Author's webpage: http://www.squidge.org/5Senses/

Author's disclaimer: This story is an episode of The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season (SVS), produced by FiveSenses, Inc. SVS is based on characters and concepts developed by, and belonging to, Pet Fly Productions. This story is intended for private, personal enjoyment only. No money is being made, or will be allowed to be made, by the author of this story or by FiveSenses, Inc. from the writing and distribution of this story. Any original characters introduced in an SVS episode belongs to the episode author and to FiveSenses, Inc. and should not be used without their permission.

Author's notes: Episodes of SVS may contain depictions of consensual m/m sex. These depictions may or may not be accompanied by specific mention of items necessary for safe and healthy intercourse. It is the intention of FiveSenses, Inc. and all SVS authors that, even when such items are not explicitly mentioned, their use is to be assumed as a matter of course. All of us at FiveSenses, Inc. are aware of the risks of unprotected sex in today's world and strongly advocate the practice of safe sex, including the use of condoms and other protective devices.

Warmest thanks from FiveSenses, Inc. to CJ, Peanut, Deborah and Nestra for their much appreciated contributions in beta reading this story.

Author's e-mail address: AgtSpooky@aol.com

Author's webpage: http://www.skeeter63.org/k9kennel/Agt_Spooky.htm

Story Notes: I'd like to take the opportunity to thank those who helped make my story even better: CJ and Peanut, my beta-extrordinares, for all of thie wonderful input; Suse and Rike for their fantastic illustrations that bring my story to life; Mrs. Fish for lending me her book on poisons; my husband, John, for typing up this whole thing when I couldn't; and finally, Alyjude and Winds-of-Dawn for asking me to take part in the Slash Virtual Season. I'm honored and thrilled for this opportunity. This story was inspired by the Starsky and Hutch episode "A Coffin For Starsky". Many thanks to Starsky and Hutch for a brilliant episode that Sentinel fans wish they could have gotten as well.

Welcome to the Jungle
by Barbara Nice-Miller

Jim Ellison's head was going to explode.

Or at least that's what it felt like to a Sentinel with the flu. And all said Sentinel wanted was to be put out of his misery.

A week of daily rain, unseasonably cold temperatures, and a sharp spike in the crime rate had worn the officers of the Cascade PD to a frazzle and lowered their immune systems, and now a virulent strain of the flu was running rampant throughout the department. And Jim Ellison was its latest victim, along with his Sentinel abilities. None of his heightened senses were working right, thanks to his flu. Sick and run down, Jim's normally excellent control of his senses had abandoned him, leaving him open to random sensory spikes. So he had resorted to keeping his internal dials at normal or below normal levels. It was not a pleasant sensation for a Sentinel, being muted like that, and it made for an even grumpier Detective Ellison.

"Dammit, Sandburg, where's the Ervin file? You said you'd bring it up from Records an hour ago."

Blair Sandburg sighed at Jim's outburst, knowing it was the flu talking and not his friend. Pushing an errant curl behind his ear, Blair stood up from behind his desk in the bullpen and walked over to Jim's. Picking up the top file folder in Jim's "In" box, he placed it in front of the irritated detective. "I did bring it up from Records, just like I said I would," Blair replied patiently.

Jim let out a long breath and rubbed a hand across his face. "Chief, I..." he began.

Blair waved him off. "Forget it, it's OK." He took in his lover's flushed face and bloodshot eyes. "Jim, would you please go home? You need to be in bed resting, getting rid of that flu, not here."

Irritation once again flashed across Jim's features. "I'm fine. I don't need you playing nursemaid."

"Fine? You can't even concentrate. You've been staring at that same piece of paper for the last 20 minutes," Blair patiently pointed out. "The only thing you're accomplishing is biting people's heads off for no reason. I'll finish up the final paperwork I.A. needs on the Ervin case and get it filed by five o'clock like it needs to be. Go. Home."

"Sandburg..." Jim growled.

"I agree," chimed in a third voice. Two heads turned as Joel Taggert walked up to Jim's desk. "Listen to your partner. Go home and get some rest. Blair's been cleared by I.A. The case has been closed. There's nothing more you need to do. Let Blair finish up the report for you. Besides," Joel smiled, "his are always better written than yours."

"Joel, I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself and do my own reports," Jim insisted.

Joel sighed. "Since you're refusing to be reasonable about this, I'm ordering you to go home." He smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. "Since Simon and Megan left yesterday for that officer exchange seminar in San Diego, leaving me as acting captain, you have to listen to me."

Jim's jaw dropped. "You're pulling rank on me?"

The jovial black man smiled, looking very pleased with himself. "Yep."

Jim looked helplessly between Taggert and Blair. "I'm outnumbered, aren't I?"

Blair nodded. "You'd better believe it. So just concede defeat now and go home or I'll sic Rhonda on you, too."

Jim valiantly tried one last tactic. "Just how do you propose to get home, Sherlock, if I leave now? We drove together, remember?"

Joel shook his head, amused. "Good try, Jim. I'll take Blair home when he's ready." He handed Jim his Jags hat as Blair offered him his leather jacket.

Knowing he'd lost the battle, Jim stood, pulling on his outerwear as he headed for the elevator, sneezing violently one last time for good measure. He heard Blair call out as he stepped into the elevator.

"I'll brew you up something when I get home!"

"You keep away from me with that peyote!" Jim warned in mock-horror as the doors closed, unaware that something far more dangerous than a little homemade peyote awaited him at home.

Pulling into a parking spot outside 852 Prospect, Jim turned off the engine of his blue and white pickup truck and rested his aching head on the steering wheel. He was running a slight fever and every muscle in his body ached. He hated being sick. Hated that feeling of being weak, not up to par...and of others seeing it. Hence his insistence at the precinct that he was fine.

Jim raised his head and smiled at the memory of the concerned persistence of his roommate, pushing him to go home. After four years, he should have known better than to try and fool Blair. Ever since they'd taken their relationship beyond friendship, it seemed as if they were even more deeply in tune with one another.

Pulling his jacket closer around himself, Jim exited the truck and walked sluggishly to the entrance of his building, muscles aching with every step, unsuccessfully trying to dodge the steadily falling raindrops. Once inside, he took the elevator up to his loft, leaning wearily against the wall until the car deposited him on the third floor.

Feeling more tired by the moment, Jim unlocked the door to #307 and let himself inside. With thoughts of a hot shower and a warm bed occupying his mind, Jim barely registered the slight tingling and itching sensation on his palm as he released the doorknob, and scratched absently at it as he closed the door behind him.

Around the corner from #307 a man emerged from the shadows. The portable white noise generator held in his gloved hand masked his presence from the Sentinel inside. Walking softly up to the door, the man withdrew a damp cloth from his pocket and carefully wiped the doorknob clean, dropping the cloth into a plastic bag and sealing it, before vanishing back into the shadows.

Inside the loft, oblivious to the presence outside his door, Jim removed his wet jacket and shoes, then trudged slowly upstairs to his bedroom. He stripped down to his boxers, sneezing twice in the process, then grabbed a white t-shirt, soft gray sweatpants and fresh socks from his dresser drawers. Gathering up his clothes, Jim began to descend the stairs, heading for the bathroom and his hot shower.

But halfway down an intense wave of dizziness slammed into him. Jim stumbled and lost his balance, clothes falling from his grasp as he grabbed the railing with both hands, trying to keep himself from tumbling down the stairs. He closed his eyes, breathing fast, remaining motionless until the dizziness passed.

When the feeling subsided, Jim carefully opened his eyes and worked to slow his breathing. Finally realizing he was sicker than he'd wanted to admit, he bent to retrieve his fallen clothes and continue on to the bathroom. But he only made it as far as the living room before the dizziness engulfed him once again. He staggered sideways and hit the edge of the couch, just as an incredibly sharp pain knifed through his stomach.

Jim gasped and fell to his knees, one arm wrapped around his stomach, the other hand braced on the floor. The stomach pain increased, followed by nausea, and Jim's limbs began to tremble.

Aware that something was seriously wrong, he fought against the dizziness and turned himself around on hands and knees. Breath coming in harsh pants and face twisted with pain, Jim crawled to the coffee table, where the cordless phone was laying on top. As his arms gave out and he collapsed, he lunged and knocked the phone to the floor with him.

Sweating profusely now, Jim grasped the phone and concentrated fiercely, pressing a well-used speed dial number. After two rings a familiar voice answered.

//"Cascade Police Department, Jim Ellison's desk. Blair Sandburg speaking."//

Closing his eyes in relief, Jim gritted his teeth against the pain and struggled to stay conscious.

//"Hello? Is anyone there?"//

His voice barely above a whisper, Jim managed two words before losing the battle against the encroaching darkness.

