleeding. "Shit," he murmured, quickly drinking the whole bottle since the damage was already done. "There's never a cop around when you need one. Come on, Jim. I need you."

"I didn't think that you could pull it off," the woman said with a satisfied smile. "Here you go. Fifty thousand dollars." She tossed the satchel towards the gloating man. "Now get lost. I don't ever want to see you again."

"I know," Jake said with a grunt. "I get that a lot. How did Ellison kill him?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him, as he opened the leather pouch and thumbed through the money.

"Snapped his neck, or so I hear. Ellison has already been arrested."

"Oh. I'm surprised they got him," Jake said wistfully.

"Apparently, he turned himself in," the woman supplied.

Jake nodded and moved to the door. "That sounds like something he would do," he simpered, suddenly sad that he had had to break the man who had stood by him for so long. He felt no compassion for Halstead though. He had had it too easy for too long. It had made him soft.

When Kesler shut the door behind him, Claudia Godwin sat down in the dingy chair next to the bed. "Here he comes, boys. He has the money." She sighed as she waited for the officer to come and take her back downtown. Someday she would learn patience. This was an expensive lesson. Never try to hire an undercover cop to knock off your failed hitman. At least with the plea bargain, her hard time would be done in a nicer prison.

Dumb luck had dropped Godwin into their laps, Jim reflected as he watched Kesler leave the motel. Blair's unbelievable luck stuck again. If it held, they would have him back within the hour. And Jim would take the snake apart, piece by piece. Stepping away from the surveillance truck, he stayed back a little as he followed his old pal, sans crutch, down an alley, through a junkyard, and down a ravine to a deserted overpass. He directed the rest of the task force via radio.

Jake disappeared into a rusty old van painted with flowers and a rainbow parked under the bridge. Jim knelt down behind an old washing machine and listened intently. Blair was in the van, and he was alive, but injured. Jim allowed the briefest moment of thanks, then moved closer as the team fell into place around him.

"Damn it, Sandburg," Jake groused. "How'd you make your arm bleed again?"

"It's not like I like to bleed," Blair answered gruffly, but sounding shaky.

"Good news," Jake continued happily as he undid the cuff and allowed Blair to pull his arm back to his chest with a groan. "Jim took out Halstead for us."

"I don't believe you." Blair made a fist and worked small circles in the air to reestablish the blood flow to his hand before clasping his other forearm tightly.

"Really, he did. See?" Kesler said dumping the cash onto the bloodstained floor by the seat.

"You're insane," Blair stated weakly, too tired to play the game. "Why would he do that?"

"Because I am a master at manipulation. I set it up to look like Halstead killed you. And Jim fell for it."

"You're a wannabe," Blair slurred. "You can't fool Jim, and even if you did, he wouldn't kill anybody."

"Shut up," Kesler growled. "I can still kill you."

"And then you'll be alone. That's what you're afraid of, isn't it? Being alone?"

"Jake!" Jim's voice came from outside of the van. "You're surrounded. Come on out. Let Sandburg go."

"I told you so," Blair sighed, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Get up," Jake ordered abruptly, pulling Blair up by his damaged arm, inducing an involuntary cry of pain. "I'll kill him, Ellison. Then we'll both be alone." He began to shake fiercely, his resolve to fight crumbling with his sanity. He pulled a gun from his jacket and cracked open the door, blindly firing one round out of it.

"You've got no way out, Jake. Give yourself up," Jim countered. "If you fight, you'll end up dead."

"And that's a bad thing?" Kesler wailed, pulling Blair into his chest. "Who would care?"

"I would," Blair said trying to pull away enough to see Jake's face. "Jim would, too. Don't do this, Jake. Please."

"They'll shoot me anyway."

"No they won't. We'll walk out together. They won't shoot me."

"I'm so tired, Chief," Jake said softly. He dumped the ammunition out of the gun into the floor of the van. "I want a military funeral. Ok?" he said locking eyes with Blair for the last time, never understanding in his own mind what went wrong.

"That's suicide, Jake. Don't do it!" Blair pleaded. As Jake opened the door, Blair threw his arms around the bigger man's neck, ignoring the pull as the wound once again opened and a steady stream of blood seeped through the already saturated dressing, large droplets falling all around.

Losing his bravado, Jake clutched Sandburg to his chest with one arm and waved the empty gun around with the other. He turned in circles under the bridge, taking in the huge police presence and firepower aimed at them. "I'll shoot him!" he barked. "I want a car! Right now!" He pulled Blair along, clearing the bridge and moving towards the black and whites that were parked down the road, blocking it off.

"They'll never let you leave with Sandburg," Jim shouted, popping up into view a few yards away, his empty hands up and away from his body. "Let him go, Jake. He never did anything to you. Take me instead."

