Day had come and gone, leaving Jim fatigued and physically drained. His back, legs, and butt hurt from hours of sitting. Blair hadn't stirred once since coming out of surgery, and Jim had taken to periodically pacing the room and, of course, he had taken a few trips to the bathroom. He'd kept his senses on alert almost continuously since finding Blair, and now his head throbbed with a relentless headache. The antiseptic smells of the hospital only added to his headache, and he'd been forced to turn his sense of smell way down. He'd hardly slept at all, catching a few minutes here and there, lightly napping and being woken by every little sound. Every footstep in the hallway brought him to instant awareness, tense.

He knew Chapel was out there, and would want to finish what he'd started. Chapel wasn't one to leave things undone. Unfortunately, he also knew that the more exhausted he became, the less able he'd be to protect his partner. He knew Simon still had other guards at the hospital, but Chapel was cunning, and Jim didn't dare leave his partner's safety in the hands of anyone else, even those he trusted with his own life.

He picked up on the slow increase in Blair's heartbeat and moved to his partner's side instantly, standing rigid, silently urging the steady beat faster. Come on, Blair, open your eyes for me.

A few minutes later, a subtle groan rumbled from Blair's throat, the respirator having been exchanged for an oxygen tube hours ago. The young man's face contorted, and his heart rate spiked.

Jim held his breath, grabbing the call button and alerting the nurses' station. Blair had experienced so much pain over the past couple of days, and he didn't want to see his friend go through any more. The doctor had said that as soon as Blair woke up, he'd be started on a morphine drip, and Jim intended to hold the man to that promise.

"Blair? Can you hear me, Chief?"

Another moan, then Blair's eyelids cracked open, eliciting a pained whimper from the young man. Quickly, he clamped his eyelids shut again and turned his face away from the harsh glare of the overhead fluorescent lights.

Jim sprung to action toward the light switch just as the door opened, admitting a petite nurse with short, dark hair. "Yes, Mr. --?" Her question was cut off when her eyes fell on Blair, and she realized he was awake. "I'll call the Doctor," she said.

"Can you turn off these lights?" he asked, pointing to the ceiling. "They hurt his eyes. And draw the blinds, too."

The nurse nodded, and within moments, the room dimmed, the only light filtering in through the uncovered glass in the door. Jim sank into the chair, positioning himself to block the door's light from Blair's face and leaning forward to grasp the young man's hand in his own.

"Okay, Blair, you can open your eyes now."

"Mmmnn..." Hesitantly, Blair's eyelids lifted, revealing blue eyes and dilated pupils.

His gaze immediately drifted to Jim, and he blinked several times, but his eyes remained unfocused and the lines of pain in his face deepened.

"Jim," he breathed, ever so soft.

"Yeah, Chief." He gave Blair's hand a gentle squeeze. "You're in a hospital."

The door opened, spilling light into the room, and Blair's eyes clamped shut. Jim threw an annoyed glare at the newcomer, his eyes making a critical pass over the young physician. Hell, he can't even be out of med school yet, Jim thought, his jaw clenching with frustration.

"Who are you?"

The young man straightened. "Doctor Keenan," he replied, stepping to the foot of the bed and grabbing Blair's chart, his eyes scanning the top page. "How are you feeling, Mr. Sandburg?" he asked, dropping the clipboard back to its position and walking to the side of the bed.

Blair moaned in response, and Jim moved away long enough to close the door. Doctor Keenan looked up sharply, a frown on his face. "I need the lights on, please," he said.

"They hurt his eyes," Jim countered firmly.

"Sorry, but I can't conduct a proper examination of him in the dark," he said, pointing to the light switch. "Please. You're allowed here in ICU as a privilege, but if you interfere -"

"I'm here as a police guard," Jim snapped, but he flicked on the switch, bathing the room in artificial light.

"Thank you." He grabbed his stethoscope from around his neck and listened to Blair's breathing and heartbeat for several seconds.

Jim hovered a few feet away from the doctor, watching, his other senses tuned to his partner in the bed. Keenan leaned over and pulled up one of Blair's eyelids, provoking a startled gasp from the young man, and he flinched, raising one bandaged hand to push away the Doctor's arm.

"Is this really necessary?" Jim growled, moving to the bedside and placing a light hand on Blair's arm.

Doctor Keenan pursed his lips, his eyes narrow as he gazed at the detective. "Yes," he stated simply.

"Fine," he ground out, the pain in his head beating like a brass band. "Just make it quick."

"I don't tell you how to catch criminals, Officer, now do I?" Doctor Keenan retorted, his eyes focused on Sandburg. "Please don't tell me how to attend to patients."

Jim took three deep breaths, his hand twitching at his side as he struggled to control his anger. Keenan seemed oblivious, finally moving away from Sandburg and walking toward the door.

Good, he's leaving, Jim noted with satisfaction. He kept an ear turned to Sandburg's breathing and heartbeat, pleased to realize that his friend was drifting into a light sleep.

Keenan popped his head into the hallway. "Nurse! Could you get someone in here to give me a hand with the patient."

The detective stepped up behind the smaller man. "What do you mean by that?"

Keenan jumped, spinning around, and Jim suppressed a smile of satisfaction.

"Uh, I need someone to hold his arms while I check his pupils."

Jim had heard enough. "Like hell. He's been through enough already. It can wait." He placed a hand on the Doctor's back and pushed him out into the hall. "I'm listed as his next of kin, so you do anything to him, you clear it with me first. Got it?"

"Listen, Officer," Keenan sputtered, taking a step forward, but Jim pushed the young man back, slipping into the hall and closing the door behind him.

"No, you listen, Doctor. I don't want some wet-behind-the-ears intern who just learned to tie his shoes touching my partner. You got that? You get someone in here who knows what he's doing. And I want him on pain medication like Doctor Baker ordered."

"Not until he's been examined."

"THEN YOU GET SOMEONE ELSE HERE NOW!" Jim bellowed, his control finally snapping.

Keenan jumped, stunned, glancing uncertainly at the anxious nurse behind the desk. "Call Security," he said.

Jim's nostrils flared, and he practically breathed down the young man's neck. "I am security here. Got that?"

"That's it!" Keenan exploded. "This is Intensive Care, not a police station. Do you got that? If you really care about your partner in there, you'll let me complete my examination."

Jim took a step back, mentally counting to three before continuing. He knew he was on the verge of losing control. His head continued to pound mercilessly, and he rubbed his forehead, taking a deep breath. Get a grip, he told himself. You can't risk getting thrown out of the hospital. If Simon heard he'd almost assaulted a doctor, he'd pull him off "guard duty" in a heartbeat and order him back to the loft. Jim couldn't let that happen, not with Chapel still on the lose.

"Look, Doc," he said, forcing a measure of calm in his voice, "I know you're only doing your job, and I appreciate that. It's just that my partner has been through a lot recently, and I'd like to spare him any more pain if at all possible. I'm sorry for the way I acted. Please accept my apologies."

Keenan visibly deflated, looking relieved that no physical violence would ensue. Immediately, his expression softened. "Yes, sir, I understand how hard this is for you." He glanced at the door to Blair's room. "I guess the rest of the exam can wait a few hours. His vitals are good, so I'm not too worried. I'll order a morphine drip for him A.S.A.P., okay?"

Jim managed a small smile, genuine gratitude washing over his face. "Thank you, Doctor Keenan."

"Would you like me to prescribe a mild sedative for you? I can have an extra bed rolled into the ICU, if you like?"

Jim shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm on guard, remember?"

Keenan nodded. "Ah. Right, but you have to be relieved some time, right?" he asked, almost hopefully.

"Of course," he lied. "Eventually." When Chapel's caught.

Jim jerked awake, instantly alert, tensing as the door opened. He relaxed when a white-clad man with shaggy blonde hair entered the dimly-lit room carrying a folded blanket.

"Hey there," the newcomer greeted. "I'm Nurse Pierson."

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Detective Ellison," he informed the man.

Nurse Pierson walked over to Blair's bed, setting the folded blanket at the edge of the mattress and lowering the bed rails. "I'll just change his bag and give him a new blanket. It's straight from the dryer. Very warm."

Jim smiled, nodding his thanks.

Pierson carefully removed the blanket covering Blair, rolling it into a ball and tossing it into the small hamper against the wall.

"It's straight from the dryer," the voice continued.

Blair cracked his eyelids open, but he saw only fuzzy, dim images.

"Very warm."

A large shape loomed into view, its form indistinct except for the golden hair. Blair's heart leapt into his throat, realization slamming into him like a truck. Chapel! No, no, no...

The man reached down, and Blair felt firm hands on his legs. Adrenaline pumped his legs into action, and he kicked at the man, springing into action with the speed of a cat.

The blow caught Nurse Pierson on his chin, spinning him around. Jim hesitated only a moment, stunned by Blair's sudden outburst, before leaping from his chair and throwing his body over his flailing partner.

"No!" Blair screamed hoarsely, in near-convulsions as he tried to escape the hold.

Jim wrapped his arms around Blair's torso, pinning the young man's arms at his sides and using his own weight to keep Blair in the bed. He gritted his jaw, trying not to hurt the fragile body in his grasp, but determined to keep Blair safely in the bed. Several tubes had already been ripped out by Blair's struggles, sending shrill alarms into action.

"Pierson!" he yelled, seeing the man rise unsteadily to his feet . "His legs!"

"Yeah, yeah," the nurse mumbled, still dazed, swaying as he captured the flying legs and pinning them beneath his chest.

"Blair!" Jim yelled. "Take it easy, Chief. It's okay." Damn, how's he so strong all of  sudden?

Blair struggles died instantaneously, and he sagged in Jim's hold, the tension in his body melting to shivers.

"Jim?"

The detective released a large breath. "Yeah, Blair, it's me. You're okay, buddy. Just relax."

Blair shuddered, a muffled sound catching on Jim's shoulder. "Jim."

"It's okay, Blair," he soothed, shifting one hand to rub his friend's back.

"Chapel?" he croaked, his voice weak and tinged with pain.

Jim's jaw twitched. "He's not here, Chief. You're safe, now."

The door crashed inward, feet pounding on the tile, but Jim threw a glance at Pierson, and the man nodded a curt acknowledgment before turning to the new arrivals.

"Just one moment, please. Give them a few minutes. He's okay, just pulled some tubes out," Pierson informed the staff.

