Disclaimer: Pet Fly and Paramount own the copyright to The Sentinel and its characters. This piece of fan fiction was written solely for the love of the characters and to share freely with other fans. No profit is being made from the posting of this story.

Rating: PG-13

Acknowledgments: Once again, I wish to thank the talented plot bunnies of "Plot Bunnies R Us"--Terri--who talks me through the story lines and gives me encouragement every step of the way. And, no less kudos to my faithful betas, without whose help who knows what you'd get? Thanks Kimberly and Elaine!

Summary: When the mayor's daughter is buried alive, it falls to the Shaman of the Great City to find her before it's too late.

For those new to the Make It Go Away series, here's a bit of background. Blair has been having migraines, which lead to epileptic-like seizures. His doctor put him on an anticonvulsant drug, but Blair hates the medication because of the side effects. Jim forces his agreement to take the meds, but then the seizures begin to return, accompanied by visions of the spirit plane. In a reversal of roles, Jim teaches Blair to control his seizures by dialing down the migraine pain. Blair later learns how to turn on the vision-seizures, as well as how to prevent them. This ability to voluntarily visit the spirit plane has allowed Blair to save Jim's life, more than once. Now they face a new challenge . . . will Jim be able to accept the inevitable? And now . . .

The girl struggled desperately in the arms of her abductor, but with her wrists and ankles bound, and duct tape secured across her mouth, she was helpless. Her eyes grew round with fear as she saw their destination approach. . . .

In the middle of the forests of the Cascade Range, a small clearing had been defaced by a rectangular hole five feet deep and six feet long. Inside the hole was a wooden coffin, equipped with a flashlight, some dried food rations, water, and tanks of air.

The man lowered his captive into the coffin almost gently. He smiled at the terrified young woman. "Don't worry. You're going to be okay. As soon as the mayor agrees to my demands, I'm gonna tell 'em where to look for you. You've got food and water, and enough air for two days. If you're careful, and don't wear out the battery right away, the flashlight will give you some light. Just don't panic, and everything will be fine."

He unfastened the ropes binding her wrists, then lowered the coffin lid and began nailing it shut. Inside, the girl ripped the duct tape from her mouth and began to scream. As the soft sound of earth hitting the wooden lid of the coffin echoed in the darkness, the young woman realized that her nightmare had only begun.

"Gentlemen," Simon greeted his detective team. "Have a seat." He indicated the vacant chairs at the large table, and waited until the men were settled.

"What's up, Captain?" Jim looked around the table, noting Police Chief Warren and Mark Yeager, their new head of Forensics.

"Leon Fitz." The voice belonged to Chief Warren.

"Isn't he the guy on death row that's set to be executed in two days?" Blair piped up.

"One and the same," Simon confirmed. "He was convicted of murdering his male lover three years ago. He had taken out an insurance policy valued at two million dollars on James Manson just prior to the man's death." He passed the file of the case to his team. Jim flipped open the manila folder and leafed through the reports as his boss continued to speak. "Neighbors reported hearing an argument between the two men that night. Fitz' fingerprints and blood were found at the scene, although the murder weapon, which appears to have been a fireplace poker, was never found. Fitz' wife was also investigated, but there was nothing to indicate she was involved." Simon paused, and took a deep breath. "The story was that Fitz wanted to end the relationship with his lover, but the man was very reluctant. So, Fitz promised he'd divorce his wife, and took out the policy on Manson's life. The jury concluded that it had been Fitz' intention all along to murder his lover, and that the payoff from the insurance policy was an added bonus." He fell silent, watching his men for their reaction to the story.

"That's cold," Blair murmured, shaking his head.

Jim looked around at the assembled group. "But that's not why we're here, is it? What's the real story, Simon?"

"The real story is that Fitz' brother, Timothy, believes Leon is innocent. They've gone the appeals route, with no success. We got this, this morning." Simon passed a note across the table. Jim opened it, scanning the contents, while Blair read over his shoulder.

"He's kidnapped the mayor's daughter?" Jim looked up at his captain.

