DISCLAIMER: The Sentinel and its characters are the property of Paramount Television and Pet Fly Productions. No money has been or will be made from this work of fiction. This story belongs to the author. Permission is given to archive.

RATING: G

THANKS TO: The many friends, fans and writers in the Sentinel universe for friendship and inspiration. Special thanks to Barb, as always, for beta reading and friendship, and for her hands-on help with this one.

This story is an epilogue to the fourth season episode "The Waiting Room" and contains spoilers for that episode, as well as truly minor references to "Private Eyes", "Remembrance", "Sentinel, Too Part One" and "Sentinel, Too Part Two." Viewing the episode before reading is recommended.

Feedback is always welcome!

Jim tossed his keys into the basket on the table, then slowly pulled his jacket off and hung it on a hook.

"Are you here, Chief?"

Blair walked out from his bedroom to greet his roommate.

"Hey, Jim, how'd it go today? What happened with the Bromley case? Is the DA gonna prefer charges?

Jim held up a hand.

"Chief, I just had a long day, this cold is driving me nuts, and I'm not ready for twenty questions the minute I walk in the door, okay? Just give me a minute to breathe, will you?" As if to punctuate his point, he let loose a massive sneeze that Blair could have sworn could have been measured on the Richter scale.

Blair snagged a box of tissues off the kitchen counter and handed it to his roommate sympathetically. He didn't need heightened senses to spot the red and watery eyes, the reddened nose, and the dark rings beginning to grow under Jim's eyes.

"Sorry, man. I thought you were getting over it by now. Look, I can get some more nictobye root for you, you said that it helped…"

Jim cut him off. "No way, Darwin. I don't need any peyote substitutes, thank you very much. Just what I need, to take some of your witch doctor medicines then get called in for a random departmental drug screen. I'll manage just fine on my own."

"Fine, fine, Jim. I'm just trying to help here. Hey, I'm warming up some of that leftover vegetarian stew for supper. That'll be just the thing for your cold. And I'm throwing together some honey cornbread that would hit the spot, too. What do you think?"

"Sure, Chief, whatever." Jim slowly made his way over to the refrigerator. Blair watched as he opened the door and reached for a beer.

"Uh, Jim, with your cold, you might want to have some juice instead. You know, all that vitamin C?" At his roommate's glare, Blair threw up both hands and turned to the task of making the cornbread. "Just a suggestion, man." He knew better than to take it personally, he knew how testy a tired and sick Jim could be.

Jim grabbed the beer and headed for the sofa. Twisting the cap off the bottle, he took a long swallow and settled down onto the sofa with a sigh, swinging his feet up to rest on the coffee table with a thud.

Blair turned down the heat to let the stew simmer and put the cornbread into the oven. He felt bad that he hadn't been at the precinct all day to work with Jim, but it couldn't have been helped. Looking over at his friend, who now rested his head tiredly on the back of the sofa, he decided that it was a good time for a take-care-of-your-roommate night. It wasn't Jim's fault that he caught a cold and was having a lousy week. He really wanted to talk with him tonight about the Bromley case, and the afternoon's activities that had kept him away from the station, so he decided that a little TLC might go a long way.

Having a good healthy meal in progress was a good first step in his plan. Knowing that Jim's senses were probably all over the place, as always seemed to happen when he was sick, he decided to do everything he could to make it easy on his partner. Taking his shoes off and leaving them by the door, he shuffled quietly over to the fireplace and lit a fire, knowing that Jim was probably having chills even if he wouldn't admit it.

Going back into the kitchen, pausing a moment to stir and taste the stew, he pulled a couple of candles down from the top of the refrigerator. He set them on the table and lit them, stopping to savor their faint vanilla scent. They had discovered that vanilla seemed to go easy on Jim's heightened sense of smell. Turning off the kitchen lights, he was pleased at the cozy level of illumination that the candles and fireplace provided on their own. It was a little dim for him, but he was sure that it would be more comfortable for his partner.

He busied himself setting the table as quietly as he could, then turned on the small light over the stove so he could check the progress of their dinner. He was so focused on his plan that he gasped and started when he felt a hand fall on his shoulder.

