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More Phene     
by Kikkimax
 

"Hey, Marcy. I heard you worked all night."

"Yeah, we had an appy, two C-sections and a GSW."

"And who might this be?"

"This is our GSW. Twenty minutes out of surgery."

"Ok, why don't you give me report and you can get out of here."

"Sandburg, Blair. Twenty-nine years old. No known drug allergies, no meds. Vitals are stable, he's been in and out. He's got a 28 chest tube on the right to low suction, draining scant bloody fluid. Dressings to anterior and posterior right chest are clean and dry. His sats are high nineties on 8 liters by mask. He's got a foley with good output, and he received four units of FFPs perioperatively, with LR hanging now. Oh, and Jane? He hasn't had anything for pain yet, orders are on the chart."

"Who would want to shoot someone with a face as sweet as that?"

"Blair, I'm leaving now, Jane will take good care of you."

"Mr. Sandburg, open your eyes. That's it. Are you having any pain?"

"I'm a GSW?"

"No, sweetheart, you're a patient. GSW means gun shot wound."

"Hurts."

"I know. I'll take care of that right now. Don't worry, it's just a syringe. See? I'm going to put it in your IV. I'm not going to stick you with a needle."

"What is it?"

"Morphine."

Jim stood with his eyes firmly closed and his forehead resting against the wall next to the doors. The same doors that he had been forbidden to enter. Visitors were not allowed in the post-anesthetic care unit. No exceptions. He did the next best thing, though. He listened as hard as he could, homing in on the voices on the other side of the damn doors and down the short hallway. After an eternity of doctors and nurses conversing, both officially and not so officially, he heard Blair's soft, hoarse voice. He grasped at the wall in relief, spreading his fingers and digging in with his nails. He had been so afraid that he would never hear that voice again. At the same time a vice grip of guilt locked onto his heart and threatened to squeeze the breath from his chest. Hurts. "Oh, God. Give him something for pain. Please don't let him suffer," Jim pleaded quietly to the wall. So intent on his partner's plight, he didn't hear the rapid echo of footsteps approach and jumped when a hand came down on his back.

"Jim, I came as soon as I heard. My God, why didn't you call me?" Simon whispered roughly.

Jim tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, but couldn't think of anything to say, so he said nothing. He had maintained an even keel as the ordeal unfolded, but now he felt his restraint slipping away. His eyes betrayed his will and a stream of saline flowed past each tightly clenched lid. Just as suddenly, an unearthly sob erupted from somewhere in his gut, rocking his whole body. Then another, and another, until he slid down the wall, unable to stop the collapse of the dam that held back his emotions.

Simon glared off a nosy passerby and then gratefully accepted a box of tissues from a concerned nurse, glad that there weren't many people around at this early hour for the show. He knelt beside his detective and offered silent support until the sobs slowly turned to quiet tears and then stopped all together. When at last Jim looked at him with red-rimmed blue eyes, Simon was almost overcome with the depth of the man's pain. As much as he hated to, he knew that he was about to add to that pain. "I'm so sorry, Jim. I have to ask for your weapon and your shield," he said sotto voce.

They only kept Sandburg in ICU for twelve hours. He was doing very well, and they needed the bed for someone much more sick. This both troubled and pleased the anxious detective. He was happy that Blair was well enough to go to the step down unit, and the visiting policy wasn't quite as strict as the ICU. On the other hand, what if Blair wasn't doing as well as they thought? What if he still needed the extra care? After all, he hadn't even really woken up yet. Jim was assured that Blair was deeply medicated to get him through the first day post op. The morphine would be given less often and only as he needed it now that he was being moved.

A nurse explained about the rigid tube that protruded from between Blair's ribs and drained into a water seal device on the floor. As Jim understood it, the tube drained off fluids that gathered in the lung due to the damaged tissue and kept the pressure in the lung conducive to breathing. Jim accepted this, but grimaced every time he looked at the tube. And the constant bubbling of the water reminded him that his partner was far from all right. As soon as the move was complete, Jim planted himself in a chair next to the bed and dared anyone to question his presence.

"More phene, please. I want more pheeeene." The singsong voice of his pharmaceutically intoxicated partner woke Jim Ellison from a troubled slumber. "Get it Jim? More phene. Good sssttuff." Blair turned his glazed blue eyes and a drunken grin to the rumpled detective camped out in the chair next to his hospital bed.

"Hey, Chief. 'Bout time you woke up," Jim said as he rubbed his weary eyes to get a better look at his long suffering Guide. The one he had nearly killed eighteen hours ago.

"Did I wake you up? You should try some more phene. Or I guess in your case it would just be phene, wouldn't it? Since you haven't had any yet. You haven't have you? Had any phene?" Blair prattled on pleasantly, bringing a small smile to the Sentinel's face.

"No, Buddy, I haven't had any," Jim said as he caressed the exposed arm on the bed, wary of the IV site.

"Jim," Blair studied his partner with an air of confusion. "You shot me?"

The soft question quickly erased all evidence of the smile on the granite face and Jim grasped the arm under his fingertips gently but firmly. "I'm so sorry, Chief. It was an accident." Guilt oozed from every word and Jim lowered his head to the edge of the mattress.

