TITLE: Identity Crisis

AUTHOR: Victoria May

EMAIL: voria27@home.com

RATING: PG-13

WARNINGS: Swearing

SUMMARY: Blair encounters trouble at the station, resulting in an identity crisis.

ARCHIVE: Please do--just let me know where. =)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my FIRST Sentinel story. I hope you enjoy it. I apologize if I used anyone's fanon cliches—if I did, it was only because I thought they were canon. No offense intended regarding mention of Zimbabwe. Juwambe is purely fictional.

DISCLAIMER: The Sentinel is owned by Petfly Productions and probably some other people—none of them being me. No copyright infringement intended and no profit involved.

Identity Crisis
By: Victoria May

"Blair, thank you so much for helping me out man. This case is way beyond my area of expertise," the former bomb squad captain grunted as he heaved a large cardboard box onto the operations room table.

"Hey, no problem Joel. I'm always glad to help. Who would have thought that spending a summer studying the native tribes of Zimbabwe would come in handy ten years later?" a muffled voice replied as Blair leaned over the box to peer in at the contents.

"Since moving into major crimes, nothing surprises me anymore Blair. I don't know what I would have done if you'd gone to that conference with Jim though. Who else would I have gotten to look at this stuff and tell me what it all means?" Joel reached into the box and pulled out a large wooden mask. "Case in point-any guess at why a kidnapper would walk around with this ugly mug strapped to his head?"

Blair's eyes grew wide as Joel held the mask in front of his own face, bobbing up and down a few times, and throwing his arm out in a jerky imitation of a tribal dance.

"Juwambe!"

"Ah, say again? Juwhat?" Joel asked, puzzled, as he lowered the mask.

"Juwambe. An ancient god of fertility. This is bad man. Don't you realize what this means?" Blair asked as he began to pull items out of the box.

"No, why don't you throw me a clue?" Joel asked the excited observer.

"This goon was going to rape that girl Joel!"

"Whoa. Let's not jump to conclusions here. Where are you getting this from?"

"In certain tribal cultures, masks, like this one," Blair replied, gesturing towards the mask Joel still clutched in his hands, "were worn during sacred fertility rituals. The wearer of the mask was often a young husband-a newly wed, to ask for Juwambe's blessings."

"Blessings?"

"Yeah. Stamina, virility, potency . . ." Blair trailed off as he caught sight of Joel's face. "Okay, I know. Too much information. What I'm saying, is that this guy was going to impregnate the girl."

"Why would he do that?" Joel asked, sighing.

"Hey man, that's your area of expertise. Mine is just to tell you what all this stuff is-remember?" Blair teased, as he grinned at the older man.

"Let's get busy then Chief," Joel replied, his voice several octaves lower than normal.

Blair laughed. "Oh, that was good. You got Jim down pat."

"Speaking of Jim. You hear from him yet?" Joel asked.

"Yeah, he called last night. Bored out of his mind. Poor man. I don't know how he's surviving down there in sunny LA. If it weren't the middle of the semester, I'd be down there with him."

"Well, it's a good thing it is the middle of the semester then, or I'd be stuck trying to figure this out by myself."

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to get pampered having all that free time away from the station while Jim's gone," Blair added sarcastically.

"Ah, you know you love it here," Joel grinned.

Blair shrugged. "Usually," he mumbled as he pulled his backpack onto his lap and proceeded to dig out two large texts.

"Someone giving you a hard time Blair?" Joel asked gently, as he scrutinized the younger man.

Blair shrugged again. "Nah man. It's just-sometimes I catch some of the other cops staring at me. But when I look at them, they turn away real quick. I feel like I'm going nuts sometimes-wondering if they really were staring at me, or if I'm just imagining things."

Joel leaned closer to Blair and put his hand on Blair's shoulder. "They may stare, but that doesn't mean anything. Maybe they just want to get a look at the boy wonder. You and Jim do some pretty good work and everyone here knows it. You should be flattered-think of it as a compliment."

"If you saw the look on some of their faces, flattery wouldn't exactly be the word to describe it." Blair shook his head, as if clearing out the dark thoughts. "Never mind man. It's no big deal. I'm sure it doesn't mean anything. Let's get to work; we have a lot to go through here." Blair punctuated his statement by pulling out more artifacts from the crime scene.

"Okay Blair. Just remember-anyone gives you a hard time, you let me know. It won't happen again." Joel's eyes were hard and serious as he looked intently at the observer.

"Sure Joel," Blair replied absently, his mind busily piecing together the puzzle on the table in front of him.

The two men lapsed into silence, all worries forgotten as they began to work in earnest.

*****

Blair glanced up at the clock on the wall and raised his arms over his head, stretching out his sore body. "I can't believe it's this late already. I'm sorry Joel, but I've got to get going. I have papers to grade and an early class tomorrow."

Joel sighed and slowly pushed his chair away from the table. "That's okay Sandburg. But you will be back tomorrow to help, won't you? I really need you on this."

Blair looked at the larger man and smiled. "No problem man. I'll be here by eleven. You can count on me."

"I know I can. Thanks Sandburg. I really appreciate this." Joel said, smiling at the grad student.