"Thanks, Chief. I'm sorry I snapped at you." He looked up into the weary smile on Jim's face. "This is great."

"No problem, man." He reached an arm around to pat Jim on the back, to reassure him that he didn't take it personally, then turned to check the cornbread again. "This is gonna take about 10 or 15 minutes. Why don't you grab a quick shower while you're waiting. When I have a cold or flu, I always feel achy all over, and a hot shower always hits the spot."

Jim headed for the stairs to his room. "Sounds like a plan, mother Sandburg."

Blair grinned and called out after his retreating roommate. "Very funny, Jim. Just think of it as a preemptive strike. I don't have time to catch a cold from you right now."

---------------

Jim found one of his favorite old movies on the TV, then set the remote down next to him on the sofa, pulling his bathrobe comfortably around him. He had to admit that he really did feel much better, much more relaxed and comfortable, after a shower and a good meal. The cold didn't seem nearly as bad.

The sounds of the cowboys and Indians on the screen were occasionally drowned out by the clatter of dishes in the kitchen, as Blair seemed to be genetically unable to do dishes quietly. He didn't mind, though. The noise wasn't irritating, but rather a familiar backdrop to a quiet evening at home. Blair had insisted on doing everything himself, so that he could relax and rest. He decided right there and then that, once he was feeling better, he would do something nice for his roommate to make up for being such a grouch. Jim suddenly remembered a message that he needed to deliver.

"Oh, Chief? The garage left a message at the station about the Volvo. They should have it done day after tomorrow, they'll call when it's ready to be picked up."

The sounds in the kitchen stopped suddenly.

"Did they say how much it was gonna cost? I only got a preliminary estimate the other day."

Jim knew how tight Blair's budget was, and that all of the repairs wouldn't be covered by his insurance. He decided that a little obfuscation was in order.

"Uh, I don't remember. I'm sure I wrote it down somewhere. It didn't sound too bad, though." He made a mental reminder to get together with the other officers in Major Crimes and see if they couldn't come up with a little donation action on behalf of his partner. The unpaid contributions that Blair made to the Major Crimes Unit, not just to him, went far beyond just observing.

"OK, well, don't forget to give it to me tomorrow, man. I'll have to work on my budget." The washing sounds picked up again in the other room.

Jim contemplated again the events of the night that the Volvo got damaged. Blair had been in the wrong place at the wrong time when his car's engine died, making him the easy target of a gang of carjackers. He remembered how his heart had started racing when he heard the call go out from the 911 dispatcher, carjacking in progress and shots fired, involving one Blair Sandburg. His truck had nearly gone airborne a couple of times on the hilly streets on the way to the scene, and fortunately several squad cars had been right on his heels. The sight of the familiar Volvo crashed into the plywood barrier had stunned him, and taking the carjackers into custody had been a blur.

Once the perpetrators were taken into custody, his senses had gone into overdrive as he raced into the building to locate Blair. The fear that he had initially felt at hearing multiple heartbeats in the abandoned building, followed by the feeling of relief that he had experienced when he discovered his partner shaken up but very much alive, had made him weak in the knees.

He had found Blair, bruised and somewhat in shock from the attempted carjacking and his crash, kneeling over a bleeding, dying man in the hallway. He was frantically attempting to stop the blood loss from the man's heavily bleeding stab wound, while pleading desperately for him to hang on until help came.

He would never forget the look on Blair's pale face when he lifted him gently away from the body to allow the paramedics to do their work, nor the bright blood on his hands that was thankfully not his own. Blair had been unable to take his eyes off the victim, stumbling back into the wall where Jim had steadied him for a moment with a hand on his chest, the pounding of the heart there both concerning and reassuring at the same time. He had handed Blair his handkerchief, so he could wipe the blood from his hands, then just dropped it onto the pile of waste materials that the paramedics were generating, sure that the smell of blood would never come out completely. He had carefully steered Blair from the building and out into the fresh air, something that both of them had needed.

They had watched the paramedics work on the victim once he had been transported from the building and into the ambulance. Blair was feeling guilty for not being able to stop the bleeding, even though there had been practically no chance of survival for the victim of such a serious knife wound. Jim had tried to reassure him that there was nothing he could have done, but he knew that his words had barely been heard.