"S'ok, Jim, I know you didn't mean it this time," Blair soothed with a slight slur as he clumsily patted the back of the big man's head.

Jim brought his head up and fixed his gaze on Blair's open, forgiving, doped up face. "What do you mean this time?" Jim asked with a nervous laugh. "Blair, I've never shot you before. Much as I'd have liked to a time or two," he teased very gently.

Blair laughed as well and raised a hand to pat the day old growth of beard on his roommate's cheek. "You've never shot me with a gun before," Blair clarified. "Last time it was with an arrow. You know, when I was a wolf."

"Chief, I ...Blair, I never told you about that. How did you know?" Ellison stared with disbelieving blue eyes.

"Come on, Jimmm. I was there, remember?" Blair answered sincerely.

"No. It was just a dream. A vision. You weren't there, Chief. It didn't really happen," Jim explained, just short of calmly.

"Of course I was there. It hurt like hell. Not as bad as drowning though. That was pretty bad at first, but then it gets kind of, I don't know, pleasant..."

"Stop it," Jim pleaded. He hadn't wanted to hear the particulars of the drowning so he had never ask. If he didn't know the details, somehow he could deal with his guilt.

Blair blinked his eyes slowly a couple of times and smiled at his Sentinel. "It was a lot like phene..." he slurred and closed his eyes all the way. His chest rose and fell gently as sleep claimed him once again.

Brown glared at the handsome, well-dressed man who sauntered into the bullpen with Captain Banks. Derrick Mallard. Punk internal affairs officer. Cocky as shit and out to make a name for himself. This didn't bode well for Ellison. An eerie gloom had permeated Major Crime since the shocking news that Jim had shot Blair reached them. Rumors ran wild through the station. Most blamed Ellison's quick temper or Sandburg's smart mouth. Other's claimed that there had to be a woman involved somehow, or that it was bound to happen sooner or later as they spent so much time together. Lover's quarrel was also mentioned, though not loudly or around anyone from Major Crime. Brown shot Rafe a look as the arrogant man settled himself behind Ellison's desk and began to rummage through it. Simon grimaced and stalked off to his office, slamming the door behind him.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Brown grumbled. Rafe nodded, as did Taggert who walked up behind him and patted him on the back.

"This sucks," Joel said, much to the surprise of his more junior detectives.

Silently Ellison slipped a twenty round clip into his M16 and disengaged the safety, setting it for three round bursts. He hand-signaled his squad and they spread out and disappeared into the night without so much as the snap of a twig. The hot humid air wrapped around him like a blanket, his own sweat bathing him in salt under his camo paint. He moved stealthily through the dense jungle, listening to the night birds calling. At the edge of the rebel outpost he squatted in the underbrush and waited for the signal, carefully balancing patience with anticipation. Suddenly the sound of a shrieking flare split the calm night as an explosion of brilliant white lit up the sky. All hell broke loose as the team fired into the very small village, tracers zooming along like fireflies on speed. The terrified screams of women and children joined the cacophony as people spilled out of huts and scrambled in every direction...

Jim startled from sleep and found himself once again sitting beside Sandburg's hospital bed. He wiped the sweat off of his face with his sleeve and tried to calm his breathing. He checked his Guide cautiously to make sure he hadn't disturbed him as he woke from the nightmare. It was the same dream that he had had for years, ever since that terrible night so long ago, not really a dream at all, but an unforgiving memory. It surfaced from his subconscious mind from time to time. Sometimes it would be a year or more before he relived the horrible scene, until something set it off again. Once, he had grabbed Carolyn and thrown her from the bed, covering her body with his own to protect her from the enemy. His shouts and her screams had prompted the neighbors to call the police. She had covered for him, but he still ended up talking with the department psychiatrist. He bluffed his way out of it, unable to face the truth. If he was honest with himself, that might have been about the time that he had begun to withdraw from Carolyn. That and the fact that she was scared to sleep in the same bed with him afterward, were certainly factors in the divorce. They never talked, she said. But he couldn't talk about the incident. It was top secret and buried deep. Officially, it never happened.

The door creaked open and a petite blonde nurse came through it with an arm full of supplies for a dressing change, fresh sheets, and a large basin. "Sir, we need to get Mr. Sandburg cleaned up and change his bed," she said. "You'll have to leave for a little while."

"Cool. Bed bath," Blair smiled sleepily as he opened his eyes, still feeling the effects of his last dose of painkiller.

"Uh, sure. Or I can help you, if Blair wants me to stay," Jim offered the nurse sincerely, not quite ready to leave his friend's side.

"Jim, come here," Blair motioned the big man over. Jim leaned down closer and closer as Blair continued to beckon, anticipating that he would be asked not to leave. When he was very close, Blair caught him by the back of the neck and weakly pulled him down until their foreheads touched. "I love you, man," Blair slurred drunkenly.

"I know," Jim said uneasily as he watched the nurse out of the corner of his eye, while she watched them with a sly smile.

"Listen to me," Blair insisted, drawing Jim's full attention. "You smell bad. You need a shave and a shower. Go home. Rest. Eat something besides hospital food."

"Chief," Jim started.