Carefully, Jim lowered Blair back to the mattress, noting the lines of pain in the younger man's face. His eyes caught a wet spot of red on the front of the hospital gown, and his heart lurched into panic when his sense of smell kicked in, sensing the metallic odor of blood.

"Oh God." He spun around. "Get a doctor!" he shouted to Pierson.

"Right here." A small woman with short hair and fine lines around her dark eyes stepped forward, her lips pursed unhappily.

Immediately, she pulled back the gown, inspecting the wound. Blair remained still during her examination, his jaw clenched tightly, the pain visible in his face.

"We had to do surgery on your stab wound, Mr. Sandburg, to repair some internal damage. You've pulled your stitches out and reopened the wound." She glanced up at Pierson, pulling a packaged swab out of her pocket. "I think we can handle this with a local."

The nurse nodded and hurried out to retrieve the supplies.

"Sorry," Blair mumbled, his eyes closed and his face pale. Heavy stubble darkened his chin, making him look several years older.

"No problem," she said, carefully cleaning the wound. "But the needle may hurt a bit."

Jim shifted past the doctor to move to his partner's side. "How you doing, Chief?" he asked softly.

Blair opened his eyes narrowly to gaze up at the Sentinel, obviously still shying away from the light. "Not too good," he admitted in a low, strained voice. "Everything hurts."

Pierson returned with the supplies, and Jim placed his palm on Blair's forehead in silent reassurance. "Why don't we try some of those relaxation techniques you've taught me," he said, trying to distract the young man from the sting of the needle.

Blair closed his eyes, wincing only slightly when the Doctor plunged the needle into his side. "Jim?"

"Yeah, Chief?"

"Did... Did you and Simon see the tape?"

Jim stiffened. "Yes. The first one. I haven't seen the second one yet."

Blair swallowed. "Chapel?"

"You don't have to worry about him right now."

"He got away?"

Jim hesitated, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, Chief, he got away, but we'll catch him."

"He's coming after you next."

"Good. It'll save me trying to find him," Jim replied.

Blair finally opened his eyes to peer up at Jim. "Don't, man," he rasped hoarsely. "Don't you take any chances, Jim."

"I won't, Sandburg."

Blair shook his head, clenching his eyes. "You saw what he did to me?"

Jim's nostrils flared. "Y-Yeah," he stammered. "I did."

"That's what he'll do to you, Jim, if he gets the chance," Blair whispered. "So be careful, man. I don't want to get a tape of you."

Jim closed his eyes briefly. "He's after both of us, Chief. That means you and I stay together twenty-four seven. I'm your official guard, and Simon's got the others taking shifts to guard both of us."

"There. All done," the Doctor announced, interrupting the quiet conversation. "We'll be putting you on a morphine drip, Mr. Sandburg, and that should make you much more comfortable. Okay?"

Blair nodded. "Thanks."

Still, he felt exhausted, the muscles in his shoulders knotted from hours of sitting. Blair had barely stirred since being put on the morphine drip, as still and pale as a corpse. Jim shuddered involuntarily, his eyes drifting over the motionless figure on the bed. Blair's eyelids twitched, indicating that dreams played underneath. Jim doubted that the images conjured up by Blair's subconscious were pleasant, but at least the young man seemed peaceful enough.

Footsteps thrummed on the floor out in the hall, and, moments later, the door swung inward. The thick scent of cigars drifted into the room, and Jim looked up at his Captain, sans cigar. Simon carried a small duffel bag in his right hand, and set it by the door as he walked into the room.

"How's he doing?" Simon asked, jerking his chin toward Sandburg.

"As well as can be expected, I guess. Out like a light. They put him on morphine last night after he woke up. Rough night. He became violent, briefly, and ripped out the tubes, as well as his stitches," Jim reported flatly.

Simon's brow creased with concern, and he closed the door behind him. "What do you mean 'he became violent'?"

Jim sighed, suppressing a yawn. "A guy came in with a blanket. He had blond hair, kind of like Chapel's. Blair woke up, and reacted." He sank deeper into the chair. "I should have foreseen that one."

The Captain walked up to the bed, placing one hand on the rail as he studied Sandburg. "Jim, why don't you go to the loft? Shower. Shave. Get some rest. There are some clothes and other things for you in the duffel bag. I'll stay here and keep guard. Rafe's downstairs, and he'll go with you. "

Jim shook his head. "No, sir. Chapel's not the type to leave things undone. He'll be back for Blair, and with these senses, I'm the person best able to protect him."

Simon shook his head. "Not like this you're not. Look, I'll call in Joel and Megan for a few hours. I'll stay in the room, Megan can keep watch in the hall, and Joel will stand guard at the hospital entrance."

"There are two main entrances, and several fire doors, Simon. If Chapel comes, I doubt he'll walk through the front doors."

Simon sighed. "Look, Jim, I've distributed his photo to all hospital personnel, and Security is on alert. Go home. The kid will be safe with us for a few hours. Okay?"

Jim looked up, his eyes hooded. "I left him before, and Chapel got to him. I promised I wouldn't leave him again. Not until Chapel's found. He'll be coming for us, and I'll be waiting."

"Fine, Jim." He raised one hand to rub his forehead. "At least go take a shower, shave, and grab something to eat. Walk around a bit, maybe even catch a nap in one of the rooms they use for the interns. I'll stay here. You'll still be in the hospital, able to keep tabs. Okay? Take Rafe with you. I'll call security and have them post a guard outside the room while you're gone, and I'll stay in here with the kid. That's an order. Non-negotiable, Ellison."

Jim studied his Captain's face for several seconds, noting the concern in his dark eyes and the determined set of his jaw. Finally, he nodded. "Okay, sir. Thanks." He looked at Blair. "If he wakes up, tell him where I am and that I'll be right back. He's worried Chapel will get to me, so I don't want him getting all worked up if he finds me gone. Okay, Captain?"

Simon nodded. "Got it. Hold on a moment, though." He walked to the door and poked his head into the hall. "Excuse me, ma'am," he said to the woman at the nurse's station. "Can you please page Detective Rafe and tell him to come up here."

Jim heard the woman mutter a "Yes, sir," and Simon pulled back into the room, closing the door.

"Rafe's your shadow, Jim. Understand? You're not in the best condition to be using your senses. Am I right?"

Reluctantly, Jim nodded.

"And Sandburg will kill me if anything happens to you, so be careful, okay?"

"Roger that, sir," Jim said, a slight smile tweaking his lips.

He hurried down the hall, anxious to check on Sandburg, Rafe hot on his heels. He nodded curtly at the guard standing in the hall, brushing past the man and breezing into the room, his eyes immediately locking onto Sandburg.

"Did he wake up at all, sir?" he asked.

Simon rose from the chair, magazine in hand. "No. Slept like a baby."

Rafe moved to the side of the bed, quiet as he studied the sleeping figure. "He looks thin," he said. "Pale. I've never seen him so... still." He looked up at Jim, his eyes somber. "Sandburg's a good man, and we're not going to let Chapel get away with this, Jim. If he gets anywhere near you or Blair, we'll be all over him. I promise."

Jim noticed the approving smile take shape on Simon's lips, and his own mouth twitched upward, his chest warm. "Thanks, Rafe. I know you will."

Blair drifted toward consciousness, enshrouded by pleasing sensations. His body felt light and puffy, like cotton, and things soft and warm surrounded him, cradling his head and wrapping him in mollifying security. It felt so nice, so very different than the pain that had been his constant companion, that he wondered for a moment if he were in heaven.

His eyelids lifted, adjusting slowly to the soft, hazy light. His eyes tingled with a hint of protest, but he didn't shy from the light. It wasn't like before -- not intense and focused. That was the bad kind, the harbinger of pain. This light was different, soft and diffuse, assuring safety.

Through the soothing haze, he saw a figure. Lean and tall, with dark hair. Recognition dawned slowly, clearing the fog from his mind.

"Rafe?" Was that my voice? It didn't sound like his voice -- too scratchy, hoarse.

Surprise flickered over Rafe's face, and he leaned closer to Blair. "Hey, Sandburg, how are you feeling?"

Soft and warm and fuzzy. "Like cotton," he answered, swallowing a large lump of saliva to wet his throat. Maybe some of the cotton was in his throat. Maybe that was why his voice sounded so funny.

"Cotton?" a familiar voice asked, and Blair shifted his gaze to Jim. The tender smile on his friend's face brought a new kind of warmth to his world.

"Mmmm-hmmm." A contented smile played at his lips.

All he needed to make things perfect was something soothing to drink, something that would wet his throat and warm his chest. Maybe Jim would make him some tea. Yeah, that would be nice.

As if reading his mind, Jim asked, "Water, Chief?"

"Tea," he answered, his eyelids drifting closed as he soaked up the warm softness around him. Chamomile. With lemon and honey. Not too hot, Jim.

There was a brief pause, then Jim said. "Coming right up, Chief."

"Tea?" Rafe echoed, his voice soft. "From the cafeteria?"

"No. Look, Rafe, could you do me a favor and go to the loft?" Jim asked, the jangle of metal overlaying his words. "In the cabinet above the sink you'll find Blair's tea. Bring the chamomile and green teas. Oh, and bring some lemon and honey. Honey's in the same cabinet, and the lemons are in the refrigerator, bottom drawer."

"Sure thing, Jim," Rafe answered.

"Tea, Jim?" Simon's voice, this time. "You think they'll let you give him tea?"

"How's it gonna hurt him?" Jim asked. "I'll make sure it's not too hot, grab one of the straws. I doubt he'll manage more than a few sips anyway, but if he wants tea, he's gonna get tea."

"He'll be out by the time Rafe gets back, Jim."

"So what? He'll have it for the next time he wakes up."

Blair tried to follow the conversation, but he wasn't having much success. He knew they were talking about his tea, but he didn't think it'd be such a big deal. After all, how long does it take to boil water?

Wait a minute... Why were Simon and Rafe in his room? He was just about to ask Jim that question when he felt a cold pressure on his bottom lip.

"Here's some ice in the meantime, Chief," Jim told him.

Cold! Blair tried to turn his head away. He was nice and warm, in a soft bed, and he really didn't like the cold very much. But the small ice chip slipped into his mouth, wetting his tongue, and he found it quite soothing as the water melted, sliding down his throat. Not so bad. More, please...

But no more ice chips were forthcoming, and he slipped into an easy sleep waiting for them.

