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.

Acknowledgments: Many thanks to my editor, Teewinot, for her medical and grammar expertise. I wouldn't want to do this without you!

Notes: Set after TSbyBS; Blair has become Jim's official partner in the PD. Inspired by a cartoon (see end of story).

Rating: G

Warnings: Angst. This is a Gen story, but can be read as pre-slash for those so inclined. This is not a death story!

Summary: A bad thing happens on the way to a seminar.

Artwork: Natalie L and Jeff Thomas/Azuzephre

Comments welcome and appreciated! Simply click on the title picture to send feedback.

The four white walls of the I.C.U. were closing in on him. Monitors beeped, lights flashed, and the hollow sound of a ventilator filled the room. He focused all his senses on the man in the bed. It was like looking through a tunnel, hearing the echo of a cry for help in the constant white noise created by the machines. The heartbeat that was his lifeline faltered, then became erratic, and Jim found himself being pushed aside by the medical personnel who came storming in to help.

As intense fear enveloped him, Jim cried out to his partner, "No! Don't you dare die!"

The previous week:

Captain Simon Banks summoned Jim and his new partner to his office with his usual gruff bellow. Blair looked up from the computer where he'd been typing in their official case reports and smiled, jabbing Jim in the arm with an elbow.

"You're liking this way too much, Chief," Jim replied, rising from his chair to lead the way into their boss' office.

"I can't help myself. It's pretty exciting to finally be your official partner." Walking beside Jim, he polished the badge he wore on his belt with the sleeve of his sweater.

Jim gave his friend's hair an affectionate ruffle. "You've been my official partner from the day you first walked into this office . . . but I know what you mean," he added before Blair could object.

"Come in, Gentlemen; sit." Simon gestured to the two chairs situated in front of his desk. "Coffee?"

"No, thanks." "Yes, please," came the simultaneous replies.

"Don't you think you've had enough caffeine for one day?" Jim's lips quirked in a crooked smile, trying to soften the jab.

"It's only my fourth cup." Blair nodded and murmured his thanks as Simon handed him a mug of his special brew.

Jim shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Uh huh." Speaking up, he caught Simon's eye, "What's up?"

"There's a seminar on hostage negotiation next week in Spokane," the captain began. "I've been giving it a lot of thought, since the department can only afford to send one officer this year." Jim and Blair exchanged looks of curiosity, Jim raising an eyebrow in question as he turned his gaze back on his boss. Simon took a deep breath and let it out. "I've decided to send Sandburg."

"Blair? But, Simon. . . ." Jim looked from his captain to Blair and back again. "He's only had his badge a few weeks—"

"I know. I know. But as I said, I've given this a lot of thought. Blair's an anthropologist, and he's taken several psychology courses as well. He's good with people, and especially good with calming people down and creating compromise. I realize that this will be the first time you two have been apart since Sandburg got his badge, but I think it's time for him to have the chance to prove himself."

"I'd love to go, Simon! Yeah . . . sounds like it's right up my alley. Thanks, man!" He turned to his still sputtering partner. "It's going to be fine, Jim. It's just a seminar. You'd be bored stiff, and it's not like I'm going to be getting shot at while I'm there."

"You never know. Trouble seems to follow you like a magnet."

"It's a done deal, Gentlemen. I've already submitted Sandburg's name to Chief Warren, and he's approved my choice. The seminar begins next Monday and runs through Friday. You can use your own car and get a mileage allowance, or borrow an official vehicle."

"I think I'd like to take my Volvo." When Jim turned to protest, Blair raised both hands, palms out, in a warding off gesture. "I just got it back from the shop, Jim. Everything checked out okay. The oil's been changed, belts replaced, tire pressure checked. I'm good to go."

"Do you have chains for that thing?" Jim's question came out as a growl. "It's winter, and even though they keep Snoqualmie Pass ploughed, there's still going to be ice and snow."

"I have chains, Jim, and I know how to put them on. Stop being such a mother hen."

"I'm not. . . ."

"Gentlemen!" Simon stood, placing both palms flat on his desk. "This is not up for discussion. You'll have a lodging and food stipend as well as the travel allowance, Sandburg, so make whatever arrangements you need. Meanwhile, I expect you to clear that stack of case reports before you leave."

