I don't own the Sentinel.

Edited: 4 March 19

Chapter 8

"Well, that didn't go well," Blair muttered to himself a few moments after the detective left.

For a moment there, Blair was sure Ellison was about to slam him into the wall, or deck him, but the detective maintained self-control. Despite Ellison's controlled expression giving little away, except for the anger at the end, Blair could still tell from the strong emotions that had come from the man during their confrontation how close he came to meeting the wall in a violent way. However, Blair could feel nervousness and uncertainty within Ellison and, more than that, he could feel the overwhelming fear that had gripped the man's heart.

Blair's frown deepened as he looked toward the door where Ellison had left. The fear alongside the anger still lingered in the room. He could practically feel it prickling on his skin, making him uneasy and tempting him to look over his shoulder. It wasn't a normal fear. It was something much deeper, bordering on the panic of a trapped animal. It didn't make sense. The fear had peaked when Blair mentioned the GSC, the tests, and Jim being a Sentinel. If the man was afraid of his own abilities, it could explain some of the fear but not the gut-wrenching level, and if that were the case then it would mean Jim knew what he was, right? If he knew what he was then why hadn't he gotten some help? Why hadn't he taken the steps to ensure his own safety and those around him? Unless, he was in denial, refusing to believe his talents were real. That was very possible.

Making his way out of the break room, Blair moved back to Ellison's empty desk. No one in the bullpen seemed to notice anything out of place. Ellison storming out of the building apparently was a common occurrence. He sat down at the desk and looked at the papers still stacked across it. Ellison wouldn't be coming back today. Blair knew he wouldn't, the same way he knew about the fear the detective had felt. It was just as well, though. Blair needed time to think about this new development and come up with a new plan of action. Talking to the man was definitely out, at least until they could get on better terms, something which was going to be made much more difficult considering what just happened.

"Just give him time," Blair muttered to himself, "and space…Lots of space."

The next day Blair made sure to do just that. He spent the day talking with other detectives and coordinating with other departments for interviews. He didn't even see Jim, though he knew the man was in the building. The day after that was much the same until he ran out of excuses to keep him busy so he sat at Jim's desk and did his best impression of a mute. Jim, for his part, found excuses to be away from his desk, going out in the field, interviewing suspects, even making coffee runs, an unprecedented event judging by the reactions of the other detectives. A week went by and they had barely spoken a dozen words to one another. Jim closed several cases with everything wrapped up but the paper work, and paper work required staying at your desk. Blair made more progress on his project concerning subcultures than he ever thought possible. Simon was ecstatic about the Jim's new closure rate and the guys loved having someone to go get the coffee, even if they did joke that it was ice cold by the time it reached their desk, courtesy of the human iceberg. All in all, it was a very productive week. Productive, that is, in everything except what mattered. Blair was miserable.

The one consolation prize was that Jim didn't seem nearly as murderous as he had been directly after that disastrous conversation in the break room. Blair felt the simmering anger and suspicion coming from the detective for days following the confrontation but it finally seemed to have subsided. Yes, the detective still radiated anger and suspicion but little more than before and the silences seemed a little less tense.

Blair shot a glance at the still, stiff figure next to him. Or maybe he was just getting used to uncomfortable lack of conversation. He bit back a sigh. One step forward and two steps back.

The silence was killing Blair, he didn't know how much longer he could stand it. Not only that, but now that Blair was looking closely, he could see the signs of stress that came with the Senses. Jim's abilities were about ready to pop, if they hadn't started already. Time was running out for both of them in their uneasy truce. Something was going to snap, Blair wasn't sure what exactly, but something, he could feel it. He just had to make sure to be there to pick up the pieces when it happened.

XXXXX

Jim pretended he didn't hear the cut off sigh coming from the man sharing his desk. As far as he was concerned there was no one there to sigh in the first place. That had been his working solution to the "Sandburg problem" thus far and he was going to keep it up until absolutely necessary.

Thankfully, the observer had been unexpectedly cooperative with the unspoken plan. At first, Jim was expecting the Guide to call into the GSC and report him as a latent Sentinel, but days went by and no one showed from the prestigious institution to take him away. That was enough to at least ease some of his misgivings he had about Sandburg, but that still didn't mean he wanted the Guide anywhere near him.