"Yeah, but don't think I'm doing this for nothing. You owe me one man," Blair replied grinning.

"Go on, get out of here," Joel said laughing.

"Later Joel," Blair said, as he heaved his bag onto his shoulder and left the room.

Blair sighed and rolled his shoulders to relieve the tension that had crept into his muscles. He was tired; his body ached and his brain felt like someone had stuffed cotton inside and he still had a pile of papers to read. Fumbling to adjust his pack that had slipped off his shoulder, he pulled open the door to major crimes and stopped. There, by the elevator, stood a cluster of uniformed officers.

Blair felt his remaining energy drain away as he looked over at the boys in blue. It wasn't his imagination-two of the cops were definitely staring at him. His body cried out for him to ignore the looks and march over, get into the nice, fast elevator and ride down to the first floor-to the exit, his Volvo, and onwards to the loft. His exhausted brain on the other hand, fed him images of a confrontation he was too tired to engage in. He shuddered as the thought of being stuck in the tiny elevator with two angry cops with a grudge. Before he realized it, Blair was at the stairwell, pushing open the heavy door.

Shuffling his way through the doorway, Blair paused at the top of the stairs. Well, at least he was going down. Shifting his pack once again, he slowly lowered one cramped leg down and swung the other past. Soon he had a slow rhythm going and he found himself at the bottom of the first flight of stairs. Only six more to go. He was so entranced in his plight that he never heard the resounding echo of a door slamming shut. He didn't notice the muffled footsteps pounding on the stairs above him. He didn't see the three blurs creep along behind him. He didn't notice that he wasn't alone until he found himself pressed flat against the cold, stone wall-his wrists painfully cuffed together behind him.

Hot breath warmed his cheek as one of his assailants leaned close. "Where are you going Sandburg? We wanted to talk to you. We waited for you in the hall-I know you saw us. You trying to hide from us? Got something against us? Too good for us?" Blair flinched as the other man yanked on his arms, as if to emphasize this last question.

"N-no," Blair stuttered. "L-look guys. I don't have a problem with you. So why don't you let me go and we'll just forget that this happened. Chalk it up to miscommunication."

"No. You listen you hippie punk. You may not have a problem with us, but we sure do have a problem with you."

Blair flinched again as strong arms pulled him away from the wall and held him tightly. He could finally see who his assailants were. There were three uniformed cops. He didn't know them, but he recognized two of them. The third was behind him, out of sight, holding him in a tight grip.

Taking a deep breath, Blair willed his heart to slow. He was sure it was loud enough to reveal the terror that was washing over him.

"Hey man. Whatever the problem is, I'm sure we can find a resolution." Blair forced a grin to his face. "Really, I'm a nice guy. Just ask around in major crimes."

"Shut up faggot!" A fist to his exposed stomach punctuated the command and Blair doubled over in pain. Rough hands pulled him up sending ripples of agony through his tender abdomen.

A callused hand grabbed a fistful of hair. "You're an embarrassment to this department freak. Your long hair, girly earrings, rumpled clothes. You look like a bum off the streets. You can't hear the sniggers as you walk by? Are you deaf or something? Or maybe you just think it's the ladies flirting. I got news for you hippie. The stories those ladies tell, it ain't flattering. They say you smell bad. That you don't take showers. That true? Is that how you represent an honorable institution like the Cascade PD?

"Do you own a mirror? Cuz you really gotta start using it. The boys and me, we've been wondering how Ellison can stand to put up with you. We hear you're living with him. See, we don't have a problem with Detective Ellison. He's a good guy. He knows how to make the department look good. So what is he doing letting a stray like you hang around him? I just don't get it.

"But it's obvious to us that he isn't kicking you to the street just yet. So we decided that if you are going to be around here any longer, things have to change. First off, lose the earrings." The speaker gestured towards the second cop, who then stepped forward. The arms holding Blair tightened their grip and Blair began to struggle. Another quick blow to his midsection had Blair struggling for air. Blair could feel cold fingers pinching his ears as his earrings were yanked free.

"For someone who's supposed to be observing closed societies, you should have at least tried to respect the sanctity of who we are-what we represent." Noticing Blair's startled expression, he continued. "Oh yeah, I know exactly who you are and why you're here.

"When people see you, they don't see service and protection. They see a low life. The lowest of the low. You're the dirt scraped off the bottom of my shoe. That's going to change my friend. From this day forward, you're going to show the proper respect to the city's finest."

The cop, Carpenter-Blair's eyes finally found his name tag-reached behind his back and brought forward a pair of red handled scissors.

"If you're gonna pretend to be a cop, than you can at least look like a cop."

He reached out, grabbing another handful of Blair's curly brown hair. Bringing the scissors forward, he cut through the mane. Blair jerked back as he felt the pull of hairs being caught in the dull blades.

"Hold still or you're going to hurt yourself," Carpenter growled as he grabbed another section of hair. Blair stilled as a glimmer of light reflected off the shears as they passed in front of his face. He clenched his eyes tightly as they began to sting with bitter tears. It felt like eternity until the biting pull of the blades against his fine hair disappeared.