His own thoughts had involuntarily strayed back to another time when he had watched paramedics working on an apparently hopeless case. He shivered even now at the reminder of that day, the day that his partner had been drowned, only to be miraculously revived to return to the land of the living and to his side. Those painful memories, along with his experience of seeing a ghost in the abandoned building, had infused the evening with an air of unreality. Thankfully the arrival of Captain Simon Banks at the scene interrupted the musings of both men.

That night, despite Blair's protestations to the contrary, he knew that his partner had gotten little rest. He had tossed, turned, and paced throughout the night. Jim was sure that the physical and emotional shock from the attempted carjacking and his crash, along with his undeserved guilt over not being able to save the dying man, had weighed heavily upon him. Jim had been awake to hear it all, unable to sleep himself thinking about what he saw in the apartment building and concerned about his partner. Several times he had considered going downstairs to see if Blair wanted to talk, to offer his support, but he had stopped himself, knowing that Blair would want to handle it on his own.

The sounds in the kitchen had died down, and Jim watched Blair walk in and wordlessly place a cup of hot chocolate in front of him before joining him at the other end of the sofa. As Blair checked out the movie and sipped at a cup of tea, the long sleeves of his flannel shirt rolled up as usual, Jim could still see the bruising on his forearms from hitting the steering wheel in his crash. He had bruised his chest and had numerous sore muscles as well, since the old Volvo didn't have airbags, but had escaped serious injury. He again thanked whatever guardian spirits watched over his friend for his safety.

"Thanks. How are your aches and pains from the crash, Chief? Still pretty sore?"

Blair quickly pushed his sleeves down past the bruises. "They're fine, really, Jim. They feel much better. I hardly even notice them now."

"Good. Listen, I think I will take your advice and take some more aspirin. I do feel like I may have a little temperature. How about getting some for both of us?" He really didn't think he needed any more, but it was probably the only way he would get Blair to take some, too. He was sure that Blair had more aches and pains than he would admit, and he wanted him to get a good night's sleep for a change. He watched Blair get up and head toward the bathroom and the medicine cabinet for the medication.

---------------

Blair dutifully carried four aspirin back into the loving room, two for himself and two for Jim. He hated to admit it, but he really was still a bit sore. Although he was sure that he really didn't need the medication himself, he decided that he would take it if it encouraged Jim to take some. He really wanted to help him feel better and keep him in a good mood so they could have a nice long talk.

He handed him the aspirin, then took his own right there where Jim could see him do it. Jim took his, too, washing it down with about half of his cup of chocolate. Blair returned to his spot at the other end of the sofa, and decided that it was as good a time as any to forge ahead.

"Hey, Jim, I'm sorry I wasn’t there this afternoon to help you wrap up the paperwork on the Bromley case."

"It's all right, Chief. The DA decided not to press charges anyway, considering Bromley's condition. He would never go to trial, there's no way that they could establish his competency to stand trial with his Alzheimer's Disease. So all we needed to do was finish and file what we had. Where were you, anyway? I thought you didn't have any classes this afternoon."

"No, I didn't have a class. Actually, I, uh, went to visit Dunlop this afternoon." He peered over out of the corner of his eye to catch Jim's reaction. Blair had decided not to tell Jim that he was visiting Dunlop, since Jim had seemed quite reluctant to do so when Blair had first brought it up and had quickly changed the subject.

It had puzzled him, since he had seen his partner treat the schizophrenic man with compassion during the Bromley case, why he would be reluctant to see him again. Blair had decided not to push it, after mentioning to Jim that heightened senses were a symptom of mental disorder a few days ago. Jim had laughed it off with a comment about being crazy to put up with him, but Blair wondered now if the comment had hit too close to home, too close to Jim's fears. He remembered vividly how fearful Jim had been when they had first met, behind his tough-as-nails cop exterior, afraid that his heightened sensory experiences meant that he was losing his mind. Perhaps dealing with Dunlop and seeing Molly had reawakened those fears and hit too close to home for the sentinel.

"You went to visit Dunlop?"