"...Chief...help..."

"...im? Jim? Can you hear me?"

Blair's panicked, concerned voice briefly broke through the fog Jim was floating in and he slowly opened his eyes. He registered the wail of a siren, the faint flash of lights, and the sway of the soft surface beneath him that had to be a stretcher in a moving ambulance. The familiar, soothing presence of Blair beside him, holding his hand, drew him like a beacon in the darkness.

"Jim! Thank god...You're gonna be OK, hear me? We're almost at the hospital. Hang in there..."

Staring up into Blair's wide blue eyes, Jim squeezed the younger man's hand. Unable to summon the energy to speak, Jim let the gesture speak for him before drifting back into unconsciousness.

Jostled as he was taken from the ambulance and wheeled inside the hospital, Jim awoke for a moment, catching a snippet of conversation between Blair and a doctor.

"...any allergies? Is he on any medication?"

"No, no...but he's been sick, had the flu..."

Confident his Guide would watch over him, Jim let his eyes drift closed again.

Blair Sandburg paced the waiting room, wearing a hole in the cracked and faded linoleum, making Joel Taggert tired just watching him. The younger man raked a hand through his long curls in frustration.

"What's taking them so long, Joel? This is more serious than the flu. Something's wrong, I know it."

"Then you'd be right."

Blair abruptly stopped pacing and spun around as Joel turned his head toward the unfamiliar male voice that interrupted their conversation. A thirty-something, brown-haired, green-eyed man in a white lab coat approached, holding out his hand to Blair.

"Mr. Sandburg?" Blair nodded and introduced Joel. "I'm Dr. Forrester," the man continued. "I've been put in charge of Detective Ellison's case."

"What is it? What's wrong with him?" Blair demanded.

Dr. Forrester gestured to the chairs. "Please, let's sit down and I'll tell you what I know."

Once all three men were seated, Dr. Forrester looked at Blair and Joel, concern etched on his face despite his practiced mask of professional detachment. "Detective Ellison's condition is not caused by the flu, though his weakened immune system may be detrimental in the long run."

"What do you mean?" questioned Joel.

Dr. Forrester took a breath. "Simply put, he's been poisoned."

"What?!"

"How?"

Dr. Forrester held up a hand. "We're still running tests, so I don't have anything conclusive for you yet. What I do know is that Detective Ellison is showing signs of pesticide poisoning. We were unable to detect any injection sites on his body, so we're running under the assumption that the poison was absorbed through his skin. And there is a small, red patch on his right palm."

Blair ran a hand over his face, trying to digest the news. Joel reached over and squeezed his arm before questioning the doctor again.

"So what happens now? Will Jim be all right? What are you doing for him?"

Dr. Forrester laced his fingers together, looked down at the floor, then back up again. "Detective Ellison's blood work shows a variety of chemicals, which could be indicative of several types of poisons. But as of yet we haven't been able to determine what those poisons are and in what quantity they were administered. And until we do, we can only treat the symptoms, not administer an antidote."

"Just how serious is this?" Blair demanded.

"I'm afraid the prognosis isn't good," Dr. Forrester answered frankly. "Unless the poisons are identified by our labs, or a sample is brought to us for analysis so that an antitoxin can be developed...Detective Ellison may have no more than 24 hours to live."

Blair exploded up out of his chair, shaking his head while stalking across the room. "No, no..." He turned to face the two men. "This can't be happening..." he denied.

Joel started to rise from his chair. "Blair..."

Blair closed his eyes and held up his hands, forestalling Joel's motion. He took a moment then opened his eyes, looking directly at Dr. Forrester.

"Does he know?" Blair asked softly.

The young doctor nodded. "He asked me to tell you."

"Can I see him?"

"Of course. There are some things I'd like to discuss with you both."

Blair glanced over at Joel. The older man nodded. "Go on. I've got some phone calls to make."

Blair gave a small smile. "Thanks, Joel." Then he turned and followed Dr. Forrester to Jim's room.

Joel sat for a moment, trying to absorb the disturbing news, before rising and walking down the hallway and out of the hospital. Finding a quiet spot away from the Emergency entrance, thankful the rain had finally stopped, he pulled out his cell phone and punched in a familiar number. The call was answered after three rings.

"Simon? It's Joel. You need to get on the first plane back here..."

Jim opened his eyes at the sound of his hospital room door opening. Blair stood there for a moment, eyes wide, before closing the short distance to Jim's bed. The Sentinel summoned what he hoped was a reassuring smile and held out his hand to his Guide. Blair took it instantly, squeezing tightly.

"Doctor told you what's going on?" Jim asked.

Blair nodded. "Yeah. How're you feeling?"

Jim gave a crooked grin. "Better than I look."

Blair laughed weakly, taking in his partner's pale, sweaty face. "Good thing, man, or we'd really be in trouble."

Dr. Forrester, who had entered the room behind Blair, cleared his throat. Jim and Blair turned at the sound.

"So what's the bottom line?" Jim queried the doctor. "Where do we go from here?"

"We're in the process of admitting you for more extensive tests and observation..." Dr. Forrester began.

Jim started shaking his head, struggling to sit up. "No, no...I'm not about to lie here in this bed and do nothing."

"Detective, you're a sick man," Dr. Forrester tried to point out. "I don't think you realize..."

Jim, now sitting on the edge of the bed with Blair's help, pointed a finger at the doctor. "No, you don't realize. You told me the best way to create an antitoxin was to actually have a sample of the poison here, correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"I'm a cop. I have the resources and the people to make that happen. But I can't run an investigation cooped up in some hospital room." Jim paused to catch his breath. "Besides, can you guarantee me that if I stay here your labs will find the antidote?"

Dr. Forrester's mouth tightened. "No," he admitted.

Jim nodded, then looked at the wall clock. It was just past noon. "Tell you what. If I haven't come up with anything by midnight tonight I'll come back and let you have another go at me."

"If you haven't collapsed first."

Blair, silent throughout the exchange, spoke up. "How bad will this get?"

Dr. Forrester sighed, putting his hands inside the pockets of his white lab coat. "Like I said before, we seem to be dealing with a combination of pesticides, so I can only give you general symptoms."

Jim nodded. "Go on."

Dr. Forrester ticked them off one by one, like some demented grocery list. "Nausea, vomiting, fever, excessive sweating, fatigue, stomach pains, difficulty in breathing, convulsions, coma...then death. I estimate from 16 to 18 hours before Detective Ellison slips into a coma."

There was silence in the room as Dr. Forrester finished. Jim nodded his head slowly. "Thanks, Doc," he said softly, then turned to look at Blair.

Sensing he was now an unwanted presence, Dr. Forrester headed for the door. "You're free to leave whenever you're ready, Detective. I'll see you this evening. Hopefully sooner, with good news."

Blair waited until the door closed before moving even closer to Jim, reaching out to clasp both of his hands, before speaking softly but with intense emotion.

"I love you," he said simply to the man before him - the other half of himself.

"I love you, too. And that's why I'm not planning on dying anytime soon. Most certainly not today." Jim reached up and framed Blair's face with his hands. "Especially when we have nearly four years of lost time to make up for..."

Then they were leaning towards each other, meeting in the middle. The kiss was soft and lingering, each man giving strength to the other for the life and death battle to come. Moving apart long minutes later, Sentinel and Guide rested their foreheads together.

"C'mon, partner," Jim whispered. "We've got work to do."

Cascade PD
12:30 PM

Joel marched purposefully into the Major Crime bullpen, a man with a mission. Behind him, Jim and Blair proceeded at a slower, but equally determined pace. The atmosphere in the bullpen was charged with emotion. Joel's phone call to Rafe prior to leaving the hospital had spelled out the situation to the rest of the detectives in the squad - one of their own needed help.

The frenetic activity in the room all but ceased when the three men entered, all eyes on the too-pale man in the middle. But before anyone could speak, Joel began barking out orders. "Rafe! Brown! Simon's office, both of you. Rhonda! What's the status on those files?"

"Still pulling them, sir," the attractive blond woman replied immediately from her desk.

Joel nodded as he strode past her into Simon's office. "Come get me when they're ready."

Blair, the last inside, closed the door behind him. As the five men took seats around the conference table, Jim looked across at Brown and Rafe.

"From the commotion out there I assume Joel filled you in on what's happening?"

Rafe ran a hand uncaringly through his normally perfect hair, his features grim. "Yeah, he did."

"We will catch whoever did this to you," Brown vowed, his handsome black face uncharacteristically serious.

Jim gave a tired smile. "Never doubted it for a minute, H."

Then a sudden coughing fit doubled Jim over, hacking and wheezing, propelling Blair from his chair. The young man quickly poured a glass of water from the pitcher in the center of the table and placed it in a trembling hand, encouraging his partner to take small sips. There were a few tense moments until Jim was able to get his breathing back to normal.

