Title: Penny Prophet

Author: Khirsah

E-mail: palthanas@hotmail.com

Series: Penny Prophet

Rating: R, eventually NC-17

Archive: Sure thing

summary: Blair discovers that sometimes you have to act before it's too late

disclaimer: I don't own; you don't have to read. All happy, neh?

Notes: MAJOR angst! Watch yourself. This is also pre-slash.

PENNY PROPHET

By Khirsah

Have you ever thought that you were immortal? I don't mean literally, of course, as is never dying, but really, honestly, deep inside? I used to-- all the time. I'd see someone I really wanted to meet, or think of something that I really should say, but then other things would intrude, and I'd let the moment slip past me, content in believing that I'd always have tomorrow. I had so many dreams that I wanted to accomplish *some day*, before the whole shebang was over and done with:

Learning Netsilek.

Getting a doctorate.

Making love to Jim.

Somehow, though, I always ended putting it off for another hour, a day, a week. I was busy, I was in the Academy, I was scared shitless. Excuse after excuse just kept on piling up, and I'd rationalize waiting to myself, convincing something deep inside me that I had time, I could wait. That is, until the light at the end of the tunnel got just a little bit too close. Until all this shit started coming down. I mean, I'm only thirty--I'm too young to die.

Yeah, well, someone should tell that to God.

And then it all became just too real. I was *dying*, and there was still so much that I had to do before I departed on the Sandburg Express. There was so much that I never said or touched or tasted or felt, and then it all just started spiraling down into waves of black. Hell, if it weren't for Jim, I'd have given up a long time ago.

But I get ahead of myself. I tend to do that, now-- I don't have much time to go about anything in other than warp speed.

So, the beginning, right? I can do that.

It all began with the flu.

***************************

"SANDBURG!"

Blair winced as Jim's bellow shook the loft, a hand reaching up to cup his aching skull. *Damn-- how is it that I keep getting a hangover without the party?* he wondered bitterly as he rolled off of his futon. A sharp throb of pain sliced across his optic nerves as he stood, and Blair bit back a moan. *Sweet Nirva, that hurts.*

"SANDBURG, WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!" Gruff annoyance colored his roommate's tone, and Blair's mobile features twisted into a grimace.

"I get it already," he muttered darkly as he staggered towards the bathroom, the sudden lights of the living room making him wince. "No need to screech."

"Who's screeching?" Blair faltered to a halt, his eyes narrowing against the pain as he focused his vision on his partner and roommate. Damn, a headache *and* blurry eyes? He must've gathered some seriously bad karma. Jim was standing at the kitchen threshold, his arms crossed over his broad chest, apron tied around his waist. Blair flicked an appreciative gaze towards the apron-- Jim just looked so cute and domestic in it-- before meeting the other man's gaze. He opened his mouth to say something appropriately scathing when another sharp pain ripped through him, causing his vision to black.

Jim looked on in alarm as his Guide flinched and suddenly stumbled forward, as if he had lost his balance, and he moved forward quickly, one large hand reaching out to cup Blair's elbow to steady him on his feet. "Whoa there, steady." He ducked his head in an attempt to look into Blair's face, one hand inadvertently reaching up to gently push back a fall of curly brown hair. "Hey, Sandburg, you okay?"

"'Mfine," Blair muttered, pulling away. "Just got a headache, man, that's all."

"Do you want me to call Simon and tell him you're calling in si..."

Blair jumped in before his partner could finish. "No, I'm okay. It's just a headache-- hell, I've had worse after a night of tequila-- it'll pass soon." *And it's not like I'm not getting used to this by now. Seems like I've got one nasty headache after another here lately.* His blue eyes narrowed slightly as he tried to hide a wince. *This one's majorly worse, though.*

The older man just stood there for a long moment, his eyes fixed on Sandburg, a look of mingled disbelief and worry coloring his features. Then he nodded and moved a step away from Blair, allowing him clear access to the bathroom. "All right, but you'd better hurry it up. I don't want to be late... *again*."

"Gotcha." Blair moved away gratefully, eager to get into the warm spray of water. Tonight, he vowed, he would do some serious meditation-- he was way too tense.

Jim stood, silently watching his partner as he headed into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, a small line forming between his brows. Why did he keep getting the feeling that there was more going on here than he knew?

And what the hell could he do about it?

