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by Kikkimax
 

Blair woke up with chills. Not a good day for this, he thought. Jim was going undercover in a few hours, and Blair didn't want his mind on anything but the job. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe it was the flu or a cold. Trying hard to keep his chattering teeth under Sentinel hearing range, he sat up and rubbed his head. He was cold down to his bones. Achingly cold. Soon the fever would start. Sweats would be next. He hadn't had a relapse in a long time and had to wonder about the timing. Bad karma, he surmised as he decided to hit the clinic before Jim caught wind of it. If he got some medicine in a timely fashion, it probably wouldn't be too bad.

After a lifetime of traipsing around the world catching nothing worse than dysentery, which was bad enough if you asked Blair, he had finally succumbed to malaria. It was the year before he met Jim, no, strike that, it was the year before that. The Africa trip. Six countries in fourteen days. The mosquitoes had been brutal, and Blair had almost been home before he showed any symptoms. Chills, fever, then sweats, in that order. Being detained at the airport and quarantined had actually expedited his diagnosis and treatment. He had one minor relapse six or eight months later and then another worse one after that. But since he recognized the symptoms both times, he was treated without complications.

Dressing quickly, Blair wrote a note and headed out the door without waking his partner, or so he thought. He couldn't risk driving so he opted to take the bus to the clinic, not wanting to be behind the wheel when the fever started. Sometimes it got so high that he became really out of it. Once he even had hallucinations.

If anything could wake Jim Ellison out of a dead sleep, it was his roommate trying hard not to wake him. Sandburg was up early, moving around, but the shower never came on, and unfortunately, neither did the coffee pot. Before he could gather the will to get up and find out just what was going on inside that curly topped head, the front door opened and closed with a pretty good attempt at silence. Jim knew that his partner was nervous about the case. Blair hated it when the Sentinel went undercover without easy access to his Guide. He had listed a million things that could go wrong and barely listened when Jim exclaimed that it was his job, and he was gonna do it, senses be damned.

As he waited to hear the familiar rattle of the Volvo crank to life, Jim stretched and rolled over to look at the clock. It was almost a quarter to eight . The last planning session had gone on late into the night and Jim had wanted to sleep in a little. He had hoped Blair would sleep in as well, as he was sure the grad student had stayed up fretting long after he himself had gone to bed.

They were to meet at the station around noon for a last minute briefing before Jim would take 'his' car, a shiny new Corvette, and slip into the roll of John Mann, drug distributor and enforcer. The real John Mann, having been caught, had quickly made a deal. He supplied a wealth of information on the burgeoning drug trade in the northeast, but wouldn't have specific details about the new Cascade connection until after the mini summit that the current head honcho, Allen Pickard, had called to begin today. Mann had been sent up from San Francisco to head up distribution in the area, but the Feds didn't trust him enough to send him back in, afraid that he would bolt, or worse give away their operation to Pickard. Since he had been picked up on his arrival from California , he hadn't yet met Pickard, or any of his henchmen. And Jim was the perfect replacement for the real thing.

Blair was going to have to wait this one out on the sideline and that's what had him so agitated. The Volvo never started, and Blair didn't come right back in, so he hadn't just gone for the paper. Jim sat up and rubbed his face. He couldn't stand not knowing, so he padded down the stairs to look for a clue as to the whereabouts of his MIA roommate. A note on the table immediately drew his attention.

Jim,
Something came up. Sorry, but it's important.
I'll be back before you leave.
Blair

Something came up? When? The phone hadn't rung, and Blair didn't say anything about doing something important last night. And why hadn't he taken his car? He hadn't even tried to start it. Jim headed for the shower still pondering Blair's sudden disappearing act.

It took longer to be seen than he thought it would, and then he had to convince the doctor that he did indeed have malaria. After all, people in Washington State didn't often fall victim to this particular disease. The doctor made several phone calls to get advice on treatment, meds and dosages, even though Blair had already given him a thorough and complete rundown of the parasitic infection.

After fretting about the time and almost walking out, a blood test was done and Blair was sent home with a prescription and instructions to rest. The chills were subsiding as his body temperature rose. The fever might last up to six hours, and then he would break out in a sweat for awhile. Then it would all go away for about 48 hours until the cycle started again. He rushed straight home, forgoing the pharmacy for now. He'd have time to do that later, after Jim had gone.

Jim waited as long as he could. Simon had called and insisted that he come in early to iron out the details. The plans were changing and they needed to be on top of them. Jim turned over Blair's note and wrote one of his own on the back, since Sandburg had once again wandered off without his cell phone. With a quick look around, the big detective hefted his bag on his shoulder and left his home, vowing silently to return soon.

"Jim," Blair called out as he entered the loft. The truck wasn't out front, and the lights were out inside the apartment. "Damn it," he muttered to himself as he dragged his feverish body over to the note on the counter.

Sorry Chief,
We had to move a little sooner than we thought. Try not to worry.
Simon will keep you informed. I'll see you in a few days.
Jim

PS stay out of trouble. Ha ha.

Blair angrily wadded up the note and threw it in the trash. Why did this have to happen today? If he'd been a little more persistent, he might have gotten out of the clinic sooner. No, that wasn't true. If he'd been any more persistent, he'd have been seen in the infirmary at the jail. The nurse had threatened him twice with calling the cops if he didn't settle down. He picked up the phone and dialed straight into Simon's office.

"Banks," the deep voice rumbled at him through the line.

"Simon, it's Blair. Is Jim gone? How did everything go?"

"Everything is fine, Sandburg. Where were you? I think Jim really wanted to talk to you before he left," Simon chastised.

"Sorry, I had to go to the doctor. I guess I should have waited."

"You ok? 'Cause if you're not, tell me now. I can still get him out. He'll kill both of us if something is wrong and we didn't tell him."

"I know. I'll be ok. I just need to get a prescription filled."

"All right. Let me know if you need anything. I'll call if I hear anything from Jim."

"Thanks, Simon. I appreciate it," Blair hung up the phone and located a bottle of Tylenol. He took a couple and lay down on the couch, covering himself with a blanket. He really needed to get his quinine, but the fever was already raging and he knew he wouldn't be able to function very well until it passed. All he could do now was to wait it out.

Simon hung up the phone with a frown. Sandburg sounded rough. He toyed briefly with the idea of calling Jim anyway, he had Mann's cell phone number. Maybe Jim could swing by the loft on his way to his hotel suite. No. It was too dangerous. Jim had already assumed his new identity, and he needed to stay in character to be safe. Blair was a grown man and could take care of himself for a few days. Or maybe Simon would drop by the loft himself on his way home. That sounded like a better plan.

The ringing phone snapped him back from his thoughts. "Banks," he said as he picked it up. "Damn it! Why are we just getting this information?... No, your people said to go ahead and send him in. He's in... I'll do what I can." Simon slammed the phone back into it's cradle. "Jesus, Jim. What are we gonna do now?" he murmured to himself.

