Unkindest Cut

Danae

Disclaimer: not mine, etc…

Notes: A few warnings here… One: There is no TsbyBS here. I don't even know what the hell that is here. It doesn't exist; it never existed; it will never exist here. Blair is not a cop, nor is he a fraud here. If I don't see it, it ain't there… Nope, I'm not looking. Two: This is gen; it is not slash, but there is talk of homosexuality here. If you are offended by homosexuality, find the delete or back button NOW. I'm not kidding. I will NOT entertain any idiocy later if you make the decision to proceed. There are two loving homosexual relationships, one in the past and one in the present, in this story. They take place between original characters, not the boys. There is no sex though. Just discussion. Okay, if you are still here, then I'm going to assume you can handle it. Cool! J Rating PG.

More notes: The reason this thing is legally, medically, and grammatically sound and plot-hole-less<g> is the hard work of three wonderful ladies… Dawn C, Lyn, and Nickerbits. They are the goddesses of all things legal, medical and grammatical. Bow before them! Now, people! We'll wait…. J Seriously, thank you, Dawn, Lyn and Nickerbits! You made this story so much better. Title is from Shakespeare.

Jim watched as his unofficial partner made his way slowly through the bullpen. The expression on Blair's face told the story of a really bad day, and it was only noon. Jim shook his head. He typed the last few letters of the report he was working on and sent the document to the printer just as Blair plopped down in the chair next to the desk.

"You look like something the cat dragged in," Jim remarked.

"Gee, thanks. Feel like it too, in case you're wondering. Just all of a sudden, I feel like I've been trying to run a marathon. It's loud in here today, too. You must have dialed down or something."

Jim quirked an eyebrow. "It's not loud in here, Chief. You have a headache?"

"Yeah, I guess. Seems awfully bright. Funny, this must be what it's like for you." Blair shifted in the chair. The movement was clumsy, however, and Jim had to reach out and grab him quickly to keep him from falling to the floor.

"Are you all right?" He reached out to touch his partner's forehead, but his hand was slapped away.

"Don't touch me. And stop looking at me like that. I don't feel so good."

"I know, Chief. I'm trying to help."

"Jim, something's wrong."

Jim never got the chance to ask his next question as Blair's body jerked. He tried to hold onto his friend, but he didn't have a good grip, and he could only watch as Blair hit the floor, his whole body convulsing. "Call an ambulance!" he yelled as he jumped over his desk to kneel next to Blair. He was only vaguely aware of the crowd that surrounded them. His world had narrowed to his guide. Blair's body bowed sharply, his head and heels pushing his body upward. Jim quickly got him onto his side and supported his head. "Hold on, Blair."

Someone moved into his field of vision. Simon. "What's wrong with him?" his captain asked.

"I don't know." Jim struggled to hold on as the seizure continued. "Damn it!" Blair was vomiting. "Jesus, what the hell is going on? Did somebody call an ambulance?"

"It's on its way."

Jim nodded and then focused once again on the rigid form in his arms. "Oh, god."

"What?"

"He's dying." The seizure ended abruptly, and Blair was suddenly limp in his arms, but he was also gasping for breath. His lips were tinged blue.

"Jim, don't panic."

"Simon, you don't understand. He's really dying."

Jim could see the realization in Simon's face. "Let's meet the ambulance downstairs."

Simon took Blair from him, and Jim had to run to catch up with the man as he raced for the elevator with his unconscious burden.

Dr. Misty Myers spun around as the paramedics crashed through the ER doors. The man on the gurney they wheeled in was convulsing. One of them shouted for a doctor and she took a deep breath before rushing over to greet them.

"What have you got?" She ran along beside them.

"Thirty-two year old male, friend said he complained of a headache, lights too bright, noises too loud, then collapsed. Convulsions and labored breathing, cyanotic. Pulse 120, pupils constricted, pressure 170/110. Started Ringers lactate on the way in. He arrested and was resuscitated once."

"Okay, room 3." Judy fell in beside her, and Misty was grateful for the presence of the levelheaded veteran nurse as they wheeled her new patient into the exam room. "I need 5, no, 10 mgs Diazepam. Let's get him intubated and start pushing some oxygen."

More personnel flowed into the room. She ordered blood tests, and blood was drawn. His oxygen saturation level was far too low even with the respirator. It had to be a poison of some sort, but she was too busy trying to keep him alive to focus on that just yet. Still, she catalogued the symptoms and tried to sift through the jumbled knowledge in her head as she worked. Some vague warning in the back of her brain told her not to induce vomiting. She did order some charcoal, however. It would absorb any poison left in his stomach if he had ingested it, which was what she suspected. Another convulsion was met with another 10 mgs of Diazepam. She only had 10 more mgs to go before she had to give up on that and try something else. Suddenly, her mind locked on a possible diagnosis, and it was not good.

To make matters worse, there was someone outside the room yelling to be let in. As if she needed more stress, thank you. Her first day as an attending physician and her first patient was probably going to be her first fatality.

"Did you call Orenda? I want Orenda to take care of him. Did you see that kid they got working on him? She can't be more than twelve!"

"Jim! She's a doctor. I'm sure she's doing all she can. Calm down. I called Dr. Milap. She's on her way."

"Simon, goddamn it, he's dying in there!"

"Could you please keep it down!?"