****************************

The ride to the PD was quiet, which Sandburg was grateful for. The hot shower had done wonders, as well as the hurriedly scrounged herbal tea, but the pain was still lurking there in the back of his head threateningly, just waiting for the perfect time to reemerge. He shot a glance to the side of him, noting his partner's tense shoulders and white knuckles, and he sighed inwardly. Jim was worried, and he probably somehow thought it was his fault as well. He had an unmistakable talent for that, there was no doubt about that, which was why Blair had to increasingly hide the now-frequent headaches and nausea that sometimes threatened to overwhelm him.

*That's what happens when you fall in love with a guy,* Blair thought darkly to himself. He had long since past the point of denial. *They just start walking all over you.* It wasn't fair, of course-- Jim was just worried, and sometimes Blair found it rather touching that his tough cop roomy could go from monosyllabic rough to a hovering mother hen in an instant. Sometimes. He cast another surreptitious glance beside him and saw Jim looking at him *again.* "Watch the road, man," he snapped, suddenly unable to reign in his irritation. Jim started, surprised, but he turned his head back to the road, his jaw tightening. Blair sighed. *Great, now I've pissed him off. God, this is turning out to be one helluva day.*

But he remained silent, not wanting to take his rough words back. Blair shifted in his seat, his hands restlessly plucking at his flannel over-shirt, blue eyes fixed on an unchanging point out of the window. *Aren't I Mr. Sunshine today?* A shivering buzz of excitement ran up his spine, and Blair shook his head, trying to dispel the sense of unease. *Something's going down here-- I can just feel it. Something's gonna happen.* He felt the sudden, irrational need to be back at the loft and curled up in his bed; if the day never started, then he'd not have to worry about... *whatever*... happening.

"Let me get through this day," he mumbled quietly, not even sure if God could hear him-- hey, it had been a *long* time. Then he had a sudden, giddy thought that someone *was* listening to his short prayer, and that someone had Sentinel abilities. Somehow, that struck him as funny, and Blair grinned brightly.

"Sandburg?" Jim's confused base filled the quiet cab of the vehicle as he cut the engine, turning his large frame to face his Guide. "You okay?"

*Like Adonis,* Blair's mind informed him, painting a ridiculous picture of Jim laying sprawled on the warm, sunbathed grass, flowers tucked behind his ears as nymphs danced around him. *Yum.*

"*WHAT?*"

Blair blinked the vision away, long curls swaying as he shook his head. Had he spoken out loud? Man, he really *was* going nuts! "Nothing, man," he muttered as he reached over to unbuckle his seat belt. Jim was still staring at him as if he had lost his mind, which, actually, Blair could well understand. *You're seriously losing it, Sandburg,* he informed himself as he and Jim strode together for the office. *You're just freaking losing it.*

**********************

*Oh, look, goody, Mr. headache is back out to play.* Blair smiled goofily, then winced as a sharp throb crashed through his skull. *Man-o-man-o- man-o-man! It's only been* he checked his watch *two hours, and I'm already dying to get out of here.* Conner was standing beside his desk, and Blair wondered briefly if he was supposed to be listening to her bright chatter, but after a moment of consideration, decided he liked the zoning option better. His fingers tingled slightly, and Blair squeezed them together, not liking the strange sense of being outside of his own body.

He ducked his head, closing his eyes against the unbearable brightness of the office, jaw clenched tightly against the wave of sudden irrational tears. *Dammit, what's wrong with me?* he moaned to himself, his eyes going suspiciously bright. *Am I really going crazy?*

A vice-like grip squeezed his shoulder, and Blair shot to his feet, his hands reaching out to twist the offending wrist, his body shifting forward in preparation for an attack.

"Blair!" Jim moved his body to the side, barely missing being propelled by the smaller man to the floor. One massive fist reached out to grab at Blair's hands, his blue eyes burning into his friend's. "What's wrong with you?"

Blair halted his struggles, his eyes blinking in confusion. "Jim?" He looked up into the strong face, his brows drawing together in confusion and dismay. "God, I'm sorry, man. I don't know what came over me."

"Yeah, well." Jim let him go and moved a step away. "Simon's been bellowing for your presence for a while now, Chief."

His eyes widened. "Really? Ah, crap, it looks like I'm in for it," he grumbled as he hurried past his partner, knocking into a desk and shooting out a quick apology as he passed by. Jim followed at a slightly slower pace, his eyes trained on the man in front of him, a worry line appearing between his brows.

Simon was not pleased when his finest team finally made their way into his office. "Nice to know you took your time," he ground out, his jaw set in an aggressive thrust.

