He slipped as quietly as possible into the loft acutely aware that his Sentinel roommate would note his arrival, but hoping he wouldn't arouse enough to question him.

Tecia had finally calmed after describing the events surrounding the death of Dana's baby. Blair was more convinced than ever that something wrong had occurred, shuddering as he considered the type of human that could murder a newborn.

Eventually, they had talked about Dr. Donahue's research, his pride and joy. According to Tecia, his life revolved around finding a cure for Parkinson's disease, confident that the secret lay in the brain cells of the unwanted children he aborted. She could only repeat what his partners revealed to the staff, their main interest the funds provided to the clinic by his grants. Occasionally they would criticize his bedside manner with patients they were invested in, but usually they left him on his own. Except for his assistant, Trish Fortner, no one else was allowed in the laboratory.

Despite what he considered the gruesome nature of the doctor's research, Blair's curiosity was nonetheless piqued. He asked Tecia to see if she could find any information in his files about the fetuses the doctor used, concentrating on the three women Blair knew of. She agreed to try.

The only other piece of information she had shared was that Dr. Donahue was leaving the practice. She wasn't sure when, but suspected it was soon.

Closing the French doors of his room, Blair set up his laptop and connected to the Internet. The doctor must have published his research at some point, else his grants would not have been renewed. It took nearly an hour to locate the facts he sought. Several abstracts by Dr. Donahue dealt with the application of fetal neural tissue to disease treatment, delving so deep into theory and medical jargon that even skimming the articles gave Blair a headache. The one that finally captured his attention, however, described a method of culturing the tissue in a lab, making possible a 1:1 ratio of donor to recipient. As enthusiastic as the author was, one fact leapt out at Blair: the narrow range of the fetus required was 19-20 weeks of gestational age.

The smell of fresh coffee gradually drew Jim away from the land of Nod. Stretching lazily, he extended his senses searching for the familiar signs of his roommate's presence, finding him in his room. From the sounds he noted, Blair seemed to be getting dressed.

Pulling his robe around him, Jim padded down the stairs and headed for the coffeepot. He was just enjoying his first draught when Blair emerged fully dressed and sporting his backpack on one shoulder.

"Where are you going so early?" Jim inquired.

"Have an appointment at 8. I'll catch up with you at the station when I'm done," Blair replied, sitting at the table to don his sneakers.

"Who are you seeing at this hour?" Jim pressed. Blair sighed as he finished tying his shoes.

"Jenna Long, one of the women Dana suggested I talk to."

"Chief, are you still hung up on this," he began, but an angry reply cut him off.

"Yes, I am. The more I find out about this so-called doctor, the more I know that Dana is right. I talked to one of his nurses yesterday, and she corroborates Dana's story." Blair stood quickly, swinging his backpack up as he headed for the door.

"Blair, wait," Jim requested apologetically. "I'll go with you."

"No time. I'm late enough as it is." He snatched his keys from the basket, and catching the hurt look in his Sentinel's face, he conceded, "I have to see Cathy Harris at 11. If you want to come with me then, I'll meet you at the station."

"I'll be ready."

Ray paced his lab again. Trish was putting the finishing touches on packing the files they would need. All that remained unboxed were the frozen samples he planned to take with him. They had caused the difficulty in planning this move. A special container designed to maintain the -50 degrees Celsius temperature had had to bbe procured, and then arrangements for it to be loaded last and offloaded first confirmed.

So far, the men he had contracted with were adequate, if not entirely discreet. Their arrest several days earlier had unnerved him, but his contact assured the doctor that the police had learned nothing from the dock workers and were quickly forced to release them.

A soft knock at the door garnered his attention, and he stood still for the first time in an hour. Trish walked over, and after conferring briefly with Tecia, stepped aside to allow a man to enter.

He is a most unsavory character, the doctor thought as he examined the newcomer. Of a height to Ray, he held at least forty more pounds on his frame, filling out the flashy suits he wore. All in all, not the doctor's favorite type of acquaintance, but then you never got to choose your family, especially when you share a birthday.

"It's all set from my end," Ricky Donahue greeted. "Any problems here?"

"We're almost finished packing, and when the cold container arrives, we'll be ready. There's one other snag, however. There was a detective from Cascade PD here yesterday asking about one of my patients."

"That botched abortion woman?" Ricky guessed.

Ray sighed, "Yes, her."

"What did he want to know?"