Jim whirled around to glare at the little redhead with freckles who was supposed to be Blair's doctor. "I want a real doctor in there with him. No offense, but…"

"I am a real doctor. Granted, fairly new at it, but real, just the same. Look, I need to ask you a few questions. Would there be any way that he would have been accidentally exposed to any type of poison, like strychnine or brucine?"

"No!"

"Well, we'll know for sure when the tests get back, but I think he's been poisoned. I need to get back in there. I'll let you know something as soon as I can, but in the meantime, you are very distracting and if you don't stop yelling, I'm going to have to have security remove you from the ER. I don't want to do that. Okay?"

Jim opened his mouth but Simon quickly stepped in front of him, cutting him off. "Of course. Thank you," his captain said quietly.

The woman, hell, little girl, disappeared back into the exam room, and Simon turned to face Jim. "Let's go sit in the waiting room and let the doctor work."

Jim had never entertained the thought of punching Simon in the face before, but all of a sudden, it was his fondest wish to do so. He did not, however. It would not be wise or fair. None of this was Simon's fault, and the man was as worried about Blair as he was, despite his relative calm and somewhat patronizing tone.

Orenda was on her way in, and when she got there, Blair would have a real doctor. If he survived long enough, that is.

"Poison," he announced as Simon led him out to the waiting room by the arm.

"Yeah."

"Where would Blair be exposed to poison?" Jim sat down hard in a chair.

"We need to trace his steps, find out where he's been and what he's done today. Do you know?" Simon lowered himself into the chair next to him.

"He went to the university this morning. He got to the station around noon. He was only there for a few minutes when this started. I don't know, Simon. It couldn't have been an accident. Where would he go that he would accidentally be poisoned? It was intentional. Had to be."

"Let's not jump to conclusions. Then again, it wouldn't be the first time."

"No, damn it, it wouldn't. But this may be the last. I heard it, Simon. I listened to his lungs as they slowly stopped working. He's going to die."

"Jim—"

"Orenda's here." Jim left his captain sitting alone as he rushed to meet the little Native American doctor. She had saved Blair before, and Jim prayed that she could again, though he did not have much faith this time. "Orenda! Thank god you're here. There's some kid in there working on Blair."

"I don't have time to humor you, Jim. I have a patient. I'll talk to you when I know something." She passed right by him and kept going.

Sometimes he really hated the woman's no-nonsense straightforward approach. She cared for Blair though, and that was the most important thing. He took a deep breath and went back to his chair in the waiting room.

When Orenda finally came out to speak with them, her usually neat bun was askew, with strands of salt and pepper hair falling over her wrinkled brow and into her eyes. Jim stood as she approached, and she motioned for him to sit down again. She sat as well, and Jim examined her worried face. He had heard every convulsion, every new drug order, and every new problem they encountered and every time that the respirator inflated Blair's lungs. He knew it was not good news, but he hoped it wasn't all bad either.

"He's not good. He's been exposed to strychnine. He apparently ingested it somehow. To stop the convulsions, we had to sedate him to the point that even if his lungs were working properly, he would stop breathing without the respirator. And he's still seizing when there is too much stimuli around him. Strychnine over-stimulates the central nervous system. Every little sound, movement, touch, whatever starts another seizure. We're going to put him in one of the isolation rooms with the lights down. We have a problem with the noise level though. The respirator makes quite a bit of noise, as you know. We can turn off various alarms and such, but we can't turn off the respirator."

"What about white noise generators? I have some. Could that help?" Jim's mind was reeling even as he offered. Blair had said that the bullpen was too bright and too loud. He said it was like he had Jim's heightened senses.

"It might. If nothing else, it might reduce the level of outside noise that he hears. Look, Jim, we have a long row to hoe here. We've gotten him through the initial reactions, but there are many more problems waiting to bite us on the ass. His oxygen saturation levels are very low. Do you know what that means?"

"He's breathing, but the oxygen isn't getting into his bloodstream like it should."

"Right. That could mean some damage. Also, renal failure is a possibility. His muscle tissue could start breaking down as well. The drugs we have to give him are not exactly good for him either."

"They're addictive," Jim muttered. Simon swore under his breath, the first sound he had made since Orenda joined them.

"Yes, and at the levels we are being forced to use, deadly themselves if we aren't very careful."

"Well, I feel better with you here."

Orenda sighed. "Jim, Dr. Myers is a perfectly competent doctor. She not only saved Blair's life in there more than once, she also correctly diagnosed him before the blood tests even got to the lab. She did everything right. I could not have done more if I had been here myself. You owe her an apology and a lot of gratitude. I expected better from you. I helped to train Misty myself, by the way."

"Misty. Her name even sounds all of twelve. Misty is not a name, Orenda. It's a kind of weather. But," he said before she could scold him again, "I am sorry and I will apologize. Orenda, will he make it?"

"I won't lie to you, Jim. Right now, I just don't know. I personally have never treated a case of strychnine poisoning. It's not a common problem with humans. The fact that Misty recognized it so quickly is amazing and a credit to her. Because she was on the ball, he has a chance. There is one other thing, and you aren't going to like it. Jim, honey, I know that you are accustomed to having unlimited access to Blair when he's ill, but this time, that's out of the question. No unnecessary stimuli, Jim. That means restricted visitation."

"How restricted?"

"I'll give you five minutes three times a day, and you can not speak to him or touch him."

"Orenda, please."