Sandburg had proven the difficult one, more difficult than he'd figured, and he was the one that needed to pay the most. He was the one who had infiltrated the facility, thinking he could fool everyone. But Chapel had not been fooled, and anyone who tried to deceive him, to betray him, would have to pay the price.

Ellison, on the other hand, had been honest. Still, the detective had arrested him, interfered with his mission, thereby allowing more evil on the streets. For that, he had to die. No one crossed Chapel. His was a name of Righteousness -- of Truth and Justice. His vengeance could be swift and immediate, or slow and painful. Ellison was due for the former, Sandburg the latter. He'd only lead the young man into believing Ellison would be the next recipient of his prolonged vengeance, and that, too, had been part of the anthropologist's punishment.

He walked slowly into the bathroom of the old, worn hotel room, one arm cradling his injured side. The knife wound had been moderately deep, but he'd managed to stop the bleeding. Stabbing him was another sin that Blair Sandburg would have to pay for.

"Fine," Simon huffed, narrowing his eyes to study the Sentinel. "You wouldn't be using those senses of yours, would you?"

Jim raised his eyebrows, hoping he looked indignant enough. "Sir, are you accusing me of cheating?"

"If the shoe fits, Ellison."

"I take that to mean you've got a bad hand."

"Now wait just a minute here, Jim, you can't use your senses to listen to my heart beat and then try to psyche me out when I call you on it."

"I'm not trying to psych you out, sir," Jim said innocently. "I'm just trying to play poker."

"Sure you are." Simon chewed on his unlit cigar, his eyes darting from his hand to Jim's face. "Your word, Ellison."

"I'm not listening to your heartbeat, sir. Happy?"

"You're not now listening to my heartbeat? Were you listening to my heartbeat?"

"Not specifically, sir, no."

"What the hell does that mean, Jim?"

"I was listening to Blair's heartbeat, Captain. I might have heard yours in the background... inadvertently, of course."

Simon tossed his cards face down on the table. "That does it, Ellison! I'm not playing poker with you anymore."

Jim finally let go, chuckling. "I'm just yanking your chain, Simon. I promise I wasn't listening to your heart beat. Scout's honor."

The Captain did not look relieved. "Well, it doesn't matter, anyway, because now you know my hand sucked, as Blair would say." His eyes darted to the young man in the bed, and he jumped, slamming his knee against the folding table when he saw blue eyes staring back at him. "Jesus, Sandburg! Say something, don't just stare at a guy like that."

Jim turned around quickly to see for himself that Blair was now awake.

A drowsy smile touched Blair's lips. "Sorry, Simon," he apologized tiredly. "Fun to watch you two bicker."

Jim rose from his chair and walked up to the bed. "How're you feeling, Chief?"

"Okay. Tired. Kinda disconnected."

"That's the drugs."

"No kidding," Blair retorted, his smile growing a notch wider. "Medicine head, that's me. It's not so bad though. Feel kinda light and fluffy."

"Like cotton?" Jim inquired, a small smirk on his face.

"Yeaaaah. Cotton," he agreed tiredly. "Cool. Bed's soft, too. Doesn't hurt anymore."

Jim's smile dropped. "You need anything, Chief? Water?"

"Tea," came the bleary reply. "Chamomile. Lemon 'n honey, please."

"Coming right up." He turned to Simon. "Sir, would you mind rounding up a cup of hot water?"

"No problem, Jim," the Captain replied, rising from his chair and heading to the door. "I'm sure I can handle that mission."

Jim flashed a brief, grateful smile. "Thanks, sir." He looked back down at Blair, realizing his partner was steadily drifting toward sleep. "Chief?"

"Hmmmnnn?" The eyelids opened halfway.

"You fall asleep, your tea'll get cold."

"Okay. Tea's nice. Chamomile --"

"With lemon and honey," Jim finished. "I got it, Chief. Rafe brought them for you."

"Mmmmn-hmmmm." His eyes closed again, briefly, then they sprang back open, his heartbeat jumping a notch, echoed by the steady beeping of the heart monitor. "Jim!"

"Hey, easy." Jim placed a hand on Blair's arm. "I'm right here."

Blair's eyes locked with his, the drowsy tranquility that had filled them moments before replaced with fear. "Chapel?"

Jim sighed, his stomach tightening. Chapel seemed to be the only thing on Blair's mind, pervading his thoughts during those brief moments of consciousness.

"He's being dealt with, Chief," he explained again, deliberately vague.

"You caught him?"

"Uh... No. Not yet."

Blair groaned miserably, closing his eyes. "Oh man."

Jim responded by giving Blair's arm a delicate squeeze. "Don't worry, Blair. We've got guards all around. He's not getting anywhere near here."

"The tape?"

Jim clenched his jaw. This was another bit of information he didn't want to re-hash. "He sent us the first one. The second one is in evidence."

Blair was silent for a long moment. "Sorry," he finally whispered.

Jim leaned forward, confused. "For what, Chief?"

"That you had to see that." He opened his eyes, pinning Jim with a somber vigil. "You okay?"

Jim blinked, his jaw going slack. "Me? Am I okay?" He shook his head. "Yeah, Chief, I'm fine. It's you I'm worried about."

"Don't," he countered, voice heavy. His eyelids faltered, drifting lower. "I'm Okay. Worried... Didn't want you to see... Didn't cry. Knew you and Simon would be watching."

A brief, blinding flash of rage tore through Jim, and, for a moment, all his senses blanked out. Then, just as suddenly, the episode ended, leaving him breathless. He blinked, shaking, and stumbled backward, sinking into the chair.

"Chief --" He looked over at Blair, but the young man had fallen asleep.

Closing his eyes, he sank deeper into the seat, mulling over Blair's small drug-induced confession. He was what? Trying not to disappoint me? He leaned forward, rubbing his hands over his face. The image of Blair strapped in the chair, trying to put on a brave front because he knew it was all being taped, punched a hole through his chest.

"Jim?"

He startled, looking up to see the Captain standing by the table, a steaming cup of water in his hand. "You okay?"

Jim nodded, rising from the chair. "Yeah, sir," he lied. "Thanks for the water."

Simon placed the cup on the table, studying his friend carefully. "What happened since I left? Did Blair say something?"

Jim swallowed, knowing he couldn't lie to the Captain. Besides, the man was his friend, and Blair's. "Yeah, he did, sir, but I don't think it was something he wanted us to know."

"Oh." Simon sank into the extra chair. "It's going to be a tough road to recovery for him, you know."

Jim nodded, stooping to retrieve the tea and other supplies from the bag. "Yeah, Simon, I know."

"Jim?"

"Yeah?" He dunked the tea bag into the cup, stirring absently with a plastic spoon, his gaze distant.

"He's asleep, you know. I don't think he'll be drinking the tea."

Jim shrugged. "He might wake up again by the time it's cool enough. He's just sleeping lightly."

Simon nodded. "It's just tea, Jim."

He stopped stirring to look at his Captain. "What, sir?"

"You feel guilty for letting Chapel get to Blair in the first place. Now you're trying to ease your guilt by giving the kid what he wants. Tea. I mean, you couldn't just get any tea from the cafeteria. You had to get Blair's tea, with lemon and honey."

Jim stiffened defensively. "Sir?"

"It wasn't your fault, Jim."

Jim resumed his stirring. "I know what you're going to say, sir. We've had this conversation too many times before. Only it was my fault, and you know that. I fell for the ploy. I left him alone, and Chapel got to him. He played me... and Blair... well, you saw how he paid the price."

Simon sighed. "Yeah, I saw it. I wish I hadn't, but I did." He shook his head sadly. "You're gonna beat yourself up over this, I know, but just remember that Blair's alive... and I know he doesn't blame you."

"I know that, sir," he snapped, quickly belaying the unintentional harshness with a trace of a smile. "But thanks."

"Just doing my job, Ellison, as your Captain... and your friend."

"What is it?" Ellison asked, rising from the chair.

"Huh?" He seemed surprised by Ellison's concern, and shook his head. "Nothing. Not what you think, anyway." He sighed, suddenly looking years older. "I saw part of the second tape."

Jim stiffened. "And?"

"There's one part where Chapel whispers something in Blair's ear. The computers haven't been able to amplify it without garbaling the sound, so --"

"You need me to listen to it," Jim finished.

Slowly, Simon nodded. "Yeah."

"I'm not leaving the hospital, Simon."

"I brought it with me," the Captain countered. "It's a long shot, but I'm hoping maybe you can pick something up that we missed... Something that'll give us a clue as to where Chapel's gone."

Jim nodded. "Okay."

He didn't like leaving Blair, and he especially didn't like the idea of sitting through another round of Chapels sick film-making, but it was his job, and if he could find something on the tape to help catch Chapel, then it would be worth the sacrifice.

On the screen, Chapel stood in front of Blair, hunched over so that his face was close to the young man's ear. This was the part that Simon had told him about, and Jim leaned forward in his chair, his ears tuned to Chapel's voice.

"When I'm through with you, Ellison's next," he whispered. "You know that, don't you?"

Blair flinched, a brief flash of anger darkening his face, but he remained silent. Chapel moved the blade downward toward Blair's ribs.

"How's the wound?" he hissed, pressing the blade against the injury.

Blair winced, but the next few moments happened in a blur. Blair's arms swung out from behind his back, suddenly free, and one hand wrapped around the blade, yanking it out of Chapel's grip.

"Not Jim."

The words were so softly spoken, that Jim almost missed them. He stiffened in his chair, his heart thudding in his chest as he watched Blair's frantic attempts to cut through the ropes. Seconds later, the young man toppled from the chair, hitting the floor hard, and Jim winced in sympathy. He felt like he was right there in the room with Blair, and he could almost smell the fear pouring off his partner.

Blair inched along the floor, groaning in pain, and soon disappeared from view, but Jim continued to track his progress audibly, hearing the soft scrapes and moans that accompanied his struggles. Then a door clicked open, and a stronger moan interrupted the relative quiet. Chapel wavered into view, and, seconds later, the screen cut to white fuzz. Jim didn't move, sitting rigidly in the chair as Simon moved to shut off the VCR.

For several seconds, neither man spoke, but Simon finally broke the silence.

"The kid's something else. I can't say that I'm not glad he gave Chapel a taste of his own medicine."

