CROW ON THE CRADLE

by Rebel8954

"He wouldn't let me come home, Joel." Silence. "He wouldn't let me come home." Joel couldn't figure out if the words had been spoken with more of a whine or indignation.

Jim Ellison had just settled down on the couch with the Sunday paper when there was a knock at the door. He glanced at the closed bathroom door, extended his hearing, and then quickly pulled it back.

"Hang down your head, Tom Dooley. Hang down your head and cry…"

Jim quickly pulled his hearing back and winced. "Find a key, Sandburg. Any key. I swear I think he does that deliberately." Getting to his feet, Jim walked to the door and opened it. "Yes?"

A middle-aged man nervously stood in the hallway. "Does Blair Sandburg still live here?"

"Yeah." Jim crossed his arms over his chest. "Who are you?"

The man hesitated and looked down at his feet. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at Jim. "I'm his father."

Jim stared at the man in open surprise. "You're who?"

The man took another deep breath. "My name is Eric Logan. I'm Blair's father."

The two men stared at each other in silence for a few seconds.

"May I see him?"

"He's…Blair's in the shower." Jim shook his head. "Why are you here now?"

"I…" Logan turned his head and coughed. "I'd rather talk with Blair about that if you don't mind."

Jim grunted. "How can he get in touch with you? I'm not going to allow you to ambush him by showing up in his home and announcing yourself as his father."

Logan hesitated then nodded. "I'm staying at the Cascade Hilton. Room 428. Please…ask him to call me. Anytime."

Jim nodded. "I'll tell him. But it's up to Blair."

Logan took another look at Jim's expression, then slowly nodded and walked away.

Jim watched until the man had gotten into elevator and the doors closed. Then closing the front door behind him, he closed his eyes and sighed. "Great. Just great," he muttered.

"Hey, Jim! Any coffee left?"

Jim listened as Blair walked from the bathroom to his bedroom. "Yeah, Chief."

"Man, it's a gorgeous day. We outta go out and do something, you know? Shoot some hoops. Maybe go to the park or something."

"Yeah, maybe," Jim answered as he walked back towards the couch. "Or maybe just hang around here and relax. We don't get a chance to do that very often." He stared out the balcony door windows, feeling unsettled.

"Hey, let's make up some picnic food and go to Marina Beach," Blair proposed as he walked out of his bedroom, pulling a grey t-shirt over his head. "If we're gonna just chill out, let's do it outside, huh?"

"Look, Blair…" Jim stopped when there was a knock on the door.

Blair didn't miss the sudden look of apprehension then irritation on Jim's face. "Jim? What's going on, man?"

Jim didn't answer, but instead quickly walked to the door. Opening it quickly, he was surprised to see two people standing there. "Mikki?"

"Jim. How good to see you again." Mikki Kamarev smiled in genuine pleasure. She moved forward and relaxed when Jim's arms went around her in a friendly hug.

"Mikki, you look great," Jim grinned.

"Mikki!" Blair joined them, pulling the young woman into his arms for a hug as well.

"Blair, how are you?" Mikki smiled.

"Come in, come in," Blair urged.

"Jim, Blair, this is Father Sergei Markov. Father, this is Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg, my guardian angels."

Blair chuckled. "Not actually. Just sort of a joke between friends." He turned to look at the man who stood hesitantly in the doorway and his eyes widened. "Please, come in."

Belatedly, Jim looked at the man with Mikki, then stepped aside to allow him to enter.

"Thank you." The priest's voice was husky and pitched low. His face showed signs of severe injury and an attempt at facial reconstruction. He kept his face averted and slightly lowered as though embarrassed about his injuries.

"Can we get you anything to drink?" Jim politely asked as Blair led them to the living room.

"Nothing for me, thank you," Father Sergei quietly answered. His voice harshly rasped as though it was a strain to even speak.

"Father Sergei is our new priest at St. Peter and Paul," Mikki explained. "He has recently arrived from Kiev."

"Welcome to Cascade," Blair smiled.

"Thank you." Father Sergei hesitated then raised his head to look at Blair. "I have been made very welcome in your city." He then turned his head to look out the balcony door windows.

"Mikki, do you want anything to drink?" Jim asked.

"No, we just came by to thank Blair." Mikki's eyes twinkled. "Our parish has been trying to open a day care facility at the church. The concept is a new one to the Russian people, but with everyone needing to work so much it's become a necessity. Unfortunately, it takes much money to do this. So we were very surprised and excited to receive funding from a foundation."

"Oh, God," Blair groaned, covering his face with his hands. Then he looked at Father Sergei. "Um…sorry, Father."

The priest tried to smile, then looked down at the floor.

Mikki patted Blair's knee. "Your identity was well concealed," she assured him. "However, I learned long ago to read all the fine print. And I am a very good researcher. It took some time, but I found out who donated the money from the Cascade Assistance Foundation."

Blair glared at his partner who was snickering under his breath.

Sergei roughly cleared his throat and glanced around the loft. "Pardon me, but..."

"Oh, it's over there." Blair pointed to the bathroom.

Sergei nodded once, then slowly got to his feet. Mikki automatically started to get to her feet as Jim also stood, ready to help the priest.

"No, no. I am fine," Sergei somberly assured them. He painfully sighed. "It just takes me longer to move than it used to."

The others silently watched as he slowly walked to the bathroom. When the door closed with a soft 'click', Jim turned to Mikki for an explanation.

"He was arrested by the KGB years ago," Mikki softly explained. Unknowingly, her fingers began to twist against each other. "He spoke out against the abuses and denial of basic freedoms. For that, he was arrested, tortured, and sent to one of the work camps in Siberia. He spoke out against the abuses he saw in the camp and was singled out by the guards."

"Jeez." Blair shook his head. He glanced up at Jim and saw the older man's jaw clenching in anger.

"After his release from the camps, the Church persuaded doctors to try and reconstruct his face," Mikki quietly continued. "But there was so much damage...he will never regain his complete voice."

"Is he here to consult other doctors?" Blair gently asked.

Mikki wiped her eyes and shook her head. "No. He said he was done with them. He said he would live with God's will and be thankful. Others were not as fortunate." She glanced at the closed bathroom door and lowered her voice. "A former member of our church, Vasily Orlov, knew Father Sergei's family from Kiev. Vasily is now living and working in Las Vegas. There was no opening in his church, but he still keeps in touch with our church. He was instrumental in bringing Father Sergei here."

"He was willing to leave Kiev?" Jim curiously asked.

"There was no one in his family left alive," Mikki replied. "He was becoming...depressed. We hope a new beginning in Cascade will help him. It has helped so many others." She forced a smile and patted Blair on the knee. "As you are helping."

Blair groaned. "Mikki, please don't mention my involvement to anyone. My identity is supposed to be a secret."

"It is and shall remain so," Mikki promised. "It is not the fault of those who are managing the Foundation that I was suspicious of such good fortune." She impishly grinned. "I will be able to report to the Church authorities that the money does not come from any illegal sources. It comes from a very good man."

Jim grinned as Blair squirmed in embarrassment.

"Mikki..." Blair protested.

Mikki interrupted by putting her fingers over Blair's mouth. "I was in New York meeting Father Sergei...arranging for his arrival and completing all the necessary paperwork for him when you made your announcement." She glanced from Blair to Jim and gently smiled. "You are my guardian angels. I wish I had been here to support you."

Blair exchanged a quick look with Jim.

"Friends do not ask questions when there is trouble," Mikki gently reminded them. "I know you are both good men who help those in need. That is all I need to know."

"As a friend," Jim slowly nodded. "But as a journalist?"

Mikki calmly met his eyes. "As a journalist, I feel the others acted hastily and perhaps improperly." She glanced away then looked at Blair. "Many things got out of hand, yes?"

"Yes," Jim firmly answered.

"But things are better now," Blair assured her with a smile.

Mikki looked at Blair, then at Jim. Slowly she smiled and squeezed Blair's hand. "Good. I am glad."

Jim cleared his throat as the bathroom door opened. "How is your sister getting along?"

"She is struggling but recovering," Mikki proudly answered. "She has good days and bad."

"Tell her we're thinking of her," Blair requested.

Mikki widely smiled. "I shall." She glanced at Father Sergei who was slowly limping towards them. "Now. We must go. I'm afraid I have exhausted Father Sergei this morning."

"No. It is good to be around others," Sergei rasped. His eyes met Jim's then he looked away. "You have a lovely home."

"It's easy to see touches of both of you here," Mikki happily admitted.

"Yeah, it's easy to see which is which," Jim drawled.

Mikki nodded as she stood. "When did you become interested in tribal masks, Jim?"

Blair burst out laughing as Jim rolled his eyes.

Sergei glanced at Blair. His lips twitched as though trying to smile. Then he looked down at the floor.

Mikki hugged both Jim and Blair as she walked towards the door. "Call me if you need my help," she murmured in Jim's ear.

"Take care," Jim answered.

"It was nice to meet you, Father," Blair spoke to the departing priest.

Sergei hesitated, then nodded as he stepped into the hallway. "God's blessing on both of you," he quietly spoke, coughing as he finished.

Mikki worriedly glanced at Sergei, then waved her hand at Jim and Blair in farewell.

Jim stood in the doorway, watching them until they entered the elevator. Then he slowly closed the front door.