Jim scowled as another pang from his headache shot through his skull. The dull throb had become a constant part of his life since Sandburg's arrival. It backed off during the night when he retreated into the safety of his familiar and highly fortified apartment only to grow as the day went on to migraine proportions. Headaches had been a constant part of life since his abilities appeared, but the constant stress of pulling in on his roving senses was wearing him down into one giant headache.

Not for the first time, Jim thought back to the information he'd gotten from the library, specifically about Sentinels feeling more open to using their senses with an empathically-inclined Guide around. Jim still wasn't sure if that was true or not. He was trying to keep a tighter control on his senses around Blair, forcing them to stay at a normal level more than normal. He did something similar when his senses first appeared and had suffered similar migraines because of it. Of course, Jim wasn't sure if his senses were reaching and ebbing more than usual, but he refused to believe it if they were. The idea that maybe those books did know a little something of what they were talking about was lost in the one conclusion that Jim drew from the experience: this was entirely Blair's fault.

Unfair though it sounded, it was easier for Jim to blame Sandburg than to admit that he might need some help with the senses after all. Jim hadn't had too many problems before the Guide came around, at least no problems he wasn't able to fix with meditation, mental discipline, rest, heavy curtains, white noise generators, aspirin, or a high level of pain tolerance. Yes, the zone-outs always gave him cause for worry, but he always snapped back, and he never had a problem if he didn't reach too far. Overall, things were working out, that is, until the interloping Guide appeared and started screwing with his system.

A loud scraping noise jolted Jim from his thoughts as he realized his hearing had gotten away from him again. He shot the offending chair across the room a glare as the noise added to the throbbing in his head. Behind him, he could feel Sandburg's sideways stare, like the man knew exactly what was going on with him. Jim forced himself back to his work, resisting the urge to bring a hand to his forehead. He thought briefly of the extra-large bottle of aspirin sitting in his bottom drawer, but didn't want to make his problems obvious. It was past lunch, a few more hours and he could go home without too much notice.

However, Simon bursting out of his office destroyed Jim's plans for an early day with one announcement. "We have a hostage situation, people!"

The room stilled with the announcement, everyone turning their heads and pinning their full attention on the Captain.

"On the corner of Fourth and Willow, four known suspects and a possible fifth holding at least six hostages. The officer at the scene thinks the ring leader might be one of the head honchos from the local drug scene. I want everyone available down there twenty minutes ago. Set up a perimeter and vantage points of all the exits. We'll straighten out the details when we get there." There was a brief pause as everyone continued to stare at the large man for a split second more before Simon bellowed, "Move!"

Then, just as suddenly the room jumped back to frenzied life again as everyone hurried to action. Detectives grabbed their jackets, service weapons and were out the door in seconds. Jim clumped all his sensitive material currently out and dropped it into a secure drawer before holstering his service weapon. From the corner of his eye he saw Sandburg stuffing papers and notebooks into his backpack.

"What do you think you're doing, Sandburg?" Jim asked, knowing exactly what the answer would be.

Sandburg avoided Jim's glare as he packed his own papers away into his bag. "I'm going with you to observe how things are run down at the site."

Jim was already shaking his head before Sandburg got out the first two words. "No, we went over this already. You are not taking any day trips to active crime scenes. The last thing we need is a civilian observer getting in the way."

Sandburg opened his mouth to protest, his own annoyed glare growing on his face but the captain's appearance a moment later made any further arguments unnecessary.

"He's coming, Ellison," Simon said, closing and locking the door to his office.

"But sir," Jim protested turning to face his superior, "You know what these situations are like. Thing are going to be chaotic enough without untrained personnel in the way. Not to mention it's an active crime scene, an active crime happening at the moment. It could get dangerous!" Jim inwardly winced, it sounded more protective than he intended, but at the moment he was more concerned with keeping Sandburg away from the scene in case he needed to use any special "talents". "Think of the paperwork involved if he gets hurt," Jim added.

"Didn't know you cared so much," Sandburg commented straight faced.

"I'm worried about what would happen to the department if we let our civilian observer get hurt during a crime," Jim snapped.

Simon shook his head pausing before he moved past them. "There's going to be press and spectators all over the place anyway. Sandburg being there isn't going to change anything. Now stop complaining and get your ass in gear."

Jim fought back a frustrated growl as he caught Sandburg's triumphant grin from the corner of his eye. Without saying another word he snatched the keys from his desk and left the office, the kid hurrying to catch up behind him.