"You're looking more respectable already, faggot. We're gonna let you go now, but remember this. You finger us for anything; you'll live to regret it. We're not the only ones who feel this way. And we look out for each other-like we're looking out for you. You don't know it yet, but we're doing you a favor. After today, everyone will know that you're a team player. That you care about the reputation of this fine institution. Work on the wardrobe though-maybe take a lesson or two from Ellison, or better yet, Rafe. That boy knows how to dress."

Blair opened his eyes and looked down at the floor through bleary eyes. His head felt light-cold. Feeling naked and exposed, he quickly squeezed his eyes closed once more. The hands holding him let go and the cuffs fell away from his wrists. Blair staggered under his own weight, and he reached out to balance himself. His hand touched the cold wall, and he fell to his knees. A scuffed shoe impacted with his side.

"Don't forget-keep your mouth shut."

Blair could hear the door open and the hiss of the hinges as it slowly swung closed. He was alone. Sucking in shallow breaths, Blair waited for the pain in his side to diminish and slowly climbed to his feet. Reaching down, he grabbed his backpack and stumbled down the stairs.

(2)

' . . . several reports from your students that you did not show for your classes this morning. If you are ill, please call us and make arrangements to have your classes subbed. We will be expecting your call today Mister Sandburg and an explanation for your absence. We promise our students a quality education and we must stand behind that promise. We will not tolerate this level of irresponsibility . . ..'

The droning voice beckoned Blair from his sleep, and he sat up, rubbing his eyes. Why was he on the couch and not in his bed? And why did he feel like he had been run over by a speeding train? Blair faintly heard the voice rambling on the answering machine, but the pounding in his head blocked out most of the sound. He stretched his arms over his head and grimaced as his stomach muscles protested painfully. Tiredly, he raised his hand and ran his fingers through his hair and froze. Memories of the previous day filtered into his brain-the assault at the station, driving home, stumbling into the loft and crashing on the couch with his Scottish Moors CD blasting on the stereo.

The panic he had felt the night before flooded over him, and he could feel his chest tighten.

"No, no, no," he repeated as he began to rock slightly. "I can't deal with this, I can't. Can't deal with it . . . no, no, no." He chanted this mantra, only in place of peace and calm, he could feel himself grow more agitated. The shrill ring of the telephone and the whir of the answering machine picking up interrupted his chant.

'Blair, buddy, where are you? You promised me you'd come down to the station and help me out. I'm really counting on you Blair-I really need your help with this. Another girl was attacked. You were right-she was raped. We gotta get this slime ball off the street. I hope you're on your way here. Okay-well, it's eleven thirty now; maybe you're just running late. See you when you get here.'

Blair lay frozen on the couch as he listened to Joel leave his message. He'd promised to help Joel at the station. He couldn't go back there-not after yesterday. How could he ever go back?

"Shit, shit, shit! I don't want to go back there . . . don't want to go back there. Shit! Shit, shit, shit! What do I do? What do I do-what do I do? I'll have to go back for Jim. Jim needs me. I have to help Jim. Shit, shit, shit. I promised Joel I'd help him. He's counting on me. I can't let him down. I'm going to have to go back. Shit, shit, shit. Shit!"

Blair slammed his hand down on the arm of the couch and pushed himself up. He tore off his flannel shirt and peeled away the tee shirt underneath. Fumbling with the button on his jeans, he let them drop from his hips and kicked them the rest of the way off as he stumbled towards the bathroom. He grasped the knobs in the shower and turned; a spray of water soaking him before he could pull the plastic curtain closed. He pulled his boxers off and flung them into the living room. Finally naked, he stepped into the shower and let the hot water run over his tense body.

The water pounded onto his upturned face and down his neck and shoulders. He stood under the torrent until the water began to cool and his body quaked with shivers. He shampooed his shorn head quickly; the touch of the short locks too vivid a reminder of his humiliation.

Finally turning the knob and ceasing the flow of the icy water, Blair grabbed a towel and began to scrub at his wet flesh. He scrubbed vigorously, wincing only when the towel pressed against his bruised abdomen and side. When he finally flung the soaking towel to the floor, his skin was red and burning. The pain a refreshing change from the numbness of his denial.

Blair stepped out of the shower and grabbed his razor. He paused as he looked at the steamed mirror, then slowly wiped his hand through the condensation. He looked into the mirror and a stranger looked back. Overcome by a sudden surge of hot anger, Blair slammed his hand against the glass. Shards of glass exploded outwards and large cracks traveled across what was left of the mirror. Grabbing his shaving foam, Blair lathered his face and began to shave.

Running his hand over his chin, he decided the skin was smooth enough and turned away from the broken remains of the mirror. Blair walked into his bedroom and pulled open his bureau drawers one by one. He lifted shirt after shirt, sweater after sweater, tossing some to the floor and some onto the bed. Then he proceeded to do the same with his jeans and slacks. Having emptied the dresser, Blair turned to the pile on the bed and selected a pair of cream Dockers and a light brown sweater that he pulled on over a white tee shirt. After pulling a belt through the Dockers, he slipped his feet into his best pair of tie shoes.