As Jim leaned back in his chair, Blair placed a supportive hand on the detective's arm and looked over at Joel. "What do you have everyone doing?"

Joel pulled his worried gaze away from Jim to address Blair. "First, I called Simon. He and Megan are trying to get on the first flight back here. I've got Serena over at the loft now, going over it and Jim's truck with a fine-toothed comb, trying to find any trace of the poison." He shook his head. "But it's like looking for a needle in a haystack. It could be on anything Jim touched. But she'll turn the place upside down, nevertheless. She's already cleaned off Jim's desk. Bagged everything and took it to forensics. Her lab guys are going over everything now, looking for any residue."

Brown picked up the conversation. "Rafe, Rhonda and I are having all of Ellison's case files pulled and sorted. When someone tries to kill a cop, you've gotta think of revenge as the number one motive."

Blair gave a low whistle. "All of them for the past eight years? With Jim's arrest record? That's got to be hundreds and hundreds of files! That's gonna take time, and we don't have much of it, guys."

Joel pointed toward the bullpen, and every man in the room looked through the window at the hustle of bodies on the other side. "That's why I've pulled every available detective in here. If they're not going though those files, looking for possible suspects, they're on the phone to their snitches. There may be word on the street about a hit on Jim." Joel paused. "We know it's a race against time, Blair. But when has Major Crime ever lost a race, eh? And we don't plan on starting now."

Blair lightly squeezed Jim's arm as the older man spoke for them both. "Thanks, Joel..." He was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Rhonda.

"The last of the files are here, sir."

"Thanks, Rhonda." Joel put his hands on the table and stood up, grim determination etched on his face. Brown and Rafe followed suit. Joel looked at the detectives standing next to him. "As you come across any files where the perp made threats against Jim, bring them in to me. Especially those who've served time and been released. But even if they're still locked up bring me the file. Unfortunately, we all know a hit can be orchestrated from the inside. OK, let's get to work."

Rafe and Brown nodded, making for the door.

"We're on it."

"Hang in there, Jim."

Jim rose a bit unsteadily to his feet. "C'mon Chief, we've got work to do, too."

"Where do you want to start?"

"With a few phone calls of our own. If anyone's got any information, it'll be Sneaks."

Cascade PD
3:00 PM

Jim closed the bathroom stall door behind him and walked on shaky legs the short distance to the sinks. He braced himself there for a moment, head hanging, as small tremors raced through his body. Using one hand to turn on the cold water, he rinsed his mouth out several times then reached for a paper towel. As he blotted the water and sweat from his face, he carefully extended his hearing. The Sentinel picked up on his Guide's presence immediately. Blair was still standing right outside the bathroom door, barring anyone entrance until Jim came back out, understanding the detective's need for privacy as he lost the contents of his stomach.

Lowering the paper towel from his face, Jim caught sight of himself in the mirror. He really did look as bad as he felt now. Despite the effects of the poison on his senses, he could easily tell that his fever had worsened. His pale face was now continuously coated in a fine sheen of moisture, and red-rimmed eyes stared back at him, their normally bright blue color now glazed and dull. He raised his left hand up to eye level and watched as it shook involuntarily. His features hardened and he closed the hand into a fist before striking it down on the edge of the white porcelain sink.

Off to his right, the bathroom door opened partway and Blair's face appeared around the edge. "Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief?"

"Rafe just came by, looking for us. They've finished going through the files and pulled three possibles."

Jim pushed himself wearily away from the sink. "Right. Let's see what we've got."

The same five men reassembled themselves around the same conference table five minutes later. Three manila file folders took center stage.

"Who are our winners?" Jim began.

Joel picked up the first file folder and flipped it open. "Samuel Pierson. Age 32. You busted him back in Vice. Ring any bells?"

Jim tilted his head, thinking, then nodded. "Yeah, I remember. He was a dealer I collared in a drug bust. The raid went bad and a gunfight broke out. One of my shots hit Samuel's younger brother, a pusher himself." Jim paused. "The kid died on the operating table and Samuel swore he'd get even with me."

Joel nodded. "The threats he made to you in court were recorded. He was also released three months ago. That's why his file jumped out at us."

Jim indicated the other two folders. "Who else jumped out at you?"

Rafe picked up the next folder. "This is a case both you and Sandburg worked on. Do you remember Monique St. James?"

Blair sat up straighter in his chair. "How could I forget? She nearly broke my nose out on that Coast Guard island." Blair looked over at Jim. "That was one pissed off lady. She didn't appreciate getting caught by you, me and Rucker."

"Exactly," Rafe agreed. "And now she's out on parole and possibly looking for a little payback. After all, she did try to kill both of you out in the woods."

Jim tapped the remaining file. "And who's our last lucky contestant?"

Brown slid the file in front of himself. "This one goes back a ways, Jim, when you were still a rookie. Do you recall Martin Collins?"

Jim blew out a breath and leaned back in his chair. "Collins? There's one I'm not likely to forget."

Blair looked at the men around the table. "What happened?"

Brown picked up the story. "It was a murder case. Collins was accused of killing his wife. Jim was the first officer on the scene and Collins attacked him, accusing Jim of murdering his wife. Collins got himself a fast-talking lawyer and the jury found him not guilty by reason of insanity. He'd been serving his sentence at the psychiatric hospital downstate instead of in a jail cell."

"Had been?" Blair questioned.

Brown closed the file. "He was released last month and is back living in Cascade."

"He never changed his story throughout the trial," Jim recalled. "Insisted over and over that it was me who'd killed his wife. After his sentence was handed down and they were leading him out of the courtroom, he kept screaming he'd kill me." Jim shook his head. "My first nutcase." He gathered up the files and looked at the names once more. "Good job sorting through everything. I agree with the choices."

"Do we have current addresses on all of them?" Blair questioned.

"We do on Pierson and Collins," Joel answered. "And we know St. James is in the area, but we're still trying to track her down."

Jim redistributed the files, looking over at the acting captain. "I'd like to take Collins and have Brown and Rafe take Pierson, pull them in for questioning."

Joel looked doubtful. "Are you sure you're up to this, Jim?"

"I have to be, Joel. I just can't sit here and do nothing."

"All right, but the minute you start feeling worse, I want you off the street. Understood?"

"Understood."

Joel looked over at Blair. "I expect you to make sure your partner keeps his word."

Blair nodded as Brown smiled and muttered, "Like that was ever in doubt."

Rafe slid a set of keys across the table to Blair. "Forensics is through going over Jim's truck. They didn't find anything, so it's OK to drive. It's in the parking garage, level three."

"Thanks, man."

Jim pushed his chair back and stood. "What are we waiting for? Let's go get our suspects."

Blair glanced over from the driver's side of the pickup truck. "What was that address again, Jim?"

The detective brushed away the sweat from his face with his shirt sleeve and held up the piece of paper. "1515 Davie," he replied, then shifted slightly to look at Blair. "Collins is a head case, Chief. Who knows what he'll do when he sees me. I want you to stay in the truck..."

"NO," Blair shot back, taking his eyes off the road momentarily. "No way, Jim. Not this time. Look at you. You can't do this alone. If he bolts you're gonna need help. That's what partners are for. Right?"

Blair stared hard at Jim, daring the older man to deny it. But Jim simply rested his head against the cool metal of the doorjamb. "Right, Chief," he agreed. "But you're still staying behind me," he said with a smile.

Fifteen minutes later, Blair pulled the truck into the alley next to the apartment building where Collins lived. Both men exited the truck and began the short walk, side by side, to the building's entrance. Blair turned his head to look up at the five-story building.

"He's on the second floor, right, Jim?"

"Yeah, number - ahh, God!"

Blair spun around at Jim's cry, just as his partner started to crumple to the ground. The smaller man reacted instinctively, trying to catch the bigger man. But Jim's heavier bulk pulled Blair off balance and they both fell to the pavement. Blair righted himself instantly, scooting over to where Jim lay curled into a fetal position, arms wrapped around his stomach. The detective's eyes were tightly closed, face twisted in pain.

"Jim! Jim!" Blair lifted the bigger man's head and shoulders up so that Jim's upper body lay in Blair's lap. "What is it, Jim? What's wrong?"

Jim's arms wrapped themselves even more tightly around his stomach. "Hurts..." he gasped. "Oh, God, it hurts..."

Jim's pain-filled words constricted Blair's heart. His lover was the strongest, most stoic man Blair knew, and for him to admit he was hurting, it had to be bad. Very bad. When Jim began to tremble, Blair leaned forward and covered as much of his body with his own as he could. Desperately afraid Jim was going to go into convulsions, Blair reached blindly for Jim's hand.