'NO SERVICE' the readout said. "Cheap phone," Jim grumbled as he tried the loft. He thought about stopping somewhere to call, he was a little worried that he hadn't been able to find out what was going on with Sandburg before he left. He decided to call once he got to his hotel room and hit the accelerator, enjoying the sporty ride in spite of himself. When he pulled into the circle drive at the hotel, he was met at the car by two men.

"John Mann?" one of the men asked.

"Who wants to know?" Jim growled softly, sliding one hand inside of his jacket meaningfully.

"Mr. Pickard sent us to welcome you. He wants you to come to the warehouse right away."

"Ok, let me make a call in the lobby first. My cell phone's not working."

There were bells ringing. And drums pounding. Blair was aware of these things, they just didn't concern him at the moment. He was in a hazy place between light and dark. Somewhere very warm. He moaned slightly as something shook him. Slowly the dark gave way and he was left with painful, bright light.

"Come on, kid, you're really starting to scare me here."

"Simon?" Blair croaked out through the desert that had become his mouth. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't answer your phone. Or the door for that matter. I let myself in. Sip this. That's it," Simon soothed with a concerned voice. He held the glass and Blair covered his hand to hold it, drinking deeply. With his other hand, Simon felt the observer's face. "You're burning up," he announced.

"Took some Tylenol," Blair said after finishing the water. "Should help some." He woke up enough to realize that something must be wrong for Banks to be at the loft. "What's wrong? Something's wrong with Jim."

"Jim's fine," Simon lied. "Go back to sleep. I need to call someone. I just don't know who," he added under his breath.

Simon had thought that he heard the phone ringing when he was knocking on the door. Sure enough, the answering machine was blinking red. He hit the button.

"Pick up, Chief. Are you there? Where the hell are you?... I'll try to call again later."

"Tell me what's wrong, Simon," Blair said, rising unsteadily.

"Ok, but sit down before you fall down." When Blair complied, albeit only because his knees wouldn't quite hold him up. Simon started to talk, pacing small circles beside the couch. "There's a surprise guest coming to the party. The Feds just found out that Mann's cellmate from Fulsome will be at the big shindig today. They are hoping to catch him at the airport, but if they don't, and he walks in to find Jim claiming to be Mann..."

"We've got to warn Jim," Blair declared, finding the strength to get off of the couch.

"I tried his cell, but couldn't get through. I don't know where he was when he called just now, but he's not at the hotel. I left a coded message for him to call me immediately, but he hasn't yet. Obviously he went straight to the meeting."

"Where's the meeting going to be?" Blair asked, his mind numb, but now doing mental gymnastics just the same.

"In a warehouse near the waterfront. That's where the shipments are going to come in."

"Ok, all we have to do is alert him. Jim can get himself out easy enough before Colby shows up."

"How do we do that without blowing his cover, Sandburg?"

"Easy. We just whisper."

Blair leaned against the brick wall and looked up and down the alley. His joints ached, he was beginning to have abdominal cramps, and he was sweating big time. The fever had finally broken, and now there were rivers rolling down his body under his clothes, leaving his hair wet. It took every ounce of persistence that he had, and frankly way too much energy, to convince Simon to let him be the one to try to reach Jim. He wasn't fooling Simon, the man knew he was sick. He just didn't realize how sick. Simon would have stuck out like a sore thumb wandering around the area, and no one else knew about Jim's unique abilities. So Blair stumbled along in his rumpled, wet clothes and stringy hair and looked for all the world like a drug addict. Right at home.

The shiny new blue Corvette was parked on the street, so he knew that Jim was somewhere close. Simon had said that a group of men had entered the warehouse around the corner not ten minutes ago, according to surveillance. Pushing away from the wall, Blair staggered slightly as he moved from one boarded up window to the next, looking for any sign of his partner. He heard voices as he neared a beat up door and glanced through the dirty pane of glass. Jim sat on the other side of the large conference type room with a stern expression on his face and his arms across his chest. Johnny Mann was a scary character. But not nearly as scary as Jim Ellison as he focused his eyesight on his Guide lurking just outside the door.

Jim looked around surreptitiously as he stood and stretched, observing that no one else had seen the uninvited visitor. Nonchalantly he moved closer to the coffeepot, which was situated under the window next to the door and slowly made himself a cup with lots of sugar and cream. Pushing homicidal thoughts from his mind long enough to find out what the hell Blair thought he was doing, he coughed to let him know that he was listening.

On the other side of the wall, Blair backed away from the door and leaned next to the window. "Chill out, man," he whispered. "Simon sent me. Nicholas Colby is on his way. He was Mann's cellmate at Fulsome Prison. They're gonna try to pick him up before he can get here, but you need to get out just in case. Sorry I missed you this morning. Be careful."

When Blair started his retreat a wave of nausea swept through him. Holding on to the wall he closed his eyes and tried to breathe through it. About the time that he felt he could move again, he heard a metallic click, and opened his eyes to see what kind of gun made that particular noise.

Jim got a better look at his partner as he was dragged through the door. He had heard the new arrival, but hadn't been able to do anything about it. Maintaining a cool stance took all the self-control that he had. Blair looked rough, like he was sick. Or strung out. He was sweating profusely, had the shakes, and his skin was pale and strangely mottled looking. At first Jim had thought that somehow Sandburg was faking his appearance, maybe trying to look like an addict. But there was just no way to fake this good. Running a sensory sweep over him, Jim found his heart rate and respirations too fast, and his temperature was elevated a little as well, but not a lot.

Blair dropped into the chair that he was led to without offering any resistance. "Am I in the right place?" he asked tentatively, looking around.

"I suppose that depends on where you want to be," the man Jim had been introduced to as Allen Pickard said easily.

"Someone told me that I could get some... I don't think I'm in the right place. I'll just go," Blair said and tried to make a slow motion getaway.

One of the thugs that had come for Jim grabbed Blair by the jacket and pulled him back. "He's just a junkie," he offered to his boss as he frisked him, coming out with Blair's wallet and handing it to Pickard.

"Blair Sandburg," Pickard read looking at the driver's license, then digging further to find his student ID. "A student? You're kind of old for Rainier aren't you?" Jim braced himself for the police observer ID as well, but it never came. Apparently Blair had already taken it out.

"I'm in the graduate program," Blair offered dully. "I'm a teaching fellow."

"So how does a goody-two-shoes college professor get hooked on heroin?" someone asked from across the room.

"Teaching fellow," Blair stated again flatly, as if it mattered.

"Let me guess. You tried it a couple of times and now you're surprised you're addicted."

"I'm not addicted," Blair said obstinately, running his tongue over his dry lips.

"Like hell you're not," Pickard laughed. "Come on, tell the truth. I can be your best friend here if you'll let me."

"There was this girl..." Blair began, and appeared damned sincere.

"Humph," Jim snorted from across the room. Blair's eyes darted towards him, then back to the floor.

"She said it wouldn't hurt just one time, so I tried it. You know, because I really liked her. Before I knew it I was using like four times a day. Then when she left I didn't know how to get anymore, because she always got it for me."