Blair stood in the middle of his bedroom; his eyes fixated on a painting Naomi had sent him for his last birthday. He had tried to hang it in the living room, but Jim had complained of the swirl of colors that didn't seem to match anything and held no resemblance to anything he could identify. So Blair had hung it in his room instead, thinking how it reminded him of himself. Colorful and full of energy-not conforming to any set standards. Now, it just looked like a jumble of colors thrown haphazardly onto the canvas. No rhyme or reason-no purpose. Just a waste of space.

Blair reached up and pulled the painting off the wall. He held it in his hands for a moment, lost in the colors as they washed over him like waves. The colors became brighter-more intense. The yellows screaming out at him; the reds burning like fire. The blue clung to him and threatened to overwhelm him as the white blinded him.

Choking back a sob, Blair dropped one side of the canvas to the floor and stomped on it. The wooden frame splintered under the force and a large gash lay in the middle of the swirl of colors. Staggering out of his room, Blair's eye came to rest on the brightly colored afghan that lay across the back of the couch. His afghan. Was Jim embarrassed by it when the guys from the station came to the loft? Well, he didn't have to be anymore. Blair grabbed the blanket off the couch and found a small imperfection along the side. Grasping the weak seam, Blair tore at the blanket until it lay in tatters at his feet.

Looking around, Blair was astounded by the reminders of his shortcomings that lay throughout the loft. Grabbing his Native American dream stick out of the corner, he used his foot to break it into small pieces. The small, round statue of Buddha was flung against the wall where it shattered, raining small pieces of pottery onto the floor. One sweep of his arm and various masks and wall hangings joined them.

Feeling the tension fade from his muscles, Blair grabbed his backpack from the floor near the door where he had dropped it the night before, and left the loft. Pausing outside the door, Blair ran his hand over his head. He would stop at one of those cheap hair cut places on the way to the station-he couldn't go in with his hair this uneven. Carpenter was right-it was about time he tried to fit in. It would be the decent thing to do.

*****

Blair pulled open the doors to the station and strode forward to the elevator. He looked straight ahead, ignoring the looks that he was sure were directed his way. He exited the elevator on the seventh floor and briskly walked towards major crimes. With a trembling hand, he pulled open the glass door and entered. To Blair's surprise, no one rushed forward, no one made any exclamations, and no one asked about his hair. He stood still in the middle of bullpen as his presence earned him mere glances from the bustling detectives.

Spotting Joel at Henri's desk, Blair knew he couldn't hide behind his anonymity any longer.

Mustering his courage, he called out, "Hey Joel; sorry I'm so late. I got caught up in something at the university."

Joel's head turned in his direction and his eyes skirted over Blair and then beyond before growing wide and settling on Blair again.

"Oh my god! Blair? What have you done to yourself?" the shocked detective blurted out.

Blair's face flushed under the scrutiny as several more pairs of eyes turned his way.

"Just a little hair cut-no big deal," he said as he shrugged. He hoped his feigned nonchalance was coming across as intended and not as the body numbing embarrassment which curled his toes.

"Wow, Blair! Who knew you cleaned up this good?" Henri joked as he stepped forward. He reached out his hand. "Come'er and let me touch it."

Blair glared at the detective. "I'm not a good luck charm that you can just rub whenever you feel like it," he snapped.

"Whoa! Sorry Sandburg. Didn't mean to ruffle your feathers there-although I would love to ruffle that hair," Henri joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Hearing the to-do going on in the bullpen, Simon had opened the door to his office and was watching the proceedings. Noticing the observer's discomfort, he growled,

"Sandburg, my office-now!"

Relieved to be out of the spotlight, but knowing that Simon was probably going to chew him out for being late, Blair trudged into the captain's office.

"Hey Simon," he said as he stood uncomfortably in front of the older man.

"Have a seat Sandburg." Simon waited until Blair was seated before he offered the younger man a cup of coffee.

"You okay?" he asked.

Blair gripped the mug in his hands tightly and quickly took a drink. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"So what's with the hair?"

Blair shrugged. "Just thought it was time I got with the program."

Simon narrowed his eyes and studied Blair's face intently. "And what 'program' would that be?"

Blair shrugged again. "You know, hanging out here all the time. I don't exactly exude confidence to those around me. If I want to be taken seriously, I need to quit looking like the hoodlums we drag in off the street. I mean, who wants to walk into a police department and come face to face with some guy who looks just like the perp who assaulted them on the street? This department deserves better than to have me traipsing around here looking like a bushman."

Simon closed his eyes and gave his head a quick shake. "Sandburg, where is all of this coming from? As far as I'm concerned, no one feels that way. I haven't heard anyone complaining."

"No one's complaining Simon," Blair quickly added. "It's just, as an anthropologist, I've decided that if I am going to immerse myself in this sub-culture, I should do a better job of blending in. I mean, I wouldn't exactly go into the jungle in my Nikes and Levi's."

"Blair, this isn't the jungle, and you're not a cop. You don't have to look like a cop." Seeing the crestfallen look on Blair's face, he hastily added, "Not that I don't appreciate the gesture. You look good. I just hope you did it for the right reasons. Seriously though Blair. Should I be worried? I kind of always associated your brains with your hair. You're not going to turn into some kind of zombie now are you?"

Blair laughed at the attempt for humor, relieved that Simon wasn't going to make any more of a big deal out of his hair than he already had.