Jim nodded. Not nearly a big enough taste. His mind played over Blair's words, twisting his stomach into a knot. "Not Jim." He swallowed, pushing himself out of the chair, suddenly needing to be close to his partner... especially knowing what he now did: that Blair had taken the knife and plunged it into Chapel, an act so totally against his nature, because of Chapel's threat. He was trying to protect me, Jim realized, and that realization caused a tight pressure in his chest.

"Were you able to make out what he said?" Simon asked.

Jim blinked. "What?"

"Chapel," Simon explained. "Could you hear what he said?"

"Oh. Yeah." His jaw tightened, and he glanced at the dark television screen. "He told Blair that I was next. That's all." That's all. He clenched his fists. Come on, then, Chapel,  he silently goaded the man. Try me.

A figure stood above him, tall and massive, the outline of a gun visible in his hand. Blair blinked, his heart nearly exploding out of his chest.

"Easy, Chief," the figure urged, voice low, and Blair immediately relaxed.

"Jim?" His throat hurt, making his voice weak.

"Yeah, Blair. Just stay put, and be quiet."

"'Kay."

He bit his lower lip, listening to the sounds of a struggle outside the room. Jim approached the door slowly, crouched like a cat ready to pounce. He was two paces from threshold when the door banged inward, slamming into the Sentinel and driving him to the floor.

"Jim!"

Chapel stormed into the room, eyes wild. "You stabbed me, Sandburg," he snarled, raising a long-barreled gun. "Did you think I'd let that go?" He aimed at Jim, who remained still, his eyes locked on Chapel.

"Say good-bye, Sandburg." He pulled the trigger.

Blair lunged out of the bed a second too late. "NO!"

"Hey, hey." A familiar voice soothed, accompanied by a consoling hand on his forehead. "Lay still, buddy, or you'll open up your stitches again."

Blair sagged into the mattress, relief flooding through him. "Jim?" he gasped.

"Yeah."

"You're okay?"

"Yeah, Blair, I'm fine. Relax. It was just a dream."

Blair closed his eyes, succumbing to a sudden tremor. "A bad dream," he breathed. "A very bad dream."

"Want to talk about it?"

Blair shook his head quickly. "No, not really." He was struck with the irrational fear that if he gave voice to the dream, it would come true.

Jim let the matter drop. "Okay. How are you feeling otherwise? You want some water?"

Blair spied the box of chamomile tea resting on an empty chair in the far corner, next to a small green duffel bag. "Tea?" he asked, looking up at the Sentinel.

Jim smiled. "You want some?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "That sounds real good right about now. You think they'll let me?"

Jim shrugged. "I spoke with the doc earlier, and she said there'd be no problem with you having a bit of chamomile tea."

"Thanks, Jim," he said, but his brow furrowed. "I seem to remember something about tea earlier, though."

"Ah yes, you were a bit out of it. You asked for it, which is why it's here. Rafe went to the loft for us and brought it back."

"Oh yeah," he bit the inside of his cheek, looking slightly bewildered. "I think I remember him being here."

Fifteen minutes later, Jim had a steaming cup of water ready, and he steeped the tea bag for a few minutes. Then he let the liquid cool, stirring in a bit of lemon and honey, and, when he was satisfied with the temperature, brought it over to the bed.

"Okay, easy does it," he said, hitting the control button and raising the bed to a comfortable 45 degree angle. "You think you can hold this on your own?" he asked, gesturing to Blair's hands.

"Huh?" Blair looked at his hands, noticing the thick bandage on his right hand. "What happened?"

He gave his fingers an experimental twitch, feeling a hot tug at his palm. The entire hand felt about two sizes too big, and, now that he was aware of it, pulsed with a distant pain.

"You had a pretty deep cut on your palm, probably from a knife," Jim informed him. "You don't remember?"

The crease in Blair's forehead deepened as something nagged at his brain - a vague memory. The dark room. Chapel. A pain in his side. He reached out and grabbed something - a blade, he realized - and lashed out. A thud. Then silence. The ropes. He cut them, toppling out of the chair. He couldn't walk, couldn't get up. Chapel was coming. He had to move --

"Chief?" A hand on his shoulder brought him back to the present, and he saw a pair of light blue eyes peering down at him in concern. "Slow down. You're starting to hyperventilate."

He was starting to hyperventilate, he realized, his breaths coming in short, quick gasps. Closing his eyes, he focused on his breathing, willing himself to take slow, deep breaths. After a few moments, he succeeded, nudging his respiration into a calm, steady rhythm.

"You okay now?" Jim asked.

Blair opened his eyes to look at the detective. "Yeah. Thanks." He reached out with his left hand for the cup. "I can take that now."

Carefully, Jim let him take the small plastic cup from his grip, prepared to act quickly if the container toppled. Blair raised the cup to his face, inhaling the subtle aroma appreciatively.

"Thank Rafe for me, when you see him," he said, then took a cautious sip of the tea.

The liquid was quite warm, but not hot, a touch sweet, with just enough lemon to tickle his taste buds. "Hmmm. Thanks," he murmured gratefully, taking a larger swallow.

Jim peered at Blair quizzically, looking as though he were on the verge of asking a question. Blair gave his friend a few moments, then prompted him.

"What is it, Jim?"

Ellison sighed, placing a hand on the bed rail. "What happened just now... Did you remember something?"

Slowly, Blair nodded, taking a long sip of his tea. "Yeah. I think so. I remember Chapel was in front of me, but I couldn't see him. It was too dark. He had a knife pressed into my side. I grabbed it - the blade. Then I think I stabbed him with it," his voice caught on that, and he quickly took another drink, giving himself a few seconds to calm his raging heart.

He supposed it was a good thing that it had been too dark for him to see anything, because he shuddered at the thought of seeing the look on Chapel's face as the blade sunk into him. He sure as hell was glad he hadn't seen the blood. He hated the thought of having to kill someone, so he was at least glad that Chapel hadn't died.

"I used the knife to cut the ropes," he continued, his voice steadier. "I guess that's how I escaped. I don't remember much after that. A blue light, maybe. A phone?" He looked at Jim for confirmation, and the older man nodded.

"Yeah, Chief, you called me from a payphone on the corner."

The door clicked open, grabbing both men's attention, and Simon Banks walked in, his face lighting up with surprise when he saw Blair "sitting up" in bed.

"Hey, Sandburg, how are you feeling?"

Blair managed a wry grin. "Fine, Simon. Thanks."

"Good to hear." He glanced at Jim, a question in his eyes, touched with uncertainty. Jim gave a small nod, and Simon turned his attention back to Blair, walking over to the bed. "I hate to dredge all this up for you, Sandburg, but -"

"It's okay," Blair insisted, setting the cup of tea on a small table area next to the machines. "You can ask."

Simon nodded, a touch of relief flickering over his features. "This isn't an official statement, but just an information session. Chapel hasn't been found yet, and I'm hoping you can tell us what happened. We... uh... have the second video, but some things happened off-camera. You want to tell us what you remember, son?"

"I stabbed him," Blair said bluntly. "He had a knife on me, and... and," he pursed his lips together, on the verge of realization. "The ropes!" he remembered at last. "I'd managed to slip my hands out of the ropes, and I grabbed the knife. I don't remember exactly what happened after that, but I'm pretty sure I stabbed him, and then I cut the rest of the ropes and got out of there."

"We found you in an alley dumpster, Sandburg. Do you know how you got there?"

Blair swallowed. He didn't remember the dumpster, but he didn't like the image that Simon's statement evoked. "No. Sorry, sir."

"That's okay, Sandburg," Simon said, a soft smile playing on his lips. "Did Chapel ever tell you anything that might indicate where he'd go?"

Blair shook his head. "No, not that I remember. Though he made it clear that he wants revenge on Jim and me." He glanced uncertainly at the detective, and Jim gave him a reassuring pat on the arm.

"Don't you worry about that, kid," Simon reassured him. "We've got this place buckled down. All units are on alert for Chapel. He'll show up eventually."

"He's probably nursing his wound, taking time to recover," Jim suggested.

"We've distributed his picture to all hotels, hospitals, and transportation stations. Eventually, we'll get him," the Captain reiterated.

Blair remained silent for several long seconds, listening to the steady beeping that echoed his heart beat. "I hope so," he announced softly, the fingers of his left hand twirling a stray piece of cotton on the blanket, "because he's one nutcase I really don't wanna come face-to-face with again."

Jim and Simon exchanged glances, neither man able to frame a suitable reply.

Home at last, Blair thought, walking slowly into the loft. Jim had an arm wrapped carefully around Blair's waist, half-supporting him as the two of them moved toward the lower bedroom.

"You doing okay, Chief?"

"For the hundredth time, yes, Jim," Blair snapped, the smile on his lips taking the sting out of his words.

Rafe locked the door behind them, watching the partners shuffle like old men toward the bedroom. Suppressing a grin, he made himself comfortable on the couch.

A few minutes later, Jim emerged from Blair's bedroom, leaving the French doors open a crack. He eyed Rafe, grateful to the man for watching over them, but somewhat annoyed that he'd now have a "guest" living with him, forcing him and Sandburg to check their conversations when it came to his Sentinel senses. The good news was that Simon had understood his unease, and put himself on rotation with the young detective. So Jim and Blair would be graced for twelve hours with Rafe, followed by twelve hours with Simon, and so on. It doesn't get much better than this, he thought bitterly. The sooner Chapel was caught, the better. Then, at least, he and Sandburg could get back to something vaguely resembling normality.

Jim walked into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of mugs. "Coffee, Rafe?"

"Yeah, that sounds nice," the detective answered.

Twenty minutes later, the coffee was made, and both men sat on the couch in front of a televised basketball game. Silence hung thick in the air, the situation putting them both on edge.

"How's he doing really?" Rafe whispered out-of-the-blue, turning to look at his fellow officer as he glanced at the French Doors.

Jim sighed, setting his cup on the small coaster resting on top of the coffee table. "He'll be okay, Rafe."

Rafe nodded once. "I know, Jim. He's a strong man, but I was asking how he'd doing now."

Jim leaned back into the cushions. "How do you think?" he asked, a bit more sharply than he intended. He quickly followed the statement with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Rafe. Don't mind me, I haven't finished the cup of coffee yet."

Rafe chuckled, taking a sip of his own coffee. "It's okay, Ellison. Why don't you forget the coffee and go take a nap? I know you could use one. I'll keep watch down here."

Jim glanced at his unfinished coffee. He was tired, and he knew he had a lot of sleep to catch up on. Finally, he nodded. "Thanks," he said, rising from the couch. "I'll see you in a few hours." With that, he headed up the stairs and sank into bed.