"The gun is empty," Blair whispered, twisting in Jake's hold so that he could see Jim, knowing that Jim would hear him and understand. Before Jim could react, Blair felt the jar as the sniper's bullet passed through Jake's head, almost a full second before he heard the report of the rifle. The impact sent a spray of blood, bone, and brain in front of them, driving Jake forward, his massive frame crashing down on top of his hostage. Blair's head bounced off the pavement once and knocked him out, sparing him the gruesome scene.

Jim clutched his ears and fell to the pavement as the echo of the weapon firing bounced down the ravine. Lurching back to his feet, he shook off the ringing inside his head and sprinted to Blair. With a grunt he rolled the lifeless body off of his Guide and pulled him away from the mess and into his arms. "It's ok, Chief. I've got you," he promised as the rest of the task force moved in. He looked up at the bridge where the sniper lowered his rifle with a joyless expression on his face. It was an easy headshot, as Jake towered over his victim. Jim had heard the order to fire, he just didn't have time to respond to it.

Three men stood at the gravesite after the honor guard and the rest of the very small group of mourners, if in fact they could be called that, had disbanded. Blair awkwardly held the carefully folded flag tucked against his chest under the sling on his arm. As there had been no one else to receive it during the ceremony, he had stepped forward and accepted it. In a way, he felt that it was appropriate, as Jake, in his boundless insanity, had named him as a son. He slipped his shades on, patting Jim once on the back as he passed him and headed to the car.

"I'll be right there, Chief," Jim said.

"Take your time, man," Blair said somberly and walked away.

Halstead watched with mild amusement. "He's certainly into dramatics, isn't he?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Jim set his jaw and waited for an answer impatiently.

"I mean, he hardly knew Jake. I couldn't believe when he took the flag."

Jim sighed and turned to face his old friend. "Sandburg gets attached to people, Greg. You wouldn't really understand about that."

"There you go throwing rocks again, Jim," Halstead teased.

Jim shook his head. "I've changed."

"Have you? Can any of us ever really change after the things we've done in the name of our country?"

"Well you certainly haven't lost your killer instincts. If you weren't such a shark in the business world, you never would have been a target and this whole thing could have been avoided," Jim chastised. "Have you learned anything?"

Greg laughed. "Look who's talking. You let that kid mooch off of you, just like Jake. Except that this one moved in. What are you gonna do about it? Maybe I should have a little talk with him."

"I'm going to tell you like I told Kesler, don't fuck with Sandburg," Jim warned, pointing a finger in the startled man's face. He turned brusquely and followed where his Guide had gone.

Blair was sitting on the tailgate of the truck as Jim rounded the corner of the small gravel path that led to the parking area. His head was down and he shifted uncomfortably and rubbed the back of his head with his good arm.

"Head hurt?" Jim asked worriedly as he probed the spot under Sandburg's hand.

Blair jumped slightly. "Don't sneak up on me like that, man. It's not natural to walk on gravel and not make any noise," he complained.

"Sorry," Jim said with a gentle smile, moving his hand to rest on Blair's shoulder. "Old habits die hard."

"Where's Halstead?" Blair asked looking back towards the cemetery.

Jim shrugged. "Don't know. Don't really care."

Blair furrowed his brow and studied his friend intently. "I thought you liked him."

"I did."

"Did. As in past tense. What happened?"

"Don't analyze this, Chief. The guy's a jerk," Jim muttered.

"He said something that pissed you off, didn't he? You liked him fine ten minutes ago. What did he say?"

Jim grimaced and sat next to Blair on the tailgate, knowing that the persistent observer would eventually ferret the truth out of him. He was like a dog with a bone when he got wind of something that Jim didn't want to tell him. "He didn't like it that you accepted the flag from the honor guard," Jim finally hissed. "He thinks that you're using me," he added, getting it all out at once.

"No one else took it," Blair said, urgently pleading his case. "Jake may have been obnoxious, but one of his friends should have stepped forward. I knew you wouldn't because of what he did. And I waited to see if someone else was going to step forward, but no one did."

"I know, I know," Jim soothed. "You're preaching to the choir here. I'm glad you took it. Jake would have liked that. I think it was very appropriate, after all, Jake picked you to be his son in his own weird, psycho kind of way."

Blair nodded, but was clearly not appeased. "I don't use you. You're my best friend," he said softly after a few minutes of brooding.

"I know," Jim grinned, throwing an arm casually around Blair's shoulder. "Ditto. Come on. Let's go home and get you some aspirin."

The End

Disclaimer - Images, characters, and settings taken from various television shows are the property of their respective owners, producers, etc.  No copyright infringement intended, I'm just having a little fun.