"Nothing to worry about there Simon," Blair said as he pulled his glasses out of his backpack and settled them on his nose. "The secret's all in the glasses."

Simon's voice stopped him as he began to pull open the door. "And Sandburg-that's Captain Banks to you."

"Sir, yes Sir!" Blair teased as he pulled the door open and stepped through.

Joel was waiting for him on the other side. "Ready to get to work?" he asked.

"Sure Joel." Blair walked along silently behind the bigger man. "Hey Joel? I really am sorry for keeping you waiting."

"Not a problem Blair, not a problem," Joel replied as he threw a concerned look back at Blair. "Let's just get to work."

(3)

Jim eased the pickup into a parking space and looked longingly up at the loft. Home. He was home. He could feel his large, soft bed beckoning to him. But wait—what was that? The shower was clamoring louder than the bed. That settled it; shower, than bed. And maybe a quick bite to eat somewhere in between. As he climbed out of the truck, Jim cast a quick look around the parking lot. No Volvo. No Sandburg. Jim ignored the tiny prick of disappointment and grabbed his bag. Not that he'd expected Blair to be there—Blair didn't even know he was coming home today. He was probably at the university getting caught up on schoolwork that, as usual, had taken a back seat to helping Jim.

Jim pushed his way into the building and gave silent thanks when the elevator was waiting, empty, on the first floor. Pushing the button to take him to the third floor and the loft, Jim leaned heavily against the wall of the small car and closed his eyes. He was exhausted. How could a simple police conference be so draining? Maybe if it hadn't been in LA with clear skies, tempting beaches, and one dazzling detective from San Diego named Tina. Ah, lovely Tina. It had been fun, seeing the sights and dining night after night with the tall and brainy detective. Until her husband showed up that is. Thankfully, due to the last speaker falling ill, the conference ended early and Jim made a speedy exit.

Still, the week felt empty, as if something were out of place. Jim hadn't zoned once, hadn't even come close. He hadn't needed Blair there, but he missed having him by his side. Missed his witty comebacks and running commentary. Blair would be sorry he wasn't there to tease Jim about his escapades. Only, Jim had a feeling that if Blair had gone with him, the tables would be turned and it would be he who was teasing Sandburg for some equally bizarre run in with the table leg.

The elevator ground to a stop and a small bell dinged as the doors slid open. Jim groped in his pocket for his keys and approached the door to the loft. He slid the key into the lock and turned the doorknob. He could feel his body relaxing already. As he walked into the loft, a yawn exploded and he squeezed his eyes shut. Blinking his eyes a few times to clear them, he shut and locked the door and took a step towards the stairs.

One foot hovering in the air, Jim paused. Something wasn't right. Lowering his bag to the floor, Jim looked around the loft and noticed its wrecked state for the first time. His senses automatically went on alert and he drew his gun from its holster. Something had happened here—something bad. Jim quickly scanned the room; seeing nothing, he cocked his head to the side and concentrated on listening for any signs of an intruder. All he heard was silence. Keeping his gun cocked in front of him, Jim cautiously walked the perimeter of the loft. Carefully stepping over the pottery shards and the fallen wall hangings, he turned and ran to Blair's bedroom. Empty. Empty that is, except for one large mess of clothes and a battered painting. Blair loved that painting. Jim ran his hand over the torn canvas and shook his head.

Thank god Blair wasn't here. Jim turned and headed back into the living room. Spotting the blinking light on the answering machine, he pressed play and listened. Two messages from the university demanding to know where Blair was and why he had missed class; one message from Joel also wondering where Blair was when he had promised to meet him at the station; and one message from Jim giving him the heads up to expect him early.

Jim could feel his gut tighten and his heart began to race. Where was Sandburg? He obviously wasn't at school and he wasn't at the station. Had he been kidnapped—or worse? Jim grabbed the phone from its pedestal and dialed the direct line to the station—major crimes division.

A phone rang several times and then a gruff voice answered, `Banks!'

"Thank god, Simon, you're there. Someone broke into the loft—Blair's gone Simon!" Jim could hear the panic in his voice, but he couldn't control it. He was afraid. Something had happened to his roommate—his friend. And he wasn't here to protect him. He'd gone and left him alone. He'd abandoned him and now he was gone. God, please let him be alive!

Jim realized he had zoned when Simon's voice grew louder in pitch. He could hear the captain yelling at him on the other end of the line.

` . . . Jim, Jim damnit! Are you zoning? You'd better not be zoning. Jim!'

Jim shook his head. "Yeah Simon, I'm here."

`Jim, listen to me. Nothing happened to Blair. He's here, at the station.'

Jim sighed a breath of relief. Blair was there. He was alive. "Is he okay Simon? I need to know. Is he hurt?"

`He's fine Jim. A bit stranger than usual, but he's fine.'

"What do you mean Simon—you just said he was fine. What aren't you telling me?" Jim could feel the fear creep back into his chest.

`It's nothing Jim. I can't explain it; you'll just have to see for yourself. Now what's this about the loft being broken into?'

Jim rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. "I just got here Simon, and the place is in shambles."

`Okay Jim. Just calm down. Is anything missing?'