"Yeah. He was discharged from the hospital to a halfway house, I saw him there. It's real nice, he had his own room and everything, way better than dividing his time between the streets and the homeless shelter. They said that his shoulder is healing nicely, they don't expect any permanent damage."

"That's good news. But, I'm curious, Chief. Why visit Dunlop, and why didn't you tell me you were going?" Jim turned down the sound on the TV, then turned to face Blair, a quizzical expression on his face.

Blair considered his response very carefully. He really wanted to explore this issue with Jim, and he didn't want him to clam up now.

"Well, you remember, I talked to you about seeing him, and you said something about being too busy, so I thought I wouldn't bother you with it."

"OK, but why did you want to visit him?"

"I guess I just wanted to follow up with him. You know this was the first time you've shown any evidence of this particular ability, an ability to see and communicate with a ghost or spirit. Well, at least one that you weren't connected to as a sentinel, like Incacha or your animal spirit. And if he could do the same thing, I just wanted to see if it would be possible to study his ability along with yours, to study this phenomenon. I wanted to see if his experience was similar to yours, and if his mental illness had anything to do with it. Or if it really was just a hallucination on his part, like Simon suggested."

He saw Jim stiffen slightly and look away when he mentioned Dunlop's mental illness. Yes, there was definitely more to this than Jim just wanting to put a case out of his mind once it was wrapped up. He was going to have to tread carefully here.

"So, what did you find out? Is he still seeing Molly's ghost? Does he see ghosts all the time?" The guarded tone in Jim's voice didn't quite hide his concern, and Blair remembered Jim's comments in the bullpen about not wanting to see a ghost every time he worked on a homicide. He could understand how disruptive that could be to a detective, even as the scientist in him was fascinated by the possibilities.

"No, he hasn't seen Molly's ghost since the other day in her apartment. As a matter of fact, he barely remembered the whole incident." He tried not to let too much of his disappointment show in his voice.

"He barely remembered? As obsessed as he was with her?"

"Yeah, well, while he was in the hospital they considered his seeing Molly to be part of his schizophrenia, you know, hallucinations. Seeing things that aren't real. They convinced him to try a newer medication that he hadn't been on before, and apparently he's still on it. Everybody at the halfway house thinks it is working great, but now he barely remembers what happened. His memory of Molly seems to be a vague memory of a friend that he once knew but had moved away.

When I tried to talk with him about it, or ask if he had similar experiences before, the halfway house staff interrupted and asked me not to talk with him about his hallucinations and delusions as if they were real. They wanted to keep him focused on reality, the here and now, they said. They wouldn't talk to me about his past, if he had ever seen a ghost or spirit before, because of confidentiality issues. I mean, it was great to see that he was doing better, but it was pretty disappointing, too."

"So the experts are sure that it was all a product of his mental illness?"

Jim had finally voiced his fears. Could his own visions of Molly be symptoms of his own insanity?

"Yes, but that doesn't mean that they were right. He could have a psychic ability completely separate from his mental illness that they just want to ignore. You don't believe that you were hallucinating, do you?"

"Chief, I don't know what to believe."

"After everything that happened, after being able to solve the case from what she showed you? You weren't hallucinating, Jim. I just can't believe that, from what we discovered as a result of your contact with her. I can't say I understand it entirely, but I absolutely believe that you were really seeing and hearing her."

"That's just great." Jim leaned forward, running his hand through his hair, then resting his forearms on his knees. "I mean, don't get me wrong, Chief, I'm glad you're so sure I'm not crazy. But now what? Am I gonna start seeing ghosts everywhere I go, every time I work on a homicide case? If I'm not already crazy, I think that would do it, man."

"I don't know, Jim. I've thought a lot about it this week, though. You want to hear my theory?"

"Sure. Just tell me that it's not gonna keep happening."

Jim looked at him from the other end of the sofa. Despite his obvious effort to keep a casual expression, Blair knew him well enough to see the fear and anxiety behind it. Coping with his enhanced senses was sometimes all or more than he could handle, even with Blair's help, so he could understand his discomfort with the idea of still another unusual, "abnormal" ability.