"Don't worry," Sandburg said, getting on the elevator behind Jim, "You won't even know I'm there. I'll just sit back in my own little corner and take notes from afar."

"Damn right, you will," Simon agreed, "Just remember that when we get there. If I find out you're trying to interview anyone or getting underfoot in anyway it'll be the last time you'll be leaving the office for official police business."

Jim bit his tongue and glared at the doors thinking once again how the elevator was too small for him and Sandburg, much less all three of them.

The elevator ride down to the parking garage was silent and tense after that, as was the ride to the scene when Sandburg decided that being Jim's liaison meant he rode in Jim's truck. Jim didn't say anything, though he could feel his jaw tightening with every passing moment. If he didn't relax a little he was going to break a tooth.

When they arrived on site, the scene was already a mass of confusion with a dense crowd of bystanders. The responding police pushed curious civilians back to a safe distance away, setting up tape and wooden barriers to keep the area clear. Jim pulled in directly behind the Captain, following Simon past the newly established police line, Sandburg following close behind him. The loud thrumming of the crowd pounded in Jim's ears. He barely caught a flinch as a police siren let out a short shriek.

A hand landed lightly on his arm as Sandburg leaned in slightly. "Are you ok?" he asked.

Jim didn't trust himself to open his mouth to reply to the younger man at the moment, so he ignored the question, jerking his arm away from the other's touch. He followed Simon up to the makeshift command center and listened into the short summary of the situation. There were still only four confirmed assailants with no news on the possible fifth. The six hostages were being held on first floor in the far back office. They were moved there immediately after the arrival of the police.

According to the responding officers, it didn't seem like the assailants planned on taking hostages. From what they'd been able to see before the blinds were drawn, the hostage takers only had hand guns with them, nothing high powered, no explosives, and no body armor. The building itself was a poor choice for holding off the city's police department with many broad windows and an entire corner under construction, thick plastic tarps hanging over gaping holes in the building's side. Anyone of those points could become an easy access for officers trying to get into the building. Of course, the suddenness of it all also meant the assailants would be more prone to panic, and strained nerves with itchy trigger fingers never made a good combination.

Simon frowned as he looked over the building schematics, hastily procured from the construction company currently on lunch break. "Swat's been mobilized but it'll be another full hour before they're on scene. I think sending in some men to these areas but not a full breach would be our best bet. We can get them set up inside the building with cover and cut off any form of escape. Plus, it will give us a chance to establish some form of communication, maybe we could talk them down before things get more out of control."

Jim looked over the floor diagram again, thinking over what the construction crew said when questioned. All of the back rooms had been cleared out for the renovations and repairs taking place. Some of the walls had been taken down, partially or entirely, leaving a relatively open area in the back. There were also no phones or computer connections running to the back half of the building which meant no form of communication. Nodding his head, Jim agreed, "I think the less time they have in there to themselves thinking up brilliant ideas is a good thing."

"Right, I want you, Rafe, Brown, and Jackson to set up positions. Go in through the construction area and the front and stay out of sight until you've got cover. I'll have everyone maintain radio silence until you contact us. Talk them down if you can but-"

"You're sending Jim in there? It's a construction site!" Sandburg interrupted from behind.

Both Simon and Jim turned to glare at the eaves dropper, though Simon's was just aggravated, Jim's had an unspoken warning to it.

"And why would that matter, Sandburg?" Simon asked, turning back to the diagrams spread out over the hood of a cruiser.

Jim caught Sandburg's eye and made a minute shake of his head, putting all the menace and threat he could in the action.

It seemed to work, because Sandburg paused, mouth half open, and flinched slightly before continuing, "Because Jim's got…allergies, lots of allergies, and all the dust and fumes that are going to be there…"

Simon rolled his eyes before glancing at Jim and Sandburg, "I'm sure detective Ellison will be fine, and if he wouldn't be I'm sure he would inform me of the danger, right?" Simon's glare turned from Blair to Jim.

"Yes, sir," Jim immediately replied, expression settling into a familiar scowl to avoid wincing. The thought of all the chemicals in most construction areas gave him pause. He'd have to turn his smell way down and deal with any reactions he had after the fact. Most of all, he had to make sure that his condition did not affect the operation or more than just his lifestyle could be at risk. It was times like this that he wondered if he should tell Simon, but he'd managed through similar situations before and he would manage again.