Jim looked around the loft, and for the first time noticed that the TV, the stereo system, and Blair's computer were all still in their usual places.

"I don't think so Simon."

`Okay, that's good. Does it look like they were looking for something?'

Jim focused on the calm, rational tone of Simon's voice and used it to anchor himself before he zoned again. His eyes took in the damage around him. Blair's squat little Buddha figurine lay in pieces near the balcony doors. Several tribal masks and other cultural artifacts had been swept from the wall and lay scattered on the floor. Jim walked around the couch and saw the shredded blanket at his feet. Reaching down, he touched the soft material.

Seeing nothing unusual in the kitchen, Jim walked back into Blair's room. As he stood in the doorway, he raised the phone to his ear again.

"I don't know Simon. This is weird. The only stuff that has been trashed belongs to Blair. His clothes have been tossed around his room, a painting looks like it was stomped on, and most of his stuff from his undergraduate field placements has been destroyed."

`I don't get it Jim. Why would anyone want to do that to Blair? He's going to be devastated when he finds out. That stuff is his life.'

"I know Simon. I still get the feeling that something else is going on. Are you sure he's okay? He didn't go to the university today and he never called in. There's a couple angry sounding messages on the answering machine from the dean." Jim paused and thought for a second. "You say he's there? Is Joel there? There's another message from Joel wondering where Blair was this morning."

Jim could hear the sound of drawer sliding open and the flare of a match followed by a deep intake of breath. Simon was smoking a cigar. That was not a good sign—it meant he was worried.

`He's here Jim. There is something I didn't tell you. When Blair got here, well, he looked different.'

"Different how Simon?" Jim coaxed. Simon was edgy, as if he was trying to keep something from him. "Different how Simon?" he repeated impatiently.

`He cut his hair Jim. I mean, it's short—real short. And he looked nice—real professional. Don't get me wrong. He looked good. Its just-it wasn't Sandburg. You following me here Jim?'

"Yeah, I'm following you. Any other reason I should be any more worried than I already am?" Jim asked.

`He was nervous—he tried to pretend he wasn't, but he wasn't doing a real good job. He was snapping at Brown when I dragged him into my office to find out just what was going on.'

"And?"

`And, he said that it was time that he—I'm quoting here now—got with the program.'

"He said what?" Jim boomed.

`Exactly. I'm worried about the kid myself Jim. You'd better get down here. You want me to send out a unit to the loft?'

"No, I think I'll wait until I can talk to Blair. I have a feeling he's tied up in this somehow."

`Okay Jim. You want me to pull him into my office and find out just what the hell is going on?'

"No. Let him keep working with Taggert. If he tries to leave, stop him. I'll be there soon."

Jim waited for Simon to reply and then hit the `send' button on the phone, shutting it off. Grabbing his keys, he stormed out of the loft.

(4)

Curious eyes looked up as Jim strode into the bullpen, making a beeline for Simon's office. Shoulders shrugged as happy greetings were ignored. Reaching Simon's door, he turned the knob without pausing to knock, slamming the door once inside. Eyebrows raised and glances were exchanged over the impromptu and hasty arrival of the star detective.

Inside the office, Simon was busy placating the worried sentinel.

"Jim, Jim. Calm down. I told you, he's fine. Sit down before you wear a hole in my rug." Simon turned to his infamous coffeepot and filled a mug. Turning back to Jim he raised the cup. "Coffee?" he offered.

Jim fell into the nearest chair in raised his hand dismissively. "Simon, could you just get Sandburg? I'm tired, my head's pounding, and I want to know what happened when I was gone."

Simon patted Jim's arm. "Sure Jim, sure. I'll be right back." As quickly as Jim had come, Simon was gone.

Jim followed Simon with his hearing until the captain was in the operations room. He heard a chair scraping across the ground and the sound of several sets of footsteps growing louder. Jim dialed his hearing down as the two approached. Even with his hearing turned down, he could still hear Blair's voice questioning Simon. Then the door opened and there was Blair.

"Blair! Thank god, you're all right," Jim exclaimed as he jumped out of his chair and grabbed the younger man in a bearhug.

"Jim, it's good to see you too, but let a guy have a little breathing room," Blair replied as he squirmed out of the sentinel's grasp.

Jim stepped back and finally got a good look at his partner. "Jeez Blair. What have you done to yourself?"

Blair's eyes narrowed as he retorted, "Oh gee, thanks Jim. Way to make a guy feel special."

Jim shook his head. "No, that's not what I meant. I'm sorry." He gestured towards Blair's head and then at his clothes. "What's going on? Why the change?"

Shrugging, Blair said, "Just time for something new. It's no big deal."

"Yeah, it is a big deal Chief. I just got back to find the loft trashed and you looking like you sold your soul. Any idea why the loft looks like a tornado went through it?"

Blair grinned sheepishly. "Oh, yeah, that. Um, don't worry about that—I'll clean it up when I get home."

Jim stepped forward and stared at Blair. "Are you telling me that you trashed the loft?"

"Uh, can I plead the fifth on that?"

"This isn't funny Chief."

"I never said it was Jim," Blair snapped back.