"I didn't tell him anything, told him it had to do with patient confidentiality. I tried to get him to conclude that the woman was mistaken."

"Did he believe you?"

"I'm not sure," Ray replied shakily. Ricky watched his brother for a moment, and Ray began to shake more. He really wasn't dealing with this well.

"Did you get his name, just in case?"

"Sandburg, Blair Sandburg."

"Short, geeky guy with long curly hair?" Ricky questioned.

"Yes, that's him. How do you know him?"

"He's the jerk who almost got the drop on me at the warehouse. That's just too damn coincidental."

"What are you going to do, Ricky?" the doctor begged.

"Don't worry about it, brother. I'll only do what I have to. You just have that stuff ready to move tomorrow morning. The boat leaves at high tide tomorrow afternoon."

Tecia clutched the file folders to her chest with one hand, the other holding the bell of her stethoscope to the door. The voices were slightly muffled, but she could still make out the words.

"The boat leaves at high tide tomorrow afternoon."

"Ms. Long," Blair started, settling onto the well-worn couch. "As I mentioned on the phone, Dana Foster recommended I talk to you."

"Yeah, she said you may be calling," replied the young woman. She looked like a teenager, sitting perched on the edge of an overstuffed armchair, the fingers of one hand twisting absently at her golden curls.

"I wanted to ask you about the baby you lost. Can you tell me what happened?" he asked gently.

"It was almost six months ago. I got pregnant and my boyfriend and I decided to get married. Then, on one of my checkups, they couldn't find the baby's heartbeat."

"Which doctor did you see that visit?"

"Dr. Provost was on vacation, so I saw Dr. Donahue, his partner. He's the one who delivered the baby."

"Was there anything unusual about your baby when you saw it?" he pressed.

"It seemed to be wiggling a bit, but I'm not sure. I didn't get to see it long."

"What happened to its body?"

"They told me it was required to burn the body." She laughed softly. "I'm not sure what I was thinking, but I asked for the ashes."

"Really? Do you think I could borrow them, have some tests run on them? I'd make sure they were returned to you."

"I guess it'd be OK."

"Just one more question, how far along were you?"

"Almost five months," she answered.

Jim strode purposefully across the stretch of lawn toward the man pacing nervously near the waterfront. The tiny park had a splendid view of the giant container ships as the tugboats pushed them in and out of Cascade's harbor. At the moment, the only visible vessels were Rainier's sailing boats on the near side of the shipping lane. Their colorful sails were full of the gentle ocean breeze that ruffled the stringy hair of Jim's informant. Growing close, he called out to gain the fidgety man's attention.

"Hey, Swiffer. What've you got for me?" The informant turned at his nickname, but rather than meet the detective's gaze, his eyes roamed the park. The peculiar 'pet name' was derived from the tendency of store items to 'stick' to the man, usually illegally.

"Hey, cop," he replied finally, looking right at Jim. He knew this was the one circumstance that it was safe to be close to the police. "I got dates and times on that ship you guys are lookin' for."

"How did you come by this information?" Jim inquired casually.

"A friend of a friend."

"Mmhmm," Jim answered skeptically. "Well, let me hear it."

"'Kay, it's leaving tomorrow at high tide."

"There'll be half a dozen ships leaving then. I need a better idea which one to look at." Jim picked at his coat, working to appear bored at the revelation.

Swiffer pondered a moment while Jim grew impatient. His informant was going to want compensation, but so far there was no value in what he had provided. Half a dozen informants a day gave a similar report to their respective contacts. At last, the disheveled man spoke.

"It's going to China," he stated.

"Now, that was worth something," Jim praised as he drew two $20 bills from his wallet.

Blair dropped his backpack under his desk, and booted up his computer. Having ascertained that Jim was meeting an informant, he planned to use the time before the next interview to input a report on what he'd learned so far. The captain may not be convinced that there was a crime involved, but Blair was, increasingly so. The fact remained that he would still need to obtain concrete evidence before either Simon or Jim would take him seriously. That thought irked him as he began to type.

So focused was he on the screen that a hand laid on his shoulder made him jump in surprise. He looked up and met the blue eyes of his partner.

"Hey, Chief, whatcha working on?" he asked casually as Blair quickly saved his work and cleared the screen.

"Nothing. What time is it?" he avoided.

"Almost 10:30," Jim replied, watching the young man closely.

"Great," Blair stated, ignoring the scrutiny while retrieving his bag. "We have just enough time to make it to Cathy Harris."