"OK, here goes. Now this is a simplistic explanation, but some people believe that most or all of us have a "sixth sense" that we don't use, that scientists refer to as extrasensory perception or ESP. That it is built into our brains but it just lies dormant, because we don't believe in it and don't use it. They think that some people are able to develop and use that sixth sense, people who have been able to predict events in the future, help find missing people, people like real psychics. Like Charlie Spring."

Jim groaned at the mention of Naomi's short, obnoxious friend, but he couldn't deny that it was because of Charlie's "gift" that a kidnapped girl had been located and returned to her parents unharmed.

Even after all they went through and all that Jim had seen during the case with Charlie, Blair knew that Jim was still skeptical when it came to psychic abilities. "Come on, Jim, hear me out, all right?"

"Ok, Ok, go on." Jim flopped back against the sofa, his arms crossed over his chest. Blair hurried on.

"Well, it would make sense that, since you have the genetic advantage as a sentinel that allows you to have enhanced senses, that you might have an enhanced sixth sense as well."

"If that's true, why hasn't this happened before? Why this time, this case?"

"I think Simon was partially right, that it did have to do with the nictobye root medicine I gave you for your cold…"

"Your peyote substitute?"

Blair ignored the jibe and continued.

"You know how sensitive you are to some medications, some chemicals. It could be that the substances in the root medicine, that might create visions or hallucinations in much larger doses, in that small dose acted instead to stimulate the part of your brain that controls your sixth sense. And because you are so sensitive, the effects lasted for several days until it completely got out of your system."

Jim sat quietly for a moment, apparently mulling over his explanation.

"So you think that it was a one-time thing, a chemical reaction combined with my sentinel abilities, and nothing more?"

"I don't know, Jim, but it makes some sense, doesn't it? And you know, we could test that theory…."

"Oh, no, you don't, Chief." Jim stood up quickly from the sofa and walked over toward the balcony windows, then turned and glared back at him. "I'm not taking any more of that stuff. Look, I'm glad that we solved Molly's murder, I really am. I'm glad that we helped her find peace, or whatever happened with her ghost. But if you think that I want to sign up for Psychics-Are-Us, you're as crazy as Dunlop." He walked quickly into the kitchen, and Blair could hear him muttering to himself as he grabbed another beer out of the refrigerator and slammed the door closed.

He was surprised by the vehemence of Jim's reaction, and his enthusiasm was quickly squelched. He had hoped that Jim might see the opportunity to further develop and control his sentinel abilities, even if that might include a previously unknown sixth sense, as a good thing. Obviously he had been wrong. He watched silently as Jim returned to the living room and stood staring out of the balcony windows, his rigid back to Blair, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"OK, man, I'm sorry. I won't bring it up again," he said in a quiet voice. He got up and went into the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove, then retreated into his bedroom. He dug around in the piles on his desk for the reading list for his seminar, deciding that he wasn't going to get anywhere with Jim so he might as well get on with some of the reading that he was sorely behind on. He hated to lose the opportunity to study the possibility of a sentinel sixth sense, but it was obvious that, for some reason, Jim just couldn't deal with it.

Hearing the hiss of the kettle in the kitchen, he quickly ran to get it off the burner before it began to whistle. He saw out of the corner of his eye that Jim was standing by the windows, staring out. In his haste to get in and out of the kitchen quickly, he forgot momentarily that he had removed his shoes. He was unable to stop his forward momentum in his stocking feet and ended up sliding his right foot hard into the base of the cabinets.

"Damn," he groaned, and reached down and grabbed his foot. He threw his head back and pressed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth tightly against the pain, trying to force slow and deep breaths to calm himself. The intense electric pain of the collision slowly began to fade as he squeezed his toes tightly with his hand, continuing to swear under his breath. After a few moments he tried moving his toes, the effort reawakening some of the pain but reassuring him that no bones were broken.

Slowly lowering his foot to the floor, he gingerly let it touch down and tested it with only some of his weight, cursing himself for his clumsiness. It was painful, but no longer a stabbing pain, so he decided that he would live. He was really having a memorable night. He carefully made himself another cup of tea, then hobbled slowly towards his room. Glancing across the room, he could see that Jim had not moved, despite all of the noise that he had made, apparently totally preoccupied with his thoughts. He managed to reach his room and pulled the doors closed.