"And buried her alive, with just enough air and supplies to last until his brother's execution. If we can get a stay order, with the promise of a new trial, he'll tell us where she's buried. If not, she dies in less than forty-eight hours." Simon looked grim. His fingers toyed with the edges of the note nervously. "The mayor has asked specifically for the two of you," he continued.

"For both of us?" Blair sounded surprised by the admission.

"Well, for Jim, actually. Cop of the Year, three years running. The mayor wants our best team, and that means Jim. By extension," Simon said, pinning Blair with a hard look, "that includes you.

"I'll expect you to go back over the evidence," he continued, turning to Jim. He gave his detective a look that clearly included the man's special talents. "I want you to find us something, anything, that could be used to force a new trial."

"But it's been three years," Blair complained. "What can they expect us to find after three years that nobody else has been able to discover?"

"That's why Jim is being brought in on this case," Simon answered patiently, giving Blair a knowing look. "We need to find something that the other teams missed."

Blair pulled a photo from the file in front of Jim. "Is this her?" he asked, brandishing the picture. "I know her."

"You know her?" Jim and Simon both turned astonished looks on the grad student.

"Well, yeah. Maria Cox--she's in one of my classes at Rainier. Bright girl. She's one of my better students." Blair set the picture back onto the stack, and dropped his head into his hands. "Aw, shit!" The final expletive was uttered so quietly, only the sentinel sitting next to the young man could hear.

Jim reached over, placing a firm palm between Blair's shoulder blades, and rubbed. "Chief? You okay?"

"Damn headache," Blair mumbled.

"Just remember what we talked about." Jim's voice was low and soothing, his hand never ceasing its circular motions on his partner's back. "You can control the pain."

The Police Chief looked questioningly at Simon, who made a shushing hand gesture at his superior.

After a few minutes, Blair looked up. "Sorry. Migraines," he said by way of explanation. "If you'll excuse me--" He got up and headed toward the door. Jim was up and following, a split second behind the younger man. He reached Blair just as his partner sank to the floor, tremors wracking his body.

"Blair? Blair? C'mon, Chief, wake up." Jim's coaxing voice called to him from some faraway place. It was warm where he was. It was comfortable. Safe. He didn't want to leave. But the voice continued to call to him. He opened his eyes to find Jim leaning close. "Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty." With an arm around Blair's shoulders, the detective helped his partner to sit up.

Blair looked up, embarrassed by the spectacle he'd caused, and the attention directed toward him. He pulled himself up, settling back into his chair.

"Captain Banks, I don't think. . . ." Warren began, only to be interrupted by a soft voice.

"I saw a woman," Blair began. "She drove up in a white Chevy with Washington plates."

"Could somebody please explain what's going on here?" Warren complained.

"Just a minute. Give him a minute," Simon soothed. "Did you get a good look at her?" The question was directed to Sandburg.

"Long, red hair, large eyes, narrow lips, about five-nine. Slender. She was wearing a cream suit with a knee-length skirt," Blair answered.

"Sounds like Leon Fitz' wife," Yeager commented. "Wasn't she interviewed during the initial search?"

"Yeah," Simon agreed. "And there was no evidence to prove she was even aware of the affair, much less that she had anything to do with Manson's death."

Blair's soft voice droned on. "She went into the house, and came out carrying something."

"Did you see what it was?" Jim asked. He covered Blair's hand with one of his own. "Close your eyes, and concentrate on the memory."

"Would somebody please explain what the hell is going on?" Chief Warren all but shouted.

Yeager turned to the irate man. "The kid has visions. He's been pretty accurate in the past. Saved Ellison's life with them."

"You mean like a psychic?" Warren shook his head. "No. We're the police, not some damn psychic hotline. Let's get back to business. Can these men of yours pull this off, or do we look elsewhere? We haven't got a lot of time!"

"These men are your best bet," Simon assured him. "Don't ask me how they do it, and don't question their methods. If there's even a snowball's chance in hell, these two will figure it out."