"Yep. Let's go, then," Jim suggested. Before they could make it out the bullpen door, Simon called them back, a file held out in their direction.

"Gentlemen, I have some work for you to do."

"Simon, we were just on our way out," Blair mentioned.

"Well, as you can see," he indicated the empty room, "you are the only detectives available."

"What's the problem?" Jim inquired before Blair could object further.

"A robbery at a jewelry store on Marion Street. Apparently, some very expensive diamonds are gone." Jim took the file from the captain's hand.

"Very good, sir," he replied, flipping open the page. Simon returned to his office while Blair fumed silently until the door was firmly shut.

"Jim, we don't have time for this," he declared.

"Duty calls, Sandburg. We'll just have to talk to your young woman another time." He started to lead the way to the elevator when Blair's comment brought him up short.

"No."

"Excuse me?" Jim queried, spinning to look at Blair as if he'd grown an extra head.

"I'm not going to put off Cathy Harris. You go talk to the store owner, I'll keep my appointment and catch up with you later."

"Sandburg," Jim began, his voice soft as if faced with a child. "If you want to investigate your friend's baby, you have to do it on your own time. We have official work to do."

"Fine, I'm taking the rest of the day off," he retorted angrily, snatching up his backpack and stalking to the stairs.

"Chief! Blair!" Jim called to the retreating detective.

"I'll call you later, Ellison," Blair responded as he disappeared through the stairwell door.

Jim watched the owner of the jewelry store pace his office. He kept muttering, berating himself for perceived mistakes. Jim shook his head and returned to examining the safe. Forensics would not arrive for another hour, so he was careful to touch as little as possible despite the latex gloves encasing his hands. He could tell the safe was covered with fingerprints, but he doubted that they would be useful, even if any could be clearly isolated.

There was no evidence the safe had been damaged, and no sign of a listening tool on the face, so he concluded that the intruder had known the combination. The destruction of the alarm system and the picking of the locks, however, denied the possibility of an inside job.

He stood and stretched, muscles protesting the low level of the safe. He found his mind wandering, missing his Guide, and finding it hard to concentrate in his absence. Part of him regretted the harsh tone he'd used earlier, the rest reminding him constantly that he was a detective first. As that thought crossed his mind, he realized Blair would disagree. The Shaman in Blair would insist that Jim was a Sentinel first, his place to protect the city. Right now, Blair deemed the littlest citizens to be most important. Rubbing his brow to stem the headache brewing, Jim pondered how difficult it was to know which path to follow.

Turning his attention to the office door, he focused on the many scratches on its face.

"Looks like the perp picked the locks to get in," observed the uniformed officer. Jim frowned, brushing his sensitive fingers across the gouges, noting their depth, and it dawned on him that they were wrong. He inspected the keyway with Sentinel eyes, and saw none of the expected marring in the mechanism.

"No," he told the officer. "He wants us to think he picked them." He strode over to the exterior door, and bent to confirm his suspicion, followed by the owner. With both men looking over his shoulder, he pointed out the obvious inconsistencies. "Lock picking tools make marks inside the lock, not on the outside. Whoever broke in used a key, and tried to make it look like it was forced." Jim stood, taking in the entire office, searching for something out of place. Finding what he sought, he questioned the owner.

"What is in those boxes in the corner?" he gestured toward the object of his attention.

"Those? Last year's tax records. I haven't had a chance to put them in the attic yet."

"When was the last time you moved them?" Jim pressed, moving closer to the corner. He tuned his ears to the heartbeat of the elderly man, but found a regular cadence, nothing to suggest deceit. Nevertheless, the dust on the top box had been brushed recently, its faint layer absent in places. Sliding a hand under the flap, he popped it open as the man answered.

"Must be a month ago now."

"What are you doing?" an angry voice greeted from the office door. "Pop, they said we were robbed." The new heartbeat captured Jim's attention, as well as the smell of fear. He continued to fold the box top back while the owner answered his son.

"Yes, the diamonds we received yesterday were stolen. The detective was just checking everything."

"What does he need with your tax records?" the younger man demanded. Jim smiled as he absorbed the contents of the box before him. Lifting out the velvet covered box, he addressed the owner's son.

"Just filing an amended return," he stated, displaying the box to all in the room.