Finding the appropriate text, and digging out his glasses, he settled carefully on his bed against the headboard and began to read. Almost immediately the throbbing of his foot kept him from concentrating. Setting down the book, he reached down and pulled off his sock, hoping that the coolness of the air would feel good. He grimaced as he looked at his toes, already red and purpling, then looked for something to prop his foot up with. His backpack was just within reach on the floor, so he swung it up and gently positioned his aching foot on top. He picked up his book and tried hard to focus on his reading, not the throbbing sensation in his foot that echoed his heartbeat.

Some time later, his tenuous concentration was interrupted by a soft knocking sound.

"Chief?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

"Uh, sure, Jim." The door swung open and his roommate walked in, stopping by the foot of his bed. "What's up?"

Jim hesitated a moment, then started to move to sit on the end of the bed. That was when he noticed Blair's injured foot. He pulled up short, staring at the swelling and coloring toes, then glancing at Blair in disbelief.

"What happened here?" Without waiting for an answer, he sat carefully on the side of the bed and reached for Blair's foot. He grasped it gently, supporting it carefully with his other hand underneath, and pulled it over to rest on his lap. He looked quickly at his roommate when he heard his sharp intake of breath.

"I just stubbed my toes a few minutes ago. It's no big deal, I can move them so I'm sure they're not broken." Blair tried for a nonchalant expression, but his efforts went to waste as soon as Jim began examining his injury with a gentle touch. His entire body went tight and he could feel sweat breaking out on his face as Jim carefully ran his sensitive fingers over and around each toe, slowly flexing them, then the ball and the arch of his foot. Blair knew that his friend was being as gentle as was humanly possible, but he also decided that there had to be more nerve endings in the foot and toes than anywhere else in the body for it to hurt so much.

Jim continued his examination slowly up his foot, then flexed and moved his ankle as well. Blair jerked and let out an involuntary yelp at the pain that shot through his ankle. He hadn't even noticed that he had twisted his ankle as well, that pain had apparently been drowned out by the throbbing in his toes. Jim finished his examination and lowered the foot carefully back onto his lap, reaching up to massage Blair's calf to try and interfere with the pain messages passing through there on the way to his brain. He looked down into his face with concern.

"Well, I'd guess that you're right, I didn't feel any broken bones, but you've got a lot of swelling going on here. And your ankle might be sprained as well, it's puffing up a bit on the outside, too. It all looks pretty painful, Chief. I'm gonna go get an ice pack, I'll be right back." He gently replaced the foot on top of the backpack and left the room, and Blair could hear him rummaging in the freezer.

Reaching down and pulling up the leg of his jeans, he could see now that his ankle was swelling, too. Just great. He sagged back against the headboard and wondered just how clumsy one human being could be. All he had wanted to do for the rest of the evening was stay out of Jim's way so he could chill out after their conversation, and here Jim was taking care of him. Talk about your best-laid plans. He closed his eyes and let an arm drop over to cover his face.

He opened his eyes and dropped his arm when he heard rustling sounds entering his room. Jim had quite a bit more than just an icepack with him. Dropping his load onto the floor, he again sat carefully on the side of the bed. He reached down and grabbed the sofa pillows he had brought, then used them to replace the backpack to prop up Blair's foot and lower leg. Next he picked out an elastic wrap and proceeded to gently but firmly wrap his foot and ankle, looking up sympathetically when Blair could not control a few gasps that escaped.

"Sorry, Chief, I'll be done in a minute. It'll feel a lot better when I'm done, I promise."

Next came two icepacks, one for his ankle and one for his toes. Jim carefully arranged the bandaged foot and pillows so that the icepacks could rest against the injured areas without putting too much pressure on them. Finally, looking over his work, he reached for a bottle of acetominophen and shook a couple out onto his palm. He picked up Blair's ever-present cup of tea from the bedside table and sat closer to the head of the bed, by Blair's side.

"Take these." Jim reached out the pills and the tea.

"I took some aspirin earlier, remember?"

"Taking this won't hurt. Come on, you're in a lot of pain, this calls for more than just another cup of tea."