"No, no, no. I'm gonna have a bed bath and some more phene. And then I'm gonna sleep all day. 'Kay? You don't need to be here for that."

"Ok," Jim gave in. He had to be at the station to speak with the IA guy in a few hours anyway. He'd let Blair think that he'd won this time.

"I mean it, go home. I don't want to see you until visiting hours. The real ones. Not Ellison hours." Blair looked over at the nurse with a grin as he released his partner.

"Down, boy," Jim teased as he gathered his jacket and headed for the door. "Don't pop any stitches."

"Have a seat, Detective Ellison. I'm Derrick Mallard from internal affairs. I'll be conducting this investigation."

"I know who you are," Jim grunted as he seated himself at the table. He was miserable and it showed.

"Good. Then we can get started. I need to read you your rights."

"I know my rights. Get on with it," Jim said tersely.

"So you are waiving your right to an attorney?"

"At this point, yeah. This is just an interview, right?" Jim looked at his hands, absently noting the minuscule specks of white paint under his nails. What happened happened. A lawyer wasn't going to change anything, and he deserved whatever he got.

"I understand that Blair Sandburg is a civilian observer who rides along with you."

"He's my partner."

Mallard looked surprised and glanced back at his notes. "Life partner?" he asked.

"Police partner," Jim corrected, maintaining his monotone voice.

"But he's a civilian, not a detective."

Jim sighed and met the man's eyes. "Without knowing too much about you," he said, "I can pretty much guarantee that Blair is a better detective than you are."

"Is that right?" Mallard asked with mock belief.

"Our arrest record stands on its own," Ellison assured him.

Mallard picked up a folder and glanced through it. "Your record is very impressive. I don't see much about Sandburg in here, though."

"I know," Jim acknowledged. "He doesn't get the recognition that he deserves."

"Hmm. So do you get along well with him?"

"He's my best friend," Jim said with a steady voice, amazed that the trembling he felt inside didn't show. Too much coffee and too little sleep, that's all...

"Why don't you just tell me what happened?"

"I, um, fell asleep on the couch watching TV. I was having a dream when Sandburg came in. I pulled my weapon and fired on him." This time Jim's voice did break. "I hit him in the chest with one round."

"Just like that? In your sleep?"

"Yes."

Mallard wrote in a notebook for a minute before looking back at Jim. "Must have been some dream," he smirked.

"It was."

"Tell me about it."

"I can't," Jim said softly.

"Why not?"

"It's classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," Jim deadpanned.

"Is that a threat?" Mallard asked, taken aback.

"No, it was a joke."

"Not a very good one."

"Obviously not," Jim grumbled tiredly.

"So tell me about the dream."

Jim sighed and rubbed his face. "Ok, that wasn't a joke. It's classified, and I can't tell you."

"I take it it had something to do with your military career?" Mallard glanced at the note in the record in front of him that indicated that Ellison did have a sealed file. "All right, we'll move on then. For now. Can I assume it was a bad dream?"

"Yeah," Jim muttered. A very bad dream.

"Ok, whatever. What was Sandburg doing at your place?"

"He's my roommate."

"I see. He's your partner, your best friend, and your roommate."

"That's right."

"He walks in while your having a nightmare and you shoot him."

Jim nodded. "If we're done here, I'd like to get back to the hospital."

"I'm going to have to ask you to stay away from Sandburg until I have a chance to speak to him," Mallard ordered as he rose from his seat. Obviously he wasn't going to get anything from this man.

"The only way that's going to happen is if you have me locked up. Because I'm going to the hospital whether you like it or not," Ellison growled.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire!" Ellison screamed into his radio. "Intel was wrong, there are families here! Cease fire!" he yelled. As the barrage eased, he ran forward from the safety of his hiding place and leaned his weapon against a tree next to the body of an old woman. The rest of his force moved forward as well, rounding up the survivors and securing the perimeter.

As Ellison felt for a pulse on the crumpled figure he heard the unmistakable click of an AK47. It was kill or be killed and he reached for his 9mil holstered at his back...

Ellison jolted awake. He laid his head back on the bunk and stared forlornly at the ceiling of his cell while he tried to slow his racing pulse. Mallard was gonna pay for this.

As he woke, Blair became aware of the ache in his side and a deep burning sensation in his torso. The pain medicine had mostly worn off. He hadn't expected it to hurt quite this bad, but it was nice to be a little more clear headed, he really needed to think. A tickle in the back of his throat triggered an involuntary coughing fit. The resulting spasms in his chest brought tears to his eyes. He clamped a hand to the bulky dressing to brace the injured tissue until the hacking stopped. Determined not to take any more pain medicine for a while, Blair gritted his teeth for a minute. He could handle this if he just breathed through it.

Moaning softly to himself, he heard the sound of water being poured. "Jim?" he asked as he opened his eyes and turned to the side. A young, dark haired man in a suit offered him a drink through a straw.

"Here, try this," the man said.

"Thanks," Blair took the cup in his shaky hand and tossed the straw over his shoulder before taking a long sip of the water. "Who are you?" he asked when his throat was soothed.

"I'm Lieutenant Mallard. I'd like to talk to you about the shooting if you're up to it."