"Man, I cannot believe what Father Sergei must have gone through." Blair aimlessly walked into the kitchen. "How can people do that to one another?"

Jim studied the younger man. "Who knows, Chief?"

Blair shook his head, then turned around. Forcing a smile, he rubbed his hands together. "Okay, we are NOT spending the entire day inside! It's too nice. We are getting out of here."

"Yeah, listen...about that..."

Blair tilted his head to the left. "Jim? Something wrong?" He was surprised when Jim rubbed his face with both hands. "Something IS wrong, isn't it?" He frowned when Jim didn't immediately answer.

"I don't know," Jim finally answered.

"Naomi? Simon? Your dad? Ste..."

"No. Sandburg, calm down," Jim ordered. When Blair took a deep breath, Jim took one as well. "Look, sit down, okay?" When Blair hesitated, he added. "Please?"

Blair slowly sat at the kitchen table. "You've been recalled to active duty."

"What?! Where did that come from?" Jim sat at the table opposite his friend.

Blair frowned. "You haven't?"

"No."

Blair sighed with relief.

Jim waited. "Sandburg?"

"I've been afraid that since all this went public that the Army would recall you," Blair finally admitted.

Jim leaned back in his chair. "I hadn't thought about that."

Blair forced a smile. "Don't worry. I can think up more worst case scenarios than you ever could."

Jim grunted. "Let's leave that debate for another time, okay?"

Blair nodded. "So what's going on?"

Jim hesitated, then leaned forward, leaning his forearms on the table and linking his fingers together. "We had a visitor before Mikki and Father Sergei...while you were in the shower."

"Who?"

Jim hesitated. "He said his name is Eric Logan."

Blair shook his head. "The name doesn't ring a bell."

"He said he was your father." Jim carefully watched his partner's reaction.

"You're joking." When Jim shook his head, Blair ran a hand through his hair. "That's it? That's all he said?"

Jim cleared his throat. "Well, he told me where he's staying and that he wanted to talk with you. I told him I'd tell you and then made him leave."

"Leave?! Why did you do that?!"

Jim irritably stood. "What was I supposed to do, Sandburg? Invite him in so he could meet you as you got out of the shower?" He waved a hand at the open bathroom door. "Hey, Sandburg, did you remember to clean up the bathroom? Oh, and by the way, you're father's sitting on the couch."

"Not funny, Jim. Really not funny!" Blair shouted.

The two men stared at teach other in silence.

"He's at the Cascade Hilton. Room 428," Jim finally spoke. "He hasn't had time to get there yet so you might want to give him a half hour before you call."

Blair silently watched as his friend turned and walked towards the stairs to the upper bedroom. "Jim…wait…"

"Hey, it's your life, Sandburg. You're a big boy now. You can make your own decisions." Jim continued up the stairs without looking back.

"Damn it! Don't you walk away from me like that!" Blair angrily shouted. He got to his feet, shoving his chair across the kitchen floor. "God! I hate it when you pull this crap!"

Halfway up the stairs, Jim stopped. His shoulders momentarily twitched, then he turned around. "And what crap is that, Sandburg?" he calmly asked.

"This…this…THIS crap!" Blair waved his hands in a futile effort to find suitable words.

Jim nodded. "Oh. THIS crap." He refrained from smirking when Blair's hands buried themselves in his curly hair. He had the feeling the younger man was forcibly restraining himself from pulling out several strands in frustration.

Finally, Blair took a deep breath. "Okay, I can understand why you made him leave, but…"

"Do you?" Jim immediately challenged. "Do you really understand?"

Blair studied his friend then sat on the couch. "Yes, I do, Jim. It's just that…he shows up and gets sent away."

"Not by you." Jim sat on the steps and stretched out his legs. "Trust me, he knows who to blame." He innocently smiled when Blair glared at him.

"You don't believe him," the younger man accused.

Jim shrugged. "All I can say, Chief, is that I didn't see any family resemblance. Actually, I never saw all that much between you and Naomi as far as looks are concerned. So I assumed you'd look like your father." He crossed his legs at the ankles and studied his toes. "I guess I'm also concerned with his timing."

Blair frowned. "How so?"

"Whether you like being reminded of it or not, Chief, it's no secret that you got a nice chunk of change out of that settlement with Berkshire. It wouldn't take much digging to find out there's no record of your father. So, it wouldn't be all that hard for even a second-rate conman to make a pitch at you."

"Is that what you think he is?"

Jim shrugged. "How would I know?" He grinned when Blair silently yet eloquently glared at him. "All I can say is that he was nervous. And that would be completely understandable in either case."

Blair sighed and nodded.

"You gonna call Naomi?" Jim quietly asked after a few seconds.

Blair glanced at the telephone then slowly shook his head. "Not now. Later…maybe…depends." He looked at Jim. "I need to see him…talk with him."

Jim nodded. "I just thought you should do that on your own terms, Chief. Not his."

Blair half-smiled. "Yeah, I know." He rubbed the palms of his hands on his knees. "So. I'll call him in about a half hour…go see him…talk…"

"Uh-huh." Jim scratched his jaw. "How about while you're gone, I make up some sandwiches and stuff? We'll grab a basketball and head down to Marina Park like you suggested. We can shoot a few hoops and then eat down by the waterfront."

"I'll call you after I talk with him, okay? Let you know?"

Jim shrugged and slowly got to his feet. "We okay here, Sandburg?"

"Yeah. I…I didn't mean to jump down your throat like that," Blair apologized.

"Yeah, well, sometimes I take charge a little too much." Jim chuckled at Blair's expression. "I'm gonna read for a while. Give me a yell when you leave, okay?"

"Yeah." Blair looked back at the telephone and bit his lower lip.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The Cascade Hilton had originally been a luxurious Victorian hotel that had catered to the lumber and fishing barons of the late 19th century. During Prohibition, it had been the home of round-the-clock poker games and the best booze smuggled down from Canada. The building had fallen on hard times in the late 50's and early 60's. A rumor in the mid-60's that it was going to be turned into a Playboy Club had garnered so much publicity that when the deal with Playboy fell through, several hotel chains had tried their luck with the building. It wasn't until the Hilton chain purchased the building in the mid 90's and spent the money to modernize the hotel that the building had regained it's original prominence. Its patrons were those who didn't bat an eye at spending nearly $200 a night for a simple room. The suites ranged from $350 to $500 a night. The Presidential Suite was rumored to cost nearly $1700 a night.

Which was why the desk clerk eyed Blair's jean-and-flannel clad figure with more than a slightly raised eyebrow.

Blair casually waved at the man. He looked around the lobby, inwardly sighing as he saw no one waiting for him.

'I wish I'd asked Jim what he looked like. I hate looking like a dork waiting on a date.' Forcing his irritation down, Blair thought about asking the desk clerk to ring Eric Logan's room but decided against it. The man looked worried enough as it was.

Both he and Logan had been nervous when Blair had called to suggest meeting. The lobby of the hotel seemed close to neutral ground. Blair half-smiled as he remembered forcing Jim to promise not to follow him. 'Yeah, like we needed anything to make sandwiches. Jim must be worried. He could've come up with some better excuse that that.'

Blair quickly turned around when he heard the elevator door open. He watched as a balding grey-haired middle-aged man walked towards the lobby. The man saw Blair and stopped. For a few seconds, it looked like he was going to turn around and walk away. But the man took a deep breath and then resolutely walked towards Blair.

"Hello. I'm Eric Logan." After a second's hesitation, he held out his hand.

"Blair Sandburg." Blair shook the man's hand, then uncertainly took a step backward.

"I want to apologize for just showing up at your door this morning," Logan said. "I realize now how horribly awkward that would have been." He smiled. "Even more awkward than this moment is."

"Yeah...well...Jim...he's my roommate...well, you kinda caught him off guard," Blair explained.

"No, he was probably right," Logan admitted shrugged. "I just thought doing this over
the phone, but that would be even worse. I mean, someone calling and saying 'Hi, I'm your father'." He shook his head. "I guess Emily Post never covered this subject."

"Yeah." Blair glanced at his sneakered feet. "I guess there's no comfortable way to do this, huh?"

"No, I guess not." Logan glanced to his left. "Well, how about we go into the restaurant? The coffee's excellent or we can eat something if you wish. My treat."

"Tea would be great," Blair admitted.

The awkwardness stayed with them as the hostess led them to a booth on one side of the restaurant. Placing their order with the waitress, each man leaned back in their seats, putting a subtle distance between them.

Logan finally cleared his throat. "I'm sure you have a lot of questions," he began.

Surprised at how quickly he answered, Blair nodded. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"I...uh...I met your mother at Big Sur the summer of '68," Logan began. "Naomi..." He shook his head and smiled. "What can I say? She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. So full of life and exuberance. She was wearing her hair long, and she wove strands of beads through those red locks." He chuckled. "To her, every day was a new adventure. Each day held so much promise. I never saw anyone get so enthused about sea shells."

Blair softly laughed in response. He smiled his thanks to the waitress who brought their drinks.

Lagan wrapped both hands around his coffee cup. He sat silently for several seconds, lost in thought.

"Were you part of the protest movement?" Blair gently asked.

Logan seemed startled by the question. "No. I was just a boy from Oklahoma who'd never seen the ocean. I'd heard every Beach Boy song, however, and seen all the surfer movies." He grinned. "I know I don't look like it now, but at one time I was in decent physical shape."