"Well, it was a long drive from Albuquerque." Blair winced even as the words came out of his mouth, a red flush claiming his face as both Jim and Simon stared at him. *Okay, I think I'll shut up now. Man, what the *hell* am I thinking lately?*

"Jim? You drop Sandburg on his head again lately?"

"Not that I'm aware of, sir." Jim's eyes flickered over to his partner, a quelling look shining in his gaze.

*Oh, yes ma'am, I'll be really good.*

Simon nodded brusquely, certain that Blair was under control. "We've just got news of another series of bombings hitting downtown Cascade."

"Locations?" Jim leaned forward, intent. Blair stared at him blankly, then leaned forward as well, his gaze darting to the side to make sure he emulated the bigger man perfectly.

"Abortion clinics, mostly. Some houses of the doctors, a few bars. It looks like we've got a zealot reformer here." Simon lifted up a manila folder and handed it to Jim. "The clinics are usually bombed during the night, causing very few casualties, and the bars are bombed in the day, with the exception of one."

Jim scanned the sheet, his eyebrows drawing together. "The Penny Prophet?"

"A local gay bar, and seemingly quite a popular attraction. It's stage was rigged with a couple of sticks of dynamite, enough to get a few casualties and four fatalities, but not enough to do irreparable damage to the building."

"And you think that the bomber's going to strike again?"

"We don't know what to think at the moment, which is why we're sending in a team to do some undercover."

"Ooh, undercover." Blair clasped his hands together eagerly, his eyes shining maniacally. "I can *do* undercover! Jim and I will be the best gay couple you've ever seen, won't we Jim?" He grinned brightly, bouncing in his seat.

"Sandburg! What the hell is the matter with you?" Simon glared balefully down at his inferior.

Blair shot to his feet, his face twisting into a grimace. "No, sir, what the hell's the matter with *you*? You sit there behind that desk of yours like some kind of pit bull on crack, growling at anything and everything that doesn't meet with your grade-A seal of approval, your teeth grinding together so loudly you can fucking hear it in Arkansas! What have I ever done but shone a little bit of eagerness for my job, huh? HUH??!!?? And now, here you sit, thinking that I'm just a little faggot who can't even handle the job, passing your fucking judgments down on me like you're God or something. Well, let me tell you something Simon." Blair pounded his fists on Simon's desk, his eyes wide and furious. "You're not anyone's flipping Jesus Christ, and you know what? I don't even believe in Jesus 'cause I'm Jewish, so there! And furthermore..." Blair suddenly faltered, his brain finally catching up with his words. He stared at his silent superior, taking in the shocked look on the other man's face. "What the hell is wrong with me?" he ground out before he turned on his heel and fled from the office.

Jim lept up, intent on following, but Simon's voice called him back. "Sit down, Ellison!" Jim faltered for a moment, not wanting to obey, but then he grudgingly turned and sat back in his seat, his gaze fixed out on the bullpen. "Jim, what the hell is the matter with Sandburg? Is he on some kind of medication that I should know about?"

"No, Simon, he's not. Actually, Blair's been acting a bit maniac of late. He hasn't been sleeping regularly, hasn't been eating. He goes through the strangest mood swings, like..." he gestured helplessly. "Well, you saw."

"You think he should be called off of the case?" Simon lifted off his glasses and wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Jim paused for a moment, wrestling with his uncertainty. He didn't want Blair on this case, especially not with the way he had been acting of late. He could do something and get hurt, and Jim didn't think he could live with that. His chest tightened at the thought of losing Blair, and he banished the thought with a shake of his head. On the other hand, Blair would get so pissed at being left out of a case that there was no telling what he would do, especially now. And, Jim had to admit, there was something dangerously attractive about the idea of working a gay bar with his partner. Maybe, at the bar...

"No, I don't think you should get him off the case, but I really think someone needs to talk to him," Jim assessed, "to straighten things out."

"Well, Jim, I nominate you. I want you two to have a good long talk tonight and work out what's going on with Sandburg. Hell, take him to the hospital by force if you have to-- we don't want to lose him." Simon's face tightened at the thought.

*How is it that everybody loves the kid?* "Understood, sir." he stood and headed towards the door, his hearing dialing up as he searched for his partner.

"Oh, and Ellison?" Jim turned, a hand on the door handle. "Good luck." He smiled and nodded, then left the office.

Simon sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose again. "You're going to need it."

**********************

Blair rushed out of Simon's office, his face flaming. *I am losing it; I am fucking losing it!* he snarled to himself, his hands clenching in fists. *I can't believe I said all that to Simon, I...*

"Hey, Sandy!" Conner hurried over to him, grinning brightly. "Can I get you to look over something for me?"