"Who told you to come here?" Pickard continued his mild interrogation.

"I don't know his name. He's a student I think. I see him around campus sometimes. Look, I just want to leave now. I'm sorry. I won't say anything to anybody," Blair tried to stand, but was too weak to resist the hand on his shoulder.

"You got money?" another one of the goons asked.

"Yeah," Blair said reaching for his wallet from Pickard who allowed him to take it back.

"Don't worry about it, kid, this one's on me." Pickard pulled a small bag out of his pocket. "Here you go."

"Crack?" Blair asked disgustedly, turning the bag over in his shaky hand. "No offense, but that's not what I had in mind. I'll pay for some heroin. Please."

Jim flinched. God, the kid was good. Too good, too convincing. It made Jim's skin crawl. He hated the words, he hated that they came so easily from his best friend's mouth. If he didn't know better, if he didn't know Blair, he would have believed them.

The man laughed and reached into his pocket again. He pulled out a small vial and tossed it to Sandburg, who almost dropped it. "Here. Already mixed. You keep the crack, too. I'm gonna call you, Blair Sandburg," he said, reading the business card he had taken from the wallet. "I need someone over at Rainier ."

"You want me to push?" Blair asked lifelessly as he pocketed the drugs.

"No, not exactly. Go take care of your need. I'll call you later."

Blair glanced around the room at each man in turn, looking at Jim last. "Thanks," he said and limped towards the door. Jim looked bored and went back to drinking his too sweet coffee.

"Hey, you want a date?" the petite brunette with the purple streaks in her hair asked as Blair turned the corner into the alley. He leaned against the building and sighed in relief, ignoring her completely. Jim would get out. Everything was going to be ok. Maybe now he should try to find a pharmacy and get his prescription filled. He felt lousy, in fact, he couldn't ever remember feeling this bad and still staying on his feet. He would find Simon and get him to take him to get his meds.

"You ok, honey?" the hooker persisted.

"Yeah," Blair said, managing a small smile. "I just need to rest for a minute."

"Baby, rest ain't what you need. You need to score. I can probably get you some stuff, but it'll cost ya."

"Stuff? Oh, you mean drugs. I don't take drugs."

"Uh huh, and I'm a virgin."

Blair suddenly felt disoriented and there seemed to be a flash of light around him. His arms and legs felt like rubber and the world seemed to spin out of focus. He grabbed at the wall, but was out before he hit the ground convulsing.

Jim closed his eyes for a minute in contemplation. Blair had scared the shit out of him. What did he think he was doing? And Simon was in on it. There was going to be hell to pay for this one. Worse than that, Blair was sick. He had to be sick, because the alternative was too horrible to even think about. Blair was not strung out. He couldn't be. This morning was the only time that Jim hadn't been with him for any amount of time in the last couple of days. If Blair was using, Jim was sure that he would know it. Still, he looked the part. He had fooled a whole room full of people who knew what to look for. Thankfully, he had talked his way out of the mess, just like he always did. Now Jim had to deal with Mann's old cellmate.

"What's the matter, John?" Pickard asked, approaching with a concerned look on his face.

"Uh, migraine," Jim said, opening his eyes with a sigh. "I should probably go lay down before the meeting."

"I thought you'd be made of sterner stuff," the other man said. "Besides, one of your old roommates is coming. Nicholas Colby should be here within the hour. You know him don't you?"

"Jeez, you'll let any scum sucking bastard in here, won't you?" Jim sneered.

"That's funny. That's exactly what he said about you."

Sophie watched the man struggle with the sweat soaked sheet in his sleep. He had had another seizure an hour ago, but was starting to come around again. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she debated whether or not to help him. Of course, she already had helped him. She and a transvestite that she knew had dragged him into her flat. Fortunately, he had hit the sidewalk right outside her door so they didn't have very far to go. Wondering why she had even bothered, she knew that she couldn't help herself. She was always bringing in strays, never able to turn away from someone with a problem. Hooker with a heart of gold, she mused. But he didn't want any help, in fact, he denied that there was a problem when he woke the first time. Although he had been kind of out of it. He shook so hard that he couldn't stand and then he threw up everywhere right before he had his second spell.

She had stripped him down and was about to clean him up when she found the heroin in his pocket. Wanting desperately to shoot herself up with it, she reluctantly came to the conclusion that he needed it more than she did. This was the high dollar stuff, more bang for the buck. She couldn't very well have him die in her bed. That would be bad for business. The regulars might not like it.

Maybe she would just give him half, enough to keep him going. That was fair, she decided as she tied a stocking around his arm. And she deserved the other half for helping him. She expertly thumped his vein with a finger. Despite his current condition, he appeared to be quite healthy and had wonderful veins, with only one track mark in the bend of his elbow as far as she could see. He gasped softly in his sleep as she slid the brand new needle in and carefully injected half of the life altering liquid into his arm. After she released the impromptu tourniquet and pulled the needle out, she put her thumb over the hole for a minute or two. Without hesitation, she repeated the procedure on herself, using the same needle, then crawled into bed with the man to wait for the heavenly release that came with the drug.

"Where are you going?" Pickard asked as Jim moved to the door.

"I told you I'm going to lay down for a little while," Jim said. Although he had to get out before Colby showed up, he had a much more pressing need. The more he thought about it, the more concerned he was about Sandburg. He needed to call Simon and find out what exactly was going on.

"The meeting is going to start in less than an hour," the man protested.

"That's plenty of time. I've got better things to do than sit around and watch you give the third degree to some drugged out hippie. What was that all about anyway? Your security... sucks. Then you just give him drugs. What kind of way is that to run a business."

"Hey, that kid is the answer to one of my problems," Pickard said.

"What problem?"

"Just consider him a guinea pig."

Jim's stomach became a little queasy. "What did you give him?" Jim asked, just on the off chance, the way way off chance, that Blair might actually use it.

"Eighty percent pure," Pickard said with a grin. "That's twice the average purity. That's what we're bringing in now. We may have to cut it back. Can't have our customers checking out after only one dose, now can we?" Pickard flashed Blair's card under Jim's nose. "If it doesn't kill him, he'll be back for more."

"And if he doesn't come back?"

"My people will check the hospitals tomorrow. And the morgue. I'm sure that he's already used it, but we'll give him until morning."

Jim swallowed. Blair wouldn't use the drug he told himself. Something else was up, the kid hated to take Tylenol. He ate healthy, when he remembered to eat. He took care of his body, he wouldn't screw up his life with drugs. He wouldn't.

"Hey, boss," someone yelled from the door. "It looks like Colby is here."

"Good, good. We can get started a little early."

Blair woke to the stench of vomit and urine. He was too weak to get up, his body seemed somehow disconnected. But considering the circumstances, not that he could remember what those circumstances actually were, he felt pretty good. Really good in fact. Almost euphoric, but drowsy and very surreal. He had an overwhelming sense of wellbeing. A skinny woman with stringy purple hair lay on the bed next to him, watching him with a calm, amused stare.