"So you wanted to catch the perfect wave, huh?" Blair grinned.

"Tried surfing once and damned near drowned," Logan ruefully admitted. "So I stuck with swimming close to shore and admiring the girls." The two exchanged grins. "I'd gotten my father to agree to let me bum around a few months before starting college. I'd been ill my senior year and had to go to summer school to graduate. I would've only had a couple of weeks until starting college."

"That was good of him," Blair commented.

Logan shrugged. "He wasn't going to agree until my brother talked with him. There wasn't anything Father wouldn't do for Davy."

"Are they..." Blair cleared his throat. "Are your parents still alive?"

"No, I'm all that's left." Logan sadly smiled. "But that's getting ahead of the story."

"Oh. Yeah. Big Sur."

Logan nodded. "Big Sur." He sighed. "I won't make it out to be more than it was. A summer romance. Neither of us had any thought about commitments beyond that." He stared at Blair. "But I don't want you getting any false ideas either. I won't say we were in love with each other. But it was more than two people doing a bump-and-grind in the surf."

"You didn't know about me." Blair sipped his tea.

"I honestly didn't know you existed until a few months ago," Logan admitted. "My parents knew I was at Big Sur. It was just after the Labor Day weekend that a California state trooper came looking for me." He chuckled. "Needless to say, I suddenly found myself alone except for Naomi...who immediately provided me with an alibi for everything."

Blair snickered.

Logan sobered. "Apparently my father had more contacts that I knew about. He'd been in the Army with the trooper's commander. So this poor guy had been dispatched to...to tell me that I was needed at home." Logan pushed his coffee to one side. "My older brother Davy was in the Army...in Vietnam. His second tour of duty." He shook his head. "I can't believe how much it still hurts," he muttered.

Taking a deep breath, he continued. "Davy had been killed in action. When my parents got the news, my mother collapsed. She was dead from a heart attack before they could get her to the hospital." He shrugged. "I dropped to my knees and bawled like a baby. Naomi held me for what seemed like hours."

"Did she go back with you?"

Logan shook his head. "She offered to go. So did some of the people with her. But Father...well, let's say that he was very conservative and leave it at that, okay? He would not have appreciated free-spirited anti-war activists showing up on his doorstep." He sighed. "That was the last time I saw Naomi." He leaned forward and stared into Blair's eyes and lowered his voice. "Until I saw your press conference."

Blair automatically looked around the almost empty room. "What do you mean?"

Logan hesitated, then continued. "My father never remarried. He owned quite a bit of property but had never developed it. He always blamed Mamma's death on the fact that it took so long to get her to a hospital. When she collapsed, he put her in his truck to take her there. But it wasn't the most dependable of vehicles. Frankly, there were times that I could probably have outrun it." He looked up at the waitress' approach. "No, nothing more for me. Blair?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks."

Logan waited until the waitress walked away. "The day we buried Mamma, he swore he wasn't going to be poor a day longer than necessary. The day after we buried Davy, he packed my suitcase and sent me off to the University of Oklahoma. He said he wanted me to use my brain rather than my back."

"Did he become rich?" Blair softly asked.

Logan nodded. "Struck oil two years later." He sighed. "But it was never enough. He had to make more to have more. Then he had to have more to make more. Then it was all about appearances." He sipped his coffee, frowning at the cool temperature. "He basically worked himself in to an early grave. By that point, I'd become so much like him that I couldn't stop. I got out of the oil business and got into land development. Mostly apartment complexes and small shopping areas."

"I'm sorry."

"So am I. So am I."

"There's something I don't understand. If you didn't know I existed, how do you know I'm your son?" Blair wiped his lips with a napkin then carefully folded it. "I mean...my roommate mentioned there wasn't any physical resemblance between us. I can't see one either. And I don't really look like Naomi."

Logan reached into his back pocket. Pulling out a wallet, he opened it and pulled out a picture. "My older brother, Davy. It was taken just a week before he left for Vietnam." He slid the photograph across the table.

Blair's blue eyes widened. "That's...me. With short hair. Very short hair." He stared at the man in the photo who was leaning against the side of a pickup truck, arms folded across his chest. He'd seen the grin on the man's face a thousand times in pictures that Naomi had taken of him.

"Davy was ten years older than me. He joined the Army just out of high school. He planned to do his 20 years then come back and help out on the farm." Logan ruefully smiled. "I idolized him. He was everything that a younger brother could love and want to be like." He saw Blair's eyes flicker from the picture to him. "Davy...and you look like Mamma. I look more like Father's side of the family."

"Do you have a picture of them? Your parents?"

Logan briefly looked away. "No. Father destroyed everything that reminded him of Mamma. He even took the pictures I had of her. I'm sure Davy must have had one, but Father took the stuff the Army sent. I never saw it again. I don't think he knew I had this picture of Davy. Every time it starts to fade, I have it copied. As for pictures of Father...well, I'm his son. I destroyed every one of them. It's not something I'm particularly proud of doing, but..." He nervously shrugged.

"Could I..." Blair cleared his throat. "Could I have a copy of this?"

Logan hesitated then nodded. "Please take good care of it. It's all I have."

Blair nodded and carefully put the picture in his wallet. "I'll get it back to you tomorrow. I promise."

Logan nodded then covered his mouth as he began to violently cough. When he recovered, he motioned for the waitress. "Could I have some water, please?"

"Are you okay?" Blair asked.

Logan hesitated then shrugged. "I suppose that all depends on how you look at it." He nodded his thanks to the waitress who sat a glass of ice water in front of him. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a prescription bottle. Shaking out two yellow tablets, he quickly swallowed them with half the glass of water. He replaced the bottle in his pocket and sighed. "I'm sure you had plans for today so I'll wrap this up. I'm dying of cancer,
Blair. I've seen all the experts, and they conclude there's no hope. I've got a couple of months at best."

"Oh my God."

Logan crookedly smiled. "Of course, those couple of months might not be all that great." He reached across the table and gently patted Blair's hand. "Don't feel bad about it. There's nothing anyone could have done or can do." He leaned back in his seat. "I even went to a clinic in Paris for some alternative treatments. But even they threw up their hands and said I was a hopeless case." He glanced at Blair. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse the black humor. It's how I deal with it."

"I'm so sorry," Blair whispered.

"Thank you." Logan coughed again then cleared his throat. "I thought about not contacting you and letting my attorney handle it once I was planted six feet under. But then I realized that you deserved better than that. And...I wanted to meet you...at least once." He motioned for the waitress. "Do you want anything else?"

When Blair shook his head, Logan smiled at the waitress. "Check, please." Turning back to Blair he sighed. "I had just returned from the clinic in Paris. I had to stay a week in New York. I just couldn't make the rest of the trip home to Oklahoma. I was lying in bed in the hotel room when I saw your press conference." He suddenly chuckled. "When I saw you, I damn near had a heart attack. You looked so much like Davy."

Logan looked up as the waitress put the check on the table. Quickly signing his name and room number, he handed back to the waitress. "Thank you very much."

"Thank you, sir. You both have a nice day."

Logan hesitated then continued. "I saw Naomi in the background. Even after all these years, I could recognize her in an instant. She's still beautiful, you know."

"Yeah, I know." Blair smiled in agreement.

"Anyway, I put two and two together. I saw your second press conference while I was at home. With a little simple investigating to find out your age and where you were living...well, I finally decided to make contact. I...I don't know what was behind those press conferences, Blair, but I wanted you to know that...I'm proud of you. It's obvious you stood up for your principles. And that's something I respect." He suddenly got to his feet. "I need to rest now. I'd appreciate it if you could return the picture in the next day or so before I leave." Without meeting Blair's eyes, he quickly left the restaurant.

Stunned, Blair watched him walk away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jim was sitting on the couch watching the Seahawks massacre the 49ers when the front door gently opened. Looking over his shoulder, he watched as Blair silently hung his jacket on the rack. "Hey."

"Hey." Blair didn't look at Jim as he shuffled towards his room.

Jim grabbed the remote and turned off the television. "I've got the picnic stuff ready. You still wanna head to the park?"

Blair stopped. Without looking at his friend, he shook his head. "No. I'm sorry, but...no."

Jim slowly walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. He pulled out a small bottle of orange juice and closed the door. Quietly, he walked to Blair's room and set the bottle on the nightstand next to the bed.

Blair lay curled on his side facing away from the door. His arms were crossed across his chest with his hands fisted under his chin.

Jim quietly sat on the floor next to the bed. "I'm going to say something you probably never expected to hear. Do you want to talk?" He patiently waited through the minutes of silence.

"He seems like a nice man," Blair finally said. "He didn't know about me until the press conference."

Jim frowned but didn't reply.

"He's dying. Terminal cancer. He's only got a few months. Now isn't that a kick in the ass?"

Jim sighed. "I'm sorry to hear that, Chief."

"I don't know the man!" Blair exploded. "So why do I feel so...cheated?!"

"You've got a kind heart. You'd feel bad for the guy no matter who he is," Jim softly replied.

"Sorry about the picnic. I know I was pushing earlier to go out, but I just don't feel like it now," Blair muttered after another minute of silence.

Jim shrugged. "I just made some sandwiches and cut up some fruit. I can throw a salad together. We can eat in the park later if you feel like it or eat it here. I'm easy either way." He smiled when Blair snorted in amusement. "You gonna call Naomi?"