"Yeah, ok," Blair said cautiously before finishing the water and handing the empty cup back to Mallard. He eased back to the pillow and studied the man thoughtfully.

"More?" Mallard started to lift the Styrofoam pitcher on the table, but Blair motioned him away.

"You're investigating Jim," Blair said pointedly.

"That's right. I just want to find out what happened." Mallard sat boldly on the edge of the bed, not noticing the face Sandburg made as he jostled him slightly.

Blair sighed. "It happened pretty fast. I came home..."

"From where?" Mallard interrupted.

"Why does that matter?" Blair asked. When Mallard looked at him expectantly, he continued with a shrug, which wasn't really a good idea, since it sent a shock wave of pain traveling up his shoulder. "Ow. I had a date."

"With who?"

"I don't understand how that figures in to this at all," Blair protested.

"Mr. Sandburg, I'm trying to piece together an accurate picture of the events of the shooting. The best way to help your friend is to give an honest and complete account of the evening. Now tell me about your date."

Blair adjusted the bed to a more upright position, trying to get more comfortable. "Tina Everett was the girl I went out with. We've gone out a couple of times before, but it's casual. We went to dinner and then a movie. I dropped her off and went home."

"Home. To the loft that you share with Detective Ellison."

"That's right. I rent a room from him."

"Do you actually pay money for the room on a monthly basis?" Mallard asked.

"Uh, yeah, that's generally what is referred to as renting," Blair smirked. Duh.

Mallard ignored him. "What time did you get home?"

"A little after midnight, I guess."

"Go on."

"I locked up and took off my coat. Jim was asleep on the couch and the TV was on. Some action show, it was pretty loud. For Jim anyway," Blair added. "I decided not to wake him up, but I went to turn off the TV. Jim started to moan in his sleep and he, I don't know, twitched or something."

"He twitched?"

"Yeah, or jumped a little. There was definite movement. Anyway I turned around to look at him, you know, see if he was all right. He picked up his gun off the coffee table and fired it at me."

"One shot?"

"One was enough, thank you very much," Blair confirmed as he patted his chest. The pain was much worse now.

"You're convinced that he was asleep?" Mallard pressed.

"Of course he was asleep. Why else would he shoot me?"

"Maybe he was jealous."

"Of what?" Blair asked incredulously. "He's never even met Tina. Unless you think..."

Mallard cocked his head, but didn't say anything.

Blair chuckled, then groaned. "Ow, ow, ow. Dude, don't make me laugh, it hurts too much."

As if on cue, a matronly, full-bodied nurse floated through the door. "Blair, you can have something for pain now if you need it," she said motherly.

Blair lifted his IV line and smiled wearily. "Fill 'er up," he said. He would cut back next time.

Jim sat up when he smelled Simon coming through the lock up door. The combination of aftershave and cigars always gave him away.

"Come on, Jim. You've got an appointment," he said, stopping at the cell door.

"Not right now, Sir. I've got to get back to the hospital."

"Mallard is there with Sandburg. Give him an hour or so and then he'll be done and you can get back to hovering over the kid," Simon suggested rationally.

"I don't hover," Jim protested. "I just need to make sure that Blair's ok. Now let me out."

"These are your choices: Stay here and sleep. Which, to be honest with you, would be your best bet. You look like hell."

Jim shuddered. Sleep meant one thing right now, and that was the dream. "Or?" he asked.

"Or have a talk with Dr. Sturdivant. He said he could work you in if you come right now."

"Who?"

"You know, the new department psychiatrist."

"What happened to what's her name? I liked her," Jim said.

"No you didn't. You said she smelled funny," Simon argued. "You were glad when she left. Now what's it going to be? Do you want to sleep for awhile?"

"No. I'll go see the shrink and get it over with." He gathered his jacket as Simon unlocked the cell and then followed him down the corridor. "How am I suppose to talk to a man?" he grumbled.

"You talk to me about stuff all the time," Simon pointed out.

"That's different."

"You talk to Sandburg, too."

"That's really different. He doesn't give me any choice."

Banks chuckled, then grew serious as they waited for the guard to open the first gate. "Mallard wanted to charge you with hampering an IA investigation," he said.

Jim rolled his eyes. "He's reaching, Simon. He doesn't have anything."

"I know that, Jim. But he could still cause a lot of trouble for you. Depending on what Blair tells him."

"Are you feeling a little better now?" Mallard asked.

Blair grinned at him. He was kind of loopy now. "Yeah..." he sighed.

"Do you want to talk a little more?"

"I'd better not," Blair said. "I might say something that I'm not supposed to."

"Like what? Has Jim ever hurt you before?" Mallard pried. "I'm your friend. You can tell me anything."

"Shhh," Blair said and crooked his finger at the man. "He shot me," Blair whispered as Mallard moved closer.

"Yes he did," Mallard agreed, ready to get the real scoop.

"And I was a wolf, running through the jungle..."

Jim sized up the new shrink as introductions were made. "May I call you Jim?" The medium build, medium height man asked. There was absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about the man. If he were ice cream, he would be vanilla, not even the kind with the little pieces of bean in it. But there was comfort in his plainness. Jim found himself relaxing in his presence, much to his surprise. Maybe he could talk to this man after all. If he had to. Jim grunted an affirmation to the question that he had almost forgotten as he studied Dr. Sturdivant.