"Jim, give me your hand, man, please..."

It took Jim a moment to let go of his stomach, but then he latched onto Blair's hand like a lifeline, with bruising intensity. Blair winced at the powerful grip, but nodded his head, which was resting on Jim's shoulder.

"That's it, Jim. Now I want you to listen to me, OK?" Blair ordered gently, slipping easily into his role as Guide. "I want you to concentrate on my voice. Only my voice. Tune everything else out. Don't think about the pain, only my voice. I'm right here, just listen to my voice...dial everything else down..."

But Jim's shaking only got worse, not better. "Not working..." he panted. "Can't do it..."

"No! Don't you dare give up on me, Jim. You can do this. Concentrate. Just listen to my voice and ignore everything else. C'mon, you can do this..." Blair's voice continued in a soothing monotone.

Long, agonizing moments later, Jim's tremors slowed, then subsided. The Sentinel's body went limp in his Guide's embrace and his arm uncurled from around his stomach. Blair straightened up and brushed a hand over Jim's short hair.

"Jim?" he said quietly.

The exhausted man let out a long breath and squeezed Blair's hand. "Yeah, Chief, I'm with you."

Blair let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "God, man, you scared me."

Jim struggled to sit up and Blair helped until he was in an upright position. Jim brushed his knuckles across Blair's cheek. "Scared myself," he admitted, then leaned forward and kissed Blair gently. "Thanks, Chief," he breathed.

Blair smiled weakly. "Anytime, man. Just...let's not make a habit of this, OK?"

Jim grinned back, face still drawn and pale. "Sounds good to me. Now help me up and let's go do what we came here to do."

"Whoa, hang on a minute," Blair protested as he helped Jim to his feet. "You're in no condition...you're not ready..."

"You're my backup, aren't you, Sandburg?" Jim interrupted. Blair nodded and Jim reached out and gently squeezed his upper arm. "Then I'm ready."

Cascade PD
5:45 PM

In the end, neither one of them needed backup. While it was true Martin Collins was startled to see Jim after all these years, he no longer appeared to be the head case Jim remembered him as, a testament to the variety of medications he'd been taking since his admission to the psychiatric hospital. He came along quietly, if suspiciously, back to the precinct and called his lawyer. And for the past few hours, Collins and his lawyer had been ensconced in one of the interrogation rooms, being grilled by Joel.

In the adjoining room, Blair watched the proceedings through the two-way mirror. As Joel completed his interview and left the room, Blair rested his arm on the window and his forehead on his arm. He didn't move from his dejected position when Joel entered the room a few minutes later and closed the door behind him.

"He didn't do it," Blair stated quietly as Joel stopped to stand next to him.

The acting captain sighed deeply as he placed his hands in his trouser pockets and leaned back against the wall.

"No, he didn't do it," Joel confirmed."His alibi checks out. He had an individual therapy session late this morning, and a group session early this afternoon. Both his doctors confirmed it. He wasn't anywhere near here or the loft all day."

Blair turned his head, his expression somber. "And Pierson? Are Rafe and Brown through with him yet?"

Joel nodded. "Rafe came out of Interview 2 and stopped me in the hall before I came in here."

"And?" Blair prompted.

Joel looked down at the floor. "He's clean, too. Been in the hospital for the past day or so, having his appendix removed. He was released only a half hour before Rafe and Brown picked him up. It all checks out." Joel paused. "I'm sorry Blair..."

The young man straightened up, pounding his fist on the glass in frustration. "Dammit..."

"We're still looking for Monique," Joel reminded the distraught man. "We're not through yet."

"But Jim might be," Blair replied softly.

"Where is he?"

Blair turned to lean his back against the wall, running his fingers through his tangled curls. "I finally got him to lie down on the couch in Simon's office."

"How's he doing?"

"Not good," Blair admitted. "He collapsed outside Collins' apartment building. I think he's getting worse quicker, like the doctor thought, because of the flu bug he's got. His immune system just can't take this."

"How're you doing?"

"Alternating between depressed and furious." Blair pushed away from the wall and began pacing. "My friend is dying right before my eyes and there's nothing I can do about it. Do you know how helpless that makes me feel? How many times has Jim saved me, Joel? I owe him my life. And now when his life is at stake..." he trailed off, eyes suddenly bright with moisture. "He means so much to me, Joel. I can't lose him..."

Joel looked at the man before him, whose emotions were written so plainly on his face- fear, anger, frustration, and...

"You love him, don't you?" Joel asked softly as realization dawned.

Blair blinked. "Of course I do. He's my best friend..."

Joel held up a hand. "You know that's not how I meant it."

Blair stood still, waging an internal battle with himself, wondering if this were the right time or place. Finally, he gave a small nod.

"Yeah, Joel, I love Jim...and he loves me." He gave Joel a tiny smile. "Like you meant." He paused for a moment, then asked seriously, "What do you think about that?"

"That it won't be easy for either of you," Joel replied candidly. "But I know you'll make it work." He smiled. "I'm glad you found each other, Blair, and that you're happy. That's what's important."

"Thanks, Joel. That really means a lot. We may need that kind of support in the future," Blair replied, refusing to even think about the possibility that he and Jim might have no future if Jim didn't recover from the poisoning.

"Well, if people are truly your friends, this won't change their perceptions of either you or Jim."

"Our friends aren't who I'm worried about... it's everyone else. Speaking of that, Jim and I aren't ready for everyone to know about us yet..."

Joel nodded. "I understand. No one will hear about it from me. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me, Blair. I appreciate that."

A knock interrupted their conversation, the door opening to reveal Rafe.

"One of Ellison's snitches just called in. I couldn't find him so I took a message."

"Who was it?" Blair asked.

"Said his name was Sneaks and that he might have the information we're looking for. He'll be at the diner at seven o'clock. And I think we finally got a lead on Monique St. James."

"Excellent. Thanks, Rafe." Blair told the detective. "I'll grab Jim and we'll head over to the diner."

"Sounds good," Joel agreed. "And we'll keep working on tracking down St. James." He put a hand on Blair's shoulder. "See, I told you we're not through yet."

Since they had just about an hour before they needed to meet Sneaks, Blair decided not to wake Jim up right away, wanting the detective to get as much rest as he could. Instead, he followed Rafe back to the bullpen, intent on making a phone call. Bypassing Jim's desk, which was still empty of personal belongings and office equipment, Blair sat down at Megan's empty desk and picked up the phone.

//"Cascade General, how may I direct your call?"//

"Dr. Forrester, please."

//"One moment while I transfer you."//

Blair waited impatiently, fingers drumming on the desktop.

//"This is Dr. Forrester."//

"Dr. Forrester, this is Blair Sandburg."

//"Yes, Mr. Sandburg. Have you located a sample of the poison?"//

"No, I'm afraid not. We've had a few leads, but nothing's panned out yet. We're still working on it, though. Actually, I was calling to see how you were doing."

//"We've still been unable to identify the entire compound, though we have isolated one of the toxins. It is a pesticide like we originally thought-chlordane."//

A tiny surge of hope flared within Blair for the first time since that afternoon. "That's great, Doctor, thank you. I know you're doing everything you can."

//"How is Detective Ellison doing?"//

Blair briefly outlined Jim's deteriorating condition to Dr. Forrester. "... and he's resting right now," he finished.

//"Mr. Sandburg, I strongly suggest you bring Detective Ellison back to the hospital and get him admitted. Let us give him something for the pain, make him as comfortable as possible."//

Blair shook his head, even though the doctor couldn't see the gesture. "He won't do it. I know my partner, Doctor, and stubborn doesn't even come close to describing him. He needs to do this his way, investigating this himself and there's no changing his mind. But I'll make sure we're back at the hospital by midnight, like Jim promised. You have my word."

//"I'm certainly not happy about this, Mr. Sandburg, but it is Detective Ellison's decision. I'll be sure to call you if I have any news. If not, I'll see you both at midnight."//

Hanging up the phone, Blair rose from the chair and was immediately light headed. He quickly gripped the edge of Megan's desk to steady himself until the feeling passed. Confused as to the cause of his dizziness, it took Blair a moment to realize he'd had nothing to eat since breakfast that morning, over 12 hours ago now. Deciding he had time to quickly eat a candy bar before he had to wake Jim, Blair made his way across the bullpen and over to the break room. The way was slow going, though, as the detectives of Major Crime took a moment to say a word to Blair, or touch his arm or send him a comforting look. Blair's spirits lifted at the gestures, knowing these men and women cared about both Jim and himself, and were doing all they could for the man he loved.

Candy bar in hand a short time later, Blair sank wearily into one of the hard plastic chairs. Methodically eating the chocolate, he found it hard to believe Jim had fallen ill only six hours ago. It felt like a lifetime.