"Yes, Sir!" Blair set the empty mug on Simon's desk. "Thanks for the coffee." He rose and headed toward the office door. "You coming, Jim?"

"In a minute." Jim watched as Blair exited the room, closing the door behind him.

"Simon. . . ."

"Jim, he needs this. Ever since that incident with Alex Barnes, you've been smothering the kid. Then the dissertation disaster came along and you pushed him away. Now, you won't let go. He's a grown man, no matter what either of us may think, and he deserves a chance to prove himself. He's the perfect candidate for this seminar, and you know it."

Jim took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah, I know it, Simon. It's just hard."

Captain Banks stepped around the desk and laid a fatherly hand on his detective's shoulder. "It's time to let go."

Nodding in acknowledgement, Jim stepped away from the comforting hand and headed back toward his desk.

Sunday

Blair set his duffel bag on the floor in front of the door. Grabbing his heavy parka off the hook, he shrugged it on and turned to Jim. "It's about a seven hour drive from here to Spokane; give me eight or nine since I'll need to stop for a meal. I've got my cell phone with me, but I'm not sure about reception through the mountain passes. I'll call you when I get settled in the hotel." He looked at Jim, who was still standing in the middle of the room, his mouth stretched in a grim line. "Don't be such a worrywart! Everything's going to be fine."

"I have a bad feeling about this, Chief."

"You always have a bad feeling. Can't you, just this once, wish me a safe journey and tell me to have a good time?"

"Be careful." He watched as Blair picked up the duffel and opened the door, stepping out into the hall. "And be safe." Following the sound of his partner's heartbeat down the hall, Jim stepped over to the balcony, opening the doors to the frigid winter wind. He walked to the rail and watched as Blair got into his car and headed south on Prospect, toward the freeway. When he could no longer follow the sound of Blair's heart, he turned and went inside, chilled by more than the frosty air.

Humming to himself, Blair turned on the car's heater, and then turned on the radio, tuning in to a station that played some of Seattle's famous underground rock bands. As he jammed to the tunes, he made his exit onto Interstate 5 south, headed toward Seattle. From there, he would go east on I-90, through the Cascade Mountains, toward Spokane, in the eastern part of the state.

The roads were clear, with only a dusting of snow on the shoulders. Visibility was good. For a January morning, it was remarkably clear. The sun shone from a watery blue sky, providing abundant light, if not heat.

Blair had a thermos of hot coffee and a non-spill mug, steaming with a mocha latte that he'd picked up on his way out of town. Sipping the latte and taking a big bite out of the bear claw pastry he'd bought at the coffee shop, he reveled in the thought that Simon had had enough faith in him to choose him for this assignment. He'd always been fascinated by the SWAT team and their seasoned negotiators. It had occurred to him, on more than one occasion, that having someone with those skills would be an asset for Major Crime as well. And now, he was going to be that asset.

The drive to Seattle and the exit onto I-90 had gone off without a hitch. As the elevation began to rise, Blair noticed more snow at the sides of the road and knew he'd have to stop soon to put on his chains. Just then, his stomach rumbled. It had only been two hours since he'd had breakfast, but he'd eaten light with an eye toward having lunch at the Roadhouse Grill in Ellensburg on the other side of the pass. He'd heard rave reviews about their Kobe beef hamburger. The thought of the juicy burger, topped with bleu cheese, caramelized onions, and thick, smoky bacon made his mouth water. A side of their buffalo fries and a cold cherry limeade sounded like the perfect meal.

The back end of the Volvo shimmied on the slick road, and all thoughts of lunch evaporated as Blair concentrated on his driving. A half hour later, he saw the chain-up area and pulled over. Getting the chains out of his trunk, he put them on all four tires. His car was a rear-wheel drive, but he knew Jim would insist he needed traction on more than just the drive wheels.

The road itself was ploughed and relatively free of snow, but the shoulder where he'd pulled over to chain up was a slushy mix of snow and ice. His high-top Nikes were soaked through and he was thoroughly frozen by the time he climbed back behind the wheel. Cranking the heater up to full and turning the fan on high, he attempted to warm up before continuing on his journey. Other drivers passed him with caution, going slow over the wet road. While the pavement appeared clear, you never could tell when there might be a patch of black ice.

Eventually, he got his shivering under control and, turning on his signal, he pulled back out into the light traffic. He was actually quite surprised at the number of people driving through Snoqualmie Pass on a Sunday morning. He wondered where they might be headed.