"Jim, you can look at him through the isolation room window the whole rest of the day if you have to, but you can't go in. That's one benefit for you to him being in isolation. Those rooms have windows. It has to be this way. Those seizures are painful, and the more of them that he has, the more painful his recuperation is going to be. His muscles are going to be very rigid, and he might even need some physical therapy if he survives to help him loosen those muscles up. You don't want to cause him any more pain, do you?"

"No."

"Three times total too, by the way." She glanced at Simon. "Not three times each."

Simon nodded.

"The best thing you can do for him is to find out how he ingested the poison in the first place. If it was accidental, then you need to find it before someone else gets into it and ends up here with him. If it wasn't accidental, well, I don't have to tell you your job. We will take care of him, Jim."

"I know."

"In the meantime, give us about fifteen minutes to get him settled in the isolation room, and you can have your first visit. And last until tomorrow. Sorry, but right now, he's critical, and what we need to do is more stimuli than he needs. Visitors are just not good for him right now. Tomorrow, you can have all three visits."

"I understand. I'll see him then go get the white noise generator and bring it back. Okay?"

"Okay."

Jim watched her go then turned to Simon. "What if he doesn't make it, Simon? What am I going to do?"

Simon did not seem to have an answer for him. He opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, but then closed it again. Finally, he just placed one hand on Jim's shoulder and shook his head.

Jim stepped silently into the isolation room. It was dark; only the light over the sink in the far corner of the room was on. Blair had been placed on his side and Jim wondered why. He would ask. As he moved closer, he could see Blair's hands twitching and then realized that his body was still bowed back. Jim's eyes grew hot and wet as it dawned on him then that Blair had probably not been placed on his side, but that in the midst of yet another convulsion ended up that way. The position did not look comfortable, and Jim nearly reached out to try to rearrange his friend on the bed before he remembered Orenda's orders that he not touch Blair. His touch would have simply set off another painful seizure, and Blair would have been right back in the same position.

So, instead Jim raised one hand to hover above his guide, just to feel the warmth. If he focused hard enough on that warmth, it was almost like a real touch. But too soon he was on the edge of a zone-out, and he had to break that tenuous connection. It hurt like a physical blow. Silently, he begged Blair to hold on before turning and leaving the room with a purpose: find who did this to Blair and make sure they paid.

Simon hung up the payphone just as Jim came out of the isolation ward. The Major Crimes unit and the Forensics unit had been mobilized. He watched as Jim Ellison folded himself into a chair. The man dropped his head into his hands but not before Simon saw the fear on his face and the tears in his eyes.

Simon knew that Jim needed some reassurance that Sandburg was going to be all right, but he could not bring himself to say words that he didn't believe. Dr. Milap had painted a very dark picture of Blair's condition, and if she was worried, then Simon knew it was bad. He had seen the four-foot ten-inch whirlwind of a doctor pull off medical miracles with Sandburg before. Jim was convinced that she was Blair's guardian angel on earth, and she seemed to accept the job as well. Despite the fact that she no longer dealt in emergency medicine, no matter what the problem, from life-threatening right down to a sniffle, she would come running. Now, she did not know if what she could do would be enough to save her favorite patient. That scared Jim to death. It scared Simon to death too. He sighed and made his way over to Jim.

"Come on, Jim. Let's get to work."

Jim looked up at him and for a moment seemed to look through him, uncomprehending, then took a deep breath and stood up. "Yeah. I'm ready to go. I have to come back here though."

"I know."

Jim stared at the closed doors of the isolation ward for a long moment, and Simon began to think that he was about to have to try to pull Jim out of a zone. But suddenly, he had to nearly sprint to catch up with the man as Jim left him behind.

"Okay, the university does have strychnine on campus. They use it in the greenhouses sometimes to get rid of rats, and they have some in the chemistry lab," Rafe announced as he hung up the phone. "However, Blair has not been anywhere near either place lately.

Taggert said that he went through Blair's office with the custodian. There's no trace of rat poison in there, and they wouldn't generally use that in the buildings anyway. Something about liability. But they bagged Blair's coffee mug and some other stuff for Samantha to check. Is she done searching the loft?" he asked his partner.

Henri nodded. "Yeah, same thing, bagged some stuff for testing. Simon and Jim are looking at Blair's car now."

"His car? Isn't that grasping at straws?"

"Got anything else to grasp at this point, partner? If you can think of something, let me know. We are coming up empty everywhere."

"Maybe Connor will find something in Jim's case files. What about past cases? Anybody tried to find out if anyone Jim sent up has gotten out lately?"

"Simon checked that out. Nobody."

"Damn it. We have to be missing something, but what?"

"I don't know, brother. I just don't know. I just know that I don't think this was an accident. Simon's asking for volunteers to stand guard outside Sandburg's room and I've already signed on. I don't think this is over."

"Me either. And I'm on duty after you. What about his coffee mug here? Anybody take that to Sam?" Rafe started for the break room.

"Here? Come on, here?" Henri followed him.

"Stranger things have happened, you know."

"True. Let's get that mug bagged up."

When Henri left to take his shift at the hospital, Sam and her team were still testing everything that had been brought in. So far they had come up with nothing. It was decided that they would work through the night to get everything tested. Henri was pleasantly surprised at the diligence Samantha was showing. Everyone knew that Blair and Sam had not parted on great terms, and when Sam suddenly left for another job in Texas, the rumor mill had gone wild with speculation about the rocky relationship being the cause of her departure.

