Set-up

by K Ryn

  She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. No, all of them had seemed genuinely concerned about the young man, although they had walked cautiously around his partner -- Ellison. Jim Ellison, that was his name. She hadn't blamed them. The older man had been a grim, silent shadow, barely responding to the consolation and encouragement that the visitors had offered.

  He'd spooked her too, but for a different reason. Every time she'd gone in to check on his partner, he'd stopped her, asking in soft, surprisingly reasonable tones just what she was looking for, what the next level of improvement should be, nodding his head in silent thanks when she'd finished her explanations. That hadn't bothered her. But when she would come out of the room, he'd ask for an update and his eyes had bored into her as if he were a human lie detector, testing to see whether or not she was telling the truth. That searching, unyielding gaze had sent cold shivers down her spine.

  After several hours of silent, motionless waiting, he'd begun to pace the corridor, his gaze still fixed on his partner as he stalked back and forth like a caged cat. He'd gently badgered them to bend the rules, to let him stay in the room with his partner. He'd argued -- once again softly, reasonably -- that his friend would do better if he was at his side. Privately, Sandra had been tempted to agree. When they'd given him his five minutes of visiting time each hour, she was certain that the younger man had responded to his partner's presence. During the time that the older man was at his side, holding his hand and speaking in quiet, even tones, his overall readings had shown a sharp improvement. Progress that fell off somewhat when his partner was banished to the hallway again.

  There were connections here that went far beyond the normal "men in blue" partners thing, she mused. The detective was obviously fiercely protective of the younger man, but in her opinion, Ellison acted less like a cop worried about his partner and more like an anxious older brother. Then there was the almost psychic connection that they seemed to have. That was her only explanation for it. The older man seemed to know exactly what was happening with the younger man, even before the monitors picked it up.

  She'd seen proof of it herself. Two hours earlier Ellison's pacing had suddenly stopped. He'd stared in through the glass, an odd, tense expression on his face. He'd called out frantically for help -- seconds before the monitors had triggered the code on his partner. He'd been inside the room before any of them, positioning himself at the bedside, reaching out to touch the younger man reassuringly, murmuring urgently to him to hold on. And hold on he did, rallying quickly. Sandra had been too busy to catch everything the detective had said, but she'd picked up a little. She recalled Ellison saying something about a "dial" and "turning it down". It had made no sense to her, but Sandburg had responded with a whispered objection, which the older man had countered, urging him to "listen to me for once and try it anyway".

  Whatever he'd suggested had worked, because the younger man's stats improved almost immediately. When his partner finally drifted off into a normal sleep, the older man had settled himself into the chair at the bedside, his long fingers wrapped around the younger man's wrist possessively. He'd stared up at her, his eyes challenging her to try to move him from his chosen spot. Sandra shivered at the memory of those hard, ice blue eyes. Somewhere she'd gotten the courage to stare back, meeting his gaze with an even, determined one of her own. There had been a brief, but silent battle of wills -- one that Sandra was sure that she was going to lose until he suddenly looked away, his gaze flickering toward his partner anxiously. When he looked back up at her, the eyes were softer, filled with fear, exhaustion and a silent plea for understanding.

  Which was why he was now inside the room, instead of outside in the hall. Those eyes had spoken to her with a need that she couldn't deny, and now, based on the younger man's rapidly improving stats, she was glad she hadn't. She glanced at the monitors again, made another quick notation on the chart and reached for the phone to call the attending physician.

  "Dr. Martins? Sandra Abrahms in ICU. I've got good news. Mr. Sandburg's readings are all improving nicely. Looks like we're ready to upgrade him... Yes sir, I have orders to contact the precinct upon any change of status... I understand... I'll be happy to take care of it. " Hanging up the phone, she switched to an outside line.

  "Yes indeed, a very good day," she murmured happily to herself as she dialed another number. "Hello, this is Cascade General. I'd like to speak to a detective Bob Ryan, please..."