"Blair?"

Blair looked up from his contemplation of the candy wrapper at the sound of Joel's voice.

"Yeah, Joel? You got something?" Blair questioned hopefully.

Joel shook his head. "I just heard from Serena. Her team came up empty at the loft. No luck on any of the items from Jim's desk either."

Blair nodded his head in resignation. "Yeah, well, we knew that was a long shot. There's a million things he could've touched. Thank her for me though, will you, Joel? I know she did her best."

"I'll tell her. Simon called, too. He and Megan finally got a flight, going standby, but they have a layover in San Francisco. It's still going to be a while before they make it back here."

"Thanks for the update, Joel, appreciate it." Blair stood and tossed the wrapper in the trash can. "I'm gonna go wake Jim, then we're heading out to meet Sneaks."

"Rafe and Brown are tracking down that lead on Monique. I'll call you on Jim's cell phone if they come up with anything."

"Sounds good. And I'll check in after we're done with Sneaks."

Blair followed Joel out of the break room, but then stopped halfway to Simon's office. Remembering who he and Jim were going to see, he reversed direction and made his way to the elevators instead.

A short time later Blair quietly let himself into Simon's office and closed the door behind him. The blinds on the windows facing the bullpen were closed, but the ones on the windows overlooking downtown Cascade were open. The sun had nearly set, bathing the interior of the office in soft shades of blue, pink and orange. Any other evening, Blair would've stopped and enjoyed the view, but tonight he was too preoccupied with other things. He crossed over to the conference table and placed the grocery sack he was carrying on its surface, then turned and knelt down next to the couch.

Jim was in the same position he'd left him in a few hours ago. He was asleep on his side, knees drawn up slightly, facing Blair. But while his position had not changed, other things had. Blair could easily detect the wheezing sound now apparent in every breath Jim took, and the beads of perspiration on his pale face attested to the fact that his fever was getting worse.

Swallowing past the lump in his throat at the signs of Jim's deteriorating condition, Blair leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on his lover's mouth.

Jim stirred at the contact and Blair whispered, "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty."

Tired blue eyes blinked open to stare up at Blair. "Does that make you my handsome prince?" Jim smiled.

Blair gave a small laugh and took hold of Jim's hand, grateful to see that his partner's sense of humor was still intact.

"How long have I been out?" Jim asked.

"Couple of hours," Blair answered.

Jim sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "Feels like about five minutes."

"You haven't said anything about your senses during all this. What's going on with them?"

"Nothing, actually," Jim answered. "I've had them turned down to normal ever since I came down with the flu. They kept spiking on me and I didn't want to take the chance I'd zone."

"OK, keep the dials where they are. You're even more susceptible to a zone now. But I want to know if you start having problems. How're you feeling otherwise?" Blair questioned as Jim sat up.

But the detective didn't respond, merely clenched his jaw and looked away. Blair rose from the floor to sit on the couch, nodding his head. He understood Jim's need not to vocalize how weak he was becoming.

"Dr. Forrester was right," Blair told Jim. "You're getting worse faster because of your already weakened immune system."

Jim squeezed Blair's hand. "Then I guess that means we just have to work faster. So, fill me in on what happened while I was off in Dreamland."

Over the next few minutes Blair brought Jim up to speed on the events of the last few hours- Collins and Pierson's alibis, the potential lead on Monique, Serena's lack of success, Simon's phone call, Blair's phone call to Dr. Forrester and finally the scheduled meet with Sneaks.

"So Sneaks is all we've got left right now," Jim stated when Blair finished.

"Yeah, seems like it," Blair agreed, somewhat despondently.

"Then let's go find out what he's got," Jim said, standing up from the couch. But having been lying down for the past few hours, his movement was too quick, and he swayed with the feeling of lightheadedness.

Blair was instantly on his feet, supporting his partner until the feeling subsided.

"Jim, let me go meet Sneaks by myself. Stay here and rest..."

Jim shook his head. "No way, Chief. Sneaks has only met you once. He won't trust you enough to give you any information. I have to be there."

"Jim, look at yourself. You're shaking and you can barely stand. Let me handle this." But Jim just looked at Blair, refusing to give ground, until the younger man finally shook his head.

"You've gotta be the most hard-headed, stubborn man I know. You just don't know when to quit, do you?"

Jim smirked. "And you love me because of it."

Blair smiled back. "Yeah, I do."

Then he grabbed the grocery sack and followed Jim out the door.

Joe's Diner
7:10 PM

Blair looked at the wall clock behind the counter for the tenth time in as many minutes. Sneaks was late, and time was of the essence. One look at Jim drove home that fact.

The Sentinel sat on the inside of the booth, looking outside, his body leaning against the window, his head resting against the cool glass. His breathing was worse, and from the way his arm was wrapped around his abdomen, so were the stomach pains. How much longer before his body just gave out?

Before Blair could avert his gaze and troubled thoughts away from his partner to look back at the clock, Jim stirred and straightened up.

"He's here."

Jim had no more than spoken the words when the door opened and Sneaks burst into the diner. Even though a few years had passed since either Jim or Blair had seen the snitch, he hadn't changed. Still wore mismatched clothes and that goofy hat, still bounced around like he was made out of rubber, still...

"Hey, Detective!"

...was just as loud.

Blair winced at the tone and the looks the other patrons were sending their way as Sneaks practically threw himself down in the opposite seat. Jim couldn't help but grin and shake his head at the informant's antics.

"I hear you've got some information for me, Sneaks," the detective began, getting right down to business.

"Yep, yep," Sneaks nodded, trying to look under the table at the same time.

Jim rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. "C'mon, focus here."

Sneaks straightened up. "OK, OK. Word is that a guy down at Murphy's bar got more than a little bit of liquor in him at lunchtime and started shooting off at the mouth to his buddies. Ex-con's, all of 'em. Goin' on about offing a cop in some weird way. Bragging about his 'superior intelligence' to pull it off."

"Lunchtime?" Blair asked. "Right around noon?"

"Yeah, that'd be about right," Sneaks confirmed.

Jim and Blair looked at each other. The timing fit. Who else could this guy be referring to other than Jim?

"You got a name for me?" Jim questioned.

Sneaks shrugged. "Just a first name - Vince."

"How about an address, then?" Jim tried.

"He's been staying at a place on Seymour. Last house on the block, at the dead end." Sneaks suddenly smiled and slammed his hand down on the table. "So? Do I earn my pay or what?"

Jim fished several bills out of his wallet. "Yeah, Sneaks, you definitely earned your pay on this one."

And before the hyper man could look under the table again, Blair handed him the grocery sack. "And a bonus."

Sneaks face lit up as he pulled out a pair of white gym shoes. "Oh, yeah...Nike AIRs." He nodded in approval then stuffed the shoes back in the sack and slid from the booth. "Nice doing business with you, gentlemen," he stated, tipping his hat and taking his leave in a flurry of movement.

Jim looked over at Blair with a fake scowl as the informant walked away. "Chief, those shoes looked awfully familiar. I could've sworn I just saw them in my locker at the PD yesterday."

Blair held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I was working under a deadline! Yours were the first I thought of!" Blair smiled and tapped Jim on the shoulder with his fist. "What are you worried about? You'll be reimbursed from the snitch fund. Isn't that what you told me when my Nikes walked out of here last time?"

Jim smiled back, for a moment forgetting about his pain and just enjoying their banter. "I'll get you for this, Sandburg," he vowed.

Blair sobered a bit. "I'm counting on it."

Jim and Blair had just walked up to the truck outside the diner when Jim was overcome by a fit of coughing. He doubled over, struggling to catch his breath for long minutes, while Blair supported him up against the side of the pickup. When the bigger man's legs started to give out, Blair quickly wrestled the passenger side door open. He maneuvered Jim sideways onto the seat, legs hanging out the door, before he could collapse onto the sidewalk. The episode left Jim shaking, perspiration coating the pale, drawn face, and he wearily rested his forehead on Blair's shoulder.

"Let me take you to the hospital, Jim. Please," Blair whispered fiercely in his lover's ear.

Pain-filled blue eyes gazed up at Blair from an exhausted face. "The doctor hasn't called has he? Then there's nothing he can do and no point in going." Jim's tone brooked no argument.

With effort, Jim sat up and slowly lifted his legs inside the truck. He reached out and patted Blair on the side of his head, ruffling the long curls. "C'mon, partner. The Lone Ranger and Toto still have work to do."

Blair sighed and shook his head. "Giddyup and woof," he dutifully replied, then climbed inside behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb.

Jim radioed in to Joel at the precinct as Blair drove them across town to Seymour Street.

"I think we've got something here, Joel. Sneaks gave us information on the guy we could be looking for. Sandburg and I are heading over to a house at the south end of Seymour to check it out. Can you send a couple of uniforms our way for backup?"