"You're ok now, baby," cooed the woman as she soothed back his hair. "Sophie took care of everything."

Blair sighed and closed his eyes and let his body drift away. Everything was beautiful, just beautiful, man.

"Johnny!" the man in the suit called out as he stepped into the room. "How you been? I've missed seeing that ugly mug of yours every day."

Jim smiled a genuine, heartfelt smile. "Hiya, Nick. How come you never write?" he approached the man and hugged him. Rafe hugged him back, patting him hard on the back. So they got Colby, and this wasn't a one man operation any more.

"I hate to break up this touching reunion," Pickard said smugly. "Now that we're all here, I suggest that we get down to business. This is it." He produced another tiny brown bottle from his pocket and tossed it to Ellison.

"What's this?" Rafe asked taking the vial after Jim examined it.

"It's the newest thing," Pickard supplied. "Eighty percent pure, comes premixed."

"Eighty percent? Isn't that kind of dangerous?"

"The jury is still out on that. We're doing field studies," Pickard replied. Rafe noticed a barely perceptible flinch from Ellison. "We can cut it if we have to. What we need to discuss right now is traffic and security."

"Come on, baby. Wake up," Sophie pleaded hours later. "You act like you never took a hit before. That was some good shit. I want some more, you've got to tell me where you got it."

Blair groaned and held his stomach. He still felt out of it, but the feeling of wellbeing was gone. In fact, he knew he was in trouble. "Where am I?" he asked.

"You're still at my place. Listen, since you been here like, twelve hours already, I'm gonna have to charge you for the night. I mean, I coulda had twenty paying customers in here in that time."

"You're a hooker?"

"Yeah, so?" Sophie asked, without guile or offense.

"Did we have sex?" Blair asked self-consciously, taking a peek under the covers and finding himself in his boxers.

"You don't remember?"

"No. Sorry."

"Yeah, we had lots of sex. You owe me a hundred dollars," she teased.

Blair tried to sit up. "I need to get my medicine," he said, slumping back to the bed.

"You mean some drugs?" Sophie asked.

Blair didn't bother to answer. Instead, he groaned as he fell back to sleep, sapped of his meager store of energy. Sophie grabbed his wallet off the bedside table and headed for the door. "I'll go get some more. You had to get it around here somewhere. Don't go anywhere. I'll be back."

"Colby?" Jim asked softly, glancing over the top of his coffee cup as soon as he and Rafe were relatively alone.

"Went down hard, didn't make it," Rafe explained shaking his head. "Simon was worried so he sent me in. Where's Sandburg?"

Jim's fingers went numb and he sat the cup down hard on the table, spilling the last few sips that remained. "He left here hours ago," he breathed.

Rafe sank into a chair. "Oh, man. He never showed back up at the drop off point. He didn't go home, either."

"We've got to find him."

They looked up as Pickard entered the room.

"If we're done here, me and Nick are gonna go get a bite to eat and catch up a little," Jim said, trying to sound jovial.

"Yeah, get out of here. But don't party too hard, I want both of you back here first thing in the morning. The shipment should arrive around noon ."

"Sure thing, Boss," Rafe said with a mock salute as he and Ellison rose and edged towards the door.

"Hey, Pickard," Jim said suddenly. "What ever happened to that hippy?"

"Haven't seen him yet. He's either ok or taking a dirt nap. We probably won't know which 'til morning."

Sophie was pushed into Pickard's office, none too gently. "I found her hanging around in the alley," the thug said to Pickard. "She had this on her." He tossed the wallet onto the desk.

"How do you know Mr. Sandburg?" Pickard asked as he picked it up. "Or did you just steal his wallet?"

"He gave it to me. He's a client."

"Somehow I doubt that. How is he?"

"He was asleep at my crib when I left," Sophie answered meekly. "I can take you to him, if you want. He don't mean nothin' to me."

"That's not necessary. He didn't have any problems?"

"No. Not really. He was in bad shape before, you know."

"Yes. He was in bad shape. What do you want here?"

"He sent me to get some more stuff."

"Sure, I'll send him more. Here you go, take some for yourself as well. Tell Mr. Sandburg to come around in the morning and see me. I'll just keep this until then." Pickard slipped the wallet into his desk and locked the drawer.

"I'll tell him," Sophie said, clutching the two tiny vials tightly in her hand.

Sophie gave up trying to wake Blair. He wouldn't budge. Anticipating the expected high, she picked up the used needle from the nightstand, not bothering to get out a clean one. She filled the syringe, tied a stocking around her arm, and pierced the skin with the dirty needle, injecting herself with the entire vial.

"I'll do you next, baby," she promised. As she tried to refill the syringe with the last vial of the heroin, her hands began to shake, causing her to spill most of it on the soiled, worn bedspread. "Damn it," she muttered, dropping the needle before sliding down to the floor. "Sorry, baby," she whispered as she was swept away by the powerful drug.

"You shouldn't have come here, Jim. It's too dangerous," Simon admonished gently as Ellison pushed open the door.

"We have to find Sandburg, sir," Jim said purposely. "I have to know what he's doing to himself."

"I know what it looked like. But I swear to you, he was just sick, that's all. He had a terrible fever when I got to the loft. He was almost delirious with it. But by the time we got down to the warehouse, the fever broke. Then he just started to sweat."

"Why wouldn't he just tell me if he was sick? Why would he sneak out of the loft like that? I don't understand," Jim sighed, stopping to look at the lights of the city through the office window. "Any word at all?"

"No. We've got a couple of teams discretely combing the area. We can't send in the troops until we apprehend Pickard and the shipment tomorrow afternoon. There are a lot of lives at stake here, Jim. What do you think Sandburg would want you to do?"

"I know what he would want, Simon. That doesn't make this any easier. If I just go down there..."

"No. Detective, you have to play this out," Simon said, raising his voice slightly, "Go back to your hotel and have a beer. If Pickard sends someone to check on you, then you need to be doing something that Mann would do. Which does not include running around in the warehouse district after dark."

"Is that an order, sir?" Jim asked coldly.

"Sometimes I have to make hard decisions, you know that. I'm making this one for both of us."

"I hope you can live with it," Jim said softly, with a deadly glint in his eye.

When Blair woke, there was sunlight streaming through the open bathroom window. He felt horrible. Disoriented and unsteady. Cotton mouth was the least of his discomforts as he struggled to remember just where in the hell he was. Staggering to the bathroom he stared at the pale, gaunt reflection in the mirror, hard pressed to recognize his own face, aware that his pupils were constricted to mere pinpoints of black. His boxers had been wet and then dried to his skin. Ordinarily this would be not only uncomfortable, but embarrassing as well. But at the moment, he could care less.

He splashed water on his face and sipped some from his cupped hand to rinse his mouth out. There was dried vomit in his hair, which he did his best to wash out in the sink. Finding no towel, clean or otherwise in the nasty little bathroom, he let it drip dry. He looked at the toilet thinking that he should probably go, but decided that he was too dehydrated to worry about it.