"Long. Sharp." The words came out a quiet whisper. "Red, dripping from the tip. Blood. I could smell it." Blair shivered. "She wrapped it and put it in the trunk of her car, then drove off."

"Good. That's good. Anything else?" Jim's voice held a quality of coaxing concern that Simon rarely heard from his detective.

Blair looked up, connecting with the sentinel on levels the pair had only imagined a few months ago. "A neighbor was watching from his window. Next door. The house on the left."

Jim turned his gaze on Simon. "I'd like to find this neighbor; see if I can get any more information from him."

"All the neighbors were questioned at the time of the incident," Warren pointed out, eyeing the police observer warily.

"But they weren't interviewed by me," Jim replied firmly. "And we have more information now. It's just a matter of seeing if we can get it to pan out."

"A vision? You're going by a vision?" Chief Warren shook his head.

"Blair is a full-fledged shaman," Jim explained. "I'd follow his visions before I'd follow any other man's suggestions. This will produce results, sir," he concluded.

"It had better," Warren warned. "We don't have a lot of time, and the mayor's daughter's life is at stake."

"We know that, sir," Simon chimed in. "I have faith in these men." He turned to his detective and the man's young sidekick. "Prove me right, gentlemen."

"Yes, sir." Jim stood, helping Blair to his feet. Still a little shaky from the seizure, Blair leaned against the sentinel for strength. Jim wrapped an arm around his waist and led his partner across the bullpen and out into the hall.

"Are you going to be all right?" Jim asked as he helped his partner into the truck.

"I'm still a little tired," Blair admitted. "But it'll pass. It always does."

"Feel up to a little field work?"

"Do I have a choice?" Blair grimaced. "It's not like we have a lot of time."

They drove in silence until they reached a quiet neighborhood. Driving along the tree-lined street, it was hard to believe a vicious murder had been committed nearby. Blair pointed to the sedate white house, surrounded by a picket fence.

"That's the one." He shuddered. "I can still feel the death surrounding the place."

"Let go, Chief," Jim ordered. Still uncomfortable with his friend's vision-seizures, he had noticed a tendency of the young man to keep a tenuous hold on the spirit plane.

Blair turned a small smile on his partner. "I'm fine, Jim. The neighbor I saw lived in that house." He pointed to a green house to the left of the murder scene.

"According to the DMV, the same guy still lives there," Jim confirmed, pulling the truck up to park in front of the home.

They walked up to the front door, Blair following a few steps back. Jim rang the bell and waited. A face appeared in the window from behind sheer lace curtains.

Blair nudged his partner. "That's him," he whispered. "That's the face I saw in the vision."

Jim held up his badge and identified himself as the man opened the door. "Mr. Greenfeld?"

"What do you want?" came the gruff response. "I ain't done nothing."

"No, sir. I didn't claim that you had," Jim replied with all the tact he could muster. "We're following up on a murder investigation in which you were a witness. Three years ago, there was an incident next door. Do you remember it?"

"Yeah. That fag neighbor of mine got what was coming to him."

"Would you care to explain?" Jim asked.

"I heard an argument between the fag and his boyfriend," Art Greenfeld explained.

"Is that all? Did you see anyone else? Any unusual activity in the neighborhood that night?"

"That was a long time ago," Greenfeld muttered. "Let's see. I remember the stereo was awful loud. I looked out to see if there was a party going on, and saw a woman drive up and go into the house."

"Can you describe the car or the woman?" Jim probed when the man fell silent.

Greenfeld squinted thoughtfully. "White car. Tall, pretty redhead," he answered slowly. "I heard the argument, then this broad comes running out of the house like the devil was on her heels. She put something in the trunk, and drove off. That's all I know."

"Why didn't you come forward with this information three years ago?" Blair asked.

"I told the police I heard the argument. That queer got what he deserved. The evidence all pointed to his boyfriend. Weren't no reason to say any more."

"I see. Well, thank you for coming forward now. Would you kindly accompany us down to the station house to sign a statement?" Jim asked, standing aside so the man could step out.