The sound of horns honking brought him out of his idle thoughts. Blair got a brief glimpse of an oncoming car in his lane, two cars ahead of him. He eased on his brakes, knowing that slamming them could send him into a tailspin despite the tire chains. The last thing he remembered was seeing the car in front of him being shoved backward. The momentum smashed the vehicle into the Volvo, flipping the heavy Swedish-built car. It tumbled down the embankment until it crashed into a sturdy fir.

People gathered on the roadway to survey the damage. Some looked over the edge of the road into the ravine, pointing at the overturned car near the bottom. In less than thirty minutes, the first responders had reached the scene of the multi-car accident. A life-flight helicopter had been summoned to take the critically injured to a Seattle hospital.

The E.M.T.s evaluated the situation with the car in the ravine. The terrain was so steep, they descended in teams using a rope. Once at the bottom, the man at the top could send down any needed equipment.

The Volvo had come to rest on its roof; the driver's side door was caved in. The rescue workers could see the man inside, suspended by his seat belt, but couldn't get to him without the assist of the "Jaws of Life." Once the hydraulic tool had spread the door enough to pop it open, they were presented with another problem.

A quick assessment told them that the man was still alive, but it appeared that he had, at the very least, a broken leg and arm, and had sustained a significant head injury. They extracted Blair from the wreckage with great care, strapping him to the backboard and stabilizing his head and neck in case there had been any injury to his spinal column.

Above them, on the road, the MedEvac helicopter hovered, waiting to take the patient to the hospital. Unable to maneuver near the ravine due to the thick growth of trees, they waited for the rescuers to haul the man up to the road. The rescue workers placed the backboard in a basket gurney and steadied it with their hands as the men aboard the chopper winched it up, strapping it securely to the skids.

The helicopter landed on the roof of the University of Washington Medical Center. Blair was rushed into Emergency. The doctors assessed his condition: broken bones in his left hand and arm, and his right leg; numerous lacerations and contusions; a concussion that may have resulted in brain injury; and possible internal bleeding. He was prepped and rushed to surgery, then moved to the I.C.U.

Jim turned away from the balcony and went back inside. He couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that gripped his heart like an icy fist. Logic told him not to worry; everything would be fine . . . and why shouldn't it? Blair was competent and resourceful. How much trouble could he get into at a seminar? Maybe, he thought, his own insecurities were nagging him. His control over his senses was good enough that he didn't really need Blair around most of the time to guide him, but he'd become dependent on his friend's presence—that indefinable quality that kept him grounded.

Deciding that all he needed was to keep busy, he began tiding the apartment. At noon, he fixed himself lunch and settled in front of the TV to watch some Seahawks football. The post game show was just wrapping up when there was a knock at the door. Jim rose, turning off the TV as he passed, and answered the insistent summons.

"Simon!" Jim took in the somber eyes of his captain and his stomach lurched. "What are you doing here?"

"Jim. . . ."

Remembering his manners, Jim opened the door wider. "Come on in, Simon. Can I get you a beer?" He reached out to take the captain's coat, but Simon shook his head.

"I got a call," his boss began. "They found Blair's police ID in his pocket and called the department. The front desk routed the call to me."

"Who. . .? What. . .?" Jim stammered. "Who found Blair's ID? Who called? What's happened?" He became louder and more insistent with each question; the dread he'd been feeling all day building in his body until it thrummed to the beat of his racing heart.

"Jim, Blair's been in an accident. He was life-flighted to the University of Washington Medical Center in Seattle." Simon reached out a hand to rest on Jim's shoulder.

Full of nervous energy, Jim brushed the comforting hand away and reached for his coat. "How is he? Is he alive? Is he going to be all right?" Jim fired off his questions as he pushed Simon out the door, locking it behind him and shrugging into his jacket.

The two men knew each other well enough that Simon led the way to his car, never questioning that they were headed for Seattle. As they went, he explained what little he knew.

"There was a multi-car accident at the Snoqualmie Pass. Blair's car flipped over into a ravine. He has some broken bones and had some internal bleeding. He's been through surgery and is currently holding his own in I.C.U."

"But—" Jim prodded, knowing there was more to the story that Simon hadn't yet told him.

"But, he hasn't woken up yet."

