Thank you! I am so blessed to have received such wonderful reviews! I truly did not think that anyone would care, let alone appreciate, what I had to tell … in English!

Friday 29 May 1998

12:21 AM

Jim opened the loft door but let Simon go ahead of him. He was afraid of being there. Afraid of the nothingness he would feel.

He clutched the keys in his hand, hard, almost drawing blood.

"Jim, you alright?" Simon was looking at him; worry written all over his face.

"Yeah, Simon thanks" Jim tossed his key in the basket, hung his coat and took few tentative steps inside the loft. Then he stopped and stood there unmoving.

Simon didn't know what to do for his friend. He understood him though. If Daryl were the one missing, he would felt the same way: helpless, angry.

And afraid.

The big captain shook his head as for to chase away the dark thought.

"You hungry?" he said suddenly, heading toward the kitchen "Jim!"

"Hum, What?"

"I asked you, if you want to eat something."

"Simon, I'm not really hungry and …" Jim's voice trailed off heavy with fatigue and emotion.

"Well, it's too bad because I am. And you have to eat too." Simon opened the cupboard and began to rummage. "So what do we have here" he queried softly to no one in particular.

Jim stood in the middle of the living room, listening to his Captain who was now ranting and raving about the "damn kid's healthy food attitude." A sad smile graced his lips.

Jim knew that he wasn't the only one whose protective instinct kicked in where Blair was concerned; Simon was as bad as him in a kind of bear way.

After their return from the hospital few weeks ago, Blair had complained daily about the mother hen routine of his roommate. Jim recalled that the young man had been more than happy to have Simon for dinner one night, for a change. But, it had soon discovered that the tall, tough captain was in the same state as Jim's. Simon had passed the evening fussing over the kid, but without making it look like he had been. Which had been worse. Blair had rolled his eyes up and waved his hands in the air in a mock sign of surrender.

Blair would love that: he had two blessed protectors.

Yeah, sure, and what good did it do to him? Jim sighed heavily and took a few steps forward.

His gaze lit on the coffee table near the couch.

Blue books scattered about, along with papers, pens and books. A tape recorder lay atop of the paraphernalia.

Jim approached the couch with slow and cautious moves as if going too quickly would risk making the proof of Blair's physical presence in the loft suddenly disappeare. He stood a moment in front of the table, eyes fixed. He extended a trembling hand toward one of the blue book, took it and opened it carefully.

The familiar hand written scrawls of his friend covered large part of the pages. Jim smiled briefly.

Blair was always very thorough in his grading, thinking that the biggest responsibility of a teacher was to try and to make a student understand the sense behind the questions, more than to underlaying the wrong answers. It was for that reason that the graduate student hated multiple tests exam, judging they didn't reward "intelligence" and analytical minds, but only "by heart" sterile knowledge.

Jim wondered what it would have been to have Blair as a teacher when he was in college.

Seeing the number of calls from Rainier's students they had on the voice mail, Jim knew that Blair was a really popular teacher. And a good one too. He had attended some of Blair's lectures, waiting for his class to end to drive him back home when his classic was in the shop.

Jim had been impressed with Blair's performances. The young teacher was a dynamic speaker; his lectures were funny and accessible. Well, Jim even remembered most of the topics and it was more than he could say for a lot of the things he had learned since leaving college.

A sudden shiver coursed through him.

How had it happened? When had this stranger become so important to him? More important than his own family? He had always been a loner but in a few years Blair Sandburg had become a part of his life. No. More than that. He had become a part of himself, as important as … breathing.

He needed the young man by his side to feel … whole.

And it wasn't only a Sentinel thing.

It was a Blair Sandburg thing.

The young man was … a gift. Jim couldn't repress a nervous chuckle at this last though. Blair was someone who could behind the wall of appearances. Who was always eager to help people, to give, and who never asked anything in return. A gift, indeed.

Someone precious. Someone that deserve to be … protected.

Jim dropped down onto the couch, legs suddenly weak. Leaning back in the couch, he clutched the blue book tightly in his hands. Tracing the scrawls on the paper with his fingers, he played with the curves of the words drawn here. The red ink Blair had used made a strong contrast with the white paper.