Blair stiffened. "Why would you want me to do that?"

Jim frowned. "I guess I just figured that would be the next logical step. I mean, you know where she is right now. And knowing how Naomi likes to move around without..."

"You just think my Mom was a flighty screwball who had sex with every guy she ever met, right?! I mean, that's why she couldn't tell me who my father is, isn't it?! Isn't that what you meant to say?!"

Jim blinked in astonishment. "I would never say that, Chief."

Blair groaned and rolled onto his back. He rubbed his face with both hands. "OhGodohGodohGod..."

Jim reached out and patted Blair on the knee. "Look, Sandburg, I'll be the first to admit that I'm in no position to give you any sort of advice on parents...male or female. But I think you need to talk with Naomi, okay?"

"I don't know if I can," Blair whispered. "What if he is my dad and I only to find out now that he'll be dead in a few months? If Naomi admits she did know who my father is, I don't know if I can forgive her for keeping that from me."

Jim sighed. "All I can say from having met Naomi and been around her is that whatever she does, she does from a motive of wanting to help." He grinned when Blair dropped his hands from his face and stared at him in astonishment. "I mean it, Chief. Nothing she did has been from malice or a deliberate intent to hurt anyone." He got to his feet. "So I think you need to keep that in mind, okay?" When Blair silently nodded, he pointed to the juice. "I ran out earlier and got those little bottles of juice to take to the park. I brought you one 'cause I thought you might be thirsty."

"Thanks, Jim," Blair whispered.

Jim smiled. "Come out when you're ready. If nothing else, we can picnic out on the balcony."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"What do you mean she's not there?! Where did she go?!"

Jim winced and turned his hearing down. He'd been sitting on the balcony watching the light from the setting sun play across the cool blue waters of the bay. He hadn't realized he'd turned up his hearing to catch the sound of the waves until Blair had yelled into the telephone receiver.

Finishing his sandwich, Jim leaned back in the chair with a half-empty bottle of juice in his left hand. He looked over his shoulder to see Blair pacing across the living room, phone to his right ear, and waving his left hand in the air.

'Score another one for Naomi.' He lifted the bottle a few inches and ironically toasted the darkening sky. 'Not around again when he needs you, huh? You know, if you really believe in all that stuff about karma, you'd realize you've left some bad karma hanging around your son's neck. You might try sticking around here long enough to...Dear God, what AM I thinking?!'

Shaking his head, Jim drained the bottle. He recapped it and set it on the small table next to him just as the balcony door opened.

Blair forcefully set a bottle of juice and a closed Tupperware container on the table then dragged a matching chair across the balcony to the table. Sitting, he wrenched the lid off the Tupperware container and began eating slices of apples.

Jim eyed him for a few seconds. "I also cut up some oranges."

"I know that, Jim. I want apples. If I wanted oranges, I would have brought them out here with me. But I wanted apples."

Jim bit back an angry retort and looked back out over the bay.

A few seconds later, Blair slumped back in the chair and put the container back on the table. "I'm sorry. That was so...nasty."

Jim shrugged. "No problem."

Blair shook his head. "Yes, it is. I'm mad at Naomi, and I'm taking it out on you. That's not right."

"No, but it's understandable," Jim pointed out. "After all, how many times have I done that to you?"

"Let's don't get into that, okay? I can't do it now."

"I didn't mean to get into anything. I was just..." Jim sighed. "I guess I'm just not good at doing your job."

"What?"

Jim glanced over at his partner and grinned. "I'm the one who almost always bitches and says nasty things. You're the one who figures out how to make it right."

"Yeah, sure," Blair snorted, although he managed a small smile. After a moment, he turned on his side and curled in the chair facing Jim. "She's not in Taos."

"I thought she planned to be there a while," Jim evenly replied.

"Yeah, well, something came up," Blair muttered. "Moonglow's daughter said she and Mom caught a flight to Geneva. Something about helping out a children's organization. She didn't know much about it...just that it came up suddenly."

Jim silently nodded. 'Caring for the world's children but leaving your in misery? Way to go, Naomi.' Then he silently acknowledged that Naomi had no way of knowing Blair was going through a crisis. "Did Moonglow's daughter have a contact number?"

Blair shook his head. "Sylvie said her mom calls when she finds a place to stay."

"A woman who calls herself Moonglow has a daughter named Sylvie?"

Blair grinned. "Sylvie is a very proper Assistant District Attorney for the State of New Mexico."

Jim whistled. "I bet Naomi and Moonbeam had quite a conversation on the airplane." He smiled when Blair snickered.

"Yeah, they probably did." Blair uncurled and rolled onto his back to stare up at the emerging stars. "I asked Sylvie to have Naomi call me immediately. I just hope she calls before..."

"If she doesn't call in a day or two, we'll see what we can do to track her down," Jim promised. He waited a few moments before continuing. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, Jim, you know you can."

"You said Logan didn't know about you until he saw the press conference. How did he know then?" Jim watched as Blair got up and went into the loft. A minute later he was back with his wallet.

Blair carefully removed the picture Logan had loaned him. "This is Davy Logan, my uncle."

Jim's eyes widened. "So that's what you'd look like with short hair."

Blair grinned. He replaced the picture and set the wallet on the table. As he sat down, he opened his bottle of juice. "He was in the Army and killed in Vietnam. But my...Logan said he noticed the resemblance immediately. And he saw Naomi in the background and recognized her." Suddenly he groaned. "I was going to get a copy of the picture made. It's the only one he has and he's had it copied whenever it started to fade. But Simon and I are gonna be tied up with the Feds tomorrow about the Quantico gig."

"I've got the day off tomorrow. I can get it copied for you," Jim offered.

"Really? Oh, man, that would be great! I want to get it back to him as soon as I can. It really means a lot to him."

"No problem," Jim assured him. "Happy to do it."

"If you can do that, then I can take it back to him tomorrow evening and maybe have a real dinner with him," Blair nodded. "Hopefully, I'll hear from Naomi by then."

Jim nodded. 'Yeah, well, I wouldn't hold my breath on that one.' He settled back in his chair with half-closed eyes as he listened to Blair talk about Eric Logan.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jim entered the Forensics Lab and spotted Serena Chang at her desk. Grinning, he walked towards her.

Serena looked up and loudly groaned. "Oh, no... Ellison's smiling. That means he's calling in that favor."

"That's what I've always liked about you, Serena. Direct and to the point with no nonsense." Jim leaned against her desk and crossed his arms across his chest.

"Only you would call that flattery," Serena laughed. "What do you need?"

"This is personal," Jim warned. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a baggie with a photograph inside. "Can you tell if this picture's been faked?"

Serena took the picture from him and her eyes widened in surprise. "When did Blair cut his hair?"

"He didn't." Jim lowered his voice. "There's a guy claiming to be Sandburg's father. He says this is Sandburg's uncle back in '68. The resemblance seems to be just a little too much, if you get my meaning."

"Are you sure this man isn't Blair's father?"

Jim shook his head. "Not according to the guy who says he's the father. Sandburg wanted a copy, and the guy loaned him the picture."

Serena carefully removed the photograph. "It's in remarkably good shape."

"The guy claims he has it copied whenever it starts to fade."

Serena glanced up at Jim. "Other than your normally suspicious nature, is there any other reason you think it's a faked picture?"

Jim slowly shook his head.

"Okay." Serena studied the photograph. "With today's technology, it's very simple to manipulate pictures. Given a couple of hours, I could produce a picture of you shaking hands with Fidel Castro...or kissing Marilyn Monroe." She impishly grinned at Jim. "Or you playing drums for a long-haired heavy-metal band...complete with the long hair."

"I get the idea," Jim grunted.

Serena leaned back in her chair. "And since the owner admits to having had it copied, the comparative newness of the paper and developing chemicals won't mean a thing."

"So there's no way to know if it was faked?" Jim asked.

"I didn't say that," Serena corrected him. "How long do I have?"

"Sandburg's going to return the picture this evening."

Serena sighed. "That's not good, but I'll do the best I can. I'll make a couple of copies and work from this one."

"Thanks, Serena. I'll be back about four."

He turned around and saw Joel Taggart heading towards Serena's desk. "I'm first in line, Joel," he grinned.

"Doesn't bother me," Joel smiled in his usual easy-going manner. "I was just returning a file to Records and thought I'd check to see if Serena was free for lunch."

Jim glanced back and forth between Joel and Serena.

"Sorry, I'm going to be tied up most of the day," Serena apologized. "How about tomorrow?"

Joel happily nodded. "I'll check with you about mid-morning."

"Am I missing something here?" Jim asked with a smile. "Lunch?"

Serena held up the picture of Davy Logan. "How fast did you say you needed this analysis?"

Jim held up his hands in surrender. "I get the message. See you later."

Serena chuckled as the two men walked away.

Outside, Jim looked at Joel. "Joel?"

Joel uncomfortably shrugged. "It's not what you think."

"What's not what I think?" Jim grinned.

Joel sighed. "Serena and I have known each other a long time. Now that she's divorced, I thought she wouldn't mind a friend asking her out for a meal every now and then."

Jim nodded. Joel's leave of absence to look after his estranged wife during her long fatal illness had put him socially out of touch with many of his former co-workers. "Nothing wrong with that."