Blair signed the form turning custody of the small urn over to the forensics department under Serena Chang's guidance. His meeting with Cathy Harris had been nearly identical to Jenna Long, with the exception of the woman's age; Cathy was in her thirties. He leaned against the counter while deciding what he should do next. His first thought was to go upstairs and type the second report, but he needed to be sure Jim hadn't returned. It had taken longer than he expected to interview Cathy, and he fully intended to avoid a confrontation with his partner over his absence. It annoyed him that after all this time, he still felt like he had to prove himself to Jim, but he couldn't convince himself whether it was true, or just his perception.

In the end, he opted for the stairs, peering surreptitiously through the stairwell door before entering Major Crime. The bullpen was virtually empty, even Simon was absent. Slipping into his chair, he wrote his report as quickly as possible, avoiding his tendency to be verbose for a change. Putting the finishing touches on the form, he hit save and sat back. Closing his eyes, he wondered what to do next. For the first time today, he missed his partner's clear sense of direction. Jim always seemed to know who to talk to next or what scene to revisit. Someone clearing his throat broke Blair's reverie. Blair's eyes popped open to meet his captain's gaze.

"Where's Ellison?" Simon inquired.

"He's not back yet," Blair answered, thinking quickly. At Simon's confused look, he offered, "I returned early to finish my report. He should be back soon." It wasn't a lie, but definitely a patented obfuscation. Simon regarded him briefly and Blair became concerned that he suspected the explanation. The look passed, however, and the captain headed for his office.

"When you see him, tell Jim I want to talk to him."

"Yes, sir." Blair called cheerfully. He shut down his computer, deciding he would go see Dana again. He wanted to let her know what progress he was making, and see how she was holding up. Gathering his pack onto his shoulder, he went for the stairs again, just in case the elevator contained his partner.

Even before the elevator door opened, Jim knew Blair was not in the bullpen. Investigating the jewelry theft had distracted him long enough for some of his anger to dissipate. On the ride back, he had considered the many times he'd ignored his partner's instincts, even as he wished to focus him more on 'official' work. In the end, he decided he just needed to talk to him, or rather, listen to him. Now, all he had to do was catch up to Blair.

Stepping off the elevator, he found himself extending his hearing unconsciously, and realized the lingering scent of Blair's shampoo triggered the reflex. He turned to the only other person in the room.

"Rhonda, was Sandburg here?"

"Yes, Jim. You just missed him, he left about twenty minutes ago," she replied.

Cursing his lousy timing, he planned quickly. He would write the preliminary report on the theft and leave early to have dinner waiting when Blair arrived. He couldn't help but talk on a full stomach.

Tecia had convinced her coworkers to let her lock the office up that night, on the pretense of recalibrating one of her diagnostic machines. Even the doctors had left early this evening, facilitating her plans.

Sliding the key borrowed from Dr. Dennis into the laboratory's lock, she let herself in, and was surprised by the stacks of boxes lining the room. It occurred to her that Dr. Donahue was leaving sooner than his partners expected. Locating the boxes of files, she opened the top one and scanned the names, looking first for Foster, then any others familiar to her. Discovering her objective in the third box she checked, she carried the information down the hall to the copy machine.

The smell of stir-fry lingered in the hallway outside the loft, obvious even to one without hypersenses in spite of the late hour. Blair dropped the keys guiltily in the basket by the door, realizing belatedly that he hadn't let Jim know he would be late. He walked straight for his room, hoping he wouldn't disturb the sleeping Sentinel. Hearing footsteps on the stairs, he hung his head a moment, then decided on a preemptive strike.

"Jim, I'm really sorry about dinner," he said, turning to look at his roommate.

"Where have you been?" Jim asked, ignoring the apology, but not sounding as angry as Blair expected.

"I went to see Dana. I wanted to check on how she was doing," he responded, and tried to step past Jim into the hallway. A hand on his shoulder and a surprisingly soft voice stopped him.

"Chief, you can't keep avoiding me." Blair sighed deeply, wincing slightly at the tightness persistent in his ribs.

"I know. Tonight, I'm really beat. Can we talk tomorrow?" Jim frowned but removed his hand, allowing Blair to continue to the bathroom, listening to his partner return to bed.

Scrutinizing himself in the mirror, guilt weighed heavily upon him. He had expected harsh words from Jim, knowing he probably deserved them to some extent. Blair wasn't comfortable keeping this secret from Jim, but he felt an unusual urge to present this case, or non-case as Jim had pointed out, fully solved to both him and Simon.