"Alright," Simon nodded, "Now get going, the sooner we end this the better."

Jim nodded and turned from the car to find Rafe, Brown, and Jackson, almost colliding with Sandburg on the way. "Sandburg, I thought you were going to stay out of the way," he growled, grabbing the observer by his shoulders and physically moving to the side.

Sandburg didn't bother responding, instead moving into step with Jim. "You can't seriously be thinking of going in there without back up," he hissed, voice low.

Jim shot him an annoyed looked before replying just as low, "No, Rafe, Brown, and Jackson are coming, too."

"That's not what I mean," Sandburg rolled his eyes.

"Well then I guess I don't know what you mean," Jim said, deliberately ignoring the Guide's implications. Jim stopped and turned to face him, "Look Sandburg, I've been doing this job for quite some time, I'm more than capable of getting in and out without incident."

Turning from Sandburg, Jim strode away. He caught site of Brown and Rafe helping close off the barriers on the growing crowd. A moment later, he found Jackson nearby. They went over the plan and with a nod from Simon headed into the building, two from the side and two from the front.

Jim held back the heavy construction plastic sheet to allow Jackson in close behind him. He immediately noticed the thick smell of paint thinner and dust, motor oil and wood that filled the air inside the building. Smothering a cough, Jim paused a moment and forced his smell down as far as it would go. It wouldn't help for long, but it would work until they got out of the building. They wound through the half demolished walls and naked studs until they heard the muffled voices of the group in the back.

There were two doors leading to the room where the hostages were being held. Jim and Jackson took cover by one. Jim could hear Rafe and Brown find positions near the other. He gave a silent nod to Jackson and a brief murmur into the radio and Jim called out to the group in the room.

"This is the police!" Jim called in the same strong, sure voice he used in the military. "Come out with your hands up!" He didn't think they would but it was always worth a try.

"Yeah right!" called a voice from inside the room, young and full of false bravado, "I know how this works! We've got the hostages, so we give the orders."

"Look at your situation!" Jim called back, still maintaining the tone of control, "You're stuck in a room with no way out. There's more of us than there are of you, and if you do anything to those hostages it'll just be worse later on when we catch you. Turn yourself over now and everything will go much easier for you." He resisted shifting into a more comfortable position as he waited by the open doorway. The dust from sheetrock, wood, and who knew what else chaffed against his skin. He dialed down his sense of touch several notches and brought up his hearing just a bit to listen in on the hostage takers.

Behind Jim, Jackson shifter in his position. Rafe and Brown did the same, moving their feet into more comfortable positions and leaning in toward the room. From inside the room, Jim could hear the ragged breathing from the hostages as well as the hushed and urgent conversation from the hostage-takers. The argument was the same that played out in situations like this. Several of the assailants wanted to give up while two, the leader and another hard-spoken man, thought they could use the hostages to get away. There were five in the group of assailants. It sounded like they were gathered in the center of the room as they whispered arguments back and forth. Several of them were scared, the others sounded more determined. Jim could hear their nervous shifting from one foot to another and how they fidgeted where they stood.

Jim frowned when he started to register the nervous breathing of one, edging faster to panic. That was going too deep, he didn't want a zone out happening here of all places. That would be nothing short of disastrous, to say the least. With a little effort he pulled his hearing back till the quiet conversation was nothing more than a few mumbles through the wall. It was temping to leave it up high enough to hear what they were saying, but the way his sense were acting lately, he knew it wouldn't be too long before it started inching up again, anyway.

Listening to the increasingly frantic mumbles from inside the room, Jim decided the group had enough time to debate amongst themselves. He took in a large breath glancing at Jackson as his fellow detective spoken quietly into his radio, reporting the situation.

"There's no need to panic," Jim said, "This is really more simple than it looks, just give yourselves up, you're not getting away anyway. The judge will see no one was hurt and you turned yourselves in, he'll go easy on you. But if you don't and someone gets hurt, then that's a different story entirely."

Jim heard Simon's voice crackle over the radio bug in his ear. "Jim, take it easy. The negotiator just arrived, we're sending him over to you."