Joel gave him a quick look then changed the subject. "I thought you were off today."

"Officially," Jim nodded. "Unofficially, I was asking Serena for a favor." He started to press the button for the elevation then hesitated. Leaning against the wall, he studied the other man. "You got some free time today? I could use your help on something."

Joel slowly nodded. "I'm sure I could make the time." He listened as Jim explained about Eric Logan's claim to be Blair's father.

"I was hoping you could see what you could find about Eric Logan," Jim suggested. "I'm going to see what I can dig up about Davy Logan's military record."

Joel's dark eyes studied Jim for several seconds. "I'm assuming this has something to do with the picture you gave Serena." When Jim slowly nodded, he narrowed his eyes. "Blair doesn't know what you're doing, does he?"

"No. I'd like to be prepared, that's all," Jim defended. "I've had this...unsettled feeling ever since he came to the door yesterday."

"How long will Blair be tied up with the Feds?" Joel glanced at his watch.

"He said they told him to be prepared to put in the day, so I'm figuring he won't be back before 5 pm at the earliest." Jim shook his head. "I don't know why, but that's what they told him."

"Feds," Joel grunted. The two men exchanged wry grins. "Okay, how about I gather what I can and meet you at your place about 3 pm?"

Jim smiled and nodded. "That would be great, Joel. I'd appreciate the help." He punched the elevator button then sly grinned. "You know, you could do me another favor and pick up those pictures from Serena and bring them with you."

Joel genially smiled in return. "Why, yes, Jim. I could do that, couldn't I? I'd be happy to do it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jim drove out of the PD garage and parked on the street. He pulled out his cell phone and a small pocket address book. Looking up a number, he quickly dialed and replaced the book in his pocket.

He settled back in the seat and waited for an answer. "Wendy Hawthorne, please. Jim Ellison calling." He drummed the fingers of his left hand on the steering wheel. "Wendy? Fine. You? Good. I need a favor. A quick one."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was closer to 2:30 than 3 when Jim saw Joel park on Prospect Street across from the loft. He had been standing on the balcony, arms crossed across his chest and watching the gulls fly over the bay...and calling himself a coward.

Sighing, he went back in to the loft and shut the balcony door behind him. A few minutes later, he answered Joel's knock on the door.

"Here are the pictures." Joel handed Jim a sealed envelope.

"Thanks. The coffee's fresh."

Joel happily sighed and went into the kitchen area, placing a file folder on the table as he went.

Jim opened the envelope. Two identical pictures of Davy Logan fell into his hand along with a folded piece of paper. He took the pictures into Blair's room and laid them on his desk. Opening the paper, he began to read.

'Jim. I really didn't have enough time to do a thorough examination. So I can't tell you definitively if the picture is genuine or a clever fake. But remember that I told you how easy it is to manipulate pictures with today's technology? Take another look at the truck behind the man in the picture. I don't know much about trucks, but it looks like yours only a different color. And the fact the man could be Blair's twin bothers me. A person can have a striking resemblance to another family member, but this is almost like Blair was cloned from this man. If we're going on looks alone, I'd be more inclined to say this man is Blair's father rather than his uncle. Sorry I can't be of more help. My gut instinct says this is a fake picture. But I can't prove it. My suggestion would be to insist on a DNA paternity test. I know Dan would do it for Blair. Serena'

Folding the paper, Jim went back into the loft to see Joel sitting at the table and organizing paper from the file folder.

The other man looked up. "What did Serena find out?"

"She can't tell one way or the other but her gut instinct says it's a fake." Jim sat at the table. "I contacted a friend at the Pentagon. He gave me a quick rundown on Davy Logan. He was a decorated soldier on his second tour in Vietnam when he was killed in action. His patrol surprised a VC patrol which resulted in an exchange of gunfire. Logan and another man were killed. His parents were listed as Franklin and Molly Logan of Oklahoma." He sighed. "As best I can tell, that part of the story fits."

"Eric Logan is the son of Franklin and Molly Logan. He attended the University of Oklahoma," Joel read from his notes. "The elder Logan discovered oil on his property and turned it into a small but sizeable fortune. When he died, Eric Logan went into the real estate field and made an even larger fortune."

"So it all checks," Jim frowned.

"On one level," Joel admitted. "You mentioned that Logan said he had gotten treatment in Paris for cancer?" When Jim nodded, he checked his notes. "I sent an inquiry to Washington. An Eric Logan was in Paris some months ago and returned to Oklahoma via New York." He looked up at Jim. "However, there's nothing that says he's traveled from Oklahoma to Cascade."

Joel leaned back in his seat. "If you're traveling from Oklahoma to Cascade, you will fly either to Dallas, Chicago, or San Francisco and then on to Cascade. But there's no ticket with his name on it. And since 911, it's very hard to use someone else's name to fly."

"And if he's legit, why would he use somebody else's name?" Jim nodded in thought. "Maybe he came by train. If he's that ill, he could have gotten a sleeping car arrangement."

"I thought of that," Joel agreed. "But if he's that ill, then he probably would have needed someone to help him since it will take a lot longer by train than plane. But, again, there's no ticket issued to anyone with his name."

"He sure didn't drive all the way from Oklahoma." Jim rubbed his forehead. "So what we have is someone using Eric Logan's identity. Do we have anyway to confirm Eric Logan is in Oklahoma?"

"We should." Joel smiled in triumph. "I talked with a very nice detective in Oklahoma City, where Eric Logan lives. I said there was a possibility of identity theft and could he confirm that Mr. Logan was in residence?"

"Joel, you're fantastic!" Jim grinned.

"What are you going to tell Blair?" Joel asked.

"Nothing until I know something for sure," Jim decided.

Joel gulped the last of his coffee and stood. "I'll leave all this with you." He glanced at his watch. "I'm heading back to the office. Hopefully, I'll hear back from Oklahoma City in a short while. I'll call as soon as I do."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jim looked up from the stove as the door slammed.

"I swear if that's the nonsense I'll have to put up with at Quantico, I'm not going!"

"Welcome to the world of the Feds, Chief," Jim chuckled.

"Ha-ha." Blair sat down and rested his forehead on the table. "I supposed I should be impressed by the thoroughness of their interviewing technique. After all, who knows what sort of criminal genius I might be. I could be planning to infiltrate their organization to find out all their secrets."

Jim paused. "Think that explanation will work with Naomi?"

"Did she call?" Blair raised his head and looked at the telephone.

"No, sorry." Jim returned to stirring the soup. "Oh, by the way, I got a copy of that picture for you. They're on your desk."

"Cool. Thanks, man." Blair got up and went into his room. A few minutes later, he returned, dressed in jeans and a sweater. "What are you doing for dinner?"

"Just reheating some of that soup. Why?"

"Well, I thought I'd call...Logan and see if he'd like to have dinner," Blair explained. "I thought about the hotel restaurant so if he gets tired, he's right there, you know? And..and I thought maybe you'd like to join us."

Jim glanced at the younger man. "Thanks for the invitation, Chief. But I think I'd just be in the way this time. Maybe the next? How long is he going to be in Cascade?"

Blair reached for the phone. "He didn't say. I kinda got the idea that it sorta depended on how things went between us. Well...that and his health."

"Makes sense," Jim nodded. "There'll probably be time to meet him before he leaves." He worriedly watched as Blair dialed the phone then made dinner plans with Logan.

"Jim! The soup!"

Startled, Jim glanced down at the stove then quickly moved the pan away from the heat. The boiling liquid immediately began to cool.

"Jim, did you zone?"

Jim turned his head to see Blair staring at him with concern. "No, Chief, it wasn't a zone." He saw Blair suspiciously continue to look at him and held up both hands. "I swear. I just got lost in thought."

"About what?" Blair asked.

'How I'm going to tell you that I think the man you're starting to believe is your father is a fraud?' Jim sighed turned back to the stove. "I guess all this stuff about Logan made me start thinking about my old man. We've been meaning to have dinner for a while but keep rescheduling."

"Hey, maybe we could all have dinner together," Blair suggested. "I mean...well...you know if he is my dad."

"A paternity test would resolve that quick enough," Jim pointed out. "I'll bet Dan would do it for you."

Blair frowned. "I just feel uncomfortable about asking him to do that, you know?"

"You need to know for sure one way or the other."

Blair nodded. "I'm going to wait on that until I talk with Naomi."

"If she calls, do you want me to give her the restaurant number so she can call you there?" Jim asked.

"No!" Blair startled both of them with his quick refusal. "I mean...that would be just too out there, you know? Make her give you a number where I can call her."

"Make her? Me make Naomi do something?"

Blair playfully smacked Jim's arm. "Yeah, be a cop, man, and interrogate her. After all, she's immune to your charm."

"Is that a fact?" Jim muttered. "OWWW! What was that for?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The loft was quiet after Blair left. Jim forced himself to eat a bowl of soup and clean the kitchen before going into the living room. He hesitated then pushed the half-inserted tape into the VCR, grateful that Blair hadn't noticed it.

He knew Wendy Hawthorne had been full of questions as to why he wanted the tape, but she'd refrained from asking any of them. 'I guess that means I owe her now.'

Sitting on the couch, Jim used the remote to turn the TV on. He'd tried before Joel arrived to watch the tape of Blair's first press conference but had turned the TV off after the first few words. Even though he'd seen it as it occurred, he'd been so stunned that he hadn't paid attention to the details. Taking a deep breath, Jim forced himself to watch.