"Whoa, time out!" Simon interjected, jumping off his desk where he was perched. "Jim, sit down. Blair—sit over there. And everyone, calm down."

Simon waited while the two men sat down in their assigned chairs. "That's better." Turning to Blair he continued, "Sandburg. Why don't you start by telling us what happened at the loft?"

Blair cringed in his chair and eyed the door. He prayed that someone, anyone, would come crashing through with an emergency. Anything to keep him from having this discussion.

"Sandburg?" Simon prompted.

Blair rested his cheek in his open palm and avoided the probing eyes. "I trashed it," he mumbled. "I got angry, and I trashed it." Suddenly he turned angry eyes towards the two older men. "Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you satisfied now? Mystery solved." As quickly as the outburst began, it was over. Blair slumped lower in his seat.

"No Chief. We're not satisfied. We're worried. Why would you do something like that? Those things you destroyed—they're your pride and joy." Jim gently questioned.

"Not anymore," Blair answered quietly.

"What happened Blair?" Simon asked softly, as he pulled a chair in front of Blair.

A steely look passed over Blair's face as he responded, "Nothing happened Simon."

Jim leaned closer. "What happened Chief?" he repeated as he placed one hand on Blair's knee.

"Nothing happened! Can't you just let this drop? I had a bad day, I got angry, and I broke a few things."

"Yeah, and then you went out and got a nice new haircut that helps you blend in like one of the guys. Isn't that right Chief? Nice duds by the way. Trying out for a spot in GQ?" Jim asked sharply.

"Jim," Simon's tone warned him to back off.

"Whatever Jim. Like you never tried to blend in. Hell, you spent years hiding your abilities. And for what? So you'd fit in."

"Yeah I did. And then you came along and helped me to realize that I didn't need to hide my abilities away. To accept them. And look at the good we've done because of that," Jim reasoned.

"And that's why Simon and I are the only ones who know about your sentinel abilities, huh Jim?" Blair retorted.

"You know why I can't tell anyone Sandburg. I thought you agreed with me on that." Jim sat back in his chair, a grim expression on his face.

Simon shot Jim a look before leaning closer. "That's a real good act Blair, but I know you don't mean that. So why don't you tell us what's really going on?"

Blair squeezed his eyes shut as he was overcome with memories of the previous day. He raised his hand to his head and sunk his fingers into his short curls. He could almost feel the pull of the scissors against phantom hair. Lowering his head into his arms, he began to rock in his chair.

"Nothing happened, nothing happened," he chanted as he rocked. He tried to contain the tears that welled in his eyes, but they flowed free and cascaded down his cheeks.

"Then why are you crying Chief?" Jim gently asked.

Blair just sat silently in his chair and rocked.

"Jim, go get him some water," Simon directed without looking up.

Jim slowly stood and left the office. Something had happened to his partner, and it was scaring the hell out of him. As he passed the operations room, he saw Joel amidst a pile of evidence. Detouring from his path, Jim ducked into the room and stood over Joel.

"Oh, hey Jim," Joel greeted when he realized the other detective had entered the room. "I didn't know you were back. How was the conference?"

Ignoring Joel's greeting, Jim blurted out, "What the hell's going on with Sandburg?"

Joel sat back and stared at Jim, a confused look on his face. "Sorry man, I'm a bit out of it. Been staring at this stuff too long," he gestured to the pile surrounding him. "What about Sandburg?"

"The hair, the clothes, the attitude. You've obviously got him working on some project—which means he's been spending a lot of time with you. Has he said anything—given you any reason to believe he's in some sort of trouble?" Jim pleaded.

Joel ran his hands over his face and screwed up his features as he thought. "Well, he has been pretty quiet today. Not saying much and he snapped at Henri earlier. Because of the hair— Henri made a crack about his hair. What's up with that anyway?" he asked Jim.

Jim only shrugged. "What else?"

"I don't know—wait! He seemed pretty sore. Like he was in pain. I could tell he was trying not to move around too much. Oh!" the larger man snapped his fingers. "I remember something else! Yesterday, Blair made a comment about some cops staring at him. Said it was no big deal. Had him pretty shook up though."

Jim turned to leave. "That's good, thanks Joel."

"Jim," Joel called out. "He okay?"

"I don't know Joel. I don't know."

Jim ducked into the break room and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge. Then he turned on his heel and raced back to his guide. As he entered the office, he could hear the quiet murmuring of Simon's reassurances that Blair would be just fine.

`Just fine indeed; no problem here,' Jim thought wryly as he held out the bottle to Simon.

"Thanks Jim," the captain said, taking the bottle and twisting off the cap. "Drink this Sandburg. You're going to make yourself sick if you don't calm down."

Blair reached out one shaky hand and took the bottle. He raised it to his lips and took a long swallow. The cool water was refreshing as it coursed down his throat. Wiping his hand across his mouth, he struggled to catch his breath.

"Sorry about that Simon. I don't know what happened."

Jim stepped forward. "Blair, tell me who's been giving you a hard time around here," he said. `So I can go and pound them into oblivion,' he thought dryly.

Blair shook his head. "I don't know what you're talking about Jim. No one's giving me a hard time."