"I want you to understand that anything said in this office stays here. I'm on your side and patient/doctor confidentiality is in full force, even though I work for the department. I will make a recommendation, based on our talks, but the details stay in your sealed file."

"Ok," Jim replied. At the moment, he didn't really care. He checked his watch. Fifty minutes to go.

"I have read your file, of course. I see that you have had a lot of mandatory visits after shootings in the course of your duties."

Jim grimaced. "I fire my weapon a lot, I guess."

"Yes, you do. But there's something else here that I'm concerned about..."

"The nightmares," Jim sighed.

"Yes. There's nothing specific in here," Sturdivant indicated the folder in his hand. "Only that you have a recurrent dream and that it troubles you greatly. You also have an interesting diagnosis from your time in the army."

"Post traumatic stress disorder," Jim supplied, slumping in his chair slightly. The words popped up from time to time, ever since that night. But it had never stopped him from reaching any of his goals. If it had, he never would have been able to go to Peru. Or the police academy for that matter.

The doctor nodded. "Tell me what happened when you shot your friend."

Forty-nine minutes.

Mallard dropped his briefcase onto his desk and sat down heavily in his chair.

"Did you get anything from the victim?" his boss asked over his shoulder.

"Not really," Mallard mumbled. "At first he confirmed Ellison's version of the story, but then they gave him something for pain and his tongue loosened quite a bit."

"Wait a minute, you didn't question him while he was under the influence of narcotics, did you?"

"Yes, but..."

"Any thing that he said at that point is inadmissible as evidence. That was completely unethical," the boss scolded. "You may have just blown this case. If there even is one."

"Doesn't matter. He just got weird on me. You wouldn't believe some of the stories he came up with," Mallard said in disgust, not even aware of the trouble he was in.

The hour passed much quicker than Jim thought it would. And he actually felt a little less stressed. He paused before leaving and turned back to the doctor, but thought better of it and turned to go.

"What's on your mind, Jim?" Sturdivant asked with concern.

"Don't you have someone waiting?"

"They can wait for another minute. You have a question on your face. I'd like to hear it."

"You're a real doctor, right?" Jim asked clumsily.

Sturdivant chuckled, "I went to medical school, if that's what you're asking."

"What happens when someone drowns?" Jim blurted out.

The question caught the doctor completely off guard. "What do you mean?"

"I know that the lungs fill up with water, and I assume that it's painful," Jim explained. "But why would someone say that it's pleasant?"

"Well, to start with, the lungs don't actually fill up with water. Not right away. You see, the airway begins to spasm after a person is under the water for a period of time, which keeps the water out. Sort of a defense mechanism. I understand that it is quite painful." The doctor paused to consider the look of grief on the detective's face. "The water seeps in after death," he added.

Jim seemed to consider the words. "Right, but the other part?"

"Hypoxia, or lack of oxygen, produces a kind of euphoria after a while. That's why kids huff aerosol cans. They think they're getting high, but they are really blocking oxygen from reaching the brain. Some physicians feel that this is where the light and tunnel aspect of near death experiences come from."

"What about wolves and big black cats?" Jim muttered under his breath.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing," Jim said and shook the doctor's hand. "Thanks. I'll see you next week."

Brown peeked into the room and motioned to the others that the coast was clear. It wasn't visiting hours yet and Simon had insisted that it was too soon for the whole group to hang around in Sandburg's room. He said that Blair couldn't rest with a bunch of visitors. Give him another day or two, the captain insisted with the tone of an order. Although Simon had been caught lurking at the hospital himself the last time the group tried to make an appearance. But the waiting had been too much, and they all agreed to make a quick trip together, just to make sure that their favorite observer really was ok. Blair was resting with his eyes closed, but he opened them and smiled when he saw the gang slipping through the door overloaded with flowers and plants.

"A volunteer was bringing up a cart load for you in the lift," Megan supplied. "We said that we would deliver these to you as we came."

"He didn't believe that we were coming to see you, but Conner flashed her gun and he gave us everything but the cart," Brown laughed.

"This one's from me," Rafe said, setting an ivy down on the bed tray.

"How are you doing, Blair?" Joel asked, unloading his potted plants onto the sink counter.

"I'm ok. Where's Jim?"

The detectives looked at each other guiltily and remained silent.

"What's wrong?" Blair asked anxiously. "Where is Jim?"

"He's ok," Joel explained. "He's at the station." Either in a holding cell or the shrink's office. But Blair didn't need to know that.

The phone rang and Rafe picked it up and handed it to Blair. "Hello," Blair said. "Oh, hi Simon." Everyone in the room mouthed fervently 'we're not here'.

As Jim came out of the office Simon rose from his chair and closed his phone. Not that he didn't trust Jim, but he had commandeered a chair anyway and waited during Ellison's session with the shrink. Just in case. "I talked to Sandburg," he said without preamble.

"Is he ok?" Jim asked.

"He's fine. Mallard is done with him. Get out of here," he grinned at Jim's back as he quickly headed for the door. "And Jim?"