A scream and a loud crash sent him airborne off the couch, gun in hand, heart pounding furiously.

"Sandburg?" Gun poised, he made his way to the French doors, gaining a peek through the small opening into the room.

Footsteps pounded, and Rafe glanced behind him to see Jim, clad in blue boxers, hurrying down the stairs. Waving the gun away, Jim moved quickly past the younger detective.

"Easy, Rafe, I think he just had a nightmare," he whispered. "Go on back to the couch. I'll handle this."

Holstering his gun, Rafe glanced uncertainly at the bedroom. "But someone could be in there. There's a fire escape access."

Jim shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Trust me on this one," he said quietly. "Go on, I'll check it out."

Rafe looked unhappy, but complied, moving noiselessly back to the couch.

Jim gave a grateful nod, then moved to the bedroom, peering in through the French doors. What he couldn't tell Rafe was that he knew Blair was alone because he heard only two heartbeats in the loft, both pounding fast, but one beating so furiously he knew it had to be spawned by fear.

He'd expected this, anyway. Blair was off the morphine now, so not only would his physical pains be making themselves known, but he probably wouldn't be sleeping through the night like he had at the hospital. Easing the doors open, he stepped inside, finding Blair sitting on the floor, his legs stretched out in front of him and his head and back propped against the wall. His eyes were closed, his breathing fast, and his face pale. He wore grey sweats and a thin, white T-shirt that was wet with perspiration.

"Blair?"

The young man opened his eyes, swallowing hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "Sorry I woke you, Jim."

"It's okay," he said, walking up to his partner and kneeling in front of him. "What happened here? Nightmare?"

Blair managed a shaky nod. "I know this is gonna sound real pathetic, but I fell out of bed and I can't get up." He flashed a self-deprecating smile, a tint of red coloring his cheeks.

Jim returned the smile. "You've fallen and you can't get up?" A low chuckle escaped his throat.

Blair rolled his eyes and held out his hand. "Cut it out and help me up, will ya?"

"Sure, Boss," he said, mocking a salute. "But first tell me if anything hurts. God knows you've got enough bandages there to wrap a mummy."

"I think I'm okay," Blair said. "Just whenever I try to get up, my side hurts."

"Okay, easy does it then," he said, slipping his arms beneath Blair's and carefully lifting the young man to his feet.

A short hiss escaped Blair, and Jim winced in sympathy as he deposited the young man on the bed. "Sorry."

"S'okay, Jim," Blair reassured him. "It's just that, without the drugs, my aches and pains are flaring up. Those pills they gave me are doing absolutely nothing, man."

Jim took a seat on the mattress next to his friend. "Believe me, Chief, they're making a difference. Keep taking them -- per doctor's orders."

Blair raised his hands in mock surrender, wincing slightly from the motion but covering his reaction quickly. "Hey, no argument here. This is one time I'll take them with gratitude. Pain is so not my thing." A shadow darkened his face at that comment, and his gaze shifted to some distant point over Jim's shoulder.

"Hey," Jim placed a light hand on Blair's shoulder. "You with me, Chief?"

Blair blinked, looking back at Jim and nodding. "Yeah, sorry. Tired, I guess."

Jim frowned, wondering what was going through his partner's head. Whatever it was, it couldn't be pleasant, that much was certain.

"You hungry?" he asked, the only thing he could think of to say at the moment.

"No, thanks," Blair replied lifelessly. "I'm just gonna go back to sleep now. Tell Rafe I'm sorry. I heard him call my name, but --"

"I will," Jim said quickly. "He understands."

Pulling back the crumpled covers, Jim eased his partner back onto the mattress, then tucked the blankets around his lean frame.

"Comfortable?"

Blair nodded. "Yeah," he said drowsily. "Thanks, Jim."

"You're welcome, Junior."

He watched Blair's eyes drift shut, the lines of pain in the younger man's face fading as sleep claimed him. Blair's whispered plea came back to him, hitting him like a fist in the gut. "Not Jim."

He swallowed hard, a sudden warmth tingling in his chest, and his protective instincts flared, unexpectedly intense. When had his life become so intermingled with another? Somehow, Blair had gotten beneath his skin, finding ways past the walls he'd erected around his heart.

Gently, he reached out and brushed a lock of curls away from Blair's eyes. Leaning over, he whispered so softly, that, even if Blair had been awake, he doubted the young man would have heard him.

"Thank you, Blair."

"Mornin' Captain."

Rafe looked away from the television, rising from the couch. "Hello, Captain, sir." He looked at Jim. "How'd you know he was there? I didn't hear a knock."

Jim froze. "Uh... I didn't. I was just heading down to pick up the paper."

Rafe rose from the couch. "Come on, Ellison, you know I'm not supposed to leave you or Sandburg."

"Exactly," Simon agreed. "So you're with me, Ellison. I think the two of us can handle this mission. Wouldn't you say?"

Jim's lips twitched upward. "Yes, sir," he replied, and, with that, closed the door and ducked into the hallway after the Captain.

When he returned, paper in hand, he and Simon grabbed a seat at the kitchen table while Rafe doled out the eggs and bacon.

"How's Sandburg?" Simon asked, taking a drink of his coffee.

Rafe settled into his own chair and dug into his food.

"Not too bad," Jim replied. "A bit rough around the edges, but good, considering." Considering he was at the hands of a psychopath for almost two days...

"I saved him some eggs, Jim. They're in the microwave, in case he wakes up."

Jim offered a tiny smile. "Thanks, Rafe."

"Well, we're going to need his official statement soon, Jim. You think he's up to it?" the Captain asked.

Jim sighed. "I don't know, sir. I spoke with the counselor at the hospital who evaluated him, and she seems to think he's handling this pretty well. I think it's safe to ask him."

A scraping noise in the room caught his ear, and he tilted his head, listening as his partner grunted and groaned his way out of bed. The sounds soon grew louder, audible to normal ears.

Simon chuckled. "Sounds like he's in a chipper mood."

One of the French doors swung open, and Blair limped out, one arm held tight against his side, his hair wild and his eyes bloodshot. He spotted the three men seated around the kitchen table and froze, looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Mornin', Chief," Jim greeted cheerfully. "Hungry?"

The red-tinged blue eyes blinked, uncomprehending. "Huh?"

Jim dropped his fork to the plate and rose from his chair, approaching the young man. Blair followed Jim's progress like a parakeet in a cage tracking a cat.

"Are you hungry?" Jim asked again, one hand grabbing Blair's elbow. "Table or bathroom?"

"Uh," Blair's eyes darted to Simon and Rafe, and the two men plastered large grins on their faces.

"You okay, Chief?"

He looked back at Jim, his eyes a touch more lucid. "Yeah. Bathroom, thanks. I can walk." He shuffled away from Jim, moving like an eighty year-old man with arthritic joints.

Jim monitored his partner's progress, ready to spring into action if Blair faltered. A small eternity later, the grad student disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

"Weird. I've never seen him so subdued before," Rafe said. "Well, not counting the hospital."

Jim returned to the table. "A few hours after his nightmare last night, he woke up groaning," he told the younger detective. "I gave him another pain pill. Put him out for the count."

"He did?" Rafe looked confused. "I didn't hear anything."

Jim flashed a lopsided grin. "You were making out like sleeping beauty on the couch."

Rafe blushed, eyes darting quickly to the Captain, who donned an appropriate glare. "Uh. Sorry 'bout that," Rafe apologized.

Jim chuckled. "Don't worry about it, Rafe. I was in special forces, remember? I can keep watch for a few hours, you know. Besides, staying up all night's not part of the deal. The loft was locked down tight, so you and I would be forewarned of any intruder."

"Just make sure that, between the two of you, someone is awake on watch," Simon admonished. "We know Chapel's going to be coming after you and the kid, it's just a matter of when and how."

Like magic, the light mood turned dark, and Jim's smile faded. "Yes, sir, I know."

He glanced at the hallway, tuning his ears to his partner. Blair was brushing his teeth, the water running, his heartbeat slow and steady. He feels safe right now, Jim noted, pleased, but that emotion turned quickly to anger as his eyes scanned the loft, remembering the last time he'd told Blair he would be safe in the loft. Only he hadn't been safe, he'd been a target, and Jim had let Chapel get to him. The loft was supposed to be their home, a place to relax, not a prison. He automatically noted all the vulnerable areas.

The balcony -- it wasn't locked at the moment, an oversight that caused his jaw muscles to tighten. Just because the balcony rested on the third floor didn't mean it wasn't accessible. A determined intruder could easily gain access to the balcony from either the rooftop or the street below, and would then gain virtually unhindered access to the loft.

His eyes darted next to the skylight -- not the easiest way to gain entry, but a possibility. Chapel could either break the glass, or, more quietly, cut a hole through each layer and drop into the kitchen. That area would have to be secured.

He turned his attention to the back door next -- at the end of the hall a few feet away from the bathroom. Like the front door, a strong man could break the wood with a strong kick, splintering the frame. The building was old, some areas of the wood weakened with age. He would have to remedy that defect.

Next was the front door, graced with a deadbolt and a chain lock. However, as Lash had proven, the door could be kicked in. The wood frame was newer, since he'd had to repair it after that break-in, but the door still needed to be reinforced. Perhaps he'd send Simon or Rafe out to the hardware store for a few tools.

The next issue was that of electronic security. The balcony doors and skylight, being made of glass, would be the hardest to secure, so he'd have to put some kind of alarm on those two. A vibrational alarm would do the trick nicely, giving them much-needed notice, even if just a few seconds, of an intruder's presence. With two cops in the loft, a few seconds notice was all they would need. Last time, Chapel had cut the power to the building in order to bypass the security alarm, so whatever electronic devices Jim used this time would be battery-powered.

The good news was that Chapel preferred to work alone. He had opted to use a partner during his time in Connover simply because he hadn't been free to do the work himself, but, when it came down to it, Chapel was a loner. That meant Jim would only be dealing with one man, not a full-out assault.

"Jim, you with us?" Simon's voice cut into his thoughts.

"Uh, yeah," he muttered, bringing his attention back to the table. "Just thinking about security. We've got to make some changes to the loft."

"Such as?" Rafe asked.

"Braces for both doors, and vibrational alarms for the balcony and skylight," he explained. "I'll make a list of items we need, but can one of you go to the hardware store for me? I'll give you my credit card, of course."