"What for?"

"We have a missing girl, whose life could depend on your cooperation," Blair pleaded.

"We need a signed statement in order to get a warrant to search the woman's car," Jim elaborated. "Time is of the essence. If you please?" He took the resisting man's elbow and tugged.

"Just give me a minute." Greenfeld disappeared inside his home, then reappeared a few minutes later with his jacket and wallet. "This is damned inconvenient," he fussed, walking out to the truck with the detective team.

"We understand that, sir," Jim assured him. "But your cooperation is essential, and we really appreciate the help." He climbed into the driver's seat, as Blair slid into the passenger side, sandwiching the witness between them.

Within the hour, Jim had the warrant to search the vehicle in his hand. With a forensics team in tow, they headed out to the home of Janette Fitz. The woman wasn't home, but the vehicle in question was. Popping the trunk, Jim examined the pristine carpet.

He felt a hand settle on his arm, then a soft voice to his right. "Dial up sight. No matter how well she had the trunk cleaned, she couldn't wash out all traces of the blood." Concentrating on the voice, Jim focused his vision on the pale carpet. A slight discoloration appeared in the back left quadrant.

"Here," he said, fingering the area.

A few spritzes of luminol later, the forensics team identified the bloodstain and clipped a sample for the lab.

"Good work, gentlemen," Simon praised his team later that day. "The blood turned out to be that of James Manson, our victim. While it's not enough evidence on its own to arrest Mrs. Fitz, it is enough to force an investigation and, therefore, win Leon a stay of execution."

"All right!" Blair was all smiles. "And we still have thirty hours to rescue Maria. Piece of cake."

"Or not." The Chief of Police strode into the captain's office, his face grim. "There's been an automobile accident. One casualty--Timothy Fitz."

"You've got to be kidding!" Jim ran a hand down his face, then let it drop limply against his side. "Do you have any idea how large an area in and around Cascade we're talking about here? Thirty hours and all the police and volunteer help in the state wouldn't be enough to find that girl in time!"

"I've already got volunteer patrols mobilized," Warren said. "We're covering all of Fitz' known hang-outs, and are spreading out from there. We'd appreciate all the additional manpower you can spare, Captain."

"Of course," Simon agreed. Turning toward his detective team, he addressed the men. "Why don't you two go home, get some rest? You've already put in overtime today."

"I don't see how I could possibly sleep, sir," Jim answered.

Blair echoed the sentiment. "No way. Not while Maria's still out there somewhere!"

"Look, gentlemen. Like it or not, you are not supermen. A few hours' sleep, and you'll be better able to assist in the rescue effort. Blair," he turned, appealing to the younger man's protective instincts, "take Jim home. Feed him. Get some sleep, and be back here first thing in the morning."

"He's right, you know." Blair spoke softly, one hand cupping the sentinel's elbow. "A little food, a little rest, and we'll be a lot sharper."

"I'm sharp enough already," Jim growled, unwilling to leave before the job was finished.

Blair shook his head. "Well, I'm not. I've had a stressful day, and I'm shot. Take me home now, Jim." He tugged at his partner's elbow insistently. Reluctantly, Jim followed him out.

Blair collapsed on the couch, his breath expelled in one loud whoosh as he sat. "Oh, man! I just can't believe it! Maria's such a great kid! She's smart, a little shy, but everyone who knows her loves her. Why would anyone want to hurt someone like that?"

"Fitz was a lunatic," Jim said, sitting beside his friend. "He was so desperate to prove his brother innocent, he didn't see the hypocrisy in possibly killing a young girl to prove that innocence."

"They're not going to find her, Jim." Blair's eyes were brimming with unshed tears. "There's too much area to cover, and not enough time."

"You're forgetting something," Jim reminded him softly. "My senses."

Blair looked up, one tear escaping the confines of his eye and sliding down his cheek. "What good are your senses going to do if we can't get close enough to use them? Jim this girl is buried. She's covered by who knows how much earth and sod. Fitz didn't want anyone to find her without his help. Even your senses aren't going to do much good unless we're pretty damn close to begin with!"