Hi. Thank you all for coming. I just have a short speech prepared here. Um... In our media-informed culture, a scientist receives validation by having his or her work published and after years of research there is great personal satisfaction when that goal is reached. However, my desire to impress both my peers and the world at large drove me to an immoral and unethical act. My thesis "The Sentinel" is a fraud. While my paper does quote ancient source material, the documentation proving that James Ellison...actually possesses hyper-senses is fraudulent. Looking back, I can say that it's a good piece of fiction. I apologize for this deception. My only hope is that I can be forgiven for the pain I've caused those that are close to me. Thank you.

Jim rewound the tape. "Jeez, Blair. You look so scared…" He shook his head and started the tape again used the mute button. Without the sound of Blair's voice, he could use his eyes to completely focus on the screen. "Okay, Wendy said this is the footage the networks got," Jim muttered. "So where's Naomi? Logan said he saw Naomi. There's no Naomi."

Finally pressed the eject button and turned the TV off. "Strike one. No Naomi."

He took the tape from the VCR and hesitated. One part of him wanted to take a hammer and torch to the cassette. Instead, he carefully wrapped the tape in leftover bubble wrap and put it in a box. Sealing it, he used a black marker and wrote across the top. 'In case we ever forget how stupid we both were.'

Smiling at the unusual whimsy, he put the tape in the military footlocker in the back of his closet.

As he was putting boxes back in front of the footlocker, he heard the phone ringing. Just as he got to the steps, he heard the answering machine kick in.

"Blair? Blair! Sweetie, pick up!"

Jim jumped halfway down the stairs and grabbed the phone. "Naomi! Don't hang up!"

"Jim? Where's Blair? He left Sylvie such an anxious message for me to contact him. Is he okay? Where is he? Did something happen to him? To you? You sound..."

"Naomi!" Jim took a deep breath. "Blair's not hurt. I'm not hurt. But he really needs to talk with you."

"About what? Jim...nothing bad has happened between you two, has it?"

"No, Naomi," Jim gently answered. He sat on the couch. "Give me a couple of seconds, okay?"

"Just breathe deeply and exhale just as deeply. Try to get rid of all that negative energy," Naomi advised.

"Uh...right. Look, Naomi, this really should come from Blair, but I'm really concerned about a situation right now." He took a deep breath. "So I need to ask you a personal question, and I really need an honest answer."

"Of course."

"Is a man named Eric Logan Blair's father?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Naomi!"

"Jim, don't yell," Naomi protested. "Why are you wanting to know about Blair's father?"

"Because a man named Eric Logan showed up claiming to be Blair's father, that's why!" Frustrated, Jim got to his feet and began pacing. "He has a picture of his brother who is a dead ringer for Blair. Blair doesn't know it, but I took the picture to the PD Forensics lab and had them analyze it. They can't tell for sure if it's genuine, but someone who's opinion I value very highly thinks it's a phony. And Blair doesn't know that I've had this
guy checked out and something just doesn't feel right about him. But Blair's half-convinced or I should say, he wants to be convinced this guy's his father; and this guy's spinning some tale about dying of cancer which I don't know if he is or he isn't but it's tugging on Blair's heartstrings and they're at dinner now…"

"Jim! You're babbling. Calm down," Naomi advised with amusement in her voice.

Jim sighed. "Naomi..."

"Thank you, Jim."

Jim frowned. "For what?"

"For caring so much about my son," Naomi quietly answered. "After everything that's happened...after all the misunderstandings and arguments...thank you."

Jim found himself relaxing. "You're welcome, Naomi. Now will you answer the question?"

"The answer is I don't know anyone named Eric Logan," Naomi calmly answered. "But the majority of the people I knew in 1968 weren't using the names they'd been given at birth. I didn't always use Naomi. We used names that personified who and what we were at that time."

"Okay," Jim sat back down on the couch. "He was from Oklahoma...probably eighteen years old. He says you were with him when a California cop showed up to tell him he was needed back at home because his brother had been killed in Vietnam and his mother had died of a heart attack."

"Jim, I don't...what a minute...you said a California cop?"

Jim held his breath. "Yeah. The two of you were at Big Sur."

"Jim, I wasn't anywhere in California in 1968," Naomi firmly answered. "I was briefly there in San Diego in late 1967 with...but I didn't return to California until mid-1970 and that was to Berkeley."

"You're positive," Jim pressed even though he knew the answer.

"I was never so far out of it that I didn't know where I was," Naomi irritably answered. "Yes, I'm sure."

Silence.

"Jim, what's going on?" Naomi half-whispered.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," Jim grimly answered. "Look, give me a number where Blair can call you. No matter how this goes down, he's going to need to talk to you. And if he doesn't call you, then I want you to call him, understand?"

"I hear you," Naomi softly replied. "I'm at 59-236-3619. I'm not sure of the country code for Switzerland. But I promise I won't leave until I've spoken with Blair or you."

"One of us will get back with you," Jim promised. He hesitated then continued, "Um...think, you know...good thoughts."

Naomi chuckled. "Oh, Jim. 'Bye."

Jim quickly hung up the phone. "Strike two," he murmured. He started for the door when the phone rang again. He grabbed it and started back towards the door. "Ellison."

"Jim, it's Joel."

Jim froze at the serious tone in Joel's voice. "Eric Logan's in Oklahoma, isn't he?"

"My contact confirmed that Eric Logan is currently a patient in a local hospital in Oklahoma City. They don't expect him to live much longer than a week," Joel reported.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Jim shouted. "He took a dying man's identity to set Blair up! Look, Joel, I gotta go."

"Jim! You need to calm down!" Joel ordered. "You do not need to go busting in there like gangbusters!"

"Joel..."

"Listen to me, Jim," Joel pleaded. "From the way you talked, it seems like Blair has practically accepted this man as his father. If you confront them in anger, it'll be like jolting Blair with electricity. He's going to know something's up when you get there. Don't make it any worse for him."

Jim sighed. "Okay, okay, I get the message." He reached for his jacket.

"Where should I meet you?"

Jim had to smile. "What's the matter, Joel? Don't you trust me?"

"Not particularly," Joel admitted. "Now where are they?"

Jim sighed. "Cascade Hilton. The hotel restaurant." He disconnected the call and set the phone on the kitchen table. "Strike three, Mr. Whoever-You-Are." He grimly smiled. "Strike three."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Thank you for returning this to me so quickly." Logan carefully put the photo of his brother into his wallet.

"Thank you for letting me make a copy." Blair sipped his water and grinned. "If I ever think about cutting my hair that short, at least I'll know what I'll look like."

Logan smiled as he pulled out a vial of tablets. Shaking two into his hand, he quickly swallowed them and replaced the vial in his pocket. He saw Blair's expression and grimaced. "For the pain."

"Are they helping?" Blair quietly asked.

Logan shrugged. "I presume they would help a lot more if I took them as prescribed," he admitted. "But they make me...well, not exactly sleepy; but I don't feel like I'm completely awake." He grimaced. "I suppose I'll be forced to take them sooner than I'd like." Then he waved his hand in dismissal. "But, enough of that."

"Could I ask..." Blair looked away in confusion.

"Blair, you can ask whatever you want," Logan quietly assured him. "I'll try to answer as best I can."

"I'm trying to get hold of Naomi. Do you want to talk with her?" Blair asked.

Logan hesitated. "I don't see a reason why. Except to thank her for you. When you're facing your own mortality, you find it's comforting to know that part of you will live on. Even if you didn't know it existed." He sighed. "Lord knows I don't want to burden her...or you with this damned cancer." He drummed his fingers on the table for a few seconds. "But I think I would like her number if she doesn't mind me having it. I never did thank her for her kindness to me when I found out that Davy and Mamma had died."

Blair eagerly nodded. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"Where is Naomi? She must have had an interesting life," Logan smiled.

"Yeah, we both did," Blair chuckled. "We traveled all over the world when I was a kid. I guess that's why I became interested in anthropology. I always wondered why people were where they were, why they came there, what they did...stuff like that." He looked up as the waitress put their soup in front of them. "But I've pretty much been in Cascade since I was sixteen. That's when I started Rainier."

Logan nodded his thanks to the waitress then looked at his potato soup with resignation. "I'd give anything for a nice juicy steak," he muttered. Catching Blair's confused look, he explained. "I don't know if it's the cancer or the medication, but anything more substantial than soup hurts my stomach. I guess I just can't digest stuff like that any more." He forced a smile. "The good part is that I can still digest ice cream."

"I don't think I could handle this as well as you," Blair admitted.

Logan picked up his spoon. "Oh, I've already done the denial and anger. Called all the doctors quacks and liars. Actually stood in my bedroom and screamed for what was probably close to an hour." He shrugged. "Some things just can't be changed."

Blair stared down at his vegetable soup and frowned. "I don't mean to get personal, but do you have someone back in Oklahoma...I mean...you're not alone, are you?"

Logan shrugged. "My personal physician's arranged for nursing when it becomes necessary. I've already told him that I don't intend to go into the hospital until it's absolutely necessary."

"Will you call me?" Blair asked in a quiet voice as he stirred the soup with a spoon.

Logan studied the younger man. "Why would you want to go through that?" he gently asked.