"I'll go," Rafe volunteered, glancing at the Captain. "It's your shift here, anyway, and I don't mind running the errand."

"Good." Simon smiled approvingly. "After breakfast?"

"Yeah, sure," Rafe agreed. "No problem."

The Sentinel-soft sound of running water ceased, and, moments later, the bathroom door creaked open. Blair shuffled slowly to the kitchen, emerging from the hallway looking exactly the same as he had earlier, his hair sticking out in all directions. He stopped, breathing a bit too hard, his eyes taking in the table scene.

"Eggs are in the microwave for you, Chief, ready to be warmed up," Jim said, gesturing to an empty chair next to him. "Come sit down, and I'll get it for you."

"Thanks," Blair mumbled. Head low, he hobbled over to the table, sinking slowly into the chair.

"Tea or orange juice?" Jim asked, pushing himself to his feet.

"Uh, tea, please," Blair replied, studiously avoiding the gazes of the other two men seated at the table.

"So how are you feeling, Blair?" Simon inquired gently.

"Fine, thanks." He watched Jim move about the kitchen. The detective tapped 20 seconds into the microwave and then moved to the faucet to put water in the teapot.

An uncomfortable silence descended over the table, with Rafe and Simon focusing on eating their eggs, trying a little too hard to act like they weren't scrutinizing the anthropologist. Jim caught Blair's gaze, seeing the naked plea in his eyes, and suddenly he understood, and, just as suddenly, lost his appetite.

He's embarrassed because he knows Simon saw the tape, and probably thinks that Rafe saw it, too. Not to mention last night. Poor kid probably feels ashamed that Rafe heard him fall out of bed. He huffed a sigh, angry. Damnit, what he needs now is time and rest. He needs a place to feel at ease, not a place where he's barricaded in and watched by a police guard... Even if it is just Simon and Rafe. Hell, ESPECIALLY Simon and Rafe. Always trying to prove himself, now he's forced to have Rafe and Simon see him when he's vulnerable, hurting. He clenched a fist. The tea pot started to whistle. Goddamnit, Chapel, when I get my hands on you...

"Tea's ready," Blair mumbled, his eyes never leaving Jim's face.

"Right," he acknowledged, quickly turning off the flame and setting to work on the tea. A few minutes later, he returned to the table, setting the mug and plate down in front of Blair.

"Thanks," Blair muttered, picking up the fork and quickly focusing his attention on his food.

"So, Jim, there's a game on today, right?" Simon asked, throwing only a cursory glance at Blair.

"Yeah, the Chargers are playing the Packers," he replied, watching his roommate out of the corner of his eye. Blair's gaze never left his plate, and he seemed completely oblivious to the conversation.

"Guess we can sort of consider this down-time. A little R&R," the Captain continued. "Care to make a wager?"

"Oooh, tough choice there Simon. I'm with the Packers."

Simon scowled. "Fine. Guess I can stand to lose twenty bucks... unless you want to do a point spread."

Jim chuckled. "Sure, I'll wager the Packers will win by seven." He looked at Blair. "What do you say, Chief, care to place a bet?"

Blair looked up, startled by the question. "Huh?"

He wasn't even listening, Jim noted, wondering just where his partner's mind was wandering.

"The Chargers are playing the Packers today. You want to place a bet on the point spread?" he reiterated.

"Oh," Blair shook his head, looking back down at his plate. "No thanks." He dropped his fork, letting it clatter against the plate, and eased himself out of the chair, his tea untouched. "I'm just going back to bed, Jim. Thanks for breakfast, but I guess I'm not as hungry as I thought."

"That's okay, but --"

He shot out of his chair when he saw Blair attempt to pick up the plate and mug, which was quite a feat considering he had only one good hand.

"Hey, leave that for me, Chief," he said quickly, taking the items out of Blair's hand. "You go back to bed and I'll bring you some orange juice. You're due for another dose of your antibiotics, anyway. You need another pain killer, too?"

Blair shook his head quickly, his eyes darting to Simon. "Uh, no thanks. I'm fine." His eyes skidded over Rafe as he turned and headed toward his room. "See ya later, guys."

Jim watched the young man shuffle into his bedroom and close the door, leaving it open just a crack as it had been before. He heard Blair gasp, then rustle the covers and shift into bed, releasing a tired sigh. Jim eyed the bottle of pain killers on top of the refrigerator, then rose from his chair to pour the glass of orange juice and retrieve the bottles of medication. With a little cajoling, he could probably even convince Blair to take another pain killer.

He awoke an instant later, or so it seemed, his eyes opening to darkness. His head tilted, throbbed, and his stomach churned. For a moment, his mind remained blank, disoriented, oblivious to the direness of the circumstances and focused instead on trying to figure out where he was and why he couldn't move. Then the fog lifted, and his heart leapt into his throat.

Chapel.

Damn. He'd been off his guard, and Chapel had gotten the best of him. He moved his wrists experimentally, feeling the tightness of the ropes around them. His ankles, legs, and chest were also bound, securing him to a hard chair in the middle of a dark room.

God. Just like Blair. He swallowed hard. He hadn't seen the video tape that Chapel had sent to Ellison, but he had seen the one of Cassie, and he had no desire to be the next subject of Chapel's gruesome production.

His mind raced. Just how long had he been unconscious? Long enough for Simon and Jim to miss him, to wonder why he hadn't yet returned with the supplies? They'd figure out that Chapel had gotten to him, then they'd call in the search. Ellison would find him in time, just like he had Blair...

His blood grew cold with realization. He didn't find Sandburg this time, Blair found him. Oh man, I'm dead.

His fear kept him company for nearly an hour, drenching his body with sticky sweat. Finally, the door opened, sending bright light into the room. He noted, with some relief, the conspicuous absence of a video camera.

Rafe flinched, his heart beating so furiously he was sure that Chapel could hear the pounding. Chapel stepped into the room, one arm tucked protectively against his side, his eyes blazing.

"One chance," he told Rafe. "Tell me how many men are guarding Ellison and Sandburg, and how to get to them."

Rafe's chest tightened, but he shook his head, thinking of Sandburg, how he had sat right here, well different warehouse, but same situation, facing this madman, alone, afraid, just like he was now. Goddamnit, he should have been a lawyer, or a teacher, or something other than a cop in Cascade. Oh God, Sandburg, how did you do it? How'd you get through this? I never realized how strong you were before, and you're a grad student, an anthropologist, not a cop, not trained to deal with these psychos like I'm supposed to be, but how do you train for this? How do you learn not to be afraid? How do YOU do it, Blair? And if I tell him, he'll do it to you again, and no one should have to go through that twice. Not even once, but definitely not twice, so I'll try, Blair, I'll try to be strong and not say anything, but oh God help me to be strong please, or send in the cavalry, or give us an earthquake, or anything, just please, please get me out of this one and I'll go to every damn church in Cascade... darn church, I mean, sorry for that, please don't hold that one against me, sir.

"I was hoping you'd cooperate," Chapel told him, sauntering up to Rafe. "I'm really not in the mood to be patient. As I'm sure you know, that little runt you police sent in to spy on me put a rather painful hole in my side, and I intend to make him pay dearly for it. You, on the other hand, have really done nothing to me, thus far, except try to keep me from Sandburg and Ellison. That, I'm willing to forgive, if you make up for it by telling me what I want to know. I'll even let you live. It's not like having you as an eyewitness would hurt my legal case anymore, right?" He smiled, lips parting to reveal dull, slightly crooked teeth. "So why don't you go easy on yourself? Just tell me how many men are guarding Ellison and Sandburg. I saw only you and the black guy, but there could be others, right? And what about security? Schedules? Shifts? That sort of thing. If you tell me, I'll make sure Ellison dies fast. Sandburg, unfortunately, has some more pain coming to him, but Ellison need not die horribly. On the other hand, if you don't tell me, I'll get to them anyway. It'll just take a bit longer, and then I promise you, Ellison will die a slow, painful death -- just like Sandburg. And just like you. Only I think I'll kill you first, after Sandburg. It'll be a fitting punishment for the hippie to watch you die."

Rafe took a deep, shaky breath. Part of him wanted to believe Chapel's promise, believe that he could still get out of this alive, but he knew the man was lying, and, even so, he doubted he'd be able to live with himself knowing that he betrayed Ellison and Sandburg... a betrayal that would also, most likely, take Captain Banks' life as well.

One life isn't worth three, he told himself, though his heart pounded furiously in opposition.

"Well?" Chapel prompted.

"No deal," he blurted. "Go after them on your own, Chapel. They'll kick your ass and put you back where you belong."

Rafe had left to pick up the security items over three hours ago, much longer than the errand should have taken, so Ellison had called the hardware store to find out if the young detective had arrived. He hadn't, which meant trouble.

"You try his cell phone?"

A flash of irritation touched Jim's features. "No, sir, that never occurred to me. What a brilliant idea." An edge of sarcasm sliced through his words, and he immediately regretted them, especially now that he found himself facing the dark anger in his Captain's eyes.

"Ellison," Banks began slowly, "I'm going to let that one go because I know you've been under a lot of stress lately and haven't gotten much sleep." He paused only long enough to take a deep breath, standing rigid as he faced the detective, his shoulders squared to maximize his full height. "But if you want to stay on this case, I suggest you lay off the attitude, because right now I've got a man missing and I'm in no mood to put up with your shit. Got that?"

Ellison met his Captain's gaze, but his eyes softened and he nodded quickly. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

A distressed moan tickled Jim's eardrum, and he shifted his gaze to Blair's bedroom. Moment's later, the bedraggled-looking young man appeared in the doorway, his eyes bloodshot.

"What's going on, Jim?" he asked, then gave in to a yawn.

Damn. He didn't think Blair needed to hear that Rafe was "missing." Such news would only upset the young man, and that was the last thing Jim wanted to do at the moment.

Blair apparently caught onto Jim's hesitation, because he took a shaky step into the main room, his brow lined with concern. "What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, a note of apprehension in his voice.

Jim walked over to Blair, stopping only inches from his partner, his expression somber. "It's Rafe," he explained. "He went to buy some supplies from the hardware store. That was three hours ago. I called the store, but he never showed."

Blair paled, and Jim was ready, grabbing the young man's arms the moment he sagged. "Easy, Chief. Let's get you over to a chair."