"You're upset," Jim said, stroking away the tear with his thumb. "You need to get some rest so that you can get this all back into perspective. We've still got over a day. There's no need to panic yet."

"How do you know that, Jim? What if Fitz lied about the air and supplies?" Blair wondered. "Or what if Maria is panicking and runs out of air sooner than Fitz thought she would?"

"I've seen situations similiar to this before," Jim explained. "Fitz doesn't want Maria dead. She's his bargaining chip to get his brother free. If anything, he's given her more than adequate supplies. Simon and Chief Warren have the search teams mobilized. They're doing their best." He stood, heading for the kitchen. "How about a sandwich and some juice? You need a little something after that performance you gave today in Simon's office."

"Sorry. I really hate when I can't control the visions." He ran a hand through his mop of hair, pushing it up out of his face.

Jim returned with a hastily put-together turkey sandwich and a glass of orange juice. "Fuel up, kid." He pushed the food in front of the moping young man. "And just why do you think that happens, anyway? For the most part, you can control your migraines pretty well these days."

"I dunno," Blair said around a bite of the sandwich. He washed it down with a gulp of juice before continuing. "I think, sometimes, the spirit world has an urgent need to communicate. When that happens, it's next to impossible to suppress the seizures. You have to admit, my vision this afternoon was key to getting the stay of execution."

"Yeah," Jim admitted. "Although I hate like hell to see you twitching on the floor like a broken marionette with a spastic puppeteer."

"Thanks a lot for that striking visual image, Jim," Blair said dryly, looking up at his partner with a glint of mischief in his eyes. Then he sobered. "There's nothing more embarrassing than to wake up with a crowd of people looking down on you, and knowing what they witnessed."

"And there's only a few things more frightening than watching you go through that," Jim admitted. "But it was your information that saved the day."

"For all the good it did."

"It did a lot of good." Jim picked up the plate with the uneaten portion of sandwich, and stood. "You saved an innocent man's life today." He headed for the kitchen to clean up.

"And left one young woman buried who knows where. . . ."

"That wasn't your fault," Jim reminded him. "That was a fluke. Now, why don't you take the first shower, so you can get a few hours' sleep. I want to be up by first light to join the search."

Wearily, Blair pushed himself up from the couch and made his way to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, he was collapsed on his futon, snoring softly.

Mark Yeager handed Captain Banks the results of Forensics' most recent lab analysis. "Soil from the wheel well and tires of Timothy Fitz' vehicle shows he's been driving up in the foothills recently."

Jim looked over Simon's shoulder, reading the results for himself. "The Cascade Range foothills cover a lot of territory. Near the city of Cascade alone, we're talking hundreds of square miles."

"Sorry I couldn't narrow it down for you a bit more," Yeager apologized. "Unfortunately, there's nothing special that makes the sample stand out as a specific area."

Jim shook his head. "That's not good enough. There's only five hours left before the air runs out in that coffin."

"Maybe not even that much," Blair interjected softly.

The three older men turned on the police observer. "What do you mean, Sandburg?" Simon snapped at him.

"Just that if she's really scared, she could be hyperventilating--using up her air at a faster rate. I do it all the time when a panic attack hits."

"It's going to be dark soon," Simon muttered. "And we've got five hours," he shot another look at Sandburg, "or less, to find this girl. Suggestions, gentlemen?"

The room fell silent as the occupants ruminated on possible outcomes. A soft voice broke the quiet. "I could take a spirit walk."

All eyes turned toward Blair. "No." Jim strode over to stand next to the shaman. "It's bad enough when the visions take you by surprise. I don't want you risking yourself by bringing on a seizure on purpose."

"There's no risk," Blair assured him, placing a calming hand on the sentinel's arm. "You're here to ground and guide me. I'll be fine. Besides, I know this girl. She's one of my students. I already have a connection to her. Finding her in a spirit walk shouldn't be all that difficult."