As he made his way slowly back to the main room to find his clothes, he noticed her sprawled out on the floor on the other side of the bed. She lay on her back with her eyes open wide and her lips parted in a profane grimace. Knowing that he wouldn't find one, Blair knelt to feel for a pulse. Her skin was already cold. He sat looking at her for a while, wondering if he had ever known her name. Finally pushing past his shock, he crawled towards the phone. With shaky hands, he dialed 911.

After a sleepless night, one in which he disregarded his Captain's orders and spent trolling through the warehouse district in his own truck, Jim pulled the vet in next to the building and killed the engine. "Let's nail these jerks," he said to Rafe who sat in the passenger seat. He raised his head and listened to an ambulance as it drew near. He had been following its progress unconsciously for blocks, not realizing that it, in fact, was following him. As it slowed and entered the alley just past the warehouse, it cut its lights and sirens.

Rafe got out of the car and waited for Ellison to join him. A black and white came racing from the other direction and turned into the alley as well. Jim moved to the corner and peeked around. There were several small, cheap boarding rooms that lined the way, and the commotion seemed to center on the second one down. A Lexus pulled in behind the vet.

Cocking his head slightly, Jim listened, aware that Rafe was standing right behind him. He bristled when he heard the car door slam behind him, as he had to adjust his hearing.

"What's going on?" Pickard asked, joining them at the mouth of the alley.

"We don't know," Rafe explained. "We just got here. John was going to check it out."

"Don't bother. Let's go."

"I think it's your guinea pig," Jim supplied, already hearing and smelling his Guide. He turned back to Pickard. "Looks like we may have to cut the stuff after all." As Jim turned and walked back towards his car, the EMTs wheeled out their gurney, with Sandburg on it, one arm dropping off the side, just hanging there.

Unlocking the car door and sitting in the driver's seat, Jim pretended to be looking for something in the glove compartment as he tried to get his emotions under control. He wanted to run down the alley and grab his partner by the throat and shake some sense into him. He also wanted to run down the alley and grab his best friend into a hug and never let him go. More than that he wanted to weep in relief that his Guide was alive, if not well. None of the things that he wanted to do mattered at the moment because what he had to do was to go back to the warehouse to make sure that more of his tribe didn't end up in the backs of ambulances, full of the poison that Pickard was trying to get out on the street.

Blair glanced around briefly as he woke up, vaguely noting that he was somewhere in the hospital. ER, most likely. People were moving all around him, touching him, sticking him with needles and cold objects, yet he lay there, dispassionately. He had a funny, floaty kind of feeling. He remembered the EMTs arriving at the apartment, but then he had had another strange sensation come over him and had passed out or something, because after that, he didn't remember anything. Someone was talking to him or asking him questions, but he couldn't quite make himself focus enough to communicate with them.

"Late twenties male, looks like an overdose. He was seizing when the paramedics arrived. He's been post-ictal since he got here. The other person at the scene was DOA. Probably heroin."

"What's his name?"

"No ID. John Doe for now."

"Ok. Get a tox screen. Let's see what kind of shit this poor kid's into."

"Yes ma'am. We've already sent blood to the lab."

"Damn it!... Are you sure?" Pickard asked angrily. "All right. Do whatever you have to do then... Yeah. Just remember, if you fuck me on this, you're a dead man." Slamming down the phone, the drug lord swore under his breath. "Rick, get the boys together. We gotta have another meeting."

"Ms. Woo?" the young lab tech said, looking up from the microscope.

"Yes, Daniel, what is it?" Woo asked as she came out of her office.

"This blood sample. It was sent for a tox screen, but there was something, I don't know, off about it, so I made a slide to get a better look. Well, see for yourself."

Woo adjusted the scope slightly and took a good long look. "Definitely parasitic. If I didn't know better, I'd say malaria."

"That's the second one this week," Daniel exclaimed excitedly. "The first one came from the University Clinic just yesterday." He ran quick fingers over the keyboard and the information he was looking for came up on the screen.

"Sandburg, Blair. Look, the CBC and cross match are exactly the same as our John Doe. It's the same patient. He must really be sick. Now he's in the hospital," Woo said, reading over the young man's shoulder.

"What should I do?"

"Just run the tox screen. They already know about the malaria. Maybe they're trying to keep the malaria thing quiet. That's probably why they put him under an alias."

Pickard sighed and leaned against the table. "The shipment has been held up by the Port Authority. No big deal. It'll just arrive later today or tomorrow morning. Apparently the paper work isn't in order. Don't worry, they won't be able to find our stuff. It's well hidden."

"Yeah, where is it?" Jim asked, desperate to get the whole mess over with. If they knew which ship, and where the drugs were hidden, they could clean this up right now. The Port Authority had been warned about the arrival of a large amount of drugs and were probably detaining every ship longer than usual just to dot their i's and cross their t's.

"Sorry, Mann. That information is on a need to know basis. And you don't need to know."

"Whatever. How long are we gonna hang around here waiting for it?"

Pickard sighed. "Go on back to your hotel. I'll call you when I know something. You too, Colby." He turned his back on the two men and they headed for the door. "Rick, send somebody over to Cascade General and check on our boy. I want to know what kind of shape he's in. I just heard that the whore died."

"I'll go," Jim answered, stopping in his tracks and turning back to Pickard.

"No need for that, John. I've got people who can do it."

"It's all right. I don't wait very well. It'll give me something to do," Ellison persisted. He was already on his way to the hospital and he didn't want to run into any of Pickard's goons while he was there. It would work out better if the 'boss' thought that he had sent him, even though, technically, they were of similar rank within the cartel.

"Suit yourself. Let me know what you find out," Pickard said dismissively waving his hand.

Rafe had to practically run to keep up with Jim as he headed for the Corvette. "Hey, Johnny, mind if I drive?" he asked loudly as they reached the car, giving Jim an apprehensive gaze. Knowing that Jim might kill them both en route.

Jim swallowed. It wouldn't look good if he tore out of the place to go to the hospital to see some junkie that he wasn't even supposed to know. And he was pretty sure that that's exactly what would happen when he got behind the wheel. Reluctantly, he handed over the keys to his surrogate partner. "Sure," he said sourly. "Open her up. Let's see what she'll do."

As they pulled away from the curb, Jim tried to call Simon on his cell phone. "Damn piece of junk," he muttered as he examined the readout. NO SERVICE. He thought about throwing it out the window, but stuck it back in his pocket instead. Rafe fished out his phone with one hand and handed it to him without a word as he increased his speed, now that they were away from the warehouse.

"Simon! Paramedics took Sandburg to the hospital a couple of hours ago. Pickard sent me and Rafe to check on him. Bring my ID and badge just in case they won't let me in, because I am going to see him."

"I need to see Blair Sandburg," Jim announced at the front desk as he snatched his badge from Simon's hand without speaking to him.

"Who? I don't have anybody by that name here," the receptionist insisted, as she checked her computer monitor.

"Drug overdose. Got here by ambulance a couple of hours ago," Simon supplied.