Blair considered refusing, but reconsidered when he looked into Jim's face. Yes, he was in full crisis/medic mode, and would be unstoppable until he decided that the situation had been handled appropriately. Blair always admired Jim's ability to deal quickly and efficiently with any situation on the job, but found it somewhat disconcerting to have it focused on him. He decided that he didn't have the energy to argue about it, and anyway Jim sure had a point about his foot being painful. He took the cup and downed the pills.

Jim took the cup and set it on the nightstand. "How's that feel, Chief?"

"Much better, Jim, thanks."

Jim surveyed his work once again, then glanced down into Blair's face. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Look, Chief, I…uh…I came in to apologize for jumping down your throat earlier. Sorry about that." He looked down and picked at an invisible thread on his bathrobe.

"That's all right, Jim. I know I get carried away sometimes, always wanting to study and explore everything that comes up…"

Jim shook his head balefully as he interrupted.

"No, it's not your fault, Chief. It's just that this case, with Dunlop, and ghosts, and visions from the past…well, you could say it's brought up some bad memories. I shouldn't be taking it out on you."

"You want to tell me about it?"

He could see that it was difficult for Jim to get started, but once he did he didn't seem to want to stop.

"When I was a kid, you know I didn't understand this whole sentinel thing, that my dad wanted me to just be normal, not some kind of freak?"

Blair nodded. He remembered the revelations that had occurred as a result of their working on a murder case, that turned out to have been related to a murder victim that Jim had found as a child. Meeting Jim's father, and hearing something about his childhood, had told him a lot about his partner. It had turned out that Jim's father had known that there was something different about his son, even then, but instead of encouraging him to develop his abilities, he had pressed his son to hide and deny them in order to not be seen as "different." Blair had often wondered how Jim's life would have been different if he had been encouraged to use and develop his abilities at an early age.

Jim continued hesitantly.

"There was this incident when I was a kid, I don't even remember how old I was. I don't know, I must have forgotten it until this Bromley case came along and Dunlop was involved.

It happened at school. We were all outside, playing at recess, when this guy wandered by the playground. It was this guy that everyone called Crazy Bobby, a homeless mentally ill man that wandered around town. People always told scary stories about him, but I never saw him do anything to hurt anybody, so we just kinda ignored him. He was walking along the playground fence, talking to himself, gesturing at the air, that kind of thing.

All of a sudden I saw him run onto the playground, right toward this group of girls that were jumping rope. He seemed really upset, started waving his arms and shouting. It really scared everybody. One of the teachers ran into the building to call the police, and the other teacher that was on the playground ran over to try to protect the kids.

Even from the other side of the playground, I could hear what he was saying. He wasn't trying to hurt anyone, he was trying to protect them from the devils that he heard. He went on and on about these devils that he heard talking about wanting to hurt little girls, that nobody else could hear, and he was just trying to get all of the girls into the school to protect them.

A few minutes later the police showed up. The teachers were hysterical, they were so scared, and they told the police that he had tried to kidnap or molest the girls. I tried to tell the officers what I had heard, that he was just trying to protect them. But of course they didn't believe me, I was just an upset kid to them. They ended up using their nightsticks on him, he got beat up pretty good before they got him cuffed and hauled him away.

I got a lot of strange looks from the teachers and the other kids who heard me say that I had heard him from the other side of the playground. Some of them made comments about me 'hearing things, too, just like the crazy man.' I shut up about it, of course. The teachers and the police told all the kids that he was going to be locked up for a long, long time, that he would never be able to come back and hurt any of us."

He paused for a moment, shaking his head in sad reflection, his eyes unfocused and staring through the floor.

"That must have been really scary, Jim. You were just a kid. You didn't have any way of understanding that you could hear him because of your heightened senses, not because you were hearing voices in your head." Blair could hear and feel the pain in Jim's voice as he related his experiences.

"You have no idea, Chief. I felt like a freak. I could tell that the teachers watched me for a while after that, to see if I showed any other odd behaviors. I'm pretty sure that they talked with Dad about it, too, even though he never said anything to me about it. I sure wasn't going to bring it up to him."

"What happened to the man?"

"I guess he was in the mental hospital for a long time. I never saw him around town again. A few years later, I heard that he did come back to town once. They said that a police officer spotted him walking down the street and recognized him. He took him into custody, even though he wasn't doing anything, and had him shipped him off to the mental hospital again. He never came back after that."