He opened his mouth to respond but a sharp voice in the room stopped him. Jim's head shot up and he shifted himself into a more ready position, drawing a side glance from Jackson, seconds before a shot rang out from the room. The first shot was followed by another and sounds of a struggle. Without waiting, Jim ducked into the room with a surprised Jackson. One of the hostage takers was one the ground, a large dark spot quickly spreading over his shoulder. Two others struggled over a pistol, the barrel pointing wildly in all directions, while the remaining two stared on in disbelief.

"Drop your weapons! Police!" Jim and Jackson yelled, drawing attention to their sudden appearance and echoed by Rafe and Brown seconds later.

One of the remaining two snapped up his pistol and fired off a wild shot at Jim. Jim jerked to the side as Rafe put a round in the assailant's shoulder. The fifth man thought better of it as he dropped his handgun and threw his hands in the air. Jackson and Brown were on the two fighting over the gun, dragging them apart while Jim checked over the first injured man. Jim swept the room as soon as he determined the injured man wasn't a threat, counting each of the hostages and checking over their conditions. They were huddle to one of the outer walls, desperately trying to disappear into the sheet rock after the situation turned ugly. The fast pounding of heart beats rattled in his ears, but none of them seemed hurt.

A moment later, officers poured in from the two doorways as Jim snapped cuffs on the man who'd thrown down his gun. He finally noticed Simon bellowing in his ear piece for a report, but Rafe beat him to it as he relayed the situation back over the radio.

Dragging the man around to the front, Jim took one last look to make sure everything was under control. Officers tended the two injured assailants and others looked after the hostages, slowly drawing them up on shaky legs. The air stunk of blood and chemicals as his smell slipped up another notch, drawing attention to itself for the first time since entering the building. With a frown, Jim realized he was wheezing as he drew air in and out of his lungs.

"Brown, I'm taking this one out and I'll make a direct report to Simon," Jim called as he directed his prisoner out the door.

Jim didn't bother waiting for an answer before rushing the man through the building and into the fresh air. The prisoner stumbled a few times from the pace, but besides a quick glare behind him didn't do or say anything more. Jim didn't care anyway, all he was concerned about was getting out of the building.

The moment Jim left the building, noise and sunlight bombarded him. It made him wince, as he registered dozens of flashes pointed in his direction from news and bystanders. The shock only lasted for a moment, as Jim dragged in a breath of fresh air. Relatively fresh air, he realized, as his smell swung to the more sensitive side from being turned so far down. He could pick up on the heavy smell of exhaust and air pollution that came with every city, as well as remnants of the chemicals, dust and blood from the scene inside still clinging to him and the prisoner.

A few steps from the building and they were intercepted by a couple of officers ready to take the prisoner off Jim's hands. A moment after that and Sandburg appeared from the busy crowd. Sandburg hurried to him, pale with a worried expression.

"Are you alright?" Sandburg asked before he even reached Jim.

Jim shot him a weak glare before turning away in search for Simon. He focused on keeping everything in control as the inevitable backlash from his sense started to build. His smell was the worse at the moment, but the others were spinning off and on around him as well. "I'm fine," he ground out, the distractions were hindering his search for the captain.

"No you're not, you're wheezing," Sandburg contradicted, moving in front of Jim. His eyes widened, "And bleeding! You're bleeding, Jim!"

Jim frowned again, bringing a hand to his face as he felt the sticky wetness for the first time. He noticed the sharp sting, as well, while he spun to the nearest cruiser. Checking himself in the window, Jim rolled his eyes at the shallow cut on his face. "It's just a scratch, Sandburg," he said with a sigh, too tired to growl at the Guide. "It probably happened when chuckles in there shot at me."

"A scratch?" Sandburg repeated, disbelief in his tone and expression. "Don't you realize what kind of contaminants could get into a cut like that? It could cause infection, a reaction-"

"I wasn't planning on leaving it as-is and waiting to see what happens," Jim grumbled, almost to himself. He was tired, had a splitting headache, his senses were bouncing all over the place, and he still had to report to Simon, the last thing he wanted was an overprotective Guide badgering him about a scratch.

Scanning the jumbled crowd of police and paramedics, Jim finally caught sight of Simon heading his way. The hostages were being led out of the building followed by the remaining four assailants and Simon paused a moment to speak to one of the patrol men handling them before turning back toward Jim.

"Ellison!" he yelled to catch Jim's attention.

Jim flinched at the loud tone, covering it with a shoulder roll and moving to meet Simon halfway.