"Right, that must be our John Doe. He's already been moved to a room."

"ICU?" Jim asked apprehensively.

"No. Third floor."

Jim jogged to the elevator without waiting for a room number, ducking in as the doors shut, leaving Simon and Rafe behind to wait for the next one. At the third floor, he stopped briefly to focus his senses and locate his Guide before turning towards the correct hall. There was a doctor coming out of the room that he had pinpointed. "Is he ok?" Jim asked without preface.

"If you're looking for a patient, you should ask at the nurses station," the doctor informed him dourly.

"Blair Sandburg, the man in that room. Is he ok?" Jim repeated with less patience.

"Is that his real name? Are you a family member?"

Jim once again flashed his badge. "He's my roommate. Please, just tell me if he's going to be all right."

"I can't discuss specifics about a patient's condition with you. You understand that right?"

"You can if he's not able to make his own decisions. I have his health care power of attorney," Jim countered, listening to Blair's heartbeat on the other side of the wall. Hanging on to it like a lifeline to keep him from ripping out the rigid doctor's throat.

"I don't think it will come down to that, but I would like you to consider his care after he is discharged."

"What do you mean?" Jim asked.

"He's definitely going to need rehab for his drug abuse. He may not be willing to go on his own. Do you care enough about him to help him help himself?"

Jim nodded absently as the words sunk in. Drug abuse. Rehab. They didn't make sense in the context of Blair Sandburg. The doctor gave him a squeeze on the arm and moved on down the hall, after placing Blair's chart in the holder on the wall. As the older man picked up another chart and ducked into the next room, Jim glanced up and down the hallway. He listened for a second, noting the approach of Simon and Rafe, and pulled the chart back out and flipped through it, stopping when he came to the lab results. There it was. In black ink on blue paper. Blair was positive for opiates in his blood stream. He closed the chart and half-heartedly stuck it back in the holder.

"What did it say?" Banks asked, not as a reproach, but as a friend needing to know.

"Opiates," Jim muttered, rubbing his forehead.

"Damn. I really thought that he was just sick," Simon sighed, his bitter regret showing. "I talked to the officers who responded to the 911 call. Apparently Blair made the call himself, but he was convulsing when they arrived. They found crack cocaine in the room..."

"Yeah, Pickard gave him that when he gave him the heroin," Jim answered.

"There were also three empty vials of heroin," Simon confirmed.

"Three?" Jim asked. "I only saw him take one."

"Jim, they only found one used needle."

"So Blair's been sharing needles with heroin addicted hookers?"

"It looks that way," Simon answered grimly.

Blair woke up again, this time in a clean bed. He rubbed his hand over the slight cramp in his stomach and noticed that he had an IV in his hand. The floaty feeling was gone. Instead he felt a strange, inexorable urge. A longing for some necessity that he couldn't quite identify. His body cried out for something, itched for it, but he didn't know what, so the need went unmet, making him feel restless and afraid. He crushed the blanket in his clenched fists.

"Are you ok?" came a near whisper from the side of the bed.

"Jim?" he asked anxiously, turning to see his friend in the dark room. "What happened, man? How did I get to the hospital?"

"By ambulance, as usual," Jim said, rising out of his chair and trying to smile. Failing miserably. He stood at the bedside just out of Blair's reach for several long minutes, searching for something to say, unable to make even the briefest eye contact. His disappointment now outweighing his concern. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked at last with a catch in his voice.

"I don't know," Blair answered with a shrug. "I guess it never came up. It's not like it's contagious or anything. Does it really matter?"

Jim swallowed his reply and tried to sound reassuring. "I just want to get you well. Then we'll have to talk. But I want you to know that I'll be here for you, whatever happens."

"Come on, man. It's not like I'm gonna die or anything. Lighten up," Blair joked.

"Lighten up?" Jim snapped unexpectedly. "You could have died. How could you be so... so damned selfish? You know, people really care about you. Need you."

"People do?" Blair asked, stunned at the harsh tone, wondering why Jim just couldn't come right out and say that he needed him. "Jim, I was trying to help. I just let it go too far. That's all. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Realizing that he wasn't in control of his up-until-now repressed anger, and that Blair wasn't in any shape for the shit that he was ready to dump on him, Jim backed down. "I have to go back to the warehouse. I just wanted to make sure that you were ok. This isn't over yet, Blair. Not by a long shot," he breathed harshly, resisting the desire to touch his friend, afraid of what he might do if he did touch him, and made a hasty retreat.

Blair stared in disbelief as his partner turned his back on him and walked out of the room. The same man who had just promised to be there for him. The merciless, unnamed urge remained, but was joined by a sense of abandonment. Blair rolled on his side and drew his knees up to ease the cramping in his stomach, and stared at the wall.

Pickard was gone when Jim and Rafe arrived back at the warehouse the next morning. In fact, no one was around except for one guard, who was now taking an unexpected nap, compliments of a stalking Sentinel. Leaving Rafe posted as a lookout, Jim took advantage of Pickard's absence to investigate the man's office. Checking the closet, filing cabinets and desk drawers, he stopped at the top drawer, which was locked. It wasn't much of a lock, and Ellison quickly jimmied it open with nothing more than a paper clip.

Blair's wallet caught his eye, and he pocketed it knowing that he probably shouldn't. He slammed the drawer shut and exited the room. Once outside, he guiltily thumbed through the wallet, telling himself that he was only looking to see if Blair's things were still in place. He found the hidden hundred dollar bill and then another piece of paper caught his eye. Unfolding it he narrowed his eyes to read in the dimly lit hallway. It was a prescription for quinine, dated day before yesterday. He struggled to remember what it was used for, but came up empty. Placing it back in the wallet, he went to find Rafe.

"Colby," Rafe said into his cell phone, looking up as Jim came around the corner. "Yeah, he's here with me. His phone still isn't working."

Jim raised an eyebrow, and tuned in to the conversation. "The shipment is here. We're transporting it to the warehouse now. Tell Mann to bring the key," Pickard said.

"Key?" Rafe asked looking at Jim, who only shrugged in return. Mann hadn't said anything about a key, but they had gone through all of his belongings, including the car and hadn't come up with anything out of the ordinary, not even a strange key.

"The key, the key. The one that I sent him. The one that unlocks the container. He'll know what I'm talking about."

"Right," Rafe agreed. "The key. I'll tell him to bring it." He shut the phone and turned to Ellison. "Apparently Mann has the key to open up the shipping container. He didn't say anything about that when we interrogated him."

"The bastard probably hoped to snag up the investigation by omitting that information," Jim surmised. "Where would he hide something like a key?"

"Maybe in something he carries all the time," Rafe offered, gesturing to Jim's pocket. "Something that might not be working right now."

"You don't think..." Jim started to ask. "I wondered why he would carry such a cheap ass phone," he laughed as he pulled the object out of his pocket.

"One way to find out," Rafe grinned as Jim smashed the phone on the floor and stepped on it for good measure. The action helping to ease his stress level considerably. He bent and fished out the shiny silver key from the electronic rubble.