Joel's harried, static-filled voice came back at him through the radio. "I'm sorry, Jim, it's gonna be a little while before I can spare a unit. We just had a major pileup over on Capilano Road. It's a mess up there. Cars everywhere, lots of injuries. But the minute a unit is available I'm sending it your way."

"What about Rafe and Brown? Where are they?" Jim replied.

"Monique's been spotted near Marine Drive and they're checking it out. You want me to pull them off and send them over to you?"

"No, no. Keep them on it. This may not pan out and I don't want to lose an opportunity to pull St. James in. Sandburg and I are still going over to Seymour. Send a unit as soon as you can. Out."

"You got it, Jim. You guys be careful. Out."

Ten minutes later, Blair turned onto Seymour Street. He cruised slowly down the dead- end road before pulling over to the side just before the last house on the block. It was a fairly run-down part of town, with homes falling into a state of disrepair. The one in question sat on a small plot of land with trees on the left and right and a vacant lot behind it, which separated it from the next street over.

Blair turned off the engine and the headlights, then looked over at Jim. Enough moonlight filtered into the cab of the truck for him to see the detective's arm wrapped tightly around his stomach and his jaw clenched tight against the ever-increasing pain. Before Blair could speak, the Sentinel's eyes slid partially closed and his head cocked to the side.

"Jim, no," Blair spoke quickly, recognizing the posture. "Don't try and use your senses. You've got zero control right now."

Jim looked at the house. The curtains were drawn, leaving no way to see in. He shook his head. "We need to know if anyone's inside before we go walking up there. Using my senses is the only way."

Blair sighed, knowing Jim was right. "I still don't like this. You could zone too easily in your condition."

"That's why I've got you to ground me, partner," Jim replied, reaching over to take hold of Blair's hand.

The young man sucked in a breath at the contact. Jim's skin was burning up and Blair could feel the tremors, worse now, coursing through his body. They needed to do this and get Jim to the hospital, whether he wanted to go or not.

Blair tightened his grip on Jim's hand. "OK, OK. But you turn it up just one notch above normal, Jim. And hearing only. All you're listening for is one heartbeat in the house. Got it?"

"Got it, Chief. Here we go."

The Sentinel once again let his eyes slide partially closed and tilted his head to the side. A moment later, Blair both saw and felt Jim's body jerk.

"C'mon, Jim, turn it down. You went too high. Focus on just the house..."

Another moment later and the Sentinel's body sagged back into the seat. Jim looked at Blair. "The house is empty," he reported confidently.

Blair squeezed Jim's hand. "Good job, Jim." He then leaned over, opened the glove box and pulled out a small flashlight. "I'm gonna go check it out. You stay here," he announced and Jim immediately started to protest. "Don't argue with me, Jim," Blair stated firmly. "One step away from this truck and you'll be flat on your face and you know it. Let me handle this, OK?" And before Jim could respond, Blair had the door of the truck open and was sliding from the seat.

"Chief," Jim said softly. "Be careful."

Blair nodded reassuringly and quietly closed the door.

Blair approached the darkened house like a pro, having seen Jim do the very same thing countless times over the past four years. He darted across the lawn, keeping low, flashlight off. His destination was a partially open window he'd spotted near the side door. Reaching the window, he hesitated for a minute, listening intently. Hearing nothing, verifying Jim's assessment, Blair carefully raised the window. He reached both hands through and slowly parted the curtains. The moonlight wasn't strong enough to penetrate the darkness inside, so Blair switched on the small flashlight.

The beam played along the left side of the room, illuminating boxes littering the floor and bookshelves lining the walls, filled with miscellaneous items, along with an open door leading to another room. And to the right...

"Bingo," Blair breathed, turning off the flashlight and hoisting himself up over the windowsill without hesitation.

Once inside, he switched the flashlight back on and turned to the right, letting his eyes take in the sight of what could only be a small drug lab. Vials, beakers, Bunsen burners, scales and small bags filled with white powder were laid out along the surface of two long tables.

"If you've got the smarts to make your own drugs, you've got the smarts to make a poison," Blair muttered to himself.

He crossed the room quickly and turned on a desk lamp, beginning his search.

Outside in the truck, Jim watched with growing apprehension as Blair first approached the house, then disappeared inside. He was staring so intently at the window that he jumped a little when a shaft of light suddenly appeared between the slightly parted curtains. Figuring that Blair had found something and fearing that the light would be spotted if their suspect returned home, Jim opened the door of the truck...then froze mid-motion.

A figure had materialized out of the darkness, cutting through the vacant lot behind the house, walking casually across the lawn to the side door. But halfway there the man spotted the light coming from the window and stopped in his tracks. As the man glanced quickly from side to side, his right hand reached under his jacket, to the small of his back. When the hand was withdrawn, a chrome-plated pistol glinted in the moonlight.

"Dammit," Jim swore, jumping out of the truck, intent on running towards the house. But as Blair had predicted, Jim's legs gave out after only one step, and the detective found himself on his hands and knees in the dirt at the side of the road.

Jim recovered as quickly as he could, then used the large side mirror on the truck to pull himself upright. But the delay had cost him. By the time he was back on his feet, the man was slipping inside the house.

"C'mon, c'mon," Blair whispered to himself as he shuffled quickly through yet another sheaf of papers. So far his search had uncovered nothing related to pesticides and he was becoming more frustrated and antsy by the minute.

"Hold it right there."

Preoccupied, his back to the door of the room, Blair never heard the man approach, and now he spun at the voice, scattering papers all over the floor. He found himself looking at a man in his late twenties, with long, greasy black hair and cold, green eyes. But what captured Blair's attention the most was the gun pointed at his chest. He raised his hands up in front of him.

"Hey, man, take it easy..." Blair began.

"You!" the man suddenly exclaimed, eyes widening in recognition.

With that one word, Blair knew Sneaks' information had been correct. This was the man they were looking for.

"Who are you?" Blair demanded, oblivious to the danger he was in, wanting only answers, now that he was this close. "What did you do to Jim?"

The man simply chuckled and shook his head. "Damn, she warned me how smart you were. Found me pretty quick, didn't you? I have to say I'm impressed."

"She? She who? What did you poison Jim with?!"

But the man ignored Blair's questions. Instead of answering, his eyes closed to near slits and he raised the gun up higher. "I'm sure to get a bonus for bringing you in."

A loud crash from the other room startled both men and their heads turned towards the doorway, just as Jim lunged through the opening, gun drawn.

At the sudden appearance of the police officer, the man spun his body towards the doorway, gun still at chest level, now aimed at Jim. Jim's own gun was up and in firing position in the blink of an eye, and instinct and self-preservation took over.

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

The man's body shuddered and jerked with the impact of each bullet from Jim's gun.

"NO!" Blair cried out as the man's body was thrown backwards, crashing into a table before falling motionless to the floor. Sightless eyes stared up at Blair as blood oozed from the three fatal chest wounds.

"...Chief..."

Blair jerked his head away from the body and saw Jim sag against the doorjamb, gun slipping from his hand and falling to the floor. Blair vaulted over the table in front of him and reached Jim's side just as the Sentinel collapsed. He caught Jim as he fell and they both went down to the floor, Jim's upper body in Blair's lap.

The detective was struggling for every breath now, trying desperately to draw breath into a body that was rapidly shutting down. He lifted up a shaking hand that Blair immediately grasped.

"...are you...all right?" Jim struggled to say.

"Yes, god, Jim, I'm fine," Blair squeezed Jim's hand reassuringly. "It was him, Jim. It was him," Blair spoke quickly. "The answers are here, in this room, and I will find them," he vowed fiercely. "So you've got to hang on, OK?" Blair pleaded, blinking back tears. "Just a little while longer, babe..."

Jim gave a violent shudder and Blair pulled his lover's body even closer to him, barely registering the sound of their back-up finally arriving and entering the house. Jim's voice was just above a whisper in his ear.

"...I love you..."

As Jim's eyes closed and the Sentinel's body went limp in his Guide's arms, two uniformed officers appeared in the doorway.

"Get an ambulance!" Blair screamed.

Cascade General
9:12 PM

Same hospital. Same waiting room. Same hard plastic chairs and cracked, faded linoleum. Same nervous, anxious pacing.

Blair stopped his movements when Joel came around the corner. "Anything?" he asked quickly, hopefully.

Joel tucked his cell phone into his jacket pocket, slowly shaking his head. "I'm sorry, Blair. Serena's team hasn't found anything yet. If only..." he sighed, trailing off.