Blair rapidly blinked. "Because...you...ummm..." He cleared his throat. "No one should die alone," he finally said.

Logan leaned back in his seat. "Blair, there should be no regrets. I didn't know about you. You didn't know about me. Neither of us made this choice. Your mother didn't make the choice. I never told her my last name. And Eric from Oklahoma wouldn't make it easy for her to have found me in any case."

Blair nodded and looked down at his soup bowl.

Logan sighed. "I'll stay in touch with you if you want me to, Blair. And I'll think about what you've asked. But I want you to think about it, too. Then...if you still want, I'll make sure you're notified when I go into the hospital if I'm not able to call you myself."

Blair nodded and forced himself to begin eating.

After several minutes, Logan cleared his throat. "Since we're talking about serious matters, I should let you know something."

Blair forced a smile. "Sure. What?"

"My father left me financially secure, and I've made even more money," Logan began.

Blair shook his head. "I don't want your money. I don't need it."

Logan smiled. "I didn't think you'd want it, and I'm glad you don't need it. But you are my son which makes you entitled to it."

Blair frowned, thinking about Jim's suggestion for a DNA paternity test.

"So, what I would like to suggest and for you to think about, is that we take your inheritance and put it into a trust. You can access it for your own personal use, in case of an emergency..."

"I don't..."

Logan held up a hand. "Blair, please hear me out. The money would be there in case of an emergency. But in the meantime, it would be used for educational or charitable purposes. I want the money to be used. God knows it brought no happiness to Father and precious little happiness to me." He studied Blair. "It's probably not something you want to think about, but you might need it for medical expenses someday. If not for you then for Naomi."

'Or for Jim.' Not for the first time, Blair thought about how long-term exposure to urban stimuli would eventually affect his Sentinel. "Can I think about it? I promise I'll give you an answer soon."

Logan nodded. "Blair..." He cleared his throat. "I know I don't have any say in your life, but..." He pushed the bowl of soup to one side and leaned forward. "If there is anything I can do for you...I don't know how bad the fallout from your press conferences is, but..." He took a deep breath. "I know you had an attorney so I assume there was some sort of settlement. But...I don't know how all that happened. I can't believe that you perpetrated a fraud...or that anyone could think that of you. But if someone...coerced you into something..." Logan reached out and put his hand over Blair's. "I don't mean to sound like an overprotective father, but if you need me to help in any way or listen to any problems you have, I promise to listen and try to help…and not to judge. I'd be honored to do that."

Blair stared at the older man in stunned silence.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Joel put a hand on Jim's arm as they entered the hotel lobby. "We need to talk with the manager to see how this guy's paying his bill. We might be able to trace the money to whoever's behind this."

Jim nodded, then looked towards the open restaurant door.

'Can I think about it? I promise I'll give you an answer soon.'

"They're talking," Jim murmured.

"What about?" Joel quietly asked.

Jim looked at the other man in astonishment, then relaxed. "Sorry. Blair warned me that I was starting to use my senses in front of others. I just forgot for a moment that you knew."

Joel smiled and nodded as Jim looked back towards the restaurant.

'I can't believe that you perpetrated a fraud...or that anyone could think that of you. But if someone...coerced you into something...'

"Damn!" Jim cursed. "You check with the manager. I gotta get in there."

"Jim, you control your temper," Joel warned. When Jim glared at him, he stepped closer. "Don't give me that look. When you think Blair's threatened, you tend to think first and regret it later."

Jim ground his back teeth together and nodded. Turning, he calmly walked towards the restaurant.

"Good Lord, how does Blair put up with that?" Joel muttered.

Jim had to smile and wondered if Joel knew he had been overheard. The brief amusement faded as soon as he entered the restaurant and saw Blair's hopeful expression. Muttering a vicious Chopec curse under his breath, he quickly walked towards their table.

"I don't know what to say," Blair finally admitted. He looked down at the table where Logan's hand covered his. "Thank you, Da..."

"Hey, Sandburg."

Blair looked up to see Jim standing next to the table.

Logan also looked up, then self-consciously moved his hand away from Blair's.

"Jim!" Blair scooted into the booth and moved his soup bowl. "You decided to join us, huh?"

"Yeah, I thought I should." Jim slid into the booth and looked at Logan. "Jim Ellison."

"Yes, you're Blair's roommate. I'm Eric Logan."

"No, you're not." Jim locked eyes with the other man.

"Jim? What's going on?" Blair hesitantly asked.

Jim glanced at his partner. "I'm sorry, Chief. I wish I'd gotten here sooner."

Blair stared at Jim for several seconds then both men turned to look at Logan. "Who are you?" Blair finally asked.

"I don't understand." Logan looked from one man to another.

"The real Eric Logan is in a hospital in Oklahoma City." Jim struggled to control his anger. "And I talked with Naomi just a little while ago." He looked again at Blair. "She wasn't in California in 1968, Chief." He looked back at Logan. "So she couldn't have been at Big Sur to comfort you when you learned of your brother's death in Viet Nam."

"Oh, God. Why?" Blair stared at Logan.

"I think I'd better go." Logan wiped his mouth with his napkin.

"Yes, but you'll be coming with us."

Dazedly, Blair looked up. "Joel?"

Joel gently smiled. "Hi, Blair." He indicated the man standing behind him. "This is Francis Kirkland, the hotel manager. He confirms this man is registered under the name of Eric Logan of Oklahoma City. The address matches the one for the real Eric Logan."

"That's identity fraud," Jim pointed out. "You're under arrest." He glanced at the elderly hotel manager.

"Let's not make a scene," Joel urged Logan. "But we do need you to come with us."

Logan looked at Blair for several seconds, then silently slid out of the booth.

Joel took him by the arm and walked him out of the restaurant.

Jim slowly got to his feet. "Blair?"

Blair silently slid out of the booth then without a word walked past his partner.

Jim sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Looking at the manager, he forced a smile. "Thank you for your cooperation. The department will be in touch."

Outside, he saw Blair watching Joel handcuff Logan and help him into the back of Joel's car. "We'll get to the bottom of this, Chief."

"I believe him, Jim. I really believed him." Blair took a deep breath.

Jim hesitantly put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I don't know what else to say, but I'm sorry."

Blair nodded. "Did Naomi leave a number?"

Jim removed his hand. "Yeah, I wrote it down on the pad next to the phone." He frowned. "Well, where the phone should be. I think I left it in the kitchen."

Blair chuckled. "Violation of house rule, man."

"I was in a hurry," Jim shrugged. "Look, we need to get down to the station for the interrogation."

"I can't," Blair shook his head. "There's no need, is there?"

Jim frowned. "No, but I'd..."

"I think it had to do with your senses rather than the money," Blair interrupted. He finally looked up at his partner. "At least, it seems like he was heading in that direction. So you need to be there."

Jim nodded. "Okay. I'll give you a call later." He hesitated. "I...uh...promised Naomi that one of us would call her. She's worried."

"I'll call," Blair promised. "I don't know how long the conversation will be, but I'll call."

Jim frowned. "Are you sure you want to go back home by yourself? I don't have to be a part of the interrogation."

Blair shook his head. "I need to do this alone, Jim, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." Unsure of what else to say or do, Jim slowly walked away. However, he sat in the truck until Blair slowly drove away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Do you understand these rights as I've explained them to you?" Joel asked. When the man across the table from him nodded, Joel casually leaned back in his chair. "You need to verbally answer so it can be recorded."

"Yes. I understand. I'll answer your questions because I've broken no laws."

"What is your real name?" Joel asked.

"Victor Sanford." The man who had been calling himself Eric Logan matched Joel's casualness.

"Why were you calling yourself Eric Logan?"

"I'm a part-time actor and part-time private detective from New York," Sanford explained. "A friend of mine hired me to come to Cascade and combine my talents."

Joel half-closed his eyes. "You told Blair Sandburg you were his father. Is that true?"

Sanford patiently sighed. "No. That was just the role I was playing."

"Who hired you?"

"Cary McBride."

Joel's eyes opened wide. "The reporter from the Cascade Enquirer?"

"He used to work in New York," Sanford explained. "He knew no one here would know me so there wasn't any chance of my being recognized." He smiled. "We never figured on being found out so quickly."

"You really thought no one would investigate Eric Logan?"

Sanford's smile turned into a smirk. "We figured Sandburg's friends would be too happy for him to ask many questions. Guess we were wrong."

"About many things," Joel calmly assured him.

"Look, lying isn't a crime. And that's all I did," Sanford pointed out.

"You took Eric Logan's identity," Joel disagreed.

"There was no attempt to defraud Mr. Logan," Sanford argued. "The charges to the hotel were made on a credit card. The account is paid from a bank account I set up with funds provided by Cary McBride."

Joel smiled. "Well, we'll let the District Attorney figure that out. What was the purpose of this charade?"

Sanford laughed. "Cary thought that Sandburg told the truth in his first press conference and lied in the second. He thinks Sandburg's roommate, Ellison, is this Sentinel creature. Personally, I think Cary's lost it."

"So your job was to convince Blair Sandburg that you're his father and then get him to confide in you. Correct?"

Sanford nodded. "Cary figured Sandburg would feel sorry for his dying father and confess the truth." He shook his head. "Like I said, I think Cary's finally lost it. Sentinel...enhanced senses...that's not even good science fiction!" He looked up as Joel got to his feet. "I presume I'm free to go now?"