When Cassie Wells had decided that she did not like Cascade after all and moved back east, Serena had been temporarily promoted to head of the department. It was a temporary position only because Serena herself did not want the headaches that went with being in charge. It had been Serena who called Sam and told her that her old job was available.

So one day, Sam was back and was now trying to find out who poisoned Blair Sandburg. Henri, for one, was glad. Sam knew what she was doing, and the simple fact was that Wells had been very annoying.

It was dawn when Samantha Chambers finished the last test on the last item from Jim Ellison's loft. Sitting back from the counter, she looked over at Ellison and shook her head.

He sighed and ran one hand down his face.

"There's nothing, Jim. I'm sorry. No trace of any strychnine anywhere. And no fingerprints other than yours and Blair's on the stuff from the loft. There were some other prints on the stuff from the university and the station, but no poison. I just don't know what to tell you."

He nodded. "Thanks, Sam. Oh, and welcome back, by the way." He gave her a half-hearted smile and waved as he walked out of the lab.

"Thanks," she said to his retreating form. She turned and grabbed a styrofoam cup from beside her coffeemaker and poured herself a cup of coffee. It was decaf, so it would not keep her from taking a much-deserved nap. She placed the decanter back on the hot plate and sighed as she sipped the slightly bitter brew.

Jim put one hand on the window to Blair's room and stared in at his guide. He had arrived just minutes before to find both Henri and Rafe still there. That meant Henri had stayed all night instead of the four hours that he signed up for. He wondered when Rafe had arrived. He and Blair had good friends, he realized.

He was waiting for Orenda to give him the go ahead before he went in. Intellectually, he knew that he had not been waiting that long, but as he stood there it seemed like an eternity passed. It did not help his anxiety that, thanks to his own suggestion, he could get little or no sensory input. He could see Blair. But he could not hear him due to the white noise generator. At first, he tried to filter it out, but he kept barely avoiding a zone-out so he gave up.

Probably most disappointing was that when he did finally get to go in, he would not be able to touch Blair. It was very strange that the thought of not being able to touch his friend was so disturbing. It was as if he didn't realize just how much he touched Blair until he was not allowed to do so. Jim had never been a very vocal person when it came to feelings, and he realized only now that he had conveyed so much that he could never bring himself to say with his hands, by touching.

Where had he gotten that? He had certainly not been brought up that way. His father barely touched him or Steven except in anger or discipline. Come to think of it, he did tend to do that too sometimes. He frowned, remembering the times he had man-handled Blair.

But his dad had never just hugged him, patted his head, or touched his shoulder without some ulterior motive, such as pretending to be the loving, devoted father for his business associates. Maybe it was a sentinel thing.

In the grand scheme of things though, he decided it did not matter. He wanted to touch Blair. He wanted to soothe and reassure. He wanted to be reassured. If poisoning Blair had been someone's way of hurting Jim, it was a very good strategy, and they could not have done a better job if they tried. Not only had they deprived Jim of his friend, but also they had deprived the sentinel of his guide. Blair had become Jim's touchstone, he supposed, his way of measuring when all was right with the world. What did one do when he could no longer touch his touchstone?

A hand on his shoulder startled him and he turned. Dr. Myers smiled tentatively at him. "Oh, hello."

"Hello, Detective. I wanted to check on Blair this morning. I know that I'm not his doctor, but I wanted to follow up on him."

"It's okay. That's nice of you. And I wanted to see you anyway. Um, I wanted to say that I'm sorry for the way I behaved last night and to say thank you for what you did for Blair."

"Well, apology accepted and no thanks are necessary. Have you found out how he was exposed?"

"No. We've come up empty."

"Sorry to hear that. I don't think it was accidental, if that helps at all. You just don't see that kind of thing very often, and usually it's in the farm country, and the poison is inhaled, not ingested."

"I had already decided that it had to be intentional, but thanks."

She nodded. "You're welcome."

"We must have checked everything he owned or touched. I just don’t know where else to look."

"Um, Detective, you didn't have to go through all that."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, that there is a very, very small window of time between exposure and onset of symptoms with strychnine. We're talking half an hour maximum. Sometimes the onset is almost immediate, depending on the amount and how it enters the body."

"How do you know all this if this kind of thing is so rare?"

She closed her eyes for a second then looked back up at him. "When you lose a patient because you miss something, you make very sure that you never miss it again. When I was still an intern, there was a little girl who came in with all the symptoms of simple stomach flu. I told the attending that she wasn't an emergency, that her mother was just overprotective. Well, the attending physician checked her out anyway, but he came to the same conclusion and we released her.

"She died a few hours later. I will not ever forget, as long as I live, her mother bringing her back to the ER. But it was too late. Granted, the attending dismissed it too, but maybe he did because I did. I should have checked. She had gotten into some household cleaners. That very night I committed to memory the symptoms and treatments for every common and some not so common poisons."

"And it saved Blair's life. I'm sorry you had to come by the knowledge that way, but I'm very glad you have it. Half an hour."

"Yeah, you need to know everything he came into contact with up to half an hour before he collapsed."

"It takes him almost that long to get from the university to the station. I don't understand."