"Lord, Ellison, I didn't ask you to go in there guns blazing. What happened?" Simon asked, lowering his voice slightly to avoid any unwanted eaves dropping.

"They panicked, Sir," Jim said. He could feel Sandburg move up uncomfortably close behind him and had to resist the urged to whip around and tell the Guide to back off. As it was, he had a hard enough time blocking out Sandburg's heartbeat, which was still going fast from the earlier action. Obviously, there wasn't much excitement in academics, at least none of the shooting variety. "We went in, set up positions, I told them to give up, they started arguing amongst themselves and a couple shots went off. When I heard the shots, I went in with Jackson. Rafe and Brown entered a few seconds behind us One was already injured, two were fighting over the gun, one fired at me so Rafe returned fire, injuring the suspect, and the last one surrendered."

"That's it?" Simon said, looking at Jim hard.

"That's the short version. I'll be much more detailed in my written report," Jim nodded ignoring Sandburg's fidgeting behind him. He brought a hand up to his face and rubbed his eyes.

Thankfully, Jim's explanation seemed to appease Simon as some of the tension visibly left the Captain. "As long as none of our people provoked it. The last thing we need right now is some yellow-journalist reporting about trigger-happy detectives."

"Sir," Sandburg interrupted the Captain before he could go on. "Couldn't we do this some other time?"

Simon opened his mouth to object, but stopped, taking a good look at Jim. "You look terrible, Ellison." Crossing his arms over his chest, Simon stared at him, as though seeing him for the first time in a long while. "You're lucky it wasn't you who shot the suspect otherwise you'd have to stay and start the paperwork not to mention all the other red tape that goes with an officer-related shooting. You'll still have your fill thanks to the scratch on your face. As it is…Have your report on my desk tomorrow at noon. Till then, go home and get some rest." He paused a moment, splitting a measuring glance between Jim and the constant shadow behind him. "Sandburg, make sure he gets there."

Jim frowned. Sure, he felt like crap and his face was a little bloody from the cut, but he didn't think it was that bad. He opened his mouth to protest but a wave of dizziness hit and he swayed for a moment where he stood, Sandburg's hand on his arm keeping him upright. "It has been a long day, Sir," Jim said, hoping to cover his obvious problems with a solid, normal excuse, however weak. "And adrenaline crash doesn't help."

Simon nodded, though Jim wasn't sure if he was buying it or not. "Just get home and get some sleep."

The captain turned and headed back into the center of the activity, yelling orders at patrol men. Jim watched him go, a terrible sinking feeling in his stomach. Another wave of dizziness pushed the thought out of his head for the moment and sent him into the same survival reaction that had kept him hidden for so many years. If he was reacting from something in the building, which, he had to admit to himself, was more than likely, he had to get out of there, get back to his truck and back to his apartment. He had enough supplies and equipment there to deal with anything except for the most severe reactions.

Sandburg grabbed one arm and helped him back to the truck. Jim shot a glare at his unwanted helper before trying to pull his arm away. "I can walk just fine on my own," he growled, but Sandburg held firm.

"C'mon Jim," Sandburg said sotto voice, "I thought you wanted to attract as little attention as possible."

Unable to argue that point, Jim allowed Blair to guide him back to his truck. He only put up a token protest when Sandburg snatched the keys from his hand with a murmured, "Car accidents tend to attract attention, too. Where do you live?"

Instead, Jim eased himself into the passenger seat, mumbling his home address. He buckled his seat belt then slid down to avoid any prying eyes from the window as Sandburg pulled out into traffic and away from the site. He didn't bother pushing himself up again when they moved down the street. Focusing, instead, on holding onto the door and telling himself the world wasn't really doing 360 degree flips. The cut on his face burned as he felt the blood thicken and stiffen on his cheek and his senses flared and died with each passing moment. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, nearly forgetting the presence of the Guide in the driver's seat. Everything went to controlling the reactions his senses were having to whatever they had come in contact with at the construction site.

When Sandburg stopped the car and helped him out and into the building, Jim didn't notice. He didn't even really register when the Guide asked for his apartment number and helped him up the stairs and through the door. Jim was distantly aware of someone tucking him into a bed. It was a strange detached feeling as the world still spun and faded in and out around him. Gradually, the calm and stillness that descended around him eased his senses and Jim slipped into a deep, exhausted sleep.

TBC…