Blair was incredulous. "You mean they arrested and hospitalized him just for walking down the street? That's not legal, is it?"

"No, now it's not. There have been laws passed since then to protect the rights of mentally ill people, so they can't be locked up just because they are ill. They have to be dangerous to themselves or others to be committed against their will. But things were different then."

"Unbelievable, man." Blair pondered this new information about Jim's childhood. It explained a lot. No wonder he feared that he might be thought of as mentally ill because of his unusual abilities, and feared the possible consequences. He looked over at his friend. Jim was nervously picking at his robe, then looked over at him with an unmistakable sadness in his eyes. "You've never told anyone about this before?"

"I never had anyone I could tell it to, until now. Hell, I didn't even remember it all until this Bromley case, and Dunlop, brought it all back." He dropped his eyes back down to study his robe again.

Blair felt a surge of compassion for his partner. He tried to imagine how difficult it must have been for Jim, how lonely and frightening, to have special abilities that the other kids didn't have, and no way to understand them. To have been afraid that it meant that he was crazy, and seeing what happened to people who were crazy. And to have no one to discuss it with, not even an understanding parent. He knew that there was no way that he could fully appreciate how hard it must have been for him, and how glad he was that Jim trusted him enough to tell him now.

"I'm glad you told me, man." He reached up and grasped Jim's arm, squeezing gently. When he looked down and their eyes met, he could see how difficult it had been for Jim to let down his usually impenetrable barriers and tell one of his innermost secrets. He smiled warmly, and could see and feel a bit of the tension drain from Jim's shoulders immediately. "I'm sorry you've had to keep that all bottled up inside for all these years."

"Well, I figured that you deserved to hear it, after the way I reacted. It wasn't anything personal, you know?"

"I know, Jim, I never thought it was." He reached up to grasp his friend's shoulder firmly, then let his arm drop back onto the bed. He could tell that the reassurance had been needed and accepted by his friend, even if Jim didn't know it himself.

Jim studied his robe a minute more, a relieved look on his face, then stood up with a gentle pat to Blair's chest. He looked down with a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, what do you say, Chief, I think it would be a good night for a movie and some popcorn. Join me?"

Blair realized that was the end of any deep discussion for the evening. It took him all of a split second to decide that he needed a relaxing few hours with his roommate far more than he needed to catch up on his reading. They both did.

"Maybe." He arranged a false frown on his face. "Who's fixing the popcorn?"

"Well, I guess that would be me. We can't have you gimping around the kitchen, you'd probably hurt the other foot."

Blair tried for one of his best innocent and hurt looks, but by the gleam in his partner's eye, he knew that he had been seen through immediately. He gave it up and laughed ruefully.

"You're probably right, man. OK, give me a hand here getting out to the sofa."

He swung his legs around off the bed and took the offered hand to help pull him to his feet. Jim reached an arm around his back and grasped him firmly around the ribs, and Blair stretched an arm across his friend's shoulders and held on equally as firmly. The two of them slowly made their way out of the bedroom, moving cautiously to minimize the chance of any more trauma to Blair's foot. Finally reaching the sofa, Jim let him down gently, and Blair could swear that there was an extra squeeze, a half-hug there, before they broke contact. He had certainly given it his own best shot.

As Jim arranged pillows and icepacks, making him as comfortable as possible with his leg propped up on the coffee table, Blair smiled and let himself be pampered. For all that he was a man of few words, Jim was a man of action, and someone knew what they had been talking about when they had said that a picture was worth a thousand words. His fussing and concern over Blair painted the true picture of his feelings and of their friendship.

Blair felt sorry for the lonely and scared little boy that Jim had been, that still lived within him, and hoped that bringing those memories to light would banish some of the fears and insecurities of the adult Jim. He knew that he would do anything he could to help. Jim finally finished, pulling an unnecessary afghan over his legs and lap, and stood back with a smile.

"So, Jim, where's my popcorn?"

THE END

*Author's Note: Unfortunately, the incidents regarding the mentally ill man in Jim's past are based on true incidents involving persons with mental disorders.