The colored ink seemed so bright. Bright and so deep.

Jim couldn't take his eyes off of the red scrawls and soon they seemed to fill all his vision, threatening to engulf him completely, like large spreading wings

He felt like he was drowning in all this red … blood? So much blood. Blair's blood.

It was surrounding him now, closing on him. Soon, it was in him, in his eyes, in his mouth. He could feel the acrid taste of it. It was suffocating him slowly.

"Jim, Jim, Come on, don't do this to me, God! Come back now; snap out of it, JIM!" At Simon's worried voice, Jim blinked, coming back from his zone-out with a jolt.

Simon had joined him on the couch and was shaking him, none too gently.

"Si-Simon" Jim's voice stuttered "Wha-"his throat was dry like sandpaper "What happened – here?". His head felt like it was going to explode soon.

"WHAT HAPPENED?" It went out a little harsher that intended. Simon rubbed his forehead with his hand and took a large inspiration to calm himself. "What happened, Jim, is that you just took ten years of my life. Ten years that I couldn't afford to lose, thanks to you Detective." His voice trembled with emotion.

"I zoned". Jim let his back dropped against the couch, eyes closed. The pain in his head subsided slowly, living him weak and numb.

"Oh yeah, you just did that. For four minutes. The longest four minutes of my life in fact. God, Jim. You – You weren't even breathing. I was at one little minute of calling an ambulance. Don't you ever do that to me again, Ok?" Simon squeezed his friend's shoulders gently before standing up from the couch and going to the kitchen.

Jim still clutched the blue book, his knuckles white. It had been so real. The blood. And the feelings.

Feeling of … failure, of guilt over his failure to protect Blair.

"Drink this Jim." Simon held out a glass of water for him.

Jim took it silently, not trusting his voice to thank his friend. The water cooled his parched throat but didn't chase away the taste of blood.

"So, what triggered this little – episode." Simon had his "don't even try to lie to me" voice. Sitting on the chair in front of his Detective, he waited for his answer.

"Blair's blood." It was only a whisper.

"WHAT?" Simon was on his feet on an instant, eyes wide open "Wha-What are you talking about? You found –Blood? Where? When? Why didn't you …"

"No Simon. I didn't find any – blood." His headache was coming back with a vengeance. Jim stood up slowly and headed toward the balcony.

The sun was shining today, illuminating the loft in a soft glow.

"I though …" His voice trailed off a moment. "I though I had seen it in here." He held the blue book out for Simon.

Simon took it and opened it, flipping through the pages, then he looked up at his Detective, eyebrows frowned with obvious question.

Jim wasn't looking at his captain anymore, his eyes gazing over the city below.

"Jim. I don't' think – " Simon was cut of by his friend.

"I failed him, Simon". The voice seemed lost.

"Jim, nobody could have done anything. How could you have known what was going to happen? Geez, Jim, being a Sentinel, sure gives you some real – assets, but you're not superman! You can't expect more from yourself. YOU-ARE-NOT-RESPONSIBLE-FOR-EVERY-SHITTY-THINGS that happens here! Hear me, Detective? So, just drop the guilty act. We don't need that. Blair doesn't need that from you". Simon stood in front of him now, looking like a parent admonishing a young child.

Jim was silent. He knew that Simon was right but the feelings stayed nonetheless. He took the bluebook from Simon's hand and put it back, almost reverently, on the coffee table.

He didn't look back at his friend, his eyes glued to Blair's clutter. Something caught his eyes. The tape recorder, the one Blair used for his lecture.

Jim took the tape recorder in his hand.

"Jim, you have to regain some … control of yourself", Simon voice was pleading.

Jim turned the tape on. Blair's voice filled the loft.

"God, Jim, stop this; it … it doesn't do you any good". Panic threatened to embank Simon. Jim's behaviour scared him now and he didn't know what to do; he didn't know how to help his friend. Had Jim finally broken down?

"I can't lose him Simon; I … just can't".

Simon put a hand on Jim's shoulder and squeezed it gently, trying by the gesture to convey strength and emotional support to his distraught friend.

They stayed here, standing side by side, in a comforting silence, listening to Blair's voice.

o0o

TBC (… but not till Christmas I afraid !)