I know he believes in me. Blair thought, trying to reason around his irrational need to investigate Dr. Donahue. His mind wandered in circles until he hit upon one point.

If the Shaman of the City can't protect the tiniest members of the city... He let the idea trail off, smiling at the revelation while heading for his bed.

The scent of fresh coffee roused him from sleep shortly before his alarm went off. Having deliberately set it early to be up before his roommate, Blair realized how determined Jim must be to have a talk. Or rather, for Jim to lay down the law. No chance of slipping out unnoticed remained.

What could he really say to Jim? Despite the calm greeting the night before, Blair was positive that Jim was angry. Dodging responsibility was not a way to earn points, yet the definition of responsibility was the key issue. Who exactly decided what was a priority?

Jim would argue that upholding the law was a primary responsibility. Until you find one you don't have a use for, like speed limits, he noted. His own view of responsibility was more expansive, as he'd discovered last night. The law needed no defense. The powerless victims were those who required the aid of the Sentinel and his Guide.

Always one to find the best qualities in others, no matter how hidden, it hurt him to see the pain that could be inflicted by one human on another. Blair felt it was a deep wrong for any person to die, but even that attitude had faded somewhat in the years spent with Jim Ellison. For a moment, he grieved for that lost portion of himself. That was before I met anyone who wasn't inherently good, he observed.

The right to life was most of all to be extended to children. The concept of a doctor who could or would kill a newborn infant provoked a protective instinct in him akin to what he imagined his Blessed Protector felt.

Translating his views into a form his black-and-white partner could understand would be more difficult. More important, he had to uncover hard evidence of the crime he knew existed before approaching Jim.

"Chief, I know you're awake," Jim called. From the sound of his voice, he stood right outside the French doors.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Blair replied, rolling out of bed. Opening the door, he accepted the mug offered.

"Drink that and catch a shower. Breakfast will be ready when you're done," Jim ordered and returned to the kitchen.

No, this won't be pleasant, Blair thought.

They sat in silence as the eggs cooled on their plates. Neither of them had eaten more than a few bites of breakfast, each lost in thought.

"Chief," Jim finally started.

"Look, Jim, I know you're upset about yesterday. I wanted to be there to help you with the robbery and I know I said I'd call..." His apology was cut short by Jim's response.

"That's not all that's bothering me. You are supposed to be my partner. That means we investigate the same crimes, we visit the same witnesses, we examine the same scenes. Not I work on one case and you do your own thing." Blair's eyes remained downcast, but his grip on his fork tightened minimally.

"I understand you don't agree that Dr. Donahue did anything wrong, but I've talked to the guy. He is seriously messed up."

"Whether I agree or not is not the point, Sandburg. You are letting your emotions color your assessment of the man."

"You're damn right I am!" Blair contended, pushing his chair back to stand over his roommate. "I don't have your ability to check my feelings at the door, Ellison. I'm well aware of that. I also know that however I feel, I can't bring back Dana's baby, or Cathy's or Jenna's for that matter. But if one more child is saved from that doctor's research, than I'll feel good about myself."

"Blair, his research is legal. I remember vividly how you ranted when that doctor in England lost his license for misusing his research subjects. It wasn't the research itself, it was about storage and permission problems." Jim reasoned, attempting to control his anger.

"Murder isn't legal," Blair replied softly.

"Do you have any proof that he murdered any of those infants?" he demanded.

Blair glared in return, answering the challenge with his silence. Out of words, he rigidly stalked to the loft door, turning back to throw a parting shot.

"I'll find proof, Ellison, but it amazes me how easy it is for you to ignore these citizens of your tribe just because they're babies. Some protector you are. Sentinel of the Great City. Yeah, right!" He slammed the door behind him before Jim could respond.

Jim stared at the closed door, having muted his hearing enough to prevent shock from the sound. He recognized a cheap shot when hit with one, but was shocked that his partner would think to attack him that way. He shook his head, still furious, wondering how a little conversation could become so ugly.

Blair was seething when he sat at his desk in Major Crime. All the way in his car, his own private argument raged on. While on one side, he regretted using Jim's senses against him, another part felt justified by the admonishment. At the same time, he had to admit his partner had a valid point. For all his hard work the past few days, he had nothing to prove the doctor had done anything wrong. He punched furiously at the keys on his computer, delving into the paperwork stacked on his desk, hoping a miracle would appear in his 'IN' box.