"Oh man," Blair moaned, leaning heavily against Jim as the older man guided him over to the kitchen table. His knees gave way the moment he reached the chair, and he dropped into the seat, a pained gasp escaping his throat. "Oh God. Oh God, Jim. Chapel's got Rafe." He turned agonized blue eyes up to the Sentinel, their edges bright red. "He's going to do the same thing to Rafe that he... that he did to me." He swallowed hard, looking away quickly. "This can't happen. We have to find him. We have to find him real soon, Jim."

Simon approached, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder. Blair flinched infinitesimally, wincing in pain, and Simon yanked his hand back quickly. "God, I'm sorry, kid. I forgot about your burn there."

"S'okay, Simon," Blair croaked.

"We don't know for sure that Chapel has him, Sandburg," Simon tried to reassure him. "Any number of things could have happened. He could have gotten into a car accident, or--"

Blair looked up sharply. "He has him. Of course he has him," he shot back. "And he's going to torture him and then kill him unless we find him ASAP, and let me tell you, man, that is not something anybody should go through." He shook his head in denial. "Not Rafe, especially. It's not worth it, man. It's not worth his life -- him protecting me. I mean, what difference does it make? His life or mine? It's a life either way, so I'd rather Chapel just got it over with. I mean, how many people have to die? You? Rafe? Brown? All just to protect me and Jim?" He looked up at the Sentinel. "And Jim's much harder to get to," he said, glancing back at Simon. "He comes after Jim, odds are that he'll lose. He doesn't know about Jim's senses, so he won't be taking any special measures against them. Jim'll hear him coming a mile away. So it's me, really, that you're protecting, and, I'm telling you right now Simon, no more people are going to die because of me. Call it off. Just call it all off. Or use me as bait, or something, but do something other than just waiting around for him to make his move, knocking people off --"

"Blair." Jim placed a hand on Blair's good shoulder. "Take it easy. You're starting to hyperventilate again."

Blair shrugged angrily out of Jim's touch. "Don't patronize me, man. You just don't get it, do you? Rafe's a good guy, you know? He's the only one at the station that treats me like an equal, not some damn mascot, and he was willing to risk his life to protect you and me, Jim, and if you think about that, and think about the fact that right now he's probably sitting in some dark place getting carved up, beaten, or whatever else that sick fuck can think up, I really hope you won't tell me to take it easy, man, because that's the last thing I can do right now. It's not what Rafe's doing right now, and if you want to sit there and act like this is just another case, and keep your cool, and distance your emotions, go ahead, goddamnit, but he's my friend and I can't just turn it off like that." He looked up at Jim.  "Did you? When it was me missing, did you just turn it off and go on, like I was just some stranger off the street rather than your partner? Your  --"

"God, Blair, no," Jim stammered, shocked, sinking into the proximate chair. "I'm sorry, Chief. I didn't mean it like that."
He glanced quickly up at Simon, monitoring Blair's heartbeat, hearing it pound much too fast, then darted his gaze to the bottles of pills on top of the refrigerator before meeting Blair's gaze again. "He's my friend, too, you know," he told his partner. "And I'm not patronizing you. I'm worried about you, that's all. You want to know what I went through when you were gone? Knowing I let Chapel get to you because I fell for some stupid ploy? How the hell do you think I felt? Probably ten times worst than you feel right now for Rafe, even though you might find that hard to believe. Yeah, I know you care about him, and I know this is hard on you, but right now Rafe needs our help, and that means we have to keep our emotions in check and think rationally. That's the only way we're going to find him in time, and, I know you know that, Chief, but you've been through hell lately, and I don't expect you to distance yourself. No one could in your shoes. Hell, I'm having a hard time myself. A very hard time, but I know Rafe's life depends on my keeping my cool, and I'm not going to let him down. Understand?"

Blair dropped his gaze to the table and nodded solemnly. "Yeah, Jim... Sorry."

"It's okay, Chief." He gestured quickly for Simon to retrieve the pills. "And, at the risk of sounding patronizing again, it's time for your meds."

Blair looked up, flashing an abashed grin. "Sorry about that, too, man."

"You can make up for it by taking the pills without any lip and getting your ass back in bed."

"But --"

"No 'buts,' Chief. The better you follow doctor's orders, the faster you'll heal and get back on your feet to help me track down Chapel," Jim stated, leaving no room for argument. "Agreed?"

Blair's protest died, and he nodded. "Yeah."

"Agreed," Jim admitted reluctantly. "And we'd better move quickly, because Chapel's not gonna spend a lot of time interrogating Rafe. He's gotta figure that we'll relocate now that he's picked up Rafe, which means we'd better move fast." He didn't like the idea of packing up and dragging Sandburg to a safe house, but now it appeared as though he had little choice -- not if he wanted to keep the kid safe, anyway.

"Brown and Megan are on their way here, and Taggart's getting the safe house ready. We're leaving as soon as possible, so go wake the kid and get him ready," Simon ordered. "We'll have unmarked cars following to make sure Chapel doesn't follow us."

Jim sighed, rising from the couch. "Yes, sir. I'll have us both packed in less than an hour. Sandburg's bound to be a bit out of it, though, since he took the pain killers."

"Good." Simon nodded approvingly, flashing an amused grin. "That means he won't be so damn frustrating. Between the two of you, it's a miracle I haven't gone grey yet."

Jim raised his eyebrows, heading toward the lower room, and glanced back at the Captain. "Oh I don't know about that, sir. You've got a few strands," he cracked, ducking into Blair's bedroom.

"Like hell I do, Ellison," Banks shot back.

Jim grinned, glad for the brief levity, and walked up to the bed. Blair lay sleeping on his back, the covers rising to his chin, motionless except for the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Jim listened to the heartbeat, its slow, steady rhythm indicating a deep sleep. He hated to wake the kid, but he had no choice. Hell, now that he thought about it, he should have just held off on giving the kid the pain killers, but Blair had obviously been in a lot of pain, even if he had done a good job of hiding the full extent of his discomfort. Plus, he knew the constant pain would just work on Blair's mood, making him short-tempered and overly-emotional. At least the pills had provided Sandburg with a bit of peace, and, hopefully, they would make the trip to the safe house a lot easier on him physically, dulling the pain that would otherwise be caused by the jostling.

Jim decided to pack Sandburg's clothes and essentials first, giving the kid a few more minutes to sleep. Going to the closet, he retrieved a large duffel bag, and, working as quietly as possible, began rifling through drawers, pulling out articles of clothing that looked like they would keep Blair warm enough.

He packed four changes of clothes, enough to get by on, then set the duffel bag next to the bureau and walked quietly out of his room to pack his own things, wanting to give Blair as much time to sleep as possible.

"Hello?"

A weak voice answered. "Sandburg?"

His heart turned a cartwheel in his chest. "Rafe?"

"Yeah."

"You okay?"

"Not really, Sandburg. You?"

"I guess so," Blair answered.

A metallic click stopped both men cold, and the door swung inward, spilling white light into room. Chapel's hulking figure filled the doorway, and he walked into the room, toward Rafe. Blair looked over, finally getting a look at the detective. Rafe's face sported a number of blue, purple, and black bruises, and a trickle of dried blood snaked down his chin.

"How are you doing, Detective?" Chapel asked. "Comfy?"

Rafe ignored the man, looking to Blair instead, fear in his eyes, but still Blair could tell that the young detective was trying to convey a sense of reassurance.

"Hey, leave him alone, Chapel! It's me you want, right?" Blair yelled, a mixed sense of victory filling him when Chapel turned away from Rafe to look at him.

"You've got guts, kid, I'll give you that," Chapel answered, his voice low and dangerous. "Want to see them spilled all over the floor?"

Blair's chest tightened when Chapel moved away from Rafe and approached, towering over him like Goliath. Now he knew how David had felt, probably hadn't been able to breath, either, just like he couldn't now. It was a wonder the guy had been able to aim the slingshot, because Blair knew that if his hands were free, they'd be shaking something terrible.

"Come on, wake up," Chapel commanded.

Blair furrowed his brow. He was awake, wasn't he? The man's hand lashed out, striking him with surprising gentleness across the cheek, but the slap stung hard nevertheless, bringing tears to his eyes.

"Come on, open your eyes," Chapel ordered.

"Get away from me!" Blair spat back. "I'm awake. Can't you see I'm awake? What more do you want?"

He tugged at the ropes again, releasing a yelp of surprise when he realized that his hands were free. Wasting no time, he lashed out, his fist connecting with solid flesh.

"Damnit! Chief, easy, take it easy."

"Go to hell!" Chief? He swallowed, his heart pounding, and Chapel was suddenly on top of him, slamming him into the floor. "Get off of me!" He bucked, pain slicing through his side and flaring angrily in his shoulder, but Chapel didn't budge.

Strong hands grabbed his wrists, pinning them to his chest, and Chapel leaned forward, his face inches from his own. "Stop it. It's just a dream. Come on, open your eyes."

Blair swallowed, his head swimming. The face belonged to Chapel, but, he suddenly realized, the voice was that of his Sentinel.

"Jim?" He closed his eyes, feeling warm breath on his cheek. "Jim, man, where are you?"

"Right here, buddy. I'm right here. Come on, just open your eyes. You're okay. It's just a dream."

Blair shook his head. "No."

"Yes. Come on, Blair, open your eyes for me. I promise, you're safe."

The floor seemed to tilt, making him dizzy, and suddenly the dream faded, and he opened his eyes, seeing Jim's face inches from his own -- not Chapel's. Warm blue eyes pierced his own, touched with concern and a hint of relief.

"There you go," the Sentinel whispered softly. "You're okay, see?"

Blair nodded slowly, shaking like Jell-O and feeling just as weak, pinned to the mattress by Jim's weight. "Jim?"

"Yeah. You okay?"

He closed his eyes, too embarrassed to meet the older man's gaze. "No." He shuddered, remembering the dream. Remembering Rafe. God, it had seemed so real... And he still couldn't breathe. He opened his eyes and looked at the Sentinel. "Jim, man," he gasped. "Could you move, please?"

"Oh yeah," Jim replied, scrambling off the bed. "Sorry. I didn't want you to hurt yourself." He grabbed the bottom of Blair's T-shirt and pulled it up. "Let me take a look at those stitches, make sure you didn't pull any out."