Jim stopped and looked back. "I'm missing a handful of detectives. Send them back this way when you get to the hospital. That's an order."

"Yes sir," Jim smiled. He was finally getting back on track.

"...no, my night nurse is Patty. That one was Jill, but she's not a nurse, she's a physicians assistant." Blair sounded tired.

"What about that little candy-striper?" Rafe's voice.

"Ok, back off, man. That's Cindy and she's only sixteen."

"Easy, Blair. I was just asking." Room full of laughter.

Jim managed a small smile as the elevator doors opened and he stepped out. It was really nice of everyone to come and check on Blair, but he was glad that Simon had sent orders for them to go back to work. Blair would be worn out after their visit. He had already had to deal with Mallard today.

"All right people, break it up," he teased as he entered the room. He sneezed. Someone had turned the room into a jungle. He moved an ivy over to make room for the small brown bag he smuggled in. "Simon said that the bullpen had better be full of detectives in twenty minutes. I think he meant it, guys."

"How did he know we were here?" Brown asked.

"Where else would we be?" Rafe laughed as he stood from his perch on the foot of the bed.

"Get some rest, Sandy," Megan said and kissed Blair on the head.

"Hey, Hairboy. Save a nurse for me."

"Bye, Sandburg. Take it easy."

Joel stayed behind for a second as the others filed out past Jim. He touched Blair's shoulder, his eyes getting a little misty.

"I know." Blair smiled and patted the large man's hand.

"Take care of him, Jim," Joel said as he backed out of the room. Jim smiled and nodded.

"Sorry about that, Chief."

"What? Are you kidding? That was great," Blair smiled, but the weariness showed on his face.

"Rest. Ok?"

"Kay." Blair's eyes slowly closed, but crept back open. "What's in the bag?" he asked, his curiosity overcoming his need for sleep. Besides, he was starting to hurt again. He had already told the nurse not to bother with his next scheduled dose of meds.

"You saw that, did you?" Jim chuckled. He reached for the paper sack and pulled out a grilled chicken salad. "I thought you might like something besides Jell-o."

"Oh, man. You are the best!" Blair exclaimed enthusiastically. He groaned a little as he raised the bed to a more upright position. Jim fixed his over the bed table, removing a couple of plants to the floor, as all the other flat surfaces in the room were also covered with foliage.

"When's the last time you had something for pain?" Jim asked casually, noting the rapid heart rate and fine sheen of perspiration on his Guide's face.

"I'm trying to cut back," Blair explained, digging into the salad. "Watch the door, man. Dora will have both our asses if she catches me with real food."

Jim frowned slightly. "Don't you think it's too soon to cut back? You've still got that thing sticking out of your side there." Ellison motioned to the chest tube with sympathy.

"Oh, yeah, they're gonna pull it tomorrow. If my oxygen level stays up that is. My doctor says that my lung is doing as well as can be expected, considering that I drowned not so long ago."

Jim shifted forward in his chair. This was the perfect opportunity. "About that..."

"Mr. Sandburg!" the large nurse growled from the door. Jim glanced at her nametag. Uh oh, it was Dora. "Didn't we already have this conversation today?" she asked loudly.

Blair swallowed and pulled the salad in to his chest. "Come on, Dora. I'm hungry," Blair complained, hitting the woman with double-barreled puppy dog eyes.

"Enough with the faces, young man. I'm not wrapped around your little finger like the rest of the nurses on this floor."

Jim was amazed. He'd never seen the puppy dog eyes fail before. Not even on him. Especially when Blair looked so pale and pitiful. This was one cold-hearted nurse, he reasoned.

"And you," she said, turning on Ellison. "Not only do you completely ignore visiting hours, now you sneak in contraband. I will give you credit though, at least its not a burger and fries."

"Dora, I know we can cut some kind of deal here," Sandburg began, switching tactics, while never giving up possession of the salad.

Dora raised an eyebrow to indicate interest in the proposition. "Go on," she urged.

"I'll take my pain medicine..."

"Without complaint?" Dora butted in.

"Without complaint, this one time, if you act like you never saw the salad."

Looking first at the door and then at Jim, she slowly nodded. "Deal. Finish up and I'll get your next dose."

"That was interesting," Jim said as the door closed.

"Yeah, I think she likes me better when I'm drunk," Blair grunted as he finished his meal. "That was good. It was worth sleeping the afternoon away."

The door opened again and a bright faced, young volunteer entered carrying a covered tray. "Good news, Mr. Sandburg. The doctor has ordered you a regular diet. No more Jell-O," she said with a smile.

Blair groaned and leaned back against his pillow.

"She played you, Chief," Jim laughed. "You're out of your league."

Dora popped back into the room with a loaded syringe.

"You tricked me," Blair accused.

"You need this, Honey. So I don't feel too bad about it," she snickered as she administered the dose.

"I like you, Dora," Jim exclaimed. He smiled genuinely when she winked at him on her way out the door.

"Don't you want your dinner?" the young girl asked in confusion.