Jim turned toward the captain and snapped, "What do you mean, he hasn't woken up yet? He's in a coma?"

"He suffered some head trauma. They don't know how serious. Jim, I don't know anything else right now. You'll have to wait until we get there and can talk to his doctors."

"Can you make this thing go any faster?" Jim growled.

After a barely audible sigh, Simon reached for his portable flashing light, opened his side window, and placed it on the roof. Turning on the light and siren, he floored the accelerator and they took off down the highway.

They arrived at the University of Washington Medical Center not more than thirty minutes later. Simon breathed a sigh of relief as they pulled into a parking place. He turned off the engine and opened his door. Jim bolted from the car and ran across the lot to the front entrance of the building. His captain was puffing from the effort to keep up as the two men approached the reception desk.

"Blair Sandburg . . . admitted to the E.R. within the last—" Jim turned to look at his captain.

"Three hours," Simon supplied.

"Three hours," repeated Jim, placing both palms flat on the receptionist's desk and leaning into her personal space, hoping for a glimpse of the computer screen."He's in the I.C.U."

After less than a minute of searching, the woman found the entry. "Sandburg, Blair; yes, there he is. He's out of surgery and settled in his room. The I.C.U. is on the fourth floor; you can take Elevator B." She pointed down the hall.

Arriving on the fourth floor, they were greeted by a nurse seated at the nursing station. "May I help you?"

"We're here to see Blair Sandburg," Captain Banks answered, effectively cutting off his anxious detective. "I'm Captain Simon Banks with the Cascade Police Department." He pulled his badge and displayed it for the nurse to see. "Sandburg is one of my men."

"Mr. Sandburg is currently in intensive care and can't be seen by anyone except a relative," the nurse stated. "I'll see if I can get a hold of his doctor for you. Just a moment, please." She picked up the phone and made a brief call. "Dr. Bernard will be with you shortly. You can have a seat over there." She indicated a small waiting area with a wave of her hand.

"Thank you very much." Simon herded Jim to the chairs and then went to the vending machine to buy two cups of hot, black coffee. Offering one to his detective, he sat down. "And now we wait."

"He's nearby," Jim informed his captain in a hushed voice. "I can hear his heartbeat."

Simon's brows furrowed as he studied the Sentinel. "You can distinguish Sandburg's heartbeat from all the others here?"

"I have to concentrate, but I can pick it out. He has a unique rhythm."

"And here I thought I knew you and what you were capable of," Simon said with a touch of awe.

"He's my partner. I've worked with him nearly four years now." Jim sipped at his coffee. "How could I not know his heartbeat?"

"You two never cease to amaze me."

The two men were on their third cups of coffee when a man in a white coat approached. "Captain Banks? I'm Dr. Bernard. I understand you're here for Blair Sandburg?"

"Yes, Doctor," Simon confirmed. "This is Sandburg's partner, Detective Jim Ellison."

"How is he?" Jim interrupted. "Can I see him now?"

"To answer your first question, Mr. Sandburg is stable, but he's in critical condition. When he arrived, he was bleeding internally and we had to take him to surgery. He's been settled in his room for less than an hour. His left arm and right leg were broken, most likely from the car rolling down the embankment. At the moment, my biggest concern is the head injury. He suffered a traumatic brain injury and has yet to wake up. He's currently being monitored. His bed is elevated to 30 degrees and we're treating him with mannitol in the hope that we can reduce brain swelling and prevent any permanent damage."

"But he's going to be okay?" Jim had risen from his seat to stand next to the physician.

"I can't say for certain, yet," Dr. Bernard equivocated. "We have to see what happens with the brain swelling, and even after it goes down, there's no way to predict when he may regain consciousness."

"Can I see him now?" Jim repeated, pressing his mouth into a firm line of worry as he waited anxiously for an answer.

"Hospital policy is 'family only' for patients in the I.C.U.," the doctor apologized.

"Look," said Banks, pulling the doctor off to one side, "Sandburg's only living relative, apart from a cousin or two, is his mother, and she's who-knows-where. She travels the world, and Blair rarely sees her or knows where she is. Ellison is the closest thing to family he has right now. Those two are closer than just partners. They're closer than brothers. Believe me when I tell you that Jim isn't going to take 'no' for an answer on this."