"And there's something else. Strychnine is not easily soluble, and most of what does dissolve it would kill him almost before the poison. The only thing I can think of is really hot water. I mean, really hot, and then it would still take some time to dissolve. Also, it's odorless but it's not tasteless. It is very bitter. It would have to be put in something that had a very strong taste to even hope to cover the bitterness."

"Now I really don't understand." Jim thought about it. Something with a strong taste might have left behind some evidence on his guide. He closed his eyes and tried to remember anything his senses may have catalogued about Blair when he arrived. He came up with nothing. He shook his head. He would try again later when he was alone. The sounds around him were too distracting.

"Anyway, I wish you both the best, Detective, and if I can help you in any way, just let me know."

"Thank you, Dr. Myers."

"You know, my mother tells me all the time that there will come a day that I will be glad to know that I do not look my age. I tell her by that time, with my luck, I'll probably be old and gray and people will think I'm actually older than I am. Bye, Detective."

"Jim."

"Jim." She walked away and Jim turned back to his vigil.

The visits flew by; the five minutes disappearing so quickly that Jim was tempted to accuse Orenda of tampering with the clocks. Then the time between visits seem to crawl. To make matters worse, despite their best efforts, they had no leads in the case.

It was frustrating, but it was quite possible that until Blair woke up and told them what he had been doing that morning, they would have nothing to go on. That was, if Blair woke up and if he was able to tell them anything when he did. Orenda's ominous warning of brain damage bothered Jim. Orenda had always said that quantity of life was not the same of quality of life and that there were times that it was better to let go. He prayed that it would not come to that talk again.

Jim held one shaking hand over Blair's still form and closed his eyes. He focused on the almost touch for the last few moments that he was allowed to be in the room. He heard the door open behind him. It was time to go. He would be back once more tonight, he silently promised, then walked past Orenda, glancing back just once as the door closed behind them. He tried to smile at her, but he knew it was more of a frown. She touched his arm and started to say something, but Jim held up his other hand.

"I'm tired, Orenda. I'll be back later. Take care of him." He turned away from her and honed in on the elevator. He had to get out of there before he lost his tenuous control over his emotions.

Simon Banks flipped through the visitor log from the reception desk, not sure what he was looking for, but they had looked everywhere else. Perhaps it was time to search closer to home. They had found nothing in the break room, but given the information that Jim had gotten from Dr. Myers, it was conceivable that Blair had actually been poisoned in the police station. He found Blair's signature on the log fairly easily. He smiled for a moment. He had long ago told the young man that he was a fixture in the place and he no longer needed to sign the visitor's log, but Blair insisted that he did not want Simon to get in trouble in case someone decided to make an issue of his presence. Therefore, the spiky and barely legible signature was there.

"Kid shoulda been a doctor. Oh, yeah, he's gonna be." He chuckled at himself, but the laugh died quickly as he noticed the time that Blair had signed in. 11:20 am. Simon closed his eyes and swore under his breath. There it was. Proof that someone had poisoned Blair Sandburg inside the station.

His station. Under his nose. On his watch. Again. First Golden-laden pizza and now this. He picked up the phone. Jim should be home by now. Simon took a deep breath and dialed the number.

The ringing of the phone broke Jim's concentration. He swore and grabbed the cordless that was sitting beside him on the couch. He said a quick prayer that there would not be bad news waiting for him on the other end of the line. "Hello."

He listened to Simon's revelation without saying a word. He could not speak. He couldn't even seem to breathe. Someone inside the station poisoned Blair. His mind raced in circles, the questions of who, why, and how were clamoring for his attention, making focusing on any one question beyond his ability at the moment.

"Jim!"

"Yeah, Simon. Sorry. I heard you. I—I just don't know what to say. I need to go."

"Jim, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. There's just something I need to do. I'll see you in the morning, Simon. Thanks for letting me know." He hung up the phone then, not even giving Simon a chance to say goodbye.

He dropped the phone and leaned his head back on the couch. He had to get comfortable. He also had to be careful. He could not afford to zone without his guide near. His hand dropped to the flannel shirt he had found on Blair's bed. He hoped Blair's scent on it would help anchor him. It should, at the very least, not hinder his sensory search since it was Blair's scent he would be searching for, after all. It might work; it might not, but it was a chance he had to take.

He concentrated once again on his memory of Blair that morning. Words, his and Blair's, rang in his ears so he shut them down. One by one, he turned off each sense and each memory until his focus returned and he could isolate just his memory of the smells of that morning, then just the smell of his friend.

Clean was the primary impression of Blair's scent. A slight citrus scent was next, the shower gel a gift from a female admirer. Then Jim's nose wrinkled. Green Tea was what Blair had had with breakfast, so why did Jim smell coffee? Blair was not much of a coffee drinker. Coffee.

That had to be it. It had a strong taste and it would be hot. Blair had been given poisoned coffee. But where and by whom? Where was the cup? His mug at the university was clean and the timetable was not right. His mug at the station was clean, and he did not have a cup with him when he came in. So if he could find the source of that coffee, he would find the person who tried to kill his partner.

He carefully opened up his senses again, turning the dials slowly until he once again became aware of his surroundings. When everything was reset to normal, he opened his eyes. He glanced down at his watch. It was time to go see Blair, his last visit of the day. He needed to hurry. He had spent more time than he intended in his sensory search. If he did not hurry, Orenda might not let him in. He grabbed a jacket and rushed out.