Blair swallowed and nodded, not really trusting himself to speak. Megan handed him a piece of white computer paper, and Blair lifted it up to read, then paused. And sniffed. "Conner, you smell something?"

Her red brows drew together in confusion. "No, Sandy, I don't smell anything."

"You sure? I could swear that I smelt watermelons."

"Watermelons?" She grinned. "You've totally lost it, Sandy."

*You have no idea.* He cleared his throat and lifted the paper to read. His blue eyes scanned over the words for a moment, then again, and his brows twisted together in confusion. "You know," he said, handing back the paper, "I'd love to help you-- *if* I could read the language!"

"What?" She snatched the paper and glanced over it.

"The language? You know, something that I may actually know how to read? Whatever that is, I've never seen it before."

"Sandy." She was staring at him as if he had lost his mind. "It's in English."

"What?" Blair snatched the paper back, not even bothering to be polite and scanned the words again. "No, it's not. I can't understand a word of it."

She laughed brightly. "Good one, Blair, but it's in English. See, I'll prove it. Hey, Rafe!" She waved the other man over. "See if you can read this, 'kay?"

"All right." He leaned over Blair's shoulder to see the paper. "It says: 'Upon detection, the perpetrator made his way from Fourth and..."

"You're lying!" Blair struggled to control his breathing, but his heart was hammering like crazy. How *dare* they make fun of him? "It's *not* in English-- I could read it if it were in English!" Rafe stared at him with an open mouth, but Blair ignored him and tuned instead to Megan. "And I so fucking *can* smell watermelons, so don't even try to tell me otherwise! It's just..." He shook his head violently. "Damn it!"

With a growl, Blair pushed past the two shocked detectives and made his way out of the bullpen.

Megan stared after him, her mouth hanging open, as Rafe turned to her. "Was it something I said?"

********************

Jim came out of the office moments later. He scanned the silent bullpen, his eyes searching for his partner. "Where'd he go?" he barked out, barely waiting for Megan's silent gesture before heading off at a trot towards the hall. There was something serious going down here.

He came to a stop in the hallway, unsure of where to go next. Then, dialing up his hearing, he heard the thick liquid noise of retching coming from the men's restroom. Moving ahead quickly, almost running down an unsuspecting officer with barely an apology, Jim barreled towards the men's restroom, shoving open the door with more force than was necessary, hand reaching out instinctively to catch the swinging door as if slammed back towards him, eyes scanning the room.

One of the stalls was open, showing two jean-clad legs and sneakered feet. Moving forward slowly, dialing down his sense of smell with a soft, gagging noise in the back of his throat, Jim came to rest at the stall door, looking down at his sprawled partner with worried blue eyes. "You okay Chief?" he asked quietly, noting and filing away the wince at his words.

"Just great, Jim," Blair muttered, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand as he leaned back against the cool tile of the wall. His face felt as if it were on fire and the pulse in his head throbbed harshly against his skin. "I just acted like a jack-ass in front of Simon and the entire PD, then I lost the breakfast that I didn't have inside the goddess of ceramics. All in all, I'd say this was shaping out to be a perfect day. How've you been lately?"

"Calm down, Sandburg," Jim growled worriedly, trying not to snap at the younger man. "I'm just concerned."

"Concerned? Why-- you think I'm crazy too?" For a moment, black hatred twisted Blair's open face, and Jim took an involuntary step back in shock, but then the expression crumpled away into anguish as tears began spilling down the beautiful face. "God, Jim, what's wrong with me?"

"Hey-- don't cry," Jim whispered, kneeling on the cold tile next to his Guide and pulling him into his arms. Blair resisted for a moment, then went boneless in his arms, face pressing up against his biceps as he sobbed. "It's okay," he murmured into the dark curls, his own eyes squeezing shut against the worry. "It'll be all right." How was this familiar? Other than feeling so right it ached, holding Blair like this reminded him of something, some memory...

"Hey, Blair, you seeing gold?" he asked, suddenly remembering the case when Blair had accidentally taken the dangerous drug. He had held the weeping Blair then as well, wanting so badly to kiss away tears and knowing that he couldn't.

A muffled laugh turned into a sob as Blair reached up to clutch at his arm. "No, man, but if I don't stop smelling those fucking watermelons, I'm gonna scream."

"Watermelons, Chief?"

"Don't ask." Hands gripping tightly, Blair pulled himself up and out of Jim's arms, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. The gesture was sweet and childish, and Jim felt his heart twist at the perfect beauty of Blair, even red-nosed blotchy-faced, mucusy Blair.