The doctor turned reluctantly to look at Jim, who stared back with a steely blue-eyed gaze. "I suppose I could bend hospital policy in this instance." He walked back over to where Jim waited. "He's in I.C.U. 4. I'll take you there."

With the doctor leading the way, Jim and Simon followed to a door directly opposite the nursing station. "Only Mr. Ellison, I'm afraid," the doctor said when Simon tried to follow Jim into the room.

Simon nodded. "I'll be out in the waiting area," he informed Jim. "Take care of your partner."

"You know I will."

Jim entered the darkened room. Only a soft glow over the bed offered any light, but to sentinel senses, it was more than enough. He paced around the bed, letting one hand lightly skim over Blair's body as he walked. The 'barely-there' touch gave him more information on his partner's well-being than all the monitors that beeped and shone beside the bed.

He pulled up a chair on Blair's right side, sat down, and gently placed the cold, limp hand into his own. He concentrated on the one thing he could make out over the white noise of the ventilator—Blair's heartbeat. His senses narrowed to a tunnel as he stared at the closed eyes of his partner, willing him to wake, willing his heart to beat stronger. The cold, white walls of the room closed in on him. He knew, in the conscious part of his mind, that he was slipping into the fugue state Blair called a 'zone-out,' but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered to him at that moment except the steady thump-thump of his partner's heart.

And then it faltered. Blair's heart skipped a beat . . . and then another. The monitor went crazy as the young man's heartbeat became erratic.

Almost immediately, Jim found himself being pushed aside as doctors and nurses stormed the room with a crash cart.

"No! Don't you dare die!" he screamed as an intense fear washed though him.

A quick assessment by the medical personnel was followed by baring Blair's chest and the cold paddles of the defibrillator being pressed against his skin. "Clear!" the doctor called. Blair's body seized with the force of the current jolting through it. "Again. . . ! Clear!" They continued to work for about ten minutes before finally putting the equipment away.

The heart monitor showed a flat line; the shrillness of its whine grating on the nerves of everyone in the room. Finally, the doctor flipped the switch to silence the machine, then turned off the ventilator and unhooked the tubing. He looked at his watch. "Time of death, 7:23 p.m."

The medical personnel took the equipment and vacated the room. Dr. Bernard stayed behind. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Ellison. I really thought he stood a chance, but sometimes these things happen. You're welcome to sit by the bed for a while, if you wish." He turned and left the room, leaving Jim to stare down at the lifeless body of his friend.

Having been a medic in the army, Jim knew how to insert and remove endotracheal tubes. Hating to see the thing still in Blair's throat, he pulled it out and threw it across the room.

Simon came in and stood on the other side of the bed. He didn't utter a word, knowing that nothing he could say would soothe the aching emptiness in his detective's heart. Jim didn't even react to his presence. He leaned over Blair, placing a palm to either side of the younger man's face.

The captain had seen that intense look once before . . . at the fountain on the Rainier University campus after Blair had drowned. A miracle had happened that day, but was it possible for another to happen now?

Silently, Jim called on the spirit of Incacha to guide him. The hospital room faded, and he found himself in the blue jungle. He was transformed. No longer was he a man. He was now the embodiment of his spirit guide, a black jaguar. He paced through the thick undergrowth until he broke through into a small clearing. On the other side stood a gray wolf, its head hanging low. The blue eyes of the canine met those of the jaguar before it turned and began to walk into the shadows of the jungle.

The jaguar roared, sounding full of desperation, fear, and . . . command. The wolf stopped and turned back, looking at the jaguar once more. It yipped, and in that small sound, the jaguar heard a call for help. The big cat moved across the clearing, maneuvered behind the wolf, and nudged the canine out into the open. Once there, the wolf collapsed. The jaguar lay down beside it, curling around the smaller animal and letting it draw strength from their proximity. The wolf sighed and fell asleep, content to let the jaguar be his bulwark in this time of weakness.

Simon blinked and looked again, then reached out to place a hand on Blair's chest. He hadn't imagined it. Sandburg was breathing, albeit shallowly and labored.

"Doctor! Nurse!" Simon burst out of the room, looking for anyone in charge. He grabbed the first nurse he saw. "Blair's alive! He's breathing! We need some help!"

The nurse called for assistance as she hurried into the room to assess her patient. She turned the heart monitor back on and saw the thready trace of ventricular fibrillation.