Orenda sighed and tossed the test results onto the nurses' station. The seizures were not as bad as they had been, but the poison was doing other damage, not unexpected damage, but damage she had fervently hoped would be avoided. Now she would have to break the news to Jim. She had warned him, but warning was one thing, confirming quite another.

She looked back in the direction of the isolation room. Captain Taggert sipped his coffee and turned a page of the magazine he was reading. She almost smiled. She liked the genial man quite a bit. In fact, she had genuinely liked all of the men who had taken a turn guarding her patient. Blair seemed to attract both the best of humanity and, unfortunately, the worst of it as well. On the one hand, it meant that he had many true friends available to support him in times of need. On the other hand, it meant that those friends were needed often. Taggert looked up at her then and raised his coffee cup in greeting. She was about to say hello when the elevator opened and Jim emerged.

Taggert put down his magazine and coffee and rose. Jim shook his hand as they met in front of the window to Blair's room. Jim's attention then focused on her, and she knew he could sense her panic.

Ellison was a strange man. She always felt as though he was weighing her every statement, reading her mind almost, and could sense when she was trying to sweeten the truth. Of course, she never did. She felt it best to always be candid with patients and families. They needed to know where things stood. Still, his scrutiny was unnerving, and with the news she had to tell this time, her heart was beating ninety to nothing, as her mama used to say. He would take it badly. Hell, she was taking it badly. This was worst-case scenario, and Blair was very likely to lose this battle.

"What is it?" he asked without a hello.

"Let's go somewhere private." She walked away before he could argue, and he simply followed. A quick glance back told her that Taggert was worried. She could see the struggle in the man's eyes. He had to stay at his post, but he badly wanted to know what was going on. He stayed as she led Jim to a consultation room and closed the door behind them.

Orenda was scared. He heard her heart speed up the minute she saw him get off the elevator. That could not be good. With his own heart in his throat, he followed her to the consultation room. As soon as the door closed, he asked, "What? Tell me."

"Jim, sit down."

He had never really been able to argue with her. He sat and tried to prepare himself for what she was going to say.

"The seizures are getting better. He's having fewer of them, and they aren't as severe."

"But?"

"Jim, do you remember what we talked about when Blair was admitted?"

"Yeah. Come on, Orenda, just say it." His gut rolled, and he suddenly found it hard to breathe.

"His kidney function is down. They haven't failed yet, but they may. It's awfully early in the game for this, and he has a long way to go."

"Okay," Jim stated numbly. "What about dialysis?"

"Not right now. That's something we will have to wait for. Given his delicate situation, I want to avoid it, and we'll only use that if we have to."

"What else? I can see there's something else. What is it?"

"We are going to have cut back on the sedatives we're giving him. We don't have a choice."

"Why not?"

"His liver is shutting down."

"Liver?"

"Yes."

"No." He shook his head and stood up. "No, that can't be happening. You didn't say anything about his liver before. No, you didn't, and it can't be. No." He paced the small room. This was too much. Nothing had been said about any liver problems, and he had enough to worry about without adding anything else.

"Jim, do you remember I told you that the drugs we were using were dangerous? Well, the liver has to process those drugs, and it apparently could not handle the strain."

"Then why?! Why give him all those drugs?"

"We had to, Jim. You know that."

"Goddamn it! You didn't say they would destroy his liver!"

"It's not as bad as all that. His liver is not destroyed, Jim. It’s just not working properly right now. We are doing what we can, but there is a possibility of brain dysfunction and death if his liver does fail completely."

Jim ran both hands over his face and swayed on his feet. Her small hands reached up and closed over his shoulders. She sat him down with the slightest push. "Brain dysfunction, death. Orenda, is this the talk? Quality versus quantity? Is that what we're doing?"

"No. Right now, there is still hope. For the kidneys, there's dialysis and possible transplant if it gets that bad. For his liver, there is every reason to believe that he can recover from this. Many people do recover from liver dysfunction. The liver seems to be able to repair itself pretty well, actually. We just have to work hard and pray hard for him."

"Pray? Orenda, I haven't seen the inside of a church, weddings and funerals excluded, since I left home to join the army. I got married in a church, but it was Carolyn's church, and I really tried to talk her out of that. Right now, I'm not really sure if I believe in a benevolent god. I just can't understand a kind and loving god that would allow this to happen to Blair.

"He's never hurt anyone. He doesn't deserve this. Then again, maybe this is my punishment, not his. Hurt him and hurt me, right? Well, that pisses me off. And you know what pisses me off the most? I'll tell you. I don't know who did this or why. That pisses me off the most. What good am I if I can't figure out who tried to kill my partner?"

"Jim, it's only been a few days. Surely it takes longer to build a case. You'll find something."

"No, Orenda. You don't understand. There's nothing to find. We have nothing to go on. Well, I think the poison was put in his coffee, but I don't have any proof. Nor do I have any suspects. No physical evidence. Nothing from which to build a case. And if I can't find anything, then—never mind."

He had almost said too much. He finished his thought silently. If he could not find anything, if a sentinel could not find anything, then who could? "I need to go in to see Blair."

She nodded, and he walked past her and out the door. Joel stood up again as Jim approached the room. The questions were clear on the man's face. Jim briefly closed his eyes and shook his head before placing one hand on his friend's shoulder. Joel frowned and looked down at the floor. Jim left him standing there and went in to be near his guide—for five unfair, unsatisfying minutes.