  Jim caught the movement in the hallway and shifted in his chair, nodding to Ryan when he saw the man beckoning to him. Turning his attention back to his partner, he wrapped his long finger's around Blair's slender wrist, instinctively measuring the beat of the steady, throbbing pulse. Satisfied with the signs of the younger man's improving health, he released his grip and rose to his feet, stretching muscles that were protesting the long vigil. He crossed to the door, shutting it quietly behind him, so as not to wake his sleeping Guide.

  "How's he doing?" Ryan asked, staring through the glass window into the darkened room beyond.

  "Better. They've taken him off the critical list. If he gets a good night's sleep, they're going to move him to a regular room." Jim yawned, suddenly feeling his own reaction to the past day and a half of stress.

  "You look like you could use a good night's sleep yourself," Ryan observed.

  "Yeah, I could." Jim scrubbed at his face in an attempt to make himself more alert. He felt wiped. If he didn't get some real sleep soon, he knew he was going to have a hard time keeping the necessary controls on his senses. They already felt like they were cutting in and out. He concentrated on turning down the dials, tuning out the almost painful thundering of Ryan's heartbeat. "What's up?"

  "Simon sent me over. He wants you to come down to the station. Says he's got some information for you."

  "On Delvenko?" Jim pushed away his own weariness, roused by the prospect of revenge.

  "He didn't say. He's keeping a pretty tight lid on whatever it is. Guess that's why he wants you there."

  Jim nodded, his gaze flickering to his partner's still sleeping form. As eager as he was to take down Delvenko, he felt uneasy about leaving Blair alone.

  "You're sure he wants me down there now? It's nearly midnight."

  "Hey, I know it's late. Don't shoot the messenger, all right? Look, if it's any help, I'll stay here and keep an eye on him. If he wakes up looking for you, I can at least tell him where you've gone."

  Jim eyed Ryan suspiciously, absently rubbing at the prickling sensation at the back of his neck. Rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension seemed to help and he pushed the nagging feelings aside.Just my senses going out of whack.

  "Thanks, I appreciate it. If there's any problem, get the duty nurse. Her name's Sandra Abrahms."

  "I'll call you if there's any change," Ryan promised, easing the room door open. When Jim hesitated, Ryan gave him an encouraging smile. "Better get moving. Simon's not in the mood to be kept waiting. Trust me on that."

  Jim gave him a brief smile, knowing full well just how impatient Simon could be when his detectives didn't run to obey a summons. He took one more quick peek to assure himself that Blair was still sleeping soundly and headed for the stairs. With any luck he'd be back before the kid woke, bearing good news.

  As he jogged down the stairs, Jim's mind was already racing, trying to anticipate what Simon wanted to tell him. It had to be about Delvenko. Or maybe... maybe Simon had tracked the leak in their department. The thought of someone he knew being involved in the attempt on Blair's life sparked his anger once again. He was so absorbed in satisfying thoughts of vengeance, that he pushed the stairwell door open violently and strode out into the hospital lobby without looking. He came up hard against someone's shoulder and stepped back, blinking in startled surprise at the collision.

  He blinked again, this time in confusion, when he realized it was Simon.

  "Ellison, don't those super-senses of yours work indoors?" Simon growled in annoyance, br
ushing drops of coffee off of his camel hair coat. The expression on Jim's face stopped him from adding anything else. "Jim, are you all right?"

  "Yes, sir... I'm fine..." Jim stammered. "I was just coming down to the station to see you."

  "I'm touched, Jim, but I told you I'd let you know if we developed any new information. Unfortunately we haven't." Simon brushed away the last of the coffee and glanced up at Jim again, startled to see the look of intense fear on the detective's normally unreadable face. "Jim, what is it? What's wrong?"

  "Ryan!" Jim expelled the man's name like a curse and whipped around, bolting back to the stairs. In panic, he took them two at a time, desperate to reach his partner. He dialed his hearing up to the limit and strained to filter out the chaos of the hospital noise -- buzzers sounding for nurses, patient's groaning in pain, babies crying in the nursery, computers beeping at erroneously entered keystrokes, Simon pounding up the stairs behind him. A fragment of a whispered comment reached his ears, too soft to make out the words, but the intent was clear and so was the source. Ryan.