A crash cart appeared within a minute, and once more the paddles of the defibrillator were pressed against Blair's chest. A nurse had to pull Jim out of the way. The Sentinel sank into the chair next to the bed, still too entranced to do much of anything else.

The doctor called, "Clear!" and everyone raised their hands away from the patient. A shock traveled through Blair's heart and, after a moment's pause, a normal sinus rhythm showed on the screen, followed by the comforting, steady beep of the monitor.

Dr. Bernard shook his head. "I've never seen anything like that," he said to Simon as the team cleared out of the room. "I wouldn't have believed it possible." He glanced over to where Jim sat, still looking dazed. "Is he all right?"

"I'll be fine." Jim waved a hand weakly, brushing off the doctor's concern. "How's Blair doing? Is he going to be okay?"

"I don't know what just happened here, but so far, I'd give you a tentative 'yes'." Dr. Bernard scratched his head. "Blair is still going to need a lot of care; his injuries are quite severe. I can't make promises at this point, but I have to admit that after seeing . . . that . . . whatever that was, I'm tempted to be optimistic."

Jim stayed at Blair's bedside all the rest of that day and throughout the night. The next morning, just as the sun was beginning to send tendrils of light into the room, he felt his hand being weakly squeezed. He opened his eyes to see Blair looking at him, a smile curling the corners of his lips.

"Blair!"

A grunt erupted from Blair's throat that might have been a chuckle. "Good morning." His voice was soft and hoarse from the intubation. After taking a couple more breaths, he grimaced. "Why does it feel like I've been kicked in the chest by a horse?"

Jim tightly squeezed the hand he held. "Good morning, Chief!" The joy in his voice couldn't be contained. "That chest pain you're feeling is probably from the doctors having to shock your heart back into rhythm." He smiled down at blue eyes that twinkled despite the pain that shadowed them. "You're going to be just fine."

"I saw the jungle. . . ."

Jim nodded. "Yes, but shhhh . . . be quiet and take it easy. There will be time enough for explanations when you're stronger."

Three days later, Blair had improved enough to be moved to a regular room.

"Man, it feels good to be out of intensive care!" Blair smiled as Jim fluffed his pillows and adjusted the tilt of the bed for maximum comfort. "I thought I'd suffocate in there if I had to stay much longer."

"Eat your breakfast." Jim pushed a bowl of oatmeal closer to the edge of the small table that fit over the bed.

Blair chose the green Jell-o instead. "Still not very hungry," he opined. "And my throat hurts."

"That won't last much longer," Jim assured his friend.

"So, what the hell happened?"

"Aren't you the one that's supposed to tell me?" retorted Jim with a grin.

"The drive was pretty uneventful until I reached the pass. I was hungry and looking forward to having lunch at the Roadhouse Grill in Ellensburg. I'd just finished putting the on the chains and had pulled back out into traffic. All of a sudden, an oncoming car jumped lanes a couple cars ahead of me. There was a lot of honking, and the car in front of me got pushed back into the Volvo . . . and I really don't remember anything after that."

"From what I've been told, your car went over the embankment and tumbled down into a ravine. The vehicle was so badly damaged they had to use the Jaws of Life to cut you out. They had a MedEvac helicopter bring you here to the UW Medical Center," Jim explained. "Simon brought me the news Sunday afternoon, and we got down here as quickly as we could."

"I remember seeing you . . . it was in the blue jungle. . . ."

"You died. Again." Jim's voice was grim, his mouth set in a hard line at the remembered pain. "I couldn't let you go. I just couldn't."

Blair put down his spoon and reached out with his good hand to pat Jim's. "I'm glad you came to get me. I wasn't ready to leave you just then." He paused, and his eyes twinkled with merriment as a thought crossed his mind. "I suppose that when I get out of here and get cleared for duty again, you're never letting me out of your sight. I'll never get another plum assignment like the hostage negotiator position without you tagging along as my blessed protector."

"You got that right, Chief!" Jim reached out to tousle Blair's hair and got his hand swatted away. "If I can't hear your heartbeat, you're too far away. I'm never letting you get that far away again!"

Blair sighed, but inside, he was smiling.

Out in the hallway, where he'd been listening in, Simon chuckled and turned to walk down the corridor. Everything would soon be back to normal . . . or what passed for normal back home in Cascade.