Jim arrived quietly, hanging his jacket on the coat rack, and booting his computer up without comment. Blair glanced up from time to time only to find his partner completely ignoring his presence. Ranting and raving he could handle, but the silent treatment from Jim was unnerving.

Apparently, Blair was not the only one uncomfortable in the uncharacteristic calm. When Jim disappeared on an errand, Henri strolled by Blair's desk.

"Hairboy, what's with Ellison today?" he inquired, keeping a watchful eye to the glass windows surrounding them.

"We had a bit of a disagreement this morning. I guess he's still mad at me," Blair explained.

"Man, that is one person I wouldn't want to be on the bad side of," Henri noted with a chuckle. Blair gave him a wry smile in return.

"Don't I know it. Ever since that warehouse fiasco the other day, I haven't been able to do anything right." Henri gave Blair a bewildered look. "What?"

"He didn't tell you?" he asked incredulously.

"Tell me what? What's wrong?" Blair appealed. Henri spun a chair around and sat beside the desk, leaning in confidentially.

"After you left that day, Jim and I got talking. He was real freaked out by the whole incident. Well, for him anyway." Henri flashed a jovial smile.

"Freaked out about what?" Blair insisted, growing impatient.

"He could feel the bullets hitting you," Henri revealed and it was Blair's turn to express shock.

"He could feel..." he moaned dropping his head into his hands. "I should have known." Henri laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't tell him I said anything." Catching sight of Jim returning, he quickly replaced the chair and went on his way. Blair looked up, noticing the reason for the detective's sudden departure. He had a sudden urge to speak to his partner, but the opportunity was lost when Jim picked up a note from his desk.

"Captain!" he called to the open office door, striding quickly in that direction. Simon met him at Rhonda's desk.

"What's up?"

"We've got it. The Avant-Garde is leaving for China just after 5 this afternoon. Two containers are scheduled to be loaded just prior to departure. Guess who arranged for them?"

"Chuck Vail?" the captain returned.

"Bingo."

"Alright, gather everybody. We've got plans to make."

The briefing room was crammed with detectives and uniformed officers. Without a clear indication of the suspected contraband, all of the various departments demanded representation. Since it was a Major Crime informant that had provided the lead, they conceded to allow Simon to assign duties.

Blair slipped in just as Simon began detailing the surveillance plans, standing against the back wall when he noticed that there were no empty seats. Jim stood on the far side of the room, leaning against the windowsill next to Henri and Rafe. Blair watched him as the meeting continued, disappointed that not once did he glance at his partner. Wishing he hadn't destroyed the chance to talk that Jim had arranged this morning, he was startled to hear his name.

"Sandburg," Simon had called, "you and Ellison will be here on this tower." He indicated a position on a map and moved on to the next assignment.

Blair made a mental note of the location as it registered whom he was assigned with. Of course, no one else realizes there's a problem, he thought.

Shortly after, the detectives were dismissed with the reminder to be in place at 3 PM. Blair was the first out of the room, greeted in the hall by Rhonda.

"Blair, a Miss Cunnigham left a message for you." She offered the yellow slip of paper.

"Thanks a lot," he returned, accepting the number. Looking up at the sound of a familiar voice, he saw Jim leaving by the far door, accompanied by Henri and Megan. Laughing among themselves, they walked the opposite direction, returning to Major Crime. Deciding to help his partner maintain his distance, Blair went to the conference room to call Tecia.

Entering the bullpen after his phone conversation, Blair was lost in thought, trying to figure out how to explain to Jim that he needed to leave without enraging him further. Still undecided on whether to go with the truth, or color it a bit, he pulled up a chair backward to his partner's desk, leaning his chin on arms folded across the back.

"I'm not going to like this," Jim greeted, not looking up from his work.

"Probably not," Blair confirmed. Glancing at the clock above them, he gauged the time that remained before his appointment with the nurse. "I have to go talk to someone," he began, pausing when the Sentinel's jaw tensed so firmly Blair expected to hear teeth crack.

"It's early yet," he continued, quickly and quietly, hoping to avoid a repeat of the last few episodes. "I'll be back in plenty of time for the operation this afternoon."

"Fine." Blair stared a moment, painfully aware that Jim meant anything but the stated response, and surprised by the lack of furious outburst.

"This is really important," he explained, but Jim interrupted.

"Just go, Sandburg." He turned away from the younger detective, searching for something on the far side of his desk. Blair stood slowly, and replacing the chair, left the station.