The morphine hit hard and fast. Blair was exhausted anyway after Mallard's interview and then the entire Major Crime Unit visiting en mass. A little birdie told Jim that Simon had been seen around a few times himself. Probably while Jim was wasting away in a holding cell. Blair said that he had also called a couple of times. And he accused me of hovering, Jim thought ruefully.

Statue still, Jim sat by the bed and watched Blair sleep. The little lighted clothes pin thing on his finger glowed red, the monitor it was attached to read '98'. That was good, right? Ninety-eight out of a hundred. The oxygen mask had been replaced by the prongs that rested just inside of Blair's nostrils sometime that morning. If Jim listened really hard, he could hear just the tiniest bit of congestion in the lower lobe of Blair's right lung and the chest tube was still draining a little. Maybe it was too soon to take it out. Surely the doctor knew what he was doing. The chest tube whistled softly with each gentle exhalation of breath, though Jim knew that no one but him could hear it. Blair's heart beat was strong and steady. That, more than anything, made him feel that everything would be all right. Well, maybe not everything.

Jim believed that he would never get over that one defining second when he squeezed the trigger and woke to terrified blue eyes as Blair stumbled back and crashed into the wall. As he slid down it, he left a crimson streak behind him. Blue. The eyes were blue this time, not brown. But the horrific realization, the oh-my-god-what-have-I-done-ness of the moment was the same. It was the same instant in two different realities. The same mistake, made twice. Made the second time solely because he had never fully dealt with the situation the first time around. Blair was going to be all right, he told himself. And the guilt hadn't completely destroyed him the first time. Haunted him, yes, but he had survived.

...Squeezing the trigger even as he turned, he never saw the face of the enemy until it was too late. The child had hesitated and it cost him his life. Because of his short stature, the kid took the bullet in the forehead instead of the chest. There was surprised terror in the brown eyes an instant before the small body hit the ground, the assault rifle obscenely large in the small hands. Ellison stared at the two bodies on the ground. One too old, one two young. Both the enemy according to someone else's rules. But those were the rules of this game and Ellison had no way around them. It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

Swallowing back bile, the young lieutenant renegaded the AK47 upside-down across his back by the strap. He gathered his own weapon and stepped across the bodies, looking back one last time. The target had been neutralized. Mission complete. Suck it up, soldier, he told himself. Continue to march. He pushed the memory as far to the back of his mind as it would go. But it would remain forever in his heart.

Blair woke with a jerk. "Jim," he called out, breaking the Sentinel out of his deep thoughts.

"Bad dream?" Jim asked gently, voice full of concern. He soothed the hair away from his friend's eyes.

"It wasn't your fault."

"Let's not talk about this now, Chief. Go back to sleep," Jim urged quietly.

"Not me. The boy. It wasn't your fault. You did what you were trained to do," Blair whispered sleepily, deep in the grip of the drug.

"What are you saying?" Jim leaned into the bed anxiously. Blair couldn't know. How could he?

"I was there, man. I saw it. You didn't have a choice. He would have killed you,"Blair said with a soft sigh. He settled back and closed his eyes. "Not your fault..."

"Blair?" Jim asked. "How?" Before an answer came Sandburg was already snoring again. A tap sounded at the door and Jim looked up, his face still a mask of disbelief.

"Bad time?" Simon asked with concern as he pushed the door shut behind him.

"No, I, uh...no, come on in," Jim stammered and motioned to the other chair in the room.

Instead Simon moved closer to the bed and studied Sandburg's sleeping form, taking in the various tubes and wires that surrounded the still figure. "Its so strange to see him like this," Banks said at last. "He ought to be moving around, or talking at least."

Jim swallowed and tried to smile, still a little freaked out by Blair's last words to him. "Yeah, the morphine knocked him on his butt. He's so damn stubborn and doesn't want to take anything for pain. At least he doesn't argue too much about the antibiotics. Although we did have a long talk about abuses of antibiotics creating super bugs that we're not going to be able to control in a few years," Jim said, the smile coming more easily thinking of Blair's earlier hypochondriac dramatics.

"Sounds like he talked and you listened," Simon said before he changed the subject. "I just spoke at length with Tom Noles, the head of IA." When Simon turned back to look at Jim he wasn't smiling.

"And?" Jim asked with a flat tone. He had already decided that he wouldn't fight any action that they wanted to take.

"Well, there's good news and bad news," Simon continued and finally seated himself in the other chair.

"Come on, Captain, you're killing me here," Jim lamented.

"Sorry. The good news is that IA doesn't have a case. They threw it out this morning, leaving any action to Dr. Sturdivant's discretion."

"Oh," Jim said without inflection.

Simon eyed him carefully. The non-reaction was not what he was expecting. But he knew that what he was going to tell him next would result in fireworks, and not the good kind. "Mallard interviewed Blair after he had received narcotics."

"What? That bastard. That's not right," Jim declared as he moved from his chair to the bed.

"Blair told him everything," Simon continued.

Jim turned and looked back at Simon in disbelief. "What do you mean? The sentinel stuff? He wouldn't do that."

"Don't worry, Jim. Mallard didn't believe a word of it. Especially since Sandburg went on and on about wolves and panthers and all sorts of mystical stuff. He was drugged out of his head. He just slipped a little truth in with all the nonsense."