"If only Jim hadn't killed him," Blair finished the sentence. "I know, Joel. I know. I wish he were alive and being interrogated right now, too. But it wasn't Jim's fault. He had no way of knowing that guy was definitely involved in his poisoning. All he saw was a gun pointed at me, then at him. He was protecting himself. And me." Blair gave a tired smile. "Just doing what he always does."

Blair moved over to one of the chairs and sank down wearily into it. He scrubbed his face with both hands then raked his fingers through his tousled curls. He looked up at Joel with bloodshot eyes. "Any luck on ID'ing that guy yet?"

Joel sat down next to Blair. "Still working on that, too. He had a wallet on him but no forms of identification. We took his prints and they're being run through both the state and federal databases, looking for a match."

Blair nodded. "Thanks, Joel. I know you're doing everything you can."

Joel looked down at the floor, then turned his head sideways to look at Blair. "How's he doing?" he asked softly.

The young man's jaw clenched and he glanced away, swallowing deeply. "I don't know," he responded, voice rough. "He was unconscious but still breathing when they got him here. I'm waiting for--"

"Mr. Sandburg?"

Dr. Forrester had come around the corner into the waiting room and Blair practically jumped up from his chair.

"How's Jim? What's happening?"

Dr. Forrester spoke slowly, quietly. "We've made Detective Ellison as comfortable as possible. We've given him something for the pain, and he's on an oxygen mask to help his breathing."

"Is there still time for us to get a sample of the poison here?" Joel spoke up.

"Yes, but not much. It won't be long, maybe two hours, before Detective Ellison slips into a coma and then experiences respiratory failure. The toxin is shutting down his central nervous system."

"So that's it then?" Blair asked softly, resignation tainting his voice.

"I'm afraid so. There's nothing more we can do for him right now." Dr. Forrester paused, looking at Blair with sympathetic eyes. "You need to go see him. Say what you need to..."

Blair stood ramrod straight, blue eyes suddenly bright with moisture, his throat working convulsively, hands clenched into fists at his side. Then, without warning, he spun and kicked violently at one of the plastic chairs, sending it screeching and skidding across the linoleum. Before it came to a rest against the far wall, Blair was pushing past Dr. Forrester, heading for Jim's room.

Blair paused outside room 201 for a moment. He leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes, taking deep, calming breaths until he composed himself. Then he straightened up and slowly pushed open the door.

The sight inside brought him up short. Jim lay still and pale in the hospital bed, the head raised slightly. There was an oxygen mask on his face, an IV inserted in his left arm and the leads from a heart monitor snaked out from under his hospital gown. The only sounds in the room were the steady beeping of the heart monitor and Jim's wheezing breaths. Jim's eyes were closed, but when the door clicked shut they opened and his head turned toward the sound. Exhausted blue eyes focused on Blair.

"Hi, Chief..." Jim's words were muffled under the oxygen mask.

Blair quickly crossed the room to stand on the right side of the bed, away from the IV and heart monitor.

Jim raised a hand up to his face and pushed weakly at the oxygen mask, trying to get it off.

"No, Jim," Blair shook his head, gently pushing Jim's hand back down. "You need to keep that on."

But Jim reached up again, trying harder this time, and Blair gave in. "OK, you win. But just for a minute."

Blair carefully lifted the plastic mask away from Jim's face and slipped it off his head.

"Thanks, Chief...I hate that thing. So...any news?"

Blair shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

Jim nodded his head slightly and reached for Blair's hand. "Do you remember...what I said to you...in the hospital...after your press conference?" he asked, each breath harder than the last.

"Jim..." Blair breathed, tears once again glistening in his blue eyes.

"You're the best partner...the best friend...I ever had..."

"Jesus, Jim, don't do this," Blair pleaded in an anguished voice. "There's still time. Serena's team hasn't given up searching. They can still --"

"...Blair..."

Blair stopped abruptly at Jim's rare use of his given name. He stood still as Jim's finger brushed away the single tear that had broken free to trickle down his face. "These last four years...have been the best...of my life..." Jim admitted without hesitation. "Thank you..."

Blair gripped Jim's hand in both of his. "Dammit, Jim, this isn't fair," he whispered fiercely, angrily. "We're supposed to have the rest of our lives...not just four years."

Jim smiled tiredly. "Who said life was fair?"

Blair, heart shattering into tiny pieces, looked down at the dying man. Partner. Friend. Lover. Sentinel. "You mean everything to me. What am I going to do without you?" he asked softly.

Jim's face grew serious and determined. "Promise me you'll take care of yourself...promise me you won't...do anything stupid..."

Blair shook his head, "Jim, please..."

Jim squeezed Blair's hands with surprising strength. "Promise me," he demanded.

"Yes, I promise you..." Blair's voice broke on the last word, eyes closing.

Jim gently separated their hands and drew Blair down to him, foreheads nearly touching, their breaths mingling. Jim's hand buried itself in Blair's curls, Blair's hand rested on Jim's heart. They spoke in unison.

"I love you."

"I love you."

Then their lips were touching, kissing gently, but with an intensity that spoke of their love and devotion to each other. Sentinel and Guide - forever.

Simon Banks strode down the hospital corridors at a fast, determined pace. Nurses moved quickly out of the path of the tall, imposing man. Turning a corner, Simon spied his destination straight ahead- room 201.

Maybe if he hadn't been moving quite so quickly, Simon would've been able to stop himself from opening the door after he saw the scene inside through the window in the door. But it was too late to stop his forward momentum and he found himself inside the room, watching Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg embracing... kissing...

The two men across the room broke apart at Simon's abrupt entrance, and the police captain found himself pinned to the spot by two sets of blue eyes.

Blair blinked furiously for a moment, and Simon could see tear tracks on his face.

"Simon?" the young man finally got out, voice rough.

Simon cleared his throat and started across the room. It was obvious by his expression that he was trying to process what he'd walked in on. When Simon reached Jim's bed, the detective tried to smile, reaching up a hand, which the captain took.

"Glad...you weren't...too late...Simon..."

Simon squeezed Jim's hand. "Don't go getting all morbid on me yet, Ellison." He looked up to include Blair in his line of sight. "The poison's been found."

"What?! How?!" Blair burst out in shock.

"Serena found a small vial of powder under a floorboard, along with handwritten notes on its formula. When she saw the names, she knew they were pesticides. The hospital lab has the formula right now. It won't be long before they've got an antitoxin prepared."

"Thank god," Blair breathed, reaching out to put his hand on Jim's shoulder.

Jim turned his head to look at Blair, a spark of life back in his eyes. "Guess you're stuck with me... for a little while longer..."

Blair squeezed Jim's shoulder, smiling. "Darn. And here I was, looking forward to finally flushing the toilet after ten o'clock," he joked. "Now let's put that mask back on, OK?"

As Blair slipped the oxygen mask back over Jim's face, he addressed Simon. "How did you find out about all this?"

"I called Joel when Megan and I left the airport. He said Jim was back in the hospital so we came straight here. Joel was standing outside on his cell phone when we arrived about five minutes ago. He was talking with Serena. He ran to find Dr. Forrester so Serena could give him the formula and I came to tell you. Megan took my car and went out to the house to help in the search to identify this guy."

As Simon finished his explanation, the door opened to admit Dr. Forrester and two nurses.

"If you'll excuse us, gentlemen, " the doctor said, indicating Blair and Simon. "We have some work to do."

"C'mon Sandburg," Simon said, moving away from the bed. "Let's get out of their way."

Blair leaned down, his face close to Jim's. "Hang in there, tough guy. It's almost over." He squeezed Jim's shoulder once more, then followed after Simon.

The door had no more than closed behind Blair when the young man sagged against the nearest wall, radiating exhaustion. He closed his eyes and blew out a long breath.

"That was too close, Simon," Blair said, his voice shaking slightly.

"I know, " Simon replied quietly, stepping closer to Blair. He reached out and put a hand on Blair's arm. "C'mon kid, let me buy you a coffee. I think we could both use one."

The hospital cafeteria was nearly deserted at this late hour, but the two men still chose a table in the back corner. Blair had both hands wrapped around his mug, and sipped gratefully at the hot liquid.

"Thanks, Simon, I needed that."

Simon nodded but did not verbally reply, looking at Blair pointedly until the silence grew uncomfortable. Blair glanced down into his coffee, then squared his shoulders and looked Simon straight in the eye.

"We love each other," Blair stated firmly, almost defiantly.

"I thought as much, after what I saw," Simon replied. "Can I ask how long...?"

"Just a few months. It was after my... press conference, when we realized..." Blair blew out a breath. "So... what do you think about all this?"

"Actually, I'd like to know if you've thought all this through."

Blair sat back a bit. "What? You think we can't handle this? That we can't make it work?" he demanded, instantly going on the defensive, not expecting this reaction from Simon.