"Free to return to your cell," Joel advised. "We have only your word for this. We'll need to investigate to make sure that Mr. Logan hasn't been defrauded. And I'm not sure that assuming someone else's identity isn't a crime. After all, things have changed since 911, haven't they?"

"You can ask Cary! He'll confirm my story!" Sanford shouted.

Joel coldly smiled. "From your story, it would seem that Mr. McBride is a co-conspirator. I'll have an officer return you to your cell." He walked from the interrogation room to the nearby observation room. He smiled to himself when he saw Jim's angered expression. Momentarily ignoring him, Joel looked at Simon. "I think we need to bring in Mr. McBride for a little talk."

Simon nodded. "Conner is still on duty. I'll have some uniformed officers accompany her." He rubbed his forehead. "I think I should call Henry Pillars in as well."

"McBride's publisher?" Joel frowned.

"I think he should know what his reporter's been up to," Simon nodded. He glanced at Jim. "And you can determine if he's lying about his involvement."

Silently, Jim nodded as Simon left the room.

Joel closed the door and leaned against it. "This isn't your fault."

Jim sighed. "I know. We did all we could to diffuse the situation. We figured it was possible that someone might not believe us and that we would have to be extra careful for a while." He looked at Joel. "But neither of us thought anyone would go to this extent." He shook his head. "He had Sandburg convinced he was his father. Now Sandburg feels like he's lost his father and is probably embarrassed that he got fooled."

"And he was close to telling 'his father' the truth?" Joel quietly asked.

"Maybe," Jim shrugged. "But he didn't."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"It's all a conspiracy to keep me from reporting the truth!"

Megan Conner lazily smiled at the angry reporter. "Somehow, Mr. McBride, I don't think you have a very high regard for the truth. After all, you went to great lengths to set up this deception. You wouldn't be thinking Pulitzer Prize, now would you?"

"What if I am?" Cory McBride sullenly demanded. "This would be the story of the century!."

Megan sighed and shook her head. "The only conspiracy is the one you and your partner created to deceive Mr. Sandburg."

McBride smirked. "So take us to trial. This Logan guy wasn't defrauded in any way. I did a lot of research to pick him out, that's all."

Megan's eyes narrowed. "I think a case could be made that you intended to defraud Mr. Sandburg. Certainly you emotionally defrauded him of a father."

McBride snorted.

"At least, that's how my report will read," Conner nodded in satisfaction. "Two cold-hearted individuals conspire to convince Mr. Sandburg that his long-lost father has found him. And the father is terminally ill and soon to die. Who knows what you intended to get from him? After all, it's no secret that Mr. Sandburg received a settlement from Berkshire Publishing." She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. "Two such enterprising people as you and Mr. Sanford could easily set up a phony foundation and
solicit money from Mr. Sandburg in memory of his poor recently-departed father."

"You're crazy!" McBride shouted.

"Really? I wonder how the District Attorney will see it." Megan smiled and got to her feet. "Until then, Cary McBride, you're under arrest for attempted fraud. You have..."

In the observation room, Simon turned to Henry Pillars. "Is that how you allow your reporters to act?"

Henry Pillars was a tall lean man in his late 50's with silver grey hair. He continually tried for the distinguished look but having been unceremoniously brought to Major Crimes had seriously damaged that image. "Cary isn't one of my reporters, Captain Banks."

"What?! His stuff appears in that rag you..."

"That will be all, Detective Ellison!" Simon thundered. When Jim looked away, he continued. "Detective Ellison has a point. McBride's stories appear in your paper, and he represents himself at press conferences as being from the Enquirer."

"He's an independent contractor...not a staff member," Pillars calmly explained. "I allow him to use the Enquirer resources for research purposes. If he's represented himself as an Enquirer reporter, then he's done so without my knowledge or approval." He smiled. "In fact, the Enquirer has no staff reporters. All of them are independent contractors."

"Are you saying you have no responsibility for what he does?" Jim angrily demanded.

Pillars turned to look at Jim. "I can understand your anger, Detective Ellison. After all, those press conferences were highly embarrassing to a private man such as yourself." He turned back to Simon. "McBride brings stories to my attention. If they check out, I run them and pay him a fee." He ostentatiously straightened his tie. "I'm shocked, of course, by how he's conducted this inquiry. But I'm not responsible for his actions. Now...if
there's nothing else?"

Behind Pillars' back, Jim shook his head.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Pillars," Simon replied. "I'll have someone drive you home."

Jim waited until Simon had left the observation room with Pillars before leaning back against one wall and sighing.

The door opened and Megan looked in. "I saw Capt. Banks escorting that publisher out. He wasn't part of this?"

"No. But he is letting McBride take all that responsibility." Jim pushed himself away from the wall. "Not that he'll be inconvenienced all that much."

Megan shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not." Her eyes twinkled. "Something about his name kept niggling at my memory. Wasn't Garret Kincaid's second-in-command named McBride?"

"They're not the same man," Jim assured her.

"I know that," Megan cheerfully agreed. "But I think a closer investigation is warranted. Who knows? Perhaps our Mr. McBride has more than one agenda."

Jim slowly smiled. "Be careful, Connor. Someone might accuse you of harassment."

"Just doing my job by being as thorough as possible," Megan assured him. "No, I don't think our Mr. McBride will be going home all that quickly."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"He wouldn't let me come home, Joel."

Silence.

"He wouldn't let me come home."

Joel couldn't figure out if the words had been spoken with more of a whine or indignation.

"It's been a long hard day, and I'd like to be on my comfortable couch at home instead of in this bar. I know he's been emotionally twisted up over this but..."

Joel waited.

"He wouldn't let me come home."

Jim sat in the booth, hunched over his glass of beer.

Joel sat on the other side of the booth and tried not to smile. "He just needs some time to...how does he put it?...oh yeah...he needs time to process this, Jim. It really doesn't have much to do with you."

Jim scowled even as he nodded.

Joel leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You know, it doesn't help him that you're trying so hard." He paused, trying to find the right words. "It seems that ever since that mess with Blair's dissertation, you're trying extra hard to smooth Blair's path...or make something up to him. It just keeps bringing up a situation where Blair hasn't been able to resolve his own sense of guilt."

Jim snorted. "So if I'm trying to be supportive in this situation, I'm just dredging up old bad history?"

Joel shook his head. "Let me ask you this...would you be sitting here feeling the way you do if this had happened before the dissertation mess?" He stared into Jim's blue eyes and lowered his voice even more. "Or before Alex Barnes?"

"You weren't here then," Jim quickly pointed out.

Joel shrugged. "Let's just say that after our meeting at the loft, Simon, Megan, Henri, Rafe, and I had a long talk. You and Blair placed a great deal of trust in us. I needed to be brought up to speed." He tapped the table with his left forefinger. "And you didn't answer the question."

Jim stared at the amber liquid in his glass for almost a minute. "I think if somebody pulled this on Sandburg, I'd feel bad for him and want to help. No matter if it happened today or last month or last year. It was a really shitty thing to do to him, Joel. Hell, it's a shitty thing to do to anybody. I guess with all that's happened...it just seems more important to me now to try and...do something to make it better."

"He's going to be hurt for quite a while over this. Give him the time and space he's asked for. That's the best thing you can do for him right now," Joel quietly advised.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Jim reluctantly admitted. "At least he's got that FBI training in Quantico in a few weeks. Hopefully, it'll get his mind off this crap." He suddenly smiled. "I know! I'll get you guys over for another couple of Q&A sessions. Maybe even get him to assign you guys some homework."

Joel laughed. "I'll do it. It would be worth it just to see the look on Brown's face when he gets handed homework."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was close to midnight when Jim quietly entered the loft. He hung up his jacket and walked into the living room. Even without lights, he could easily see Blair stretched out on the couch. His left arm dangled off the couch, and the portable phone lay on the floor inches from his fingers.

Jim took the phone and put it back on its base. Then he knelt next to the couch and gently rubbed Blair's shoulder. "Hey, Chief. You'd be a lot more comfortable in bed."

Blair sleepily opened his eyes. "What time is it?" he mumbled.

"Time for all little guppies to go to bed," Jim grinned.

Blair grunted and sat up. "I talked with Naomi."

"Everything okay between you two?" Jim helped Blair get to his feet.

"Yeah. I guess. Probably. Yeah, it is."

Jim blinked. "Okay. Good."

"I didn't mean for you to stay out so late," Blair apologized. "I just didn't want you to get caught in the middle of me and Naomi if we started arguing."

"No problem, Chief. I'm just glad you two are okay." Jim steered his partner towards his room.

"I told her about Quantico," Blair said.

Jim hesitated. "What did she say?"

"That it's all your fault," Blair wearily smiled.

"Really?" Jim tried not to smile in return.

"Yep. I played that up, too," Blair nodded. "Gotta make sure she doesn't fall for that Ellison charm of yours."

"Uh-huh...I don't think there's any chance of that, Sandburg." Jim pulled back the blanket on the futon. As Blair lay down, Jim reached out and removed the younger man's shoes. "I'm not into sage, and she's not into Tupperware."

"Good," Blair mumbled into his pillow. "Can't see you as my step-daddy."

Jim chuckled. "Go to sleep, Junior." He was halfway to the door when he heard a very soft voice.

"Thank you, Jim."

"Anytime, Chief. Anytime."