"It's not nonsense, Simon," Jim declared. "I have no doubt that if Blair started talking about it that he told him everything, even the spiritual part. Damn it. Mallard had no right to question him when he was drugged."

"Mallard might be up for disciplinary action if Noles has his way. I don't think he'll cause any trouble."

"But he knows. Even if he doesn't believe it right now. What if he starts to put two and two together?" Jim asked. "This is going to kill Sandburg. He'll never forgive himself."

"Hello kettle, I'm pot," Simon mocked.

"What's that suppose to mean?" Jim asked with a glare.

"It means ease up on yourself. Blair forgives you. Forgive yourself," Simon said rising from his chair. "And Jim? Mallard's not that smart. He'd come up with three."

"I hope so, Simon. I guess we'll see."

"Tell the kid I'll see him later." Simon patted Blair's leg and moved to the door. "You've got weekly sessions with Sturdivant until he says different. He said he may release you back to duty next week. He doesn't believe that you are a danger to anyone."

Jim nodded and sat back down. "That's ok. I need to be here anyway."

"I know," Simon agreed and walked out. He stopped in the hall and released a sigh. That went a whole lot better than he had anticipated. Dealing with these two was going to make him an old man before his time. He really needed a cigar right about now.

Jim felt a lot better once he figured things out. Sitting beside Blair's bedside as the younger man slept, he had started to put together bits and pieces and come up with a logical explanation for why he had shot his partner. Blair's declaration about the boy's death had started a chain reaction, causing Jim to think like a detective for the first time in days. Dr. Sturdivant had helped as well. Not so much by what he said as how he had gotten Jim to put into words things that he would normally have kept to himself. Not the dream, of course, he couldn't talk about that even if it would make him feel better. But now Blair had been able to somehow share it with him. He had heard once that if you share your pain, it is cut in half. Was it more than just an old wive's tale?

He thought back to the dream 'trigger' as Sturdivant had called it. A gang shooting. All the victims were very young, and very dead. One pre-teen Hispanic kid had been shot between the eyes. Jim had stared open mouthed at him for a long time, until Sandburg, thinking that he was zoning had prodded him out of his thoughts. The eyes. It was definitely the eyes that triggered the dream this time.

Sandburg had a date that night and left in a whirl of sound and motion soon after they returned to the loft. Unfortunately leaving Jim to his troubled thoughts. He ordered a pizza and settled in on the couch to soak up some mindless action flicks that were scheduled to start soon and run all night. No telling when or if Blair was coming home, so it seemed like the thing to do. He was restless and had no intention of going to bed, where he knew an ambush lay in wait. Slipping his shoulder holster off, he dropped it on the coffee table, gun and all. He'd put it away the first time he got up he reasoned, but just as quickly forgot about it. He sipped a beer and watched a Van Damme movie first, rooting for the bad guy this time just because. Then "Red Dawn" came on. The most violent scenes per minute of any movie ever made. At least that's what Jim had heard. He decided to count the violent acts and made it well past a hundred before he drifted off to sleep to the sounds of automatic gunfire.

He was probably already dreaming when Sandburg entered the loft. His sentinel hearing picked up the heartbeat, even in his sleep, and allowed him to unconsciously track Blair's movement. As the dream climaxed and Blair moved closer to the sounds coming from the TV, Jim's ops training detected the same distinct click made by an AK47 at the exact right moment. Or maybe the wrong moment would be more accurate. The dream, the sound, the heartbeat. The recoil of his weapon discharging snapped him awake in time to see his partner take one in the chest. What were the odds? But that's the way it happened, he had no doubt. He would tell Blair about it when he woke up. It helped to know that he wasn't a powder keg ready to go off at anytime. At least he wouldn't have to explain to IA, not that he could. And Dr. Sturdivant understood already.

Now for the other mystery. How had Blair known about the dream? Or the vision of the wolf? Jim strongly suspected Incacha's legacy had something to do with it. But it was more than that. It was the morphine. It allowed Blair the freedom to seek out the Sentinel's darker side through the bond that they shared. And in his strung out, exhausted state, he hadn't put up much of a fight. Not that he could resist Sandburg when he really wanted to know something, but fortunately Blair respected his boundaries enough not to push too hard. Most of the time. As he contemplated these musing he noticed that Blair was awake and watching him through drowsy blue eyes.

"Hey, Chief," Jim said. "Are you reading my mind now?" he asked tentatively.

"Huh?"

"Never mind. How do you feel?"

"Ok, I guess. Hurts a little where they took out the tube. At least I can lay on my side now." He rolled over to prove his point, never taking his eyes off Jim. "You were really lost in thought there."

"Do you remember the dream about me shooting the wolf with an arrow?" Jim asked.

Blair's eyebrows knit together for a minute. "I don't know. It seems like there's something like that just out of reach in the back of my mind."

"It's ok, I'll explain it to you later. I've got a lot to tell you. Do you feel like talking?"

"Sure. What's on your mind?"

"First tell me about when you drowned," Jim asked hesitantly.

"Oh, Jim, you don't really want to talk about that right now. Do you?"

"Yeah, I do. Tell me everything. I need to know."

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.