"I guess we'll have to use your phone to call in backup," Jim replied.

"Damn it. I forgot to ask about Sandburg," Pickard said as he put his phone away and climbed into his Lexus. "Rick, just send someone to get him. I want to see for myself how he's doing. I mean, he survived at least two doses of the super mix, when the hooker died after only one. Either he's got a hell of a tolerance, or the stuff is mixed unevenly. We need to find out before it hits the street."

"Yes, sir," Rick said. "I'll get him myself."

Simon entered the room quietly, thinking that Blair might be asleep, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkened room, he could see Sandburg restlessly moving around in the bed.

"How do you feel, son?" Simon asked gently as he turned on the small over the bed light.

"Bad," Blair answered truthfully. "I can't ever remember it ever feeling this bad. It must be because I waited so long to get my medicine."

"I don't understand," Simon said, settling on the edge of the bed.

"This is my third relapse. But even when I initially caught malaria, it wasn't this bad."

"Malaria? Is that where the fever came from?" Simon asked, confusion clear on his face.

"Yeah, and the chills are starting again. Next I'll have a fever, and then the sweats. It's been the same every other time. But it's a little different this time, and not just the seizures. I just feel so... I don't know, I can't explain it. It's like I need to do something, but I don't know what," Blair uttered, unintentionally accentuating his words by rocking back and front slightly.

"That could just be withdrawal, Blair," Simon advised, trying hard not to be judgmental.

"What do you mean?"

"From the heroin."

"What?" Blair asked with alarm. "What heroin? Is that what everyone thinks?"

"There were opiates in your blood stream."

"No way, Simon. No fucking way. You know I don't do drugs," Blair insisted doggedly.

"You were found in an apartment with an overdosed prostitute. There were drugs, and you were having a seizure when help arrived. And yes, you were positive for opiates. Don't you remember any of that?"

Blair groaned and rubbed his face. "There was a girl. She had like, purple hair. She said that she could help me. Oh God, Simon. I think I did have a seizure then. You don't think that she shot me up while I was out, do you?"

"Why would she do that?"

"I don't know, maybe she thought she was helping me in her own twisted way. Simon, I did not knowingly use any drugs. I swear. I guess that's why Jim walked out on me," he added with a tremor in his voice, as finally his partner's actions made sense.

"He didn't walk out on you, Blair. He'll be back, he just has a job to do right now. He's just disappointed. And scared for you. We'll prove to him that you didn't do anything wrong."

"You believe me?" Blair asked.

"Look, I saw you before you went in to warn Jim. I know that you were sick. Didn't you say you went to see a doctor?"

"Yeah, the one at the clinic on campus. Simon! They drew blood! Maybe they still have it. If they do, it will prove that I hadn't used any drugs before I met that girl."

"Ok, I'm on it," Simon said, rising from the bed. "I'll talk to your doctor here as well. Unfortunately, you're still not being treated for the malaria. They think it's a heroin overdose."

Blair began to seriously shiver, and Simon helped him to pull the cover up around his arms. "Is Jim ok?" Blair couldn't help but ask.

"He will be, after I explain things to him," Simon assured before he left the room.

Blair closed his eyes and pondered the information that Simon had given him. It explained so much. Now that he was thinking a little clearer he realized that no one had even talked to him about his treatment, let alone mentioned the malaria. The fact that Jim thought he was an addict was hard to take. He thought that Jim knew him better than that, even if all evidence was against him, Jim should have known better. Trying hard not to be bitter about it, he chanted a mantra as his body shook with the chills. When the door opened again one of Pickard's men stepped into the room. Blair barely recognized him, as he had been so out of it when he had been in the warehouse. But the big gun that was once again stuck in his face did wonders to jog his memory.

The doctor examined the lab report with an uneasy sigh. Malaria. He never would have thought to check for that, even though his patient didn't present as a normal OD. After speaking to the police captain, he had ordered a test for malaria, only to have it confirmed immediately, having been run twice already.

He made a few phone calls and decided on a new plan of action. They would need to start the patient on antiparasitics as soon as possible, as so much time had already been lost. Although seizures were usually a late symptom of malaria, they could have reasonably been caused by the heroin, and there had even been corroboration of opiates. In fact, many of the symptoms could have gone either way. Still, it bothered him that he had missed the malaria. He chastised himself as he opened the door to have a conference that he should have already had with his patient. There was blood on the bed where the IV had been pulled out, but Mr. Sandburg was no where to be found.

Rafe and Jim leaned leisurely against an empty packing crate in the warehouse proper as they waited for Pickard to show up with the goods. Backup was already in place, a combination of SWAT and Feds, and they would have the bad guys surrounded before they even knew what was happening. Jim waited, anxious to be able to get back to the hospital. He felt guilty that he hadn't been able to give more support when he had visited before and swore that he would do better next time.

Soon the loading dock doors began to open, slowly filling the dark, dank warehouse with sunlight. A forklift backed in with a large metal shipping container balanced on its tines. Jim sniffed the air and immediately smelled coffee and lots of it. It was an old smuggler's trick to sidetrack the dogs and hide the odor of various drugs. A man opened the door at the street end of the warehouse and Pickard drove in, arriving just as the forklift deposited its load and left the way it came.

"Good, you're here. Let's have the key," Pickard ordered as he stepped out of his car.

Jim fingered the key in his pocket before pulling it out and flipping it towards the man. Pickard slipped it into the padlock and released the handle, opening the door with a metallic screech. Pulling the first cardboard box down and sitting it on the floor, he cut it open with a hunting knife. Rafe helped him open the flaps and looked up in surprise as he pulled out a fluffy brown Teddy bear. Pickard took it from his hand and stabbed it brutally with the knife. Pieces of stuffing went everywhere and a handful of coffee beans hit the floor, bouncing as they struck. Digging around inside the eviscerated toy, Pickard came out with a handful of the small brown vials.

As Rafe hit the button on his phone that gave the five minute warning for the raid, the street side door was opened again, and another car drove through. Jim snapped his head up and towards the car, training sight, sound, and smell on it.

Pickard handed the bear to Jim as he walked by. "We'll get someone to start unpacking these right away," he said as he moved towards the car that parked next to the entrance of the office area of the building. "We'll know pretty soon if we have to cut the stuff."

Jim squeezed the bear tightly in one hand, causing more of the stuffing to escape to the floor. He tried to will the car to move out of the way, as he was sure there would soon be gunfire, and every fiber of his being told him that his Guide was in the back seat. He followed Pickard, still holding the bear, until he caught sight of Blair, still dressed in a hospital gown and wrapped in a blanket. Rick roughly dragged him out of the car and into Pickard's office, dropping him into a chair. He appeared to be in withdrawal again, his face was pale, and his whole body shook uncontrollably. Jim stood at the door and watched as Pickard eased Blair's head back and studied his face.

"What do you want?" Blair asked defiantly, but without the strength to back it up. He wrapped the blanket around himself tighter as his teeth chattered.