"Blair, have you seen the color of my skin? I'm no stranger to hatred and discrimination. You'd better be prepared for some of that yourself if your relationship with Jim gets out."

"If you think we'd let some bigot's words tear us apart, then you're wrong. We're stronger than that." Blair paused. "We know this won't be easy, Simon. But what Jim and I have... it's worth fighting for. And it's forever," he vowed.

"I hope it is, Blair. I really hope it is. What the two of you have is special. After four years that's obvious for anyone to see."

Blair's forehead creased in confusion. "Then...you're OK with this?"

Simon hesitated for a moment. "I have to admit, it's going to take some getting used to. But Jim's been my friend for a long time. And even though you and I have butted heads on occasion over the last few years, I hope you know I consider you a friend as well."

"I do, Simon," Blair interjected. "But thank you."

Simon nodded, then continued. "So how could I not support something that obviously means so much to both of you?"

Blair swallowed. "That...that means a lot, Simon. Thank you for not turning your back on us."

Simon nodded again. "One more thing. Does anyone else at the precinct know about this?"

"Just Joel." Blair answered. "But Carolyn and my mom know, too." A flash of hurt crossed Simon's face as the list grew. "What is it, Simon?"

"Were you planning on telling me if I hadn't found out on my own?"

"God, Simon, of course," Blair hastened to reassure him. "And we actually didn't tell any of them. My mom saw Jim and me kissing, by accident, and Carolyn and Joel simply guessed. But we were going to come right out and tell you, Simon. You're our friend. We wouldn't have kept this from you. We were just waiting for the right time. This is all really new and we're still feeling our way through it. And...this isn't an easy thing to tell people, even in this day and age, you know?"

"I understand," Simon replied as Blair wound down, and the younger man smiled in relief. "You ready to go back up and check on him?"

Blair was on his feet before Simon finished speaking. "Yeah, you bet." But as he started to walk away from the table, Simon stopped him.

"Blair...I saw what happened in the wake of your dissertation fiasco. It nearly tore you and Jim apart. And it was painful not only for you, but for everyone around you. We hated watching you both go through that, thinking your friendship was over, because we care about you and know how much you mean to each other. Like I said, you've got something special. Please...don't hurt each other again."

Blair lifted his chin, his intense gaze unwavering. "Never, Simon," he vowed fiercely. "Never again."

Next Morning
Cascade General

Blair opened Jim's hospital room door a crack and poked his head inside.

"Morning, sunshine."

Jim looked up from the tray in front of him, smiling at the sight of his partner. "Please tell me you brought breakfast, Chief."

"Well...yes and no," Blair hedged, entering the room and crossing over to the bed. He held up a thermos and paper bag. "I brought breakfast...but it's for me. Besides," he hurried on, looking down into the bowl on Jim's tray. "You've got...oatmeal." He tried not to laugh.

"Yeah, laugh it up." Jim made a disgusting face. "You're not the one who has to eat this." He picked up his spoon and let a glob of the sticky food fall back into the bowl. "C'mon, Chief, take pity on a sick man. I smell a sausage breakfast sandwich in there." He reached for the bag but Blair snatched it out of his reach. So instead he snagged the waistband of Blair's jeans and pulled, bringing the smiling man closer to him. Taking advantage of the opportunity, Blair bent down and stole a quick, gentle kiss.

"You're looking much better," Blair commented when they broke apart. Jim's color had all but returned to normal, along with his breathing, and his blue eyes were once more bright with life. "How do you feel?"

"Pretty good," Jim replied. "Still a little tired and weak, though. Doc says I need to take it easy for the next few days and drink plenty of liquids. I guess I was pretty dehydrated yesterday. And I need to take it easy on my stomach, too."

"Well, I guess that explains the oatmeal, then," Blair stated. "Did Dr. Forrester say anything else?"

Jim nodded. "They're going to keep me here for observation today and spring me tomorrow morning."

"Good. That big bed was kinda lonely last night." Blair took Jim's hand in his. The silence stretched for a moment as Sentinel and Guide took time to reconnect with each other, the danger now behind them.

"That was too close, Jim," Blair whispered. "I thought I was going to lose you."

Jim squeezed Blair's hand. "I know," he softly replied. "I was scared, too. I'm sorry I put you through that." He paused. "I'm not sure why I even went through that. Did you get an ID on that guy yet?"

Blair nodded. "We did. Simon called me early this morning. Said he had the guy's file and wanted to talk to us right away. He sounded kinda weird, now that I think about it."

"That's it? That's all he said? He wouldn't tell you who the guy was?"

"Nope. Just said he'd meet us here. Are you sure you didn't recognize that guy, Jim?" Blair questioned. "He went through a lot of trouble to try and kill you. Why would he do it if you didn't know each other?"

"I have no idea, Chief. His face didn't look familiar to me at all. I was kind messed up last night, though."

"Hmm...looks like we'll just have to wait for Simon, then. Umm...speaking of Simon..." Blair blew out a breath. "He knows about us."

"I kinda figured that, since he walked in on the two of us kissing," Jim pointed out. "Did you talk to him?"

"Yeah, I did."

"How did he take it?" Jim asked, part of him scared at what the answer might be.

"We got off to a rocky start," Blair admitted. "But he's cool with it," he continued, putting Jim's fears to rest. "He told me not to hurt you. He really cares about you, man."

"He's a good friend. I didn't want to lose him because of this. I'll talk to him, too. Make sure everything's out in the open with him."

"Good idea," Blair agreed, then switched topics. "How are your senses?"

"I've still got them dialed down to normal."

"Good, good. If it's not too much of a strain, can you keep them there till we get you home and I can run you through some basic tests, make sure--"

Blair was interrupted when the door opened and Simon strode in, a grim expression on his face, and a thick file folder in his hand.

"Jim, how're you feeling?" the police captain asked.

"Much better, Simon, thanks." Jim indicated the file folder. "Blair said you'd identified the guy?"

Simon nodded. "We've got a problem."

"What is it? What did you find out?" Blair asked warily.

Simon opened the folder and removed two sheets of paper, handing one to Jim and one to Blair. Jim's paper contained their suspect's mug shot and vital statistics. Blair's paper contained the man's lengthy police record.

"His name is Vincent Shaw," Simon began. "Drug dealer and manufacturer. In and out of jail a dozen times in as many states in as many years." Simon looked at Jim. "Do you know him?"

Jim shook his head. "I just can't place him, Simon. Have I arrested him before?"

Simon shook his head. "No, you haven't. This wasn't making any sense. I couldn't find a connection between you and Shaw, so I dug deeper into this guy's background."

"What did you--"

A startled, indrawn breath from Blair stopped Jim mid-sentence. Blair had been reading Shaw's police record, and now he was looking at Simon with wide eyes.

"Tell me this is a coincidence, Simon."

"I wish I could, Blair."

"What is it? What did you read?" Jim asked quickly, on alert at Blair's reaction.

Wordlessly, Blair handed Jim the sheet of paper, pointing to the bottom section marked "Known Associates" and the first name listed.

Alex Barnes.

Jim's head shot up. "What the hell's going on, Simon?" he demanded, voice hard.

"My spider senses were tingling on this one, Jim, so I called Camarillo State Hospital." He paused. "Alex escaped approximately four days ago."

"What?!" Blair exploded. "That's impossible. She was a vegetable in Sierra Verde. How could she have escaped?"

"Sandburg, I don't know. Hell, they didn't even know she was missing until I called to check on her!"

"You've got to be kidding me!" Jim exclaimed. "Now how is that possible?"

"All I know right now is that two employees at the hospital helped her escape. One was a guard in the security wing where Alex was being held, and the other was her personal nurse, Todd Langdon. Alex was in isolation, which made it easy for them to cover up her disappearance. Langdon left with Alex, but the guard remained behind, to continue the cover-up."

Blair raked a hand through his curls. "Let me get this straight. Alex escapes from the hospital, taking her nurse with her, then hooks up with her old friend Shaw, and has him whip up a poison to kill Jim."

"Are you sure it was for me, Chief?" Jim asked quietly, hesitantly. "I may have gotten it accidentally. We still don't know how Shaw did it."

Blair's face went noticeably pale and he swallowed deeply. "Yeah... yeah, you've got a point there, Jim. After all, it was me she tried to kill last time. Did kill, actually... Makes sense she'd try it again, right?" he rambled, clearly shaken.

"No, you weren't the target, Sandburg," Simon spoke up, drawing the two men's attention. "There's more. When the guard confessed his involvement in Alex's escape, he turned over a note that she left to be delivered once she was discovered missing." Simon looked directly at Blair. "It was addressed to you, Blair."

"What...?" Blair breathed.

"What did it say, Simon?" Jim asked.

"Just one line - 'Welcome to the jungle'."

to be continued...