Blair nodded, too tired to put up much of a protest. His body felt heavy, like a sack of concrete, and he could barely lift his arms now. He felt Jim's warm hands on his side, pressing gently against the bandaged wound. The injury flared a bit in protest, but not too bad, and he started to nod off, eyelids drifting closed, the medication pulling him back under the dark sea of oblivion.

"Blair?"

He jerked awake, and saw Jim still sitting on the edge of the bed, peering down at him. "You're gonna have to get up, Chief. Simon's moving us to a safe house. All your stuff is packed, and we're ready to go."

"'Kay," the young man muttered, but made no attempt to move.

"Come on, Chief," Jim prodded. He slid an arm beneath Blair's shoulder, gently lifting him to a comfortable angle, then used his free hand to slide Blair's legs off the mattress. "You with me?"

Blair nodded, his head heavy. "Yeah. You shouldn't have given me the pills," he grumbled.

Jim smiled, sliding his arms beneath Blair's armpits and pulling him to his feet. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. On your feet."

"Did you pack my laptop?" he asked, his voice thick.

"Yes, Sandburg. It's in your backpack." He swung Blair's arm around his shoulders and steered him toward the door. "I think you'll be okay in the sweats you're wearing," he told the younger man, walking him through the doorway and into the living room. "First the couch, then I'll get your shoes," he said, easing Blair onto the cushions and propping him against the back of the sofa. "You okay?"

"Mmm-hmmm," Blair mumbled, half-asleep.

"You need some help, Jim?" Simon asked.

"No thanks, sir."

He tilted his head, hearing the elevator doors ding open. Two sets of footsteps clanked in the hallway. Megan and Brown, Jim figured. Seconds later, a fist pounded twice on the front door.

"Ellie, sweetheart, it's me, Megs," came the distinctly Australian voice.

Jim frowned, his eyes narrow as he glanced at the Captain.

"Ellie?" Simon eyed Jim skeptically, chuckling, and moved to open the door. "Sweetheart? Jim is there something you're not telling me?"

"No," he answered tersely, irritated. It was one thing for Connor to butcher Sandburg's name, but he'd be damned if he'd let her...

"No funny business or it's over," a low voice whispered.

Jim's chest tightened as Simon unlocked the chain and turned the doorknob.

"Simon, no!" Jim pulled his gun, rushing forward, but he was too late. The door exploded inward, and a single bullet, hushed by a silencer, slammed into Simon's shoulder, sending him flying backward.

"Drop it, Ellison!"

Chapel turned the gun on the detective, using Megan as a shield. Jim met her apologetic gaze briefly, kicking himself for not recognizing the warning she'd tried to convey to him seconds earlier.

"No way, Chapel," Jim replied, his ears picking up the reassuring sound of Simon's heartbeat.

Chapel smiled, shifting the barrel of the gun to press it against Megan's temple. His gaze flicked past Ellison, settling on the motionless figure on the couch. Jim resisted the urge to turn around and look at his partner, but he refocused his hearing to Blair's vitals, hearing the catch in the younger man's breathing and the pounding heartbeat.

Damn. He's awake. If only the medication had kept the kid under a bit longer, then maybe he could have dealt with this asshole and gotten the situation under control before Blair was any the wiser. Instead, Sandburg would have to be subjected to this nightmare twice.

No, Jim decided, clenching his jaw, the blue of his eyes turning to ice as he pinned Chapel with a warning glare. Not this time. It ends here. You're not getting anywhere near him.

His finger twitched on the gun, and he aimed the barrel at Chapel's forehead, thankful for the height advantage Chapel had over Megan.

"Put it down, Chapel," Jim ordered again.

His adversary cocked the gun. "You want her brains splattered all over the place? You put the gun down."

"Enough!" the loud bellow surprised Jim, and he glanced over his shoulder quickly to see Blair on his feet, his eyes angry and his fists clenched at his side. He looked right at Chapel, his gaze unflinching. "You want me, asshole? I'm right here, so go ahead. Pull the damn trigger already!" He spread his hands out, his eyes challenging the man to follow through.

"Sandburg, get back!" Jim barked, but the young man paid him no attention.

"Patience, Mr. Sandburg," Chapel replied coolly, his eyes flickering back and forth between the two men. "First tell your partner to put the gun down."

Blair slid in front of Jim, blocking his aim.

"Sandburg!" He was about to step forward and physically yank the kid out of the way when he saw Blair flash three fingers behind his back.

"Megan, sorry for this," Blair said. "But I guess it's your turn to choof off."

Two fingers...

Chapel smiled, shifting further behind Megan and swinging the barrel toward Blair. Megan swallowed, watching Blair closely.

One!

Blair dropped to the ground just as Megan slammed her elbow into Chapel's stomach and lunged for the floor. Jim went into a roll, pulling the trigger even before he finished the maneuver.

Seconds later, Chapel lay motionless on the floor, his blood pooling slowly onto the hard wood. Jim wasted no time, flashing a look at Megan and jerking his chin toward where Blair lay on the floor, clutching his side. She nodded and moved to Blair, and Jim focused his attention on Simon, pulling his shirt off to press against the wound in his Captain's shoulder. Reaching into Simon's jacket pocket, he retrieved the cell phone and dialed 911, his gaze settling on Chapel as he extended his hearing. He released a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding when he found the slow, steady rhythm. It wasn't Chapel's life he was worried about, it was Rafe's, and he needed the man alive to find out where the young detective was being held... If he was even still alive.

The door opened, bringing with it light... and the promise of pain. Rafe flinched, clenching his eyes tight against the intrusion. God, no more. Please... Just get it over with. He couldn't remember what he'd told Chapel. He just hoped that he hadn't betrayed his friends. Either way, he was a dead man, but he prayed that he hadn't brought Sandburg, Ellison, and the Captain down with him.

"Rafe!"

A familiar voice cut through his despair, and he raised his head, opening his eyes just enough to make out several blurred figures around him.

"Brown?" His heart thudded with hope.

"Yeah, right here, baby." Hands held him, tugging at the ropes, and soon he was free, cradled against a warm chest.

"You're gonna be okay," another voice soothed. Ellison? He tried to focus on the faces above him, but his vision faded, and he succumbed to the darkness.

Epilogue...

"I'll raise you ten," Sandburg said, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at the cards in his hand. He shifted a bit in the bed, his fingers tapping absently against the rail.

"Ten bucks? Whoa. That's too rich for my blood," Simon crooned mockingly, forced to hold his cards with one hand because of the sling immobilizing his other arm. "You sure about that Sandburg?"

Blair narrowed his eyes at the Captain. "Yeah, well when the department starts paying me, then I'll bet more."

"In that case, maybe you'd better lower it to five," Simon suggested, breaking into a grin.

"Well, I'm out, anyway," Rafe's tired voice cut n. "With the drugs they've got me on, I'd better quit before I lose anymore."

Jim chuckled, his eyes passing over the three patients, doing a critical scan of each. He paused a moment to examine Rafe, grateful that the young man was still alive. Fortunately, he'd questioned Chapel right after the man had come out of surgery, and the drugs had loosened his tongue. It had taken less than five minutes to extract Rafe's location from him.

"Actually, I think it's time all of you turned in," Jim suggested.

He glanced at his watch, then looked at Blair, noting the lines of exhaustion in his friend's face, even though Blair's eyes remained bright. The kid had pulled out most of his stitches when he'd dived for the floor, and he now sported a new set. Unfortunately, the doctor had discovered an infection in the area, and had decided to keep him a little longer for observation. This time, much to Jim's surprise, Blair hadn't protested, though now, as he watched Blair gain the upperhand on his two drugged companions, he knew why.

Rafe. He wants to keep an eye on him -- be around in case Rafe needs him. Hell, maybe Blair needs Rafe, too... Needs to have someone else to talk things over with, someone who's been through the same thing and come out alive.

Jim nibbled at his lower lip. Darn, the kid was having fun, but if the doctor found out about their little side activity, he'd probably bar him from the room. It had been hard enough to arrange a private room that the three men could share during visiting hours, and Jim didn't want to push his luck by encouraging illegal gambling in the hospital.  Besides, the kid needed rest. Rafe needed rest. Even Simon needed rest, but he wasn't about to order his Captain to bed... not unless he wanted to find himself going over old case reports for the next three weeks.

"Awww. Come on, Jim. I'm fine," Blair insisted, then turned his gaze to the young detective. "But, Rafe, man, you look beat. Want us to call the nurse and have them wheel you back to your room?"

Rafe shook his head, a tired smile tweaking his lips. "Nah. I can rest as easily here as I can there." The smile faded slightly, and he looked back down at his cards. "Besides, I kind of like the company."

Blair glanced at Jim, his eyes laced with worry, and Jim knew exactly what was going through his young partner's head. The grad student looked back at Rafe, setting his own cards face-down on the bed tray.

"Rafe?" Blair inquired.

The detective looked up, his eyes tinged with red. "Yeah, Sandburg?"

"I could use the company, too, man." His eyes conveyed a silent message: I've been there, too. I know what you're feeling.

Rafe accepted the reassurance with a small nod and a faint smile. "Thanks, Blair."

Jim and Simon exchanged glances, both reading the worry in the other's eyes.

Jim decided a change of subject was in order. "So, Chief, what was that you said to Megan? Choof off?"

Blair nodded, a shy smile playing at his lips. "Yeah, uh, it's Australian slang. It means 'leave.' You know, as in 'duck.'"

Jim smiled, impressed. "Ah, I see. Guess I'll have to get you to teach me some more Australian slang... Good work, by the way."

Blair almost blushed, looking quickly back down at his cards. "Uh, thanks."

"But if you ever do that again, Chief, I'll use your head as a basketball. Got it?"

When Blair looked back up at the Sentinel, it was obvious what he thought of the threat. "Of course, Jim. I got it."

Jim pursed his lips. He knew that tone -- it was the one Blair used when he meant the exact opposite of what he'd said. Uh-huh. Sure, Chief. He was about to open his mouth for a retort when the door swung inward suddenly.

"Hey, Rafe! Hairboy!" Brown greeted happily.

"Captain, how are you doing?" Taggart asked.

All three patients broke into huge grins, and, moments later, Taggart and Brown were dealt into the game. Jim kept his ears tuned to the hall, ready to warn his fellow rule-breakers should the watch nurse make an appearance. However, he soon got so wrapped up in the game, and the accompanying laughter, that he didn't see the nurse peek through the door window... and he missed the huge smile on her face just before she turned away and resumed her trek down the hall.