"Well, you seem to be right back where you started, don't you," Pickard taunted.

Blair regarded Jim, his expression blank and unreadable, which gave Jim a guilty start. Pickard pulled the blanket away and examined Blair's arms briefly. "You must hide your injection sites," Pickard mused. "I would have expected many more track marks." He picked up a syringe from the table and drew up the contents of one of the vials. Blair followed his actions with his eyes, but he remained calm. As Pickard got closer with the needle, Jim drew his gun. Blair closed his eyes and waited for whatever would happen next, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

"You know you want this. And I need to see how you react to it. That's all. Don't fight me," Pickard soothed, pulling at the blanket. He glanced up at the gun aimed his way and laughed. "I've never had to hold a gun on an addict to take a hit, John. He'll cooperate in a minute."

"Get away from him with that," Jim growled, causing Blair to open his eyes at the unrestrained anger in his voice. Gunfire erupted from the warehouse and Jim lunged for Pickard, knocking him out with one vicious blow as Blair dove for the floor. Jim threw the needle towards the desk as he dropped down to join Blair, covering his body with his own, just in case a stray bullet found the office. The gutted Teddy bear lay crushed between them. Blair jumped with each round that went off, or so Jim thought until the gunfire slowed and then stopped and Blair continued to shudder.

"What's going on, Chief?" Jim whispered.

"Chills. They'll pass," Blair said, still holding on to his blessed protector, afraid that if he let go, that Jim would leave again.

"What do you take quinine for?" Jim asked several minutes later as he sat up and pulled Blair up with him. He didn't loosen his hold, either.

"Malaria."

Rafe appeared in the door with a worried expression on his face. "Is he all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, Pickard probably needs medical attention though," Jim said, motioning with his head to the downed man next to the overturned filing cabinet.

Rafe nodded and disappeared again, only to be replaced by Simon. "Damn it, Sandburg, I can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?" he said sinking down beside the two.

"Not my idea to come back here, Simon," Blair mumbled, closing his eyes and leaning against Jim.

"Has the fever started yet?" Simon asked as he felt of the smaller man's forehead.

Jim startled. "You knew?"

"I just found out. Everyone assumed that it was drugs, but no one bothered to ask Blair what the problem was. I got the report from the blood drawn at the clinic day before yesterday. He was clean. The hooker must have thought that he was in withdrawal and shot him up after he had a seizure."

"He does seem to be a lot warmer now. The chills are easing off," Jim said with a nod as he held on to his friend. "Wake up, Chief. Let's get you back to the hospital."

"The fact that this is your third relapse is disconcerting. Apparently you have a strain of malaria that is resistant to chloroquine, or you wouldn't be having these late relapses, especially considering the seizures. We are switching you to atoraquene and prognanil..." the doctor was saying.

Blair rolled his head to the other side of his pillow to look at Jim. "What did he just say?" he asked groggily, the fever having left him weak and disoriented once again. The pillow under his head was wet with sweat.

"Your medicine isn't working, they're gonna try something else," Jim supplied as he gently nudged Blair's head back in the direction of the doctor. He could at least look like he was listening, even though Jim was definitely listening for them both. Jim wiped at Blair's face with a cool cloth, but Blair irritably pushed his hand away.

"The heroin complicates things, though to be honest, I don't know to what extent. We'll have to wait and see, but in the meantime we'll be giving him methadone, which is used in detoxification for opiate addiction." Finally realizing who his true audience was, especially now that Blair's eyes were closed, the doctor spoke directly to Jim. "Compared to the levels of opiate in the dead woman's blood, via the autopsy report, I'd say that Mr. Sandburg only received a third of what she took. But given the purity, it was strong enough to produce a limited addiction."

"Yeah, and he got dosed with golden a while back," Jim supplied.

"Yes, there is that."

"So, is he going to be all right?" Jim asked worriedly.

"I think he's going to be fine," the doctor smiled and reached across the bed to shake Jim's hand.

When he left, Blair sighed and opened his eyes. "I thought he'd never leave," he said.

"Playing 'possum, Chief?" Jim asked with amusement as he pulled a chair over to the bed.

"No, I just didn't want to talk about the drug thing again," Blair confessed wearily.

"We need to talk about that," Jim said softly.

"Not now, Jim."

"When?"

"How about never. Is never good for you?" Blair asked grumpily, not bothering to hide his anger.

Jim grimaced at the sarcasm that colored his partner's voice. He sat quietly for a minute while Blair plucked restlessly at his blanket, steadfastly refusing to make eye contact. "For a minute, at the warehouse," Jim began guardedly, "I thought that you were going to let Pickard inject you with that poison."

Blair's head snapped back and he glowered at his partner. "For Pete's sake, Jim. I knew that you would never let him near me with it," he snapped. "I trusted you. Oh wait a minute. I see what you're doing. You think that if you piss me off, I'll talk about it. Forget it, man."

"I just need to know that we're going to be ok," Jim acknowledged.

Blue eyes studied him intently, but Jim didn't back down. He returned the hard gaze with a sincere, yet somehow abashed expression. "Hypothetically..." Blair started after several tense minutes.

"Oh, shit."

"I'm serious. Hypothetically, say I had become addicted to something illegal. What would you have done?"

"I would have kicked your ass," Jim deadpanned.

"No, really. What would you do?"

"I'm telling you, Chief. I would have to kick your ass. But then we could talk about it. Before I had you locked up somewhere."

"In jail? Or rehab?"

"I don't know. But someplace where you could get help."

"Would we still be partners?" Blair asked coldly.

A chill passed through Jim, causing him to flinch. He didn't know the answer to that question. The game of chicken was over, and Jim looked away. Blair nodded and swallowed, looking away as well. He tugged at the cover and Jim quickly helped him to adjust it. They sat in silence for a long time. Blair blinking his eyes, vainly trying to stay awake.

"I'm sorry about the way I left before. I might have handled it better if I didn't care so much," Jim said at last, barely above a whisper.

"You didn't trust me," Blair answered softly.

"I..." Jim began then sighed. "You're right. I couldn't get past my own anger to realize that you wouldn't let yourself fall into that pit."

"I forgive you for being angry. I even understand how you might think what you thought, you know, given the circumstances," Blair intoned. "But you need to know that I'm human and that I will make mistakes. Some of them are going to be major mistakes, I'm sure. I just need to know that our partnership, no, our friendship isn't dependent upon whether or not I screw up. I can't handle that kind of pressure."

"I meant what I said, Blair. I'll be here for you no matter what," Jim promised taking Blair's hand into his own.

Blair closed his eyes and grasped Jim's hand as he drifted off into the sleep that he had been fighting. "I'm going to hold you to that, man," he sighed. After a while, Jim eased his hand away long enough to finish straightening the covers. One funny lump wouldn't smooth, and Jim pulled the blanket back to find the flattened Teddy bear.

"I wondered where that little guy went," he mused as he tucked it under Blair's arm and bent to kiss him on the head.  

The End

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