Days passed, and Jim grew increasingly frustrated. The seizures had ceased, but Blair's kidneys and liver were still struggling. Jim sat by Blair's bedside in his new room, one hand closed over Blair's wrist. He could finally touch his guide, his friend, and he took full advantage of it.

The short-handed nursing staff thought he was a godsend. He handled much of what they would have had to do; from sponge baths to the exercises and massages that Orenda had suggested to loosen his muscles, Jim did it all. He left the hospital only to work on finding who had put Blair there in the first place.

With no leads though, the case was at a standstill. His coworkers were all as exhausted as he was. He appreciated their tireless efforts, but he had resigned himself to the fact that only Blair was going to be able to tell them what had happened.

So he waited, not patiently by any means, but waited just the same. Every tiny sound and minute twitch was jumped on as a sign. He would try to talk Blair awake every time, but so far to no avail. He sighed.

The door opened then, and Jim looked up as Samantha walked into the room hesitantly. She smiled and he smiled back.

"Hi," she said softly.

"Hi yourself."

"I thought I'd come down to see how he is. Hope you don't mind."

"No, no, of course not. He's still here."

"Has he regained consciousness at all?"

"Not yet."

"I'm sorry we haven't found anything." Sam took a step closer to the bed.

"Not your fault, Samantha, but thanks. Um, are you going to be here for a few minutes? I'd like to go get something from the cafeteria if you are."

"Sure. Go ahead."

"Thanks, Samantha." Jim started for the door but stopped and turned back to her as she reached out to touch Blair's hand. "Sam, I know things didn't work out for you two, but I do know that Blair felt bad about that. He blamed himself. And part of it was him." Jim grinned a little in memory of Blair's many, many strange ideas about relationships. "But part of it was me. All those times that he didn't show up or didn't call, he was with me, helping me. Just thought you should know."

She nodded. "I know that. Just never understood why you were so important to him. I hate having to compete, especially with a man."

Jim had no idea how to respond to that. He could not tell her the truth, after all. "Well, I'll be right back." He took one last look, one last sentinel look at his best friend and then left quickly before he could change his mind.

Orenda skimmed over the new test results as she made her way down the hall to Blair's room. She walked in and stopped short. "Excuse me. Who are you?"

The strange woman by Blair's bed turned to look at her. "I'm a friend of Blair's."

"Where's Jim?" Orenda moved closer. There was something about this woman that bothered her.

"He went to get something to eat."

"Well, visiting hours are over, and you really should go."

"Jim wanted me—"

"I'm Blair's doctor, and I say you should go. I'll be with Blair until Jim gets back. Have a nice night."

The woman looked furious, but she gathered her purse and jacket from the chair and left. Orenda watched her go before turning back to her patient. His sat levels were up a little more, she noticed. That was good. Now if he would just breathe on his own without the respirator, she would feel much better. His kidney function was holding steady, no better but no worse. His liver was processing the drugs in his system, albeit very, very slowly. She checked his vitals and sat down to wait.

She tried to analyze her feelings toward the woman she had found in the room. She claimed to be a friend, but Orenda had seen no warmth in her eyes. Jim apparently trusted her if he left her alone with Blair. Perhaps she was overreacting, but she did not want the woman back in Blair's room. Now, how to get that across to Jim without making him angry if indeed she was a friend? She was still trying to figure that out when Jim came back.

"Where's Sam?" was his first question.

"I felt it best that she go. Visiting hours are over and—" she paused, "Jim, how well do you know that woman?"

"She's our forensics chief. She and Blair dated for a while. Why?"

"Probably nothing. It just surprised me to find someone I didn't know here with him, I suppose. I just didn't feel good about her being here. That's all. We still need to restrict Blair's visitors right now. What do you think about limiting his visitors to you, Captain Banks, the Major Crimes detectives, his mother if she shows up and perhaps the people he's closest to at the university. And only you when it's not visiting hours. I would feel better."

"If you say so, Orenda. I'll give you a list if you want." Jim was obviously puzzled by her request but agreed anyway. She was grateful.

"That's a good idea. We'll make copies for his guards when you're not here."

"Okay, no problem."

Orenda nodded and patted Jim's arm. "Well, good night. Call if you need me." She left feeling a little better.

Jim pushed the file away and put his head on his desk. There was nothing in the file that had not been there before. No leads, no suspects, no progress. He wanted to throw the damn thing against the wall and scream like the madman he felt he was becoming, but that would only get him taken off the case. Simon had threatened that before, the last time Jim had pitched a fit in the bullpen. He had to keep a lid on his anger now. He had to be good. His cell rang and he grabbed it, praying that it was not bad news.

"Ellison." He listened. "I'm on my way!" He hit the end button and jumped up. "Blair's awake!" he announced to the whole bullpen before storming out the door. He smiled a little at the cheers he heard behind him. Simon came running out of the door. The damned elevator was taking forever.

"Is he talking? What kind of condition is he in? Tell me something. Oh, never mind, I'm coming with you. What the hell is wrong with this elevator?"

Joel Taggert joined them. Rafe, Brown and Connor were right behind him. Jim was bombarded with questions, but Simon interceded. "We'll let you know when we get there. No, you can't all go! Who's going to take care of things here? Brown, you left a suspect handcuffed to your chair! Get your ass back in there! We'll call, I promise! Taggert, you can come."