"You ready to tell me what's up?" he asked, wincing inside at his gruff tone. He didn't mean to sound so demanding, but he felt helpless against the emotions that he didn't know how to deal with. *If only feelings were like a perp-- something you could get your hands on and wrestle into the dust. Something you could control.*

"Yeah, okay," Blair sighed, rubbing at his swollen eyes one final time before looking up to meet his partner's gaze. "But you'll..."

He was cut off by the sudden ringing of Jim's cell phone. Cursing interiorly, Jim pulled out his phone and flicked it open, glancing towards his partner as he spoke tersely, "Ellison."

"Jim, where the hell are you?" Simon Bank's voice came through loud and forceful. "Did you find Sandburg yet?"

"He's with me now."

"Did you find out what's wrong?"

"Not yet, sir. I..."

"No time for that now. We just got a call in-- there's been another bombing, this time at a Women's Shelter at the corner of Wells and Fourth. Two were injured, one critically so."

"God-- ok, Simon, Blair and I are on our way." Hanging up his cell, Jim looked over at the other man. "You up to a crime scene, Blair?"

"Yeah-- I'm good." Trying to smile, Blair braced a hand on the toilet rim and pushed himself to his feet, grimacing as he looked down into the bowl before flushing the handle. Then he turned to his standing partner and nodded, his shoulder's squaring. "I'm ready."

"All right. Let's go." Together they left the restroom.

***********************

Joel Taggert was already there when they arrived. "Took you two long enough," he remarked with a half-smile as he turned to greet them, black face shining with sweat. "My team's already been over the area-- we're still verifying it, but my best guess is that the blast took place towards the right exterior of the clinic."

"There any witnesses?"

"There were seven people in the establishment when it went. Three of them had to go to the hospital for care-- the rest are over there with the ambulances." He nodded in the direction of the medics just as one of his men came forward.

"Sir, I think we may have found confirmation on the blast site, and you were right about the IED-- it was an inflammatory device approximately..."

"Come on, Chief," Ellison said quietly, heading off towards the medics. "Let's go question some witnesses."

"Yeah, I'll be right there," Blair said, distracted by something shining within the blackness of the remains of the building. Moving off towards the shell of the building, Blair noted the strange, clinging smell-- *watermelons again, damn it*-- and paused at the edge of the blast site. Police Process Rule Number One: always protect the crime scene. A simple rule that every rookie learned on the first day at the Academy-- something that Jim Ellison was infamous for ignoring, the bastard.

The sexy bastard.

Smiling absently at his own thought, Blair unconsciously stepped into the sea of burnt wood and rubble.

Jim would always trample any piece of PE, always pick it up without gloves and sniff it, breath on it, put his fucking imprints all over the whole fucking crime scene as if he were signing a Masterpiece. Yup, that was Mr. James Joseph Ellison, tough cop and plague of the prosecutor everywhere, ruining perfectly good prints because he had to get so physical...

Blair could dig a guy who got physical.

Dig, dig, dig 'em baby, yeah.

Kicking aside rubble as he walked, Blair scanned the area for that strange silver gleam that he had seen earlier, hair swinging as he turned ineffectually around and around, hands scrabbling up his arms as he shivered with the cold. God Almighty, couldn't someone close the fucking window? What, were they trying to freeze him to death?

"I won't talk," he muttered darkly to the blacked wood, brows drawing down dangerously-- *yeah, let's show them who's a bad mother-fucker!*-- as he turned again, eyes skating wildly across the landscape. Bad da'bad da'bad'da'boom...

"I'm fucking crazy!" he called out to the sky, frightened somewhere deep inside, but it was as if something else had taken over, as if he no longer had any say in what he said or did. "Yeah, man!"

Then his gaze fell on a glinting of silver and he crowed wordlessly as he swooped down on it, fingers too numb to note the hot searing of the metal as he stood and held it up to the sky. "I got it!"

"Chief, look out!" Jim's voice reached him only moments before the heavy body was covering his, knocking him to the ground with an 'oof'. Their bodies hitting the rubble sounded suspiciously like the crashing of wood, and Blair shook with interior laugher as he whispered, low and husky:

"Ttttiiiiimmmmmbbbbeeeeerrrrr."

Jim was frozen above him for a long moment, blue eyes seeking his out as Blair felt a sudden, giddy wish to kiss that stark line that always popped up between his brows, but then Jim was standing and his mouth was moving, and he looked *angry.* Shaking his head, Blair tried to tune in for a moment, banishing the loud ringing melody.