"What's he talking about?" Yeager asked, puzzled by the strange conversation.

"Remember when Sandburg passed out and had that vision-seizure thing of his at the briefing?" Simon asked. The forensics chief nodded. "Well, he can do that on purpose, too." The captain turned toward his reluctant detective. "You know how little I understand about this mumbo-jumbo you guys have going, but if Blair thinks he can find the mayor's daughter through one of his visions, I think we ought to let him try. We're running out of viable options here."

"Blair?"

"I can do this, Jim," his partner insisted. "Let me help. Please."

"You can hurt yourself," Jim pleaded for understanding. "You have no control over your physical body when you walk the spirit world."

"Maria's dying, Jim," Blair reminded him unnecessarily. "You can protect me while I'm walking the spirit plane." His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, "It's what a sentinel does--protect the guide."

"I don't like this any more than you do, Jim," Simon growled, "but it may be our only chance. Let him try!"

"All right," Jim conceded, "but we're going to do it my way." He sat on the floor, pulling Blair down with him. Folding his legs in front of him, he dragged the smaller man into his lap, wrapping his arms around Blair's waist. "Go for it, Chief. I'm with you."

Blair nodded and closed his eyes. He pictured Maria, the shy, intelligent student who had captured his imagination with her quick wit and pointed questions during lectures. He let his mind wander through all his recent memories of her. A moan escaped his lips as his head began to throb with the familiar beat of a migraine headache. Distantly, he felt a hand stroke across his forehead, pulling him down to rest against against a sturdy shoulder. He sighed, and focused on the face of the girl as the world faded around him.

Jim was forced to lower Blair to the floor as the spasms became more and more violent. Simon offered his folded jacket as a pillow, which Jim gratefully accepted. Keeping his hands lightly on the shaking body, he kept Blair from injuring himself as the seizure progressed.

"Dammit, Blair, wake up already!" Jim hissed through clenched teeth. Glancing at his watch, he noted that the seizure was approaching a record five minutes. As the shaking finally began to let up, Jim gathered the limp body back into his arms. Stroking tendrils of hair from the sweat-dampened face, he waited with strained patience for his partner to wake.

Eyelids fluttered, and a crack of blue shone through. Blair blinked several times, and tried lifting his head. Jim kept it pressed to his shoulder. The labored breathing of his partner had the detective worried.

"Something's not right, Simon." Jim's voice shook slightly. "He's not waking up like he should."

Simon knelt down beside the pair, and studied the face of the young shaman. "Blair? Are you all right? C'mon, kid. You have to tell us what you saw," he coaxed.

Blair blinked, trying to bring the large dark blur into focus. "Can't breathe," he gasped. "So scared. . . ."

"Just calm down, Chief," Jim murmured. "Concentrate on taking deep breaths. In. Out. Come on, you can do it. Just like you taught me."

"Not enough air." Blair's mouth opened and closed soundlessly as he tried to draw in needed oxygen. "So dark. God, I'm scared. I'm gonna die. I don't want to die. Too young. . . ."

"Blair? Blair! Listen to me!" Jim shook the younger man. "There's plenty of air, just breathe. You're not going to die!"

"Not me, man," Blair managed to gasp. "Maria."

Jim looked up at Simon and Yeager. "Damn. He found her, but he's still connected with her. He's acting like a barometer of her emotional and physical state. Simon, we've got to find this girl, or we may lose Blair, too!"

"What?" The captain looked at his detective like the man had gone off the deep end. "How could that be?"

"It's something new Blair's been struggling with lately," Jim explained. "Sometimes, when he comes out of the seizure, he keeps one foot on the spirit plane. He knows Maria personally. If he's connected to her through his vision, he could suffer the same fate."

"That's a little farfetched, don't you think?" Chief Warren walked into the room, looking for some news he could report back to the distraught mayor.

Anger flashed in Jim's eyes as he looked up at the Chief of Police. "He's having trouble breathing, for no good reason!" he barked.

"I'm okay." Blair's voice was soft, but commanded attention. "The vision, Jim. Gotta find Maria."