A round of protests started but Simon shut them down. "Privileges of rank, people! Get back in there! Damn this elevator! Let's take the stairs." Simon grabbed Jim by the back of his collar and nearly dragged him to the stairs. If the situation were not so frightening, Jim might have laughed at his boss's behavior. But it was frightening. Jim did not know what they would find when they got to the hospital. Orenda's warnings of brain damage weighed heavily on his mind as he followed Simon down the stairs.

"Jim!" Orenda yelled at him as he, Simon and Joel got off the elevator.

"Orenda. They didn't tell me much. How is he? Has he said anything? What's happening?"

She put one hand on his chest. "Calm down. He's breathing on his own. His sat levels are steady at 93 right now with oxygen. That's damn good considering. Around 96 is considered normal. He has opened his eyes, and he has been able to follow movement around him. I asked him to blink for me, and he did. He's not said anything, but he seems to understand what is said to him. His throat is probably very sore. I doubt he wants to talk right now. And his kidney function and liver function are both up. I think there's a light at the end of the tunnel, Jim. I think he's going to make it!"

She was grinning from ear to ear, but Jim felt on the verge of fainting. Only the thought of how un-macho that would be kept him on his feet.

"Yes!" Simon nearly shouted behind Jim's left ear and he winced. "Sorry, Jim," the man apologized.

Jim turned to accept the apology and saw tears on Joel Taggert's face. It was his undoing. He choked and groped for the nearest wall. He slid down it and sat on the cold tile floor. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. He felt Orenda sit down beside him.

He opened his eyes and smiled at her. "I'm okay," he managed to say.

"I know you are." Her kind, motherly tone swept over him, and his eyes started to burn.

"Jim, I'm going to call the station," Simon told him before he moved away to do just that.

"I hate I wasn't here when he woke up," Jim muttered.

"Well, you're here now. Think you can pull yourself together enough to go see him?"

"Yeah, I'm okay now. Joel, help me up, will you?"

Joel offered his hand immediately and pulled Jim up, slapping him gently on the back when he was upright. Jim clasped the older man's hand and arm for a moment then turned to follow Orenda down the hallway. She opened the door to Blair's room for him, and he slipped inside quietly. Blair heard him though. He turned his head, and their eyes met. There was just the barest hint of a smile on Blair's face.

"Oh, Chief, you scared the hell out of me this time. You know that?" Jim sighed as he pulled the chair right up to the edge of the bed. He sat down and took Blair's hand gently in his.

Blair's lips moved, and Jim turned up his hearing to try to catch what he hoped would be words. "Wha—hap—nd?"

"You were poisoned, Chief. Just answer one question for me, okay? Who gave you the coffee?"

"Cof—fee?"

"Yeah, the coffee."

Blair just stared at him, confusion written on his tired, drawn face.

"Come on, Blair. Think for me. I remember smelling coffee. Someone in the station gave you some coffee, right? Who was it?"

"Um, S—sam."

"What?" Jim found it difficult to breathe. It could not be. It had to be someone else. Sam wouldn't. Would she?

His mind went back to that morning after, Sam in her lab and the coffeemaker on the counter. "Oh, my God. Blair, are you sure? Did you see anyone else that morning? Talk to anyone? Take any food from anyone?"

"Saw Pete—son at desk. Hel—lo, all. S—saw S—am, went to lab, coffee, di—didn' want it, sh—she got mad so drank some of it. P-poured s-out when she wasn-lookin'."

"Jesus. Oh Jesus, Chief." It suddenly made perfect sense. There were no clues because who better than a forensics expert to know how to erase all traces? And even if she missed something, she was in charge of the forensic investigation, so it would just disappear. She hated to having to compete for Blair's attention. She had a coffeemaker in her lab.

Blair's eyes were drifting closed. That was for the best really. He needed to rest, and Jim had something to take care of. "Sleep now, Chief. I'll take care of everything. She will never hurt you again."

He waited for a few moments to make sure Blair was asleep, then he charged out of the room. He passed Simon and Joel and headed straight for the elevator.

"Jim! What is it? How's Blair?" Simon chased him down and grabbed his arm.

"It was Sam."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Sam did this. I know it. I can feel it. It was her."

"Sam? As in Samantha Chambers, our forensics chief? Jim, that's crazy."

"Simon," Jim glanced at Joel who had caught up with them, "Blair said he saw Peterson at the front desk and said hello. Then he saw Sam and they went to her lab. She offered him coffee, but he didn't want it. She got mad at him for turning it down so he drank it. Some of it anyway.

"You figure it out. No clues, no leads. Why? Because she's good at what she does. If she left any clues at all, she had every opportunity to get rid of them. Hell, we put her in charge of the fucking investigation! Everything Blair touched that day went through her hands! She did it, Simon. She did it because she couldn't have him, and that pissed her off!"

Simon drew one hand down his face, and Joel swore more creatively than Jim thought possible from the man. "We have nothing," Simon finally said. "Even if it's true, we have no evidence."

"She gave Blair the coffee!"

"But we don't have a cup, we don't have the coffee! We can't prove anything, Jim!"

"Fuck!"

"Think I like it?! Jesus, what do we do?"

"She has the coffeemaker still. Maybe there's some trace," Joel suggested.

"It's worth a shot," Simon mumbled.

"It's all we've got," Jim snapped.

"Then let's do it."