  Jim took the next landing at a run, berating himself for his own stupidity. His senses hadn't been playing him false. They'd been trying to tell him something all along. He just hadn't seen it. Ryan had been there, dogging their every move since Joel had arrested him at the pier. He'd been at the station when the JD had been brought in, hell, they'd even put him in charge of the search teams. He'd fooled them all, offering to "help" in any way he could. And now he was here, at the hospital, and Jim had blithely walked off at his word, leaving Blair helpless.

  As he rounded the final landing, Jim strained for the sound of his Guide's heart, hoping desperately to hear it beating strong and safe. Wrenching open the stairwell door he staggered -- Blair's pulse was pounding wildly, his partner's muffled scream for help fading as his breathing began to falter. Jim raced down the corridor and slammed open the door to Blair's room. His momentum carried him into the figure that was looming over the bed, pressing a pillow down onto the anthropologist's face.

  Desperately, Jim pulled Ryan away from the bed, throwing him across the small room and into the wall. He reached out, pulled the pillow away and caught a flash of dazed blue eyes staring up at him before something hard connected with his jaw. The force of the blow sent him reeling sideways onto the bed. He heard Blair gasp in pain and blinding anger ripped through him. Jim threw himself at Ryan, his hands locking around the man's throat like a closing vise. Ryan's hands clawed at his, his eyes bulging in fear, but Jim didn't release the pressure. Rage burned through the Sentinel, a fury born out of the desire for vengeance, filling him with the need to destroy the man he held. The assassin who had tried to kill his Guide.

  Dark hands locked on top of his, but he resisted their attempts to pull him away. There was a voice screaming in his ear. He refused to hear it, bent on silencing the beating heart of the man he held.

  "Jim, stop this! You're killing him!" Simon beat at Jim's arms, but there was no loosening of the deathgrip he had on Ryan. "Damn it, Jim if you kill him, Delvenko will have won. You'll go to jail and Blair will be alone. Is that what you want?"

  Simon's words elicited a flicker of recognition in the hard blue eyes, but the pressure of Jim's hands didn't lessen. Desperately, Simon reached into his holster and pulled his gun, driven by his duty to stop Jim any way he could. "Ellison... let him go! Now!" Simon ordered.

  To his amazement, Jim suddenly released Ryan and turned away. Ryan dropped to his knees and Simon moved behind him, his gun still drawn, ready to protect the battered man from further attack, and to keep him from making any attempt to escape. Satisfied that Ryan wasn't going anywhere, Simon's gaze shifted back to Jim. The detective was at Blair's side, supporting the younger man who'd somehow managed to raise himself into a sitting position. Simon watched in amazement as Blair, still pale and shaking, placed a calming hand on Jim's arm and whispered something too soft for anyone except the Sentinel to hear. Jim shook his head angrily and seemed ready to pull away, but Blair murmured something again, his fingers twisting in the fabric of Jim's shirt sleeve, his eyes locked on his partner's face.

  There was a moment of tension as blue eyes locked with blue. Simon tightened his grip on his gun, uncertain as to who's will would prevail -- Sentinel or Guide. Then he saw Jim close his eyes. The tautness of the older man's body seemed to flow out of him abruptly and he sagged down on the edge of the bed, his head bowed. Simon saw Blair lean in toward his partner, his usually animated face and eyes filled with concern. The anthropologist whispered something else to Jim and the detective's head swiveled toward Simon. He shuddered at the cold rage that still burned in the Sentinel's eyes when they focused on Ryan's quivering form. Blair reached out to touch the older man's cheek, and with only the strength in his fingertips, turned Jim to face him.

  Simon realized then, that what had made Jim release his hold on Ryan hadn't been "his" words shouted in anger, but a whispered plea from Guide to Sentinel. There was another, almost inaudible conversation, with Blair doing most of the talking and Jim shaking his head in denial. Finally, Jim nodded, reaching forward to grasp Blair's arm just above the elbow, the Sentinel's angry expression smoothing into one of peace as he physically connected with his Guide.