"Joel told me what you said Blair. That you thought cops were staring at you. Tell me how they fit into all of this."

"No one's been staring at me Jim. I'm telling you the truth," he lied.

Before Jim could pressure Blair for answers, there was a loud knock on the door. Simon climbed to his feet and straightened his jacket.

"Come!" he bellowed.

Sergeant Anderson poked his head into the office. "Sorry for interrupting Cap . . . " he trailed off as he caught sight of Blair. "Damn, it's true," he exclaimed as he slipped into the office closing the door soundly behind him.

"Explain sergeant," Simon growled at the uniformed officer.

Blair closed his eyes waited for the floor to open and swallow him.

"Uh, well sir. I've had several reports from my officers that, uh, your observer was assaulted by three of my men late yesterday afternoon. There were no witnesses, but the reports I have been getting are that the men who assaulted Mr. Sandburg here have been bragging about roughing him up and, uh, cutting his hair sir." He stood back quickly as he saw the fury build in the Captain's eyes.

"Who?" Simon growled as he balled his hands into fists.

Gulping quickly, the sergeant answered, "Officers Chaney, Morgan, and Carpenter sir."

"Where are they?"

"In a holding cell downstairs sir. I thought you would want to know as soon as possible."

Simon turned away from the trembling officer. "That will be all sergeant."

"Excuse me, sir? Could I speak to Mr. Sandburg for a moment? I have to tell him something that he really needs to know."

Simon turned around and stared at the officer. Instead of shrinking away, the sergeant stared solidly back. "It's important," the sergeant added.

Simon nodded and leaned against his desk as the young sergeant claimed the chair nearest Blair and sat down.

"Mr. Sandburg, uh, Blair. Do you mind if I call you Blair?" he asked softly. When Blair shrugged, he continued. "Blair, what Carpenter said to you—it was all lies. All of it. You have to believe that. He had no right to say those things to you—to assault you. I know he threatened you. Told you that if you turned him in, that there were more cops who shared his feelings. That was a lie Blair. Those of us who know who you are respect you—respect what you're doing up here with Detective Ellison. The only people around here who disgrace the department are Carpenter, Morgan and Chaney. There are no dark rumors flying around here about you. Don't let what happened change who you are. That would be letting them win. Don't let them get away this Blair." Anderson rose and with a nod to Simon and Jim, left the office.

Simon stood and began to walk to the door. When he saw Jim following him he paused. "I'm going down to talk to these guys. Jim, stay here with your partner. I think he probably needs you more here than downstairs ruffing up these jerks." He nodded towards Blair, who again had tears trailing down his cheeks.

Jim sat down and pulled Blair into a hug; he never noticed Simon slip out of the office. He'd wanted the truth and now he had it. It was colder and uglier than he could have ever imagined.

*****

"Jim, man, quit hovering! I'm fine," Blair groaned as Jim stooped down to help pick up the fallen artifacts.

"I know Chief. I just want to help. Is that okay?"

Blair sighed and admitted defeat. Jim was on a mission and he wasn't going to get in his way. "Okay, okay. Just, whatever's in one piece hang it on the wall. Anything that looks salvageable, put over on the couch. Throw the rest away."

"You got it junior," Jim teased. Nearing the garbage pile, he noticed a mottle of color and stooped over. It was the painting from Blair's room. "Hey Chief, I think this is savable," he said as he pulled it from the pile.

Blair reached over and took the painting from Jim's hands. "You think so man? I mean, I can live without the rest of this stuff, but this painting . . . " he trailed off.

"I know Chief. I know. I kind of like it too. I bet if we took it over to the art department at the university, they'd be able to fix the hole and put it on a new frame. And when it's in one piece again, I have the perfect spot for it."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Back in my bedroom."

"No Chief. I was thinking that it would look real nice out here, near the dining set or the fireplace." Pausing to look at his partner he asked, "What do you think?"

"Oh yeah, man. That would be so cool." Smiling owlishly at Jim he added, "Thanks Jim."

"No biggie Chief. I just happen to think it's time we add a little color out here." Turning away he cleared his throat. "So, got any plans for the rest of the day? You know, I'm not even supposed to be back yet. I thought maybe we'd take off and go fishing or something."

"Oh Jim, that is so cool. But I can't. I have to help Joel with this case. We think we've got motive and are close to catching this guy."

Jim laughed and held up his hands in defeat. "Okay. Well, how about I help you guys out and see if we can catch this creep any faster."

Blair grabbed his jacket. "Sounds great man. Let's just swing by the university first and drop off the painting, and then head into station."

"You got it Chief. You got it." Jim followed behind his guide, grateful that he had his friend back. A little skewered, a bit deflated, but definitely still Blair. Jim shuddered as he thought of how close he had come to losing Blair. Sure, he would have still been here in body. But his spirit would have been gone. Shaking his head quickly, he hurried after his partner.

"Let's go show `em how it's done, partner," he said as he flung his arm over Blair's shoulders. He gently led his guide to the elevator. Anyone watching would have seen the glimmer of respect in the older man's eyes as he stood proudly by his roommate, friend, partner, and guide. It was quite a sight to behold. Sentinel and guide. As it should be. As it would always be. As it was meant to be.

-End