"Okay, Darwin, spit it out." Jim's voice was gentle and coaxing.

"A logging road. Number 15. Up in the Cascade foothills." As Blair spoke, Simon and Chief Warren bent over a map of the area that had been spread out on the large table. "There's a clearing near the marker. She's buried there."

"Found it!" Simon crowed.

"Let's get moving!" Chief Warren spoke at nearly the same instant, gathering men as he exited the bullpen area.

"Feel up to a little ride?" Jim helped Blair to his feet. The police observer leaned heavily against his partner and nodded. "Okay. Let's go, then." Jim wrapped a supportive arm around Blair's waist, and led him down to the truck.

The small convoy of police vehicles bumped over the uneven logging road, Jim's truck in the lead.

"There." Blair pointed to the marker on the right of the road. "That's the one."

"You sure?" Jim was skeptical. "We've passed a dozen just like it already."

"That one," Blair panted. "Hurry, Jim!"

The detective pulled the truck to the side of the road and climbed out. Blair opened his door, stumbling out and around to the front of the vehicle.

"Steady there. Are you sure you're all right?" Jim asked, wrapping an arm around Blair's waist.

"Good as I'm gonna be until we find Maria." He started walking. They were soon joined by Chief Warren and Simon, and a crew armed with shovels. Medics toted a stretcher and equipment behind the rest of the pack. "There." Blair pointed to a break in the brush to the left, about a hundred feet farther down the road.

They broke into the clearing a few minutes later. Blair paused, looking around, before sinking to the ground. "It looks different."

"How so?" Jim asked, crouching in front of his exhausted partner.

"Can't see the grave. It was so obvious in the vision."

"Whereabouts was it?" Jim probed.

Blair waved a hand toward the center of the clearing. "Out there, in the middle, a little off to the left."

Adjusting his vision to the darkness surrounding them, Jim scanned the area. After a minute, he called out to the milling crew. "Can everybody just hold still, please? Quiet. I need quiet."

Simon helped to settle the restless men, staying the irate Police Chief with a strong hand. "Give them a chance, Chief." Reluctantly, Warren stopped his searching and turned his eyes on the team who had led them here.

"Dial up hearing," Blair whispered, resting a hand on Jim's knee as he continued to crouch in front of his guide.

Jim scanned the small clearing, blanking out the woodland sounds one by one, until all that was left was a soft, continuous hiss. He stood, pulling Blair with him, and wandered toward the center of the glade. Stopping, he oriented himself again, and headed northeast. Twenty steps later, he stopped. He noted the disturbed sod, which had been carefully replaced to hide the burial site. Kneeling, his hand brushed the grass until it encountered a small tube projecting from the ground. "Here."

That one word mobilized the rest of the men, and the digging started in earnest. Jim pulled Blair to the side, settling on the ground with him. The younger man looked pale and drawn, his breathing was shallow and weak.

"Just a little longer, Chief. Hang in there a few more minutes." He pulled Blair's head into his lap, stroking the long hair soothingly.

A whoop of success sounded from the work area when one of the shovels struck wood. A few minutes later, the coffin was uncovered, and the lid was being pried off. Amid all the noise, one sound suddenly ceased.

"Blair! God, no!" Jim shook the body resting in his lap.

A paramedic ran over. "What's the problem here?"

"He stopped breathing!" The sentinel was frantic. He slid out from beneath his guide, turning the younger man onto his back. Checking the airway, he tilted Blair's head back, pinching his nose, and then sealed his mouth against the full lips, breathing into the still lungs.

Behind them, Maria had been pulled out of the coffin. She was unconscious, barely breathing. An oxygen mask was put over her face, and just as she took a deep, reflexive breath, the body beneath Jim's hands jumped.

Gasping, Blair opened his eyes and tried to sit up. "Not so fast." Jim pressed him back down with a hand against his chest. "You're not going anywhere until the medic checks you out."

The paramedic knelt next to the fallen man, sliding an oxygen mask over his face before beginning a thorough check of his vitals.