  As if suddenly aware of his presence, Blair raised his eyes to Simon's. Still amazed that Blair had managed to contain -- no, not just contain, but quench -- Jim's killing rage, Simon nodded back, holstering his gun. Hauling Ryan to his feet, he pulled the man's hands behind his back, giving in to a small degree of personal satisfaction as he tightened the cuffs.

  "You two going to be all right?" he asked softly, watching as Blair wrapped his arms around his partner protectively, meeting Simon's gaze with a fierceness of his own before nodding in answer.

  With a sigh that was partly envy, partly disbelief, Simon pulled Ryan from the room, leaving the Sentinel and his Guide to their healing.

  Epilogue

  What had begun as a nightmare, ended as a lesson in friendship.

  Jim contemplated the symmetry of that as he leaned against the balcony railing, watching the city lights sparkle in the clear evening sky.

  As he'd predicted, the deadly plan that Delvenko had crafted came apart at the proverbial "seams" once they'd found the right "thread" to pull. After spending ten minutes locked in an interrogation room with Taggert and Simon, Ryan had given them everything they'd needed.

  The DA had been delighted at the opportunity to file new charges against Delvenko and Internal Affairs had immediately put it's own investigation of Detective Bob Ryan into full gear.

  What "had" surprised him was how quickly the case was nailed down, and how minimal his own involvement had been in wrapping up the loose ends. Simon had been the driving force -- a combination of Mac Truck strength, Bulldozer determination and Sherman Tank firepower, all rolled into one.

  Jim knew he had Simon to thank for the speed in which the charges against him had been dropped and his records cleared. The captain had burned up the phone lines, called in favors and when things still hadn't moved fast enough to suit him, he'd made several "In-person" visits to the appropriate parties. Jim didn't bother to suppress the grin that filled his face at the thought of some of his least favorite paper-pushers facing Simon's looming figure and short temper.

  And he still marveled at the trust that Simon had shown in his protestations of innocence. The captain had risked everything by letting him stay involved in the investigation, not to mention letting him off on his own to hunt for Blair. That was a gesture of friendship that Jim would not forget.

  There had been unexpected support from other sources -- other "friends" -- as well. Simon had taken Jim's plea for help to the other detectives of the unit. The result had been amazing. It was quite possible that this "case" would go into the books with the fastest "solved" record in the history of the department. From the number of names on the reports, it was clear that Simon had had no lack of volunteers and that Blair now had a whole sq
uadroom of Blessed Protectors. The efforts they'd made throughout the whole ordeal gratified Jim and took some of the sting of betrayal out of Ryan's actions.

  Jim still wasn't completely clear on the reason's behind Ryan's involvement. He'd seen the transcripts from the initial interrogations and they'd indicated that Ryan had been on Delvenko's payroll for a long time. The details of his participation in the whole scheme were in the hands of internal affairs. When he'd questioned Joel about it, the bigger man had simply placed an understanding hand on his arm and promised him that he'd know everything he needed to later, that things were "under control" and that he should spend his time taking care of his partner.

  He'd taken that sage advice to heart, spending the first two day's after Ryan's arrest planted firmly at Blair's bedside. Simon had finally persuaded him to go home by the end of the second day, although he suspected that his Guide had said a few words to the captain and instigated the whole thing.

  When he'd opened the door to the loft that night, he'd had nothing on his mind other than the intent of climbing the stairs and dropping fully-clothed onto his bed. One look at the devastated apartment and the horrifying possibilities of what "could" have happened had hit him full force. He'd collapsed onto one of the chairs and held his head in his hands, finally yielding to the fears that he'd been holding at bay. The realization of what the loss of his young friend would mean had shaken him. It was only by picturing Blair's calm, smiling face in his mind -- the face that he'd just left in the hospital -- that he'd been able to gather his control once more.

  That had been five days ago. Now, he no longer had to imagine that face. His Guide was back home and in the final stages of recovery. In fact, Blair's energy level was nearly back to full strength and Jim had been hard pressed to keep him involved in the sedentary pursuits that the doctor had prescribed.