"...*doing*??? You were walking under a half-burnt foundation, for God's sake, Blair. You could've gotten yourself *killed*. What the fuck were you thinking?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" Blair shouted back, throwing his arms wide as he glared at his partner, spitting angrily as he spoke, face pale and blue eyes wild. "I don't know. If I could tell you what was wrong with me, I would. *I'M* not the one with the problem with sharing here!! I'm not the one with the whole kinky repression thing! I'd fucking tell you what was wrong with me if I knew, but I don't! God, Jim, you're suck a righteous ass-hole! Why the fuck did I ever fall in love with you, huh? Can you tell me that? Do you know? 'Cause I don't know. I never would've if I'd've know what a shit you could be! I'd never..." The buzzing was back, louder than before, and Blair shook his head wildly to try to banish the noise, his hands reaching up to grab handfuls of curls. "GET OUT! Out! Out! Shut up!" He thrashed his head back and forth, unmindful of Jim's frantic calls to the medic as he bit his tongue in order to force pain to quiet the buzzing, his eyes squeezing shut. Then everything was silent, and Blair looked up at Jim with wide blue eyes, his hands dropping to his sides, numb and dead, mouth opening as if to speak before his blue irises rolled up into his head and he dropped into the blacked rubble, body shaking reflexively as his mouth frothed white.

"Blair!" Jim shouted frantically, down in an instant and reaching for the writhing man. "Oh, God, Blair! Blair!" Hands trying to calm his partner, Jim screamed over his shoulder so loud and harsh that he could feel his throat tear with the effort: "MEDIC! GET OVER HERE!!!! HELP HIM!!!!"

And then he stared in helpless horror as Blair's body gave one final jerk and he went quietly, perfectly still.

"Oh, God. Blair."

********************

Jim sat in the worn seat, hands cupping his head as he squeezed his eyes shut, worry hot and harsh within him.

"He'll be okay, Jim," Simon assured him again, voice no more convincing than it had been the twenty times before. "Blair'll be fine."

"I should've brought him to the hospital before this, Simon," he groaned, anguished. "I should've brought him when I first noticed that there was something wrong."

"There was no way that you could've known..."

"But I should have anyway! I should have noticed that something was wrong..."

"Jim, I..."

"Detective Ellison?"

Jim jumped to his feet at the Doctor's tone, his eyes immediately scanning he man's face and noting the careful expression. "Blair? How is he? Is he okay? Can I see him?" He took a step forward as if to the enter the emergency room, but the Doctor stepped into his path, blocking him.

"Detective Ellison, your partner has stabilized, but he's not yet conscious and shouldn't have visitors quite yet. Besides..." He breathed in a small sigh, gesturing both Simon and Jim to sit, "there's something that I think we should talk about before you see him."

"What is it, Doctor?" He could barely speak past the thick lump in his throat as dread gripped him. This didn't sound good. "What's wrong with Blair?"

"Well," the man began steadily, face smooth and commiserative, "we don't have a definite diagnosis as of et, remember that..."

"Just fucking tell us," Simon spat angrily, teeth clenched.

"All right. Okay. Though it's not yet certain, it's my belief that Detective Sandburg is suffering from an acute form of cerebral cancer that..."

"Oh, God." Cancer. He has cancer... "Blair."

"Now, we still have to run tests to *prove* this, Detective. It could be just a false alarm, but at the moment... at the moment, I'm afraid that it doesn't look good. We'll keep you updated." With a small, worried nod, the doctor stood and made his way back to the Emergency room, leaving Captain Simon Banks to deal with a shocked Jim Ellison.

"Cancer..."

"You heard the doctor, Jim-- this is by no means..."

"I-- I have to get out of here," Jim gasped, feeling the hot tears choking inside of his chest, but they wouldn't come out. Suddenly the stifling sterile white of the hospital room was too much, and he stood with a strangled growl, eyes desperately searching for an exit as he felt his breaths catch and still in his lungs. Gasping deep, trying to draw in a breath, Jim stumbled towards the doorway, feeling his heart thundering and his breaths gasping in and out, in and out, too fast to draw in oxygen as Jim Ellison, Sentinel of the Great City, shoved his way out the hospital, hyperventilating weakly, his lungs, heart and chest constricting on a word, on one singular, poisonous word as he staggered to the concrete, falling down with the wash of scraped flesh and blood.

Cancer.

And then, brain thirsting madly for denied oxygen, Jim passed out.

*****************
the end