Color slowly returned to Blair's cheeks with the influx of pure oxygen. Within minutes, he was pulling the mask off, and struggling to sit up. "Jim. Jim, man, let me up. I'm okay." Jim glanced up at the paramedic, who nodded.

"He should be fine. Take him down to the ER and have him checked out, but I don't see any problem."

"He stopped breathing!" Jim yelled at the man. He felt a tug at his sleeve.

"Leave the man alone. Let him go work with Maria. I'm fine."

Jim gathered his guide into a hug. "You scared the shit out of me. Don't do that."

"Sorry," came the muffled response. "Is Maria okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. They're transporting her back to the ambulance now." Jim stood, not relinquishing his tight hold on his guide. "Let's get you checked out, so we can go home."

"How's the kid?" Simon asked the next day when Jim strode reluctantly into bullpen.

"Recovering. We both had quite a scare." He locked gazes with his captain. "Why am I here, and not home with Blair?"

"Because I asked you to be here." Jim looked up to see the mayor exiting Simon's office. "That was quite a trick you pulled off yesterday."

"It wasn't a trick, and it wasn't my doing. It was Blair's." Jim was grateful they had found the girl in time; happy for her and her family, but it was his partner whose health now concerned him.

"I just wanted to let you know how grateful I am." The mayor walked over to shake Jim's hand.

"It's Blair you should be thanking," Jim reminded him.

"Where is your partner, anyway?" the mayor asked.

"Home. Recovering. His little 'trick' nearly killed him. I'm glad your daughter is all right, but if you don't mind, I'd like to go home now." He turned toward the door to Major Crime, leaving a stunned mayor to watch his back as he walked out.

"Hey, Captain! Take a look at this!" Brown was gesturing toward the TV, which had been carrying the news quietly in the background. The anchor had just finished up on the dramatic rescue of the mayor's daughter, and had moved on to a related story.

They gathered around the set as news of Leon Fitz' exoneration was announced, along with the arrest of Janette Fitz for the murder of James Manson.

One week later:

Blair slouched on the loveseat, fingering the medallion that still hung around his neck. "That was some party, huh, Jim?"

"Nothing less than you deserved," Jim commented, coming to sit next to the young man. "You're quite the hero, you know. Should put you in good stead with the ladies back on campus."

"You had just as much to do with this as I did," Blair pointed out, indicating a matching medallion around Jim's neck.

"Well, that's what we're going to let them think," Jim said with a smile, "because it makes you happy."

"Incacha said my gifts were equal to yours." Blair's voice was soft and dreamy, as he recalled a conversation he'd had with the shaman on the spirit plane in what now seemed so very long ago. "We're a team. A matched set. Yin and Yang. We're complete now." He turned to the man sitting next to him. "Do you believe that? Are you willing to accept that there are times my gift is as useful as yours?"

"It was more useful this time," Jim admitted. "Without your guidance, my senses were useless. I just don't like the idea of you risking your life."

"You risk yours every day, by your choice to become a cop."

"That's different. That's my job. I'm trained for it. I consciously chose it. You're a scholar. You have no business putting your life in harm's way." He reached out to finger the medal of commendation Blair wore. "I'm glad the city and the mayor recognized your contribution to Maria's rescue, but I don't want to have to see you put into that kind of danger again."

"Jim," Blair began, keeping his voice to a reasonable tone. "I've trained for this all my life, too. I've spent my entire academic career learning about people and their civilizations. I may not have known it at the time, but I was in training all along. When Incacha showed up in Cascade, he recognized that quality in me, even if neither of us did. He passed me the way of the shaman because he knew, Jim. And he expected me to use his gift to aid you. That's what I did last week. That's what I intend to continue to do."

"The sentinel protects the guide," Jim said softly. "Now that imperative is more important than ever."

"And the guide protects his sentinel. Don't forget, it goes both ways."

"I haven't forgotten, Chief." He let the medal drop back against Blair's chest. "I haven't forgotten."

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